Monica's Games 2.28

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

(story continues from Monica's Games 2.27)

Chapter Twenty Eight: Trailer Trash

Day Eight

Morning Event: Treasure Hunt
White Team: Steven, Jill, Leila, Emma, Mary and Trish
Black Team: Leon, Debra, Kris, Marilyn, Elizabeth and Zara
Points at Stake: 20
Start Score: White Team: 30 Black Team: 66

“It was awful,” Jillian was explaining as we sat round the table at dinner that evening.  “They must have parked us right in the middle of the paintball range, or at least next to it.  I could hear little bits of noise, but the worst thing was, they were using our weapons!”

“So?” asked Mary, who, offcourse, had slept the whole morning.

“So – every time one of them loosed off a burst, whoever of us had been using that weapon got a shock up the bum!”

“Mmm, devious,” mused Mary with a slow smile.  “She’s good, that Mistress Lynx.  She covers all her bases.”

“It’s all right for you to say that,” Trish grumbled.  “You were asleep the whole time – which was where I should have been, instead of having my arse electrified.”

“And of course they weren’t slowed down like we were in our game,” Emma chipped in.  “They could see each other and weren’t afraid to go mad with the ammo.”

“And the ride there and back was pretty bad.  The road was a shocker!” Leila added. ”It was a dirt road leading out to wop-wop.  We were shaken all over the place!  Those pipes were so tight!  That was really hard!  My poor boobs took a real pounding, which of course was on top of the old electrical nipple treatment.”

“Poor baby,” Mary commiserated, but we knew she didn’t really mean it.  Leila pouted.

I sympathised with the girls.  It had been a rotten day all round.  Well, a rotten day, rotten preceding night not to mention the preceding day.  While Jill’s team had been taken off in the pipes, Monica and I had been chained up in the little tin shed that was over the entrance to the assault course.  It had not been severe restraint, just inescapable.  The old chain round the neck trick is kind of permanent.  The door had been shut, and the temperature had begun to climb.  Truth was, we were both so exhausted from the events of the night that we simply fell asleep.  It was not comfortable on the dirt floor, but we were beyond caring.  Mary had finally found us in mid-afternoon, after the others had been returned from their pipe foray.  Mary had been given the key to the shed and the lock at my throat, but we still had Monica’s chain to remove.  I had finally done it with a combination of hacksaw and the biggest bolt cutters I had.

“We have to put all that behind us, though,” Monica said.  There was something in her tone that made us sit up.  Her voice was soft but determined.  “We have only two events left.  We’re getting thrashed, but if we win these two we can still get there.  I’m damned if I’m going to let Megan beat me, particularly when she has to resort to underhanded methods.”

“You don’t know if she was behind those things,” Jill said.

“No, and I don’t believe she was.  Leon is in there up to his scrawny neck, and Warren is going to get his desserts, don’t you worry.  Steven, Mary and I are going to pay him a visit as soon as the games are over.”

“Why wait?” Leila demanded.  “After what he did to you, justice should be swift and overwhelming.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Leila,” Monica said with a laugh.  “You sound like the President of United States.  Firstly, we have to plan something for him.  We don’t go in shooting from the lip.  Secondly, we can’t afford to be distracted at this point.  We have two critical contests in the next two days, and the first is starting really early tomorrow.  I want everyone to get a good night’s sleep.  Shawnee will be on night guard, doing the rounds every three hours, checking security.  I’m taking no chances.  Breakfast will be at five o’clock and be ready to start by six.  You all have your uniforms?”

“Yes, Monica,” we chorused.

*   *   *

We did not know what to expect the following morning.  It was Sunday, and it dawned fine and warm, with the suggestion of a thunderstorm later in the day.  Rashid had hired a minibus for Megan’s team, and they turned up promptly at six o’clock, looking like a school outing.

I should explain that we had not seen the latest idea from the Gang of Three coming, either.  Gone, on this particular day, were the uniforms we had spent so many happy hours in, over the last week or so.  Lycra, it seemed, was out.  White shirts, school ties and skirts were now in.  The schoolgirl look was very much alive and well it seemed.

Well, you couldn’t blame Rashid and Mohammed.  I personally thought it was a brilliant idea.  Leila, Trish, Emma, Jill and even Mary looked sexy as hell in uniforms that had been especially made for them.  The white shirts were tailored to their bodies – a step beyond the baggy blouses I remembered from my time at school.  The skirts were the same – maroon, halfway down the thigh, tie following the curve of the breast and tucked in to the waistband.  Our team wore black stockings and shoes, while Megan’s had dark navy skirts and white socks.  It just depended what you liked, and I guess Rashid and Mohammed had slightly different tastes.

Leila and Trish had their hair in pigtails, while Emma, with her long silky tresses, wore two plaits.  Jill managed a short ponytail, but Mary’s was too short to do much with.  Monica, I noticed, wore only a bathrobe.  We had been given our uniforms the previous day, but with no idea as to what was expected.  It was all very well for Monica to say get a good night’s sleep, but we had become so keyed up with the twisted contests that we were having to cope with, that solid sleep was a luxury that had been in short supply, save through exhaustion.

My role in this play was unknown at this stage.  Mine was the schoolboy look – long trousers, white shirt and maroon blazer.  I had no idea what school it was based on.  Probably Our Blessed Lady of the Lash, knowing Mistress Lynx’s dark sense of humour.  On the other hand, Leon was wearing short pants, looking like a refugee from AC/DC.  He seemed quite displeased that I got to wear the long trousers.  What was going on, I wondered?

Both teams gathered on the verandah again.  I thought all that was missing from the girls’ wardrobe were the hockey sticks.  Megan was there, like Monica, wearing only a satin bathrobe.  Something was afoot.  Mistress Lynx climbed on a footstool and addressed us.

“Ladies and gentlemen, today we are going on a treasure hunt.  The concept is very simple.  Each team will start out with two people in a vehicle.  Monica’s team will take the van, Megan’s the minibus.  These two people will have to locate each of the other members of the team, who will be in…er… a restrained state, shall we say, in a rather public place.  Public, yet private.  The persons being sought will in fact be sitting on a trailer.  The trailer will be parked somewhere.  Monica’s team’s trailers will have a white cover, Megan’s team’s trailer will have a black one.  Find the first trailer, release the first person, find the message and you will be able to go to the second trailer.  Real simple.  And when you find the last trailer, you will find the message that will lead you to your leader, who will be doing her impression of an Omani Queen, resplendent in her sarcophagus.”  Mistress Lynx pointed to the end of the verandah where Rashid lifted a sheet off the two metal likenesses of Megan and Monica.  So that was why they had no uniforms.

“They will be locked in their prisons as soon as we have dispensed with you lot.  They will be taken to a location which you will have to discover.  Each person you release will have a lock to the coffin, so it will be no good turning up without your full team.”

“Oh, and another thing.  Don’t be too long in finding your team.  There will be timers located in each of these trailers.  One will activate a vibrator, another will release an influx of liquid up your arse.  It’s called an enema. It could prove quite a trial on your gluteus muscles, or else quite embarrassing.  Either way, the pressure will be on – for everyone.  And who knows what poor Monica and Megan will be going through if you lot dawdle.  However, if you get really and truly stuck, you may phone me and I will give you a further clue.  But it will come with a time penalty.”

I glanced at Monica.  She looked pale at the thought of being locked in the metal statue again.  

“Now, I will announce the teams.  Driving for the White team will be Steven.  Steven, you may pick who will travel with you.  This person will not be restrained, but will be your navigator and spotter.  Chose carefully.”

I thought for a moment.  It was a dirty trick, asking me to choose which of the five would be spared the incarceration in the trailers.  The place went silent and I felt all their eyes on me.

“Jill,” I said.  Jill was the smartest, the best all rounder, I figured.  I wanted intelligence and quick wits to decipher whatever test was put to us.  Jill smiled gratefully.

“And on the other side, Debra will be the driver.”  She said ‘Debra’, rather than ‘Deb’ or ‘Debbie’, like a schoolteacher or a mother who insists on being formal.  “Debra, who will you take?”

I figured Deb was pretty limited in her choice, in that Zara and the two American girls did not know Brisbane.  It was either pick Leon, or Elizabeth.

“Elizabeth.”

Leon looked even more outraged, seeing how he was now destined to be one of the trailer people.

“Very good.  Now – “ She was cut short by a truck backing around the side of the house.  It was one of those Budget trucks – a small one that people use for house moving small loads.  It stopped and Mohammed climbed out, walked to the back and swung open the two doors.  Inside the walls were lined with horizontal slats about five centimetres apart that were used to secure furniture to.

“Here is our transport.  Or rather, your transport.  I will call out names and you will get in to the back. You will be called up in reverse order.  The first pair in will be the last to be deposited in the trailer.  First pair are Trish and Leon.”

The pair went down the steps and climbed into the back of the truck.  Mohammed bound their wrists crossed behind them and pushed Trish face against the wall, tugging ropes around her body so that she was immovably melded to the battens. She turned her head to look at us, but Mohammed blindfolded her with a black bandanna.

Leon received the same treatment, then Kris and Leila, Marilyn and Emma, and finally Zara and Mary.  These two would be the first we had to rescue.  Rashid swung the back doors closed and joined Mohammed in the truck.

“They will advise me by phone when the second pair are secured, so that you can start.  Now I have to make you two comfortable in your little metal suits,” said Mistress Lynx, turning to Monica and Megan.  “Monica, you can be first.”

The metal Monica sarcophagus was propped up against the verandah rail. Monica handed her robe to Shawnee who had been lurking in the background with Dianne.  They, too, wore school uniforms, and with their long hair in plaits got away with it pretty well, even if Shawnee was quite well developed for her age.

Monica was at her statuesque best, even though she was about to be incarcerated in the brass likeness that was herself.  She looked just a smidgen nervous, and I could not blame her.  I could not imagine what it must be like to be encased in a metal coffin that conformed to every subtle curve of your body.  She stood with her back to the sarcophagus, which was now held vertically by Dianne and Shawnee, and was about to back inside it, when Mistress Lynx held up her hand.

“Uh-uh, Monica dear.  Before you do, a little toy to keep you amused.”  She held up a medium sized chrome vibrator with pronounced ripples on the outside. Monica held her gaze as though challenging Mistress Lynx to insert it herself.  For a moment it was a battle of wills, then Monica took the device and carefully inserted it between her legs, all the while staring straight ahead, ignoring the audience and focussing on the ordeal that she was about to undergo.

She stepped back, so that her feet were in the rear portion of the casket, with the front half of her feet still on the decking.  Slowly, like an escapologist in reverse, she squirmed backwards so that her shoulders and arms fitted into the hollows for them, then finally she leaned back, ending with the back half of her head in the foam-lined recess.

Mistress Lynx paced slowly up and down like a senior officer reviewing a subordinate.

“Comfy now?  Reckon you can stand an hour or two of this?”  Monica looked pale but said nothing.  I estimated that it would be more than an hour or two she would have to endure.  “Very well.  You two – close the coffin.”

Shawnee and Dianne carefully fitted the lid over Monica, centimetre by centimetre, ensuring her toes, hands and breasts were all fitting into their allotted spaces. I knew what Monica was experiencing was like nothing that the rest of us would ever understand.  Restrictive bondage was one thing.  This was something else.  To be trapped in a metal case that left you unable to move a muscle other than to breath very shallowly was beyond our imagination, save for Megan.  We were now looking at the perfect Monica replica, the smooth uplifted breasts with their silver inset nipples in a permanent state of arousal, the subtle hollow in the curve of her back and the enigmatic Monica smile that had been carefully cast by a master.

Mistress Lynx proceeded to click two padlocks closed on each side of the statue.  “I hope you guys turn up with the keys,” she said to Jillian and me.  “The only keys we have will be with your friends, and I’d hate to have to cut this thing open.  The metalwork is so exquisite.”  She ran her hand over the unblinking, unmoving face that was Monica.

Minutes later Megan was also sealed in her casket, with four more locks in place, and both caskets were now roped to a verandah column.  Mistress Lynx then turned to where Jill, Debra, Elizabeth and I had been watching the proceedings.

“I expect it will be a little while before the troops are in place.  I will take the phone call when it comes,” she said, indicating her mobile phone lying on the table.  “At that point I will give you the signal to go.  The first message clue will be in your vehicles – the van and the minibus.  But I don’t want a mad scramble.  I did say you would not be restrained, but I’ve changed my mind. Lie down, all of you, on your stomachs.”

Mistress Lynx proceeded to sit on my backside as she bound my wrists palm to palm, then my ankles.  She was no lightweight, and she knew her knots.  Then it was the ankles and knees, and finally a ball gag strapped in place.

“I do love silence in a prisoner,” she said happily, tugging the strap far tighter than was necessary.  “You’ll do nicely, Steven.”  She patted my butt then turned to Jillian who was lying a metre away, and gave her the same treatment.  When the four of us were bound and gagged, she dragged Debbie and I across to the wall and propped us there, while doing the same with Elizabeth and Jill against the railings, so that we were obliged to watch each other.

“There is something inherently cute and sexy about schoolgirls in bondage,” she mused, seating herself with a contented sigh in a chair, while Dianne and Shawnee glanced uneasily at each other, wondering if they were going to be next.  “When I get the call, I will give you the signal, and you may then proceed to be on your way, when you can manage it, that is.” You two will stay where you are,” she said curtly to the two slaves.  “You will spend the morning making sure nobody steals your mistresses.”  She sighed again.  “You people have no idea the planning that has gone in to this one.  We’ve had to hire eight trailers – do you realise that?  Eight trailers, and have covers made for each.  Then we had to have the seats made for them, fit them with timers and the enema gear, and place them where they now are.  We did that last night.  We also had to work out how long it will take you to find them and hence what time to set the timers to.  It is quite technical, you know.  I don’t think you people realise just how much effort has gone in to all this, just for your enjoyment.”

I wanted to ask whether she and the brothers had got anything from it, but the rubber ball was squashed effectively in my mouth, and it would have been quite imprudent to even think such a remark, given the situation we were in.  I wondered just how the trailers were fitted out.  I suspected Mohammed and Rashid had been borrowing some of my tools while I had been otherwise engaged – or otherwise immobilised, rather.  Whatever the reason, I seemed to have had my fair share of it lately, though admittedly not as severely as poor Monica.

I watched Jill, directly across the deck from me.  She sat quietly, her bound legs stretched in front of her, her breasts rising and falling steadily under the tight white blouse.  She made eye contact  from time to time, and I could sense that we were all nervous, awaiting the starter’s gun – a wait that seemed to go on forever.

Then the phone rang – not one of those pretentious poser-type musical rings, just a down to earth ordinary ring.  Mistress Lynx picked it up and spoke a few terse words, then put it away.  “Ladies and gentlemen, the race is on.  You may proceed on your way.”

I pushed myself off the wall and bumped my way across to where Jillian was doing the same.  There was a lot of mmphing and grunting going on all round, as the four of us tried to get something happening while being unable to communicate.  Mistress Lynx began to chuckle at our efforts.  

Jill and I made it back to back and I thrust my wrists at her hands.  I wanted her to do the undoing, for I had a plan that might put us ahead of Debbie and Elizabeth, and we needed to make a break right from the start.  Fortunately, Jill realised at once what I wanted, and I could feel her fingers working urgently on the ropes.  They were not tied excessively tight, but Mistress Lynx had doubled up on a few turns and knots – blind alleys to fool the unwary.  

Jill was too experienced to panic, however, and I could feel the method in her approach as she loosed one knot, then another, and finally I was able to shrug my wrists free.  I did not look at what Debbie and Elizabeth were doing, instead concentrating on freeing my legs.  

As the last rope came free, I did not even bother removing the gag, but stood up and picked Jill up, still tied, and staggered down the steps to the van.  Jill looked at me wide-eyed as I awkwardly opened the passenger door and thrust her into the seat and belted her in, before running to the driver’s side removing the ball gag as I went.  We were down at the gate before Debbie and Elizabeth had got off the verandah.

In the brief seconds it took for the steel gate to slide open, I undid Jill’s gag and pulled it clear.  She smiled disarmingly.

“Nice move, mister.  I have to hand it to you, you think before you act.”

“A bad habit of mine,” I agreed, gunning the engine and zooming out on to the road, checking that no minibus was in the rear view mirror.

“Do you know which way we’re going?” Jill asked anxiously.

“Not a clue, my sweet.  I just want to get out of sight of our competition.  This is our last chance.  There’s twenty points up for grabs and we’ll have to take a risk or two.  And if I do say so myself, you and I should be able to crack this thing, and I don’t want them trailing us all the way while letting us do all the brainwork.”

“You’re very clever, sometimes,” she said, with what I could only conclude was a touch of admiration.  Whatever it was, it gave me a nice feeling inside.  “When are you going to untie me?”

“I thought I might leave you like that.  A kidnapped schoolgirl is one very sexy thing, you know.  It’s every male’s fantasy.”

“It’s evidently one of Rashid’s and Mohammed’s, anyway.  No, seriously, when are you going to untie me?”

“Well, seriously, why should I?  You look spunky as all hell, and I only need your brains at the moment.  A brainy schoolgirl, no less.”

“I’m sure I’d work better if I could open the clue and thumb through the street index,” she suggested artlessly.

“Hmm.  Okay.  But just this once.  Sometimes I’m too nice for my own good.”  I turned into the first street I came to that I knew would provide an alternative route into the city, for that was where I guessed we were going, and I hoped like hell I was right.  I stopped only long enough to untie Jill’s wrists, then set off again, letting her open the clue in the envelope, even before she had removed the ropes from her knees and ankles.  Jill also understood priorities.

She slit open the envelope and extracted the small piece of card, on to which were taped two padlock keys.

“Park on the Roman Road,” she said.

“What? Is that it?”  My mind went blank.

“Park on the Roman Road.  That’s the clue.”

“Stone me!  The Roman Road?  What the hell does that mean?”

“Come on, it’s easy!”

I looked at her in astonishment. “You mean you know the answer?”

“Sure.” She grinned at me smugly.  “Brainy schoolgirl – remember?  Obviously you kidnapped me for my intellectual ability.”

“All right, yes I did, though you don’t exactly fall into the Plain Jane category, either.”  Jill came close to blushing and demurely lowered her gaze.  “So, what’s the answer, bright spark?”

“Easy.  Roman Road – Roma Street.  Park on the Roman Road – Roma Street Parkland.”

“Well, duh!” I said.  “Talk about overlooking the bleeding obvious.  All right, very good.  I knew you were the right person to choose.”

“Well thank you, kind sir.  May I undo the rest of the ropes now, please?”

I tried not to be distracted as Jill untied the ropes above her knees, then lifted her black nylon-clad legs to rest her feet on the dash while she undid the ropes around her ankles.

Roma street Parklands were a multi-million dollar investment near the centre of the city, where the state government had rehabilitated a contaminated area that had included some old rail marshalling yards.  Now it was a large subtropical park with some stunning water features and miles of winding pathways.  Fortunately there was only one car park area, and it was easy to spot the two trailers, one at each end of the road that ran beside the car parks.  

Our trailer was the first, and we pulled in beside it. It was nearly nine a.m. and there were still a few parking spaces available, for the gardens only opened at 8.30.  Our trailer had a white cover made of some sort of thin material. - enough so that you couldn’t see through it, but providing little more privacy than that.  It covered the whole of the cage, and had zips down the two rear corners, with the toggles on the zips locked via chains to the trailer structure, so that the zips couldn’t be undone or the cover lifted off as a whole. 

We unlocked the chains and undid the zips, which allowed us to raise the back flap of the cover.  Only then could we see through the rear cage door.  Mary was sitting facing us, looking apprehensive, until she realised who was investigating, at which point she appeared both relieved and annoyed.

She was seated on a simple plank spanning the width of the trailer.  Her legs had been spread wide with ropes securing her ankles to the sides of the cage.  Likewise her arms were spread along the plank and her wrists tied to the cage just above the sides.  I could see a further rope around her waist which had been tied to the cage behind her.  Predictably she had been gagged with a white ball gag, and clipped to her nipples through her blouse was a chain from which hung an envelope.

“Mmmm, very nice,” I appraised.  Mary frowned and glowered at me.  I noticed up on the side of the cage, secured with plastic cable ties, was an inverted two-litre bottle of liquid.  The outlet of this was screwed into one of those garden watering timers which obviously had been adapted so that after a certain period had elapsed, the contents of the bottle would flow down a clear tube, under the plank and up through an outlet into Mary’s back passage.  I was relieved to see the bottle was still full.

The back wall of the cage was hinged on the left hand side, and it swung open when I pulled the securing pins out.  Fortunately the trailer had been backed in against a retaining wall, so the occupant was not visible to the public.  Jill and I climbed inside and untied Mary’s wrists and ankles.  She spluttered as Jill eased off the nipple clips then undid the buckle to the gag strap and pulled the ball from her mouth.

“Garhh! Bastards!  Oh shit!”

“What?” I asked, concerned.

“Oooo…” She slowly stood up, and I saw that her pussy had been impaled on a vibrator which had been screwed to the plank.  This little toy had been operating inside her, with the threat of the enema hanging over her, both literally and metaphorically.  Behind the vibrator was the nozzle of the hose from the bottle, poking up about three inches through a hole in the plank.  I saw that the timer on the bottle had ten minutes still on the clock.

Mary was momentarily unsteady on her feet as we helped her down from the trailer, then closed the rear door of the cage and zipped up the cover.  By the time we got into the van, Mary was in full flight.

“I shouldn’t have to put up with this,” she grumbled.  “That was positively evil.  The damned vibrator was going full bore and I could hear people right beside the trailer!”

“Can we concentrate on the next clue for a moment, girls,” I asked.  “Hullo, look who’s here.”

As we drove out of the car park, Debbie and Elizabeth were just turning in.  I tooted at them and thumbed my nose.  There was flash of white teeth and a tongue poked out, then they were gone.

“We’d better get a move on,” I said.  “Where are we going?  

“Can I have the envelope please,” Jill asked, in her best impression of an award ceremony presenter.  I handed it to her and again she pulled out the card with the two keys attached.  “And the winner for the best clue is… ‘Byron’s weapons on a grassy knoll’.  My god!”

“Not so easy this time, huh?” I enquired.

“No.”  Jill’s earlier bravado was missing.  “What on earth is this about?”

“Byron,” said Mary.  “The poet.  What was his most famous poem?  Charge of the Light Brigade, of course.  Surely  you people remember that?”

“Ummm…”

“Into the valley of death, rode the six hundred.”

“So?”

“Cannon to the right of them, cannon to the left of them…”

“Byron’s weapons!” Jill exclaimed.  “So what’s with the grassy knoll?  Sounds like the JFK conspiracy.”

“It’s meant to.  Designed to confuse and mislead.  What is a knoll?  A hill, yes?”

Jill sighed.  “Of course.  Cannon Hill.  So easy.”

“Yeah, and guess what?”

“What?”

“Sunday is the car-boot fair day in Cannon Hill car park.”

“You’re kidding!” said Jill.  “Emma will be beside herself!”

“She’ll be beside an awful lot of other people, too,” Mary agreed.  “And let me tell you, that is not a fun thing.  Aside from the likely sudden ingress of a large quantity of water up my bum, having an orgasm in that trailer in that position - knowing there was a family getting out of the car in the adjacent parking space - required a lot of self-control.”

“Good job you were sucking on your rubber ball,” murmured Jill.

“Yes, as it happens, it was.  I think I made a couple of squeaks, but that was it,” Mary admitted ruefully.

“Did you rattle your cage?” I asked.

“God – I tried.  I’m sure those ropes left the cage wire a bit bent,” she laughed.

“Bummer, dude,” I said.

“You can be smart, but it was really hard.  Having something to wrestle against was okay, but I didn’t want to start the trailer rocking.”

“In case someone came a-knocking?”

“Something like that.” 

*   *   *

Cannon Hill shopping centre at nine on a Sunday morning was heaving with people.  Half the big open car park was set aside for a car-boot sale, a kind of garage sale without the garage, where people came to sell stuff out of the boot of their car.  Sometimes they brought trestle tables and set up their junk.  There were the regulars and the one-timers, and there, at the end of a line of non-selling cars was our white-covered trailer.  Two hundred metres away was a black-covered one, where the American girl, Marilyn, would be bound.

We could not park near our trailer, instead having to walk a hundred metres or so.  Mary, Jill and I, all in our school uniforms on a warm and humid Sunday morning.  It brought a new dimension to the expression ‘mature age student’.  We sidled up to the trailer and unlocked the chains holding the zips at the two rear corners.  We unzipped the flap and peeked inside.  Emma was looking back at us through the mesh of the cage.  She was bound similarly to the way Mary had been, except her wrists were tied behind her and a cinch tail rope was secured at the top of the cage beyond, leaving her in a kind of sitting strappado.  She was squirming and trying to lift herself up and down on the vibrator that I assumed was embedded in her pussy, but her legs had been pulled too wide for her to get any vertical lift.  She was snorting softly and her face was flushed with the effort.

I looked around but nobody was taking much notice of us.  We managed to open the cage door without raising the flap too much – just sufficiently for Jill to slip inside.  I closed the cage door again and dropped the flap while Jill undid the ropes.  It seemed to be taking longer than expected, and when I peeked inside again, I saw Jill’s hand working under Emma’s skirt, with the bound girl’s head thrown back as she moaned softly into the ball stretching her jaw wide.  Emma bounced on the intruders inside her and abruptly froze, then jerked as the orgasm overtook her.  She shook her head and made a muffled squeal.  

Nobody seemed to have heard the poor girl climax above the general noise of chatter and commerce that was going on around us, and as Emma slumped down on the plank, Jill looked over her shoulder and winked at me as she set about untying the Chinese girl’s wrists.

Emma had fifteen minutes left on the enema machine, so I reckoned we were doing pretty well.  We helped her out of the trailer and we walked slowly down to the van, where Mary climbed into the front and Jill and Emma in to the back.  I started up and was about to head out of the car park, when Mary caught my arm.  

“Wait,” she said.  “Drive past the other trailer.”  I turned the van and we moved slowly up to the black-covered trailer.  “Stop beside it.”  I did so, and Mary climbed out.  She walked to the trailer and disappeared around the back.  Jill was leaning through the bulkhead window when Mary returned.

“What were you doing?” she asked, as Mary seated herself beside me.

“You know those two locks we just took off Emma’s trailer?  Well, I just put them on Marilyn’s.”

“You what!”

“You heard,” Mary said calmly, making a satisfied motion of wiping her hands.  “Drive on, Steven.  I just got my revenge for that fencing match trick they played, and as long as we stay ahead of them, we’re going to win this game.”

“You sly devil,” I said admiringly.  “Bags I get to put them on Leon’s trailer.  Now read out the next clue, Wonder Woman.”

Mary opened the envelope that had been slung from Emma’s nipples and pulled out the card with the next two keys.

“Not such a nightmare for Dvorak’s ninth.  Gotta be one for our classical fan here,” Mary said to Jill through the rear window.  I wasn’t so sure.

“Well, Dvorak’s ninth is the New World Symphony,” I offered.

“That’s a help – not,” said Mary.

“Okay, so the other part – not such a nightmare,” Jill mused.  “If something’s not a nightmare…  The basic part of a cryptic is often to describe the opposite of what the word is.  If it’s not a nightmare – it must be a dream.  Dreamworld!  Ta daah!”

“You are sooo good,” I said with genuine admiration. “Even Mary thinks so, don’t you Mary.” I poked her and she laughed.

“Yes Jill, well done.  Foot down, maestro – Sunday crowds down there as well, and I think it’s going to rain.”

The clouds were indeed gathering, and as we headed south down the Pacific Motorway, the first drops began to fall.

Dreamworld was one of several theme parks south of Brisbane.  There was Waterworld, Seaworld, and Movie World, and there were hordes of Asian tourists who came to Brisbane and promptly went to stay on the Gold Coast and visit each park in turn.  Dreamworld had white tigers, the Tower of Terror, and various rides guaranteed to introduce you to your breakfast going in the opposite direction.  Immediately on the motorway side of the complex was a large car park, and here we did a quick cruise down several aisles of cars before we spotted the two trailers.  Ours was sitting alone in an area not yet filled, while the black-covered trailer was becoming hemmed in by parked cars.

The rain shower had passed over by the time we parked.  I motioned the girls not to speak as we climbed out, then beckoned them to follow me.  I walked up to our trailer and said casually to Jill:

“People take a bleeding liberty, Fred.  Park a friggin’ trailer here and leave it.  Get the truck, eh.  I suppose we’ll ‘ave to tow it away to the pound.  Gonna be an expensive mistake for the hire people to recover it on a Sunday, though they might not find out abaht it til tomorrer.  Come on, give us a hand to turn it round.” 

The girls were nearly busting themselves not to laugh as we lifted the tow bar and swung the trailer round to hook it on to the van.  I motioned that we would tow it down to the other end near the black trailer.  I imagined Leila aghast inside the cover.  We climbed in and the girls burst out laughing.

“You’re absolutely awful, Steven!” Jill said, almost choking.

“Well stop laughing if it’s not funny,” I retorted.  “You’re all in this together, you lot.  Let’s be clear on this.”

“You’d never do this with Monica,” Mary suggested.

“No, Mary, and I’d never do this with you, either.  Rest assured of that.  Some people leave themselves exposed in life and others don’t.  That’s the way it is.”

We stopped near the black trailer and unhooked our own.  Jill unlocked the chains to the zips and undid the back flap.  We had also positioned the trailer so the back cage door could be opened without too much attention.  Leila was almost hyperventilating as we lifted the back flap, her eyes wide over the white ball strapped in her mouth.

“Mmmph!” she exclaimed as we showed ourselves.

“Surprise,” said Emma.

“His idea,” said Mary.

“Thanks a lot,” I said.

Leila obviously didn’t know whether to be relieved or furious.  She had been bound with her feet pulled back underneath the plank so that they were clear of the floor, and thus had no ability to use her legs to control her movement.  Her arms were spread wide and upward, her wrists tied to the top of the cage, and it was evident that the same vibrating and liquid injecting devices were positioned inside her.  She looked flushed, and the heavy rain shower we had been through had soaked her uniform, for the cover over the cage gave little real protection.  Now her white blouse clung to the swelling mounds that were her breasts and the pinkness of erect nipples were evident where the two nipple clips had been fastened to them.  Between the clips hung the obligatory chain and the now damp envelope.

Emma and Jill climbed inside and untied Leila, helping her off the two prongs that were the vibrator and the hose.  Leila gingerly removed the clips, moaning into the gag as the blood flow returned, then prising the rubber ball from her mouth.

“You’re so mean to me,” she complained.  “All of you!  I was nearly wetting myself at the thought of winding up in some car pound for the night!”

“Sorry,” I said, as contritely as I could, not being able to look her in the eye. “Hop inside and wrap yourself in a blanket.”  Leila smoothed down her damp skirt and consented to let me help her out of the trailer.  Leila never held a grudge – she was too in love with life.

“God, that’s better.  I must have orgasmed three times!  It’s awful when you know there’s someone just nearby, and you daren’t make a sound!  I thought I was going to explode, trying to stay quiet!”

The others nodded sympathetically and took her into the van, while I removed the two padlocks and walked over to the black trailer, where I locked them through the corner chains on the zips alongside the two other locks.  I could imagine the blonde American girl, Kris, sitting bound and gagged on the plank wondering what was going on.  I had the feeling that some of these trailers were going to need a bit of cleaning out, and I reckoned slave Dianne would probably end up getting the job.  I wondered how good Kris’s gluteal muscles were when the enema clock activated.  For that matter, I wondered how the Black Team would cope trying to get to the cage door.  The way I had placed my locks meant they would almost have to remove the whole cover.  Maybe they would have to tow it to a quiet place before they attempted this in front of a family audience.

We drove out of the park in high spirits.  Mary was doing the envelope reading again, with Jill contributing from the back.

The card extracted from Leila’s envelope was soggy but legible.

“A gateway, not to drywater; a longer bond, for everyone,” Mary read out.

This one really had us stumped.  We pulled over beside the exit from the car park, uncertain as to whether to head north to the city or further south.  I made an executive decision and took the former route.

“We have to take a chance,” I said.  “We must win this, and we can’t afford to sit here kicking ideas around.  I reckon this will be as far south as they’d come, anyway.  I’m sure they’ll have found a final spot a bit closer to home, which is where Monica and Megan will be.”

Nobody seemed inclined to disagree with me, so we headed north back to the city, while the Brains Trust went to work on the clue, which was evidently not so easy as the previous ones.

“Just a thought,” I ventured, “but this motorway has a turn off to the Gateway Motorway.”

“The gateway! Brilliant!” Jill enthused.  “So lets look at the rest of it.  It’s the same pattern – not the drywater.  There’s no such thing.  So what is the opposite?  Wet.  The opposite of water?  Earth? Air? Fire?”

“Land?” suggested Mary.

“Wet land!”  Jill and I got it at the same time.  “Wetlands.”

“Boondall Wetlands!  ‘A longer bond’ is ‘Boond’.  ‘For everyone’ is ‘all’.  Boondall.”

Jill and Mary gave each other a high five and there was a whoop that could only come from Leila in the back.  She was alive and well and back to her cheerful self.

Boondall Wetlands was an area of low-lying swamp and nature reserve just north of the airport, off the Gateway Motorway.  It took us over half an hour to get there, crossing the Gateway Bridge near the mouth of the Brisbane River and encountering more rain showers on our way.  It was now gone ten o’clock, and poor Trish must have been tied up for over four hours by now, either being ferried about in the moving van or sitting in some uncomfortable position on the plank in the trailer.

Sure enough, as we turned off the motorway and found our way to the car park that was near the park headquarters, we spotted the white covered trailer and beyond it, the black one.

It was still raining lightly and the unsealed car park was a mass of puddles.  A bus had pulled up just ahead of us to disgorge a load of visitors, so we were obliged to wait until they had disappeared into the headquarters building before we could gain access to the trailer.  This time, however, things were not as straightforward.  We unlocked the back flap and raised it to see Trish staring at us, astride a round wooden pole which ran from front to back of the trailer.  It had been notched at each end to sit snugly on the top of the tailgate and front wall, half a metre above the floor of the trailer.  There were leather cuffs locked on Trish’s ankles, which were pulled out to each side, and locked with chains to each side of the cage.  Her wrists had been handcuffed in front of her and the cuffs chained to the pole via a hoe drilled through the centre of it.  A further chain was around her waist locking her through another hole through the wood behind her.  In short, Trish was going nowhere until we could find the keys to these padlocks.  The usual enema time bomb was in place, and we had fifteen minutes on the clock.  This we stopped easily enough, but we could not get to the vibrator that was jammed in her pussy without releasing the fore and aft chains. And to add insult to injury, her ball gag had been locked in place.

Trish was wet and unhappy, making murffing, grunting noises as we turned off the enema timer and removed the two nipple clips that held her pink flesh painfully through the wet cotton of her blouse.  Inside the envelope were four keys, none of which fitted her restraints, and which we presumed would unlock Monica, once we found her.

“I would presume from this that we are meant to bring the prisoner and trailer home with us,” I said.

“She’ll be okay – the batteries have run down,” Mary said, having felt under Trish’s skirt.  “Just a little swollen under there, aren’t we Trish?”  Trish glared at her and tried to make herself more comfortable, but could only rise a centimetre or so from the pole, pushing with her hands and trying to get some purchase with her widely-spread legs.  That didn’t work and she slumped back, making a plaintive noise of frustration.  “I reckon she must’ve had at least three good orgasms,” Mary continued.  “Am I right?”

“Oar!” Trish managed to get out.

“Four? Well who’s a lucky girl then?” I said. “I bet your fellow competitor won’t be nearly as pleased with his lot.  What say we hitch up our log-squatting queen and then pay him a visit?  Sorry, Trish – one last exciting ride home.” Trish moaned and rolled her eyes as we zipped up the cover again.

We hooked up the trailer to the van and towed it around to where the black covered trailer stood.  Here we locked the cover again with our two spare locks and were about to leave when Mary squatted by the wheel of the trailer and deliberately let down the tyre using a small twig in the valve.  There was grunt of outrage from inside the cage as the trailer tilted to one side.  There was a spare tyre in a rack on the front, so Mary promptly let this down as well.

“I think that will safely keep them occupied, and give our friend a slow and strained ride home.” She seemed well satisfied, and there was nobody in our team who disagreed with her.

We climbed into the back of the van to decipher the last clue together.

“The home of the nine goddesses will provide the knowledge sought,” Jill read out.  “Oo-er.”

“Bloody hell,” I said. “Anyone have any ideas?”

“Mary?  You did all that classical stuff,” Leila said. “Are we talking Romans and Greeks here?”

Mary thought for a minute. “The Muses were nine Greek goddesses of the liberal arts – poetry, music, dancing and so on. Their home was…hullo – Muses - the museum!  Bingo, kiddies!”

“You’re a genius, Mary,” I said.  “Go to the top of the class.  Or failing that, you can ride in the front with me.”

*   *   *

Shawnee and Dianne were standing beside the steps to the Queensland Museum when we drew up.  A small group of people were admiring the two sarcophagi leaning against the wall.  Shawnee was chatting animatedly to them as they marvelled at the intricate workmanship, not knowing there were two naked women exactly resembling the burnished copper exteriors that gleamed wetly after the showers.  I wondered whether the vibrators were running and whether Monica and Megan were straining not to make a noise, not even a grunt or a whimper.

Shawnee waved to us and we all climbed out to help carry Monica back to the van.  Shawnee was excited and gabbling like the school girl she was dressed as.

“They were really interested in Monica,” she bubbled.  

“Are you sure it wasn’t just because you were flashing your nipples through your blouse?” said Mary tartly.

“No, Mary, honest! I had to get wet because I didn’t want to leave Monica.  I didn’t want anybody to run off with her.”

“She’s put on weight,” said Mary. “Nobody would be able to lift her without a crane or renta-mob.  I’m surprised we got the cover on.”

“She can hear you, you know,” I told her.

“She’s probably so spaced out and dying to go to the loo she won’t even understand what we’re talking about.”

We hoisted Monica’s stiff metallic form between us, like a coffin, and manoeuvred it in the rear doors of the van.

“I guarded her the whole time,” Shawnee explained.

“Well done, thou good and faithful servant,” I said.  “Did you chatter the whole time as well?”

She pouted.  “I was only trying to be nice to people.”

“A remarkable number of young men amongst those people,” Leila said.  “Not the sort I would have picked as museum goers.”

We laid Monica on the floor and Jill took the keys to undo the padlocks while Mary and I returned to the front.  We waved goodbye to a disconsolate Dianne still camped on the grass next to her own shiny metal casket.

“She may be there a while, I suspect,” said Mary to nobody in particular.

*   *   *

Mistress Lynx and the brothers were waiting for us back at Bilboes.  We drove onto the back lawn amidst whoops and cheers from the back of the van and also a very elated Mohammed, who insisted on embracing and kissing all the girls and me as well.  Rashid looked very down, while Mistress Lynx had the look of a Lynx who had just found a saucer of cream.  I had to hand it to her, the operation had been complicated but had worked well.  She could even have been an engineer in a past life.  

They had brought in a catered buffet which we tucked into with alacrity once we had  all changed and Trish had been freed from her position chained on top of the log in the trailer.

“I feel like I’ve ridden a horse for a week,” she complained, walking decidedly awkwardly.

“Huh!” snorted Monica, now wearing jeans and a fetching white sleeveless top.  “Try several hours being totally unable to move and having a vibrator humming away inside, and having to listen to Shawnee rabbit on about this thing being a statue of some made-up goddess from Shawnee World or wherever her mind inhabits.  I swear that girl is on another planet half the time.”

“Maybe she just thinks of you as a goddess,” I teased.  Monica poked her tongue out at me as we passed round the wine.  We were in high spirits and were pleased that Mohammed joined in the celebrations.  Rashid and Mistress Lynx ate at a separate table on the verandah.  

The minibus finally turned up over an hour after us, arriving to hoots and whistles from the diners on the verandah.  I was not sure what to expect.  I thought they would all have been in a foul mood, but while there was an element of annoyance at the tricks we had played on them, Megan was wise enough to realise that they had brought them on themselves – or rather Leon had.  She knew that they had had their share of luck and victorious behaviour, and deemed it prudent to bide her time.  That said, we saw little of them, for the minibus stopped near the path to the basement back door, and the two American girls made a beeline for there, walking strangely.  

Monica, a gracious winner, rose from the table to meet Megan, who was naked from her release from the casket.  Monica offered her a robe and Megan took it gratefully, then went up and spoke with Mistress Lynx, who handed over a key. This, we figured, was the key to the padlocks anchoring Leon to the pole in the trailer, as Trish had been.  The difference would have been that he would have had the benefit of an automatic enema in the car park at the wetlands, then would have had to contain it until the help arrived.  Of course it would have been too late by then, and he would then have had to endure it for the time spent getting the spare tyre pumped up, finding the museum, and getting home.  Even now, Megan seemed in no hurry to set him free.

Mistress Lynx said something to Megan and handed over two more keys.  These were for the extra two padlocks we had locked in place, I presumed.

Finally Megan finished talking to Mistress Lynx and tossed the keys to Debra who ordered Dianne to unroll the hose from the garden tap nearby.  Debbie evidently had a presage of what she might find under the covers, or maybe they had already had a peek by sliding it up at some stage.

That was in fact what Debbie did in this instance.  After removing the padlocks she and Zara pulled the cover off entirely, revealing Leon straddling the pole, his hands cuffed and chained to the timber in front of him, his short trousers half down, and his ankles pulled apart and chained to the sides of the cage.  He was wet from the rain and looked thoroughly dispirited, not to say highly embarrassed.  Debbie took the hose from Dianne and gave him another dowsing, then gave the keys to Dianne and directed her to unchain one piece at a time, with more hosing in between.

It was an ignominious process for Leon, as his ankles were unchained and then the chain around his waist was released.  Finally he managed to stand up and we saw three inches of hose pipe appear from between his cheeks.  He performed this operation very slowly, with a look of both intense discomfort and great concentration, partly broken by Debbie who managed to hose him up the arse from her position outside the cage.  Finally Dianne unlocked the chain to his handcuffs, leaving the cuffs themselves on and the gag still locked in place.  Clutching his trousers, Leon climbed gingerly out of the trailer, an single-minded frown on his face, before scampering awkwardly for the door to the basement.  I hoped the two girls ahead of him had finished.

As the Black Team slowly gathered themselves together, Mistress Lynx gave Megan a matching school uniform to put on, and soon she, too, had rolled back the years as Debbie put her hair into a single short plait.  At least Megan had a dry uniform, while all the others looked wet and uncomfortable. Leon looked a wreck by the time he appeared and was made to stand alongside the others against the wall as though awaiting a firing squad.  Mistress Lynx refused to unlock Leon’s handcuffs or the ball gag, and we sensed that he was not happy.  The rest of us kept eating and knocking back the wine, as winners are inclined to do.  

While all the Black Team were assembling, Rashid was busy with the trailer, and we watched this with interest.  Evidently the punishment had been pre-planned, with the backer of the losing team having to prepare the trailer for his team.  Mohammed thought this was hilarious and constantly called out what very derisive words of encouragement in Arabic, which Mary managed to translate for us, with I think a bit of censorship included.  I guess it was unfortunate for the brothers since it was difficult for one of them to cast aspersions on the other’s ancestry without committing genealogic suicide himself.

I, for one, was especially interested in what was going on, from a curiosity as to what would happen, as well as from a builder’s perspective.  It wasn’t hard to follow.  Rashid took off the cover, then removed the long pole on which Leon had been straddled, with its attached protruding hosepipe and the associated automatic enema machine.  He replaced the pole with two identical parallel ones, about a metre apart, rebated to sit on the tailgate and the front trailer wall the same way.  The difference here was that along the top of one pole were four pairs of dildos and butt plugs, and on the other two pairs plus a single butt plug which looked to be a size larger than the others.  Rashid secured the poles to the frame with rope and unloaded a large cardboard box full of instruments of restraint, before pronouncing the vehicle ready for action.  

The Black Team had been watching with increasing dismay.  

“Megan!  Lead from the front, please.  Take your rightful place at the head of the pole.”  Mistress Lynx went down the steps and climbed in the trailer after Megan.  Megan looked anxiously at the row of prongs sticking up from the pole.

“Face the front.  The first two on the left are yours.  Mount up,” ordered Mistress Lynx. Megan raised her skirt and stood over the first dildo and plug and began to lower herself on to them.  She frowned in concentration and her mouth opened, but no sound came. She looked straight ahead as she slowly settled downwards, then gasped suddenly as the bulge in the plug slipped in.  She sat with her eyes closed and head lowered, panting at the sensation of the devices now filling her.  Mistress Lynx meanwhile wasted no time in ratchetting a set of steel handcuffs on Megan’s slender wrists and chaining these loosely through a hole in the timber in front of her, so that she leaned slightly forward.

It was a repeat of the Trish and Leon position, as Mistress Lynx, with brisk efficiency, gagged Megan with a white ball gag, pulling the strap over her hair and buckling it at the back of her neck, before tying her legs apart to the cage.  Megan’s legs were pointed forward and out, and there was no way she would be able to get enough purchase to raise herself off the prongs in that position.

“Leon!  Get your shabby arse down here!”

Leon was still gagged and handcuffed, and climbed in the trailer with obvious reluctance.  The size of butt plug was daunting enough, without having put one’s arse through the process of an uncomfortable enema already during the morning.  Leon’s ring was obviously very tender already, for after dropping his trousers as much as he could he whimpered and whined as he sank on to the giant plug.  His eyes widened and he cried out into the gag as it finally slid home.  Like Megan, he hung his head and panted as best he could over the ball in his mouth.

“Next!  Who wants to cuddle up to Megan? Kris!”  The blonde girl came down the steps and climbed into the trailer without hesitation, possibly because Megan was more cuddlesome than Leon.  She, too, lowered herself slowly on to the prongs and found her crotch nestling hard against Megan’s buttocks.  Mistress Lynx handcuffed the American girl’s wrists together across Megan’s stomach, so that Megan was firmly embraced, her ankles tied to Megan’s with short lengths of cord.

“I wonder who tested this,” I murmured to Trish.  “How did they get the spacing right?”

“Sure as eggs is eggs it wasn’t Mistress Lynx doing it,” Trish said.  “There’d only be two pairs per pole with her spacing.  I reckon they used a couple of convenient slaves.”

Marilyn followed Kris on to the pole and was installed in a further impalement and embrace position, followed by Zara as the last on that pole.  After Zara’s legs had been linked to Marilyn’s they were secured by ropes pulling back and out, so that the row of legs on each side was immovable forward, back or inwards.  

“They look like a cross between an amateur log-rolling team and a rowing foursome,” Leila observed with a grin.  

“Perhaps the cocksless four?” I suggested.

“Oh very droll, Steven.”

Debbie got the short straw of having to cuddle Leon – something I could tell from her body language that she was not too thrilled about.  Elizabeth was the last on the second pole, cuffed to Deb.  Mistress Lynx reviewed the seven people locked together on the two poles and reached into the pocket of her leather skirt.  She produced a small remote control and pressed the button.  A shudder seemed to run through the Magnificent Seven as their vibrators started up inside them.  The cage door was then closed and padlocked shut, and Rashid helped Mistress Lynx to replace the black cover over the trailer.

Only Dianne now remained still on the verandah.  Mistress Lynx beckoned the slave across to her.  Dianne looked just a tad uncertain of what was going to be asked of her.  Mistress Lynx handed her a key, then a sealed envelope.

“This is the key to the minibus, and in this envelope are keys to the cage and the handcuffs.  The envelope is sealed, and it had better be untouched when you return.  It is there for emergency purposes only, and that does not mean somebody is getting a sore arse or can’t stand another orgasm.  Is that clear?”

“Yes Mistress,” said Dianne, not looking at the big woman.

“Good.  Now take this piece of paper.  On it is an address.  You will drive there and when you get there you will make a note of what colour the house is and what you see in the front garden.  You can follow the maps in the street directory.  An intelligent girl like you should have no problem.  Do you understand?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“There is no time limit on this, Dianne.  Just do it, and don’t come back without the information.  It is a perfectly simple task.”

Dianne nodded, climbed in to the minibus then spent a couple of minutes studying the maps in the referdex, before driving off, the trailer bumping behind.

“What was all that about?” Monica asked Mistress Lynx. 

“Oh, nothing in particular.  It’s a random house I selected up in the Glass House Mountains.  About a three-hour round trip.  The information I’ve asked Dianne to get will simply prove that she’s been there, and everybody in the trailer has experienced the delights of the rough back-country roads. It will be a long afternoon for them.”

”I’ll drink to that,” said Monica, and we all raised our glasses.

*   *   *
 
 
 

05.11.03

story continues in Monica's Games 2.29

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