Read

Monica's Justice - Captives of Shark Island

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

(story continues from Monica's Justice - Captives of Shark Island)

Chapter Eight - Adrift

The scariest thing after the sound of Portia’s voice was the realisation that Monica and Helen had barely reacted. There was no doubt that they had been drugged, most likely with something in the champagne. Obviously that was why Jax had got Sebastian to pour the drinks behind the bar – where he could slip something into two of them.

The situation was made more freakish as Portia moved behind Monica and bent close to her ear, her hands slipping around the front and caressing Monica’s breasts through her lycra top.

“Mmmmn,” Portia murmured. “This Christmas is going to be sooo-o good. Don’t you think so, Jade?”

“Yes Mistress,” came the soft reply from Jade Wong.

As if the shock from the very appearance of Portia and Jade hadn’t been big enough, this now turned into a further bombshell.

Portia and Jade had switched roles!

I thought back to the time we had first encountered the pair in Macau, several years previously. Just when it seemed that a chapter in our lives had closed, the pair had now come back to torment us further. Back then, Jade Wong – wife of billionaire David Wong of Dragon Fire Enterprises – had ruled supreme in her historic Portuguese-built mansion, with Portia Tang as her obviously well-paid sidekick in charge of all things kinky. The fact that Monica, the girls and myself had inflicted serious humiliation and embarrassment upon them had been the start of our woes. They had tried – and almost succeeded – in taking over Bilboes, and we had escaped only after taking heavy punishment from the Chinese pair. They had had help back then, and a light went off in my brain that Jax could have been the one pulling the legal strings to get the ownership of Bilboes out of Monica’s hands.

But in that instance we had survived and had extracted our revenge in a public exhibition on a float in the Sydney Mardi Gras, before sending them on a protracted and highly uncomfortable flight back to Macau on the longest route we could manage.

We concluded a year later that neither of the pair had been impressed with this stunt. That was after they had captured Mary and Trish and Shawnee in Hong Kong, and I had suffered my own share of indignities in rescuing them. We had heaped more humiliation on Jade and Portia, but it seemed that this was insufficient. Jade Wong’s contacts led us to New York and then Los Angeles after Monica herself had been abducted, and when we finally caught up with her in the basement of an LA sanatorium film set, we decided that for once and for all we would teach Jade and Portia a lesson they would never forget, namely that - once and for all - they should not mess with Monica’s Team.

Three weeks in an overheated container where electricity could only be connected through various personal humiliations had been their punishment. The significant feature of this had been the change that had come over the relationship between the two. Locked in the container with no idea how long they were there for, and with the power supply being a direct result of one person submitting to be a bound connecting switch, it had fallen to Jade to take the submissive role – at first reluctantly, and then, it seemed, more willingly. Portia had grown into her dominant role in equal fashion, and this behaviour now seemed to have gone far beyond the container. We had left the pair chained at the neck by the biggest steel collars and chains we could find, before dumping the container near the Mexican border and phoning the police from the airport as we flew out. That had been over a year ago.

We had kept an eye on the Wong Empire after that, and had not felt too much sympathy learning that David Wong had been killed when his Maserati had failed to negotiate a turn on the winding Peak Road in Hong Kong. Jade had not been with him, but the papers had been full of questions as to who he had been visiting at three in the morning. Rumour had also been rife as to how his triad-backed empire would now be run, and by whom.

We had suspected that Jade might be pensioned off comfortably, for she was not known for her business acumen. Now, however, seeing Portia’s dominance over her former mistress, the whole issue of who was controlling what seemed to come alive again.

Of course, control of the Wong Empire was not uppermost in my mind right then. Specifically I was wondering what the hell was going to happen to us and what we were going to do – other than take what was coming to us with as much dignity as possible. At that moment, bolted immovably inside a rubber bag and strapped to a porter’s trolley, I did not feel I had much to call on in the way of dignity. That’s just the way it was.

Portia did a further grope of Helen, sliding her hands beneath the top of the leather dress, feeling her breasts and making approving noises as she tweaked a nipple. Helen barely reacted.

“Most interesting,” Portia said to Jax, who smiled broadly. “What did you give them?”

“It’s called Burundanga,” Jax explained. “Tasteless and odourless. Bradley has a source,” she added.

Bradley! Suddenly another penny dropped with a resounding crash. Was Bradley the one who had administered the drug to Tara and Catherine? Was Bradley the murderer? Was that why Mary was now sealed up like a rubber raft? Had she put the pieces together before me?

The game had taken another turn, but it was no longer a game. If Mary had fingered Bradley, she was in real danger – as were we all. Bradley would surely want to get rid of a witness that had come out of his past. I was reminded of the three university degrees – BS (Bull Shit), MS (More Shit), and most specifically the PhD (Piled Higher and Deeper). Right then we seemed to all be in PhD territory with the shovels going full bore.

Portia looked at Bradley.

“Nice work,” she said, and gestured to Helen and Monica still staring into space at the table. “How long will they be like this?”

“It depends on how a number of things,” Bradley said. “For example, how much they took, how much they’ve eaten, how strong their constitution is, or how pure the drug itself is. The purest stuff can very powerful. It can keep someone out for days. They finally come to with a bad headache and no memory of where they’ve been or what they’ve done. Given the circumstances, I think these two will be out for maybe twelve hours or so.”

“How wonderful!” Portia clapped her hands in delight. “How do the victims react… to sexual advances?”

Bradley smiled – the smile of one who recognises a kindred spirit or perhaps an equally warped mind.

“It varies,” he replied. “Again, it depends on the person. It’s a bit like drinking – some people become sleepy drunks, some happy drunks, some maudlin drunks. My experience is that women in particular have their physical sensitivity initially dulled, but they pass through that stage and then become less inhibited – the way drunk people have a tendency to say things they really feel, rather than be constrained by the etiquette of polite conversation. In the case of Burundanga the response is more basic, less coherent - lots of screaming. Definitely not much coherence.”

“I’d like to start now,” Portia said flatly. This was not a request but a statement of intent - made knowing that it would be implemented at once. It was made by somebody who knew that what she demanded, happened.

“Monica and Helen - stand up,” Bradley ordered. Monica and Helen slowly rose to their feet, their faces expressionless. “What would you like them to suffer?” Bradley asked Portia in a casual voice, as though querying whether she would like a cup of tea.

“Something simple – but frustrating…” She paused for thought, looking around her then spoke to Jax in words I could not catch. The pair moved to the big trunk of toys that had previously been on the pool deck, and I watched the pair bend over and investigate the content. Watching Portia’s red, leather-clad backside next to the black bulk of Jax was to see two versions of danger, and I knew I had under-estimated both. Portia pulled two leather collars from the trunk and called Helen and Monica over to her. They responded as though in a dream, kneeling before her when commanded.

Portia passed the collars to Jade, who buckled them in place and locked them with small padlocks. On Portia’s instructions Jade took two pairs of handcuffs and joined each pair of wrists in front, before using a cable tie to secure Monica’s cuffs to Helen’s collar and vice versa. With this done, she tied one end of the rope to the back of Monica’s collar, tossed it over a horizontal ceiling sprinkler pipe and secured the other end to Helen’s collar, while leaving sufficient slack so that the pair could bend their knees.

Portia sat down at the head of the table and motioned to Jax and Bradley to do the same. Kim and Sebastian, the latter still wearing the rubber hood, had retreated to a corner as if in awe of the prestige of Jax’s clients and perhaps also concerned that they might become part of the floor show.

“Don’t you want them naked?” Bradley asked. Portia gave him a scornful look.

“Not this time. There is something just as sexy in a struggling, clothed woman, as I’m sure you will appreciate. I’ll say this for these two sluts – they have good dress sense. I think I’ll allow them to retain their clothes for a while longer. There’ll be plenty of time for nakedness where they’re going.”

This comment made my flesh go goose-pimply. There was evidently some sort of Grand Plan for us, which shouldn’t have come as a surprise, I suppose, given the amount of planning that had taken place to date. It was perhaps an indication of the denial in my mind, the wish not to think about the potential long and very painful ordeal that likely lay ahead of us.

At Portia’s direction, Jade retrieved two butterfly vibrators from the trunk and slipped them down inside the panties of the two helpless women. I could not hear the humming, limited as my hearing was, but I had no doubt they were turned on, despite the initial absence of reaction from either Helen or Monica, who seemed to be simply staring into space over each other’s shoulders.

“What do you have to eat, then?” Portia asked abruptly, as though losing interest in the two captives. “I assume you haven’t gone to all this trouble just for show.”

Jax waved to Kim who scurried away, while Sebastian opened another bottle of champagne and provided new glasses for everyone.

“Take his hood off,” Portia directed. “I want to see what your taste in men is like. If his face is even close to the standard of his body, I’m sure we won’t need the hood. However, I do notice he must have been misbehaving.” She raised a finely plucked interrogative eyebrow in Jax’s direction.

“He embarrassed me badly yesterday, as did the other slave. Both have been punished as a result.”

“Tsk,” said Portia disinterestedly. “Good help is so hard to find.” She gave a sideways glance at Jade Wong, who bent her head and did not make eye contact with her mistress.

Jax indicated to Sebastian that he should remove the hood, and this he did only with difficulty. It was obviously as tight as mine and finally came away with a slap of rubber and a spray of sweat.

“Hmmn, not bad,” said Portia with an appraising look as Sebastian wiped his face and hair with a towel.

Kim arrived back with the first course in a matter of minutes, and soon the wonderful food smells began to drift on our direction, making me salivate around the sponge ball still trapped in my mouth.

The first course took perhaps fifteen minutes, during which time Monica and Helen began to show the first signs of agitation, shifting their weight from one foot to the other and tugging repeatedly on each other’s collar in an attempt to get their hands down to the centre of the action. Portia watched with an amused expression as she chatted with Jax and Bradley. That was the point at which the seated figure in the bag in front of me also decided to become over-excited again, and began to bounce about to the limited extent it could, ending in another drawn-out gagged crescendo that not surprisingly attracted Portia’s attention.

“I think we should see what these other presents look like,” Portia finally decided. “Jade? Would you like to open our presents?” Jade nodded enthusiastically. “Well, be a good girl. Start with that one on the left. I think it wants to get out.”

Jade came across to the table with a pair of scissors and began to cut and peel away the tape from the outside of the bag. The occupant seemed to be seated cross-legged – a fact that was verified as Jade finally undid the drawstring at the top of the bag and pulled the top of the bag down to the table.

It was Leila. Although I couldn’t see much of her head under the hood, I knew her breasts and the rest of her body such that that I could at least distinguish it from Mary’s. Mary was slimmer and had smaller breasts. Leila was a touch more nicely proportioned, though Mary would cut out my tongue if I ever voiced such a thought.

Leila was bound with her hands crossed behind her and pulled up behind her shoulder blades before the rope tails disappeared over her shoulders. She was side-on to me, and I saw that the tails had been tied to her breasts, looping around them and making them bulge. They were a faintly bluish colour and the constant tension on them must have been awful. A steel collar had been bolted around her neck, visible over the base of the rubber hood. The collar was far from elegant, but was solid enough such that it could probably have restrained a horse. It had U-shaped lugs at front, back and on the sides. The front one of these had been utilised where a cord ran through it and down to Leila’s ankles which were crossed and tied, pulling her head down and again putting her body under tension. The last piece of the tie was a solid leather belt locked at the waist and which held a wide crotch strap in place. No prizes for guessing what was underneath that.

Leila’s body was shiny with perspiration, droplets of which had run down her back to form a pool in which she sat. She uttered a soft moan as Jade teased her bound breasts then pinched both nipples, prompting a stifled squeal.

“Take the hood off,” Portia ordered. “I want to see which one it is.”

Jade undid the air valve and let the hood deflate around the outline of Leila’s head. The Chinese girl wriggled her fingers under the steel collar to the base of the rubber hood and slowly worked the hood upwards. Leila whined as the hood slid up, the narrow neck opening tightening as it passed over her head. There was a wet slap as Leila’s bedraggled face appeared. Her hair was soaking wet and plastered down, the removal of the hood now revealing the silver duct tape encircling her head and sealing her mouth.

“Uurrrrgh!” she whined.

Portia stood up and walked over to the bound girl.

“Leila! What a delightful surprise! So good to see you after all this time!” Portia cupped Leila’s taped chin and gave her a kiss on the nose, parting her wet hair and trying to tidy it to the extent that the duct tape hadn’t trapped it in the first place. Leila shook her head, grunting again, as though the merest touch of Portia was offensive. Portia reached down and waggled the crotch strap. Leila closed her eyes and moaned.

Portia tut-tutted and returned to the table, while Jade stood beside the package that was Mary, and looked at Portia expectantly. Portia shook her head.

“No. It’s time for our next course. There’s plenty more time for fun. Mary needs to cook a little longer.”

We non-participants were now obliged to sit through another course brought out by Kim and Sebastian. The aromas did nothing for my confused brain still trying to absorb the import of all that had happened in the last hour. Monica and Helen, however, were now starting to get very agitated and were struggling to reach the vibrators in a way that seemed bereft of logic. They were alternately tugging on the collars on each other’s throat and trying to bend down, but the rope over the pipe prevented this. There was no communication in the way of speech, only grunts and gasps and moans. It was only when – by accident it seemed - Monica managed to work her crotch on to Helen’s hip and hold her there that a sudden orgasm crashed over Monica. She struggled with Helen managing to hold the blonde against her body, before succumbing to the waves of pleasure in a series of cries rising in pitch and intensity before culminating in a long howl.

Portia thought this was vastly amusing, and at her direction both prisoners’ wrists were refastened behind their own necks and the rope over the sprinkler pipe was untied. Monica was laid on her back with her ankles bound to her thighs while Helen, her legs similarly bound and now naked under her dress, was made to kneel on top of her, facing her legs. When instructed, Monica began to give Helen a deep tongue job, as the blonde squirmed and tried to get off. Jade added some further ropes passing beneath Monica that made this impossible, and Monica was exhorted to continue the session.

Around this time, somewhere in the middle of the turkey course, Portia decided that Mary should see the light of day. Like Leila, she was exhausted by the continuous vibrations within her crotch, though I had noticed that in the last half hour these had been considerably less frequent. I assumed the batteries must have been almost finished.

When Mary’s sweat-soaked head appeared from beneath the rubber hood, her mouth still swathed in duct tape, the exposure to the sea air seemed to revive her spirits and she made some grunts that I took to be particularly uncomplimentary and particularly directed at Portia.

Portia took a break from picking at her food and came over to where Mary now knelt in her own pool of perspiration within the rubber bag, which was now rolled down from her neck. Like Leila, Mary had a heavy collar bolted around her neck, the front lug of which was attached by a cord tied to her knee ropes. Portia undid the lower end of the cord and Mary slowly raised her head and shoulders with a barely suppressed groan. Her wrists were bound palm to palm and more ropes joined her elbows together. Her hands must have been numb, I was sure, given the length of time she had been bound.

I had been thinking about this, and I wondered who had done the job on Mary and Leila. Had it been Jax, or Bradley, or both? And when had it happened? Had the pair been in these awful rubber bags all night? God, the thought appalled me! What else had they been subjected to?

Portia cupped Mary’s chin and elevated her face level with her own.

“Dear Mary,” she said so quietly that I could hardly hear her, but there was no disguising the malicious pleasure in her voice. “This is going to be so-o-o enjoyable. You can’t believe how I’ve longed for this day.” She stared Mary in the eyes, and though I couldn’t see the expression on Mary’s face, I was sure she would not have flinched. Mary and Portia were in many ways two of a kind, except that Mary had stepped down on the good side of the fence, whereas Portia had chosen the dark side. They were two iron-willed women, one with the coolness that comes with years of experience, the other with the impetuosity and passion of a younger usurper. If Mary could have spat in Portia’s face she probably would have, and in that regard it was probably a good thing that the duct tape kept her response to a series of unintelligible but clearly disparaging snorts. Unfazed, Portia merely stroked Mary’s cheek in a patronising way before returning to the table for another glass of champagne.

I was forced to watch Helen climax several times before she and Monica were made to change places and the show continued. Only then was it my turn to receive the condescending attention of Portia Tang.

Under the scrutiny of Portia, Jade tipped the porter’s trolley so that I lay horizontally, then the straps were removed and the bag was undone. There was a hiss of air and the all-over pressure on my head decreased slightly, but still not enough to allow my mouth to open. The relief was nevertheless palpable as the rubber bag was pulled down my body and the by now very uncomfortable iron shackles were revealed on my wrists and my bent legs.

“Ah!” Portia exclaimed, squatting down on her spiked heels to examine my restraints. She jiggled them and noted the rigidity of them. “Did Monica put these on you?” I didn’t answer but Jax murmured something into Portia’s ear and the Chinese woman laughed.

The manacles on my wrists were released and I was rolled on to the deck on my back. My legs, of course, remained bent and fettered still, and the freedom on my wrists was short lived as a pair of handcuffs was ratcheted in place in front, the connecting chain looping through the rope running through my crotch and holding the plug in place. I lay there staring up at my captors who clearly revelled in my helplessness.

“I’m sure we will find something very special for you, Steven,” Portia said, squatting again to tug at the chain linking the clips on my nipples. I whined, and tried to reach them with my manacled hands, but the rope was too tight. Portia’s long nails dallied on Mr Willy, but he had been confined too long in the rubber bag and my nervousness was such that my friend had the good sense not to be aroused. Portia jerked my member then laughed.

“So, we don’t want to play today? Never mind. Plenty of time for that. Perhaps you should be servicing in another way. Kimmy!”

Kim scurried up, eager to do the bidding of Jax’s honoured guest. Portia directed Kim to pull the rubber hood off my head. It came free amidst runnels of sweat that made my eyes sting.

“Would you like a quick fix, dear?” Portia asked Kim, as they stood looking down on me as though I was some sort of pet on display. “He’s really quite good.” I tried to remember the last time I had been obliged to service Portia when she and her team had taken over Bilboes for a brief interlude. Portia motioned to Kim, who dropped her sarong, followed by her bikini pants. While Jade, Portia and Jax retreated to the table, Kim sank down on my face. My world became a dark heady mixture of musky scents and wet flesh smothering my mouth as I licked and nibbled as I knew I should do. I had no illusions about what was expected of me and what my purpose might be in the near future. I could only deal with my fate on a short term basis, and right then this meant making Kim climax if I was to see the sky again.

In truth it did not take long. Soon Kim’s juices were mingling with my own saliva and she was grinding her crotch on my face. I probed with my teeth and tongue and her initially subdued moans became more frequent and intense, erupting finally in a flurry of breathless cries as she bounced and ground her way to an orgasm that left her thigh muscles trembling either side of my head.

Kim eased herself back and discovered that Mr Willy had now decided to come to the party. She gave a little squeal of pleasure as the tip of my member poked her in the small of her back. She leaned forward and placed her hands on the deck .

“Mmmn, you’re a dark horse, aren’t you,” she said softly, smiling down at me, her expression shielded from the others by a curtain of ash blonde hair. “I hope you enjoy this as much as I’m going to.”

Then her body moved backward, her slippery crotch impaling on the now-engorged Mr Willy with a sensation that make both of us gasp. Maybe I began to breathe just a little too heavily in the moment, but before I realised it an object landed beside me – tossed from the table. Kim grabbed it and stuffed the white rubber ball into my mouth in between gasps, buckling the strap behind my neck. No more noise from Steven, it seemed.

I had thought myself exhausted after the time in the bag and having just brought Kim to a climax, but it seemed I still had a little left in me. That little was gone a couple of minutes later as I burst forth inside her, straining against the manacles pinioning my legs immovably while my hands remained trapped beneath Kim’s stomach and the plug up my rear seemed to go deeper. I bit down on the ball and made a series of “urrgh” grunting noises. I felt ashamed that Mary and Leila should see me like this, messing with the enemy, even though they, too, had succumbed to their respective sexual torments.

Nobody took much notice of Kim as she caught her breath and got slowly to her feet. She seemed a little unsteady, which might have been due to the movement of the ship, which I noticed had become a little more pronounced.

I lay there, ignored, for perhaps half an hour. Monica and Helen lay on their sides, wrists still pulled over their heads and secured to the back of their collars. I couldn’t see Leila and Mary on the round table, but my powers of concentration were now seriously depleted, and I wanted no more than to curl up in a corner somewhere and sleep it off. Our captors were now somewhere in the dessert stages of a Christmas Dinner that seemed to be lasting all afternoon in the tradition of multi-course Chinese feasts.

From my position on the floor I could see that the sky had become overcast and the air seemed to have become more humid. December to March in North Queensland is the wet season, often known as the Big Wet, and I suspected we might soon be soon be sampling some of this.

I had tried to follow what was being said at the table but after hours locked in the bag and trapped in the hood, then having my life forces further depleted by Kim’s attentions, my powers of concentration had lapsed. Even the pinch of the nipple clips could not hold my attention, although every minute or two a sharp tingle of pain emanated from my trapped flesh.

My mind wandered and I lost focus until Jade and Kim appeared in my field of vision and I realised things were happening again. Mary and Leila had their legs released and were taken away one at a time, followed by Helen and Monica. Inevitably it became my turn, and briefly I basked in the relief of the steel clamps being removed from my legs, allowing me to straighten these out after so many hours locked rigidly in the bent position.

Jade and Kim hauled me to my feet, and I too, wobbled about. Part of it was the result of the enforced immobility my legs had suffered, but now there was a pronounced swell to be felt. The grip on my arms was strong as I was taken back inside the main hallway and down in the elevator to the deck where we had boarded.

It was getting late in the day. The sky was darkening partly through dark clouds and partly with the lateness of the hour. A light breeze had arisen and I felt the first spits of rain.

Walking towards the stern of the boat I saw a scene which filled me at once with anxiety and dread. Poised at the sloping ramp at the very back of the boat was the big inflatable sea sled. The girls were already on it – Leila at the back, then Mary, Helen and Monica, all with their hands secured behind them and all seated astride the metre-diameter rubber cylinder. None wore life jackets, and all looked to have their ankles joined via ropes under the sled. Mary and Leila were still naked and gagged with the duct tape, and I saw that their crotch belts were still in place. Monica and Helen, by contrast, were not gagged and still wore their clothes, though with their widely parted legs their tight skirts had ridden up their thighs and it was plainly obvious that they, too, now wore crotch straps. Suddenly I got the feeling that we were all in for a very bumpy ride, and that this was part of a particular strategy – a brief little game in a much longer feature.

The scariness continued as I took in the fact that Monica and Helen now wore heavy steel collars bolted in place. Metre long lengths of chain joined Monica’s collar to Helen’s, which was in turn chained to Mary’s, which was linked to Leila’s at the rear.

Portia made a point of personally fitting an identical collar on me, after unbuckling the leather collar that was linked to the nipple clips. She let this dangle for a minute, its weight tugging on the clips while I whined unhappily. The steel collar was loose enough to swivel around my neck but was cold and uncomfortable. Jax handed Portia a hefty spanner and I sensed that with the force that Portia put into tightening the bolt the collar would not be removed again without an appropriate tool. Portia finally pulled the leather collar clear of the chain connecting the clips, but left this dangling, and I knew there was no relief in sight for my tortured and tender nubs.

I was made to back against the bulbous nose of the sea sled and dragged on to it in front of Monica. We were all bunched together, with Monica’s knees, thighs and breasts touching my own body. A chain was padlocked to the lug on the back of my collar and the other end locked to the front of Monica’s. Next Jade wrapped several turns of rope around my left ankle and tied it snugly, before pulling it under the inflatable hull and tying it off to my right ankle. The pressure of the rope against the taut rubber hull held our legs firmly against it as though riding a very wide horse, and from the load shifting on to the butt plug I knew the ride was going to be uncomfortable.

Regardless of comfort, I was more concerned about safety, and the possibility of the sled over-turning. I suppose I shouldn’t have worried. Logic told me Portia would not want anything to happen to us – not when she surely had a host of more unpleasant surprises still awaiting us. In any case, with a smaller inflated cylinder attached to each side, just below our feet, the sled had a natural stability designed not to toss its riders off into the sea – at least so I hoped. Monica and Helen had not looked in the least concerned but Leila and Mary – in full possession of their faculties – had looked decidedly panicky, tugging at their bonds.

I could not see them now, seated as they were behind me. Portia, Jade, Jax, and Kim watched us as the sled slipped backwards down the ramp, Sebastian letting out the nylon rope that was as thick as my thumb.

I was ready to panic, myself, as the sled at once dipped into the sea and the splash of cold water sprayed over us. We were now rising and dipping in the swell, as the ship began to move away while the rope was paid out. Over and above the rhythm of the waves came unexpected tugs on the rope that jerked us forward, and I felt Monica’s body press against mine like a pillion passenger on a motorbike.

To begin with I was extremely concerned, like a first time snorkeller coming to grips with breathing underwater. In this case I had a gag strapped in my mouth and my manacled hands were trapped through my crotch rope, unable to reach my mouth. Monica’s hands were pinioned behind her somehow, and unable to undo the crotch and waist rope that she had actually tied there. I could not reach my ankle ropes, but thought that under the circumstances that these were better left firmly attaching me to the sled.

Waves flung their foam over us as we dipped through some rather than rode over them, when the ship tugged us forward. I was snorting through the gag, trying to keep my nose clear of spray. It was all right for Monica and Helen – they didn’t have balls strapped in their mouths. And they had clothes on, although Monica would be seriously peeved when she was compos mentis enough to see what the water was doing to her expensive boots. That would surely piss her off as much as anything.

As we settled into the rhythm punctuated by unexpected tugs, the rain began in earnest and dusk descended. The lights of the boat stood out in the distance as we bounced about and the plugs up our collective backsides thrust in and out as the inflatable sled moved and bulged under the impact of the waves. It was about as uncomfortable as it could get, I thought, being wet, cold, and constantly butt-fucked.

Dusk became dark and I could do nothing to improve the situation. Over the hiss and slap of the waves I could detect whimperings coming from behind me – I suspected from Leila and Mary. Monica and Helen were strangely silent, save for an occasional gasp or groan. I was wondering how long we would have to endure this when something changed – something that made my cold body colder still.

The rhythm of the water changed abruptly. One moment we were butting through low waves, moving forward, and then suddenly, we were still. Forward momentum was gone. The rope had become slack and the ship lights were disappearing into the darkness. Either the rope had come loose – or it had been cut.

We were bound and helpless, adrift inside the Barrier Reef…

Within a minute it was clearly evident what had happened as our momentum died along with the spray in our faces. The slap of waves against the sled became a quiet lap as we drifted with the current and the gentle breeze. The rain seemed less intense without our forward movement, and the butt thrusting action had lessened, but our predicament had otherwise got a million times worse.

“Hmm-herrm?” It was Leila’s muffled voice from the darkness behind me.

“Urrhm?” I said.

There were more unintelligible gruntings in a tone that suggested rising panic. Mary chimed in, but we soon realised it was hopeless trying to communicate. Not that we could do anything anyway. The girls all had their wrists secured behind them, though I did not know exactly how, and mine were manacled in front at my waist. We had no way of getting off the sled, and in any case, attempting to do so with our wrists secured and our mouths gagged would probably be condition precedent to a quick death by drowning.

The lights of the ship had all but disappeared into the rain and I had never felt so alone and frightened in my life. Some years before two divers had been left behind by a dive boat near one of the reefs, and had disappeared without trace, their bodies never found. There had been all sorts of suggestions and rumours of insurance fraud, but the most likely explanation was shark fodder, for tiger sharks abounded in these waters.

I wondered what had gone wrong. How had the rope come undone or broken? How long would it be before we were missed and they came looking? How long had Portia intended that we be towed behind the ship in the butt-reaming exercise?

Then the thought struck me like a hammer – it had to have been Bradley! The opportunity had presented itself to him like a gift from the gods – get rid of the whole five of us at once. Mary and Leila had probably fingered him, and I had worked it out myself. It was only a matter of time before Monica and Helen came to their senses and that would make five possible souls who could testify against him. What easier way than to have the rope accidentally come undone – or be cut – and leave us to slowly starve to death before the sled eventually deflated and we were all taken by sharks.

They say that faced with death, your life can flash before your eyes. In this instance there was a long procession of events that stalked through my brain in the wet, silent hours of darkness that followed as we drifted through the night. The events were mainly happy, I have to say. Mostly they involved Monica and the girls, and mostly they had happy resolution, although this looked like being the exception to the rule. Monica must have fallen asleep behind me, despite the cold and the rain. I felt her body pressed against mine as I shivered uncontrollably.

Some time during the night the rain stopped and the warm cloying tropical atmosphere re-established itself. Several times during the night Monica and Helen became agitated and succumbed to violent orgasms as the sea swell continued to transmit its movements through the dildos that remained trapped in their loins. If Mary and Leila had the same experience, either their gags stifled their cries or they were less intensive than the drug-enhanced climaxes that Monica and Helen felt.

With our separation from the towing ship, things became only marginally less unpleasant, and I sensed the breeze at our backs pushing us along. I had no idea in which direction we were going. The thought of seeing the sunrise in front of us, meaning that we were being blown out to sea hung in my brain like an axe poised to drop. I could do nothing to stop searching for the first glimmer of a dawn light on the horizon.

I thought of Jill, of Emma, Trish and Shawnee. They would be devastated. They would come looking for us, assuming they even knew where to look. To the best of my knowledge we had not made contact with them since before the start of the flight to Cairns. Things had been happening too fast, and then we had been out of mobile phone coverage once we left the wharf at Cairns. It could be a week or more before our absence was noticed, and then there would have to be a search…

We would not survive. Leila, Mary and I, in our gagged state, could not take in the water that had been given in the form of rain. Monica and Helen might last a bit longer, but eventually hunger would get them if we didn’t succumb to heatstroke first.

I shifted my weight, trying to ease the ever-present bulk of the plug embedded up my backside. It felt vaguely… different. It seemed that the contours of the sea sled had changed somehow. At that point the night reached its darkest nadir with two horrific discoveries. The first came with the horrific realisation that I was sitting deeper astride the inflated cigar than I had been at the start. The damned thing was leaking! Somewhere there was a hole – or most likely Bradley had slightly unscrewed the inlet valve! Jesus, shit! We were sinking! My feet were now catching the occasional wave as the waterline was climbing.

That was when the sled seemed to shudder slightly, as though something had scraped alongside it. In the first glimmer of dawn I thought I saw something that made my stomach turn – a dark triangle cutting silently through the water and the glimpse of a darker shadow beneath. A shark was circling the sled…

* * *

31.01.06

story continues in Monica's Justice - Captives of Shark Island

o0o