Monica's Justice - Captives of Shark Island

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

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

Chapter Thirteen - Opus Magnum

The nightmare continued. First there were the long hours of darkness under the rubber hood, deprived of sight, sound, speech and movement while electricity was applied to my arse and nipples and any part of my exposed flesh that was within swinging distance was regularly flogged or caned. My cries came to nought, stuffed as my mouth was with the rubber ball which was then firmly trapped by the unrelenting pressure of the blown up rubber hood.

All through this my dick remained engorged and hard, stimulated and frustrated by wandering hands and the judicious application of stimuli to my private parts. More cords were tied around my balls so that my scrotum must have bulged like a sac of golf balls. It felt as though my entire crotch was somehow trapped and immobilised, straining at its bonds on the end of further teasing and frustration from my captors.

At times I would be left alone. This made little difference to Mr Willy, who seemed unable to shrink back to his more usual size. Whatever dosage of Viagra they had given me, it was having its effect and was giving me a headache on top of everything else. Lying there in the darkness was perhaps the hardest of all. My body rebelled at the immobility and I was able only to listen to the pounding of the blood in my ears, overlain by far-off stifled sounds that may have been real, may have been imagined.

For a while they turned the air conditioning off and opened the sliding window, and a slight breeze stirred over my body as the hot humid air invaded the room, making me break out in sweat almost immediately. With my legs above me, I could feel drops of sweat running down the backs of my legs to the knees, then sliding round to drip on to my chest. My arms were sweaty under the tape and I could feel perspiration pooling on the leather padding. Later, when it came my turn for being flogged again, the thongs would quickly become wet and saturated, making the strike pattern sharper and more painful.

I wondered what brutal torture Monica was going through. No doubt she had been forced to watch the infliction of pain on me, something no doubt designed to break her spirit. I was sure Bradley could hardly wait to get into her – literally. She had been restrained in such a position that her crotch was open for anyone with a dick, and that was where Bradley would be putting his. Our predicament was perhaps a consequence of our lifestyle, a voice told me, but it shouldn’t have been like this. We were good people. We did not deserve this treatment. In the moments when I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself or drifting off into a haze of pain and frustration, I vowed to avenge this torment, one way or another. My confused and disjointed thoughts did not arrive at a plan as to exactly what I might do and how I might come to be in a position to do it, but it helped to at least try to think of the future.

Time had turned to syrup. My legs were cramping something terrible when abruptly there was utter, blessed, glorious relief as the ropes were undone. Being able to straighten my legs on the cool leather of the bench was bliss. I didn’t care that someone now strapped my ankles together and stretched me out before tying off my ankles with a cinch rope over the end of the bench. A heavy belt of some sort was then pulled tight across my hips, firmly melding me to the leather padding.

I was like Christ on the cross, except that this one was horizontal and I had a bound and squeezed erection standing up in a way that no religious figure ever did. This, it seemed, was now the focal point of my new torment. The cords around my shaft were untied to considerable agitation on my part, though the constricting plastic collar and the ties on my balls remained in place.

I felt a female figure kneeling over me, her thighs spread apart over my abdomen. Slowly she lowered herself on to my distended penis, prompting a new wave of unfulfillable promises of pleasure to rush from my loins.  I wanted to sigh, to grunt, to groan, but even these sounds were hard to make if I wanted to breathe as well. I wanted to thrust my hips upwards into the tight moist passage engulfing me, but the wretched restraint across my hips prevented any such movement – and the chance of some sort of accompanying relief.

Whoever it was – most likely Portia, I suspected – took a while to work herself to a climax, but this came with a sudden rush that saw her stretch out her legs to the floor and grind herself down on me with little bucking jumps. I could not help but feel the transmitted trembling of the rider as she rocked and humped while I was powerless to resist.

The second orgasm was more protracted than the first, and for a while I thought I might manage some sort of climax myself until a fierce pain through the arse shocked all such thoughts out of my mind. I jerked and struggled as she held me down with her weight while Mr Willy remained at attention inside her.

Two more orgasms later there was a change of guard. Maybe it was Jade’s turn, and I was then subjected to the subtle but different torment that this woman had in for me. This time there was a mouth on my dick – at least for part of the time. There were teeth and nails - a savage, hard screwing - and I recalled Portia’s threat to ‘fuck my brains out’. Twice when I glimpsed a remote sensation that could have been my little fellas getting on the fountain ride, I was zapped through the nipples and the outing was called off.

My mind was being played with, as well as everything else. The plug up my arse began to buzz and vibrate, rather than shock, and this seemed to stir things up once more. There was another change of rider. I didn’t know if it was Kim or Portia again. Things were merging into a frustrated sexual haze where time had no meaning. Somewhere along the way Jax came into the game, her heavy body making it hard to breathe. She bound up my cock again and then proceeded to screw me further, the texture of the rope around my dick evidently stirring her to new heights of ecstasy. When she came it was like a violent storm, like being caught in a huge wave with the breath being squeezed out of me. In the distance were muted cries that penetrated the rubber swathing my head.

Any chance – or wish – to climax was long gone. My poor dick was still swollen, but now tender, sensitive and sore. For that matter it seemed that no part of me was not in pain. I was left alone briefly, then I felt a shuddering of the bench and the top end began to rise. Somewhere there were cables or some sort of raising mechanism along the lines of the device Monica was attached to.

I wound up nearly upright – slightly leaning back, but with my feet not touching the floor. All the weight was on my taped arms, and again the similarity with a crucifixion loomed in my feverish mind.

The hood came off finally, slipping free as a welter of perspiration poured down my chin and chest, then the tape was pulled from my eyes. I blinked in the light, blurting out a groan of pain that seemed to encompass everything I had been through. Against the opposite wall Monica hung in a similar position on her device, her body a mass of red marks from floggings to her stomach, breasts, arms and legs. Two lead weights the size of walnuts hung from her nipple rings, dragging and distorting her lovely breasts.

Not for Monica was there to be sensory deprivation. Bradley appeared again, and with a quick motion unzipped his fly to reveal a sizeably proportioned member enlarged and quivering. Monica shut her eyes and turned her head away. Bradley grasped her by the chin and turned her head back to face him, then decided he needed two hands to do his business properly. He retrieved a piece of cord and tied one end to the gag strap passing Monica’s left cheek, then looped the cord around behind her, before tying it off to the strap on her right cheek. Now Monica was unable to turn her head, though she could still close her eyes.

Evidently that was good enough for Bradley, for he set too with a will on the helpless girl trapped in the stocks. Monica was secured on a slight backward incline, and just at the right height for Bradley’s member to become fully embedded. Monica groaned as he thrust into her. Her eyes snapped open, then closed again. I closed my own eyes, for I could not bear to watch what was happening to her.

Monica made no sound after that – it was Bradley that did all the noise-making. I could not shut out his grunting and heavy breathing, and I heard the others come into the room. Portia twisted my nipple hard to get my attention and I opened my eyes to see her, Jade and Jax all watching Bradley’s performance. He was groping Monica’s breasts and pressing his body hard against her, driving up and down with an unfeeling relentlessness that sickened me. I knew Monica was calling on her last reserves of strength and courage to resist showing any reaction to the humiliation and indignity being forced on her. The fact that she was being used by a piece of vermin like Bradley was part of Portia’s plan, and I knew it would not stop there. Just as I had suffered at various hands during my period under the hood, so too would Monica suffer. This was the climax to the First Act of Portia’s Grand Plan, her Magnum Opus. The most fearful thing about it was the unknown length of the work and how many acts were still to follow.

Bradley was on his way to a climax, and once more to my horror one hand suddenly flew to Monica’s nose and gripped it, pinching her nostril’s shut. Monica’s eyes opened in surprise and fear, as she found herself unable to breathe through nose or mouth because of the gag. She began to panic. Bradley now had the reaction he wanted – fear and acknowledgement of his dominance as Monica threw herself against the device that kept her immovable. She tried to thrash about, to twist her head away from the big hand as Bradley pumped harder.

He came with a furious gusto, jerking and humping as Monica’s eyelids fluttered and her struggles slowly subsided. Bradley lay against her, gradually regaining his breath, but still with his hand holding his victim’s nose.

“Nnnnmmmugh!” I yelled in a blind fury.

It was though a spell was broken. The three observers had been captivated by the screwing and surrender of Monica, but were suddenly aware that their prize was about to slip away. Portia stepped across to Bradley and slapped his hand away from Monica’s face with a well-aimed blow from a riding crop. Bradley yelped and swore, pushing himself back and holding his wounded hand.

“What the fuck!”

“You want to kill her, man? You crazy? After all this, you think I want you to fuck her dead before the rest of us get a chance?” Portia was furious, and in her anger her normally good English lapsed into a stronger Chinese accent with less accurate grammar.

“Shit! Get you dong out of her! Bastard!”

Bradley was taken aback by the Chinese woman’s attack.

“Okay, okay, keep your fuckin’ shirt on…” He, too, let the veneer of breeding slip when his guard was down as he withdrew a now-drooping member slick with Monica’s juices.

Monica’s body was slack. Portia looked panicked, not knowing what to do, while I made helpless mmphing sounds. The thought that it could all end here, at this moment, made my stomach churn.

Jax was the one with enough presence of mind to push Portia aside and after a moment’s fumbling untie the cord and then undo the buckle holding the rubber ball in place in Monica’s mouth. It came out with a soft pop, followed by an audible intake of breath. Monica’s eyes flickered open and she gasped, sucking in more air, as her head lolled to one side.

Bradley had left the room, and in his absence Portia was cursing him under her breath.

Jax gripped Monica by the chin and straightened her head, looking into her eyes.

“You all right honey? Good, because you have a lot more to experience yet.” Monica made no sound, nor did she object as Jax tore off two strips of black duct tape and pressed them down in a big ‘X’ across Monica’s mouth. It was better than having a ball wedged inside, and would enable Monica to recover faster – for the next ordeal.

“I think it must be time for lunch,” Jax announced.

 

The afternoon torture session continued in a series of further indignities on Monica and myself. All the women took turns in screwing poor Monica as she lay trapped in the stocks, unable to resist. Portia and Jade again took their revenge on Mr Willy and both Monica and I received further electrical treatment. I didn’t know how much more of this I could endure. I was now undergoing stuff of duration and intensity beyond anything I had experienced before. I did not know what my pain threshold was except that I thought I had reached it. The problem was that I could do nothing to prevent the passing of such a threshold, and all my yelling and spluttering into the rubber ball did nothing to lessen the beatings.

Having to witness Monica similarly tortured was an emotional gutting that seemed to eat down into my soul and gnaw away at the last reserves of resistance I might have drawn upon. Only the desire for retribution kept me hanging in under the lash and the electrode and the teasing and torment of my loins.

 

Sometime late in the afternoon Portia and Jade appeared with two leather discipline hoods. The big rubber ball then in my mouth was removed and a clear acrylic mouthpiece was put in its place. I was past resistance at that point. I opened my mouth and closed it on the mouthpiece, discovering that there was a small tube - perhaps the diameter of a straw - through the middle that intruded over my tongue. I was able to suck in additional air through this tube as my teeth clamped down on the rest of the mouthpiece. The leather hood went on at this point. It had eye and nose holes, but only a tiny hole at the mouth through which the tube projection passed. Jade laced up the hood tightly at the back of my head and finished it off by clicking a small padlock shut through the bottom two eyelets.

The hood had further straps on the outside, one of which encircled my jaw and temples, buckling under my chin and further restricting any possibility I might have had in opening my jaw even a fraction. This said, the mouthpiece was thinner than the rubber ball, and after hours of jaw-stretching silence the mouthpiece was almost comfortable.

The neck of the hood had a strap, and over this Jade wrapped a stiff leather posture collar, buckling it tight and padlocking the buckle at the back of my neck. It was all designed to subjugate me further – if that was possible at that stage.

Monica then received the same treatment, her raven black locks mostly invisible except for the ends protruding from the lower edge of the posture collar.

Only when we were both hooded and collared were our bonds removed. The tape being ripped from my arms was a source of pleasure to Jade and Portia as I yelped like a novice at a waxing clinic. My arms were lined and creased from the tape, and were quickly cuffed behind me before the restraints on my ankles and hips were removed. The cords on Mr Willy and around my scrotum remained agonisingly in place, however, though my dick was finally starting to wilt as the dose of the Viagra only now began to recede from the most affected parts.

I could barely stand, and took a few minutes to recover while Monica was freed from the stocks. She had deep bruises on her biceps where her weight had been borne, and the rest of her body was striated with the effects of the various beatings she had received. She was dragged to the bench beside me, her wrists cuffed behind her, to recover her strength and circulation sufficiently to be able to walk, while Jade tidied up the gear and Portia tapped her foot impatiently.

When Portia judged we had had long enough we were prodded to our feet and herded out into the hallway again.

“We’re going outside,” Portia told us, “but I thought you should see what your friends have been up to while you’ve both been lying around.”

It was nearly dark and heavy storm clouds were again massing outside, making it gloomier inside than would normally have been the case at that hour. The room was lit by discrete spotlights, the pride of place being the two gagged figures bent over in a double strappado in the centre of the room.

Mary and Helen both wore white single leather arm sleeves which had been tightly laced up, securing their arms behind them from fingertips to shoulders. The D-ring at the fingers of Mary’s sleeve was clipped to a rope which disappeared over a pulley attached to a ceiling eyebolt next to the downlight, from where it descended to be tied off to the D-ring on Helen’s sleeve. The pair were bent over, their heads at knee level, arms in the air, their buttocks almost touching. That was when I saw the short chrome shaft between the two, and I knew that at each end of the shaft there was a butt plug or vibrator lodged to the hilt in their back passages. To make matters worse, both women’s feet had been laced into black patent leather bondage boots, which forced them on to tiptoes and would have become most painful after any length of time.

Portia, Bradley and Jax would have enjoyed that – forcing two dommes to endure a reaming in the arse while bowing immovably to their captors. The white cheeks of both prisoners bore the marks of a cane, and weighted clips dangled from their inverted breasts.

“How the mighty are fallen, hey?” said Portia, giving Mary a push backwards. There was a stifled cry from both as they tottered in unison in their boots, trying to accommodate the movement of whatever was buried inside them. Neither looked up at us – their position was clearly too painful, with too much strain on their arms.

“Maybe you would have preferred this?” Portia suggested. “Or perhaps you would like to bring some light into people’s lives?” She indicated a corner where Jax was sitting reading a book. Jax ignored us, and my eyes were immediately drawn to the lamp that was positioned over the back of her chair. I saw that it was made from two hinged steel members, and tied to these was Leila, clad in a purple latex catsuit that stretched from head to toe. Her face was visible through a cutout in the hood, while two further cutouts for her breasts exposed them to further torment to suit our captors.

“Doesn’t she look delightful?” Portia cooed. She pushed us closer and we saw that a head-mounted reading light had been strapped to Leila’s forehead, providing light to the reader as she bent forward. The restraints attaching her to the steel bar down her back and the vertical one from waist to the floor plate kept Leila’s back and legs straight, while two pieces of string were tied to her nipples and linked to her big toes. Any attempt to straighten up immediately brought pain to her breasts and discouraged further such movement. I wondered how long she had been enduring this torture.

Instinctively she looked up as we approached, turning her head sideways, and with the movement directing the beam of light away from Jax’s book on her lap. Her brown eyes widened at the sight of us and she started. Without looking up from the book, Jax moved her hand to touch the button on what looked like a remote garage door opener sitting on the arm of the chair. Leila jerked and whined and immediately returned the light to the pages in front of her. It was obvious that she had some form of electrode attached to some tender part of her anatomy such that any unacceptable behaviour met with immediate punishment.

“Don’t you like the latex suit?” Portia asked brightly. “I’ve always thought Leila looked good in latex, despite her insistence that her colour is really red. Stupid girl,” she tsked. “All right, you’ve seen enough. Just wanted you to know your friends are in good hands and enjoying life to the fullest. Come Jade, dear, let’s go.”

We were shepherded out of the room now with the further burden of guilt for what was happening to the three others, as if our own physical pain had not been enough. I knew Monica was vulnerable to guilt feelings whenever anything happened to her staff, and clearly Portia knew this as well. Portia was currently orchestrating a mind-fuck of major proportions inside Monica’s head, and I was wondering how much more Monica could with stand, both mentally and physically.

We moved past the stairwell and the room in which we had suffered for most of the day, through the large, impeccably equipped kitchen. Here, wearing little more than a pvc apron and a hobble chain, Sebastian was working at the sink which also had views down the beach. He turned as we passed through, but on seeing us looked quickly away, as though we were an unwanted complication that he did not want in his life.

There was a back door to the kitchen, and we passed through this to find ourselves outside on a short flight of concrete steps in a shallow cutting leading up to the top of the cliff. Here we found ourselves on a wide patch of grass fringed by palm trees with the untamed jungle beyond. In the middle of the grass stood a sleek helicopter, capable of carrying perhaps half a dozen people. In one direction a concrete path led into the jungle from which direction could be heard a distant, muted rumble that had to be the generator, no doubt housed in a sound-proofed shelter.

To our right an unpaved path ran along the cliff top away from the house. At Portia’s urging we followed it for perhaps twenty metres, through a grove of palms to where it stopped at a blockwork structure barely a metre and a half square and perhaps two and a half metres high, with a sloping tin roof.

“I know it looks like what you Aussies call – uh – a ‘dunny’,” Portia said, with evident glee in her voice. “And perhaps it is appropriate to think of it as such, since you really are in the shit, Monica. But it has more symbolism than that.” She stepped up to it and opened a door made of steel plate then turned to where we stood, naked, cuffed, and hooded, prisoners to whom this woman could do anything she wanted.

“You recall the last time we met, Monica? California? You ran out and left Jade and me in a container in the desert, chained together at the neck with a chain that the cops had to cut with a gas torch. It was not a pleasant experience, and one that I have been unable to forget. As a consequence, it seemed only appropriate that you understand and experience the same thing that still gives Jade nightmares - which is why I asked that this be built. Oh, I can’t deny that some good came out of the container episode. Jade is now much more comfortable in a subservient role, which I always knew she would be. We have you to thank for that. I don’t expect any such thing to come out of this, however. What I do hope for is that you experience the heat and claustrophobia that we went through - that you suffer the same discomfort and deprivation that we had to endure. Understand me?” It was a rhetorical question. I turned to look at the hooded figure next to me, but Monica made no sign that she understood, agreed or cared. We were both resigned to whatever suffering Portia had in store for us, and we could only enjoy this brief moment of freedom from stringent restraint as long as it lasted.

It was getting dark rapidly now and there was the smell of rain in the air. Out to sea there was a flash of lightning followed by a distant rumble of thunder as the afternoon storm came closer.

Jade pushed us towards the door of the blockwork box, for that was all it was. Portia flicked a switch and a single bulb illuminated the bare interior. Four manacles on chains hung from the wall on each side of the door – two pairs at waist level and two pairs at ankle height. In the centre of the concrete floor there was a piece of plywood about a foot square, whose purpose I did not understand. I did understand the manacles, however.

“Ladies first,” said Portia, unable to hide her exultance at having us in this position.

Monica was pushed into the tiny room and made to stand with her back against the right hand wall. Only once the manacles – evidently separated from pairs of handcuffs – had been ratcheted closed around her ankles, spreading her legs about half a metre apart, were her wrists uncuffed from behind her. They were quickly re-secured in the other manacles attached to the wall by the six-inch lengths of chain. Monica’s arms were now held so that her arms hung straight down but her wrists were pulled a foot away from her hips. It looked a comfortable enough pose relative to everything else we had experienced of late.

“Now you, handyman.”

I allowed myself to be chained to the wall in identical fashion to Monica, standing there with my back to the opposite wall. Portia hung the keys to the manacles on a nail sticking out from the door frame. It was clear there was no way we could reach them from our chained up positions.

“You’re both going to be here a long time,” Portia said with evident glee. “Your legs will get very tired and you’ll think you can slide down the wall to sit in a more comfortable position. But of course things are never that simple - just like life in general. Jade, fetch the seats.”

Jade disappeared around the side of the door and reappeared moments later with two pieces of four-by two timber. I groaned inwardly as I saw the big plugs sticking up at right angles from the narrow edge of each.

“Yes – one for him –“ Portia flourished a half-metre-long length of wood with an acrylic butt plug screwed to the top “– and one for her.” Monica’s was identical save except that it had two plugs. All the plugs all had wires dangling from them and I knew we had not seen the worst of what was to come yet. At the location of the plugs an additional piece of four by two had been nailed each side of the main bearer, presumably to provide extra area for sitting on, and to encourage us to adopt a seated position. If Portia had gone to this much trouble, we were surely in for a long and protracted punishment.

Now Jade squatted in front of Monica and I saw for the first time a small recess in the blockwork between her legs that I had missed before. One end of the timber slotted in to this so that the wood stood out horizontally from the wall between Monica’s legs, with the tops of the plugs at the level of her crotch but perhaps six inches out from the wall.

Then came my turn, and a similar set-up followed, the butt plug sticking up just where Mr Willy stood out horizontally himself. At that point Jade removed the piece of plywood from the floor and I saw a hole in the concrete about a foot across.

“As I said, you will be here for some time. This is what I think you call a ‘long drop’ – a toilet. It was drilled out especially for you. No smell – yet,” she added pointedly. “You will wish to relieve yourselves. And of course after a few days it will start to smell. But you’ll get used to it. With a bit of contortion you will be able to pee through this,” Portia said, holding up a piece of plastic drainage pipe which Jade had fetched. The pipe was the same diameter as the hole in the floor, and at one end it had two square notched cut opposite each other in the rim. I watched as Jade worked the uncut rim of the pipe into a rebate around the edge of the hole, so that the pipe stood up vertically and was wedged solidly. She now repositioned the two pieces of wood with the plugs so that the outer ends of the wood nestled tightly in the two recesses in the top of the pipe. It had all been set up very neatly. The timbers were now supported at each end, spanning from the wall to the vertical pipe between us. Bit as if not satisfied with that, Jade produced a hammer and a couple of wedges and proceeded to drive these into the rebates in the wall to ensure that the timbers would be immovable.

“Now,” Portia explained, “if you really try, you’ll have enough slack to get to the middle for a pee. If you want a crap… well, I wouldn’t fancy your chances, but of course you’ll have to decide that for yourselves. You’ll have to sit down sometime, and I would suggest that the plugs may be more comfortable than the rest of the timber – which you will notice is sharpened to a nice pointed ridge. I want you on that plug now, Steven.”

I had barely taken in the intent of her words when Portia grabbed my nipple rings and tugged them downward. I whined and bent my knees, easing myself out from the wall until the tension came on the ankle chains. The blunt head of the plug found my poor tortured rectum which had had things shoved into it all day and was extremely tender as a result. The plug was slippery with something, so I decided I should be grateful for small mercies and obediently worked my way on to it, though not without a small whinge in the process. It was not comfortable, but it was better than sitting on the sharp edge, I figured.

Portia now tied a piece of string through each of my nipple rings and I knew there was worse to come. Not for the first time I cursed Portia for inflicting the things on me, cursing also Monica for convincing me the things looked cool and sexy, and myself for believing it. At this point Jade climbed up with a foot on each timber and threaded the pieces of string through two eyebolts in the single midspan rafter, before dropping the ends down for Portia to tie to Monica’s nipple rings.

“This is the unfortunate part,” Portia sighed. Only one person can rest at once. You just have to take it in turns. Of course, there is no guaranteeing a true rest. As you can see, Jade is now hooking up the wires so that any passing person can press the call button in the house – to give you a wakeup call, that is.” She laughed, a gleeful laugh that carried overtones of malicious intent.

Monica was standing wordless, watching all of this, her eyes glistening through the holes in the leather hood. The string was taut on our nipple rings, but without actually being painful. Any relaxation, however, and I knew we would feel it. If either of us leaned back against the wall, the string would grow taut and a painful tug would ensue.

“As I said, you will be here for a long time – just as we were left in that container,” Portia repeated. “We wouldn’t want you becoming dehydrated, so we have provided drinking tubes for you. In fact they are feeding tubes, since you are on a no-solids diet from now,” she added spitefully. She reached up to a clear tube that was just protruding from a small hole in the wall beside Monica’s head and pulled the tube through until there was enough slack to attach it to the small protrusion of the mouthpiece poking through the leather hood.

“There. Another metaphor for life, Monica – it sucks, hahaha.”

Moments later I was hooked up to a tube of my own, and Portia and Jade were standing outside the door.

“We’ll see you in a couple of days. Or maybe a week.” Another laugh filled with malice. “Oh, and by the way, if you hear a helicopter, that will be Jax and Kim going back to the mainland. Jax has business commitments to get on with. She’s more than happy to leave Jade and me to play with our toys. And of course there’s Bradley, as well. I think he’s taken a liking to you, Monica…”

The door closed and there was the solid clang of tower bolts sliding home. Then the light went out and Monica and I were left chained and staring at each other, black on blacker in the inky darkness.

 

So began our confinement. It began to rain shortly afterwards, the full force of a tropical deluge pounding deafeningly on the iron roof, interspersed with crashes of thunder as the storm passed overhead. There must have been lightning flashes but nothing seemed to pierce the darkness of our cell. I remained where I was, seated uncomfortably on the timber passing between my legs. It was tolerable, but definitely not a long term solution.

I tested the plastic tube attached to my mouthpiece. Water, or so I assumed. It tasted all right, but I had no idea how much there was or how long it might be if we ran out. Monica made no move to sit down but leaned against the wall, or so I deduced from the absence of any strain on the nipple strings.

We remained that way far into the night. Three times I caught a jolt of electricity up my arse, making me jump with the sheer unexpectedness of it, never mind the pain it caused. A butt plug is not something you jump up from like a chair, especially when your full weight is bearing on it.

We tried communicating with desultory grunts and nasal interrogative noises, but it was not a success. At length Monica made a muted whine and tugged carefully on the strings. I grunted back and slowly eased myself off the plug, feeling the lightest of tensions as Monica then worked herself carefully on to her own pair of plugs.

 

The storm passed, the downpour turning into a gentle drumming, then a pattering on the roof. After that came the odd heavy drop as the palm trees dripped intermittently.

I tested the manacles and chains. The chains were locked to eyebolts drilled into the concrete blocks. I had perhaps six inches of movement each way for each wrist. I could just about reach my hip, but nowhere near the nipple rings even by bending over or tilting sideways. Nor could I reach my aching dick and balls, though the pain here had now slackened as the Viagra wore off. Never had I been so glad to feel my best friend gradually shrink and return to normal. Then, with a bit of flolloping around and nudging him against the timber and the plug, I managed to work the cord off, though the plastic collar stayed in place. I even managed a piss into the pipe, which worked just as Portia had said it would. I was desperately careful not to pee on Monica – that would have really made our day.

 

In the small hours of the morning – maybe – I dozed and fell forward, bring us both awake with stifled cries and a startling pain in our nips. That was the start of our decline. Daylight eventually came – discernable only through the dawn chorus of birds, for still no light penetrated our prison. The sun rose and beat on the steel door and iron roof, and the temperature and humidity escalated. In our darkness the sweat ran down our bodies as we tried to keep up our intake of fluids. At some stage the flavour changed and I thought maybe it was some sort of electrolyte drink. Whatever else it was, and despite my best efforts Mr Willy began to rise again, tightening the cord around my balls and the collar around my dick. It was a torture Monica would neither know of nor understand.

 

Somewhere during the heat and the humidity there was a whomp whomp whomp as the helicopter started up and took off. Then day turned to night again and we alternated our impalements on the plugs, slipping into a doze until awakened by pain in our most intimate places. The darkness and torment of the cell merged with the darkness and torment in our minds.

Somewhere in the midst of the aching pain that overwhelmed our bodies there came a knock on the steel door and the oily sound of Bradley’s smooth tones.

“Guess what, campers?” His voice was barely audible. “Jax and Kim have gone home with Sebastian. There’s only Portia and Jade. And me. When they’ve finished with you, I will begin. Then it will be their turn for me to finish off. So much fun to be had. So many bodies, so many places to hide them where they’ll never be found…” There was a faint laugh, then nothing, only more darkness with a sudden deep overlying chill.

 

* * *

22.02.06

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

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