Monica's Justice - Captives of Shark Island

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

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

Chapter Sixteen - Day & Night - Trish's Story

I spent the night in our dungeon – the real one, deep in the bowels of Bilboes basement. I did not know what was happening to the other three, but I presumed that as they were ‘fresh meat’, so to speak, they would be getting a good working over by Roger and Warren. More than likely they would be secured upstairs somewhere, probably in or beside the men’s beds after being given a thorough seeing to by the new resident doms. I assumed Kim had retired to Leila’s bedroom, where she had stashed her clothes on first arrival.

Now I was bound securely to the Dragon Bench in our main dungeon, impaled on one of our bigger vibrators as well as an uncomfortable butt plug. I’ll say this for Kim, either she had had considerable experience before she took up her new role, or else she intuitively worked out things very fast. Or both. Either way, she figured out how the remote timers worked on the vibrator and butt plug, to ensure I would get a sleepless night with the minimum effort on her part.

The machine we have for this sort of client torment has a number of settings. There is the timer, which determines how frequently power is turned on, the duration setting, which controls the time that power is maintained, and the intensity setting, which is pretty self-evident. The machine has provision for four attachments, and in this case there were three devices connected, after Kim had taped a pair of electrodes to my nipples. Now I sat in the utter darkness that you find in our dungeon.

The Dragon Bench was essentially a split seat attached to one of the main timber supporting posts that held up the house. In short, a good solid construction. The split seat was hinged, so that after your thighs and lower legs were firmly strapped to the halves of the seat, your legs could then be parted and spread in a V, while you remained seated and your most vulnerable parts were exposed through a gap in the two sections right under your buttocks. The two leg supports were kept apart by an adjustable brace, and to all intents and purposes the thing acted like a seated version of a leg spreader bar.

My wrists were crossed and tied behind the post and the rest of me was then – quite unnecessarily – further secured to the post with a lot of duct tape, with a few further turns across my mouth and around my jaw. I should say that for the purpose of this Kim had left the rubber hood on, though the remainder of my clothing had been discarded. At least I would be spared the pain of extricating my hair from duct tape. It was a girl thing that men so often overlooked.

With my body immovably locked to the post, Kim had found the car jack that we use to precisely position the devices inside the victim, and had enjoyed the gradual insertion of these into me. I knew there was nothing I could do to fight this, and so did Kim. Submission had to be total, for fighting only made things worse.

The butt plug went in first - a transparent acrylic affair with a brass electrode strip down each side that I knew would make my life very uncomfortable during the night. Kim was putting together a cocktail of sensations that would induce variations on the classic theme of pleasure and pain.

While the plug was going in, so too was the vibrator – a bright red life-like dick that both vibrated and wriggled. It was six centimetres across and filled me totally, matching the plug in discomfort. Kim squatted in front of me as she slowly pumped the lever that forced the device upward, grooving between my lips and making me utter plaintive sighs and grunts as I tried to control my breathing. Kim’s eyes met mine and there was no hiding her triumph. She smiled at me.

“It’ll be a long night for you,” she said almost apologetically. I almost expected her to suggest that it might even hurt her more than it hurt me. Not!

She was watching my expression as she slowly eased the devices in further. The butt plug insertion was not pleasant in my open and vulnerable position, and I moaned with relief as the plug finally slid home past my strained sphincter muscle. No matter how much you try, relaxing while this goes in is always difficult.

Kim gave the lever a couple more cranks until I betrayed myself as the vibrator became more than I could manage and I tossed my head grunting in protest. Kim stopped pumping and stroked my face.

“You’ll get used to them, dear,” she said softly, as though to a child trying on new shoes. “By morning – assuming they come out then – you’ll wish they could stay.”

She took the wires attached to the plug and vibrator and attached them to a transformer box that was slightly larger than a car battery. Just when I thought I had encountered the full extent of my troubles, that was when she pulled out the two ring-shaped pads that were pressed over my nipples. Trailing wires were then attached to the pads before the other ends were connected to the terminals on the transformer box.

Kim sat back on her heels and admired her handiwork.

“Would you like to see what you’re in for, dear Trish?” she asked, he voice oozing sweetness. I made no sound, nor did I indicate anything that would satisfy her inquiry. Kim was unperturbed. “It doesn’t matter. It will be too dark for you anyway.” She picked up a roll of duct tape that lay on the floor from where she had last been wrapping turns around my body and the post. I groaned inwardly. Hadn’t she done enough to me, for God’s sake?

“We don’t want you nodding off, do we?” she asked rhetorically as she wrapped a turn around the post then pulled my head back against it to continue the unrolling of the tape across my forehead and back around the post.

My body was to all intents and purposes immovable save to the extent I could wriggle my fingers and toes. Kim fiddled with the controls on the box and a jolt of electricity shot through my arse. I jerked in my bonds and mmphed behind the tape over my mouth.

“Feel that? Good.”

There was then a thrumming from my crotch as the big vibrator sprang into life, twisting inside me at the same time as the vibrations. I caught my breath, managing to stifle a moan of… what anticipation? Dread? Pleasure? More likely ‘(d) – all of the above’.

The vibrator stopped as abruptly as it had begun, only to be replaced by a lower intensity but higher frequency vibration from the two nipple pads that made me shudder involuntarily despite my bonds and sending an uncontrollable spasm through my body.

Satisfied that all systems were go, Kim set the dials and moved to the door, giving me a final cheery way before she turned off the lights and the steel door closed with a heavy thump.

I was shattered by the next morning – absolutely wrung out. After what I had experienced during the day in the rubber suit, tied to the post, then in the Oven, the night had been a hell that saw me climaxing and fighting against the painful shocks, unable to move other than clench my fists and struggle futilely against my bonds. The timing of the devices had been set to random, with the result that sometimes the vibrations and shocks could come simultaneously between two or even three of the devices. In the rare moments when they were quiet, I almost fell asleep from exhaustion, only to be jolted awake with the next burst.

Kim took one look at me in the morning and decided I would be more trouble than I was worth if she attempted to get any more out of me – I had nothing left. My wrists were cuffed in front and with a hobble chain locked about my ankles, I was hauled to the small space under the stairs that we knew as ‘Little Ease’, where there was no room to stand up or stretch out. I didn’t care. I ate and drank what was left for me before curling up into a foetal position and sleeping the sleep of the dead. The other three would have to keep the boys amused for the day.

 

It was late afternoon when Kim came to fetch me. I had been on the standard slave fare of two meals a day, and I was now hungry and somewhat recovered from my ordeal. I had been hooded since early morning – a tight black leather affair with a heavy integral collar that was locked at the back of my neck. It had a zippered mouth - which had remained unzipped long enough to eat my morning meal and was then locked shut - and a strap that ran from temple to chin and padlocked at the buckle there. This clamped my jaw shut, leaving only a small hole through which I had been able to poke the straw on a squeezy bottle to re-hydrate myself over the hours.

The net result of the head restraint was that although for once my mouth remained mercifully free from balls or other stuffing, I could not open my mouth properly and could do little more than mumble inside the thick leather hood.

In my quiet thinking time, I was slowly getting my mind going again, and I resolved that somehow Kim was the key to all of this. Perhaps she was not the mastermind, but she was linked to whoever was. Kim had been with Monica and the others when they left Bilboes, but only Kim had returned. She knew where they were, and somehow I would find out this information if I had to throttle her to get it.

This, of course, raised the minor issue of needing hands free of restraint to carry out the throttling act, and a mouth free of a gag to ask the questions. Neither appeared likely at that moment.

With my wrists crossed and bound behind me, Kim took me upstairs. passing through the kitchen where Emma sat on a stool beside the sink. She wore a full head harness and ball gag, the little padlocks dangling from the buckles at the back of her neck and under her chin. She was wearing a black pvc maid’s outfit and gazed soulfully at me with her dark eyes. She was barefoot and had her ankles hobbled, and I saw that she was tethered to the handle on the oven door by a three metre stainless steel cable which was locked to a narrow steel collar about her neck.

“Meet our new full-time cook,” Kim announced brightly as we passed. It was a clever arrangement, giving Emma access to the preparation and cooking area, but nothing more. Stuff could be kept out of reach – sharp knives, phones, medicinal items – anything that might be used to cause harm.

Out on the verandah Jill stood wearing an outfit matching Emma’s – a short pvc skirt, white apron and a top that had two cut outs to reveal Jill’s breasts. Like Emma, Jill had a head harness locked in place, and carried a restraining tray that Steven had made a few months previously. It was an ordinary tray but with an L-shaped attachment on each side, to which the bearer’s arms were secured using locking straps at wrists and upper arms. The bearer’s arms were thus fixed in bent position and were essentially useless for anything except carrying the tray. I noticed that Jill’s ankles were also hobbled, with the hobble passing under another floor-level wire that stretched from the verandah post to the kitchen table.

Now I saw the plan. Emma would be doing the cooking, and Jill would be doing the intermediary waitressing. No chance of either escaping, nor of Emma suffering a rush of blood to the head and tossing boiling water over someone. Jill’s arms were captive, and any damage she did would be limited and draw immediate retaliation. Neither girl could talk to the other, so their chances of coordinating a spur of the moment action were minimal. Yes, Warren had thought this through, I realised, dismayed at the plight of my two friends.

On the verandah there was a new addition to the furniture, obviously brought with Warren or Roger’s stuff. It was a small cage made of heavy duty reinforcing mesh, the bars being maybe four millimetre steel spaced about five centimetres apart each way. Inside was Shawnee, kneeling in a ball, her arms pulled backwards and secured by cable ties to the side bars. A section of dowel was protruding from the front and rear of the cage, and I concluded that the inner end of each dowel terminated in some form of large dildo. The rear dowel was embedded in Shawnee’s arse, while the front one was engulfed by her mouth, forcing her to keep her head up, although this was encouraged by the fact that a handful of her long hair had been tied off to the top bars. She could barely move, and the confinement was surely a painful one. I wondered who she had managed to piss off this time to attract such punishment.

The cage was on the floor between where Roger and Warren sat in two big armchairs. It was easy for either of them to reach out a foot and waggle the protruding dowels, and Roger did this just as Kim and I appeared. He nudged the rear dowel several times, prompting a gagging complaint from Shawnee, which in turn prompted a nudge on the front dowel from Warren. Shawnee spluttered and made choking sounds as she struggled to deal with the dong wedged in her mouth.

Warren looked up as we appeared.

“Ah, here she is. Trish my dear. Haven’t seen you for a little while. Well, not in the flesh, that is. I did watch some of your antics in the dungeon via closed circuit television while I was working in the study last night. Infrared does lack a certain definition, though – not as good as the real thing. I thought you should come up to join us for dinner. We’ve hired special catering staff as you will have observed. They’re rather like children – should be seen but not heard. Isn’t that right, Jill?”

Standing with her tray at the ready, Jill gave a small grunt.

“Good – another beer, please, there’s a good girl.”

Jill turned and walked carefully into the kitchen, no doubt thankful for having bare feet in dealing with hobbles and wires stretched across the floor.

There came an exchange of grunts from the kitchen. Warren chuckled.

“It’s such fun listening to them trying to communicate. Usually Emma opens the fridge and plays a guessing game by pointing to different things. I’m sure they’ll work out a code over time, since they’ll have quite a while to perfect this.”

I could hear a series of mumbled noises from the kitchen and half a minute later Jill returned with a frosted can of beer on her try. To present it she was obliged to kneel to bring it to the level where Warren could reach it.

“Thank you, Jill,” he said with exaggerated politeness. “No – stay there. It becomes you. Head down, if you don’t mind.”

Jill sat back on her haunches, head bowed.

“Over here, Trish. I need a foot stool. It’s almost time for the early news. Kim tells us there might be something you should see.”

Dutifully, I knelt down in front of Warren’s chair and felt the weight of his legs come to bear on my back, while Kim turned on the television on the wall bracket nearby. What was Warren talking about?

Kim fetched a drink from the kitchen herself and sat down in an adjacent chair. Evidently her position did not permit specific utilisation of the serving staff for herself.

The news came on, and the main feature was the arrival of Cyclone Susie, which was about to make landfall north of Cairns. I managed to raise my head enough to see the usual pictures of big seas surging ashore and palm trees whipping about and losing their fronds. There was nice footage of a corrugated iron roof peeling back and bits of debris flying along a rain-lashed road. As usual there was a stupid reporter out in the middle of it being buffeted by the wind and shouting into his microphone.

“Gee, I sure wouldn’t want to be in that,” Warren said, in a pointed manner that carried obvious implications in tone, but which I could not immediately understand the meaning of. “Say, weren’t you up there somewhere, Kim?”

“I’m glad I’m not there now,” she replied, not taking her eyes from the television. “I reckon Susie will be going right over the top of them.”

Them? Who was them? Then the penny dropped. Monica? Steven? Shit! So that’s where they were! Somewhere up in far north Queensland! Holy crap! What was there? There was nothing much in the way of towns north of Cairns and Port Douglas. What sort of place were they in? They had to be prisoners, I had reasoned. Warren knew too much about what was going on and was very comfortable in that knowledge. He had the air of a man for whom everything was under control and all he had to worry about was how to make the lives of Jill, Emma, Shawnee and myself just that little bit more miserable.

Clearly, thinking up new physical tortures was only a part of his game. He was now taking advantage of an unexpected opportunity to add a mental torture to his repertoire – a demonstration of what was happening to our friends that was way beyond anybody’s control. The only thing I could find that was positive in this was that Monica was still alive, or so I assumed. Whatever was happening to her in the hands of her captives, Mother nature was now taking over, and it sounded like they were right in its path.

“Where did you say they were?” Roger asked.

“Oh, a private little island,” Kim said airily. “Very exclusive, very posh. Only real access is by helicopter. I wouldn’t want to be chained up on the beach when this little sucker hits,” she ended, unexpectedly painting a horrible mental picture in my mind.

For the rest of the evening I was in shock, hardly hearing what was going on around me. After Warren, Roger and Kim had eaten, Kim fed us slaves one by one, removing the gags long enough to poke food into our mouths, or in my case through the unzipped mouth hole of the hood. Had we made one sound, we would have gone hungry, and we were already ravenous, having been smelling what Emma had been cooking up in the kitchen. All we could do was bide our time and wait for an opportunity to present itself, although right then the chances of that happening looked few and far between. Three jailors and four prisoners provided a level of attention for us that was hard to get around.

Fortunately, I was left alone that night. I was taken to the main holding cell and chained by my neck to the bed frame. My arms remained tied behind me and the hood remained in place, but all in all I considered I was getting off lightly. It was clear that my bound wrists were a symbol, and without verbalising such, my captors were making it clear that I should get used to this state of restraint. I was now the slave, the play thing, while Jill and Emma were at least temporarily employed in their waitressing roles. I suspected they were also bound bed mates for Roger and Warren that evening, but I could do nothing to help them. After a lot of tossing and turning and trying to empty a succession of distracting and distressing images from my mind, I finally fell into a troubled sleep.

 

Early next morning, after a hand-fed breakfast delivered by Kim, I was again held incommunicado. The leather hood was replaced by an inflatable one, over the top of ear plugs and some quite unnecessary tape over my mouth. In this state I was secured to the wall in what we called the U-Bar Niche under the stairs. Here I was forced to stand – naked, of course – with my hands slightly apart from my body, held rigidly in this position by a series of steel U-bars which trapped my limbs against the block wall. The bars were made of ten millimetre steel and passed through the blockwork, which was covered with a thin layer of heavy duty foam. Normally it would take only a single U-bar to hold a person there, since the bars were threaded on the ends and were done up on the rear of the wall under the stairs. It was an impossible position to free oneself from, for it took a second person to undo the nuts on the other side of the wall. In this case, Kim had gone overboard, installing U-bars at my ankles, wrists, neck and waist, all of which were tight enough to compress me against the blockwork wall.

I was left there for hours – obviously another of Kim’s or Warren’s little psychological ploys to weaken my resistance. These ideas, I decided, varied between stringent bondage and long term restraint, with a bit of hunger, sleep deprivation, sexual torment, humiliation and sensory deprivation thrown in. Clearly they saw me as being the strongest of the group, for despite Jillian’s ability to act in a switch role, the mere fact that she was mostly a submissive undermined her credibility in regard to her strength as a domme.

This particular session had an obvious sensory deprivation focus. Locked in position under the tightly constricting hood, unable to see, hear or speak, and with just the smell of the rubber in my nostrils, touch was the only resort I had left, and that was limited to the iron bars holding my body against the wall.

Despite all the ingenious devices we have constructed at Bilboes, the U-Bar Niche remains one of the simplest but most effective for wearing a person down. There is not an inch of give in the bars, forcing a prisoner to remain perfectly still. Unlike some bondage positions where you can rest against the ropes, the option doesn’t apply here. After a while your body begins to ache and you yearn to just shift your legs together, to bend your knees or flex your arms.

In my dark and silent world I wondered what was happening upstairs, and my thoughts began to dwell on the awful future that lay before me. I thought of Shawnee and Jill and Emma and what might be happening to them, and also Monica and the others, trapped on an island in the middle of a cyclone. I knew I was restrained this way so that I would have time alone to picture the dark way ahead and to let my own thoughts mess with my mind and gradually reduce me to a compliant, unresisting, and therefore less dangerous slave.

I wished I could take myself off into sub-space like Emma and Jill could, to induce a fugue-like state where the harsh realities of the iron pressing against your flesh became less of a reality. I tried to drift off into this world, to seek the vaguely pleasurable realisation that you need only comply with the demands of your masters and to give in to the external powers that would determine your fate. This path could lead to a kind of bondage enlightenment, an acceptance of your fate and thus becoming free within yourself, so the real enthusiasts claimed, but alas not for pragmatic Trish. The bars at my neck, wrists and ankles remained harsh and real, as did the gradually permeating ache in my muscles and bones.

Some time, a few - or maybe many - hours into my ordeal, my drifting mind was roused from its depressing explorations by the sudden slash of a flogger across my breasts. It came without warning, for all sound had been sealed off by the tight rubber hood, nor did I even sense the vibrations that sometimes came through the stairs and the block wall. I had no idea who wielded the cat. Was it Kim, or Roger or Warren? Was it someone totally new? Whoever it was, they were strong and laid into me with a vengeance.

Standing there, effectively bolted to the wall, was totally unlike being bound to a post. The position was natural, open, as though standing still waiting for a bus. Yet I could do nothing but feel the crack of the lash as it scored across my stomach, my arms, my thighs. I could not see where it next might land, nor could I react. I felt like a mannequin, a kind of crash test dummy set up to give people practice with a whip. My cries came to nothing under the pressure of the blown up hood that clamped my jaw closed from the outside over my taped lips.

“Nnnnnnmf! NNNNnnnp!” I screamed, suddenly discovering that I could barely move my head, and only flutter my hands and toes. My body remained locked against the wall while the blows continued to rain on my defenceless flesh, heating my skin to an imagined burning that ran from the soft skin of my calves to my inner thighs, my stomach, breasts and arms. I was sobbing under the hood, trying hard to control my breathing as something – a riding crop, I decided – suddenly made its way between my thighs as the cascade of blows momentarily ceased. I was shaking all over, my muscles tense and quivering, and the touch of the crop on my pussy filled me with dread. I couldn’t hear what might be said, nor see what my torturer was intending. There was no interaction here, no eye contact, no ability to look into the soul of my oppressor to see what he or she was really intending for me. At least that certainty – however horrific it might be – was better than the total darkness and silence broken only by the pounding of blood in my ears and my own stifled cries.

The end of the crop toyed with the lips of my pussy.

“Nnnn… Nnnn…” I whimpered, knowing that imagined pain was in some ways worse than real.

When the blow came I saw stars, so intense and focussed was it. I screamed with all my might through my clenched teeth, but it probably came out as a long high-pitched wail through my nose. I heaved myself against my bonds, but the bars were unyielding, with not the slightest bit of give. Unlike ropes which you could at least fight, strain against, lean on, or wriggle within, the bars remained rigid and immovable. I was obliged to wait, meekly, hands and feet spread apart in expectation of the next strike.

It was a hard flick to my left nipple. I was not expecting it there and I screamed again as the pain shot through me. Right nipple, then pussy - I shrieked into the hood, snorting and moaning as the agony re-ignited in each spot.

Then it stopped and I was left trembling in my dark restrained world, wondering when the next blow would land. It never did, and I was alone again, shaking uncontrollably in my niche in expectation of further torture that might befall me.

After a while I slowly regained control, only to be brought back to Pain City with a sudden sharp bite on my right nipple, as some sort of weighted clamp fastened on, tugging the nipple down to exacerbate the grip of the jaws. I whined under the rubber as a further clamp fastened on my left nipple, causing me to shudder as the fierce bite shot through my breast. Two more went on – tiny teeth sinking into my labia. I could feel the objects dangling down between my thighs, weighted with whatever was being used.

I gritted my own teeth, but things got worse from there on. Further jaws bit into my flesh – feeling like wooden spring clothespins – one each on either side of the first clips that made me utter a series of muffled cries, such was the agony now focussed on my nipples.

But this person did not stop there. One by one further clothespins were released on to the tender parts of my body, producing a ring of fire around my breasts, across my ribs, tummy and the inside of my arms and thighs. The final coup de grace was the release of two pairs on to the lips of my pussy. I was just about going crazy by now, shifting my weight from one foot to the other and burbling uncontrollably into the rubber clamped around my head.

My tormentor must have gone away at that stage, leaving me to focus on the myriad of jaws creating their own special pain on my body. In some places the bite was insignificant, in others it turned into an insidious ache, while in yet others it manifested itself in waves of shooting pains that would die then surge forth again a minute later. The ones on my nipples and labia were especially bad, since these sensitive places had already been tenderised by the lash and the crop.

When relief finally arrived it came with further application of the crop, flicking the clothespins free, but usually only after several strokes had loosened each one, causing me to see further stars as they slipped slowly and agonisingly off my skin. Taking off the ones from my labia nearly caused me to faint from the pain and the removal of the clothespins either side of the weighted clips on my nipples made me let loose a long nasal cry, though the all the weighted clips themselves remained in place.

I was barely controlling my breathing by now, snorting and whining and making garbled cries of pain under the rubber hood. When the beating stopped and the remaining clips suddenly vibrated into life, I knew what the next stage of my torture was to be.

I was left with these devices buzzing away for a further length of time – long enough to travel from pure pain to that mixed with a touch of pleasure. Some time into this the ante was upped with the arrival of a large vibrator that was jammed in to my pussy. It was obviously taped to a short pole which was braced against the floor between my feet, and no matter how I squirmed and contracted my muscles I could not dislodge the invader.

The first climax was a while in coming, held back to some extent by the pain in my nipples and labia that gave me several near misses. When it did finally arrive, however, the orgasm was powerful and I struggled to respond in kind with some pelvic contractions that would only add to the bruises at my wrists and neck as I fought the iron bars and mmphed futilely under the hood.

It seemed that once the first climax had been achieved, the rest followed in close succession and I felt myself weakening quickly. By the fourth climax I was getting desperate, concluding that I was in for another horrific session such as I had endured the previous night bound to the dragon bench. I wondered how long I could physically withstand this treatment without some sort of collapse.

In this particular instance, however, I was to be spared an all night torture, as, the labial clips and the vibrator were removed with an abruptness that again made me cry out, as the blood flowed back to sensitive flesh previously held prisoner in the cruel grip of the vibrating clamps. There was no waiting time at this point, though, for the moment after the devices had been removed I felt something of a far different nature invade my love tunnel.

My pussy was slick with my juices as whomever it was – Warren or Roger – drove into me. I tried to fight, to clamp my vaginal muscles to resist him, but it was useless. I had no strength left and was helpless to repel the piston now thrusting up and down inside me. I could do nothing against the hands groping and kneading my breasts, still festooned with the vibrating nipple clamps. There came another sudden pain as they were pulled off, and a warm wet mouth fastened on to my oversensitive nipples, provoking further agitated but gagged cries from me. My senses were in overload, swamped by the painful and pleasurable extremes of the torture. By the time the man erupted inside me and then withdrew in a perfunctory movement, I was almost at collapse, leaning on the bars for support.

Time stretched out leaving me in a half daze. I was not thinking properly. I knew I was losing my will to fight, though subconsciously I knew that there was much more to come. They would not stop until I was completely subservient – however long that might take – and my will to resist had been destroyed through the addiction to pleasure and the abhorrence of pain.

 

Maybe an hour later – how long it was I really had no idea – I felt the bars being unbolted and removed from my wrists. I offered no resistance as hands took my wrists and bound them together in front of me, looping the cinching tails around my waist so that my wrists were pulled in hard to my navel.

When the bars from my waist, ankles and neck were removed, I stepped out of the niche and almost collapsed. The same hands caught me and let me sit on the cold concrete floor for five minutes. I revelled in being able to bend my legs and arms, to take the weight off my feet. I started to lie down, but the hands abruptly gripped my nipples, twisting and pinching them fiercely and forcing me to my feet to make the pain stop.

“Owwgn! Owwgn!” I cried, obliged to follow the pull on my nipples.

We reached the stairs and I stumbled up them, still in my dark and silent world. We turned left at the top and I knew I was into the entry hallway, taking a few steps then turning right into what I knew must have been Monica’s study.

The guiding hands let me go, and for a few seconds I stood there, not knowing what to expect.

“Nmmmmm…” I whined tentatively, perhaps to an empty room.

A pair of hands grabbed me and I knew at once that this was Warren. There was a strength and roughness behind them as he tossed me this way and that, always catching me by the arm as I was about to fall. He spun me and nearly let me tumble a number of times until I was giddy and breathless. As I came to a standstill my head was spinning and I was again aware how totally dependent I was on my tormentor for my safety and wellbeing.

I was pushed on to a sofa where ropes were tied snugly around my ankles. Then the hands moved to the rubber hood, and there was a faint hissing that indicated the hood was deflating, and the pressure on my head slowly eased. The hands grasped the top of the hood and pulled it off with a wet sucking sound. I blinked in the daylight as a rush of sweat ran down my face and neck and stung my eyes. Warren was standing over me.

“That better?”

“Nurrnnnh,” I moaned through the layers of tape still stuck over my mouth.

“Was that a complaint, Trish?”

“Uh-uhh…” I shook my head hurriedly. My hair was plastered to my head and I felt like a total wreck – used, abused, humiliated, beaten.

“My, you do look a mess.” For the first time I was able to look down and see the mass of red welts and lines that covered the front of my body, some fresh, some fading but still visible from earlier in the week.

This time tears stung my eyes – real ones – as I looked for some sign that Warren might be sympathetic to my plight.

I should have known better. Without a word Warren sat beside me, grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me over his lap, trapping my bound hands between his thighs.

“I still don’t think you’ve learned your lesson, Trish. You must realise that this re-education process will continue for as long as I consider necessary, and using whatever means I consider necessary.”

From my face down position I could not see his expression, but his casual tone scared the crap out of me.

“When was the last time you had a good spanking, Trish?” Despite myself, I found my mind tripping back through a myriad of clients and other encounters. I had probably dished out hundreds, but I had no predilection to being on the receiving end, nor could I recall the last time that had happened.

That was about to change, however, as the first searing pain shot through my body as Warren’s hand smacked down on my exposed buttocks. I struggled as the blows rained down on my bottom, squirming on his lap and kicking vainly with my bound feet, but Warren was too strong for me. I willed myself not to give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry out, but after all I had been through that day I did not know if I could hold out against the blazing fire that was now spreading over my backside.

Warren’s hand rose and fell remorselessly, and I could only hope it was hurting him as much as it was hurting me. I strained and wriggled in my bonds, but there was nothing I could do to protect my backside from the stinging smack of Warren’s hand. Finally I could take it no more.

“NNNNnnnnmmmmph!” I screamed into the tape. My whole body was hurting, and there seemed to be no end in sight. I shook my head in desperation, frustration and self pity, sending a fine spray of perspiration flying like a spaniel after a bath. I had been whipped, flogged, spanked, vibrated, pinched, bolted to the wall and left to suffer in silence and darkness. I had been forced to climax repeatedly in my silent world, alone and forgotten. Warren was going all out to degrade and humiliate me. It was times like this that I so wished I could communicate to the others and take strength from each other.

When he finally stopped the spanking I was sniffling and my bottom felt as though it was raw. I squealed as he dumped me upright on the sofa, right on my newly tanned backside, then my eyes widened as he stood up and unzipped his trousers.

Oh nooo… I thought. Not this. I couldn’t take any more.

Warren leaned over and pulled the tape none to gently off my mouth. I gasped, taking in deep breaths as I tried to recover my composure. I was about to plead for an end to this madness, to ask him just what he wanted from me, when he reached into his pocket and pulled out an O-ring gag.

“No, Warren, there’s no need for – arrgh-gahh!” In my bound state I was no match for his strong hands, as despite my trying to twist my head away, he grabbed a handful of my hair and forced the ring behind my teeth. It clicked into place and my jaw was held open as he buckled the strap behind my head.

“On you knees, Trish,” he ordered. Awkwardly, making heavy grunting sounds through my mouth, I struggled off the sofa on to my knees. Warren was ready for me, seated in my spot and he dragged me close to impale my mouth with the big erection now protruding from his lap.

There was nothing subtle about this. It was mechanical and brutal as he forced my head down so that the tip of his dick almost made me gag as it reached the back of my throat. I had no time to make a complaint – I was too busy just trying to breathe as he rammed my head up and down on his manhood. Maybe I might have thought about closing my teeth on it, if I could have, but with the ring locking my jaws open, I had no choice.

Warren was in a hurry, and pulled my head away, at the same time pulling me to my feet and turning me so I had my back to him. I realised what was coming but the knowledge made it no less pleasant as his dick – still slippery with my saliva – was rammed between my cheeks and into my butthole.

“Aarrghhh!” I cried as it drove up inside me, sending a sharp pain from my sphincter. Warren’s manhood was huge and filling when received up one’s bum and I found myself unable to repress a series of moans as he pumped up and down, bouncing my sore cheeks on his thighs.

“Ngoh! Eeze op!” I pleaded. I knew he would have deliberately used the ring gag as a half-way measure to allow me some measure of expression without shouting the place down. Warren wanted to hear me plead, to cry, to show my hurt and distress. The time for principles was over and I did not disappoint him. I had had enough of being reamed and beaten.

“Ngoh, ngoh ore! I garn ake ih! Oh ogd eaze, op!” But of course Warren only drove harder, spurred on by my pleas, which evidently excited him still further. His hands reached around my body and gripped my breasts, squeezing and pinching my nipples enough to make me cry out repeatedly in pain, my previous barely intelligible protests now becoming an incoherent babble.

His eruption inside me was accompanied by my making “Uh!Uh!Uh!” noises as the spurts exploded in my arse. Then it was all over and he had withdrawn, leaving me curled up in a ball, sobbing on the sofa.

I was barely aware that he had left the room. I just wanted to close my eyes and make the whole nightmare go away. I let the sobs slowly die down as yet again I was forced to focus and try to regain my self-control.

Several minutes later Kim returned.

“Was it good for you, Trish?” she asked acidly. “Must’ve been, judging from the noise you were making.”

She undid my ankle rope and looped it around my neck before dragging me to my feet.

“It’s my turn with you tonight,” she hissed in my ear as she pushed me out the door.

 

As the heat of the day died down, dinner was again to be served on the verandah by Jillian, with Emma in the kitchen. Roger and Warren were lounging about like cats in a cream factory, being waited on for their every whim, while Kim continued her role of jailor, looking after the prisoners.

I saw that Jill and Emma now wore the metal belts and crotch straps that Steven had made for two of our clients, the Kuragin twins Tanya and Natasha. Each belt was made from a two-millimetre aluminium strip three centimetres wide, to which were fixed a remotely activated vibrator and butt plug. The plug delivered a nasty jolt of electricity, while the vibrator was anything but unpleasant.

Warren saw my gaze take in Jill’s metal accessory as I emerged on to the balcony ahead of prods from Kim. Jill was standing attentively beside Warren, her only other accessories being a pair of white high-heeled boots and the tray that held her arms in a rigid L-shaped position. She was again wearing the complex head harness with the integral ball gag and a leather posture collar that kept her chin up and made her whole body stiff. When she turned I saw that the back of the collar was linked by a chain running down her back to the aluminium belt. Any attempt to bend meant the crotch strap and the plugs inside her were drawn tighter. It was a very effective method for encouraging correct deportment.

Warren grinned at me.

“Yes, guess what we discovered? This place is so full of surprises and interesting devices hidden away in your store. These belts that Emma and Jill are now wearing – wonderful devices. Such terrific training aids.” He held up one of the remotes. “A brief buzz on one button – like so…” He pressed the red button. Jill jerked and whined. “That says ‘ Jill, I want you, get your arse in here’.” He pushed it again, holding it down. Jill jumped and shook, staggering from one foot to the other as though trying to rid herself of the pain that must be shooting up inside her. She let out a nasal wail of distress, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Op ih!” I cried as best as I could around my own gag. I tried to lunge forward, but Kim pulled on the noose she had fashioned around my neck and I came up short. Warren lifted his finger and Jill was left trembling, her bare breasts heaving with the effort she had put in resisting the pain.

“Just a little demonstration, my dear Jill,” Warren said. “If you serve us well over dinner, we may let you have a little reward afterwards, with the green button.” The green button controlled the vibrator, and while it was indeed most pleasurable, after a while it could become unbearable as you tried to stop it but were unable to do so. I was sure Warren would be fully aware of that potential.

Kim pushed me further out on the verandah and as she did so I caught a glimpse of Shawnee standing on her tiptoes under a nearby gum tree, her bound wrists stretched high above her. A rope tied to her wrists rose over a bough above her, then descended to a point where it was tied off to another convenient branch. Her ankles had been spread and tied to stakes driven into the grass, and she was gagged with a large red ball on a strap.

In this case the torture took the form of a thick rope about her waist and knotted behind her, which then ran between her buttocks and through her pussy, before climbing over the same bough above her as the rope holding her wrists – though further along it. This second rope also dragged her body forward, however, for it ran over a fork a couple of metres in front of her. From here it dropped to a bucket which I could see was filled with water. The strain placed on her pelvis caused Shawnee to arch forward, yielding to the pull of the rope between her legs. I saw also that thin twine had been tied to each of her nipples, and that this, too, had been looped over the bough above, terminating a metre above the ground where several small lead weights kept a constant tension on her breasts, lifting and distending them.

Shawnee’s head hung forward in a manner that said she was barely coping with the suffering being forced upon her. I had seen the body language often enough to know that Shawnee was off in sub-space somewhere, mutely and helplessly enduring the torture that might have been going on for hours. Whatever my own ordeal that day, I was brought back to the reality that Warren and Roger were forcing their perverted desires on all of us, to whatever extreme they pleased.

 

Dinner came and went without incident. I was bound to one of the verandah posts by the rope around my neck, so that I could barely breathe. Maliciously, Kim released two clips joined by a chain on to my nipples and hung a small weight on the chain. I was caught between trying to breathe and my wish to utter moans of pain as the piercing bite slowly died to an ache, occasionally rushing back in a brief resurgence of pain.

When the men had finished eating, Emma was summoned from the kitchen and congratulated on her efforts. Like Jill she was gagged with a head harness and ball, and had her booted ankles hobbled, with her wrists manacled on a short chain. She, too, wore a posture collar, but without the chain connected to the waist belt. It would have been hard enough working in the kitchen and cooking with the collar, much less being unable to bend at all.

One at a time, Jill and I were un-gagged and hand-fed by Emma from the leftovers. We knew that any attempt to speak would mean we went hungry, and I could only stare mutely into Emma’s luminous eyes as she stood in front of me, feeding me like a baby. Her lips parted around the ball strapped in her mouth and I could hear the soft sigh of her breathing as I obediently opened my mouth for the next spoonful. Her full breasts touched mine, momentarily sending a spark of pain through my nipples still trapped within the clips that Kim had placed there.

As I swallowed the last mouthful and had drunk as much water as I could manage, Kim again inserted the ring gag and Emma was led to a corner where the chain linking her wrists was locked to a floor bolt after she had been made to sit cross legged. The television was turned on as darkness fell and again we were treated to the news of cyclonic destruction in far north Queensland.

Kim chuckled aloud and again pointedly voiced her opinion that she was glad she wasn’t there, and woe betide anybody who was. I glared at her, but my detestation went unnoticed. As I watched the scenes of devastation left behind, my stomach went cold at the thought of Monica and Steven and the others caught somewhere on an island in the middle of it all, probably powerless to help themselves.

We suffered through an execrable comedy film which Warren and Roger evidently enjoyed, fuelled as they were by more wine from our cellar. Emma’s crotch belt began to have such an extreme effect on her that after the forth or fifth orgasm Warren had been obliged to turn the vibrator off.

“Have to save some for Roger tonight,” he said with a smirk. This was after poor Emma had spent her time wrestling with the belt and trying to insert her fingers under the crotch strap to ease the incessant vibrations. The digital interference had apparently only made matters worse and she had ended up bouncing about mmmphing loudly into her gag in a way that evidently distracted the men from the movie. A final brief touch on the red button had elicited a muffled squeal of pain before we all settled back into our bound roles to await the next caprice of our captors.

At the end of the movie the men stood up and Emma and Jill were herded inside. I heard the sound of their heels echoing on the wooden floor then slowly disappearing upstairs. Kim was left to put Shawnee and myself to bed – unless she had something more inventive and painful in store for us.

I was evidently the first in line, as she released my neck rope and I could at last breathe freely. She dragged me down the steps by the nipple chain, towing me out on to the lawn near one of the heavy round poles embedded there.

A metre out from the post were two stakes protruding from the grass, and again I cursed the twist of fate that had seen me working on the garden edging at this moment in time. Kim made me face the post as she spread my legs and bound each ankle to one of the stakes. She untied the rope around my waist such that my bound wrists were no longer pulled into my navel, but pulled me forward towards the post.

I squawked in alarm as I felt myself tipping forward.

“Catch the post!” she ordered, barely giving me time to bring my forward impetus to a halt with my spread hands braced against the post. I was leaning forward at a slight angle now, but this became worse as Kim threaded the cinch tail cord through a pulley on a hook near the top of the post. I wound up with my forearms flat against the post, my wrists above my head, helpless to resist whatever torture Kim now had in store for me.

She disappeared briefly, leaving me in the dim light from the verandah, listening to the night sounds in the darkness all around. Over to my left a dull moan of pain indicated Shawnee was still suffering under the gum tree.

My turn for a final endurance test came with the return of Kim and the feel of something cold and hard pushed between my buttocks.

“Oh ngoh!” I cried. “Eaze! Ngoh ore!” I couldn’t take another screwing up my backside. Every part of me seemed to hurt, my muscles, my tenderised skin, my breasts and nipples still with the cruel clips attached, my stretched jaw… I did not want this big monster inserted into my poor butt hole again.

Of course this was just the reaction that Kim wanted. It was a strap-on, I discovered, and I finally screamed as she drove it hard inside me. The ring gag was of limited effectiveness in such circumstances, as with tears streaming down my face I finally gave in to the despair and hopelessness I felt. Kim rammed the monster home. I gasped and cried out again. I felt her thighs pushed against my own and her pelvis against my buttocks as she pushed her toy to the full extent possible. A slight withdrawal, then…thrust!

“Arrrgh!” I cried, then the movement stopped and Kim seemed to freeze. The world went momentarily quiet as a voice said:

“Make one more thrust Kimmy dear and I’ll blow your teeth out the back of your head…”

* * *

08.03.06

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

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