Monica's Travels 06

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

(story continues from Monica's Travels 05)

Chapter Six – Sending in the Cavalry

Portia’s grinning face was looming over mine, and beginning to go fuzzy in a haze of bursting stars, when there was a movement above her, and something looped around Portia’s neck.  There was the zipping sound that only comes with a plastic cable tie, and suddenly the weight was hauled off me and the rope was loosed.  I lay there gasping like a beached fish as Mary twisted one of Portia’s arms up behind her shoulder blades while Portia’s other arm clawed at the plastic noose now tight about her own throat.

An abrupt stillness descended on the compound, slowly broken by recognisable sounds working their way into my brain.  I could hear some muffled, gagged noises, that probably came from Trish and maybe Shek, and hoarse cursing coming from Portia as she fought for breath.  Shawnee was still carrying on, but as usual not making much sense.

I sat up slowly, waiting for my head to clear, in time to see Mary marching Portia across the compound to the house, the Chinese girl bent over still with one hand trying to free the encircling noose and the other in Mary’s painful grip.  Getting to my feet I found that my right boob had burst and the warm, body-heated contents of it had soaked my corset and shirt.  I was now muddy and dusty and quite dishevelled, and my attempts to rectify this met with little success.

I turned my attention to Trish, who stood with her feet stretched apart and still anchored to the bamboo spreader bar, with her wrists still bound behind her.  Since Mary had managed to free herself from the ropes that had secured her to Trish, Trish was now able to stand up.  Her skirt was still rucked up around her waist, and I could see the wicked marks of the cane and quirt on her buttocks and thighs.  I realised she was unconsciously still clutching the piece of bamboo which Portia had placed in her hand, as the price of silence as to my whereabouts.  She shook her mussed hair back from her face and mmphed at me pleadingly around the rubber ball strapped in her mouth.

“Hey, what about me?” demanded Shawnee, as I moved across to help Trish.  “Some of us have been tied up for days!” she observed unsubtly.

“Some of us will remain tied up for a few days more, if some of us can’t be patient and know our place in the pecking order,” I shot back.  Shawnee saw the wisdom of my statement and the poor bargaining position she held, and elected to say no more at that point.

I brushed Trish’s hair back as I reached behind her head to unbuckle the gag strap.  Her cheeks were dusty and tear-streaked, and her eyes glistened gratefully as I gently extracted the ball from where it was wedged behind her teeth.

“You okay?” I asked.

She nodded, perhaps not trusting herself to speak while I undid the turns of rope binding her wrists together.  They left deep imprints in her skin, and with the time they had been held up in the air, no doubt the circulation was minimal.  I rubbed them briefly, before sliding her skirt down and starting work on untying her ankles.  When I finally freed the second lot of bindings she hugged me and held on for several seconds, before pushing me back.

“You’re all wet,” she exclaimed.

“My boob popped,” I explained.  Trish laughed. 

“Good job I put a couple of spares in your bag,” she said.

“You don’t think I’m going back like this, do you?” I demanded.

“Your choice.  I don’t know what else there is to wear here, but you do make a lovely girl - doesn’t he Shawnee?”

“Yeah, whatever.  Now can somebody undo my chains?”  Shawnee had now managed to undo the other roped ankle, but had come to a dead end with the chains and collar, and appeared to have decided that kneeling upright was the least uncomfortable position she could attain.

“You’ll stay there until we decide otherwise, Miss,” Trish told her in a voice that brooked no nonsense.  “It’s because of you that we’re all here in the first place.  Get used to that position – it’s perfect for you, except that your head should be lower and you should be staring at the ground.  Comprendo?”

“Yes Mistress,” murmured Shawnee glumly, doing as she was directed.

“She’s cute, isn’t she,” whispered Trish, taking me by the arm and heading for the house.

The ancient wooden door creaked open to our touch, but contrary to my expectations we did not find a dingy half-lit interior with a beaten earth floor and cobwebbed ceilings.  Clearly the place had been recently refurbished, with plastered walls, new paint, and a concrete floor.  This particular room appeared to be a kind of kitchen-cum-living quarters, with a solid wooden table and chairs, a sofa, a kitchen sink and a portable gas cooker.  Overhead a battery powered fluorescent light supplemented the light from the windows.

Central to the tableau that now greeted us was a naked Portia, bent over the table face down, but looking as though she was about to faint from the plastic cable tie still tight about her neck.  Her head was turned and her cheek rested on the bare wood, her mouth open and gasping for air, while Mary tugged a strap tight around her elbows.

“Ah, just in time,” said Mary with the brisk air of business as usual.  “Help me with this one, will you Trish?”

“What did you have in mind?”  Trish asked, and I could detect the eagerness in her voice to even up recent proceedings.  Mary beckoned her over to a corner where they could discuss punishment in private.

“Steven – keep an eye on our friend.”

I moved over to where Portia was struggling to breathe, her bound elbows making her arms look like two flailing wings as she tried desperately to reach the plastic noose at her throat.  Her eyes were half closed and the red of her lipstick now looked a decidedly darker shade that had overtones of blue.  She was making hoarse attempts to speak that didn’t seem to come to anything.

Portia clearly wasn’t going anywhere, except possibly off this mortal coil unless something was done.  I was astonished that Mary and Trish could discuss punishment options so calmly when their victim might not be with us much longer to receive it, and I cast around for some scissors.  Mary and Trish ignored my efforts, even when I found a pair in on a shelf beside the sink.  The cable was so tight I could barely get the blade of the scissors under it to snip through the plastic.

Portia drew a heaving gasp and sucked air greedily into her lungs, just in time for Mary and Trish to return to the table.

“You’re soft,” Mary commented to me.  “She was going to black out, and we would have cut it then, but not before we’d given her a bit of a scare.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her to get off on a bit of self-asphyxiation,” Trish suggested.

“Except that in this case there wasn’t much ‘self’ involved,” I said.

“Never mind.  Bigger and better things ahead,” Mary responded briskly as she turned Portia around and with Trish’s help, hoisted Portia into a sitting position in the middle of the table.  Portia was still half out of it, her head down, panting hard, and put up no resistance as Mary and Trish lifted her legs first into a cross-legged position, then pulled them into a more strained lotus position.  Portia was athletic and flexible, and looked as though she could accommodate the posture as Mary tossed a couple of cuffs to Trish from a wooden box under the table which I hadn’t noticed before.  Clearly Portia and Shek had come here with the intention of inflicting some serious restraint on any who fell into their hands.

A minute later Portia herself was sporting the leather cuffs buckled firmly around her ankles and wrists as Mary tied a rope to the left ankle cuff and Trish did the same to the right one.  Mary took her rope from the left ankle, which lay on Portia’s right knee, and brought it back to loop through her right wrist cuff before tying it round the front right table leg.  When Trish had done the same on Portia’s left side, she found her arms and wrists straining against the elbow strap and pulling her ankles tighter in the lotus position up on her thighs.

Portia had been remarkably stoic up until this stage, and it was only now that she realised the strictness of what she was about to experience, and with this in mind she suddenly let fly with a stream of invective in a mixture of English and Chinese.  Predictably Mary wasn’t having any such cheek, and climbed on to the table to kneel behind the Chinese girl, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling her head back sharply. 

“Aargh!” went Portia, and tried to say something else, but with her head back staring at the ceiling, this wasn’t easy, and was made more difficult as Mary forced a large red rubber ball in to the prisoner’s mouth.  Portia fought the intruder, trying vainly to keep her mouth closed, but Mary was too experienced, and even though the ball was larger than normal, Mary jammed it between the white teeth and released her grip, while Portia shook her head and tried to eject the ball.  In this instance, the big ball had only a single knotted cord protruding from the centre of it, rather than being strung on a rope.  Portia’s eyes were huge above the gag as she struggled to adjust to the object that now held her jaws achingly wide.  I realised the cord from the ball was there to extricate it, should the thing be unable to be removed by normal means.

“In case of emergency, pull cord,” I observed mildly.  Portia shook her head again and a fine mist of perspiration sprayed out as she made distressed mmphing sounds.

Mary was not quite finished yet, as she secured a further rope to one of the rear table legs and ran it around Portia’s stomach before tying it to the other rear leg.

“That’ll stop her falling forward off the table,” declared Mary, wiping her hands with the expression of one who has finished a satisfactory piece of work.

“Now, little Miss not-so-High-and-Mighty, I think we want some answers,” Trish began.  Portia rolled her eyes at her, with more than a touch of fear, I suspected.  “Mary, would you check on Shek for a minute please?”

I was surprised when Mary left the room without demur.  Trish paced up and down in front of the table, as though considering how to begin.  She finally stopped and put one foot up on a chair, leaning her chin on her fist, and spoke as one would to a recalcitrant fourteen year old.

“Portia…” She paused, with the expert timing of a patient interrogator.  “Perhaps I should explain something about Mary.  You didn’t see that much of her or me during your little foray to Bilboes.  That was because we were tied up in the dungeon being the toys of your friends for much of the time.  Now Mary was a bit… unsettled by that experience.  Well, unhinged, is perhaps more to the point.  To be brutally honest, the experience has made her unbalanced, and let me tell you that even before your visit Mary had a mean streak.  Now it is even meaner and scarier, with a recognisable touch of derangement thrown in.  Did you know she has spent two months in an asylum?”

Portia shook her head and made a muted grunt, while a bead of sweat slid down her temple.  I was forced to look away, not least because the thought of ice cool Mary in a loony bin was as mad as the picture Trish was painting.  I was very impressed with Trish’s poker face, and hoped I wouldn’t blow it by laughing out loud.

“Portia, I want to know some answers,” Trish continued seriously and directly.  “Mary has got some plans for you, though I’m not sure what they are.  She wants us to go back to Tai O, and says she’ll catch a later ferry.  Personally, I would have some misgivings about that.”  She stood up and grasped Portia’s right nipple between her thumb and forefinger.  As she rolled, the little fleshy bud hardened and then Trish squeezed hard.  Portia screwed up her eyes and whimpered into the bag rubber ball, making a faint keening sound.

Trish strolled around the table, then leaned across and shook Portia by the shoulders.

“Just taking out the looseness,” she explained, tightening the ropes still further so that Portia’s cuffed ankles were pulled a few millimetres further across the opposite thighs, straining to meet the cuffed wrists from behind her back.  “We don’t want you squirming about when Mary begins on you.  Now, before Mary starts asking you questions, perhaps you could answer a few questions for me?  Yes?”  Portia gave no indication of any willingness to do so.  Trish reached up and grasped the cord poking through the middle of the rubber ball with her right hand, and placing her left palm on Portia’s forehead, she tugged hard on the rope.  Portia gasped and grunted with pain as the exiting ball forced her jaws apart a fraction further before it popped out.

“Ohhhh!  God!  You bitch!  Jesus!”  That was Portia’s first reaction, followed by what was clearly something very uncomplimentary in Cantonese.  Without warning the ever-calm Trish lashed out and caught Portia with a hard forehand then backhand slap on each cheek.  Portia recoiled – as much as she could, that is.  The red hand marks bloomed on Portia’s white cheeks and she was obviously stunned at this change of direction from the Canadian girl.  I did my best to appear casual, leaning against the wall as though this was just another day at the office.

“What do you know about Monica?”  Trish demanded suddenly, her voice low and direct.  “She and the others never made it to the hotel in London.  Where are they?”  Portia shrugged.  “I suppose you had them followed to the airport here?”

“You have to be stupid not to know what happens in your own back yard,” Portia spat disinterestedly.  “I have my sources.”

“In the Peninsular Hotel?”

“Of course.”

“And you’ve been trailing us since we arrived.”  It was a statement, not a question.  Portia made no attempt to deny it.  “How did you know we were coming?”

“I would have thought even you could figure that one out,” Portia sneered.

“I don’t have time for games,” Trish snapped, gripping both of Portia’s nipples and twisting them viciously.  Portia gasped and gritted her teeth as Trish tugged hard on the breasts, distorting them from their plump mound shapes into conical points.  Portia’s eyes were closed as she fought to stop herself crying out.

“Aargggh!  You stupid bitch!  Warren O’Rorke told us!  We still keep in contact with him – didn’t you figure that out?”

“Warren left the country before we did – before we knew that we were taking this trip,” Trish shot back, not releasing her grip.

“Ow-ow-ow! Shit! That idiot Leon has been feeding us info through Warren!”

Trish let go of the nipples in surprise.

“Jesus!  Leon?  Shit – he’ll know the whole itinerary!  He’ll regret that when Megan gets hold of him!” 

“Assuming he’s still there,” said Portia scornfully, with watering eyes.

“We’ll find him,” Trish said, struggling to maintain her composure.  “Now tell me where Monica is?”

“Go fuck yourself, white girl.”

Trish made as if to strike Portia again, and the bound girl turned her head away, in expectation of a blow that never came.  That was when Trish stalked out of the room, and I saw a flicker of fear, hidden in an instant, on Portia’s face at the realisation that Mad Mary was about to take over her torture.

I decided that I may as well make myself useful.

“Trish is right,” I said gently, doing my best to sound reasonable and very much the good guy.  “Mary hasn’t been the same since Warren and his mates dealt to her in the dungeon.  She just seemed to go off the rails.  She’s just so unpredictable, now,” I sighed.  Portia looked apprehensive.  Tiny beads of sweat had pooled on her top lip and she licked at them nervously, her eyes darting between me and the door.  “I really do think it would be in your best interests to tell us what you know.”

Portia said nothing, but I could detect her breathing more deeply in an effort to calm herself.  She strained against the ropes and made a small intake of breath with the effort, but her bonds were taut.  Her breasts rose and fell more markedly and I could not help but admire the effect.  I had a feeling that Mary had something planned for the exposed pink nipples that were now flinty hard with … what?  Fear?  Anticipation?  Sometimes I just couldn’t understand the female of the species.

My ruminations were interrupted by the door banging open.  Portia would have jumped a foot if she hadn’t been bound immovably to the table.  Mary stood for a moment like a gunfighter entering a saloon, her grey skirt and dark tailored blouse merging into a slender silhouette outlined against the bright light from the doorway behind her.  In each hand, hanging by her sides like pistols ready for the draw, Mary held several pieces of bamboo, presumably from the pile Shek had dumped under the shelter, previously intended for use on Trish and Mary.  I thought I could detect a noticeable turning of the relationship between crime and punishment.

Mary approached the table slowly, a silence descending on the room broken only by the faint swish of her skirt and Portia’s breath through her open mouth.  Mary slapped the bamboo poles down on the table with a noise that almost made me jump, and again I saw Portia try to cover up a flinch away from Mary.  The tall dark-haired woman was imposing in her presence even on a bad day, and in this instance Mary was on song, meeting Portia’s gaze with a steely glare until the bound Chinese girl was forced to look away.  Mary walked a slow circle around the table, as though studying the positions of the ropes and the vulnerable parts of the helpless figure they restrained, before returning to the front and picking up a length of bamboo.  It was nearly a metre long and as thick as my thumb.  She traced the tip of it from Portia’s left shoulder, down to her breasts, across each nipple and up to the right shoulder.  A thin white mark appeared briefly on the smooth skin before fading away.

“Steven!”  This time I did start, the suddenness of Mary’s command dragging me out of the fascinating scene I had been watching.  “Come and hold this pole.”

I did as I was told.  Mary’s tone was cold and controlled, but dispassionate towards me.  I was a mere underling in her Grand Plan.  I grasped one end of the bamboo where she held it horizontally across the top of Portia’s breasts, while Mary pulled a length of rope from the box under the table.  It was coarse brown rope, and with expedient hands Mary quickly tied one end to the end of the pole opposite me and began to wind the cord around Portia’s body, trapping her upper arms against her torso and looping around the end of the pole I held.  I let go at that point as Mary continued to meld the pole against Portia’s chest, tightening it a touch each time Portia exhaled.

Tying the rope off temporarily, Mary picked up a second pole and held it in place again, this time immediately below Portia’s breasts, nodding to me to again hold it in place, while she repeated the binding.  I began to see where this was going as Mary knotted the rope again and the two parallel poles sat in place above and below the round, firm orbs that Portia obviously knew were becoming rapidly more vulnerable.

Mary picked up the scissors I had used previously and cut three short lengths of  rope from a longer piece, and began to tie the two poles together – one tie at each end and one in the middle.  With the tightening of these three knots, the stiff bamboo poles began to close together, trapping Portia’s breasts so that they became flattened and pinched.  Portia’s breathing became more rapid as she struggled to deal with the increasing pain.  She gritted her teeth and screwed up her eyes as Mary tied the last knot in the centre, between Portia’s breasts.  It was not a very tight knot, and it was a moment before I realised what Mary was up to. 

There were two more short lengths of bamboo on the table, only as long as my hand.  Mary grabbed one and thrust it like a bit gag into Portia’s mouth, forcing her to clamp down on it with her teeth.

“When you want to talk you may let go of this,” Mary hissed.  “I think you’ll be glad of its presence in the next few hours.  You’ll be needing something to chew on…”

That was when I saw real fear in Portia’s eyes – bare, naked terror at the prospect of what this cold, clearly mentally unstable person was about to do to her.

Mary picked up the second short piece of bamboo and inserted it through the loose cinch ropes between Portia’s breasts and the full import of her plan became evident.  With a turn of her wrist, the cinch ropes tightened, drawing the bamboo poles further together and tightening the pincers on Portia’s breasts.  Portia made a sharp intake of breath but remained silent.

“I want to know where you’ve taken Monica,” said Mary, very quietly.  The quietness of her voice somehow carried more foreboding than if she had screamed in Portia’s face.  “You are going to tell me everything you know.”  Portia did not meet her eyes, but stared down as Mary’s hand gripped the bamboo and twisted it through another circle and the coarse rope tightened further around the poles.   Portia made an almost imperceptible sound, than gave a faint shake of her head, while Mary responded with a further turn.

The sound became a groan of pain and the head shaking became pronounced as Mary tightened the rope again and looped the bamboo handle into the knot so that it wouldn’t come undone.  Portia was now whimpering with the pain coming from her trapped breasts, while Mary moved to the kitchen sink to return with two pairs of chopsticks.

“We’re only just starting – Mistress Portia!”  Mary spat out the last two words to underline the fall from power that the Chinese girl was undergoing, and to make it clear that the fall was the prelude to what may turn out to be a long plummet to earth.

Mary’s idea with the chopsticks was more of the same technique, as she wound a rubber band numerous times around one end of a pair and closed them on an already trapped and distended left nipple, slipping a second rubber band on the other end.  Portia screamed and bit down on the bamboo gag, shaking her head as the pain shot through her.  The screaming died to a hoarse panting moan, and the first tear trickled down her cheek.

“Talk to me, Portia,” said Mary clinically, like a dentist telling a patient to rinse out her mouth.  More tears were flowing but Portia still shook her head stubbornly, even as Mary casually prepared the second pair of chopsticks and squeezed them closed on Portia’s right nipple, snapping a rubber bend in place on the end of them.

This time it was too much for Portia.  She let out a howl and the piece of bamboo dropped on to the table.

“Ohhh – Jesus – take them off!  Shitshitshit you bitch!”  Portia could not seem to make up her mind whether to scream with pain or rage against Mary.  She compromised with a stream of what I took to be colloquial Chinese invective interspersed with floods of tears.

“Is Madam Wong running the London end?” Mary demanded.

“Y-yes,” Portia burbled.

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“You can do better than that.”

“It’s true!”

Mary moved over to a chair and picked up a flogger with a bunch of thin leather thongs attached to a wooden handle.

“I’m going to whip those chopsticks off your nips, Portia, one at a time.  Then, just when you think you’ve recovered, I’m going to put them back and do it all over again.”

Portia barely had time to react to this announcement when Mary struck, the tips of the thongs barely kissing the distended red nub protruding from between the sticks.  It was a skilled stroke that elicited a scream from Portia that echoed off the roof.  She barely had time to catch her breath when Mary struck on the other breast, again catching the protruding nipple while barely touching the chopsticks.  Another scream from Portia, dissolving into sobs.

“All right, all right – just pleeease stop it! Oh God…puhleese!”

Mary had already let fly at this point and a pair of chopsticks clattered on to the table accompanied by a screech from Portia.

“Stopit! God, you’ll tear them off!  I’ll tell you whatever you want!”

“Where are they?”  Mary demanded again.

“I – I only know a name…” Portia sobbed.  “I think it’s a place… I’ve never been to England…”

“Tell me, dammit!”

“Simon’s Yattall.”

“What?”  Mary halted in the middle of another swing, taken aback by the strange words that Portia uttered.

“Simon’s Yattall – that’s what Madam Wong said.  I only have her mobile number.  I don’t know where she is or where she’s taking them.”

“Spell it!” Mary’s voice was harsh with frustration.  Portia stuttered her way through the spelling then wept further.

“I don’t know how to spell it!  I’m only guessing!”  Now it was her turn to be frustrated.

“Liar!” snapped Mary and snapped the flogger to tear the second pair of chopsticks free.

Portia screamed again.

“I swear it!  It’s all I know!  Truly!”

I was convinced that Portia was telling the truth, but then I’m notoriously susceptible to crying bound women having their tits whipped.  I was concerned that Mary was going too far when Trish returned, obviously drawn by the screams and in time to see Portia’s lowered head and see her bawling her eyes out.

“Why don’t you go and check on Shawnee,” Trish suggested gently.  “Mary and I will finish up here.”

Unwilling to object nor to stay and watch what was obviously going to be a protracted and painful session for the Chinese girl, I stepped out into the warm sunshine that filled the compound.

It was another world, filled with the soft hum of insects and the smell of a flowering vine that was peeping over the top of the wall to my left.  Shek was sitting slumped against a pole in the shelter.  Trish had added a further chain around his neck to anchor him to the pole.  There was no way he would be going anywhere in the near future.  Shawnee was between adjacent posts, still chained to each with a steel collar holding her in place.  She had managed to work herself into a position where she could just rest back on her haunches, her back rigid and her head erect.  She now knelt with her eyes closed and her knees apart, her hands resting on her knees, palms upward.  Trish had obviously had words with the naked slave, and had imposed the discipline that Shawnee would normally have adopted as a matter of course.  Now she was off in ShawneeWorld somewhere.

I sat down on an old wooden seat in the sun.  It was almost pleasant to be there.  The sounds had abated from the house, a soft sobbing replacing the piercing screams – at least briefly.  Then they came again, this time muffled, nasal cries of the sort muted by an object jammed in the victim’s mouth.  There was the sound of bare flesh being struck a number of times, followed immediately after each stroke with a stifled shriek.  I counted six such blows, before – concerned that real damage was being done to Portia, and that Mary had in fact lost the plot, I entered the house again.

Portia now lay face down on the table.  She was bound as before, but the flat position had tightened the bonds between her lotus-positioned legs and her pinioned arms and wrists, with her ankles pulled further towards her crotch.  The bamboo poles pinching Portia’s breasts were still in place, and her weight on them was compressing her boobs further still.  Portia’s cheek rested on the table with her head turned towards me, and I could see a rubber ball was strapped into her mouth, distorting her features and stretching her jaw.  Any pain in her jaw was probably only a small portion of Portia’s agony, however, for there were livid red weals across her exposed buttocks, and Mary was still holding a bamboo pole that she had obviously been wielding as a cane.  Portia was snorting and sniffling, her cheeks wet with tears as she tried to strike a balance between breathing, crying and screaming her head off.

“Something wrong, Steven?”  Mary asked.

“I think you’ve made your point, Mary,” I told her.  Mary looked about to argue when Trish jumped in.

“Perhaps you’re right, Steven.  We have a further little surprise for this one before we leave, however.  You can help me while Mary does some preparation outside.”  To my surprise, Mary seemed to take the hint and left without further comment, picking up one of the wooden chairs and taking it with her.

“Undo the other rope,” Trish directed, and I hastened to untie the rope connecting Portia’s right wrist to her left ankle.  It was amazing how two short ropes and an elbow strap could induce such tightness in the human body.  With her ankles released, Portia groaned and slowly unfolded her legs, to lie flat.  Her muscles were trembling and her back and buttocks were red and raw with the marks of thong and cane.  She could do nothing but lie there, making a weak keening sound through the ball gag.

“Get up,” Trish ordered.  “On your knees, Portia!”

Portia would have done nothing without assistance from us, as we hauled her up into a kneeling position.  Trish tossed me a length of rope and indicated I was to bind Portia’s ankles to her thighs.  The rope was about three metres long, and soon both Portia’s legs were locked to her thighs with multiple turns and cinched off.  As I was tying the last knot I was taken aback by the sound of music coming from somewhere.

“What the…?”  It was the Mission Impossible theme and it took me a moment to realise it was coming from a mobile phone. Trish crossed to Portia’s red clothes that were strewn in a corner and rummaged in them to pull out a small phone.

“I know just what to do with this,” she said, with the expression of one over whom a light bulb has just lit up.  “Mistress Portia likes her phone to play music and to vibrate.  How about a musical pussy, Portia?  I hear some girls cover their mobile with a condom, insert it you-know-where and dial themselves up.”  Trish stood in front of where Portia now knelt on the table, bent, bound legs wide apart.  Trish smiled mischievously as she began to work the still playing and vibrating phone into Portia’s pussy.

Gradually the music faded as the device disappeared from sight into Portia’s pink folded flesh.  Trish picked up a further rope and looped it around Portia’s waist, before making a tight crotch strap that would hold the insert in place.

“I wonder how long it will operate? The ringing lasted a long time.  I bet it’s a really important call.  I’m sure they’ll phone back.  And then I wonder how long it will go on until you get so wet you short out the battery?”  Trish grinned wickedly.  “We’ll have to give you a call to find out…”

She looked out the door and turned back to me.  “Think you can carry this ratbag outside by yourself?”

“I’ll cope,” I said, scooping the lightweight Portia in my arms. She moaned and struggled against the ropes binding her legs and the strap still pinioning her elbows, but it was a losing battle.  Trish preceded me through the door, while Portia looked scared of what might next be in store for her.

She had reason to be apprehensive as I found out as we reached the shelter in the middle of the compound.  Mary had been busy on Shek, who was now sitting on the chair she had taken out.  He remained chained at the neck to the post, with his wrists still bound together behind him by the cable ties.  Mary had blindfolded him with some duct tape and had been exercising her professional skills after removing his baggy shorts.  Shek was making moaning sounds of pleasure, as he sat there sporting an enormous erection shiny with lubricant. 

“Remember your intentions for us?” Trish announced.  “Well guess what?  You get to play hide the sausage instead of us!” 

At that point it dawned on Portia exactly what her fate was to be, and she began to struggle and fight like a cat heading for a bath.  She was making panic-stricken grunts and shaking her head as Mary and Trish each grabbed an arm and the three of us carried her to where the blindfolded and gagged Shek sat on the chair with his member pointed up like an anti-aircraft gun.

We dumped Portia briefly on the ground, while we worked out how this was going to be done.  I had no compunction about this, knowing full well that all three of our team would have been royally screwed by Shek if the opportunity had presented itself.  It was a different matter for the arrogant Portia now that the tables were turned. 

Mary and Trish lifted and carried Portia with her arms horizontally by her side, while I steadied her legs.  We lowered Portia so the points of her knees were on Shek’s thighs, then slowly leaned her backwards, with Mary guiding the tip of the giant phallus into Portia’s butt hole.  Portia whimpered into the gag, squirming and wriggling, trying to get away from the rocket mating with the docking port.  Then she seemed to freeze, and we knew first contact had been made.  Portia’s eyes snapped open wide and she seemed to be gazing at some distant point as we lowered her an inch.

“Urrrgh!” she cried into the gag.  Shek made a small snort of pleasure and shifted slightly on the chair.  We lowered Portia a touch more and she uttered a muted scream which ended in a rapid panting and moaning.

“Just relax, dear,” said Trish soothingly.  “Let it in.  You’ve had them this big before, surely?”  Portia shook her head and made desperate grunting noises.  Trish and Mary lifted her up momentarily before letting her sink further on to the big prong. 

“Arrnnghh!  Nnnft!” Portia whimpered, but it was to no avail as she was raised and lowered again as the dick was slowly worked up inside her.  Portia’s hands were fluttering and clenching and her breasts – still trapped between the two bamboo poles – strained under their bondage.  The girls let her drop another inch and Portia jerked and screamed again, before they let gravity abruptly impale her up to the hilt. 

Shek let out a gagged sigh of satisfaction.  I suspected he had come to terms with the fact that there was nothing he could do about this, and he may as well just sit back and enjoy reaming the arse of his employer.  Portia had probably been someone to covet from afar – an unattainable goal for such a delightful pleasure.  No doubt he had had his fair share of other victims, but I was sure none would be quite so memorable as this.  My suspicions we confirmed as he gave a small pelvic thrust and his organ reached the limit of its deep intrusion into Portia, who squealed into her gag.  She was breathing hard, as though she had sprinted a hundred metres, and the perspiration was rolling down the side of her face, plastering the raven hair to her skin.  Now her eyes were closed and she looked to be trying to focus her thoughts on coping with the invader buried inside.

Mary signalled to me to take over holding Portia’s left forearm, while Mary slipped a rope through the two wrist cuffs and pulled it tight across Portia’s stomach, trapping her hands against her torso just under her ribs.  Then out came a longer rope which was wound tightly around Shek and Portia together, above and below Portia’s breasts, securing the pair immovably to each other with a couple of cinches between them. 

Mary now persuaded Shek to stand, pulling him up by the chain around his neck and securing it high up on a hook protruding from the wooden post.  The chair was removed and Portia was left hanging from Shek’s front by the body ropes, and I guess supported by the big phallus jammed inside her.  She moaned as Mary wrapped further ropes around their waists and knotted them at the small of Shek’s back.  From here she led two tails down – one each to Portia’s bent and bound legs, where the tails looped through the ankle bindings and returned to the waist rope.  The effect was to pull Portia’s legs further apart against the massive bulk of Shek’s thighs, but also transfer some of her weight to the waist rope.  Mary tied a final rope around the two bamboo poles between Portia’s breasts which she pulled back over Portia’s shoulders and knotted behind Shek’s thick neck, before dragging the tails down to join with the waist rope in the small of his back.

“I think that will keep you occupied for a while,” Mary said softly, a mixture of satisfaction and half-concealed menace in her voice.  “This is the definition of feeling fulfilled, Portia.  Or maybe filled full.  Get it?” Mary laughed, Trish grinned and Portia hung her head in abject misery and humiliation. 

“I found the keys to Shawnee’s chains,” Mary said.  “I suppose we should let the little trollop loose now.”  She pulled a small ring of keys from the pocket of her skirt and tossed them to me.  “Trish and I have some loose ends to sort out.”

The pair of them turned their backs and walked back to the open door of the house, leaving me standing there between Shawnee and the Portia/Shek Combo.  I had no idea what Mary and Trish were up to now.  It seemed to be a need-to-know situation, and I – as a mere male – did not need to know in this instance.  Sometimes I felt like I was just along for decoration with these two. 

Shawnee, who had been watching the whole scene with great interest looked up and smiled at my approach.  She was kneeling with her back very erect – a posture forced on her by the fact that the steel collar attached by chains to the two posts, was as low as it could be, keeping Shawnee’s back straight and her chin up.

“You have no idea how good it will be to get out of this horrible collar,” she said.

“Why?  You like wearing metal collars and chains and stuff.  Look, that heavy iron one fits nicely over your own stainless collar.”  Shawnee fingered the thin silver band that was riveted around her own neck and was just visible beneath the other.  "You look good – I should leave you there and we’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Steven – don’t joke!  You’re scaring me.  Please let me out.  I’m really sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

“You probably will be,” I agreed, “particularly when Mary and Trish decide what to do with you.  Being bound uncomfortably and having their butts whipped for the sake of a slave is not something every Domme wants to put in her CV.”  Shawnee dropped her eyes, as though the import of the real trouble she had caused was only now starting to come home, following the relief of seeing her Mistresses freed and her abductors overcome.

I unlocked the collar and helped Shawnee to her feet.

“You okay?” I asked quietly.  “Seriously.”

“Sure.”  She smiled gratefully.  “I’m glad you didn’t leave it any later though.  I got lots of whippings and other things, but I can cope with them.  I’m not sure how well I’d have dealt with King Dong over there, though.”

“I’m glad to see you still have your sense of humour.  And your new boots.  Where are your clothes?”

“I don’t know.  They took them away when we arrived here.”

“All right, come and see what we can find for you.”

Back inside the house Mary was rummaging through the box of equipment under the table.

“Aha,” she said triumphantly, as we entered, then looked up to see us.  “Oh, here she is, the cause of our whipped backsides.”  Shawnee, to her credit, managed to look both embarrassed and contrite simultaneously, hanging her head and hiding behind her long hair.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice.

“Get some clothes on, Shawnee,” Trish ordered.  “You can’t go back with us in that state.  We’re leaving very shortly.”

As Shawnee opened a door leading to whatever room lay through that way, Mary surfaced with a leather bag, the contents of which – five butt plugs of varying size – she tipped on to the table.  She examined the biggest one. 

“I think this will be suitable for our friend Mr Shek,” she said.  “Seems a shame to let Portia have all the fun.” 

“What are you intending to do with them?” I asked.

“What do you think we should do?” Trish asked warily, and I had the feeling that she was already planning something that would eventuate regardless of any plan I put forward.

“I don’t care what you do to those two,” I said. “The most important thing is that we find Monica and the others, and don’t leave a trail while we do it.”

“Which means getting back to the hotel tonight and getting on the first flight out to London, without Portia’s minions knowing.”

“Which means they have to stay here for a while, to give us a head start.”

“We could chain them up and get the cops to free them,” I suggested.

“No – no cops.”  Trish was adamant.  “Portia will have lots of friends in high places, and that could work against us.  She may have us delayed in going to the airport – or at the airport.”

“So you’re suggesting…?”

“Watch and learn, Sister.”

“I’m not one of your ‘sisters’,” I objected.

“You’ll look like one again when we give you another boob job,” Trish said with a smirk.  Meanwhile, Mary had opened up the small gas fridge in the corner and pulled out a plastic ice tray. 

“These ought to hold them for a while. Steven, can you rig up a time delay release?”

“Sure.”

“Good.  Now we have some further things to attend to.”

I took the ice tray and found a plastic bag, in to which I emptied the cubes, to make a jumble as big as my fist, which I wrapped in a tea towel.  Outside, I crossed the compound to the front gate, attracting baleful glares and a pleading moan from Portia as I did so.  I ignored her as she hung bound to the front of Shek’s body.  The gate was made of ancient timber with a big mortice lock from which the key protruded from the rear.  The key had the look of an antique and hung on an ancient ring, which sat heavily in my hand when I removed it.

Searching through the store area beside the gate I found some rusty wire which I used to tie the ice bundle to the top of the gatepost, as high as I could reach, before wrapping a further piece of wire loosely around the neck of the towel above the ice.  This would do for when we left the compound.

By the time I had finished this, Mary and Trish were back under the shelter, encouraging Shek to sit down on the chair again.  He had almost assumed the position, still blindfolded and gagged, when he felt the tip of the butt plug nuzzle his arse.  He grunted, and made as if to stand up, but with the weight of Portia now forcing him backwards, combined with Mary and Trish hauling on the rope at the back of his neck, it was only the strength of his thighs that gave Shek any hope of resisting.  But it was a losing battle, as he was slowly forced backwards and downwards on to the butt plug that the girls appeared to have fixed to the chair to hold it upright. 

This time it was Shek’s turn to grunt and protest into his gag, as the big plug was forced up his arse, until he finally sank down, unable to fight the remorseless pull of gravity.  He moaned and shuddered – a move which transferred itself through to the girl bound to his big frame.  Portia, too, uttered a small gagged cry, then the pair were silent, as Shek  shifted his buttocks on the chair to accommodate the plug.  Mary took another rope and tied it around the conjoined waists, then led it down Portia’s crotch and under Shek’s leg.  The girls forced him forward enough to free the plug from the chair and work the rope into place between the fleshy mounds that were Shek’s buttocks, before tugging it tight and tying a further knot in the small of his back.  The two prisoners were now enmeshed in a net of rope that was not going to be easily removed.

Shawnee had now appeared, clad in her white dress and a black leather jacket, and looking far happier with life that she had been previously, though she still walked awkwardly. 

“Did you hurt your foot?”  I asked, as she came up to me and picked up my little backpack from the mess of straw in to which it had fallen during my first tussle with Portia.

“What?  Oh, no.  Mary says I have to wear a butt plug all the way back to the hotel.”

“That’s a bit harsh.” 

She shrugged.  “I suppose it’s my own fault.  It’ll be all right once it settles down.  At the moment it just feels a bit… funny.  Oh, and I’ve brought this for you.”  She held out a balloon full of water, trying not to smile.  I took it from her and slipped it inside my bra.

“Oh goody.  Now I match.  Thank you Shawnee,” I said through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the sniggers that came from Mary and Trish behind my back. 

I took the backpack and watched as Trish shouldered her own. 

“We should go, girls.  What’s happening with the delay plan, Steven?  Perhaps you’ll explain it to these unfortunates.”

I moved across to Shek and pulled the duct tape off his eyes.  He glared at me with malevolence, which doubled with the input from above the rubber ball strapped in Portia’s mouth.

“We’re going now, gang,” I told them.  “We’ll lock the door after us and eventually the key will drop down from the gatepost.  When it does, you’ll be able to unlock the gate and make your way back to civilisation, where I’m sure you’ll find someone to undo all those nasty ropes and help you extract things from your bodies.  It may prove a bit embarrassing, but then life is a big embarrassment in many ways.” 

I unlocked and removed the chain holding him to the post by his neck, relocating it to go around his ankles, in the form of a short hobble.  I wanted it to be a long walk back to Tai O.

Portia mmphed furiously at me, then dropped her eyes pleadingly to where her breasts were still squeezed between the bamboo poles.  I shrugged, and pretended I had no idea what she meant.  The hateful expressions followed me as I walked across the compound to where the girls were waiting by the gate.  I unlocked the gate and we were about to exit when Trish stopped and fished in her bag.

“I almost forgot.  I have an important call to make.  She pulled her mobile out together with a small red leather-bound book.  Opening the front page she consulted and dialled a number, and without waiting to listen in, put the phone back in her bag.

“What’s going on?” Shawnee asked.  Trish inclined her head at the bound pair seated on the chair under the shelter.  Portia had suddenly become agitated, and the mmphing sounds she was making carried to the gate as she squirmed on Shek’s lap.

“That’s what happens to girls who use their mobile phones for immoral purposes,” said Trish.  “Okay, let’s go.”

We closed the wooden gate and I locked it.

“I need a volunteer to reach over the top and hang the key on the ice bag,” I said, realising that the ground was lower on the outside of the gate.

“Shawnee will do it,” Mary said briskly.  Shawnee looked unhappy.

I squatted down and Shawnee stood astride my neck while I grasped her white boots before rising to my feet.  Shawnee gasped and I thought I felt the base of the plug against my spine as it was pushed up her back passage further.  She stifled a squeal and grabbed hold of the beam above the gate, then leaned over to attach the key to the wire loop, before I set her down again.  Her face was flushed but her eyes sparkled.

“You’re a slut, Shawnee,” said Mary casually.  “Now stop playing with that Chinese girl and lets go.  Oh all right, your friend can come too.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said, as we headed back down the wooded trail into the late afternoon sun.

*   *   *

10.03.04

story continues in Monica's Travels 07

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