“And whose are these car keys?”  I asked, flourishing a set of BMW keys I had found in the bedroom.

“No – no, you can’t use them!  The car is not ours.  It belongs to our boss!”  Serina’s tears began again.

“Where is it?” I demanded.

“Out the back, but you can’t use it!  I’ll get into terrible trouble!  We’re only minding it…”

“You’re already in pretty deep shit,” Monica said acidly.  “What’s another wheelbarrow load?”

I grabbed an umbrella and found the car in a rundown garage about fifty metres away.  It was a silver 523 – veerrry nice, thank you.

“We should start as soon as possible,” I told the girls when I returned.

“Why not tomorrow morning?  It’s getting late,” said Emma.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” I said. “We have to trek through a country park.  You know how crowded it gets on the weekend.”

“In this weather?”  Monica queried.

“Yeah, even in the typhoons the lunatic Gweilo surfies come out to ride the big waves.  And I’m assuming you want to take madam here with us?”  I gestured at Serina, now trembling in her ropes.

“Damned right,” said Monica.

“Then we don’t want her bumping into people.  And I’d rather arrive at night than in the daytime.  We’d have to hide up for the best part of a day.”

“Okay, you’ve convinced me,” she agreed.  “Let’s get ready.”

We did a quick check list of what we could find.  It was going to be a wet and wild trek, I reckoned, with a not very welcoming committee at the other end.  I found a backpack and loaded it with a couple of torches, matches, some dry clothes and food.  Monica took a small day pack and a selection of bondage gear, plus the Tupperware box.

“Umbrellas?” asked Monica, pointing to one stashed behind the door.

“Waste of space in this wind,” I said.  “And it’s going to get worse.”  I turned on the television.  The small icon showing Signal No 3 was displayed in the corner of the program showing.  A message tracked across the bottom of the picture indicating Signal 8 was imminent.  The signals were a colonial hangover from the days when visual signals were hoisted at the Kowloon Port Office to indicate the onset of a typhoon.  The maximum was a 10; I had experienced a 9 once, which had been pretty spectacular.  At Signal 8 planes were diverted, ferries stopped and people with any sense stayed off the streets where flying rogue signs and bits of shanties were prone to make life decidedly dodgy.  Winds in a Signal 8 were likely to be above 120 kilometres an hour.

“Better off with a good windjacket – preferably waterproof.  I know it’s hot and sticky now, but that wind and rain will cool you off after an hour in it.”

The girls fossicked in the bedrooms.  Monica wanted something loose that she could put over the top of Serina.  She found a raincoat, complete with hood that fitted the bill, but after that there was not much else in Serina’s wardobe.  I had found a goretex jacket that belonged to Tiger Tai which would suit.  When I finished packing the backpack, I turned to find Monica and Emma in  black rubber catsuits.

“You are kidding me!” I exclaimed.

“No.  Why not?  Just like a wetsuit.  Sheds water, keeps you warm.  Windproof…” 

I shook my head in disbelief.  Maybe she was right.  “We may be walking for a few hours…”

“We’ll manage,” she said firmly.  “Won’t we Em?”

“Sure.  I still wish this chick had tits.”  Both girls had left the front zippers undone to give themselves more room around the boobs.  It was an impressive sight.  This had to be the sexiest expedition ever going into the country park.

“Put something over the top, anyway,” I suggested.  “Much as I hate to see you cover up, you will need it.  Trust me.”

We were almost ready when Monica took me aside and opened her daypack, taking out the Tupperware box and a reel of sewing thread.

“Steve,” she asked innocently, “reckon you could tie a thread around a cockie without cutting it in half?” 

I looked at her, then saw where she was going.  As she held the creature in the chopsticks, I wrapped a couple of turns around the insect and tied off the thread.  Monica broke the thread at about a metre and tied the other end to an evil-looking chrome nipple clip.  We repeated the process with a second cockie and clip.

“Go and get the car, Steve.  I have a final point to make with that chick in there.”

The beamer was idling outside the back gate when Monica and Emma appeared.  They wore lycra tops over the catsuits, which was a pretty good idea, supplemented with nylon jackets.  Emma carried a black garbage bag which I presumed contained some more clothes.  Between them was the naked Serina, her gag again strapped firmly in place, her hands bound behind her.  She now wore a cord around her waist complete with a crotch rope.  I had the feeling that it was there for a purpose. 

Monica signalled for me to open the boot.  I popped it and got out to help with our prisoner.  Monica handed me a length of rope which I used to bind Serina’s ankles, before hefting her into the boot face down.  Monica quickly used the tail of the ankle ropes to secure Serina’s ankles to her wrists, then rolled her on to her side.

“Serina, we’re here because of what has happened to two friends of ours.  Two.  That’s one, two.  Count them and remember,” she said, clipping a nipple clap to each of Serina’s brown nubs.  Serina squealed and mmphed behind the gag, but her reaction was nothing compared to when Monica dangled the two ends of the threads with their wriggling cockroaches near her face.  Serina’s eyes widened and she shook her head desperately, trying to squirm away.  Monica tossed the cockies on top of her and slammed the boot.

“You’re evil,” I said to her as we started off.  “But in the nicest possible way, of course.” 

She smiled.  “She’s also wearing the largest butt plug I could find.”

*   *   *

“You have got a Hong Kong licence, I suppose?” Monica asked when we were on the way.

“Not any more.”

“Emma?”

“Not me.”

“Oh great.  International licence out of the question? “

“Didn’t have a lot of notice,” I reminded her.

“Terrific.  Unlicensed driver – that’s all I need.”

“Might I remind you that we’re driving a car that doesn’t belong to us?  It’s either stolen or belongs to the local triad snakehead.  We have a bound and gagged woman in the boot and we’re about to stir up the rest of the triad team.  Isn’t the licence issue a little academic?”

“Mmm.  Maybe you’re right…”

It was getting towards three o’clock when we ran out of road at the parking spot in the country park.  Predictably we had the place to ourselves, for the wind had got up and the rain was bucketing down.  This was going to be a jolly fun outing, I reckoned.

I popped the boot and gazed at the wide-eyed picture of Serina.  Monica untied the link rope and her ankles and together we hoisted her out.  The two crushed cockroaches dangled from the clips.  Monica ignored them and draped the raincoat around Serina’s shoulders then began doing up the buttons.  An agitated Serina began mmphing through the gag, presumably protesting at the clips she still wore and the likelihood that they were going to stay there for some time.

Monica was not in the mood.  “Shut it, sister,” she said, tugging the belt tight about Serina’s waist, then putting a pair of sneakers on her feet. She pulled the hood up over Serina’s head, buttoning the collar under her throat then pulling the hood drawstring tight so that only a little of the gag strap and the rubber ball was visible. “I ought to make you go barefoot, but it would slow us down too much.  Count yourself lucky.”

We set out along a wide gravelled path as the wind tore at the trees around us.  For much of the first hour we wove in and out of patches of trees interspersed with open stretches along the ridgeline.  Here we took the full force of the wind which was driving the rain almost horizontally from the south.  It was cold and miserable, to say the least.  Serina led the way, prodded by Monica with a sharp stick the moment she slowed down.  I followed behind Emma, at least enjoying the view of the rubber-clad legs in my immediate field of vision and rather wishing I had something to protect my own legs from the driving rain.  We stopped once in the lee of some rocks to share a couple of chocolate bars and some fruit before pushing on. 

At length the track deteriorated into a narrow beaten path through more overgrown country.  The trees now sheltered us to some extent, but slapped our legs and bodies with their wildly waving branches.  It was also getting dark.

Monica halted us, grabbing the back of Serina’s coat.

“How much further?” she demanded, turning her captive to face the rest of us. “One hour?”  Serina shook her head miserably. “More?”  A nod.  “Two hours?”  A shake. 

I looked at my watch.  “It’ll be dark when we get there. Let’s keep moving.”

“Yes,” said Monica.  “How’s that nasty butt plug dear?  Still uncomfortable?”  A dejected nod from Serina.  “Good.  And your poor nipples?  Still sore and hurting?”  Another nod.  “Excellent.  Think about those things next time you get a helpless victim in your sights, now get going you little shit!”

*   *   *

We were moving by torchlight with Monica in the lead when she stopped suddenly, making us cannon into each other like a bunch of dominoes.  Our focus had shrunk to the rain-streaked beams around our feet following the narrow path in a world of blackness.  We could have been walking along the edge of a cliff for all we knew, except that we kept getting slapped in the face by wet branches.  The wind was howling in our ears, shaking the foliage in an unceasing racket that made it difficult to communicate other than at point blank range. 

“There’s a light up ahead,” Monica shouted.  “Is this it?” she demanded of Serina.  The gagged face nodded, ghostly in the light of the torch, then suddenly turned and began to run towards the light.  I overtook her in a couple of strides and crash tackled her.  She landed in a muddy puddle, her cry through the gag audible above the wind.  Those nipple clips must really be hurting, I thought, hauling her to her feet.  Monica already had a length of rope out of her day pack and bound Serina tightly to a handy tree.  I had to admire the way she did it – tying her facing the trunk, the rope circling the tree and being tied elbow to elbow.  Those clips must be grinding into the bark, I knew.  Another score for Leila, I thought grimly.

We left Serina there in the darkness, whining into the tree trunk, while the three of us ventured towards the light.  Serina had described the houses – the fact that she and Tiger were staying in the first, a girl called Kuan in the second and Leila in the third.  As we got closer, I realised the light actually came from the third, whereas the first two were dark.  I took the lead and crept up to the door of the third house.  In fact there was so much noise from the wind and rain any attempt at stealth was superfluous.  I peered through a gap between the doorframe and the brick wall.  By the light of an oil lamp on the floor, my eyes were immediately drawn to the red dress of Leila. She was on her knees, a bamboo pole across her back over which her elbows were hooked and her wrists bound across her stomach.  A man stood over her, facing partly away from the door.  His trousers were around his ankles and his hands gripped Leila by the hair.  I could not see her face but I could tell from the movements of the pair what was going on.

I backed away and told the girls what was happening.  Monica gave me a pair of handcuffs from her daypack that she had picked up from Serina’s collection.  The man was big and would put up a struggle.  We quickly decided on a strategy and returned to the door, which I eased open a fraction.
It was only three paces from the door to the man and we were on top of him before he knew what was happening.  Emma wrapped herself around his legs as everyone crashed to the ground, Leila included, in a welter of flailing limbs. 
I got one cuff on his wrist in a moment while the other arm was pinioned beneath him.  Monica pulled her daypack over his head as he fought to extricate himself from our clutches.  I held on grimly to the cuffed wrist, rachetting it tighter in an effort to concentrate his mind as he swore in what I presumed was rather colourful and colloquial Cantonese, no doubt casting aspersions on all our honourable ancestors.  We, meanwhile were shouting and cursing and carrying on equally volubly.  I tugged his cuffed right wrist backwards, rolling him on to his stomach and throwing myself on top while Monica banged his covered head on the floor.  He worked his left arm free but I grabbed it and with a yank pulled it behind him with some help from Monica, just far enough to get the other cuff on.  Emma pulled out the belt from his trousers and quickly secured his ankles after removing his trousers.  It was a clever move, for there is nothing like nakedness to instil a sense of defencelessness in a man.  Having your wobbly bits swinging in fresh air creates a specific vulnerability, which I could vouch for first hand from various experiences at the hands of the girls during my early days at Bilboes.

When I finally caught my breath Monica was already helping Leila.  She had been gagged with a ring gag made from bamboo and tied in place – enough to allow oral sex while keeping the jaw locked open in a strained position.  I left the girls to their reunion and went back outside to fetch Serina.  The pale rain-coated figure bound to the tree looked lost and very unhappy.  I untied her elbows and dragged her back to the house.

“This is what your boyfriend gets up to when you’re not around,” I hissed at her as I pushed her through the doorway, to the sight of the handcuffed figure naked from the waist down.

Leila was free by now and I was treated to a wonderful warm hug and lots of tears.  One down and one to go, I thought.

*   *   *

The wind howled and lashed us for most of the night.  Tiger and Serina were left in the third house, still bound but secured with an additional chain around their necks locked to the centre post.  We figured that they would get themselves relatively free before long, save for the chain and Tiger’s handcuffs, but that didn’t bother us.  We had talked to Kuan, who seemed delighted that Leila was now no longer a prisoner, although not a little nervous about her own fate.  Safe in the former Tiger/Serina residence, we settled down to wait out the passage of the typhoon. 

The house, although the same size as the room in which Leila had been imprisoned was fitted out with a double mattress and a small kerosene fridge and fluorescent light.  We did a lot of talking and there were more tears, and in the end we all curled up as best we could on the mattress, Monica and Leila sandwiched between me and Emma.  The girls had now discarded the tight rubber catsuits, much to their relief, for they complained of chafing in sensitive areas while admitting they had at least kept them warm.  The spare clothes we had toted in the garbage bag had been put to good use.

Shortly before midnight the wind died and the night became eerily quiet as the eye of the typhoon passed overhead.  Then, minutes later the gale began again, this time driving in from the north.  The rattling of slates and trees returned but I was so tired I drifted off to sleep again, snuggled into Monica’s back.

The morning saw more of the same, and although the wind had slackened somewhat, the rain continued bucketing down.  Monica quizzed Leila while Kuan put together breakfast for us.  Leila could shed no further light on Jillian’s whereabouts, nor could Kuan, other than confirming our understanding that she was in Macau.  When Monica, Emma and I visited Tiger and Serina in their cell, we got no further with them, either.  I suspected the relationship between the pair had taken a turn for the worse, firstly with Serina spilling the beans as to the location of Leila, and secondly catching Tiger pretty much in flagrante delicto with his prisoner.  To say the atmosphere was strained was somewhat of an understatement.  Both were sullen and uncommunicative, obviously intent on trying not to make matters worse.

We discussed the situation outside and Monica decided some persuasion was in order.  Monica and I stripped to our underwear and donned two waterproof jackets.  We would be outside long enough to get drenched.  There seemed no point in getting any more clothes soaked than necessary. 

We began with Tiger, taking him as he was, half naked, handcuffed and chained at the neck, and leading him outside to the middle of the three posts under the banyan tree.  Here we bound him at the waist to the post, his handcuffs trapped between his body and the post.  Serina was next, and before unchaining her, we crossed and bound her wrists tightly behind her.  She still wore the raincoat, but this was pulled open as we pushed her front on to the post, so she could stare at the back of Tiger’s head, with the post between them.  Monica stood in front of Tiger and undid his shirt, then clipped two wicked-looking serrated clips on his nipples.  Tiger winced and muttered some Cantonese imprecation under his breath.

“You think they hurt now, Mister – wait till you’ve worn them for a morning and had your girlfriend try to pull them off for most of that time.”

Attached to each clip was a length of twine which we pulled around the post, under Serina’s armpits and tied the two ends together between her shoulder blades, holding her snugly against the post.  Monica tied a slipknot in a further piece of twine and looped the noose over Tiger’s dick.  She took the long loose end and brought it round the post, round the back of Serina’s right thigh and then around the front of Tiger again, repeating the route around Serina’s left thigh and returning to the front of Tiger to tie another slipknot around his dick.  Serina was standing with her legs apart, and any attempt to close them would now produce rather unpleasant effects for her boyfriend.

Monica, her hair streaming water flourished a slim vibrator and two narrow butt plugs in front of the pair.  Tiger was the first to get it up the arse, followed by Serina.

“You’re lucky,” Monica told her with a false smile. “You get two.  Now let me explain the circumstances behind this little exercise.  I want to know an address in Macau where Jillian is.  When you have had enough of the cold and rain and wind out here, Tiger, or when you have had enough of your girlfriend pulling on your nips, you can evacuate your friend from your arse.  And let’s not forget she may just get a little excited and decide to enjoy herself at you expense.  Clamp you thighs together, Serina,” Monica ordered.  Sullenly Serina did as she was told and was rewarded with a gasp from Tiger and an expletive that we did not understand the exact translation of, but the gist was pretty easy to follow, as the twine tightened around her thighs, in turn tightening on his dick from two different directions.

“And when you’ve got your rocks off or have had enough, Serina, simply let one of your little toys fall out and you can come inside after I have heard what I want to know.”  Monica paused, then spoke with a hard edge to her voice.  “If, on the other hand, you let one of those devices fall out without a commitment to help me, the result will be very painful for both of you.  So you had better retain them until you are sure you have decided what you want to tell me.  Are we clear on this?”  There was silence from the prisoners.  “Good,” said Monica pushing her dripping hair away from her forehead.  “I will leave you to discuss this matter amongst yourselves.  Oh, and I reckon you might like to share these as well, since I think you’re a bit of a pain slut Serina, even if your boyfriend isn’t.”  With that statement, Monica pulled the front of Serina’s raincoat apart sufficiently to clip two plastic clothes pegs to the hard nubs that were Serina’s nipples, standing pert and erect as the rain coursed down them.

We returned to the house and stripped off.  We had long since got past any embarrassment at each other’s nakedness, although I endeavoured to maintain some propriety in the presence of Kuan, for I knew many Chinese to be quite prudish in such matters.  Monica, of course, was just Monica, disrobing with a nonchalance that few others would have got away with.  Her statuesque body still delighted me, even though I had seen it many times before, and had taken advantage of it as many times as she had done so to me.  Her breasts were firm and uplifted, the nipples hard and erect in the cold.  I could not help but notice Kuan looking at first shyly and then admiringly at this strong western woman who had descended on her world and who now seemed in the process of turning it upside down.

“I wonder what Serina and Tiger will be saying to each other,” Monica mused. 

“I reckon there’ll be one hell of an argument going on – at least when Serina has finished rubbing herself over that post,” said Emma, looking through the half-opened door at the prisoners tied to the post. 

“I think she’ll be making a rather painful point to Tiger,” I said.  “Anyone want to make a bet?  Who’ll crack first and how long?”

“Tiger  - two hours,” said Monica.

“Serina – an hour,” – this from Emma.

“Tiger.  Maybe an hour, “ said Leila.  “What about you, Steven?”

“Serina – fifteen minutes.”

“Really?”

“Sure.  It’s pretty damned cold and miserable out there.  A hundred bucks says I’m right.”

“You’re on!” was the chorus.  Kuan looked at us, bewildered by these mad foreigners.

After fifteen minutes I pulled on a still-soaking jacket and made my way out into the wind and rain again. 

“Just going for a leak,” I told them, given that such an errand meant a visit to the external outhouse.  My purpose was somewhat different, however.  I approached the prisoners from the rear, and saw that there was no sign of any device lying on the ground.  Tiger and Serina were still toughing it out, it seemed, with the stoicism that an Asian ancestry can instil.  They were not doing it quietly, however, with considerable Cantonese invective (or so I presumed)  flying back and forth.  Serina was obviously in the driving seat, able to make her point by leaning back and tugging on the clips gripping Tiger’s nipples, or else pulling her thighs together to tighten the twine around his dick.  There seemed no doubt she was reading him the riot act. 

I touched her on the shoulder.  She jumped, eliciting another cry from her fellow captive. 

“Hello Serina,” I said genially.

“Piss off, Gweilo,” she spat. 

“My my, we are in a mood,” I said easily.  “Enjoying the bracing weather, are we?  Fancy a few more hours here and a long recovery from pneumonia?  You could make it end a lot quicker, you know.”  She ignored me and studied the back of Tiger’s drenched head in front of her.  “Look, Serina, I really can’t be bothered with all this.  You must be cold.  Let’s button up your raincoat a little better.  And those pegs must be hurting.”  I removed them with a flourish.

“Aiyahh…” she breathed, shutting her eyes as the renewed pain hit her nipples. 

I did up the buttons and tightened the belt on her waist.  “As I said, I really don’t have time for this.  I’m going to enlist the help of some friends.  I am going to give my little friends the free run of your body – or at least the top half.  They can explore your breasts, running their little feet all over your skin.  And if that fails, you bitch,” I continued abruptly, in her face, I will personally insert them one by one up your arse and up your pussy so that your insides are squirming with these delightful creatures as they go exploring Serina’s interior.”  Serina went white as I brought the plastic box of cockroaches out from under the jacket.  I pulled the top off and quickly dropped one down the front of her coat. 

Serina screamed and jerked wildly, sparking more abuse from Tiger.  Fortunately we had roped them both to the post so that there was a limit to how far they could move, but even so, it must have been pretty painful for him.  There was a soft plop as Serina’s butt plug dropped on to the grass.

“I want an address, Serina,” I hissed, dropping another insect down her front.

“No, no, they’ll kill me…” she moaned.

“I’ll kill you if you don’t tell me what I want to know,” I said, with far more confidence than I felt.  There was another plop and the vibrator fell out.  I guessed it was from uncontrolled fear rather than from any desire to talk to me.  “That’s good, Serina.  Guess where your next visitor is going…” I reached beneath her coat and let my fingers slip into her pussy.  It was wet and slippery, and I suspected that Serina was just about ready to talk.  She gasped, and tears flowed down her cheeks. 

“No, no…” she sobbed, “please…”

“Open wide, Serina,” I said, getting on my knees behind her and forcing her feet apart.  “Here it comes.  Where would you like it?  Back door or front?”  I slid two fingers into her arse.  “I’ll just make a little room here…” Serina was twisting and jerking, trying to flail me with her bound hands, but they had been secured to the waist rope which bound her to the post. 

“No – aaghh!”  It was still my fingers in her butt hole, together with a tiny twig, but she was not to know that.  She screamed and then pleaded: “All right, all right don’t do that to me!  I’ll tell you what you want to know!”

*   *   *

“You girls owe me a hundred bucks each,” I announced.  “Jill is being held at 
the residence of Mr Wong in Rua de San Lourenco, South Macau.  I believe Kuan’s sister is there as well.”  That was a little bonus I had not expected, but I had followed my instinct and asked the question.  Serina, her arse ripe for a six-legged invasion, had blabbed all.

My announcement was greeted with the appropriate acclamation and a little grumble to the effect that I had cheated and influenced the prisoner to confess. 

“Any complaints, send them to the management,” I suggested, pointing to Monica.

“Yeah – it just cost the management a hundred bucks as well, remember,” she chided.  “But well done.  I didn’t expect the Spanish Inquisition…”

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!”  I affirmed.  “Nobody expects the cockroach inquisition, either.  But it worked.”

*   *   *

We elected to return late that afternoon.  We had discussed what to do next, now that we had a target.  Emma rang Stan on her mobile and brought him up to date.  We agreed that we had to take Serina to Macau, for she was our insurance policy and our knowledge source.  Tiger was another problem entirely, and we resolved to leave him behind at Serina’s house for a time, chained up with enough food and water for a week.  At the end of that time we would phone the police to come and claim him if nothing had changed to warrant a different plan.  We would also leave some detailed notes – along with some of the video tapes of Leila that we had found, as evidence for the police if and when they were called on.

Our biggest problem was how to get to Macau with an unwilling prisoner.  Emma discussed this with Uncle Stan who suggested we talk to an old friend of his, Baz Melbourne, who lived on a yacht in Sai Kung marina.  Baz was evidently an old colonial type who had been in Hong Kong since the sixties and who had had the odd disagreement with authority in his time.

It was gone noon and we had just had lunch, still listening to the wind and rain occasionally buffet the ancient house.  The wind had eased off a lot, however and the rain was almost down to a steady drizzle.  We were tidying up the remains of the food when Monica’s phone rang again. 

“Hello?  Who? Mary? Now what!”  Monica’s expression changed from surprise to puzzlement to shock as the room fell silent, watching her.  “Tell me – quickly!” she said tersely.  A pause.  “No!  Don’t do anything stupid!  Mary!  Listen to me!  Mary?  Hello?  Hello?”  She put down the phone.  “Shit.  Shitshitshit!”  She was angry, but then her face crumpled and she had the look of a lost little girl.

She looked at us and explained in a voice verging on tears.  “Wayne Bennelli’s back…  He got into Bilboes while Mary was out.  She thinks he’s taken Trish prisoner… And Lisa…  Mary’s hiding in the bushes in the garden – she says she’s going to stop him, and she’ll call back when it’s all over…” Then the tears rolled.  “Why did this have to happen now? I don’t think I can deal with this…”