Monica's Travels 19
by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)
(story continues from Monica's Travels 18)
Chapter Nineteen – New York, New York
The British Airways flight from Manchester to New York was made bearable by the service in first class.
“I can’t believe how much we’ve gone through in such a short time,” I said to Mary. It was gone midnight and it had been a real scramble to get to the airport just in time to make our flight. We had now been fed and had knocked back a couple of vodkas and events were starting to catch up with us. “These damned people have been ahead of us at every step.”
“And the Wong woman will now be alert, having seen us driving up to the Hall,” Mary added. The cabin lights were down and Mary looked at her seductive best, despite what she had been through. “How’s the shoulder?” she asked, a genuine concern in her voice.
“Throbbing.”
“She rummaged in her cabin bag. “I’ve got some pain killers here – you should take them,” she said, handing me a couple of the capsules. “You’ve got to keep your strength up. We’re relying on you.”
“Why?”
“You’re our shining knight, of course.” Mary’s voice was a low whisper, but I caught the gleam of her teeth as she smiled. “You didn’t have a white steed, but you did everything else right.”
“You girls are quite capable,” I demurred. “You managed all right before I came along – I mean before I started at Bilboes.”
“Hmm – yes and no.”
“What do you mean? I always thought that between the lot of you, you could deal with anything.”
“We didn’t this time, did we? Screwed up big time.”
“Everyone has an off day. We help each other out in those cases. I gather you’ve done more than your share in the past,” I suggested.
Mary’s eyes glittered. “Who’s been telling lies?”
“Trish told me about how you and she and Monica met.”
“Oh that.”
“Yes, that. You’re really a big softy inside, aren’t you?”
She laid a hand on my arm. “Don’t believe everything you hear.“
“I’ve heard the version of life up to the time you took Monica on as a subbie.”
“Trish is such a blabber mouth.”
“So how long were you working with her and Monica? I had no idea you went back so far.”
Mary settled back, with a distant look on her face. I ordered two more vodkas from the steward.
Well, after Monica joined Trish and myself, it started to get just a little crowded in my flat. You know how it is with a new flatmate. We hadn’t really thought this through, and there just wasn’t enough room for everyone plus the business plus my translation work on the side.
Monica was even then showing glimpses of her potential – full of ideas and ambitions. Full of herself, for that matter, I guess. I admit I had to take her down a peg a couple of times. Then she decided to move out and took Trish with her. Nothing to do with how we got on – we were pretty compatible really. No, it was just the practicality of living in too small a space. But for Monica to find somewhere on her own while just starting up was difficult as well, so she and Trish teamed up to share the rent in a small apartment nearby.
This only solved part of the problem, however, for my dungeon was only a part time business – a fun sideline on top of my translation stuff – and it wasn’t enough to support the three of us. This was when I introduced Trish and Monica to Mistress Lynx.
I’d known Mistress Lynx for a number of years in a professional capacity. The b&d industry core was relatively small and we all knew each other, or ‘of’ each other. Mistress Lynx had a reputation as being a harsh disciplinarian, but fair. A pretty good businesswoman, but a bit of a tight arse as a consequence. She had a well-known establishment not far from the Cross, called Dark Castle. It was big and catered to pretty much anything and everything. Lots of girls, lots of equipment, lots of contacts with people in high places. But also a high turnover, with the girls really working for their money. Overall, however, quite a good set up, and a good place for Monica to learn the ropes, if you’ll pardon the pun.
Things went well at first, but I started to get the feeling that all was not right. I still saw a lot of Trish, as sometimes we would do twosomes on a client in my dungeon or occasionally Trish would stand in for me or have a private session of her own for someone who didn’t like the high turn-over, watch-the-clock, booth-number-three atmosphere of the Castle. Trish said Monica was getting frustrated. She was a fast learner, and probably was still a bit up herself, despite some of the values I had endeavoured to instil in her. Not that Monica didn’t have values – she did. High principles and high standards, and this was obviously where she was coming unstuck. She and Mistress Lynx were not seeing eye to eye. I got the impression from Trish that Mistress Lynx recognised Monica’s potential but struggled with accepting some of her ideas. And Monica had these in abundance. What she didn’t have at this stage was patience, and she wanted to change the world, starting with Dark Castle.
But all that came a bit later. A more significant event occurred when I asked Trish and Monica round to dinner one evening. I’m a reasonable cook, but you know what it’s like when you live by yourself – sometimes you need an excuse to make an effort, and the three of us had regular dinners together every two or three weeks, when our schedules permitted. We’d usually gather at my place, I’d do the cooking, they’d bring the wine, and we’d all bitch and get drunk together. Often the girls used it as an excuse to borrow some of my “working” clothes. It was fun, and we’d let off a bit of steam, and occasionally get up to some mischief in my dungeon.
On this particular occasion I was a little curious when Monica asked if she could bring a friend. I figured she had finally found a guy who might tame the wild streak that still flashed to the surface at inopportune moments, and give her a bit of stability and direction. I don’t know why I was thinking this way. Sometimes you just get a mindset and go off down that road without thinking. So when I opened the front door to find Trish, Monica and a tall, blonde girl, all my preconceptions fell in a heap.
“This is Jillian,” said Monica.
Jillian wore a modest white sleeveless dress and matching sandals. She was very striking, with a helmet of straw-coloured hair parted on one side, that fell in a curve to her neck. Serious brown eyes, a strong jaw, and a look of reserved intelligence – this was my first impression of her. She was a couple of years younger than Monica – who at this stage had just celebrated her twenty first, and that’s a story in itself – but in many ways Jill was more mature.
I must have looked just a trifle surprised, as we moved into the kitchen. Most of our get togethers happened here, since the living and dining rooms had become the dungeon. This left the kitchen and the back verandah for entertaining, which I really didn’t do a lot of anyway. But this was a girls’ night, so it really didn’t matter. Trish took me aside and whispered:
“Jill doesn’t know what we do for a living.”
“What? This is going to kind of cramp our conversation, isn’t it?” What sort of stunt was Monica pulling here, I wondered, but decided to just go with the flow.
Well, suffice to say, the flow involved a number of bottles of wine and I warmed to Jillian very quickly. She was smart and was doing her diploma in physiotherapy, helping out at the local physio near the Castle. That was how she and Monica had met – not at the Castle, I mean at the physio. Monica had done something to her ankle – probably an overambitious move in a six-inch heel, though I doubt she’d told that story to the physio. Jillian had sat in on the treatment and had ended up doing the ultrasound massage, and had told Monica about the massages the physio offered. Well, one thing led to another, and the two had become friends. Monica had seen the need for an education course at the Castle – you know, warm ups, prevention of muscle strain, lifting people, stress points, and so on, but didn’t know how to introduce Jill to this world, nor how to convince Mistress Lynx that the extra expense might save her lost time through girls putting their backs out lugging around tied up middle aged guys. That was typical of Monica – always thinking ahead.
Looking back, I’m sure she planned the whole evening in advance. I followed Trish’s suggestion and let Monica do the talking, making Jill feel comfortable and welcome. I liked Jill right from the start. She was a talented girl, I soon concluded. Intelligent, but well brought up. Polite but with a mischievous sense of humour and a rare sense of timing to go with it. That said, she was also a little shy, and took a while – or in this case a bottle of wine – to really feel comfortable around new people.
We had a lot of fun that evening, not least watching Monica and Trish skirting round polite inquiries from Jill about what their jobs actually involved. I was all right. My translation business was perfect and legitimate. I wondered what Jill would make of the dungeon if she saw it. Jill was not nosey, but I could tell she sensed there was something missing from Monica’s story of being a sales rep for a rope and chain manufacturer. I had struggled not to laugh when I heard this. It sounded like one of those little white lies that you make up for convenience, with a smidgen of truth in it, then as circumstances become more involved, so too does the story, and it all goes downhill from there.
For all her intelligence, Jill had an air of innocence that I found charming. In our business we tended to see just a little too much of the sleazy side of life, and an uncorrupted girl such as Jill was quite a novelty – and a pleasant one at that. We ate dinner and drank more wine and talked about all the stuff that girls do, until, after the third bottle, and when we were all feeling pretty mellow, Monica stood up.
“I’ve got something I want to show you, Jill,” she said. Trish and I immediately knew what Monica was up to, but Jill looked at her questioningly. “Come on – this way.”
Jill followed Monica back down the hall towards the front door and we tagged along behind her. Monica stopped outside the door to the living/dining room, which was in fact the dungeon.
“Now close your eyes.” Jill did so, and Monica opened the door, leading her through and turning on the low spot lights that lit up the pillory, the whipping bench, the cage under the stairs, the artificial stone walls and of course the arsenal of whips and floggers. “Okay, now you can open them.”
I watched Jill’s expression as the sight took a moment to register, then her jaw dropped and her hands flew to her mouth. She took it all in, then turned to look at me.
“You’re really a dominatrix?” Her cheeks were flushed and she pronounced the word slowly, exploring the unfamiliarity of it. I smiled and nodded.
“Actually we all are,” said Monica, laying a hand on Jill’s arm, breaking the news as gently as she could. Jill turned to her, then to Trish, as though seeking confirmation. Trish smiled and nodded.
I thought Monica was taking a bit of a chance with this whole thing, but then she knew Jill better than I did. I was about to see another example of Monica’s extraordinary ability to accurately assess a character and to play her hunches on how to deal with that person. I thought Jill might have suddenly become acutely uncomfortable under such circumstances, but her face was an expression of curiosity verging on wonder. She moved across to the wall and took down a riding crop from its hook, feeling its weight, bending it, and slapping it lightly on her thigh. The three of us watched, expectantly.
“Has she got a boyfriend?” I whispered to Monica. She shook her head, and we waited while Jill examined a pair of handcuffs. They were the simple sort where the single closing arm can pass right through the receiving curve if there is nothing to encircle, and hence they can’t be locked shut in the empty position. Jill snapped one circle on her wrist, feeling the unyielding grip of the steel, then slowly enclosed the other wrist. The clicks of the ratchet sounded loud in the room. She tugged at her now-secured wrists and then looked around on the shelves and table nearby, before looking ruefully at us.
“I guess I just learned lesson number one ”
“I guess you did,” said Monica, her tone revealing just a trace of amusement.
“Have you ever been tied up before?” Trish asked gently.
“Um not since my brother and his pals took me prisoner a few times in their knights of the round table phase when I was about ten.”
“Was it fun?”
Jill flushed. “Uh I guess it was ” She made no move to press for the keys to appear, just looked kind of sheepish with her hands locked in front of her.
Trish caught my eye and inclined her head towards Monica, indicating with a brief indication of her arms behind her back that maybe we should give Jillian a demonstration, raising her eyebrow questioningly at me. I nodded in agreement.
“Monica ” Trish said, sidling up to her. “Suppose we give Jill a little demonstration?”
“Uh okay what were you ” Trish and I each took an arm at that point. “Oh you mean ?”
“Yes, you get to show off your escapology skills. Jill, why don’t you sit up on the bench there, and make yourself comfortable, and we’ll do a little show for you,” I said. Jill held up her manacled wrists and looked questioningly at me. I shook my head. “No, they can stay on for a little while. I think you need to get used to them for a bit. Just relax and enjoy things.” Jill levered herself on to the padded whipping bench and watched expectantly as we marched Monica over to the suspension pulleys removed her blouse. Monica didn’t resist. I suspect she was rather enjoying it, knowing it was only in fun. She wore no bra, and her nipples were already erect hard in anticipation as we buckled leather cuffs on her wrists, clipping a pulley rope on to each.
“Getting just a little aroused, are we?” Trish teased, tweaking a flinty nipple. Monica avoided our eyes as Trish turned and winked at Jill, who was watching, fascinated. With a few quick tugs on the ropes, Trish and I hoisted Monica’s arms up and out, as we anchored the cords to cleats. We followed this by removing Monica’s skirt, but decided to leave her black satin panties in this instance, to keep things a little lower key for Jill’s benefit. With this done, we bound her ankles apart, to complete the star position.
“You look delightful,” I said to her. “Open wide.”
“No, Mary, there’s no need for tha- gargh!”
I forced a ball gag into her mouth and buckled it at the back of her neck, smoothing her hair over the top of and giving her a light caress on the cheek, dropping my hand down to run over her breasts. Monica shuddered and made a faint hmming noise. I ran my fingers through her crotch and sensed the first dampness there.
“Guess who’s cumming for dinner,” I murmured.
Trish had taken down a flogger from the wall and snapped it at Monica’s backside. Monica jerked in her ropes and squealed into the gag, shaking her head as though this wasn’t part of the plan. I pushed myself up on to the bench beside Jill, and indicated the manacles resting on her lap.
“They look good on you.”
She blushed and lifted the cuffs as though inspecting them, then turned back to the scene with Monica. “Why the whipping?”
“It’s actually a flogging,” I corrected gently. “Pain is part of the whole scene. It depends on the person, but can be used to heighten the whole experience and sensitivity of the skin and various parts of the body. Some people get right off on pain alone, while others find it intensifies the sensations.”
“Trish seems to be hitting Monica rather hard,” said Jillian, a note of concern in her voice as Trish let go a couple of strokes up between the prisoner’s legs. Monica squirmed and twisted, making muffled noises of protest, and Trish desisted from her attack.
Monica was now thoroughly worked up, her breasts rising and falling as she stood there, arms and legs wide in her ropes, and Trish gave her crotch another check. “Want to have a go?” Trish asked Jillian. I took Jill’s handcuffs and unlocked them. She looked unsure, but Trish came across and thrust the flogger into her hand. “Monica has a high pain threshold,” she told Jill. “I don’t imagine you’ll do her too much harm.”
Jill took the flogger and did an experimental crack with it. I saw Monica’s eyes widen over the gag, and it was suddenly obvious that Jill had an athletic talent that we had not recognised. In her sleeveless white dress, her arms were unhindered, and I could tell at once that she must play some sort of racquet sport, as she let loose a loud swat on Monica’s backside. Monica snorted into the gag as Jill followed it up with another stroke. She had an immediate feel for the flogger and was soon beating out a regular tattoo up and down Monica’s back and legs. Not excessively hard, but with unexpected control and accuracy. Even I was impressed, particularly when she decided that Monica had finally had enough and handed back the flogger to Trish.
“How was that?” I asked.
Jill smiled, and I thought what a wonderful smile she had. “It was very uplifting, I guess. Fun. I hope I didn’t hurt Monica.”
“Tough hide, our Monica,” I said. “She knows there’ll be a good part coming up next.”
“A good part?”
“Would you like to help with that too?”
“Of course.”
“Good. We’ll have to immobilise you, though.”
“How do you mean?”
Five minutes later Jill was standing eyeball to eyeball, breast to breast with Monica, arms and legs outstretched, and looking just a little apprehensive. We had persuaded her to remove her dress, but left her underwear untouched. She wore a pale mauve bra and matching high-cut panties and had an athletic figure. Both Trish and I admired the way her firm breasts became tauter as her arms were pulled up with the pulley ropes.
“Would you like to be gagged like Monica?” Trish asked.
“Uh okay,” said Jill, with a suggestion of uncertainty.
Trish selected a small ball gag and strapped it in place under Jill’s blonde locks.
“Since you two are friends, we’re going to leave you here to get to know each other,” Trish told the pair. Their eyes looked at us obviously wondering what it was we weren’t telling them. They found out soon enough, as we placed a collar on each of them and hung a vibrator from them. It was a heavy duty one, the size and shape of a singer’s microphone, and was positioned at the level of their crotches. I pushed the pair apart far enough to let the supporting cord pass between their breasts and sit snugly in the space between their public mounds. Monica’s knickers were showing noticeable signs of dampness already, and our intention was that Jill wouldn’t be far behind her. Trish turned the vibrator on, and we retired, leaving only a couple of candles burning to give them just enough opportunity to explore the depths of each other’s eyes when the climax hit.
Trish and I left the door ajar and sat on the rug in the hallway, with the remainder of the bottle of wine, silently toasting each other and the bound pair as the first muffled moans began to emanate from the dungeon. Eventually, we could not resist a peek, as the moans began to rise in intensity. The pair had managed to jam the vibrator between their pussies and hold it there, at least for a short time, but because there were stretched so tightly they had very little room to push with their hips, and just as the vibrator was about to have its full effect, it tended to slip out. Our reward came when the two of them finally climaxed together, pressed belly to belly, breast to breast, realising they had to simply hold the position and not try to hump each other.
Jill was quite a noisy girl, and was obviously enjoying herself. She was panting hard when we finally let her down, her lean body running with sweat and her face flushed.
“God, that’s one brilliant workout,” she said when her breathing came back to normal. Talk about cardiovascular with a bit of isometrics thrown in! I feel like I’ve used every muscle in my body!”
“And a few others you won’t normally use in your gym session,” I suggested. “Would you like a shower?”
“Yes please. That was amazing! I can see why you go in for this stuff. What about Monica? Aren’t you going to let her down?”
“Nah, she can stay there the night,” said Trish. “All part of her training.”
Monica mmphed furiously, shaking her head and uttering muffled threats into the gag, not seeing the winks exchanged between Trish and Jill and myself.
* * *
Jillian became part of our little group at that point, not in a professional sense, but still in a participatory way. We soon established that Jill was both bisexual and a switch. I suspect that neither of these aspects were really known to her when we first met. Sexual proclivities can be so confusing sometimes, especially when you’re only hitting twenty. We put Jill through a lot of training, mostly in the guise of training Monica, using Jill as a volunteer sub, but sometimes making Monica submit to Jill’s ministrations. Jill was a natural with rope, just as she was with a whip and paddle. She was the sporty type – lean and athletic, fond of tennis and squash and gymnastics.
At the same time, Monica began to push for Jill’s involvement at Dark Castle, arguing that Jill’s physiotherapy and knowledge of the human body could be well used in preventing strain injuries, but her pleas went unheeded. Not that Mistress Lynx didn’t think a lot of Monica, for she was astute enough to recognise a prodigal talent when she saw one. So much so, in fact, that when the Mistress went away for two weeks, she left Monica in charge – a considerable honour for a 22 year-old. It caused some raised eyebrows, to be sure, and for all her talents, at that point in her life Monica had still to learn the ways of patience, and in due course she decided to change the world – well, Dark Castle, anyway.
Despite admonitions to the contrary, Monica brought Jill along to provide some guidance on lifting techniques to the staff at Dark Castle. One thing led to another, and Jill was in the throes of a major presentation when Mistress Lynx returned early form her holiday. Suffice to say, the shit hit the fan and Monica wound up in a very nasty suspension for half a day, while the paddle and whip were given a good airing. Jill was banished – and was probably lucky not to end up dangling from the ceiling beside Monica.
Well, that was pretty much the beginning of the end between Monica and Mistress Lynx. At the same time as all this was going on, Monica’s father – her sole remaining family in Brisbane – was dying of cancer, and Monica left us to go back to Brissie. Things seemed to go quiet for about six months, and we heard that her dad had died. Trish and Jill and I all went to the funeral, not because we knew him, but because we knew Monica, and hadn’t seen her for many months.
She looked rather worse for wear. Her dad’s passing had obviously been painful for her. She was working for an escort agency, and was clearly not enthralled with the work. We stayed a few days with her, before heading back to Sydney, and again things went quiet, until one day, I had a call from her, out of the blue.
“Mary, would you and Trish consider coming to Brisbane and starting up a B&D establishment here? I’ve found this most brilliant house ”
And that’s pretty well when Bilboes started.
I knew this wasn’t the end of the story. I figured it probably went up to a year or so before I joined the team, and there had been no mention of Emma and Leila, but I decided enough was enough on an overnight flight. Mary’s seat was already heading for the horizontal position, taking her with it, and I figured I might as well do the same. New York was a few hours away and we needed the sleep.
* * *
What with the time difference, we touched down in New York with local time not much later than when we had left England. It was midnight by the time we reached the Renaissance Hotel, and established which room Trish was staying in. She had left us a message, saying she would meet us for breakfast at 8.30 the following morning. We headed to our rooms and slept the sleep of the dead.
* * *
Trish looked much relieved when we showed up in the dining room. She had spent the day at BondCon, searching for clues in the huge hall with all the exhibiting companies and individuals, but with no luck. She was clearly frustrated and on edge. We swapped war stories and she brightened a little with the description of the fate that had befallen Warren, Leon and the Earl, and was much taken with the picture painted by Mary of the two armoured horsemen on the village green amidst a gaggle of news reporters and floodlights. Which was fine, up to a point, but we were no closer to finding Monica and Emma.
It was the last day of the convention, and we rolled up just after nine o’clock at the convention centre in Queens. It had the look of a restored warehouse, build in brick with massive exposed trusses inside, softened by a host of banners and buntings proclaiming various wares. The main hall was actually three, split by dividing walls with big arched doors that looked as though they had originally been designed to drive a large truck through. The place had the look of one of those restored gems that architects would give their eye teeth to divide up into trendy open plan apartments.
We split up to cover the three halls, agreeing to meet every hour to exchange observations and ideas and clues, though we had no idea what we were looking for. After an hour it became obvious that Monica and Emma were not present, but we persevered, ambling through the jostling crowds watching the bondage demonstrations and investigating the displays of new products and modern technology. I confess I was distracted by some of the exhibits, just through my inherent male fascination of things technical and devious, but I found it difficult to concentrate, wondering where Monica and Emma were, and what the connection was between this particular place and the two abductees.
We grabbed some fast food around lunchtime, though in truth we were all depressed and assuaging hunger was not high on our priority list. The day was turning into a disastrous hole with no leads and nowhere to go, and we were standing together vainly trying to think up bright ideas when Trish’s jaw dropped.
“Look! There she is, in a wheelchair! With Jade Wong!”
Mary and I followed Trish’s pointing finger and spotted the wheelchair disappearing through the crowds towards the end of the hall. Moments later we were charging through the people, ignoring cries of indignation, in time to see a solid-looking door in the side wall slam shut some twenty metres ahead of us, as the wheelchair and pusher left the big hall.
I reached the door first. It had a peep hole, a pull handle and a Yale lock, and opened outwards. It was clearly locked when I tried to yank it open, and putting my foot against the wall alongside and heaving proved a pointless exercise, save for wrenching my injured shoulder again. We stared helplessly at the door. It was the only one in the whole of the length of the wall, this hall being the furthest of the three from the main entrance. We looked helplessly at each other for a moment.
“Mary, you stay here and keep an eye on the door, so they don’t try to sneak out. Trish – see if you can track down someone with a key – maybe an organiser. I’ll try to get round the back - there must be some sort of back entrance. First person to discover anything, call the rest of us on mobile!”
For lack of any better strategy, this seemed acceptable, and Trish and I set off back through the other halls to the main entrance. I left her there, beating her way through the mob to the organisers’ desk, while I went out on to the street, to see if I could find a way around the building.
My heart was racing now. Monica and Emma were here after all! We were going to get them, and we had a score to settle with Jade Wong as well. I looked along the street. To my left the building stretched to the corner, where there was a side street. To the right, there was another, similar brick warehouse before a side street. I picked the former, hoping there was some access down the side street.
I sprinted the fifty metres and turned the corner. There seemed to be some sort of entryway about a hundred metres along what was a blank brick face of the building, broken by windows set high in the wall. By the time I reached the alley I was sweating and out of breath. I turned into it but it appeared to be deserted. My heart sank, but I was here, and I might as well explore it properly. I proceeded more slowly, now. The alley was only thirty metres long, with a small loading dock and a couple of dumpsters at the end, on the left. The end of the alley was closed off with a brick wall about three metres high topped with broken glass embedded in the mortar.
I reached the end, testing the two personnel doors and the roller door in the loading dock. All were firmly locked. It was then that I heard the sound of an engine from the other side of the wall, and female voices. They were indistinct and I couldn’t make out the words, but something told me this was what I was looking for. Desperately I searched around for a means to get over the wall, but the only option was one of the dumpsters. It was too far away from the wall to use as a ladder, but I climbed on top anyway and found I could just see over the wall.
Beyond the wall there was an alley similar to this one, continuing perhaps a hundred metres to the side street parallel with the one I had initially followed. There was an identical loading dock, where a white Mercedes van was parked with its engine running. The back doors were open and I saw Jade Wong and another woman who looked familiar pulling a wheelchair backwards up a ramp into the van. Monica was strapped into the chair, and wore what looked like some sort of orthopaedic frame around her head and neck.
“Monica!” I yelled at the top of my voice. Two heads looked up towards me with a look of surprise, replaced by urgency, while Monica’s expression was despairing, pleading, as she struggled against her restraints in the wheelchair. Her black hair was in disarray, under the frame, and while she was not gagged, her mouth made no move to speak or cry out.
“Let her go!” I shouted impotently. “The police are on their way!” It was a total lie, and obviously had no effect, for the two abductors hauled Monica into the van and closed the doors after them. The van started to move, the wooden ramp dropping to the ground with a thump. In a matter of seconds it was gone down the alley way, passing through a pair of steel barred gates and disappearing into the street. I tried to get the number, but it looked like it had been splattered with mud, and when combined with the distance, it meant I could not make out the figures. As I stood there on the dumpster, I was stricken by an overwhelming sense of loss. We had been so close, but now Monica was gone, lost in the anonymity of the huge metropolis that was New York. Only then did I realise I had not seen Emma, and a moment later it dawned on me that the other woman helping Jade Wong had been none other than Marilyn, the girl from Texas who had participated for the Citadel in Monica’s ‘Games’. The plot thickened again!
At that moment, Mary emerged on to the loading dock, looked around and saw me.
“We’ve found Emma! Come back in through the door inside – it’s open now.”
* * *
Emma was just getting over some tears when I rejoined Mary and Trish in the midst of what seemed to be a cross between a cat walk and a bizarre merchandising presentation. She was buttoning up a blue denim sleeveless dress which couldn’t cover the impressed marks of straps at her ankles, wrists and elbows. She looked pale but very pleased to see us. She gave me a big hug – something I never objected to – and I felt the warm bulges of her breasts pressed against me.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Uh-huh,” she sniffled, brushing a tear from the corner of her eye. “If you hadn’t got here just now, they would have taken me away too!”
Mary and Trish were poking around in the mess of boxes and tables of devices on display, but they left what they were doing to sit down beside Emma and me on the edge of the stage.
“Do you know where they’re taking her?” I asked gently.
Emma shook her head. “Not really. Well, there was talk about Los Angeles – but I don’t know where.”
“LA! God!” This from Trish. “How the hell are we going to find her there?” We sat still for a moment, stunned by the enormity of what now faced us, then Emma suddenly slapped her forehead.
“God, I’m so stupid sometimes! Come with me.”
We followed her through a door to the side, into an empty, low-ceilinged room. In the centre of the room was a pipe frame braced between the floor and the roof, while beside this a bound figure lay in a semi-foetal position on the concrete. It was Kris, Marilyn’s friend from Texas, looking up wide-eyed with anxiety, a large rubber ball strapped in her mouth.
“Oh,” said Mary. “What have we here?”
“There was rather a falling out,” Emma explained in what was obviously an understatement. “I don’t think it was quite resolved.”
“Honour among thieves,” Mary murmured, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I think this puts a different picture on things. Now we have something to work on.”
Mary squatted down and undid the rope that connected the blonde’s knees to her neck. She wore a black pvc catsuit, over which was secured a large strap-on black penis, with the hidden end of it obviously buried in Kris’s pussy through the open slit crotch of the catsuit. She groaned as she stretched her legs, but she could only do this to a limited extent for the cinch rope around her ankles was tied to the handcuffs securing her wrists behind her back. Mary gave her a shove with a booted foot, forcing the American girl on to her stomach in a true hogtie, and no doubt making the double dildo thrust up inside her as she rolled on top of it.
“How long has she been here?” Trish asked Emma.
“Ever since she screwed Monica up the arse first thing this morning, which Marilyn considered to be unprofessional.”
“I’ll bet Monica did, too,” I murmured. Trish glared at me. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
It was perhaps not surprising to anybody that within fifteen minutes Kris had wound up bound in a star shape to the frame in that room. There are some times in life when an action will lead irrevocably to a consequence, and Kris’s helpless presence in that room inevitably meant she would be the subject of some persuasive techniques from at very least Trish and Mary. It was just one of those predestined things that even Kris must have seen coming. I’m sure Emma wouldn’t have minded forsaking her submissive role just for a change, though in this instance it would be doubtful whether she would surpass either of the others in determination to extract relevant information. Instead, Emma contented herself with showing Mary and Trish the Ultimator and the various capabilities it had.
Both were impressed, and soon the black strap-on was extracted with a sucking sound and a reproachful expression from Kris. The Ultimator was flourished under her nose, to much shaking of the head and muffled protests, both at that point and as Mary worked the big dongs into position in a far from gentle manner.
Kris still wore her pvc catsuit, but with it now fully unzipped from throat to navel, and through the crotch to the top of her buttocks. The mounds of her breasts were now exposed and sported uncomfortable small steel clamps that had been screwed up tightly by Mary to the accompaniment of much muted screaming into the ball gag.
“We’ve barely started yet, sister,” said Mary, in the calm clinical tone of a dentist examining a dental x-ray. Kris was now sniffling and making nasal mewing sounds as the Ultimator was strapped tightly in place with a crotch strap linking the front and back of a wide belt.
“We’d like to know where they’ve taken Monica,” Mary said casually, almost not talking to Kris, but walking behind her with a stockwhip. The Ultimator had not yet been switched on, when Mary flicked her wrist expertly and delivered a stinging crack to one pvc-covered buttock. Kris jerked and screamed. The steel vices on her nipples jiggled and she wailed into the gag. A series of swats with the whip continued the process for some five minutes, as the lithe blonde squirmed and struggled in her bonds, trying to anticipate the next fall of the whip. She was making extremely pointed mmphing noises that suggested she had something she might wish to divulge, but Mary appeared to be somewhat deaf at that point in time, and eventually stepped back to let Trish connect up the black box to the Ultimator buried in Kris’s crotch. The sweat was running down her front in the open slash in the catsuit, and the steel vices were trembling as they hung from her nipples as she tried to control her snorts and gasps through her nose.
Trish switched the device on and Kris at once moaned and shuddered, her breathing now speeding up as she interspersed her breaths with uh-uh-uh sounds.
“Emma, have you had lunch?” Mary asked. “We were in the middle of it when we were interrupted. I suggest we all get a bite to eat for and hour or so. Maybe Kris will be ready to cooperate when we return.”
“Nnnnfhuh!” Kris screamed into the gag, screwing her eyes up and trying but failing to clench her thigh muscles together. She uttered a garbled plea that might have meant she would tell us now, and that she was ready to spill the beans, if only we would make it stop. But then again it could have meant anything, and we knew Emma must be hungry.
* * *
14.07.04
story continues in Monica's Travels 20
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