Monica and the Black Fortress
by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)
(story continues from Monica and the Black Fortress)
Chapter Seven – Witness: Emma’s Story
It’s strange how you mind wanders when you have nothing to look at, nothing to do, and are unable to move. I was thinking of Monica, swanning about in India with Leila and Steven. Some people got all the good jobs. I would have given anything to go there, to see the Taj Mahal. Monica would be staying in the best hotels, having people wait on her hand and foot, and Leila and Steven would be in on this as well. Some people just had all the luck. Here I was bound hand and foot and kneeling in a dark box with a vibrator up my arse and another in my pussy.
Well, yes, I suppose the same argument could have been applied to me – that some people have all the luck, I mean. I wasn’t complaining, you understand. I’d brought it on myself, and it was all really rather pleasant. I had teased Jillian once too often about her new haircut that she didn’t like, but I thought was okay, really. I knew she would rise to the bait, and she knew that I knew that she would do so. It was a self-fulfilling prophesy, really, but let’s not get too hung up on the philosophical side. Ultimately I figured I would wind up being bound and have some rather nice things done to me after the obligatory bit of teasing. With Monica, Steven and Leila away in India, and Shawnee visiting her parents in Sydney, things were quiet at Bilboes, so we had to amuse ourselves as best we could.
I was naked, kneeling in the wooden box in the main dungeon, my arms bound behind me at wrists and elbows, with a sponge ball in my mouth held there by the discipline helmet locked in place. It was Jill’s usual neat, inescapable bondage but I knew I could survive a lot worse. I was happy enough when Jill made me kneel down on the foam lining inside the box, with the two vibrators held in place by a waist and crotch strap. I didn’t even mind the two vibrating pads she placed over my nipples. I could see – albeit using one eye at a time – through a small hole in the front of the box, which gave me enough air to breathe as well.
The box was lined with heavy rubber of the sort used for playgrounds and as we had used in the bondage gym next door. It limited the sounds coming into and going out from the box, and it also prevented people being harmed if the box was transported. The box was a snug fit anyway, with barely an inch or so either side of my shoulders and just enough room for me to bend right forward so that the top of my head touched one end and my toes the other. I could not raise my head much before touching the top, which I knew was locked securely with two hasp and staples on the outside, each secured with a heavy padlock that I had heard Jill snick into place when she left me. The box was also mounted on castors for ease of shifting around when someone was inside it.
“I’m going shopping,” she said through the small hole in front of my face. “The June sales are on.”
“Ngguurr!” I protested. Partly my objection was that it meant she’d be gone for hours, and secondly because she wasn’t taking me!
“I’ll show you what I’ve bought when I get home after lunch,” she smirked. “The timer will keep you happy – or maybe just frustrated, haha.”
Then she was gone, and I was left in the darkness as she turned the lights out in the dungeon. I knew she had connected the vibrators to some sort of timer connected to the mains supply, and I wondered how long I would have to wait before things started to happen. Whatever, it was going to be a long day.
* * *
After perhaps fifteen minutes, when I’d begun to think that Jill had forgotten to turn the power on, or that maybe she had just been teasing me, making me think that they would be operational when she had no intention of making them so, they buzzed into life. Everything had been set to a low level, and I knew it would take a long time to make me climax. Nevertheless, the warm vibrations in my backside and pussy, and the stimulation to my nipples made me squirm, and elicited all sorts of wonderful feelings. Unfortunately, another side effect of the insulating rubber of the box was that it made things very warm inside. To this end the rubber layer in the bottom of the box was fitted inside a removable plastic tray, designed to collect the inevitable perspiration that resulted from people confined and subjected to stressful sensations.
I felt the first trickle of sweat run down my back, then another slid down my neck and thence down my right breast, on to my stomach. The pleasant vibrations began to accelerate and my breathing became more rapid. I knew the big O was on the way and I tried squirming some more, contracting my muscles to intensify the feeling. I was lining up for the takeoff when things died abruptly as the timer switched off. Goddammit! Jill could be an incredibly fine judge of my sensitivity sometimes. She could push my buttons like nobody else, and I loved her dearly because of it, but on occasions she used this skill heartlessly. As I chewed on the sponge ball, I wondered if this frustration was to be the story of my imprisonment for the day. God, I would be ready to tear her clothes off by the time she returned if this was going to happen every time.
* * *
The same thing had happened twice more over perhaps the next hour when Mary and Trish entered the dungeon. I knew they had a new client coming and would be preparing and discussing what their respective roles would be and what they would be putting the poor unfortunate through. First there would be the get-to-know-you interview, usually done by Monica in her office. I guessed this time it would be Trish running that side of things.
The fact that the new client was a submissive who was in for some punishment was self-evident, just from the fact that Mary and Trish were going to be the ones handling the job. The pair were dommes through and through, and would not countenance being put in a subservient position. It was commonly known amongst us girls, however, that Trish had allowed herself to become involved in testing some of Steven’s devices, sometimes openly, sometimes privately, which usually meant being immobilised in one form or other, but that really didn’t count against her true dominant nature.
Now they were both busy checking equipment. I figured maybe their new client had a thing for boots, judging from the fact that Mary wore black leather ones, highly polished and laced up to mid-thigh. The boots were accessories to a short black lycra skirt and a matching pvc top with long sleeves and a low zippered cleavage that clung to Mary’s willowy figure and was accentuated by a sliver chain about her waist. All in all it was quite a low-key outfit, save for the boots with their ten-centimetre heels, which accentuated Mary’s slenderness.
From my peephole I could see Trish’s outfit, which was in this instance a white short-sleeved wrap-around dress that looked quite conservative, tied as it was at the waist. The only suggestion of anything spunky was her white leather boots which zipped up to just below the knee. I could only assume that Trish wore something a little more appropriate beneath the wrap, and that the latter was simply for the purpose of the initial interview. While Mary always wore her hair short enough to tuck behind her ears, Trish’s was today pulled back in a youthful ponytail, which belied the fact that she wouldn’t see thirty again.
“This box is in the way,” Mary complained. “We should haul it outside in the sun.”
“I’ve never had much use for it,” Trish replied. “I think we should put it in the inorganic refuse collection they’re having this week. Take it to the dump, I reckon.”
What? Hullo! Person tied up inside here, girls! Surely they weren’t serious! Suddenly I was being rolled on the castors towards the door.
“Mmmph! Hrrmpp! Urrrgh!” I tried to cry out around the ball in my mouth.
The movement stopped.
“Did you hear something?” asked Trish.
“Like what?”
“Urrrmmh!” I squirmed and tried to struggle in my prison, but there was precious little room to move and the rubber effectively negated any attempt to bang against the sides or top.
“I dunno. A grunt, maybe?”
“You’re hearing things, Trish. There’s nobody here but the workers.” More rolling across the concrete floor. Jesus! They were going to dump me out on the street for the refuse collection! I strained at my bonds, doing my best to yell through past the sponge ball and the discipline helmet clamping my jaw closed, not to mention the silencing rubber lining.
“MMMMPHHH!”
“There it was again. It seems to be coming from inside the box ” Trish’s face appeared at the peephole, grinning, then there was the sound of laughing. “Guess who nearly wet herself,” she said, and I realised the pair knew I was in the box the whole time. The toads! I’d get them. Maybe not immediately, but one way or another. It was totally uncalled for.
“Relax, dear, we’re not going to throw you out,” Trish assured me, once her fit of giggles had subsided. “In fact, just to liven up the boredom you’ll be facing in between struggling through all those orgasms, we’re going to let you look in on our session with the new client today, just to keep yourself focussed. Yes, Jill told us you were there and asked us to keep an eye on you. Relax and enjoy yourself.”
I breathed a sigh of relief and slumped forward as they wheeled my box back into a corner where I could see the rest of the room through my little spy hole. As they did so, there came the sound of a ding-dong that signified the front gate.
“That must be Mr Richards,” Trish said, looking at her watch. “I’m pleased he’s on time. That might lessen the beating somewhat.”
“You’re going soft,” said Mary. “Better let him in. I’ll sort things out here & you can bring him down when you’ve done the introductory thing.”
The ‘introductory thing’ was a process Monica had introduced to ensure that clients fully understood the rules and safewords, and that we fully understood the clients’ requirements. It worked very well, and served to build up trust between staff and clients, which was essential for a process which could literally be fatal if a mistake occurred.
Trish left, and Mary busied herself laying out ropes and restraints on the whipping bench and selecting several floggers. She had barely completed this when there was a noise at the door and Trish’s hesitant voice sounded.
“Mary?”
“That was quick. What’s the problem? Has he lost his nerve?” Mary asked this without looking up from what she was doing.
“Uh no ”
“Then what?” There was silence and the door opened further. Mary looked around and paled as Trish entered the room. My own jaw would have dropped had it not been restrained by the leather hood. Trish moved slowly, hesitantly into the room. A figure accompanied her, standing behind her. Her arms were behind her, as though secured behind her back, and I saw the male figure had one hand holding her by the ponytail, tilting her head slightly backwards. The other held a sawn-off shotgun under her jaw. There was a flash of teeth from the man.
“Hullo Mary. Long time no see.”
Mary gasped and held her hand over her mouth. It was Wayne Bennelli.
I had always considered Mary and Monica to be the cool ones of the Bilboes set – the ones you could always rely on to keep their heads in a tight situation. This was the only time I had ever seen Mary at a loss. A set of handcuffs she was holding dropped to the floor with a clatter.
“Remember me?” Bennelli’s voice sounded harsh and grating in the dungeon. He was of solid build, wearing a blue tee shirt and jeans, but somehow he was not as bulky as I remembered him. I wondered what had happened in the meantime. My other recollection was of his abundantly hairy body – black hair all over his back and front, which we had bound in elastoplast and which would have been excruciating trying to remove. Nowadays the hair on his head seemed to have thinned, and his face appeared sallower, even though he was barely thirty. We all remembered him, ever since he had broken into Bilboes one night and had tried to rape Jill. His punishment at that point had been protracted - over several days - before we had left him in a painful position from which he would eventually be able to extricate himself. We felt that justice had been served and no police had been involved.
Unfortunately, Mr Bennelli appeared to have something of a chip on his shoulder after this ignominious incident, humiliated as he had been by a bunch of girls. His return many months later took place when only Trish, Shawnee and Mary had been present, and had almost been disastrous for them. Trish had received some brutal punishment before they had overpowered him and had been able to mete out some further revenge of their own, hoping the message would get through. This time it was more onerous, as Wayne had been boxed into a crate, his arms and legs secured in epoxy resin and the rest of his body immobilised by struts, and put on an overnight courier to Sydney. The ultimate destination had been a gay bikie gang, and we had all hoped like hell that he had endured a long and painful stay with them.
Unfortunately, it looked like Wayne had not still learned his lesson, and was now thirsting for vengeance. The shotgun was a nasty surprise and there was no doubt that we were in serious trouble.
“Nice to see you again, Mary,” he said, breaking the shocked silence with a malicious laugh. “You have no idea how I’ve been looking forward to our little get together. Get on your knees – now!” The command was sharp and direct. Mary hesitated a moment, then as Wayne shoved the shotgun harder under Trish’s chin, forcing her head back, Mary reluctantly obeyed.
“Now, pick up your handcuffs, and cuff your wrists behind you. Do it !”
Mary sank down on her haunches and slowly ratcheted one cuff closed around her right wrist, then moved her arms behind her back to click the other cuff around her left.
“Lie face down on the floor!” Wayne ordered. Awkwardly Mary leaned forward into a ball and rolled sideways on to one elbow, into a sort of foetal position, before straightening out and rolling on to her stomach. “Spread your legs wide!” Wayne was nearly shouting now, and I could see he was really pumped up. Whatever he had been planning over the last months, he was now doing it, and it was turning him on. His movements became less hesitant – more assertive as he knew he was in control with both girls handcuffed and unable to fight back.
He pushed Trish forward ahead of him, moving across the room. Somewhere upstairs, perhaps in the initial confrontation with the gun, Trish had lost her wrap-around dress, which had covered a short, white pvc dress with long sleeves and a zipper down the full length at the front. Wayne put the gun down on the whipping bench, grabbing in place of the gun a coil of rope that Mary had laid out on the padded leather top. He dragged Trish to one of the solid timber posts supporting the upper floor joists and pushed her back against it, quickly encircling her waist with a loop of the cord and pulling it tight with a quick tug, before knotting it behind her, then running the cord upwards and knotting a further loop around her neck.
“What do you want from us?” Trish asked, her whispered voice barely carrying to me.
“I want revenge, darling, pure and simple. I want you to suffer the way they made me suffer.”
Wayne was talking as he moved, his eyes scanning the room to see what would be useful for his plans, whatever they were. He took an inflatable rubber gag from the padded bench and thrust it roughly into Trish’s mouth, twisting the valve closed and squeezing the pump several times. Trish’s jaw parted and her cheeks bulged. She started to make mmphing sounds for him to stop but he pumped until she whined with pain.
I could scarcely breathe, I was so frightened. Bennelli retrieved a heavy dog-clip attached to a stainless steel cable that went over a ceiling pulley to a winch, and loosed the ratchet so that the cable ran freely. Without ceremony he grabbed Mary by the hair and hauled her to her feet.
“Ow! Ow! Let go! Shit! You bastard!” Mary scrambled, her high-heeled boots not lending much purchase or steadiness on the smooth concrete floor. Bennelli slapped Mary hard across the face.
“Watch your language, slut!”
Mary glared at him and spat. The gob landed on his cheek, and earned Mary another, harder backhand slap across the face that must surely have made her head spin.
“I’m going to enjoy teaching you manners,” he said grimly. “I suspect it’ll be a long and painful process – for you, that is.”
He hooked the dog clip on to the connecting chain of Mary’s cuffs and began to wind the winch bolted to the wall, smiling as Mary’s manacled wrists started to rise behind her. Mary knew what was coming and quickly worked her wrists into the position that would result in the least pain, but she knew that a strappado in handcuffs could never be anything less than seriously uncomfortable.
The clicking of the ratchet continued and Mary’s head was now down at the level of her knees, and her arms were at a steep angle. Bennelli stopped at that point and approached Mary from behind, lifted the black leather skirt and exposed Mary’s taut buttocks, groping them roughly.
“So did you escape? Or did they just get tired of you?” Mary taunted, to my astonishment. Jesus, I thought. Don’t wind him up, Mary! You’re not in the best bargaining position!
Bennelli stopped momentarily, taken aback by Mary’s bravado, then gave her a stinging slap on each cheek that moments later left bright red hand prints on the pale flesh. Mary bit her lip, stifling a cry.
“I’m going to ask you some questions, bitch. How you answer will determine what happens to you. First, I want to know where the others are. Where’s the blonde who was here earlier? I saw her drive away. When’s she coming back?”
I wondered what Mary would tell him. Would she suggest Jill was gone for a long time, so that he would not bother waiting, or maybe a short time so that he would hurry up and not run the risk of pushing his luck to far?
“She’s doing an all-day seminar to the police academy about criminal stupidity,” Mary said scornfully.
Bennelli did not reply but took a thin cane from where it hung on the wall and slid it up between Mary’s legs, then pulled it clear and swished it through the air. It made a fearsome sound which made me shiver.
“I’ll pretend I never heard that,” he said. “One last time. Where is Jillian – I know that’s her name.”
“Fuck off,” said Mary, staring at the floor.
Whizzzzz – crack! The cane seared across Mary’s backside. She jerked and stifled a scream. Bennelli struck again, and again. Mary’s cheeks were scored with lines that would soon turn into blue and black bruises. Mary could hold in her cries no longer and screamed with pain, writhing in the confines of the steel manacles. Her screams echoed off the concrete block walls of the dungeon and made me despair seeing the torture she was going through. I realised then that Trish, too, was struggling – equally futilely in her bonds, mmphing into her gag in equal desperation.
“I can’t stand all this screaming,” Bennelli said petulantly, as Mary’s cries subsided into barely suppressed sobs. He took a sponge ball and a roll of duct tape from a cupboard and forced the ball into Mary’s mouth as she tried to gasp for air. From there the tape was wound round her head over her mouth, then over her eyes and finally vertically to clamp her jaw firmly closed. Mary made a pathetic attempt to struggle as the tape encased her head.
“I know you can’t tell me what I want to know now, but that won’t stop me beating the crap out of you,” Bennelli said. Mary uttered a plaintive whine from under the tape. Bennelli returned to the winch and began to turn the handle again. The clicking echoed in the dungeon as Mary’s arms became almost vertical and her feet – already tilted upwards from the high heeled thigh boots – moved on to tip toes to try to counter the remorseless upward pull. Her wrists were caught by the steel of the handcuffs which were cutting cruelly into her flesh.
As Bennelli let loose another vicious cut with the cane, eliciting a muted nasal howl from Mary, Trish threw herself against her ropes, grunting desperately around the gag filling her mouth. Bennelli turned to her.
“You got something to say?” Trish nodded miserably, while Mary made feeble protests of the sort that suggested Trish should stay out of it.
There was a faint hiss as Bennelli undid the valve and Trish was finally able to close her jaw. Her cheeks were wet with tears.
“What do you want to know?” Trish asked hoarsely.
“When will Jill be back?”
“Sometime tomorrow. She’s gone down to the Gold Coast.”
“And the Chinese chick.” Trish’s eyes roved past the box and she stared into space somewhere else.
“Emma. She’s with Jill.”
“She wasn’t when Jill drove out this morning.” So he’d been watching the place God, what else did he know? Was Trish’s lying going to catch her out?
“She went out to a friend’s place last night. They’re meeting up with Jill in town today.” Bennelli appeared to ponder this information. A silence descended on the dungeon, and suddenly I felt the vibrators start up. Oh dear God, not now! Buried in my rectum and pussy, with me trapped in a rubber-lined box, I hoped they would not be audible. Of more concern was my reaction to the stimulation, however. Don’t let me climax – please! God, if Bennelli found me here in this box
“All right. What about that slave – the one with big tits and the weird name? I haven’t seen her lately.”
“Visiting her parents in Sydney.”
“And the rest of them? I saw them all go out a few days ago. I presume they went to the airport with those cases. Where’ve they gone?”
“India.”
“India? What the fuck’s in India?”
“Indians.”
“Don’t get smart with me, lady. That remark’s just cost your friend another stroke.” Barely pausing to draw breath he let loose another whack across Mary’s now discoloured backside.
“Nnnnmmmmp!” Mary snorted in agony and sobbed as best she could.
“No! Stop! I’m sorry! I am, really! Don’t hit her again! They’ve gone to India to help find a couple of girls who’ve been abducted.”
Bennelli paused and scratched his two-day growth of beard. He appeared to be weighing up the situation.
“So there’s not much use in hanging about here. Okay. This is working out well. It was you two I really wanted. I’ll have time to get you both away without having to rush.”
I was squirming now, trying to follow what he was saying and what it meant. If Jill returned now, she could walk right into a trap. They could all be taken away and I could be left to die in this box. Suddenly the peril of my situation came home to me. But the vibrators whirred incessantly inside me with no consideration of my circumstances. I felt the heat rising in my loins and abruptly the fires boiled over. I squished my thighs together and tried to stifle my squeaks into the ball and hood as best I could, along with my rapid panting.
Bennelli turned from where he was undoing the zipper on Trish’s pvc dress.
“What was that?”
“Mice. There’s heaps down here,” said Trish quickly. I wondered whether Bennelli was now getting a little jumpy, like a burglar not wanting to linger too long at the scene of the crime. He looked around suspiciously, eyeing the box in the corner. He came across to look at it and I felt him tug at the two heavy padlocks outside. I put my head down, like a child hiding under the blankets from a monster, hoping that by closing my eyes it would go away or not see me. My body was trembling and it was nothing to do with the vibrators still doing their insidious work inside me.
“What’s in here?”
“Props and stuff.”
“Where are the keys?”
“I don’t know. Probably on Monica’s key ring upstairs.”
Bennelli came back into the picture again but mercifully didn’t bend down to look through my little spy hole. After my recent thoughts I didn’t know which might be worse – being found now by Bennelli and at least getting released from the box, or possibly being left without anyone to let me out at all.
Bennelli seemed to put the incident behind him, and I could tell he was now thinking about getting away. He moved around the room, opening cupboards and investigating our arsenal. He picked up the roll of duct tape and a rubber ball and moved to Trish.
“Open wide.”
Trish appeared about to say something, then thought the better of it and did as she was told, accepting the ball into her mouth then meekly lowering her head to let him wrap the tape over her mouth and around her head. She evidently figured it was better to have the job done tidily than in an even more uncomfortable fashion through futilely fighting the process. In contrast to what he had done to Mary, Bennelli did not cover Trish’s eyes, though he did wrap several additional turns of tape vertically around her jaw, effectively silencing her. Her eyes were large over the tape as she watched him stride across to the door and disappear.
“Mmmph?” she intoned after him, but he was gone. We were all left wondering what was going on. It was scary. Was he just going to leave us like this? Trish looked in my direction and made muffled noises that could have meant anything, while Mary uttered faint gagged whimpers as she strained against her bonds in her terribly stringent position.
Bennelli was back a few minutes later.
“Had to move the car,” he explained in a tone that was almost ecstatic with triumph at what he’d achieved. He carried a large back pack and proceeded to methodically go through the contents of the cupboards again, selecting various items and stuffing them into the pack. I could not make out everything he took, but I could see some of the electrical gear disappear into the pack, plus a couple of discipline helmets and steel restraints. This done, he dropped the pack beside the door and returned to where Trish was bound to the wooden post.
It took him only a moment to undo the rope at throat and waist. He forced her on to her knees, obviously to better control her, and looped the rope around her upper arms, pulling her elbows together in a strict tie. Trish grunted behind the tape at the tightness of the rope as he wrapped further turns around her arms above the elbows and tied the rope off. With the wicked strictures around his prisoner’s arms he obviously had Trish fully under control and felt able to work with her on her feet. The next step was the removal of the handcuffs and the replacement of them by further rope around Trish’s wrists, binding her hands palm to palm. Trish knew she had no chance of escape in her present state. It would take an extremely lucky kick to the groin to even have a hope of getting away, and that would leave Mary still to face the wrath of Bennelli, even if Trish did make it out of the house.
With Trish’s wrists secured, Bennelli wrapped the tails of the rope around her waist and tied them off in the front, but only after undoing the zipper on Trish’s dress so that it hung open at the front, held as such by the waist rope.
“Bend over,” he ordered, picking up a large butt plug. Trish was a little slow to obey, so he grabbed her by her ponytail with his left hand and forced her head down. He removed Trish’s G-string, spat on the plug and began to push it home without ceremony. Trish struggled momentarily but recognised that her best option was to submit, and parted her legs to make the entry slightly easier. Less difficult it may have been, but painless it clearly wasn’t – not at the hands of Bennelli. Trish snorted and grunted in discomfort as Bennelli worked the probe into her back passage. I could hear her voice rising in pitch and intensity, ending in a stifled cry as the intruder slid home. The ends of the rope dangling from the knot at her navel were pulled between her legs and outside the bottom of the pvc dress to be tied again to her wrist cinch. Trish was now secured very uncomfortably, and made more so when Bennelli latched a pair of nasty–looking nipple clips on to her now-exposed breasts. Trish whimpered from the pain, but could do nothing as Bennelli then pushed her from the room.
He was gone several minutes. I thought I heard the opening of the exterior emergency door in the corridor outside the dungeon, but I could not be sure. It would have made sense if he had brought his car around to the rear of the house. Silence descended on the room as the vibrators mercifully switched off and my breathing slowly returned to a less frantic level, though I was still struggling to deal with my predicament and the fear I had of discovery. In the meantime I was forced to watch Mary in her own struggle in the awful steel-bound strappado she was having to endure.
When Bennelli returned, it was Mary’s turn for the butt plug treatment. Standing on her tiptoes, her striated buttocks exposed to the world, it was not surprising that Bennelli used this situation to humiliate Mary further by inserting the largest plug he could find. It was a black rubber monster which I had experienced only once. It had been most painful accepting it, and once there had caused strange sensations of fullness, discomfort, and I will admit to a little stimulation. The pain of its entry had left me in fear of the likely pain that would come when I had to eject it, and to Monica’s surprise – for it was she who had forced it upon me – I had coped with it for a whole day.
Now Mary was on the receiving end, and the heavy panting and high-pitched plaintive grunts that came from beneath the tape told me that her position was not good for receiving the plug. Bennelli squatted behind her, working at the insertion process with a frown of concentration, extending the insertion for several minutes to the accompaniment of stifled groans from his helpless victim.
He was talking to her in a soft, menacing voice. I could hear bits of what he was saying.
“Not pleasant, is it, bitch? This is what ya sent me to with that little scheme of yours, when I wound up in Sydney. D’ya know what it’s like to be kept as a toy boy for a bunch of bikie dykes and queers? It’s like this! Did that hurt? Good! And don’t think those dykes didn’t get in on the action. They were worse than the guys, believe me. Are ya satisfied, bitch? Wish ya’d not been so smart now, huh?”
After several near full penetrations, he finally rammed the dong home, eliciting what he obviously took to be a satisfying gagged shriek from Mary. I tried to blot out the sound of Mary’s sobs, but couldn’t do it. I wished she didn’t have such an attitude to some people, for I hated the sound of her hurting so.
Bennelli pushed up Mary’s skirt further, before wrapping a length of sashcord around her waist and knotting it tightly in front, then pulling it between her legs with a series of strong tugs. The cord was no doubt firmly lodged in her pussy and jamming the plug hard up her arse when he knotted it at the back, before running it through to the front again and looping it through the waist rope again.
When he released the winch cable Mary folded up like a doll, sliding on to her knees, her head bent forward. Bennelli followed the same process he had used on Trish, tying her elbows tightly together, then her wrists, before hauling the two front rope tails back through her crotch to secure her wrists snugly at her buttocks. Mary, bound, gagged and blindfolded under layers of immovable tape, was then led from the room, with Bennelli collecting his pack on the way. I was left trembling in the dark closeness of my rubber-lined box, wondering what was going to happen to all of us.
* * *
07.02.05
story continues in Monica and the Black Fortress
o0o