Monica's Games 2.19
by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)
(story continues from Monica's Games 2.18)
Chapter Nineteen: Trish Puts On Weight
Day Two
Morning Event: Weightlifting
White Team: Trish
Black Team: Debra
Points at Stake: 5
Start Score: White Team: 10 Black Team: 0
It was comforting going into the third event with two wins to our credit, even if there had been an element of luck in it. I reckoned that taking on Debra, however, was going to be a battle of wills. Deb and I got on really well, but she was a feisty broad and I knew she wouldn’t give in without a real struggle.
The gloomy interior of the warehouse that was the Citadel had been made even gloomier with lighting that focussed solely on the two sets of weights. It was like going into a boxing ring, with spectator seating set out on three sides. Debbie and I entered the arena together. She even gave me a kiss as we went to our respective weight benches. I thought I had been reasonably calm up until that point, but right then my butterflies came back with a rush. There was big money at stake here, I reminded myself, and Debbie would give me no quarter. I could score two grand for the event, but more importantly, five points overall for the White team and whatever kudos and morale boost went with another win.
I had been reasonably clear on what was expected of us, based on what Steven and I had gone through in setting up the bench with it’s hole just in line with the user’s pussy. What I had not expected to find – and I was in no doubt that Debra was likewise taken aback, was to see, in addition to the hole in the padded bench, a large butt plug sticking up like a periscope in exactly the position I would be occupying. Even this was colour coordinated – white for me and black for Deb. Very funny, I thought. This was another of Mistress Lynx’s ideas to get us off guard.
Mistress Lynx now clattered about in her high heeled boots and her usual leather dress, while Deb and I stood, legs astride the black vinyl benches under the steel bars hanging horizontally above us. Mistress Lynx lubed the plug and allowed me to slowly impale myself. It took me a number of goes, sliding up and down to ease the bulge past my protesting sphincter muscles. I did not watch the on-lookers but bent my head and stared at my feet as the thing finally slid home and I ended up seated on the bench. I was breathing hard now, and I hadn’t even started lifting anything. As instructed, we wore only our team uniforms, with no footwear, and it was our ankles that were the first things to be restrained, or rather my ankles, for I was the first to be set up.
Mistress Lynx took her time in fastening heavy leather cuffs on my wrists and ankles, then pulling my ankles back to a point where my lower legs were parallel with the floor. I was now resting my weight wholly on my thighs and backside to the extent that they were in contact with the padded bench top.
Next came my wrists, as I was made to raise my arms as though surrendering, and had to grasp the handles at the ends of the bar, while the wrist cuffs were locked on to each end of the bar. The bar hung right at the end of my reach, and normally had a twenty-kilo weight on the sliders behind me, as a starting point. A wide belt was now buckled around my waist and I felt the rear of it being somehow attached to the bench. Mistress Lynx was obviously making sure I could not lift myself off plug, nor the thing that would no doubt shortly poke up through the hole directly under me. I caught Debbie watching me and poked my tongue out at her. She grinned and made a face back.
Mistress Lynx squatted down beside me.
“Are you ready, girl?” I nodded, mentally flattered that people would still call me ‘girl’. There was a movement beneath the bench and something thrust up though the hole under my skirt. Mistress Lynx lifted the hem of my skirt and I felt the smooth head of a dildo work its way inside me. I squirmed to get it just right. It was big – bigger than I had expected. This caused me some concern, for I knew this whole event was not just about what weight we could lift, but how quickly we could lift that weight, and with every lift the idea of this great phallus thrusting up inside was suddenly becoming a bit more daunting. This was the ‘at rest’ position. Pulling on the bar would raise the weights and retract the dildo by a system of levers that Steven had worked out, with the extent of the bar pull being regulated by the stroke of the phallus, with the idea being that it should not pop out. How embarrassing would that be?
“Try that, dear,” said Mistress Lynx, standing back as though to watch her handiwork. “There’s only twenty kilos on it.”
I pulled down slowly on the bar. It came down almost to my nose, and as it did so, the big lubed dildo slid downwards inside me. As I let the bar move up again, so too did the invader. I gasped involuntarily but tried not to let Debbie see my reaction.
“Nice and snug, hmmm? Good. That was easy, wasn’t it,” Mistress Lynx said, arranging my skirt neatly. So she was a bit anally retentive herself, huh. “You understand that we don’t want the house shouted down,” she continued, flourishing a ball gag in front of me. As if I would do that! The gag was made of a hard plastic golf ball which golfers used for practice where they did not want to break a window in the back yard. It was hollow, and had multiple holes in it, through which I could at least breathe and probably garble a bit. I opened wide obediently and she clicked it in behind my teeth. It strained my jaw more than I remembered, and added another element to what was shaping up to be a trial of stamina and wills, as well as strength.
While Debbie was hooked up to her bench, I cast a quick look around. The lights were centred on the two of us, but beyond the edge of the spotlight, seated in the shadows to my left, I saw Leila, Steven, Emma, Jill and Mary, with Shawnee at Jill’s feet. They were all wearing their uniforms, a shining white group in the surrounding gloom. In front of me were Rashid and Mohammed, flanked by Megan and Monica all watching the proceedings with interest. Off to the right, beyond Debbie and Mistress Lynx, were the Forces of Darkness.
Also in front and between the two benches, was a timer, which would be started by the referee at the commencement of each series of lifts. On the left of this was a digital counter, with numbers as big as a football, which was linked to the weights on my bench. With each full lift, contact was made electronically to register a complete cycle. I could thus see how many lifts I had made and how much time I had left to do the remainder. On the other side of the timer was an identical counter for Debbie. The one thing we did not know was exactly how many lifts we would have to do, and in what time interval they would have to be done.
Mistress Lynx had evidently finished her securing of Debbie, and I looked across to see her similarly gagged, her jaw stretched wide around the plastic ball and her arms stretched up to the bar.
“I will toss a coin to see who begins,” Mistress Lynx announced. “As our competitors seem incapable of enunciating the difference between heads and tails, heads will dictate that the White team begins first, and tails will mean Black starts first.” She paused and flipped a fifty-cent piece. A momentary silence descended as the coin twinkled in the light and fell to the concrete floor with a tinkle. Mistress Lynx peered at the coin. “White begins.” There was a cheer form our bench. “The rules are very simple. Each contestant will perform the required number of lifts in the stipulated time. Failure to perform this will result in loss of the event if the opponent can then complete the same task. In the event of both competitors failing to achieve a set of lifts, the winner will be the one that completes most lifts in that stage.”
That was pretty simple. It was just like a shoot out in soccer, except that it started from the first lift.
“White will commence with forty lifts in two minutes. The weight will be twenty kilos.”
Mistress Lynx punched in the number 40 so that it appeared in the top half of the digital counter, then moved to the central timer. She raised her eyebrow at me.
“Ready?”
“Eth.”
“Commence!”
I heaved on the bar and it came down quite easily, at the same time as the dildo slid down. I ceased pulling and let the bar lift under the load of the weights returning to rest, and the big phallus shot up inside me. Mental note to self, control weights on return stroke if dildo is to be at all comfortable.
I realised this first round would be relatively easy, and I was right. I could do more than a lift and release every three seconds, making twenty lifts a minute and forty lifts in two minutes achievable. That was fine, but I began to get a feel for just what other aspects I was going to have to endure, as the first pleasant feelings began to stir in my loins. At the end of forty lifts I was not really tired, but the beginnings of a sweat had formed and my heartbeat had risen – as much from the repeated intrusions as from the actual lifting. Image was everything here. It was like arm wrestling, where at all costs you had to look as though you were totally in control, whatever agony you were going through.
There was a burst of applause from the Bilboes team, and I had a few minutes to recover while Debbie went through her paces. This was the softener-upper, I thought - just to get us ‘warmed up’.
Debbie completed her run without mishap and – even if such was not the case – gave a very good impression of not having reached the stage of even breathing hard. Little Miss In-Control. She hadn’t been so in control the time I had left her on the Saddle, when the others were in Hong Kong and there were only Mary and I running Bilboes. That had been my first encounter with Debra, and the thought of having reduced her to a jelly that day still made me smile. Try to put one over me? I don’t think so, Deb.
“… in five minutes.” Ding!
It was the Mistress again, and I had been off with the fairies. Concentrate, Trish! I looked up to see the second hand of the big clock starting, and the figure 100 in lights on the counter. This was starting to get serious. There had been no increase in the weight, but a hundred continuous was a lot, and I found after the first two minutes that my arms were starting to tire somewhat. I was keeping up with the clock but those sensations were starting down below with greater frequency. The warm buzz brought me out in a sweat this time, and I had to resort to a desperate mental effort of working out my timing to take my mind off the delicious fuzzies arising with each release of the bar. When the last of the hundred was done, there was no doubt about my condition, for I was sweating all right, but I had not given in to my baser instincts. A girl had her pride, after all.
I watched Debbie closely this time, in light of my own near miss. She, too, survived the test, but I could see her breasts having under the black lycra top as she struggled to maintain control. The insidious nature of the competition was starting to come home to us. Mistress Lynx moved over to my bench and fiddled with the weights behind me.
“Forty kilos, she announced. Two minutes, thirty lifts.”
Shit, I thought. This was starting to get hard. The weight had doubled, and although the total time and lift rate were much less than last time, I was getting tired. Ding! Mistress Lynx slapped the starter bell and the clock was running. At the same time the phallus buried inside me began to vibrate! Jeez, I hadn’t seen this coming! This was serious torment here, and I suddenly began to have doubts about my ability with each pull on the bar and each thrust of the big dildo inside me. I had got to about twenty when I knew I was in major trouble, and I felt the spasm of pleasure that usually meant a tidal wave was on its way. I hauled down on the bar furiously, closing my eyes and trying to close my mind to the fires welling up from my loins. Of course, increasing the rate of lifting only increased the rate of ignition, and this finally occurred on my twenty-seventh lift.
I screwed up my face and snorted as my breathing got mixed up with the garbled noises I was making through the gag. Somewhere, part of my confused brain kept my arms going, but they were going in the uncoordinated fashion that occurs with a bondage orgasm, when you struggle and pull at your restraints without logic or reason, striving, however irrationally, to get your hands down to your crotch, or to curl up foetally.
In this case Mistress Lynx had to shake me by the shoulder to make me stop. I opened my eyes to see ‘31’ on the counter and amused faces grinning at my efforts from the edge of the spotlight. God, this was hard, never mind embarrassing, but I was still in the race.
Debbie had seen my problem and had elected to take it a little slower, trying to conserve her energy and to keep her mind focussed on anything other than the fire that was obviously heating up her crotch. Like me, she had been caught off guard by the fact that the intruder inside her was now vibrating, stimulating those nerve ends to greater reaction with the brain. Debra was a grunter, and with every pull down of the bar, she would grunt with the exertion, then a further grunt, more of a moan in fact, would follow as she let the bar rise, and rising with it was the big phallus inside her. Deb didn’t make twenty before she was caught out. Her teeth clamped on the ball in her mouth as she let out a succession of cries, each louder than before, turning into a high-pitched drawn out squeal, but still the girl somehow kept going, finally sneaking inside the time limit by just a few seconds. She looked shattered, but then that was how I felt.
I was dreading to think what was coming next. Mistress Lynx had had the grace to turn off the vibrator while I recovered during Deb’s loss of control, and this made me feel somewhat better. But then Mistress Lynx was fiddling with the weights again.
“Sixty kilos. Five lifts, thirty seconds.” With vibrator, I added to myself as the thing started its unwavering operation again. I was seriously worried now, for sixty kilos was about my limit, and trust me, it is not something you lift up and down for a bit of mild exercise or light relief. Never mind the time period, I was struggling here, after what the last lifting sequence had done to me.
But five lifts. That was not fifty, only five. Except that they were heaps tougher, and with that, slower. I struggled to pull down on the load, knowing I had six seconds for each lift. The big vibrator slowly withdrew until I made contact and the number one came up on the board. I was halfway through letting the bar rise up again when I lost my grip and the thing seemed to shoot upward, towing my chained and cuffed wrists with it. More specifically, the big phallus thrust up inside me with a force that made me cry out. I scrabbled to get hold of the bar again and hauled with all my might. Two lifts. Let it down gently whatever you do, Trish! Number three took an age and already twenty seconds had gone. Lift four left me almost out of time, and I let the bar rise as fast as I could and still keep hold of it. The vibrator seemed to also step up a notch as with a last effort I put all my weight on to lift five, seeing the number on the counter just before the timer pinged.
There was another cheer from the White Team, but I was close to exhaustion by now, and knew I had reached the limit of my lifting ability.
Debbie also struggled with the sixty-kilo load. The sweat poured off her, and she made the most unladylike noises of sheer effort. But she did not quit, and somehow, like me, managed to just scrape inside the time limit. She hung in her bonds at that point, her body slumped forward, only held there by the cuffs linking her wrists to the bar.
Then Mistress Lynx was behind my bench again.
“Ngoh ngorr,” I begged, shaking my head at her. A shower of perspiration went everywhere, prompting my tormentor to take pity at least for a brief instant to wipe my face with a towel. She also caressed my chest with the thing, slipping it down inside my lycra top and getting a free grope at the same time, but I was too tired to worry about such things. The towel had felt good, and when she had adjusted the weights she did the same for Debra.
Then she was back in front of us again.
“Seventy lifts, twenty kilos, three minutes.”
She couldn’t be serious! I had barely managed forty in two minutes before. Now I was almost drained. Ping! The timer began and not only did the vibrator in my pussy leap into life, but the butt plug did as well! Perhaps that was why we had been gagged and tied down to the bench, for I swear that had I been able to, I would have ended it there and then! This woman was unbelievable – just how far did she think she could push us?
I became conscious of the cries of the Bilboes team as I reluctantly started out again. Twenty kilos seemed a breeze after sixty, but it lasted a short time only. I knew I was not going to make this one. Mistress Lynx was making us do the impossible, but more specifically do it as fast as possible. Weight was not the issue, it was the beast thrusting in and out of me as fast as I could make it, and the totally unnecessary vibration up my arse now adding to the confusion.
Somewhere nearing two minutes I felt the familiar warm surge of pleasure arise and boil over like a pot of milk on the stove. It flooded through my body leaving me gurgling into my gag and squirming frantically on the twin prongs inside me. I somehow kept going on auto, but there was no semblance of coordination as I finally collapsed when the bell sounded. I knew I was at the end of my tether. Whatever came next, I had lost the will to even start it. I was panting raggedly and moaning incoherently by this point, barely aware of Mistress Lynx enveloping me with a fluffy towel, and unhitching my wrists from the bar.
“You did very well, dear. Sixty-three lifts. Very impressive. Not enough to need another round, however. Debra will win or lose on this one.”
I could barely lift my head to watch. Debra knew what she had to do, and set off with a determination that astonished me. I found myself looking from her diminutive figure to the timer, to the lift recorder. Deb’s red hair was plastered to her brow as she strained to pull the bar down. I was watching for the tell tail sign, as the lifts crept past thirty, then forty. Then I saw it, the furrow of the brow, the loss of rhythm, and suddenly Debbie had lost both the plot and her grip on the bar. She seemed to succumb to some sort of St Vitus dance as she threw her weight against the restraining cuffs on her wrists and the tie to the bench, as the orgasm flooded over her and she wailed into her gag, a mixture of frustration, ecstasy and despair.
* * *
Poor Debra. The contest itself had been hard enough. I was shattered, and I had won. Debra, by order of the referee, now had her wrist cuffs locked behind her and was left impaled on the bench until the commencement of the afternoon’s event. I was beginning to think any morning event was not the one to lose. Jillian had to help me as we filed out of the warehouse, leaving the lonely figure bound and exhausted on the bench, then in total, echoing darkness as the floodlights were finally switched off.
* * *
12.10.03
story continues in Monica's Games 2.20
o0o