Monica's Justice - Captives of Shark Island

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

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

Chapter Fifteen - Caught in the Net - Trish's Story

It took maybe half an hour for Jill and Emma to fully overcome the effects of the taser bolts. During this time Roger and Warren sat side by side in the big cushioned wicker armchairs on the verandah, polishing off another beer each. They were far enough away such that I could not hear the substance of their conversation, but their relaxed attitude and frequent bouts of grinning did nothing to provide comfort for me.

I watched anxiously as Jill slowly gained control over her body and finally squirmed into a sitting up position, her arms stretched out by the ropes securing her wrists to the post on each side, a metre beyond her reach. Jill was wearing a dark blue sleeveless silk blouse that showed off her strong jaw line and the blonde hair that just touched the high collar. Accompanying the blouse was a pale grey linen skirt above her athletic legs sporting a pair of elegant heeled sandals.

“Trish! What happened?” she asked in a strong whisper, then seemed to realise that I was gagged and could not respond. “What are Roger and Warren doing here?”

I grunted unintelligibly and frowned at her in my frustration at being unable to explain the situation. Jill turned her head to where Emma was also struggling into a sitting position between the two posts further along from Jill. Emma wore a short white dress that accentuated her long raven-coloured hair. The dress clung to her body and showed off enough cleavage to indicate that Emma was much better endowed than most Chinese girls.

Emma was now pulling against the ropes, twisting her wrists this way and that in an effort to find a weakness in the ropes or to somehow bend her wrists far enough to reach the knots with her fingers, but such an approach was clearly never a starter.

“J-Jill…” Emma’s voice came across shakily in the still morning air.

“You okay, sweetie?” Jill’s voice was full of concern.

“I…I think so. My legs feel weird. I can’t stop shaking.”

“Hullo, the ladies are awake,” came Warren’s voice from the verandah. He stood up and moved towards the steps.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jill demanded angrily. “Untie us this instant!”

“Dear me,” Warren said, shaking his head in the manner of a teacher dealing with a child having a tantrum. “That’s no way for someone in your position to behave. If I were you I’d moderate my tone a little, my dear.”

“Fuck you!” This was most un-Jillian-like. I had to think hard to when I had ever heard her swear before. “What the hell is your game? How long have you been here?”

“My, my,” Warren’s voice was mild and patient. “Such a temper. We’ll have to cure you of that, won’t we? But, since you ask so nicely, as the Americans say, ‘here’s the thing’.

“Roger and I have decided to move in here. It’s such a nice quiet neighbourhood… To paraphrase a rather hackneyed cinema cliché, ‘at Bilboes, no one can hear you scream…’ And let’s face it, to the extent that we let you, you will all be doing a lot of screaming. Roger and I like the idea of having all the pussy we want, when we want it.”

“What happened to your slave - Christina? She give you up?” Jill asked acidly. Warren merely grinned.

“No. She did a good job of looking after my stuff, though not before she had siphoned a bit of it off in her own direction. I had to let her go. Now she’s off with some Spanish dude.”

“Got tired of you, huh?” Emma slipped in.

“I don’t think you’re in much of a position to make that sort of comment,” Warren shot back. “Three lots of pussy at our beck and call… No rent to pay, now that Monica’s paid off the mortgage.” He paused. “I do hope she’s enjoying her holiday up in the far north.”

“What?” Jill was aghast. “How do you know where she is? We don’t. Even Monica didn’t know where she was going.” Then the awful truth dawned on her. “What have you done to her, you bastard!”

Warren looked about as smug as it was possible to look, although given his position it really wasn’t that difficult.

“Oh she’s just taking an extended vacation with some old friends.”

“Who?” Jill demanded. “Who set all this up?”

Warren made a tsking sound and nodded to Roger, and the pair came down the steps to where Jill sat helplessly, her arms stretched wide by the ropes. The ropes themselves were looped sufficiently loosely around the posts to enable the two men to take one each and slide it upward, pulling Jill to her feet. Not content with this, they pushed the ropes as high as they could reach up the posts before securing them with several turns. All the while Jill was struggling and cursing them, but to no avail, as she finally stood there with her arms now raised above the horizontal, in a position that would soon tire her, and even now I could see the fight starting to subside as she came to turns with her predicament.

Warren pulled a red ball gag on a matching strap out of his pocket and moved around behind her. That was the moment when he made the mistake of under-estimating Jill, and got a backward kick to the shins as he tried to install the rubber ball. Now it was his turn to curse, and I knew that Jill had acted unwisely, however much temporary satisfaction it may have given her. Warren’s ebullient attitude darkened now and things went suddenly quiet between the protagonists, for Jill knew that she had overstepped the mark and Warren was barely keeping control as he retreated up the steps to the trunk. He was back a minute later with several more lengths of rope, tossing one to Roger.

The men each seized one of Jill’s ankles and secured it with a rope. She had no hope of kicking the two of them together, but still managed to fight and struggle and spit at them like a feral cat. I couldn’t recall when I had seen Jill so furious, for she was normally the calmest amongst us. That said, in my own chained state, I willed her on in the hope that a miracle just might occur.

It didn’t. With each ankle roped, the men took great delight in winding each loose end around a post and slowly pulling the rope so that Jill’s legs were forced apart. As they stretched wider, her body lowered to put more strain on her arms and pull them tighter. I saw her grit her teeth as her skirt slid high up her thighs and her ankle ropes were finally tied off. She was now bound in a star shape, without a skerrick of slack in her bonds, her head now drooping as she realised the silly thing she had done.

There was no resistance this time as Warren stepped behind her and grasped a fistful of the soft blonde hair, yanking her head back and causing her mouth to open.

“Arrgh! Urghmmmph!” Jill’s first expression was involuntary – a cry of pain from deep in her throat. It was cut short as the rubber ball was forced between her teeth and the strap buckled behind her neck, trapping her hair against her head. Now she could only glare at her captors and make stifled grunts as she shook her head in fury.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Warren said. “Hamlet, you know.” Yes we did. Thanks for the lecture. “But not any more, haha.”

Emma, on the other hand, offered no resistance as she was hauled to her feet, her arms pulled higher and her feet similarly anchored out wide. She allowed her glossy black hair to be pulled into a ponytail and the gag strap to be positioned beneath it before it was buckled tight.

“There,” said Warren, pretending to wipe his hands before retreating to sit on the bottom step, while Roger sought another beer. “God, you girls look good! Don’t they, Rog?”

“Yup,” said Rog, returning from the kitchen. He tossed a can to Warren and settled into one of the armchairs again. This was clearly the Warren O’Rorke Show with Roger just along for the ride and the free pussy.

“Now that we’re settled comfortably… As I was saying, Roger and I are your new housemates. Don’t expect to see Monica and your friends for a long, long time. I suspect they will be having just as interesting a time as you girls will, although I do pride myself on my imagination, and I think you just may end up having the more exciting time.”

The three of us bound and gagged prisoners had little choice but to listen with dismay and trepidation to these revelations, while Warren continued blithely.

“As from today we will be moving in here, and you three will be moving downstairs to the cells. We’ll be bringing in a jailor to look after you, since quite honestly I would rather be screwing you than feeding you. Not that I intend to starve you, of course. I’m not a mean person. It’s just that looking after prisoners can be so tiresome, so I’d rather delegate. She knows that if she messes up she’ll end up regretting it when she joins you in bondage.”

My ears pricked up at the word ‘she’. Who on earth was he bringing in that he could control in this way? No mistress would allow herself to take on such a role with such draconian conditions linked to failure. But there was no stopping Warren at this stage of his soliloquy.

“We’ll be bringing the first load of stuff round this afternoon. We’ll take over a couple of the guest rooms, and set up our own computers here. That way we can run our businesses almost without leaving home.” He appeared to muse further. “I do wonder how poor Monica is getting on… I hear there is a cyclone heading towards north Queensland. Christmas is such a bad time up there.” Warren was clearly anything but concerned and I wondered again precisely where they were and what terrible fate had befallen them.

“I’m sure they’ll suffer in some form or another, which in reality would be only just, considering what you lot did to me both here and in England. I wanted to have Monica to myself, but she seems to be in such demand these days – everyone wants a piece of the action with her.” He was being deliberately mysterious and I hated him for it. “It’s a shame that Mary is with her, for I had a bit of a score to settle with her, too. She and the lovely Trish here – and doesn’t she look stunning in white rubber, by the way – both put me through a lot of pain in my apartment, for which I do not believe they have suffered adequately. Nor, of course, have they even begun to suffer for my own deprivation of liberty in England. A year in Her Majesty’s nick at Bristol was not pleasant, let me tell you. A year confined here will not be pleasant for you, either.”

Warren stood up as he said this and walked across to where I stood chained to my post. His voice hardened as he spoke and my mind could scarcely take in what he was saying. He gripped my face with a strong hand, his fingers either side of my jaw.

“Think about this, Trish. Imagine being a prisoner in your dungeons here. Oh yes, people don’t mind their little fantasies for a few hours, or even a day or two, because they know they’ll pay their money and go back to their day job at the end of the weekend. They’ll be sore, have a few rope marks, and have a lot of memories of their incarceration which they can look back on and relive. But think about twelve months of being chained up under the stairs, locked inside that grille unable to straighten up. Think about not seeing the light of day for fifty-two weeks, for those wonderful cells of yours are certainly built like that. Lock you to the wall and throw away the key, huh? How would you like that?” His fingers were hard on my cheeks, compressing the rubber ball lodged in my mouth. “Well, Trish?”

“Nnnurph!” I squeaked, horrified by the picture he was painting. Warren’s eyes were cold and he seemed to be a different person from the man I had known previously. Here was a cold calculating individual, stripped of his genial veneer that was apparent when things were going his way and he had three bound females at his mercy. Only now was the true agenda coming out.

“Think your friends will find you? Uh-uh. Bilboes will be out of business, the gates locked, everyone gone away. Phones disconnected, occupants moved on. Currently the messagebank says you’re no longer in business, so get used to the fact that nobody will come looking. We’ll shut down your web site and have a lot of fun with you three. Somehow I don’t think Monica will be back here in that time – if at all…”

Despite the humidity of the morning and the sweat making the inside of the rubber outfit slippery against my skin, his words turned my blood to ice, along with the implications they carried. The most obvious implication was the fact that after a year – or two, or whenever – that we would become superfluous to requirements. I wondered if Warren had a cold blooded killer’s instinct, and whether he could pull this off, or whether it was all just designed to scare us. That would be no comfort if we were going to disappear in the acres of bush behind Bilboes, or wherever our bodies might not be found, assuming he did not dream up a worse fate for us, if that was possible. Shipped to Indonesia and then some Asian destination to spend the rest of our lives as western concubines… I would’ve put nothing past Warren at that moment.

As abruptly as he had turned his attentions on me, he dismissed me and walked across to where Jill stood, arms and legs wide.

“Jillian, my dear. Such a pleasure to see you again. The last time we were getting to know each other was on the battlements of Carreg Cennen, I recall. The armoured knight reaping his just rewards in the form of a little rape and pillage. And don’t try to tell me you weren’t acting out your own little fantasy, you slut! You were grinding as hard as I was!”

Jill had told me of this incident, when she had been locked in a chastity belt, manacles and a medieval iron brank, then bent over a bar where Warren had taken her from behind on the castle ramparts. Later, in a quiet moment when her guard had been down and relaxed by a glass of wine, she had confessed that it had indeed briefly seemed like a fantasy, as the chastity belt, with its intruding dildo, had stirred in her all manner of feelings that Warren had capitalised on and taken to new heights. Jill had harboured guilt about this fleeting moment of pleasure, set as it was in a scenario of forced compliance with the knight’s carnal demands. Jill was a catholic at some stage in her past and I don’t think she had ever quite got over it. There were no complaints at being serviced by Warren when he was a paying customer here, but times had changed, and Jill had changed with it.

“Ah, that was quite something – for both of us, Jill.”

He stood in front of her and pulled out a small pair of surgical scissors from his back pocket, then slowly and methodically began to cut Jill’s gorgeous silk blouse from hem to armpit. If Jill had been angry before, she was now outraged. Jillian was nothing if not fastidious with her clothes. She had impeccable taste and always managed to wear clothes that suited her tall, athletic figure. Style, class and athleticism – that was our Jill. But now, whatever else Warren might be doing to us, whatever else he might have in store, the fact that he was cutting up her expensive high-collared blouse brought forth a flurry of stifled objections from behind the rubber ball. Warren just grinned and carried on with his cutting, finishing the second cut and then pulling the ruined garment off over her head. Jill glared at him and mmphed some more.

Warren’s answer to that was more cutting to remove her pale grey skirt, which moments later joined the ruined clothes pile on the grass. Jill now wore only a tasteful beige bra and G-string. Warren stood behind her and slid his hands around to stroke the smooth satin stretched tightly over her breasts, the let his hand drift down to the shiny triangle taut over her mons. Jill tried to struggle but could barely move, shaking her head in frustration as his fingers slipped under the waist band and worked their way into her most private of parts. Then it was the turn of the scissors again, and the expensive lingerie joined the pile on the grass.

Jill now stood naked save for her sandals. She looked like an Amazon queen bound between the posts, legs and arms spread wide. Her breasts were proud and the nipples swollen pink as Warren’s fingers explored them, caressing and tweaking the flinty points. Jill tossed her head and made frustrated grunts. Warren kissed her on the neck and I saw her breathing start to speed up, her breasts rising and falling as she tried to resist the things being done to her body.

Abruptly Warren walked away from her, striding up the steps and tossing the scissors to Roger.

“Doesn’t seem right that I should have all the fun,” he said with a laugh. Roger grinned back and headed down the steps with the appearance of a refreshed tag-team partner entering the ring. Emma, who had been watching the treatment of her lover with trepidation, now eyed this newcomer warily. Emma had also been treated harshly in the castle – more at the hands of the psychotic aristocrat who had captured us than through Warren’s attentions. Roger had not been part of the English plot, and doubtless that absence had been a good career move for him. At least he hadn’t missed out on a year of his life. Just what had induced him to join up with Warren in this crazy scheme was beyond me, though I knew Warren had the gift of the silver tongue when he put his mind to it, and I suspected Roger and Warren went back a long way.

Now Emma’s clothes suffered the same fate as Jill’s, as the sharp surgical scissors sliced easily up the side of the clinging white dress and across the thin shoulder straps. Emma made a plaintive noise as the clothing fell to the ground and she was left spread wide in her matching pearl-coloured silk underwear. Roger wasted no time in the preliminaries but cut the offending garments off with a few deft snips. Emma’s curvaceous body was now exposed to the world and Roger could not keep his hands off it, savouring the heaviness of her full breasts as he sucked on the nipples and cupped her crotch, letting his fingers slide deep into her cleft. Emma moaned and snorted.

Roger loosened the gag and popped the ball out, so that it hung around Emma’s neck, then proceeded to give her a long kiss that clearly involved some deep penetration of the oral kind. His hand remained in her crotch and her gasps were audible as Roger came up for air.

“No! No, please…” Emma pleaded. “Why must you do this to us? Why can’t you let us go?”

“Why on earth should we, honey? This is the way it’s been for centuries. Don’t let today’s civilisation fool you. Underneath it all the strongest take what they want – that’s what people really understand. Man has always been the stronger – women have traditionally been the weaker. That’s just the way it goes. The strong survive, the weak perish or serve. Take your pick sweetness.”

Emma didn’t reply, and for a moment I wondered what had gotten in to her. She seemed not to be aware of what Roger was saying. I followed her gaze just as a figure appeared around the corner of the house following the same arrival route that Emma and Jill had used.

“Hi everyone! What’s going on?” It was Shawnee, fresh from her own little Christmas holiday with her folks.

“Shawnee! Run! Get out of here! We’re prisoners!” Emma screamed.

Shawnee, wearing a purple velvet sleeveless dress that reached to her ankles, and carrying a backpack, stopped dead. It was as though she could not comprehend what she was seeing – Jill, Emma and myself bound to posts and Roger coming up for air after giving Emma a tonsillectomy with his tongue.

It was one of those instants where time seems to grind to a halt and everyone sizes up where they stand. As for Emma, Jillian and me, we stood as helpless bystanders as Shawnee at once seemed to take in the scene and abruptly dropped her pack, turned tail and fled. Roger was momentarily stunned, caught up in the moment of satisfying his lustful desires on Emma, then with a shout set off after Shawnee around the side of the house that led to the front driveway.

Warren was out of his chair on the verandah and dashing through the house to the front door, no doubt intent on cutting Shawnee off at the proverbial pass. I had noticed Shawnee had bare feet, and hampered by her long dress – a product of her habit of poking about in charity shops for sixties retro stuff – I figured she would be slower than the two men. But she was also much younger, with fitness and agility on her side. You don’t do the sort of bondage yoga that Shawnee had been subjected to without keeping up a good muscle tone.

Emma was still yelling encouragement while Jill and I could only look at each other and hope against hope that Shawnee might make it to the outside world. She must have arrived by taxi, and let herself through the gate, for we had not heard the sound of a car in the drive. Now the minutes ticked by as we waited to see how our fate would be determined.

My heart sank as there came the sound of voices and the two men came into view dragging Shawnee between them. Her wrists were bound behind her with rope and her ankles were tied with what looked like a belt. A second belt was strapped through her mouth, making a rough gag that didn’t do much to stem the angry protests and threats emanating from Shawnee. The men had found a piece of half-round timber pole from the garden and had passed it between Shawnee’s wrists and ankles so that she could be carried like a game trophy, only face down, rather than face up.

“She bit me, the little rat!” Roger was complaining

“You ought to know better than to get your fingers near teeth,” Warren said unsympathetically. “Don’t worry, we’ll fix that little mouth of hers. It’ll be stuffed so full she won’t be able to move her jaw at all, much less bite anyone.” He looked up at us as they neared the steps. “We’ve brought your little friend for company,” he announced as they dumped the bound Shawnee unceremoniously on the ground and she mouthed off another protest around the belt.

“Ooo astrds! Et ee oh! Shrt! Rstrds!” She squirmed in her bonds, struggling to get her hands free from the ropes.

Roger and Warren conferred, obviously about what they needed to do to ensure Shawnee was restrained in a way that would allow her no opportunity for escape, and also, I was sure, in a position that would allow them to properly discipline her.

Warren looked around for inspiration and found it in the tools and materials I had set aside when I had finished my last stint on the garden edging. That had been five days ago, when I had put things down for a couple of hours reading and relaxation.

Warren pointed to the half dozen pointed stakes that I had cut and said something to Roger, who grinned and nodded. There was more discussion and some demonstrating with hands drawing imaginary lines in the air and pointing to the two posts to which Jill’s ropes were secured.

While Roger rummaged in the trunk on the verandah for some long lengths of rope, Warren selected three stakes and picked up a small sledge hammer, then walked across to a point about five metres in front of where Jill was standing spreadeagled between her posts. Warren hammered one stake into the ground, leaving about six inches exposed, then moved a couple of metres closer to Jill and hammered two further posts into the grass, the same height and about a foot apart.

Roger had descended to the grass and when Warren had finished, he held Shawnee’s head while Warren removed the belt gag and replaced it with a ball impaled on a short dowel which was strapped in place.

“Chew on that, darlin’,” said Roger with obvious satisfaction as Warren buckled the gag strap tightly behind her head. The stream of abuse from Shawnee now subsided to muffled grunts and incoherent mumblings, though the intention behind them was clearly the same as before. Then it was time for the scissors to come out again and Shawnee’s no doubt much cherished velvet dress was unceremoniously cut from her body, along with a black bra and panties.

Shawnee was now naked, her large breasts almost looking disproportional on her petite body, the brown nipples erect as she continued to struggle in her bonds.

Warren and Roger were suffering no nonsense from their prisoner as they dragged her up the gentle slope away from the house and positioned her on her back with her neck between the pair of stakes, where a rope was wound from one to the other then tied off to prevent her standing up. A second rope added a further cinch to her wrists and then was pulled down the slope to the third stake, securing her arms on the ground beneath her.

Two long lengths of rope were offered by Roger, with one end of each being tied to Shawnee’s ankles. Only then was the temporary belt removed, momentarily freeing her legs. There was, however, nothing that Shawnee could do with her neck and wrists trapped on the ground beneath her. There was even less she could do when Roger and Warren each walked to one of the posts securing Jillian and wrapped the loose end of each rope around a post before beginning to pull.

 

At once Shawnee’s legs started to be pulled up and back towards her torso and also spread wide. She realised what was happening and gave in to the inevitable, raising her legs so that they could then flip over her head, there to be pulled further back and apart until her whole body was bent backwards with her weight resting on her shoulders. Her breasts were in front of her face and I was again reminded of how flexible she was as her ankles were now well past her head. It was an uncomfortable and highly vulnerable position and we all knew it, not least Shawnee.

“You can’t leave her like that!” Emma protested. “Please don’t do this!”

Such a protest was guaranteed to have only one result, and sure enough Warren was on the job again, re-inserting the rubber ball in Emma’s mouth and buckling it tightly. We were now all four just as Warren like his women – bound, gagged and helplessly awaiting his attention.

“God, this is thirsty work,” Roger griped not very seriously. “I might be just tempted with another beer.”

Yes, that was what we wanted, I thought - alcohol, male hormones and women unable to answer back.

“It’s almost lunchtime,” Warren said. “Our new jailor will be here in an hour or so. Why don’t we eat first? Maybe this lot need something to occupy their minds in the meantime.”

I should have seen this coming. Two standard vibrators taped to short poles half the length of a broom handle were produced. These were standard Bilboes issue, and for girls held captive like Jill and Emma there was no escaping their insertion. The poles were sufficiently long for the vibrators to be fully inserted with the end of the pole jammed in the ground a little in front of them. The girls were held far to tightly to get off the invaders, or to even move.

When Warren turned them on, Jill shuddered and closed her eyes as the hidden vibrations began their insidious work within her loins. Emma arched her back and lifted her head to the sky as the humming device similarly began to start unsuppressible feelings within her crotch. I had hoped that I might be overlooked, but no such luck. Warren returned and gave me a malicious grin as he switched my own vibrator on, and I too, joined the ranks of the helpless victims of the mechanical stimulations.

Warren disappeared into the kitchen and there were sounds of crockery and plates being readied. Roger, however, appeared to be still intent on a little retribution of his own as a consequence of the bite suffered from Shawnee. He stood over her with a two-metre stock whip. It was a fearsome weapon and I was aghast at the thought of how he might now use it.

I had no idea how good he was with the whip, but in Shawnee’s exposed position it would not make much difference, for she was going to suffer regardless.

Roger stood back and eyed the ‘Y’ formed by Shawnee’s legs and arms. Mercifully Shawnee couldn’t see what was coming for her bent-over torso blocked her vision. There was a crack as Roger flicked the whip. The sound cut through the warm morning air and made me shiver despite the heat building up inside my rubber outfit from the sun and from the device trapped inside me. I closed my eyes.

Another crack, this time slightly softer as the lash impacted on flesh. There was a stifled scream, another crack and another scream. Roger was in his element. I opened my eyes briefly in time to see the tip of the lash catch Shawnee’s taut buttocks alongside other red marks. Roger was good, I saw. Like an expert fly fisherman he could make the tip of the thong land exactly where he wanted with the merest flick of his wrist. Livid weals were appearing beside each other down one thigh, across Shawnee’s buttocks and up the other thigh. Shawnee was straining on her ropes, every muscle in her body tensed and expectant of the next strike, her gagged cries accompanying each blow. Finally Roger appeared satisfied with the pattern he had etched on her white skin.

“What about one for the middle,” he leered. “Reckon I can hit that cute little snatch of yours? No?”

Shawnee didn’t need to see his face. She knew what was coming and all her muffled pleading and keening was not going to prevent it. When the blow landed she went berserk, thrashing in her bonds and uttering a high pitched scream that no gag would ever suppress. It trailed away into a series of gasps and snorts and sniffles and groans of pain as Roger decided he was satisfied with his little demonstration and went to join his friend in preparing lunch, leaving the four of us to suffer our own individual forms of misery.

 While Shawnee slowly came back to earth from the pain of her whipping, the rest of us suffered in silence as the two men lunched on the verandah and made derogatory comments about our plight. When my third orgasm hit and I was left weak-kneed and trembling, I was starting to wonder how long we were going to have to endure this, and then how long we could endure it. That was the issue about bondage, and more particularly our situation. We had no choice. We would have to bear the remorseless torment without reprieve until our captors decided otherwise. There would be no relief when the end of the session came around and the Mistress set you free and you lolled in the glowing exhaustion that was the bondage equivalent of a sauna and massage combined. No, this was for real – a potentially unending restraint that would see us hanging in our ropes or chains as our knees finally gave way and we had screamed ourselves hoarse into our gags.

Time faded into a sweaty blur. Fortunately the shade of several tall gum trees protected the others from what would have been severe cases of sunburn. In my lucid moments I watched the wine being consumed and I speculated on who this new jailor was that Warren and Roger were bringing in.

The answer came when the food was gone and the second bottle of wine was almost empty. Warren and Roger were definitely in the mood for something, and I didn’t even want to think where it might all be leading. The chimes rang that indicated a visitor at the gate. Warren got up and went inside to the intercom and presumably pressed the button to open the gate. He had been here often enough as a client to know the workings of the place, and would no doubt start to change a few things, probably including the alarm codes, now that Jill, Emma and Shawnee had all been caught in the net. Somehow I had the deepest unsettling feeling that the others would not be home soon.

Warren returned a couple of minutes later and I saw who was to be in charge of us.

To say I was surprised at the sight of the woman dressed in tight-fitting camouflage trousers tucked into brown high-heeled knee boots, and a matching camouflage tank top would be an understatement. Kim! Helen’s subbie! What was going on here?

Kim’s unexpected appearance threw me completely. The last time I had seen her was when Monica and the others had left Bilboes in the posh stretch limo, in the company of Kim and her Mistress, Helen. That had been when… a week ago? I had lost all track of time. Now this unexpected link with my vanished friends jolted me out of my introspective focus. What was going on here? Where was Helen? There was a connection here that I wasn’t getting, and why was Kim now kitted out as though she was some sort of domme? Was she actually a switch, like Jill?

My thoughts reeled as I tried to make sense of it all. Kim chatted with Warren and Roger and looked appraisingly in our direction with a smile that suggested she had some ideas about what should befall us, and also that she was looking forward to taking care of us.

At length she came down from the verandah and inspected us one by one, like a sergeant inspecting some raw recruits given to her care for proper training. I watched as she started with Shawnee, squatting down to look over the hapless girl’s strained position and in the process slipping her fingers into Shawnee’s pussy. Shawnee wriggled and squirmed but could do nothing to repel the exploration. Kim whispered something into Shawnee’s ear that seemed to agitate her even more, before the blonde stood up and moved on to Emma, standing behind her to run her hands over Emma’s body in a way that only one woman could do to another. Kim cupped Emma’s heavy breasts in a gentle manner, caressing them with her fingers and rolling the already erect nipples between thumb and forefinger so that they became even harder.

Emma must have already have been on the edge of a climax from the vibrator lodged inside her, for she abruptly stiffened and her abdominal muscles gave a series of convulsions. Her head flew back and there was a stifled wail as she crashed over the edge of another orgasm. Kim held Emma’s head and whispered into her ear, while the fingers of one hand played a little minuet on Emma’s swollen mons. This did nothing to comfort Emma and the climactic waves seemed to keep on coming as Kim wrung every last bit of effort out of the Chinese girl. As Emma’s head finally slumped forward, and she sagged in her ropes, Kim gave a satisfied smile and moved on to Jill.

By the time it was my turn Jill had suffered the same fate as Emma and was looking exhausted, making little grunting sounds as she struggled to get her breathing together. Warren and Roger had watched with great amusement, before announcing that they were off to begin the process of moving house, now that we were all in such safe and caring hands. Kim seemed pleased at this show of responsibility that had been delegated to her, and stopped short of continuing her ministrations on me.

She came across and stood in front of me and I feared the worst, wondering how long I could go on like this and hoping the batteries of the vibrator would soon run down. Damn Monica for buying the extra long lasting ones!

Kim was very attractive. Her ash blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she looked lithe and youthful in her tight fitting camouflage outfit. If it was designed to be intimidating, it didn’t work. Instead it only made her look sexy, and I could see from the nipple bumps showing through the tank top that she was as aroused by the whole process as we were. Well, maybe not quite as aroused, though I doubted I could remain so for much longer.

Kim smiled wickedly at me and I dreaded what might be coming next. Probably me again, I figured. I was surprised, therefore, when she reached down and slipped her hand in the slippery wet space that was beneath the rubber skirt and deftly switched off the vibrator. I sighed and tried to express my gratitude through my eyes. Kim said nothing, and I wondered just what her motives were and whether she could be manipulated into helping us.

Then she was gone, back into the house for maybe twenty minutes, then back outside, walking around the garden, investigating the sleeping quarters behind the four of us prisoners. It was clear she was exploring, and when she went back to the house to reappear with a big back pack which she lugged up to Leila’s room behind us, I realised that we had another guest, and that she was here for the long term.

She must have done some unpacking at that stage, for she was inside for some time, then returned to give her attention to Jill and Emma again. The looks on their faces were of utter exhaustion and then relief as Kim removed the vibrators on which they had been impaled for so long. When she undid Jill’s arm ropes Jill offered no resistance as Kim lowered her face first to the ground, legs still bound wide. Jill did not move as Kim straddled her and pulled her wrists behind her, crossing them and binding them with sashcord.

When Kim then undid Jill’s legs, Jill pulled them together with a groan but made no further move, so exhausted was she. Kim tied her ankles together with a short hobble rope and left her there while she turned her attention to Emma. Jill was too far gone to move. Perhaps she could have staggered to her feet and hobbled a short way, but she could manage no more than to roll on to her side and curl into a foetal position on the grass.

Emma was soon similarly bound, and like Jill she curled into a ball as though trying to ease the focus on her super-sensitive pussy. While the two prone prisoners did their best to recover, Kim now turned her attention to Shawnee, who remained curled over in a different fashion, and who up until now had received only pain for her mistake in turning up unannounced and then biting Roger on the hand.

Kim took another of the four-by-two stakes that I had been using for the garden edging project and proceeded to hammer it into the ground so that it was just touching Shawnee’s buttocks, right in the centre. In the verandah toy trunk she found one of those devious vibrators with the internal prong and an external clit stimulator, which she taped to a short piece of dowel and then lubed up and inserted the business end into Shawnee. Shawnee whined plaintively, since she knew where this was going, as Kim then taped the dowel to the stake, to ensure it would not be able to be forced out by any clever muscle contractions.

When she switched it on Shawnee shivered and squirmed but could move very little in her bonds. She was about to experience what the other three of us had been undergoing for the last extended while.

With Shawnee now able to entertain herself and not in danger of being bored, Kim hauled Jill to her feet and led her in short stuttering steps across the grass and up the steps. At the top Jill was pushed against the verandah post and bound in place. Lots of rope – at ankles, knees, thighs, through the pussy, around the waist, the torso and arms – all pulled tight and tied off by the camouflage-clad jailor. Kim was enthusiastic in her work, obviously having been on the receiving end of it from Helen a goodly number of times. She looped further turns of cord around ill’s breasts, making them swell and protrude, so that she looked like a ships figurehead carved by a sculptor with an obvious fixation.

Ten minutes later Emma was tightly tied to the opposite post, the pair forming a bound guard of honour for users of the step, the first of whom turned out to be Warren, arriving in his fake courier van just as Kim was finishing with the last knots on Emma’s bulging breasts. Warren seemed pleased with Kim’s efforts. Clearly the two prisoners weren’t going anywhere, and he was taken with the twin pairs of nipples that proffered themselves to passers by, begging to be flicked, tweaked or squeezed. Warren obliged, drawing stifled squeals from Emma and Jill.

“Very impressive, Kim,” he said.

“Thank you, sir.” Kim was happy with the praise, but I saw that her submissive role in regard to the men was still there. She was the intermediary, the enforcer for them, but was not above receiving punishment herself if she erred from the plan.

“I think we should unload the van now. It’s just personal stuff – a computer, books, business files et cetera. What about getting our dear Trish to carry it in for me? It can all go into Monica’s study – my study, now.”

In a way I was heartened by this distraction, relieved when Kim unlocked my chains and released me from the post. I was tired and a bit wobbly, but at least I was not being whipped or vibrated to my limits, and being able to move – after a fashion – was some comfort.

I followed Kim to where Warren had parked it on the grass near the base of the back verandah steps. My wrists were still locked in the handcuffs in front of me, but that did not stop my forearms being used as a platform on which cartons or other boxes could be carried. It also made for not the most secure of carrying methods, and I was obliged to hug my burdens close to my chest as I walked carefully to the steps and then to Monica’s study. The tight rubber skirt clinging to my knees made climbing the steps difficult, and the high heels of my boots did nothing to make walking on the grass easy either. I was petrified I was going to drop something, particularly like Warren’s laptop.

Kim loaded me up for each trip and Warren unloaded me in the study. It was hot work and the sweat was running down inside the rubber outfit and trickling down my legs. I soon discovered that even though the vibrator wasn’t running, its presence on the crotch belt meant the object moved distractingly inside me, for my pussy was still slick with the juices the device had conjured up previously.

I was preparing for what I thought might be the second to last load – a carton loosely topped with a number of CD’s. I wanted to go, but Kim decided I could do it all in one go, and that this should be the last trip. I shook my head and mmphed that it was too much.

“Arkh eef eer I oh-ig!” I said, trying vainly to tell her I couldn’t see where I was going. It cut no ice with Kim, who closed the doors to the van and shoo-ed me away. I knew she was doing this deliberately, testing me to my limits just to see what might happen and to have a laugh in the process.

I felt my way carefully across the grass, conscious of the way my heels sunk unstably into the earth. Once on the steps I thought I was okay, and made it up on to the verandah and into the kitchen, moving carefully around the preparation bench into the hallway and down to the door of the study. It was at that point when the heel of one boot caught in the silk rug that graced the polished timber floor, and things began to slip. I stepped up my pace, conscious that my load was out of control and there was nothing I could do about it. The first CD slipped off as I entered the study, followed by the rest, then the box itself as I over-corrected.

There was a clattering crash and I stood there, mortified, while Warren glared at me from where he sat behind Monica’s big desk. Kim appeared in the doorway behind me. It was probably at that point when she realised that my mistakes might rebound in making her look bad, and that perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea to lay little traps for her charges where they would be so obviously noticed.

“I’m sorry, sir. She’ll be punished at once. It won’t happen again.”

Kim grabbed me by one arm and hustled me out the back again, my heels clattering over the wooden boards of the verandah.

“Stupid girl!” she hissed at me, pausing only to let me descend the steps carefully. I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that we needed a disabled ramp for the verandah, though it had nothing to do with people in wheelchairs. I caught Jill’s eye as I passed. Her expression managed to convey a message of sympathy over the top of her own suffering.

Once on the grass Kim dragged me up the slope and away from the house to where the Oven stood. Oh no, I thought. As if I wasn’t hot and sweaty enough already!

The Oven was a low blockwork structure the size of a coffin and just larger than a person lying down. It had a heavy steel lid on top and Kim had obviously found this on her explorations and guessed its purpose. It took all her strength to raise the lid which was held from flipping open to 180 degrees by a stay chain at each end.

“On your face, on the grass!” Kim ordered. “Arms out stretched!”

I did so, my cuffed hands stretched out over my head. Kim straddled me, leaning forward to unlock one wrist and drag my arms behind me to re-cuff my wrists. Exhausted, I was in no position to fight her, particularly from that position and hampered by the rubber outfit and the gag still strapped in my mouth.

“Right – get inside.”

Carefully I stepped over the low wall – not an easy feat in the hobble skirt – on to the thick rubber flooring inside the Oven. Gingerly I got on to my knees and eased myself down as best I could. The lid came down with a clang, and there followed the sound of two tower bolts being slid home on the outside.

I lay there on my stomach in the darkness until my eyes adjusted sufficiently to make out the faint gleam of daylight around the edge of the lid. Uncomfortable, I eventually wriggled round on to my back. There was just enough width for my shoulders when lying on my back, and just enough height to allow me to lie on my side if I wanted to. I eventually opted for this position, for lying on my back on the handcuffs was even more intolerable.

The afternoon wore on and the Oven heated up exactly as it was intended to. The lid was already hot when we had arrived, and the fresh air that had rushed in when it was opened soon warmed. It was like lying under a toaster. The sweat was pooling inside the rubber suit and I cursed Kim for spotting this little torture chamber and realising its purpose. I wondered how long I would have to endure this.

My musings were answered much sooner than I expected, when there came the sound of voices and the tower bolts were slid back. The lid was lifted and I found myself staring up at Warren and Kim. Warren did not look particularly happy.

“One of my CD cases is cracked,” he said, with a touch of petulance. “It wouldn’t have happened if this one had had the sense to load you up properly. She’s now finished unloading Roger’s gear, so I told her she could take the rest of the afternoon off – with you.”

It was then that I took in the fact that Kim’s arms were behind her back and she wore an expression of resentment that stopped just short of outright rebellion.

“Get in with your friend,” Warren ordered.

“There’s not enough room,” Kim whined, now obviously thinking that putting me in the Oven had not been a good idea at all.

“Trish, on your side – right up against the wall!”

I wriggled some more, pushing back with my legs so that my breasts touched the wall in front of my face, leaving space behind me.

“Good. You two can play spoons for a bit.”

Warren helped Kim into the narrow space behind me while she muttered under her breath. At one point she half-collapsed on top of me, then slipped awkwardly into the gap between my back and the wall. I felt her breasts pushed against my back and her subdued exclamations sounded close beside my ear. I found it difficult to look upward now, but Warren sounded pleased.

“You two fit well together. I hope you’ll be very happy,” he said, unable to disguise the amusement in his voice. Then the lid was down, the bolts went home and Kim and I were jammed together in the darkness.

“This is all your fault,” she said.

“Nnurff,” I shot back.

“You did it deliberately,” Kim continued, unimpressed with my inarticulate response. “You and I have unfinished business now,” she added. “I’ll use this time to plan exactly what will happen to you when we get out. I think we’ll have a lot of quality time together. I just wish I’d turned your vibrator on before I put you in here.”

I did not at all like the sound of what the future held for me, but her last words got me thinking, and after a few minutes – as we slowly settled into the confined space formed by the Oven walls and each other, I realised exactly where my manacled hands were. Kim was still wearing her camouflage outfit and boots, though I had noticed some dark stains where she had obviously been sweating as she had been made to unload whatever Roger had brought to the house in his car. Now I found that my fingers were nestled in Kim’s crotch…

“Hey! Stop that!”

“Urrgh?”

“Stop moving your fingers down there!”

Kim tried to wriggle but found that there was insufficient space in any direction. My wrists were handcuffed and the short chain between the steel bands gave me enough flexibility to follow her attempts to move away.

“Stop it, damn you!” Kim snapped, as my fingers ground into her crotch and began to slowly explore and tease her pussy through the tight trousers she wore.

“Ggurmf,” I told her, continuing my foray and sensing her inability to either evade or fight back. I knew I would pay for it later on, but she had it coming to her – if you’ll pardon the pun – and sure enough after a few minutes her protests died, to be replaced by some decidedly heavy breathing. I pushed backwards with my body, trapping her tighter between me and the wall, feeling her breasts squashing into my back and sensing the stiffness in her body as her muscles tensed in anticipation of what shortly took place.

Finally the heavy breathing became louder, then merged into a series of low moans. For the last stage the moans turned into cursing and unintelligible cries as a climax suddenly erupted from Kim’s loins and she bucked and struggled against me, eventually subsiding into hoarse gasps. I was at last able to relax myself, satisfied that I had shown her I would not give in without a fight, and that she, too, was human. I knew revenge would be sweet for her somewhere down the track, but for the moment we could only lie together and slowly steam in the Oven.

I had no idea just how much Kim would make me pay.

* * *

08.03.06

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

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