And yet even though the house had an unfamiliar quietness, and even though I put my unsettled state down to the uncertainty surrounding Jill and Leila, in the back of my mind I sensed there was something more.  I could not put my finger on it, but something was not right.  It was kind of like the feeling you have when you are being watched, or when people say someone walked over their grave.

This Sunday was a quiet day of it’s own accord.  Ditzy Lisa was the only client we had booked in, for four hours.  Perhaps the fact that it was a long weekend may have had something to do with the unusual lack of activity.  Shawnee was around, of course, doing what she was told and acting as a good slave should.  Mary had decided to take the day off and go exploring the Riverside Markets and meet some friends, which I thought was unusual, because I didn’t think she actually had any friends.  By that I don’t mean to be unkind to Mary, since few of us have much of a life outside Bilboes, although that said Mary can be a bit intimidating at times – as I had so recently experienced - and it’s not surprising she is somewhat of a loner.

That’s the funny thing about Bilboes.  We meet some interesting people and the girls all get on so well together.  Monica has strict rules about dating clients, however, so that particular avenue is a bit of a dead duck.  Since Steven came along, however, things have changed, and Steven is such an amiable guy it’s usually not too much of a problem to lure him into a girl’s bedroom if things are getting a little frustrated.  I think most of them have succeeded at some time or other - although of course Jill and Emma tend to be an item in themselves - under such circumstances.  All very discrete and all in the best possible taste, of course.  Not sure about Mary, though.  Kept herself very much to herself did Contrary Mary. 

Of course Monica wanted to get her claws into Steven in a very proprietary way once she found out his ‘abilities’, but he cleverly didn’t fall for that.  Oh sure, he had his way with her – or her with him – but he stopped short of becoming a one-woman man, which did surprise me.  And all things considered, the group still functioned as a whole – ain’t Nature wonderful!

Mary appeared as I ate breakfast and perused the excuse for a Sunday paper.  Tall and elegant, she wore a lovely burgundy dress that showed off her legs to perfection.  The day was just cool enough to warrant a black leather jacket which matched her high-heeled boots and shoulder bag.  Mary never did things by halves.

“I’m off, Trish.  Anything you want from the markets?”  Well, Mistress Mary was in a good mood this morning.  Maybe the period in the wardrobe with the vibrator down her trousers had loosened things up a bit.  “No.  Thanks anyway.  What have you done with Shawnee?”

“She’s weeding the garden in the car park., chained to a tree.  Got plenty to do for another half-hour, I guess, then needs to be relocated.  I let her keep her clothes on because of the sun.  She has a number two up her arse just to keep her from sitting down on the job.”

I laughed.  “Okay.  Have a good time.”

“I’m taking the beamer.  See you later.”

One thing about Monica, she did not mind us borrowing her BMW.  For the small number of times we needed it, it saved heaps over having to have cars of our own.  I settled down to read the funnies, without a doubt the most erudite and entertaining part of the paper.

*   *   *

I gave Shawnee the suggested half hour before I went out to check on her progress.  She was chained to a small palm tree with the chain locked to her collar, giving her a radius of about five metres to weed.  I stopped at the sight of her and smiled.  Mary had a devious sense of humour sometimes.  Shawnee was clothed all right – from head to toe in a black latex catsuit, complete with hood.  It was the typical style with slits at the crotch and over the breasts, and it was unusual for Shawnee to be allowed to wear such a garment.  Shawnee sported a chain about her waist with a connecting chain through her crotch to hold in the Number 2 plug that Mary had told me about.  What she had not mentioned, however, was the piece of three-millimetre wire protruding from the plug.  It was about a metre long, and exited turning down between her legs, following her crotch as far as her pussy, then doubling back to pass the plug and take off vertically like a tail.  At the tip was a small day-glow pink flag with the inscription “Slave At Work”.  As Shawnee moved, the tail wobbled about like an aerial.  It would surely have been uncomfortable, and the plug was obviously not coming out until the chain was unlocked.  There was clearly going to be no sitting down for her.

Mind you, after Shawnee’s performance in not releasing Mary or me from the way we had been left by Warren, she had paid dearly the previous day, being made to wear the battery powered zapper up her bum all day, together with nipple rings connected to the same zapper, which was activated by remote controls Mary and I carried.  It had been developed by a friend of Steven’s at his behest, and had been employed regularly as aversion therapy on a pair of twins we had recently had to educate into civilised behaviour.  In Shawnee’s instance it was a punishment and both Mary and I used it at will during the day.  No matter how well Shawnee performed, she would receive a zap simply if we felt like it.   In truth, the poor girl had been doomed no matter what she did, given our helpless state.  Had she freed us she would have been punished by Warren.  From our perspective it was simply a matter of proper form.  One could not have the staff disobeying One, no matter what One’s customers had told One’s staff to the contrary.  Obedience to One was paramount.

After she had performed a serious number of extra chores the previous day, all the while gagged and blinkered, she had spent the night in the smallest of the niches under the stairs, unable to stretch out.  I figured time outside should now be a pleasant change for her.

“Have you finished this bit, Shawnee?” 

Shawnee jumped, for she had not heard my approach on the asphalt.  She stayed on all fours, but nodded her head affirmatively, making an mmphing sound.  This told me Mary had inserted some form of ball into the girl’s mouth before locking the rubber hood on with a plastic tie through the brass eyelets around her neck.   I inspected the garden area.  Shawnee had done a good job, not that I wanted her to know that.

“What’s this?” I demanded, nudging a small piece of grass with my toe.  There was some more mmphing from under the rubber as Shawnee scrabbled to remove the offending weed.  I noticed then that she was wearing rubber mitts, obviously selected by Mary to make things just that much more of a struggle for her slave.  There was no denying Mary’s attention to detail. 

“Hmm.  All right.  It will do, I guess.”  I patted the rubber-clad head.  “Time to relocate you, I think.  And remember if you do a crap job Mary will have your ass – I mean your ‘arse’.”  Bloody Aussie language still caught me out sometimes.  “Either one will do for her.”  I unlocked the chain from the palm tree.  “Get up, girl – stop grovelling.”  Shawnee got to her knees and as she whined in complaint only then did I see the two large lead balls hanging on strings tied tightly to her nipples that protruded through the slits in the rubber.

“Oh ho,” I observed.  “Mistress Mary wants to keep you down where you belong – on your hands and knees.  Clever.  Well – pick them up, you can carry them with you, girl.”  Mary was good.  Half a metre of twine meant the balls could rest on the ground while Shawnee was in weed-pulling mode, but the moment she sat up to admire the view – ouch!  I towed Shawnee across to another palm tree near the front steps and locked the chain around it.  The big brown eyes stared at me from the eyeholes in the hood. 

“All right – don’t just stand there looking stupid.  You know what to do.  Get on with it!” 

Shawnee was back on all fours grappling with the mitts in pulling out the weeds.  I stood and watched her for a couple of minutes, before I got an uneasy feeling again.  I was sure someone was watching me.  I looked around, but all was perfect in the Bilboes Garden of Eden. 

Still trying to shake off the feeling of disquiet, I headed back inside to prepare for Ditzy Lisa.  We called her that because her mind seemed to leap off at tangents and you never knew what would come out of her mouth – when it was not stuffed with something, that is.  Lisa was also unfailingly cheerful, not to mention being a total pain slut.  For all her vivacity, Lisa could not get enough of the punishment we dished out.  She was such a good client we had special rates for her and often tried out new torments on her.  Lisa took it all in her stride, as we endeavoured to show her the error of her ways.  It was a losing battle, we all knew.

I went back to my room, deciding that today would be a nice leisurely session.  I could do a lot with Lisa – a lot to Lisa – in four hours.  I might even take a little longer.  I wanted to be comfortable for this session and selected some of my favourite clothes.  While we had a central storeroom with all manner of accessories, we also had our own private collections.  I decided today would be a white leather day, just for a change from the black that seemed so often to be de rigueur in Bilboes.  I had a nice outfit that comprised a halter-neck bra and a short skirt that zipped up the front.  The bra had cut-outs for my nipples which I figured was appropriate, since I had decided that Lisa was going to be earning her way today by providing me with a little servicing. The front-zipped skirt would also provide easy access for Lisa’s delicate tongue, especially since I wore nothing underneath.  I buckled on a wide black leather belt over the top for a touch of contrast, then pulled on white boots that laced up the front nearly to my knees.  The boots had three-inch heels – not excessive and sufficiently broad to make four hours in them quite comfortable.  I covered the outfit with a white leather raincoat, for it was still not exactly a summer temperature, and my nipples took objection to the fresh air.  Thus attired, I made my way back to the house to prepare for my client.

*   *   *

“Good morning Mistress,” said Lisa when I answered the door.  She was perhaps five centimetres taller than me, her blonde hair long and straight to her breasts.  It was a striking feature, and had been used many times to secure her in uncomfortable positions.  Today she was wearing a neat grey suit, black stockings and black high heels.  It all seemed completely out of character, for Lisa was totally Bohemian – given to long velvet skirts and other retro stuff from the seventies.

“Lisa, why are you dressed like that?” I asked.

“I’ve been to church, Mistress.”

“To church?”   Why would somebody as depraved as Lisa be going to church, I wondered?   “What for?  To pray for guidance?”

She smiled.  “Of course not, Mistress – to pray for the chickens.”

I sighed.  I didn’t want to go down this road. 

“Lisa, I can see why we have to keep you gagged so much of the time – you talk nothing but crap.”

“No, really Mistress, chickens have such a terrible existence in those breeding farms…”

“Lisa…”

“Yes Mistress?”

“Shut it.”

“Yes Mistress.”

 And as usual she was obscenely cheerful – despite the apparent plight of the chickens.

“And why are you so damned happy, Lisa, considering I’m going to spank the shit out of you?” I demanded, put out at this show of enthusiasm for life.

“I’m just glad to see you, Mistress.”

“Yeah, right.”  I frowned at her, doing my best to look disapproving, but I’m sure it made no difference whatsoever.  “Go downstairs and wait in the Rack Room.”  I opened the door under the stairs and she disappeared with a clatter of heels down the concrete steps. 

I gave her five minutes to look over the big wooden frame that encompassed the rack, and to perhaps consider in her mind the possibilities that existed for restraint of the human form within the myriad of pullies, hooks, eyebolts and beams.  And that was before we had even got to the rack stretching itself.

Lisa was turning the wheel at the end of the rack when I entered the room. She was watching how the ratchet system gradually pulled the ropes that would normally be attached to a pair of wrists, while the ankles were secured at the other end of the padded bench.  I took off my coat and hung it up.

“Have any of the other Mistresses ever put you on this?” I asked.

“No Mistress.  It looks fun.”

“You’re nuts, Lisa.  Totally, over-the-edge nuts.  Maybe you won’t think it’s so funny when you go home two inches taller and none of your clothes fit.  Then you’ll have to go and buy a completely new wardrobe, because the legs on your jeans and the sleeves on your shirts will be way too short.” 

Her eyes widened.  “Really?” 

“Not so funny all of a sudden, huh?”

“I always wanted to be taller,” she said to the room as if I wasn’t there.

“And Lisa, take off that ridiculous suit – it doesn’t become you at all.  You could be mistaken for an accountant.”  She began to undo the jacket.  I was lying, of course – she looked quite stunning in it.  And quite different from the hippie refugee image she normally portrayed.  The skirt dropped to the floor. 

“I can understand that Mistress.  I’ve often been mistaken.”

“What?  For an accountant?”

“No, I’ve just often been mistaken.”

I rolled my eyes.  Sometimes having a conversation with Lisa was like walking through a hall of mirrors. You never knew where you were going, where you were, and what was the point of it all.

“That’s enough!  Now the blouse, girl.  And hang them up on the peg over there.  I hope you’re not this sloppy at home!”

“Oh no Mistress!  I don’t normally wear clothes at home.” 

Uh-huh.  Why was I not surprised?  She stood smiling at me in her bra and pants, under which she wore a black garter belt holding up the black stockings.  I noticed they were seamed, giving her a curiously old fashioned, but nevertheless very attractive look.

“Lose the bra and pants, Lisa.  The rest may stay.  You look kind of dishy.” 

Did I just say ‘dishy?’

“Why thank you, Mistress.”

“I meant ‘slutty’.”

“Of course you did, Mistress.”  She flashed a shy smile and unhooked the bra.  Her breasts were well proportioned for her height, without being over-large.  The aureoles were large and pink while the nubs stood erect in the basement air conditioning.  Encircled by the black of her garter belt her blonde thatch looked soft and inviting.  Yes, I was going to have fun with slutty Lisa today.

I spread her stockinged legs on the long side of the rack, tying them off to the posts at each end.  She was stretched widely, feet perhaps a metre apart, facing the padded bench, away from the door.  I buckled a leather blindfold over the blonde hair.

“Bend over the platform,” I ordered, admiring the firm cheeks of her arse as she eased the top half of her body on to the leather padding.  Even the act of bending at the waist could be a strain with feet that wide apart, for the rotation on the hips was difficult for most people, but Lisa, I had discovered, had extraordinary flexibility.  Despite this ability, I had fixed a rope between her ankles, to ensure her feet, in the high heels, did not slip out from under her.

I let her wait a few minutes while I removed my gear from a carry bag I had filled in the storeroom.  I buckled on a strap-on dick – a ‘strappadictomy’ as we called it – undoing the zip to my skirt almost to the top, to let the flesh-coloured member poke out.

With the bare minimum of lubrication on it, I gripped her cheeks and lined it up with her butt hole.

“Arrgh!” exclaimed Lisa at the first thrust.  “It hurts!  Mistress!  Aren’t you going to gag me?”

“Not yet, Lisa dear.  I want to hear your thoughts on what’s going to happen to you.”  I could hear her breath coming faster and see her hands gripping the edge of the bench.  I was only half way in, prolonging the penetration, a little more in, a little bit out, deeper each time. Lisa was grunting and panting and groaning under her breath as I finally pushed all the way home.  She stiffened and let out a ragged sigh.  I felt the first stirring of a push back.

“None of that.  Don’t you dare even think about coming until I say you can!”

“But Mistress…”

“And don’t talk back or you’ll get the biggest inflatable gag I can find.  Give me your wrist back here – now the other one.”  I strapped her wrists together, palm to palm, using the equipment I had left on the bench beside her, then grabbed a red leather arm binder and slipped her hands into it.  It took me several minutes of lacing to get her arms securely bound up past her now-touching elbows.  All my tugging and manipulating was telegraphing down to my crotch where the dick was still buried in Lisa’s arse.  She was starting to wriggle and squirm in response to my own movements, all of which transferred to my own clit. 

I leaned over Lisa’s body to get the straps over her shoulders and under her armpits, giving her a final deep penetration in the process and stirring a few quite blissful feelings on my own side.  As I buckled the straps between her shoulder blades I humped her several times, eliciting little squeals – I’m not sure of pain or pleasure, but I know what I felt.  I eased my hands under her breasts and squeezed the rock hard nipples, drawing forth a groan.

“Oh-oh-oh-Mistress… oh, please don’t stop…” I felt her body thrust back against me and start to move rhythmically against the invader embedded in her butt hole.  That was when I withdrew abruptly, which really brought forth a protest.  I picked up a riding crop and let her have it three times on each cheek, quickly and hard.  She jerked and cried with each strike, but continued to grind her crotch into the bench padding.

“You slut,” I said. “Stand up!” I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her backwards until she was upright again.  Dammit, why did she get off so fast!  I was the one doing the controlling around here.  It should be me getting the best deal!  I undid the strap-on and climbed on to the bench, sitting in front of her and pulling her against me so that she could find my nipples through the cut-outs in my bra.  “Get to work there.  Maybe that will keep you quiet for a bit.” 

Lisa was pretty good, I’ll say that.  Her tongue worked magic on my nipples.  I thought they had been stiff at that point, but within seconds they had become like granite, and supersensitive into the bargain.  I gripped her by the shoulders and directed her questing but blind mouth as she sucked and nibbled.  As I felt the heat build up I bent her head down and wrapped my legs around it as she dived into my pussy, while I moved back far enough to grab an overhead rope to support myself as my rear found the opposite side of the bench. 

Things did not take long to reach the boil and within a minute I found myself bucking and squirming as she brought me to a climax.  I let out a long drawn out moan of pleasure, arched back as I was, straining on the rope above.  I let the feelings linger as the momentary flashes and spasms died away, before releasing my thigh grip on her head.

“You were pushing your luck before, Miss,” I told her sternly.  “Trying to sneak an orgasm in with no approval.  This time you will get gagged, because your punishment will be painful.”

“I thought I was goo—urgh!” she managed to say before I worked a large rubber ball on a harness behind her teeth.  I buckled the main strap behind her neck and under her hair, then did up the strap under her chin and the one between her eyes and over the top of her head.  Her breathing was heavy now as I ran my fingers through her pussy. 

“Wet as the Brisbane River,” I told her.  “You are totally incorrigible.  What are you?”

“Urn-horrihlul,” she said.

“Do you know what that means?”  She shook her head.  “Liar.”  I caught her left breast with the multi-tailed flogger.  “It means you’re a stroppy tart who can’t get enough of it.”  I slapped her right breast, prompting a yelp from behind the rubber ball.

I really wanted to give her backside a good hiding, so I tied the D-ring on the end of the arm binder to a rope over a pulley ratchet above, and gently began to pull.  With a series of clicks the rope passed over the pulley on what was a one-way street for dear Lisa.  Her arms were going up and would not come down until I said so. 

“How’s that, Lise?” I asked with mock concern.  “Tight enough?”

“Mmmph…” came the plaintive whine.  I made the pulley click a few more time, her arms were nearly vertical now, with Lisa almost bent double, her head down below the level of the bench and her shoulders against the side of it.  She was breathing fast and making little whimpering sounds. 

“That enough, eh?”  She was nodding as best she could and making affirmative mmphing noises.  I gave it two more clicks and smiled as her complaints went up an octave.  “I’m going to have some lunch Lisa.  You’ll be all right for an hour or so, yes?”  This sparked off a flood of muffled grunts and protests, which only succeeded in prompting a further flurry of cuts with the riding crop against the now magnificently taut buttocks.  She jerked as much as she could, which really wasn’t much under the circumstances.  As a parting gift I installed a vibrating butt plug up her arse.  It wasn’t a large device, so that she could expel it if she wanted to. 

“If I find this on the floor when you get back,” I hissed at her, “you will get twenty strokes of the cane and another half hour in that position, with an even bigger plug in your arse.  If you can get yourself off without losing your toy, then I might even give you a tongue job myself.  Would you like that, Lisa?”  She moaned an affirmative. 

That was when I thought I heard a noise from upstairs.  It wasn’t much, since sound doesn’t travel well through the basement soundproofing, but it was enough to make me pause and listen.  It sounded like the doorbell.  There it was again – faint but clear.  Ordinarily it’s not something we take much notice of when downstairs, since normally somebody else answers it.  But I was puzzled.  Anybody coming to the door would have to get through the gate at the end of the drive first, which required electronic release by someone in the house, for those that didn’t know the access code.  The only thing I could think of in this case was that Mary had come home early and had forgotten her keys or was too loaded with packages to find them.

I quickly clipped a couple of pegs on to Lisa’s nipples.

“Don’t fall asleep there, sweetie,” I said.  “I’ll be back shortly. Gotta get the door.”

I trotted up the stairs and into the reception area.  I never gave things a second thought as I opened the front door.