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Monica's Justice - Captives of Shark Island

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

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

Monica's Justice - Captives of Shark Island by Richard Alexander
Chapter Eleven - Portia Cuts Loose
     

I suppose we should have seen it coming, but in reality we were just too excited at the magnificence of the house and the prospect of finding help within it.  Now the realisation that we had walked into another Portia Tang trap left us devastated.  I looked around.  Jax and Bradley entered the room from where they had been standing on the balcony, while Jade Wong appeared from a doorway behind us.

“You will all kneel,” Portia said flatly.

“Get fucked,” I said, without thinking.

“Oh I will,” Portia said with a smirk, “and I’ll enjoy it.  Jade!”

I half turned, conscious of Jade Wong coming up close behind me and a sudden blinding pain in my left leg that seemed to send the muscles haywire and I crumpled with a cry on to the thick silk carpet, my arms sprawling in front of me.  My collapse loaded up the chain between me and Monica and she fell to her knees beside me, prompting a domino effect on our little chain gang.

Monica was leaning over me, concern in her eyes, but with her wrists manacled behind her she could do nothing.  I lay on my side, gasping for breath and trying to come to grips with the numbness that had engulfed my leg.

“I had always thought of you as one of the more sensible ones,” Portia sneered.  “Would anyone else like a taste of the cattle prod?”

Through watering eyes I could see the business end of the stick swinging gently in front of my face as it dangled from a thong around Jade’s wrist.  Portia strolled over to where I lay on the carpet and a pair of crimson high heels came into my field of vision.  One shoe disappeared momentarily and I felt its presence on my neck as the sharp tiny heel came to rest against my vertebrae.  I was not about to move in that situation, and I hoped that Portia had good balance.

Portia said something in Cantonese and I sensed Jade move and bend down to unlock the handcuffs on one of my wrists.  They were free long enough for her to drag the manacled wrist up behind my back while Portia did the same with the free one.  I felt the steel ratchet closed behind me as I became restrained in the same manner as the others.

Under the amused gaze of the two Chinese women I struggled to my knees.  The others were sitting back on their haunches watching me with concerned expressions.   I struggled to get my left leg to work properly, for the pain had now subsided into a partial numbness, accompanied by a throbbing pain where the prod had struck.  I ended up with my leg half-straight out in front of me.

Portia moved back towards the window, while Jade stayed nearby like a sergeant at arms with the cattle prod.  Portia was wearing her trademark red again.  It was nice to think there were consistent and reliable people in the world.  On this occasion she wore a scarlet lycra bikini top and a matching short skirt that clung to her hips and clearly indicated the absence of anything underneath.  The high heels, pale skin and jet black hair falling to an inward curl at the level of her jaw gave Portia a poised, sophisticated appearance.  There was no doubt in my mind that she was a cool customer, and that we might well be on the end of some sophisticated punishment if she was given the opportunity.

Jade, by contrast, wore a short dark green dress that clung to her slender figure.  Her hair was pulled into a short ponytail, and her physique was given more stature by the cattle prod and the look that she wore, promising a long-dreamt-of revenge.

Trying to ignore the pain in my leg, I looked around the room.  The theme for the house was white – white walls, white ceiling, white leather sofas and armchairs.  Breaking up the monochrome were brightly coloured abstract paintings and the richly hued silk rugs overlying the polished wood floor.  A chrome and glass dining table and chairs complemented similar occasional furniture in a minimalist fashion that I thought could have done with a few plants to take away the sterile edge.

Bradley sat languidly in one of the armchairs, Jax in her black robe in another.  Neither of these two looked as though they were about to take part in an afternoon of water sports.  Behind Portia, one of the large full height glass doors had been opened to reveal the oiled timber deck that ran around three sides of this level.

“I expect you’re wondering how we came to be here – and how you came to be here, for that matter,” Portia said with the arrogance of one who knows something her opposition did not.  To her clear disappointment, there were no questions from the floor, as we took a united line in neither commenting nor giving her the satisfaction of asking her for an explanation. 

Portia’s pleased expression faded briefly, but she ignored the absence of response.

“We came ashore in the boat you saw moored on the beach.  This is our hideaway home for as long as we decide to stay here.  Welcome to Shark Island , people.

“You, of course, arrived by rather slower means.  The currents are very predictable here, and there is a microchip on the sea sled that allowed us to track its location.  We knew exactly where you were all the time, and which beach you ended up on,” she ended up smugly.

“Did you also know somebody unscrewed the valve and we nearly sank?” Monica shot back at Portia.  Monica, of course, had been oblivious to our near disaster until I had recounted our journey after the drug had worn off.  “That would have upset your plans if we’d been shark fodder before playtime had even begun, wouldn’t it?”

Portia’s brow furrowed and she shot a sidelong glance at Bradley, sitting on our left.  I wondered how much she knew about his history.  Were we to be competed over, I asked myself.  Portia focussed again.

“The important thing is that you are here, and that you will be going nowhere for a long time.  We are largely self-contained here – though we have helicopter access as required.  This house is owned by a client of Jax’s who only uses it during the winter months.”  Which is the proper time to come here, I thought, not over the heat and humidity and rain of a North Queensland summer.  How long did these two Chinese flowers think they could stand the climate here?  I was sure Jax would not be in too much of a hurry to spend the rest of her holidays here.  If I was her I would be thinking of the attractiveness of her corporate office looking out over Brisbane River from the twenty-sixth floor.

“Let me assure caution you against trying to escape,” Portia said, ending with an instruction to Jade who disappeared through a door at the rear of the room.  “Stand up!” 

We struggled to our feet and shuffled out on to the deck where Portia was pointing, Leila leading the way.  Outside, the hot sticky breeze ruffled our hair but did nothing to alleviate the sweat trickling down our bodies.

I had time to look around and take in the configuration of the house.  The balcony cantilevered off the house and through the gaps between the decking planks I could see the waves swirling in around the end of the rocks extending from the base of the cliff.  Portia saw my gaze, just as Jade reappeared, followed by Sebastian.  Sebastian shuffled along, hobbled by a chain connecting two leather cuffs locked about his ankles, carrying a small gutted fish in each hand. He wore only baggy shorts, though I wondered what else he might be sporting underneath. 

“Over here,” Portia directed, gesturing for us to look over the glass balcony rail.  About ten metres below, the clear water lapped gently in and out where the black of the rocks slid under the glistening white sand of the sea floor.  I reckoned the water was a couple of metres deep here, and I was wondering what Portia’s point was, when – at a command from Jade – the two fish sailed over our heads and splashed down below.  They floated briefly on the surface for perhaps thirty seconds, before several sleek black shadows appeared and with a swirl of water fearsome jaws snapped up the dinner on offer then began to circle expectantly ahead of a further course.  I shuddered, conscious of the gasps of horror that had come from some of my fellow prisoners.

I looked right along the beach we had crossed on our approach to the house, and now saw the shark net that stretched between the rock outcrops at each end.  That explained why the jetskis were moored on the beach.

“This way, girls and boys,” Portia said, walking around the balcony to our left.  We followed, shaken by what we had just seen and with the feeling that worse was in store.

Around the corner Portia gestured to a green smudge along the horizon.  “That’s the coastline, kiddies.  Swim for it at your peril, and be prepared to find nobody there if you made it.  You’re a long way from civilisation here.”  She grinned at our obvious plummeting spirits.  “This will be so much fun.”

There was a shuffle of feet and chains again and Sebastian reappeared, this time with a plastic bucket in each hand.  He put these down on the deck, pulling out five small bottles of water from one of the buckets.

“Breakfast is served,” Portia announced.  “Enjoy,” she said, before turning on her heel and going into the house, followed by Jade who slid the door closed behind her.

We stood there in stunned silence for a few seconds, trying to take in the rapidity with which our descending fortunes were being mapped out ahead of us.  Leila looked in the buckets.

“Oooh – fruit pieces… and danishes!”

“Some people have no appreciation of their predicament,” I said to Monica.

“We have to eat,” Monica said, not picking on my bad attempt at humour.

The first bucket did indeed contain a pile of large pieces of melon, banana, pineapple and other assorted fruit, while the second had a bunch of fruit danishes in it.

“Great,” said Helen.  “How are we supposed to eat with our hands behind us?”

“Leila!” Monica said, in the tone of command that made Leila know that an order was coming up that must be obeyed.  “On your knees.  Back up to the bucket and grab two danishes, then get your head down and your arms up.  Mary, you and Helen get to eat first.”

And so we breakfasted, taking turns imposed by the partners we were chained to, ignoring the watchers sitting inside in air conditioned comfort.  I followed Leila’s example, digging my hands into the fruit bucket and coming up with some pineapple and banana.  As I bent forward on my knees, Monica knelt behind me and nibbled at the fruit.  It was clumsy and degrading, but no doubt exactly what was intended by our captors.  We didn’t care.  It was the first time we had eaten properly for two days, and nothing was going to spoil it.

We emptied both buckets, savouring the danishes which were still warm and had the texture of being freshly baked.  I wondered if Sebastian was at work in the kitchen.  If so, he was doing a good job, and was obviously more than just a slave for Jax’s pleasure.

Temporarily sated, we again considered our position, exploring the extent of the balcony.  It ran around the house on three sides, but the only exit was through the living room whence we had come.  I tried the sliding doors but they were locked, and we couldn’t see inside because of the mirror film on the glass.  We had no idea if our every movement was being watched, though I was sure we were under observation by our captors.  Frustrated, we returned to the shaded side, from where we could look down on the sparkling white of the sandy beach.  In any other circumstances the location would have been one we would happily have paid to enjoy.  Now, manacled and chained together, we sat with our backs against the mirrored windows and stared down disconsolately at the vista.

We talked in a desultory manner.  Our situation offered no obvious way out, only a myriad of potential – possibly fatal – downfall options which none of us could bear to enunciate.  While our thoughts spiralled down, the temperature and humidity rose.  Sweat ran off our bodies and pooled on the decking beneath us.  After perhaps an hour, one of the big glass doors slid open and Bradley, Portia and Jade appeared.

“On your feet,” Portia ordered.  We did as she commanded, and the little runnels of sweat took a different route now, finding their way down our legs.  Bradley, now dressed in Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian shirt stepped up to Monica and grasped the chain linking her to Helen.  He undid the padlock, freeing the end of the chain and dragging Helen, Mary and Leila with him.

“Where are you taking them?” Monica demanded, her feistiness still apparent despite our predicament.

“You’ll see very shortly,” Portia sneered, “not that it’s any business of yours.  I’d be more concerned for myself, if I was you,” she taunted, then turned on her heel and followed Bradley and Jade leading the other three captives back inside.  The door slid shut with a hiss.  Monica and I looked at each other with a shared feeling of desolation that had just increased a thousandfold with the break-up of our little group.  We leaned against each other, bare arm on bare arm.  It was the best we could manage in the way of mutual comfort.  Monica’s eyes glittered wetly as she struggled to hold back the tears that I knew she would not dare to let go in front of the others.

We heard voices and below us, visible through the glass of the balcony wall, five figures came into view, leaving a trail of footprints across the sand as they headed towards the water’s edge.

Bradley led the chain gang, his arm bent upwards, the end of Helen’s neck chain held at shoulder level, with the three girls close behind.  Jade followed a couple of paces behind Leila, carrying a large sports bag that looked big enough to contain half a dozen cricket bats and more.

The group came to a halt at the first of the half dozen posts sticking up from the sand.  Suddenly I saw these posts in a new light – more than convenient mooring points for jetskis or runabouts.   This impression was confirmed as one by one the chains were unlocked and the handcuffs were released – only to be reconnected behind each post.  None of the girls had a chance to resist, not when Bradley and Jade each held an arm and the neck chains had been first locked to the posts.  Now they stood there – three girls, two of them naked, chained to the posts like a trio of virgin sacrifices.  In any other context I would have laughed at the analogy, except that in this instance I was conscious of the fact that the tide appeared to be coming in, and was only a metre in front of the posts.

Jade had put down the bag and unzipped it.  She took out a pair of scissors and with a couple of snips cut through the shoulders of Helen’s obviously expensive leather dress, pulling it down past her breasts and hips on to the sand, before removing it entirely.  Helen was naked beneath it, her small but pointed breasts slick with sweat.  Jade pinched the nipples and Helen tried to twist away, but Jade was not about to release her grip until she had an admonition of pain from the mistress, which finally came as a small cry.  Satisfied, Jade let go and brushed the dark blonde hair back from Helen’s brow.

Helen was the nearest and the first to receive the Jade/Bradley treatment as she was forced to her knees and bound tightly to the post.  Several lengths of rope came out of the sports bag and anchored Helen at the waist, and above and below her breasts.  The handcuffs were removed and a rope tied around her left wrist was pulled back around the post, then around the front, to be tied to her right wrist, leaving her arms crossed and securely bound behind the post.

Helen had been tied with her thighs vertical, her calves on the sand either side of the post.  With her torso rigidly fixed, she was unable to move her body, though she had limited use of her head and feet.  The latter were now secured as Bradley tied a rope around her left ankle, threaded it through an eyebolt at head level on the back of the post, then down to the right ankle.  Before tying it he pulled hard, lifting Helen’s left foot until her leg was bent upwards at the knee, then lifting the right foot to tie the end of the rope to that ankle.  Helen was now on the points of her knees on the sand, though most, if not all of her weight would be born on the ropes around her upper body.  It was clearly an uncomfortable position, but was soon to become more so.

Jade cut several strips of black duct tape and passed them to Bradley, who pulled Helen’s hair back and plastered the tape across her mouth and chin before wrapping further turns around her head, silencing her effectively, save for whatever nasal complaints she could manage. The pair were not finished with their immobilised captive, however.

I had previously noticed what appeared to be slots cut in the posts – about a metre in length, through the middle of the post from near the base to waist height.  Now Jade pulled out a length of what looked like three by two timber, as long as her arm, and slid this through the slot in the post from behind.  The wood stuck out in the front, protruding between Helen’s legs.

Bradley and Jade squatted down at this point and fiddled with the wood for a couple of minutes, seemingly doing some trial and error until they were satisfied it was positioned correctly.  At length Jade stood back and Bradley moved the wood up and down from the rear, like an old fashioned water pump.  I saw that it was now pinned at the post so that the wood functioned as a lever, pivoting at the slot, the front section raising into Helen’s crotch.  The helpless girl looked down, trying to see what was going on. 

Helen leaned what was in store for her as Bradley dug into the bag and pulled out two chrome dildos – a large one and a thinner one, each having some form of pivot on the bottom of them, enabling them to be easily pinned to the timber protruding between Helen’s legs.  It was now all too evident how the device was intended to operate, as Jade enthusiastically operated the rear extension, forcing the front up and down, driving the dildos in and out of Helen’s pussy and arse.  Helen tossed her head mutely and squirmed and struggled against the ropes as the devices drove into her.  Satisfied with their handiwork, Jade and Bradley adjusted the lever so that the travel was limited and the dildos could not drop out, before turning their attention to the next in line – Mary.

Mary resisted as much as she could.  I expected nothing less from her.  Mary was a domme through and through, and the concept of being dominated and humiliated herself was anathema to her.  While, in truth, she was no stranger to such treatment, her pride and stubbornness was such that she would fight to the extent possible, unless it only made things worse.

In this instance her resistance was brief, before she, too, was bound in a similar manner to Helen.  Mary’s choice abuse and invective was silenced by the duct tape now sealing her mouth, her protests limited to glares and muffled snorts that nevertheless carried to us on the still, sticky tropical air.  Jade Wong took evident pleasure in tying the ropes so tight that Mary would have difficulty breathing, for at one stage Jade had her foot braced against the post as he tugged on the rope encircling Mary above her breasts.  Mary, too, was then set up with the levered dildos through the slot, and Bradley seemed to take great delight in ensuring that the devices engaged her to their fullest extent, which he repeatedly had Jade test at varying speeds while he stood in front of Mary and watched the expression on the gagged face.

Monica and I could do nothing but watch the torture of our friends as it became Leila’s turn to succumb to the ropes locking her body immovably to the post then raising her ankles off the ground behind her.  She, too, fell silent under the duct tape, and suffered the invasion of the dildos in her private places, trialled and adjusted until they penetrated just sufficiently such that they could not be dislodged, but obviously with the potential to invade much deeper.  Leila suffered mutely, or so it appeared from here.  She was younger than the other two, and differently inclined, and we could not be sure whether she had not slipped away into subspace somewhere, losing the perils of her plight in exchange for the tangible physical sensations being inflicted.

When all three girls were bound immovably, Bradley stepped back to admire his handiwork.  To do so he had to get wet, for by this time the water was lapping at the base of the posts, with the odd wave wetting the girls’ legs.  Bradley grinned with the air of one admiring his creations and wondering what he could do next to make the discomfort of his victims – and this his domination over them - just that much more complete.

He walked up to where Jade stood beside the sports bag that had contained the timbers and the ropes, and which now held the handcuffs and linking chains that the girls had previously worn.  He spoke to Jade, who dug out further lengths of cord from the bag and together they made their way back to Helen.  

Bradley’s next focus was on Helen’s breasts, and with the short lengths of cord he now cinched the ropes above and below her breasts, making them swell and protrude.  Finally satisfied with his handiwork, he positioned a nipple clamp on each and hung a walnut-sized lead weight from each clamp.  The clamps appeared to be like bulldog clips with a narrower jaw, and the effect of the weights was to distort Helen’s breasts but tugging them downward, no doubt painfully.

Mary suffered the same fate minutes later, and finally Leila.  Leila was the most well endowed in this area, compared to Helen and Mary, and Bradley took special care to add some extra loops around the base of the breasts themselves, turning them into objects the size of softballs, stretched taut with the nipples erect like little fingertips.  I could not even begin to imagine what it would be like having those fingertips caught in the jaws of the clamps then tugged downwards with the lead weights.  Beside me I sensed Monica’s agitation as she looked at the scene developing before her.

“Steven, how high would the tide rise here?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper of dread.

I knew what she was thinking, and I knew what Bradley and Jade were up to.  I eyed the level of seaweed and other jetsam near the top of the beach and tried to extrapolate it horizontally to the posts, but the angle from which we looked down was all wrong and I could only hazard a guess.  Mind you, that guess was clear – it would be about up to the noses of the prisoners.  You didn’t have to be Einstein to work that one out.

“He’s just trying to scare everybody,” I said.  “He wouldn’t drown prisoners in front of people.  Portia wouldn’t let him.  She wants to play with us for a lot longer than a few hours.”

“But what if he gets it wrong?  Christ, we know he’s killed before!  What if he does it deliberately and says it was an accident?  What if the tide is higher than usual, or a swell gets up?  What if nobody is watching out?  Shit…this is awful!  What can we do?”

“There’s nothing we can do, Mon…  Whatever fuss we kick up… we’ll just end up either suffering the same fate or something worse….”  I didn’t say that I suspected there was something far worse in store for us anyway, and that Monica would know that anyway.

As we watched we saw Bradley’s final act as he splashed through the water to the runabout tethered to the fourth post and retrieved three polystyrene buoys the size of small footballs.  Each of these he tied to the front end of the dildo lever, and we now saw the full import of his plan.  As the tide rose, the buoys would rise with it and slowly drive the dildos into their predestined passages.  As they reached the limit of their intrusion, the buoys would become submerged, the no doubt rhythmical entry evolving into one of constant pressure into both orifices as the water rose and the buoyancy trapped the silver dongs inside the prisoners.

Monica and I stood there for perhaps a quarter of an hour, watching the water slowly rise to the knees of the girls bound to the posts, each sporting a white ball bobbing steadily in front of her crotch, surely making the embedded intruders quiver and jiggle inside them.  Every so often one of the girls would give a toss of her head, perhaps indicating a wave of pleasure or maybe pain from the ropes and the nipple clamps, or maybe it was a futile tug at their bonds that simply had to be done.

Neither of us heard the glass door slide open, and we both jumped when Portia spoke.

“You’ll wish you were down there with them, soon,” she said smugly.

“You bitch!” I flared. “Do you want three deaths on your hands?  Do you know Bradley is wanted by the police?”  Portia just laughed.

“Nice try, Steven.  Inventive, I’ll have to admit.  Just like Bradley, I think you’ll agree – very inventive when it comes to ropes and punishment – which is what’s in store for you, now.”  She flicked a riding crop which caught me across the buttocks.

“Ow! Shit!”

“Move!  Inside!”

“I’m serious!” I shouted at her.  “The guy’s a psycho!  The cops are after him!”  Portia’s response was another swipe with the crop – a full-blooded swing which caught me on the top of the thigh.

“Don’t make things worse,” she hissed, and I saw from the look in her eye that my story must have sounded like a desperate last minute made-up attempt.  In truth, the police had nothing to go on and they certainly weren’t looking for Bradley by name, much less here.

We stumbled inside, where Jax was calmly watching the performance from one of the big leather armchairs.

“This weather is so tedious,” she complained.  “It makes me exhausted just watching Bradley down on the beach. “I hope you’re going to deal to these two now?”

“I certainly am,” Portia said, driving us ahead of her with a flurry of blows from the crop.  “Up the stairs!”

We made our way back to the stairwell and up the last flight.  We emerged on to the roof to find a lovely tiled entertainment area around a square swimming pool shaded by the big sails we had seen from the beach.  At one end of the pool was a bar and a space containing several deck chairs and a massage table.  Kim was standing beside the table looking ready to perform on cue.

I was impressed by the house already, but the pool made it even more surprising, for the amount of water in the pool and the consequent weight of it on the top storey would have created significant problems for the designers of what would be a top-heavy structure.  I was sure some people would find it hard to live in such a house with the massive weight above them.

Jade’s feet pattered up the stairs behind us and the two women grabbed Monica and me by the arms and dragged us to the nearest steel post supporting the big overhead sails.  They pushed us either side of the post so that our connecting chain wrapped around it, and with the click of another padlock we were both secured as the chain closed around the pole.  The pair were taking no chances that we might somehow make a break for it, particularly after my outburst.  Monica, too, was getting stroppy, throwing caution to the winds and telling Portia in considerable detail exactly what species of low life she considered her to be.  In hindsight it was not a smart move on our part, but when you’ve been frustrated and handcuffed for two days with minimal sleep and all of this taking place in a sticky, humid uncomfortable climate, your nerves get just a little on edge.

Portia saw it for what it was – a win for her in breaking down our defences.  It was ample demonstration that their plan was working and that we were starting to lose our composure.  It was the thin end of the wedge – the classic interrogation process of deprivation of liberty, sleep, food, movement, you name it.  It all combined to wear us down, to make us think erratically and ultimately to submit to the will of our captors.

Notwithstanding those ultimate goals, Monica’s sniping evidently irritated Portia enough that she thought Monica should be silenced, and the ever-present Jade was quick to appear with another sports bag.  We didn’t have to guess what was in this, and the sight of a black rubber ball gag on a strap was entirely predictable.  Portia was not gentle in gagging Monica, roughly pulling her head back by the hair and working the big ball behind Monica’s teeth while Monica uncharacteristically tried to fight back between grunts. As the ball finally lodged securely in Monica’s mouth Portia buckled the strap tightly over the black hair.  All Monica could then do was glare at her furiously.

It was not surprising that I received the same treatment, although I submitted with a little more grace, for there was no point in resisting the inevitable in my view, not if it means getting a cut lip in the process.  Portia was now satisfied and again turned her attentions to Monica, with Jade proffering a length of heavy sashcord which Portia wove in a figure-eight form around Monica’s elbows, pulling them close together before tying them off.  With her arms thus pinioned, the release of Monica’s handcuffs gave her no advantage, for she could do nothing with her lower arms and was forced to submit to having her wrists bound together with more turns of the rope. Only now was Portia prepared to unlock the chain from Monica’s steel collar.

Monica was shoved to another steel pole nearby, which supported the sail on the beach side.

“Bend over,” Portia ordered sharply as she and Jade raised Monica’s bound arms and forced her face first against the pole.  In order to avoid banging her face against the post, Monica bent forward, and with the two women forcing her arms further upward, she found herself bent double against the post.  Her bound arms were now held vertically against it and her head was down below her knees.  It took only a matter of moments for Portia to wind some duct tape around the post and Monica’s wrists, then down the length of her arms past her elbows.  Monica was securely held against the post with her bottom exposed to whatever torture the pair had planned.

Now it was my turn, and I too, succumbed to the ropes wielded by these two bondage experts.  I was not at all happy being forced into a similar position to Monica on an adjacent pole.  Monica was a few years younger than me and a lot more supple.  While her elbows could be bound touching without difficulty, mine would achieve that only under severe protest, and while this had not been achieved in this instance, the bondage was already tight before I had been required to bend over against the pole.  Bending into such a position had now left me on my tip toes, struggling to reach some sort of equilibrium between my muscles.  Once the first couple of turns of duct tape had anchored my wrists against the pole I knew I could do nothing to lessen the severity of the position, as further turns of tape melded my arms immovably in place.

Duct tape is wonderful stuff.  A little goes a long way, and a lot goes even further in securing things.  If you live in the expectation of encountering it on a personal and regular basis, shaving one’s arms and legs makes a lot of sense.  Regrettably, this was an occasion where I rued the girl’s occasional attempts to rid me of body hair, and I knew that when came the time to be freed of this bondage, it would probably be yet another painful experience.

Of course, all that was in the future.  Right now Monica and I were looking at each other from an upside down gagged perspective, which was yet another unhappy aspect of our plight.  We knew what was going to come next – it was going to be prolonged, painful, and unpleasant.  Perhaps we didn’t yet know the details, but in our exposed and vulnerable position it didn’t take much imagination to conjure a host of treatments that would fit those criteria.

Jade disappeared briefly, while Portia strutted around us like an animal who has just returned with a kill to display.  She caressed my buttocks and groped my crotch, fondling those parts in a way that focuses a man’s attention absolutely.  Then I watched as best I could as she did the same to Monica, Portia’s movements suggesting that her fingers were feeling her victim intimately, in a way that only one woman could do to another.

I knew the worst was about to occur when Jade reappeared with a bunch of canes, floggers and other implements for the infliction of pain.  Jade selected a flogger that had heavy thongs about half a metre long.  She dangled them in front of my face and I smelt the tangy smell of the rubber.

“You like rubber, don’t you,” she whispered just loud enough to hear.  I made no sound, but between my legs I saw her red high heels take a couple of steps back to give herself room to swing the cat.  There was a brief hiss before the heavy thongs caught me around the right cheek.  It was all on from there.  The blows lashed against my exposed flesh as I vainly tried to shift away from them.  Portia varied her technique, some strikes landing with the full wrap-around length of the thongs, some with just the tips stinging across my tautly-positioned cheeks.

After five minutes I was making concerted noises of complaint and protest into the ball in my mouth as the noise of my blood thumped in my ears.  Then, mercifully, it stopped, and Monica began to receive the same treatment.

In some ways, seeing someone close to you suffer can be worse than being on the receiving end yourself.  I confess I am still of the old male school that balks at seeing women suffer, and it is partly this reason that Monica has despaired of my ever becoming a ‘proper’ dom, able to dish out painful punishment to paying clients.  Even for these women, I find it hard to put my full force into such acts.  Not so with Portia, for it was as though a long-awaited moment had finally arrived and she was going to savour it to the max.  Whatever I had felt to that point, I was sure it was just a warm-up for the Chinese woman, and that Monica was getting far more than I had.

Let’s not delude ourselves here.  Monica was strong – perhaps more so than I was.  She had trained as a sub before asserting herself to her true nature.  She knew how to give - and how to receive – pain.  The flurry of blows from the cat cut through the air with a sharp slapping sound, but there was no response from the bent and bound figure.  The attack lasted longer than mine, I was sure, but Monica never made a sound.  I was also sure that the flogger was just the entrée.  I knew Portia would take a slow delight in torturing us.  She had not gone to all this trouble to have her revenge over in the twinkling of an eye.  No, this was something she had schemed over and would luxuriate in until the torment ceased to please her.  Just what would happen then I didn’t want to think about.

As I twisted my head I could see Monica’s back, thighs and buttocks striated with red stripes against the pale skin.  Monica had her eyes closed, I think, though I could not see her face properly beneath the cascade of black hair that touched the tiled deck.

Portia stepped away and Jade came into my field of vision.  She was wearing latex gloves - something I did not like the look of at all.  She carried something that I could not see properly and then she was right behind me – too close to see more.  I knew what was happening, though, as some sort of ointment was now smeared over my back, buttocks and the back of my legs.  My flesh was sore there already from Portia’s ministrations, and briefly Jade’s touch was cool and soothing as she rubbed the stuff into my skin. 

She moved across to Monica and did the same to her, while Portia slipped off her high heels and disappeared from view.  There was the sound of splashing and I realised she was in the swimming pool, on the other side of the pole from me, when I could not see her.  Jade finished the application on Monica and appeared to join her mistress in the water, while Monica and I remained motionless, as the first intimations of heat began to build up on out flesh.

We were not in the direct sun here, in part because of the sail, but also because the day had turned overcast and I could see clouds starting to build up.  The absence of sun made no difference to whatever had been liberally applied to our bodies, however, as it began to burn like the worst case of sunburn.  After half an hour or more, the pain was intense and it was all I could do to stop little noises of anguish escape from the gag.  When Portia emerged from the pool to inspect us, she seemed pleased.  I cast a sidelong glance at Monica and saw the bright red skin colour that showed the tracery of Jade’s fingers during application.

“Warming up, are we?”  Portia’s mocking voice asked me.  “Like some more… in somewhere a little more…stimulating?”

I grunted a negative, for all the good it did me.

“Was that a ‘yes’?  Good.  Here it comes…” 

The latex-gloved hand reached between my legs and grasped my balls and dick.

“Nnnnnnnn!” I gurgled, for the first time conscious of a movement of Monica’s head as she turned towards me.  She looked as though she might have been crying, but we were sweating so much it was impossible to tell.  I could not fail to detect the look of compassion and commiseration in her eyes, though, as Portia’s fingers massaged my most tender parts, finishing with a long stroke backwards between my cheeks.  When she did this I barely managed to stifle a whimper that was as much fear of the outcome than any further pain itself.  She squatted and her smirking face hovered in my field of vision as some more of the ointment went on my nipples.

Then it was Monica’s turn once more, and again Portia’s gloved hand spread more of the terrible ointment, this time in Monica’s crotch and over her breasts while Monica remained silent and resolute. Portia gave her victim’s butt a hard slap that made Monica flinch, before returning to the pool, where she and Jade laughed and joked in Cantonese.

More time passed during which it felt like someone had lit a fire in my crotch.  The ointment burned with an intensity that turned the tender skin of my dick and goolies into an agonising source of pain and made the tears run involuntarily from my eyes.  Compared to those parts, the stinging pain from my nipples was a minor irritation.  I wondered how Monica was coping, for she was not looking at me.  I could see her breasts were now bright red, matching the sunburn-like appearance of her back and legs.

Jade and Portia played in the pool for a while, as the pain built up on my skin.  I didn’t hear Portia emerge and position herself behind me, for I had my eyes closed, trying to focus beyond the fire.  I was trying unsuccessfully to find subspace, where subbies can instinctively lose themselves under such circumstances, and which marks the true submissive.  Jill, Leila and Emma could all do this, so they said, but I had never managed it. Any attempt in this instance was also doomed to failure as there was a sudden swish and a horrific pain sent shockwaves through my body at the impact of a cane across my buttocks. 

I jerked and howled into the gag, but could do nothing more.  Raising myself on tip toes again only tightened the target for my tormentor.  There was another swish and the cane caught me again, this time slightly below the previous one.  Fire shot through my flesh and nerve endings as I struggled against the tape binding my arms immovably to the pole.  I was chewing hard on the rubber ball while struggling to breathe at the same time.

I have been caned before, and had not enjoyed it.  Canes can vary from stiff rattan ones as thick as your finger, to thin whippy ones that curve around your body and leave a long red weal.  It was this sort that I was now being beaten with, and I jerked again and cried out as much as I could at the searing impact that left a line of fire across my already tenderised cheeks.  The fact that I had been warmed up with the flogger and then with the diabolical ointment made the impact doubly excruciating and left me making hoarse grunts into the rubber ball as I struggled to get my breathing under control. 

My whole body tensed, ready for the next blow, but none came.  Instead Portia had moved across to Monica and let fly at the bent-over buttocks.  The noise of the cane through the air and the crack against bare flesh seemed twice as awful seeing it happen to Monica.  She twitched and bounced on her toes, doing her best to suppress the cry of pain that found its way out through her nose.  A further cry of distress followed with two further strokes.  I could not bear to watch her suffer like this, but I could not shut out the swish of the cane nor the sound of it striking naked flesh.

Monica took three strokes, then it was my turn again for three more.  My body was trembling at the end of these, wondering how many more we would have to take and how many more I would have the strength to endure – not that I had a choice.  Then it was three more strokes for Monica, the cane hissing with a sinister whoosh then landing with a resounding crack.

“Jade!” Portia called.  “Come here at once!”

Jade came scurrying up and there was an exchange in Cantonese, following which the Jade moved a deck chair to a position midway between the poles and back a couple of metres.

“I want to enjoy this moment,” Portia said.  “I want to sit here and look at your bodies, your helplessness, and know that I can do anything I want to you.  And I want you both to know that as well.  I want to know that you are wondering what further tortures are in store for you, and to be frightened at the very thought, for there are many, many things that have yet to come your way, none of which will be pleasant for you.” 

Portia stood beside the deck chair and dropped her bikini bottom, followed by the top.  From my pained, upside down position I took in the smooth, hairless crotch and the small, pert breasts that were rising and falling through more than just the exertion of the caning she had just executed.  The nipples were hard and I realised that Portia was aroused and excited by our predicament.

She stretched out on the deck chair, her legs spread wide and beckoned to Jade, who was at once kneeling in front of her, head buried in Portia’s crotch.  Portia grinned maliciously at me.

“Just seeing you two like that makes me horny – you know?  This has been a long time coming – but I won’t be… Oh God! Oh…oh…” She arched her body and tilted her head back as a spasm wracked her body, the product of Jade Wong’s tongue and Portia’s own obsession for revenge.  She gasped and shuddered again, grasping Jade’s hair with both hands and grinding her slave’s head harder into her groin before letting loose a long moan that culminated in a stiffening of her body as she climaxed with a series of short cries.

Portia lay there for a minute, her breasts heaving with the excitement and exertion, while Jade knelt beside her, looking up like an expectant dog as Portia ruffled her hair.

The sight and sound of Portia’s orgasm was further grist for the mill of revenge, and Portia knew it.  Seeing the effect it had on her and knowing that this was only the beginning, was guaranteed to lower our spirits still further.  Portia was going to extract every ounce of self-gratification she could – all at our expense – and this was before she had even involved Jax or the scary Bradley still lurking in the wings.  There was no doubt the Portia was the commander of the little force, and that the others would merely pick up whatever she chose to delegate to them, but I was still afraid that Portia did not know Bradley’s history, nor what he might be capable of in such circumstances as these.

Portia watched us in our immobile positions for a while longer, as the imprints of the cane burned further into our already tender skin.  In this time she began fingering herself, and it was clear that the sight of our helplessness was getting her off again.  This time it was started without the help of Jade, and in a more lingering and prolonged manner. Her fingers began massaging her clit and her nipples, sliding over the smooth skin with its rock hard prominences and provoking soft moans of pleasure.  Jade sat beside her mistress as the latter moved into a heightened state of arousal, until Portia finally beckoned to her sub, who immediately thrust her face between Portia’s legs, moving her head about in a flurry of licking and sucking that again saw Portia arch her head back and utter a long, throaty moan of pleasure, before slowly bringing herself down through a series of trembling spasms.

Portia thrust Jade away and got her breathing back to normal in the following few minutes.  At length she rose and again donned a pair of latex gloves.  I groaned at the thought of more of the dreadful ointment going places it was not intended for.  This time, however, I was wrong, as Portia took a pair of scissors from the sports bag slit the duct tape up the length of my arms.  I staggered back at the newfound freedom as my arms dropped exhausted and strained to my back, and I was able to slowly, stiffly straighten up. 

Jade, too, wore latex gloves, and I realised that this was simply to protect them from the effects of the ointment already on my skin.  I was in no condition to resist as they dragged me away from the pole and turned me to face the beach where we had previously witnessed the binding of the three girls to the posts.  I did not take in the scene at first.  After so long with my head down I was seeing stars from the sudden change to being right way up, and for a moment I thought I was going to faint.  In that time I was hauled over to the balcony rail and a rope was used to secure my collar against the horizontal handrail so that my head was staring down over the edge.

The handrail was at waist height, and after so long bent over with my legs together I found it easier to stand with my legs astride, firstly to ease the load on my back and secondly to promote the air flow through my crotch which continued to burn with a dull fire.  To my further relief, the ropes at my elbows were untied, and I was able to ease the ache in my shoulders that had been starting to turn to cramp.  The relief was short lived, however, as my bound wrists were hauled up to the small of my back and the elbow rope was now slipped through the wrist ropes and used to anchor my wrists there by anchoring the ends to the handrail.  I didn’t know the purpose of this new position, but I knew it couldn’t be good.  Whatever, I had a little more freedom in my arms, and any position had to be more tolerable than before.

Monica was then released and bound in a similar way beside me.  As Jade and Portia lavished their attentions on her, I could now focus my gaze on the beach and the three figures bound to the posts below me.

The tide had come in considerably since I had seen them last, and was now lapping at the girls’ breasts.  In front of each bound prisoner I could see the outline of the polystyrene buoy below the surface of the clear aquamarine water.  It was evident that each lever with its two dildos had slowly insinuated them into the front and back passages of the prisoners until they could go no further.  Now, as the water rose, the force of the buoyancy would increase the load, turning some possible initial pleasure into discomfort and into pain.  I could not speak for one of the experiences they would be undergoing, but I knew what the other was like.  Of more importance was the question of how high the final level of the tide was likely to come.

The water was calm and glassy, with barely a hint of a wave other than the gentle lapping on the sand higher up the beach.  The sun was now hidden by the massing clouds that frequently meant an afternoon downpour.  The two blonde heads and Mary’s dark locks all remained motionless as they each tried to deal with the pain they were experiencing in their own respective ways.

Mary, I knew, was strong, possibly the strongest of all of us.  She was stubborn and difficult and had a rebellious streak that must have been even worse in her younger days.  For these reasons, I knew that she was a survivor, while about Helen I knew next to nothing. 

Helen’s blonde hair was just touching the water as it lapped at her breasts.  They remained bound and swollen, just as I had last seen them, the clamps still gripping the nipples but the weights attached to them now submerged.  The rising tide would at least lessen the effect of the weights, though not to any great extent.  Perhaps the coolness of the water would assuage some of the hurt, I thought.

Leila was also an unpredictable equation, when a degree of pain was added to a hint of pleasure.  Leila reacted to some pain to the extent that she could get off on it when you least expected.  She was a complex girl and the degree to which pain could give her a buzz was dependent on her mood and her mindset.  If she took heart from Mary’s stoicism and let her mind search out her place in subspace, then she would endure and maybe even thrive.  If she let the mood and circumstances overwhelm her, she would come crashing down in an uncontrollable collapse.

My focus was drawn away from the three posts on the beach by the arrival of Monica at the railing on my right and the binding of her into a similar position to mine.  Jade tied a short rope from my right ankle to Monica’s left, such that we were both made to stand with legs apart, then further, longer ropes anchored our other ankles to the nearby posts to which we had been previously secured.  Now, even if we wanted to, we could not bring our legs together.  We had gone from one form of exposure to another.

I was momentarily taken aback when Jade appeared with some cling film and began winding it around my torso from the waist down, around my buttocks, then down each leg as far as the ankle ropes.

“In case you’re wondering,” said Portia, who was supervising the process, “- the plastic does two things.  Firstly, it will give a new lease of life to that nice ointment you are wearing.  Heat breeds heat, you see, and when you encase your flesh in plastic, it heats up, and this in turn produces more heat from the ointment.  Neat, huh?

“And secondly… well, maybe we’ll just show you instead…”  I watched as the lithe, naked body walked away along the edge of the pool, while Jade continued her application of the plastic wrap to Monica’s body.

Soon Jade, too, went away, and Monica and I were left alone, staring down at the three figures bound to the posts below us.  Monica’s face was tear-streaked but at least our respective views of the world were the right way up.  I tried to give her a look that told her to be strong, to call on the depths of resolve that I knew she had inside of her, but all I got in return was a sad expression of resignation as she turned away to contemplate the fate of her friends on the beach.

We watched from that position for maybe half an hour as the heat again built up on our flesh under the plastic and the welts left by the cane sprang back to life with throbbing intensity and the ointment-smeared skin began to burn again.  Portia finally appeared and I saw with horror the new torture she had in store for us.

“I’m so pleased you still use the little presents I gave to you that time… It seems like so long ago, now…”  She reached under Monica and tugged at the small rings that ran through pierced holes in Monica’s nipples.  The piercings were there courtesy of Portia, when she had briefly taken over Bilboes.  I remembered the awful morning when I had been dragged into the dungeon there and bound immovably alongside Monica, there to have my own nipples pierced to match hers.  Never one to waste an opportunity, Monica had subsequently decided that the pain we had endured should not go to waste, and we now both sported small stainless steel rings in our nipples.  It was like a bond, a shared experience to which we could relate, and which we had survived. 

Now, as Portia hung a large lead weight on each ring, Monica’s breasts were pulled downwards, distorting them and causing her to utter a muffled cry into the ball stretching her mouth wide.  Not content with that, Portia released a clothespin on to the distended nipple, which caused further painful protests.

Then, of course, it was my turn, and I again rebuked myself for letting Monica talk me into the nipple rings as the sudden pain came to bear on each nipple, before being multiplied several fold with the application of the clothespins.

“Urrrmff!” I complained, which merely prompted a laugh from Portia before she again sauntered away along the deck and I struggled to deal with this new biting agony.

She and Jade were back a little while later, coming from directly behind us so that we wouldn’t see them.  I felt something slit the plastic covering my cheeks – maybe a pair of scissors leaving a vertical opening along my butt crack.  I turned to see Portia doing the same to Monica, and to my horror I saw what Portia now wore.  It was a strap-on dick – a stubby fat black rubber dong protruding from a triangular leather pad sporting pointed brass studs like those on a dog collar.

I realised now why our bound hands had been tethered higher up our backs, for there was no way we could get them near our backsides to prevent the inevitable.  I felt the blunt head of the dong that Jade was obviously wearing as it poked between my cheeks and found my butt hole.  As though practised in the art of synchronised fucking, Jade and Portia continued their systematic and painful humiliation of us. Monica and I groaned together as the rubber intruders began to penetrate our arses, drawing out and thrusting inwards, forcing our sphincter muscles wider as the fullness began to creep inside us.

Neither Monica nor I nor the gags could stop the snorts of pain that we uttered with each thrust, and I thought the act of penetration would never end.  My thought reached a final nadir when the process stopped momentarily, and Portia called out to the prisoners on the beach:

“Hey!  You in the water!  Look who’s getting screwed now!  See what the great smart-arse Monica has finally come down to!”

The three gagged heads turned in our direction, seeing us for the first time, at the same time as Jade and Portia gave final pelvic thrusts that saw the big dongs buried up to the hilt.  Now I understood the second reason for the plastic – to keep the ointment off their own skin.

As Mary, Helen and Leila looked up at us with emotions that probably covered horror and despair, Jade and Portia thrust in and out of Monica and me in a final act of total domination that saw the studs grinding into our bruised and welted cheeks.  Monica’s downfall was now complete, it seemed, having become a play thing for Portia who uttered an exultant cry of pleasure as she reached a sudden, ecstatic orgasm at the fate of her enemy, while I felt the shudders of Jade behind me, pumping and gripping my bound arms as she, too, climaxed exultantly. 

 

Our fortunes and spirits darkened with the day from then onwards.  Jade and Portia finally finished a thorough, painful and humiliating reaming of Monica and myself, and left us only after replacing their artificial cocks with inflatable ones pumped up to uncomfortable and hugely filling size.  The afternoon turned gloomier as the clouds built up further and it began to rain.

This was the true tropical afternoon ‘wet’ – water bucketing down from the heavens that slowly chilled us but at least took the heat out of the awful ointment we had been subjected to.  Monica and I remained side by side, bent over and bound to the railings, unable to move other than to sway our buttocks a bit or occasionally bend our knees to relieve the stiffness creeping through our limbs.  Every part of my body ached – my back, my legs, my arms… My skin was still tender and sore where the flogger and cane had struck, and my nipples throbbed painfully from the weights dangling from them.

Clearly the physical anguish that was inflicted on us was insufficient for Portia’s liking, and our position on the top level of the house overlooking the beach was evidence of the forethought for our mental state that had taken place.  From our viewpoint we were forced to watch the incoming tide rise higher around the three prisoners bound to the posts on the beach.  Through the late afternoon gloom and rain we could see the water rising to their chins.  Helen was closest to us, and we watched horrified as she tilted her head back to keep her gagged mouth and nose above the water.  The surface was calm save for the bullet-like effects of the heavy water drops that churned it into a spray like an over-carbonated drink.

The minutes passed with agonising slowness as the water hovered at the level of the duct tape across Helen’s mouth and she struggled against the ropes binding her immovably to the post.  I tried to find some other mark to tell if the tide had peaked, but the light was fading and it was impossible to match the level with anything except the bedraggled head barely above the water. 

I was conscious of Monica’s agitation next to me, as she grunted with rage and frustration at what had been done to her and her team.  Every now and then she would toss her dripping head as best she could in a futile expression of her feelings, accompanying the move with a small plaintive cry through her nose.

The afternoon murkiness was slipping into the encroaching dusk when I finally decided that the tide had turned.  From that point the tension seemed to slide out of my body to be replaced with a creeping cold numbness as I succumbed to the incessant rain pounding on my body.

Darkness came, and after another hour the rain eased then finally stopped.  The night was briefly silent after the all-pervading noise of the rain, before a chorus of crickets began.  The lights from the floors below us now shone out over the beach and I could just make out the three figures protruding from the silvery shimmerings on the water.  On our own level, only the diffused glow of the blue-green underwater pool lights lit the area, reflecting against the steel poles and the balcony railings.

Music drifted up from below, and it was evident that dinner was being taken as delicious aromas followed the music.  It was classical music, and had all the indications that a sophisticated dinner party was being held.  No doubt Portia and Jade had held many such functions in Jade’s luxurious mansion in Macau , and I was sure Jax would have had her share in the circles she undoubtedly moved in.  I suspected the same applied to Bradley, for he was definitely not blue collar, though he gave away little about himself.

Vaughn Williams’ “The Lark Ascending” arose on the still night air and my own mood plummeted in contrast to the gorgeous solo violin that told of a bird soaring free into the sky, in ironic contrast to our own circumstances.  I wondered if this was another insidious nuance designed to mentally weaken us.  Could Portia and Jade be as subtle as that?  I decided that they could, and that despite my best efforts, it was working.

The hours drifted past and the pains wracking my body seemed to spread to every last extremity.  I squirmed against the ropes, trying to ease my distress, but it had only limited effect.  I was seriously concerned that we would be left like this all night, though at least the lights remained on downstairs and the music continued. 

I was on the verge of half dozing when I became aware of the presence of a figure behind Monica, backlit by the soft light from the pool.  Bradley’s deep voice made the hairs on my neck stand up.

“I’m pleased to see you two are still enjoying the evening,” he smirked.  Monica had obviously been unaware of him, and jerked against her ropes in surprise.

“You will be pleased to hear we have just enjoyed a very splendid dinner, cooked by Sebastian and served by young Kim.  Both did very well, I must say.  Seb was evidently a chef in some past life, so I’m told,” he said congenially, as though we were passengers on the deck of a liner exchanging pleasantries.  Except that in this case anything pleasant was strictly one way traffic.  “And Kim is a delightful creature.  She looks good in a corset. I’m sure you do, too, Monica.”

Bradley moved behind Monica and laid his big hands on her plastic-wrapped waist, before running them over her shiny encased buttocks.

“Mmmm,” he murmured, taking obvious pleasure in the taut sveltness of her muscles and the helplessness of her position. “I did enjoy dinner, but I felt there was a little something lacking in the entertainment, so I have decided to indulge myself.”

I knew what was coming at that point, as did Monica, even before Bradley unzipped his trousers.  To say that he was well endowed was somewhat understating his case.  Even in the shadowy light from the pool his dick was big and hard.  He pressed it against Monica’s butt cheeks with a contented sigh, one hand picking up the dangling tube from the inflatable butt plug still in place.

“This must be very uncomfortable,” he whispered, bending close to her ear.  “Still, it’s there now, and far be it from me to remove something installed by others.  Mind you, there’s nothing to stop me adding a little something of my own…” He chuckled and began to position himself between her cheeks.  His dick was so stiff that he had to force it down to slip it between her legs and into her love passage.  Monica tried to resist the invader, struggling and making muffled noises of protest.  I, too, tried to vent my outrage but the ball in my mouth similarly stifled my attempts at vocalising my fury.

Bradley drove forward, thrusting deeply into his helpless victim.  Monica fought with all her strength, but the ropes were too well placed to permit much of a struggle.

“I do like a feisty woman,” Bradley said, as he leaned over her back and wrapped his arms around her body, gripping her breasts with both hands.  The further pain in Monica’s already distended breasts was enough to bring her to her senses and accept that there was nothing she could do.  She whimpered as Bradley groped her breasts and squeezed them to provoke more pain on top of that from the weights and the clothespins.  My stomach went cold as his big hands gripped Monica around the neck.

“How would you like to go?” he asked softly.  “A long struggle fighting for air?  Or a swift snap of the neck?  I always think the struggle option is so much more satisfying.” 

His hands tightened and Monica made a strangled moan through her nose.  His hands then left her neck and one gripped her by the nose, sealing her last airway.  Monica struggled and tried to shake her head free or buck him off her, but Bradley began to thrust harder, revelling in her desperate need for air.  She seemed to slump, then he removed his hand and there was a nasal gasp as she sucked in a huge breath.  Then the hand was in place again, and Monica was again fighting for survival.

Seeing what was happening next to me made me fight my own restraints with total impotence, all the while grunting incoherently into the ball in my mouth.  This couldn’t be happening!  He was going to kill her here and now – right in front of me!

The game went on for several minutes as Monica became weaker with each effort of resistance. Then Bradley was standing straighter and grasping her by the hips, pumping hard and fast causing Monica’s steel collar to make rhythmic clinking noises against the steel handrail.

It was all over very quickly from there, as Bradley came with a series of sharp exhalations and movements that drew a succession of painful groans from Monica.  With little ceremony, he withdrew and wiped himself on a nearby pool towel, then moved close to Monica’s head, where he bent and spoke, still loud enough for me to hear.  His words chilled me to the bone.

“You and I will have a lot of fun before I leave this island, Monica.  Unfortunately I will be the only one leaving.  Portia has promised me I can have you and your friends when she has finished with you.  It won’t take long for the jungle to cover your final resting place…”

 

*   *   *

10.02.06

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

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