"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, standing on the platform 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. Not wanting a lot or argument about this, I removed Mary’s strap around her arms and pulled the soaking ball free, to jam another in place before she could draw breath to protest. This ballgag was of the 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 metre 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 centimetre 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. Her hands tightened 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 realised 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 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 ballgag. 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 a lampshade. Monica meanwhile had fastened a nipple clamp on the right tits of Leila and Trish. 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 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 realised I was thoroughly enjoying myself, although I confess I was mighty tense about what was to come, having plotted it for so long.

"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 positioning and handling of 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 I clicked the set of handcuffs around her exposed wrists. They fitted perfectly, snapping closed over her leather-encased wrists with a smooth rachetting series of clicks

"What the hell’s this all about?" Monica demanded, turning on me furiously.

I said nothing but pushed her 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 agonising death there and then.

I pulled her across to the only support post in the room, located as it was a couple of metres to the rear of the rack, behind where Emma stood. Here I forced Monica to her knees 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. 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 while 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 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 such 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 make you girls do the same…"

I walked slowly around the five females strung out on the rack, eyeing them up and down and letting the silence have its effect, broken as it was only by the clicking of my steel-capped heels on the concrete and the heavy breathing of the prisoners, punctuated occasionally with a barely suppressed whimper. I circled the kneeling Monica, flicking at the lead weight hanging between her breasts and watching as she screwed up her eyes with the pain while her breath came in ragged gasps. I twitched the rope between her legs which was attached to Emma, and smiled to myself as both of them jerked and wriggled. I returned to the rack and gazed down at Mary. I hoped they were all feeling like a class whose members were about to be singled out by a teacher for some very unpleasant punishment. Certainly, nobody wanted to make eye contact.

"You – in the middle! You comfy?"

Mary gazed up at me from where she strained against the rope holding her up around the waist. Her head hung backwards and her arms quivered with the first signs of straining to keep the weight of her body off the waist rope and to reduce the upward pull on her nipples. She shook her head emphatically.

"Uh-un!" came the grunt from behind her rubber ball. I stood beside Emma and let my fingers rove over Mary’s tautly stretched body. Her black leather mini skirt was stretched tight across her thighs as my hand slid gently beneath it, dallying along the smooth skin of her inner thighs. She tried to close her legs, but obviously decided it was a more stable position with them spread apart. As I groped gently around her crotch, I found what I was looking for – a small trailing wire ending in a little plug only a centimetre long. I gave it a slight tug and displayed the loose end where it protruded beyond the hem of the skirt to the watchers all around me. 

"See this, girls?" Even Mary managed to lift her head long enough to look down the length of her body to where I held the end of the red wire. "You’ve all got one exactly like it ‘angin’ out of those devices you’re wearing. All except the stroppy bitch chained to the post, that is. She’ll get somefing much more devious and infinitely longer lasting," I added meaningfully. "No, this wire will be attached to a power supply through a small transformer beneath this table, which will in turn be connected to a little black box – to use a technical term – which will be linked to a microphone. In short, wot you lot can look forward to are a random series of activations of your devices. Over and above that, if you start getting’ too carried away and makin’ too much noise, all the fings come on at once and will stay on for five minutes on full power. Then everyfing gets reset and we start off all over again. And of course this will go on for hours, until you get freed. But that’s another story. In the meantime I thort this one ‘ere could at least demonstrate ‘ow these fings work…" I looked at Mary who rolled her eyes and shook her head, making plaintive grunts. 

"Not too much of the snorting, luv," I cautioned her, "unless you want to go crazy. This rack fing needs to be tested, of course, an’ I’m sure all of you girls pullin’ different ways will give it a good trial." I reached under the bench and selected a matching plug from the small electronic box screwed to the base of the frame. I pulled the end of the plug and wire up to meet with the end trailing from between Mary’s legs and pushed the two small plugs together.

Mary jerked as the vibrator started up inside her. It was on full power already, and the microphone control was not yet operating. I intended for Mary to give a short demonstration while I got the rest of them ready.

"While this one is doin’ the bump and grind," I said, addressing the others, "I fink you should all know ‘ow you’re goin’ to get out of ‘ere. Simply put, the only way you’re going to get out of ‘ere, is when little Miss Clever Clogs over there frees you," I explained, indicating Monica. She glowered back at me. "Let’s fink abaht this for a bit. ‘Oo wos it that did up those balls in yor mouths so tightly, eh? ‘Oo wos it put those clips on the real painful end of yor nips, eh? Well this same person will get you free as soon as she possibly can, except that won’t be easy. The fact is, until she gets you free, she won’t be able to get free herself, because she will need you lot to ‘unt for the keys to unlock ‘er. Its called a symbiotic relationship, right? She scratches your back, you scratch ‘ers – and believe me she is gonna need it.

"Just so you all understand your circumstances, there are three master keys wot will undo your bonds. One will fit the padlocks on those luverly balls you’re all wearin’. One will fit yor wrists cuffs, and one will fit yor ankle cuffs. These three keys will be hidden somewhere in the house and grounds. As will be stroppy bitch’s keys, except they’ll be much harder to find, so she’ll need all the help she can get. And the only way she can free you is to unlock the chains at the back of the blonde bird over there – yes, you, darlin’," I said, nodding at Leila. Nothing else will be within reach – you’ll see the ropes are tied off suitably ‘igh – certainly ‘igh enuf for Miss Stuck-up, when she’s properly restrained. And the key to unlock blondie at the end there will be on the floor somewhere in this room. Simple, right? Except that Miss Stuck-up will be unable to see what she’s doing or hear anything you might tell her. Nor, it goes wivout saying, will she be able to ‘old any form of conversation. Add to that the fact that she won’t exactly be fully mobile, and there are hours of pleasure stretchin’ ahead of everyone." I paused to let the thought of the possibilities sink in to all those present.

"But before I start preparing the star of the day," I looked meaningfully at Monica, "we need to tidy up a few loose ends wiv you lot – namely those sticking down from your love tunnels, right?"

It took me but a few moments to connect a further four wires to those plugs visible below the four splayed crotches. One by one the recipients jumped and began to squirm as the vibrations took hold, then to try to restrain themselves as the tugging on their nipples began, both from their own efforts and from the effects of the others all transferred through the wire ring. I taped a microphone over one of the overhead beams.

"This, girls, is not yet switched on. Wot you’re getting’ at the moment will be switched on to random soon, and in due course you’ll be able to let yourselves go. You see wot I’m doin’ ‘ere?" I took a piece of twine with one end embedded in a small lump of ice, and threaded it through the other twine looping through the wire ring, before connecting it to the ice. "This is a replacement for the wire ring here, only done with twine. It’s joined by the lump of ice, which will melt in due course, freeing the pressure from yor nips." I picked up a pair of bolt cutters and cut the wire ring clear. "Once the ice melts – maybe in an hour or so – you can rattle and rock to yor ‘eart’s content, wivout upsettin’ anyone else, and give this ‘ere contraction a real good testin’. Right? Any questions?"

There were a couple of mmmphing sounds and assorted hmming and grunting noises.

"Sorry girls, you’ll have to speak up – I’m a little ‘ard of ‘earin’. No? Okay. Enjoy the vibes while I deal with ‘er ‘ighness over ‘ere."

I stepped down from the rack frame and admired my handywork. Already the five were squirming as much as they could. Their bodies and legs were stretched in such a way that they really couldn’t get a good purchase to push against their respective intruders or to grind their hips down. Complicating matters was obviously the pain in their nipples with the clamps, and the way these forced their bodies toward the centre of the frame while their wrists and ankles pulled them back. Shit I’m good, I thought.

"Your turn, your ‘ighness," I told Monica, as I unfastened the rope linking her to Emma, then with some difficulty prised out the foam rubber ball from her mouth. It was dripping with saliva and I deliberately wiped it on her hair.

"You bastard," she hissed. "What are you going to do to me?" 

"All sorts of things," I told her in a low voice. "Things which will be even worse if you cause trouble. But first," I announced in my East End twang, for the benefit of the assembly, "madam ‘ere ‘as somefink she wants to say to yer. Doancha sweet’eart!"

"What?" asked Monica sullenly as I undid the chain around the post and pulled her to her feet with a tug on the nipple chain. "Ow! Shit!"

"Now come over ‘ere and tell this cute Chinese chick ‘ow sorry you are for ‘umiliating ‘er the other day."

"What?"

"You ‘eard." I tweaked the chain again. 

"Ow! I-I’m sorry Emma."

"For what?" I coached.

"For humiliating you in front of everyone when we strapped you on to the tray and left you for the ants."

"That really wasn’t nice, was it?" I encouraged.

"No. I’m sorry."

"Okay, who’s next? The lady in red? I hear she went on a ferris wheel ride and nearly had her nips pulled off…"

"What? Bullshit! I was just- aargh! " I gave Monica a lesson in her own methods.

"Like that?" I volunteered.

"I guess so. I’m sorry Leila – I didn’t mean to hurt you."

We progressed around the frame, with each bound victim getting an apology for some humiliating event Monica had put them through. It seemed she didn’t have to think very hard, especially when I prompted her with "Is that the lot?" There were several events of which I clearly knew nothing, that popped out. I don’t know how much attention the girls were paying, while the vibrators buzzed away, but the thought was there, anyway. Whatever, the nipple clips certainly made Monica pay attention.

At length the apologies were over, although I realised later that I had neglected to elicit one for myself. I doubted I would get the chance again. I took her back to the post, where I again chained her by the neck. Now was the start of the grand Preparation for Monica that I had planned for in such detail. I pulled a tight rubber hood over Monica’s head. It was the sort used by divers and was made of a smooth silicon rubber which covered all of her head except for her face. 

"Open up," I told her. "Pretend yer goin’ diving."

I slipped a diving mouthpiece between her teeth and behind her lips. It had been mostly closed off such that it only had a small hole in the centre, to which was fitted a length of clear plastic tube about half a metre long and with the internal diameter of a drinking straw. That, in fact, was the purpose it was going to serve, for Monica would not be able to take solid foot for at least a couple of days. Then out came the silver duct tape and two eye pads. These I taped temporarily in place while I inserted two walkman earplugs through small vertical slits in the rubber hood over her ears. With the cord trailing down her back, I then commenced the taping of Monica’s head. The duct tape went round and round, covering her eyes and ears, then her mouth, all but the rubber tube. I was careful not to make it too tight, such that it would induce headaches or discomfort in pressing the lips hard against the teeth and mouthpiece. Then there were some vertical turns, locking the jaw closed.

Next came a pair of industrial earmuffs and a stiff plastic orthopaedic collar. Both these devices were positioned and taped in place. Monica’s senses were disappearing one by one, and her head was now held rigidly upright, her silver-taped chin unable to be lowered without an equivalent movement of her entire torso.

The piece de resistance for the headgear was the silver motorbike full-face crash helmet, with the locking plate under the chin. I had removed a section of the inner compressible lining in the vicinity of each ear, so that the helmet could slip snugly over the earmuffs. Monica whined as the helmet was pulled into place, but there was nothing she could do about it. I fed the plastic tube through a hole I had drilled in the front, around the mouth area, then the locking plate was secured under the chin and neck brace, with the padlock snicked and the key in my pocket.

Monica now looked like something from a comic strip or from outer space. But I was not finished with her head yet. In fact the next two days could be called ‘messing with Monica’s head’. Attached to the back of the helmet was a small rectangular aluminium box, riveted to the shell with a reinforced plate on the inside. It was about the size of a small mobile phone, and in fact this was what was inside it – Monica’s phone, in actuality. It was to this that I had connected the cord from the earpieces, such that Monica need miss none of her incoming calls. Not that she would be able to answer them, of course. They would be recorded on the message bank and she would hear them as they happened, but of a response there would be no chance. I knew Monica took all her bookings over the mobile, and I knew she would absolutely get the heebie jeebies with the frustration of not being able to contact customers. I also intended to make a few calls of my own, masquerading as a customer and perhaps leaving the return number of the local cop shop or perhaps the city morgue. I was sure the appropriate ideas would come to me. I could also talk to Monica direct, albeit through leaving messages, and I was confident I could taunt her to total distraction and frustration.

But there was more than this. Monica was always talking on her mobile, to the point of rudeness sometimes. I wanted to at least discourage this a bit, and so I intended linking the ringing tone to the little battery pack that she would be wearing. It was to be one of the ones that the Twins had worn when doing their housework, with Monica standing over them giving them the odd zap. The difference would be that each time the phone rang – and it was set to ring five times before the message bank cut in – Monica would get a zap up the arse via the buttplug she would be wearing until somebody could remove it. Everything was so appropriate, somehow. Aversion therapy could have such interesting results.

Having finally done with Monica’s head, I turned my attention to her body, first removing the nipple clips and chain – none to gently, as was her own style. She jumped and a faint moan came from under the helmet. I undid the neck chain and pulled her to her feet, this time locking the chain to an eyebolt in the post at neck height. 

Monica’s thick latex catsuit was in a single piece with a zip down the front, which I undid in a single movement. I peeled the top part back from her shoulders as much as I could, which had the effect of further pinioning her arms behind her back and tightening the material at crotch level. I pulled a further wire that protruded from inside the rear of the helmet, down her back, and poked it through a small incision in the catsuit in the small of her back. This would connect to the battery pack. I threaded another wire in through the same hole. This would run from the battery pack to the buttplug that Mistress Monica was destined to wear until I decided otherwise. Two more wires followed the same route through the small hole, but led round the front to small donut-shaped pads that I glued to Monica’s breasts with spirit gum. They fitted over each nipple, and were adapted electro-muscular stimulators, which would jive her a little tingle at the same time as the buttplug. They would be undetectable under the rubber, and there would be no way Monica could tell anyone what was going on when the phone rang. I taped the wires in place with more duct tape around her body before giving her suit a light dusting of powder on the inside, pulling it back into place and zipping it up. Powder was pretty much the norm with getting into these outfits, I had been told. Itching powder was not, however. But then I was never one for sticking to protocol. Sticking my head on a chopping block, maybe…

I locked the zip to a small hasp I had fixed to the front of the neck brace, just to ensure no prying hands could remove the suit until I decided. Now for the final arrangements. First there came the aluminium strap that locked about the waist, to which the little battery pack was riveted in the small of the back. All this went in position after I had made the necessary connections with the wires protruding through the tiny hole in Monica’s suit. When the pack was finally in place, no wires were visible, everything being covered by neck brace, helmet, rubber or battery pack. At this point I locked a length of stainless steel chain to the belt, just below the battery pack, while unlocking her neck chain. Taking a convenient overhead rope which ran through a pulley, I tied one end to her handcuffs and pulled her arms high into a strappado, forcing her head down to knee level. This done, I pulled her legs apart and could not resist placing three well-aimed cracks across her buttocks with a thin cane. She jumped and tried to escape, but it was hopeless. There came muffled screams from the helmet – very muffled, I have to say. I parted her legs again and ran my hand through the slit in the rubber between them. She was wet, the slut. 

It was time for her insertions. First came Mr Buttplug – a suitably expansive chromed model, equipped with two electrodes to which the battery wire was attached. Additionally this model came with a bit of tape around its base, under which was the key to the girls’ ballgag padlock. This really did get better and better, I thought, as I gave the plug a coating of lubricating toothpaste and slowly worked it home. Monica knew better than to resist at this point, and consciously relaxed to accept the inevitable. Then came the vibrator in the front passage – a large rubber model equipped with those batteries that were guaranteed to keep going and going and going. It seemed likely that Monica would be doing the opposite.

This was slid home after a squirt of the lubricant gun, then I pulled the chain between her legs and locked it to the front of the metal belt. The finishing touches were two more padlocks, which fitted through protruding eyes on the base of each device and locked on to the chain. This would allow them to be removed individually while the chain stayed in place.

Monica was starting to exhibit signs of discomfort, hopping from one foot to the other. I was nearly finished with her torment, this time slipping a dollop of Finalgon through the vertical slit over each nipple. This was a muscle liniment, and burned like fire for an hour or so – longer if the flesh heated up, and somehow I couldn’t see Monica’s doing anything but that.

Next for attention were her ankles, and for this I needed her on the floor. I lowered her arms from the strappado and forced her into a sitting position on the smooth concrete floor. There was a faint groan as her weight obviously forced the buttplug in further. Better get used to that, I thought, as I fitted leather cuffs to her ankles and locked them on with a short hobble chain in between. Then I locked the cuffs directly together. This latter padlock key would be found first, but Monica’s relief would be short-lived when she discovered that it only separated the cuffs and did not undo the hobble chain. To this end I had numbered all the keys and had a master list in my pocket. In this regard Monica would be secured by nearly a dozen padlocks, while the girls had a further four master keys. 

Carefully locking leather cuffs on her wrists above the steel handcuffs, I released one handcuff, relocking it temporarily to her crotch chain behind her, while locking the leather cuff to the chain in front. Moments later the second cuff was locked to the front of the crotch chain beside the first, and the handcuffs were removed. Monica was ready for action. I let her down on her side and knew that the various medical applications were having their effect, not least the itching powder and the toothpaste up her bum. I had no doubt the firey liniment would soon begin to act on her nipples as well. I hoped she would still be able to cope with the task of looking for the key to free Leila.

"Right-oh, you lot," I said, standing up from the now-squirming figure on the floor. It had taken me nearly twenty minutes to sort Monica out, and the girls on the rack were getting well and truly wound up. So concentrated had I been on Mistress Monica that I had been deaf to the increasing groans and whimpers from the forms on the rack. Whether it had warmed up in the room I wasn’t sure, but the girls had certainly worked up a sweat. Their movements were limited for the moment by the tension on their nipples, but I suspected Emma and Jillian were almost past caring. Emma in fact climaxed as I stood up, her body going stiff with her head thrown back and a muted wail coming from behind the rubber ball. I ducked down beside her and switched off the power to the black box.

As one, the figures slumped and there was the ragged sound of heavy panting. I stood beside Mary, whose body was now trembling on the verge of collapse. I disengaged the nipple clamps which got her attention straight away, then I undid the rope that held her body horizontal. She slumped like a rag doll on the padded platform now slick with sweat from the efforts of the bound women. Hers had been a severe position – too rigorous for her to maintain for the period of time I had in mind. She was too relieved to do anything to resist as I looped the rope instead between her hobble chain and the short chain at her wrist cuffs. Then it was up in the air again – hands and feet together, but in front. I stopped just short of Mary becoming entirely airborne – such that her weight was to some extent supported by her back and shoulders. She would be going nowhere in a hurry but at least it would be a little more comfortable than previously. Even so, the nipple clamps went back, much to the muffled protests from the gagged mouth.

"Now pay attention, you lot," I told them. "You know the drill. When ‘er ladyship on the floor finds the key – which I am placing ‘ere – " I dropped it on the floor behind Trish, "and eventually unlocks the red tart at the other end, then you all get free. To a degree, that is. The rest of yor keys will be ‘idden around the ‘ouse or in the garden. The thort of a bunch of chained and gagged babes searching through the grounds fills me wiv delight, I must say. 

"You may find your own key before those unlocking ‘er majesty there – they may be a bit easier to locate. But fear not, there are plenty of keys to find – it’ll be a real treasure ‘unt. But a few fings to remember. ‘Er magnificence will not take kindly to anybody trying to cut fings off either themselves or off ‘er. That ain’t ‘ow the game is played, is it, and wotever you go through now, if you mess up yor stuff you know it will get back to you later on. And don’t fink of trying to cut Madam’s cuffs off, either, cos I’ve put some stainless steel wire through them, and it’ll end up even more painful for ‘er if that’s all that restrains ‘er. And, of course, ultimately it’ll be more painful for you lot. I reckon she might be in that condition – well, with lessening degrees of restraint, for up to 3 days. It all depends on ‘ow quickly you girls find the keys.

"That’s all. Now I’m going to turn the microphone on, together with the random vibe generator." I bent down under the rack bench and flicked two switches. "Try yor best to test the rack, won’t yer. See yer later. Or then again, maybe I won’t. Tatty bye."

I looked about me at the mute, entreating expressions, the eyes large and pleading above the ball gags stretching mouths wide, bodies straining against ropes and stretched nipples. A muted whimper was heard, but I couldn’t pinpoint from whom. I grinned to myself and stepped back to the door.

"Remember," I said, "ssshh!"

Then I slammed the door behind me.