Monica's Travels 15
by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)
(story continues from Monica's Travels 14)
Chapter Fifteen – The Big Apple – Monica’s Story
Trapped immovably in a box of sand with two vibrators humming inside me, I listened to the muted whir of screws as they secured the top of the box. This was really scary. Fortunately I was not claustrophobic, but the total immobility, the darkness and the silence brought about by the earplugs and the dense sand cushioning my head and body were unnerving. The pervading smell of the rubber mask and hood filled my nostrils, but this sense would no doubt be of little further use to me. I realised that the external vibrations transmitting through the metal and sand would be the only guide I had to my fate.
Unfortunately for me Warren’s last act had been to turn on the vibrators wedged in my pussy and backside, trapped there inside my rubber suit. Any doubts I had that this was going to be an exhausting trip disappeared when these started up.
There was an abrupt sensation of the box swaying about and rising, followed by a thump and I knew it had been dumped on the tray of the Land Rover. It went quiet for perhaps ten minutes, before there was another thump that sounded right beside me. I knew then that whomever else I had seen in the black rubber suit was on the tray beside me. There was a brief pushing about of the boxes, as mine banged against the second one, and there came what might have been the sound of ropes securing us both in place. Then the engine started up and we were on our way – somewhere
I recognised the drive back down the hill and the winding minor roads, but after that the sensation and time began to blur. I tried to concentrate on counting the time, trying to work out distances, trying to take my mind off the interminable buzzing in my crotch, but eventually I knew I was on a looser. I had no idea how long we had been travelling and my first orgasm had struck me, leaving me squirming and mmphing in my sand-filled prison. I struggled to pull my hands back, to move my legs, anything to give me some relief from the sensations now starting to renew themselves between my legs. It was hopeless, of course. The vibrating on the back of the Land Rover seemed to have compacted the sand even further, which had become almost solid around me.
We stopped soon afterwards. I figured we had been going maybe thirty or forty minutes, but that meant nothing to me in terms of where I might be. I listened intently, trying to catch any fragment of speech or some other noise that might give me a clue as where I was or what was happening, but the plugs in my ears, the hood and the sand packing dampened all sounds from outside.
We sat stationary for a few minutes, then the Land Rover was on the move again, and I sensed the ropes securing the boxes being undone. There was some moving around of the boxes, and some more lifting, before the box was again secured. A short time later I was on the move once more, but this time there was no mistaking the acceleration of an aircraft, the thrumming of tyres on runway, a sudden cessation of this, and the tilt of the plane as we became airborne.
This whole thing was becoming more frightening by the minute. I was now being flown somewhere – west to Ireland, or further, or east to Europe, or maybe to somewhere in the Middle East. All the stories about slave smuggling were true, and the Earl had this whole business down to a fine art.
* * *
We droned into the night sky, heading exactly where I had no idea. I explored the limits of my movement, millimetre by millimetre, but they were miniscule. I sucked sparingly on the tube taped between my lips. The liquid in the bottle between my hands was some sort of sports drink, I decided, designed to keep electrolytes up. It tasted odd, probably because the smell of rubber inside the tight-fitting gas mask was so pervasive, affecting my sense of taste as well. Surprisingly, I felt little temperature discomfort in my sandy prison, for the rubber suit and the sand seemed to insulate me.
With nothing to distract me but the distant hum of the plane and the soft hissing of my own breathing, it was not surprising that the vibrations in my loins stirred up two further orgasms. That left me sweating inside the rubber and moaning softly under the tape. The blood pounded in my ears as I hmmed behind the gag and clenched my pelvic and anal muscles in a bid to suppress the inevitable. I tried to focus on something – anything – unrelated to sex, to fight the warm flush flooding up from between my legs, but that, too, proved ultimately in vain. Finally, after several hours and a couple more climaxes, the batteries slowly died, and I fell into an exhausted sleep.
* * *
I came awake as the plane touched down with a thump. I was disoriented in my blind and immobilised state, for a second wondering where I was and why I could not move. Then the nightmare came rushing back and I concluded that at least I would soon be released from the confines of the box, where my limbs were starting to ache from the lack of movement.
It seemed, however, that my freedom was not on the immediate agenda, for after some jolting and movement of the box, I then seemed to be in some other vehicle – maybe a truck. The ride lasted for maybe an hour, maybe longer. I couldn’t tell any more. My sense of time was becoming confused, as indeed were my thinking patterns. I wondered what it would be like to be kept in this confinement for days, and what would happen to one’s mind under such circumstances. Sensory deprivation could do strange things to people, and after this morbid train of thought I tried to distract myself by focussing on the few outside sensations I could now detect, as the truck rumbled over the odd rough section of road, or perhaps a bridge, with distinctive joints in the road surface. We seemed to be travelling more slowly, with lots of stopping and starting, as might be the case in a built-up area with traffic lights, but again this was only my supposition.
Finally we stopped and began to reverse, and I guessed we had reached our destination. Then the engine was turned off, and a distant rumble sounded that might have been some sort of roller door. The box was again moved, none to gently, and was abruptly tipped so that I was lying on my right side. I wondered what was going on, and momentarily panicked at the thought that I could be inadvertently turned upside down if people were unaware of the contents of the box. I took some comfort from the fact that the box and its contents would not be lightweight, however, and any movements would be done for a purpose.
My heart lifted with the unmistakeable sound of screws being undone with a portable electric drill, though for some reason they seemed to be accessing me through the left side panel. There was a slight release of pressure on this side, and I was at once able to move my left arm upward, though little more, since my wrists were still handcuffed around the threaded rod between my legs.
Hands scraped some sand from around the left side of my head and body, and I became aware of a voice in the distance, or so it seemed, with my hearing still limited by the plugs and the rubber hood. I struggled to turn my head, still half encased in sand, as light found its way through the plastic faceplate. I squinted, my eyes not yet adjusting to anything other than the total darkness I had become accustomed to. Slowly the voice made its way into my consciousness.
“ and as you can see, the merchandise is perfectly packed and secured for transport. This is a method we have patented, which provides insulation, immobility, and silence.” Why did the voice sound familiar? It was American. Why did I know the accent – faintly southern – just the hint of a Texan drawl? Was I in the United States?
More hands were removing sand, and a smiling face framed by auburn hair swam into view beyond my own faceplate. My God! Marilyn!
I was overwhelmed in a welter of conflicting reactions. My first dawning response to being somewhere relatively civilised – as distinct from some Middle East slave den – was relief, and then seeing Marilyn made me feel firstly comforted in the familiarity of the face, but then quickly overtaken by unease and then fear.
Marilyn and her friend Kris had both participated for the Citadel in the contest with Bilboes, which was how I now came to be enjoying this luxury round-the-world holiday. Ha! I had had a run-in with Marilyn and Kris at one stage, when we found them trying to beat secrets out of Shawnee, as a consequence of which the two Americans had spent an uncomfortable night in the Bilboes dungeon, and there had been several other team events where they had come off second best, but I had not expected this. There seemed to have been a bit of an exodus from the Citadel after the games, what with Leon and the Americans, but I was not anticipating there being any sort of link. Now, my mind was telling me, there was some connection between Warren and Leon and Marilyn, and maybe even Jade Wong. I wondered what had happened to her. The plot seemed to get thicker.
“Hello, Monica,” said Marilyn, squatting down beside me. She looked confident and at ease – as one does in that position, looking down on a bound and gagged rival, or whatever it was she considered me to be. “I’m so pleased you’ve joined us. You’re obviously like a good red wine – you travel well.” She undid a few more screws out of my range of vision and the top of the box came away in a cascade of sand. I became aware of a small group of people standing nearby. Marilyn pulled away the threaded rod between my legs and disconnected the breathing and drinking tubes from my mask. Slowly I stretched out on my side, rolling over on my stomach in the sand as my limbs unfolded with a painful relief. I lay there for a minute, before raising my head to look at the knot of people watching me. Marilyn helped me to my feet and for a moment I thought she was going to release me, until she looped a length of rope to the connecting link of my handcuffs and pulled the rope between my legs, holding it behind me and forcing my hands down to my crotch. Then I knew that I was in for more of the same.
I looked around me. I was in some sort of loading bay, with a big roller door which was now closed. Marilyn was wearing a tailored pinstriped business suit with a high collar, and I noticed the dozen or so other people watching – mainly men, but with several women amongst them, were dressed in the trademark BDSM style, in an understated but kind of obvious way. I also saw, just to one side, the second box, identical to the one I had travelled in. Sitting on top of this box, her long blonde hair in a single plait down her back, was the other of the American Duo – Kris. She was smiling like the cat who’s swallowed the cream, wearing a black leather catsuit and idly tapping the heel of her boot against the aluminium of the box.
“That concludes the grand opening ceremony,” Marilyn said to the onlookers with an easy smile. “Perhaps you’d be so kind as to return to the main hall and leave by the usual exit. Monica and her friend will be on private display from tomorrow, and there will be an interactive display with them involving some of our newest products. I do hope you’ll join us.”
Marilyn sounded like a consultant selling high tech gear. She held the rope out to Kris who eased herself languidly off the other box and took the end of the rope, pulling it so that the two devices still embedded inside me were abruptly jammed in more tightly.
“Welcome to the U.S, honey,” she said in my ear. There was something in her tone that told me the welcome I was about to get was going to be distinctly one-sided, and as the onlookers filed out, Marilyn crossed to me and with a swift movement pulled the gas mask from my head. The smell of the rubber disappeared and I was able to look Marilyn in the eyes without the impediment of a faceplate in between. Marilyn held my gaze before inclining her head to the blonde behind me.
“Why don’t you put this one in temporary cold storage while we get rid of the patrons and deal with the other.”
Kris loosened the rope slightly and gave me a shove towards a door to the side of the loading dock. I only had time to briefly take in my surroundings, and from what I could gather, the place was some sort of old warehouse, constructed of brick with heavy concrete columns and beams. Then we were through the door into a wide corridor and there were more shoves in my back. I mmphed my annoyance but Kris was clearly liking the reversal of roles since the last time we had met. There was nothing I could do with my hands trapped down at my crotch and as we drew alongside a heavy steel door, we paused while she opened it.
I had thought Marilyn’s reference to cold storage was metaphoric, and was taken aback to find myself in a genuine cold storage room. The freezer did not appear to be working, but the rows of hooks hanging from overhead rails and the heavily insulated walls left no doubt the function the place had once fulfilled.
Kris pulled me up against one of the stainless steel poles supporting the overhead rails and wrapped the rope around the pole, knotting it then pulling the rope up my back to wrap further turns around my neck, anchoring it further to the pole. I was once again immobilised and could only glare at her while she laughed at my discomfort.
“I am so-o-o going to enjoy the next few days,” she told me with a grin. “Boy, are you guys gonna be sorry you messed with us.” Then she was gone, slamming the door with a solid metallic thump as the latch closed against its seal.
Yet again I was forced to take stock of my prison. At least this time I had a little more use of my limbs and senses, though the way I had been tied left me little opportunity to escape. The rope was tight about my throat, verging on the edge of restrictive, and I knew if I made any attempt to struggle, I would have difficulty breathing. The place was about six metres square and was eerily lit by a single fluorescent light. No sound was audible through the thick walls, and I wondered how long I would have to stay here, and who my companion was to be. Was it Jill, Leila, or Emma, and what was their motive behind all this?
Perhaps ten minutes later the door opened again and another black rubber-suited figure stumbled into the room restrained as I had been, ahead of Kris and Marilyn. Even with her head all but covered by the rubber hood and a number of turns of duct tape sealing her mouth like mine, I recognised Emma at once. There was something about the way she walked, even before I took in the big almond eyes and the full breasts heaving under the tight shiny latex of the suit. The ampleness of Emma’s breasts and the smallness of her waist were two features that were the envy of many women, not least a few in my own establishment. Not that we resented Emma having such gifts, for she was too nice a person. We just wished we had equal blessings.
There was no mistaking the fear in Emma’s eyes when she first came into the room, nor the relief when she saw me, albeit bound and helpless. There was no opportunity for reunions though – at least not right at that moment, as Marilyn took the rope from Kris, pulled it forward between Emma’s legs and tossed it over one of the hooks hanging from the overhead rail. She heaved on it and Emma’s handcuffed wrists shot up in the air, stopping just short of the hook, at which point she was standing on her tiptoes. Emma looked good in rubber at any time, but with her hands above her like that, her hourglass figure and her taut breasts were a sight that most of our clients would pay well to appreciate and interact with.
I had the feeling that I was the one going to be interacting, as Kris came across and undid my rope, hauling me across to join Emma. The loose end of Emma’s rope was passed though my handcuffs and tossed over an adjacent hook, and at once my own wrists were hoisted high beside Emma’s, and we found ourselves bumping breast to breast, my head close enough to hers to feel the warmth of her breath.
The end of the rope now being pulled on by Marilyn was tied off to a horizontal bracing rail nearby, and Emma and I found ourselves on our rubber-clad tiptoes stretching uncomfortably to try to reduce the discomfort on our manacled wrists. Kris was at the door, ready to leave, but Marilyn halted beside us. She ran her hands over the tight-fitting rubber suit, first with me, then with Emma, as though exploring our predicament and the nature of our restraining outfits. Her manicured fingers undid the zippers over our breasts, coaxing our nipples free into the cool air of the room, and teasing them into erection. Emma was the same height as I was, and it was not surprising that our flesh touched in a most sensual way, distorted though our breasts were by our raised arms and the narrow nature of the slits in our suits.
Marilyn also probed our crotches through the latex, and grinned at the feel of the plugs front and back, evidently in Emma’s case as well as my own.
“Mmmm, I’ll bet you had an interesting trip,” she murmured, licking her lips and looking at me slyly. “You must be verrr-y tired. Never mind. We’ll put you to bed shortly, and tomorrow you’ll be able to lie about as much as you want.” She gave my right nipple a squeeze that made me squeal under the tape, before following Kris to the door. “I could tell you what you’re in for, and what the big plan is for you both, but that would be spoiling all the fun. You know that uncertainty is the great attraction of bondage. I guess you’ll really get your money’s worth then. See you later – maybe.”
Emma and I were left alone, hooked like frozen lambs on the production line. Emma’s head was against mine and she sniffled as the tears ran down her cheeks. I mmphed softly - a poorly articulated noise that was meant to express the caring and reassurance that I hoped to convey to her in the midst of this moment of desolation, but it was futile, and we simply hung there, taking what little solace we could from the warm softness of each other’s body.
* * *
I seemed to have gone from one extreme to the other. First it was hours cramped up in a restrictive box, now it was being stretched as much as I could endure. Marilyn’s comment about uncertainty was astute and suggestive. She was right in that once you are bound and at the mercy of somebody, often the thought of what might happen can be worse than the actual result. Marilyn had tossed in the little “maybe” at the end, just to leave us in even more doubt as to whether we were to stay this way for five minutes or five hours. With the beatings I had received in England, the plane trip and now this, my body seemed to be aching from head to toe, now exacerbated by having to stand on my toes and try to minimise the load on the steel cuffs cutting into my wrists. Emma and I made no more noises, other than frustrated and strained breaths, interspersed with stifled groans as we struggled with the pain from the enforced stretch.
I sensed a slowing of Emma’s breathing, and knew she was focussing her efforts on taking her mind off into sub-space, where a true submissive was able to minimise and overcome the pain, often channelling the energy into heightening other senses. The rise and fall of her breasts against my own became less, and I took comfort in this, wishing that in fact I could do the same thing myself.
We must have been there for twenty minutes, maybe more, before the door opened and the two American girls re-entered the cold store.
“How’s it hangin’?” Kris asked. Very funny, I thought. You’ll keep.
“We’re going to put you down for the night,” said Marilyn, as they undid the rope and allowed Emma to lower her arms, which she did with a stifled grunt of relief. I was about to do the same, but Marilyn was re-tying the rope. “Uh-uh, not so fast. One at a time.” At least the slackening of the rope allowed me to get off the balls of my feet and ease the pressure on my wrists, though my arms still ached terribly.
Emma was led away, a jailor holding on to each of her arms. The door ker-chunked closed again and I was left alone. Without Emma present and with a small bit of slack in my rope, I wondered whether I could actually get off the hook. Now, for the first time, I wondered whether my captors had finally slipped up.
With the small amount of slack now available in my rope I had to still to jump three inches from a flat-footed position to get the rope over the hook, which was far from easy, as I soon discovered. Every time I jumped the rope over the hook would not go as high as my jump. I sweated and grunted, becoming frustrated with my inability to get the last part of the way. I was losing my strength rapidly, and I decided it was time for one last desperate effort, as I grasped the short length of rope through the link of the cuffs with both hands and swung myself forward and upwards, jack-knifing my body and thrusting my feet up towards the bar.
My body cried out with the effort, and I knew I would only be able to try it once. The hours in the gym had kept me reasonably supple and flexible, but this was a real effort. My right foot just caught the rail from which the hooks hung and I locked first one, then the other ankle over it. Hanging there with half my weight supported by my legs made life a little easier, though still in my gagged state I was snorting and straining for breath. But I was able to work the hook into a better position and finally grasp first the hook itself, then the rail, by working my hands up the rope. Only at this point with the rope now clear of the hook, could I unhook my feet and drop to the floor with a soft plop of rubber on concrete.
There was no time to try to rid myself of the tape wrapped over my mouth and around my head, nor the handcuffs. I ran to the door and opened it, sneaking a look into the corridor. I had no idea where to run, so opted for the left hand way, opposite to the way I had come. I was starting down the corridor when there was a shout behind me. It was Kris and Marilyn returning from doing whatever they had done to Emma. I took off, though I soon discovered running while gagged and handcuffed is far from easy, and having no idea where you’re going adds to the problem.
The building seemed to be a labyrinth of corridors that were falling into decay, dimly lit by fluorescent lights of which only half seemed to be working. Some side passages were blocked off with corrugated iron, while some had steel doors. I tried one that was locked, and that lost me precious seconds. I could hear the staccato pounding of heels on concrete as the pair gained on me. I was sure it would be Kris in front. Marilyn had been wearing high heels and a skirt, and while the heels of Kris’s boots were not low, she seemed better equipped for a chase.
I reached a tee, and turned right, only to be confronted with a steel-framed door with a mesh grille inset in it. I seized the handle and tried to turn it, but the thing was locked. I rattled it madly, mmphing my frustration and banging my fists against it. I knew as I heard the rattle of heels behind me that I had blown the only chance I might have, as Kris crashed into me from behind and pinioned me against the grille. Marilyn arrived moments later, and the pair gripped me by the arms as my lungs fought for breath through my nose. I was marched back the way we had come, all my fight gone, my body shattered by the last draining effort on top of what it had been forced through over the last two days. I knew this was the end, and that the last hope had died.
* * *
I guess the pair had what they wanted – an excuse to punish me. I lay where I had been put, face down on a padded whipping bench in a room where Emma also lay, chained in a small cage. It was not so much a cage, as a kind of coffin with bars all round the sides and a padded top. It was perhaps deeper than your average coffin, as Emma had shown when she was made to sit up, and her head poked out the top through a hole. I was allowed to watch a bit of this going on – at least as much as I could manage by raising my head from the padded hole in which my own face was buried. At this stage I was merely secured to the bench by a broad belt across the small of my back which was locked to the sides of the bench. My hands were bound palm to palm behind me, but that was all. Quite frankly, right then, I didn’t care and was about ready to go to sleep. I still wore the rubber suit and the tape over my mouth, but they had let me drink as much as I wanted through the straw and go to the loo, at which stage both the inserts had been removed.
Now the pair fussed over Emma, who was obliged to sit up with her head exposed simply because a section of the hole had now been blocked around her neck, making it impossible to withdraw it inside her prison. They had removed both the tape and the hood, and now Kris seemed to enjoy feeding pieces of pizza to Emma’s apparently disembodied head, and she ate gratefully. It seemed there would be no such luck for me. I had been a bad girl, and bad girls evidently remain gagged and don’t get fed. I was sure there were other things that bad girls would have to endure, but right then I was past caring.
With Emma fed and watered, and now watching the two American girls curiously, attention was turned to me. I had done some mental sums and after allowing for flying time and time differences, I reckoned it was probably ten in the evening, give or take an hour or two, which would explain Marilyn’s earlier closing remarks to the group of people who had watched my arrival and extrication from the box of sand. Now they were packing us up and leaving us for the night, it seemed.
Marilyn came over to me and talked softly beside my ear.
“You’ve been very uncooperative, Monica. Let me explain something to you. I’m calling the shots here, not you. You are in a severely compromised position, and tomorrow will be used to demonstrate a number of products we have on display out the front. Perhaps I should elaborate. I’m sure you’ve heard of BondCon? The Bondage Convention? Suffice to say, you’re at the biggest B & D convention in the world, where there is a huge clientele and an equally huge range of products. Of course the city fathers want to make sure everything is above board and nobody gets offended, hence they have all sorts of ridiculous rules about minimal nudity and no real sex and all that sort of thing. It’s all very restrained – if you’ll pardon the pun - and coy, to avoid embarrassment and to be politically correct. We’ve done well even to make the thing happen at all.
“But in true New York fashion, there is always another level, and if people want to see things demonstrated, by knowing the right contacts and the way the system works, these things can be made to happen. Kris and I have a range of products here, which we sell under commission for various companies. It’s lucrative, I can assure you, but made far more so when you actually have real subbies to demonstrate things on, and to let people try out the products. That will be the role of you and Emma for the next couple of days. Unfortunately, because of your bad behaviour, you will also get to try out some products overnight.”
She squatted down beside me and placed something on the floor immediately below where I was staring down through the hole in the bench. Unable to contain my curiosity, I stared at it. It was like a clear plastic hemisphere, about five centimetres across, with the flat side uppermost so that it wobbled slightly. Sticking up from the top was a small stiff wire perhaps as long as my finger, on the top of which was a metal ring that looked a bit like the Mercedes emblem.
Marilyn let the thing wobble for a minute, then picked it up and held it close to my face. I could see that the hemisphere was hollow and made of clear acrylic, with the upper portion having some sort of silver lining around the inside. The bottom segment also appeared to have a metallic coating, and I saw that a large glob of mercury was rolling around inside.
“This is a mercury switch,” Marilyn explained. “Let it stand upright and the mercury stays pooled on the bottom. Tilt it slightly, and the mercury spans between the lower and upper metal contacts, closing the circuit and letting the juice flow. Cool, huh?” I didn’t think it was very cool right then, given my vulnerable position, not that I could exactly enunciate my thoughts. “This little baby always stands upright on the ground, that is, in the off position. It’s like one of those wobbly clowns that you can beat the crap out of but which will always return to the upright position. Understand me so far?”
“Uh-huh,” I grunted.
“Good. Now this little ring around the top of the stick is designed to tie things to. Pull it in a particular direction and it will tilt and make the connection. You’ll see very soon. The connection will activate the normal electro-stimulation, which you know and love. I’ll leave the control box beneath you so you can watch the pretty lights go on and off with the zaps.”
That was my introduction to mercury switches, and it all got worse from there. Kris turned up first with an expandable spreader bar which pushed my legs wide apart, almost as far as I could manage. It was not so bad lying down, with the bar resting on the padded bench, compared to what it would have been like if I’d been standing, but it was going to be very uncomfortable, that I knew. Then came the part I hated, while Kris seemed to take great delight, as she showed me the length of pole surmounted with a big acrylic plug with electrodes at various points on the sides of it.
“This is going to hurt you more than it will hurt me,” she grinned, peering up at me from under the bench where she displayed the plug for my enlightenment. I grunted feebly and closed my eyes, wishing it could all just be over. Kris eased the tip of the plug against my arse, slipping it into the unzipped opening of the rubber suit. It nuzzled up to my hole and began to force its way in – and out – and in – in a slowly orchestrated entrance that saw me groaning and squirming and wishing she would just push the thing in and be done with it. Evidently that was too easy, and Marilyn finally had to tell Kris to finish the job so that Marilyn could make the connections.
Finishing the job meant that the plug was rammed home all the way, making me gasp and grunt in sudden pain as the big plug breached my exposed castle and was jammed in place by the pole being connected somehow to the middle of the spreader bar. I couldn’t tell how they’d done it and I didn’t care. All I knew was that the arrangement made my body rigid from the waist down. I was snorting and moaning, trying to adjust and accommodate the beast while Marilyn fussed about connecting the butt plug to the control box and connecting this to the mercury switch. I understood all of this, but I hadn’t quite seen how the switch was to be used, until Marilyn locked two small padlocks through my nipple piercings, and tied strings from these through the breast openings in the bench down to the ring on top of the switch. Another string connected my bound wrists, running over the spreader bar and down beyond the end of the bench, to again connect with the switch ring. That seemed to pretty much get the message over to me.
Marilyn squatted down and turned the knobs on the control box. “This one controls the length of time, and this one controls the intensity,” she said. “Of course in this case, the time control is switched off entirely, since the mercury switch will now govern the duration. I think we can leave the intensity on ‘medium’, perhaps. That will certainly be enough to wake you up if you toss and turn during the night.” She turned to Kris. “I’m done here. You okay to finish up?”
“Sure,” said the blonde. “I just have some unfinished business with my little subbie friend here.” There was the sound of Marilyn’s footsteps receding and a door closing. “So it’s just you and me, Emma dear,” came Kris’s voice. “Oh, and your uncooperative friend there.”
I raised my head cautiously to see what was happening. Kris was sitting astride the narrow coffin-like box that Emma’s head poked out of. I was looking at them side on, but I could see the crotch of Kris’s catsuit was undone and she was leaning back on her elbows, her pussy edging towards Emma’s mouth. That was the difference between Kris and I at that moment. Both with our crotches exposed, but me with a giant plug in my arse, and Kris with Emma’s tongue in her love tunnel.
Emma was about to say something, but was abruptly cut off by a face full of wet pussy. I had trained Emma well, developing her natural submissive but very sensual instincts. Kris soon discovered Emma’s abilities, and in a very short time was moaning and gasping with pleasure. I, on the other hand, made the mistake of trying to get more comfortable, and shifted my arms just too far. A fierce pain shot through my arse and I cried out into my gag. The shock made me jerk, and this in turn caused the switch to wobble further and another fiery jolt hit my insides. I squirmed and clenched my cheeks, biting on to the rubber mouthpiece. It was a vicious circle, in that the pain caused me to jerk, causing thus more pain, and so on. Only with a desperate effort of will was I able to control myself long enough for the mercury switch to settle down.
I lay there, sweating in the suit and panting noisily, my breasts heaving as much as I dared let them without starting anything off again by tugging at the switch. I was moaning softly to myself, miserable in my predicament, while Kris climaxed with a howl of ecstasy, gripping Emma’s long hair and pulling Emma’s head hard into her crotch. I could have done without the sound effects, and I didn’t dare lift my head the second time after Kris got off. There came the sound of a hatch closing - presumably Emma’s head being stuffed back into the imprisoning box – and Kris getting unsteadily to her feet.
Her flushed face appeared under the bench, grinning at me. “Wow! That girl is qui-i-ite something! She’s earned her rest, which is more than you have, little Miss Monica. I’m sure you slept on the way over here, so there seems no reason you have to sleep too much tonight.”
She tied a further string to the switch and drew it up to be tied off to the short drinking tube still poking out through the tape from my mouth. I moaned as negatively as I could, but there was no dissuading her. A final parting gift was a tweak of the intensity knob on to ‘high’.
“All right girls, see you in the morning.” She slapped me hard on my exposed buttocks – on one, then the other. They were full-handed slaps, enough to make things start all over again, a tick-tack of strings tugging the switch that saw me screaming behind the tape until I finally hadn’t the strength to jerk my legs or arms any more.
The lights went out, the door closed, and there was only the sound of my sniffling and a soft, sympathetic sobbing from Emma.
* * *
10.05.04
story continues in Monica's Travels 16
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