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Monica's Games 2.23

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

(story continues from Monica's Games 2.22)

Chapter Twenty Three: Monica Walks the Walk

Day Four

Morning Event: City Walk
White Team: Monica, Mary, Trish, Leila, Jill and Emma
Black Team: Megan, Debra, Zara, Kris, Marilyn and Elizabeth
Points at Stake: 21
Start Score: White Team: 20 Black Team: 15

After the disappointment of seeing Steven miss ten points on the pony cart to ram home our advantage, I was glad to finally get the chance to participate and hopefully to lead from the front.  I had seen six events from the sideline and wanted to at least do my bit, after seeing what the girls had gone through in their efforts to win.  It was at times like this that I could feel just a little uncomfortable at the consequences of some of the decisions I had made. 

I knew this was the case with Megan as well.  It is part of the role of being the boss, I guess.  You call some of the shots as you see them, but in practice things don’t always work out as they should.  Megan and I had thought it a good idea to bring Mistress Lynx on board, to ensure fair play, but we had both reckoned without the wily old bird’s devious nature, as she always seemed to take the event and the rules one step above where we saw them going.  Not only that, she was delighting in surprising us and keeping us guessing with last minute changes to the rules and not revealing the punishments until they were due.  I had seen her closeted with Mohammed and Rashid, and I knew when they were concocting something.  Megan and I had now been pushed to the outer of the inner circle, especially since we were now at the stage of personal involvement.

This day was to be a big one for both of us, for in the morning we had the 5-kilometre walk, and in the afternoon there was the quiz.  While we knew what was happening in principle, we did not know the details, and Mistress Lynx took great pleasure in oblique hints and knowing looks.

So now we were all in the van, being driven by Steven, with Mistress Lynx in the passenger seat, and the White Team all in the back.  Trish reckoned this was just like the time I had sent Steven and the five girls out on a quest in the van.  I had locked them all in place, with release of them one by one being possible as clues were solved.  That had been fun – at least I had thought so.  Now I was included in the contestants and we all sat there like parachutists waiting to jump over enemy territory.

We all wore our uniforms – the tight white crop tops and skirts with enough flare and swirl – and enough leg on display - to turn any male head.  We thought they were pretty stylish at the time we put them together, but we had not foreseen the public exposure that would eventuate when Mistress Lynx got her mind around the events program and the possibilities that she saw within it.

She had been conniving with Steven, as well, and had sworn him to secrecy while he concocted stuff to fulfil her demands in the workshop.  I had every intention of  sorting him out in due course, and in the interim I had taken pleasure in sending Jill down to him the previous day to pin a couple of weights on his nips while he rotated on the cross.  However a bit more suffering wouldn’t go amiss, after the balls-up he had made of the cart race.

But I could see he had been busy.  He must have been working well into the night.  We now all wore stainless steel waist and crotch wires under our skirts, locked in place and securing identical vibrators in position.  We also wore white socks and white sneakers, which made us look a bit like cheerleaders for a rugby match, but the devious part was the hobble that constrained each of us.  My socks hid the tight leather cuff with the foam lining locked just above the ankle, around which was knotted a piece of nylon fishing line wrapped several times around the cuff and glued in place.  The loose tail was then poked through the sock to form a hobble across to the other ankle with the same attachment.  The net result was a virtually invisible hobble about half a metre long. 

We were a bit hyped for this event, but apprehensive as well.  It was a five-kilometre walk, and you didn’t have to be in Mensa to work out what we were going to go through.  There were going to be a lot of rather serious sensations coming up from all points south, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that some of these were going to be rather public.

By the time we got to our destination, I had hopefully revved up the team and they seemed raring to go.  We climbed out of the van to find ourselves in New Farm, near a small park at the top of the cliffs overlooking the Brisbane River.  We were close to the Story Bridge, a great steel latticework bridge spanning the river, beyond which were the office and apartment towers of the CBD.

Megan’s team had also just arrived, and Mohammed and Rashid were also there, having driven my BMW.  Mistress Lynx called us over to where she stood and we gathered round, feeling just a little awkward in our short, shiny skirts with nothing underneath except a crotch cable and vibrator.  Thank God it wasn’t windy.  

“All right, listen up, people!  Today, you will walk to Southbank.”  A murmur went through the two teams.  Suddenly it seemed like a long way.  “You will follow the route I have marked on the ground with chalk arrows.  Anywhere that there is a choice of direction there will be a guiding arrow.  Where there is a turn off from the main path, again there will be an arrow.  Follow the arrows and don’t be tempted to take short cuts.  The reason why is firstly because you will be asked questions at the end of the route, so you had better keep your eyes and ears open.  Stray from the route and you won’t know the answers.  Also, I will be watching, and I’ll beat the crap out of anyone who tries anything smart.”

Never mind the questions, that was a good enough reason for me to stay on the straight and narrow.  The thought of being on the receiving end of  a thrashing from Mistress Lynx – as I had been before, years previously – was sufficient to make me be good.  Mistress Lynx had a very strong arm, as I had found out to my cost as an eighteen-year-old novice.  Those lessons had stayed with me all these years. 

“I remind you that there are twenty-one points at stake for this event– ten for first, seven for second, and four for third.  Three grand for the individual winner, two for second, one for third, and a bonus five to the winning team.  The team with the most points gets the daily prize, the team with the least suffers the loser’s fate.  And you will find out what that is when you get to the finishing line.”  There was a muted groan of dismay from the group.  So we would spend the next hour wondering what would befall the unfortunates.  There was no doubt about Mistress Lynx – she was a supreme exponent of the psychology of bondage and restraint.

“You will start by following this footpath up the hill here.  After that, you must find the arrows.  Now …go!”

The start was so unexpected that we were taken by surprise, and began in a flail of bodies that saw Emma and Leila get tangled up in their hobbles and fall over, before we sorted ourselves out and started off up the hill.

We were a close-knit bunch to begin with, struggling to find a rhythm within the restrictions of the hobbles, which was very difficult, for when walking fast you normally take big steps.  That was impossible, and we were obliged to adopt a strange gait with lots of awkward arm movement and elbows.  Add to this the dildo sliding around inside each of us and it was at very least a confused series of sensations going to and from our brains.

The first part was the hardest, for we had to climb up a moderate hill to the top of the cliffs where the bridge joined the northern side of the river.  Six lanes of traffic noise buzzed down, then died to a dull roar as we followed the cliff top path beneath the bridge.  By this time, perhaps having done half a klick, we had already started to be strung out a bit.  Zara had taken the lead, followed by Jillian and the two American girls in a pack.  Megan, Mary, Debbie and I were in the next bunch, with the rest starting to lag already.  I decided if the younger ones couldn’t do any better than this, I would put them on a protracted fitness regime in the gym, with particular emphasis on electro-motivation.

I figured it was all down hill from here, down into the city proper and then roughly on the flat to whatever bridge they had chosen to lead across the river to Southbank, the site of Expo 88 that had been developed into a kilometre of parkland and places to wine and dine.  On that basis I could not see much point in holding back and so I had instructed the troops, but it appeared Megan had given the same instructions.

From the bridge we travelled down a short road then turned off down a couple of flights of steps.  These were awkward with the hobbles, and we had to develop a kind of side skip down them, half hanging on to the handrails, which drew a few curious looks from passers by.  Such pelvic gyrations did nothing to relieve what was a growing warmth in my loins, so I concentrated hard on other things. Like what was passing by, mindful of Mistress Lynx’s words about some sort of quiz at the end of it.  What the hell was she going to ask us?  I was trying to look at everything at once, but the distractions from my crotch were starting to make that harder and harder.

We had started just before midday, and I soon saw another angle to the planning here, namely that come lunchtime, all the restaurants and the river walk would be crowded.  Mistress Lynx was attending to the small details again, damn her!  We descended a further flight of steps that brought us out on to the river walk itself – a boardwalk several metres wide that followed the river’s edge for several kilometres, past the swankiest apartments and office buildings, with their restaurants underneath, and leading through the inner city gardens on one of the river bends.

We were becoming more strung out.  I didn’t know if this was because the leaders were getting faster, or the rest of us slower, or both, but things were not looking good.  Zara, the Americans and Jill were about fifty metres ahead by this point, and I was even lagging behind Debbie, though staying just ahead of Megan and Mary.  None of the others looked like catching us.  It looked as though it was going to depend on Jill, Mary and Myself to salvage something from this.

I realised, almost as an idle observation, that the second building we were going to pass on this section was in fact the newly completed apartment block where Warren lived.  Ordinarily I would not have thought twice about this.  I had been there once, and had heard all about Mary and Trish’s foray there – at least inasmuch as I could prise the details out of them.  But again, I would barely have thought about it, for things had changed so much since then, what with the involvement of the Zubair brothers and our focus on the Games.

I was shocked therefore when Warren’s cheerful voice greeted me as I paced past the riverside entrance of the apartment building.

“Hullo Monica!  God, you’re a sight for sore eyes.  You look wonderful!”  I was sure I didn’t.  I was sweating and flushed and trying not to think about certain frustrating sensations coming up from below, as the big dildo squidged between inside me.  Warren was at his charming best as he stepped down a couple of steps and began walking beside me.

“Getting fit, are we?” he asked with a grin.

“I’m, uh, kind of busy right now, Warren,” I said, trying my best to be polite.  Whatever may have gone between us, I did not believe in burning my bridges unless absolutely necessary.  Not that I was really sure I had any bridges left, however.

“That’s okay.  You don’t mind if I walk a little way with you?  No?  good.  You do look stunning – love the outfits.”

“Thanks,” I said through gritted teeth.  Warren kept pace easily with one free stride to every two of mine.  I tried not to look at him, but to concentrate on the route ahead and the way the leaders were heading.  I could not afford to get distracted and miss a turn off.

“Got far to go?”  Was there a feigned innocence to this question?  I had known Warren long enough to tell when something was going on, and in this case the tone of his voice told me he was up to something.

“Southbank,”  I said.

“How nice.  No doubt there’ll be a nice lunch waiting for you there.  Lovely day for it.”  His casual conversation was just too casual now, but I was not going to buy into it.  He paused for a few moments then appeared to think deeply. “Okay, I can see you’re preoccupied.  I’d better let you go.  Maybe just with a reminder – a little something for old time’s sake.” 

At once I felt a buzzing within my loins as the vibrator started up.  I was already getting a bit steamed up, but this was the last thing I needed.  I heard a gasp from Mary, as well, only a few metres behind me.

“Oh shit!  Warren, don’t do this to me.  There’s too much riding on this.  Turn it off, please.”  I tried to be calm but knew I was in trouble.  Warren just laughed and paused in his stride, and let Mary catch up with him.  

“Enjoying ourselves, are we, Mary?”

“Piss off,” Mary said undiplomatically.  I heard nothing from Megan or Debbie, and began to suspect the worst.  Somehow the vibrators for each team were set to different remote frequencies, and somehow Warren had got his hands on the one that operated ours.  Already I had dropped a pace or two further behind Debbie, and Megan was almost beside me.

“Have a nice, ecstatic day, girls.  I think I’ll just wait here for the rest to come past,” Warren said, before we left him in our wake.  

“Are you getting any vibrations?” I asked Megan as casually as I could, as she paced beside me.

“What – in you-know-where?”

“Yes.”

She grinned.  “Not me.  Must be just lucky old Monica.”

“Bollocks,” I said.

I knew at that point we were screwed, particularly if Warren played his little party trick on my girls following behind.  That would probably leave Jillian as our only hope, but one out of three would not be enough.  I had sussed out the points and worked out that whoever was going to win this event as a team would need two in the first three finishers.  Coming first was not enough, for the eleven points available to second and third would beat the ten points for first.  Dammit!  That bastard Warren was in cahoots with someone on Megan’s team.  I wondered if she knew anything about it, but right then was not the best time to engage in such a discussion.  I would need to beat the truth out of her, if necessary.  Well, I’d beat it out of someone, anyway.

I was bitter about the manner in which we were going down in this event, and this was made worse as the vibrations became more distracting and Megan passed me.  By the time we reached the Riverside Centre, a forty-something storey office block bordering the river walk, Mary and I were some twenty metres behind Megan who was nearly as much behind Debbie.  The other four were out of sight, having turned off to go up the steps to the Riverside Centre.

“You see what your interference has cost us?” I growled at Mary in between gasps.  I was so furious I couldn’t help myself.  

“We were going to lose this one anyway,” Mary panted back.  “Look at us.  Jill’s the only one with real stamina.”

“And we’re the ones going to need it. Shit, this thing inside me is going to drive me crazy!”

“Only another three k’s to go,” she said laconically.  “You ought to be able to handle that.”

“Shut up!”

“Suit yourself.”

It was not good leadership, I will admit, but I was becoming just a tad frazzled.  If the Black Team won this, they would zoom ahead in the points stake, and Mistress Lynx had not yet revealed the full extent of the events still to come.

We turned off the path together and trotted awkwardly up the shallow steps past the waterfall running in the opposite direction.  Megan and Debbie were just disappearing into the building itself.

“Jesus, they’re taking us inside,” I moaned.  

Mary was starting to look a little frazzled as well.  Her cheeks were flushed and her short dark hair was sticking damply to her forehead.  We crossed the cobbled open space and went through the revolving door.  The atrium was big and airy, with glass on all sides around a central lift core.  It was an open area with several leather armchairs and sofas for businessmen or whoever to wait before attending their meetings on one of the high altitude floors.

“I’m not going to be able to make this,” I said to Mary, as we followed an arrow round the back of the lift well, before it turned towards another revolving door on the opposite side.  “I’ve got one coming,” I gasped half to myself and dropped on to a black leather sofa, pushing my hands and skirt down between my thighs.  Getting my fingers there was a huge help and I found myself bending forward as a great warm flooding feeling surged out of my crotch.  I gasped again as Mary sat beside me, and barely managed to suppress a little squeal, but even my gasp seemed to echo around the glass and marble walls.  Moments later Mary was making hoarse panting noises which turned into strained moans under her breath.  The vibrations continued, but I felt a little stronger as the first rush passed.

“Come on, you!  We aren’t going to spend all day here,” I urged her.  There was no winning on offer here, but a certain amount of pride at least was at stake.  But that, too, began to disappear as we stood up in time to see Elizabeth come round the corner some distance ahead of the rest of the Bilboes team.

Elizabeth walked past steadily and grinned at us and I realised that with the exception of Jillian, my whole team was at the back of the field.  This was going to be so embarrassing.  Megan and Debbie were going to give me so much crap.  Mary and I started out in pursuit of Elizabeth, although ‘pursuit’ is the wrong word, for it implies some form of determined chase.  Even standing up and moving off again seemed to drain me of energy, and I looked back to see Trish, Leila and Emma just entering the building, the strain showing on their faces.  Then I looked down and saw the wet imprint of two pairs of sweaty buttocks side by side on the black leather.  Time to move on.

I did not have time to gee them up.  They would have to fend for themselves.  I hoped Trish would use her experience to encourage the other two, while Mary and I made an attempt to salvage what little credibility we had left.

We went out through a second revolving door.  Elizabeth was the only one in sight.  At least we had not had the problem of having to follow arrows so much.  All we had had to do was follow the leaders.  But now, outside in the warmth of downtown Eagle Street, full of the Café Latte set emerging from the office blocks for lunch, two women in identical short white flowing skirts, matching crop tops and white socks and running shoes made a bit of a sight, especially the way they walked.  I figured three more a short distance behind would look even more incongruous.

We struggled through the crowds as best we could.  I was glad Mary was with me.  It made the whole thing a little less horrendous.  Moral support was everything, sometimes.  The crowds made it difficult to see Elizabeth’s brown hair bobbing up and down ahead, and her black outfit merged more with the lunchtime suits.  She was still far enough behind the lead group such that she couldn’t see them, and so had to look for the arrows amidst the throng.  

We followed Eagle Street for another three hundred metres or so, then saw Elizabeth turn into Waterfront Place and disappear through another revolving door, into the building of the same name.  This one was like Riverside Place, another huge office block full of corporate lawyers and insurance giants, with a huge atrium again.  This place was even posher, I knew, with a trendy café and a pianist and lots of big paintings hung in ever-so-tasteful style.  We went through another revolving door.  The place was all polished granite, floor to ceiling glass and more leather sofas.  I knew I was going to need one of those again.

I knew also that we were going to lose Elizabeth at this point, for unlike Mary and I she did not need to double up and plough her fingers into her clit to activate but minimise the orgasm that was threatening to embarrass me out on the street.  Mary plonked down beside me and we ended up again doubled over like two people with stomach cramps as the rush was on us again.  

As we sat up, red-faced from our efforts to suppress the groans to muffled squeaks, we found a middle aged moustached security guard looking down at us.

“Are you two ladies all right?” he asked, clearly concerned.

“Yes,” I gasped.  “Sorry, it must have been something we ate.”  I slid my feet further beneath me, hoping he would not notice the thin nylon fishing line securing my ankles.

“The toilets are just round the corner,” he said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No – thank you.  We’ll be all right in a second.  Sorry about this.  We’ll be going in a moment.”

“You sure?”  I nodded and smiled my most gracious smile, noticing out of the corner of my eye that Mary was keeping her head down and avoiding any eye contact.  I didn’t know if she was trying not to laugh or still getting over the big ‘O’.

The man wandered back to his desk and I elbowed Mary to behave herself.  As if we didn’t have enough problems already.  Moments later three more bodies plopped into the adjacent sofa, as Leila, Emma and Trish sat down and squeezed their thighs together, red-faced gasping as discretely as they could.

“You can’t stay here,” I told them unkindly.  “The security guard is already convinced there is an outbreak of food poisoning.  Come into the loo – hopefully it will be more private.”

We found our way into the toilets near the cafe, which were as swanky as the rest of the place.  We waited until the coast was clear then Mary and I entered one cubicle.

“Jesus,” I whispered.  “This thing will drive me insane!  For God’s sake see if you can turn it off or get it out!”

I lifted my skirt and leaned back against the cool cubicle wall while Mary squatted and fiddled with things in my crotch.  The cable through my clit was alternately irritating then stimulating, and Mary’s fingers did nothing to make this area less sensitive.  I felt her efforts to slide the vibrator out, but there was not enough slack on the crotch cable to even come close.  The end result was that between her fingers and the dildo moving in and out, I felt another climax coming on.  Mary sensed it and grabbed a small roll of toilet paper, squashed it flat and shoved it in my mouth, forcing me against the wall with one arm while the other hand finished the job down below.  

I struggled and made muffled squeals into the makeshift gag, as the climax swept me away, before she let me slump down exhausted on the toilet seat.  It occurred to me to wonder just how bizarre things were getting when we had got to the stage of Mary giving me cheap thrills in a public toilet.

“I can’t pull it out,” Mary told me unnecessarily.  The cable runs through a small eyebolt which is glued in place, and the end cap is also glued shut.  You’ll have to wait until the battery runs down.  Sorry.  I did my best.”

“Yes, you did,” I panted, pulling bits of wet paper off my tongue. “And as always, Mary, your best was more than sufficient.”  She smiled ruefully.  Mary and I went back a long way, and for all her attitude, she was a fighter and one I would not hesitate to have beside me when the chips were down.

We exited from the cubicle.  One other doors was closed.  Trish was standing beside one, pointing to it mouthing ‘Lela and Emma’.  It was a superfluous comment, for there came a sudden cry from behind the door.  It was Leila, uttering a rising series of ‘ohgod’s’ followed by several protestations of ‘no!’, ending in a long drawn out ‘aaahh!’

I banged softly on the door.  “Leila, stop that noise and get out here at once.  Emma!  Whatever you’re doing to Leila, stop it!”  Honestly, sometimes it was like being a bloody den mother to unruly kids.  

The pair of them opened the door looking very shame-faced, not to say flushed from their exertions.  I was about to get into them when a pretty young secretary walked in, or maybe she was one of the corporate lawyers.  Whatever, the black stockings, high heels and black suit were enough to define her position as being somewhere in the lofty tower above us.  The sight of five women clad in quite sexy athletic gear, and all looking guilty as hell clearly unnerved her, as she disappeared into the end cubicle. 

We took time to have a drink of water and wash our faces before I shooed the four others out.  I wanted to get away from the public area as soon as I could.  We were having too many close encounters.  Sooner or later someone was going to start asking very awkward questions.

We found the exit arrow which took us to the riverside walk, now heading towards the gardens on the promontory at the end of the CBD.  If there had ever been any doubt that we were stuffed, it had disappeared at this point in the face of reality.  There was now no reason to hurry.  We took things as best we could.  A short distance further on, we turned off the river walk and climbed a few steps into the gardens proper.  It was a lovely day to stroll amongst the manicured lawns, stately palms and huge Moreton Bay fig trees.  The gardens bordered the Queensland University of Technology, and predictably half the campus seemed to be having their lunch on the grass.  At least in lawyerland we might have been stared at but people had been too polite to comment.  Here we got wolf whistles and ribald comments as we tried to stay focussed on looking for the chalk arrows at each junction in the path.

It was one of those days that just seemed to never end.  If it was not one thing, it was another.  We had to stop again under some trees, in as secluded a spot as we could find, to deal again with the insatiable vibrations that continued incessantly from between our legs.  This we did in our own ways, as best we could, though at one stage Trish had to hold Leila down and I had to hold my hand over her mouth as she went through another crashing orgasm.  She seemed to be having just a very sensitive day.

I had figured our last stretch would be across the newly built Goodwill Bridge.  This was a pedestrian and cycle bridge linking the gardens with Southbank and a whole heap more restaurants and of course more people.  It was less a business area and more a tourist and leisure area, but was still busy.  We made it across the bridge without incident, and slowly wended our way along the meandering path that flowed through a long sinuous arbour overhung with multicoloured bougainvillea.  On any other day, without the remorseless vibrations, it would have been enjoyable.  Today it was purgatory.

I had no idea where we were to meet up with Mistress Lynx and the no doubt insufferably triumphant Citadel Team.  And not forgetting poor Jillian.  I was sure she would have done well, but her efforts would have been in vain without team support, and she would be waiting for us amongst the comments from the opposition, rubbing salt into her wounds.  

One of the neatest places on Southbank is the Beach.  It’s an enclosed lagoon of crystal water with white sand and palm trees and barbeque areas where families come to enjoy a day ‘at the beach’ in perfect safety.  Today was a weekday, but there were still plenty of tourists here.  The water looked idyllic and we were knackered.  I was not in the least surprised when Trish abruptly trotted across the grass then the sand and into the water, heedless of her (albeit skimpy) clothing and shoes and socks.  I supposed there was a dress code here, but maybe not.  Brizzie had never been very big on dress codes.  Before I knew it  Trish was up to her chest, and suddenly broke into a radiant smile.  She pointed down and made the universal cutthroat sign.  She’d actually managed to make the dreaded vibrator short out.

It took no further encouragement for the other four of us to follow in her wake and charge awkwardly into the water.  It was cool and refreshing, just what we needed, but most of all we were desperate for relief from the incessant vibrations.  It took only a very short time for the water to find its way in to the vibrator, through screw holes or inadequate gluing.  I had to lie down to get the air out of the device, while at the same time trying not to flash my predicament to the whole world.  When the thing was finally silent, and my pussy had cooled down and ceased to throb to the same unrelenting music, I felt much better, and decided to continue with the walk, just to see how the story ended, even though we knew who dunnit.

We trudged out of the water, only then realising that the white lycra and the flimsy skirts were not the best for concealment of one’s modesty, for the soaking skirts clung to our legs and revealed almost everything, including the line of the crotch cable.  Our crop tops likewise showed breasts and nipples in all their glory – as though we had not attracted enough attention already.

We caught up with the others at the Wang Dynasty restaurant, only a minute or two further along the boardwalk.  The Wang was on a little bulge in the shoreline, very upmarket Chinese, with indoor/outdoor dining.  I hoped the similarity to Wong was a pure coincidence, and that somebody with a twisted sense of humour was not having a dig at our expense.  Lunch was in full swing and multiple bottles of wine were open.  The six black-clad girls had been joined by Mistress Lynx, Leon, Dianne and the Zubair brothers.  That in itself had been bad enough.  The sight of Jillian sitting alone on the steps outside the entrance was enough to almost finish me off.  We looked a sorry enough sight, soaking wet, all flesh and straggly hair – hardly fit to enter a restaurant even had we won.

Mistress Lynx got up from the table and slowly made her way down the steps from the outdoor dining area, just as Jill came over to join us.

“My, you do look a sight,” Mistress Lynx was unable to restrain a self-satisfied smirk.  “I expected better from you, Monica, I really did.”  She gave Jill an affectionate cuddle.  “Do you realise this girl won the event?”  Jill looked close to tears.  “But without the support from your team, Monica, the Black Team win over all.  The American girl – the blonde – Kris, came second, and Zara came third.  Seven points plus four points beats ten points for first.  Sorry kid.”  She gave Jill another squeeze.  “Guess you oughta look for a better team.”

“So what happens now?” I asked, glumly.

“Nothing.  You go on home.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I say.  We stay here and finish a really excellent lunch, then the brothers and I drive back to Bilboes to meet you there, where I shall engage in a little further torment of that handyman of yours and that cute slave.  She will be having a very nice pussy dinner by the time you get there.  In the meantime, you start walking.”

“Walking?  It must be two hours or more!”

“Your point being?”  I should have seen it coming.  “And remember, Monica, any hitching a lift, and I will know about it.  Get home too early and I will wonder why and I will have to impose some further punishment.  I have to say it’s been a very poor display by the White Team today.  I think you should be taught a lesson.”  She paused for a moment then seemed to have second thoughts.  “But just to show you how reasonable I am, I am prepared to cut your hobbles.  Everything else stays, however.”  

With that she delved into a pocket of her heavy brown leather skirt and pulled out a small pocketknife.  With a practised movement she opened the blade, squatted down and sliced through each end of the nylon line linking my ankles.

*   *   *

We left Southbank hobble-less, but with the chardonnay-fuelled taunts of Megan’s team ringing in our ears.  We had no money, and it sounded like Mistress Lynx had already been back to Bilboes in the van and had left Steven and Shawnee in a less than comfortable position, the price of being on the losing team while not taking part.  I felt awful.  We had let Jillian down after she had walked her heart out to win the race, and now we had drawn Steven and Shawnee into the punishment circle.  I suspected Mistress Lynx would be leaving very soon to be back there before us, to have her way with Shawnee, from the sound of things.  Shawnee would serve her well, for I had trained her myself, but that wasn’t the point.  Bloody Megan‘s team was now ahead in the points and we had all missed out on the cash with the exception of Jill.  That at least was small consolation, but I still felt rotten.

“Well I’m not walking all the way home,” I decided out loud.  “I reckon I can still pull a lift in an emergency.”

“But what about what Mistress Lynx said?” Emma asked.  “She’ll be really pissed off if we disobey her punishment.”

“Trust me, Emma dear.  There are more ways to skin a Lynx that you have yet learned.”

We headed north towards William Jolly Bridge and crossed the river again.  It was not the most direct route, but it would allow us to flash some serious leg to traffic travelling in the general direction we wanted to go.  We split into two teams of three – enough to be safe but also so that we could fit into two cars – and competed to see who got home first.  

It really was so easy – men are such suckers sometimes.  The middle-aged guy in the Fairmont who picked up me, Emma and Leila was a real sweetie.  Nothing was too much trouble as he dropped us at Bilboes gate.  I had no idea where he was going, and I suspect neither did he after Leila came on to him like a cat over a saucer of cream.  Leila gave him a version of the truth – that we had been in a competition and the van with all our gear had missed the pickup point.  He didn’t care; he had three beautiful women in his car and it was probably the best thing that was going to happen to him for a month.  Whether he was going to tell the wife about it was another matter.

He even turned up the dirt road and drove down the back access road, delivering us to the mud hole gate, before turning around in the small cleared space and driving off into the sunset.

“Why are we here?” asked Emma.

“Because, my dear Emma, we can’t get in the front gate without alerting the house, and chances are they would be expecting that.  We need a place to hide up for a couple of hours before sneaking back to make it look like we were coming in the front way.  So you two can find a nice shady spot and have a rest after your exhausting day.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to have a little look around.  I don’t like what our Mistress Lynx was suggesting for some of our staff members.”

*   *   *

I left the two doing just as I had suggested.  They looked all in.  That was often the way when the pressure was finally off – suddenly everything caught up with you.  I climbed over the style along the fence from the mud pool and crept up to the grassy ridge to look at the house.  By my reckoning, Mistress Lynx and at least the Zubair brothers were likely to be there.  Megan and her team would have headed home for a well-earned shower.

Peering through the long grass I saw the two Omanis sitting on the verandah, a bottle of wine on the table between them.  The sight of them made me think of Zara, and I wondered where she would be.  They were laughing and seemed to be discussing something written down which lay on the table between them.

I crawled off to the left, down the boundary fence in the long grass.  This was absurd.  I had already had an orgasm in a public toilet today; now I was crawling through the grounds of my own house to avoid the guests whom I had invited.  Another typical day at Bilboes, I thought.  

I reached the trees at a point where I was screened from the verandah by the old garage which Steven used as his tool shed.  From here I could cautiously move around to the front of the house, where I hoped to be able to sneak in the front door, to find out what my old mentor was up to.  As I rounded the corner I was astonished to come across Mistress Lynx with her back to me, ferreting around in the garden.  Nearby was my BMW and the van, beside which was a very swanky looking silver Mercedes which the Zubair brothers had hired for the duration.  I hid behind a large tree and peeked out to see what Mistress Lynx was doing.  Only then did I take in the black object secured with duct tape to the trunk of a palm tree, and the second black object lying on the ground.  

Each object was the size and shape of a body, and I knew I had found Shawnee and Steven.  They had been securely taped up inside black polythene sheeting, and I reckoned Steven was the one against the palm trunk.  Multiple windings of duct tape were wrapped around the outside of the plastic, with further strips securing him to the tree, upright against the trunk.  Even his head had been covered with the black sheet, with the duct tape wound tightly over the top of this to obviously hold the stuff in place clear of his nose. 

The afternoon remained warm and sunny, and I knew Steven must have been roasting in the black plastic.  I hoped he was all right, but there was nothing I could do with Mistress Lynx still in the picture, and she was preoccupied with the bundle I assumed was Shawnee.  Shawnee was lying on the ground, and while only Steven’s nose was showing through his wrappings, a little more of Shawnee’s face was visible – or at least it was until Mistress Lynx raised her leather skirt and settled her ample bulk astride Shawnee’s head.

The black object bucked as much as it could, and I imagined Shawnee struggling to breathe and move, while forced to service the woman now with total power over her.  It was nothing new for Shawnee, for I had required the same service from her many times, and in many different – and sometimes difficult – positions.  She had always come through, and I had no doubt she would this time, for I had taught her well, on top of a natural skill she possessed.

Soon it was Mistress Lynx who was getting restless and started leaning forward on her knees and elbows, still pinioning Shawnee’s body.  Finally she twitched and wobbled, squirming hard on Shawnee and uttering little gasps that culminated in a moan that rose in pitch for several seconds, before she seemed to collapse on top of the polythene bundle.  The bundle jerked and tried to buck the weight off, but that was only going to happen when Mistress Lynx decided to arise, which she did only with great reluctance.  I could make out the mounds that were Shawnee’s breasts heaving under the plastic as she fought to get her breath back.  

Mistress Lynx clambered unsteadily to her feet, then hauled Shawnee upright and pushed her against the tree next to Steven.  A lot more duct tape came out as my slave was anchored to the trunk alongside Steven.  Mistress Lynx added several turns around Shawnee’s head as a gag over her exposed mouth that had recently performed so expertly, then walked away unsteadily, leaving the two black sacks secured side by side.

The woman walked up the front steps and into the house.  There was nothing I could do to rescue the pair, for the moment anything happened to them, the rest of us would be in deep shit.  Instead, I returned the way I had come, to find Trish, Mary and Jill had also arrived, and were lying in wait in the shade with Leila and Emma.

I told them of the bake-off that was going on with Shawnee and Steven in the afternoon sun.  Mary did not seem overly sympathetic.

“Why should I be?” she demanded.  “The rest of us have been out busting our pussies and these two have been swanning around back here.  I bet Steven’s been cooking up more mischief for us.”

“At the moment I would say he’s just cooking, full stop,” I said mildly.

We waited over an hour and a half, before I reckoned it was time to make an apparent entrance.  I was about to suggest that we sneak down to the front entrance when Mistress Lynx came on to the back verandah, pointed to her watch and the two Omanis stood up and disappeared with her.  A minute later we saw the Mercedes disappear down the drive with three people inside.

“Well, that makes things a lot simpler,” I said.  “We don’t have to creep about and fake an entrance.”

“No, but we still have to find the keys to these wretched crotch cables,” Trish said.  Sometimes having a practical person in the group could be a real downer.

“You don’t suppose she’d take them with her?”  Leila asked tentatively.

“Look, we’ll get them off one way or the other,” I reassured her. ”Even if we have to raid Steven’s shed and get the bolt cutters out.”

“Have you ever tried to cut this multi-strand wire with bolt cutters?” Trish pointed out.

“Enough, Trish!” I snapped.  “We’ll manage.  Okay?”  Trish shrugged.  “First we had better see about the two captives out the front.”

We went down into the house and I picked up a pair of scissors, for I knew it would be messy getting the pair free without them.  Duct tape was deceptive stuff if treated too casually, and could be frustrating as all hell once it had stretched and tightened on itself.

I went down the front steps and dealt with Shawnee first, cutting the tape around her head so that her mouth was freed.  

“Shawnee?”

“Is that you, Mistress?”  Shawnee was hesitant.

“Of course it’s me, you stupid girl.  What’s that smell?  Have you been eating pussy with someone else?”

“N-no Mistress!”

“Don’t lie to me, Shawnee.  I know everything that goes on here, and if you lie to me I’ll cut a hole in the plastic, pour honey inside and let the bull ants eat you alive.  Now tell the truth.”

“S-she made me do it, Mistress, honest!  I was tied up and she sat on me and I could hardly breathe!” Shawnee’s words came out in a rush.

“But you did a good job?”

“Of course, Mistress, just like you taught me.”  She seemed proud of her achievement.

“All right, Shawnee.  I’m going to let you go, now.  Do you know where the key is for these crotch cables?”

“No Mistress.”

“Then you can help the others search.”  I slit the polythene and duct tape from throat to toe, discovering that further tape bound Shawnee’s legs together and her arms to her sides.  I cut these strips and ripped them roughly off her, but she did not flinch, and I was pleased to see she had been taking care of any body hair which might otherwise have been painful for her.

Steven, on the other hand was a different matter.  As Shawnee went up the front steps, naked except for a few trailing strips of duct tape, Steven remained bound to the tree.  I slit the tape holding the plastic around his head and pulled it clear.  More tape held his eyes closed and more tape was wrapped around his head and over his mouth.  He was soaked in sweat, his hair plastered against his forehead and perspiration running freely down his face.

“Good afternoon,” I said.  “Having fun playing mummies and daddies are we?  Or is it just mummies?”

“Mmmph!” he moaned through his nose.

I cut away the tape and he sighed and sucked in air as the last bit was pulled free.

“How the hell did you let her do this to you?” I demanded.

“Well what was I supposed to do?  You lot evidently came a gallant last, or so she told me, and she said I had to take my punishment along with the rest of you.”

“We came last because somebody was totally lax with security of remote controls, with the result that we’ve been subjected to highly public and very embarrassing orgasms for half the day, courtesy of Warren, and whoever is helping him out from the other team.  Now where is the goddamned key to these locks?”

“Around my neck.”

I peeled back the tape and plastic and saw the stainless steel collar which Portia had had made and fitted to Steven during the Occupation, as we called it.  The lock to the collar was one I did not recognise, but more importantly, as well as locking the collar about his throat, it the shank passed though a key, securing it close to the collar itself.

“Where is the key to your collar?” I demanded.  This was all getting beyond a joke.  

“How the hell would I know?” he said, half plaintive, but half annoyed.  Not as much as I was becoming.  I saw what the wily old Lynx was up to.  Very funny.  But right then I did not have time to be bothered with her little schemes.  At that point Trish turned up.

“No sign of the key so far,” said Trish.  “Is he all right?”

“Sure, and the key is right here.”  I parted the plastic and showed her.

“Oh dear,” said Trish with a smile.  It was clear she saw straight away what Mistress Lynx had in mind, and the idea did not seem to phase her one little bit.  She all but licked her lips in anticipation.

“Steven, I am going to cut you clear of the tree, and then we’ll lie you down.  We both know that undoing these crotch cables is going to be awkward.  Let me tell you that I’ve had just about enough stimulation from down there for one day, and if your tongue goes anywhere other than inside your mouth, you can spend the night in this plastic cocoon as far as I’m concerned.  Is that understood?”

“Yes Monica.”

Trish helped me hold him while I cut the tape binding him to the tree, before we laid him on the soft mulch of the garden.  I could tell he was bound the same way that Shawnee had been, under the sweat bag, and he could do little once he was on his back.

“Trish, go tell the others to report here in a few minutes if they want to get their vibrators removed.”

Trish departed, and reluctantly I straddled Steven, facing his feet.  The lock to the crotch cable was right underneath, joining the front section, which was in fact an extension of the waist cable after it passed through a loop at my navel, before dropping to pass through the ring in the vibrator.  Then there was another loop, which was locked to the back section, through which the waist strap passed at the top.  The trouble was I could not get a proper access to the lock while facing forward for Steven’s chest and shoulders made it too difficult.  Reluctantly I was forced to face the other way, with one arm supporting myself on the ground above his head, while the other hand struggled to find the key and work it into the lock.  And of course while all of this was going on, I could do nothing but shove my pussy in Steven’s face, despite my best efforts to avoid this.

I should have known better.  All men are the same.  They have no willpower.  I just knew that wicked tongue was going to come out and I felt it slide around the cable running through my super-sensitive clit.  It made me shudder.

“Steven!  Stop it!  I’m warning you!”

Some hope.  It was just one of those inevitable things that were fated to happen right from the start.  Mistress Lynx had won again.  Steven was unable to control his impulses just as I was unable to control mine, and once he had started, I could not help myself any more than he could.  My protestations became weaker and more pointless for both of us as I struggled to get the key in the hole.  I had almost managed it when the orgasm hit me with only the briefest of warnings, and I moaned helplessly, grinding myself on to his mouth as he sucked and bit in all the places he knew that set me off.

“You bastard,” I whispered hoarsely in his ear, but he had a mouthful of pussy and could not reply.  I hated the way he turned me into such a trembling mess.  I made a last despairing effort to get the wretched key in the lock and finally managed it.  Then I had to turn my body as best I could, for there was only limited movement of the key within the lock securing it to the collar.  There was a click and the lock abruptly opened, and I felt the vibrator come free.  I sat up and slowly withdrew the thing.  It was slick with my juices and I thrust it into Steven’s mouth.

“There, since you’re so fond of the taste of Monica, here’s a days worth.  Suck on that!”  Steven did just that - well, he had to, the way I held it half down his throat.  He slurped and swallowed and gurgled, before I relented and withdrew it finally.  “Now you know what kind of a day I’ve had.  And I meant what I said about spending the night here.”  I stood up, thankful he could not see how my legs were shaking.  “Since you’re such a hot shot, let’s see if you can cope with five more.”  I stalked away and left him, bound and blind in the mulch in the palm grove.  That would teach him.

*   *   *
 
 
 
 
 

27.10.03

story continues in Monica's Games 2.24

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