Monica's Justice - Captives of Shark Island

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

(story continues from Monica's Justice - Captives of Shark Island)

Chapter Two – Shooting the Messenger
 

Paul Bowden visited again the following day, and again I found myself in conference with Monica, Mary and Trish.  Paul was intrigued by what Mary had to say about the crucifixion rope tie.

“This is exactly why I came here yesterday,” he said.  “You must know I have nothing against your lifestyle.  I’ve also been in the game long enough to know where to find expertise when I need to.  I wanted confirmation about the sort of person who would do this, and you’ve all confirmed that it was an experienced bondage practitioner.  However, I didn’t expect the sort of information you’ve offered, Mary.”

Mary had evidently been searching her memory to come up with more definitive details of her second-hand encounter with the mystery client in Sydney many years previously, and Paul was clearly interested.

“How distinctive is this likely to be?” he asked Monica.

“Bondage practitioners all have individual styles,” Monica said.  “A dom may favour particular ropes, or straps, or positions, though not exclusively, of course. You might think that most variations on a theme have been tried, but once in a while you get something quite unusual.  I’ve rarely seen black rope used, for one thing.  My gut feeling is that there’s something symbolic about this.  Black is meant to represent the dark forces, and most associated with the B&D culture will wear black – masters and mistresses, primarily.  In this case, and the fact that the murder took place in a church – well, dark forces again.

“I reckon the fact that the ropes were tied in the form of a cross is also significant, and none of us have seen that form combined with the tightening bar at the back before – except for Mary’s case.  Those elements all seem to add up to something more than just coincidence.”

“I agree,” said Paul.  “We’ll need to make more enquiries along those lines.  Mary, I’ll need you to try and remember who else may have been working at the Sydney place at the time.  Can you do that?”

“Maybe,” Mary replied dubiously.  “We weren’t all that big on real names or surnames, though.” 

“I understand, but do your best.  There’s also another aspect that has come up, from the autopsy.  It appeared that Tara was drugged.”

“Drugged?” Mary echoed.

“Yes, a weird substance called Burundanga.  It’s not something we’ve encountered here before, but all manner of stories have come out of America, particularly South America.  Colombia, more specifically.  It’s derived from the nightshade family, and the powder is a form of scopolamine, which in a more legitimate form is used to counter motion sickness.”

“So how is this… Burundanga … used?” Monica asked.  I could see her attention had been focussed, and knowing her as I did, I knew she was even now wondering at possibilities for us in our work.

“It’s like a form of chemical hypnotism, from what I understand.  The victim can’t say no, and has no will.  He or she becomes very open to suggestion.  The most remarkable aspect is that from the moment it is administered, the victim has no memory of what happens.”

“You’re kidding!” I said.  “It sounds a criminal’s dream.  Pop it in a drink – I assume that’s how you dish it out, and ask someone for the pin number to their bank account.  Too good to be true.”

Paul looked at me sideways.  “You’re absolutely right – about the criminal’s dream, I mean.  Unfortunately, it is completely true, and it works just as you guessed.  It’s odourless, tasteless and colourless.  Slip it in a drink and the victim is away with the fairies.”

“Come along dear, time for a little bondage in a church…” murmured Trish, barely concealed horror in her voice.

“So that’s why Tara seemed to be going along willingly…” I said.

“Exactly.  We’ve never seen this on the street before, so regardless of the crime that resulted in this case, there is now the bigger picture - with the possibility of a new turn in the crime scene in Australia.”

It was not a happy gathering.  By the time Paul had left we were sitting stunned.  That was when the gate intercom buzzed.  Trish went to answer it and poked her head around the door moments later. 

“Mistress Helen to see you, Monica.”  Monica looked blank.

“Oh shit,” I said.  “Sorry Mon.  I meant to tell you yesterday.  I bumped into her at the Brimstone Club on Saturday night.  I meant to tell you she was coming here this morning.”  Monica gave me a look that told me indeed I would be sorry, and that she expected messages to be passed along promptly if the business was to function efficiently. 

“All right, thank you Trish – and Mary.  You may go.  Steven – you stay here.”

Oh darn, I thought, a sinking feeling in my stomach.  Now what?  Monica these days seemed to be like a lawyer – always travelling in pairs, always having a witness present.

Helen was shown in by Trish and greeted Monica with a peck on the cheek and me with a restrained smile.  She wore lawyer’s clothes – smart grey suit and black silk blouse underneath, her blonde hair pulled back and clipped behind her ears.

“Steven told you I was coming?”

“Ah, no, actually it appears to have slipped the limited capacity of his mind,” Monica replied - a little unfairly, I thought, given events of the past 24 hours.

“Oh dear,” Helen said, trying to suppress the guilty smile of someone who has just dropped another in the proverbial crap, and who has a fair idea of what might happen as a consequence.  “You really can’t get good help these days.”  This comment was to Monica, as though I wasn’t there.  I hate it when women do that.  “I guess you’ll have to invest in some more training…”

“I guess I will,” Monica sighed.  “Fortunately I still have other staff, though God knows they can be difficult as well.  Would you like some refreshment?  I’ll summon Shawnee, and you’ll see what I have to put up with elsewhere.”  She turned one of four small knobs on a small silver box on the desk top.” 

“What’s that?” asked Helen, indicating the box.

“Consider it a kind of vibratory intercom,” Monica told her.  “Actually, Steven made it,” she added grudgingly.  “Remote wireless technology really has come along in leaps and bounds in the last couple of years.  These knobs control the signal to remote plugs and vibrators.  Right now Shawnee should be getting the message that I desire her presence, conveyed by an uncomfortable sensation up her arse.”  Monica grinned and twisted the knob further.  “At this point she will be concluding that the matter is exceedingly urgent and it would be in her best interests to get the aforementioned arse here with exceeding haste.”  Helen laughed. 

There was a brief patter of footsteps and a knock on the door.  Monica didn’t even have time to say “come in”, as a nearly naked Shawnee entered and stood there, obviously in some discomfort, a pained look on her face as she clenched her legs and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

Shawnee wore a black waist cincher overlaid with a heavy leather belt and crotch strap, both of which I knew were locked in place.  The cincher and belt compressed her already slim waist and made her prominent breasts appear even larger.  She also sported a leather posture collar from which dangled several rings that had proven very useful for chaining her to all manner of anchor points when such was required.  Her feet were bare, and in some ways, given the warm summer weather, her near-nakedness was a sensible get-up. 

“Ah, there you are, Shawnee,” Monica said, turning the knob back to zero.  Shawnee let out a heartfelt groan and her body visibly relaxed, but only to a point.  “Turn around – show Mistress Helen your outfit.” 

Shawnee obeyed, and we saw the aluminium strip running down her back, the top locked to the back of the posture collar and the bottom locked to the crotch strap just below waist level.

“Somebody needed some deportment training, I assume,” Helen said admiringly.  “Very nice indeed.  Dare I ask if this was another of Steven’s creations?” 

“It was.  Perhaps he needs to wear it a bit himself, to remind him of his own obligations…” Monica considered.  “Bend over, Shawnee.”

Shawnee leant forward but could manage only a little movement before the metal strip pulled hard at her collar and the crotch strap.

“Effective, isn’t it,” Monica said. “Is it uncomfortable Shawnee?”

“Only when I don’t stand up straight, Mistress,” Shawnee answered.  It sounded to me like some thought had gone into the response, and Monica was pleased.

“How do you pick up something if you drop it, Shawnee?” Helen asked.

“I’ve learned not to drop things, Mistress,” came the reply.

“Good girl,” said Monica, satisfied.  “Mistress Helen and I would like some coffee, and maybe some of those nice little cookies that you made.”

“Uh… two coffees, Mistress?” Shawnee asked, rolling her eyes unsubtly in my direction.

“That’s it, Shawnee.  You may go.”  Clearly I was there on sufferance only, now, and even my skills in electronics and female bondage attire were not sufficient to keep me in Monica’s good books – or at least not while Helen was present.  I fully understood that appearances had to be maintained.

Shawnee pattered out, closing the door deferentially behind her.  She was not always like that. Often she could be quite recalcitrant and rebellious, and Monica loved to subdue her under those circumstances.  Fortunately, Shawnee knew better than to try anything when Monica had guests.

“Now, how can we help?”  Monica asked, as Helen settled into one of the old fashioned armchairs.

“It’s rather an odd request,” Helen said.  “Perhaps not in your usual line of work.”

“I don’t think we have a ‘usual’ line of work – not any more,” Monica commented. “Go on.”

“Well…you’ve met my subbie, Kim, haven’t you?”

“Yes – at the Brimstone a couple of times.  Taut little body, if I remember.”  Helen smiled, and so did I, for I had met Kim as well, once.  “Thank you.  Never let it be said I don’t have good taste.  Anyway, aside from the obvious relationship – which is very satisfying, I might add – we also work together – have done for about a year.  Kim is a legal secretary, and a good one.  She came with good references – in fact we actually met at the Brimstone.  She was the subbie of one of my competitors – Jacqui Burnett of Frazer Martin Associates.  You might know her better as Mistress Jax.”

“Ah,” said Monica, as a bit of an obvious jigsaw fell into place.  I was none the wiser.

“As I said, about a year ago, Kim rang me and said she’d heard I was looking for a new legal secretary.  This was in fact the case because damned Edwina had gone and got herself pregnant.  Having Kim as a possible secretary made me think a bit, I can tell you, since I don’t normally mix work and pleasure.  She said she was not in a permanent relationship with Jax, and while she didn’t suggest that we engage outside of work, I had a suspicion that was what she wanted.  Well, to cut a long story short, and perhaps against my better judgement, I gave her the job.  She was so cute I couldn’t help myself.  And to be fair, she is damned good at what she does.  Needless to say, we did develop a relationship – to the point where she stays at my place most weekends, and we have a lot of fun.” 

There was a knock at the door and Shawnee entered with a tray of coffee and cookies, which she placed on a low table – a feat she could manage only by going almost onto her knees and keeping her back straight.  Monica and Helen smiled at each other as they watched this.  When Shawnee had departed, Helen continued with her story.

“The problem is, I now have a sneaking suspicion that Kim has not completely severed her ties with Jax.”

“In what respect – sexual or professional?”

“I’m not sure – that’s part of the problem.  I’ve seen emails of hers to Jax – the address, that is, not the contents.  I’ve come to depend on Kim at work and also… I hate to say this, but sexually as well.  She can take a lot of pain, and gets very worked up.  I just love to frustrate her.  She is quite devoted, and…well… a good performer.  Quite the best I have come across.  I wonder now why Jax let her go.  Oh, admittedly I offered her quite a lot more than she was getting, but she’s worth it.”  She sipped her coffee again and bit into one of Shawnee’s cookies.  “Mmmm!  These are delicious!”

“So what do you want from us?” Monica asked.

“I want you to kidnap Kim and give her a grilling.”

And that was how the whole thing started.  Most immediately, after Helen had left, I wound up wearing a butt hook for the rest of the day.  Monica had instructed Jillian to fit me with it and to lock it in place.  The hook was a stainless steel U-shaped hook that in fact ended in a passable imitation of a dildo about three inches long.  Attached to it was a length of chain that – once I had been forced to drop my jeans and receive the hook up my butt hole – was locked on to a leather posture collar. I was embarrassed that Jill had to see me like this – which was probably exactly what Monica had in mind.  Jill was very apologetic and tried to make it as comfortable as possible, though she knew if Monica found any slackness, Jill would just as likely end up wearing it herself. 

Now, like Shawnee, I found it impossible to bend over and very uncomfortable sitting down, as attempting either pulled the device deeper inside of me.  Aside from the collar, though, it was not obvious what else I was suffering – until anybody saw me move – straight-backed and awkward.

“Let me guess – you pissed off Monica as well,” Shawnee grinned when I passed her – equally erect - on the back verandah.

“I don’t want to discuss it,” I told her.

“What’s the matter – got a broomstick up your bum?”

“Shut up.”

I had been ordered to return to Monica’s study following this decoration, and I found Mary and Trish were already there, seated on the Victorian sofa that complemented the room so well. 

“Sit down, Steven,” Monica said.

“Uh – I think I’ll stand, if it’s all right with you,” I said. Monica smiled at me.  I had some disquiet about what had been discussed with Helen, but had not had a chance to discuss it before having this indignity inflicted on me.  Now her blue eyes sparkled with an enthusiasm that I had come to associate with another Monica brainstorm in the making. 

“We have another assignment, people,” she announced. “Anybody fancy a little kidnapping?”

“Ooo me!  Pick me!” Trish’s hand shot up in an imitation of a schoolgirl who knows the answer.  Monica chuckled – more so when she looked at me and saw my dubious expression.

“Steven, you look – what?   Reluctant?  I see that either you haven’t yet understood the full extent of what we do here, or else you’re not sure about getting involved. Yes?”

“Is it legal?”

“Legal – smegal!  I’ll give you a true lawyer’s answer – ‘it depends’.  No, I’ll do better than that.  It must be legal – a lawyer has requested it.  Is that good enough for you?”

“Don’t be a wimp,” Mary said to me.  “Do you want to live your boring old existence for ever?”

I was about to explain to her that my life was currently about as far from boring as I found it possible to imagine, and notwithstanding that, I was very happy with it, thank you.  Monica interrupted my chain of thought, however.

“You’ve all met Helen Langford, our solicitor.  I’ve known her for a number of years, and in addition to being a good lawyer, if a bit of a smart arse sometimes, she’s also involved in the Scene, as you know.  She’s smart, sensitive and quite inventive, from some of the discussions we’ve had.  As you two may know, having been to the Brimstone Club -” she indicated Mary and Trish – “her involvement in B and D is purely recreational, and she has a subbie, Kim, who actually works for the same firm as a legal secretary.  Unfortunately for Helen, she believes her subbie is being unfaithful – either sexually or professionally – we’re not quite sure.  It’s likely her former mistress – Jax – may be involved. ”

“Does Kim live with Helen?” Trish asked.

“No.  Helen didn’t want a 24/7 sub – not when they worked at the same office, and probably even if that was not the case.  She’s a very sensible woman, which is another reason why we use her.  That sort of relationship can very quickly go from being overly intense to boring, and Helen knew that.  Kim generally goes to Helen’s place each weekend.”

“And so…?” I queried.

“And so, Helen thinks Kim is seeing Jax on the side, and maybe even  getting up to a bit of how’s-your-father during the week.  Helen says Kim has taken to wearing long skirts and boots and long sleeved blouses – all the things that cover rope marks.  Helen says this is not the norm when she ties Kim, and there is no reason for it.  As you all know, good bondage need leave no marks, just as a good paddling is the same.  However last weekend Kim said she had to visit a sick relative and Helen suspects she didn’t want to come over because she was afraid to show bruises received by other than Helen’s hand.”

“Tsk!” said Mary.  “Subbies these days!  No loyalty.  After all we do for them, catering to their every whim…  I feel for Helen.”

“Hang on, it’s all a bit circumstantial, surely,” I objected.  “It’s nearly winter.  Boots and long skirts are hardly unusual at this time of year.”

“Women have intuition about these things,” Mary said imperiously, though I caught a roll of Trish’s eyes and a faint smile as Mary spoke.

“There is more, however,” Monica continued seriously.  “There’s a legal side - a serious issue indirectly involving another case Helen’s firm is handling against Jax’s firm.  Helen is worried that the contents of some documents that are being handled within her company may be compromised through any relationship that may have developed between Kim and Jax.  Obviously, the last thing Helen needs is for Jax’s firm to know her strategy and the sort of offer her client may consider.  Which makes this more than just some sort of lovers’ tiff.  I don’t have to tell you the potential ramifications if Helen is correct.  Both her career and Kim’s are on the line here, not to mention the reputation of Helen’s firm. 

“And your mission, girls, should you decide to accept it, is to capture and interrogate Kim.”

“And of course you will disavow any knowledge of the team if we are caught or killed in the process,” I said with a reluctant grin.  There was one thing about this job – it was never going to be routine. 

I hoped that the butt hook – to the extent that I had endured it for the discussion – might have come out at that point in the afternoon, but unfortunately my failure to pass on Helen’s message reminded me of the discussion I had had with Christina.  Again, what with the shock of Tara’s death, the matter had been pushed from my mind, and it was only then that I told Monica about the return of Warren O’Rorke.

Monica was at once perturbed and annoyed – perturbed at the news and annoyed that it had taken this long for it to surface.

Far from having the hook removed, I was led downstairs into the gym, where - for a change – the exercise machines stood unused.  Ever since we had installed these nearly three years before, they had grown in popularity, particularly with dommes looking to get their subs a bit trimmer.  Most of the machines featured electronic zappers that activated when the activity level dropped below a certain point – a remarkable motivator to maintain the exercise intensity. 

The floor of the gym was covered with a heavy-duty rubber matting, and as a result was more yielding and less discomforting for anyone forced to work out on the floor.  This was where I ended up – somewhat gratefully, in light of the potential to be on the receiving end of the exercise zappers.

“On your back!”  Monica ordered.

Muttering under my breath, I managed to comply only with difficulty.  I had to get on my knees first, then tilt sideways, before leaning forward on to all fours, to lower myself face first, then roll over.  It was very trial-and-error and not without its moments of considerable discomfort, as the chain momentarily tightened and pulled the hook deeper inside, causing me to gasp and tilt my head back further to ease the collar.  I couldn’t look down because of this, and ended up doing things as much by feel.  By the time I rolled on to my back I was panting from the effort.

I should have seen what was coming next – a 2-metre-long board was slid underneath me, at right angles across the small of my back.  At each end was an eye bolt, and it took Monica only a minute to lash each wrist to the end of the board via the eyebolts. 

“That’s all you need.  You can stay here until someone lets you free - unless you get free yourself, of course.  You’ll have to persuade them that I’ve said it’s okay though.  Next time, I trust you’ll remember to give me my messages?”

“Yes, Mon,” I said, unable to contain the frustration in my voice.  Perhaps that was what prompted her to deliver a parting gift, by opening my shirt and removing my jeans so that I was to all intends and purposes naked.  She squatted down beside me on her high heels, the subtle scent of her perfume detectable as she ran her fingers across my chest and her nails fondled my nipples. 

Unfortunately, under those circumstances, nothing is going to keep Mr Willy down, and within a very short time he was doing his flagpole impression.  Also unfortunately, Monica’s roving fingers and nails continued their exploration tour in this area, and before long I was getting even more frustrated and quite eager for her to do a proper job on me.

“Okay Mon, I’m sorry.  Look, you’ve made your point.  I’ll do whatever you want.  Can we please finish this now?”  Monica squeezed Mr Willy in a grip that sent him wild and made me shut my eyes and groan.  I scrabbled about wildly with my legs as she held on tight.  I discovered that there was no way I could straighten my back or roll over, and that relatively unfettered as I was, there was no way I was going to get up from the floor if left alone.

Monica squeezed harder, then leaned over and let a small drop of saliva fall on the tip of my member, before massaging it all over while I began to pant harder and pulled my legs up as much as I could.  I had a sneaking suspicion that she was going to bail out on me – which was confirmed when she abruptly stood up leaving Mr Willy rock hard and desperate for satisfaction.  Instinctively I managed to lock my own legs around one of hers.

“Don’t you dare go and leave me like this!” I demanded, quite clearly not one of my most sensible sentences.

“What?”  The one word was accompanied by a glacial stare and the tone that immediately told me I had gone too far, in daring to make such a demand of a domme.  She looked down at my legs wrapped ineffectually around her ankle, then at me.  Reluctantly I unhooked them.  Her response was to pick up the long loose tail from where my right wrist was tied to the eyebolt at the end of the board, and to pull my right ankle out and upwards close to the end of the board before wrapping several turns of cord around my ankle and securing it.  Moments later my left ankle was similarly anchored to the other end of the board and I lay stretched wide and exposed.

“Aww Monica!  I’ve got stuff to do.  Look, at least give me some satisfaction before you go… Please?”  Another icy look, and after all my time at Bilboes I realized I still hadn’t learned, sometimes.  No doubt that was what Monica was thinking, too, as she forced a hard rubber ball into my mouth and buckled it behind my head.

As if the posture collar hadn’t been enough, the presence of the ball in my mouth made things worse as it forced my head back even further.  When Monica knelt between my legs and played firstly with the butt hook and then with Mr Willy again I could not even see her, since she was outside my range of vision now so limited by the presence of the collar.  I moaned again as she ran her fingers over places they had no right to be unless they were there for a specific purpose.

“Urrrrrgh!” I said unhappily.  I was even more unhappy as I felt her fingers put some sort of plastic strap like a wide cable tie around Mr Willy and zip it tight. 

‘Oh no, Mon – I’ll go crazy!’ I thought. 

As though reading my mind, Monica said dismissively: “You should have thought of that when Helen gave you the message for me, not to mention sitting on that information about Warren!  Jeez!  What were you thinking of?”  She stood up and exited, banging the steel door heavily behind her. 

I lay there struggling - briefly – trying to move.  Even if she had not tied my ankles to the plank I would’ve been unable to get up.  The chain down my back connecting the butt hook and the posture collar made it impossible for me to raise my head, and the presence of the board stretching out my arms and legs made it equally impossible to roll over.  I was well and truly stuck there, with my best buddy erect, straining, and showing no signs of coming down to earth. 
This really was taking punishment too far.  A slip up with a message for God’s sake!  I figured this was much more than just retribution for an oversight.  

Monica was no doubt watching on the cctv, and more than likely Helen was still with her.  It was all about face and power.  Monica was showing off what she could do to her underlings – the hold she had on us all, and what services could be offered at Bilboes.  In short, I would have bet my left goolie that somewhere upstairs in front of a cctv set, Monica was in marketing mode, and she and Helen were probably sipping a nice glass of Verve Cliquot while being waited on by a naked Shawnee.

Maybe half an hour passed.  This was typical Monica. I had no idea how long I would have to endure this, nor what else might happen in the process.  My first inkling came with the arrival of Jillian and a client.

“Urrghnf!” I grunted as the door opened.

“Yes, we know you’re there,” Jill said casually, promptly ignoring me from that point on.  Her client was a woman in her early thirties wearing a one-piece lycra outfit that looked as though it was from a cycling store – a silver metallic colour with pink racing stripes.  It had short sleeves and short legs and contained a body that looked in all honesty as though it could probably lose a kilo or two, topped with mousy brown hair trapped beneath a padded leather blindfold. The woman – whom Jill referred to as Bridget, and whom I had not met before – was blindfolded, for which I was intensely grateful. 

Normally we maintain total separation between clients while they’re at Bilboes, and I figured that seeing an almost-naked man in my position, whether he be another client or part of the hired help, might just be a little off-putting if this was a first time visitor, which I suspected was the case.

Jill was looking her athletic best, wearing a sleeveless black tennis dress that showed off her tanned legs to best advantage, and white sneakers.  Her concessions to her dominant side were black leather wrist bands that covered half her forearms, and a shiny steel chain around her waist. Her mop of blonde hair was pulled back and held untidily in place behind her head with a large clip.  She paused above me and smiled – her heavily made-up eyes at once laughing at me and wordlessly promising that something further was in store for me, without disclosing whether it was something that I would like.

Jill steered Bridget - whose wrists were handcuffed behind her – to the multi-exercise machine and sat her down on the bench, releasing her wrists before locking them to each end of the overhead bar.  Several heavy leather straps soon had Bridget unable to move the lycra-covered part of her body from where it was melded to the upright back of the bench.

“Now, you know the score, Bridget.  Last week we established your baseline levels of attainment.  This week I expect you to beat those.  If you perform poorly I’m sure your master will be most displeased, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“No Mistress Jillian,” came the soft obedient voice perhaps tinged with an overtone of resignation and maybe fear.

“This week, however, we have a little added incentive.  It’s a minor matter, but one which I must make you aware of.  Each time you fail to maintain the standard and receive a zap for your trouble, there is someone else here who will also suffer?”

“Who?” came the worried reply.

“I won’t tell you his name, other than to say he is lying tied most uncomfortably on the floor behind you, and will shortly have a couple of these nasty pegs secured on his nipples which in turn will be connected to your exercise machine.  Poor performance by Bridget means Mr X suffers as well.”

“Nnnrrrgh!” I whined.

“Be silent!” Jill ordered. “You see?” she continued to Bridget, who must surely have recognized the sound of a gagged prisoner, probably having made such sounds herself on a regular basis.  “He’s not a happy camper.  You wouldn’t want to be responsible for another person’s suffering – would you Bridget?”

“No Mistress.”  The voice was barely a whisper.

I assumed all of this was Monica winging it – combining my punishment with an appointment already set up.  Then Jill was fussing about as the pair of us were wired up to the exercise machine.  I could see only a little of Bridget out of the corner of my eye, but enough to make out the zipper of the lycra suit being pulled down and clips being affixed to Bridget’s nipples atop her ample breasts that sprang froth from the lycra restraint.  This attachment operation was accompanied by sharp intakes of breath and a stifled moan, as well as a warning that if there were any outbursts such as the previous week Bridget would be breathing through her nose because there would be a fat gag stuffed in her mouth.  Bridget clearly saw the disadvantages of that option and was silent.

Then it was my turn, and Jill was squatting beside me making soothing noises and stroking Mr Willy with a devilish smile on her face.

“Is that nice?” she murmured, as one might to a dog while rubbing its tummy.  Yes, it was nice – painfully so, as the noose represented by the cable tie seemed to grow tighter, then the caresses were followed by sharp pains as two clips were fastened to my nipples.  The pain eased, and I knew that these were the wooden clothespins with the metal faces to the jaws.  The grip was not intended to be severe – just enough to stop them falling off.  The payout came when the jolt of electricity shot through from one face to the other. 

And so began my long afternoon of corrective behaviour, which I was sure would have unwarranted side effects.  I would no doubt hate Bridget, she would have a huge guilt complex requiring therapy, and I would be certain never to forget a message for Monica again.

Bridget was okay on the overhead bar until nearly the end, when her arms began to tire and the first zap caught me.  The duration and intensity could be adjusted, and again I wondered whether Monica was watching via the cctv.  I suspected – hoped - Jill might at least keep the levels low, although even then the discomfort level was still unpleasant.  I found myself grunting and chewing on the ball in my mouth every time Bridget flagged in her efforts to keep ahead of the set time for each downward pull of the bar.  Of course she got the same treatment, and my grunts of pain and jerking on my bonds were somewhat overshadowed by her own cries.

Jill finally released her prisoner and dragged her over to the stepping machine, securing feet to the pedals and cuffing hands behind her again.  This time Bridget was gagged – I could tell from the muffled grunts that came, even though I now couldn’t see her.  Bridget’s task was to now keep stepping without the pedals touching the bottom rests – easy enough to start with, but soon your thigh muscles turned to jelly and the brain became disconnected in regard to orders to legs.
Things were getting harder.  I was getting a workout myself as the jolts began to come more regularly and both Bridget’s and my gagged cries began to sound in unison.  I was squirming and tugging on my bonds, and my own muscles were tensing as I sweated and waited for the next lapse by poor Bridget.

After the stepper came the strider and finally the rowing machine.  Jill was monitoring the threshold levels for each as Bridget became tireder, and while I had the utmost confidence in Jill’s anatomical knowledge as a trained physiotherapist, the logic that suggested she had my best interests in mind somehow didn’t make much sense.

When Jill finally led the exhausted and still blindfolded Bridget from the room, with a promise to see her the same time the following week, I again received little acknowledgement, and I was once more left bound and straining in the darkness.  Mr Willy showed no signs of weakening despite all that had happened to me – a comment Shawnee made when she arrived with some food a while later.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, with a mixture of surprise, amusement and perhaps concern.  “Monica didn’t tell me you were like this. I brought some food and drink for you.  Oh, look at him!”

Now it was Shawnee’s turn to squat down beside me.  The crotch belt was now gone but the butt hook was still in place, and her squat turned into an awkward kneeling beside me.  Jill had left the clothespins in place, even though they were no longer wired to anything, and my nipples were starting to ache.  I mumbled for Shawnee to take them off, but she seemed more interested in Mr Willy than doing anything productive. 

I had been involved with Shawnee in many scenes – both intentional and unexpected – during my time at Bilboes.  Shawnee had an unfortunate habit of running off at the mouth and getting herself in trouble, and usually paying for it.  She was a bright girl but a little dysfunctional at a social level, where she tended to act before thinking.  In this instance, the mission on which she had been sent now seemed to have been put on hold, and she became fascinated either by my obvious helplessness, the state or Mr Willy, or both.  I should add that Shawnee was also something of a nympho – the entire staff of Bilboes was in agreement with that assessment – and I wondered at this point whether Monica was playing another of her games in putting temptation in the way of a young slave.  As Shawnee gripped my dick I was sure Monica would be watching this bit.

I shuddered and groaned, and Shawnee made as if to bring her head down to give me a thorough licking, but instead she gasped and uttered a small moan, obviously tightening the butt hook and causing it to thrust further inside her.

“Damn!” she said. “Sorry, Steven, I can’t let this pass up.  Some things are put here for a purpose, and your friend is one of them.”  With that, she stood up and stepped astride me, before lowering herself very carefully, like a space capsule landing on the moon.

“Mohmmiiffha!” I tried to say.  Monica would be watching!

Shawnee ignored me, working herself on to her hands and knees and slowly backing on to the upright Mr Willy like the same space capsule now performing a docking manoeuvre. 

“Arrrurgh…” I groaned as the engorged missile slid tightly inside her silo.

“Ohhhhh…” Shawnee sighed with pleasure.

This was absurd, I thought.  Both of us had uncomfortable metal hooks jammed up our arses, yet here we were…  Well, more to the point, Shawnee was the one making all the moves, and maybe that hook was just what she needed to get her in the mood.  As for myself, I really didn’t have a choice but to go with the flow.

She managed to lean forward on to her hands and knees, keeping her back straight.  From here she could make little bounces that sent Mr Willy wild. Her face was over mine, now, her magnificent breasts swaying into my line of sight.  Exquisitely painful yet pleasurable things were happening in my loins, but somehow not suggesting relief was at hand.  This was turning into an extremely long and frustrating afternoon.

Somewhere in the distance there were loud grunts and groans which I figured were coming from me, though they were overlain by hoarse squeals and cries from Shawnee, who has been known to be particularly vocal in such circumstances. 

She managed to climax within a minute, her eyes closed and her breathing hoarse with the effort.  Despite the butt hook, she managed to work out her range of movement and was well into the prelude to a second climax when she was interrupted and gave a piercing shriek as a flogger slapped down on her back and the ominous form of Monica appeared in my range of vision beyond Shawnee’s shoulder.

“You little slut!  I knew I couldn’t trust you!  Only a simple task, but no, Shawnee has to indulge herself on the way!”

“But – but – I –“

“Shut your mouth!”  Another slap from the flogger and another cry from Shawnee as she tried to extricate herself from the impalement – Mr Willy’s rigidity now reinforced by the surrounding presence of her pussy.

Looking back now, I’m sure Monica planned the whole thing from the beginning, and I have it on good authority that Helen witnessed the entire show.  Talk about a bizarre marketing exercise.  ‘Let me show you what services we can offer, Helen…’ 

I should explain a significant point about the butt hooks at this point, and that is the fact that beneath the hook itself there is a welded ring attached that allows the hook itself to be anchored to other things.  This was obviously what Monica had in mind.

“No, don’t move!” she told Shawnee. “Don’t even think about it or you’ll be hanging upside down from the rafters for a week!”

Shawnee froze in mid-stroke, so to speak.  Monica was somewhere between my legs and I felt Shawnee slowly subsiding backwards to accommodate Mr Willy to his full extent.  There were more movements and then Monica was standing up in my range of vision again.

“All right you two – seeing as you like to go at it like dogs, you can enjoy it for a while longer.”

“But Monica-” Shawnee blurted.

“How dare you address me incorrectly!”  Monica railed, gripping a handful of Shawnee’s long auburn air and pulling her head back with one hand, while jamming a large ball gag in with the other then pulling and buckling the strap tight behind her head.

“Mmmmph!” mumbled Shawnee shaking her head as Monica released it. “Uurggh!”

Monica stepped away and returned a moment later to release two heavy duty weighted spring clips on to Shawnee’s engorged nipples.  The clips bumped against the clothes pins still secured to my own.  I moaned pleadingly.

“There you go – and you both miss dinner.  Enjoy each other’s company!  If you can get free, you may go.”

The door banged shut but this time the light stayed on, and Shawnee and I were left staring into each other’s gagged faces, realising now that Monica had joined our butt hooks together somehow.  We were stuck together, coitus-prolongus.  Goddamn Monica!

It was definitely what one might call an awkward moment.  Shawnee’s face hung in front of mine, expressing her disbelief about what had just happened. 

“Mrrrf!” she snorted, then tried to reach for one of the clips dangling from her nipples.

“Errrggh!” she said abruptly, almost losing her balance and screwing up her eyes as the weights on the clips swung about when she was obliged to put her hand back quickly on the floor. “Owh-owh-owh!” she gurgled into the ball.  It was a big one – they usually were in Shawnee’s case, firstly because she needed a decent gag and secondly because she was used to them. 

I could do nothing to help in this situation.  My body was totally restrained and any untying had to be by Shawnee, who after all had arms and legs that were unfettered – other than to support her weight.  Shawnee elevated herself a bit more, bearing down on Mr Willy and the joined butt hooks.  We were both breathing hard and trying to ignore the sparks coming from our loins.  Shawnee managed to shift her weight slightly to one side, and it seemed as though this would be enough to allow her to utilise one hand, when she was abruptly overcome by an orgasm that swept in like a tsunami and she quickly put back her hand, now jerking and quivering and letting loose muffled cries behind the gag. 

A bead of perspiration trickled down Shawnee’s pretty face, getting stuck at the leather strap taut across her cheek, before overcoming this obstacle and dripping on to my neck.  She held her position there, her breathing straining to catch up with her exertions, her eyes closed and her breasts heaving, making the weights tremble and swing with each inhalation.  She was making little grunts with each breath and I could sense rapid twitches coming from her thighs where they straddled my torso.

“Errrggghh…” she exhaled in a long breath, only now appearing to get on top of her exertion.  She tried the realignment again, slowly shifting her weight on to her left arm, and lifting her right off the floor, then carefully removing the clips from her nipples, tossing them aside with another snort.  Clearly it was not easy to maintain her balance in this position, and it took her three further attempts to undo the buckle of the gag strap behind her head.

“Oh God…”she gasped, pulling the ball out with a pop.  A line of drool slid down on to my chest.  I grunted in frustration.  Get on with it, girl!  The clothespins came off next, then it was a struggle with the buckle of my own gag strap. 

“About time,” I complained, “now undo my wrists.”

This was where it got difficult, and Shawnee was forced to lie down full length on top of me in order to reach the ropes at the end of the board.  This was only done with much squirming and gasping and complaining by both of us and another orgasm from Shawnee.  I swear I had never seen somebody climax so quickly and so often.  I was sure Monica would be watching and laughing at her two subbies – not that I acknowledged such a description – struggling with each other.

I sighed with relief as first my legs and then my arms came free.  I hugged Shawnee in a gesture that was meant as thanks for the release, but she took it as something more affectionate, and gave me a deep throat-tingling kiss in return.

“Damn it, Shawnee!  Stop making things worse! Don’t you realise how frustrated and painful this bloody band is around my friend?”  That was really the wrong approach with Shawnee.  Never ask a question unless you expect the answer to be very brief.

“Well it’s about time you had a bit of suffering too!  Monica always tells me it’s good for the soul, and considering the amount of suffering I go through my soul must be halfway to heaven, cos I get very frustrated too, you know.  I’m very sensitive and the girls always tease me terribly then stop just as I’m about to come – and they whip me to stop my climax – you think you have no idea – you ought to try being me, cos –“

The only way to stop the flow was to kiss her in return. It took several such kisses before she finally shut up long enough for us to work out where we went from there, and that was far from easy.  It took a lot of grunting, heavy breathing and not a few curses before we managed to lever ourselves up sideways so that we were kneeling facing each other.  Midway through it all Shawnee started to get that faraway look on her face that told me another climax was on the way – except that when I squeezed her nipples so hard that she screamed and grabbed my wrists, the look faded.  Instead she gave me her most sullen pout and dropped into a sulk.

But the hard work had been done, and it was relatively easy to get to our feet from this point – both maintaining our absolute poise and perfect deportment, of course, amidst a few sharp exclamations as the hooks dug into us and our connected loins still caused exquisite sensations amidst further pain.

Shawnee was slightly shorter than me – not by much, but a couple of inches make a lot of difference when a person is firmly impaled on your rampant best buddy.  In the course of getting across the room to the key cabinet I was obliged to walk slightly bow-legged, with Shawnee uttering further gasps and threatening to go off into hyperspace with every step.  I kept a firm grip on her nipples while she moaned and screwed up her eyes.

“Don’t you dare!” I threatened her.  “For once think of other people suffering here, instead of your own pleasure.”

“I c-can’t help it,” she groaned softly, in between short intakes of breath.  “It…just…happens…”

“Well it had better not happen until we’re out of this,” I said firmly.  “I’m getting tired of other people having all the fun at my expense.”

“It’s not all fun…” she grimaced.

“Yeah, sure – tell that to every male who’s never had multiple orgasms.  See how much sympathy you get.”  Shawnee rolled her eyes and choked back a moan.

Every room – with the exception of the holding cells – has a cabinet where a set of standard keys were held, and it was a rule that these were never to be removed from the room.  The cabinet was only the size of a small electrical panel, and inside this one the keys were hanging in their appointed place.  Beside them were a number of colour-coded locks in separate little compartments, two pairs of handcuffs on a hook, a pair of scissors and a Stanley knife - all available quickly for emergency purposes, courtesy of Monica’s unfailing obsessive organisation.  I figured if this wasn’t an emergency then the definition had to be re-written.  It took only a minute to unlock our respective posture collars, and feel the blessed relief from the pressure on our necks and the tightness of the invaders up our backsides.  We could now bend our backs and move normally, and as the hooks slid out so too could Shawnee and I disengage.

We both sighed at our deliverance from the confinement and Shawnee turned to go.

“Where are you off to?” I demanded, grabbing her by the wrist.

“I have to go and set the table for dinner.  Monica will punish me if I’m late.”

“Uh-uh,” I said.  “We have unfinished business here.” 

“What?”  Whether she was playing dumb or not I wasn’t sure, but sure as eggs is eggs there was no way she was going to get away with the pleasure she had had at my expense while I got sod-all.  I seized one pair of handcuffs and slapped one manacle over her wrist, spinning her and grabbing the other wrist, locking her hands together behind her back.

“No!  Please, I haven’t got time!”  She was agitated – or at least putting on a good impression of it.

“Bollocks!  You had time to get yourself off at my expense!  And this won’t take any time at all, I promise.”  That was one thing I was sure of.  My dick was straining ready to burst once I could get the damned plastic tie off it.  And of course the sight of a naked and handcuffed Shawnee struggling and whining was doing nothing to make my blood pressure decrease, particularly in the southern regions.

“Awwww Steven – no, please…”

I was tired of her grizzling.  Sometimes Shawnee goes too far, and when she gets it into her head to be a pain she adopts a real whinging tone that all the girls agreed was particularly irritating, and was the reason she spent so much time trying to whinge past a ball in her mouth.

In this instance I picked up the ball that she had worn previously and worked it between her teeth, forcing her mouth wider until the compressed rubber abruptly expanded as it slipped behind her teeth and she made gurgling noises, looking at me with annoyance.  I buckled the strap behind her head and dragged her to the exercise machine, where I unclipped the overhead pull-down bar from the pulley and clipped her cuffs in its place.  The weights on the end of the pulley were not excessively heavy, and Shawnee was able to keep her wrists down at waist level, albeit with some effort.  Significantly, however, she was going nowhere, and she knew it.  She could only continue to make muffled demands and protests, but predictably these went unheeded. 

Back at the key cabinet I was now focussed on undoing that wretched and most painful cable-tie, while not doing myself an injury in the process.  Yet again I promised myself that Monica would pay for this totally unnecessary demonstration of power.  I hoped she had got her money’s worth out of marketing, for there would surely come a payback time.

With much difficulty and holding of breath I managed to slip the blade of the scissors under the cable tie and finally cut it.  The feeling of relief was far greater than it had been with the removal of the hook.  Not only could my blood now flow freely, but I could experience sensations other than the pain that had dogged my every exertion to date.  Shawnee was now going to experience the full effect of my release.  It was going to be a clear case of quid pro quo, except that she was still about four orgasms ahead of me.

She was struggling and making urrphing noises when I came back to show her what she had been taking advantage of while giving nothing in return.  She was a slippery little minx, all slick from perspiration and now trying to make my life just a bit more difficult.  She had not really thought it through that the more she resisted, the longer it would be before the inevitable came about.

There was an easy solution to this, and she soon realised this as I began to load up the weights on the end of the pulley attached to the overhead bar.  Gradually she found it more and more difficult to keep her cuffed hands at waist level, until she finally succumbed and her arms went slowly up behind her, forcing her head down on the padded seat.  She moaned in defeat, recognising what was coming and accepting that she may well be in more trouble from Monica.  I think at this point she just wanted to get it over, although as I grasped her hips from behind and Mr Willy slid firmly back into her love passage there was an inflection to her moans that went from being a victim of circumstances to being the recipient of a surprise Christmas present.

“Mmmmm!” she mumbled, and I agreed with her.  This had been so long in arriving.  I thrust forward, jamming myself hard up against her buttocks and leaning forward to grasp her nipples and fondle her breasts.  Shawnee squealed behind her gag, but it was a squeal of pleasure as I began to slide back and forth.

It took very little to set me off, which was hardly surprising considering my pent up frustration.  Within a minute I was pumping hard inside her and she was squirming and bucking against me as she came herself, our juices mingling in a sweaty, lustful, beyond-caring climax that saw us both gasping and groaning in final climax.

I stayed inside her for a minute or so, while we both got our breath back – me panting heavily and Shawnee uttering grunting snorts through her nose.  After I had withdrawn, I removed the weights from the pulley and unhooked the cuffs from the clip.

“All right, go and see Monica now,” I told her.

“Hhhrrnn?” She stared at me wide-eyed, waving her still-cuffed wrists and looking down at where her juices and sweat ran freely together down the inside of her thighs.  She bleated something which I assumed to be along the lines of “How the hell can I report to Monica like this!” 

“She got you into this situation – she’ll have to accept the consequences,” I said uncaringly, picking up a flogger and flicking it at her buttocks.  She jumped and scampered for the door, making high-pitched squeals of complaint.

“Tell it to someone who cares,” I called after her.

I was getting too old for this.  I needed a good lie down.

*   *   *

22.11.05

story continues in Monica's Justice - Captives of Shark Island

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