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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)

Chapter Seventeen - The Cell

Time seemed to have come to a halt for us. Chained up in the tiny blockwork cell Monica and I had only the chorus of birds at dawn to tell us when a new day had dawned. We were fed various forms of liquid through the drinking tubes – some of which were thick and creamy with the consistency of a milk shake, and some of which were no doubt plain water.

We could not communicate with each other under the hoods, being confined to futile grunting that had little effect, save to offer the vague reassurance of the other’s presence. With the passing of the hours and the inactivity, our limbs wearied and we took it in turns to be seated on the wooden bar protruding from the wall spanning the short distance to the upended plastic pipe between us. Each time, as we eased our weight on to the bar with its small area that carried our backsides, we were forced to impale ourselves on the acrylic butt plugs that were screwed to the top of the timber.

Had that been the end of it, we could perhaps have survived better than we did. We might have managed some sleep, albeit in a sitting position, except that in this instance the electrodes on each side of the plug would jolt us awake on a random time interval. We were forced to toss up between a doze upright or something sounder but with the possibility of a rude and painful awakening in the seated position. We had no way of knowing when the next surge of electricity would be activated, whether it be five minutes or two hours. In this matter we had to make a choice – to risk the pain or not.

Occasionally we both tried to be seated at once, and the twine linking our nipple rings over the beam above us would jerk us back with a different type of pain, leaving us grunting at each other as we decided who was to run the gauntlet of the plug first.

My focus was slipping away, in the haze of tiredness and pain. Occasionally I tugged on the chains without hope, without knowing what I was doing or why, just to irrationally remind myself that nothing had changed and that we were still secured immovably to the wall. Fleeting memories of what we had done to Portia and Jade in the container in California flitted into my mind, but it had been nothing as inhuman as this.

Our sustenance came and went, only the changing flavour giving any clue as to the passing of time. At one point I knew they had been adding Viagra again, for Mr Willy arose unbidden, still constricted by the tight sleeve that made the erection painful and annoyingly uncomfortable, and I could do nothing to ease the frustration.

Perhaps thirty six hours had passed of this torture when Bradley and Jade came for Monica. The light flooded into the cell and made us squint. For the first time in that period I was able to look at Monica’s sweat-streaked naked body as her wrists were un-manacled but then re-cuffed behind her, ahead of her ankles being freed.

Her nipple rings were untied from the twine connecting them with mine, but rather than provide any relief for me, Jade delighted in hanging two lead weights on the loose ends, laughing as I groaned with the pain.

I caught a brief glimpse of the world outside. The wind was rising, catching the heavy steel door and making it swing violently open with a clang against the outside wall. The sky was gloomy and dark, even though I sensed it was not yet midday. The air had cooled, and I reckoned there was a storm on the way, but different from the normal afternoon downpour. It was partly the strength of the wind and partly something else that told me what was coming was out of the ordinary.

“Comfy, are we?” Bradley grinned just before he dragged Monica away. Jade peered in at me after Bradley had left. She checked my chains and noted that Mr Willy was still erect within the constricting plastic sheath that left only his head exposed.

“Your little friend will get a workout today, I think,” she said with a leer, as she leaned in and grasped my dick, squeezing hard. I groaned around the mouthpiece under the hood but could do nothing except take the subsequent fondling and caressing. If it was possible for Mr Willy to get any harder, he did, despite the tightness of the sheath. The pleasure that came with Jade’s long fingernails was met in equal parts by the pain of the tight encircling band and frustration that it was going to lead nowhere.

I knew this was the case just after Jade had licked her fingers and given the tip of my dick a workover that had me jiggling uncontrollably, before she had abruptly slammed and bolted the door, leaving me seething in unfulfilled urgency.

The short glimpse of the outside and the rush of fresh air into the claustrophobic cell had been enough to briefly revive me. My helplessness in being unable to help Monica was equalled only by my impotence under Jade’s ministering hand, and I was not a happy camper. At once the gravity of my – our – situation descended on me again, this time perhaps in even more depressing reality than before. Weariness overcame me again, repelled only briefly as I gritted my teeth and settled myself on to the terrible plug that offered the only way to take the weight off my feet. Pain shot through my nipples as I pulled slowly down on the weighted strings, while the plug slowly jammed itself up my arse, eliciting a groan of hurt and anger at what was being done to us. Portia and Jade were maxing out their revenge, and I had the feeling that we were only at the beginning of whatever program they had dreamed up.

Maybe an hour passed, and I had almost slipped into a doze when a terrible shock of electricity up my backside made me jerk awake and cry out as best I could. There was another jolt – painful enough to make me decide that I did not want to be impaled for the immediate future, and I would take my chances on my wobbly legs.

I had no sooner freed myself from the plug when the heavy bolts were pulled back and the door swung open. Portia’s cool smile greeted me, with Jade watching over her shoulder.

“Ah, you’re awake and ready for action, I see,” she said pointedly, looking down to where Mr Willy remained obstinately at attention, albeit braced internally from the Viagra and externally with the sheath. I glared at her and demanded to know what she had done with Monica. Of course it came out quite unintelligible around the mouthpiece and only caused Portia to laugh.

She was wearing a short red skirt that clung to her thighs and a matching tank top that showed firm cleavage and nipple bumps under the taut material. I smelt her perfume as she took a step inside the cell and unhooked the lead weights from the strings attached to my nipple rings, before pulling the twine back down from the roof.

“Is that better?” she said soothingly. I made no response until she yanked hard on the strings prompting a yell of pain from me. “I asked you a question!”

“Yrrrm,” I mumbled, nodding my head as tears came to my eyes. Portia stood against the opposite wall and pulled again on the strings, forcing me to lean forward while Jade unlocked the manacles at my wrists, before re-cuffing them behind my back. Only then was the feeding tube disconnected and my ankles unlocked. The pair were still being very careful, and taking no chances that might lead to an opportunity to escape.

For the first time in many hours I was able to move away from the wall, lifting my leg over the timber bar and stepping outside our little cell. The air was thick with impending rain and the sky was dark. Palm trees swayed in the wind as it buffeted the island, and even walking was made difficult, it seemed, though in truth my legs were unsteady anyway.

Portia led the way back to the house, towing me by my nipples, while Jade followed, idly swatting my backside with a thin branch that she had picked up from the debris that was starting to carpet the ground. I noticed that the helicopter was now missing from the grassed open space.

We descended the steps in the cutting that led to the rear door, passed through the kitchen and continued down the internal stairs to the big bathroom I had been in previously.

There was no sign of Monica or the others, though as I went down the stairs I thought I heard a female cry from the living area. Inside the bathroom the same process began that I had previously endured. It was evident that whatever was going to be done to me, Portia and Jade wanted me to be clean and smell nice for them. I suppose I could not complain about that, except that another enema for my already very tender butt hole was the last thing I wanted.

Of course I didn’t have a choice in the matter, and duly found myself on my back again, with my legs pulled over my head and attached to the basin taps for half an hour. More time voiding my bowels, although I had had no solid food for nearly two days, and the process was somewhat unproductive.

Again there was the shower and the arse-reaming with the bottle brush while chained to the showerhead. Jade was once more the perpetrator, naked against my body in a mess of soap and lather, her hands doing terrible things to me that made me groan with pleasure and frustration through the ball gag now lodged behind my teeth.

While it was wonderful to have the sweat of the last two days washed away, rather than refreshing me the hot water only made me more tired. Coupled with the enema I felt drained of energy and wanted only to lie down somewhere and sleep. I knew this was all part of the pacification plan that was intended for us to ultimately break our spirit and induce total compliance as we came totally under the control of our captors.

I emerged from the bathroom still gagged with the rubber ball and with my thumbs locked together in tight thumb cuffs. I suppose it was a change from steel around my wrists, but it was no less comfortable and did nothing to suggest there was any likelihood of an easing of my treatment. Entering the living room area not only confirmed my suspicions but reinforced to me the cruel nature of our captors as I looked with dismay at the tortures that were being inflicted on my friends. If it had not been plainly obvious before, the use that was being made of the discretely installed ceiling hooks was now obvious.

Beside the big floor to ceiling window in the right hand corner knelt Mary, her ankles bound and further ropes anchoring them to her thighs. Her arms were trapped in a leather sleeve with a D-ring on the end and were pulled up high behind her. She was gagged with a complex harness gag, with a cord running from this to the D-ring on the leather sleeve. With her arms pulled up to a ceiling hook and her head pulled back to the D-ring, Mary had the look of a hood ornament on a Rolls Royce, her bonds pushing her breasts forward, inviting them to be toyed with and to have things attached to them. It was not surprising to see two wooden clothespins sticking out jauntily from them.

Mary made no sign as she saw me from the corner of her eye, but stared stoically ahead. It was a stringent position they had bound her in, her shoulders, back and neck strained and unable to be relieved. Her legs would become numb and the circulation in her arms would slow, causing tingling and numbness in her fingers. I didn’t know how long she had been forced to kneel like that, but I knew my own capability would be way less should I be unlucky enough to receive such treatment. Mary may have been older than I was, but her body had been well cared for and still retained its litheness and suppleness. Her flawless skin was now marked with the signs of the lash and whip, and I saw red weals splayed across her back, shoulders and breasts.

Helen was in the opposite corner of the room, to my left. She hung suspended, a few inches above the floor. The panoramic sliding window had been left open a small amount and the wind was howling in, turning Helen on the cable dangling from the hook. The cable was locked to a horizontal steel spreader bar, about a metre long, to which Helen’s ankles and wrists were attached by heavy leather cuffs, her arms and legs wide, her most intimate parts exposed to the whims of a torturer.

Like Mary, Helen was gagged with a complicated head harness, and again a cord was secured to the top of this. The other end was tied to the centre of the spreader bar, leaving her hanging immovably at the mercy of anybody who cared to take an interest in worsening her plight.

Helen’s eyes were closed, her limbs taut within her bonds. I could see the muscles in her legs twitching as she tried to control them, but she was in the grip of things beyond her power. The wind twisted her on the swivel joint at the cable and spreader bar, but she seemed unaware of her rotation.

A soft cough drew my eyes back from the suspended figure. The noise came from nearby to my right. I had been so focussed on the two bound figures ahead of me that I had missed Leila’s presence. My dismay deepened when I saw her predicament.

Her arms bound tightly behind her at wrist and elbow, Leila wore discipline boots that forced her up on to the points of her toes. Though her legs were unbound, she was forced to stand on two bricks a couple of inches apart, with a shiny metal plate covering the top of them. The worst thing about the position was the thick sashcord noose that was looped about her neck and attached to another of the ceiling hooks above her. Any stumble or attempt to step off the bricks would likely mean Leila would strangle herself.

Leila was gagged with several turns of black duct tape across her mouth and around her head over her blonde hair. She looked at me with wide, frightened eyes.

A further rope was wound about her waist and through her crotch and I saw a pair of thin wires leading from her pussy to the plate on the bricks, then across the floor to what looked like a small transformer plugged into a wall socket. When I noticed the wires Bradley took obvious pleasure in explaining the set-up for my benefit.

“Our dear Leila has been undergoing intense vibration in her most sensitive places for nearly an hour now. She knows she can end it just by stepping off the bricks, because the soles of those lovely black boots are fitted with metal contacts. If either one is touching the metal plate, the circuit is closed and the power remains on. We have been slowly upping the intensity. Of course stepping off the brick does have the rather unfortunate drawback of tightening the noose. We’d probably get to her before she strangled, but nothing is guaranteed here.” He paused, and I knew that of our three captors, he would get his kicks from watching Leila strangle, no doubt blaming it on a momentary lack of attention on his part. One by one we were going to be picked off, and Leila was potentially the first.

Would Portia and Jade stand for this? Were they killers like this guy? Somehow I didn’t think so, although the extent to which they had planned this whole show indicated the extent of their obsession with revenge against us. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the two women would have no choice but to dispose of us after what they would have put us through first. It would not be difficult to toss us to the sharks below, whether we were alive or dead at that stage. Bradley would no doubt enjoy watching a bound but still alive victim – especially a woman - being torn to shreds.

The man himself moved across to Leila and ran his fingers over her breasts. Her skin was slick with sweat as she struggled to maintain her concentration and focus, staring straight ahead as Bradley lifted her chin and smiled into her eyes. He dropped his hand to her right nipple and twisted it fiercely. Leila uttered a muted cry and tottered precariously in her severely restricting boots and there was no mistaking the panic in her voice, nor her laboured breathing.

Bradley ran his hand down her flanks and then her thighs, squatting as he did so.

“Her muscles are twitching,” he said, looking up at me with a smug expression. “The boots are stretching her legs and forcing her into what I think is a delightful pose. How long she can tolerate it is up to her, of course. The vibrations in her pussy will weaken her control – she’s already climaxed three times. Look - ” He ran his fingers up her inner thigh. “She’s hot to trot, aren’t you dear. Your juices runneth over.” Bradley went to wipe his glistening fingers across the tape under Leila’s nose, so that the scent of her orgasms would add further impetus to her weakening state. Leila tried to turn her head away but he grabbed her by the hair and made a thorough job of transferring the wetness to the tape so that she could smell her own vulnerability.

If I could have thrown myself at the bastard right then with any hope of effecting some sort of advantageous outcome, I would have, but it would have been pointless. Gagged and thumb-cuffed I would have hurt myself and quite possibly caused harm to Leila. I had to hope some other opportunity might arise and trust in the strength of Monica’s training that Leila could hold out until our captors tired of this particular game and moved on to something else.

And where was Monica? Reluctantly tearing my eyes from Leila’s rigid figure I looked around for Monica. Bradley saw my searching gaze and continued.

“Yes, you’ll want to know where your darling Monica is, won’t you. Well, let me show you. You can be partners again – in suffering.”

Bradley led the way around to our left to the study where we had been tortured previously, but before we arrived there, I came face to face with Monica.

She had been forced into an agonising position on the floor, her legs spread apart to an almost horizontal splits position and taped at ankle and thigh to a two-metre long steel pipe the thickness of a broom handle. Further ropes had been bound around her torso, above and below her breasts, and had been cinched between them and on either side. The encircling cords had been knotted together between her shoulder blades and a small two-wheeled pulley had been anchored there, connected to a second one on a further hook in the ceiling. The multiple pulley ropes would enable her to be easily hauled upwards without the need for a winch.

The ceiling hook was located in the centre of a double doorway leading to the study, with pipe extending past the door frames on each side. Monica’s arms had been tightly bound behind her with her elbows touching and a ring gag with a stopper had been inserted in her mouth and strapped in place. She now lay face forward on the floor, head turned to one side against the polished floor boards, her bonds too restrictive for her to attempt to look up at those around her.

“Shall we?” Portia asked, indicating the pulley rope hanging loose.

“You’d like me to do the honours, I suppose,” Bradley said rhetorically.

“You’ve got the muscles,” Portia replied, though I suspected it was simply her wish to avoid breaking her nails than any real admiration for Bradley’s strength.

Bradley stepped over the bound figure and began to pull on the loose end of the pulley rope. The rope took up the slack and then began to tighten on Monica’s torso ropes and pull her into an upright position in the centre of the doorway. As her head rose she looked up to meet my gaze. Her expression made my heart turn over, for she looked exhausted and resigned to whatever fate now lay ahead of her. The defiance that had lived in her eyes was now gone, and I knew that the incarceration in our dark cell had had its effect, as well as the beatings we had received. Monica’s once smooth and lovely skin was now criss-crossed with welts and her breasts were red and tender-looking where they bulged through the ropes cinched around them.

As her body came fully erect, further strain came on the ropes which tightened further around her as her full weight was born on the pulley. Monica groaned and her breath became harsh as the ropes constricted her body. After a momentary hesitation the pipe spreading her legs left the floor and Monica began to ascend.

Her eyes closed in the pain of the ropes binding and supporting her, only to be eased as the pipe reached the level of the knobs on the open door on each side. At this point Jade and Portia each took an end of the pipe and lifted it on to the top of the door knob, tying it there with cord. Some of the weight was now off Monica’s main supporting ropes, and Bradley eased off the tension, letting Monica rotate around the pipe and tilt forward slightly. He then took the end of the pulley rope and tied it to Monica’s bound wrists in a further cinch, and as he released this, Monica’s arms were pulled backwards and upwards as she tilted further forward, taking up the slack in the pulley.

She hung there, largely supported on the pipe but with her legs in a horizontal line that I could never have achieved, and her torso ropes now pulling her arms up behind her.

“Lovely,” Bradley said. “Nice idea, Portia. Everything is so accessible…” Bradley, Portia and Jade admired their helpless captive for a brief moment.

“Something needs to be hanging from those tits,” Bradley mused. “I’ll see what I can find. Do carry on. Don’t mind me.”

He disappeared back into the living room.

“Come,” Portia said, ducking beneath the spread legs of Monica and pulling me after her by the nipple ring twine.

In the study I was made to kneel on the leather-covered bench that had seen me screwed by unidentified numbers of women on my last visit to the room. My ankles were tied and I was made to lean forward while yet another plug was inserted into my arse and tied there with waist and crotch ropes that passed either side of my balls.

I was getting heartily sick of things being shoved inside me, particularly through this opening which was now exceedingly tender. I was also scared of plugs trailing wires, which seemed to be happening again in this case. What made it all doubly frustrating was the way Mr Willy remained erect as Jade had worked the electrode-studded plug inside. Indeed, he had even appeared to stiffen further, eliciting a moan I could not suppress in the process. I did not appreciate her comment that such treatment was obviously something that turned me on. The only thing that would be turned on would be the electrical current – something I dreaded.

I now lay on my back on the bench, my legs tied together above the knees and my lower legs hanging over the edge where they had been pulled back and attached to some anchor point underneath. My thumbs had been freed from the cuffs but my wrists were now roped back under the bench, with the rope on each continuing around my torso to be knotted on top.

This time, it seemed, I was going to be given the privilege of watching the pleasure my captors took in tormenting me, for no move was made to cover my head with any sort of blindfold or hood. Predictably it was Portia who was first into the action. She hitched up her skirt and straddled me, lowering herself on to my engorged dick still painfully constrained by the plastic sheath. That would have made precious little difference to her pleasure, for the tip of Mr Willy was so enlarged and swollen it looked as though it had spent years growing through the sheath.

Portia sighed with contentment as she settled down on my body, letting my dick rise up inside her. The mixture of pain and pleasure I felt was disconcerting, with the balance swaying towards the latter as she bent down and picked up a small remote control which she waved in front of me. She didn’t need to say anything. I knew what was coming from her pitiless expression as she pushed the button.

The jolt shocked me like a cattle prod and I jerked like one of those nearly dead victims you see being revived in the Emergency Room.

“Uggghh!” I managed to get out around the hard rubber ball strapped in my mouth. She did it again, causing more pain and more thrusting. I wanted to tell her that I would do it without the electrical incentive, but I was too busy simply trying to get my breath while attempting to shout the house down. Portia was grinning and riding me like a cowgirl on a mechanical bull.

She climaxed in no time, no doubt my pain and helplessness was as good a stimulus as the actual physical contact. Here was the guy who had aided and abetted her worst enemy, who had humiliated and publicly ridiculed her, and who was now in the throes of paying back what was a seriously large debt. Portia arched her back in ecstasy as she came, while I mmphed in protest against my bonds and the shooting pains in the deepest reaches of my back passage. Finally she sat back ready for a more extended ride.

Her next trick was to use what we sometimes called the cross bow. It was an ingenious little device, like a flexible bow that spanned from one nipple to the other, in this case made of a bendy metal. A threaded shaft held it about six inches above my chest, the bottom of the shaft fixed to a small square base plate. Hanging from each end of the bow was a stiff rubber band attached to a toothed crocodile clip.

Ordinarily even the application of such clips would have nearly sent me through the roof, never mind the fact that they were attached to the bow. Twisting of the shaft meant that once the clips were attached to their targets, the tension could then be increased as the bow was cranked further from one’s chest, tightening the rubber bands holding the ends down.

When Portia released the clips on to my nipples I nearly went berserk, before she even started twisting the shaft. Portia was still impaled on my own shaft, and she delighted in my gagged cries and the immediate reaction as I threw myself against my bonds in response to the two searing points of agony.

In fact, my restraints were less than I had recently been subjected to, and this was exactly what she wanted. My heaving and jerking sent her off to new heights as she rode me further. The screaming pain of my nipples hardly seemed to abate, but neither did my erection, unsatisfied as it was.

“Nrrff! Nrrrff!” I could not take this! When she activated the butt plug again I thrashed about further in a frenzy of pain and shameless loss of control while Jade stood by expectantly awaiting her turn.

I felt like a hapless inmate in an asylum having electrotherapy done. I howled as best I could but the rubber ball was hard and wedged tightly between my teeth. The only noises I could make were through my nose, and I could only manage that in a harsh, ragged fashion while trying to keep breathing. Tears were running from my eyes and Portia’s face hanging above mine went blurry. Her lips curled back in a savage smile of triumph as she stared down at me, revelling in my ignominious downfall. This was what she had plotted and dreamed of for who over a year, and now it was coming to fruition. Finally she threw back her head and let out a scream of ecstasy as she climaxed again.

She rode me for another half hour – or maybe more. I was seeing stars by now. My whole body was a sweating mass of pain where my muscles strained against the restraints, with the agony of my nipples and backside making me wish I could die and experience blessed relief. Relief, of course, was exactly what I wasn’t going to get, particularly not with the plastic sheath jammed solidly in place.

After the fourth orgasm Portia finally climbed off, her skirt and top soaked with sweat and clinging to her body. Her hair was damp and matted and she was unsteady on her feet.

“Can I have a go now?” Jade asked.

Portia had a silly smile on her face and was too out of breath to reply. She simply gave an airy wave of her hand, before stumbling out of the room.

In this time I had been so preoccupied with my own misfortunes that I had almost shut out the rest of the world, and in particular Monica, hanging stretched wide and vulnerable in the doorway. Now, as the shocks to my backside mercifully stopped and I was left gasping for breath and trying to recover, I heard the terrible cries from the doorway.

I could not properly see what was happening since my head was pointed towards the door, and being pinned down by Portia had not allowed me to turn far enough. Now I struggled to look behind me and saw Bradley with his back to me obviously controlling some form of sensory stimulus to Monica’s widespread crotch which was just above waist height.

Monica was making moaning noises, which suddenly became clearer as Bradley reached around and removed the plug that screwed into the middle of her ring gag. At once the room echoed with cries of her distress. Bradley wanted the whole house to hear the agonies of Monica Armstrong, to show the troops that their beloved leader had succumbed and was no longer in charge of herself or anybody else. Bradley wanted the humiliation of Monica to be very public.

“Oh ghod! Ngoh or! Ghease! Ghease op!” Monica’s voice dissolved into incomprehensible sobs. I saw Portia appear on the other side of Monica and set to with a flogger on her breasts and stomach and no doubt her exposed pussy. Monica’s screams echoed through the house – the most distressing sound I had ever heard. It was as though my own heart was being sliced up with a frozen knife – a sound I could not bear to hear, but was powerless to prevent. Unthinkingly I heaved against my bonds again, but in vain. Everything was tied far to tightly and the knots were unreachable. Jade stood by as I thrashed and struggled, before deciding that I might as well have some of the same.

A flogger appeared in her hand – thin but heavy rubber thongs half a metre long that came down on my exposed stomach and thighs with a wicked crack. Soon slippery with my sweat, they rose and fell repeatedly, turning my skin a raw red colour while I tossed my head and uttered garbled, helpless cries in response.

When Jade finally climbed aboard for her own ride, my thoughts were rapidly becoming as incoherent as my speech. In the haze of my own pain and listening to Monica’s own anguish, I had lost the plot. Jade was soon bouncing up and down and tightening the bow shaft by another turn. Like Portia, Jade was quick to climax. She was a petite woman with a pussy that gripped me like a vice and it took little to push her over the top. After that I fell into a welter of confused images and sounds, my eyes blurry from tears and stinging from sweat, my body pummelled into submission. I had no idea how many times Jade climaxed – everything had become a fog embellished with the cries of the damned. I knew that Mr Willy remained not merely unsatisfied but sore and super-sensitive from the unending attention her had been receiving. My head ached, probably from too much Viagra, and I was desperate for a drink.

By the time I was released and re-cuffed I was about out on my feet. The long period in the blockwork cell had been bad enough. This last session had almost finished me. When I was led from the room Monica had been lowered to the floor and was immobile. I looked at her helplessly, only half seeing the prone figure through my teary eyes.

All resistance was gone as Portia dragged me back through the living room and kitchen. I did not see the others, and the omission barely registered, so out of it was I. It was only when we opened the rear door and a howling wind nearly threw me off my feet that I managed to gain a little more awareness of my surroundings.

Portia and Jade grabbed an arm each and it seemed to take the three of us together to stay on our feet. I was half-dragged by the two women to the cell standing like an outhouse amidst the palm trees. The ground was now littered with debris – mainly palm fronds, coconuts and other vegetation, though a couple of smaller palm trees themselves had toppled over. Big drops of rain were starting to fall

The steel door to the cell flew open with a bang, and I was pushed inside and quickly manacled to the wall. I leaned back trying to catch my breath as the two women struggled to close the door and finally managed it, the tower bolts sliding home with a clunk that was now barely audible above the wind and the hammer of the rain on the roof tin roof.

It was only at that point that I realised in their haste to get me secure, the pair had neglected to remove the gag which I had been wearing for a number of hours now. If I was going to be here for another twenty four hours, with no chance to drink or otherwise gain sustenance… Things had suddenly gotten serious.

I bent down as much as possible, forcing the wretched plug on the timber bar up inside me again. How I hated Portia right at that moment as I squirmed down as far as I could go, biting back the pain in my arse that was now so tender it felt as though it had had to deal with half a dozen bad curries.

Alas, no matter how I bent and twisted, I could not get my manacled hand to reach the buckle at the back of my neck. I mmphed to myself in frustration, and slumped exhausted against the wall. I had no fight left now. The temperature had dropped and the cold rain on my naked body had gone some way to reviving me in the dash across to the cell, but the hopelessness of my situation was weighing down more and more heavily. My one consolation was that the same rush that had left me still wearing the rubber ball had at least prevented further torture to my nipples, for the twine attached to the rings now hung loosely in the darkness.

Maybe half an hour later the door was flung open again, and Jade and Portia appeared with a semi-conscious Monica, whom they quickly manacled to the wall with the same haste they had shown for me. The rain was now pelting down and both women were soaked to the skin. Clearly they just wanted to get us out of their hair so they could go and soak in the Jacuzzi.

Like me, Monica remained gagged, in her case with the ring gag, but the plug had fallen out. Monica was making moaning noises as she leaned against the wall after the door had been slammed for a final time, again leaving us in the pitch blackness. It was perhaps a good thing that the wind and rain made so much noise that I could barely hear Monica’s pitiful groans, for they broke my heart.

The rain and wind pounded our cell with a ferocity that told me this was no ordinary storm. The noise on the roof was horrendous, with the rain banging a tattoo on the corrugated iron and the wind’s fingers seeking any leverage they could find to enter. Every so often the violent drumming was broken by a loud crash as something more solid bounced off the roof. The seriousness of the storm came home to us abruptly as within the space of a few seconds there was a loud tearing sound and the roof sheeting was ripped back like paper to disappear from sight.

Until then, despite the ferocity of the storm, we had remained dry and relatively untouched, save for the noise. We had been in womblike darkness, to some extent insulated from nature’s wrath, but with the removal of the roof we were at once able to see each other, but also to be on the receiving end of the deluge that was taking place.

Within a minute we were both soaked and standing in a puddle of water that would no doubt continue to rise until it overflowed around the bottom of the steel door. Without the benefit of the roof, the blockwork structure now appeared to be somewhat less stable. Such was the power of the wind that I could feel the wall behind me moving under the more severe gusts, and I knew that now was the time to be scared – really scared. I wondered how the house would fare, with its large landscape windows which - while probably specially strengthened – might still prove problematic under this sort of wind loading. My thoughts naturally continued to the fate of poor Leila, Helen and Mary. Where were they? Were they in the house, or in the cages beneath it? How high was the tide? Would there be a storm surge?

Monica looked to have revived somewhat with the cold chill of the rain but between us we were a sorry and wretched pair, helplessly chained to the wall and gagged, the rain cascading down our naked and beaten bodies. If something happened to our captors at this point we would likely die here, for there seemed little chance of freeing ourselves.

As the storm buffeted our little box we tried to take our minds away from our plight, to lose ourselves in the constant cacophony of noise that assaulted us. The pattern was broken at one point with a loud crash, which I took to be a nearby palm tree coming down. Further similar sounds followed, and I suspected the island’s green covering was being decimated. Soon after this there came a distant boom, which I could not identify, and the ground seemed to shudder. I thought no more about the possible cause of this mainly because I was too miserable, but also because – minutes later – there was a further crash as a huge palm tree fell across our cell making the whole structure shake violently and sending one of the top blocks crashing down on to the floor between us. The timber bar on which I was impaled by the butt plug seemed to shudder and move with the impact.

I looked up to see the trunk of the palm lodged across the roof opening, with several large fronds poking down inside. A couple more concrete blocks had been dislodged and were teetering precariously, ready to drop. On the opposite wall two blocks had been knocked off on to the outside and a couple of large cracks had opened up down the height of the wall. It was at that point that I realised that our deaths might not come through indefinite imprisonment, but might in fact be much quicker, if no less painful, if the structure collapsed on top of us. Naked and chained up was about as little protection as was possible in the event of a concrete block falling on you.

The possibility of such a demise seemed to reawaken my brain at that moment. Looking at the broken block in the water at my feet, it dawned on me that the blockwork forming our cell had not had the voids filled with concrete as would have been the norm for any load resistant structure. A glance up through the pelting rain showed no sign of reinforcing rods sticking out of the top of the broken wall, thus confirming my conclusion. In the gloomy light I could now see how our chains had been installed, and the person who did it had elected to drill the wall bolts into the mortar joints, rather than the blocks themselves. The impact of the palm tree against the wall had opened up cracks along all the weakest points – the joints and where the timber bar had been recessed into the blockwork.

Bending down, I saw that the block that had been recessed to take one end of the timber bar had all but fallen apart, due to the amount of material that had been removed in the rebate for the timber. I experimented by shifting my weight on it. The plug thrust inside me uncomfortably. Yet again I was getting screwed, this time by my own efforts. There was no justice in life.

I clenched my butt muscles and shifted my weight further, moving up and down, forward and back and side to side. Yes, in short giving myself about as thorough an arse reaming as was possible. My only pleasure from this was to feel the bar finally shift forward a little, then the wall end dropped clear of its little niche.

With relief I slowly expelled the plug and looked at Monica, who had become compos mentis enough to at least wonder what the hell I was doing. I would have given her a smile at that point, had I not been gagged, but I knew that the gag was the least of my worries and was in fact about to be rectified. I could now squat down and reach the buckle at the back of my neck, finally undoing it and pulling the wretched ball out of my mouth with a plop. I let it drop into the puddle which was now up to my ankles, and this time I could give Monica the benefit of an encouraging smile.

“You okay?” I yelled above the wind. She nodded, unconvincingly. “We’re going to get out,” I shouted, then decided that further conversation was unnecessarily tedious in such conditions.

In my squatting position I could now closely examine the rawlbolts anchoring the chain to the walls. The one holding the chain on the left manacle was installed in a mortar course that had cracked along with the block that had held the timber bar. In the squatting position I now had much more slack on the chain and could twist and turn it to start to work it loose. The presence of the crack was just enough to break the initial bond between bolt and mortar. The rawlbolts ended in an eyebolt to which the chain was padlocked, and I managed to get the padlock in a position to apply some leverage to turn the anchor.

It took maybe fifteen minutes of patient twisting and jiggling before the thing finally pulled clear of the blockwork. I gave a cry of triumph and grinned at Monica, who made a small sound through the gag.

The swirling of the wind within our cell had dislodged the keys to the manacles from the nail by the door, and I had to feel around in the muddy water to find them, but they were there all right, and within a minute I had unlocked our manacles and removed the gag from Monica’s mouth. I helped her off the plug on her side, and we clung to each other, our naked bodies seeking warmth from the chill of the rain. Her breasts pressed against me and at that moment there were no words that we could offer that could add to the tangible presence of each other. Monica kissed me hard on the mouth and I responded, for right then there seemed like nothing better to do. Over the hours that I had been deprived of any form of nourishment, the Viagra had finally worn off, and with the chill of the rain Mr Willy had at last returned to normal size. I pulled the awful plastic sheath off and tossed it to one side, before the nearness of Monica’s naked body could undo what had been a long time coming.

We held each other at arm’s length, just revelling in being free again, though cold and shivering with it.

“How do we g-g-et out?” Monica shouted in my ear, her teeth chattering.

I was busy untying the twine that still dangled from my nipple rings, but I had given the matter some thought. I stood on the bar that Monica had occupied and found that this gave me enough height to bring my head just above the top of the blockwork level with the fallen palm tree. As I looked over the top the full force of the wind nearly knocked me off my perch and I saw the full extent of the devastation that was occurring.

Perhaps we could have waited for the wind to die down, or maybe the eye of the cyclone would pass over us, though this might never happen. Such a wait meant that potentially we could still end up being crushed under the unstable blockwork if it collapsed.

I made the decision and put one arm over the trunk of the palm and the other on top of the wall, shoving myself upward with an ungainly flailing of my legs. The wind caught me and it was all I could do to stop myself being blown over the side. Being naked and clinging on to hard surfaces is not much fun, but a few more scratches amidst the welts and stripes already adorning my skin were nothing if it meant freedom for us.

I crawled to the leeward side of the structure and shimmied along the palm tree trunk to where it came close to the ground, before letting myself drop the last distance. In the open the wind was so strong that I could barely stand up. My flesh felt like it was being cut to ribbons with flying sand, foliage and the raindrops themselves.

The wind was blowing at an angle to the steel door and I knew that once I had it partly opened the wind could potentially fling it wide open. The force of this on the weakened structure could be disastrous, but there was no other way, for I knew Monica was too weak to haul herself out the same way I had done.

I slid the tower bolts clear and eased the door open just enough to get my arm inside, beckoning Monica to get ready. I grasped her wrist and pulled the door open with all my strength. The wind caught the heavy steel and gave it a momentum in opening that tore it off its hinges. The force of this was enough to dislodge further blocks at the hinge points and I knew at that instant that everything was coming down. I hauled Monica clear just as the lintel toppled and the unstable walls collapsed like dominoes moments later.

We needed a moment to gather our thoughts, with shelter uppermost in our minds. I had no desire to thrust myself back into Portia’s clutches by seeking shelter near the house, and it occurred to me that the nearby generator shed might offer a solution. Typically it would have been built with sound proofing in mind, and such soundproofing might mean solid construction.

Towing Monica behind me we staggered through a mass of fallen trees and airborne debris until we found the path leading away from the house. Fifty metres on through what remained of the palm grove we found the generator house. It was made of blockwork with sloping earth walls on the outside to further cut the noise, and topped with a concrete slab roof. In short, it was an ideal shelter. The generator was not running and looked to have tripped out. No doubt a line had come down or something had short circuited. We slammed the door shut and revelled in the diminution of the noise as the acoustics of the building worked in reverse.

There was nothing of comfort for us in the generator house – no food, no clothes. Monica looked pale and exhausted as we settled in a corner.

“I’m going out to look for the others,” I told her. Panic showed in her eyes.

“No, please – don’t - it’s not safe out there! You could be killed!”

I didn’t know whether she was scared to be left alone there or whether the concern for me took precedent, but I felt I had no choice.

“I have to, Mon. If the others are in the cages under the house they could be drowned with the sea the way it is.” Monica at once acknowledged my argument.

“Then I’ll come too –“

“No you won’t! Don’t even think about it! You stay here. You’re not strong enough and I don’t want you holding me back.” Monica looked hurt and bit back a retort as she reluctantly accepted the reality of my words. I didn’t wait to argue, but bent down and kissed her on the lips. She grabbed my shoulders and held the kiss, then reluctantly let go, and I turned and fought my way outside into the storm.

The way back up the path was much harder heading more into the wind. As I reached the open area which the helicopter used, I tried to be more aware of anybody else being around, but why Portia, Jade or Bradley might be outside in such atrocious conditions made no sense, and I battled on without too much attention. As I crested the final low rise that then led down the steps to the rear door of the house I was aghast to find that the steps led nowhere, ending in a void off the edge of the cliff. Below, being pounded by a huge surf, was the wreckage of the house.

* * *

19.03.06

story continues in Monica's Justice 18 - Captives of Shark Island

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