I had been using the time to finish off a device that Steven and I had been working on until his abrupt departure to Hong Kong. 

The Horse was not the conventional type, as in a vaulting horse or as in the Plank.  Imagine a modified saddle mounted at the end of a seesaw.  The saddle was in fact a cut down version.  It had no stirrups, and fitted very snugly at arse and crotch.  It had special rebates to hold two vibrators, the finishing details of which were not quite complete. 

Currently it was located in the dungeon itself.  The saddle was slightly raised above the end of the wooden beam that was the seesaw.  In this space immediately under the saddle were two heavy-duty coil springs that Steven had sourced from a used car yard.  These supported the saddle and gave it the ability to move in any direction – to some degree.  Also incorporated in the space was the small electric motor with the out of balance weight that instilled vibrations to the saddle as a whole.  Steven’s electrical mate Douglas had again provided a black box that could produce a random cycle to the vibrations, even turning them off for a minute or so, before recommencing at the high or low end of the range. 

The other end of the beam was connected to an eyebolt in the floor by a group of bungee cords, which, left unchecked, would have resulted in the saddle end sitting about four feet off the ground.  A limiting chain currently needed to be fixed between the ceiling and the bungee end to restrict how close that end could be pulled to the floor. 

Steven had not had time to complete the device before leaving for Hong Kong.  Sure, we had done ongoing field trials (as we liked to think of them) during construction, and the basic mechanics of the thing had been sorted.  It was now the fine details that had to be sorted out, such as the exact type and position of the two vibrators that would stick up from the saddle.  In a way I was glad Steven was absent, for such trials often left me embarrassed in front of him in a way that I found hard to explain.  Perhaps there is something more between us than I care to admit, but that is a road we need not go down at this stage. 

I was alone in the dungeon on this Saturday morning, with Steven’s toolbox and a selection of vibrators.  We had previously cut the holes in the saddle in the designated places, but now there was the job of riveting the holders for the vibrators in place underneath.  It took several attempts to get the size and type of vibrator worked out.  I finally selected a rear one that twisted and squirmed as it vibrated, and a front one which was squat with knobs on it and again wormed around inside you while vibrating. 

The most fiendish point about the Horse was that once in position, the victim would still be able to ‘move about’.  When it was adjusted properly, by standing on your tiptoes you could be just clear of the saddle itself, which would be restrained by the limiting chain at the bungee end, while you remained impaled on the vibrators.  Conversely, you could squirm or squat down so that your full weight was on the saddle.  You could go right down on your knees, for that matter.  But you would not be able to get off and you could not stop it.  That was the plan, anyway. 

The vibrations through the saddle itself, I have to say, were possibly its worst – or best – feature.  This was because the saddle was almost wedge-shaped when viewed from the side.  The more you loaded it, the deeper you slipped into the wedge and the more it pressed front and back.  I needn’t say more, other than the fact that there was a particularly potent nubbed spot on the front, right over a woman’s clit, which made it imperative to stand on tiptoes every couple of minutes, since there was only so much you could take at once.  And I mean tip toes, too.  You had to be stretched right up there to get any relief whatsoever.  All in all I think Steven did a remarkable job – admittedly with my expert consultative assistance. 

Of course up until this point I had only tried the thing out without the vibrators fitted, and it had proven pretty successful thus far.  I had yet to experience the full effect, and this was something I intended to do on my own and in my own time.  I worked the vibrators into their holes and secured them with hose clips that I tightened up underneath the saddle.  These vibrators were low voltage ones powered from a transformer that was also connected to the main electric motor with the offset weight that moved the saddle itself.  One switch was thus all that was needed to set everything in motion.  Unfortunately the switch was out of reach at the wall socket outlet, and the only way I could turn it on was by physically plugging in the motor cord to an extension lead, which in turn was already plugged into the wall.  It was not an ideal situation, but then the device was not intended as a DIY event. 

I was wearing a short, loose linen skirt with nothing underneath, and a tee shirt, for the test.  It could be asked why I bothered wearing anything at all, but I always say a girl must retain some dignity, however hard she is pushed.  And sometimes that isn’t easy when you’re reduced to a moaning gibbering wreck. 

This was the moment of truth, however.  I loved these experiments and always looked forward to trying out things that Steven and Monica dreamed up.  In this instance I wanted to see whether it was possible to climb off the saddle without assistance or without using one’s hands.  I figured the freedom of one’s legs was crucial to both the experience and the escape, and so I buckled a short spreader bar between my two ankles, walking myself backwards until I reached the saddle, then pushing it down behind me and moving backwards some more.  With one hand holding the saddle down, I positioned the two lubricated vibrators and gently eased them inside me, then let the saddle lift upwards under the pull of the bungee cord at the other end.  The sensation was delicious as the two invaders slid upwards, filling my two passages before the surface of the saddle snuggled against the inside of my thighs, my butt and the front of my pussy.  It was such a comfortable fit for a moment I almost felt I did not need to go further.  Turning the thing on was like clicking shut the padlock that condemns you to an irrevocable bondage position, only allowing release when something has transpired that usually involves pain, orgasm or both.  It is a combination of fear, excitement and a delicious sense of anticipation. 

I pushed home the plug and the glorious feeling welled up in my loins.  At once the saddle seemed to come alive and snuggle up more tightly between my legs.  The intruders inside me squirmed and wriggled, sending their vibrating messages throughout my body.  I gasped and shivered as the waves of pleasure began to wash upward. 

I could not believe how good it felt, but after a couple of minutes I figured I had better at least do my research and try to climb off unaided.  It proved a total failure as long as my feet were in the spreader bar and I didn’t use my hands.  The bungee cords on the opposite end kept the saddle exerting a constant pressure, which in some ways was more frustrating, for it was difficult to bear one’s whole weight down as it would have been with a fixed beam.  The first orgasm caught me bending down trying to undo one of the spreader straps.  I stayed bent over, eyes closed, gripping the bottom of the saddle tightly and panting as though I was at the end of a marathon, before letting loose a long drawn-out moan. 

“Good, is it?”  The words were accompanied by the abrupt cessation of the vibes emanating from the saddle.  Mary was standing beside me, the unplugged cord in her hand.  I straightened up, my legs unsteady. 

“Jesus, Mary… Don’t sneak up on me like that!”  Mary was wearing tight leather trousers and a black sleeveless pvc vest adorned with light chains slung between her breasts.  On each wrist was a studded leather band.  Her feet were bare, which explained why I hadn’t heard her coming.  Mind you, she had heard me coming, which also might have helped her silent entry into the room. 

“A herd of elephants could have sneaked up on you with the noise you make,” Mary commented.  “Doing our research, are we?” 

“Just seeing how difficult it would be to escape...” I let my heart rate slowly subside, along with the flush from my cheeks.  “Mary, this thing is amazing.  I think it’s the best we’ve done yet.  All you need is your tits livened up and you’ll die with a smile on your face.”  Mary had a smile on her own face.  It was the kind of smile that only Mary could manage – at once amused, enigmatic and devious – the smile that goes with a certain look in the eyes. 

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” she said. “But you ought to remember the rules for testing things at Bilboes.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You know the score, Trish – if you’re going to do something, do it properly.  Real testing under real conditions, with real stresses.” 

“Sure, but this is only a preliminary sort of thing,” I said, suddenly having a suspicion where this was going. 

“Like that preliminary sort of orgasm you just had?  Sounds more like personal gratification to me.  I think you should give it a proper trial.” 

“Nah,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant and off-hand. “Still a few things that need to be sorted out first.  A bit of fine tuning - you know what I mean.” 

“I think I do,” Mary said. “Let me help with those ankle cuffs.”  She squatted down beside me as I caught my breath, only registering the click of locks through the cuffs when it was too late. 

“Mary… Undo those, please,” I told her, exasperated. “I have a client in an hour.” 

“Who?  Phillip?  That’s what I came down here to tell you – he rang and cancelled.” 

“Damn.  He’ll be for it next time he shows his face,” I muttered. 

“So now you’ve got a free morning.  Well, no, actually, I think it will be rather restrained.” 

“I can still get off this, you know,” I said, pushing down against the saddle. 

Mary slapped my hand away. “Not till I say so,” she snapped. “You might be able to get off it, but you won’t get out of the spreader without the keys. So unless you want to wear them for the next twenty-four hours, I’d suggest we have a little cooperation.  Am I sounding reasonable?” 

I hung my head.  I knew when I was beaten.  “Yes, Mary.  Very reasonable.  What must I do?” 

“Take your tee shirt off.” 

I did so, tossing it on the floor.  Mary picked it up and sashayed over to the pillory with a faint squeak of leather trousers, where she hung it over a bar. 

“You’re so untidy sometimes, Trish.  You need more order in your life.”  She opened a long cupboard fixed to one wall and returned with two leather wrist cuffs and several lengths of heavy white sashcord.  “Put the cuffs on.” 

I did so, wrapping the heavy leather around my wrist and buckling it snugly.  Mary checked it and twisted the buckles so they were on the outside of my wrists.  She looped a doubled-up cord through the D-ring on my right wrist and pulled my arm behind me and up behind my back, running the ropes over my left shoulder, under my left armpit, across my back, under the right armpit, back over the right shoulder and then drew them through the left wrist D-ring.  With a few pulls and adjustments, I found my arms very well secured, crossed and pulled up towards the opposite shoulders.  Any thoughts I had of backing out were now well and truly history, and I could see Mary was in one of her fastidious rope-weaving moods.  The thought of a long Saturday morning helpless to the whims of a Mary with nothing better to do gave me butterflies in my stomach. 

She wound half a dozen strands around my crossed wrists then carried the ropes around my body, melding my upper arms to my torso, with the ropes passing above and below my breasts.  Each time she did this her long fingernails brushed and tweaked my nipples, raising them to rock hard little points as the anticipation and anxiety began to grow within me.  Mary was an expert here – not just with the rope, but with the attention to tiny details – the fingertip caress of a breast, the casual stroking of a thigh that sent shivers down my spine.  With each knot she would stand back like an artist critically examining her creation – which in effect she was, unhurried and content to do it all in her own good time.  I could sense a faint tremble in my legs, which was purely anticipatory.  Such was Mary’s presence that she made even me feel submissive to her whims. 

Shorter ropes cinched the horizontal ones running above and below my breasts.  The shorter ones pulled the latter together between my mounds and on each side, making the flesh distend and swell.  My average sized breasts at once took on a new life as the pink tips stood out like beacons.  Mary stopped twice to lightly kiss or suck them as she circled me. 

When she did it a third time I gasped and couldn’t suppress a moan in my throat, as the touch of her lips on my nipple sent a shiver all the way to my loins.  She undid the buttons to my wrap-around skirt and removed it, leaving me naked and totally at her mercy – as if that wasn’t the case already. 

She came up with more ropes – or rather twine – at this point, taking time to tie a metre-long piece around the top joint of each finger, before grouping the eight pieces and pulling them up over my shoulders and down to tie them to the cinch rope between my breasts.  A final piece of twine went around my right thumb and was tied off to the left. 

“Isn’t this going a bit far, Mary?”  I queried more in hope than in expectation. 

“Of course not.  It’s not often that I get someone like you to play with for a day.”  A day!  God, could I withstand Mary for a whole day?  An hour or two maybe, but a day!  “Usually Monica is around to interfere or land us with a client.  But not today my dear Trish.  I might even phone up Monica to let her listen to your howls…” She grinned at me wickedly and I felt another lurch in my stomach.  “Speaking of which,” she continued,” I would like to hear your carry on, but within limits, I think.  Open wide, please.” 

“Oh Mair – not that – I hate-aarhhg!”  Mary had produced an O-ring which she had wedged behind my front teeth.  It was made out of stiff plastic tube, covered with a thin layer of rubber, and she now secured it in place with a leather strap around the back of my head, lifting my hair out of the way as she did so.  Mary was nothing if not tidy, though not as obsessive as Monica. 

“How’s that?” she asked, with mock concern. 

“I own eyg it!” I complained.  I was sure Mary knew I hated the O-ring, or the ‘oh’ ring, as it might have been better spelt.  It kept your jaws apart but gave you nothing to bite on like a conventional ball or bit gag.  This particular one had a screw thread inside it into which could be screwed a stopper, to seal the mouth completely.  It was hard on the jaws and while it did not prevent much noise in the unstoppered form, it distorted speech enough to make you sound totally retarded or at best, merely incomprehensible. 

“Good.  Now the blindfold.”  Round leather pads were slipped over my eyes and the restraining strap was also buckled tightly behind my head, this time over the top of my hair. 

“Bear with me while I go and fetch the video and still cameras,” Mary said. 

“Aw – oh  - airee! Eese!” 

 “You better go off into your own quiet little world, Trish,” said Mary.  These were the last words I heard for the time being as she rolled up a small foam earplug into a thin cylinder and stuffed it into my right ear, followed by a similar insertion in the left one.  At once my world became quiet as the foam plugs unrolled and expanded within my ears.  But Mary was not quite done, for she completed the process by fitting a pair of industrial ear protectors over my head, pulling my hair clear of my ears before totally covering them with the muffs.  I was now deaf, blind and if not dumb, at least somewhat incommunicado.  I had no idea what Mary was up to next, for I could not see or hear her movements.  I could only detect the occasional stirring of air or a hint of her perfume. 

It was about five minutes later when I felt the next thing as I stood there.  It was fingertips on my nipples again, and predictably they stiffened on command.  Sometimes my body was unbelievable.  Then came the feel of small donut-shaped pads being placed over the nipples and pressed into place with adhesive.  I knew these were part of the TENS electrical stimulation machine we had.  Mary must have retrieved it from the storeroom.  Damn!  Me and my big mouth rabbiting on about how it would only take a bit of nip stimulation to complete the picture.  But Mary was not finished yet.  The machine could handle eight pads at once, and I found two more attached to the inside of my thighs, just below the saddle, two on my abdomen, just above the top edge of the saddle, and the last two on the inside of my forearms.  This whole business seemed to be getting seriously scary – not from a safety or pain point of view, but from a fear of the unknown.  I had never experienced something as extensive as this before, and I did not know how my body was going to react. 

Mary left me standing there for a long time.  I didn’t know if she was fiddling with the video, taking stills, or even present at all.  I knew she was playing games with me, letting my imagination do half the work for her.  I shifted my weight, feeling the invaders move up and down inside me while the pressure of the saddle pushed against the inside of my thighs and my pussy.  I tried to flex my fingers but they could barely move, nor could my arms. 

When Mary hit the switches I nearly jumped off the saddle.  She must have located the TENS machine next to the wall switch for the saddle and turned both on at once. 

That was how my Friday morning began.  Within minutes I was jerking and quivering like one possessed.  Part of the source was the saddle itself, the vibrations sending shivers through my nether regions, supplemented by the twin vibrators embedded in my secret places that writhed and worked their magic inside me, while the saddle stimulated my already sensitive clit.  Further north, my bound breasts were subjected to more vibrations from the TENS units that sent delightful tingles to meet up with those coming from the Deep South.  All of that would ordinarily have been quite enough to send me wild, but the other TENS units were setting off a mad series of St Vitus dances of a totally different kind.  Each pad was making the muscles jump and spasm.  The pair on the insides of my thighs combined with those on my abdomen to add to the twitching and shaking that was going on, and over all of which I had no control.  On my arms the pads kept trying to make my fingers twitch, but of course Mary had secured them with the twine.  How had she worked this out?  I bet Emma had been giving her the benefit of her nursing experience. 

I was starting to get vocal, and as the first orgasm hit I found myself bouncing up and down, doing knee bends and being totally unable to stop the tide of pleasure that washed over me.  I was straining at the ropes that bound my arms and fingers but they were immovable.  My world dissolved in a succession of stars behind the blindfold.  Maybe I heard music, but I don’t think so.  I was aware of the roar of blood in my ears, of my heart going a million beats a minute and a voice somewhere in the far distance going “Ohgodohgodohgod…” Except that it was coming out more like “oh-og,oh-og,oh-og!”  Then the vibrations died – or did they simply change gear?  I don’t know.  It all became a bit blurry after that.  Stupidly I continued to struggle with my bonds, wrestling with them while finding myself still impaled on the two vibrators, unable to get off or to change the inexorable pressure against my crotch. 

When the second climax arrived I was chewing on the o-ring, making incomprehensible panting and moaning noises, which went up an octave as I howled out my ecstasy. 

When the vibrations subsided I was standing there like a blancmange, my legs rubbery and shaking, my breathing ragged and rasping through the ring jammed in my mouth.  I felt the earmuffs and plugs removed and gradually became aware of Mary’s voice. 

“…Quite a performance.  You’re really stoked, you know that?” 

“Ngoh ore! Ngoh ore!” I begged.  “Is oo uch! Eese op…” 

“I’m ringing Monica, just to stay in touch,” said Mary. 

Sweat was running down my face and breasts.  “Ngoh, airee!  Ownt!”  My attempts to speak merely resulted in more drool running out of my mouth and dribbling down on to my breasts.  How sophisticated and in control was this going to look on the video, I thought. 

Then the vibes started again, this time at a lower, less intense but more insidious frequency that seemed to penetrate deeper into my very core, like the waves of an earthquake. 

“Hello?  Monica?  Yeah, it’s me.  How’s everyone?  No, I’m just checking you got there okay.  You’re where?  On the ferry?  Cool.  What?  A noise?  Oh that’s Trish.  Say hi to Monica, Trish…” 

I was barely aware of the conversation as another climax caught me.  “Ohhhhhhhhhh….ogogog!  Airee!  Ellp eeeeeee!  Ache it op!” 

“Yes, she’s having a good time.  Me?  I didn’t do anything!  Really!  Oh all right.  Monica you are such a spoilsport.  Just let me finish what I’ve started.  Tell Steven the Horse is a real hit!  Now I want to try out that new medical stuff you bought.  Please?  She’s going so well – I have some terrific video footage.  Hello?  Monica?  Damn!  She said to let you go.  I said I would.”  She paused.  “But I didn’t say when.” 

Mary ripped the blindfold off my head but it took a while before my eyes could focus. 

“Monica’s pissed at you having fun while they’re working their arses off.  You’re a bad girl, Trish.” 

“Is or ault!” I whined. “Ngoh!  Op it! Ngooohhh!” This as Mary upped the vibes and I was away again. 

“Oh shut up,” said Mary crossly.  “Now Monica’s pissed off with me.”  She gripped me by the chin and screwed the plug into the o-ring, effectively silencing most of my noise, save the now pronounced ragged panting and “uh-uh-uh” grunts I was forced to make through my nose.  I shook my head as another spasm overcame me.  My legs went weak at this point and I sank slowly to my knees.  In doing this I dimly realised that I was creating a greater pressure against the saddle and my level of sensitivity went up a notch, if that was possible.  I was starting to feel faint, my head spinning and the blood pounding in my ears.  My final thought before I blacked out was how embarrassing this was going to look to the others if they ever saw this video.  Trish, the pro, reduced to a gibbering wreck… 

*   *   * 

I’m sure I wasn’t out for long.  It was just a rush of blood to the head – or maybe a lack of it since it was all circulating at a rapid rate down south.  Mary was holding me and the plug was out of the o-ring.  I was panting and trying to get my eyes to work.  Mary unlocked the cuffs on the spreader bar and helped me to my feet.  I could barely stand, so wobbly were my legs, and she had to hold me steady for a minute while I collected myself.  All I could do was moan and whimper in a pathetic way that I had not exhibited for longer than I cared to remember. 

While I was gathering my faculties, Mary removed the twine from my fingers and undid most of the ropes from my breasts and arms, but not the ones which still held the cuffs high up behind my shoulder blades.  Then the blindfold went on again.  It was such a good method for promoting cooperation, and of course I was no exception, for Mary now led me out of the dungeon and upstairs to the bedrooms. 

This surprised me for a number of reasons, the first being that any of our own bondage scenes are usually done in the basement, although obviously not if they involve anything more substantial in the way of bedding than a single iron bedstead, such as we have in the holding cell.  Secondly, I was hoping we were done with the scene, for I was exhausted.  But if that was not the case, I hoped Mary would simply chain me to a bed and let me be.  I didn’t actually think that might happen, knowing Mary - I just hoped it. 

We entered the steel room, as I called it – the second of the four upstairs bedrooms – a fact which I worked out from the route we took from the top of the stairs.  I had done the design for this room using minimalist materials – lots of chrome and glass and some nice beech furniture.  It was the most popular of the rooms with the guys.  There were also little touches such as the rings and cleats fixed to the bed and the discrete eyebolts in the walls behind pictures, and pullies disguised as curtain draw ropes. 

“I think you need a little lie down,” Mary said.  That was good, I decided, because I was thinking the same thing myself.  The bed felt soft and comfortable as Mary pushed me backwards on to it.  I had no idea what she did at that point, other than the fact that something cool and made of plastic was pulled over my right leg. 

“Wha arh u oing?”  I asked. 
“Quiet,” she said, and the tone of her voice suggested I had better comply.  I sat on the edge of the bed while the plastic thing was pulled over my leg like a stocking, snuggling about my foot and stretching to the top inside of my thigh.  Then the other leg received the same treatment.  Mary removed the blindfold at that time and I saw my legs encased in two transparent envelopes.  Mary attached a tube at the foot end to a small red hand pump and began to pump up the plastic encasing my left leg.  That was when I realised it was a splint!  Dammit, Monica was getting into the medical supplies now! 

“Yes Trish dear, since you’re in the mood for testing things, we’re going to do some tests on Monica’s latest purchases.  These are called ‘air casts’.”  I felt the pressure start to build up around my leg and succumbed to the temptation to straighten my leg.  No sooner had I done this than the cast seemed to inflate that extra notch and suddenly I couldn’t bend it again.  Two minutes later both my legs were similarly immobilised.  It was a bizarre feeling, with the pressure of the inner sleeve pressing firmly against every square inch of my flesh.  A short time later Mary had undone the rope from my arms and had similarly encased them in plastic sleeves that compressed my hands and fingers at one end, and ran all the way to my armpits.  I lay on the bed, assessing my situation until Mary pulled out a riding crop and began flicking at me.  The advantage I had was that my arms and legs were at least covered, but Mary was adept with the crop and soon my breasts and pussy were on fire as she scored hit after hit.  I was crying out for her to stop but this merely prompted the plug to be placed inside the o-ring again, reducing my noises to mmphing as I flopped about on the bed, trying to protect myself with rigid arms and legs. 

Mary rolled me on to my stomach and the beating continued on my bottom.  I was whining and protesting but my jaw was locked solid around the ring with its plug jammed in the middle.  I could only flounder about, trying to protect my cheeks with these elongated stiff balloons that were now my arms, and I didn’t have a chance. 

At length she seemed to tire of this but I suspect it was simply that she wanted to get into the next stage, which appeared to be something to match the compression that was happening to my limbs.  Mary was obviously going for a ‘total’ look, part of which now involved me wearing a corset. 

I had never had one put on me by Mary.  Normally I used to get Jillian to do it, simply because I trusted her.  I would not have trusted Mary an inch, nor would I have let her anywhere near the laces of anything I intended to get out of in roughly the same condition as when I started.  In this instance I found myself on my stomach while Mary sat astride my bum and worked her magic on the laces down my spine. 

The corset was black and stretched from just above my pussy to above my breasts, with two cutouts for these, about three quarters the size of what they should have been.  As Mary pulled on the laces I felt the constriction begin over my abdomen and stomach, then my ribs and finally my breasts.  I was panting for breath through my nose as my body began to stiffen with the pressure from the vertical ribs in the garment.  At least with my legs in the splints I knew I would not have the problem you always have with a boned corset – the difficulty of bending over to pick something up.  Inevitably you end up doing a kind of semi-squat with a straight back.  There is no doubt about a corset – it does wonders for the posture but not for the breathing.  By the time she had finished a second run of tightening the laces I was taking fast shallow breaths and making soft moaning sounds with each exhalation.  I could barely move, except at my hip and shoulder joints.  Things got slightly better when she rolled me on to my back, until I found out a neck brace was part of the plan too.  Just what was this woman up to?  Mary had a very devious look about her.  I knew this was all leading up to something, but I didn’t know what, nor could I do anything about it. 

The neck brace was lightweight but firm enough to hold my head rigid such that I could only stare at the ceiling.  Any chance of sitting up had long since passed.  I reckoned I might just be able to roll sideways, off the bed, and of course that would get me a long way – not!  Other than winding up with a broken nose, I did not see much future in that option, but it turned out I was not even going to get the chance.  Mary undid the strap at the back of my neck and removed that terrible plug and ring.  This made it slightly less strenuous for me, and I wasted no time in demanding to know what was going on. 

“You know Warren?” 

“Moneybags Warren?” 

“The exact one.  He’ll be here in half an hour.” 

“So?” 

“He’s a bit pissed off that Monica won’t be here – you know how he always goes for her.”  This was true.  Warren had a thing for Monica.  Whenever he came to Bilboes he would leave us to make life miserable for his slave, Christina, while he laid claim to Monica, usually for the night in the upstairs bedroom.  This one, in fact.  Oh shit, I thought, as the penny dropped.  Monica had never discussed Warren’s preferences – she was very private in that way.  Warren was filthy stinking rich and was our best customer.  Monica would do anything to keep him happy, particularly if it meant us mere minions did the “doing” – or had it “done” to us.  What went on between Monica and Warren behind closed doors was anybody’s guess.  It was something she didn’t discuss, although we had seen at least a couple of instances outside of the bedroom when Warren had been seriously ticked off.  In one of these poor Steven had wound up chained to the lovely Christina for a few hours in the woods.  Rumour had it that the pair had become intimate friends during the episode, but this had been kept from Monica and Warren.  However the captives had actually escaped, leaving Monica to carry the can, which she had done, at the specific and quite malicious direction of Warren.  So where did this all lead now? 

“Now there’s no Monica – so you’re ‘it’.” 

“You planned this?” 

“Hell, no.  I’m just improvising.  Your little experiment seemed too good to waste.  Warren is pissed off that Monica didn’t tell him she was going away.  He seems to have settled on me as a second best.  Except that things have now changed, and he’s going to be getting third best.  How do you think he’ll take that?”  She smiled mischievously. 

“Haha – very funny.  Okay, you’ve had your joke.  Let me go.” 

“I’m serious.  He’s on his way.” 

“Don’t mess with me, Mary…” I warned. 

“No messing, sweetheart.  God’s truth.” 

“I won’t!  Let me go this instant!  Monica will be furious!” 

“Then you’d better make sure dear Warren leaves satisfied.” 

“Mary, you shit!” 

Mary was quite unperturbed and busied herself with the curtain cords behind the bed head.  My outburst was not well timed, for the next thing I knew was in the form of the bite of two nasty clamps into my nipples.  I couldn’t see what sort they were, but I certainly felt them. 

“Ow! Ow!  Shit – take them off!  Mary!  You bitch!  That’s not funny!  No – wait – what are you doing with that ball?  Don’t you put – argh urf!”  Mary jammed the ball into my mouth. 

“Just hold it there like a good girl,” she said.  I saw a cord running directly above my nose to disappear over the top of the bed head.  I could tell there was a weight of some sort on the end of it.  Then I felt Mary fiddle with the clips, and two lengths of twine took the same route, passing in front of my eyes to similarly disappear over the top of the bed head. 

“There,” she said.  “Now, let me explain the set up to you.  There’s no strap to your gag.  It’s held there only by your teeth.  There is also the cord that passes through the middle of it, as you can see.  As you have probably guessed, there’s a nice weight tied to the other end of it – a small bag of sand, in fact.  The weight is also attached to the twine tied to your nipple clips – but with a slightly longer piece of string.  No weight will come on the clips until you let go of that ball.  Do that and the weight will drop a couple of inches and you’ll know all about it.  And you will continue to know all about it until someone comes to reel it in.” 

“Or a itch!” I told her, being careful to keep my teeth clamped on the ball.  It was barely the size of a golf ball and I had a nasty feeling it would not take much for it to pop out if I had a lapse of concentration.  Damn Mary! 

Of course if I thought she had finished I should have known better.  I had noticed that the air casts had tabs of sorts at the far extremities.  These turned out to be ideal for a final securing of my already rigid limbs.  Mary managed this with some light cord that pulled my legs apart and tethered them to the corners of the bed.  My arms she left, for some perverse reason – I could never figure her out. 

She left me with a damned vibrator wedged in my pussy, taped to a broom handle that was in turn taped to the rail at the foot of the bed. 

“I’ll show Warren in when he arrives,”  Mary said.  “Did I say he was due this afternoon?” 

“If farferoon? U fed a arfower!”  What a liar! 

“I lied,” she said simply, closing the door behind her. 

“Aireeee!” I yelled after her, but it was really more a plaintive protest than a yell.  I was conscious of the sandbag over the back of the bed head and its potential for hurt to my nipples.