Monica's Travels 17
by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)
(story continues from Monica's Travels 16)
Chapter Seventeen – High Fashion – Monica’s Story
I must have been out for only a few seconds. Blacking out during an orgasm is not something I make a habit of, and plead the absence of air as being pretty reasonable extenuating circumstances. As I rejoined the world I was confused and disoriented at my immovability and the myriad of sensations coursing through my body. I was gasping for breath, desperately sucking air into my lungs through the mouthpiece. Every breath was laboured, as the vacuum tried to compress my breasts and lungs, making even the movement of breathing an effort.
I had barely got to the stage of focussing on the milling people outside my cocoon when the same cocoon lurched again, as did my stomach, for I was tilted further, ending up facing the floor. The vinyl sheets holding me like a sandwich seemed to cope with my changed orientation quite easily, and obviously Marilyn and Kris were demonstrating just what a high quality product it was.
I could not see what went on at this point, for again my vision was limited, but I estimated I hung there, face down, for perhaps a quarter of an hour. All the time the vibrators hummed and it was inevitable that another climax was on the way. I could not see Emma from this position, but obviously she was starting to feel the strain, for there were a couple of instances when she lost concentration and a brief jolt again made my insides turn to jelly and my increasing moans of pleasure briefly turned to an exclamation of pain, as the pleasure receded temporarily.
Perhaps they waited until the next orgasm, for as soon as I had completed my vain struggle and probably hooted like a foghorn through the tube as the warm rush swept up from my loins, I was turned a further ninety degrees, so that I hung inverted, staring at the back wall of the room. This time I was allowed to reach the big O unhindered, though it was taking longer, and I was becoming more and more exhausted.
An upside down climax was pretty much par for the bizarre torments they were putting me through as I remained trapped in the vac-bed. This time the blood rushed to my head with no help from anything other than gravity. Beads of sweat were pooling in places and finding their way down the length of my body despite the clinging vinyl, and the inversion sent all these running to my head. Shortly I was gasping and making urgh-urgh-urgh sounds as the orgasm overtook me again. I knew I could not cope with much more than this, and I was enormously relieved when I was finally returned to the horizontal and the vibrator was turned off.
By that stage I was past caring. I was wrung out and simply lay there inertly, staring at the ceiling – not that I had much choice otherwise. At some stage a while after that the pump was turned off and the all-encompassing pressure slowly eased. The zippers were opened and the top sheet was rolled back, and I saw that the crowd had departed. I wondered how the sales pitch had gone
* * *
If you believed what Marilyn told us in our ‘lunch break’, it had been a very successful morning – at least for the American girls. Emma and I had struggled to find the strength to eat pizza, so exhausted were we. We had sat on the floor with our right wrists handcuffed to our left ankles, too tired to respond to the taunts and gibes of our captors, though the opportunity to eat something of substance and replenish our fluids was desperately needed. As soon as we had finished the pizzas, we were immediately gagged again with ball gags, and the handcuffs were re-done so our wrists were joined behind us.
The fact that Kris and Marilyn had sold a number of the vac-beds and lamp frames was of no consequence to us, though they obviously were elated. It merely meant – so we were told – that the invited crowd for the afternoon would be even greater, once word got round of the show that was taking place in the back room, never mind the fact that it included an apparently well-known domme now reduced to the role of being a submissive.
I didn’t care. I was shattered, drained by the climaxes I had been forced to undergo, straining with all my might against the enveloping, suffocating grip of the vac-bed. Emma and I were still plugged with the Ultimators, and we now sat back to back and watched disconsolately as Kris and Marilyn scurried about readying the place for the next show.
“You’ll be up first, Monica,” Marilyn instructed. “We’ve been told you were a bit if a star in England at the tournament with Jade Wong. She said you looked very fetching in chain mail, so another outfit came out with you on the plane.” My heart sank at the mention of Jade Wong again, for she was all we needed at this point in time. Things were quite bad enough already.
Kris and Marilyn had positioned two privacy screens in a corner of the room. “You will remain behind these and get changed here as we direct,” Marilyn said, as she and Kris lifted a lit off a wooden box that the two of them had carried across to dump on the floor beside me. Marilyn lifted another coat of chain mail from the box, clearly with some effort.
“This is gorgeous,” she said admiringly. “I almost envy you. It’s made to measure, of course. You should be flattered that people have gone to such trouble for your benefit.”
I looked at the chain mail outfit. It was a deep purple colour, like a longer version of the one I had worn previously, and shimmered with a brilliance that sent a shiver down my spine. Despite the torments I had been through that morning, I still remembered the heavy clinging feel of the metal links and the strange stirrings in my loins that had come with wearing it. All people have their little triggers that stir such feelings, and I know what mine are. I now realised that this was another one that went up there with the most exciting, and I couldn’t help the subliminal thrill that went through my body at the sight of this garment. Marilyn was right - it was gorgeous.
Emma and I were hoisted to our feet and led behind the screens, where chains were locked around our throats and then to a steel pipe running up the wall. The chains passed behind a bracket at about two metres high such that we were forced to stand, albeit with some slack available in the chain.
My wrists were released from the handcuffs and Kris and Marilyn held up the dress – for this was what it really looked like – for me to put on. It was like a surgeon’s gown, floor length and open at the back, and as I slid my arms into the long sleeves, a shiver ran up my back at the cold smoothness of the metal. The sleeves were very snug and my breasts fitted equally snugly through holes in the front. Kris began lacing the back closed, and once again I found that the dress had been deliberately made a size or two smaller, and the torso began to constrict my body like a corset. My breathing became more strained as Kris tugged at the laces and the two edges slowly came together down to my waist and then further down past my buttocks. She was obviously enjoying the process and grinned at me as she tied things off just above my knees, then put a padlock through a couple of links at the end of my sleeves so that my wrists were trapped behind me.
Kris stood back and gave my cheeks a pinch above the gag strap. “You look yummy,” she said. “A real iron lady.”
“Hmmrph,” I snorted. Kris ignored my sarcastic noise and turned to Emma. Emma’s expression had a hint of trepidation in it, wondering what was in store for her. Kris cupped Emma’s breast and bent to give it a nibble with her teeth. Emma closed her eyes and shuddered, a faint moan escaping from behind the ball in her mouth.
“You’ll look lovely when I’ve finished with you,” Kris promised.
She was true to her words, for Emma’s outfit was stunning white leather of the highest quality. There was no doubt about these two – they had an eye for the best products to market. Fifteen minutes later Emma was considerably taller, her legs clad in white thigh boots with heels about as tall as you can have them, before the cease to be such and become punishment boots, forcing the wearer’s feet into an en point position, like a ballet dancer. Instead, Emma merely had to walk on the equivalent of tiptoes and ridiculously high spikes.
The main part of Emma’s outfit was a soft leather straight jacket that was tailored to her body and secured her arms crossed behind her with black arm straps that buckled across her stomach. The body of the garment was not unlike a corset, with – like my steel dress – cutouts for Emma’s breasts, but also with a high buckled collar that suited Emma’s ancestry as well as her Asian looks. Down below, the garment was cut high at the hips and had a wide black crotch strap that replaced the one that until now had held the Ultimator in place, with this having been finally removed. Even though there was now no insert, Kris had made a point of hauling on the crotch strap to force the device deeply into Emma’s private places. With Emma’s full, prominent breasts and long jet black hair, she looked stunning when the standard ball gag was replaced by a full white leather head harness with a white ball and a strap that crossed under her chin and wrapped around her neck. Even in my present position, I could see Emma would have a major desirability factor in front of the crowd when they came.
Kris had just finished putting the finishing touched to Emma when there was a murmur of voices and the afternoon crowd was let in by Marilyn, who launched into her spiel.
“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen - I hope you enjoyed your lunch. It’s good to see most of you back along with a few more faces. Unfortunately for those of you not here this morning, you missed a good performance by our guest subbies Monica and Emma, who have just about recovered now.” There was a ripple of laughter through the audience. “This afternoon they will be on show again, and the theme will be two-fold. We’ll have some fashions and outfits that we hope you will find interesting, and also – combined with this theme - we will be looking at some portable devices for those times when you’re away from your dungeon but still need to keep your subs happy.”
Through a gap in the curtains that served as our dressing room screen, I could see Marilyn on the stage. The big vac-bed had been turned to the vertical position and had been carried away to the far end of the room, along with the lamp frame. Marilyn paused in her pitch, then began on a slightly different tack.
“How many doms here travel as part of their work? Can I have a show of hands? Yes, a fair number of you. And how many like to mix a little play with work, by taking your subbie with you? Hmm. I’m impressed. A good number. What a nice bunch of people. Okay. Now let’s look at a few scenarios. You’re staying in a nice hotel, and your subbie has been out the whole day with your credit card, gone way over the top, but says she just couldn’t help herself. She needs to be punished, but the damned hotels these days are so sterile that there’s barely a bed frame visible, never mind anything you can tie someone to. No anchor points, no nothing except some flimsy furniture. How frustrating is this? Anybody experienced this before? Ah-ha – a few hands going up.
“And what about when you want to go out? You want to take your sub with you, but she’s been totally rebellious and you know she’ll go blabbing all the wrong things after a couple of drinks, yet circumstances dictate that you bring a partner. Well, we have something for that situation, too.
“But first, let’s look at a little portable punishment device, which I’m sure will amuse you – it really is a lot of fun.” Marilyn moved off the stage to a point where I couldn’t see her, then returned towing one of those small wheeled suitcases so common on aircraft these days.
Marilyn paused and looked down at the case. “I know what you’re thinking – what’s so special about this bag? Too small to squish a subbie into, huh? Okay. Let’s see what’s inside ” She squatted and with the handle upright she unzipped the side flap. It fell open and was obviously a little more substantial than just a fabric flap in that it seemed to be hinged. Marilyn made a show of scratching her head at the black rubbery material that seemed to fall out of it afterwards.
“Oh, there’s another zipper on the other side I wonder what that does She undid this and more of the rubber material slid out. She looked at it again and undid a couple of plastic knobs on the side of one of the handles. It came away and the whole handle seemed to straighten out at each bend. Marilyn was suddenly making the handle extend like a telescope until it was two metres tall with a braced horizontal bar extending from the top like a gallows. From a side pocket there came two more bars like those bendy tent poles that clipped into the top bar, making it a couple of metres long, looking somewhat like a fishing rod, with a metre of thin chain hanging from the tip. From another side pocket came another, thicker telescopic pole that seemed to slot in to a hole in the top of the case, opposite the main pole. From the inside of the case came a heavily contoured spiral-ribbed dildo, which clipped on to the short pole.
Marilyn rummaged inside the case again and came away with a power cord. She scratched her head again and then appeared to throw the cord to one side as though not knowing what it was for. Kris then appeared on stage, towing a length of garden hose, obviously connected to a tap in the bathroom nearby. Without a word she handed it to Marilyn, who studied it intently then studied the rubber material, suddenly identifying an inlet. After unscrewing the cap Marilyn turned the hose nozzle and proceeded to fill what was obviously a heavy-duty rubber base of some sort. Slowly, as the water flowed, the bag took shape and grew in size, protruding out each side from the bag in a kind of H-shape in plan. The base grew larger until it was taut and filled to the height of the bag. Marilyn turned off the water and screwed the cap on the bag, before picking up the cord and plugging it into a nearby wall socket. There was at once a humming from the bag and both the gallows and the dildo pole began to rotate.
The crowd loved it. Marilyn’s mime performance, without explanation had proved a hit, like a mystery movie revealing the murderer at the end.
“There you have it, ladies and gentlemen, the portable tow path and reamer. Kris, would you please bring out the first contestant?” While Kris came into our little area, Marilyn continued. “This product is strongly made. The rubber bag is the same sort used for wet bags for carrying camping gear on rafting trips. The bag forms a very substantial base, and there is no way your subbie will pull it over - it weighs 100 kilograms when full. “
Kris unlocked my chain and I followed her out into the gaze of the audience, feeling myself blush with embarrassment.
“Here she is, star of the iconic Bilboes website, all the way from Brisbane Australia - Monica Armstrong!”
I could have done without the build up, never mind the applause, the wolf whistles, and a few very pointed comments.
“Before we deal with this punishment aspect, let’s have a look at Monica’s dress first. How stunning is this? Chain mail, now available in a varying range of colours. Turn, Monica.” I did so. “You will see we have only used laces on the back, but the dress can be equally locked on – this is the great thing about chain mail. Every link is an anchor for a padlock. See the sleeves here? Locked with a single padlock. The lacing turns the top of the dress into a corset. Tight enough, Monica?”
“Urrff,” I grunted.
“Good. Yes, you can’t beat the look of chain mail imprinted in the skin. But versatility is the key thing here, ladies and gentlemen, as we will see in a minute. First, let’s get Monica properly gagged as befits something from the Middle Ages.” Kris appeared again, with something in her hands the size of a football. “Monica has just come from guest starring in a medieval show in an old English castle, haven’t you Monica?” I glared at her. “We’ve had this gag specially made to go with the dress. It’s a variation on the brank, or Scold’s Bridle that those lovely English people invented.” She held up the device and I could at once see the similarity. Unlike the very simple brank, this device was shaped like a human head, made primarily of strips of steel about a centimetre wide, running horizontally in and out forming the contours of the head. There was a vertical strip in line with the nose, and two in line with the temples that went under the chin, below which there was a short section that clearly wrapped around the neck. The whole construction was hinged on top and split down a line just in front of the ears.
“As you can see there is a flat protrusion inside the front half which keeps the tongue depressed. We’ve covered this with rubber, since that’s better than sucking on steel, isn’t that right, Monica?” she ended with a laugh. “Monica’s not very talkative today,” she said, as though explaining why a favourite parrot is being uncooperative. “the whole thing is the highest quality stainless steel, so there’s no rust issues, and there are no sharp edges, either. This is a quality product, as are all our wares. The inside is lined with foam, so as not to damage the contents which you will no doubt value even more. Now, let’s try it out, shall we ”
While Kris held me by the hair and removed the ball gag, Marilyn opened up the steel helmet. The ball had hardly been removed from my mouth when the front half of the helmet with its inwardly protruding tongue loomed in front of my face. The gag plate slid through my barely-opened mouth and the foam linings immediately became wedged under my chin and forehead, clamping my jaw closed on the rubber-coated plate, which fitted inside the semi-circles of my teeth. The back half of the helmet was lowered over my hair and mated snugly with the front half, exerting a steady pressure through various points of contact over my head. Marilyn clicked two padlocks closed, one on each side of my neck. I could see reasonably well through one of the spaces between the horizontal strips, which gave me the sensation of being in a cage.
“We have a further development on this morning’s product,” Marilyn said,” which I forgot to tell you about. While you saw the capability of the Ultimator when connected to the mains, it can also be used remotely. Obviously not in the same automatic pulsing and switching modes, but pretty well in an on-off capacity with a rising power from pleasure to pain. You can set whether the receiver is front, back, or both, and whether it is pleasure or pain. For example, you can give someone the warm fuzzies in front, along with a painful buzz up the arse.” She held up a small rectangular plastic box the size of a matchbox, with a short wire hanging from it. “This is the receiver, and it clips to the crotch strap between the legs, which I will now demonstrate.”
While Kris held up the chain mail skirt, Marilyn squatted and fiddled about between my legs. At length she pronounced herself satisfied and stood up, now displaying a small remote control. She moved to the edge of the stage and held it so that the audience could see the control buttons and the tiny LED display.
“This one here controls the vibrator in front,” she said, pushing a button, and immediately the sensuous vibrations started up in my pussy, bringing with it the memory of the orgasms that had been forced from me before lunch. “This one controls the back plug.” Vibrations now started up my arse. “As you can see, there is a little display for each, on a scale of one to ten, just like the volume control on your television. Let’s have a play with them. There, up to three on both. How’s that, Monica? Nice sensations?” Without realising it I was squirming and bending my knees as the vibrations upped their intensity.
“Urrmmf,” I said.
“Okay, up to six Still good?”
Oh yes, it was, intense almost verging on the painful, but still with the sure knowledge that a climax would be only a short distance away, just allow another minute or two
“Urhhmm,” I salivated.
“Okay, lets go on from here Eight nine ” The vibrations turned to painful jolts and I started to hop from one foot to the other, tugging at my arms and trying to get to the crotch strap, though I knew I couldn’t. “Ten Painful?”
“Urh! Urgh! Nnnmph murph!” The jolts were like shooting cramps that suddenly saw my legs fold under me. I found myself kneeling in a ball, moaning and grunting into the gag, my breath coming fast and shallow. Then they stopped.
“Monica, be a dear and mingle with the audience so they can see the products up close,” Marilyn ordered.
Reluctantly I did so, stumbling to my feet with difficulty, and was soon pressed in by the men and women, ostensibly wanting to check out the hardware, but clearly wanting to do the same with me. My breasts – forced out as they were by the constricting mail - attracted a fair bit of attention, with some caresses, fondles, and more than a few nipple pinches that made me squeal into the metal gag. Marilyn ignored my plight, instead carrying on with the instructions about where and how the items were crafted. There were several in the audience who evidently quite fancied me, and who gave me the up-close-and-personal eye contact through my head cage.
Marilyn was still fielding questions when I finally eased my way clear and got back on the stage. Probably I should have stayed where I was. At least it was less painful than the next phase of the presentation, as I soon discovered.
“We may suppose that your subbie has been particularly uncooperative, and on returning to your hotel room, you see a need for some appropriate training,” Marilyn began again. “Monica, come here and present yourself.” Reluctantly I did so, and could barely contain myself as Marilyn slowly released two steel-jawed clips on to my nipples. They had wicked teeth that bit into my flesh and made me moan as my breathing become shallow and rapid. The clips were joined by a light chain, which was clipped to the twine on the end of the rotating rod. Predictably, I found myself suddenly walking in circles as the machine tugged at my nipples and I decided that it was a most painful sensation were I to pause even for an instant.
I had done a few circuits before the pain in my nipples slowly settled to a dull ache, as long as I didn’t pull on them. The chain mail was heavy but still swished erotically on my thighs. With the plug no longer operating, but simply moving back and forth of its own volition, it was just the right touch, and with the easing of my nipple pain I found myself inexorably becoming aroused in a gentle but incessant fashion. I let my eyes go out of focus, ignoring the crowd as I trudged slowly, trying to immerse myself into a trance, but of course Marilyn was having none of that – I should have guessed.
Without warning she stopped the electric motor and I nearly got tangled up with the twine tied to the rod.
“One of the great delights of this garment is the scope you have for modification,” Marilyn told the audience. “Let’s just do a couple of modifications, as an example.” I felt the padlock undone that linked my sleeves at the wrists. Kris took one arm and Marilyn the other, and moments later the ends of the sleeves were locked to the dress in front of me, at crotch level. Then Marilyn squatted and the back slit from ankle to above the knee was secured with a couple more padlocks, one at the hem and one halfway up my calves. I found that my movement was suddenly very restricted, when the motor was started up again and I was pulled forward with a painful jerk on my very tender nipples. I gasped and wailed as I struggled to gain on the rod and twine, just to take the tension away. I was now being forced to take very small steps, for the dress was functioning like a hobble at ankle level, and I was obliged almost to do a mincing run. It was very hard work, and made more distracting by the fact that my hands were now bumping the clit stimulator on a regular basis.
It was all very unfair. The weight of the dress and the constant movement soon began to tire me after only a few circuits, while the constant stimulation to my pussy was unceasing. I could see where all this was going, and when the vibrator buzzed into life I knew that the inevitable was simply going to happen earlier. Sure enough, two circuits late I was gasping for breath and snorting as an orgasm rushed up from my loins. I jammed my hands against my crotch, and ground to a halt. The rod and twine tightened against my nipples, making me scream as best I could, but the rush was so intense I could not walk and climax at the same time. Even the fierce pain from my breasts couldn’t stop the flooding warmth and my surrender to it.
I was only slowly aware of the fact that the motor had been turned off and the pressure on the twine had subsided. Marilyn was in her chatty mood again.
“ of course the intention of this is primarily punishment, but as you can see, with a little judicious positioning of limbs and objects it can become a powerful stimulus. I think our Monica particularly likes that dress, don’t you honey?”
“Mmmm,” I mumbled exhaustedly. There wasn’t much point in denying it.
“Why don’t we give her a little rest while we show off something completely different. Kris, would you fetch the next contestant, please?”
Kris unlocked Emma’s chain, and towed her out, tottering on her ridiculous heels, to face the audience.
“Let’s have a big round of applause for Emma Cheng,” said Marilyn, and the audience willingly obliged, clearly taken with Emma’s stunning costume and her exotic looks. Marilyn launched into another spiel about the quality of the costume, its security, the boots, the handcrafting, and so on. Emma was also made to walk through the audience, stopping for inspection – either of the garment or Emma herself – before returning to the stage. Here Marilyn lowered the dildo pole and positioned Emma over it after undoing the crotch strap. Then she screwed the dildo upwards, working it into Emma’s pussy. Emma had nowhere to go, for the heels on her boots were so high it was tantamount to walking on tiptoes permanently, and he eyes widened as the fat phallus disappeared inside her crotch to the accompaniment of a series of muffled mmphs.
Marilyn stepped back and switched the motor on. Emma seemed to jump slightly as the spiral dong started rotating inside her. She squirmed, trying to adjust to the motion then finally settled, closing her eyes and trying to shut out the watching audience.
“Very versatile this machine, “ said Marilyn. “Now I’ll unhook Monica and Kris will prepare her for the next display. In the meantime, I have some further items on the table by the door that may interest you ”
I wound up back behind the screen with Kris. The chain mail dress, with its clinging tightness and weight was a serious drain on my energy, and I was content to lean against the wall and be chained at the neck, then let Kris undo the back of the dress and the locks on the sleeves. It slid to the floor with a clinking rustle, and my knees went wobbly as the weight was taken off them.
I let Kris fuss about, not really caring what she was doing. She produced a length of fine stainless steel trace with a noose at each end, and made me put one foot through each, before pulling it up above my knees. At this point the wire tightened such that there was very little play and unless my knees were close together the wire pulled taut around the bottom of my thighs. In the middle of the wire was a small ring, from which trailed a thin length of chain, and it was this that Kris pulled up and threaded through my crotch strap, so that there would be no chance of the wire slipping down my legs. The chain was locked in place with a tiny padlock in my crotch and Kris stood up with a satisfied expression.
“You won’t be running far or fast with that in place,” she grinned. I sighed, but couldn’t be bothered replying with my tongue depressed by the metal gag. “Now, we’re gonna make you look real pretty.” She removed a cover from a coat hanger that hung from a nail on the wall, to reveal a gorgeous full-length gown. It was made of a deep burgundy satin, with a halter neck and a cleavage that fell to the waist. That made me pay more attention – it’s a kind of girl thing, I guess. Take us to a dress shop and we immediately feel better. Kris unzipped the lower back and helped me step into it, before raising it and doing it up at the waist. The halter was then joined behind my neck and Kris arranged the two front drops so that they decorously covered my breasts, while displaying flesh to my waist. It felt smooth and cool, but mostly light - almost weightless - after the chain mail dress.
I made sort of drooly noises of admiration through the head cage and Kris smirked.
“You ain’t done yet, honey. Hold out your wrists.” I did as I was told, and Kris fastened a delicate gold bracelet around each, locking them in place with a small gold padlock. The bracelets were identical, made from gold links with several charms hanging from them. I also discovered they were joined by the finest wire I had ever seen – so fine, in fact, that it was barely visible. It was just over six inches long, and this was now connected to another loop fixed to my waist belt, slipping through the gap at the bottom of my cleavage. The net result was that my wrists were loosely joined at waist level, and it was difficult to do anything with them.
I discretely tested the wire and the bracelets, discovering to my chagrin that they were very strong.
“Tug all you like, honey. They ain’t gonna break. Better people than you have tried.”
Over Kris’s comment I heard the sound of Emma reaching an orgasmic high and mmphing frantically into her gag as the dildo doubtless continued screwing her. There was a crescendo in both pitch and volume from beyond the screen, then a slow panting and snorting as the rush died. Kris meanwhile had provided me with a pair of high heels that matched the dress, and were locked on with straps ending in padlocks in the hollows beneath the arch. Like the dress, they were gorgeous, and I just wished I did not have the damned steel helmet on, which completely spoiled the look.
At some signal I didn’t pick up, Kris led me back out on stage, to – if I say so myself – a murmur of appreciation from the audience. Emma was standing with her eyes half closed, her breasts heaving through the cutouts in the straitjacket. The motor appeared to have been switched off, and she was shifting her weight slowly from one leg to the other as she tried to come back to earth.
Marilyn took me by the arm and led me to the edge of the stage, where we stood a head above the audience standing just in front.
“Ever had that awkward time when you have to take your sub to a bar or the opera or a party, and you just know she can’t be trusted not to do something stupid? You know – to drink too much, to tattle out of turn, or even to go running off somewhere? Yet rolling up with her in handcuffs and with a ball gag stuffed in her mouth is just not quite the done thing. Well, ladies and gentlemen, here is the answer. Our only difficulty at the moment is that head cage. Good for the dungeon, but not for the opera.” Marilyn pulled out a key and undid the locks on each side of the cage and lifted up the back half, before pulling the front half clear of my mouth.
I was working my jaw and swallowing when Kris seized my hair from behind and forced a small sponge ball into my mouth. With my hands trapped at my waist, there was precious little I could do about it, and I had long decided that I might just as well go with the flow, given my circumstances, and the ball was not excessively large or uncomfortable. Marilyn came up close.
“Purse your lips, Monica. We’re just going to do your makeup to make you even prettier.” I did as I was told and felt the lipstick roll over my lips. “Good, now press your lips together and keep your mouth closed. I did so, and Marilyn gripped my lips between her finger and thumb, holding them tightly pressed together for several seconds, before letting go and turning to the audience. She held up what I took to be the lipstick.
“This, ladies and gentlemen, is called “Skin-Tite”. It was developed by surgeons for use in lieu of stitches, and will last about twenty-four hours before it starts to weaken, though there are other, stronger versions available. Monica will now be pledged to silence until it either wears off, or I decide she may speak. I must tell you that you can undo the glue with this solvent in this tube.” She held up a small tube the length of my finger with a pointed nozzle.
Most unexpectedly, Kris had begun brushing my hair and suddenly I felt half human again, albeit with a ball stuffed in my mouth which – as I found out with a gentle test of my lips – would not open without a potentially very painful and likely bloody effort.
“There,” said Marilyn with obvious pride, as Kris remedied the hair disarray caused by the head cage. “She looks good enough to eat. Say something, Monica.”
“Hrrrmm,” I hummed through my nose.
“Poor dear. She’s had an operation on her throat, and the doctors say it will be a while before she can talk again,” Marilyn said, as though to an imaginary inquirer. “But she’s quite capable of providing eye candy to the theatre or a bar, though she won’t be drinking much. And just in case you’re a little concerned about her running away or getting out of hand, there are some safety devices. It’s just like getting a new car, really.” She smiled disarmingly and there was a chuckle amongst the audience.
“Firstly, to avoid her getting up to mischief with her hands, her bracelets are connected by a fine wire to her waist belt. You see, the cleavage split is not just for decoration. Pull on your wrists, Monica.” I did so, with the predictable limiting result. “The wire is made from Kevlar – stronger and lighter than steel – and the bracelets are gold plated high strength steel. No chance of breaking or cutting either. Not cheap, of course, but then what price to display a beauty like Monica in front of your friends, huh? And to stop her running, we have a knee hobble under the dress.” Kris raised the dress to show the wire nooses above my knees. “Of course we could have done one at the ankles, but getting in and out of cars, going up stairs and so on it all gets a bit awkward. And if all that doesn’t work, we still have the remote.”
Marilyn was quick on the button and I had no time to react as a spasm of electricity jolted my pussy through the Ultimator. I gasped and grunted through my nose, folding over and clutching my crotch as best I could. I did not collapse, for the jolt was only a short one, but it did the job of focussing my mind and deciding that I should be pretty careful about upsetting whoever carried the remote.
“Oh dear, are those stomach cramps playing up again, honey? That damned curry! Never mind - mingle with the nice people again, Monica,” said Marilyn, and I did my duty, feeling this time more like a playboy bunny, enduring the inevitable groping – some surreptitious and some quite blatant. The women seemed more interested in my dress and lips, while the men were interested in what was inside the dress. I hmmed as best I could in answer to the questions and smart comments about what it took to make a woman be quiet. While all this was going on, Marilyn continued her sales pitch.
“Of course, consider the situation where you get back to your hotel and after all the trouble you’ve been to treat your subbie to a nice night, and she’s been grumpy and sulky and uncooperative. Unfortunately we’ve yet to work out a preventive mechanism for those things. The best we can do is some old fashioned punishment. But of course your hotel is ultra modern, all minimalist with not an anchor point in sight worth a knot. So what do you do? The answer is, you carry with you the Anchor Ladder. Today we have a very special demonstration featuring the lovely Monica again, and if you would all be so kind as to proceed through that door to the next room, we will enlighten you. Yes, you too, Monica – go with the nice people.”
Damn, I hated the way she talked down to me. I figured it was her way of demeaning me further, and I resolved not to let it put me off. At some point she would make a mistake, and then I would grab the opportunity to escape.
Right then it did not seem to be arising. I moved with the group through a door into a room about five metres square. There was another door in the opposite wall, but the room was otherwise bare. The walls and ceiling were of painted concrete, and it looked as though at some stage it might have been an office, albeit a pretty unattractive one. Unlike the much larger room from which we had just come, this one had a lower standard height ceiling. In the middle of the floor was what looked like a bag for carrying sports gear – about a metre long.
Marilyn caught up with us as the group formed a circle around her and Kris. It looked like poor Emma would remain impaled on the shaft outside and miss whatever fun I was destined to suffer.
“Here we have a typical hotel room,” Marilyn said, to titters from the group. “Not an anchor point to be seen. What’s the matter with architects these days? Absolutely no flair or imagination. So we have to bring our own.” She squatted and unzipped the bag, pulling out four lengths of what seemed to be plastic pipe, about two inches in diameter. “Kevlar again, ladies and gentlemen. Extremely stiff and strong – just like your ideal man. But also very, very light. Observe, please.”
Marilyn rummaged in the bag and produce four square flat plates that had a rubber coating on one side and a short socket on the other. Picking up one of the pipes she showed how it was actually a telescopic combination of two lengths, with a screw device in the middle and a series of one-centimetre holes along the length. One plate went on one end, one on the other, and the pole was extended between floor and ceiling in a couple of seconds, with the screw device securing the telescope action and bracing the pole rigidly between floor and ceiling.
“There. You see, already we have a simple pole you can tie a troublesome subbie to.” Marilyn swung on the pole, twirling around it on one arm. “No, I’m not going to do a pole dance, but you can see how immovable it is. This is the really basic model, but you can set up any combination of vertical and horizontal bars to suit your circumstances. Maybe you simply have a spare bedroom in a rented house that you want to adapt without having to explain why there are suddenly a bunch of eyebolts in the ceiling and walls. In that case, the Anchor Ladder is ideal. Why do I call it a ladder? Observe.”
It took Marilyn only a few seconds to erect a second pole a metre and a half from the first, then to produce two more telescopic poles with U-shaped ends rather than plates. These spanned horizontally between the verticals, and had holes through the U-ends through which steel pins were pushed, securing them to the uprights, making a rigid and obviously robust frame.
“Monica – here!” I reluctantly made my way to where Marilyn stood beside the frame. She sized me up and adjusted the lower bar to be level with the small of my back, and the upper one to be just above head height. “This is how you can leave your sub for the night when they misbehave,” Marilyn declared, undoing the lock that held the wrist wire to my waist belt, and binding my wrists palm to palm in front of me, leaving the bracelets still in place with their connecting wire. Then she hauled my wrists up and bent my arms back behind the bar above my head, dragging the tail of the cinch rope down to loop under the waist bar and before tying it off at my wrists again. The position made my back arch and my breasts stick out, and I felt decidedly vulnerable. This became more so as she tied each ankle to the uprights so my feet were pulled apart at the knees, where the nooses tightened on each leg.
She undid the halter behind my neck and dropped it so that it hung from my waist, and I started to panic when Kris handed her a multi-tailed flogger. My body was still bruised from all that I had undergone in the past few days, and the punishment seemed to be never-ending. Now, it seemed, I was in for some more.
The strike of the thongs took me across the left breast, then the right one. Marilyn set up a rhythm with the flogger. Thwack, thwack, thwack, while I struggled and mmmphed through my sealed lips as the stinging pain began to get worse and my breasts began to glow bright red. I heaved against the restraining frame, but it wouldn’t budge in the slightest. I was whining and making plaintive noises that I hated myself for when she suddenly stopped and ran her hands over my tender skin, caressing and cupping my breasts. Tears were welling in my eyes with the relief that the pain from the strokes had stopped, but my tits were still awfully sore. Marilyn looked at the audience and said:
“See how easy it is to set up in a room, and leave it unaffected? You can carry these things on an aircraft, they’re light and portable, and of course reasonably priced for the top quality you get from us. You saw how Monica tested the frame? Pretty good, huh? Now I have a special demonstration for you, so perhaps we’ll leave Monica here to ruminate on her position and feel sorry for herself. And perhaps we’ll let her have a little pleasure in the process ” There was a faint hum and the vibrator and plug started up inside me. Damn her!
Then the crowd was gone and the door was closed, and I was left on my own to cope as best as I could. After what I’d gone through doing the donkey walk in the other room, with the damned vibrator going mad, this was going to be even worse, for I could barely move on the frame. I tugged at the structure, but it was not going to move – I finally accepted that. I couldn’t see my hands, but I let my fingers explore the knots as best they could reach, as I inevitably did in such circumstances. It did not take long for any experienced person to identify the weak spot in a bondage position. The knots at my wrist were the only thing I could get to, and it was then that I discovered I could actually reach the final knot that Marilyn had tied. Moreover, she had been so confident of herself that she had used a bow, ready - no doubt - for an easy release. I’d show her, I thought with sudden determination, as I worked my fingers and pulled on the loose end. It caught momentarily then slid free, undoing the knot and allowing me to get my hands over the top of my head.
I was exultant! I managed to undo my ankles, but found that with my lips sealed I couldn’t use my teeth to undo my wrists. But that didn’t matter. I was out of there. I couldn’t help Emma – not with thirty people milling around on the other side of the door. I rushed to the second door, forgetting in my haste the wires around my knees, and almost falling on my face as a result. The buzzing in my crotch at once became of lesser significance as I focussed on escaping.
For a brief moment I had a horrid thought that the other door would be locked, but there was evidently no need for such additional security when I was tied immovably to the frame. The door opened into a corridor, which I thought I had been along before. I swung left and scurried along past several doors, to find myself in the loading bay where I had first been delivered in the metal box. There was a side door beside the main roller door, which I tried hesitantly, scared that this one would be locked as well. The handle turned and I pushed the door gently. It swung open with a faint creak and I smelt the warmth of the outside air and heard the dull distant roar of air-conditioning plant and traffic.
I was in a narrow alley with high brick walls. Overhead the long strip of pale blue sky held the hue of evening light, with the low angle of the sun leaving the alley in deep shadow. I took a moment to do up the two halves of the halter-top and managed to wriggle my head through it, covering my breasts to make myself look as unobtrusive as a girl in a long satin dress, high heels and bound wrists can be.
I stepped down to the ground and began to head towards what I thought was the street. The alley was about fifty metres long, and had big barred gates at the end, still some twenty metres from the street. My heart began to sink as I got closer. A drunk or wino was sitting against the wall on the other side of the gates, and my hopes began to rise as he saw me and slowly got to his feet, as though not able to believe his eyes at the sight of the bound female running towards him.
“Monica!” The cry from behind me made me turn, and I saw the entire crowd standing on the loading dock watching as Kris and Marilyn descended the steps to the concrete. Marilyn stood still at that point, but Kris began to chase me. I turned again and began to run for all I was worth. The nooses at my knees made any speed almost impossible, and with my lips sealed I could only manage as much air as I could breathe through my nose. I was snorting and hhmphing and trying to ignore the persistent buzzing in my loins, but the time it took to reach the gates seemed like forever. I could hear Kris’s footsteps pounding after me, as the wino on the other side of the gates watched with an obvious fascination as the drama unfolded. At that point a horrible jolt shot through my insides as Kris must have pushed the remote. I stumbled and almost fell, but somehow kept going, albeit at only a shamble.
I reached the gates and found to my horror that they were indeed locked. I rattled them desperately, mmphing frantically to the wino. He was about thirty, badly in need of a shave and a haircut, and clearly wasn’t quite on the same planet as I was. The bars of the gate were about ten centimetres apart – too narrow to squeeze through, but just wide enough to stick my bound wrists through. I don’t know what I expected to do if he untied them. What I wasn’t expecting was for him to grab my wrists with one hand and pull me hard up against the bars, to catch a grope of my breasts with the other.
I screamed again – as much as I was able. It was a pathetic moan through my nose as my arms were twisted and pulled between the bars, for my head to fetch up sideways against them. I saw Kris slow to a walk, only ten metres away, a broad grin on her face. I struggled against the wino’s hold, but could get no purchase with my arms trapped as they were. His free hand slipped behind the dress over my right breast and grubby fingers twisted my nipple. That was when a fierce jolt sliced through my body from the plug in my arse and the dildo in my pussy, and I felt my knees start to buckle.
Then Kris was beside me. “Let her go,” she hissed at the wino, who must have mistaken the remote for some sort of stun gun when she flourished it threateningly at him. My wrists were released and he stepped back, mumbling.
Kris took me by the arm and led me back down the alleyway. I was devastated and afraid of what might now lie before me. I had blown the one chance of escape that I had.
When I reached the loading dock, Marilyn was just concluding another spiel.
“And that ends our special demonstration mock escape, ladies and gentlemen. I do hope you enjoyed it. We will have a further special show for you tomorrow.”
* * *
10.06.04
story continues in Monica's Travels 18
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