It was a long time – maybe a couple of hours - before Megan returned.  We lay on the floor or sat leaning on the wall, still with our wrist and ankle cuffs locked.  When Megan did come back she had changed clothes and wore cut-off jeans and a tee-shirt.  By then we had emptied the tray and emptied ourselves as best we could after scrabbling about in high heels with chained wrists and ankles.  Megan carried with her three ball gags – two black and one white.  It did not take much to work out where these were going, and shortly we were all sporting the rubber balls with the straps locked behind our necks.

With Emma as clothed as much as she was evidently going to be, her ankle cuffs were unlocked and she was made to get on all fours and spread her legs, while Megan lubricated a chrome-plated butt plug and worked it into Emma’s rectum.  Emma squirmed and moaned as this was going on, for the plug was quite large and I empathised with the discomfort she was experiencing.  After some encouragement from Megan that saw Emma’s eyes widen as she suddenly gasped and made a small nasal cry, as the plug evidently slid home.  Emma was breathing as heavily as the tight corset would allow, her breasts heaving with the effort of accommodating the device, while Megan locked on the stainless steel belt that carried the little powerpack in the small of her back.  She connected the wires leading from the pack to the plug and fitted the thin steel crotch strap that also locked the butt plug in place.  This was one of the devices worn by the Kuragin Twins when they had been with us, having their behaviour modified. Megan, standing behind where Emma was still on all fours, picked up the remote and pressed the button. 

Emma squealed into the gag – her cry a mixture of surprise and pain.  Megan must have held the button for a couple of seconds, time enough for Emma to roll on to her side, her hands grasping at the crotch strap as she curled into the foetal position making “Urrgh!” noises of pain through her nose.

“Ex-celle-ennnt!”  Megan drew out the word, clearly delighted with her new toy.  “Leila – you’re next.  Get over here!”  Leila slid across the tiles with fear in her eyes, but got on her knees and allowed Megan to unlock her ankle cuffs and insert the plug.  Much as I hated to see Leila suffer, I was relieved because Megan had brought only two of the devices.  I wondered where the third one was and how much worse would be my undoubted fate... 

Leila, too, had to receive the jolt of electricity up her bum before Megan was satisfied that all was in order.  Leila rolled on the floor with tears in her eyes, snorting and mmming into the gag.  The pain was real, I knew.  Steven had explained that the device worked on the stun gun principle – a small current and a large resistance meant a large voltage.  It was the voltage that hurt but the current that did the damage in an electrocution, he had explained.  Large voltage you could cope with, large current could kill you.  I took his word for it.

Megan fastened three hobble chains between our ankle cuffs and ordered us to our feet.  Leila was still shaky and I leant her my arm as we made our way into the corridor and up the stairs, on to the back verandah where Portia was holding court.  Behind her stood Steven, dressed and apparently unrestrained – a fact which puzzled me – save for a heavy black collar about his neck.

Monica was there also, very much restrained - bound into a yoga position with her legs crossed, impaled on some sort of plug or dildo up her rear passage.  She was gagged and looked very uncomfortable sitting on the steel plate.  The worst thing was a double hook inserted in her nostrils, holding her head up towards the roof.  It must have imposed a terrible strain on her neck muscles as I knew from experience that any prolonged tension such as this took its toll.  The head likes to be either all the way back or all the way forward.  Halfway for any length of time is a painful option.  I was also shocked to see that her nipples had been pierced – something she said she had never wished for – and that they were now adorned with thick stainless steel rings.

At Megan’s direction we all knelt facing Portia, with Monica in front of us so that we were obliged to look at her wrists and elbows bound tightly behind her, half covering the mass of stripes on her back.  The implications of her predicament were not wasted on us. 

“What a delightful little assembly we have here,” Portia drawled, crossing her legs as she swivelled on her seat at the table.  “Let me tell you what is going to happen today.  Leila and Emma are going to be doing the housework.  The kitchen is a mess, the beds are unmade, there is vacuuming, floor scrubbing, washing and ironing to do, not to mention preparation of lunch and dinner.  And when all that is done you can work in the garden.”

As she went through our list of chores I wondered what had happened to Shawnee.

“And in case you’re wondering about your little rubber-encased slave, she is currently in a particularly stringent hogtie upstairs in Monica’s – that is my – bedroom.  I think she’s rather cute, and I intend to have some fun with her in due course.  I intend to have some fun with all of you at one stage or another,” she continued, treating us to a smile that while exposing perfect white teeth did nothing to reassure me that we would also enjoy the ‘fun’.

“Monica here has been taking in the morning sun and breathing deeply in her yoga position, chanting the mantra – or at least the ‘Om’ part of it.  At least I think that was what she was doing.”  Portia laughed maliciously.  “I am now going to let her help Steven, who will be installing an underground cable around this house.  Once it is activated, anybody who tried to cross it while wearing this –“ she held up a collar, “will receive a very nasty shock which may incapacitate them.”  The collar was an lethal looking thing with a box the size of a cigarette packet on the front of it and two prongs about two centimetres long projecting inside the collar.  “It’s intended for dogs, and is very effective in restraining them without fences and modifying their behaviour in cases of excessive barking.  It is adjustable for the proximity of the wire and the size of the animal being restrained.  I think it will prove very amusing.

“That will keep these two busy for quite a while.  Which leaves my darling slave Jillian.”  Portia stood up and walked over to me as I kept my head down and stared at the boards of the deck.  I watched the high heels of her boots pass by me and I knew she was standing behind me.  She stood there for maybe a minute, saying nothing.  I knew something was going to happen and could feel myself start to tremble in the awful expectation.  It came in the form of a sharp poke in my left buttock by something followed by a crack and a piercing pain that seemed to jolt the whole of my left side.  I screamed into the gag and fell over on my side, moaning with the pain that spread down my leg.  I struggled to get my breath back in part due to the gag but also the tightness of the corset.  For a brief moment I nearly fainted.

“That, my dear Jill was a little sampler.”  I turned my head from where I lay on the deck and looked up at her.  The red-clad Mistress of Evil held a two-pronged rod in her hand.  It was perhaps half a metre long and had a box-like grip at the top end.  “This is a cattle prod,” she told me.  “It is also a Jillian-prod, a Monica-prod or anything else I care to make it into.  If you misbehave it will be used on you.  It may also be used on your friends.  Rest assured you will be punished, and very painfully.  Imagine this on your tits along with those shocking plugs up you bum and pussy.  You’d be able to light up the room yourself.  So, do we all understand the situation now?  You will all do exactly as Megan and I say.  We are in total command here and you will obey instantly!  Is that clear to you all?”

“Uh-huh mmssts,” we affirmed fearfully through our gags.  Monica had had her back to me, but even she made noises of clear agreement.

“I didn’t hear you, Steven!” said Portia.  Moments later Steven doubled over gasping and I knew where the third electric plug had gone.  There was also a clink of chain and I saw that his ankles had been cuffed and hobbled.

“Yes Mistress!”  he panted.

“Good.  Megan – take the two house slaves and put them to work.  Oh yes – the two in the dungeon should have some food.”  She addressed her next statement to us. 

“Your friends Mary and Trish are going to begin earning their keep again – with two of Monica’s friends, Warren and Roger.  Good paying customers, I believe.  Oh yes, Monica, that made you sit up, didn’t it.  Your good friend Warren is not above keeping his options open.  I hope you didn’t expect customer loyalty here.  Warren doesn’t care who he gets to shaft – in whatever form that may take.  He and Roger will enjoy Mary and Trish.  They particularly like unwilling but experienced participants – something that makes your girls quite a valuable quantity.  Two masters and two mistress-cum-slaves.  What a fun little contest of wills that could be,” she smirked. “They are down in the dungeon at the moment awaiting our guests’ arrival. They were not saying much.  They were quite restrained, in fact.”  She laughed again at her wit.  “Leila and Emma – you may go.”

The pair scrambled to their feet and hurried inside with a faint clinking of chains, followed by Megan with the black remote sticking out of the back pocket of her cut-off jeans.  Portia turned to her remaining audience.

“Now, who shall we deal with next?  Monica?  You’ve been waiting so patiently for hours.  Perhaps we should attend to you.  Steven, you may untie Monica now.”

I eased myself painfully back into the kneeling position, not wanting to be accused of lying down on the job, with my head down and my locked cuffs resting on my knees.  Steven walked uneasily across to Monica, his hobble chain clinking softly.  His first act was to untie the string from the balcony rail and to gently remove the pronged hook from her nostrils.  Her head went slowly forward with an audible sigh of relief, the black hair falling around her face.  Steven knelt behind her and undid the terrible elbow ropes.  There were many turns and while they had been expertly applied clear of the main blood supply, between them and the multiple wrist ropes, they had constricted her enough such that her hands hand a noticeable bluish tinge.  As the ropes fell away they left deep red indentations in the pale flesh of Monica’s arms.  Then he turned his attention to her legs and ankles.  I could not see these, but I knew the interweaving of rope was complex and thorough, and it took Steven some time to undo the knots and pull each strand from between Monica’s limbs.

She remained almost unmoving, her arms now braced on the floor as she leaned back slightly to give him better access.  Slowly she unfolded her legs with a faint moan from behind the gag.

Megan reappeared at that point, obviously having put Leila and Emma to work. 

“Fetch the duck stuff, will you Megan, dear,” said Portia with a dry smile.  Megan grinned and went inside, to return with a black bundle.

“You may kneel, Monica.  I’m sure it will make a pleasant change for you.  Steven – you might as well do the same – next to Jillian.”

Monica slowly eased herself off the device attached to the steel plate.  I saw that it was a large rubber phallus and must have been quite a painful experience.  She could not suppress a muffled groan as the thing slipped out of her and her aching limbs were made to move again as she knelt in front of us facing the lady in red. 

Portia nodded to Megan who produced a roll of black duct tape from the bundle.  Bending Monica’s left arm at the elbow, she taped forearm to upper arm with the multiple turns of tape, making sure that the fingers were securely taped down, then repeated the process on the right arm.

“On your back,” Megan commanded.  Monica obeyed, awkwardly flopping on her side then rolling over on to her back.  Megan worked a pair of black latex pants over Monica’s legs, then helped her to her feet in order to pull them up to her waist.  They were tight and had a slit through the crotch for an obvious variety of purposes.  I wondered where on earth this was going, but knowing Portia I knew there would be a purpose and it would probably be both devious and humiliating.

The next item from the bundle was a black pvc raincoat.  It was maybe a size or two larger than Monica, but this was evidently necessary since Monica’s taped arms were thrust into the sleeves, the loose ends below the elbows being taped up under the upper part.  Megan now took an open-faced rubber hood and pulled it over Monica’s head, gag and all, positioning it to her satisfaction, then led Monica down the several steps to the back lawn.

“Stay!” she ordered and returned to the table to fetch the last of the outfit.  Poor Monica.  Humilating was not adequate for the description.  Megan buckled a black leather belt around Monica’s waist and hooked up a bungy strap as a crotch rope, running from the front belt buckle to the belt at the back.  Threaded on the strap were two dildos, which were inserted in Monica’s orifices, front and back.  Monica’s arse must have been sore enough from the last position.  Having another insert so soon was unnecessarily cruel, I thought, and with the stretchy strap they would slide in and out as the tension varied.  Portia had thought this one through. 

But the ignominy was not over.  Black rubber swim fins were put on Monica’s feet, and anybody who has tried to walk down the beach in these knows that they leave high heels for dead in terms of sheer awkwardness.  Megan took a two-metre length of thin chain and locked it to a leather cuff around Monica’s left ankle, then threaded it through a ring in Monica’s collar before locking it to a right ankle cuff, after forcing Monica into a squatting position.  The final humiliation was the Daffy Duck mask – black save the white eyes and yellow beak that covered the open face portion of the rubber hood.  Portia clapped her hands delightedly.

“Wonderful!  Daffy Duck!  How funny!  Steven – while you are working, you will have a duck chained to your ankle.  It will be like a ball and chain, except that it will be a duck and chain, hahaha!  It should rid you of any desire to run away.  Try to run, Daffy!”  For a moment Monica did not move, then waddled awkwardly for a few steps, nearly tripping on the big webbed feet.  Megan and Portia thought it an absolute hoot and nearly wet themselves laughing.  I felt so sorry for Monica I could barely watch.

“All right Steven – you may go.  See to him, Megan.”

Megan, stifling her mirth helped Steven up and directed him on to the lawn, where she undid his hobble chain and replaced it with a three-metre length of heavier chain connecting Monica’s collar with Steven’s right ankle cuff. 

“Right, off you go.  You know what needs to be done.  And if I see so much as a small alteration to those restraints, nothing will happen to you, but Jillian and Monica will be severely punished.  Think about that.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Mistress,” said Steven, his tone that of a man who knows when choices don’t exist and the odds against escape are not even worth contemplating.  I watched the man and his duck slowly make their way across the back lawn to a spot where a pick and shovel lay beside a large reel of electrical cable. 

“Better get quacking,” said Megan. Portia nearly spilt her coffee.

The man and his duck obviously had a long day ahead of them.

*   *   *

When Portia had finally calmed herself and the chortles at watching Stephen dig a trench with a black rubber duck at his side had subsided, she turned her attention to me.

“I do like it here on the verandah,” she said.  “Sunny but cool.  I think we’ll deal with you here, Jillian.”  The off-hand way she said it gave me butterflies in my stomach. “You do realise that as far as I’m concerned, your punishment has barely begun.”  It was not even rhetorical – just a statement of fact.  She walked across to where I knelt and stood in front of me.  I was too scared to look at her face, instead staring at the fine red leather of her boots immediately before my eyes.

“Get up!” she barked.  I struggled unsteadily on to my high heels.  They gave me a slight edge in height over her, but her commanding manner made me feel insignificant.  It was the mark of a true Domme, that she could do this, and I could not help myself instinctively obeying, wanting to please her if it meant less hurt and discomfort.

Megan materialised by my side and dragged me back a few paces, under a pulley bolted to one of the roofing beams.  We sometimes did suspensions here, with Monica not being past the odd bit of peer group humiliation herself if somebody had screwed up in a major way.  The was nothing like being suspended and having to watch the rest of the gang eat a hearty meal in front of you.  The pulley actually comprised two blocks, each with two wheels, such that there were five loops of heavy sashcord running between them.  This allowed quite heavy loads to be easily lifted by a single person under the high verandah roof.

Portia locked the connecting link of my wrist cuffs on to the hook of the lower pulley block and stepped back to let Megan haul on the loose end of rope until my hands were above my head.  Portia then attached a spreader bar to my ankles and left me standing on tiptoes while Megan tied off the rope to a cleat on the verandah post nearby.

That’s when I began to get really scared, as Portia gripped my face in one strong hand, squeezing my mouth either side of the ball gag within it.

“The time has come for reckoning, Miss Runaway Slave.  In the olden days they used to flay slaves alive.  Or cut their nipples off.”  I felt her hot breath on my face and knew I was in for something nasty.  “But you have such nice nipples, Jillian…”  She ran her fingers over my breasts, then her tongue, lingering around my nipples just long enough to make them pop up.  She tweaked them hard between her fingers then pinched them with her long red nails.  I whined in pain. 

“Fetch the bullwhip, Megan.”  The bullwhip!  No!  That was just for show! Just to make a client scared, as it was doing for me at that moment.  The bullwhip was not a full-sized version, but had a half-metre handle and a two-metre plaited thong.  It was a fearsome thing and started me trembling when Megan returned with it.

“Having any sort of revolt by a slave is just not acceptable, Jillian,” said Portia, slipping into the most reasonable tone imaginable, as if it was an undisputed fact that did not even warrant discussion.  “Don’t you agree?”  I nodded as enthusiastically as I dared.

“And yet you ran away… Not only did you run away, but you laid hands on your mistresses - and actually chained up your mistresses, forcing them to beat each other and making me screw Madam Wong in the arse.  Do you realise how serious this is and what humiliation this caused?”  Portia’s voice was soft and sensible. I nodded and hung my head, not daring to look her in the eye.  “And I know you were behind it, Jillian.”  Her tone changed. “Oh yes, the others came to rescue you, but rather than leave, you wanted to get your little piece of flesh!”  She gripped me by the hair and pulled my head back.  “You little wretch!” she hissed, her face in mine.  “After all the training I put you through!  You ungrateful worm!  When will you learn your lesson?”  She stepped back a couple of strides and cracked the whip.  It was just a flick, her wrist moving up and then down.  The thong caught me square in the crotch.

“Nnnnn! MMph!” I screamed into the gag as the pain shot through me.  Another flick, this time a fraction closer to the front so that the tip caught me on the lips of my pussy.  “Uurrgh!  Nnnnnnph!” I screamed again, writhing in my suspension, trying to pull my legs together but failing totally, stretched as they were, wide and vulnerable.

“I ought to whip that pussy right off you, you little tramp!” sneered Portia.  “Not so funny now, is it, slave?”  I was in tears from the pain, shaking my head and desperately trying to plead with my eyes.  Another flick.  She was very good, I’ll say that – with hindsight.  Once more the tip flew between my legs and caught me on the cleft between my buttocks. 

“Uuhh!  Uhh!”  I was crying into the rubber ball, my breath coming in grunts and snorts.   I caught a glimpse of Steven making toward the verandah before he collapsed as Megan felled him with the remote, leaving him curled up in the ground.  Monica was caught unawares by his movement and was pulled on to her side.

“Stupid people,” muttered Portia contemptuously.  “What did they think they were going to do?”

I continued to shake my head and bounce from foot to foot with the terrible pain from my crotch.  The agony continued as she slowly walked to a position behind me.  Six more cracks of the whip saw six evenly spaced strikes on my cheeks, each on making me jerk against my bonds and yowl against the muffling rubber ball. I lost all reason as the blows kept landing, while I bucked and grunted and screamed from the pain.  Portia did the job slowly and calculatingly, with the barest of effort.  She returned to the table and sat down, having not even raised a sweat.

“Megan, be a dear and have a look in the study for me.  See if you can find any of those post-it notes.  You know – the little yellow ones…”

Megan returned a minute or so later.  Tears and drool were streaming down my face and I watched wide-eyed with dread as Portia directed Megan where to place the small postage-sized pieces of paper. 

“Three just above her bush, I think – side by side…  What a shame you’re wearing that corset, Jillian.  We didn’t think that through, did we… I could have had four post-its all around your navel.  But you do look good in it.  A couple of inches off your waist and your boobs poking out more… It was no wonder Madam Wong was so please to have you as a birthday present.  You’re quite delicious.  And no wonder she was upset about the manner of your departure… Yes, one on the underside of each tit, Megan… One on the outside, and one on the nipples…  That will do.  I’ll tell you which one I’m going to go for.  It’s been so long since I had such interesting practice.”

I was going frantic by this stage, shaking my head, pleading with my eyes and mmmphing for all I was worth.

“I’d stay still, little Jillian, if I were you,” Portia cautioned, as one might to a five-year old.  I knew she was right, but I could barely bring myself to do it.  I closed my eyes as she said: “Right tit – outside.”  The was a pause then a swish and s biting pain on the outside of my right breast as the whip impacted with my skin.  I screamed then stood there trembling as the fire burned into my flesh.

It was worse than anything I had been subjected to in Macau – although one’s perceptions of these things tends to be somewhat coloured at the time. 

“Are you thinking about Macau, now, Jillian?”  I nodded desperately.  “A bit late, don’t you reckon?”  More nodding.  “Left bush…” Crack!

“Ughnnnnn!”

“Do you regret what you did to myself and Madam Wong?”

Yesyesyesimsorryimsorryimsorry!  Please don’t hit me again!  Nodding for all I was worth.

“Middle paper above the bush…”  Swish-crack!

“Ohhhhnnnnnnnhhh!”

“Don’t wriggle so much Jill dear – it spoils my aim and you’ll end up taking more shots than necessary.  Right nipple..”  No – no – no -!  I squeezed my eyes shut… Swish-crack!

“Aarghnnnnnn!” Ohgodohgodohgod!

I was shaking like a leaf and close to fainting from the pain.  That was when the chimes rang, indicating somebody was at the front gate.

“Ah,” said Portia.  “That must be Warren and Roger – come to check out the new management style.  I’m so glad the goodwill is here to enable continuity of client base.  And young Jillian here is just what we need as an entree for it, although of course Mary and Trish will be the main course.”

In my pain I had forgotten Mary and Trish.  Guiltily I wondered what horrid torments they had been suffering in the basement, since I had last glimpsed them anchored to the blockwork in the niches under the stairs.

Warren and his pal Roger were frequent customers to Bilboes.  None of us really liked them, but they paid up front, and money was not a problem provided they could do what they liked – within reason.  Here Monica had laid down certain rules, the most significant one being no scarring and limited pain.  Both the men were Doms and Warren had is own live-in slave, Christina, who also visited Bilboes on a regular basis.  She was regularly dealt to by us girls while Warren was dealt to by Monica – or was it the other way around?  Monica had always been secretive about her exact relationship with Warren, handling him with kid gloves except when she let him loose on us – which in itself was infrequent.  We suspected she was putting herself on the line rather than letting Warren have his way with us.  We had learnt a little more about him from Trish and Mary, who had suffered at his inventive hands during the time the others were searching for me and Leila in Macau and Hong Kong.

The two men appeared with Megan.  I suppose you could say Warren was quite good looking, if you like your guys to fall into the super smooth category.  Right then I was so stretched and sore that looks were not high on my priority. 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.  Today he wore black trousers and a black open-necked shirt with a small gold crucifix at his throat, and carried one of those aluminium attaché cases that photographers are so fond of. 

Warren was all elegance and arrogance – he and Mary would have made a good pair, except that probably neither could stand to be upstaged by the other.  By contrast, his mate Roger was heavier set but still tall, wearing a checked shirt and jeans tucked into hand-tooled cowboy boots.  He had reddish hair that was close cropped, and he looked as though he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days.  Roger lacked even Warren’s superficial charm, but his demeanour appeared to brighten at the sight of me standing on my toes, legs spread, and arms above my head.

The men both came on to the verandah as though they owned the place. Portia had evidently met them before, and rose to greet them.  Portia smiled and allowed Warren to kiss her on each cheek.  Roger didn’t get the offer, nor did he appear interested, preferring instead to leer at me as I hung there.

“I hope we’re not interrupting anything,” Warren oozed. 

“Of course not – just a little housekeeping.  Would you gentlemen like a beer?”  Megan had appeared with two cold cans of the local brew, Four-X.  The pair took the proffered cans, and while Roger attacked his with enthusiasm, Warren walked across to where I strained in my ropes and ran the icy can up the inside of one thigh, then the other, before turning to my breasts.  With my arms above me uplifting them, and the corset cinching my waist tightly below, my breasts had never looked better, save for the criss-cross of red weals and dark bruises now decorating them. He ran his hand over my flesh  and followed it with the beer can.  I jerked at the cold metal but could do little to get away from it.  Warren stood in front of me, one hand cupping my left breast in a way that promised bad things to come.  He looked me in the eye and smiled a smile that made me quail.

“Is this the one that caused you all the heartache?” he asked as though I was some sort of inanimate object.  Portia nodded.  “Are these here for the purpose I imagine?” Warren queried cheerfully, pointing at the post-it notes still sticking to my breasts.

“Targets,” said Portia simply.  Roger nodded and picked up the bullwhip.

“Mind if I have a go?”

“We’d be honoured,” said Portia. 

I felt a tremor run through my body.  Monica had in the past alluded to Warren as “Mr Whippy”, and we knew it had nothing to do with ice cream. Warren liked whips and had no little skill with them.  This I found out, as Roger plonked himself in the chair between Portia and Megan and began to work his way through the can of beer, ignoring the glasses placed on the table to at least give an air of gentility.  The three of them settled back with relaxed expressions as though the morning was going to pass slowly and pleasantly, with Warren and I to be the entertainment.

I whimpered in fear as Warren cracked the whip, getting the feel for it  and testing its balance in his hand.  There was a momentary distraction from somewhere out on the lawn beyond my field of vision, and I saw Portia’s red-nailed finger press pointedly on the remote control button for several seconds, followed by a second go a couple of moments later.  There was a stifled cry from outside, then things went silent and I knew Steven was doubled up somewhere, trying to overcome the pain that Portia had just inflicted.

When Warren’s pain came it was faster than Portia’s and – just perhaps – less severe because of that accuracy.  I shrieked around the ball in my mouth as the tip struck like a red hot poker, branding my breasts and pussy as the yellow post-its were flipped from my flesh in a series of rapid strikes.  Then it was all over, and my head sagged as the tears ran down my cheeks and I sniffled in uncontrolled misery. 

There was polite applause from the audience as Warren took his seat and cracked open his beer.  By this time Roger had finished his, and had opened the case his colleague had brought.  I saw that it contained several lift out trays of various devices of a bondage nature – chains, locks, instruments of torture, you name it.  It did nothing to lessen my trembling.  Roger ferreted around for a minute and surfaced with two nipple clips, joined with a short silver chain.  He stood up and approached me, his now-empty beer can in one hand and the clips in the other. I squealed in pain as he clipped the first pair of jaws on to one pussy lip, then the second pair on to the other.  That was when I realised he had threaded the chain through the ring pull of the can, which now swung freely between my legs.  Megan laughed and stood up, heading into the kitchen to return with a small shot glass and a jug of water.

“Maybe a shot every ten minutes,” she said, filling the glass then pouring the contents into the can.  Immediately I felt the weight come on the clips and I choked back a moan by biting down on the rubber ball strapped immovably within my mouth.

“You look lovely, dear,” said Megan.  “A drinking man’s slut.”

“Let’s not forget the main event,” Portia reminded the men.  “Subbies are easy enough, but it’s so much more fun when they have to be broken first.  Don’t you agree?”  The men nodded in agreement. “Down in the dungeon we have Trish and Mary awaiting your pleasure.  I think you can rely on their lack of cooperation – I’m told they get quite upset  at being made to grovel.  But then you already know this, to some extent,” she said, to Warren.

Warren smiled at an evident memory. 

“Yes.  It was while they were chasing you in Macau.  Terrific sport.  Mary was most put out.  Such a fighter.  And Trish was fun as well.  Monica’s absence then was quite a change.  We’ll have some fun all right.”

“Do take your time,” Portia said in an ingratiating tone I had not heard before.  “Tell me what you wish to do with them after you leave.  Think long term.  They are yours to do with as you will, as part of the financial package, as you know.  It will be an interesting test to see just how long it takes to break them.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  Despite my own pain and suffering, the realisation that the takeover of Bilboes was in fact a long term plan was starting to dawn on me.  Talk of breaking Mary and Trish, and financial packages!  The implications began to dawn on me that this was not just some brief revenge raid.  Portia was at her scheming best, and no doubt Madam Wong had her manipulating finger up Portia’s metaphorical backside and was doing a bit of manipulation of her own. 

Jesus!  What was going to happen to us?

*   *   *