Christina, I should point out, was at this point relatively unfettered. Her ankles sported a short hobble chain about a foot long, between the locked cuffs on her boots, while her wrists were handcuffed behind her. The duct tape was now gone, and her stunning blue eyes were turned fully on me.
“I did once the batteries ran down,” she said with a rueful smile.

I noticed the strap from the corset was still between her legs, and I had to say I felt just a little uncomfortable, although Christina seemed perfectly at ease, even in her half-naked and highly provocative state. I was sort of at ease being around Monica’s team, but having total strangers parading their breasts and wearing handcuffs while I was trying to read the Saturday paper was something I had not quite got to grips with.

“Christina’s just come up for some breakfast, “ Leila explained, fixing a bowl of cereal. She poured milk on it and set it down on the floor. With a practised ease Christina sank to her knees and put her head down into the bowl. Leila told me: “I have to get back to the monitors. I’ll be back to take her downstairs soon.”

I watched Christina as her hair began to get tangled around her mouth as she tried to lap up the cereal with her hands still cuffed behind her back. At length I could stand it no longer, picking up the bowl from under her head and setting it on the table. I helped her to her feet.
“It’s okay - really,” she said earnestly. “I can do it - it just takes time. The deep bowls are the worst...”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I told her. I took a spoon from the drawer and began to feed her the cereal.
“No - please - I’ll get into trouble... I’m only a slave - I have to eat this way, as befits a person of my lowly rank.”
“Nonsense. Want some toast and jam?” Her eyes lit up, giving lie to her claim that cereal was all she was allowed. 

Moments later I was pushing bite-sized pieces of toast past her lips. That was when Monica and Warren appeared. He looked remarkably put out, and I could see the look of dismay on Monica’s face.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Warren demanded. “Monica?” He turned to her for an explanation. Both wore bathrobes - he a white towelling one with the word “Hyatt” embroidered on one breast, while Monica’s was black satin with Chinese dragons on it. Leila appeared in the doorway behind them at that moment.
Monica grimaced. “I - I’m sorry, Warren - there’s obviously been a communication hiccough between some of my staff.”
“And what are you going to do about it?”
“Well, obviously they will have to be punished.” She moved closer to me and whispered under her breath: “Steve, run with me on this one, please? This guy is an important client.”
“But I didn’t...” I started to say, but I was cut off by Monica with a glare. 
“Leila, fetch the emergency bag, at once!” This was Monica the boss speaking. Leila disappeared, only to return moments later with a smart looking briefcase, which, when opened, revealed all manner of bondage gear neatly packed away. I knew I was in trouble right then.

And that was how I ended up in an extremely uncomfortable position, purposely ignored by the remainder of the girls who appeared for breakfast. Normally guests had their breakfast in their rooms or in the dining room, with the girl responsible for the guest having to prepare these meals. Thus all the team came through the kitchen, where uncommitted staff had their breakfast at the kitchen table or the breakfast bar, seated on one of the barstools. There were four of these and six seats at the kitchen table - plenty of room for the full roster to assemble when necessary. But in this instance, two of the barstools were occupied by Christina and myself, each of us bent into a hogtie, lying precariously on our stomachs atop a stool. Monica had been quick with the rope on me in response to Warren’s demands. I could see she was angry, being shown up in front of her client.

“Don’t these people know slaves are on a strict diet, and only eat in a suitable position?” Warren had ranted as Monica bound my hands palm-to-palm securely behind my back. My attempts to explain came to nothing as a bright red ball gag appeared in my line of vision and found its way into my mouth. I spluttered but could do nothing as she buckled the strap really tightly behind my neck. Then it was face down over the barstool while my knees, ankles and elbows were roped and cinched, and the ankle cinch rope pulled tightly to be tied to my wrists. I whined plaintively.
“Oh shut up!” said Monica petulantly. “How many times have I told you these things, and still you get them wrong! You’re a waste of space!”

“Now her!” said Warren, and stayed long enough to see poor Christina wind up in a similar position, her chains and handcuffs replaced with duct tape, more of which ended up over her mouth. Evidently the ‘emergency bag’ only held limited quantities of ropes and other goodies. Everything else got the tape treatment.
“Come, Monica. Breakfast first, and we can decide what to do with them.” The pair left, and I could feel the embarrassment of Leila who had watched it all.
“I’m really sorry, Steven,” she said. “There’s nothing I can do.”

It was very uncomfortable lying over the barstool, even though it was padded. My back ached, and my thighs hurt where they drooped off one edge. I looked at Christina, lying across the stool beside me. She turned her big eyes on me and perhaps expressed what I took for an apology. Or was it an “I told you so?”

The other four girls appeared at various times during what I took to be the next hour or so, all the while my body ached, and I felt acutely humiliated. There was sympathy expressed by all except Mary, who looked at us with particular interest, as though working out some devious punishment for us. My muscles were starting to twitch. I glanced at Christina. Her head was down and her eyes were closed. I suspected she was more used to this sort of treatment than I was, but that sure that didn’t make it any better. Then Monica and Warren returned. They were dressed this time, and Monica was smiling. It was not a particularly warm smile, at least when she looked at me.

The bonds securing our wrists to our ankles and those binding our legs were removed, allowing Christina and me to totter to our feet; our nerve ends tingling as the blood slowly returned to our cramped limbs. I had barely regained my composure when a black silk scarf was wrapped tightly over my eyes and everything went dark. I heard Monica’s voice whispering next to my ear:
“Stay with me on this, Steve. It’ll sort itself out soon.”

Why did I not have confidence in this line? Why did I feel she would next be saying she’d still respect me in the morning? 
When we had regained our feet, only Leila had been there with Monica and Warren. After that point I could not tell who was watching, especially what Monica put me through next. I felt my belt buckle undone, and the next thing I knew was my arse was in the breeze and Mr Willy was wondering what he should be doing. It was as much the uncertainty of the situation; of not knowing what was coming next that began to get me aroused. I couldn’t help it. Then there was Monica’s or Leila’s hands on Mr Willy, strapping him into some sort of sheath, like a short piece of PVC pipe, perhaps, but one that had a variable diameter, like when you stick you fingers into a roll of paper and twist it into a tighter cylinder. That’s what somebody did to my buddy, and he was not happy. Nor was I. I suspect the sheath was secured at that point, with some sort of tie around my balls, so not only was the cylinder not going to get larger, it was not going to slip off, either. 

Mr Willy was definitely in the discomfort zone now, but it was nothing to what I was about to receive in the other end. 
I felt my shorts disappear away from my feet, and each ankle was secured with a cord, which easily pulled my feet apart. I realised I was standing against the kitchen table, and this was what my ankles were tied to. There was another rope, which was looped through my wrist bonds, and was then pulled up over my shoulders, either side of my neck, and obviously passed to somebody on the other side of the table. 
“Bend forward nicely, Steven. That’s a good boy.” Monica’s hand was on the back of my neck, and as the rope took up the strain against my shoulders I had no choice but to go with the flow. I tried to protest, but not a lot came out around the ball in my mouth other than a bit of whining. I wondered whether Christina had been blindfolded as well, or if she was watching my full humiliation.

The butt plug, when it came, felt huge. I was not into that sort of thing at all, I have to say. A man’s arse is his castle, so to speak, and having a bloody great battering ram penetrate the castle door is not much fun under any circumstances, especially when you’re not used to it. There was the lubrication, sure, cold and slimy, but the invader seemed so much bigger than me! How the on earth did people manage anal sex? If this was anything to go by, the girls must hurt like hell. My sphincter muscle cried out - as I tried to do, but the gag limited me only to a few pained splutterings and struggles on the laminated tabletop.

“Just relax, Steve,” Monica cooed. “Don’t fight it. Accept the inevitable.” The smooth plastic probed a centimetre further and I moaned in pain. It felt like I was being split in two. Then there was a small withdrawal and a further push, and again back and forth. Suddenly there was a sharp pain and a rush as the plug slid inside fully, and my bum closed around the narrowed shaft. The pain was gone, replaced by a fullness that did strange things to Mr Willy - or would have done had he been able to respond. The ropes holding me down were released and female hands tightened a waist harness around me which had a portion that went from the back down between my cheeks and up the front either side of Mr Willy, before fastening on the belt. There was obviously no way my plug was going to come out in a hurry, although after the pain I had just gone through, I don’t think I really wanted it to just at that moment. But in the frontal area, Mr Willy was now well and truly restrained at attention, unable to shrink or expand, or even move from side to side, strapped as he was firmly upright against my abdomen. I really could not believe what Monica was doing to me. My ankles were released and pair of scissors cut my tee-shirt away. Any more liberties you want to take with my personal possessions, Monica, I wondered? Good job it was an old tee. Then there was a collar, perhaps 5 centimetres wide, buckled around my neck, with the click of a chain or a lead attached to it. 

“Chain him to that post,” Monica directed, “while we deal with the slave. “ There followed the sounds of people disappearing from earshot, while I was pulled none too gently a few steps forward.
“Have we been a naughty boy?” purred the voice. My heart sank. It was Mary, probably fresh from giving poor Isobel a good caning, screwing or clamping. “I think you’re in for a rather intense morning.” I could almost hear the smile in her voice. Once again my head was pulled down and I felt the lead tied to the handrail of the balcony so I was again bent over. I started to kneel down, just so I could ease my back a bit, but Mary stopped that. “Did I tell you to kneel? You stay where I put you, Buster!” And I did - but only, of course, after she had tied my legs apart again. Bitch. This was just so humiliating. As was the sharp slap she delivered on each cheek.

Suffice to say Monica wasn’t entirely happy when she returned from wherever she had been. I’m sure Mary’s handmarks were still standing out like beacons.
“Mary, I said chain him to the post. Did I say spread his legs, bend him over and beat him? No! I’m getting tired of this passive aggressive behaviour, Mary.” There was no response, but I’m sure there was either a sly smile on Mary’s lips. Monica untied my neck and ankles, and I was led gently along the veranda.

“Now we’re at the steps Steven...one...two...three...now on to the path - this way. Now we’re at the van. Stop here.”
I was conscious of my nakedness in the open air. It had stopped raining, for which I was at least thankful – but there seemed to be precious little else I had to be grateful for at that moment. I did as I was told and felt the bottom edge of the double door opening against my shins. I had never been inside the van, nor had I really known of it’s existence other than when I had seen Isobel incarcerated the previous night. I could still not take in the interior, except by my tactile senses. Monica climbed past me into the back of the van.

“All right Steven - lift your right foot and put it on the step.” I wanted to tell her it would be much better if I could see what I was doing, but that would also have been a lot easier if I hadn’t had a big rubber ball firmly strapped in my mouth. Dutifully I hoisted myself into the back, straightening up cautiously. It was in fact quite roomy. I am barely 170 centimetres high, but I could stand upright. It could have been worse, especially when Monica pushed me forward. I edged along, sort of sideways, her hands on my arm, until I was halted, facing - by my reckoning, the left-hand side of the van. I was nudged from behind into a kneeling position, and abruptly found myself at once in contact with warm flesh and a cold metal bar. I did not need to be a rocket scientist to work out that the flesh was Christina’s, that I was being pushed front on to her. 

She provided nice resistance, being about the same height as me, with her breasts squishing into my chest. My head was pulled to one side and in the space of a second I felt our two collars being joined with a clip or padlock. Her head and face were thus above my right shoulder, while mine were above hers. Between us, running horizontally at waist level, was the bar. I did not know how this was fixed within the van - I guessed one end would be bolted to the wall in back of the driver’s compartment, with the rearmost end being attached to a floor-to-roof pole. 

We knelt there, two prisoners separated only by this bar, our wrists still bound behind us, and both of us - I assumed, in Christina’s case - gagged and blindfolded. I could hear Christina’s heavy breathing in my ear - but not in the circumstances I would have preferred, unfortunately. Monica, of course, was not finished, as I felt a rope looped about my wrist bonds again, and drawn between my legs. I guessed it continued between Christina’s, no doubt being tied off around her wrists. Suffice to say before it was fastened it was pulled awfully tight, and I heard a small whimper next to me. I was almost ready to whimper myself, as the butt plug was pulled that much tighter. Not only that, my abdomen - and Mr Willy, in all his protective armour - was pulled firmly against Christina. Coupled with the touch of her hardened nipples, her faint scent in my nostrils, and the plug doing unmentionable things inside me, Mr Willy - not to mention Mr Brain - was sending desperately painful signals to anybody interested. 

I heard Monica climb out, close the door and get into the front, after which there was a murmur of voices and the engine started. Where on earth were they taking us, I wondered? What did they have planned? God, I hoped Mary hadn’t been part of the think tank.

It is hard to keep track of time when you are deprived of sight, never mind when you have a beautiful woman bound hard against you and all manner of indignities are being inflicted on your body. We drove slowly initially - I got the impression we were on a dirt road - but our speed gradually picked up. Perhaps we travelled for half an hour - it seemed an eternity to me, mostly because of the apparently incessant bumps that rubbed Mr Willy against Christina’s crotch. After a while it seemed that the rubbing was happening of its own accord, and Christina’s breathing began to get faster and hoarser in my ear. I found myself moving with her, at times fighting the movement of the van, at times using it to our advantage. 

Occasionally, when we stopped, I’m sure we kept the van rocking. Christina’s breathing began to rasp, as she panted and suddenly began hmmming through her nose. Her movements became abruptly frantic as she pushed herself against me and stiffened, uttering a high-pitched moan from behind her gag. She shuddered and jerked, grunting and snuffling into my shoulder, before going limp - or as limp as she could. It was all right for her. Mr Willy was going frantic, but he had no lubrication and could not grow in any direction. The pain was - in an odd way - exquisite, but what I wouldn’t have given for some sort of relief. I moaned in frustration.

We finally stopped, and the rear doors opened. Our collars were separated and the rope removed joining our wrists. Hands pulled us to the doors and helped us down. 
“I’m going to remove your blindfold, Steven. You’re going to have the gift of sight, and you will be responsible for ensuring Christina gets back safely. All you have to do is follow this road in the direction the van is going.” True to her word, she pulled the black scarf clear and I blinked in the grey overcast.

Surrounded by gum trees, we were standing in a clearing through which ran a narrow dirt track. Warren was smirking like an idiot, while I glared at Monica. But at the end of it all, a walk home wasn’t that bad, though I had no idea how far it was. I moved towards Christina, seeing her plight for the first time. She wore a leather blindfold held in place by a harness of straps that ran over the top of her head and under her chin. In addition to this her mouth was covered by a large cross of duct tape which effectively silenced her.

“Not so fast, Mister,” ordered Warren. “There are certain formalities to be undergone first,” he said, grinning wider. Christina and I then had chains clipped to our collars and were obliged to follow our captors. I noticed Monica wore a small insulated daypack on her back, and I had a nasty feeling I was going to be on the receipt of something inside it. 
We had not far to go in this instance, walking along a leafy path for only a couple of minutes before we reached another small clearing. In the midst of this lay a large fallen tree, and it was to this that we were led. The trunk was that of an old ghost gum, nearly a metre in diameter at its largest point. 

“Straddle it!” Monica snapped. I obeyed, while Christina, still in her world of darkness had to be helped on to the trunk, seated in front, her back to me. I had no idea what was coming, nor was there anything I could do about it when it did. Monica and Warren busied themselves locking leather cuffs about our ankles and linking them together - my right to her right, my left to her left. Next there was another rope about my wrists - I was starting to get a bit tired of these stretch-out routines - this time pulling my wrists backward. I turned my head to watch what Monica was doing, mystified. 

She had a large block of ice - about the size of a beer can, into which was frozen a short length of chain. The block of ice was wedged behind a fork in an upward-pointing branch and the rope tied to it. Then I saw the logic in Monica’s thinking. I was to be stuck here until the ice melted - it was an automatic release system. Christina was treated similarly but differently. She got the same treatment with another block of ice from Monica’s backpack, but this was attached to Christina’s collar, from a forked branch in front of her. Her bound wrists were then secured to her waist with a number of turns of duct tape around her body that all but enveloped her hands and fingers. She was thus pulled forward, while I was pulled back - a situation that obviously wasn’t quite to Monica’s liking. More delving into the bag produced two lengths of fine chain about half a metre long, with a piece of stretchy rubber at one end. At the end of each was a nipple clamp. Oh shit, I thought.

I was first on the receiving end. The clips gripped my nipples with a dull pain, and I could not help moaning and hmmming in as much of a protest as I could manage. Christina probably felt the clips and chains slipped through her collar before fastening on to her nipples. She whined and pleaded behind the tape and I guess I added my voice to the duet as the rubber stretched and pulled us closer. Somehow we had to balance the pain in our nipples against the pain in our respective arms, necks and backs.

Warren and Monica stood back and surveyed their handiwork.
“This little slut got herself off in the van,” said Warren.
“How do you know?” Monica asked.
“Oh I know all right. I know the exhausted look, and I can smell her. And what do you think all that rocking was all about? They sure as hell weren’t escaping.”
“And what do you suggest?
“I’m not a mean person, Monica. If that’s what they want, let them have it, I say. “
“Sounds fair to me. You okay with that, Steven?”

“Mmmph?” I said, not knowing what she meant. Monica moved over to me and fiddled about in the pouch confining Mr Willy. There was an abrupt buzzing in my arse. Jesus - the plug was a bloody vibrator! I tried to protest, but my spluttering around the rubber ball in my mouth was useless. Maybe my eyes widened - I’m sure they did. I tried to plead with her as I sat there. Our feet could not touch the ground beneath the trunk, which meant my full weight rested on the plug in my arse. But of course I wasn’t the only one riding the trunk. Warren took great delight in turning on the toys obviously embedded within Christina, and a high-pitched moan came through her nose.

“You’ll be all right there for a couple of hours - maybe more,” Monica said, flashing her most provocative smile. “After the ice melts you can find your way back to the house. Dinner will probably be ready - maybe we’ll save you some. Oh, and you’ve obviously realised you’ll be having a bit of difficulty communicating, so I’ll make it a bit easier for you. She walked over to Christina and gently peeled off the tape from her mouth. I heard the sharp intake of breath from Christina. “And you can have the pleasure of listening to her carry on, while you must remain silent. But you, of course, can see where you’re going, even if you can’t tell her about it.” Monica was clearly enjoying herself. “And I’m sure you can get your communications sorted out,” she said lightly, turning on her heel and skipping after Warren, who was almost out of sight beyond a bend in the track.

I just couldn’t believe this. Here I was, on a Saturday in Brisbane - a day I’d ordinarily be doing my accounts or maybe strolling through a shopping mall or browsing in a bookshop or enjoying a bit of sport. Instead I was stark naked, chained to a gum tree with a stunning woman in the middle of the woods somewhere. She couldn’t see, I couldn’t speak, and we both had nipples on fire and vibrators buzzing like mad up our orifices. It was just too bizarre to be believed. But it was real.

I came back to reality.

“Shitshitshitshit! Oh godogodogod! This is going to drive me mad!” Christina was squirming and twisting, tugging at the clamps on both our nipples. “Ow! Owowowow!” she wailed.
“Mmph! Owmph” I responded.

Predictably this was going to go on for a long time, and it did. Christina could make no sense for a while as the vibrators drove her to the heights of a couple of serious orgasms. She jerked and cried and screamed in a most undignified manner, no doubt sending animal life into flight for miles around, while I could do little more than hmmm and grunt and moan with even less dignity as she tugged on the nipple chains. The nipple clamps, I have to explain, were perhaps not as bitingly fierce as some I had seen in Monica’s storeroom. They were like a cross between a bulldog clip and a clothes peg, with the pressure spread over a big enough area not to crush the flesh. They did have, however, a kind of corrugated face on the pressure surfaces that convinced me they were not going to be pulled off in a hurry, and certainly not without an awful lot of pain. Which was not to be confused with what they were currently delivering, of course! And naturally, although they were not the most severe around, the longer they were left on, and the more they were tugged and pulled, the more the ache in my nipples grew into a full-blown pain. Christina’s antics helped not at all, as she squirmed and jiggled and kicked against her bonds, at times trying to bounce herself on the log as if she was riding a horse. Her nipples must have hurt like hell too, but she was either more used to it than I was, or she had greater distractions. My distractions were most unsatisfying, for despite all the stimuli Mr Willy was not going to climax, only to beg.