Monica and the Black Fortress
by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)
(story continues from Monica and the Black Fortress)
Chapter Two – Educating Rani
Detective Inspector Bates left shortly thereafter, with an acceptance in principle from Monica. Jill, Monica and I then debated the issue as to who would be additional team members, concluding that the best cover we could have would be in a small group fronting up to do a written and photographic essay on Sanjay Mandrekar for a well known magazine. We selected the Australian Geographic as our cover – a respectable and uncontroversial choice. We also decided that probably only one other person would come, and the choice was Leila. We needed a submissive, which limited our options, and Leila was the obvious choice here because of her photographic skills. It seemed likely that we might well be using our cameras to collect evidence, during which time Leila’s submissive attributes were to be casually displayed in counterpoint to Monica’s dominant role. I was evidently there for the muscle, but I suspected even that would be submissive muscle.
We spoke to Leila, and she was at once willing, in her enthusiastic way, though I wondered whether she had really had time to think it through. Like most of us, Leila would do almost anything Monica asked, simply because we trusted Monica and relied on her to make sensible and reasoned judgements. With this particular decision made, we broke the news to the rest of the team, who had assembled for dinner. Suffice to say, much discussion ensued and there was at once an air of excitement and anticipation amongst the girls. All this fell apart, somewhat, when somebody asked where Shawnee was, and why dinner wasn’t being prepared.
That was when I looked decidedly guilty and had to admit I had forgotten poor Shawnee still chained to the palm tree in the garden. With a glare that left me in no doubt I was in trouble again, Monica sent me out to release the slave. Shawnee was sitting at the base of the palm tree, her hobbled, rubber-clad legs stretched out in front of her, her wrists still cuffed behind, and the chain drawn tightly into her crotch. There was no doubt she had climaxed herself silly for much of the afternoon, for she was exhausted when I released her and helped her up the front steps into the house. She was past caring that dinner had to be cooked, even on pain of a hiding from Monica. It was just one of those time when a girl just has too much time on her hands, and not many options available to pass it.
On Monica’s stern instructions I took Shawnee downstairs, removed her cuffs and left her in a cell to free herself from the rest of her outfit as best she could. She would stay there for the rest of the night, as she was in the habit of doing quite frequently. I, meanwhile, ended up cooking dinner, and even though it was extremely passable – if I say so myself – Monica refused to give me the keys for the butt plug and the cock restraint until the following morning, by which time I had spent a very uncomfortable night, made worse by Monica’s insisting that I should sleep with my hands cuffed behind me. Sometimes Monica just couldn’t let well alone.
The next morning Shawnee appeared carrying the keys and we were friends again. A couple of hours later, however, Monica was summoned to a lawyer’s office in downtown Brisbane. She had no idea what it was in connection with, and looked both curious and a little apprehensive as she left. Things seemed to happen very fast after that, when Monica returned around lunchtime to gather us together.
“I’ve just had a session with a very nice lawyer,” she began.
“Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?” Mary said.
“It’s an oxymoron,” Shawnee piped up. “Like army intelligence.”
Monica ignored the comments. “It has to do with Arthur.” Instantly there was quiet, not because we had any idea what was coming, but because we realised it was a serious subject, and Monica was about to announce something of import. “Arthur was well off – we knew that when he elected to spend as much time here as he did. This place doesn’t come cheap for 24/7. What we didn’t know was exactly how well off he was.” She paused, and looked at the assembly seated around the long table on the verandah. “Arthur has left us a considerable sum of money. He has no other heirs or relatives, and was evidently grateful enough - even after only couple of weeks here - to amend his will to make us a beneficiary.”
You could have heard a pin drop at that moment. “Suffice to say, you will all be better off by a grand a month for the next year, and the remainder will be set aside for a rainy day. There was a letter attached to the will which said some very nice things about you all, and I think you can be very pleased that you made his last weeks as fulfilling as they evidently were.”
Emma sniffled, and there were some teary looks amongst the rest of the girls as we took in this quite unexpected news with a strange mixture of regret, sadness and elation.
“Arthur had made a decision at the end of his life to do things that he probably wished he’d done years earlier,” Monica continued. “It’s sad that either the opportunity or the idea never presented itself before it did, but that short time with you people may have been worth years anywhere else. I think you can all be very proud of yourselves.”
Monica had an ability sometimes to bring out what we were perhaps loathe to say ourselves, and this was another instance. We sat silently for a short while, and the rest of the afternoon dawdled past after lunch with her words and the memory of Arthur fleetingly popping up in our thoughts. The world is a funny place, and sometimes it was nice to be remembered.
* * *
Monica called me into her study that evening after dinner. Leila was already there, and it didn’t take too much to work out just what was going to be the subject of conversation.
“I’ve had an email from a Superintendent Laxman in Delhi, who will be our contact as advised by Mr Bates. He’s arranging tickets and visas for us. We leave next Wednesday. It’s time to get our cover together, people.”
* * *
Things happened very fast after that. A week later the three of us touched down at Delhi International Airport. Monica, it seemed, was not above using some of Arthur’s money for a little luxury for the rescue team, as we flew first class through Singapore and wound up at the Oberoi Maidens Hotel in the old part of New Delhi. The hotel had sent a car for us, just as had happened on our previous overseas adventure in Hong Kong, and the similarities to that occasion made us nervous to start with. This time we had driven through the broad but bustling streets of New Delhi with the feeling that comes when you are insulated from a world of heat and poverty and footpaths bursting with people.
The Oberoi - again, booked at Monica’s direction - was a gracious old hotel built near the turn of the century. We arrived with Leila’s choice of photo gear in a separate case, some of it her own, some of it purchased to upgrade the collection to a professional standard with part of Arthur’s legacy. Leila, while just a tad apprehensive about the whole mission, was thrilled with the purchases and could hardly wait get into the new photographic adventure waiting outside the doors of the hotel.
It was not to happen immediately, however, for within a short time of our arrival and being shown to our rooms by the exotically uniformed hotel staff, I received a call from Monica asking me to come to her room.
When I entered the room, Leila was there, sitting on the king-sized bed, while Monica sat in a Victorian chair opposite a man and a woman on a matching sofa. They stood up as I entered the room, and Monica introduced them. I shook hands and sat on the bed next to Leila.
Superintendent Laxman was a stocky, almost rotund man with a big moustache and a bad comb-over hairstyle. He was perhaps fifty, and looked as though he enjoyed his chapattis and rice. He could not be said to be well dressed, but had a firm handshake and an affable manner. His colleague, Sub-Inspector Rani Das was considerably more reserved, even aloof. I’m only a dumb builder, just an insensitive bloke not into body language, but even I could something about her that told me she would rather be somewhere else. In fact, when the handshaking was done, there was a palpable tension of which Rani seemed to be the centre.
I estimated she was about 28, but then Asian women are always perplexing when it comes to guessing their age. She was slightly taller than me, with dark eyes and black hair secured in a bun behind her head. She wore a tailored black jacket with a black skirt that stopped a handspan above her knees, revealing a pleasant drop of black stockings and shoes. In fact everything about her seemed to be black, including her mood.
“Sub-Inspector Das will be assisting you with your work,” said Laxman jovially, with a wobble of his head that indicated he thought it was all jolly good and very definitely a job to be well done. I wondered if he could detect the strain in the air.
“Just exactly what did you have in mind with your definition of ‘assistance’?” Monica queried carefully.
“Oh, very simple. I am thinking that she will be accompanying you and being a part of your good party, and being at one with your team.” Superintendent Laxman smiled broadly. “You are having the cover of working for the Australian Geographic Magazine, I believe – a most esteemed publication I am sure. Sub-Inspector Das has arranged an interview for you through contacts. She will be your guide and partake in your investigations.”
“Whoa there,” Monica said. “I have a number of problems with this. You have to understand, Superintendent, that firstly, a team of three is all that can be justified for such an interview and photo session. Clearly, as a local, she is not part of the team, and we’d have to make some sort of phoney role for her. I had expected a contact to be provided, but I expected him –“ the emphasis was obvious “- simply to be on the end of a phone when we reported in. But secondly, and most important - with respect - you obviously do not understand the tastes and culture of the man we are targeting. The purpose of our group of three was to demonstrate to him in a subtle manner that he and I are of like minds, in regard to the world of bdsm. In doing this I will be accompanied by Leila and Steven, who are fully conversant with what will need to be done, and most important, know how to act in a submissive manner. I simply cannot have another unskilled person blundering about not knowing what they’re doing or how they’re expected to behave.”
Laxman threw up his podgy hands in a mock protest.
“My dear Miss Armstrong, I am understanding of your problem, but regrettably the matter is not for arguing. I am under instructions from my superior, and Sub-Inspector Das has been given the job. It will auger very badly for all concerned if these directions are not being fulfilled.” He coughed and looked apologetic. “I am also too close to my pension to run foul of my superiors.”
“I appreciate your candour, Superintendent, but really, this imposition of one of your people into our team is simply not possible.” Monica was getting frustrated – I could tell from the edge to her voice and the way she pushed her hair behind her ears. Leila and I watched the verbal jousting with interest, knowing it was not our role to intervene. “Unless she has familiarity with the bondage culture, your colleague could not only endanger the whole operation, but us as well.”
“You understand what she is talking about?” Laxman asked Rani. She shrugged dismissively.
“I can learn.”
Laxman appeared to see this as an immediate way out, and leapt at the opportunity with alacrity.
“Yes, of course. How hard is it to understand this lifestyle?”
Monica frowned. “All I want is a contact to set up the interview and be someone that I can call up for information or when I find something and need the cavalry to come.”
“But she can do all of that, and more,” Laxman enthused. “She will be there with you, to help.”
“To get in the way and to blow our cover, more likely,” retorted Monica.
“I’m sorry, but she must go with you,” declared Laxman flatly, with a finality I couldn’t see as likely to change. “You are guests in this country, and you cannot go into this operation without protection.”
“Protection!” Monica snorted. “You’d be surprised what we have to deal with in the course of our normal business - and how we do it. Again, with respect, I’m not sure that the inspector is exactly going to add to our own skills.”
Laxman now appeared to be losing patience himself.
“Miss Armstrong, Sub-inspector Das has been trained in hand-to-hand combat, and I am told that she was the New Delhi academy’s fencing champion. I’m afraid the matter is not open for negotiation!”
“I’ll remember that when we get into a sword fight!” retorted Monica.
We were heading for a blow-up – that much was obvious. A lose-lose situation was looming, with the likelihood that the plug would be pulled on the whole operation, and the two girls we were searching for would disappear once and for all.
“Can I ask a question?” I ventured. The others looked at me. “When do we meet our target?”
Laxman looked momentarily non-plussed, then turned to his subordinate.
“Mandrekar is here in Delhi at the moment, and you have the afternoon scheduled for tomorrow,” she said disinterestedly.
“Can we delay the meeting for a week? What if we can teach Rani what she needs to know?”
There was silence for several seconds, as the three protagonists weighed up the idea. Laxman was the first to speak, perhaps not surprisingly, since he had no idea what was being asked of Rani. He looked at Monica as he spoke, as though Rani was not even in the room.
“An excellent idea. That should be ample time for the Sub-Inspector to learn whatever she needs to know. She’s intelligent. It shouldn’t be too hard.”
Monica glanced across at Rani, who met her gaze, then looked at the floor, as though recognising that she had no say in the matter once her superior officer had decided something.
Monica shook her head slowly. “You people really have no idea what’s involved. May I ask what department you head up, Superintendent?”
“Fraud squad,” he announced proudly. “Thirty years in the business.”
“And you?” Monica asked the Indian girl.
For the first time Rani’s proud arrogance seemed to shrink momentarily.
“Before, with Burglary, now with Fraud,” she said with a touch of embarrassment.
“What? No vice experience?”
“You must understand we are being very short handed,” Laxman said, obviously flustered, and just a touch resentful at being questioned on his experience. “I have no doubt that Sub-Inspector Das will prove an able learner,” he continued. “She will immediately rearrange the day for the meeting, and will work with you in the meantime, to learn all she can.”
“She will do exactly as I say?”
“Of course – within reason.”
“No! We have to be very clear on this. If we are to get pally with your mate Mandrekar, we go in with me in charge. I can live with three submissives – not with two dommes.”
“What?”
“Two dominants,” Monica explained, her patience obviously near an end. “She will not give orders, though I may take discrete advice. Those are my terms. They are not for negotiation. I’m sure you wouldn’t like to report a failure to your superiors, Superintendent. I, on the other hand, have nothing to lose by going home tomorrow.” Monica let her words hang in the air, and Laxman admitted defeat in the face of what I knew to be a bluff on Monica’s part. She was here for the long haul, to do whatever it took, but Laxman was not to know that.
“Very well,” he said curtly. “I will leave the Sub-Inspector here to make further arrangements. I wish you all luck.” He spoke briefly to her in what I took to be Hindi, then exited as gracefully as he could, obviously pleased to get away from this blue eyed harridan who was ruining his well thought out plans.
There was a moment of silence and we all looked at Rani Das.
“All right,” said Monica briskly. “Let’s see if you’ll ever make the rank of Inspector. Take your clothes off.”
“What?” Rani looked aghast, while Monica just looked exasperated.
“Rani, are you deaf as well as stupid? Remove your clothes.”
“I will not!”
Monica sighed. “Rani, I’m going to explain things to you but I will only do it once.” She spoke slowly, as though to a slow child. “I don’t know what your knowledge is of the B and D culture, but I can only assume it’s pretty minimal. More specifically, I don’t know what your expectations are in regard to this job, but you heard what your Superintendent said. I’m in charge. You do what I say and we make a success of this job, or Leila and Steven and I pack our bags now, drive to the airport, and you have to go and tell Superintendent Laxman that the foreigners lasted only ten minutes in your presence, before you had a hissy fit and refused to cooperate. That way you will never get to be Inspector, he will never see his pension, and his superiors will be forced to advise Interpol and their counterparts in other police forces that the Indian team couldn’t get their act together because of one silly prudish female who will no longer be in the force, or at best will be handing out parking tickets in the ugly part of town. Am I getting through to you, Rani?”
“Yes, but – “ She was on the defensive now, but Monica gave her no time to gather her thoughts.
“There are no buts here, Rani. Consider me to be your superior officer. Think of me as Chief Superintendent Major General Mistress Monica. When I say jump, you ask ‘how high, Mistress?’ “ Monica paused and strolled thoughtfully across to the tall french doors leading on to the balcony. She pushed them open and the warm humid air flooded into the room, bringing with it the scent of frangipani trees in the garden below. The room was at the rear of the hotel and traffic sounds were distant. From somewhere on the lawn below there was the cry of a peacock.
“How much do you really know about the bondage culture, Rani?”
“Not much.” The voice was uncertain and soft, but still defensive and sulky.
“It’s very simple, really. Mistress and slave. You will obey me without question. I, in turn, will look after your welfare, and ask nothing unreasonable. You will dress as I deem appropriate and behave appropriately in my presence. How long have you been in the police force?”
“A year.”
“Only a year? Hmm. How old are you?”
“Twenty seven.”
“A good age indeed. So what were you doing before this? What was your education? What is your caste?” Rani appeared surprised by the question, but I figured Monica would have done her homework on India and Mandrekar if she was to play the part of a journalist.
“I I was a tour guide,” she stammered, then appeared to collect herself. “I have a degree in English from the University of Chandrapore,” she said proudly. “My family are Vaishya.”
“Ah, as I suspected. Merchant class. Well, consider me to be of the Brahmin caste, your superior, and if your life is to be remotely tolerable, I will not be argued with or talked back to.” Her voice became sharp as she moved back into the room and stood in front of Rani, “I want you to remove your clothes.”
Monica was a touch taller than Rani, but had immense presence when she put her mind to it. Over and above the implicit threats in her argument, her dominating eye contact had its effect on the Indian girl, who couldn’t hold her gaze. She looked at me instead.
“Don’t worry about Steven. He’s seen more naked women than you’ve had hot chapattis, and I’m sure you’ll see him naked before too long. The first thing you’ll have to do, my girl, is to overcome your aversion to being naked. Now!”
Still looking my way, her cheeks flushing with no doubt a torrent of thoughts concerning future career as well as imminent embarrassment, Rani removed her jacket, revealing a navy silk top underneath. Nestling in the small of her back there were a couple of small pouches on a narrow belt. As she undid the belt, and unzipped the skirt, they fell to the floor with a thud. Monica motioned Rani to step back, and picked up the fallen articles. She immediately opened one of the pouches and extracted the pair of shiny steel handcuffs which she checked over with a professional eye.
She looked up and saw that Rani had stopped the striptease, instead watching Monica uncertainly.
“Well?” said Monica sharply. “What are you waiting for?”
Rani slowly undid the buttons of her blouse then slipped it off to lay it on the sofa. She was now standing in her bra and panties, both of black satin and clearly not cheap, even to my untrained eye. She wore black pantyhose and was now looking even more uncomfortable as Monica gestured for her to remove the bra. With an uncertain look again at me and then at Leila, Rani slowly unhooked the clasp at the back and bent slightly forward to let the garment fall free. She placed it on the sofa and stood with her arms covering her breasts.
“Stand at attention,” Monica said, “and don’t slouch. Let me look at you.” Rani did so, lowering her arms reluctantly to reveal her breasts. They were full and oval, with brown nipples that had become erect in the breeze drifting through the open French doors. Monica walked around her, very slowly, scrutinising the shapely curves that had been hidden under the jacket. Rani’s body had yet to metamorphose into the stereotypical pear-shape of the middle aged Indian housewife, and it exhibited the voluptuous curves that might be found on a temple deity.
“Now the rest,” Monica whispered in Rani’s ear. “Let’s see what you have to show.”
Rani seemed about to comply, then changed her mind.
“No! No, you can’t make me!”
It seemed that this was the moment that Monica had been waiting for, as she seized Rani by the wrist and skilfully bent it backwards, at the same time twisting her arm behind her. Rani cried out and fell to her knees, her head down near the floor whimpering in pain.
“They don’t teach you very much in hand-to-hand combat training school, do they?” Monica hissed at her, not hiding the distaste in her voice. She slipped the handcuffs out of her pocket and ratcheted one closed on the wrist she held, squatting down to grab the other wrist and bring it up to be secured in the other cuff. She gave Rani’s arm another jerk, and the girl gasped. Monica released her grip and as Rani’s cuffed wrists dropped behind her, Monica placed her hand on the back of Rani’s neck and forced her head down until it touched the floor, straining her body tautly as she was unable to resist.
“That is the position in which you belong, Rani Das. I want you to remember it.”
In the space of a few seconds, Monica had demonstrated her physical strength and now dominated Rani completely. The sound of Rani’s laboured breathing was momentarily the only sound in the room.
“I will give you one last chance, Rani. Submit to me for a week and we go forward on that basis. Otherwise I’ll kick you out now and you can go begging and apologising to your superiors. Which is it going to be?”
Again a silence hung there, before Rani said in a small voice: “All right I submit ”
Monica stood up, but Rani remained immobile.
“That’s good. Stay there, Rani, until I tell you otherwise. I should explain that your submission must be whole-hearted. Most subbies are born that way, though switches do exist, and occasionally people can be converted to true submissives. I suspect in your case, your vanilla upbringing may be too strong, and you will never be a willing sub. In this case, however, you need to understand that whatever your true feelings, you must act the part of a submissive one hundred percent. If I see you flinch or shy away from any command, you will be punished. And believe me, a little vanilla crème like you will not enjoy being punished. There will be times when punishment will be necessary for you anyway, since you will need to understand and accept it. We need to explore your pain threshold and know what you can and can’t take. This room will now be your home.
“Steven, I think you need to go shopping. Some appropriate bondage material and anything else you see that might be useful. God, I hate these trips where you can’t bring your own gear with you ”
* * *
I changed money at the reception desk and wound up in a beaten-up black Morris taxi that had to be fifty years old if it was a day. The driver was even older than the car, and took me on my first shopping tour in India. Regrettably it was not for silks or marble inlay, but to a hardware store tucked away in a back street. It had a narrow frontage but seemed to go back forever, and the owner appeared to take it as an honour to have a distinguished foreign guest in his shop. Yes, he had plastic cable ties, and oh yes sir, very good quality sash cord. Duct tape? Of course sir. There was lots of head wobbling and smiling as we added a couple of broom handles to the collection, several lengths of chain able to be cut with small bolt-cutters (also in the pile), half a dozen padlocks, a large screwdriver and a small saw, a ball of twine, a set of clothes pegs, some black polythene, a Stanley knife, some candles and matches, and several 12 millimetre nuts and bolts. Fortunately nobody asked what this crazy tourist was building.
From the hardware store to the pet store I went in my ancient taxi, emerging from here with a nice selection of dog collars and leads and several assorted rubber balls. My driver shook his head wondering at my purchases as he drove me back to the hotel. Foreigners were strange
There was a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door when I returned and Leila let me in when I knocked. Rani lay on her side, naked on the silk carpet. Her hands were still handcuffed behind her and her ankles had been secured with one of Monica’s belts, with the tie from a bathrobe used to pull her into a hog tie. Monica always travelled with silk scarves, and these had been used to blindfold and gag Rani, such that a thin line of drool now ran from the corner of her mouth where she chewed on the gag. I thought it would not be a good career move if she ruined Monica’s scarf, but no doubt she would surely learn the hard way.
Monica, and Leila had both changed, with the former now clad in a sleeveless dress of dark green leather with matching high heels. Her hair was piled up on her head and she wore fingerless soft leather gauntlets buckled around her wrists and forearms. Leila wore a red lycra bikini – very plain, but contrasting delightfully with her blonde hair and pale skin.
I dumped the bags of stuff on the floor with a clink that made the bound girl lift her head. Monica rummaged through the bags then tipped the contents on to the carpet.
“Very good, Steven. You’ve done well. Um the screwdriver?”
“Goes with the candles and matches,” I explained. She looked at me blankly. I picked up one of the candles and lit it, setting it up on a small ashtray near the open doors to the balcony. I selected a solid rubber ball and squatted on my haunches holding the tip of the screwdriver in the candle flame. After a couple of minutes I plunged the red hot tip in to the ball, and Monica’s eyes lit up with understanding.
“Aha,” she said, as the smell of melting rubber wafted into the room. “And I thought the candles were just for dripping wax over naked and vulnerable skin ”
“Well, there is that,” I conceded, as I worked the tip out the other side of the ball, then proceeded to ream the hole into an oblong shape that I could thread a leather strap through. “Voilá. Ball gag for Madam.”
“Thank you my man. I think it’s time for the slave’s education to begin.”
Monica undid the robe tie that linked Rani’s handcuffs with the ankle strap and let her slowly straighten out. After ferreting in Rani’s handbag, Monica pulled out the keys to the cuffs and undid them. Rani groaned as she rolled on to her back and brought her hands round to the front, where they momentarily went to her head to move the gag or blindfold. Monica slapped them away, tut-tutting as she did so. Rani’s hands then dropped to the black patch at her crotch in a gesture of concealment, before deciding that being on her stomach was a better way of achieving this.
Monica took a three-metre length of rope and looped it around one of Rani’s wrists, before pulling it to meet the other, so that her arms we stretched out in front of her as she lay prostrate on the rug, her head slightly raised, unseeing behind the blindfold. Monica wound multiple turns of the sashcord around Rani’s slender wrists, knotting the rope then cinching it securely, leaving a couple of tails hanging loose. She gestured to me and between us we hauled the Indian girl to her feet while Leila brought a solid upright chair behind her. It had to be more for room decorationthan for comfort, for it was one of those Victorian monstrosities that had an over-stuffed seat, no arms and a wooden back – surely designed to make recalcitrant young ladies sit demurely and upright in their corsets and high-necked bodices.
Rani was positioned in place and the two rope tails were wrapped around the back of the chair and tied off, anchoring her bound hands in her stomach. Monica rummaged in Rani’s handbag again and pulled out her mobile phone.
“You are now going to telephone whoever it is that you made the appointment through, and re-schedule it for a week’s time,” she ordered. “Do you understand?”
“Ephh,” said Rani around the scarf.
“Leila, remove the gag and wash it in the bathroom.”
“Yes Mistress,” said Leila obediently. I saw now why Leila was attired as she was, and what her role was to be. She was setting the example to Rani on how to behave, with the obvious implication that if one did as one was told, life could be tolerable, and one would be allowed a more acceptable element of clothing. Leila untied the scarf from behind Rani’s neck, and pulled a wad of saliva-soaked material out of her mouth along with the scarf. I had a suspicion that Rani had been sucking on her own panties for the last half hour.
“What’s the number?”
“It’s in my book – under Mandrekar Industries,” said Rani, swallowing and running a pink tongue over her lips.
“I have a title!” Monica snapped, tweaking the Indian girl’s right nipple viciously and holding it between her thumb and forefinger.
“Ow-ow-ow! I’m sorry! Mistress!” She was close to sobbing.
Monica held the brown nub for a few seconds more, then let go to retrieve a small address book, before punching in the number and leaving the phone in Rani’s hands.
“It’s on speaker,” Monica told the blindfolded girl.
The call rang once and was answered by a professional sounding voice in English and what I took to be Hindi. The conversation that followed was all in Hindi, and I could understand nothing. Monica appeared disinterested, and picked up one of the broomsticks and motioned me away from the prisoner.
“I want a whip,” she said softly. “A flogger, if you can manage it. Ideally two – a short handle with some thongs about half a metre, and maybe one with a single thong perhaps a metre and a half – thin with a knot at the end. Oh yes, and some sort of crotch strap would be nice. See if you can do something with those long dog collars you bought. Can do?”
“Of course,” I said. She touched me gently on the arm and smiled – one of those warm smiles that Monica bestows only rarely, reserved for an equal, a partner in crime, or a shared secret. It made me feel good.
“I don’t need them now. Wait until we’ve gone out.”
When Rani’s call ended, Monica looked up with a pleased expression on her face from where she had been going through the things from Rani’s handbag, the contents of which were now strewn over the bed.
Rani was now sitting quietly, still blindfolded, her hands trapped in front and pulled tightly into her stomach. Monica took the ball gag I had made and moved behind the chair, reaching into Rani’s coil of jet black hair to remove a couple of pins. The lustrous tresses came loose and fell down her back to below her shoulder blades. Monica lifted and caressed them, straightening and arranging them. Rani at once seemed to become more feminine, less businesslike - and more vulnerable.
“Tell me where you live, Rani,” Monica directed curtly.
“I in a suburb called Okhla Mistress. It’s on the railway line south of here ”
“Do you live with your parents?”
“Yes Mistress.”
“Tsk. Twenty-seven and still not married. I suppose that’s the only choice you have,” said Monica cruelly. “You’re going to ring your parents now and tell them you’ll be away on a special mission for ten days. They will expect you home to pick up some clothes, no doubt, but you’ll tell them it’s urgent and that you will buy whatever you need on expenses – it’s that sort of job.”
“But but ” The significance of what Monica was saying was getting through to Rani, and she was struggling to find an excuse not to comply.
“Just do it, Rani! What’s the number – on speed-dial I presume?”
“Number one,” said Rani, admitting defeat.
The phone rang and a woman’s voice answered. It was deep and mellifluous, and the conversation that followed could have been any mother and daughter conversing then arguing good naturedly, albeit in Hindi.
“Any problems?” Monica asked when the call was over.
“My mother was going to put on a dinner for my sister and her boyfriend, Mistress,” said Rani, with a twinge of disappointment in her voice.
“Too bad,” Monica said disinterestedly. “Do you have a boyfriend, Rani?”
“Uh..no, Mistress.”
“I’m not surprised,” Monica observed with what I thought was unwarranted harshness. “Well, now that we’ve got the talking done, I think we can get on with the business of not talking. I’m going to gag you now, Rani – properly, not with the made-up scarf and panties you experienced before. Do you know what a safe-word is?”
“No - Mistress.” I sensed a flash of rebellion, as Rani began to resent the way her life was suddenly being changed without her say-so, yet with the approval of her superiors, albeit that they had no idea the ignominy and humiliation she was having to go through. I suspected she also had no idea what was yet to come.
“I will be putting you through a variety of tests, Rani. If any of the tests become too much for you, you may use your safe-word. Do you know the tune “Happy Birthday”?”
“Of course,” said Rani, as though the question was utterly stupid, before remembering her place just in time and adding: “- Mistress.”
“Good. Because you won’t be in a position to actually say anything. You’ll have to hum the tune. But let me make this very clear. If you use this safe-word strategy unnecessarily, you will be punished far more severely that what you may be experiencing at the time. I can tell you that people very rarely call on their safe word with me. Firstly because I know people’s limits, or how to find them, secondly because I’m careful, and thirdly because they know what will happen to them if it is an unjustified plea. Is that clear, girl?” These last words were hissed into Rani’s ear, making her jump, as much as she was able in the ropes.
“Open your mouth.”
The bound and blindfolded girl did so, unable to see the solid black rubber ball threaded on to the dog collar that Monica held in front of her prisoner. It was not the largest ball gag I had ever made, but one that would be appropriate to a beginner. It would make her jaw ache after an hour, and she would be glad to see the end of it, that was for sure.
Whatever Rani was expecting, this probably wasn’t it. No doubt she had seen a few Bollywood movies where the kidnapped heroine is tied up and gagged with a handkerchief tied through her mouth, which somehow renders her silent. Not the case with a good ball gag, as Rani found as the ball was locked behind her teeth trapping her tongue and wedging her jaw open. Even as Monica buckled the strap tightly behind her head, Rani was fighting the unfamiliar and irksome obstacle filling her mouth.
“Urrmmph! Mmmph! Urrgh!” Rani shook her head blindly and tried to enunciate around the rubber ball, but it was a futile exercise. A thin line of drool ran down from the corners of her mouth, dropping slowly and running down her breasts. She tried to get her head down to her bound hands, and vice versa, but she couldn’t quite manage it, and the downward movement obviously tightened the strap securing the ball.
“You may struggle if you wish,” Monica said. “In fact I welcome it. It will show to you that there is no escape, and that you had best accept that. You cannot reach my knots, and even if you could, you wouldn’t be able to undo them. You must accept that you are helpless. You must submit to me and accept whatever I decide to be your fate.”
Monica motioned me over and signalled to me to undo the belt from around Rani’s ankles. Rani’s toenails were painted a deep scarlet colour, though her fingernails were unadorned. I held Rani’s left foot while Monica bound the Indian girl’s ankle to her thigh, then we repeated the process with her right foot. Rani was now seated firmly on the padded chair with her legs spread wide, exposing her flat, firm stomach and the black triangle of her crotch. Monica added further ropes to secure her left elbow to her left ankle, and her right elbow to her right ankle, so that her arms were taking some of the evident strain from the weight of her legs.
“Are we sitting comfortably?” Monica asked, and there was no disguising the satisfaction in her voice.
Rani was evidently far from comfortable, and tried to convey that with further struggles and garbled noises, before concluding that the struggles were futile and no doubt made everything hurt even more.
“Excellent, “ said Monica, sitting down on the bed. “Now let me explain a little concerning what you’re about to learn, Rani. First of all, you will learn patience. There is nothing you can do about what is happening to you. You cannot fight it, Rani. You’ll only use more energy than necessary. You will learn the feel of the ropes, the feel of having your mouth stuffed and deprived of speech. You will learn what it is like to be alone and deprived of sight. You will have to deal with being told that you must remain like that for the next twenty-four hours. Let me tell you, time will pass unbearably slowly. You body will ache all over and you will think crazy thoughts. You may panic, but there’ll be nothing you can do.
“I do not make this undertaking lightly, Rani. When we came to India, I had a plan. Having you foisted upon me has forced me to change that plan, but the objective of rescuing those two girls remains the same. I’ve been thinking about an alternative plan this last hour or so. This is how it’s going to work. Leila, take off Rani’s blindfold.” Leila did so, revealing Rani’s dark eyes at once furiously indignant at being bound in such a manner, but also unable to conceal the obvious trepidation that came from being way out of her depth.
“Leila and Steven – sit on the sofa and pay careful attention as well. We’re a team here – and nobody can forget that. We depend on each other. When I give an order it must be obeyed without question once the operation has started. Is that clear?”
“Yes Mistress,” Leila and I chorused.
Monica smiled at me then turned to the gagged Rani. “Steven is not a submissive by nature, Rani, just as you aren’t. But he’s learnt my management style and goes along with it. He knows that good things can come to those who cooperate. Isn’t that right, Steven?” she asked, rhetorically. I smiled back at her. She could be so incredibly persuasive when it suited her.
Monica stood up and walked across to where her suitcase lay on the luggage rack. She lifted the lid and after a brief search produced what I recognised as one of the stainless steel collars that had originated at a bad time in Bilboes history when we had been overrun by Jade Wong and her accomplice Portia Tang a couple of years previously. At that time we had all been forced to wear individual steel collars with our names engraved on them.
“Wearing the collar is an integral part of the submissive process,” Monica explained to Rani, whose eyes were wide above her jaw stretched around the mouth-filling rubber ball. “This one is Leila’s. Leila, come her to receive your collar.” Leila did so, kneeling at Monica’s feet to allow her to click the narrow shiny collar in place. It had no hinge, but was just flexible enough to open sufficiently to fit around Leila’s slender neck. On the front was a small U-shaped anchor-point, on which was locked a small stainless steel padlock. It served no useful purpose at that moment, other than to accentuate the intent of the collar, and that was exactly Monica’s idea.
“I’ve only brought Leila’s, because a woman can wear this as a piece of jewellery without being noticed. On a man, it’s unsubtle and obvious. The plan was for Leila’s relationship to be obvious to anybody aware of the bondage culture, and to thus insinuate ourselves through this coincidental opportunity. Leila was to be the photographer, Steven the equipment guy – both camera gear and tape – and I would be doing all the questions and establishing the relationship. Your presence, Rani, makes things more complicated.
“I can see no alternative but to bring you along in the local guide capacity, but again, in a strictly submissive role. It will reinforce the unspoken commonality of interest in a way that may work better, perhaps, if I roll up with two subbies. It will take the pressure off you, Steven. But I want another collar for Rani – identical to this. In the meantime, you may wear an ordinary collar,” she said, selecting a wide black dog collar from the selection I had chosen. She tried it around Rani’s neck, and after I had trimmed it down to a more appropriate length, she locked it in place with a small padlock.
“Ladies, if and when we are accepted by Mandrekar as fellow practitioners, I would expect that both of you could spend some time in bondage as he and I get to know each other a little better. And that, my dear Rani, is why you are embarking on your training in this manner, but be sure there is a lot more still to come. Steven, I think Rani needs to get used to her predicament over a longer period of time. You and Leila can drag her in to the wardrobe.”
The walk-in wardrobe could have taken a small bed in itself, with space enough for a Memsahib’s entire summer and winter collection. Leila and I did as we were asked, hauling the bound girl and her chair backwards into the room. Monica followed, and positioned Rani in front of two full-length mirrors on the back of the double doors, securing the chair so that it couldn’t tip over, with further ropes tied to the clothes rails on each side. Shutting the doors would leave Rani with little choice but to gaze at her own bound and gagged reflection, an objective Monica clearly had in mind.
Monica removed a large vibrator from her suitcase.
“You brought that through customs?” Leila asked, aghast, prompting a smile from her mistress.
“A girl has to have some fun on holiday, Leila. Anyway, they’re not illegal. But they weren’t inspected, and it would take far more than that to embarrass me.” She formed a large loop of rope, attaching the two free ends to the base of the vibrator with several turns of duct tape. Rani frowned as Monica placed the loop over her head and positioned the vibrator so that the tip was just touching the chair seat between Rani’s spread thighs, knotting the rope behind Rani’s neck so that the device would remain exactly as she positioned it.
Her final accessories were two wooden clothes pegs, with steel springs. They would not be particularly painful, the faces of the jaws being quite wide and able to spread the force. Rani watched in fascination, turning to horror as Monica moved one with jaws open to be released on to an erect brown nipple. Rani screwed up her eyes and mewed into the gag.
“Oh shush child. It doesn’t hurt that much. You’ll have much worse that that inflicted on you.”
Rani’s eyelids flickered open in disbelief at Monica’s words and the fact that the second peg was then fastened on to the other nipple. She moaned again, her breathing coming faster, making the two pegs wobble provocatively. Monica’s last move was to turn on the vibrator, its low hum echoing in the room.
“You’ll stay here for now, Rani. Maybe for the night, or until I deem it appropriate to release you.” Rani’s eyes widened with a look of horror and she shook her head vehemently, making garbled noises that were a mix of protest and pleading. Monica ignored her. “You’re about to understand the fine line that a submissive can tread between pain, pleasure, and utter frustration,” she said with a smile, before closing the door behind her as we exited into the bedroom. She turned to me.
“Leila and I are going to change and go shopping for some more appropriate clothes for Rani, and to see if we can get another collar made. We’ll be back here for dinner. Stay here and keep an ear out for any problems, will you?”
Disregarding my presence, Monica and Leila removed their bondage ensemble and bikini respectively and put on the clothes they had worn previously – Monica a white A-line skirt and emerald green silk blouse, and Leila a pale blue sleeveless dress that showed an eye-catching amount of leg. This, evidently was also their shopping attire. They both gave me a peck on the cheek as they left.
“This is supposed to be a rescue mission, not a holiday,” I grumbled.
”It’s a girl thing,” said Leila. “Just be glad we’re not dragging you along.”
Left in charge, I pulled out the polythene sheet and laid it on the floor to catch any sawdust. It was a nice room, and I didn’t want to mess it up. Truth to tell, the room was enormous, with a ceiling at least four metres high, and several punkah fans rotating in slow circles. The bed was a huge affair, with a massive carved headboard and footboard, surmounted with turned wooden newell posts at each corner. All the furniture was of the same style – solid, dark and heavy, while the bathroom boasted exposed plumbing of that Victorian style that is now in vogue in old houses, again set in a spacious white tiled surround.
I set to work to complete Monica’s equipment order, beginning by making a further ball gag. This one was a larger ball, one that I could only just cope with myself – not that I had any intention of being on the receiving end. I figured Monica might wish to push Rani’s limits. Then I took out the small saw and cut a couple of lengths off the broomstick to use as whip handles, and used as my basic material a couple of lengths of sashcord for the smaller flogger. Unravelling the cord produced a nice mutli-thonged product which, when secured to the carved and notched end of the handle with a cable tie and some duct tape was as good as the real thing.
For the longer whip, I unravelled then braided three, then two cords together, tapering them into one thin stretch at the end, before attaching them to the handle. I flicked the whip experimentally. It made a sharp crack.
The last of Monica’s requests was a crotch strap. She was right – travelling without your own gear was positively tedious sometimes. I took two of the dog collars and linked the pointy end of one through the buckle end of the other, to make one long strap, then – with limited reference to my own shape – I cut off the remaining buckle and folded the end over to make a loop through which the waist belt would pass. I decided Monica could source this, either using one of her own or else a piece of rope, if necessary. I bored several holes through the loop and sewed it closed using the twine I had bought, then repeated the procedure for the other end. It was a crude, makeshift effort, but it would not come apart or fail under strain, and that was the prime objective for all my creations. One time I had had a failure, and had wound up trying out the revised version for a number of hours. Testing things myself was not an activity I looked forward to.
When my work was complete I tidied everything up and had contented myself with watching a bad Bollywood movie on TV for part of the time, which was amusing in itself, then sitting on the balcony to read a book.
The hotel was situated in the middle of a lovely landscaped golf course, even though it was close to the centre of Delhi. The air was heavy and sultry, with an overcast and brooding sky. It was late June and the monsoon was expected to break at any time. The peacocks were courting in the gardens below – evidently a presage of the forthcoming rains – their cries sounding eerily human in the encroaching dusk.
It was dark when Monica and Leila returned, toting a number of shopping bags. I noticed Leila was without her stainless steel collar, and I presumed it had been left as a prototype for a new one being made for Rani. Rani had been bound to the chair for about three hours by that stage, and – contrary to my expectations – had been very quiet. I had checked on her every now and again, at one stage turning the light off to give her a little further sensory deprivation. When I turned it on again half an hour later I was greeted with a sorrowful look verging on anger. Beads of perspiration were running down her face and her glossy black hair was plastered to her forehead. Her firm breasts and flat stomach were likewise shiny with sweat and the vibrator continued to hum. Long life batteries had sure changed a subbie’s expectations in life. Rani had been crying – though whether from frustration, pain, or pleasure I couldn’t be sure - but otherwise seemed okay. There was no sound of happy birthday coming from behind the gag.
After depositing her booty on the bed, Monica cocked an eyebrow interrogatively at the closed doors to the walk-in robe. I gave her the okay signal, and she nodded, before the pair of them began pulling their parcels from the bags. Typical women. I wondered if Arthur had foreseen his legacy ending up on women’s clothes and a luxury hotel in India. Somehow I suspected the man would have been only too pleased.
I dissociated myself from the critical assessments of the various articles of apparel that now appeared, returning to my book on the balcony. Beyond the darkened precincts of the golf course the lights of New Delhi glowed against the black, overcast sky.
Monica ordered dinner in the room, and only after it had arrived were the doors to the walk-in robe opened. Rani was bound as immovably as she had been on my previous inspections, and had obviously suffered extreme frustration with the vibrator, for she had evidently been unable to get the end of it close in to her crotch. The tip was sitting on the chair seat an inch in front of her, and the slackness in the rope looped around her neck meant the device hung at an angle, with the base – to which the rope was taped – partly leaning on her thigh. It seemed that no matter how far Rani leaned her head back, Monica had left just enough slack in the rope such that the vibrator would not go where Rani wished it, while still imparting those tantalising vibrations through seat and thigh.
Rani looked up as we opened the doors, and her eyes conveyed a pleading for relief that could hardly fail to be noticed. Her skin was slick with drool that had run from her mouth to make its way down her breasts, then her stomach, to create a wet patch on the seat between her thighs.
“Hungry, Rani?” Monica asked. I suspect that hunger was the last thing on Rani’s mind, but she evidently concluded that anything was better than the endless purgatory she was currently having to endure. She nodded and grunted what we took to be the affirmative.
At Monica’s direction I untied the ropes anchoring Rani to the clothes rails on each side, then removed the ties connecting her legs to her elbows. As Rani’s legs were allowed to move forward again, and the strain came off her arms, she moaned with relief, and sighed again as I undid the rope that held her wrists pulled in against her stomach. She at once made a move to take off the wooden clothes pegs that still bobbed merrily on her nipples, but her bound hands were slapped down by Monica.
“Don’t even think about it, girl! If you want them off, you can remove them, but not by using your hands. Steven, help me lift her on to the floor.”
Monica and I each grasped an arm and lifted Rani off the chair. With her ankles still bound to her thighs, she was still very helpless, and we laid her face down on the shiny marble floor so that she was leaning forward on her elbows.
Monica walked to the open doors. “Your dinner is on a plate on the floor out here with us, Rani. I do hope you’ll join us. When you get there, we will unlock that nasty ball that so inhibits your speech.” Monica ushered me out and we crossed to the table where the gorgeous smells of tandoori were issuing from under the silver plate covers.
While the three of us tucked into our chicken and nan and poppadoms, we could see Rani coming to grips with her predicament. With her bent and bound legs, she found that she could get precious little purchase for moving forward. She then found the only way to make any real progress was to stretch her arms out fully in front of her, and slowly lever herself forward on to her forearms with her bound wrists. She also discovered two characteristics of this method of progression, the first of these being that the clothes pegs became extremely painful as she was forced to lie stretched full length on her breasts at the start of the movement. In this position the pegs pinched and twisted and pulled at her nipples, now tender from several hours trapped between the jaws of the pegs. Moments after this discovery she found that the vibrator, previously so maddeningly just out of range, was now readily trapped under her body and easily pressed into her crotch.
Rani’s progress across the marble floor of the walk-in robe to the edge of the deep pile that carpeted the main room was a mini-odyssey of pain and pleasure. Almost immediately after she began, her first orgasm overtook her, and she writhed and grunted helplessly on the cool marble tiles, her face flushed and humiliated by the forces within her body that she could not control, reducing her to a squirming wreck in front of these strangers. As she subsided from this, and the bloodflow returned, the pegs on her nipples made their presence more pronounced, and she groaned in pain, pushing herself up on to her forearms.
She made it two further metres to the interface with the carpet, and realised that the small increase in level provided by the carpet represented something she might drag the clothes pegs off against. The fact that Rani tried this made it abundantly clear to the three of us watching that she had never experienced this form of torture before, for having pegs or clips dragged off can be an agonising experience. Rani found this out when she managed to get one peg halfway off, at which point it had slipped from the less sensitive aureole at the base of the nipple, on to the tip of the nipple itself. Rani’s groaning abruptly became a squeal, and she panicked, thrashing about and uttering high-pitched muffled cries. She also discovered that it was very difficult to remove the peg with her hands bound palm to palm in front of her. Eventually she managed to get the two balls of her thumbs into position to flick the offending peg off with a muted scream.
She was sobbing now, but she still had one peg to come off, and the agony she had just endured obviously did not seem worth repeating, so she rolled on to her back and managed to remove the second offending peg. Monica said nothing, ignoring the disobeying of her direction, and helped herself to more rice. Rani rolled on to her front again, panting and sobbing with relief at having her breasts unencumbered, albeit now subject to being dragged across the deep piled carpet.
Rani had about three metres to cross to get to the plate of food on the floor waiting for her, but she was unable to complete the crossing without the vibrator initiating another climax before she reached her goal. This time, without the distraction of the clips on her nipples, she let herself go, finally, stretched out fully on the carpet with the vibrator firmly jammed in her crotch, humping herself heedless of the onlookers. We stopped our eating and watched Rani grind her hips into the carpet, finally reaching her orgasm with a long high-pitched moan which made Leila and me look at each other, both wondering whether the sound could carry through the solid walls of the old hotel.
Rani rolled on to her back, her breasts – reddened from the contact with the carpet - heaving as she fought for breath around the gag. Her eyes were closed and she was making soft grunting noises as she slowly came back to earth. A flush suffused her cheeks as she finally opened her eyes and remembered the three spectators.
“That was quite a performance,” Monica observed. Rani gave her a look that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be embarrassed or furious. Monica leaned down from her chair and dropped a small key on the floor in front of the bound girl. “You may remove your gag and eat your dinner before I take it away.”
* * *
20.12.04
story continues in Monica and the Black Fortress
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