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Monica's Travels 10

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

(story continues from Monica's Travels 09)

Chapter Ten – Battling for the Maidens – Monica’s Story

I was stupefied at what I had seen.  My breath came in hoarse gasps around the monstrosity jammed in my mouth, and I made incomprehensible noises that were halfway between sobbing and choking.  I was unresisting as Pearson unlocked the chain securing me to the pulpit and led me down the steps.  I could barely see where I was going, with tears streaming down my cheeks.

Pearson towed me up to the terrible barrel-like object with its grotesque painted face, while Jade Wong undid the rope around the middle of the wooden maiden.  I shook my head, not wanting to watch as she slid back the retaining bolt and hauled the doors slowly open.  Pearson’s hand was firmly on the back of my neck, and I could not have looked away even if I had wanted to.  The doors swung apart to reveal the naked Emma bound firmly to a framework inside the case, with not a mark on her.  Like me, she was gagged, sniffling and sobbing.  I gaped, then looked at the wicked black spikes sticking out from the inside of the doors.  Pearson slapped one with his hand.  It flapped up and down with the pliancy of rubber, and I realised that was exactly what it was made of.  I nearly fainted with relief, as Pearson – chuckling like a maniac – dragged me out of the chapel back to the dining room. 

I slumped down in the heavy dining chair where he pushed me, barely aware of the rope looped around my waist and knotted behind me.  My elation that Emma was alive and unharmed was overtaken by anger at the trick that had been played on me and by the pain that the device was now exerting on my jaw.  I moaned and mumbled around the ghastly gag, trying to undo the butterfly nut, but it was blocked by the padlock through the threaded rod.  Pearson stood beside me and dangled the tiny key from his fingers.

“We’ve had this conversation before,” he said, as though nothing untoward had just happened.  “You must be hungry.  Would you like some breakfast?”  My jaw aching abominably, but I reasoned that to eat you have to have a mouth free of obstructions, so I nodded earnestly..

“Urrh, urgh!” I said in the affirmative. 

He undid the lock and slowly unwound the butterfly nut.  I felt the awful gag contract and the pressure ease inside my mouth.  The tears of pain turned to those of easement, and the thing was removed amid a lather of drool and hoarse gasping.  Pearson sat down at the head of the table, adjacent to my seat.

“Would you like some nice crumpet?  A cup of tea?  I always prefer Earl Grey, myself,” he chuckled, as though the whole exercise was the most normal thing in the world.  I watched as he poured my tea and passed the crumpets and jam across to me.  My mind was still getting to grips with all that had taken place in the last half hour, and I was ashamed that I had let myself go like that.  I concentrated on controlling my emotions, for I was determined that I would not be caught out like that again.  I was now starting to understand a little of what I was up against, although I had no idea of the long term plan for us.  Whatever it was, what I had experienced was just a taste.  With my cuffed hands trailing their length of chain, I picked up a serviette and wiped my eyes and mouth, composing myself with an effort.  Two could play at this game.

“You knew all the time that we’d had no phone calls,” I stated flatly, awkwardly adding milk to my tea.

“Of course,” he beamed.  “We checked out the last in and out calls on your mobiles.  Wonderful what they can do with technology, these days, if you know what buttons to push.  A cross check against your little black book soon established the numbers we were looking for - and the fact that you hadn’t made or received any calls from them.  And I guess we pushed your buttons in the chapel,” he added.

I pretended not to have heard the taunt, concentrating on trying to butter a crumpet with my manacled hands.  I was just realising how hungry I was.

“Just what is it you want with us?” I asked bluntly, looking him in the eye.

He sat back and clasped his hands behind his head.

“Dear me, Monica, you can’t expect me to answer that.”

“Why not?”

“My dear girl, the aim of a chess match is to achieve check mate.  Identifying at the start of the game how one intends to do it would take all the fun away.  Suffice to say, you are my queen and I hold you prisoner, along with several of your key players.  All my forces are intact.”

“Except for Portia.” 

He paused.  “Yes.  Yes, you’re right.  That was an unexpected setback, and I congratulate you – or your team, I should say.  They appear to have fought their way out of my trap.”

“Your trap?”

“Very well, Jade’s trap.  Perhaps I shouldn’t take credit for something that didn’t succeed anyway.”  He was silent for a bit, watching me scoff down the crumpet.  “I must admit, having your second team on the loose is a little disconcerting, not to mention rather annoying.  Let me explain a few things to you, Monica.  No no – carry on eating.  You’ll need your strength.

“Aside from being past master of a rather exclusive London BDSM club, where I first met Jade, I have – as you have seen – a rather good collection of medieval instruments of torture.  In fact you’ve only seen a small portion of them.  I will give you a further tour after you’ve eaten. 

“Ideally, I had hoped you might be able to try them all, although I will be the first to admit a number are a little extreme, and in some cases I have had to adapt them.  You saw the notice on the gate about visits by appointment.  I have many tour groups through here, though none is scheduled in the near future – other than your little party, heheh.  And your party is turning out much more fun than the usual ones.  What annoys me about the other half of your group is that it curtails my plans for you.  I intended to have you here for a few days, before sending you on to a buyer I have lined up.  Now I’ll have to fast track the process, just in case your friends turn up.”

“A buyer?” I echoed, my stomach turning over at his words.

“Monica, the exploits of your team on the web have become well known in certain circles.  While you have no doubt done very well from your web site, and have created a staunch group of clients and followers, you have also attracted the attention of certain powerful figures, such as Jade Wong, for example.  They’re prepared to pay even bigger money to have you on display in person.  A feisty captive dominatrix such as yourself provides endless possibilities.  Let me say quite frankly that you are an extraordinary woman.  Or so the industry scuttlebutt suggests, and you have done nothing to dissuade me so far.”

“Except losing it, this morning.”

“Tsk.  You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t care for your friends.”

“And where do you fit in with the gang of three,” I asked, not looking at him and trying to appear casual as I buttered another crumpet.

“Me? As I said, I have known Jade for a number of years, and I heard how you’d caused her a major loss of face.  Twice, in fact.  She knew Warren, who in turn knew Leon.  Down the food chain it went.  My personal interest, as you have realised, is in things medieval.  The lifestyle, the pageantry, chivalry.  You will understand a little more of this by the end of today.  What I put you through this morning was just a little test.  Clearly you have strong feelings for your friends.  Would you be prepared to fight for them?”

“Against whom?”

“Jade Wong.”

“Damned right.”

“Excellent.  You see, before I send you on from here, I propose a little tournament, medieval style.  Your friends are being prepared even as we speak.  It will be a combat between knights for the fair ladies.  In this case, however, you and Jade will be the knights, and your friends will be the very fair ladies.”
 

I was nearly through a third crumpet, trying to quell the butterflies in my stomach at the sound of what this lunatic was proposing under the guise of things English and therefore by definition a bit eccentric.   And this stuff about a buyer was scary.  I was not holding my breath that Steven and the others would be able to find us, much less get us out, despite an apparent unease on the part of my captor.  I had the feeling that we would have to rely on our own resources and engineer an escape somehow when – or if - the opportunity arose, but realistically I thought this pretty unlikely.  Our captors were too experienced to provide the opportunity.  I decided I had to focus on this mad competition that seemed to be planned.  I would rather like an excuse to deal to Jade Wong.

“What if I win?” I said.

“If you win?  Oh, in that unlikely event, well, the suffering of your ladies will be less than if you don’t win.  I think that’s fair enough.”

*   *   *

The whole bizarre situation continued after breakfast.  Mine host led me through a door at the opposite end of the room to that leading to the chapel, and here we found ourselves in an almost identical chamber that had probably been a larger entertainment place or dining hall.  It had high barred windows in lieu of the stained glass ones of the chapel, and of course the pews, pulpit and altar were absent.  While the same candelabra lights were present, Pearson switched on a more modern version, comprised of a series of spotlights, and I stood mesmerised by the ancient torture devices that leapt out of the gloom. 

Pleased at the impression he had made, Pearson led me around the hall. 

“I have further examples outside, which you will see shortly.  Some of these are in their original condition, however.  I do hope some of you get to try them.  This one of course you will be very familiar with.  He picked up a heavy iron bar as long as my arm, which threaded through two U-shaped iron manacles which could slide along the bar.  One end of the bar was attached to a metre of chain, obviously meant to be secured to something more solid.

“Bilboes!”  In spite of my predicament, I could not help my fascination at an original of the device after which I had named our establishment.

“Yes, my dear, the real thing,” Pearson said with obvious pride. “Pick it up.” 

I did so, and was surprised at how heavy it was.  The black iron, scratched and dented with age, had been oiled and polished.  Named after the city of Bilbao, where it was supposed to have been invented, it had been liberally used during the slave trade.  I wondered who these shackles had secured in the hundreds of years since they had been made.  How good these would look above the mantelpiece back in Brisbane, I thought enviously, momentarily forgetting myself. 

Pearson led me on, past the whipping pillory, with its high blocks to hold the miscreant on tiptoes, then the Chinese stocks and a huge wagon wheel with manacles for hands and feet.  There was a Judas’s cradle, where the victim would be held suspended such that all his – or her – weight would rest on a narrow wooden pyramid that would be positioned point upwards into the victim’s anus or vagina.  I shuddered at the sight of it.  There was a bamboo cage, with a kind of neck yoke, that could leave the victim suspended by the neck, or just able to touch the ground with his toes.  And there were numbers of horrific implements for the removal of skin or more significant parts, such as breasts or genitalia. 

“There are more devices outside,” Pearson said casually, “which you will see in due course.”  I didn’t like the sound of that.  “but first, we have to prepare you to take on Jade Wong.  Come this way.”

I shuffled along behind him, and found myself back in a corridor leading to rooms at the rear of the building.  He led me into one which might once have been a large bedroom or study.  Now it seemed to be used as a display room for various suits of armour.  Pearson took a childish delight in displaying several pieces and explaining how they were put together.

“This is one I’ve had made for myself.  Not cheap, mind you, either in price or construction.  Proper steel.”

I had the impression that he had prepared for this moment when he towed me to a wall where there was a length of heavy chain hanging down from an eyebolt screwed in to the timber way beyond my reach.  Pearson locked the chain around my neck, leaving no slack at all.

“Of course only I know where the key is to this lock, Monica, and it is not on my person.  Try anything funny and you get left here to strangle slowly as your legs give out from exhaustion. There is an easy way, or a hard way to do this.  I trust I make myself plain?”

“I’m not stupid, “ I told him coldly.

“Good, good.” He seemed unperturbed by my tone, as he removed the handcuffs from my wrists.  Then he sat on the edge of a large desk that still occupied a corner of the room and looked at me appraisingly.

“The best thing Jade Wong ever did was come away from your place with the Book of Measurements, as I call it.  Capital ‘B’, capital ‘M’.  Like the Bible.  All the details of the Bilboes team and their clients.  So important in this line of work, when things have to be custom-made.  You must be very organised, Monica Armstrong, to run your business that way.” 

Truth be known it had been Steven’s idea, and one of those things that – as we were now finding out – could have a downside as well as an upside.

“Today I have a present for you, based on those measurements.  I do hope your body shape has not altered significantly, although looking at you now, I can’t possibly imagine any room for improvement.  You are a delight to the eye, Monica,” he said, running his gaze over my body as one might at an auction of racehorses, which I confess gave me the creeps.  There was something about the apparent reasonableness of this man that made him not what he seemed.  I sensed that there was another level to him – a side that he did not advertise.

He lifted a dust cover off a dummy on a stand near the desk, revealing a stunning coat of chain mail.  It gleamed brightly in the light from the windows and I confess I was very impressed, even if I did not let on.  The coat had long sleeves, and I guessed it would probably come down to my knees.  I was concerned that it had two holes for my breasts, however, and I wondered at just how much protection it might give me.  Pearson lifted the garment off the dummy, not without some effort, I noticed.

“Put your arms out in front of you,” he instructed, and I did so.  I realised why he struggled when he slid the cold steel fabric over my arms, for the stuff was heavy.  He pushed the coat up to my shoulders, as though putting on a surgical gown, and I found I had only a little play in my sleeves.  When the main weight of the coat was born by my shoulders, I realised just how heavy it actually was, and I guessed at maybe fifteen kilos – the equivalent of a reasonably sized backpack.

I looked closely at it.  The fabric was made up of small interlocking steel rings, shiny and new.  It fell to just over halfway down my thighs, like a dress, the two holes in the front fitting perfectly over my breasts, albeit with the latter having a little manhandling from Pearson in the process.  I admit I was fascinated, but only then did he show me a length of thin stainless steel wire the best part of two metres long.

“This will lace you up and lock you in at the back,” he said, moving behind me.  I felt the slow threading of the wire through the edges of the chain mail and the gradual drawing together of the two edges down my spine.

“It’s tight,” I said, inferring obliquely that he had got his measurements wrong, while of course leaving myself open to the other conclusion that I had put on weight.

“It’s intended to be.  It’s not just a coat of chain mail.  It could also be a dress suitable for the catwalks of Paris.  More significantly, it is a corset, and it will exactly follow your shape without boning or stays.  Can you feel it becoming snug?”

“Y-yes,” I said, as he gave a sudden tug that seemed to tighten everything from shoulder to waist.  It was tight all right!  At least my boobs were relatively unfettered, and breathing wasn’t quite such an ordeal as some corsets I had endured, but none had provided the same sensation that this one did, with heaviness, smoothness and tightness all rolled into one.  I felt the two edges of the coat come together and lock at the base of my spine, leaving an open slit down the cleft between my buttocks.  He stopped for a moment and walked to the desk, and opening a drawer he extracted a chrome dildo and butt plug.  I groaned inwardly.  I had not seen this coming.  He had seemed too fixated on his armour to be worried about this.  Now suddenly sexual torment was raising its ugly head and was going to be thrown into the pot with all the other sensations and problems I would be having to deal with.

“What the hell’re they for?” I demanded.

“This will be a wonderful contest.  I’ve been so looking forward to it.”  He was oblivious to my question, sounding instead like a spinster enthusing about the local church flower show. 

He was behind me again, threading the butt plug and dildo on the wire, and after removing my ankle chains he made me put one leg out to the side on a chair seat, allowing him access to my intimate passages.  The chrome was smooth and cold with lubricant as he worked the back one inside then followed with the front one.  The wire then continued and was poked through the front of the coat just below my navel, where he fitted a padlock.

“Now your hands,” Pearson continued.  He handed me two gloves of the sort that butchers use – chain mail but of a much smaller weave than the rings in the coat I wore.  Each glove had a Velcro closer at the wrist and when I pulled them on they felt strange but comfortable.

“The wonderful thing about chain mail is that you can lock any part to any other part,” he enthused.  “Let me show you – you’ll appreciate this.  Put your arms behind your back.”  In a trice I felt a padlock link through the bottom edge of my right sleeve and then connect through the left one.  “There.  Wrists secured, and not a handcuff in sight. “ He dug into his pocket and pulled out two more padlocks, which moments later found their way on to other parts of my sleeves, linking them halfway up my forearms and then at the elbows.  I was now held not just within the tightness of the upper part of the coat, but down through my crotch and with my arms behind my back, such that the whole of my upper body was immobilised.

“I’m impressed,” I said, trying not to appear such, though in fact I was.  Notwithstanding my predicament, I was exceedingly taken with the garment, and could see endless possibilities for it at Bilboes – if indeed I ever actually saw Bilboes again.

“Thank you,” he chuckled, pleased with himself.  “Now, you won’t be able to take on Jade with bare feet, so I’ve taken the liberty of rummaging through your luggage for some appropriate footwear, and I’ve selected these boots.”  He produced them from a plastic bag that was lying beside the desk.  They were my white ones, knee-length leather with three-inch heels.  Very comfortable, but not designed for mortal combat.

“How the hell can I fight in those?” I complained.

“Girls can do anything,” he taunted, “or so you lot keep saying.  Your fashion, your problem.  But there is purpose to this.  Let me put them on you first.”  I allowed him to slide each foot into a boot and do up the zipper.  Then he produced a pair of steel plates like shin guards, with articulated joints leading on to the thigh.

“These are articulated greaves,” he explained.  “They’ll give Jade second thoughts about attacking your legs.”  He buckled them over my boots, pulling the straps tight around my ankles and calves, before unlocking the chain at my throat.  “Now, the final thing is the helmet.”  He opened a cardboard box that had been sitting on the floor beside the desk and produced a steel helmet that gleamed with a blue sheen.

“This is not a medieval helmet, and I must apologise for the inconsistency of the armour, but it seemed a shame to hide your lovely face behind a full face helmet, Monica.”  He smiled at me but I did not return it.  “This style dates from around 600 A.D. I’ve modified it slightly, as you will see.  Please open wide.”  Guessing what was coming, I did so, and he stuffed a soft but quite dense foam rubber ball into my mouth, before lowering the helmet on to my head, tucking my hair out of the way.  It fitted snugly, and I felt several strips of foam inside that gave me comfort that the thing would at least be bearable.

The helmet was basically conical but with a long silver vertical prong that reached from my forehead down to my chin, matched by two ear coverings that likewise extended down to my jaw.  Pearson buckled a leather strap between under my chin stretching between these two coverings, and fitted a small padlock to it.  My helmet was on to stay, and the strap had the additional function of limiting my jaw movement. 

The helmet was very beautiful, and made more so by the short fringe of chain mail that hung down to my neck around the rear.  I hated to admit it, but this stuff was turning me on.  I could feel my nipples erect and hard – something that was only partly due to the two plugs now held inside me.

“I said the helmet was the final thing,” Pearson was saying, and I was only half listening.  “That’s not quite right, and I’m sure you won’t be surprised at this, Monica.  I can’t help but notice your nipples are displaying something that I can only describe as arousal.  It seems such a shame to display your breasts without suitable adornment, and for this purpose I have had a little chain made.  Jade Wong told me your nipples were pierced, and so I have these small locks which will fit rather nicely.  I do hope they’re not too heavy.”

I looked down as he fitted the thin shank of a padlock through one pierced nipple.  I did not wear nipple jewellery very often, but it seemed like Jade Wong Was having her say in how I dressed today.  Pearson was about to close the lock when he paused and clicked his tongue.

“Silly me, I nearly forgot the weight.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lead weight the size of a walnut, on a couple of links of chain, through which he slipped the lock and clicked it closed.  The weight hung heavily on my nipple, pulling it down and distorting the shape of my breast, even with the support of the steel corset all around it.  Moments later the second nipple was also dragged down by gravity but I was getting even more aroused as he suggested we move outside.

Movement in the steel confinement was awkward, but still somehow very sensual.  The butt plug and the dildo were pulled by the wire attached to the suit which tugged gently as I walked.  My arms were secured immovably behind me but not painfully so, and while I could not really speak, the gag was nowhere near the most severe I had experienced.  I had a momentary vision of myself as a sort of sexually charged Xena, and all of a sudden I was looking forward to doing battle with Jade Wong, as long as the sensory pleasures did not become too much for me. 

As we were about to leave the study, we halted at a high glass-fronted cabinet displaying a variety of swords and daggers.  Pearson opened the cabinet door and without hesitation selected a sword from the collection.  It was smaller than some obviously two-handed weapons, with a bronze guard and minimal adornment. 

“Ever wielded a sword?” he asked.

“Nnph,” I said, shaking my head.

“”Hmmm.  Neither has Jade.  Could be interesting.  I do hope you women are better with swords than you are at throwing,” he mused.  “Something to do with the shoulder action.  Most girls just don’t seem to get it.  Still, you can both crack a whip.  That may help.  You’ll like this sword.  Reasonably light.  Aluminium and glass fibre blade. No real cutting edge or point, but you can do a lot of damage with it, believe me.  Come, my dear.”

I followed him into the corridor and along it to an external door, which led on to a large mown lawn at the back of the building.  The lawn was surrounded on three sides by the building, with the fourth side sloping away for fifty metres or so to a point where the lawn ended and open forest began.  It was on the quadrangle of lawn that I began to have an inkling of what was in store for us for that day.

I had noticed certain significant gaps in the display of torture devices in the collection that Pearson had shown to me – physical spaces where items might have been previously – and I now saw that these devices had obviously been transported outside.  There were three contraptions ranged side by side on the lawn, facing the open slope. 

Closest to me was a set of stocks, designed for a person to be seated, with their feet sticking horizontally through a pair of holes between two boards.  About half a metre behind the seat was a two-metre post that had been driven or set into the ground, with a short horizontal bar over the seat such that it looked like a miniature scaffold.  A pulley hung from the end of the bar and a rope ran loosely through this.  The wood of the device was old and dark, and the ankle-locking boards were probably five centimetres thick.  In all, it looked solid and forbidding, but was made to look so much worse by the big carved wooden phallus sticking up from the middle of the seat.

Pearson followed my gaze and commented: “My own little touch, that.  Stops a lot of squirming about.”

Before I had time to properly take in the other two contractions, Pearson pushed me towards another post, embedded in the middle of the lawn some thirty metres out from the stocks, in open ground.  Here I saw that the bilboes I had admired earlier had been chained around the base of the post with a couple of metres of heavy chain. 

“I thought it appropriate and just a touch ironic that you be secured in bilboes for the start of the competition,” Pearson said, sliding the U-shaped shackles off the bar and fitting them around my ankles, over the top of the steel greaves.  At least I wouldn’t have to worry about bruises from them.  He slid the bar back though the holes at the rear of the shackles, and clicked a large padlock shut through the end of the bar.  I was now thoroughly anchored to the post in a most awkward fashion.  Only then did Pearson unlock the three padlocks holding my sleeves together behind me.  He jammed the sword point first in the ground and stepped back to admire my predicament.

“You look stunning,” he said admiringly.  “A genuine warrior queen.”

“Mffst!” I said, testing the movement of the helmet and with it the strap under my jaw.  Neither gave sufficiently that I might force the ball out of my mouth.  I explored the movement of my feet, and found I could only manage a limited twisting type of shamble, kicking forward with one foot while the bilboes bar swivelled about the other.  It was clearly going to be neither a productive nor an easy activity.

Pearson was already walking back to the building, as Leon and Warren appeared towing Leila, her hands crossed and bound behind her.  She was still naked, and was now gagged with a head harness that held a black leather pad over her mouth, under which was surely a rubber ball.  The straps from the pad crossed under Leila’s chin and wrapped round her neck, buckling at the back below the main strap, which was attached to the one running over the top of her head.

Leila caught sight of the stocks towards which they led her, and began to struggle, but she was no match for the strength of the two men.  They dragged her to the seat and with one on each side, she was lifted and slowly impaled with her arse on the big wooden prong.  Leila cried out and made frantic mmphing sounds behind her gag, sounds of distress that carried clearly to me on the still morning air. While Leon held her down, Warren raised the upper of the two boards and placed each ankle in to the semi-circles of the lower board, before closing the stocks and locking the boards in place.  Leila whined in complaint.

That was when I found out what the post was for, behind the helplessly bound girl.  The dangling rope through the pulley was attached to Leila’s wrists and a weighty-looking sandbag was slung from the other end.  While not extreme, it was serious enough to pull Leila’s arms up behind her, and to make her body fold forward.  Leila could react against the upward pull and drag her arms downwards, but the gravity force on the sandbag would always win in the end, and I knew at that point that it was going to be a long morning for us all.  I realised also what Pearson had meant when he suggested that a victory by me could make the girls’ suffering a little shorter. 

With Leila uncomfortably trapped in the stocks, Leon and Warren disappeared inside, to return with a similarly naked, bound and gagged Jillian.  She wore what looked like a rubber bit gag, but I suspected there was some sort of packing attached to the rubber bar jammed in her mouth, for she was less vocal than would normally be expected with a gag of that nature. 

The structure they hustled Jill towards I recognised as field stocks.  Like ordinary stocks it has a pair of boards with holes in them, but these were for wrists and were at head height.  Leon stood on a raised plank to separate the pair of boards, and after untying Jill’s wrists the men located them in the lower semi-circles and dropped the top board down.  Jill was now effectively secured with her wrists at the level of her eyes.  A second part of the structure comprised a pair of ankle stocks – a pair of horizontal boards with ankle holes – which were now fastened around Jill’s ankles, and were then pulled backwards so that she was obliged to stand on her toes, leaning forward to take her weight also on her arms and wrists.  It was a cruel position, and would become more unbearable with time, but of course Leon and Warren were not yet finished.  Warren produced a wooden phallus much the same as that upon which poor Leila was seated, and flourished it in front of Jill’s face.  I could hear Jill’s gagged expression of hopeless dismay from my position twenty metres away.  The phallus was attached to a steel pole, which evidently fitted into a rebate in the ankle stocks, as I soon saw.  Warren worked the wooden dick slowly into Jill’s back passage, obviously enjoying the process and prolonging it far more than necessary, while Jill groaned and squirmed.  I could see that the length of the pole was such that the bottom end would not quite slide across the wood to the rebated hole, and it required a final shove from Warren that saw Jill jerk upright as the dong drove into her to the hilt, before the bottom of the pole dropped into its seating and Jill was able to relax a tiny bit.

Having watched this performance with frustrated impotence, and having resolved to put my sword to much better use than just dealing with Jade Wong, I could only dread the fate that awaited Emma, the final one of the trio being brought to watch my duel, for in between the two blonde captives was Emma’s destiny – a wooden horse.

There was no doubt what Emma’s fate was going to be, for this was a medieval torment that still found its way into many modern dungeons.  In this instance the horse was perhaps waist high with a triangular body, with its back formed from the ridge along the triangle top.  That was where the focus of the device lay.  Its embellishments in this case were the four legs and the symbolic head made from a single timber carved in the profile of a horse’s head.  Its tail was a single timber sticking up at an angle perhaps a metre above the back of the horse.  Across the front, fixed across the underside of the horse just behind the front legs, was a horizontal timber perhaps two metres long.

When Warren and Leon dragged the bound and gagged Emma outside, she immediately knew what was in store when she saw the vacant horse between Leila and Jillian. She had ridden the plank many times at Bilboes, but this was something different.  It was forced, with no expectation of relief nor the opportunity to exercise a safe word.  It had the potential to go on until she fainted from the pain of bearing her weight on the ridge that was the horse’s back.  Emma struggled and tried to dig her heels in, but she was no match for the two men.  She wore a mouth-filling white ball gag that stifled her protests, but with her wrists crossed and tied behind her, she could do little to stave off what awaited her.

Warren lifted her from behind, and held her while Leon tied her right ankle to the end of the horizontal bar, at which point Warren hoisted her body up and Leon grabbed the left ankle as she came astride the ‘saddle’.  From here it was all over for Em, as her weight came to bear on her crotch.  She uttered a muffled cry and tried to squirm but it was in vain as Leon bound her left ankle to the other end of the horizontal bar and she was trapped on the horse, her legs spread wide, her crotch compressed on the ridge.  The final touch was a strappado like Leila’s, her bound wrists tied high up to the wooden upright tail, forcing her to lean forward.

God, this was appalling!  I checked the iron bands about my ankles again, checked the bar through them and the locks on the bar and chain, but there was no way I was getting out of these restraints.

The three men returned now, carrying deck chairs, which they set up beside their bound prisoners.  Pearson also had what looked like a portable stereo and a video camera.  Warren and Leon sat down, while Pearson put down the stereo and proceeded to take protracted shots of the three prisoners, before walking over to me, still shooting.  I picked up the sword, for a moment intending to have a go at him, then checked myself, for it would have gotten me nowhere, other than to spend the day chained to the post watching my friends suffer further as a result.  Pearson appeared not to have noticed my instinctive movement, as he tossed something at my feet.  It landed with a clink and I realised it was a big bunch of keys.  I looked at him, astonished, and puzzled.

“One of those will undo the padlock on the end of the bar,” he said.  “If you achieve that you will have rather more mobility – which you’ll need against Jade.  I do hope you don’t take too long – it could prove fatal.”

I gaped at him, then reached for the ring of keys.  He’d thrown it just out of my reach, and I had to get awkwardly to my knees and stretch out to retrieve it.  Bastard.  Just one more contrived little humiliation for Monica, now close up in the video lens. 

Another diversion followed hard on the heels of having to crawl in front of him, as I felt a familiar buzzing start in my pussy and arse.  Both devices were obviously remote controlled, and had begun with a gentle, insinuating vibration that I had a feeling was going to become distractingly pleasant in the very near future.  As if my situation wasn’t dire enough, helplessly watching my friends suffer only a few metres away, he was now going to make me experience pleasure, and give me a guilt trip on top of everything else.

As I stretched out for the keys I heard the music start up.  Goddammit, another classical freak.  I should have figured he was the type.  I should have guessed Wagner, as well.  It was just his style – big breasted armour-clad women enacting the myths of Valhalla.  The significance of the fact that it was the Ride of the Valkyries booming out didn’t register with me, as I was examining the ring of keys with the intensity of a wino finding a discarded hip flask.  There were perhaps thirty keys on the ring, all very similar, and it was while I was taking this in, that the thunder of horse hooves caught my attention.

I looked up to see an armoured horseman charging down on me, leaving me in a state of panic.  I stood up but promptly fell over in my rush.  The bilboes left me really hobbled, and the bar between them made it far worse than a chain hobble.  I steadied myself on the post and got to my feet, with the horse and rider barely twenty metres away.  Sure enough, it was Jade Wong, swinging a long bullwhip with an expert hand as she galloped at her target.  I was frantic, not thinking clearly, trapped in steel with warm vibrations in my loins and with a mad woman about to attack me.

I twisted at the last minute of her approach, turning my back and lifting my hands to protect my head.  It was foetal and instinctive, not making allowance for the fact that I was wearing a reasonable degree of protection – if I used it properly.  The whip caught me across the shoulder, the tip snaking round under my arm and searing across my exposed breast.  I screamed with the pain – as much as I could do around the ball in my mouth, that is. 

The horse thundered past, churning up sods from the manicured lawn, but I was sure Pearson wouldn’t care.  He had engineered a private fantasy and we were enacting it for him as he pulled the strings.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw that he had retreated with his camera to the chairs, where the camera was now on a tripod, allowing him the luxury of enjoying the contest. 

Desperately I tried to ignore the pain from my breast as I tried each key in the lock.  My fingers scrabbled amongst the keys as I tried to do it in a calm and orderly manner.  But that’s very hard to achieve when there’s someone with a whip on horseback charging you.  In my confused mind I worked out that I had no chance until I could free my legs, and again I crouched as the second charge came. 

It was slower this time, with Madam Wong realising my difficulty.  With as much presence of mind as I could manage, I squatted and hunched my shoulders against the blow I knew would come, shielding my breasts with my mail-clad arms and hands crossed under me.  The strike came down across my helmet and back, and while I felt the full force of it, the mail took some of the sting out of it and made it bearable.  This gave me hope, as the hooves passed me by and I continued frantically trying to find the right key.  I wondered momentarily if it was all a ruse by Pearson, but I couldn’t see the point.  He wanted a fight, but he wouldn’t get one in such a one-sided match.

Jade Wong had sussed out my predicament, her charge had been slower, and she pulled up in a shorter space.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw the horse – a trim white mare – turn as the rider tugged on the reins.  I knew she was going to come in close and whip the crap out of me as I tried to find the right key.  Sure enough, a series of cracks caught me around the shoulders as I squatted on my heels becoming more and more frustrated as I tried key after key.  I felt the slap of the whip on the steel helmet and on my arms.  It hurt, but nothing like it would have done without the armour.  Then, to my enormous relief, a key slid home and turned, and the lock clicked open.  I slid one manacle off, then the other, as more blows rained on my body and another caught me on an exposed breast, tugging at the dangling weight, which in turn yanked the lock secured through my nipple.  I gasped with the fiery pain, but now my resolve had firmed, and I was determined to deal Jade Wong some of her own medicine.

I stood up, grabbing my sword and ducking behind the post to gain a breathing space and to put it between me and the horse.  At this point I had my first real chance to assess my opponent.  I had already worked out that she was a reasonable rider, and facing a mounted enemy was intimidating for me.  Jade was armed with a sword, similar to mine, sheathed in a scabbard while she wielded the whip.  She wore a helmet that was similar to mine, but with only her eyes showing through an opening in the full face, while a chain mail curtain hung around her shoulders.  I was sure she wouldn’t have to cope with a rubber ball locked in her mouth, either.

Her body was more heavily armoured, with breast and back armour plates shaped to her body, over some sort of padded leather suit, and further armour plate strapped to her forearms and biceps.  On her hands she wore steel gauntlets that despite their apparent awkwardness, didn’t seem to stop her dexterity with the whip.  Like me, she had steel leggings, but these were overlain by pelvic plates and supplemented by foot armour.

I kept the post in between us, though Jade continued with the whip, being able to flick it around the post.  But she could do this only on her forehand, for the horse’s head was in the way in the other direction.  This made her strikes predictable, and after taking a couple on my left arm, I finally anticipated the next one and let it wrap around my forearm, grabbing it with my right and heaving on it.  I had hoped to pull Jade off her horse, but the unexpected resistance caused her to lose her grip, and I pulled it out of her hand.

The advantage she had maintained with the distance afforded by the whip was suddenly gone, and it was sword against sword.  I wanted to get her on equal terms, and cast the whip on the ground beside the post.  As long as I held it, I figured the Chinese woman would keep her distance on the horse, but when I showed I was prepared to take her on, one to one, I hoped she might dismount.  I did not know what she knew about my own circumstances, the ball in my mouth and the plugs now starting to make themselves felt in my pussy and arse, as they buzzed relentlessly.

The strategy worked, however, for Jade backed off and dismounted with the ease of an experienced rider.  Once on the ground, however, I reckoned she might be slower than I was, in her heavier armour.  She drew her sword, and I caught her gaze, as we each sized the other up.  Now it was crunch time, and my body was starting to protest, after the short but frantic period I had worn the tight-fitting chain mail coat and the strain I had put on myself in getting free.  Breathing was difficult in the mail and made more so by the ball in my mouth.  Every move I made was done so with an extra thirty pounds of steel hanging off my body, and further complicated by the plugs on the wire grooving through my crotch and the weights swinging around my nipples with every move I made.  But, I reasoned, she was carrying more weight in armour than I was, and charging about on a horse must have tired her somewhat. 

We approached warily, but the old enmity was bubbling up, and we rushed each other, engaging with a flurry of blows. 

“Get ready to join your friends on the rack, bitch!” she hissed at me from behind the face plate, as we briefly locked arms.  I could see her eyes blazing with the pent-up lust for revenge.  Then the blows came again.  One struck me on the left arm, and really hurt, despite the mail, and whereas I caught her with several strikes, all were deflected by her heavier armour.  I backed off, snorting and panting through my nose.

“Cat got your tongue?” Jade taunted, and I knew she realised I was gagged.  It was probably her idea in the first place.

I fell back towards the post under a further attack, hoping that she would become over confident, as I did my best to deflect the welter of blows that came at me.  While the swords had no cutting edge, I knew I would be a mass of bruises from all the times she had made contact.  I waited until she had ceased her attack before starting a counter attack of my own, attacking with my body as much as my sword, locking arms and managing to trip her backwards from my momentum.

Jade Wong fell to the ground with a clatter of armour and lost her sword in the process.  I seized her foot and dragged her backwards and face down to the post where I had left the whip.  Jade struggled as best she could, but lying down the armour hampered here severely.  She was really heavy, and with my own mail I had to use every last ounce of strength that I had.  The thought of Jill, Leila and Emma suffering as they watched gave me added incentive as I jumped on top of my opponent and hauled her arms behind her, trapping them between my knees as I reached for the whip. I was not intending it as a weapon, rather an instrument of restraint.

Jade wriggled beneath me, but restricted by her own steel armour and with the extra weight of me on top, she had no chance.  I pulled off her gauntlets and bound her wrists with the thin end of the whip thong, one wrist crossed over the other, then I pushed her arms up, prised her helmet off and wrapped the remaining length of the whip around her neck.  I wanted to taunt her to get out of that without strangling herself but of course I remained silent, my speech curtailed by the rubber ball.

I stood up and perhaps could have savoured my victory, but I had no idea what was in the script at this point.  I had not really thought past this stage, and for a moment I was trapped in uncertainty.  The three men were still sitting in their deck chairs, obviously wondering what I was now going to do, and whether the floor show would continue.  The three girls were similarly still suffering, and I realised that my surrendering to my captors guaranteed nothing in the way of relief from that suffering. 

On a spur of the moment decision, I cautiously approached the white horse where it stood nearby, and grasping it’s halter I managed to climb awkwardly into the saddle.  I hadn’t ridden since I was at high school, and certainly never while wearing a heavy and tight-fitting coat of chain mail.  I now had second thoughts as my weight came down on the two inserts with a force that made me gasp.  I kicked my high heels into the horse’s flanks and suddenly I was bouncing along on the saddle, with each bounce driving the still-vibrating dildos up and down inside, and the weights on my nipples flailing about painfully.

They say that exhilaration is what you feel just after a great idea hits you – and just before you realise what’s wrong with it.  Right then I was finding out that my idea had a distinct drawback as I galloped away from the house.  After the first few thrusts I was obliged to ride standing erect, as best I could, but the movement and the vibrating was enough for me to know that buttons were starting to be pushed deep within my loins, and I felt a flush come to my cheeks as I reached the end of the building.  I cast a quick glance behind me to ascertain that my exit had at least provoked a reaction from my captors, who had left their deck chairs and were obviously setting about Plan B, whatever that was.

My own plan was simply to get to the front gate and put the whole estate behind me, to get help and free the girls.  It was not overly sophisticated, but I figured it might work.  I rounded the end of the building and saw the gravel drive stretching away through the trees to the gate.  My horse seemed to sense my direction, as we raced across the drive and into the trees, taking a direct line to the exit.

I was conscious of something happening behind me, and the noise of an engine starting up.  It sounded like a Land Rover, and moments later there was the crunch of tyres on the gravel. 

Despite my focus on getting to the gate, the movement within me was slowly achieving an ascendency over my brain, and in spite of my best efforts, I felt the rush starting, gaining momentum, and then there was nothing I could do to stop it.  I leaned forward and grasped the horse’s neck, clinging on for dear life as the orgasm erupted between my legs.  Unable to cry out, I was snorting and panting in unison with my steed, as we galloped through the trees.  It had to be classed as one of the more bizarre climaxes I had ever experienced, but also one of the more adrenalin-filled ones as my vision momentarily blurred between the on-rushing branches and with the pounding of hooves in my ears.

I came down to earth with a rush, as the gate appeared some fifty metres ahead.  The rush took the form of the vibrations inside me suddenly increasing.  Despite the gaining noise of the Land Rover, I slowed, for the vibrations had reached an unpleasant level, and I had a horrible sensation of déjà vu.  I knew what Pearson had done, and the old memories of Jade Wong’s brief but intense rule at Bilboes came flooding back.  Like Jade had done, Pearson had laid a cable around the perimeter of the estate, and the discomfort verging on pain I was now feeling was due to its proximity.  I reined in and slid to the ground, grasping the weights hanging from my nipples to prevent them adding to the pain in my arse which was becoming more intense.  A few paces further on it was impossible to bear, and I retreated back into the bushes.  I caught sight of Leon and Pearson leaning out of the Land Rover, and any thought I had that I might double back and free the others disappeared with the knowledge that Warren would be guarding them, no doubt with the now freed and probably very irate Jade Wong.

I retreated further into the trees, trying to distance myself from the tell-tale white horse.  The Land Rover had come to a halt and I glimpsed the two men now on foot coming in my direction.  I crouched lower in the bushes, as silently as I could, waiting for them to go past.  For a moment I thought I had succeeded, until Pearson stopped and pulled something from his pocket.  He stared at it for a moment and made a small movement with his hand.  An instant later I was doubled over as a fearsome cramping pain shot through my rectum and pussy.  I folded into a foetal position, tumbling into a patch of brush, gasping and grunting into my gag with the pain.  The crackling of the branches as I fell was enough to pinpoint my location, and soon the pair were standing over me, grinning, as I wheezed and moaned until the elder man pushed the remote again and the pain mercifully stopped.

“My dear Monica,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension, “you don’t think we’d just let you ride off into the sunset, do you?  Stupid girl.  We’re not idiots, as I hope you’re now starting to realise.  I wish I could say the same for you, but your pathetic performance gives lie to that. Tsk.  And as for that display of rebellion, it clearly needs to be punished.”  He pulled out two padlocks, and as Leon twisted my right arm behind me, Pearson locked the edge of the sleeve through a link in the middle of my shoulder blades.  The left arm followed and I was helpless in a made-to-measure cross between a corset and a straight jacket, fabricated in solid steel.

I was put face down in the open tray of the vehicle, my feet tied to a cleat, for the short trip back to the rear of the Hall.  The ride was rough but at least the discomfort of the nipple weights was minimised as I pressed my breasts into the cool metal to immobilise the lead balls.  Back on the open ground behind the Hall, once again standing on my feet, my arms were released, to be tied in front and secured to an eyebolt high up on the post where the bilboes were attached, and again I found my ankles locked in them.  I had my back to the three prisoners still suffering their devious tortures, and perhaps that was a good thing, for I did not need to see the agonies of my friends.

Pearson undid the wire at the top of the mail coat behind my neck and unthreaded it down to my waist, opening the coat and locking the flaps back to expose my naked back.  I knew what was coming next – it was only a question of who would be delivering it.  And I should have guessed that Jade Wong would have a vested interest in my punishment.  When she appeared she had removed her armour but still wore the brown leather outfit over which the armour had been secured, less the leggings.  It looked rather like a Roman soldier’s tunic without the steel breast plate, and was worn with Jade’s high heeled boots.  She carried a mean-looking flogger with multiple tails, and took considerable delight in displaying it as she circled me as a prelude to the main event.

The main event, when it came, was painful and prolonged, and left me screaming into the ball still trapped in my mouth and tugging in vain against the ropes that held my wrists attached to the post above my head.  At the end of it all, I was barely able to stand, leaning instead against the post, sobbing.  I heard the cries and groans of the others being removed from their torments, then they were taken away, leaving me bound and chained and alone on the lawn of the country estate.

*   *   *

The first inkling I got that something out of the ordinary was happening was when they finally came to cut me down.  I had been there perhaps two, maybe three hours, for the sun was past the zenith and I felt it was early afternoon.  I was hungry, and my body was beaten and aching, weighed down by the chain mail.  It was Pearson and Warren, this time, and I had no energy to resist them when they dragged me back to the hall.  I wound up in the old style bathroom again, where Pearson undid the lock securing the strap under my chin.  Warren removed my helmet, but replaced it with a chain locked about my throat, connected to a solid looking shower curtain rail that followed the outline of the big claw bath.

Pearson left the room, and only then was I permitted to remove the squishy rubber ball from my mouth. 

“Garrhh!” I said, letting the ball plop into the bath and trying to rid my mouth of the rubbery taste.

“Take off your armour,” Warren ordered, and handed me a small key.  “I want you naked when I come back.  You may wash if you care to.  I think it would be a good idea, in fact.”  Warren wrinkled his nose. I had no time to argue the matter, as he strode purposefully out of the room.  Something in their manner at once both unsettled me and gave me hope.  It was nothing that I could put my finger on, except perhaps a terseness in their voices that suggested things were not quite as they should be, and that events were being a little more hurried than planned.

Slowly I removed my mail gloves and then the two nipple locks, for that was what the key was for.  The relief to have these off was immense.  Then came the chain mail coat.  I did it slowly, for my body seemed to hurt everywhere.  The plugs were still locked in place, attached to the coat, but once I had my arms out of the sleeves, the whole thing slid down my legs taking the wire and plugs with it.  The chain about my throat was long enough to allow me to undo the steel leggings by putting my feet up on the edge of the bath, and in this manner I finally removed my boots, now somewhat the worse for wear.

There was a full length mirror in the room, and I gazed sadly at my scarred body.  There were bruises on my arms from Jade Wong’s sword and whip, and two livid weals on my right breast where the bullwhip had caught me.  My back was a mess, bruised and striated with welts from the flogger, while my buttocks bore the deep bruises from yesterday’s caning.  I looked a mess.  My hair was matted and sweaty from the time under the helmet, and I decided that Warren probably was right – I did need to wash.

The fact that I was chained to the shower curtain rail was convenient.  I checked the rail again, but it was solidly fixed to the timber ceiling, and would not be pulled down easily.  Even had I succeeded, I had no doubt that the bathroom door was locked.  I decided that the direction to ‘wash’ could be interpreted as ‘shower’, and I did so as quickly as I could.  I knew that at the very least I would feel better afterwards.

I was towelling myself off when Warren returned, several lengths of rope in his hand.  He was evidently not in a mood for pleasantries.  I had seen him like this before, and knew that under those circumstances, you did as you were told – and fast.  I was in no position to argue, resist or ask questions.

“Hands behind your back, palm to palm!” he snapped.

I did so, and felt the sashcord looped around my wrists half a dozen times and cinched tight, trapping them immovably.  Warren knew his bondage, and there was rarely an opportunity for escape.  I was facing the bath now, my thighs touching the upper edge.  He tied one end of a rope around my right ankle and the other around the claw foot supporting the bath at the tap end.  My left ankle got a similar treatment, with this being anchored to the claw foot at the opposite end.  I was now well secured, my feet nearly a metre apart.  I felt the familiar tightening of the muscles on the inside of my thighs with the stretch, and a quickening of my pulse at the expectation of some unknown fate about to befall me.

Warren unlocked the chain from my throat, and pulled it behind me, threading it through my arms and around the wrist ropes, forcing my arms up and my head down in a strappado. 

“My, you’re a mess,” Warren said in a most uncomplimentary way.  He gave me two open-handed slaps across my buttocks that made me cry out and bite my lip in an effort not to yield to the pain as the tender bruised flesh was ignited again.  My captor opened a cupboard behind me that I could not really see, but I knew what was happening moments later, when a pointed rubber knob was nuzzling at my butt hole.  At first I though it was just a butt plug, and obediently willed my muscles to relax as he worked the thing inside me.  It was not as big as many I had experienced, and I was not concerned until I heard a couple of squishy noises and it began to expand.  I grunted, in an un-subtle suggestion that this was quite enough, and lowered my head to peek between my legs.  That was when I saw the two black tubes leading down, one to the squeeze pump in Warren’s hand and the other to a large rubber bag on the floor.  It had been a long and exhausting day already, and I really didn’t see the need for this on top of anything else.  I couldn’t help myself.

“Oh God, Warren, not an enema!  I want food in me, not out of me!  What the hell are you doing?”

As always in such circumstances, you pay for your mistakes, for your momentary lapses of role or reason.  Warren said nothing, but appeared moments later with a red rubber ball gag.

“I’m surprised at you,” he said in a chiding tone.  “I thought someone with your experience would have a little more self-control. I had intended leaving you ungagged, but you just blew that reward.  Open!”

“Look, I’m sorry, but – urgh-mrrph!”

I was not in a position to apologise further as he buckled the strap unnecessarily tightly behind my head and I found myself watching a slow line of drool descend into the bath.  There came the sound of running water and I knew the bag was being filled up.  Warren climbed on a stool and attached the bag to the rail above me, then removed a clip on the rubber hose.

I felt the warm water invade my rectum and start to work its way further inside me under the head of fluid created by the height of the bag.  I knew I had no chance of expelling the inflated butt plug, through which the enema tube passed.  Yet again I had no choice but to accept what was being imposed on me, and to wonder at the motive. 

“Half an hour,” Warren said, and left me alone, the sound of the door closing echoing harshly off the cold tiled walls. 

*   *   *

Thirty minutes seemed an awfully long time, bent over the bath watching the drool slowly pool and make its way towards the plug hole.  At my other end, the hole there seemed to be holding, but only because of the expanded plug, as the warm water had its effect on my insides, and the discomfort became more intense.  I tried shifting my weight from one foot to the other, trying to bring my legs together, to clench my gluteal muscles, but nothing worked in the position Warren had tied me.  It was not a really stringent position under normal circumstances, but with the enema doing its work I couldn’t wait for the sound of the key in the lock.

It was a psychological thing, and the moment I heard the door open my need became even more urgent.  Warren paused, enjoying my distress, while I mmphed frustratedly into my gag.  At length he unlocked the chain connected to my wrists, allowing me to stand up, though the chain reappeared locked around my throat.  Then the ropes were undone and Warren was about to leave, as I looked desperately at the white porcelain of the toilet.

“We leave in two hours.  This is what you will wear.”  He pointed to a plastic bag he had placed on the floor beside the bath.  “I’ll be back then, and you’d better be ready.”

The next hour passed in a series of relieving exertions, and slowly my bowels settled with a series of rumblings.  I was hungry and empty and while I was now clean – inside and out – I was in no better position for making an escape.  I examined the contents of the plastic bag, and found a black latex catsuit inside.  It had a zipped crotch opening from front to back, and similar vertical openings over my breasts, but it was better than being naked, and once my insides had settled, I used some powder to work my way into the slick leggings, which I found had integral feet, just as the arms had integral gloves.  Slowly I dragged it up my pelvis and finally shrugged myself into the tight rubber, smoothing out the wrinkles so it hugged me like a shiny second skin.  The main zipper ran from navel to throat, and when I tugged this closed my curves looked pretty decent, I thought, as the ugly bruises were covered.  Even allowing for the stretchiness of the rubber, this had been made to measure, I reckoned. 

What unsettled me was the fact that it was out of keeping with Pearson’s professed love of all things medieval.  He had talked of a ‘buyer’.  I wondered if this was a prelude to some sort of shipment process, and these thoughts unnerved me even more.  Becoming permanently separated from the others was a terrifying thought at the back of my mind, now clamouring for recognition.

I sat on the edge of the bath for a while, staring at the white tiles, trying to think of a way to escape and ending up merely depressing myself even more.  The self-pity finally ended when Warren appeared again, carrying a further plastic bag.  He looked me up and down approvingly. 

“You always did look good in black,” he said.  “Rubber becomes you.”

“Thank you,” I acknowledged, not trusting myself to say any more.

“I’m afraid you’re going away,” he continued. “Unfortunately we have had to bring the transfer date forward – something to do with those damned friends of yours.  So you need to be properly prepared.  Now put your hands behind you again.”

My head was full of questions, and my stomach was turning over at the thought of ‘going away’.  I knew better than to open my mouth, however.  Warren would be more likely to admit something without pressure from me.  Obediently I did as I was told, and once more the cord wrapped around my wrists, locking them together.  He pushed foam ear plugs into my ears, then pulled a rubber hood from the plastic bag and pulled it over my head, while I grimaced and caught my breath as the tight rubber pulled at my hair.  He finally straightened everything up and made sure all my hair was tucked beneath the high collar of the suit and covered by the hood.  The hood itself had a single opening for nose and eyes, and a tiny hole where my mouth was.  Warren produced a piece of foam, the shape of a segment of orange peel with a small central hole in it, and pulling the rubber back from my lips he worked the foam into my mouth across the front of my teeth, before letting the rubber flip back in place. He then took a plastic tube half a metre long and the thickness of a straw, with a plastic cross-piece like a miniature sword, which he inserted through the mouth hole of the rubber, and through the hole in the foam.  The cross-piece butted up against the rubber and he began to wind black duct tape around my head, trapping the crosspiece against the rubber, then turning the tape through ninety degrees so that it locked my lower jaw in place.  He did not go overboard, and it was not excessively tight, but it was enough to shut me up. 

Warren held me at arms length.  His voice was faint beyond the ear plugs, and I had to watch his lips as he spoke.

“This outfit shows you off at your best, Monica,” he said with something that amounted almost to tenderness.  “I don’t know when I’ll see you again.  You’re going on a journey now.”  He said it almost as though to a child, describing something the details of which were better left unsaid.  He paused.  “It’s been fun.  It’s a pity it has to end like this, but that’s the way of life.”  I looked into his eyes.  Warren had tremendous charisma and believability when he put his mind to it, and what he was saying was frightening me.  We had been through some good things, I couldn’t deny that.  Warren had a knack of pushing my buttons in a way that few other men had managed.  He also had a way of scaring the crap out of me, and I hoped this wasn’t one of those times – or rather, I hoped against hope that it was.

“Maybe we could have something to remember each other by…” he suggested, and I knew what he meant, but I didn’t know if I could deal with it.  I was scared of what was happening, of where it was leading.  I was physically drained from the exertions of the day, and this wasn’t what I needed right then.  I shook my head and made negative noises, but I could tell from Warren’s expression that he already thought it was a good idea and there wasn’t a lot to stop him now.  Latex had always been a turn on for him, amongst other things, and having me, a domme, helpless in his hands was another.

Bound and gagged, I knew I had little choice in the matter, as he unzipped his trousers and his dick sprang out like a rocket ready to launch.  I had had many encounters with this particular rocket, most of them ultimately pleasurable, but now – given the plight of Leila, Jill and Emma, it seemed just plain wrong what I was going to do.  I backed away, but Warren seized me by the arms and pulled me back towards the bath, where he perched himself on the edge.  He slipped one hand down between my legs, to the unzipped slit in the suit running through my crotch.  His fingers explored my pussy and came away wet.  He grinned at me, needing to say nothing, while I lowered my eyes with embarrassment at my own body’s betrayal.  He unzipped the two slits over my breasts and coaxed a pair of rock hard nipples into the open.  I moaned at the touch of his fingers and made more futile protests.

Then he pulled me towards him, spreading my legs with his own and lifting me bodily astride his erect member.  I struggled briefly, but with nothing to push against, I ended up simply working myself on to the prong. 

“Nnnp!  Nnnp!”  I didn’t want this, dammit!  Warren you bastard!  Oh God, then he was inside, sliding in deeper and deeper, and all the objections vanished momentarily in a warm rush of pleasure.  His arms pulled me close to him, crushing my breasts against his chest as he humped me further, like a sack of grain.  I couldn’t struggle, could only wave my legs about, and finally gave this up, instead locking them behind his back.  He stood up, still supporting me, and walked across to the wall, jamming me against it and screwing me hard like horny teenagers in a back alley. Despite my expectations and the best intentions of my guilt-ridden conscience, the heat built up in my loins and suddenly I felt a climax surge over me.  I squealed under the rubber and snorted my drawn-out exclamation of pleasure.  Of course Warren was not done, and he hammered away for another few minutes before I detected a speeding up of the motion and his breathing.  It was enough for me and I launched off a second time, as Warren exploded inside me, and I made stifled cries against his shoulder.

We hung there for another minute, as he slowly gathered his thoughts, then after a brief clean up with a towel he took me back to the bath again.

“Sorry, but you’ll have to wear these, now.”

“Huhh?”  Plugs?  Damn you!  What the hell for?  Haven’t you humiliated me enough?  But it came out as an indignant garble while he bent me over the bath and worked the butt plug in my now very tender arse.  I whimpered and groaned behind the tape, but of course it made not the slightest difference.  Then another plug went in the front, before he tugged the zipper closed, and did the same with the two zippers over my nipples.  He removed the chain from the shower rail and once again one end of it was locked around my neck as a leash.

“Let’s go,” he said finally.

I followed him outside and down the corridor, the plugs squelching inside my now engorged pussy and tender butt hole.  I was tired and hot in the rubber suit after the exertions of being screwed against the wall, but had no alternative but to patter after him through the utility rooms and then a series of doors which left me lost.  We finally arrived in a large garage that was obviously a recent add-on to the Hall.  It was more like a small warehouse, and I tried to take in the various cars and other things that cluttered up the place.  There was the Land Rover, a Bentley, and a BMW, all with tinted windows, along with a tractor with a front end loading shovel, and a big grass mower behind it.  Leon was already there, and my heart sank at the sight of two boxes sitting in the middle of a clear space on the concrete floor, in front of a pile of something under a plastic sheet.

Warren took me over to one of the boxes.  It was about waist high, perhaps a metre long, and wide enough to perhaps just accommodate a person’s shoulders.  It was made of aluminium composite panels, about an inch thick, with polystyrene foam between the inner and outer aluminium faces, the whole being stoutly constructed with aluminium angles riveted at the corners.  A threaded rod ran horizontally through the middle of the biggest panels, obviously to give it extra strength and stop it bulging under any load.

“You will be travelling in this,” Warren’s distant voice was explaining to me.  “It’ll insulate you from cold and noise.” He leant into the box and lifted up a pair of reinforced plastic tubes taped together which appeared to be fixed to the bottom of the box. “This is your air supply.  On for in, one for out. The outlet is protected with a grille, so it can’t be blocked.  You will find, however, that no sound you make can be heard, given the length of the tube and the insulation you will have.  Don’t worry, we’ve never lost anyone yet, so his Lordship assures me.”

I was horrified at the whole set-up, but the news that they had never lost anyone yet sent shivers down my spine, for it gave very real credence to the implication that there was some sort of slave shipping operation going on here. 

“First we have to fit your breathing mask,” Warren continued, breaking in to my thoughts.  Leon passed him something, and I saw it was a full face gas mask, minus the breathing tube.  It was also a full head model, rather than one with just straps.  After a brief struggle, and my pitiful attempts to resist, the mask was pulled into place, enveloping my whole head in a further tight layer of rubber.  Inside, a separate mask sealed around my mouth and nose.  Warren lifted the mask briefly and threaded the thin straw-like tube from my mouth through a hole in the mask below the breathing outlet.  He was talking some more, and while I could see his lips moving through the plastic faceplate, I could only catch fragments of his words.  He held up an aluminium drink bottle and showed how the thin tube attached to that, and I understood that this was to be my sustenance during the journey.  But I had no idea how long the journey was or where I was going, and these aspects unsettled me as much as anything else.

My wrists were untied, but such freedom was brief, as they were then handcuffed in front.  With a coordinated effort Leon and Warren lifted me over the edge of the box.  I might have struggled, but I knew I would only get hurt, and there seemed to be no future in that.  I was better off using my brain and ensuring my best chances for getting through the process. 

I sat down in the box, the central bar crossing from one side to the other below my knees.  It was not a tight fit, with room to move my feet back or forward, with the top of my head a couple of inches below the lip of the box. Warren leaned over and unlocked the chain about my throat, then put the aluminium drink bottle into my manacled hands.  It was heavy, and I held on to it while he connected the drinking tube to the top of it.  Then he connected my breathing tubes to the front of my mask, and this seemed to be the last contact disappearing with the outside world, as things seemed to go even quieter.  He finished by attaching a further piece of tape to the back of my hood, the purpose of which I did not know.

A second threaded rod appeared in my now limited field of vision.  This one was a vertical rod, dropping between my legs and arms and screwing into a socket in the middle of the bottom panel.  I guessed it was to hold the top panel in place.  I found that its presence made me unable to pull my hands back to my mask, though I reckoned with a bit of squirming I might be able to move my head to my hands, and undo a few things.

That thought lasted only a few seconds more. I sat there, unable to see what was happening other than in a limited extent over the top of the box.  I dimly heard the sound of the tractor start up, and was wondering what was going on when the big shovel bucket on the front of the tractor appeared above me, slowly tipping a mass of sand into my box.

I panicked, struggling as the sand streamed down, enveloping me and filling the space all around me.  In a matter of seconds it was up to my face and I was immobilised, totally. Then it stopped, and the two men were looking down with satisfied expressions on their faces.  I was close to hyperventilating, in the way that sometimes it takes you a few moments to get your breathing right when you first go snorkelling.  I realised that I could still breathe, and gradually I calmed down, still stunned by the unexpectedness and the efficiency of what had taken place.

I strained against the sand packing round me, while Leon banged the sides of the box and Warren waggled the vertical rod.  Predictably the sand level sank slightly as more spaces were filled with the stuff, seeping into every crevice behind, around and beneath me.  I thought I had exhausted my capacity for movement when the two plugs inside me abruptly started vibrating.  I groaned under the mask.  Things were becoming too much for my exhausted body.  Wherever I was going, I thought I would end up sleeping all the way, but not if this was going to happen.  I squirmed and wriggled – or tried to.  Maybe that was what they had in mind. 

The sand subsided further, packing into the crevices that I had thought did not exist.  I was glad now of the rubber suit, such that I didn’t have to contend with the sand creeping into my own personal spaces.  I knew when I was beaten, and gave up the hopeless fight.  As Warren shovelled the last few inches of sand on top, and the level slowly rose around my face, I glimpsed a second rubber-suited figure pass by on the perimeter of my vision.  I had forgotten there were two boxes!  They must be sending one of the others with me! 

I wondered which of the three it would be, how the others would cope, and what would be their fate.  Then the last few shovels of sand blotted out my view as my head became immersed and stuck fast.  There was a slight scrunching which I took to be the top being screwed down against the rod.  The last sound I heard was one that filled me with dread – the sound of screws drilling through metal as the top was sealed down with chilling finality.  I was caught in utter darkness, without sound or smell, the pressure of the sand holding me rigid while the two vibrators purred silently inside me…

*   *   *

20.03.04

story continues in Monica's Travels 11

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