Monica's Games 2.16
by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)
(story continues from Monica's Games 2.15)
Chapter Sixteen: Old Friends
Almost before I knew it, it was Thursday and Monica and Megan had gone to the airport in a hired limo with driver to collect the Zubairs. In the lead up to this, I had only gotten in a couple of pony cart sessions on the back road with Shawnee, and everything had gone quite well. Shawnee loved getting to wear then gear and the boots, and there seemed no need to control her the way Leon had done with the nipple clips on Dianne. As a compromise, I put a couple of dangling cloverleaf’s on her tits, to which she made no objection, although the butt plug had been in place as a matter of necessity. Between us, we reckoned we could beat whatever Leon and Dianne could manage. It was all a matter of motivation, and I reckoned Shawnee had what it took.
I did not see our sponsors until the day after their arrival. That was Friday, and it was after lunch by the time they made it to Bilboes, having done a tour of the Citadel in the morning. We all went out to meet the car as it pulled up by the front steps. Monica got out, followed by Mohammed and Rashid. I was taken aback when Zara appeared behind them, wearing a pale blue flowing dress that showed up that gorgeous tan I remembered. She was not backward in coming forward, and embraced me with a lingering kiss that drew applause from the rest of the girls and left me red faced and embarrassed. I had not been expecting Zara, and the memories of our time in Oman – both the good and bad bits – came back with a rush.
Monica did the tour thing at that point, leading the three guests on a detailed inspection of the Bilboes dungeons and upstairs facilities, while I went back to finalising some of the things I still had lined up in the workshop. My last job of the day was to dismantle the weight lifting bench and take it over to the Citadel, where it would be needed on Sunday. Trish helped me with this, getting in a few gibes about Zara’s greeting in the process. I ignored these, concentrating on getting the bench reassembled. Trish sensed my embarrassment and knew enough to steer clear of the subject. We had the main part of the warehouse to ourselves. This was the car park area that was to be the venue for the weight lifting and the fencing, and it was here I had spent a goodly number of hours setting up the latter.
By the time we got back to Bilboes most of the Citadel team had arrived just ahead of us, for we were to have a welcoming dinner before the events of the following day. Three tables had been set up, themed – like the diners – in their respective colours. Wearing a white shirt and white jeans that Monica had actually bought for me, I joined the girls in their white dresses at the White table, with the white tablecloth and the white orchids.
Next to us were the Forces of Darkness, as we now referred to the Citadel team, who looked much more comfortable in the industry standard clothing.
At a third, smaller table, sat Rashid, Mohammed, Zara, Megan, Monica and Mistress Lynx, all engaged in earnest conversation. The evening had started badly for the Black team, when Catherine had turned up on crutches, having torn a ligament in her lower leg, presumably in practising for whatever events she was entered in, although I didn’t have this confirmed. Somebody was going to have to double up for her, I figured, but that wasn’t my problem. At one stage Mohammed, Rashid, Monica and Megan had left the table to stand in a corner to evidently have a private conversation out of earshot of us minions.
I simply sat back and enjoyed the meal, which was prepared by a hired chef and served by Dianne and Shawnee decked out rather cutely in black and white maid’s outfits. I was exhausted with the intensity of the work in the last fortnight and was actually looking forward to some of the events, if only because it meant I could sit down and relax for a while.
The dinner was superb and the champagne was flowing. Our guests were clearly very liberal Moslems and were not past a tipple or three, and when the dinner was over and Shawnee and Dianne had cleared the plates, Monica made a brief welcoming speech, to which Mohammed responded. He thanked us all most graciously, and commented favourably on the work and preparation that had obviously gone into it. He even mentioned me by name, and Jill nudged me under the table and smiled. I just got embarrassed.
“Before we begin, tomorrow,” Mohammed continued, “there is one matter of a most unfortunate kind which has come up. It appears that one of the Black Team has sustained a serious injury.” Catherine glumly raised one of her crutches in response to sympathetic noises from the rest of us. “Obviously, this leaves the Citadel one player short, and in order that everything progresses as planned, we have agreed a substitute. It is slightly unorthodox, but both captains have agreed to it. In this instance the substitute will be my sister, Zara.”
The announcement was greeted with a murmur of interest, but the most significant reaction was that of Zara herself, who had clearly not been consulted in the matter. Her jaw dropped then worked a couple of times as she glared at Mohammed, who steadfastly ignored her while continuing with his speech. After a couple of moments Zara appeared to recognise that a major public objection would not be most face-saving of reactions, nor would it most likely be accepted by her brothers. I suspected that siblings being what they were, this would not have been the first time the brothers had ganged up on her, and the best she could do would be to go with the flow with as much grace as she could muster.
At the end of the speech there were numerous toasts, at which point Mohammed announced that he had brought two gifts. I had noticed the objects under large covers standing against two of the verandah posts, loosely tied there with rope around the outside of the covers, presumably to stop them falling over. Whatever was under the covers were roughly the same height, and were about the size of a person. We had all been dying of curiosity, but the covers were down to the floor and nobody had been game enough to upset our guests – or Monica, for that matter – by taking a peak underneath.
Mohammed stood up from the table and walked across to the first object, taking Monica by that hand and drawing her along with him. Rashid did the same with Megan, steering her to the second object.
“This is a present for you, Monica, and the other is a present for Megan. These were especially made for you both, in Oman. As you know, we have many fine metalworkers in silver and copper. In fact you have both met one of the best. His name is Ahmed, and he is over seventy.”
Monica and Megan were looking quite blank and just a trifle puzzled. I smiled as realisation began to dawn on me, but Mohammed continued to spin out the suspense and continued to work the group.
“While in Oman, in case you haven’t heard about it already, Rashid and I played a little trick on these two lovely ladies.” Little trick? I queried mentally. I was sure Monica and Megan would not think of it in quite such diminutive terms. “Part of our little game was a trial of the girls’ stamina, in which they were cast into solid mud blocks with stimulation being applied to certain parts of their anatomy. On completion of this trial, we broke the blocks apart, and these of course left a perfect representation of their bodies. As I said, the Omanis are wonderful metalworkers, and these casts enabled us to create what lies under these covers.”
I saw the penny drop with Monica and Megan as the men undid the ropes around the objects, and together pulled away the covers. There was a gasp of amazement, as we looked at life-sized replicas of the girls in burnished copper with silver inlay for their lips, eyes, nipples and pussies. You could see where the front and rear had been joined, presumably on the basis of the way the halves had been cast, but that aside, they were wonderful works of art. The metal gleamed under the verandah lights, revealing the marvellous detail of their bodies. Every muscle was perfect, every line and curve of their breasts. The eyes were open and had been finished off in a delicate inlay of lapis lazuli. They must have been worth a considerable amount in copper and silver alone, never mind the workmanship, I thought.
A murmur of admiration ran through the group. The girls were entranced. Monica ran her hands over the smooth glossy metal skin.
“I I don’t know what to say, Mohammed.” She blushed. “They’re exquisite. Thank you so much. It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”
Mohammed stepped closer to her. “Let me show you something else.” He unhooked three small catches, along a vertical join down the replica’s left side, one at the shoulder, one at the waist and one at the calf. We gasped again, as the front of Monica’s double swung open to reveal the hollow interior, again with every detail of Monica’s body as it had been cast into the mud block. “ I would dearly love you to try it out. We promised Ahmed we would show him how well it fitted.” I was conscious of Zara, now, holding a small digital camera. Mohammed pointed to the camera and raised his eyebrows in question. “Would you allow Zara to take back a record for the old man? He looks upon these two creations as his finest, and rightly so.”
“I Of course ” said Monica, just a little flustered, then in wonderment, half to herself: “Did I really fit in there?”
“Of course. Don’t you remember?”
Monica blushed again. “Oh I remember all right. That night remains indelibly etched on my memory. Those days, for that matter.”
“Monica and Megan were such a good sports,” said Rashid. “I don’t think you people realise what they went through to set this whole thing up.”
“You will of course have to disrobe,” murmured Mohammed. “Is that a problem? The tolerances are quite tight, I suspect.”
“I wish you had shown me these before I’d just eaten dinner,” said Monica. She looked across at Megan, who was running her hand around the inside of the opened statue. I noticed that there was a thin layer of foam on the inside of the head, which I thought was a smart idea on somebody’s part. Megan turned and smiled at Monica, as though challenging her. Then she began to undo the buttons of her blouse.
It was a challenge that Monica could not have passed up, and in any case I suspect she was dying of curiosity herself. Monica undid her own blouse and slung it on a chairback. She was wearing no bra and her breasts stood out like those of a classical Greek goddess. Moments later she had stepped out of her skirt and slipped off the white sandals she had been wearing, leaving her wearing only a white satin G-string. Totally unselfconsciously, Monica stepped out of this. Her body was the statuesque positive image of the hollowed-out statue, and we watched fascinated as Mohammed helped her position herself with her back against the opened casket. Little by little she eased herself backwards. Her legs were the most difficult for she could not raise them at all once they were halfway in, because of the bulges presented by knees and ankles. Mohammed had to slide her feet the final few millimetres into the recesses before Zara moved forward to take the photos as Monica smiled and looked just a little uncomfortable.
Megan, meanwhile, had done likewise and with the help of Rashid was wedged inside her own tailor-made sarcophagus. Zara took further photos before Mohammed indicated that he was going to close the front on Monica for the final pictures. Zara snapped away as the front section was gently closed by Mohammed. Monica had shrugged her arms into the recesses and squirmed her legs and crotch over the vertical ridge that had been cast in the likeness of the special outline between her legs. I caught a last view of her face with a look of trepidation as the cover shut over the remaining protruding parts of her body. Mohammed took several seconds in closing it, giving the prisoner time to fit her body to the internal metal contours. Then he clicked the catches closed one by one and watched as Rashid did the same to Megan.
“Are you all right, Monica?” he asked loudly. There was a muffled “mmmn” from the statue’s nose. I figured that if the thing had been cast exactly, even with that little bit of foam lining Monica would be unable to open her mouth to speak, and might not hear too well. “Megan, you okay?” Another nasal affirmative.
Mohammed turned to the wrapt onlookers. “We have another couple of little surprises here,” he said. “You see these?” He laid his fingers on the erect silver nipples on Monica’s breasts. He gripped one between forefinger and thumb and twisted it. The whole silver nipple and aureole turned through ninety degrees and lifted out. Poking through immediately behind it was Monica’s flesh and blood nipple. Mohammed repeated the process with the other silver nipple then squeezed the two real ones. The statue uttered a nasal squeal of outrage. Mohammed grinned and a hoot of laughter went through the assembly. Poor Monica. But worse was to come, for Mohammed then demonstrated how the delicately wrought silver pussy actually split down the middle, opening like two tiny doors, revealing access to the exposed flesh of Monica’s clit. Gently Mohammed let his finger rove between the labia, prompting a rising moan of frustration and indignation from inside the metal case.
At Zara’s request a porter’s trolley was fetched from the tool shed and a portable TENS unit. Monica and Megan were positioned back to back and the two sarcophagi were taped together, before the little vibrating pads from the TENS unit were secured to the four exposed nipples and the two pink oysters. When the vibrations were turned on the pitch of sound emanating from the two statues rose abruptly as the occupants, aghast at what they were about to be subjected to, did their best to scream the place down, in a futile display of protest.
Nobody seemed phased at all by the whole episode. We all thought it was comical, and had little sympathy for the pair being forced to get their rocks off. Some people were just never happy, I told Leila, who had the grace to agree with me.
The night subsided into a further round of drinking, until by mutual agreement the two captains, now released, exhausted from their prisons, pulled the plug, on the not unreasonable grounds that certain of their teams had big days to follow.
I went to bed that night wondering where we would be in a week’s time, and who would have made career-limiting moves in the intervening time. The stage was set and big money was at stake. The thought also crossed my mind just how far some people would go to get a share of it.
* * *
05.09.03
story continues in Monica's Games 2.17
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