We ended up sharing the narrow bed with its cheap foam mattress, lying like spoons nestled together.  In this position we whispered to each other in the hope that we might not be heard, although we knew from experience that the microphones in the cctv cameras were pretty good, particularly in a sound-proofed cell.  This was the cell in which we kept the longer term prisoners – those whom might have been kidnapped by a political organisation and held for ransom, for example.  Sometimes there was little ‘persuasion’ involved in the role play, sometimes a considerable amount.  Either way, the prisoners would get to spend several disorienting days in this cell.

That was how the evil twins found us when they returned shortly after we had eaten.

“Getting comfortable or is it something more than that?” Portia asked archly.  “I hope those hands weren’t going anywhere they shouldn’t,” she said to Mary, who had had her back nestled against my front.

“Sod off,” said Mary, who, despite her ex-newsreader profile could be surprisingly earthy when she put her mind to it.  Portia shook her head slowly.

“Tsk, tsk.  Not at all polite and obviously with the intention of being uncooperative.  Wouldn’t you say, Megan?”

“Absolutely,” came the reply.  “Can’t have that.  I think they should be made a little less comfortable for the night.”

Gee, thanks Mary,  I thought.  I was getting quite used to the bed after twelve hours standing in the niche.  I rolled my eyes and sighed, which went down just about as well as Mary’s comment.  At a nod from Portia, Megan undid the remaining buttons on Mary’s satin nightgown and let it drop to the floor.  I figured naked was to be the dress of the day from here on, and I was not wrong.  Megan unlocked our ankle chains and my white boots were next to go, followed by my leather skirt and the halter top.  Megan managed to give my tits a good feel in the process, pinching my still tender nipples which brought a gasp of pain from my lips.

“On the floor, on your knees – both of you!” snapped Portia. 

It was like being back in school, with my worst school teacher Mrs Compton.  Except that to disobey now meant a lot worst punishment than detention. We did as we were told, wondering what was in store for us.  We weren’t slow in finding out as we were made to bend forward and got a shot of cold lubricant up out bums.  I was liking this less and less, with my appreciation reaching rock bottom – if you’ll pardon the pun – when Megan removed a device from the small carry bag she had brought with her.  It was not from the Bilboes store, and I could only surmise it must have come from Megan’s other life, whatever that was.  The object was a short piece of metal tube, about a foot long, with a butt plug mounted at right angles at each end, so that the thing formed the letter U.  Trailing out from a hole in the middle of the pipe was a rubber tube and a squeeze bag.  Damn – an inflatable – how I hated them!

Mary was made to stay kneeling while one plug was worked into her arse, at which point she was forced to sit on the floor cross legged, where her ankles were taped securely together with silver duct tape.  I was next, of course, and my penetration wasn’t nearly so easy.  Mary had not uttered a sound as the device was pushed home.  I, on the other hand, was obliged to lower myself on to this prong of my own volition, with my hands still cuffed behind me.

It was… what? Awkward?  Painful?  Humiliating?  More like (d): all of the above.  I grunted with the pain as I was forced to let my weight drive the thing inside me in a hurry, sitting down hard on it. 

“Aaarggh!” I exclaimed, unable to help myself, sitting there gasping as my sphincter muscles adjusted to the big invader.  It was not as big as some I had experienced, but I knew that was all going to change.  It was cramped and awkward sitting there with our hands behind our backs while Megan taped my crossed ankles so that I could barely move my legs. 

The conflict with our hands was soon solved, as the connections between our wrists were unlocked and my left wrist was locked to Mary’s right while the other two came in for the tape treatment.  I was made to put my right arm down with my palm against that of Mary’s left hand.  The two were taped together with multiple turns of tape that extended nearly up to our elbows.  Then the same was repeated for the other arms.  Unable to move our fingers or thumbs, the only movement we had was the ability to raise our arms to shoulder height, straight out.  We could not move them forward or back. All in all it looked like being a pretty helpless position.

But of course our captors were not yet finished.  Evidently they bought tape in bulk at the local hardware store, for a second roll appeared when the first ran out.  Our heads were positioned back to back and the tape began to wrap around them, sealing our mouths and then covering our eyes.  The envelopment was finished with a few turns under the chin.  It was going to be awful getting the stuff off.  At least we at Bilboes always had the decency to use a rubber swim cap.  That was when I recalled the story of how Madam Wong had been left with multiple layers of tape over her carefully cut hair.  Oh dear, I thought, now in my own world of darkness under the layers of tape.  What goes around, comes around.  In this case around my head.

The obvious effect of the tape was that we could barely move our heads, other than from side to side.  So this was what being a Siamese twin was like.  I sensed Portia squat down beside us with a faint squeak of latex. 

“I hope you two will be comfortable for the night,” she whispered close to my ear.  “Better get used to people doing things to you – it’s part of your new job description.”  That ominous statement was followed by a sudden expansion of the plug in my rectum as Portia began to squeeze the pump.  Mary and I began to complain about the same time, making helpless mmphs behind the gag.  Then we tried to squirm, but found we could barely move other than to flap our arms, and this was hard to coordinate.  I tried to push myself upwards, off the plug growing larger inside me, but that was a wasted effort.

“Nnnn!  Nnnn!” I moaned, fearing I was going to sustain a serious injury, before the pumping finally stopped.  I groaned again.

“Nonsense!” said Portia.  “You’d be surprised how the human body can accommodate intrusions.  You could manage more than that if necessary.”  I whined in fear that she might inflate the things some more.  “You’ll be there for a long time.  You’ll get used to it enough to sleep.  Tomorrow your friend Warren is coming to play with you –and his friend Roger.  That’s something to look forward to, isn’t it.” 

Warren!  Shit!  The last time I had had anything to do with him was when Monica had been in Hong Kong.  I had been on the end of a right royal screwing, which wasn’t so bad in itself, except that he had left me bound and almost helpless, having to go through all manner of contortions to get free.  He had also left Mary in a very painful position suspended in a wardrobe, until I had finally managed to free her as well.  Oh yes, Warren knew his stuff, and if we were to be the new subs of the establishment, we would be in for a very inventive and no doubt painful time. I also had the feeling that Mary had a score to settle with him for the wardrobe business.  Maybe she had at least expected sex at the time, as some form of compensation.  At least I had got that much, and it had been good as far as it went, except that it had then gone a lot further.  As for Roger, I had met him briefly, had taken a dislike to him at once, and I wondered what predilections he had in the kink department.

My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden buzzing in my arse.  Oh ye gods, the damned thing was now vibrating.  Not content with making me feel like I had to go for a crap, it was now going to vibrate the hell out of me.

“Sleep tight,” said Megan to the sound of the cell door slamming and locking.

*   *   *

Maybe the night was marginally less bad than that previously spent standing up jammed in the niche.  I don’t know for sure.  Degrees of discomfort become academic after a certain point when you can’t sleep and every attempted move meets with frustration.  In this instance, not only was I meeting resistance to my movements, but every time Mary tried to move I was jolted from a doze into wakefulness. 

It took me a long time to get into that state of being barely awake in the first place.  The dreadful vibrator kept up for maybe three hours, nearly driving me crazy.  The vibrations I can stand or even the discomforting fullness of the expanded plug, but the two combined just make me want to squirm and react in ways I can’t describe properly.  The inability to do anything in response leads to an awful frustration and helplessness.  The fact that Mary and I were anchored at bum and head and arms just made this frustration all the more… frustrating, I guess.  I wanted to scream, and indeed did just that – several times, for all the good it did beneath the turns of tape stuck over my mouth.  All it did was make Mary grumpier and prompt a struggle between us that only made the vibrating bladder in my backside even more uncomfortable.  It was a vicious circle.

Eventually the vibrations subsided as the batteries died.  I know I slept at that point, heedless of the expanded plug buried in my rectum.  I was dog tired from the pain and stress my body had endured during the day and half the previous night, not to mention the lack of sleep I had had previously.  I recognised the plan, of course. It was standard procedure to wear us down.  At least we were not hanging suspended by our thumbs or wrists.  There was a limit to what you could get away with under those circumstances, and stringing somebody up all night was a guaranteed way to have a serious injury on your hands.  I took some small comfort in hoping that our captors recognised this.

The night passed in a succession of half-remembered dreams, of sudden awakenings and momentary panics at not being able to move, to speak or see.  Mary jerked about a lot, although whether she was asleep or awake was hard to tell.  The wearing down treatment was exacerbated all the more by our inability to measure the passing of time, but eventually we were dragged up from our half-conscious depths by the opening of the cell door and a nudge in the ribs from a pointed shoe.

“Did we have a good night?” asked Portia with a sneer that she obviously couldn’t keep out of her voice.

“Phrrf urf!”  Mary snorted through her nose, but it was without any real heart.

“I will ignore that,” Portia said.  “Put the tray down, Megan.  You can undo the arms and relock the cuffs now, then leave them to it.”  There was the sound of high heels clicking away down the corridor and I felt the tape being slit along our arms then between our heads.  With our eyes, mouths and ankles still taped up it was impossible to do anything other than allow our wrists to be handcuffed behind our backs again.  Then Megan, too, was gone, and we were left still with the tape on our hands and fingers and faces to remove slowly and with great difficulty.  The first thing we did was to undo the valve to deflate the awful plugs inside us, then ease ourselves off the prongs.  It was far from easy, and I ended up on my side, mmphing into the tape.  Then we got to work removing the tape from each other’s hands, then each other’s ankles.  Only when we could sit on the bed could we really carefully remove the stuff from our eyes and mouth.  It was a long process, but we were so glad to be able to move our limbs again, not to mention being able to use the loo.  Having expanded things stuck up one’s rectum does not very nice things to one’s  bowel movements, take it from me.

Breakfast was scrambled eggs and weetbix (on separate plates).  Because of the mushy nature of the food (no doubt deliberately chosen for this reason), this time we could not feed each other. We were obliged to put the plates on the bed and kneel alongside it to eat like a couple of dogs, lapping the stuff into our mouths as best we could, and getting a fair proportion all over our faces.  We ended up licking each other’s face, which made us laugh, despite our predicament. 

Mary was back to her feisty best and was determined not to give in to them, despite looking weary from the enforced immobility for the best part of two nights and a day.  We sat and talked quietly for a bit, wondering what was happening to the others, of which we had heard no sound, not that one really could, given the solidity of the cell construction.

I reckoned it was late on Wednesday morning when the dynamic duo reappeared again.  We were again lying down, snuggled up to one another, seeking moral support and trying to catch some relatively unfettered sleep as the door opened.  Megan this time was in casual mode, in a tee shirt with cut-off jeans, while Portia wore a red lycra dress and her pointy-toed boots with the stiletto heels. 

“On your feet!” commanded Portia.  We obeyed, though hardly with alacrity.  We knew the rules of the game, and just how far we could go – mostly. 

This time it was a simple noose around each of our necks then we were towed down the corridor to the Post Room.  There was no explanation, no nothing.  Not, perhaps, that I really expected such, but Mary could not help herself.

“Where are the others?” 

Portia spun on one sharp heel.

“What did you say?”  she demanded.

“I asked what you had done to the others.  Simple question.”  Oh shit, Mary, I thought.  Please don’t go down this road.  This is not the time or place.

Portia snorted with a mixture of amazement and possibly disgust, then continued to drag us to the far wall of the Post Room, where we were forced on to our knees, facing each other.  They had the stuff all ready for us.  It was pretty simple this time.  Kneel down, a strap around both ankles, another around the thighs and ankles, and suddenly we weren’t going anywhere. 

I say it was simple, but there seemed to always be another dimension to Portia’s style, or so I was starting to discover.  This time it was the ropes from the ceiling again – the single pulley with the two ropes which were then tied to our handcuffs.  I just knew we were about to go up in the world.  Except that first we had to be silenced, evidently, and Mary and I were about to get to know each other again, with the double ball gag routine.  It looks very cute on a couple of innocent subs.  I was feeling decidedly uncute as Mary and I had ball gags with eyebolts in them strapped into our mouths before the two eyebolts were then padlocked together.  I was staring into Mary’s lovely grey eyes from a distance of two inches.  That was when our arms began to ascend, forcing our heads down.

The steel of the handcuffs cut into our wrists, and we both moaned in complaint.  Megan was doing the pulling, and she stopped just before I thought my wrist would break.  We knelt there, heads down and arses exposed, not looking forward to what was coming next.

“You – short hair – you spoke before,” said Portia.  “You asked a question without permission.  You obviously do not understand your role here yet.”  There was disdain dripping from her voice.  “Slaves do not ask questions without permission.  They do not speak without permission.  They will be punished for these transgressions, and that will begin now.”

There was a resounding crack and Mary squealed and jumped, jerking my head with her own, as the cane caught her tautened buttocks.  I could not see where the next lot of blows landed, but I could hear the fearsome swish of the cane and catch glimpses of it as it whizzed through the air.  Mary screwed up her face around the gag in her  mouth and squeezed her eyes closed as the strokes landed.  The rubber ball did not entirely silence the grunts and nasal pleadings as she jerked at the connection with my own gag.

Somewhere around ten strokes, Portia stopped.  Mary was trembling, her eyes closed and tears welling up from beneath the long lashes.  I sneaked a glance up at Portia.  Her breasts were rising and falling under the lycra, the nipples standing out.  Clearly she was turned on, a faint smile flickering on her lips as she caught my eye.  For a moment I feared I was to be the next victim, but she seemed to collect herself at that stage.

“Despite your total failure to understand your new place in the world, I am nevertheless prepared to answer your question.  Maybe it will help you understand the futility of your position.  Firstly, Monica… “  She paused, as though debating how to tell us.  Then the saccharin smile was back. “Monica is currently flapping about the backyard like a duck, no doubt getting all heated and frustrated in certain parts.  You really have to see it to believe it.  Steven is doing some manual labouring with a degree of internal persuasion being applied from time to time, while Emma and Leila are doing the housework under the same circumstances.  Shawnee – well, she is just getting underfoot for the moment, so she has been secured where she can do no harm.  And of course the lovely Jillian is now suffering for her past sins in Macau, and trust me, it is suffering that will continue for some time until penance is finally completed.  Madam Wong will be here next week, and she is looking forward to offering her thoughts as to how Jill should be made to atone for her crimes. 

“Which only leaves you two, and you two are going to be our star performers.  I should add that Megan will take over the day to day running of this establishment, as an extension of her own.  We are looking forward to increasing the number of male Doms who visit, especially with the offer of two reluctant subs who are in serious need of some strict training.  You will be quite a selling point, believe me.  So, that’s it.  Any questions?”

“Urrvt urch!” said Mary.  I had no idea what she meant to say, but the tone was unmistakeable, and brought another smack on the buttocks with the cane.  I looked into Mary’s eyes and pleaded wordlessly for her not to antagonise Portia further. 

“You will wait here until we sent our first customers down.  Shouldn’t be too long.  I’m sure they will enjoy you.  Oh, and you will be fed and watered tonight.  None of this three-meals-a-day nonsense.  You could lose a few pounds anyway – both of you.”

Well that did it.  I snorted, and we both glared at her, but the pair of them were already heading for the door, leaving us immobile and fuming in the room echoing to the slamming of the door.

*  *   *

Over probably the next hour we became very familiar with each other’s facial features. I studied Mary’s steel grey eyes and her black hair with the white streak in it.  She was holding up well for thirty six.  She had the willowy looks of a film star – a kind of Audrey Hepburn with attitude, I thought.  We tried to communicate with grunts and raised eyebrows and shrugs, but none of it made sense, so we simply knelt there, trying to ignore the straps across our thighs and around our ankles, and most of all the cutting of the handcuffs into our wrists.  Normally we would never leave a client like this.  If we did we would use rope or leather cuffs.  We would both have bruised wrists after this, and Mary would have a very sore backside.  I wondered whether the lesson had been truly beaten into her yet, or whether she would require some more ‘education’…

When Warren and Roger walked into the room I felt mixed emotions.  I was pleased that at least we would be freed from the discomfort of the handcuffed position (or so I hoped), but not knowing what was ahead was a worry.  I knew Warren to be experienced as a Dom.  He was genuine, but he was also devious and not above a bit of pain applied expertly to one’s most private places.  If he was down here on a mission, namely to initiate us into the world of submissives, he might well go a bit further, especially as he knew our backgrounds.  He had already had his way with me previously – an experience I will admit was not without its satisfying moments.  As for his mate Roger, I knew of him only by reputation, and it was not a good one.

“Good morning, slaves,” said Warren pleasantly, as though he was a teacher greeting a class for a lesson in English history.  “Come on, speak up!”

“Ummp mmngg ur!” we mumbled through our noses.

Warren stood and gazed around the room, eyeing up the various hooks and pulleys that had been installed in the walls and roof beams.  I followed his gaze, taking in the step ladder in the corner, a couple of metal chairs, and the large cabinet  fixed to the wall next to the mirror, which in fact was a one-way window from the Observation Room on the other side.  Roger opened the cabinet and became quite excited at the range of devices of restraint and pain infliction hanging up inside.  If ever our thoroughness and inventiveness had come back to haunt us, this was the moment, I reckoned.

“I think we’ll do it as we discussed, eh, Roger?”

“Sure.  Can’t wait.”

Oh goody, neither can I, I thought, rolling my eyes at Mary who nodded imperceptibly.

“You’re first, Trish,” said Warren with a grin, which was anything but comforting.  He bent down and unlocked the padlock linking the gag eyebolts, then untied the rope from the handcuffs, finally allowing my aching wrists to drop down against my back.  I heaved a nasal sigh of relief, then he picked me up in his arms and carried me across to a spot between the two solid timber columns that were the centrepieces of the room.  He smelt sort of nice, but I had no illusions that I was going to be put to the test in some likely unpleasant way.  He put me down, still kneeling, and unlocked the steel cuffs, replacing them with a heavy leather pair which he locked together in front of me.  I knelt there looking up at him and wondering about my fate.

He smiled and moved to a cleat fixed to a wall, around which was wrapped a cord which lead to a pulley directly overhead.  These damned pulleys had seemed a good idea at the time, and admittedly we had got our money’s worth out of them, and had produced a lot of “satisfied” customers, but now I was rather inclined to think we had overdone the facility.  As he lowered the pulley I saw that a bungy cord in the form of a multiple loop about a handspan long hung from the end of it.  Uh-oh, I thought.

When the  loop was a little above my head, he motioned for me to raise my cuffed hands.  Reluctantly, I obeyed, knowing I had little choice in the matter and with the aid of a solid padlock he locked the cuff connection to the multiple strands of the bungy loop, before making a loop in the loose end of the rope and hooking this to the hook and cable of a wall-mounted winch.  The winch was a 12 volt model, of the kind used for hauling biggish boats on to trailers.  It could lift a human body with ease.  I began to go up in the world, my arms stretching above me and the bungy loops with it.  Moments later I found myself starting to bounce slightly as my feet left the floor, my ankles being still strapped to my thighs.  This situation wasn’t quite to Warren’s liking, evidently, for he let me down and released both straps, only to rearrange them, such that my ankles were strapped to my thighs separately, rather than as a pair.  Which meant that my legs could be spread apart.  Oh dear.

Up I went again, this time off the ground with a gentle bounce like a hot air balloon taking off, but still with that terrible strain on my arms, wrists and shoulders.  I rose higher, now aware that Roger had come across to stand behind me.  His arms encircled me and he played with my breasts, roughly tweaking my nipples, before signalling to Warren to stop with the winch.  The two men then secured ropes around my legs just above the knee and drew them apart,  opening my crotch wide, before securing each rope to another bungy cord wrapped around each post.  I was awfully vulnerable now, but there was not a thing I could do about it.

I was surprised when Warren undid the strap to the ball gag.

“How does it feel now?” he asked.  I was looking him almost in the eye, although he was just a trifle taller than me.  He seemed almost concerned.

“I…my arms hurt…sir…” I said quietly, trying not to show my pain too much.

“Of course they do,” he agreed, like a doctor examining a patient he has just performed surgery on.  “We’re going to try a little experiment on you that we’ve often talked about but never managed to work out.  You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, sir..” Time to be subservient, Trish.  Not a good time to protest.  Just let them do it. 

“It may be a bit uncomfortable.  You may not appreciate it – or you may actually enjoy it, for that matter.  I do hope it is the latter.  More significant, though, is what I want from you friend Mary.  Mary – are you listening?”  Mary raised her head from where she was kneeling with her wrists still in a handcuffed strappado behind her.  “Roger is going to release you now – mostly. I want you to crawl on you knees across to me and beg to be collared.  This will be your first lesson for this morning.  I suspect you may have a problem with this.  I suspect you may require some persuasion, and to this end your friend Trish may offer this persuasion.  Whenever you decide to see reason and accept your destiny, then the persuasion may stop.  It’s up to you.  Roger?”  Roger released the rope holding Mary’s wrists up, then undid her gag.  Mary glared at Warren but mercifully said nothing. Roger undid the straps around her ankles and thighs but left her wrists handcuffed.

“You will remain kneeling in our presence unless we tell you otherwise.  When you’re ready, you may crawl over here and beg for the collar.”  Mary seemed not to have heard and stared at the floor. 

Warren gave an exaggerated sigh. “I suspected this would be the case.  In fact I had rather hoped it would.”  He took one of the straps which had secured Mary’s legs and wrapped it twice around my upper arms, trapping my head between them and running the strap through my open mouth in what was a pretty inefficient sort of gag, then buckling it tight.  “I know this won’t keep you quiet, but Roger likes to hear a woman’s moans – it really gets him going.  I, on the other hand, don’t like too much screaming, so we have developed this as a compromise.  Well, Rog, shall we begin?”

I got a pretty good idea what was in store for me very quickly, as Warren removed his clothes in a most casual way, as though he was merely taking off his coat.  I was not surprised to see his erection appear.  It was not the first time I had been acquainted with it, and clearly I was about to renew the relationship.  He moved close to me and his fingers gently probed my pussy. 

“Hmmm.  Damp.  Wet, in fact.  Why am I not surprised, Trish?  And look at those lovely tits.  I always think suspension does so much for a girl’s figure.  Your nipples are quite hard – don’t tell me you’re enjoying this already?”  The fingers probed again, sending little flashes of pleasure up to counter the pain from my arms.  He twisted my nipples as a counteraction then rubbed my clit as a further response.  Things were starting to buzz inside me when he moved in real close, bent slightly at the knees and slid inside me.

“Urrrmmh!” I groaned through the strap in my mouth.  It felt good, despite my position. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.  That was when he straightened up and grabbed each nipple and began to bounce me up and down on the bungy cords. The whole plan became clear - searing pains in the nips, aching stretches of the arms and a rising pleasure in the groin. 

We went on for some minutes before I began to feel a succession of warm surges rising inside me.  I knew an orgasm was coming and I closed my eyes, only to open them as he stopped abruptly.

“Wha?” I said, feeling something else behind me.  I could not turn my head but I realised Roger was pressing against my back and something cold shot into my rectum.

“No…no pleeah!” I pleaded, to no avail, as a further something – this one big and hard – forced its way slowly inside of my back passage.  There was a momentary flash of pain, and I pleaded and groaned some more, but Roger was right inside now.  My bound feet were held apart and I felt his groin pushing against my buttocks.  Then I was on the move again.  My god! 

In all my time in the business I had never experienced something like this!  I was getting screwed from the front and the rear simultaneously, and if that wasn’t confusing enough for my senses, I was helpless into the bargain, bouncing up and down on the twin prongs  while suspended in mid air.  Jesus!

I had never been one for anal sex, truth be known.  It had just never really done it for me.  But what with Warren’s frontal assault I was a confused mess of sensations and while my initial flight path to the Big O had died somewhat with the arrival of Roger at the back door, I could not deny it was being resurrected soon after.  After a few minutes I was biting down on the strap and moaning louder and longer.  The movement of the two members inside was at once filling, driving, uncomfortable, stimulating and wildly arousing.  I lost most of my coherence after that, and the noises I made were sure to have satisfied Roger’s quirk. 

He came with a rush inside me as I went over the edge myself, gasping and crying out as best I could.  I don’t know what Mary made of the performance – trying to work out if I was in pain or ecstasy.  For that matter I wasn’t sure myself.  Warren was still driving away in front, and while the pain of where he gripped my nipples still got through in flashes, I felt myself getting set for a second takeoff and was well airborne in time for Warren to finally unload himself.  I was struggling against the straps and the cuffs holding me, squirming to free myself from the member spurting inside me, crying out in a wild frenzy of passion that I didn’t understand as my own climax broke over me and I bucked against the restraints for all I was worth. 

I was barely aware of Warren withdrawing.  I was too busy trying to catch my breath and making “Urgh… Urgh…” grunting noises.  Mary, I noticed, hadn’t moved.  I felt a bead of sweat roll down my cheek… Or was it a tear?  I wasn’t sure.  I was swept away by a mass of feelings I couldn’t quite cope with.  I had been tied up for a day and a half, starved, beaten and deprived of sleep.  I think I was entitled to have a little cry.  It just got momentarily too much for me, and I ended up sniffling and sobbing into the leather strap in my mouth.

Warren had put on his pants and was buttoning up his shirt.  He walked back to me and pulled my head back by my now dank and sweat-soaked hair.

“Was it good for you?” he asked, almost in a kindly way.

“Uh-huh,” I said, trying to nod and speak through the strap and the sniffles.  For some reason I felt absurdly grateful for the experience.  My mind knew I was kidding myself, that there was barely a semblance of even concern here, but I was still happy for what they had done.  I felt like a kid having been given a sweet, and I could not believe how bizarre such a thought was.

“Say ‘thank you’.”

“’Han yew, hir..” I mumbled sincerely between sniffles.

“I think we will make a good subbie out of you yet, Trish,” he said, planting a kiss on my forehead.

I hung there in a state of confusion, feeling a mixture of juices slowly running down the inside of my thighs.

“I note that Mary hasn’t deigned to join us yet,” said Warren, his voice now carrying a slight touch of menace.  “That’s a great pity.  Because you’ve just received the up side of the persuasion, Trish – the carrot, if you like.  Unfortunately the downside is the stick.”

“Ngoh…ngoh hir – pleah… “  I changed tack, struggling to enunciate through the leather holding my mouth open.  “Airee!  Pleah cohm ere!  Pleah!” 

Mary didn’t move, remaining kneeling, staring at the ground.  Roger, now also dressed, appeared in my field of vision, carrying a kind of large aluminium camera case.  My heart plummeted as he put it on the floor in front of me and began to take out various implements of torture that I knew I was now going to experience.

“You really should think about what is going to happen to your friend, Mary,” said Warren casually over his shoulder.  “It could happen to you, but somehow I don’t think that would be nearly as effective.”  As he uttered these words he was kneeling in front of me, and I felt a sudden pain in first one, then the other of my pussy lips, and I knew he had fastened some sort of clamp on them.

“Owh!  Owh!  Hir! Hat hurs! “

“Of course it does, my dear.  And guess what – it’s going to hurt a lot more before the day is out.  You see this?”  He held up a nasty-looking chrome-plated clip in front of my eyes.  Attached to it was a short length of chain ending in a thin steel shaft the length of my finger, at the lower end of which was a circular piece of metal the size of a twenty cent piece.  “You already have two of these hanging from those lovely lower lips of yours.  Now we’re going to position two more… here… and here…” 

I screwed my eyes shut as the jaws bit into my nipples and I could not suppress a whine of pain.

“Arrrh! Ih hurs, hir.” 

“We’ve been down that track, Trish,” Warren said, starting to sound just a little impatient with my complaints.  “Much as Roger here loves to hear your protests, methinks if the lady doth protest too much she doth get gagged most properly.” 

To be honest, I would almost have welcomed such a thing, for already the jaws were making themselves felt in a most painful way.

“The point of the weights is that they will become progressively heavier as I add more of these to them.”  Warren held up another coin-shaped weight, but this one had a slit cut to the middle of it, obviously to allow it to be stacked up around the vertical shaft hanging from the chain.  He dropped it on the weight hanging from my right nipple.  There was a slight tug and the weight increased perceptively. 

“Ow!” I said.

Warren’s answer to that was to pick up a big cloth bag from  the suitcase and jangle it in front of my eyes, which I’m sure widened in fear, for I guessed there was perhaps a kilo of these ‘coins’ in the bag.  I tried to shake my head but the strap pinioning my arms and mouth was too tight.  I grimaced as another coin clinked on  to one of the lower weights.

Clink.  Clink.  Clink.

That’s how it went for the next twenty minutes, I guess.  Warren was in no hurry.  He let things settle, let the discomfort slowly build into pain and then into an agony which seemed to grow still worse.  At length my protests grew more voluble and I began to squirm and cry.  The squirming only made things worse.  I could barely move in any case, my ankles being bound to my thighs and my bent legs pulled apart and tethered to the posts.  At most I could wiggle my fingers and toes, and twist my torso slightly.  All this did was set the weights swinging and of course this set me crying more.

Warren finally decided he had had enough of my sniffling and tears, but rather than remove the weights he removed the strap and took an inflatable gag from the cabinet.

“No sir, pleeeese!” I pleaded.  “Pleeese stop – they hurt so much!  I’ll do anything you want, truly!  I’ll – urrrgh!”  This was as he pulled my head back by the hair and inserted the rubber bladder in my mouth, pumping it quickly until it silenced my protests.  He did not bother strapping it in place, for there was no way I could expel it.  In some ways the absence of straps was worse because the gag forced my jaw as wide as possible and any attempt to counter this placed an unbearable strain on my jaw muscles.

“You see, Trish, this is not about you.  This is about Mary.  You have demonstrated that you are prepared to make the transition to being a submissive, but Mary has not had that flash of insight yet.  You have seen that you can submit to my will and let life happen to you, let yourself be cared for and looked after.  Pain and pleasure will come, the trials and decisions of life will go away, and providing you behave yourself, life will become comfortable and ordered and stress-free.  Mary has not yet seen this logic, but will submit soon in order to spare you more pain.”

God, I hoped so.  I was past caring about the rationale of it all.  I simply wanted the pain to end, by whatever means necessary, and I would swear eternal allegiance to whomever brought about this release.  Please, Mary, just do as he asked!

Warren had finally reached the end of the sack of coins.  The weights hanging from my nipples were pulling them and my breasts downward from the perky position they had occupied with my arms above my head stretching everything in the opposite direction.  My pussy was on fire from the bite of the steel jaws into each lip, but Mary had still not moved.  By now I was uttering a continuous keening sound through my nose, as the final clink had sounded and I hung there helpless.  I screwed my eyes shut in an effort to take myself away into sub space where I had never been before. Emma had once told me of her ability to go into Subspace, but I had put that down as a kind of Asian thing, like going into a trance.  But then both Jillian and Leila had described similar experiences in Macau and Hong Kong when they had been abducted and had lost all hope of seeing home again.   It appeared that despair and hopelessness were integral parts of the process, and right then my life seemed to be rapidly filling with both.  I shook my head in anguish and blotted out from my mind where this was going, what might lie ahead and how long I could stand it.  The reality was that the last point was not up for negotiation or change.  I would endure it as long as I had to, for at this moment in my life I had no control over events and what was done to me.  Thinking of such possibilities was a road I chose not to tread, and instead tried to take myself off to a happy place, where pain did not exist…

I was brought back from my mind travels by another fierce pain, this time from a totally new quarter, as my upturned and almost immobile feet became targets for a riding crop.

“Nnnnnnn!” I screamed into the gag with all my might.  First my left foot and them my right… I was screaming continuously, even when Warren paused between strokes.  The task of breathing and crying out left me struggling to catch my breath in between bursts of nasal protest.  Tears were streaming down my face as the blows rained on my helpless feet. 

Until that point my feet had started to go numb from the time I had spent suspended, with the leather straps around my ankles and thighs.  The pressure from my lower legs pulling at the straps around my thighs was most uncomfortable, but now that paled and any numbness in my feet would have been considered a blessing.

I did not count the blows – I was past that much rationality.  I was still uttering a high pitched cry when Warren stopped.  He had retreated to the cabinet again and produced a thin whippy bamboo cane.  Standing in front of me he ran it between my parted legs, between the weights hanging from my labia, grooving it through my crotch with an ominousness that sent me into another frenzy of pleading for mercy. 

Only then did I sense a movement out of the corner of my tear-filled eye.  Mary was shuffling across the floor on her knees, her handcuffed wrists still secure behind her back.  She stopped at Warren’s feet.  My heart leapt at the sight.  That was when Warren let go with a flick of the cane.

I thought I would die, so terrible was the pain as he caught me squarely on my pussy.  My jerk made all the weights swing and bounce.  I shrieked but could manage only a long drawn out wail through my nose, as I bit down on the rubber filling my mouth.  For a moment I saw stars as I screwed my eyes tightly shut and writhed impotently within my bonds.  I only just caught Mary’s words through a red haze of agony.

“Master…” Her voice was barely a whisper.  “This slave humbly submits to you and  begs to receive your collar…”
Warren turned to me and smiled.

“Anything is possible,” he said, his smile one of indulgence and satisfaction.  Through my tears I looked at Mary in gratitude and saw that she was crying too.