Monica's Games 2.15
by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)
(story continues from Monica's Games 2.14)
Chapter Fifteen: Coventry
Extract from email:
Continue.
I don’t know how you got in. Presumably somebody blabbed about where the spare keys were kept in the pot plant out the back. I suppose you used chloroform or some such drug on me?
Do you remember much about it?
No. It’s dreamlike. A sort of nightmare only vaguely recalled. A strange smell, becoming stronger, then a half-awake moment of panic. Then blackness.
And then?
Then waking up.
Describe.
Strange feeling, waking in my own bed, my own bedroom, but something was different. Mental confusion, then realisation of what I was wearing. Getting out of bed. Still dark; half groggy, wondering if I’m still dreaming. Wearing a corset, for God’s sake! I feel the two plugs inside me, secured by the plastic-coated wire around my waist and through my crotch. More confusion who, what, why? Memories of Bilboes. Fear.
Fear?
Of course. Not a pleasant experience.
Bilboes was mild compared to what lies ahead.
Who are you? What do you want? Do you want money?
What do you think?
I think you’re out to try to teach me a lesson. I don’t think you know what you’re up against.
Do you know what you’re up against?
I’ll figure it out.
Describe your day.
Why the hell should I?
Because you’re chained to the floor in a deserted house with no way to get free other than by cooperation. Cooperation consists of communication. Are your nipples starting to tingle? The plugs may be out, but there are other ways.
Yes. Okay. Make them stop. Please. Ow they hurt – is that what you want me to say? Owwww
I have stopped the power. But I have more. Do you understand your position yet?
Yes.
Yes what?
Yes Mistress.
Think of me not just as your Mistress, but as your mentor, your companion on this journey. Does that sound too pretentious?
Sounds like BS. Oww! I’m sorry. Make it stop!
You need to understand your position, Shannen. Impudence, smart retorts and inappropriate language will not be tolerated. Do I make myself clear?
Yes Mistress.
Describe your day.
You know my day.
I have a lot of time, Shannen. I am trying to be patient. You’re not helping. Describe your day.
I woke up. I told you that bit.
And then?
I tried to get the damned things off. And yes, you did a good job. Is that what you wanted to hear? Yes, the crotch cable was securely locked in place and I couldn’t extract either of the plugs.
You realise if we find anything has been tampered with, the punishment will be severe?
Yes Mistress.
Continue.
As for the corset, I used the mirror to see the stainless steel wires lacing up down the back over the superglued zipper. And no, I can’t reach them properly. Just how long am I expected to wear this?
As long as it takes. Continue. Did you try to get it off?
Of course. That’s when I found you’d taken all my scissors and knives. Which was not all you took. Where are the rest of my clothes? And my credit cards and money, you bitch! Owwwwshit. Is that what you want to hear? I’m sure the cameras are recording it for you.
Very good. And yes, such outbursts will be punished. Your typing of such sensations is appropriate if the punishment is to cease. Continue.
So yes, there I was, now awake, corseted and plugged.
You tried to remove the corset later, of course.
As you well know. You’re clever, I grant you. Gluing wire mesh inside the fabric was smart. And the stainless fishing trace.
Do you like the collar?
No. It’s uncomfortable. And the stainless wires linking it to my corset – they’re really irritating.
Good job you had that roll neck sweater to wear.
Except that it was nearly thirty degrees outside.
Did it prompt a question or two from your workmates?
A couple of strange looks. People don’t push their luck with me.
Describe your dress today.
You know perfectly well what it was.
Humour me.
Very well. My dress was what you left me. The white boots that lace up to the knee, the short red skirt and the red roll neck. Very cheerleader. Is that what you wanted to achieve?
It’s quite a wardrobe you have.
Had.
Had. Of course. How was your new image received?
You mean the change from sophisticated to straight out tart? Very funny. Not only did it make me look like the office slut, but it was it hot, and of course I couldn’t exactly take anything off. That would have been real good, wouldn’t it? Shannen O’Donnell, new office tart is actually plugged and corseted under all of this. They’d love that.
Better play it cool, then. Continue.
I found your note, and followed the instructions, as you know. Yes, I react to pain, just like anyone else. It did not take much to convince me to do as I was told. I discovered the rest of my clothes had gone, leaving just the one outfit. I washed as best I could, then found all my food had disappeared, leaving only the tub of yoghurt and the frozen microwave meal to take for lunch. That was when I found you’d nicked all my credit cards. I decided to go with the flow, prompted of course by your reminders. So I made it to my car by 8 am as I was supposed to, and of course pushed the house keys back under the door. And yes, your email was waiting for me at work telling me that the house was having new locks fitted. You bastards – no – owww I’m sorry! Truly!
And how was your day?
You should know. Didn’t I do as I was told? Every time that I got whacked in the arse and pussy I got on to my email and described where I was and what it felt like.
Yes you did, and it was very enlightening.
Let me tell you it’s not funny when you’re sitting in a meeting with seven other people, including the editor, when things begin to tingle in your groin and nipples. And making that low vibration go on until I email you with a description and a request to stop is not funny. Having to stand up and leave the meeting on the pretext of going to the toilet – particularly dressed as I was – was most embarrassing. And yes, I did come before I got to my desk. Again, not funny being caught halfway down the corridor. One lady asked if I was okay, but I just ignored her and tried to get my breathing sorted out.
She may have had genuine concern for your welfare.
Yeah, right.
We’ll get back to that.
What are you? A shrink?
Continue with your day.
In between the buzzings and random jolts every time the damned mobile went off, I think you could say it was definitely neither normal nor dull. Nor pleasant. I suppose you want me to say that.
I want you to tell the truth.
Very well, no it wasn’t pleasant. It was a day of uncertainty, while I waited for your email at five o’clock that would tell me the next step. You’re very punctual.
Punctuality is important. People rely on it.
Whatever. So there it was. Directions to come out here to this dump.
Were you scared?
No.
You were wired up, plugged, had your stuff removed, your house locks changed, all by people you don’t know, who could potentially continue with this treatment indefinitely, and you weren’t scared? Not even a little trepidation? Wondering where it was all going?
All right. I was scared. Happy?
Are you? Ever?
What do you mean?
You seem to go though life heedless of others’ happiness. Do you get your kicks from their resentment and discomfort?
Look, enough of the analysis, huh. I’m doing what you want, aren’t I?
So far. Continue – for the record.
I suppose you want to hear that the plugs were very uncomfortable, seeing as I had to sit down all day, and seeing as how I didn’t get the chance for a crap this morning. So yes, I was willing to go along with this if it meant a chance to get the thing out and relieve myself.
Which you did?
As you probably know anyway. Yes, I drove out here, locked the long chain around my neck then locked the other end to the anchor point at the bathroom doorway. I put on the leather helmet – the one with nostril holes and the integral ball gag, of course - and locked that in place. I don’t know how long it was before someone put a key in my hand. That was the one for the crotch strap – the lock that fits between my legs, joining front and back straps. Why couldn’t you have at least made it lock in the front? It’s really uncomfortable down there.
Better get used to it. Then what?
Yes, I did enjoy having the plugs out, of course.
Behave and you will be treated fairly. Remember that. Think also about what it would be like to wear the plugs for 24 hours or longer.
That’s not fair.
Life’s not fair. Continue.
So having relieved myself, I waited again. Then someone came into the room a voice said dinner was on the floor. I suppose you enjoyed watching me grovel around trying to find it. And a couple of sandwiches are not much.
Be thankful you also got a key to unlock that hood so you could eat.
I am.
And then?
The rest you know. Here I am sitting on the floor on a pillow in an empty room, talking to you on email. I presume the door is locked, and the windows have been boarded over. What happens next?
Did you tell the office you would be out on assignment tomorrow?
Yes.
Did your boss believe you?
Of course. He wants as little to do with me as possible. As long as I deliver the goods, keep the ratings up and don’t cause too many lawsuits, he’ll keep his own job and get the bonuses I bring in.
Today’s Thursday. You will remain there for the next four days. Maybe longer, depending on your progress. You will report sick on Monday.
Four days! What the fuck do I do for four days???
Language
Owww make it stop! I’m sorry.
Please try to cooperate.
I’m sorry Mistress.
What happens is that we will talk. Whenever you want to, by email. You will tell me why you are so angry with everyone and have such disdain for other people, as and when you wish. You will be punished if you do not comply at any time. Do you understand?
Yes Mistress.
I am here to help you. Do you understand that?
Yes Mistress.
You will now put the plugs back, close the lock and throw the key into the corner by the door. Well, what are you waiting for?
Must I sleep with the plugs, Mistress?
Are you questioning my command, Shannen? Big Sister is watching you, remember. When you have done that you will kneel with your crotch directed to the camera so that you can be inspected for compliance.
All right. I’ve done as you asked Mistress.
Good girl. Now go to sleep. Good night Shannen.
Good night Mistress.
* * *
That was how our first encounter went with Shannen. Looking at the cctv screen, I saw that she now lay curled up with the pillow on the towel she had taken from the bathroom. It would not be a comfortable night for her. She still wore the short red skirt and red roll neck sweater and with her mass of dark hair she reminded me for a brief moment of the fearsome Portia from Macau, who also had a love of red. Shannen had removed her boots and her skirt had ridden up her thigh. She looked quite un-threatening chained at the neck to the anchoring U-bolt I had installed at the entrance to the bathroom, so that she could have reasonable movement between bathroom and bedroom..
Monica sat on the chair at the table, which – along with the double bed and a fair amount of other stuff - we had removed from the house to the double garage, whence we could manage the process.
“I think that went well,” said Monica. It was now nearly eight thirty, and she leaned over to flick a switch which turned out the lights in the bedroom and bathroom of the house. The room went dark and I pressed a button which changed the cameras to the infra-red wavelength.
“Should we give her a little reward for being a good girl?” I asked Monica.
“Why not. It’s been a long tiring day for us all.” She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Perhaps a little reward all round?”
She turned a knob on a small control box and we watched as the figure on the screen twitched and Shannen’s hands went down to her crotch. Monica had turned on all three electrodes to low level stimulation, and before long Shannon was flat on her face with the pillow halfway through her crotch, humping it for all she was worth. The sound that came with the image was a mixture of grunts and gasps as Shannen finally cried out in orgasm and Monica turned the stimulation knob to zero again.
“Damn, that’s made me horny,” she murmured.
* * *
I left Coventry – that was what we now called the place, owing to Shannen’s enforced silence - around eight the next morning. Monica and I had started very early – and then had moved on to dealing with Shannen, if you catch my drift. We had woken her during the night with the alarm that had been installed along with the cctv, and had made her lock on her discipline helmet and sleep like that for the rest of the night. Come early morning, we had entered the room and prodded her into the bathroom to perform her ablutions, and had left behind the hood key and some breakfast. Again, she had been able to remove the helmet, eat the food, then had once more been obliged to lock the helmet in place and toss the key beyond reach.
A while later we had entered the room again. We both wore the distorting throat mikes, but speaking was not necessary, for we knew what we had to do. We left Shannen naked, spreadeagled on the floor. She wore heavy leather cuffs on her wrists and ankles which were chained to four eyebolts screwed into the floor in a square layout. In the middle of each chain was a turnbuckle, which after a bit of protest and squirming form the victim, were now very tight, stretching Shannen as though on a rack. She was unable to move anything except her head, her fingers and her toes, and her head we then secured with two ropes through D-rings in the leather, again connected to eyebolts in the floor.
“You will spend the day thinking about your situation and the reasons why you are here,” Monica’s metallic voice hissed at Shannen. “You will then detail all your thoughts and ideas upon release. I will leave you with your mobile phone for company, so all your friends and contacts can wake you up in case you nod off.” Shannen whined under the leather hood but could do nothing. Monica propped the mobile phone against the padlock securing the crotch cable in place as a reminder of its presence and patted Shannen’s naked and spread pussy where the crotch cable was embedded.
“Some people just have nothing better to do than to lie about all day,” she said to me as we exited.
* * *
During the day Jill took over from Monica, but Monica returned for the evening session. I called in to visit her, detouring on my way to Bilboes from the Citadel where I had been working during the day.
Monica was reading a printout from the computer, while Shannen, as I saw from the television screen, was bound into a kind of foetal position, her knees pulled up into her chest and her wrists tied together under her knees. I could see signs of a whipping on her exposed buttocks. Once again she wore the leather discipline helmet, the dark hair showing a few inches below the collar. Otherwise she remained naked except for the corset.
“Good stuff?” I asked, indicating the print out. Monica wore jeans and a white teeshirt with some Chinese characters on that she had bought in Hong Kong when we were there. With her bare feet propped on a second chair she looked relaxed and content with the world.
“I think so,” she said, smiling. “Her day seems to have been quite productive for a person who has been unable to move for much of it. Despite her unpopularity, her mobile phone is well used. She had a rather painful time from one person in particular who evidently needed to speak to her urgently and wouldn’t talk to the message bank. We gave her four hours of the spreadeagle, then released her wrists and handcuffed them in front. She was given lunch and allowed to take the hood off. We let her eat lunch and answer calls from the mobile, thus keeping in contact with people. Then she did a lot of typing, which isn’t easy with handcuffs, and her legs were still spread and chained.
“After an hour of that and some interaction with Jill and me, we bound her in the position you see now,” she said, indicating the girl lying on her side against the wall. “She was sitting up for a short while, but when we read some of the things she wrote, we had to go in and push her on her side, in order to give those cheeks a bit of a thrashing.”
“Was she that stupid to write something to set you off?”
“Not exactly.” Monica pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “She’s a bit cagey in what she writes. She’s skirting round issues, which frankly isn’t good enough. There have been the odd hints that something’s not right – something family, I think. Some sort of baggage that she’s carrying. I want her to come out with it, but it has to be her decision, not just because she’s getting a bit of a flogging.”
“So, do you need me tonight? I’m on my way back to Bilboes – thought I’d take a little detour to see that everything is okay.”
Monica smiled at me – a warm, melt-the-heart smile that made my knees go weak.
“That’s very thoughtful of you Steven. You’re a sweetie, but no, I’m okay. Tonight I need to rest, and I suspect you’re going back to do some more in your workshop. Am I right?” I nodded. She stood up and gave me a hug, followed by a tonsil-searching kiss that left us both gasping for air.
“Sometimes it’s business before pleasure,” she said, turning me and pushing me gently towards the door. “Now go, before you distract me further.”
* * *
For the next two days Shannen’s treatment continued on much the same route. There was much enforced inactivity, with Shannen either bound stringently or chained in loose restraint. In both instances she remained hooded and gagged, being released only to the chained restraint when she was allowed to use her phone and the email. There were beatings when required, but these seemed to have lessened in severity by the Monday. The mobile phone calls were enough to keep her awake, setting off painful vibrations at arse, crotch and nipples. Poor Shannen was going to have a serious aversion to the mobile phone at the end of this, I reckoned. At very least she was going to change the ring tone.
Monica and Jill seemed to be doing all the ‘mentoring’ for lack of a better word. Sometimes they interrupted Shannen when she was asleep, and probably by the end of the period Shannen had no idea whether it was day or night, for the plywood covers I had made for the windows were an exact fit and with foam around the edges they let in no light. The nearest thing Shannen might have had to judge the time would have been the dawn chorus of birds, but I suspected that would have been limited under the constricting leather hood.
Monica had conned me into spending the night with her on Monday, and we were curled up in the double bed when the alarm went off at 2 am. We had planned a final exercise for Shannen before she went back to work the next morning. It was in part intended to lower her resistance still further and to continue with the process of taking her down a peg or five. Monica was pleased at the way Shannen’s emails were opening her up. The enforced inactivity and silence, with only “Mistress” to talk to via the email, had sucked into Shannen’s need to communicate, and the introspection had made a number of issues surface. Shannen clearly had some family baggage, not least an overbearing father and an elder brother who had excelled at everything he did, becoming the apple of Daddy’s eye and fostering resentment in a major way in the daughter of the family, who had been told she was best qualified to get married and have babies.
That had been the start of a long email that had Shannen in tears by the end of it. Fortunately I had not been involved as the anger came pouring out. That sort of thing makes me uncomfortable, but Jill and Monica seemed to deal with it in their stride. Shannen had been rewarded with a period of sleep with minimal restraint. But the process had gone on, and there was still a week to go, with Shannen able to visit the office starting this very morning when we were awakened by the alarm. There was no doubt she was being worn down, but I was astonished reading some of her emails at the change that was coming over her. It was now time for a last test before the normal routine began again.
Monica and I dressed and made our way to the house. It had started raining and from the flashes in the sky to the west I suspected a major storm would be arriving within the next hour. That would make life interesting for anyone outside, I thought. I unlocked the door and we went down the corridor, then unlocking the door to the bedroom. The light was on, but Shannen was asleep with the discipline helmet on. This one did not have an integral gag, so we had no concern about leaving her unsupervised, for she could not choke. Her hands were locked in cuffs to D-rings at the sides of the stainless waist cable that was in turn locked over the top of the black corset she still wore. The crotch cable was as usual still secured snugly in place, holding the plugs in her deepest private places.
Shannen woke during the process of us lacing her knee boots on her.
“Wharr hppning?” she mumbled sleepily under the leather hood. We ignored her and continued with what we were doing. The hood she was now wearing had a clip-on blindfold which was in place, as well as a zip at the mouth, which was currently closed. The tightly buckled strap under the chin restricted her speech to whatever she could manage through clenched teeth, and by the time this got past the leather itself, it was pretty scrambled.
Shannen sat passively as we finished doing the laces up the front of the white boots and tying them off just below her knees. Then the ankle cuffs were locked on and a short hobble chain put in place. This done, we looped a belt through her arms and bucked it up, pulling her elbows together at the back and removing most movement from her arms pinioned at her hips. I noticed the tightening of her arm restraints pulled on the waist cable, which in turn pulled the crotch cable tighter at front and back. Shannen whimpered under the hood as Monica gave her the equivalent of a gratuitous wedgie.
With Shannen now well secured we unlocked the chain about her neck and led her out to the van, helping her into the back and making her lie down on her stomach. A short piece of rope looped from the belt around her arms to her ankle chain and back, making a reasonably effective hogtie, at least sufficient for Shannen’s otherwise restrained state.
We drove out on to the narrow roads that criss-crossed this essentially country area, driving some distance in a roughly circular route to reach a point probably a couple of kilometres as the crow flew to the rear of the House of Coventry. We stopped by the side of the road and climbed out. In the distance we could make out a red light that seemed to be some distance off the ground. This was in fact a low voltage light I had installed high up on a tree to the rear of the property, with the intention that it could be seen from this point, as I had checked the night before.
Monica released Shannen from the hogtie and hauled her outside before removing the hood. Aside from the fact that it was dark, Monica and I wore black balaclavas, so there was no possibility of being recognised. In truth, however, if a smart cookie like Shannen hadn’t figured out that at very least Bilboes was probably behind the whole scheme, then something was seriously wrong with her grey matter.
The rain was getting heavier, and I reckoned Shannen was going to be pretty cold if she stood around for too long, though it had been a hot day and the air temperature was warm. Monica undid the strap through Shannen’s arms, then wrapped it a couple of times around Shannen’s head, through her mouth, to make a rather inefficient gag, buckling it tight at the back of her head. She followed this with a pair of clear swimming goggles on a rubber strap over Shannen’s eyes.
“You see that red light?” she demanded, her voice spookily artificial through the distorting mike at her throat.
“Yeth.”
“That is where you have spent the last four days. That is where there will be a shower and some fresh clothes, and maybe an hour to sleep before you have to go to work. However, you will have to make your way there by yourself. It will be a little test of your resolve to turn over a new leaf. I should also point out that it will start to get light in a couple of hours. There may be the odd fence in the way, perhaps a house or two, maybe some unfriendly dogs and I’m sure a good many ditches. So I would suggest you keep up a good pace if you’re not to be stranded in daylight, wearing nothing but a corset, plugs, a gag and chains, so that anyone could take advantage of you, or at very least start asking questions – which of course would be hard to answer intelligibly with that belt between your teeth. In short, Shannen, it will be an indication that there are things out in the big world that we cannot always control and that sometimes it is appropriate just to do the best we can under the circumstances and go with the flow. Do you understand that?”
“Yeth,” said Shannen, sounding very subdued.
“Before you go to bed tonight, you will provide a full description of the little adventure that is about to befall you. If you don’t make it before daylight, you’d better hide up somewhere in the bushes or in a ditch, because we don’t have time to run around looking for you. Is that clear?”
“Yeth.”
“Good. Very well, have a nice night time stroll. We’ll leave you the mobile phone just for emergencies. We’ve programmed in a number as quickdial One, but you’d better be real careful how you use that. On the other hand, we might well give you a call to see how you’re going – just to make contact. Would you like that Shannen?”
Clearly the idea of the mobile going off anywhere near Shannen in her plugged state was not attractive to her, and she shook her head emphatically, but Monica used the hogtie cord to tie the mobile in its case around Shannen’s neck so that she could just reach it with her hand, but could not reach the knot in the cord and thus dump the thing if the number of calls became too painful.
“Then you’d better not hang about. Be good.”
As we climbed in the Van and sped away, leaving Shannen standing by the side of the road, plugged, bound and very unhappy, Monica gave the button on the plug remote a final push.
“You’re mean,” I said.
“I know. It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it.”
* * *
Extract from email:
I felt quite alone at that point. Not just physically, I mean. I was left to my own devices – I suppose that’s what you mean by having nobody to blame for the outcome but myself. Yes, I guess I had got myself into this position, and I was the only one available to get myself out of it. I did not like the idea of having to explain my circumstances to a total stranger.
As the lights disappeared down the highway I felt the all-too familiar surge of current in the pads over my nipples, and in the two vibrating plugs that sent a ripple of pain through my crotch. I decided I was not going to hang around unnecessarily, and that was no doubt the desired effect. Already my hair was plastered down on my head and shoulders as I hobbled off the road. There was a shallow ditch with about a foot of muddy water in it, and I managed to trip going down the bank to land sitting on my bum in this. I hoped the water might short out the vibrators, but of course you’d sealed them appropriately for the wet places they were designed for, hadn’t you.
I scrambled out of the ditch with some difficulty. With my wrists trapped at my hips and my ankles hobbled, I ended up working my way out backwards on my arse. It was not fun, I can tell you. Then there was the four-wire fence at the top on the other side of the ditch, which I then had to squirm under on my stomach. By the time I got to my feet after that, to head across the field, I was muddy and grotty and feeling quite depressed.
As you know – since you obviously planned the task in detail – on the other side of the fence is an open field, somewhat overgrown with long grass and thistles. Thank you for at least letting me wear my boots, although at times I wished the heels were just a little lower. I couldn’t see much in the darkness. The moon was hidden by the rain clouds and the rain itself made things pretty awful.
I had nearly completed the crossing of that field when the light went out. I will admit I came close to panicking at that point, and I’m sure that was the idea. I also thought some bad thoughts about you. But at the end of the day, I knew I just had to cope. Again, there was nothing I could do about it. Endure – that’s what you’ve told me. Stoicism. Don’t waste energy on the uncontrollable. I could make out a big tree not too far away, against which I tried to keep my bearings. After perhaps ten minutes the light came on again and I found I wasn’t too far off course. I learned from that, and in the flashes of lightning I took note of everything I could see and tried to plot my route between these objects.
The full fury of the storm had now arrived and while I was tempted to wait for it to pass over, I was even more scared of people seeing me like this in daylight. I reached another fence and again had to slide face down underneath it. On the other side the grass was closely cropped and there seemed to be some cows somewhere in the field, judging from the number of times I stepped into cowpats. As you would be aware, I could only take short steps because of the hobble. Not short-short, but sufficiently restrictive to make my steps in the darkness slow progress. I did not want to pitch head first into a drain or ditch that I did not see coming.
On the far side of this field was an electric fence - as I discovered when I blundered into it and got a real jolt in my legs as a result. I got under this all right, to find myself suddenly in an orchard or something similar, and came on a house in the midst of the trees. A dog started barking and again I nearly panicked. I tried to run but the hobbles made it really hard. I found out then why you’d put the swimming goggles over my eyes. They made it much harder to see generally, but when the branches swung in my face I was glad of them.
I think the dog must have been tied up. It seemed that everyone out on this night was tied up in one form or other. I never saw it, but it frightened me again. I skirted round the house as best I could and sighted the red light again. It didn’t seem to be getting any closer. I couldn’t judge how far away it was, given the rain and poor visibility. I found myself heading down the front gravel drive of the house between hedges, and came on to the road outside. Instinctively I stopped, not knowing how busy it was, and not wanting to get caught in a headlight beam, never mind hit by something. I suppose I shouldn’t have worried, for the probability of something coming along this road at this hour had to be remote. That said, it happened, and I dropped on my face in the cold long grass of the nature strip beside the front fence of the house. The headlights swept past and I lay there for a minute or two more before summoning the courage to get up.
I hobbled across the road as fast as I could, and again ended up on my backside in the ditch on the far side. It was a deeper one that the first. Deep as in steeper slopes, and deeper as in depth of water. It was like sitting in a bath, and a very cold one at that.
That was about the time that you obviously pressed the remote again, except you left it on vibration mode. What with struggling to get out of the ditch and trying to reach the damned vibrators, you will be pleased to know it had its effect. I suppose the rain had something to do with it – water can actually be very erotic, and I admit I succumbed to it. I wound up face down on the bank of the ditch scrabbling for a purchase with my feet while I ended up humping a large tuft of grass. I sort of lost myself for a while – it was very pleasurable, I confess. I let myself go, knowing nobody could see or hear me in the midst of the storm.
The downside was, I suppose, that I quite exhausted myself, and the vibrators were still running – including those patches on my nips. I mean, a girl can only take so much pleasure, after which the whole thing becomes frustrating and exhausting, especially when you’re trying to focus on something. I eventually scrambled out of the ditch and found myself facing a grovel under another fence, which was likely to be just a bit too pleasurable for comfort. The storm was nearly over, and I thought I could detect a lightening in the east.
Now I had to either go round or through a wooded section of land. I thought it was still dark enough to try the road, for I didn’t really fancy the dense undergrowth and branches whipping the daylights out of me. A solitary streetlight lit an intersection about a hundred metres down the road, where there appeared to be a road at right angles to the one I was on, leading in the direction I had to go. I had no idea how far the woods stretched, but I reasoned my progress had to be faster along the road, and I could always duck back into the woods if the need arose.
I made quite good progress, hobbling along on the edge of the road, with only one occasion when a car made me drop to the ground. The wretched vibrators were still humming, however, and all this walking was doing nothing to lessen the distraction. You have no idea how frustrating that can be. I should have figured I would end up in the woods, but I really didn’t expect some moron to be out jogging with his dog in the dawn following a thunderstorm, but here he was, with a damned labrador who was into every new smell it came across.
Fortunately I saw them near another streetlight, and I panicked as I squirmed under the fence in to the woods. That was the end of my time on the roads, I decided, and did my best to steer a straight path through the woods in the direction I thought the red light was. It was getting light quickly now, and at least this aspect made passage through the trees and undergrowth marginally easier, but my hobble chain kept catching on roots and fallen branches, and stepping over things was a nightmare. It took me far longer than I expected to finally get through them, but I emerged to see the light – and the house – several hundred metres away. That was when I found the drainage channel.
You knew it was there, of course, because you’d planned it. I suppose I should say well done, but at the time my pussy was going ballistic and I ended up lying face down on a moss-covered fallen log to gain a little relief. I seemed to be grunting and panting continuously by now, in part because I was exhausted, and in part because the terrible buzzing just wouldn’t stop! Now I needed another drainage channel like I needed another orgasm. But this channel was about three metres wide, with steep sides again, and even in the rapidly improving light I could see no crossing nearby. I slid down one side on my bare buttocks, which – like the rest of me – were getting a rather torrid workout.
If I thought I was cold before, the chest-deep water was freezing. I was numbed to the bone as I stumbled across the channel, my boots sinking deep into the muddy bed. It took all my strength to haul myself out and head across the last open fields leading to the house. I was fully expecting some stupid farmer to come out with a herd of cows, just when I had no cover to dive into. For once my fears were not realised, and here I was banging pathetically on your door.
The shower was nice. Thank you. Having those plugs out was nice, too. Putting them back and leaving them there while I went to work was very difficult, however. I suppose it was better than being tied up for half the day, though. At least I could turn my mobile phone off finally, though I know you were somewhere nearby, since a couple of times the buzzing started. The first time was when I was at my desk, and I just managed to squeak an orgasm in before a coworker came in. The second time I managed to overcome the urge or else you deliberately switched off early. I suppose you’re trying to make a point about controlling people, and I confess I have been a bit of a control freak. I would dearly love to have these plugs out for just a night – please? I promise I’ll be a model employee God, I’m so tired
* * *
“We’re getting there,” said Monica, as I finished reading the email and put the paper down. “There’s still work to be done on her psyche, however. She wants the plugs out but it’s too early. She’s had a day without restraint, doing her job and getting away from the focus we’ve been putting her through here. I’d like to put her through some more stringent bondage, but it’ll be wasted at present. She’d only fall asleep. No, I think a couple of hours before breakfast tomorrow and the same before bed. A focus session for the day, and then one to stimulate the dreams. Only three more days to go, Shannen.”
“And only four days until the Games,” I murmured.
“We’d better make sure it all goes well, then, hadn’t we,” said Monica with quiet certainty.
* * *
On the Thursday that the Zubair brothers were due to arrive, a small incident occurred that left me just a tad uneasy.
It has to be said that what we were doing in Shannen’s case was verging on the illegal, in that it was – at very least – slipping into that thing called deprivation of liberty. A good lawyer would probably have had no problem tacking half a dozen other charges on to that – that is assuming people wanted their dirty laundry aired for every tabloid in the land to have a field day with. We were confident that Shannen’s daily voluntary return to Coventry, plus the excellent photographic records of her embarrassing and humiliating discomfort would be ample reason for her to simply want to get the thing over, with no fuss, no mess. It was an objective of both parties. However in these slightly different circumstances away from the controlled environment of Bilboes, I was wary of anything out of the ordinary, not least any outside activities in which we engaged, such as having clients running about the countryside.
For all Monica’s idea about having Shannen run around semi-naked in the pre-dawn darkness, if she had been picked up by the coppers it would have been awfully embarrassing for everyone, and who knew where it might have led. Which was why the idea of nosy neighbours preyed on my mind, and I wondered if I was being paranoid when I noticed a silver Ford Falcon on my tail as I returned to Coventry after working the afternoon at the Citadel.
I was somehow sure it was not the first time I had seen it, but then again, Falcons are a dime a dozen, never mind the fact that 90% of Brisbane’s taxi companies and government department car fleets use them. Silver ones are sure common enough, but seeing this one on the Tuesday was enough to make me edgy, particularly when it seemed to slow down as it drove past the gate after I had turned into the drive.
At that time I was splitting my workload between Bilboes in the morning and the Citadel in the afternoon, after which I would call in at the Coventry house since I was on that side of town, just to see how Monica was doing. I dismissed the incident from my mind, and no doubt it would have stayed there, had I not seen the same car the following day, parked a hundred metres or so further along the road. There was nobody in it, and no apparent reason for it to be parked there, and it made me uneasy.
It was Wednesday evening, with Shannen due for formal release on Friday morning, when I broached my concern to Monica about the car. At the time, as I saw on the television monitor, Shannen was standing rigidly in the shape of an inverted ‘Y’, her wrists strapped together above her head and held tightly by a thin steel cable over a pulley connected to a hand winch I had screwed to the floor. The cable had much less ‘give’ in it than conventional cord, and I had accepted the fact that I would have to do a bit of patching and paint repair to the spots where the various anchor points had gone into the structural elements of the room. Shannen’s ankles were tied tightly to two eyebolts in the floor. Installing these through the carpet was not a big deal, and I knew the holes in the carpet would be barely visible at the end of the day.
Shannen wore her usual discipline helmet and had had the clothes she had worn to work removed. She had retained only the pantyhose and matching black high heels, which must have made the angle of her feet and more awkward in the restraint as well as providing less support. She remained motionless in her restraint, watched on the monitor by Monica as she listened to me give a report on progress for the games, then the observation of the silver Falcon.
“Could have been anyone,” she said. “Couldn’t it?”
“Well, maybe. Perhaps it’s just that this little exercise away from our home turf is making me a bit nervous. Nosy neighbours and all that.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing. The windows are boarded up and they couldn’t see anything short of breaking in to the house or this garage, neither of which has happened. I think you’re worrying over nothing.”
“You’re probably right,” I agreed. “How is little Miss Journalist doing?”
“Surprisingly well, actually. You realise that this whole process is based on an accepted method of anger and grief counselling, except that the silence and introspection are slightly more rigidly enforced? Anyway, it’s been shown to have remarkable effects, and Shannen is no different. Last night there were lots of tears again. She really has had it in for her father and brother, and has been taking it out on everyone else. But the tone of her communications has changed remarkably. They’ve become much less angry and much more rational. Lots of emotional baggage and all sorts of stuff has come pouring out. I guess when you’re strung up immovably for hours at a time, and you know what you should be focussing on, it’s kind of hard not to avoid that subject. That’s what she’s told me, anyway. You can see the difference in her emails over the last week.”
“Great. You’ll be inviting her to your next birthday party, I suppose.”
“Very funny. I will put this down as simply another job well done and another satisfied client. I don’t need to become personally involved.”
“I hope it never comes to that,” I agreed, hoping that this would be the end of things and we could deal with one job at a time in future.
* * *
On the Friday morning, we let Shannen ceremonially unlock the cable around her waist, and remove it and the crotch cable and plugs. I helped Monica cut the corset free, which required both scissors and sharp wire cutters. We removed Shannen’s collar and left her to remove the discipline helmet which she had worn through the night for the last time. Monica had stacked some nice shampoos and shower gels and a big fluffy towel in the bathroom as we retired to the garage and closed the door. We had left Shannen a little present, namely new keys to her house, her returned credit cards and money, and a note to the effect that all her goods had been returned to her house, and she could do whatever she liked with the implements of her restraint, if it meant closure for her.
“I expect she’ll want to chuck them in the bin,” said Monica to me, as we watched Shannen exit from the bathroom with the towel round her. She squatted down and read the note, briefly going through her things before getting dressed in a short green print dress and white sandals that we had brought for her as the selection of the day. She stuffed the clothes from the previous day into an overnight bag and looked around the boarded up room that had been her home for over a week.
On the floor lay the coils of rope and wire that had held her immobile for so many hours, the remains of the corset, and the leather disciple helmets both with and without the integral gag. Beside them were the stainless cables with the chrome vibrators still attached, and the shiny stainless steel collar. Shannen looked as though she was about to head for the door, when she stooped and picked up the collar, and without hesitating, clicked it shut around her neck. She looked for an instant at the camera, and there was a ghost of a smile before the door closed behind her.
* * *
25.08.03
story continues in Monica's Games 2.16
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