Excerpt 1

“Take a last look around, Jill dear,” said Portia, reaching into her backpack.  She
pulled out what looked like a rubber hood.  “Close your eyes and hold your breath,” she
ordered.  I did so as she forced the hood over the top of my head and worked it downwards.
 It was of thick rubber and brutally tight.  Only when it was finally in place could I
appreciate how it moulded to my face with only two holes for my nostrils.  I had not
experienced a hood of this type before.  I felt Portia’s fingers aligning the nostril
holes properly then arranging the bottom of the hood around my neck and tucking it in
under the latex top.  I flexed my jaw and found I could open it very little.  I shuddered
to think what this horrid device would be like over a gag of some description.

“Squat Jill,” came the command out of the darkness, somewhat muffled by the rubber hood. 
I eased myself down on my haunches.  The high heels of the boots made it easier to rest my
weight on my heels in this position.  I felt rope being wrapped a number of times around
my right thigh, just above the knee and knotted there. The same treatment was meted out to
my left thigh.  I was puzzled, for there did not seem to be any further attachment,
pulling my legs together or apart.

Then came Portia’s fingers again, probing into the slit in the rubber between my legs. 
Something nudged my pussy – something pointed and slippery that insinuated its way inside
me through dextrous manipulation by Portia.  It was tolerable, I decided, in my slightly
spread squatting position.  But there was more… (and it wasn’t the free set of steak
knives).  

It was the butt plug that was worked into place next.  I always get skittish with these,
I don’t know why.  They have a strange effect on me and I found myself groaning and
snorting as Portia slid it in a little more with each push before it slipped in with a
momentary pain.  It did not seem as large as the previous monster I had had to wear in the
light well.  Regardless, Portia tied a double crotch rope from the cinch between my
breasts down, through my crotch, then back up to the knots securing my forearms to the
bamboo.  She placed a knee in my back to haul it tight.  I gasped and whined in complaint
as the ropes were secured.  Those inserts weren’t going to be coming out, I knew then.

I heard the faint steps of my tormentor moving away, then the sound that might have been
the cable being lowered from the pulley above me.  Portia’s voice came through the
rubber.

“I will only tell you this once, Jill.  You are a little slut.  A very sexy little slut I
will admit, but a slut nevertheless.  You seem incapable of properly controlling your own
body.  Additionally, you did not seem to care about embarrassing either yourself or your
mistress in that disgraceful display at the dining table. I need to teach you two lessons.
 Firstly, you must obey me and not cause embarrassment.  Secondly, you must be able to
control your body’s needs.  Do you understand?”  Miserably I nodded my head.  “Good.  We
will undertake the first lesson in obedience now.”

I squatted there in the darkness.  It was a warm day and already I could feel myself
starting to sweat under the rubber.  It was partly the humidity and partly the fear of
what was about to fall upon me.  I could see nothing and hear nothing in my black world. 
I had visions of some terrible object about to attack me and my legs started to tremble
uncontrollably.  There was a sudden clacking sound and I felt a tension on my upper body
as Portia obviously began to wind the handle on the winch, tightening the cable that was
now clearly attached to the mass of ropes around my arms and torso.

It felt like everything tightened at once – the ropes holding my wrists, upper arms,
torso and most of all the crotch ropes.  But as I felt my breathing become more laboured
with the rope tightening, I was lifted from the squat and suddenly my full weight came on
to the cable before I had become halfway upright.  I realised Portia had tied each thigh
to the outer end of the bamboo pole.  As I left the ground the weight of my legs,
unsupported save for the thigh ropes, pulled them wide apart, tethered as they were to the
extremities of the bamboo.  

I panicked at that moment as my body leaned forward and as I went on to my tiptoes I
thought – irrationally – that I was going to tip over on my face.  I struggled, but found
I could barely move.  I could sort of raise my legs a little, but only with great
difficulty.  I could waggle and kick them from the knees down, but they were spread apart
and such efforts were unproductive other than to register my distress.  I discovered that
waving my legs simply added more stress to the ropes and caused the crotch rope to dig
deeper.

I moaned and whined under the rubber hood as I felt myself continue to rise then stop and
slowly rotate on the end of the cable.  I hung there for perhaps five minutes.  I knew
this would be Portia’s way of scaring me - or letting me scare myself, by imagining all
sorts of tortures and punishments that could possibly be inflicted on me in such a
position. I took comfort from the fact that every square inch of me was covered with
rubber or leather, which would protect me to some extent from floggers and paddles.

When the blow struck me I was not prepared for it, despite where my mind had taken me…

                                        *   *   *
Excerpt 2

I sat there, leaning backwards, my upper body barely supported by my arms pulled hard out
behind me, with my ankles bound to the foot of the rack.  It was one of the worst
positions I had endured, made more so with each passing minute.  My breath rasped through
my nose and every so often I grunted with the ache in my shoulders and arms.  Beside me
was Lisa, although all I could see was the curve of the lower part of her spine, since her
upper body was bent below the level of the bench.  Almost in touching distance were her
arms, sheathed in the red leather arm binders, laced cruelly tight, the elbows touching. 
I would normally have released her by now for something a little less stringent.  She made
no sound, her world still dark under the blindfold.  She had no knowledge of Wayne
Bennelli and his history within Bilboes, and I figured she must be wondering what was
going on and why her Mistress was apparently now also secured to the rack by this male
person.  Lisa was used to role-playing, though, and I wondered if she thought this was all
part of another Bilboes special.

We stayed that way for perhaps an hour.  By the time my captor returned my shoulders were
screaming their protest, and Lisa was starting to make little whimpering noises as she
shifted her weight from one foot to the other.  I could not imagine which aspect was
giving her the most trouble - the leg stretch, the arm binder, the strappado position or
the nipple clamps.  Or – as was usually the case in real life - “(e): all of the above”.

When Wayne returned he was full of questions.

“That gag can come out when ya have something to say,” he began.  “Just nod ya head when
you wanna talk.  So, where’s the key to the chain on the rubber chick outside?”

I just looked at him.  If Shawnee was still there, maybe she could warn Mary when she
returned. Obviously that was what Wayne was thinking.  The longer I could keep Shawnee in
place the more chance I might have.  Unless I could fool him into think Mary was away for
a day or two.

“No?  All right, let’s start with the simple stuff.  How many people live here normally?”
 I ignored him, avoiding his gaze.  My attention returned when he gripped my left nipple
between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed.  His grip was like a vice and I gasped and
screamed into the gag, screwing up my eyes and biting into the rubber ball.  “Want more?” 
I shook my head but he reached across to my right nipple and repeated the effort, while I
repeated my muted howling.  Then he tried both nips at once and I jerked and screamed some
more.  Poor Lisa was making querulous noises in an effort to learn what was going on. 
Shut up Lisa, for God’s sake! I thought.  Don’t draw attention to yourself!

Wayne seemed to like playing with my tits and the nips protruding through the holes in
the halter-neck, and for a short while lost interest in the concept of asking questions,
preferring to listen to me do muffled vocal gymnastics as the pain seared across from one
nipple to the other.  I tried desperately to keep a part of my mind focussed on the
question and how an answer might help or hinder me.

“This is fun,” he said.  “Maybe that question was too hard.  When is the tall chick
coming back with the Beemer?”  I shook my head dumbly, sniffling and making nasal moans as
tears ran down my cheeks.  “Okay.  Maybe we need to open up things a little.”  His rough
hands reached under my hair at the back of my neck and undid the halter, then did the same
for the back strap of my bra.  

“Nice,” he exclaimed as he tossed it on the floor.  That cost a hundred and twenty bucks,
arsehole, I wanted to say, but held my enforced silence, conscious of my vulnerability and
not wanting to antagonise him further.  He fondled my breasts, the nipples now very red
and sore.  His hands were big and rough, and his fondling had as much finesse as a public
flogging.  I had a nasty feeling we would shortly be trying that out as well.  

I was not wrong, for he seized a multi-thonged flogger and let loose a series of thwacks
over my body.  Unfortunately, because Lisa was bent over on my right-hand side, he could
only attack from the left, and my poor left breast copped most of it.  I was struggling
and crying from the pain and making all manner of pleas as the blows rained down on my
breasts and belly and thighs. 

“Come on girlie, tell me when the other chick is coming back.”  

I sobbed some more and shook my head, but I could tell he was starting to lose patience. 
When he swapped the flogger for the riding crop, my blood went cold.  He flicked it in
front of my eyes then let loose a hard stroke across my thigh, just below the hem of my
skirt.  Then one across my belly just above the black belt.  He paused as I struggled to
catch my breath in between the waves of pain that seemed to rise from everywhere.  I knew
he was looking at my breasts as he slapped the crop against his leg.

I shook my head desperately.  No, no!  Please - not that!