Of course the inevitable happened as I indulged in a little daydreaming and fantasy, as the warm fuzzies crept upwards from my crotch.  Eventually they overcame me and I slid into a happy climax, squirming against the pole impaling me and trying to move my restrained legs and body.  I could flail my arms a bit but that was no help.  The damned ball in my mouth made it hard to sound off, since I was caught between a full-blown exclamation which would have let the ball pop out, and having something that I truly could not get noises past. The self-imposition was in some ways the most frustrating part of it all. 

What was Warren like, I wondered?  I had spoken to him casually a few times, but mostly he was jealously protected by Monica, and she never discussed what went on behind closed doors with him.  Warren was a true Dom, I knew.  His relationship with his slave, Christina, was long standing, which I guess said something for him.  There must be something there that made for an enduring relationship, however bizarre a foundation it was laid on.  I wondered if Monica’s interest was purely the money side, because we all knew Warren was loaded and – in fairness to the guy – he did not mind parting with a bit of it where Bilboes was concerned.  Of course the downside of that was that anything went as far as Monica was concerned.  Whatever Warren wanted, he got, however bizarre or humiliating that might be to the participants. 

And I would get Mary for leaving me tied up all this time.  I was busy plotting my revenge when the door opened .  I caught sight of Warren only by straining to raise my head against the pressure of the brace, the cord and every other darned thing that held me in position. 

“Hmmm,” came the drawly voice. “Very nice.  Thank you Mary.  Tastefully presented.  Full marks for innovation.  You may go now.”  There was the sound of the door closing.  I guessed there would be few people who would dismiss Mary so casually and get away with it. 

“And how are we today, Trish?”  Warren’s face came into my limited line of vision.  I suppose you could say he was quite good looking, if you like your guys to fall into the super smooth category. Personally I’m a little more down to earth. Warren had dark wavy hair and a faint scar on his left temple.  He had a short, neatly trimmed moustache and was as always impeccably dressed.  Cream drill trousers and a black open-necked shirt - understated but elegant.  He wore a small gold crucifix around his neck, although I presumed he was merely indicating he was Catholic by birth rather than suggesting any form of religious philosophy.  Somehow the latter didn’t go with the role.  He looked over the back of the bed head. 

“Oh dear,” he murmured.  “You should be very careful to hang on to that ball if you don’t want any extra pain.  I assume you’re not masochistically inclined, Trish?” he added pleasantly. 

“Uh-uh,” I affirmed with as much vigour as I could manage in my restricted position. 

“I thought that would be the case.”  Good, I thought.  “You’re not much of a sub, are you.”  Damned right, Buster.  Gimme a whip in my hand any day. 

“But of course you have to experience pain to understand it, don’t you.”  He said this while walking slowly round the bed and looking at me in a way that I found most disconcerting. 

“Uh-uh,” I contradicted. 

“Yes, you do,” he said firmly, his eyes hardening at my disagreement. 

I felt the movement of the vibrator as he untaped the pole from the foot of the bed and moved it about.  He seemed quite deft with it, even with the pole attached.  My breathing started to speed up as he hit a couple of spots, then withdrew it and began to massage my clit with the thing.  Before I knew it I was into my countdown mode as things began to happen inside me and I found myself thrusting against the toy and squirming to get more pressure on those wonderful pleasure spots. 

But our Warren was not having any of that.  As I was getting ready for take-off, the instrument of pleasure was suddenly withdrawn, leaving me trembling in frustration.  I made a whining noise of complaint from behind the ball.  Nothing too specific, you understand, but the thought was there. 

“What was that?”  he asked sharply. 

“Uffig,” I said. 

“You think you’re in a position to demand pleasure?”  Dammit – he’d sucked me in. 

“Ngoh…” 

“No what?” 

“Ngoh Er…” 

“First I find out Monica is not here and nobody has bothered to tell me, and now I have to deal with a person who is in no position to demand anything and who clearly ought to know better.  I thought this place had a degree of professionalism, but you’re no better than that slut Christina whom I pay you to take care of while I take care of Monica.  I will obviously have to do some training, Madam.” 

He bent down and I thought I heard something that sounded like the click of briefcase clasps.  I found myself sweating, and only part of it was due to the warm up the vibrator had provoked.  Another part was due to the plastic holding my legs and arms rigid, and a third part was due to fear.  Warren reappeared from whatever he had been unpacking and undid the ropes securing the ends of the air casts to the foot of the bed.  He removed the neck brace and for a moment I thought I would be freed. 

Silly Trish - but it was at least a relief to bring my legs together.  They were warming up with the tightness of the pvc around the flesh and the fact that I couldn’t bend them was starting to annoy me.  I could still bend at the hips, though – a fact I soon discovered.  Warren attached two more cords to the ends of the arm splints and tied these to the bottom corners of the bed, replacing the leg ties.  There goes any arm waving, I thought. 

But that was not the half of it – as I suspected would somehow be the case.  Warren then threaded the leg ropes through the top bar of the bed head and began to haul.  My legs had nowhere to go but straight up, and they did this quite easily.  But he kept on pulling, and of course with that much leverage my legs kept going, but not so easily now.  I started to protest, but Warren merely hauled with his left hand and with his right hand under my butt, gave me a sharp lift upwards.  I found myself bent over, staring at my thighs while my body did a sharp vertical U-turn.  I gasped as he pulled my legs horizontal and tied the ropes off to the bed head.  I was now resting on my shoulders, with the corset constricting and compressing me even more.  Had I not had the ball in my mouth I would have been able to lick my nipples, and I could now clearly see the broad plastic clips with the serrated faces gripping my little pink tips as they protruded at the top of my bulging breasts. 

I was not at all happy, not least because breathing was made even more difficult and I was panting in shallow breaths.  I whined in complaint, which was about as thoughtless an action as I could possibly make.  It had still not got through to me that Warren did not suffer slaves to complain, for whatever reason.  In fact he was probably just looking for an excuse, and here was Trish, arse in the air and unable to move, begging for a good thrashing. 

I heard the slap of something that sounded suspiciously like a double paddle – a pair of flat, stiff leather straps about an inch and a half wide joined at the handle. I could not see much now, my thighs being the major items blocking my sight.  I was conscious of Warren standing to my right, near the foot of the bed.  I sensed a movement from him and felt a searing pain across my backside. 

“Nnnnph!” I cried, nearly letting go of the ball and just managing to clamp down in time.  Another thwack and more pain.  He set about tenderising the tautly stretched flesh of my buttocks in a methodical and expert manner, while I could only protest vehemently into the ball without letting it go.  With my feet tied to the top corners and my arms tethered to the bottom corners I could go nowhere.  The corset restricted my breathing, and hence my cries of complaint almost as much as the ball in my mouth. 

Warren was a master with the paddle.  I recognise expertise when I see – or rather feel – it, and this expertise was making itself known over every inch of my arse.  I struggled as best as I could, but it was hopeless.  I could only endure the beating until he decided to stop.  However when he finally decided my arse was glowing red enough, the cessation was not because he had expended enough energy, rather it was simply to change weapons, swapping the paddle for a riding crop.  I trembled as he stood off eyeing my cheeks as a target.  I shook my head and mmmphed plaintively, trying to catch his eye to plead for mercy. 

He began the crop session with a warm up – little flicks here and there with the flap on the tip of the crop, much like flicking someone with a towel.  I was jerking about even at this level, but when the first full-blooded blow landed I screamed into the ball and tried to pull the bed apart – or at least the air casts.  Warren delivered six strokes to each cheek, by which time I was crying and making incoherent begging sounds.  When he climbed on to the bed and stood above me, near the foot of the bed, looking down at me between my widely spread legs, my blood turned cold at how exposed I was.  He laid the tip of the crop on my pussy and I shook my head again, desperately mmmphing for him not to do it.  The blow was fast and brutal.  I screwed my eyes shut and howled into the gag, making a long nasal keening that turned into a series of short uh-uh-uh sounds as I fought for breath. 

I opened my eyes from the red haze of pain to find Warren had got down from the bed.  He was now scrutinising the large linen chest that stood at the foot of the bed.  It was about a metre long by half a metre high and wide, and was made of sandalwood.  He lifted it easily by the handles on each end and placed it on the bed where he had just been standing.  Through the tears and sniffles I wondered what he was doing.  He positioned the box so it was central on the bed, running lengthways, with one end nestled against my back.  I had no idea where this was going as he disappeared from my field of vision until he returned, naked.  That was when I started to get the picture. 

The most significant part of the picture was Warren’s erection, which had to be one of the larger ones I had come across in my time in the business.  Maybe this was why Monica was keeping him to herself.  Did she get the whipping each time as well, I wondered?  And what did he intend to do now?  I was not exactly in the most conventional of positions for intercourse. 

Warren sat astride the box and played with my pussy, letting his fingers rove intimately through the tender flesh.  He produced a vibrator, which began its deadly work in a way I would not have thought possible just a few minutes ago.  Despite the bruising and soreness, the nerve endings were functioning even more so in response to the stimulation.  As I began to squirm and try to thrust against the invader (a pretty difficult task under the circumstances) he abruptly removed it and climbed over my legs so that he knelt astride my body with his back to me.  I saw it all at that point – metaphorically, that is.  The reason for the linen chest was made plain as he leaned forward to rest his arms on it and his great member found its way to the entrance of my front passage.  As he thrust into me with his dick I groaned behind the ball.  It was a groan of pleasure touched with pain, for my poor pussy was cramped and confined by my position, and having something this big buried in it seemed to heighten the sensation of both good and bad. 

There was no stopping Warren at this point, nor did I complain – as such.  Oh I was still making plenty of noise but it was of a different sort.  I came once, nearly losing the ball in the process, but Warren was just getting into his stride.  This was why Monica kept things close to her chest!  I sensed Warren speeding up as he pumped back and forth and likewise felt myself rising to new heights.  As I reached the top and was ready to take flight, Warren plunged the vibrator into my butt hole at the same time as he climaxed, driving real and artificial into my holes with a force that made me forget myself for that vital moment and let forth a cry.  It was a cry driven by many things – ecstasy, unbearable fullness, delight, whatever.  But it was also one of dismay and pain, for at that moment I let loose my howl of orgasm, the ball popped out of my mouth and a terrible pain seared through my nipples as the load of the sandbag behind the headboard transferred to the two cords hooked into the clips. 

“Aaargh!” I screamed.  “Oh Warren – Sir!  Pleaseplease take them off!  Ohgodohgod it hurts awfully!” 

I am not normally quite such a wuss, but the pain had caught me by surprise with my guard down.  There is a huge difference between having a clip or two positioned on a nipple, and a totally unexpected load coming on the aforementioned clip when you are at your most vulnerable. 

I continued to sound off until Warren had spent himself inside of me and had dealt me a hard slap with his hand on each cheek.  That merely made me snivel and whimper instead.  All in all it was a pretty humiliating performance. 

Warren finally dismounted and wrapped a towel around his waist.  Without saying a word he produced a ball gag and stuffed it in my mouth, buckling the strap tightly behind my head.  Only then did he unhook the cords from the clips, while leaving the latter in place.  Tears were streaming out of the corners of my eyes by this time, but I was just grateful to have the pain decrease from my tormented nips.  He removed the linen chest and untied my legs, allowing me to flop back to a prone position.  Release – such as it was – had never seemed so good.  I was exhausted, my body streaming with sweat.  I was barely conscious of the words he said as he disappeared out the door. 

“I’ll be back in a little while.  When Mary told me what she had done to you, I bet her that I could make you release the ball of your own volition.  Now she owes me.  Ciao.” 

*   *   * 

Warren returned maybe an hour later.  I had almost dozed off, despite the clips still attached to my nipples.  What with the spanking, the screwing, the exertion and confinement I was mentally and physically drained.  My body ached and throbbed but I still had a smile on my face – well, I would have, had the ball gag not been strapped in place.  That Warren was quite something.  Take away his mean streak and I could see why Monica kept mum about him. 

Warren retrieved his clothes and showered in the ensuite with barely an acknowledgement of me, still tied helplessly if not stringently, to the bed.  He may have been pretty damned good in the sack, but he could sure have done with a niceness transplant.  When he reappeared, he again spoke little as he undid the ties to the ends of my arms, before picking me up and depositing me face down on the floor.  I squealed as I pressed down on the nipple clips, moaning in pain through the rubber ball. 

“There,” he said off-handedly.  “I’m going into town for a long lunch and a business meeting.  You may wish to help Mary out – she’s in one of the other bedrooms.  Suffice to say, she won’t  be able to help you.  I’ll be back mid-afternoon to collect Christina.  Have a nice day.” 

Bastard!  Bastardbastardbastard! I thought.  How the hell was I going to get free, or even get to Mary, wherever she was?  After somewhat of a struggle I managed to roll over on to my back, panting through my nose from the exertion of even that small feat.  I experimented with trying to move, finding myself limited to kind of star-jumps on the floor, like a turtle pulling itself along.  Except that turtle-motion worked, and Trish-motion didn’t.  The floor was thickly carpeted and I could not get enough purchase to move my body.  I fumed and thought terrible things about the man who had done this to me.  And what had he done to Mary?  How dare he leave us helpless in the house like this?  Didn’t he know about our safety rules? 

I experimented further, and finally worked out that I could manage a small degree of forward movement by arching my body and wriggling my buttocks.  It was slow and tedious, not to mention painful, thanks to the paddling  and whipping I had experienced at Warren’s hands. 

I struggled out into the hallway beside the stairwell and painstakingly squirmed along to the next bedroom.  The door was open. 

“Er-hee?” I mumbled incomprehensibly.  “Urh?”  There was no answer.  I could see no sign of Mary and concluded that she was not in there, turning to move down to the next doorway.  That was when I realised I had an audience.  It was Shawnee, standing at the top of the stairs. 

“Errrggh!” I shouted at her.  What was the matter with the stupid girl?  She was naked except for a long pvc hobble skirt down to her ankles.  Her wrists were handcuffed but for a change she was not gagged. 

“Un-oo ee!” I demanded. 

“I’m sorry, Mistress, but I have orders from Master Warren not to release you or Mistress Mary unless you’re in severe distress and I was watching you and Mistress Mary on the closed circuit TV from the basement, but there’s no camera in the hallway, so I came up to make sure you were okay, but you are, and I can’t help you, or Master Warren will know when he sees the tape.”  It all gushed out at ninety miles an hour, as was usual with Shawnee, which was why we plugged her mouth on a regular basis.  “Mistress Mary is in the next bedroom,” she finished. 

Damn.  I mmphed as ferociously as I could at Shawnee, whose eyes widened in alarm as I tried to explain what I would do to her when I got free, but evidently Warren’s threats were more graphic than mine, although mine might prove to be more real.  She looked close to tears. 

“I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!” she pleaded.  “I didn’t know what to do!  You can make it to the next room, can’t you?” 

I heaved a resigned sigh behind the gag and arched my back again to move a few more inches along the carpet. 

By the time I arrived at the next bedroom I was snorting like a pig, with sweat popping from every pore. 

“Air-ee?”  I demanded.  It was as much her fault that I had to go through this ordeal. 

“Uhhh.”  The voice came from the far side of the room, beyond the bed.  I squirmed my way around until I could see what Warren had done to Mary. 

She was secured in the walk-in wardrobe, her wrists cuffed together and tied to the clothes rail above her.  Her ankles had been bound to her thighs and the wrist bond held her upright on the points of her knees.  It was a very nasty tie, made only less so by the fact that she still had her black leather pants on to protect her knees and where the coils of white sashcord bit into her thighs and ankles. 

She also still wore the pvc vest, although this was now unzipped, exposing her breasts.  Mary’s breasts were not large but were firm and nicely proportioned.  At that moment they each sported a silver clip with its jaws firmly embedded in the nipple.  Linking the clips was a silver chain, that joined one to the other via an eyebolt protruding from the white ball gag stuffed and strapped in place in Mary’s mouth.  Her chin was down on her chest, the chain preventing any upward movement without major nipple pain.  The final piece de resistance from Warren was the butterfly vibrator stuffed down the front of Mary’s leather pants.  This was held firmly in place by a waist rope that converted to a crotch rope, being pulled up behind her and attached to the overhead rail.  Mary was really in the shit.  Her raven hair with the blonde streak was plastered down on her head and beads of perspiration ran down her cheeks and down on to her breasts.  I could see her body shaking from the strain – or was it from the incessant vibrations that rose up from her crotch?  So perished all those who lost a bet with Warren.  Idly I wondered what would have happened if she’d won.  Probably the same thing, I decided. 

I humped my way closer, not clear how on earth either of us could free the other.  Shawnee appeared in the door behind me.  Mary glared at her and made bizarre noises behind the ball, although there was no doubting their intent. 

“I just told Mistress Trish that I wasn’t allowed to set you free or else I’d be punished really really badly and so would you and Mistress Trish and Monica and everybody!” wailed Shawnee, close to tears.  Poor Shawnee.  She was going to cop it whatever happened. 

I pondered on our plight.  Clearly I wasn’t going to get much help from Shawnee.  The only way I could see of freeing either of us lay with Mary’s hands.  Somehow I had to get one of the air casts deflated.  To do this I had to reach Mary’s fingers. 

I manoeuvred myself until I was parallel with the wardrobe, then bracing my arms against the floor I hoisted my legs high and over my head, in much the same way that Warren had bound me previously, except that this time I tried to keep one leg vertical as I hoisted myself up on my shoulders.  Wish you hadn’t put the casts on me now, Mary? I thought with just a hint of vindictiveness. 

I waved my leg as close to Mary’s fingers as I could, finally making contact, but I lost my balance and was forced to drop down again.  It took three goes before Mary finally managed to unscrew the air valve on the right cast.  I collapsed from the effort, lying there and letting my heart rate settle down.  I could once again feel my leg against the floor, and with this advantage I managed to claw myself on to a sitting position on the bed, from which I could hop to the bound figure semi-suspended in the open wardrobe.  Now it was easy to get an arm cast deflated and from there I could divest myself of the remainder and remove the ball from my mouth. 

“Shawnee!  Go fetch my mobile phone!” I snapped.  “Now!” 

She scurried away, as much as the taut skirt let her, while I sat, exhausted, on the bed. 

“Urrgh!” Mary whined. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I said dismissively, waving her complaint away as being not worth bothering about.  “You set me up with Warren,” I told her evenly.  “Now look what’s happened to you.  Too bad, huh?  How long did you leave me to my own devices today?  I think I should double that.” 

“Nnnnnh!”  Mary shook her head then screwed up her eyes at the pain it brought to her nipples.  I knelt in front of her and worked the butterfly vibrator down further inside her pants, adding to the stimulation with my fingers.  Mary closed her eyes and moaned softly, this time from something other than the pain in her breasts.  Abruptly I stood up and returned to the first bedroom, site of my own bondage predicament.  I wondered what else Mary had lined up for me that she hadn’t used.  Monica had evidently been into the medical equipment purchasing before she left and I was sure she would have a few other things that might be useful.  I was not wrong.  Delighted with my find I returned to the helpless Mary in the wardrobe keeping my discoveries wrapped in a small towel. 

“Poor Mary,” I cooed.  “Are those nasty clips hurting you, dear?”  Mary whimpered.  “Nod if that’s a yes,” I persisted.  Reluctantly Mary nodded, the clips tugging her nipples up and down.  I leaned around behind her and undid the buckle of the gag, prising it out from behind her mouth along with a runnel of drool. 

“Oh, Jesus!” she gasped.  “Please – take those damned clips off – shit they hurt!” 

“Oh really?  I know exactly what you mean, sweetie.” 

“Look, don’t piss about Trish – let me go.  I don’t think I could stand another orgasm like this.” 

“Oh?  Getting just a little wet down below, are we?” 

“Trish!  Just do it!” 

“Excuse me, Miss.  I don’t think you’re in any position to be demanding things, particularly after what you did to me.”  Mary was at once contrite – or apparently so. 

“I’m sorry Trish.  Please.” 

“Remember that bag of sand over the bed head?  That was the cause of it all, wasn’t it.”  I let the gag and strap fall from my hand.  Still attached by the chain it swung on the clips, twisting them to hang in the opposite direction.  Mary cried out and screwed up her eyes again, muttering profanities under her breath.  It would be just too much to get Mary to  beg. 

Shawnee appeared as I finally removed the clips.  Mary hung her head and panted, her breasts heaving from the effort.  She was not expecting my next move. 

“Open wide,” I said. 

“What the - !”  That was as far as she got as I slipped the chromed bars of the medical jaw brace between her lips. 

“This is a whitehead gag, in case you didn’t know,”  I told Mary.  “Yes, Monica has finally got one.”  The device was fiendish in its simplicity, with two horizontal bars running parallel with the lips, with a small intrusion that clipped under the front upper and lower teeth.  The bars could then be parted on a ratchet system, opening the jaw with them.  This I did, after I had buckled the apparatus in place behind her neck. 

“Gaargh!” said Mary as I clicked it open a further notch. 

“Shawnee, dial up Monica for me.  Quickdial 1.” 

“Ngoh!” squawked Mary, for the first time close to panic.  “Eeese, ngoh, Ish!” 

“Hullo?  Monica?  No, it’s Shawnee.  Mistress Trish wants to talk to you.” 
“Hi Mon.  Where are you?  Really?  Well, Warren’s paid a visit.  I’ve just recovered from it, Mary’s in the process.  Hold on – she has something to say to you…”  At this point I whipped out one of the scissor clamps from where I had secreted it in the towel.  Like a pair of scissors with slightly angled blades and flat tweezer-like ends, the clamp was evidently used for cutting off blood supply in veins and arteries – or so I understood.  With a minor reduction in pressure it could do the same on a nipple, and that was exactly where I hung the first clamp. 

“Aaaargh!  Ache id ough!  Eeese!  Ezuz!” 

“That was Mary saying hello, Monica,” I said, fishing out the other clamp and settling it to grip the other nipple, despite her protests and attempts to pull away.  “We’re playing doctors and nurses.  The whitehead and forcep clamps work really well.  What?  Well she started it!  And your friend wasn’t above chiming in.  He is very well built, Mon.  Quite the stud, if a little lacking in sense of humour.”  I held the phone away from my ear at that point.  Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.  “Okay Mon, calm down.  Sure, I’ll let her go.  Hello?” 

“Monica says hi,” I told the whining figure, jaws stretched and drool sliding down her chin. 

“Shawnee!  Go and fetch the camera!” 

“Ngooooohhh….!”