Portia announced her presence with two hard cracks of the riding crop across my thighs.  I jerked and opened my eyes in confusion.  She was smirking at me and I felt myself flush further, if that was possible, since my blood seemed to be racing about at a hundred miles an hour.

“You little slut,” she said softly in my ear as she unwound the ropes around my left leg.  “I was right about you.  Had you pegged from the start, Miss Jillian.”  I was barely aware of her words, never mind the amused, gloating tone.  She untied the rope binding my left leg, then the one holding my wrist overhead, and had to all but support me as my knees threatened to buckle.  She bent down and I felt her fingers probing my pussy until the interminable vibrations at ground zero stopped.  But it was still like stepping off a ship after some time at sea and finding that the land  seemed to have a motion all its own.  As she steadied me, the slick wetness of her red latex was barely noticeable against my skin, so overwhelmed was I with my self-inflicted sensations.  My panting continued as she quickly looped my right wrist rope about my body and pulled the wrist into place to match the other behind my back.

“Come on, you,” she said, half dragging me back up the steps.  “Wave bye bye to the audience.”

“Urrgh?” I queried, my brain working more slowly than usual.

Portia gestured upwards and I inclined my head in time to see several heads disappear and windows closing on the two floors above. I thought I had been embarrassed enough up until that point, only then realising I had been the object of entertainment for half the household.  With that discovery I felt I had just about reached the nadir of humiliation, short of doing an action replay in the street outside.

“Hey, your cheeks match my outfit,” said Portia with a grin that showed her perfect teeth.  Bitch, I thought.  Your time will come… 

We retraced our steps and continued our original route along the main passageway before entering another small room only marginally bigger than my cell.  This room had been lined with white tiles on walls, floor and ceiling.  In the centre stood an old claw-foot bath while a toilet occupied a corner to one side and a washbasin the opposite corner.  Several towels hung on rails and a small footstool stood beside the bath.

Portia pushed me against one wall.  The nipple weights clinked against the tiles as I Iaid my forehead against the cool ceramic surface.

I felt rather than saw the mop handle bound to my left then right ankle as a makeshift spreader bar.  I just stood there with my eyes closed, too exhausted to take notice of the running water and her squeaking about the tiled floor in her red rubber boots.  I was hardly aware of Portia squatting behind me and  fiddling with my butt plug until she flourished a large enema bag.  I had no doubt where the tube was now leading, and I groaned audibly.

“Yes, my dear, I want you cleaned up inside and out ready for Madam Joan.  That nice butt plug you are experiencing has a dinky attachment for the enema tube.  Neat, huh?  Let’s just let nature do its work for a while before we clean you up properly.”

I knew any protests were pointless so I just stood there and watched her climb on the bath stool to hang the bag on a hook near the ceiling.  She opened a valve somewhere out of my sight and I felt a gush of warm water flood into my bowels ahead of the big plug wedged in my rear passage.  There was no danger of any leakage here, I knew – not the way the knotted crotch rope held the plug in place like a permanent wedgie.

I felt the sweat break out again as the water continued to flow and my abdomen expanded.  Within a minute I thought I would burst, with pressure growing around the two inserts still buried deeply inside me, not to mention around my bladder.  I wasn’t sure the exact point at which the influx stopped, but I knew it was just in time.  I just leaned against the wall, hardly daring to breathe, as Portia left on some errand.  I prayed that it would be a quick one.

When she returned her visit was brief, sufficient only to undo my right wrist where she had temporarily secured it in the light well.

“Jillian, I am going away for an hour,” she told me seriously.  “In that time you will bathe properly and clean yourself thoroughly inside and out.  You may remove your bonds, your gag and those toys inside you.  And you will clean them, as well.”  She paused at the doorway.  “When I return I will bring you something to wear and we will go upstairs to prepare a surprise for Madam Joan.  It’s her birthday tomorrow, so we’re giving her an early birthday present – you.”  The door closed and locked behind her.

I found myself on the receiving end of another of what I was to come to recognise as Portia’s trademark torment situations.  At least this time she had not turned the vibrator on.  I removed the two nipple clamps before touching my gag, for I knew from experience the returning blood would make me scream.  I was not wrong on this occasion and I screwed my eyes shut and chewed on the rubber ball as the piercing pain coursed through the little nubs tenderised by those terrible jaws.  As things settled down, I struggled to get the torso ropes undone, all the while standing with my legs held open and my bowels straining.  It must have taken me nearly five minutes before I finally got my left arm free sufficiently to undo the gag strap and then to bend down – very carefully – to untie my ankles from the mop handle. 

Only at this stage could I turn my attention to that awful rope that grooved through my crotch, rubbing my clit and all points along the way, pulling the vibrator and plug into my most intimate places.  But first I had to climb on to the stool and unhook the enema bag…

The next hour was a series of experiences both discomforting and relieving – in the truest sense of the word.  Relief at the removal of the inserts that penetrated me, discomfort in the process, and then the big clean up.  As I ran the bath I discovered some bath oils and soaps and made the best of them.  Eventually the steamy atmosphere and the smell of soaps and oils prevailed in the small room, and I sank blissfully  into the water.  I was so drained that I had almost dozed off when Portia returned.  She had shed her red latex outfit and now wore a figure hugging long-sleeved dress that revealed enough cleavage and leg to make heads turn in any company.  The riding crop was still in evidence in her hand.

“Get out!” she snapped.  “I don’t have all day to wait for you.”  I did so and dried myself as quickly as I could.  “Come on,” she berated me.  “Leave the towel here.  Pick up your toys and ropes and get going.” 

I had cleaned and coiled the rope neatly and placed the gag and the inserts on the pile before getting into the bath.  I gathered them all up and headed out the door, which Portia held open for me.  For my efforts I received a smack with the crop as I passed.

We returned down the main passageway to the door next to my cell, two doors from the dungeon itself.  Portia pushed it open ahead of me and I stepped in to the equivalent of the Bilboes storeroom.  Here were the sexy outfits, the wigs, the boots, the corsets, the high heels and the bondage implements. 

“We’re going to make you presentable for Madam Joan,” said Portia, half to herself, selecting a white leather waist cincher from a rack of clothes.  “Put this on.”  I did so – to the extent that I was able.  The outfit stretched from just above my crotch to the underside of my breasts.  Portia made me grip one of the racks while she placed a knee in the small of my back and began lacing up the cincher down my spine.  I gasped and panted as my body was compressed by the garment.  I knew my waistline was decreasing, but I really wasn’t so into fashion that I felt it necessary.  After much fussing about she tied off the laces and tossed a pair of shear white stockings at me. 

Obediently I put them on, pausing several times to catch my breath in the act of having to bend down.  They were of the stay-up kind, with white elastic tops.

“Veerry nice,” Portia crooned, kicking a pair of white heels in my direction.  “I think these will fit.  You Gweipos have such big feet…” In fact they were a trifle loose, but had obviously been worn before.  “Now the collar.”  Portia pointed to a white leather collar hanging on the end of the rack.  I buckled it about my throat, locking on the padlock Portia handed to me.  “Now this,” she said, handing me the same white ball gag I had worn earlier.  I could swear my teeth marks were still in the rubber.  She gestured for me to put it on, obviously enjoying the humiliation of having me gag myself, working the ball behind my teeth than doing up the buckle behind my head.  “Tighter,” she said brusquely.  “One more notch.”  I whined in protest but did as I was told, tightening the strap further.  “Hands in front!”

Portia buckled a leather cuff on each wrist and locked them there, leaving my wrists still free.  That lasted until she fed a short length of rope under each cuff and fed it through a loop at the other end, like a slipknot.  A pull on the rope brought my wrists together where they were knotted before she towed me out of the room behind her, grabbing a small briefcase on the way.

We went upstairs, not by the way we had come but by the other set of stairs at the end of the passageway.  The door at the top gave on to another hallway and I followed Portia as our high heels clacked sharply along the polished wood, save for the muffled sections as we tracked over antique rugs.  We entered a dining room.  The round table was set for two places, opposite each other.  I guessed it could seat perhaps a dozen people with ease.  In the place of a chair between the two settings, was a platform like a coffee table on castors, it’s height only slightly lower than the tabletop.  On top of this was what looked like a large wooden box which had been opened out on a series of hinges. 

“Sit up there,” Portia instructed.  She let go of my rope and I eased myself on to what was the bottom of the box lying flat on the platform.  Portia opened the briefcase and I glimpsed coils of rope neatly made up and packed.  She selected a coil and very soon I found my ankles bound with multiple turns and cinched tightly.  She untied the knot on the rope through my wrist cuffs and pushed my hands apart.  “Knees up and hands in front of your ankles.”

As I did this I realised the ease with which she could then immobilise me with a single pull of the rope, which drew my wrists together again and dragged my ankles back against my thighs.  This done, wrist rope was wound around my ankles and I was helpless, almost totally unable to move.  The ‘almost’ aspect disappeared as she threaded the tail of the rope from my ankles between my thighs and through the D-ring on my collar, before pulling it back to be tied at the ankles.  My chin was forced down against my knees, and I was now totally immobile.   I whimpered, scared of falling off the little platform, but my protest was ignored as she at once lifted up the two hinged sides and the back, connecting them with some sort of clasps on the outside that I couldn’t see.  The three panels were snug against my arms and back, and were as high as the top of my head.  The front panel was then raised and secured similarly, forcing my feet and toes off to a slight angle. 

Portia looked down at me over the top of the box.  “You are Madam Joan’s birthday present, as I said.  I will now do the box up with some nice wrapping paper and some ribbon.  You may make as much noise as you like, Jill dear.  It will whet Madam’s curiosity.  Regrettably Mr Wong had to return to Hong Kong by helicopter this afternoon, and hence will not be here for the presentation of his gift, but he was keen not to delay the event.  I hope you will not disappoint me tonight, Jill.”  As a final gesture she removed a pink bauhinia flower from the arrangement on the table and tucked it into my hair.  With that she blew me a kiss before lowering the lid and snapping closed the clasps on three sides.  There were sounds of rustling paper then silence, as I was left bound and gagged in the darkness. 

Maybe half an hour passed before I heard voices – two women laughing and talking in Cantonese.  Chairs scraped and there followed clinking of crockery.  The smell of food drifted in to my box and I began to salivate, for it had been a long and exhausting time since my last food, the bowl of noodles Portia had fed to me.

I knew the Chinese had a tradition of leisurely banquets, and from the comings and goings of what I presumed to be servants with more courses of food, this dinner seemed to be just such an occasion.  Madam Wong and Portia chattered continuously, except while they ate.  I understood not a word, and drifted off in a sort of culinary dream as the variety of delicious smells stirred my palate and made my much-compressed stomach rumble unhappily.

My reverie was interrupted by a sudden change of language. 

“We have a present for you, Madam Wong.”

“We?”

“Your husband, that is.  He selected it specially.”  There was a nudge of the box and I snorted involuntarily.

“What was that?  What is under the cloth?  Something made a noise…”  I mmphed long and loud, just for the hell of it.  “There is – something is inside…” At that point the cloth must have been lifted.  “Oh, what lovely paper!  Can I open it?”  The switch to English had obviously been made for my benefit, and Madam Wong seemed to take it in her stride.

“Of course.”  There was the sound of tearing paper and a surprised exclamation.  Then the lid lifted and I raised my eyes as best I could to the face peering down at me.

“Oh! How wonderful!  A blonde!  A Gweipo!  David ordered her for me?  He is so sweet.”

“She’s been imported from Australia,” said Portia.  “Mr Wong hand picked her himself.”  Liar, I thought.  He got one of his minions to do it because he was so busy he couldn’t even be bothered turning up for dinner tonight!  “Her name is Jillian and she has a lot of experience in the areas you are so fond of.”

Madam Wong clapped her hands delightedly and ran her fingers through my hair.  “Look at this gorgeous hair, and those wonderful big brown eyes… So expressive.”  Yours would be expressive too, if it was the only part of you that could move, I thought uncharitably.

Portia undid the front of the box and I got my first real look at Madam Wong.  She was perhaps in her late thirties, but looked younger.  Her hair was cut pageboy-style and stopped just at the underside of her jaw line.  She was startlingly attractive, with green eyes and a flawless complexion that spoke of familiarity with the little luxuries of life and a few big ones as well.  She wore a stunning black satin cheongsam slit to the hip and with a high collar that accentuated her slender neck.  The dress was embroidered with a series of stylised gold dragons down one side and showed off her slim hips and small breasts.

“She is exquisite,” said Madam Wong, letting her lacquered fingernails caress my cheek above the gag strap.  Thanks, I thought.  You’re not so bad yourself.  Pleased to meet you.  “Can I see more?”  She was excited like a kid with a birthday present.  Yes, well, that was apt.  “And you’ve presented her so well, Portia.”  Madam Wong’s English had quite a strong British accent to it.  I wondered if she had met her husband in England.

Portia lowered the front panel and undid the rope tethering my collar to my ankles, then pulled the long tail free.  Gratefully I raised my head as she untied the ropes around my ankles, while leaving the one through my wrist cuffs still knotted. 

“Down you get,” she instructed, and I obeyed stiffly, as my legs received their normal blood flow again.  “Stand up straight.”  I did so, as Madam Wong circled me with the soft rustle of satin. 

 “Excellent, Portia,” she said, as if I was some sort of lamp stand.  “Such an elegant figure.  Yummy breasts.”  The fingernails travelled over the skin around my nipples.  I shuddered involuntarily and felt my nipples become erect.  Madam Wong smiled at me, but it was not a smile that convinced me this lady would be a lifelong friend.  “She really is lovely.  And you have trained her?”

“Not yet,” said Portia, “although she has a rudimentary understanding of some things.”  I glared at her but she ignored the look and pointed to the floor with a subtle inclination of her head and a brief point of the finger.  I dropped to my knees and lowered my head submissively.  Madam Wong was delighted.

“I can’t wait to try her out tonight.  I’d like to let my dinner go down first, however.  Let’s take tea and discuss her training.  She can wait here while we do so.”  Madam Wong rang a small hand bell on the table and a young maid appeared.  She had long hair in a ponytail down to her waist and wore a white cheongsam with holes cut so her small but pert breasts were exposed.  I noticed her ankles were connected by a fine steel chain and two steel cuffs.  She seemed not to notice the half-naked western woman kneeling on the floor, her wrists bound and with a gag strapped in her mouth.

“Ah, Weiwei.  Tea for two, please.”  The girl left the room, catching my eye only very briefly.  Was it a look of sympathy I detected?  Was there a kindred spirit here?

The mistress of the house had retired to a sofa at the end of the room and arranged her slim body in a languid pose along it. 

Portia meanwhile pushed me flat on to my stomach and pulled my still-joined wrists back over my head, pulling the rope tight and bending my legs back before tying the rope around my ankles with the second nature of one who has done it many times.  I lay there with my cheek against the plush piled rug, pulled into the strange hogtie while Portia settled herself in an armchair and the pair rabbited on in Cantonese so that I had no idea what they were plotting.  Weiwei returned with a teapot and two small bowls into which Portia poured the tea.  The two women sipped it in a leisurely fashion, every so often looking at me and making gestures or movements I could not understand.

After sufficient time had elapsed for my arms to become uncomfortable from the strain, Portia finally got up and released my ankles, motioning me to get up.  Madam Wong left the room and Portia explained things.

“You are very lucky, Jillian.  Madam Wong has taken a liking to you, and you may spend the night with her.  I say ‘may’ since it will depend on you.  I am taking a chance on you, for I have not had time to properly try you out myself.  Suffice to say, if you fail me, you will be very, very sorry.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Uh-huh,” I intoned, nodding. 

“If I hear anything bad, you will regret you behaviour over many painful hours.  Your lovely skin will be badly marked and the coverage will be thorough.  Do you understand?”

“Esspft,” I said nodding even more decisively.

“Good.  Now come.”

I followed her out of the dining room and back to the main entrance hallway where the great staircase ascended.  We made our way up the white marble stairs to the first floor, then walked along a corridor to stand before a set of ornate double doors.  Portia knocked softly.

“Come,” said a voice from inside.

The room was dominated by a massive bed of rosewood, with carved headboard and base.  The place was lit only by two bedside lights.  Madam Wong, now wearing only a silver satin wrap, sat on the bed. 

“You may prepare her, as we discussed,” said Madam Wong.  You’ll find what you need in the top drawer of the dresser,” she added, gesturing to a large chest of drawers with a full width mirror mounted on the wall above it. 

Portia towed me across the room and opened the drawer.  I groaned inwardly as a selection of all manner of B & D devices slid out.  I was looking at a slightly lesser version of the storeroom downstairs.  Portia unlocked the cuff from my right wrist and formed my fingers into a fist.  She picked up a roll of duct tape and began to wrap my fist so that my fingers quickly became impotent and useless.  This done, she bent my arm so that the back of my fist was against the top of my upper arm.  Portia wrapped a number of turns of tape around upper and lower arm together, effectively joining them so that I looked like an amputee.  Five minutes later the other arm was equally well immobilised.  I looked at myself in the mirror.  As a double amputee I had to say the rest of me was one of the better looking bodies I had seen.  The waist cincher gave me a lovely hourglass figure, but I’d really like to have been without it.  The bauhinia was still in my hair, a dim spot of pink against the blonde hair trapped by the white of the gag strap. 

Portia directed me to the bed where Madam Wong motioned me to kneel and lie with my upper body face down on the bed.  I did so, and was rewarded with a violent slap on my bare rump.  I jumped, just in time for Portia to sit on the other side of me and to force my head into the quilt and deliver a stinging slap of her hand on the other cheek.  That was the way it was for the next five minutes.  I was mmphing and yowling into my gag with the force of the spanking.  My bottom burned from the fierce slaps that it received.  I tried to struggle but Portia expertly kept hold of my neck and made it impossible for me to do anything but squirm feebly.

At length the torrent of blows stopped.  I was panting and sobbing with the burning that now occupied my body, so much so that I was barely conscious of Madam Wong peeling back the covers to reveal the apricot-coloured satin sheets.  She also peeled back the wrap she wore, tossing it aside to sit naked on the edge of the bed, her legs slightly parted.

“I think I should leave now, Madam Wong,” said Portia deferentially. 

Madam Wong looked at her artfully and shook her head.  “No Portia.  I think you should stay tonight.  You’ve done so well, you should share my present.  It will be so much more fun.  You may select anything you wish from the drawer.  Come and join us.” 

Madam Wong positioned herself so that as I now knelt on the floor I was staring straight at her shaved pussy.  Her fingers undid the strap at the back of my neck and worked the rubber ball out from behind my teeth.  I gasped and swallowed, easing my jaw from its long confinement while catching my breath more easily from the thrashing I had just received.  Her elegant finger wiped the tracks of the tears away from where they had dampened my cheeks during the onslaught.

I barely had time to catch my breath before my head was drawn into the warm wetness of Madam Wong’s pussy.  I knew what I had to do, and had no reservations about my ability to satisfy in this department.  Emma and I had long shared the delights of each other’s bodies, experimenting and learning at each encounter.  I did not consider myself a lesbian, for I could still go weak over men.  Steven, for example.  I confess I had secretly lusted after him, and the time I had finally had him at my mercy, securely attached to a plank and unable to defend his manhood, had only served to whet my appetite for more.  Regrettably that opportunity had been pre-empted by Monica.  But all that seemed another world away, in another life.

I decided Madam Wong was at very least highly sexed, for it did not take long for her slender fingers to grip my hair harder as she started to bounce on the edge of the bed and then abruptly arch her back as the orgasm took her.  I had been dimly aware of Portia next to me at some point, but I had not been clear on what she was doing.  Madam Wong obviously decided she needed a moment to recover herself, and eased herself back on the bed.

At that point I elected to go on the attack, albeit in my own way, and decided that if I was getting little respite from my life as a slave, then she would get little respite from my talents.  As she went backwards, I followed her.  My taped arms were a hindrance, but I coped, working my way forward on my elbows.  Madam Wong had almost reached the other side of the enormous bed when she came to an abrupt halt and jabbered at Portia in Cantonese.  Portia just laughed and I realised she had tied Madam Wong’s ankles to the bed legs on the side from which we had started.  The ropes were long enough such that she could go no further, and also her legs had spread wider apart. 

I seized my opportunity and went for the pink and swollen pussy with my tongue.  My victim reluctantly accepted my ministrations as I set about her clit with a furious oral assault.  Madam Wong lay back and then tried to push my head away, initially calling to Portia that enough was enough, but clearly for Portia such was not the case.  I did not know what her relationship was with her employer, but I suspected Portia had the measure of the older woman.

Madam Wong’s cries took on a new level as I hit the key spots in her loins, her legs starting to tremble and jerk with the strain of being pulled apart by the ropes and of having my head burrow between them.  She climaxed moments later, gasping and then hitting a wailing high note that finally left her flopped back in a sweat on the satin sheets, her small breasts heaving as she weakly tried to fend me off.

Portia entered the fray again at this point, appearing on the far side of the bed to slip a pair of handcuffs on to Madam Wong’s slim wrists and draw them over her head, to be secured to the frame beneath the mattress.  Madam Wong protested and said some things which were probably not very complimentary, but Portia ignored this outburst, instead whacking me on the backside and exerting me to continue. I did so, head down and bum up, heedless of the hoarse cries now coming from the struggling Madam Wong.

I was totally unprepared for the events after then next gasping climax.  My jaw was aching and both Madam Wong and I needed a break, although I reckoned she was weakening faster than I was.  She lying, my crouching on the bed, we both panted as we tried to recover. 

That was when I felt the cold intrusion in my arse of Portia’s finger.  It was well lubricated and was followed by a second, and then a third.  I groaned out loud, although Madam Wong was still making so much noise one more groan was barely noticeable.  I half-turned and saw Portia kneeling on the bed behind me, wearing nothing but a red strap-on dildo.  It was reasonable to suppose that the other end was embedded in her pussy, but the important point was that the exposed section was shortly to wind up in my own back passage.

I had little time to object as it slid smoothly into my hole.  I gasped as it filled me.  It was not as painful as the butt plug I had experienced earlier that day, but it was not small.  Portia gestured to me to get back to work, and I had scarcely buried my head in my target when the first thrusts started to come from Portia.  I felt the thing drive into me with successive movements, deeper each time until there came the sensation of Portia’s hips against my cheeks as the member was fully embedded. I tried to cry out but the thrusting only pushed my mouth deeper into Madam Wong’s pussy, driving me hard against her clit.  I tried to concentrate on what I was doing but the thrusting inside of me was too distracting.  I attempted to push back but without the use of my hands and arms I was on a loser to nothing.

Madam Wong was by now off on another astral plain, crying and making an extraordinary noise, while from behind me I heard Portia’s rapid breathing as the dildo jerked back and forth inside both of us.  I had been screwed in the arse before, and it had not been entirely satisfying, but this time it was somehow different.  The moaning and panting from the two women, coupled with the smell and juices from Madam Wong had an effect I did not expect, and I surprised myself with a rushing surge of warmth from my own loins that forced me to break contact with the prostrate form in front of me and concentrate on my own climax that suddenly overwhelmed me as Portia gripped me at the waist and puled me hard back against her, shuddering and jerking as she did so.  We both cried out together – a long drawn out “Arrrrghh!”

Things became a bit blurred after that.  Madam Wong was untied and managed to scramble to her knees and kiss me, deep and hard.  Her eyes were shining and she repeated the treatment on Portia.

“You may both stay here tonight,” she told us.  “The bed is more fun with three…” With that she lay back exhausted on the rumpled satin.  Portia, evidently always in control, insisted in taping my legs, ankle to thigh, so that I flopped about like a fish, unable to use my hands or feet.  Her last act was to cover my head with a soft leather discipline helmet, laced down the back.  It was not as bad as some I had experienced, having a reasonable opening for my nostrils and a zipped opening for the mouth.  But I was so drained I did not care at that stage.  Portia finally positioned me near the edge of the bed, with herself in the middle and Madam Wong on the other side.  Curled up like a set of spoons, albeit one being somewhat deformed, we fell asleep.