Monica's Travels 16

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

(story continues from Monica's Travels 15)

Chapter Sixteen – On Display – Monica’s Story

It was a long night with little sleep.  Part of this was due to the jet lag, and the fact that I had already slept to some extent while cramped up in the sand box, but in spite of all the indignities to which I had been subjected, I had almost reached the stage of over-tiredness.  Several times I must have dozed, but it only took a slight shift in my head to set the terrible mercury switch off again, and that was a guaranteed alarm clock, with emphasis on the ‘alarm’.  I would come to, gasping and crying behind the tape which had kept my lips sealed now for over twelve hours.  I was hungry and very sore, and the guilt I felt at dragging Emma and the others into this did nothing for my presence of mind.

I wondered what had happened to the others.  Leila and Jill had been taken somewhere else, I figured, though whether they had ended up stuffed into boxes I had no idea.  And what had become of Jade Wong, Warren and Leon?  Who was left behind in England?  Where were Steven, Trish and Mary?  And Shawnee, of course – probably getting into trouble somehow or other.  The tears came and went, dripping in the darkness on to the concrete floor below me.  Everything seemed such a complete mess.  Our wonderful round-the-world trip was a total shambles, and ultimately everything came back to being my fault.  The whole idea to go on the web, to get involved with Mohammed in Oman, and then the Games with the lure of the trip as a prize.  It had all turned to shit, I thought in a bitter bout of self-recrimination.

I tried to pull myself together, to focus on the facts.  At least I knew where I was, and I was not alone.  Emma was here to at least lend moral support, though of course two hostages could be played off against each other.  But Marilyn and Kris were known quantities, or so I thought.  They were here for the money, not for straight out revenge like Jade Wong.  And what when BondCon finished?  What then?  At least New York was English-speaking – sort of.  It wasn’t as if we’d been sold into slavery in Chetchneya or somewhere.  I reckoned there was hope yet, if I could just lure Kris and Marilyn into making a mistake.  But they had slipped up once and would learn from that…

My mind went in circles and all the time it kept arriving at a hopeless conclusion, with an unknown future.  Emma was talking in her sleep, obviously dreaming, making little mumbling snuffles, but nothing too extreme to give me cause to worry.  Emma was tougher than she seemed when the chips were down.  I was glad she was with me.

*   *   *

Marilyn was first in the next morning, at whatever time it was.  In our prison there were no windows and no lights until they came on with Marilyn’s arrival. 

“How are we all?” she asked brightly.  I groaned, and Emma mumbled something as though she was just waking up.  Marilyn squatted down and peered up at me, then glanced down at the control box, obviously noting that the intensity was set on ‘high’, rather than the ‘medium’ she had set it at, and observed the extra string tied to my drinking straw.  She frowned, and to my great relief, she switched the thing off entirely and began to untie the strings connecting me to the mercury switch, removing the nipple locks at the same time. 

She had barely finished doing this when Kris arrived, and Marilyn suggested that Kris could complete the job by removing the plug from my arse and the spreader bar.  There was an exchange of looks between them, and I wondered what was going on between the pair, and what their relationship was.  There seemed to be subtle little passive aggressive nuances that I couldn’t put my finger on.  Kris did as Marilyn asked, but not without giving me a thorough reaming in the process, making me squirm and buck in my bonds before she finally pulled the plug clear.  I looked beseechingly at Marilyn, who gave Kris a stony glare, but nothing was said.  Meanwhile Marilyn had removed Emma from her box where her hands remained cuffed in front of her.  I was fuming from the discovery that the keys to my cuffs had been taped to the back of my hood the whole journey from England, not that I could really have done much about it, but that wasn’t the point.

At last I was able to draw my legs together, while Marilyn - this morning dressed in a dark green leather dress with long sleeves and matching shoes – took Emma outside, leaving me alone with Kris. 

“Did we sleep well?” asked Kris mischievously.  I was still on my face, unable to turn over because of the belt across the small of my back.  “I hear you had some shocking dreams.”  She smirked and I did my best to ignore her.  From somewhere outside my field of vision she produced a flogger, with multiple tails about half a metre long, and dangled it in front of my face.

“Marilyn’s taking your Chinese friend for a shower.  She smells – you both do.”  I wanted to ask what she expected after being cooped up in a rubber suit for nearly a day, having rude things done to you, but as usual the tape kept me silent.  “I could give you a bit of a flogging and nobody would be the wiser, under that latex,” Kris teased.  I knew it would still hurt.  What I wasn’t ready for was the sudden upward flick beneath the padded bench, that caught my exposed left nipple where it poked through the slit in the rubber and the hole in the bench, and dangled the small lock as an unseen target.

“Nnnnph!” I whined, which only attracted another flick.  I raised myself up, arching my back and trying to keep my breasts within the thickness of the padded bench top.  Kris simply walked round the other side, pushed my head down into the hole with one hand and flicked with the other.  I uttered a stifled cry again as the thongs cracked across my exposed and vulnerable nipple.  Several more thwacks followed, but held at waist and head all I could do was struggle and kick in the fresh air, waving my legs about in a futile and pointless protest.

Kris was in the process of prodding my crotch with the handle of the flogger when Marilyn returned with Emma, carrying the rubber suit.  Emma was now naked, save for a pair of black high heeled shoes that strapped on around her ankles.  The heels were tall and spikey, and Emma tottered uncertainly, despite having worn such shoes many times at Bilboes.  Her arms were now crossed in the small of her back, secure in a black leather arm sheath and although her hair was wet, she looked much better.  She was made to kneel and given a bowl of cereal on the floor.  Emma had done this many times and took it in her stride, eating the stuff with a minimum of fuss except when her long hair kept getting into the bowl.

Marilyn came across to me and released the belt.  I groaned and slowly slid off the bench into an upright position, savouring the change in position and the chance to bend my body.  I did not like long confinements. 

Marilyn eyed me curiously, then ran long fingernails lightly over my left breast, where it protruded through the slit in the rubber suit.  I flinched, for the flesh was still tender from Kris’s flogger.

“These are fresh marks,” Marilyn said, half to me, half to herself.  She looked at me and inclined an eyebrow towards Kris, now fussing with a discipline helmet for Emma.  I nodded.  I had nothing to lose by fostering a bit of mistrust between these two, and I suspected that Marilyn was the one really running the show.  Power politics were all about knowing who was really in control, what their agenda was, and where their weakness lay.  I resolved to store this information away for future use.

“Come with me,” Marilyn said.  “I’ll go clean this one up,” she told Kris, who grunted, not looking up from forcing a yellow sponge rubber ball into Emma’s mouth as a precursor to the leather hood.  Emma gurgled and rolled her eyes at me.

Marilyn picked up a plastic bag of something and looped a length of rope around my neck.  I followed her through a door and in to a cramped room with tiled walls and a number of showers on one side, and toilets on the other.  The place looked as though it had once had a series of partitions dividing all of these facilities, but at some stage these had been removed, leaving only the plumbing hardware.  It all smelt of damp and decay and was again poorly lit by fluorescent lights, only half of which seemed to be working. 

“I must apologise for the state of the facilities,” Marilyn said.  “This is the first time we’ve held the convention here, and running this separate little offshoot in tandem with the main event has been a bit of a trial.  It has also been very profitable, of course,” she continued, towing me across to where a chain and open lock dangled from a showerhead.  The free end of the chain was locked around my neck and she proceeded to undo the ropes binding my wrists and the tape wrapped around my head.

“You may now remove the suit and wash yourself.  The key to the chain is hanging by the door, so don’t even think of trying anything smart on me, since you still won’t get free.”

Slowly I stripped, removing the mouthpiece with the straw and pulling the hood off my head.  My hair was lank and matted and I was glad to be able to finally undo the front zipper of the suit and prise my body out of the clinging latex.  I peeled the rubber off my arms and finally stepped out of the suit with difficulty, since the neck chain prevented me bending down very far.  I did all this very slowly, for my arms and legs ached from the periods they had spent restrained and immobilised, and my skin felt as though I had been through a tenderiser.

“My, my,” said Marilyn, from her position leaning against the wall, watching me critically.  “Nice body, shame about the skin tones.  This is most disappointing, Monica.” 

“It’s not self-inflicted,” I retorted, my voice sounding strange after the long time I had been gagged and had had the plugs in my ears.  “Your friends have a perverse taste in entertainment.”

“As do we all,” Marilyn replied laconically.  “We’re all in the business, Monica.  You have to be prepared to take it as well as dish it out.  But admittedly you seem to have been taking rather a lot lately.”

“Thanks for noticing.” 

“And they’re not my friends.  They’re business acquaintances.  I wanted some suitable subs for this exhibition, and when I heard you were available, how could I resist?  It was all a bit rushed, unfortunately.  The convention’s been going a day already, but you’re going to be a star in the two remaining days.  A number of people of heard of you – do you realise that?”  I said nothing, turning on the water and waiting for it to get warm.  “That’s about as good as it gets,” Marilyn told me, seeing my hesitation in getting under it.  The water was barely tepid, but I guess prisoners couldn’t be choosers.  I put my head under the flow and gasped, but it still felt good after a day trapped in the rubber suit.  There was a bar of soap and I gave myself a shampoo and a good soaping, inside and out.  My arse felt really tender after enduring the plug all night, not to mention Kris’s unsympathetic removal of it this morning.

Marilyn watched me without speaking.  The sound of the water echoed off the dingy walls and when I eventually turned it off, she threw me a towel.

A silence descended on the place.  I dried myself and Marilyn passed me a couple of bananas and a yoghurt bar.

“Breakfast,” she said.

“So what now?” I asked, as I tore into the food.

“What now? Well, for two days the famous Monica Armstrong gets to be star of the show – well, backstage, anyway.  You’d be quite surprised how many in the business know of you and your little escapades, since you put your website up.  You’re a bit of an icon, not least through your man Steven’s stories that you’ve posted.  The idea of seeing a subjugated Domme appeals to a lot of people – particularly the guys.  They like the resistance element.  But of course this will be by invitation only, and you can bet these people will have gold credit cards.  And that’s only fair, after we got screwed in the Games.  Why shouldn’t we recoup a little, courtesy of your good self?”

“And then what?”

“After BondCon?  I don’t know.  I understand your Chinese friend will be coming back to collect you.”  I must have looked blank.  “The Wong woman.”

“Jade Wong?  She’s here?”

“Of course.  Didn’t you know?  Who do you think accompanied you on the flight?”

“I – I hadn’t thought about it…”  I was rattled by this information.

“I’ve only got you on loan, honey – a fortuitous coincidence.  After that you’re not my problem.”

“So you’re just going to turn us over to Jade Wong without a second thought?”

Marilyn shrugged.  “Hey, shit happens.  You have to take some accountability for your actions, Monica.  You were the one who created the Games.  From what I hear you were the one who tangled with Jade Wong in the first place.  Why should I risk myself?”

“Thanks for reminding me,” I said bitterly.  “I wasn’t feeling quite guilty enough.  At least you could let Emma go.”

“And have the wrath of the Wong triads down on me?  I don’t think so.  Now turn around and cross your wrists.”

Reluctantly I did so, still trying to make sense of what this new information meant.  Jade Wong was here, somewhere, and after two days of some sort of pony show, we would be entrusted to her mercies again.  I had two days to devise an escape.  As Marilyn wound several turns of cord around my wrists and cinched them snugly, I said:

“How much do you expect to make out of this show?”

“I should clear twenty grand.  Not bad for three days work.”

“I’ll pay you twenty-five.”

Marilyn laughed as she delved into the plastic bag.  “Bribery, huh? Nice try, honey.  Here you are, naked in America, no ID, no passport, no visa, no clothes.  Where have you got twenty-five grand – up your pussy?  No – come to think of it we looked in there before, heheh.”  She pulled out a leather discipline helmet and a soft rubber ball.  “Open wide.”

“No, seriously, I – glurph!”

“Good girl.  Now hold still while I lock the hood in place.”  It was of black leather and Marilyn laced it tight before putting a padlock through the bottom eyelets.

And that was the end of the conversation.  I was allowed to go to the toilet, then found myself back in the room where Emma and I had spent the night.  Emma and Kris were not there, and Marilyn bent me over and tied the tail of my cinch rope to a ring mounted at head height on the wall. 

“I have to go help Kris, before she takes advantage of your cute little sub.  Kris is a bit unpredictable, as I think you’ve already discovered.  I need to keep an eye on her.” She let her hand caress the cheeks of my backside, which were still bruised from the caning and floggings I had received in England.

“Anyone ever told you that you have a nice butt, Monica?”  I grunted.  “Well you have.  I could quite fancy you, except your skin colour is terrible at the moment.  It’s quite off-putting, and I’m very disappointed that they’ve done this to you.”  Not half as peeved as I was, though.  “Now I’ll have to take measures to get round that, to still present you in the best light.  I will review that aspect in due course.  Don’t go away.”

She exited, her high heels clacking purposefully across the concrete floor, and I found myself alone, bound and gagged still, in circumstances that seemed to be getting no better.

*   *   *

Ten minutes later Kris returned. She grinned at my predicament, and like Marilyn did a pointed groping of my buttocks.

“Nice colour scheme,” she said, easily overcoming my attempts to keep my backside to the wall, which is difficult to do with your head forced down past waist level.  She gave me two mighty slaps on my cheeks which made me yell into the ball trapped in my mouth, and only provoked more glee from Kris.  Clearly she was getting her own back for whatever may have transpired between us previously.  They say women are far more likely to harbour grudges than men, and I think I agree.  Right then I was anchored in the middle of that harbour.

Kris untied the rope holding my wrists up and urged me ahead of her through a doorway and along a corridor.  We stopped at a steel door which she unlocked and opened, before pushing me through.  Beyond the door, the large room was brightly lit and much more cheerful than the dingy area we had just come from.  There were various floodlights set up on stands and large tables set out with displays of different equipment on it around the perimeter of the room.  In the centre there was a raised section of floor which had been covered in carpet, and on this were several stainless steel frame-like devices, designed for obvious and no doubt uncomfortable restraining purposes.

By far the most prominent was one which looked not unlike a trampoline, about the size of a double bed, with what seemed to be made of clear vinyl stretched within the rectangular frame.  I saw at once that it had some significant differences from either a bed or a trampoline, since the steel rectangle was supported on a triangular support at mid-point on each of the two long sides, so that obviously the rectangular frame could rotate vertically about these support points.  I was at once curious, in a professional sort of way, but also apprehensive. 

I had little time to take in this device, for Kris pushed me over to another frame next to the trampoline thing.  The frame was made from one-inch chromed pipe, and looked like a mutant piece of avant garde furniture without the padding for a seat.  It’s floor plan was an inverted ‘U’, with obvious ankle anchor points at the ends of the ‘U’, and a vertical bar rising to crotch level from the mid point of the ‘U’.  At this point the bar split, the upper end converting into a kind of vertical collar, a bit like a pillory,, while a horizontal bar curved gently back towards the occupier to end in a vertical semi-circle of pipe parallel to the collar.  I had to admit it was a work of art.  This was not just a restraint device that had been knocked up in a back yard welding shed.  This had style and class, and would have been acceptable in a modern living room, perhaps with suitable adornments.

I was to get a feel for it very quickly, as Kris made me bend over the open semi-circle, which fitted my waist comfortably, then pulled my head down to fit the rigid collar, which had a hinge on one side and locked with a pronounced click after my throat touched the lower side.  It was at once quite comfortable, but also made me feel exposed in the way that a whipping bench did not, for this device left one’s belly and breasts exposed to a whip, and there seemed no part that might not prove vulnerable.  Kris quickly secured my ankles with two short lengths of rope to the ends of the base and I awaited my fate.

“Do you like our latest piece of furniture?” Marilyn purred.  “Later we’ll show you – or rather Emma – how it can really function in relation to household décor.  For the moment it is simply fulfilling the purpose of keeping your legs apart while we wire you up for your demonstration this morning.  Oh, and I should tell you, this morning we will be showing off this and the bed, and this afternoon we will be demonstrating the latest in portable technology and other devices, which will give you something to look forward to.  Now, the doors open at nine and we have to get you prepared before then.”

Although bent over, I was really only attached at my neck and ankles, and loosely at that.  Not that I could go anywhere, but I could at least turn my head and take in my surroundings.  Emma was kneeling on the floor nearby, her crossed arms still encased in the heavy leather sheath across her back, her eyes wide through the leather hood and her black hair spilling from underneath it.  Beyond her, in a corner, was a large object the size of a couch draped in a dust sheet.  I was in the process of looking at the various pieces of electrical gear on a nearby table when there was a nozzle poked up my backside and a squirt of cold gel went inside, followed by one in the front passage. 

Kris was there again, flourishing a wicked double prong which evidently came complete with clit stimulator.  She showed it to me with a malicious smile, and I saw that it was made of clear acrylic – an enormous butt plug merging into an equally-proportioned dildo as the other branch of the U-shaped device, with the stimulator branching out from that like a small shoot off a plant.  There appeared to be electrodes on all of these extensions, and I had the feeling I was going to be in for a wild morning.

“Just relax,” said Kris, as the head of the dildo slid into my pussy, and the tip of the plug nuzzled my butt hole.  I did as I was told, for there is no alternative in such a situation that to minimise the pain of what is about to befall you.  The plug was the worse, and I could not help groaning as Kris forced it in and out, each thrust stretching my sphincter muscle more and prompting further gagged moans from me.  I was breathing hard and fidgeting with my bound hands in my helplessness.  Kris was making far more out of this than was necessary, giving me a thorough reaming in my arse that was already tender from the plug it had endured overnight and various other indignities incurred in England.  I felt the sweat break out on my forehead under the hood, as my breathing became faster and shallower, until finally, with a deep thrust, the plug was pushed home.  I gasped and whined with the sudden pain, which was replaced by that uncomfortable fullness that immediately follows, as your body struggles to accommodate the intruder.  At the same time the dildo has engaged to the full depth in my pussy, filling me here, too, and stretching my clit so that it was pushed against the stimulator.  I let out a long sigh.

“Good slave,” said Kris with an undisguised smirk.  “I know you love it!”

Bitch, I thought.

Kris produced a wide belt that she buckled around my waist as though it was a corset – needlessly tight.  From the front of this extended a crotch strap that had was seemed to be made especially to fit the insidious device that I was now plugged with, for the strap split in two in the centre part, obviously designed to pass either side of the device and hold it in place.  Kris buckled it in the small of my back, tugging the strap until the plugs were pushed further inside me, making me grunt with the effort of accommodating them.  Kris then spent a minute making some sort of wiring connections to the plug, and I saw a double wire extending a metre or so before terminating in a small electrical plug.

With this process complete, Kris undid my ankles and opened the yoke at my neck, before shepherding me across to the trampoline thing.  It was lying in the horizontal position, just above waist level.  Kris made me bend over on to the bed then grabbed my ankles and lifted my legs so that I rolled on to the thing.  The material itself was a clear stiff vinyl, stretched over the frame.  Looking more closely at it now, I realised the device was a vacuum bed.  Oh god, I thought.  The picture was starting to come clear…

I looked more closely and saw that the foot of the bed had a top sheet of vinyl attached, but pulled back as though the covers had been thrown off the bed.  There was a heavy duty zipper around the other three sides where the top sheet would be zipped to the bottom one.  Sewn in to the four corners were webbing straps which protruded a few inches into the interior before terminating in metal D-rings, and it was to the two at the foot of the bed that Kris now loosely attached my ankles using leather cuffs and further adjustable webbing straps.  I was surprised that she did not pull them tight, for they held my legs only half a metre apart, which was not discomforting at all.  There would be a reason for this, I was sure.  As it was now, I leaned back on my bound arms and looked at the wire trailing from my crotch as Kris attached it to one of several plugs at the middle of the foot of the bed, from which point it exited from the interior of the bed through a sealed hole.

That was the point at which Kris went out and returned a few minutes later with a couple of dozen people in tow.  They seemed to be much the same group as the previous night, although then I had not been in a position to recognise faces. They were roughly half male and half female with the latter group being clearly delineated between dominant and submissive.  I saw only one male that I might have considered a sub.  Mostly they wore black, with the odd discrete collar here and there, but nothing too outrageous.  They all appeared to be here strictly for business, and I felt myself flush as they eyed the bound and hooded female sitting with her legs splayed out on the vacuum bed.

Marilyn took the stage between the stainless frame and the vacuum bed.  The murmured buzz that had accompanied the entrance of the group died as she waited for silence.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen.  Thank you for coming to this latest showing from Kristalyn Products.  We aim to go one step beyond the companies you have seen out there in the main hall.  In here you can try out the products yourselves, and understand that we have nothing on display that we do not consider to be top quality and guaranteed.  We have tested these products rigorously ourselves, consulted the manufacturers, and often developed and improved them further.  We hope to show you some things this morning that will be unlike anything you may have encountered before, either in design concept or simply in quality.  We know you are prepared to pay for quality and innovation, and we know you are all past customers who can take confidence in the standard of our wares.

“Joining myself this morning is my partner Kris.” Kris raised her hand in what might have been construed as a half-embarrassed gesture.  “And we also have, especially imported from Australia, the lovely Emma…” she gestured at the kneeling form “and Monica.”  Again, I felt the eyes on me.  “Monica may be known to you, if not personally, then most likely through the Bilboes website, where I think you’ll agree she has done some pioneering work.”  I decided I’d like to do some pioneering work on Marilyn right then.  “Currently she is doing a little stint on the submissive side of the fence, although she needs a little persuasion in this regard from time to time.”  Marilyn smiled ingenuously and I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment under the hood.

“I will reveal her full beauty in due course, since Monica will be here until the end of the conference, participating in further demonstrations. But Emma will be the first to partake in a show for you.  Emma!  On your feet.”

Emma got awkwardly to her feet and at Marilyn’s gesture, tottered across to where Marilyn stood.  There was a faint murmur of appreciation at Emma’s physique – the full breasts, narrow waist and long legs that were the opposite of most Chinese girls.  It wasn’t the first time that I wondered if Emma wasn’t some throw-back to a past non-Chinese fling by a rebellious ancestor.

“Bend over the frame,” Marilyn instructed, and Emma did as she was told, taking the position I had recently occupied, while Marilyn clicked the semi-circular yoke closed over her neck.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have two products on display for you in this first demonstration.  They have been chosen to complement each other.  The first is this lovely stainless steel restraint frame, which – I’m sure you’ll agree – is so much more than that.  It’s a work of art worthy of a lounge or study, and versatile into the bargain.”  She reached into a cardboard box nearby.  “You see this is not just a frame, but a lamp stand.”  She produced elegant-looking lamps each the size of a coffee mug, on short stems, which screwed into the ends of the semi-circular bar over which Emma was bent at the waist.

“Further lamps can be added,” Marilyn continued, “such as this one at the front, which has a clip-on stand.”  She removed a curved chrome pole from a slim box and slotted it on to the vertical bar that supported Emma’s neck yoke.  The pole bent away from the bar in an S-shape, passing in front of Emma’s face, then curved up and back on itself to end in a suspended lamp hanging a few inches above Emma’s head.

“There are small plugs on the frame itself where other lamps can be plugged in, such as these two.”  Marilyn held up two lamps which had small clips on top, and squatting down, she secured one on to each of Emma’s nipples as her breasts hung exposed beneath her.  Emma whined into the gag under her hood and squirmed, while Marilyn connected the electrical plugs to the sockets in the frame.  She stood up and plugged in the main cord to a nearby socket outlet and the five lamps lit up.  They were obviously low wattage, and as Kris turned off the overhead lights, the lamps cast an ambient glow over the helpless girl trapped in the frame.  There was a ripple of admiration from the audience, for Emma’s voluptuous curves and alabaster skin were highlighted in all their sensual detail.

With the timing of a professional, Marilyn let them enjoy the sight of Emma’s highlighted rounded buttocks and breasts, before signalling to Kris to have the overhead lights on again and unplugging the frame lights.

“Now,” she said, ”who wouldn’t like one of those in their living room?”  It was a rhetorical question, but one that prompted the inevitable response from someone.

“I’ll take the slave as an optional extra,” along with laughter from the group.  Marilyn smiled.

“But there’s more,” she said, with the style of one selling steak knives as a special offer.  She flourished the device that was securely jammed inside my own body at that moment.  “Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to the ultimate vibrator… the Ultimator.”  She handed the device to the nearest person in the crowd, for them to pass around and examine.

“You’ve seen plenty of versions of these, but this is a little different.  This one has all the obvious stimulation criteria.  It can provide pleasurable vibrations or painful shocks.  What it also has is the ability to act as a switch.  Let me first put it in place in dear Emma here.”  She took a further device out of a box and lubed it thoroughly, before working it into Emma’s butt and pussy.  Emma wriggled and mewed and even a couple of swift slaps on her buttocks from Marilyn did not entirely subdue her squirmings as the big plug was finally shoved fully up her arse and the front dildo and its clit stimulator came to rest in their anointed places.  Marilyn efficiently secured the waist belt and crotch strap in place and turned to her audience again.

“The difference with this device is firstly that it can run on batteries or from the mains, via this black box, and it is in this latter capacity that it can be so much fun.  This box has the controls to vary the sensation and – as I said – to act as a switch for some other device.  Let me first hook up the box to the Ultimator.”  Marilyn set the box on a small pedestal about waist high, and connected a wire from it to the device embedded in Emma.  “Now we fix two sticky pads to the inside of Emma’s thighs – one on each – which are attached also to the black box by a wire.  Put your legs together Emma, so that the pads are touching.  Good girl. “  There was a faint humming sound.

“These pads represent the first of a two-stage switch, ladies and gentlemen.  With the pads touching like this, Emma will experience a nice warm fuzzy vibration in all her sensitive parts.  Break the contact and the power steps up and the warm fuzzies become painful fuzzies.”  Marilyn pushed Emma’s legs apart and there was a louder buzzing and a muffled squeak from Emma.  As soon as she felt Marilyn’s hands removed, Emma’s legs were touching and a sigh escaped from the black leather hood.

Marilyn turned briefly to her audience.  “This is where things get really interesting.  First we put two ankle cuffs on Emma, as Kris is now demonstrating.”  Kris squatted and fastened a leather cuff around each ankle.  “Then we hook each cuff to the base of the frame with a bungee cord, like so.  You will notice that Emma can still keep her thighs together, but only with considerable effort.  Sooner or later her legs will weaken and those pulses of pleasure will abruptly change to pulses of self-inflicted pain.  Neat, huh?”  There was a murmur of approval.

“But the best bit is still to come.”  Marilyn held up the black box.  “The best thing about this box is the fact that – as I said before – it can act as a secondary switch.  You will see that there is a socket outlet here on the side.  The box is plugged in to the mains, but the switching action you see alternating between pleasure and pain will also switch the power on or off to this outlet.  So, when we plug in the lamps to this outlet, lo and behold we have the lamps in synch with the pleasure and pain.”  Marilyn pushed the lighting power plug into the black box and immediately the five lamps glowed brightly. 

Marilyn lifted her nyloned leg and worked it between Emma’s.  As Emma’s legs parted and the contact was broken, the lights were extinguished and the humming upped to a harsher buzz again.  Emma jiggled her buttocks, trying to get past Marilyn’s foot holding her legs apart, and making whining noises as she did so.

“See how anxious she is to have the lights on again?” said Marilyn.   “You might use the television instead of the lights, or any electrical appliance.  Failure to keep the appliance functioning brings its own punishment.  So keeping things going is easy, were it not for the bungee cords.  Shortly Emma’s thigh muscles will start to react against the cords, as the constant straining against the cords will start to have its effect, eventually forcing her legs apart, causing the pain of the Ultimator as the lights fail, then the desperate bid to reconnect those lovely legs again, to get the warm fuzzies.  It’s a wonderful aversion therapy.  Reinforce the good with pleasurable sensation, the bad with pain.  The opportunities for slave training are limited only by your own imagination.”  Marilyn stepped back and removed her foot from between Emma’s legs.  She gave a soft groan of release as the pads on her thighs came into contact again.  “Imagine if – instead of the lights – the on/off switch powered a painful process for a friend, say Monica here?  Imagine if – while Emma was getting the pleasure, Monica was getting the pain?  How confused would Emma become?  How screwed up would she become?  What would you do then, Emma?” asked Marilyn, close beside the black hood.  There was a shake of the hood and an incoherent moan from beneath it.  I was not mad on the idea either.

“Perhaps we’ll just stick with the lights for the moment,” said Marilyn with a sly smile in my direction.  “Of course, Emma’s concentration might be upset a little with distractions.  One of the opportunities you have today, ladies and gentlemen, is to try out some of the products on display here.  During this first display, we will give you the opportunity to test the products on the long table to my right.  Before we put the lovely Monica on show, perhaps we’ll have an informal fifteen minutes for you to inspect this first table, check out the Ultimator, try out the black box, inspect the light frame, and have a look at our other products.”

The formal presentation ceased and Kris and Marilyn did some mixing and mingling, working the customers and showing off the wares on the table.  These proved to be a variety of paddles and crops, and it wasn’t long before these were being tested on poor Emma’s exposed buttocks.  She jerked as the first blow struck, then a second.  After the third her legs parted as she lost her concentration, and obviously the painful buzz jolted her as the lights flickered out momentarily.  The observers soon saw the potential of this, as the game became who could make the lights go out. 

Emma was hmmming and making small gagged squeals as the paddles and crops beat a pattern on her backside, while the vibrators buzzed inside her, stimulating the parts that would send her off to orgasmland.  Poor Em was getting painful thwacks on the outside and wonderful sensations on the inside, and the two were battling for ultimate control.  I saw her legs begin to twitch and tremble, and I knew she was struggling to keep the bungee cords from pulling her legs apart.

Finally it came, and Emma went into a series of jerking, thrusting motions, her mmphing rising and sounding louder as the talk died amongst the audience.  Emma struggled to keep her focus and finally humped the frame for all she was worth, crying out into her gag, as the audience stepped back and applauded.

*   *   *

Of course it was my turn after that.  Marilyn at least had the decency to turn the power off to Emma’s insert, to give her time to recover, while I became the focus of attention.  Marilyn disappeared behind me and climbed on to the bed.  I tried to turn to see what she was doing, but my position with my legs spread and my arms bound behind me made it difficult.  I felt her fingers undo the lock at the base of the discipline hood, then the laces were loosened.  The hood came away and I could no longer hide behind its anonymity.  I felt abruptly vulnerable and embarrassed, with every eye on me.  I was a domme who had fallen from grace, and was now bound and gagged like a common subbie.  This was so demeaning. 

“Spit out the ball,” Marilyn ordered, and I pushed out the sponge rubber ball with my tongue.  It rolled down my body on to the vinyl bed leaving a trail of drool.  I was about to consider what I should say to the people, and ask for help and release - not that I expected it would achieve anything – when Marilyn gripped my hair and pulled my head back.  A stiff rubber mouthpiece like a snorkel tube was forced into my mouth, holding it open, and was buckled behind my neck.  The mouthpiece was not so large as a ring gag, and was connected to some sort of stiff rubber breathing tube which trailed over my shoulder.

Marilyn tousled my hair, which had become flattened by the hood.  “Pretty, isn’t she.  This is the famous Monica, everybody.  How the mighty are fallen, right sugar?” She gave me a playful cuddle.  Right then I was feeling neither playful nor cuddly.  I was naked and exposed, and about to have something done to me which would no doubt prove unpleasant and/or embarrassing.  Marilyn was off on her spiel again, as she pulled a pair of clear plastic swimming goggles over my eyes.

“As you will have noticed, everyone, both the top and bottom sheets of the bed are of clear vinyl.  This makes cleaning easy and also gives you a wonderful view of the restrained person.  Of course it also lets them see what is happening, provided their eyes are open.  This is why we use these swimming goggles, for it permits the prisoner to open and close their eyes, rather than have the top sheet pulled hard against closed eyelids.”  She was now undoing the ropes at my wrists.

“Monica, you will see, also has the Ultimator strapped in place, and she just can’t wait to get started, can you Monica?” 

“Oagh,” I said, experimenting with the amount of diction I could manage around the mouthpiece.  It was minimal, limited mainly to guttural sounds from my throat devoid of any consonants that might involve lips and tongue.  Kris climbed on to the bed beside Marilyn and grasped one arm as the ropes were undone.  The pair of them pulled my arms apart and fitted leather cuffs to my wrists, before locking them to the straps sewn in the corners of the bed.  With this done, they climbed off and left me to explore the limits of my bonds.

I was tied quite loosely, though I couldn’t reach anything that might enable me to free myself.  Just how loosely I was tied I discovered when there was a sudden jolting shock to my loins and up my arse. I yelled into the mouthpiece and spasmed my body in a vain effort to firstly close my legs and secondly to get my hands down to my crotch.  Marilyn laughed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you now see that the Ultimator is working, and also that it has quite an effect on the recipient.”  The pulsing was going on, not so abruptly now, but in a painful tingling that was making my insides jump and saw me scrabbling and squirming in an effort to clutch the belt or to somehow ease the pain.  I was conscious of making a continuous groaning protest through the breathing tube and my nose.  Then the sensation died, and my body went limp, as happens after such an episode, when you realise how tense your whole body has become.  It was like the sensation in the dentist’s chair when he finally stops drilling.

“We can add two further little pads on those lovely pink nipples,” Marilyn continued, flourishing two metal rings that were not unlike two hoseclips, of the sort that you screw tight around a hose with a screwdriver.  The same thing was happening here, as Marilyn and Kris took one clip each and began to play with my nipples.  Somewhere along the line the pleasurable side of the vibrator came on, and it was not surprising that my nips stood up like a couple of fingertips pointing to the heavens, saying ‘take me, take me’, as they were wont to do.  It was easy for the two rings to be screwed up around them, not unbearably tightly, but snugly enough for their purpose to be unmistakeable, especially when the wires were unwound down to the plugs at the base of the bed between my legs.  Marilyn’s final act was to connect the snorkel hose to the outlet through the bottom sheet somewhere near my head. 

“We’re now just about ready to begin,” Marilyn said briskly, with the air of a magician about to perform a party trick.  She and Kris took up positions on either side of the bed and pulled the clear vinyl top sheet over me, zipping it up along each side and doing something to seal it closed where the zippers met above my head.  At once I began to get the closed-in feeling, as things became quieter, and the vinyl misted up in front of my nose when I breathed the air trapped along with me.

“Through your mouth, dear,” said Marilyn patiently, motioning Kris towards where the pump obviously was.  “Emma, legs together!”  The vibrations, which had stopped after the nipple rings had been fixed in place, abruptly started again, a warm stirring in my crotch.  Marilyn moved closer to Emma and did something that I couldn’t really see, for my vision was now limited by the goggles and the top sheet.  Abruptly the sensations changed and a jolt shot through me.  I jerked and struggled against my restraints, making urh-urh noises as I half panicked, trying vainly to reach the offending device.  Then it stopped, and Marilyn continued in a smug tone:

“You can see that everything is still very active, and Monica has lots of movement – as does Emma, under the same circumstances, hahaha.  Another feature of this, ladies and gentlemen, is that the motor for the pump is very quiet – much quieter than your domestic vacuum cleaner.  It’s all part of new technology – another product of the space program, I guess.  Who’d have thought it, huh?”  There was a murmur of laughter amongst the crowd, then Kris switched the pump on. 

There was a smooth deflation of the top sheet as it started to mould around my body.  I had enough presence of mind to put myself in a comfortable symmetrical position, feet turned slightly outwards, palms down and face upward, as the two sheets came together and formed around my body like clam shells, moulding against my skin in a clammy embrace.  Abruptly I found myself frozen, unable to move, the blood now pounding in my ears, as I stared at the ceiling and began to sweat.

My breathing was fast and shallow, as sometimes happens when you first go underwater with a snorkel.  This time the snorkel had a different usage, but it was still my lifeline to the outside world.  The warm feeling from my loins continued, and Marilyn’s voice was way in the distance.  I tried to suppress my panic at this claustrophobic situation, gradually focussing my mind and calming down.  I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing. In, out… in, out…  The feelings between my legs reminded me of that, as well, but I tried to shut that out of my mind.  I was starting to get my control back when there was a sudden movement and the bed began to tilt.  I realised it could pivot, and I was being tilted upright.  It was a weird sensation, for there was no slippage between the two vinyl sheets.  They left me vertical for perhaps five minutes, staring at the people who stared back, then seemed to mill about looking at various other products.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw somebody line up Emma’s taut buttocks with a crop of some sort.

No! I thought.  Don’t!

The blow caught Emma by surprise, sufficiently to make her lose her own concentration and have her thighs part for a couple of seconds.  The electricity shot through my pussy, arse and nipples and I screamed into the mouthpiece, but found myself utterly incapable of movement.  I could see Marilyn and Kris pointing at my enforced immobility, obviously highlighting the benefits of the vac-bed’s sucking power.  A number of other patrons then seemed to invent a game called ‘Let’s make Monica Move’, which involved a variety of instruments being applied to poor Emma’s backside, as her legs trembled and fluttered and waves of painful shocks zapped through my most tender parts.  Of course Emma was getting it the same as I was, albeit without the nipple zaps, but then I didn’t have two lamps clipped to mine.  Emma’s lights were going on and off as she struggled to keep her thighs touching under the succession of strikes and against the continuous strain from the bungee cords also trying to pull her legs apart, and I suffered along with her.

Finally they tired of the game, and turned to me more directly.  Perhaps it was the novelty of being able to deal a flogging to Monica of the Net that appealed, or maybe it was just more of Marilyn and Kris’s sales pitch about how secure the vac-bed was in immobilising its victim.  Whatever the reason, my now vertical position exposed my own backside, even if it was covered with a second skin of clear plastic that had insinuated itself deeply into the cleft between my buttocks.  The vinyl gave me some protection, but the beating still hurt, and I was sure the weapons being used were plaited whips and canes, for they blazed like fire and I was howling in a most undignified fashion through the breathing tube. 

I had a moment of panic when somebody stuck their finger in the outlet and suddenly my air was cut off.  I panicked at that point, for I had never been into self-asphyxiation.  At that particular moment, though, Emma had been left alone for a few minutes while I had been the centre of attention, and as a consequence I had been receiving the strokes with the cane while the vibrator had been doing its insistent dirty work.  The vacuum created by the pump had pulled the vinyl and the clit stimulator hard against my pussy, bringing everything into more intimate and pressured contact, and I was rapidly approaching an orgasm, even despite – or perhaps because of – the cane strokes.  I was on the rise, my cries merging into one long gasp when the air supply cut out.  Despite my panic, the journey to a climax was too far gone, and I couldn’t help myself.  I struggled wildly, pitting all my strength against the plastic that held my whole body in its rigid grip, gasping for air that wouldn’t come and screaming without sound.  I finally closed my eyes as the climax crashed over me and I lost consciousness.

*   *   *

20.05.04

story continues in Monica's Travels 17

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