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Monica's Games 2.25

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

(story continues from Monica's Games 2.24)

Chapter Twenty Five: Missing In Action

Day Six

Morning Event: Bondage Relay
White Team: Monica, Trish, Mary, Jill, Leila, Steven and Emma
Black Team: Megan, Debra, Zara, Kris, Marilyn, Leon and Elizabeth
Points at Stake: 10
Start Score: White Team: 30 Black Team: 41

When I heard the first vibrator clatter on to the floor followed by a short, sharp orgasm, I figured were in for a long and painful night, if Mistress Lynx was to be believed - or else we could escape.  It’s funny how you think, when you’re sitting there barely able to move, gagged and blindfolded.  I went through all the options and people in the room, trying to think of how they could free themselves.

The problem was with all the others, that I had no control over them, nor could I convey my ideas to them even if I had some.  I finally figured my only hope would be if I could get to Shawnee, further along the stage.  By further along, she was only a couple of metres away, bent over the chair with her back to me, but bound as I was with my chest tied close to my thighs, movement was extremely difficult.

I managed to bump a little closer, and after waving my arms in the air behind me, finally touched the leather of the armchair, but could not reach the knot securing what I presumed would be Shawnee’s ankle.  I knew at that point that I would have to forsake my precarious but at least upright position to get closer, and I debated the advantages of how to do this, and which way I was going to fall.  It is all so difficult when you’re in the dark.  I was grunting and panting with the effort and the tightness of the ropes around my elbows was starting to become really uncomfortable.  I finally pushed off as best I could with my feet and fell backwards on my left side.  I lay there for a minute or two, hearing a second vibrator land on the floor and someone else let loose a gagged wailing climax.

My new position was okay as far as it went.  I could still touch the base of the back of the chair, somewhere in the middle between Shawnee’s boots, I figured, but movement was getting even harder.  I could move my lower legs at the knees, and I could move my arms, but shifting my body was difficult in the extreme.  With much scraping about on the floor I finally came into contact with the high heel of Shawnee’s boot that she was perched on.  It took me a few minutes to undo the ankle rope, feeling about in the darkness as I was obliged to do.

My fingers were starting to go numb, and I just lay there panting when the rope finally came free.  Shawnee was making little grunts of encouragement, and when her ankle was free – bright girl that I said she was – she managed to shift the whole chair so that her other ankle was pushed against my bound hands.  It took a few more minutes to get this free, after which she was able to slide over the top of the chair and had enough slack to undo the front fastenings.  

Her wrists were still bound at this stage, but the hard part had been done, and with much snuffling and grunting we eventually freed each other.

“Wow, that Rashid is quite something, huh!” she said as I pulled off my hood and prised the ball out of my mouth.

“Too much information, Shawnee,” I said, wiping the sweat from my eyes. “I think we have already established that.”

Shawnee couldn’t stop smiling as we freed the others.  Leila, Emma and Jill had all dropped their vibrators – I had not heard the third above the blood pounding in my ears from my exertions.  Shawnee and I led the line of naked females out into the main warehouse area and to the van.  Inside were their uniforms, and I closed the doors behind them while Shawnee and I climbed in the front to head back to Bilboes.

I was sure Mistress Lynx would take it as a personal affront, but there was nothing she could do now.  The points had been lost and we would simply have to do better in the next round.

*   *   *

The next round proved to be something pretty basic, and figured nowhere in any list of Olympic events I could find.  We were assembled near the mud pool end of what was fast becoming the infamous ‘back road’ into Bilboes.  It was a pleasantly warm afternoon, ideal for being tied up and left to struggle in the sun – as one is wont to do – and it turned out that this was just what Mistress Lynx had in mind for us.

We were only fifty metres from the mud pool, but had all walked there via the fence style, so nobody – yet – had had to brave the pool’s slippery clutches.  We were quite a crowd.  It was almost like a guided tour, headed by the Mistress Lynx and Mohammed, with Rashid supposedly having been called away on business.  I reckoned he had either found Shawnee a bit much for him the previous evening, or more likely Megan had given him a cold shoulder as a result of him having enjoyed the slave rather more than he should have.  I put it down to simply a case of Rashid having the sulks.  

Meanwhile the rest of us trailed along behind what was now the Gang of Two, in our lycra team colours, and our team butt plugs, too, I should add, held in place by the ubiquitous waist and crotch cables.  Shawnee and Dianne were also there, lugging backpacks which by all accounts were stuffed with implements of restraint of some description.  Mistress Lynx slapped a riding crop against her boot to get our attention.

“This event, ladies and gentlemen, is a very simple one.  It is like a relay race.  One person from each team – in this case it will be the two slaves – will start out from the house to rescue the first prisoner.  Upon freeing that person, the slave will run back to the house where her time will be noted.  The freed person will run further along this road to find and free the next prisoner, who will in turn progress further to the next one, and so on.  After you have freed the next person in your team you will return to the house where your time will be also recorded.  The lesser of the totals of individual times – that is, the faster team – will be declared the winner, and will gain ten points.  That’s not too hard to grasp, is it, even for your limited intellectual abilities?”  Clearly it wasn’t, for nobody said a word.
 

“The pairs of prisoners will be tied identically at each point, but the positions of each pair will vary.  You’ll soon see the pattern. The object is to untie your team member as fast as possible, so I would hope that even some of the Bilboes team would have learnt this aspect by now.” Mistress Lynx glanced in my direction with a faint trace of a smile.  “I know for a fact that at least one member of that team may have his proficiency badge.”  I blushed.  It appeared that our escape from the aftermath of the quiz the previous night was acceptable under the rules, and was considered all part of the game.  I also suspected things wouldn’t be so easy a second time.

“You will notice that you have been required to wear high heels today.  We considered running around in sneakers was a bit too easy.  We also saw no reason Leon and Steven should be exempted from this.” That was another embarrassing point.  At least they hadn’t made me wear the skirt and top, but wearing white shoes with a locked ankle strap and three inch heels still made me feel ridiculous.  In some ways wearing the full female kit would have been easier.  I had done it before, but that was another story which I did not want to repeat.  As it was, Leon and I now stumbled awkwardly about in keeping up with the rest of the group.  Monica had insisted on me wearing flesh-coloured pantyhose under my bicycle shorts, because ultimately it would be easier on my feet and allow some movement within the unfamiliar footwear.  

I accepted her advice but felt no better because of it.  It was all right for her.  She wore her favourite white leather boots which laced up to her thigh.  She looked as sexy as hell with the short skirt and white top contrasting with her tumbling black hair.  I just felt like a klutz amongst all this graceful female flesh.

“The whole point of this is to see how good you are at the art of untying difficult knots, and believe me, there will be some difficult ones.  Once you have untied your target, you will leave all the ropes in a pile.  I will check these at the end of the game, and woe betide anybody who has tried to be smart by cutting any of them.  You may, however, move on to your target before being totally free, but you must – as I said – deposit all your restraints where you were tied, before returning to the house.  Any questions?”  There were none.  “Good.  I must be explaining myself very clearly.  Leila and Elizabeth, step forward.”

The two girls moved to the front of the group with more than a touch of trepidation. Mistress Lynx had by now earned a reputation as an expert in not just the physical art of bondage, but the psychological mind games that went with it.  Her constant twists to the rules and goals had to date kept us off balance and it was this uncertainty that now unsettled us, for we never knew when we all the cards were on the table.

“Over here,” said Mistress Lynx to Leila, who was wearing knee-length boots to complement her skirt and top.  I wished I had something a little more protective and supporting than the pointy-heeled shoes as I now tottered over the uneven ground.  The pair moved to a patch of grass beside the track.  “On your stomach,” Mistress Lynx ordered.  Leila got to her knees then lay down as she was ordered.  Shawnee was brought to the front and the big pack was opened up.  Inside were a number of plastic bags, all with a number written in felt pen.  Mistress Lynx was the ultimate anal retentive, I reckoned, judging by her organisation skills.

With the practice that comes from long experience Mistress Lynx extracted a piece of sashcord and doubled it over, threading the ends though the loop around Leila’s ankles, before wrapping a further four turns around them and cinching them tight.  The same process followed for Leila’s knees.  I noticed Shawnee paying particular attention, for she was the one who would have to undo the knots, or at least up to a stage where Leila’s hands were free such that she could help free herself.

This was to be the classic hog tie, as Leila’s arms were bound above the elbows and then at the wrists, with the tails from the wrist ties being pulled down through the ankle ropes.  Mistress Lynx put a knee in Leila’s back and gave a good tug, watching with satisfaction as the girl was forced into an arch as her ankles were pulled forward and her arms straightened out.  Leila made a sound that was half grunt, half exhalation of air.  Mistress Lynx was not yet finished, however, as she drew the tails from the ankles back up to Leila’s elbow ropes and knotted them there.

Leila was now in a bow, quite strained, although not as bad as some I had seen applied, but this was to change, as Mistress Lynx pulled a head harness from the bag.  It had a white ball gag and leather eye patches lined with foam.  The ball was forced into Leila’s briefly protesting mouth then the various straps and buckles were done up that left her silent and blind.  Mistress Lynx’s final touch was a rope connecting the top of the harness with Leila’s ankles, which pulled her head back uncomfortably and left her staring blindly into space.  I’m sure we all thought that if this was what we were in for, it was going to be a pretty stringent afternoon, and not one in which to waste time unnecessarily.  While Leila would be the first one freed, she was also the first to be bound, and would have to wait while all the rest of us were secured.

Five minutes later Elizabeth was similarly bound on the other side of the track, and we walked about a hundred metres further on, out of sight of the first helpless pair.  This time it was Trish and Debbie, with the Black Team being first.  It appeared that despite my fortunate escape the previous evening, Mistress Lynx still liked that form of bondage, for Debbie was soon seated on the ground, bent at the waist so that her breasts touched her thighs and several turns of sashcord around her thighs and torso secured her there.  Her knees and ankles were likewise tied with multiple turns and cinched, while her wrists and elbows suffered the same fate as the previous two contestants.  Debbie was made to open wide for a black ball gag on a rope, which Mistress Lynx then knotted several times behind Deb’s head and pulled tightly on each stage.  Having her speech back would not be a quick exercise for Debbie, even \when her hands were freed.  A silk bandana was then tied over her eyes and she was lowered to the ground on her side, where – obviously just to make sure – a final rope linked Deb’s wrists and ankles, pulling them hard against her butt.  Debra was going nowhere, and before long, lying on the opposite of the track, Trish was equally stilled.

I was growing apprehensive as I watched the next two, Mary and Marilyn, become slowly immobilised at the proficient hands of Mistress Lynx.  Marilyn was taken a short distance from the road and positioned under a suitable gum tree, where, when her wrists were bound together in front of her, they were pulled upwards by a rope over a bough, which was then tied off to the trunk.  A further rope was attached to each ankle which were then pulled wide apart, the ropes anchored to nearby saplings.  Mistress Lynx produced a ball gag on an extra long strap, which, once the gag was firmly wedged in Marilyn’s mouth, was pulled tight around her upper arms and buckled behind her head, thus securing her head hard between her uplifted arms.  Marilyn was stretched to her limit, unable to move, only just retaining her purchase on the high heels of her shoes.  The final accessory was a long silk scarf, which was wound over the American girl’s eyes and again encircled her arms, further securing her head against them.  Mistress Lynx let her hand drop to beneath the shiny nylon skirt and search out the thin cable that ran through Marilyn’s most intimate place.  The bound girl shuddered as her captor whispered something in her ear and moved her hand slowly up and down.  Marilyn made an unintelligible gurgling sound before the older woman let her be, to turn her attention to Mary.

We left Mary in an identical position under a tree on the opposite side of the road.  It was evident Mistress Lynx had researched her locations very well, for there was no hesitation, no uncertainty as to exactly what was going to be done and how it would happen.  The free group was getting smaller now, as we traipsed along the road behind the Gang of Two.  Shawnee and Dianne were ahead of us, their packs evidently getting lighter as the bondage gear was progressively removed.

Emma and Kris were next, again with the Black Team being first tied, and again there were trees involved.  This time the victim was placed on her back, with left forearm bound to left calf with copious turns of sashcord, then the process repeated for the right forearm and calf.  It was a very restricting tie, if not as stringent as some.  It was made more difficult by the use of a length of sapling used as a spreader bar, which held the arms and legs apart.  It could have been more tolerable had Kris been left in a sitting position, but tolerable was not what Mistress Lynx was into on this particular afternoon, and the blonde found herself on her back under a stout eucalypt bough.  A rope was thrown over this, and attached to the spreader bar in the centre, so that Kris lay there spread wide and unable to move.  She, too, soon sported a black ball gag between her jaws and a pair of swimming goggles with inserts of foam rubber as a very effective blindfold.

Ten minutes later Emma was similarly secured across the way, and we walked on up the road.  Kris and Emma were totally hidden by the undergrowth, and I saw another little nuance that Mistress Lynx had incorporated, for the previous pair, Marilyn and Mary, would actually have to find their gagged and hidden targets before they could release them. 

Jill and Zara were the next pair – the ones who would have to release me and Leon.  Jill was taken a few paces off the road and made to straddle a horizontal branch of a fallen tree.  The tree looked freshly hewn, and I suspected the Gang of Two had been out with an axe in recent times.  This was confirmed when Mistress Lynx selected a stout piece of fresh branch a couple of metres long.  ‘Here’s one we prepared earlier,’ I thought, as she placed it across Jill’s back and made her hook her elbows around it before tying her wrists together with a rope linking them across her stomach.  A further rope around Jill’s neck pulled her into a bent over position, and another trimmed branch acting as an ankle spreader pushed her legs wide enough so that she was bearing part of her weight on the branch through her crotch.  A final rope around her waist and the bough itself made sure Jill could not move off the bough, before another head harness with ball gag and eye pads left her blind and silent.  Mistress Lynx fondled Jill’s breasts as they weighed against the stretched crop top.  Her nipples were hard and erect and she made little moaning sounds behind the ball in her mouth.  

“I really would love to stay and play, my dear.  You look so cute and submissive.”  Jill gurgled unhappily.  “Perhaps you can get yourself off against the branch.  You’re luckier than most of the others.  It will give you something to do while you’re waiting.  And I do hope they can find you.  You’re a little off the road here.  You may have to call out.  Can you do that?”

“Nnnph,” said Jill.

“Oh dear.  Are you sure?”  Mistress Lynx squeezed the protruding nipples really hard and Jill screamed into the gag.

“That’s a bit better.  Just think of that pain when you scream for Emma to come and find you.”  She dusted off her hands and turned to the small band around her.  “Come, people.  Now it’s your turn Zara, my dear.”

It did not take Mistress Lynx long to secure Zara on another newly felled tree.  She was bound identically to Jill, except that I saw Mohammed slip a pair of nipple clips on his sister as we walked away.  Ah, I thought, sibling rivalry was alive and well. 

And finally it was Leon’s and my turn, with only Monica and Megan to follow.  It seemed that we also to be tree people, for I found myself kneeling under a large gum tree close to the trunk, where my thighs were roped very securely to my calves with multiple turns of cord. 

Spreading off to the left and right were two big branches, and soon there was a rope over each, the end of the rope on the right branch being attached to my left wrist behind my back, and vice versa.  One at a time, the ropes were pulled tight, and my arms were pulled up behind my back, crossing over behind my shoulder blades.  It was uncomfortable already, and Mistress Lynx heaving on one of the ropes to get the last inch of slack out of my arms was no fun thing, for she carried considerable – how shall I put it – mass.  Monica looked down at me with what I would like to have thought was concern, as Mistress Lynx forced my jaws apart with a hard white rubber ball, which was strapped in place and followed by a rubber hood that was pulled tightly down over my head.  It had only a small nose hole and the tightness of it held my jaw closed against the rubber ball, not that I could have done much else even without the hood.  I could do nothing but kneel uncomfortably in my darkened world, as the voices and footsteps faded away.

*   *   *

As always happens in those situations, time seems to slow down.  You wonder what is happening, how long before you will be released.  You test your bonds, but in this case I could reach none of the knots with my fingers, and that was that.  Mistress Lynx was not having me escape from her handiwork a second time.  My legs began to tingle from the tightness of the ropes and the heels of my shoes dug into my buttocks.  My shoulders also ached, while feeling slowly faded from my fingers in their elevated positions behind my back.

I tried to work out how long it would take before Jill found me.  Allow fifteen minutes to secure Monica and Megan, then the same to walk back to the house, then ten minutes for Shawnee to get to Leila, ten minutes for Leila to free Trish, then on with Mary, Emma and Jill.  I tried the simple maths in my head several times before I convinced myself that I would be there for the best part of an hour and a half.  I was not impressed.  I had figured maybe half an hour at the most, but this was turning into a real endurance event.  I wondered how some of the others would get on.  Leila, though young and nubile, would be in the hogtie for a long time.  I hoped Mistress Lynx knew what she was doing – not that there was much any of us could do about it now.  And maybe I was actually light in my estimate, for how many limbs would have gone to sleep by the time they were freed, requiring a bit of massage before the person could move on to release the next victim?

It was hot under the rubber hood.  I began to imagine voices, and once I thought I heard a car in the distance.  I was sweating, but at least the hood kept the flies off me.  They were not the same problem in Brisbane as in some parts of the country, but being tied up and having even one persistently land on exposed flesh could drive a person crazy when they were unable to do anything about it.  

The minutes ticked on and the aches got worse, except where my limbs had turned numb.  It seemed like hours had passed before I heard Jill’s voice calling me.  I raised my head from where I had been letting the stream of perspiration run out of my nose hole.

“MMMMph!” I cried.

“Where are you?”

“Urrrmmmp!”

“Keep talking so I can find you!”  Talking?  Who was she kidding?

“Nnnnrrmp!”

It took a minute or so of this intellectual repartee before I sensed someone coming through the bushes

“My my, who’s in a nasty position?”  I felt a hand on my crotch and shook my head desperately.  No, Jill, this was not the time for this!  Then the ropes holding my wrists were released.  My arms were useless for a short time as the circulation slowly returned, and Jill undid the cords around my thighs and ankles.  My legs, too, had gone to sleep, and she needed to rub them vigorously to restore the blood flow, while I wrestled with the hood.

“Thought you were going to get taken advantage of again, did you?” Her lovely face was smiling at me as I finally pulled the rubber clear and a flood of perspiration ran down my chin.  I was not at my best, but Jill didn’t seem to mind.

“Mmmph,” I said, struggling with the buckle at the back of my neck, and finally extricating the rubber ball.  I swallowed a couple of times.  “I wouldn’t have put it past you, you tart!”  Jill grinned.  

“But I could have.  It’s a moral opportunity and I claim another win.”

“Is this some sort of contest we’re having?” I demanded.  She pouted theatrically.

“It’s karma, Steven.  We must always experience life to the fullest, which means taking advantage of every circumstance that comes your way.”

“It seems to be me who keeps coming your way,” I grumbled, as she helped me to my feet.  “God, how do you women wear these heels?”

“They look very nice,” Jill said.  “You have good legs.  Stephanie did, too.  They look better when they’re shaved.”

“Don’t even think about it,” I retorted.  “Now go back to the house while I get after Monica.  And I forgot to ask, are we winning?”

“Of course.  I reckon I’m a couple of minutes ahead of Zara.”  She gave me a brief, salty kiss and disappeared through the undergrowth back towards the road, looking lithe in her white high heels as though they were an extension of her body.

Not like me.  As if the heels weren’t awkward enough, the cramped position of my legs over the past ninety minutes, or whatever it was, saw me tottering all over the place.  I reached the road and saw Jill heading away from me at a jog trot, seemingly heedless of the nature of her footwear.  In the bush on the other side of the road I could hear voices, which I figured must be Zara and Leon.

I turned and set off up the road, around a bend, looking for Monica.  The sun was getting low over the trees and shadows were starting to lengthen.  I had walked a hundred metres or so, and figured I should have reached her position by then, based on the spacing that Mistress Lynx had employed between her captives all the way along the road. 

“Monica!”  I called, but there was no answer, no grunt, no moan, no gagged response.  I retraced my steps, searching the bushes to the side of the road that all the White Team had been left on, but in vain.  I was still calling when Leon appeared.  I was at once frustrated, for the lead I had had was now gone, and the contest might well be determined by a sprint back to the house between Monica, Megan, Leon and I.

“Megan!”  Now we were both calling, and as we moved along the road away from the house, there was a faint grunt from the left – the Black Team’s side of the road.  We both charged into the undergrowth, with me following Leon in case Mistress Lynx had done the dirty on us and swapped the sides for the last pair of captives.  But no, there was Megan, bound in a taut strappado under a tree, her legs spread and ankles tethered to saplings, her arms bound at wrist and elbow and pulled nearly vertically, so that her head was down at knee level.  She was gagged and blindfolded under an inflatable hood, and if I had thought my position had been bad, this one must have been much worse.  That said, Megan and Monica were far more experienced in bondage – both mentally and physically – than I was, but that was not the point.  Now, with the knowledge of Megan’s location, I redoubled the urgency of my search on the opposite side of the road.  

There was a fairly obvious location here – a tree with a clearing beneath it and a couple of convenient branches above.  To my untrained eye it looked as though somebody had been here, for the ground was disturbed and there were pointy indentations in the ground that may have come from stiletto heels, but the little clearing was now empty.

*   *   *

The rest of the evening dissolved in a confused welter of searching and recriminations.  By the time I had trailed back to the house behind Megan and Leon, to find that not only had we lost yet again, but to break the news that Monica had disappeared.  Mistress Lynx appeared unconcerned at the news, which made me immediately suspicious.  She declared the Citadel the victors, stating that if Bilboes members could not even remain where they were supposed to when tied to a tree, then there was little she could do about it, and another ten points flew away in front of our eyes.  I suppose that we should have been grateful that she did not propose – nor did the Black Team raise the matter – that we should now undergo whatever punishment she had planned for the losers.  That said, she told us she would remain in possession of the keys to the crotch cable locks.  God knew, the contest itself had been hard enough, but with Monica missing we were now in a real mess.

Of course the loss was a secondary issue, and was incidental to our search that began as dusk was falling but ended fruitlessly in the darkness.  Megan’s team had selflessly helped in the search, but with nightfall, we called it off and Megan’s team left Bilboes with Mohammed and Mistress Lynx, satisfied that they had done they best, and had come away with a victory into the bargain.

The girls and I gathered on the verandah, while Shawnee cooked a fast dinner.  We tried to make ourselves comfortable at the big table, but this was difficult with the butt plugs, since the locks were big dangly affairs that hung between our legs.  As if the plug itself wasn’t bad enough, the lock was awkward and got in the way when sitting.

I went to my workshop to get bolt cutters for the cables, but the key to the place had mysteriously disappeared, and it appeared Mistress Lynx was one step ahead of us again.  We could probably have broken in but there was no time.  We elected to call out an emergency locksmith, but at that hour it was going to take time.  We had more important things to do while we were waiting.  I hoped to get some focus from the group.

“It’s pretty obvious what’s happened,” I began.  “Someone’s abducted Monica.  She didn’t wander off by herself, which means she must be held somewhere.”

“Which means she’s probably safe,” suggested Jill.

“I agree.  It’s all too coincidental with the contest.  Take a member of Bilboes out, especially Monica, and we have real problems.”

“And this story of Rashid being away on business,” Mary said.  “How phoney is that?  Everyone on Megan’s team could be accounted for except Rashid.  Just a bit coincidental, I think.”

“Damned right,” Trish chipped in.  “Shawnee, hurry up with that food!  And if Rashid is behind it, there is only one place that he would hide Monica, and that’s in the Citadel.”

“I’m sure he’s done it on his own, though,” said Leila.  “Megan’s not the sort to resort to underhanded tactics.  Whatever else has gone on, I’m sure Megan and Debbie are not behind it,” she declared.  “They’re too straight up.”

“You’re too nice,” Mary said scornfully.  “Anyone is capable of anything if the price is right, and might I remind you, there’s big money on the table here.”

“Don’t be so cynical!” Leila shot back hotly.  “You’re awful sometimes, Mary.  You always think the worst of people!”

“Seen too much of the bad side of life, kid,” Mary said laconically.

Shawnee appeared with pizzas at that moment and we tucked into them ravenously.  

“Girls, we don’t need internal squabbling now.  We have to find Monica and get this whole contest back on track,” I said. “I propose a raid on the Citadel tonight.  Small team.  Tomorrow is the paintball contest.  We can’t jeopardise that, so Jill, Leila, Emma and Shawnee are excluded.”

My statement was met with objections from the four, but Trish and Mary supported me.  Somehow I seemed to have taken on the defacto leadership of the group, but nobody seemed to be querying this.

“Mary, Trish and I will check out the Citadel tonight.  I now suggest we all eat well and replenish our energy.  Don’t worry, we’ll find Monica,” I concluded, with much more confidence than I felt.

*   *   *

The locksmith had not arrived by the time we left, and it was gone nine o’clock when we pulled up to the gates of the Citadel.  Entry was easily effected with the security card Monica kept as owner of the place.  As the roller door slowly rose and we drove inside the main warehouse, the van’s headlights lit upon an object suspended in the middle of the large open space that remained outside the blockwork complex of rooms on the right hand side.  I stopped the van ten metres short of the object, and saw that it was a coffin-sized cage hanging horizontally a couple of feet from the floor, attached to the big hook from the overhead gantry crane.  I recognised the cage, for it was one I had made some time ago which Monica had transferred to the Citadel, since more space was available.  Inside the bars, a black figure was struggling.  

“Thank God,” Trish breathed, as we climbed out of the van.

The cage was supported on two chains which were attached at roughly the midpoint on each of the long sides, and they rose vertically to a cross piece which was slung on the hook.  This arrangement allowed the cage to be rotated on its axis so that the occupant might find himself vertical, upside down, or lying face up or face down.  It was not a precise balance, however, and from the way the struggling had been going on, the current occupant was tending towards an upside down position.

Trish had the presence of mind to find the overhead light switches and with a dull clunk the big overhead sodium lights came on, and slowly began to brighten.  We gathered round the figure in the cage and saw that her head was covered in an eyeless rubber hood and that she had been placed in a vacuum bag that sealed at the neck.  The air had been sucked out of this, leaving the well-defined outline of a female form, her arms pinned to her sides and her ankles bound to the cage bars for just such an eventuality as turning herself upside down.  

The figure was struggling and squirming as much as it could, although in truth this was not an awful lot, for the vacuum in the bag had an enormously restricting effect.  We could hear the faint hum of a vibrator and when I put my hand through the bars to the shiny crotch mound, I could feel the hard end of an operating toy protruding against the heavy black polythene of the bag.  

Up until that moment I had believed we had found Monica, until there was a sudden spasm in the figure and she jerked a couple of times, with a high keening sound suddenly erupting from under the hood.  It was the voice that gave the game away, and I knew this was not Monica.  The muffled wail subsided into a series of drawn-out grunting snorts, as I pulled the cage into an upright position.

The sudden change in angle made the occupant of the cage realise she was not alone, for I suspect she had been too engrossed in her own sensations to even be aware of our entry to the warehouse.  Her grunts changed to an interrogative nasal whine, and while Trish and Mary held the ends of the cage steady, I opened the top and clipped it back.  The figure was abruptly still, and for a moment all that could be heard was the vibrator’s monotonous purring.  I grasped the edge of the rubber hood and with a quick tug pulled the thing off.  It came away slick and slippery and I found myself looking into Dianne’s blue eyes and a face half swathed in duct tape.

“Having fun, are we?” I asked.  Dianne grunted plaintively and wiggled.  “The others gone out for another celebratory dinner and left their slave to celebrate on her own?”  Dianne lowered her eyes in a submissive and vaguely embarrassed way and nodded.  “But it’s all getting a little intense, now?”  She nodded again.  I wiped the sweat from her temples and face and interpreted her expression as one of gratitude.  She tried to sit up, but the tightness of the vacuum bag made this very difficult, and she could only manage to raise her head and make ‘hmmnning’ noises while rolling her eyes towards her crotch.

“You had enough?” I asked, deliberately suggesting in my tone that we would all find such a thing hard to believe.  She nodded emphatically.  “Listen, Dianne, we need information.  Did Rashid go out with the rest of the gang tonight?”  A nod.  “Is there anybody else in here tonight?”  Head shaking.  “Do you think Rashid had anything to do with Monica’s abduction?”  Another shake.  “You don’t mind if we have a look around here, do you?”  Shake, then a pleading whine.  I shut the lid and slid the tower bolt back in place while Dianne lay back with an expression of exhausted frustration.  “We’ll be back to check on you in a while.”

It did not take long to ascertain that the remainder of the complex was empty, as Dianne had indicated.

“I don’t reckon it was Rashid,” said Trish.  “I think it was Warren.”

“How come?”  I asked.  

“Elimination of suspects.  If Rashid didn’t do it, then the only person not accounted for who would have a motive is Warren.”

“He’d need inside knowledge.”

“Leon’s your man,” said Mary with conviction.  “He was the one who screwed up my fencing match against that American chick.”

“Do you know for sure?”

“No I don’t, Steven, but I’d lay money on it.  Just stop being the analytical builder for once, will you!  This isn’t a law court!  Sometimes you just have to go with your instincts, and Leon is up to his eyeballs in something grubby.  Why do you think the wheel fell of your cart?  Who used it immediately before you?  Leon!  He’s been feeding Warren information, for sure.  How else did Warren know we were going to be walking past his apartment and happen to have the remote for the vibrators?  Only one reason in my book.”

“But how does Warren know Leon?”

“Warren’s been here, with Mary and me,” Trish suggested.  “We gave him the treatment at night time, but occasionally there were others around.  People talk.  Just accept, for the moment, that they have come to be acquainted.  Suddenly everything fits.  You have Warren as the outside wild card acting on inside information.  Leon is after the money.  It’s as simple as that.”

“It may be simpler,” I said, and told them about the cock up that Leon had made when Dianne and I had had to go to Noosa to rescue a client, and the humiliating thrashing that Monica had dished out to Leon when we got back, in front of the entire staff.

“I rest my case, your honour,” said Mary decisively. “Motive proven.”

We walked back out into the main warehouse area where Dianne was slowly turning herself upside again with her squirmings in the cage.  Again we turned it right side up and opened the lid.  Dianne was dripping with perspiration, her eyes wide over the tape swathing her mouth.  She mmphed pleadingly.

“We’re going to leave you here until the others come back, whoever that may be,” I said.  Dianne made more agitated noises.  “If you’re good, we might turn off the vibrator.”  She seemed to relax, and allowed me to slip the rubber hood over her head again.

“Surely you’re not going to switch it off,” demanded Mary.  “She’s a slave that has been given pleasure and time to herself.  She doesn’t really want it off – what slave would?”  The rubber-clad figure made more feeble struggles and sounds.  “Don’t be such a wimp, Steven.  It’s her choice to be here.  She should enjoy it to the full, especially after somebody has gone to all this trouble on her behalf.”

“Oh very well,” I said, closing the cage door and ramming the bolt home.  There was just no pleasing some people.  We climbed into the van again.

“Now what do we do?” Trish asked, as we waited for the big roller door to open.

“We go visit Warren, what else?”

*   *   *

Warren’s swanky apartment building was quiet at nearly midnight.  Trish tried the security code that she and Mary had used during their week in residence, but it had been changed.  She pushed the buzzer.

“What do I say?” she whispered to me as we waited for a response.  It came quicker than we expected and I didn’t have time to answer her.

“Is Warren there?”

“No.  Who is this?”  It was Christina’s voice

“It’s Trish.  I need to talk to Warren.”

There was no reply but the security grille clicked and we pushed it open.

We said nothing as we ascended in the lift.  Something was afoot here.  No Warren, and no questions from Christina.  It was almost like we were expected.  We stepped into the hallway and found the apartment door already ajar.  Cautiously we moved inside.  Christina was waiting for us, wearing a maroon satin corset that pulled her figure into a stunning hourglass shape with her breasts bulging over the top.  She wore black stockings attached by suspenders to the corset, with black high heels completing the outfit – almost.  The last accessories were a steel yoke that was locked about her wrists and neck, such that she held her arms in a sort of surrender, and a very expensive-looking stainless steel chastity belt.

“Warren said you’d probably call.”  Hullo, this was a turn up for the books.

“What else did he say?” I asked.

“He said I was to give you a piece of paper.”

“Oh?” Mary queried archly, raising an eyebrow.  “And where is this piece of paper?”

“Uh…down there…” Christina said, pointing as best she could at her crotch.

“What?  What are you talking about, girl?” Mary demanded.  I noted that the belt and strap were locked on with a combination padlock.

“He…he slipped it in there.  I don’t know what it was, because I was blindfolded at the time.  Now it’s locked in there.”

“I don’t suppose you know the combination, by any chance?” Mary suggested acidly.  Christina shook her head.  “Why did I think that was the case.  So the only way we can extract this information from your little honey pot is to find the combination?”   

“He’s playing games with us,” Trish said.  “I’m going to check the apartment out.  You guys can start the safe cracking.”

“What do you expect to find?” I asked.

“Probably nothing, but we should make sure Monica is not here.  Never trust a slave, you should know that by now.”

*   *   *

It took nearly an hour bent over Christina’s crotch before the padlock opened.  Mary was doing the successive trial combinations at the time, and she peeled back the leaves of the belt and crotch strap like a surgeon opening a wound.  In this case the ‘wound’ was the little pink oyster in which we saw the end of the pearl.  Mary slowly drew out the dildo with an accompanying sigh from Christina.  Mary gave me a warning look that told me not to even think about replacing the dildo with something more personal.

I saw that the device was covered with a condom, and that something was wrapped around the dildo under the condom.  Mary disdainfully peeled off the cover and unrolled the paper from around the dildo.  She looked at it briefly and handed it to me.

“Does this mean anything to you?”

“Ohhh shit.  This is a photo of the house where we kept Shannen prisoner.  How the hell did Warren find out about it?”

“Leon?” Trish suggested

“How would he know?”

“Maybe he followed you?  You were working at the Citadel at the time.”

“But…why?”

She shrugged. “Who knows what goes on in the male mind?”

“Yeah, right.  Thanks for that.  We have to get over there now!”

“And walk straight into a trap?”

“Any other ideas will be gratefully accepted.”  There was silence from the three girls.  “Okay, a-trapping we will go, all right?”  We headed for the door.

“What about me?” asked Christina plaintively.

“What about you?” mimicked Mary.  “You, miss, will stay here, as you are, and lucky you’re not in a much worse position than that.”

*   *   *

In the small hours the house we called Coventry appeared deserted.  I parked the van on the road and we skulked up the tree-lined driveway like a group of inept spies.  There were no lights showing, and no cars were visible, but I found myself nervous with expectation.  The butt plug seemed suddenly more prominent as it squished about in my arse and the big padlock swung behind my balls.

I whispered for the girls to stay under the nearest tree while I skirted the gravel to get to the front door as silently as I could.  I tried the latch.  It was unlocked, and I felt inside for the light switch and moments later the hallway was illuminated.  Cautiously I checked out the rest of the house.  It was empty.  The lease still had three weeks to run and I had not got around to removing the evidence of Shannen’s visit.  The anchor points and some of the ropes and chains were still there.  God knows what a police forensic team would make of it all.

I returned to the front door and motioned to the garage, where we gathered beside the side door.  Again, the place was deserted, but there was more sinister evidence that it had been recently used.  Scattered around the floor were empty bags of pre-mixed concrete, the kind you just add water and serve.  Not only that, it was rapid setting stuff, which took just half an hour to solidify.  A hose was lying loosely on the floor and the place was strewn with gravel and cement from the bags.

“Ohhh shit…” I said.

“What’s going on?” Mary asked, not quite understanding what she was looking at and what it implied.

“Mary, somebody has been here and has been playing about with rapid-setting concrete.  Do you understand what it means to give someone a ‘concrete overcoat’, and what usually happens after that?”

“Oh my God…”

*   *   *
 
 
 
 

27.10.03

story continues in Monica's Games 2.26

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