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.
My plan that saw Monica trapped and chained in a clinging latex suit for two and a half
days while the girls carried out a mostly futile search for the keys to her securing
chains had gone brilliantly. Monica had been at the mercy of others and forced to endure
itching powder and electrical torments from devices implanted and locked in place, until I
finally decided she had suffered enough. I hoped that she had learned from the experience
to perhaps treat others with a little more respect. Instead, I was discovering that the
period of confinement had served simply to sharpen her imagination and to plan for her
revenge. That was how I had come to be transformed into a new identity – Stephanie, and
was now faced with perhaps the ultimate in life-altering decisions.
CHAPTER ONE–TRANSFIGURATION AND ENSLAVEMENT
"You can have a quiet night`s sleep and then I`ll come to see you in the morning and
we`ll take it from there," said Jill. "Sleep tight Steven–or Stephanie."
It was some many hours later that the light came on, followed shortly thereafter by the
clank of the key in the lock. I had been away in the land of the dead, exhausted by the
events of the night before, but I awoke with a start as the key turned. The proposal, bet,
call it what you like, made by Jillian came rushing back to me. I had tried to consider it
before I fell asleep, but it had been a losing battle. I didn`t know if I could manage a
month as Stephanie, always on my guard against letting my cover down. What would they be
getting me to do? I did not know if I could face the girls in this guise. Doing it when I
had no choice, and when my captors had been likewise role-playing was one thing, and that
had only been for a very short time. Doing it every day, all day, interacting directly
with the girls in their everyday life was something different – something I didn`t know if
I could pull off, or face, for that matter. Yet a part of me did not want to leave this
lifestyle and these people. Another part of me said the money made it worthwhile, and a
further voice pointed out the faith the girls had in me in putting their own money against
Monica`s.
I think it was that aspect which decided the matter for me – it was the fact that they
were prepared to justify their faith in me with their own money.
The door opened and Trish walked into the cell. I had been expecting Jill or Monica and
Trish`s presence surprised me. She stopped and smiled at me as I scrambled to my knees on
the mattress.
"And what is your name, my dear?"
The meaning behind Trish`s words was obvious. I hesitated momentarily before taking the
plunge.
"It`s… Stephanie…" I said awkwardly.
Trish beamed at me. I sensed it was from genuine pleasure at my decision and my continued
presence in the house, rather than any anticipation at the fate which lay ahead of me.
"Excellent! I`m very pleased." Then she became serious. "However, over the
next couple of hours I am going to explain to you your duties here and the rules you must
obey. You will be treated like any slave serving in Bilboes. You will be punished if you
disobey or fail to carry out orders properly, and will receive no special treatment from
anybody. Between you and me – and this is to go no further – we`re delighted at your
decision and the chance we have to win this bet with Monica. But you`ll have to do the
hard yards.
"This morning you`ll be shown how to behave. A different girl will be responsible
for you each day. She will decide what you wear and what tasks you will perform, and she
will be responsible for your behavior. Any disobedience will reflect badly on her and she
may also share your punishment, which I`m sure you wouldn`t wish. You will address us as
`Mistress` and will not speak unless spoken to or unless it is required as part of your
task. Before you go upstairs now, you will be washed thoroughly. Your corset will come off
once a week, but other times you must wash with it on. Since it will be secured at the
back, you will have no option in the matter, and one of the girls will be required to help
you remove and replace it for your weekly full shower. Is that clear?" I nodded.
"Is that clear?" she repeated, a sudden sharp edge to her voice.
"Yes Mistress," I said.
"For the next couple of hours you will disregard the instruction only to speak when
spoken to. You will speak as much as possible and will tell me everything you have
experienced – as your alter ego – so as to train that terrible voice of yours into
something more acceptable. You will also be taught to walk and deport yourself properly in
high heels – something you have not been too successful at so far. Is all this
clear?"
"Yes Mistress," I said, trying to control my wavering voice. I was still
struggling to believe I was doing this, and my friendship with Trish didn`t make it any
easier.
"Your butt plug will be removed each evening, and you will reinsert it each morning,
prior to commencing work. You will perform your ablutions based around this cycle. If you
misbehave you
may find yourself wearing it for somewhat longer periods. At all times the electrodes
will remain connected to your nipples and your plug when it is in place. I suppose you`ve
noticed that the plug can be disconnected from the battery, as can the nipple
electrodes." (I hadn`t, and the plug still hung below my crotch.) If there is any
time they should be connected and are not, you may expect the severest of punishments.
Your battery will be changed each morning. Are you with me so far?"
"Yes Mistress."
"Very good. You will wear the clothes assigned to you by whoever is in charge of you
each day. If you are well behaved you may get to make your own selection, but don`t expect
to be wearing trousers for another month. Your duties will include cleaning, cooking and
laundry, work in the garden and also some `special tasks`. " Trish said this with a
peculiar smile that hinted at something vaguely unpleasant. "All right – it`s time
for your shower – you stink. Has anyone told you that?"
"No Mistress."
"Well you do. And you look as though you`ve slept in those clothes for the last
couple of days. Don`t you understand this place has a reputation to uphold and appearances
to maintain?"
"Yes Mistress."
"Then hold out your hands." I obeyed and had moments later found myself
restrained by the cold steel of handcuffs on my wrists. "Now stand up." I did
so, and the butt plug dangled between my legs at the end of its connecting wires.
"Oh, I see we haven`t discovered the connections between the plug and the power
pack." Trish sighed and knelt between my legs. Moments later she stood up again with
the plug in her hands. "I do hope you display a little more resource, Stephanie. I
really hate dumb slave girls. They take up so much time and energy…"
And we headed off to the sauna room.
In the sauna room my handcuffs were temporarily removed and I was made to take off all my
clothes. It was the first time I had really been able to examine my rubber corset and
breasts. They were all done in a very tasteful flesh color which on first glance almost
looked real. The breasts were slightly pendulous – firm but with a wobble around the
permanently hard rosebud nipples–and I inwardly thanked whoever had chosen them from the
catalogue, or wherever they had come from. The edges were well and truly glued down,
providing an almost seamless transition to my own flesh. Protruding from the underside
were the two wires obviously linked to the Tens patches that had been fitted over my
nipples before the prostheses were glued in place. I tentatively picked at the join
between rubber and skin, only to have my hand slapped down by Trish, although not before I
had reached the inevitable conclusion that I was stuck with these tits for the foreseeable
future, it seemed. Trish glared at me.
"Don`t even think about it," she warned. "Now face the wall and put your
hands behind your head."
I did as I was told and both felt and heard the snick of wire cutters as something was
released behind me. Trish waved a small section of steel crimp in front of me.
"That`s what keeps your waistline in," she told me. "The corset can`t be
removed until the crimped stainless steel wire is cut. A nice idea. One of yours, I
believe." I said nothing, but felt the pressure start to ease as Trish unthreaded the
wire from what I presumed were eyelets down the back, until at last I was able to breathe
normally again as the garment dropped at my feet. Mr Willy hung down sadly, impaled inside
a piece of clear plastic tubing, also secured with superglue, I guessed, from the
immovable feel of it. It was clearly going to be a long and frustrating month.
Trish took away my clothes, leaving me handcuffed to a bolt in the wall for an hour or so
while the heating was turned up. I sweated freely as the accumulated dirt and grime of the
last few days worked its way out of my pores. My skin felt strangely sensitive, which I
attributed to the new absence of hair, the same sensation of absolute nakedness a guy
feels after shaving off a moustache and experiencing the weird unfamiliarity of a bald
upper lip. Only this time it was all over…
She returned at one point and gave me a light whipping with a flogger. It certainly got
my skin tingling and my protestations only drew more punishment until I got my intonation
sufficiently high to obviously sound half-believably female. I began to have more doubts
as to whether I could do this.
Then it was a hose down with cold water, which was only marginally less unpleasant than
the flogging, and again I yelped and protested. Finally Trish took me back to the outer
room where I toweled myself down. On coat hangers on a hook were some fresh clothes.
"Time to get your shape back," Trish ordered, holding up the flesh-coloured
corset. Reluctantly I held it in place while Trish attached the electrical wires, secured
the back of it under my shoulder blades, then threaded a new stainless wire through the
eyelets. In the short time I had luxuriated in the sauna, I had forgotten how tight the
thing had been, and I could not help myself protesting as she put her knee in the small of
my back and tightened each crossover in turn.
"Unless you want to wear a ball in your mouth for the next twenty-four hours, I
would suggest you learn to accept certain things and behave like a proper slave
girl," Trish said grimly, pulling harder. "The only reason you haven`t been
punished for the display you`ve put on so far is that it`s still your training period.
After lunch you`re on your own, and will have to take the consequences of your
actions."
Before long Mr Willy was back in harness and the butt plug was securely up my ass and
connected to a new battery. I should not have been surprised at the sudden pain in my
nipples and bum.
"Ow-ow-shit!" I exclaimed. "What was that for – Mistress?" I added
hastily.
"Just testing everything is in working order," Trish said dismissively.
"And a little reminder of what punishment awaits you if you misbehave. Now, get
dressed."
I picked up the clothes. There was a pale gray long-sleeved blouse which – I had to admit
– fitted snugly to my curves. It was double-breasted with two rows of small silver buttons
and a scooped neckline. The navy skirt was also a close fit, with the hem halfway down my
thigh. Trish obviously noticed my surprised at how well the clothes fitted.
"They`re made to measure," she said off-handedly. "You`re a passable size
12 with your waist in that corset. You should be flattered."
I put on a pair of black stockings, again with stay-up tops. Remaining on the floor was a
pair of shoes that I looked at with some trepidation. They were black with a closed in toe
and heel and an ankle strap, but the heel that was perhaps eight centimeters high. It was
not a stiletto, but looked dangerous enough for me as the wearer. Monica did not like
stilettos being worn unnecessarily upstairs, because of the damage they could do to the
polished timber floor. I picked up one shoe and examined it. The area of the heel was
about the size of a fifty cent piece and with a rubber sole – large enough to give some
support, but not so chunky as to be ugly. Gingerly I slid my stockinged feet into them and
buckled up the strap. They seemed to fit quite well.
"Size nine, wide fitting," Trish explained. "Not too hard to find. Now
stand up and walk." It made me think of Lazarus being raised form the dead. I suppose
in a way it was a new incarnation, with the Stephanie model metamorphosing from the Steven
of old.
I got to my feet and tottered a few steps, wondering how on earth women managed this –
and why. Trish helped me initially then, as I got the feel of the shoes, she concentrated
on my posture and balance. This was achieved with the help of a long cane with a short
thong on the end which flicked my butt – or whichever part happened to be transgressing at
the time.
"Walk tall, for heaven`s sake!" she exhorted. "Just tryto look elegant.
Don`t swing your arms so much. Think of a model on the catwalk. Try to glide – don`t move
your head and straighten your shoulders…"
Did women have a gene that did this for them, I wondered? Surely this wasn`t something
you learned – it had to be part of their DNA, a sort of genetic bonus in lieu of not being
able to program a VCR.
Flick! Ow, that stung.
It took me maybe half an hour of this, combined with a few sit-down periods before Trish
considered me ready. That was not the way she described me, however. Instead I `would have
to do`, since she `didn`t have all day to waste on a dull witted slave girl.` Charming.
"All right, against the wall, face first, hands behind your back." What now, I
wondered. A length of sashcord came out and my wrists were crossed and bound firmly.
Moments later I also sported an elegant red ball gag. "Now walk to the dungeon –
without swinging your arms, of course," she added sarcastically.
Monica was already in the dungeon. I was directed over to where the plank was fixed at
waist height. Oh no, I thought, not that, please…
"So, how is our new slave girl progressing?" asked Monica, without a hint of
mockery, as though it was totally business as usual.
"Oh, she`s a bit slow. She`ll take a lot of training. But that said, we`ve seen
worse."
"Hmmn. I hope she can cook," Monica mused absent-mindedly. "All right,
let`s get on with this. Bend over the plank, girl."
"Hnnn?" I said, not understanding.
"I told you she was a bit slow," Trish said, forcing my neck over the plank
none too gently. I was held there with the plank just above my breasts, as Monica bound me
in place with a couple of meters of white cord. Once again I had the feeling of
vulnerability that was beginning to become a regular occurrence.
"As part of your period of service in this household you are required to be
identified as a slave," Monica said. "We do this by fitting you with a collar.
In this case it is very stylish – made especially for you from polished stainless steel.
She held the thing low down in front of me, so that I could see it from my head down
position over the plank.
It was a single piece of stainless steel about two centimeters wide, with slightly rolled
top and bottom edges. On the front was a small U-fitting, obviously for locking a chain
to, and in this instance sporting a tiny decorative silver padlock. The collar was a
single piece of steel, but was highly polished such that it could almost pass as a piece
of jewelry. I tried to work out how it could be secured. At each end there seemed to be a
slight rebate, where the two ends could overlap but remain the same overall thickness,
thus presenting a seamless finish. There were two small holes which I guessed would line
up through the two rebated portions, but beyond that there appeared to be no fixing
method.
Monica pulled the two ends apart. The metal was stiff and it took some effort on her part
to get the ends far enough apart for my neck to fit between them. They sprang back as she
released them and I felt the smooth coldness of the steel against my skin. I couldn`t see
what they were doing beyond that point, although as Trish pulled my hair clear of the back
of my neck I sensed the ends of the collar butting up to each other. Then there were some
more metallic sounds, a grunt from Monica and a sharp cracking sound and a jerk on the
collar. It sounded vaguely familiar, and then was repeated. I thought about the two holes
and fixings that might go through them. Then the thought struck me – the collar had been
riveted on!
Jesus, what sort of rivets had these two females used, and how the hell would I get the
thing off? Had they thought it through? Stainless steel like this wasn`t the sort of thing
you cut through with a hacksaw in five minutes, never mind the fact that you had a rather
exposed neck underneath it. Nor did you drill out a rivet without a serious danger of
drilling out a carotid artery as well. Things were not going well for Stephanie…
After my collaring I was released from the plank and my gag and ropes were removed. My
shrill protests about the collar were cut short by a warning from Trish. She locked
leather cuffs on my wrists and joined them by a short chain, then did the same for my
ankles. I was then taken to the ground floor bathroom near the main entry. By this time I
was starting to realize the implications of what was happening to me, and the apparent
permanence of my collar put a new perspective on my position. It brought home to me in an
unexpected way that I was now the property of the household and I should do what I was
told without argument, if I was to get through the whole ordeal with the minimum
inconvenience and maximum dignity. I made no further complaint, deciding to be a model
slave and look for some sort of good behavior remission.
In the bathroom Trish sat me down in front of the vanity unit. I fingered the stainless
steel collar. There was perhaps a finger-thickness space between the collar and my neck,
and I could not help but appreciate the stiffness and permanence of it. My questing hands
confirmed it had indeed been riveted, and when I turned it round I saw the small blank
rivets protruding at the rear. Getting it off was going to be quite a challenge.
"Pretty, isn`t it," Trish said, not missing my obvious concern about the
removal of it. "It shows you truly are a slave – property of this house." Her
words sent a chill down my spine. Was Monica going to be true to her word?
We spent half an hour going through the basics of makeup. It was something I had not even
considered as part of my new life, and I did not exactly take to it like a duck to water.
I had never liked a lot of makeup on women, nor did I fancy it on myself. Having said
that, none of the girls of the establishment wore much makeup – at least to my untrained
eye. The extent that they did wear was carefully and expertly applied to enhance their
natural features, and this was the way Trish approached Stephanie`s new look. She told me
about the depilatory treatment I had received, and showed me what I now had to apply to
minimize rash and to cover any signs of unwanted maleness. With practiced hands she
converted Steven`s hairless face into something that could almost pass for attractive, if
I say so myself.
It was a strange feeling seeing Stephanie emerge with brushed hair held in place by two
clips behind the ears. The sleeper earrings were now visible, which Trish replaced with
larger gypsy-type earrings of silver, which made a striking match with my collar. Trish
applied a pale lip gloss which, she told me, would last at least all day, regardless of
how many things were stuffed into my mouth in the time.
Finally we emerged from the bathroom. It was nearly midday by the clock in the entry hall
and I was starving, not having had any breakfast.
"You will now make lunch," Trish told me, leading the way into the kitchen,
while I followed with a tinkle of chains. We went through on to the back verandah where
Leila, Emma, Jillian and Mary were lounging in various chairs.
"Girls, this is Stephanie, our new slave girl for the next month." Four pairs
of eyes looked at me and I did not know how to react. I blushed and stared at the floor. I
didn`t know what to expect – perhaps laughter or ridicule but there was none of that.
Indifference was probably the best word for it. I was conscious of their gazes, but they
were expressions of detachment, assessing the capability and likely difficulties of a new
animal requiring training. Trish introduced them by name, as though I had never seen them
before. I avoided eye contact and said nothing, studying my nylon-clad feet which were now
beginning to hurt in the high heels.
"Very well. Come Stephie, into the kitchen."
I made a salad for lunch and managed to serve it without incident, feeding myself in the
process as the opportunity arose. The presence of the cuffs on my wrists and ankles made
movement difficult, and the high heels did nothing to help the situation. I felt both
physically and psychologically awkward, although the girls – to their credit – studiously
ignored me, the way one might disregard the presence of a waitress in a restaurant.
During the afternoon it was instructions on changing linen, making beds and tidying the
various rooms upstairs that had been used during the night – preparing them the way one
would do in a high-class hotel. Trish was very particular about this and threatened me
with dire consequences if I got things wrong.
Dinner was usually prepared by the girls on a roster system, depending on who was
available, and assuming no convenient slave was around to relieve them of the chore. In
this regard I suspect my presence would make quite a change for them, as had the Twins
when they had been in residence. There was a process in place whereby the main course was
written on the notice board the day before and those who wanted to partake put their name
underneath it during the course of the day. Some of the girls were particular about what
they would or wouldn`t eat, and sometimes they preferred to have a light snack. Unless it
was a special occasion, the food was generally plain but wholesome, although Leila was a
bit of a whiz. My culinary skills were adequate but not excessive, I have to say. I could
fend for myself and could get by with the basics. A bit of a stir-fry with a cook-in sauce
was usually passable. My experiences in sharing flats and living alone had often obliged
me to learn things I might otherwise not have bothered with. In this particular instance I
figured I could manage spaghetti bolognaise without too much trouble.
Things actually went reasonably well. Mary, Trish and Monica were the only ones present,
and on tasting my creation I reckoned it was in this instance rather better than just
passable. By the time I was clearing the plates away I had reached the view that I had
mastered the high heels and the hobble chain. That was when I started to take a step away
from the table and my upper body kept going while my feet stayed behind, the hobble chain
caught on something. I hit the floor amidst the breaking of crockery. I looked back in
time to see Mary shifting her feet beneath the table. Why did I suddenly have the feeling
that my accident was in fact not one? I caught Mary`s eye and also caught the challenge in
it – the look that dared me to say something, to swear or to accuse her. There was what
might be termed a pregnant pause, broken finally by a sigh from Trish as I slowly got to
my feet and began collecting the broken bits of plate.
"Before you say anything, Mon, yes, there will be a punishment," Trish said.
"I had hoped for better, I agree. Good slaves are so hard to find. There`s so much
training."
I glared at Mary, who favored me with a wintry smile, then turned away.
My punishment turned out to be a night in "Little Ease", the confined space
beneath the stairs, with only a small blanket to lie on. It was impossible to stretch out
in any direction, and this, coupled with the cold concrete left me exhausted the next
morning. Trish had cuffed my hands behind my back, which made things doubly difficult, and
my discomfort was further exacerbated by the thought that Monica was to be my mistress for
the next day.
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