AVAILABLE FORMATS:  
PDF  MSReader (LIT)  

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

The Bilboes Team

Monica Armstrong: Mistress of Bilboes; at 29, the blue-eyed, raven haired,
entrepreneurial Monica is the master-mind behind the setting up and developing of Bilboes
into what she hopes will become the best B&D establishment in Queensland. Her
hand-picked team knows to obey her commands without question, and has enthusiastically
embraced her creative and imaginative treatments for clients. Monica is ambitious,
organized to the point of obsession, secretive and strict. In short, she knows what she
wants – and how to get it.

Steven Reynolds: Handyman, builder, reluctant tester of devices and participant in
Monica`s scenarios. In his 34 years, Steven has led a relatively sheltered life, and his
chance involvement with the development at Bilboes has been a revelation to him, not least
in the sexual department. Though on one day he is convinced he has landed his dream job,
while the next he is suffering at Monica`s hands and plotting revenge, he nevertheless
concludes that he lives in interesting times. He has not yet discovered just how much more
interesting they are to become.

Mary Ramirez: Born to Spanish parents who had emigrated to Australia, Mary had at one
time been a prominent television newsreader, and is gifted in speaking both Spanish and
Arabic. At 38, she is the most senior and experienced of the Bilboes team. Tall and
willowy, she has been described as an Audrey Hepburn with an attitude problem – something
she is happy to take out on clients and team members alike, if they dare to cross her.

Trish Taylor: Trish had arrived in Sydney from her native British Columbia at the age of
22, after completing a course in interior design in Vancouver. Now, 14 years later, she
takes a dominant role in the running of Bilboes. A striking brunette, she is practical and
passionate about all she does, her professionalism overlaid with a wicked sense of humor.

Jillian Whitford: Intelligent and ambitious, Jillian has forsaken a career in
physiotherapy which by chance first brought her into contact with Monica at the tender age
of 19. Nine years on, the striking blonde is working alongside Monica as her deputy in
running Bilboes. Bisexual Jill has had a long-running relationship with Emma Cheng, begun
in their late teens, and is able to function as a Switch within the Bilboes sexual
hierarchy.

Emma Cheng: A year younger than Jillian, Emma is Hong Kong Chinese, her parents having
brought her to Australia ahead of the Communist takeover. Her relationship with Jillian is
both sexual and D/S, and it was through Jillian that she came to join the team, her
propensity for the submissive role being expanded and developed by Monica as an exotic
selling point to clients.

Leila Mackay: Bright and vivacious, the 24-year-old Leila is the youngest on the staff of
Bilboes. While primarily a submissive, Leila is nevertheless occasionally required to
participate as a Domme and to understand that side of the business. She is artistic, and
enthusiastic, her pre-Bilboes background in photography coming to the fore whenever
documentary records are required for the Bilboes pictorial archives.

Shawnee Lewis: Monica and Shawnee have struck a deal that appears to benefit both
parties. Shawnee is a self-confessed bondage-aholic and will do anything she can to get
herself on the receiving end of the Bilboes Team`s skills. As a result, Shawnee finds
herself working part time at Bilboes to finance her studies at university, while receiving
additional payment in kind as a live-in slave.

As a team, the girls are prepared to take on all manner of clients and client requests.
The arrival of Steven in their midst – and the options his presence now provides for the
fulfillment of Monica`s ideas and ambitions – is to have unforeseen consequences, both
within the team and through their developing involvement with the outside world and the
darker forces therein. None of them have any concept of how far this will lead and the
harrowing adventures they will ultimately experience.

 
PRELUDE

Bilboes – An iron bar with sliding shackles for confining prisoner`s ankles

Three months pretty amazing months had passed since I`d become resident handyman,
builder, inventor and jack-of-all-trades at Bilboes. I had been employed by Monica
Armstrong, mistress of the house, supposedly to convert the spacious basement to a series
of specialist dungeons. My experiences, however, had been somewhat mixed, both in terms of
the duties I was expected to perform and the things that were expected to be performed on
me.

I had seen Monica`s work methods in operation, and I was starting to grudgingly
appreciate the vision she had for the House of Bilboes, first in her wish to have the best
and most ingenious bondage devices in the business, and secondly to use them imaginatively
on her clients.

In the latter instance I had now become acquainted with some of her clientele. There were
those that came voluntarily, and there were those that were lured to, or else brought
under protest, to our establishment. As yet another angle to the master plan – or perhaps
the `mistress plan` – I had found out that providing a service to the clients also meant
making house calls. Just when it seemed that the full repertoire of customer services and
facilities must be nearing completion, Monica still had the ability to surprise me.
However she also seemed to be unwilling to learn – in my opinion – a little humility and
respect for her staff, and the secret desire to bring her down a peg continued to fester
in my brain. I now had my plan in place – it was a question of whether I could maintain my
nerve and not think about the consequences of putting Monica through the tortures that she
had used on others…


CHAPTER – THE RACK

It was another fine Brisbane day. The sounds of the kookaburras in the nearby trees and
the multi-coloured parrots feeding in the palms overhead complimented the warm autumn air.
A formal lunch was in progress on the back verandah of Bilboes. For weeks it had been
highlighted on the whiteboard we used to schedule the daily activities and clients at
Bilboes, and in her usual obsessive fashion, Monica had made sure we all remembered and
were on our best behavior. This was a big occasion for her, a business lunch with her old
friend Warren O`Rorke and some new bloke he was bringing along.

I had spent much of the morning indulging in one of my favourite pastimes, namely
hardware shopping at the local warehouse, this time with Jillian as my partner in crime.
When we returned to Bilboes, Monica was holding court at the table, seated between the two
men with Mary opposite. I guessed Mary was there as a senior representative of the
establishment and I wondered where Trish was. I subsequently found out she was attending
to my friend Christina who at that moment was undergoing some sort of workout in the gym.

Leila and Emma, being the juniors in the pecking order of the house, were in the kitchen
preparing the food and waiting on the table respectively. Both wore high heels and short
sleeveless latex dresses. These were identical save for colour – Emma wore white,
contrasting with her jet black hair, while blonde Leila wore black, and together they made
a stunning combination. The garments had high Chinese-style collars with an open panel
from the throat down to the navel, revealing much of the wearers` breasts but stopping
short of any nipple flashing.

"Are we enjoying ourselves?" I inquired cheerfully as I entered the kitchen.
"Playing a waiting game, I see."

Leila poked her tongue out at me while Emma smiled. I had still to get used to some of
the outfits and circumstances in which I sometimes found the girls, and even after three
months I was still learning more about this strange world on a daily basis.

"You both look very nice," I said. "A definite improvement on most
waitresses I`ve ever encountered. But you must be a tad warm in those outfits? They look
very – er – tight," I said, eyeing the shiny rubber stretched over Emma`s buttocks as
she bent to wipe a drop of spilt food from the floor.

"They are," said Leila, looking up from where she was stirring a pot of sauce.
"But at least they`re short and don`t have sleeves, and they let a bit of air in down
the front. It`s the all-over ones – the catsuits – that really make you sweat. I mean,
they look stunning and all that, but you can lose your fluids in a workout. Still, there
are some good points. Latex on the skin is definitely a turn on. You ought to try it some
time." She smiled impishly at me.

"Nice shoes," I said, changing the direction of the conversation.

"Four-and-a-half-inch heels, since you like the old measurements. They may look
good, but they`re hell on that timber deck with the little gaps between the planks. We
tried to tell Monica, but she still made us wear them."

"Well, you both look delicious, and you`re obviously out there to flaunt your wares
at the moment – not a panty line to be seen." Despite herself, Leila blushed.

"It`s all very well for you to be smart. We`re on eggshells with these two guys.
Monica reckons they`re worth a mint – or two mints at least."

"What – the after dinner type?"

"No – money, stupid. We have to wait on them hand and foot with their eyes and hands
all over us while Monica and Mary act like they`re queens of the world."

"It`s a tough job, but someone`s got to do it," I consoled her. "Remember
these guys could be paying your wages, and Monica obviously wants to impress them. It`s
all about getting repeat clients."

"That`s easy for you to say," Emma chided me. "What about the last time
Warren was here? Look what happened to you and Christina when you fed her
breakfast!"

I remembered it well. Warren`s slave – Christina – and I had wound up suffering astride a
log in the bush behind Bilboes, enduring very painful torments until the ice blocks on our
chains had finally melted and we had been able to make our way back to the house with
great difficulty. I also remembered the aftermath of it all – aspects of which were
decidedly more satisfying, both with Christina and then getting my own back on Monica,
leaving her as substitute prey for Warren to play with.

"But I didn`t know the rules then. Now I`m older and wiser. And remember what
happened to Monica afterwards."

"Yes, we all enjoyed that, and that probably explains why you got such a licking at
the dungeon photo-shoot. You know she doesn`t forget these things easily."

"True. And I think you`re wanted on deck." I looked through the window to where
Monica had held up her hand. Emma scurried outside, her white heels click-clicking on the
ceramic tiles and then on the timber decking. I watched as Emma bent her head to listen to
Monica`s command while a roving hand from Warren`s mate slid up the Chinese girl`s leg and
under the tight white hem of her dress. Emma tried to ignore it and concentrate on what
Monica was saying, then straightened up and prised herself free of the groper, before
returning to the kitchen to take another bottle of champagne from the fridge. Warren`s
friend, whose name was Roger, I later learned, had obviously not endeared himself to
Emma.

"What`s on the menu?" I asked, again distracted by the way Emma`s backside
moved in the tight latex dress on her return to the verandah with the champagne.
"Anything spare?"

"It`s escalopes of veal in a red wine sauce, and you keep your grubby hands
off," Leila told me firmly as she laid the round slices of meat on four of Bilboes`
best china plates then spooned the sauce over them. Emma returned and both girls took two
plates to the table. Roger`s hands couldn`t keep off either of the girls, I noticed, as
they passed or leaned over the table to lay down the plates.

"What is it about him?" Leila muttered as she entered the kitchen again. 

"There`s something creepy about him – he`s a real sleazeball."

"Surely you deal with those all the time?"

"No, strangely enough we don`t. The guys and girls we get here are usually pretty
genuine in their needs and personalities. Isn`t that right, Em?"
"Yes," Emma agreed as she collected a pair of serving spoons and bowl of
steamed vegetables and retreated outside.

"I can`t put my finger on it but…" Leila was saying when at that moment a
movement at the table caught my eye. There was a clatter of cutlery and some exclamations.
I looked out to see Emma standing, hands over her mouth, eyes wide in horror.

"You stupid fucking cow!" Roger snarled. He was on his feet, and I saw a boiled
potato roll off his lap on to the floor. The front of his white shirt was sprayed with the
red wine sauce into which Emma had evidently dropped both of her spoons and the
aforementioned potato – from a reasonable height, I concluded, looking at the spray
pattern.

No one at the table was amused. Poor Emma was mortified and stood rooted to the spot
until slapped on the cheek by Monica.

"Go and get a cloth, you silly bitch!" she snapped. I was astonished, for I had
never seen this side of Monica.

"No, don`t let her near me!" Roger interrupted. "This is a Versace shirt –
she`s done enough damage already. She`ll have to pay for this – and I don`t mean the
shirt, either."

"Oh she`ll pay all right, don`t you worry," Monica said through clenched teeth.
Then she bent down and spoke to Mary. A faint flicker of a smile crossed Mary`s face and
she stood up and walked inside, past me as though I wasn`t there. I liked the look on her
face even less than that on Monica`s.

Leila meanwhile had gone to the scene with a wet cloth and order was gradually restored.
Emma was still standing there, one hand to her cheek where Monica had hit her. "I`m
sorry, I`m sorry, I`m sorry…" she was saying softly, hardly daring to believe what
she had done.

Monica stalked into the kitchen, her face tense with anger.

"Steven!"

"Yes maam!" I saluted, then decided taking the mickey was not a good idea.

"Don`t give me any shit! I want you to make something for me, and I want it
yesterday! Something very simple – a tray. Thick ply, two inch sides, the whole thing
about this by this," she said, stretching her arms to something like half a metre
wide by a metre long.

"Big tray," I said non-committally.

"Yes it is a big tray," she snapped back, "and I want a big eyebolt at the
front and another at the back, and the whole thing sitting on a couple of cross timbers, a
bit in from each end. Got that?"

"Yes ma`am!" When Monica gave orders it was a delight to behold, but I hated
her in this mood.

"Well, get on with it then!"

I needed no further bidding, retreating down the stairs to the room I was working in, on
the construction of my secret rack project that nobody had been allowed to see as yet. I
passed Mary coming back up the stairs. She grinned malevolently at me and waved a bunch of
ropes and straps.

"Play time!" she announced.

I had a feeling Emma was getting deeper into trouble by the minute.

* * * *

It took me only a quarter of an hour to knock up the basic tray that Monica wanted. I had
no idea what she wanted to do with it – I didn`t even want to think about it. By the time
I returned to the verandah the punishment session was already underway.

Poor Emma was now naked, her wrists bound palm to palm behind her and her elbows also
lashed together so they touched. This of course had the effect of making Emma`s lovely
breasts look even lovelier, and predictably these had become the receptors of large
chromed nipple clamps with which Emma was anchored, bent over the balcony railings with
two thin pieces of twine connecting the clamps to her ankles. Any attempt to stand upright
would cause the clamps to pull very hard and very painfully on Emma`s nipples. In the
meantime she was on the receiving end of a flogger being wielded with determination by
Monica, to the satisfied smirks from the two men. Emma wailed and cried, jerking and
squirming, but all the while being restricted by the tethers to her nipples.

Monica paused for breath and looked at what I had presented her with. She said something
to Mary that I did not catch and Mary took the wooden object from me, and placed it on the
deck. Then, as Monica renewed her attack on Emma, Mary disappeared into the kitchen to
reappear with a large plastic bin liner which she placed over the top of the tray.

"Emma, you`re a total waste of space," Monica scolded. "I have tried to
train you but you can`t even manage a pair of serving spoons. You`re a dirty little slut,
and dirty little sluts need to be cleaned up. Mary?"

Mary took the stage with a large tube of toothpaste fitted with one of those nozzles that
you get in the hardware store for tubes of sealant. Brusquely she parted Emma`s butt
cheeks, inserted the nozzle and gave the tube a solid squeeze.

"Oh god – no – not that, please!" moaned Emma. "No more, please!"
That was when Mary – with evident glee – guided the nozzle into Emma`s front passage and
gave it another squirt, to more cries of distress from Emma.

"Do shut up Emma, unless you want a mouthful as well!" Monica told her sharply,
before squatting down to undo the twine around the Chinese girl`s ankles. Emma
straightened up with obvious relief. "I`m tired of your complaining, Emma. You only
think of yourself." Monica`s answer to this complaining was to slap a couple of
pieces of red duct tape in a large `X` across Emma`s mouth before addressing the hapless
girl further.

"Emma you`ve made a disgusting mess here and have managed to ruin a nice lunch. It`s
only fair that you should pay for this, and you know my views on the punishment fitting
the crime. In this instance you can be the dessert course – the showpiece of the menu.
You`ve seen the suckling pig made up? Well picture yourself in the same position…" A
big tear rolled down Emma`s cheek and she sniffled, while shifting uncomfortably from one
foot to the other as the toothpaste was no doubt itching and burning inside her. "I
think a case could be made out for you to be the dessert trolley… Let`s see what we can
come up with…"
I watched with a kind of morbid fascination as poor Emma was made to stand on my tray
while her legs were bound at the ankles and knees. A rope was knotted around her waist and
the tails pulled down between her legs and up at the back to be married to the waist loop
at that point. She was then made to kneel, and I knew the leg ropes would be tightening
terribly under those strained conditions. This done, Monica and Mary slipped two webbing
straps under the tray and over Emma`s back at waist level and high on her shoulders. These
straps were the kind you can pick up at Supercheap Auto for a few bucks and they came
complete with hold-down ratchets. With a few flicks of the ratchet they would make sure
the luggage on your trailer did not fall off during your trip under anything less than a
major accident. In this instance, with each tightening click of the ratchet – done ever so
teasingly slowly by Mary and Monica – Emma was compressed harder and tighter into a ball
against the wood of the tray. She was moaning and trying to plead – for all the good it
did her. Then the tightening stopped and Monica straddled Emma, sitting down and grabbing
the mane of black hair. In a very short time Monica had plaited it into a single short
rope, intertwined with a length of sashcord so the latter became an extension of Emma`s
hair. It was then threaded backwards through the eyebolt at the rear centre of the tray.

"Excellent," Monica declared, then with the help of Mary and the two men at the
table, Emma-on-a-Tray was deposited on top of the obligatory wheeled barbecue that dwelt
on the verandah, like in any good Queensland household. This in turn was wheeled to the
table so that Emma faced the centre, between Roger and Monica. Monica was delighted.

"You look real cute, Emma. Just like a little piggy wiggy, except for one thing –
piggy wiggys don`t have tape over their mouths. Monica ducked into the kitchen and
returned with something yellow in her hand. She ripped the tape off Emma`s mouth none too
gently, giving the girl only time for a brief squeal before Monica pulled hard on the cord
braided into Emma`s hair. Her head was jerked back, causing Emma to cry out with pain. As
her mouth opened involuntarily to it`s fullest extent, Monica jammed the large
thick-skinned lemon in place, allowing just enough slack for Emma`s teeth to bury
themselves in the yellow peel before the cord was tied off, holding the girl`s head in the
strained upright position.

Emma still wore the nipple clamps, but her breasts were now crushed hard against her
thighs and any access to her nipples by others was out of the question. Perhaps she was
grateful for this, but thinking such positive thoughts is surely difficult in the face of
such adversity, and Emma was clearly not following that path. Mary and Monica tried
rocking their captive then tightened the ratchets still further while Emma moaned in
misery and let further tears trickle down over the lemon.

"Don`t they stick other vegetables in such display animals?" Roger suggested
ingenuously.

"You`re absolutely right," said Monica, and again vanished into the kitchen,
reappearing with a large zucchini. This was lubricated with the red wine sauce and none
too gently inserted into Emma`s rear orifice after the crotch rope had been first loosened
then tightened to hold the offending vegetarian intruder in place, half in and half out of
Emma`s rear.

"Cheers!" said Monica, and the four around the table clinked glasses.
"Adaptability and flexibility – I`m adaptable, Emma`s flexible!"

* * * *

The lunch was a long one. Leila completed the serving of it with predictable trepidation,
lest she end up also as a bound and gagged centerpiece. Monica decided at one stage that
Emma needed further adornment, just to keep her attention, and the bound girl was duly
anointed with ice cream from the back of her neck down the junction of her pinioned arms
and ending at the top of her tautly folded buttocks. Closely following the ice cream along
the same route came the sticky toffee sauce, several generous spoonfuls of which were
ladled over Emma`s hair. The ice cream melted slowly and ran down Emma`s flanks, mingling
with the toffee sauce into a gooey pool in the plastic-lined tray.

Not long after the application of the sauce somebody evidently decided Emma needed a
change of scenery, and they carried her down to a point under a large gum tree near the
pool. I did not at first see the relevance of this exercise until half an hour later,
when, despite the tightness of her bonds Emma managed to squirm some more, possibly
creating some lubrication against the restraining straps now sodden with sauce and ice
cream.

I was passing on my way to my room, trying not to look at Emma, but I couldn`t help it.
She was clearly distressed, moaning and chewing into the lemon which was now somewhat the
worse for wear. Her eyes were screwed up and she mewed plaintively and desperately for
help. Something was clearly wrong. I moved closer and to my horror saw ants swarming all
over her body.

I guess it was at that point that something snapped in my mind as far as Monica was
concerned. I decided, as I released Emma`s straps, heedless of the looks from Monica on
the verandah, that it was time Monica was taught a lesson. Emma could not stand, for the
circulation in her legs had been severely restricted. I undid the terrible cords and the
nipple clamps that still remained in place, and carried her over to the garden hose used
to fill the pool. Here I hosed her down as best I could, getting rid of most of the ants,
but the toffee sauce was a different matter. Emma was leaning against a tree for support,
and I was obliged to carry her again, this time to her room, where I turned on the shower
and listened to her little cries of pain as the circulation was slowly restored and
normality returned.

I still had to face Monica, but that would be another battle, and I did not intend to
even start the opening salvoes until she had calmed down from her no doubt current state
of annoyance and desire to have my guts for garters.

* * * *

I went downstairs later that afternoon and talked with Trish, who was on duty in the
Observation Room. My intimate friend Christina, Slave to Warren and devoted bondagee, had
been returned to the Bilboes fold and was now suffering in silence in under the
professional supervision of Trish. She looked as lovely as ever, bound tightly as she was
to one of the posts in the Post Room, although of course she couldn`t see me through the
one way mirror. She had been lashed to the post with coils of sashcord wound about her
waist and criss-crossing between her breasts and over her shoulders. She was naked except
for a pair of white knee-length boots and a matching white ball gag on a white strap. It
was all in the best possible taste.

She had obviously been bound to the post while standing against it, and once her torso
had been immovably secured, with her hands crossed and tied behind her, further loops of
the cord had been placed around her ankles and these had been pulled off the floor behind
her and tied off to an eye bolt sticking out of the back of the post. She was hanging from
the post, mainly through the friction between her torso and the post itself, solely
through the tightness of the ropes about her waist and shoulders. Someone had then
positioned one of our dildos on an extendable shaft under her pussy, with just enough
intruding to make her horny as hell but not enough to let her get off. She was clearly not
pleased with the situation, tossing her blonde hair and making plaintive grunts of
frustration. On her nipples white plastic clothes pegs stuck out jauntily – one on the tip
of each and four more in an artistic circle around the areola.

Her playmate in the room was another blonde with long hair plaited into a single braid.
In contrast to Christina, Lisa – one of our most faithful customers – wore black. She was
kneeling on a platform that Trish and I had designed and built. It was on rollers, about
knee-high and around a metre and a half square. It was heavily padded with vinyl and
sported a nice selection of rings and cleats around the perimeter for any desired
anchorage. Slightly off-centre was a tee-shaped bar made of 50-millimeter pipe. It was
adjustable so that the cross-bar could be from half a metre to a metre above the platform.
The cross bar was a metre long – ideal for draping elbows, waists or knees over it and
securing them in any desired position.

Lisa was tall and very attractive, with a cute nose and big brown eyes. I had encountered
her several times previously, and knew she had an appetite for major pain. In her latest
situation, her face was covered with black duct tape criss-crossing her mouth. She wore a
black corset that constricted her waist from hip to the underside of her breasts, which
were full and heavy. Black strappy high heels adorned her feet while her arms were
confined by a leather arm sheath that ran from fingertips almost to her shoulders, where
straps looped around under each armpit. Lisa was kneeling on the platform with her back to
the cross bar. Her sheathed arms were hooked over the bar, which reached to the underside
of her shoulder blades and the ring on the bottom of the leather sheath had been secured
to the base of the vertical bar. This position would have probably been tolerable, except
that Lisa`s ankles had been strapped to her thighs, meaning that much of her weight was
being carried on the points of her knees.

As if this was not bad enough, a rope tethering each knee to a front corner of the
platform pulled her legs apart and forward, forcing her to lean backwards and carry her
weight on her arms hooked on the bar. This posture was further reinforced by a rope looped
around her waist, knotted behind her, then pulled between her legs and out the front, from
which point it went out and up over a ceiling pulley, before descending to a bucket near
the floor. The bucket was half full of water, no doubt creating a somewhat yielding but
continuous taut pressure right through Lisa`s crotch. Not that Lisa was really in a
position to see this, since the long braid of her hair had been secured to the base of the
vertical bar at the same point as the arm sheath, pulling her head back and obliging her
to study the ceiling. Predictably the final ornaments to this complex picture were the two
nipple clamps joined with a silver chain, from which dangled a lead weight the size of a
walnut.

"Two works of art," I commented to Trish, who looked up from a book she was
reading.

She smiled. "Good, aren`t they. They just can`t get enough, these little bondage
sluts."

"Some can," I corrected her. "Emma had a hard time with Monica this
afternoon."

Trish looked concerned. "How hard?" she asked. I told her.
"Something really has to be done about Monica," I said. "She needs to be
sorted out – to get her humanity back."

"Did you have something in mind?"

"Maybe. But I can`t tell you. `Need to know`, my dear," I said, tapping the
side of my nose. "Don`t want you giving away secrets under torture."

* * * *

I locked myself in what I had nick-named the Rack Room for the rest of the afternoon,
emerging only at dusk for some fresh air.

For the next few days I beavered away on my rack. This was to be my masterpiece, my
magnum opus, and all the while I worked on it, thoughts flitted through my mind as to how
I was going to pull off the stunt in which the entire team at Bilboes would be unwilling
participants. The rack had grown into a bit of a monster, physically. Imagine a frame the
size of a king-sized bed, stretch it a bit lengthwise, now make it into a four-poster to
ceiling height. Located centrally within the overall frame was a padded vinyl rack, under
a metre wide but two and a half meters long – long enough to stretch out on comfortably, I
thought. At each end of this was a further padded platform, ideal for kneeling on.

The entire frame itself was designed to have four people spread-eagled around the
perimeter with a fifth on the rack in the middle – or at least variations on those themes.
Most importantly it should not flex or sway – I wanted something rock solid that would
prove immovable against all desperate attempts to escape. Making the structure rigid was
in fact easily done by fixing the four posts from the concrete floor to the underside of
the floor joists above.

While all this was going on, I had gradually made peace with Monica, and had convinced
her that a photo shoot for the opening of the Rack was in order – a thought that Monica
seemed to quite take to. This was not surprising, given the one-sided nature of the
previous dungeon shoot where I had been decidedly on the receiving end. Monica had enjoyed
that. Little did she know Steven had other plans for this particular photo session.

I had agreed with her that the girls would be sent down at ten minute intervals wearing
the usual collection of exotic outfits. Each girl would be secured in place with the one
on the rack bench itself being the last. This of course meant that the first victim would
be in place considerably longer than number five, but in the big scheme of Steven`s
Masterplan I did not see this as significant, for they were all going to be there quite a
while. I had also prevailed on Leila to lend me her video camera, which I set up on a
tripod to record the events as they unfolded. It had not been difficult to convince Monica
that there were video marketing opportunities here.

* * * *

And so it was that the morning began with the appearance of Emma – she of the silky black
hair and heavy breasts. She entered the room and gaped at the coils of rope, lengths of
chain, sets of cuffs and piles of padlocks that were laid out on the floor. Multiply five
bodies by four cuffs and padlocks and you start to accumulate some hardware. This was
before we even got to inserts for mouths and other orifices which might or might not get
locked in place.

"Holy crap, Batman! You must be expecting a party," she said. "Is there a
bus load coming?"

"A house load, my dear," I told her, "and you are the lucky first to try
out Steven`s new rack and to learn the terrors it holds to all who cross this
threshold." She laughed. "You could at least try to be a little bit more
apprehensive," I grumbled without conviction. "A lot of work has gone into this,
you know."

"I can see that. I can see your over-organized and anal mind at work."

"You make me sound worryingly like Monica."

"Sorry – no offence. But I rather think I`m going to enjoy this. I don`t think I`m
going to go running back to Monica in fear."

"You may be right – Monica is probably more terrifying. Now come over here and try
on these darling cuffs."

Emma wore a local cheerleader outfit – a short maroon pleated skirt and a silvery white
lycra crop top which did nothing to disguise her lovely boobs. The outfit was finished off
with white high heels and she wore her hair in pigtails. She looked considerably more
cheerful than when I had last had a close encounter with her being attacked by ants. I
felt there was now a bond of trust between us, which made me feel pretty good – I guess
I`m just a bit old fashioned like that. Emma would have pride of place – at least to start
with – on the long side of the rack furthest from the door.

It did not take me long to fit leather cuffs to Emma`s ankles and wrists and to lock
these in place. A meter-long heavy chain linked both ankle cuffs once Emma`s legs were
spread. This was not so much for immediate purposes as for the longer term – for reasons
which will become plainer in time, dear reader. I looped some sashcord through the D-rings
on the cuffs and ran it through eye-bolts on the base timber, before running the cords
vertically and tying them off at head height. There was again reason for this, which will
likewise become apparent. Emma`s legs were now firmly held apart and unable to move either
in or out.

I locked her wrist cuffs together and told her to raise her hands above her head. Her
position, on the far side of the rack, faced the door. Just above head height a horizontal
length of 5-centimeter galvanized pipe spanned between the main posts on all four sides.
Conveniently, this was just at raised elbow height for Emma`s arms. I looped a further
piece of sashcord through the lock joining her cuffs and pulled her wrists back over the
pipe, letting her twist them as they bent down behind her shoulders.

Here her wrists had reached their limit, and from that point I ran the rope down her
back, slipping it inside the band of her skirt and running it between her legs to the
front. Predictably Emma wore nothing underneath, and predictably my hand lingered. Even
more predictably Emma wriggled and began to make soft moaning noises, before I pulled my
questing fingers away. Half a minute later two knots were nestling against her pussy under
the skirt and the top ends of the rope emerged to wrap around her waist and get tied at
the front.

"You can wipe that smile off your face, Emma Cheng," said a voice, totally
devoid of any malice and perhaps even suggesting a hint of jealousy. It was Jillian,
shutting the heavy door behind her.

"I want what she`s got!" Jill demanded with the earnestness of a six-year-old
and a demure look I found utterly enchanting. Jillian wore a white PVC leotard which ran
from a high Chinese-style collar in a narrow strip down between her breasts before
encircling her body in a shapely wrap. Suspenders held glistening white stockings that ran
down her wonderful legs to end in elegant white strappy high heels. Once I`d regained my
composure – which wasn`t easy, given some of the outfits these girls possessed – I decided
I`d brook no nonsense from Jillian.

"You`ll get what`s coming to you, young missy," I told her sternly.
"And like it, too?" she asked coyly.

"Maybe," I reluctantly agreed. "But maybe not. This is Steven`s Chamber of
Horror, after all. It`s not Mrs Do-Kindly`s house of pleasure, you know. Don`t try my
patience. You`ll soon be in a position where you`re helpless in my clutches!"

"Oh goody. Can we start now?"

I had decided that Jill was going to do pretty well out of this, since she would end up
in a similar position to Emma, opposite her. There is something about good bondage that
requires symmetry as well as neatness. No doubt this was a requirement to be satisfied in
Monica`s obsessive eyes, and I realized only then that it was something I had come to look
for as well.

It did not take long to secure Jill`s ankles identically to Emma`s, and to have her
cuffed wrists tied vertically to the overhead beam. As her arms stretched above her,
Jill`s breasts were raised and tautened in a most appealing way, which I could not help
but stand back and admire. Again I tied a double cord about Jill`s waist, ran it down the
back between her legs and passed it under the long bench to Emma`s side. Here I attached
it to the cord running down from Emma`s waist under her skirt, pulling it tight but not
too tight. The girls commented on this.

"Hey, dungeon master, these ropes are a bit loose," said Jill, weaving around
within her points of restraint.

"Does that mean you can escape?" I asked, taunting her.

"Well… no, but you`re a bit slacker than usual," she said.

"Only fools and children comment on a half-finished job," I told her. Suitably
chastised she dropped her eyes and tugged experimentally with a backward thrust of her
hips against the rope between her legs. She got a response from Emma with a soft squeak.

"Oi! None of that or you`ll get a whipping you hadn`t bargained for!" I told
them sternly, just as Leila appeared in the doorway, camera in hand.

Leila looked drop-dead gorgeous, dressed not unlike the last photo-shoot in the dungeon.
Red was definitely her colour, and to this end she wore the same red latex mini dress that
came almost halfway down her thighs. It had a halter neck and an open laced panel between
her breasts, the locations of which were confirmed by cut-outs the diameter of tennis
balls over her nipples. She wore white stay-up stockings, the tops of which occasionally
peeked from the hem of her dress, with the lower extremities of her legs encased in very
stylish knee-length front lacing leather boots, sporting four-inch heels. Not content with
this, she had rounded off the outfit with thin red latex gloves that stretched to above
her elbows. Not surprisingly, everything she wore concealed nothing, instead outlining
every curve and fiber of her body.

"You can put that camera over there," I told her. "I`m doing the shooting
today." Leila looked disappointed but did as I commanded.

My heart was beating rapidly now. I suppose it was a combination of things, not least
being the exotic nature of my subjects, but also the fact that I was embarking on this
adventure that could have fearsome consequences for me – though at the time I was not to
know how fearsome, not to mention bizarre, they would turn out to be. But there was no
backing out, I decided. Most importantly, I had to stay focused. I had to concentrate on
exactly which ropes and chains went where. Securing the girls in place had to be done in a
certain sequence, so that they would be able to free themselves in an equally controlled
sequence. I had agonized over this for many days, and had written it all down, the details
now being on three much-folded pieces of paper in my back pocket. Certain locks had to go
in certain places, and the corresponding keys would go in certain different places.
Science, method, and logic were all part of my plan, but equaled by a healthy dose of
knowledge of the girls and their psyches.

When I had regained my momentary loss of thought patterns, I soon had Leila kneeling on
the right hand end platform at a little below waist level. This was the foot of the rack
itself, pride of place on which I had reserved for Mary. Leila`s arms were secured not
unlike Jillian`s, her wrists cuffed and locked together, and hoisted high above her, the
rope looping from the cuffs over the galvanized pipe spanning between corner posts, from
where it was tied to a length of chain that dropped to the base of the rack frame to be
padlocked to an eyebolt. She was kneeling extended in this position, that is to say not
sitting back on her haunches. I locked cuffs on her ankles over the fine red leather of
her boots, linking them with a short hobble chain and then tying the ankles to the edges
of the platform.

"Everybody looks very comfortable in here," came Trish`s voice from the doorway
as I finished securing Leila.

"We are, aren`t we girls?" I said. A chorus of assent came from the three
females in various states of restraint on the rack. "Why not join the fun?"
Trish sauntered into the room as though she owned the place, looking stunning in a pale
blue and white striped corset stretching from hip to the underside of her breasts. This
was complimented by white PVC thigh boots straight out of "Pretty Woman". She
looked every inch the archetype hooker in the first stage of undress. She smiled at me
mockingly.

"What`s the matter? Never seen a lady in a corset before?"

How did I get a job like this? I wondered.

"Sure," I said off-handedly, but I`m sure I blushed. "Up on the platform
please Miss. Assume the position!"

"And what position would that be, sir?"

"Cross-legged and wrists in front."

"Okay. Like this? What`s this hole in the platform for? Its right where… oh . I
think I see."

"If you don`t now, you soon will," I murmured.

"Is that a promise?" She smiled wickedly at me. I grinned back as I strapped
the cuffs around her wrists and locked them on, then joined them with a further padlock.
The locks shut with the crisp click of well-oiled devices. More cuffs on her ankles with a
short hobble-chain, then I tied them crossed together with several turns of cord. Another
piece of cord through the wrist locks and Trish`s wrists were hauled up and backwards over
the bar above her, then were pulled down behind her shoulders in the same manner as Emma.
Like Emma`s configuration, I ran the rope underneath Trish between her legs, pausing to
tie a couple of strategic knots in the front before wrapping it around her waist and tying
it off. She looked on approvingly.

"Nice."

"Comfy?"

"Sure."

"We`ll see how long that lasts," I told her ominously, leering at her.

* * * *

Predictably Mary arrived late.

"Is this where the party is?" she asked archly, eyeing the four girls bound to
the framework in the centre of the room. I ignored her lateness. The last thing I wanted
now was any disagreement. Things were going all right thus far, but I never counted my
birds in the hand until they were tied, to mix metaphors, and there were still too many
things that could go wrong.

"It is, Mary, and you`re the guest of honor, of course – the piece de resistance, so
to speak. We`ve saved you pride of place on the table."

Mary strode imperiously into the room and circled the rack, observing the four figures in
their restraints. She wore a black leather miniskirt and a matching halter top with
cut-outs, through which two erect pink nipples protruded, and a few lightweight chains
hung from her gear for effect. Further effects were created by her black knee-length boots
and gloves which ran to above her elbows.

"This bondage is a bit slack isn`t it?" she said disdainfully, tugging at the
cord running from Jill`s overhead pulley through her legs to Emma`s crotch. Both girls
caught their breath. "Look at all the slack!"

"I`ll try to do better, Mary," I said humbly. "I`ll take your advice.
Would you mind lying down on the table?"

She did so without a second`s hesitation, and was shortly cuffed at wrist and ankle like
the others. I only had four cuffs left now – I had had to virtually clean out the store
room for this exercise, as well as making a bulk purchase of about forty small padlocks
which were master keyed in various ways. Mary`s ankles were linked with a short hobble
chain, as were her wrists, then I secured the ankle cuffs to the foot of the frame. I was
glad Mary was wearing boots and gloves – as I had requested of Monica – since this would
provide protection when I wound up the rack.

It did not take me long to secure her wrists with further ropes. These ran through
pulleys at the head of the frame back to a horizontal shaft between the two posts at the
foot, beneath where Leila was tethered. On each end of the shaft was a steering wheel I
had obtained from a used car yard, and a simple ratchet system for tightening the victim`s
ropes. The use of the pulleys made it twice as easy to apply some load to the victim with
less input to the wheels.

"Are we ready, yet?"

The words came from Monica, wearing what I had asked of her – a shiny silver catsuit made
of heavy rubber. I had seen Trish wear it once and for reasons which will become clear I
had asked Monica to wear it this time, ostensibly for variety in the photo shoot. She also
wore black leather gloves that overlapped the rubber sleeves a short way and outlined her
hands against the silver fabric in a strikingly erotic way. As usual she wore her
favourite black stilettos, adding to her height and commanding stature.

"Just getting to the interesting part, Mon," I said. "You need to
understand how this thing works, and I want all of the rest of you to pay attention as
well." 

There was no disguising the looks of interest on their faces as I explained how it
operated.

"It`s all pretty simple, and you have to remember that you can put plenty of tension
on through the pulleys, but can easily let it off by removing this ratchet here." I
turned the wheel a couple of times to take out the slack.

Mary wriggled to spread the load as her arms and legs straightened. "Now I`ll show
you a couple of refinements available with this system, ," I said. Mary made a
disparaging remark under her breath that I did not quite catch, so I said to Monica:
"Could you please quieten the lady, Mon?"

Ever obliging, Monica selected a large but soft rubber ball and forced it into Mary`s
mouth. Rather than use a standard ball gag, the inventive Monica then took a strap and
wrapped it around Mary`s upper arms, behind her head and across her mouth, thus trapping
her arms on either side of her head as well as securing the ball in place. I had to admire
Monica sometimes. Now Mary would even have difficulty shaking her head.

I turned the wheel a bit further, listening for two clicks on the ratchet. Mary`s body
was now dead straight with her arms and legs stretched taut.

"I recall one of my earliest lessons here," I told my rapt audience. "It
was Mary telling us about how and when nipple clamps should be placed." I produced a
handful of plastic clothes pegs – the type with a curved rather than a flat contact face,
and proceeded to place four around each of Mary`s nipples, in the points of the compass,
with one on each now-hard tip. Mary`s composure was starting to go. Her eyes seemed to
grow wide in protest with the placement of each peg and she began to make little whining
sounds.

"One feature of this rack is that it is hinged in the middle, at the waist. If we
turn this little wheel here, there is a jack underneath that will elevate the middle
hinged point. You have to be very careful, since we don`t want any broken backs. That
would really not be good for business. But it is good, of course, for stretching the torso
and making the skin tighten in all points to the front, as we see now." I had raised
the hinged piece by perhaps six centimeters, and Mary`s ribs were starting to become
outlined as her waist was lifted. Predictably the flesh tightened around her breasts and
her whining went up a notch. Her breath began to come in rapid pants as I gave the wheel
another couple of turns.

"Tight enough for you now, Mary?" I asked innocently. Mary`s breathing was
punctuated by a high nasal moaning and her eyes were large with a mixture of pain and
venom. "What do you think, Mon?"

"Impressive," said Monica, with – I think – genuine admiration. I took the
camera and began to get some shots of Mary, with Monica standing over her dominating the
frame and holding on to the main wheel. Monica could not resist giving the wheel a further
twist, which sent Mary into new, decidedly higher pitched and more urgent pleadings.
Monica`s response was to flick and tug the clothes pegs while whispering God knew what in
Mary`s ear. There was no need to coach any acting out of the victim – the fear on her face
was pretty genuine. Such theories about not harming employees who made the money were
clearly forgotten in the literal stress of the moment.

After some ten minutes of directing shots, both with full floodlights on and in a
gloomier dungeon-like surround, I eased off the centre wheel and let Mary down to an even
keel again. She was still breathing as though she had done a hundred metre dash. I
suggested Monica should remove the pegs at this point, which she did to the accompaniment
of squeals muffled by the rubber ball as the no doubt painful experience of returning
blood flow came about.

"Now for the full show," I told the assembly. I handed Monica four ball gags
and asked her to fit them to the remaining ungagged mouths, hers and mine excluded, of
course. She did this with purpose, with each girl obediently opening wide for the rubber
ball to be inserted and buckled behind the neck.

In the meantime I eased the main ropes on Mary`s arms and tied a doubled-up piece of
sashcord around her waist, then led it from the back, under her leather skirt and between
her legs, coming up the front and emerging above the top of the leather waistband to slip
under the waist loop of cord. Here I tied it, then, kneeling on the padded bench beside
her, I pulled a cord and hook down from where it hung over a pulley in the centre of the
upper frame. This I hooked on Mary`s waist rope. With Mary`s arms still pinioned to her
head, I couldn`t progress to the next stage, so I was obliged to undo the strap that
Monica had put there. Not wanting a lot or argument during this, I pulled the soaking ball
free, to jam another in place before she could draw breath to protest. This ball gag was
the hard, regular type and buckled tightly behind her head.

That done, I undid the rest of the ropes on her ankles and wrist cuffs, barely giving her
a moment to react before I hauled on the pulley and heaved her torso into the air. Mary
scrabbled about frantically, pulling her legs up to support some weight on her feet and –
after momentarily ending up on her elbows with her wrists behind her, she stretched her
arms out vertically beneath her, the linking chain stretching taut across the vinyl
padding as her fingers splayed out to take her weight. Her body was now horizontal, some
half a meter above the bench, her arms and lower legs like four columns in support, while
her head fell back as she cried plaintively into the gag.

"Even more impressive," said Monica as I reached for the camera again.

* * * *

There was no doubt about Monica`s acting ability – she was a born poser – pouting and
snarling at the helpless girls. Every so often I would position her limbs – moving an arm
or shifting her closer to her victim then snapping away. After some minutes I pulled her
aside.

"I think we should spice things up a little," I said, and I explained to her
what I wanted. Monica never blinked an eye and moved across to a table in the corner where
I had laid out five "devices" – as I was told they were called by the Brisbane
vice squad. Monica selected the first, and largest. It was the seven-centimeter rubber
dildo in engorged pink, which Jillian had encountered in the dungeon photo shoot.

"Who would like this?" She fixed each candidate with a baleful stare.
"Maybe we should leave it until last. Meanwhile, Emma – you`re always the horny one –
we should fix you up first." Monica picked up a tube of lubricant that came with a
long nozzle of the kind you get in hardware stores for injecting sealant. A squirt of
lubricant went up all the orifices on the rack – front and back. I had no intention of any
anal insertion, but of course the girls didn`t know that.
Monica dealt with Emma first – a broad chromed dildo worked into her pussy and held there
by the crotch rope. Mary followed, with a fat black model with all manner of ribbings and
protruding nubs. Trish and Jill both got the shaft – my extendable pipe on the steel base.
I had specifically brought these to the Rack Room for this purpose, and had indicated the
intention to Monica. The crotch ropes were superfluous in these cases, since the long
chromed vibrators penetrated between each pair of ropes. I watched as Monica positioned
the dildo between Jill`s legs and twisted it up inside her. Jill`s hands clenched and she
pulled on the overhead ropes, lifting herself on to tiptoes as the invader moved upward
inside her. Her breath came in little shuddering gasps before Monica stopped and the
helpless Jillian slowly lowered herself on the silver prong. All the time I kept clicking
away, alternating now with the video camera, getting some excellent action shots of faces
and insertions.

Trish also got a silver dong on the shaft – this one protruding up through a hole in the
platform. Trish wriggled and squirmed as the invader penetrated her pussy, oblivious to my
in-your-face camera technique. As Monica finished with Trish and turned to the last girl,
Leila, the camera caught the widening of her eyes as she realized that the big dildo was
destined for her. Monica picked it up and approached her with just the right of menace. I
got it all on film as she positioned the big vibrator on the specially-adapted car jack,
and located this between Leila`s spread knees on the platform. Leila tried to squat down
on her haunches but could get nowhere near that position, and in any case it would have
achieved Monica`s goal had she succeeded.

"Would you like it up the bum instead, little Leila?" Monica hissed in Leila`s
ear. Leila, a genuine look of alarm on her face shook her head desperately. "Then
you`d better behave, hadn`t you." Leila nodded feigning enthusiasm as Monica began
jacking the device upward beneath the tight red dress. There was much squirming as the
head of the dildo penetrated Leila. Her whole body tightened and her fists clenched in the
cuffs overhead as she struggled to cope with the intruder. Her cheeks coloured and she
began to pant rapidly through her nose, closing her eyes and moaning into the ball gag.
Just when I was about to tell Monica to stop, she did so, smiling archly at me.

The next step of the set-up was the installation of the nipple torture. I pulled Monica
aside again and whispered to her, then I stepped back for a wide shot of the bound team
when Monica, a handful of clinking nipple clamps raised high, announced the next stage to
the awaiting audience. There was a chorus of gagged groans from the victims.

I climbed on to the main platform, standing above the helpless and strained Mary who
looked up at me with plaintive eyes – quite a change coming from her – or was I just
misreading things? Above her I suspended a horizontal wire ring, perhaps the diameter of a
basketball – a bit like those ones that form the frame for an old-fashioned lampshade.
Monica meanwhile had fastened a nipple clamp on the right tits of Leila and Trish as they
faced each other at the ends of the padded bench. Attached to each clamp was a long piece
of twine, which Monica handed to me. I passed each through the wire ring and handed them
back to Monica, who tied one end to Leila`s second clamp now affixed to her left nipple.
The second twine was looped through the clamp on Trish`s left breast, and was then in a
position for adjustment. Pulling on this twine – which passed through the ring and back to
the Trish`s right clamp – produced an even strain on each nipple, but pulled on the ring
and produced an opposite strain on both Leila`s clamps. Monica, who at once had grasped
the capacity for the system, and who had also seen my deliberate slackness in the ropes,
now used the leverage to it`s full effect.

"Come on, come on," she said impatiently. "Lean forward – there`s lots of
slack there – stick those tits out!" Trish and Leila whined as one, but obediently
pushed their bodies forward to counter the pull of the clamps. Monica tied off the twine
on Trish`s clamp and together we repeated the process on both Emma and Jillian, keeping
the tension on both. Mary was the final one, with her twine going over the centre bar of
the wire ring.

"Absolutely first class," Monica said to me admiringly. "You really do
have a talent for this sort of thing."

"Thank you," I said modestly. "I`d like to do some more stills with you –
something a bit more arty. I handed her a riding crop. "Use your imagination while I
use mine."

I followed her around the frame, as she let fly periodically at exposed rumps. Every so
often I would stop her and position her against the backdrop of the rack before getting
further shot. Leila had brought lots of rolls of film and I realized I was thoroughly
enjoying myself, although I confess I was mighty tense about what was to come, having
plotted it for so long.

Finally the moment had come, and I couldn`t put it off any longer.

"Okay Mon. I want you to stand here facing the rack. Put you hands behind you and
hold the crop horizontally. I want a couple of shots from behind you, with the crop the
focus."

Monica, by now accustomed to my directing and handling her limbs, let herself be
positioned. I stood behind her while she held the crop, her hands just touching as they
gripped it. She had no time to react as with one movement I clicked the set of handcuffs
around her exposed wrists. They fitted perfectly, snapping closed over her leather-encased
wrists with a smooth ratcheting series of clicks. The crop fell to the floor as Monica
tugged instinctively against the steel imprisoning her wrists.

"What the hell`s this all about?" Monica demanded, turning on me furiously.
Despite such fury, the edge is considerably reduced when a person`s hands are locked
behind them. Monica was no longer commanding from a position of strength. I said nothing,
but pushed her backwards against the wall, fishing in my pocket for the chain with the
silver crocodile clips on them. Ignoring her protests I pushed my fingers into the
vertical slits in the rubber suit where I knew her nipples to be and teased them out
through the openings. They were hard and resistant.

"Steven! Don`t you dare put those things on me! Don`t you –ow! Shit that hurts! Take
it off this instant! Leave that other one –ow-owow! Arghh! Shit Steven! You bastard! Take
the fucking things off now!"

Still I said nothing, ignoring her hot breath in my face. From my other pocket I pulled
the foam rubber ball that Mary had been gagged with in the course of her initial
stretching on the rack. It was relatively soft, but also very resilient and larger than
the harder ball gags we used. A yank on the nipple chain caused Monica to open her mouth
sufficiently for me to make a start on locating the ball there, and with a couple more
yanks I succeeded in working the ball wholly inside her mouth. I knew it was actually big
enough to stay there of it`s own accord once inside. The victim could close his or her
mouth fully, only to have it spring open the moment the pressure was eased and the ball
expanded sufficiently to make it impossible to force out with the tongue alone. All in all
it was pretty effective. Suffice to say, Monica shut up immediately, although if looks
could kill I would have died an agonizing death there and then.

I pulled her across to the only support post in the room, located as it was a couple of
meters to the rear of the rack, behind where Emma stood. Here I forced Monica to her
knees, back against the post, and looped a chain around her neck, locking it to a
protruding eyebolt.

"Ladies – and Monica – I suppose I should tell you what is in store for you today –
and tomorrow – and the next day. And I will – soon. The first thing that will happen is
that Monica will make a series of apologies to you for various instances of humiliation
she has inflicted on you in recent times. She will have a short time to think about this
while I have a break. This might help focus her mind a little."

I moved across to Monica`s kneeling figure and hung a walnut-sized lead weight on the
short chain joining the two nipple clamps. Monica winced and moaned into the rubber ball.
"And since I don`t want you reaching round and removing that, Mon, your hands need a
little further restraint…" With these words I slipped a rope around the link on the
handcuffs and dragged it between her legs, stretching it taut across to the rack.

"Please excuse me for a moment, Emma," I said deferentially, slipping my hand
under her skirt and tying Monica`s rope to the crotch rope emerging from between Emma`s
buttocks. "Now you can all play together," I told her, patting her gently on the
shoulder as one might do with a small child.

"As for the rest of the day, ladies, I`m debating whether to go to the movies
leaving you to your own devices – if you pardon the pun – or whether to invite Warren and
Roger over to play with you." I watched the looks of amazement and dismay appear on
some of the faces, not the least being that on Monica`s. "Or both, perhaps. I think
the toss of a coin should solve this quandary." I pulled a fifty-cent piece from my
pocket and tossed it, letting it land on the concrete floor with a ring that echoed off
the block walls. I studied the fall. "Hmmm. Okay. See you all later." I turned
and left the room, heedless of all the sudden mmphing and jiggling from the figures on the
rack and the brief rattle of handcuffs from the woman chained by the neck.

* * * *

A week or so previously Monica had bought some black leather trousers for me – all part
of the long term plan, it seemed, to have me more involved in the `active` side of the
business. I had deliberately refrained from wearing them until my plans for this event
came to fruition. I had decided that if she was looking for a more dominant Steven, who
better than to be the judge first time out than Monica Armstrong. Accordingly, dressed in
my new leather strides, my black boots and leather vest, I returned to the fray some
fifteen minutes later. I had opted to wear a leather hood, complete with zipped mouth
opening, for effect. I was sure it would fool nobody once I opened my mouth, but hey, mind
games was what this was all about.

I toyed with changing my voice, and decided that there was no way I would fool anyone,
whether a strange Scotsman, Brummie or Canadian turned up to deal with the girls. All of
these accents I could do, but not to the extent that it would deceive this lot, given
Steven`s departure so soon beforehand. Notwithstanding all of this, I thought it was
appropriate that there be at least a little role play, and I decided to revert to my alter
ego of previously – the East Ender who had wrought such suffering on poor Isobel.

* * * *

"`Ullo girls," I said, upon entering the Rack Room again. I stood and surveyed
the faces turned towards me, eyes wide over the gagged mouths, wondering what was to
happen next. "Well, well, well. Wot a delightful little play-group. Must be my lucky
day. All me Christmases come at once. I wonder if I can