Megan stepped up to take Portia’s place at the top of the steps. 

“The first point I will make, slaves, is this.”  She dangled a key from her finger then placed it very deliberately on top of the balcony rail.  “This is the key that fits your ankle chain.  Without it, you won’t get free.  You might think about trying to overpower me, but even if you did, you would remain chained to the posts.  Don’t bother about getting Shawnee to rescue you from that point.  She is securely locked on to that nice vibrating saddle you people built downstairs and will not be moving until I decide to release her.  She has been a good slave and is being rewarded.  I could hear her cries as I came up the stairs.  I think she was enjoying herself.

“So – I suggest you all accept the reality of the situation and make life just a little easier – well, a little less difficult, rather – than it would be otherwise.  Cooperation will help everybody.”  Megan’s tone had been reasonable up until this point, the way one might address a group of new employees.  Now it hardened as she descended the steps and walked the length of the semi-circle, looking down at us as we sat, handcuffed, on the grass.  “However…” She paused for effect and her eyes glinted in the setting sun, “if there is any trouble from anybody, if anyone steps out of line and tries to pull a stunt that might embarrass me or Portia in front of Madam Wong, you may count on a severe punishment being imposed on everyone.  Think of the worst torture you can – electrodes on your pussy and nipples, clamps and weights, whips and floggers, and suspension in an extreme position.  Imagine that, imagine how long you could stand it, then multiply the time by three.  Am I making myself clear?”  There was a chorus of gagged grunts and nods. 

“I will tell you that I have a considerable investment in this whole operation.  I have a lot to lose and even more to gain.  If you cooperate, it is possible that down the track you may have the opportunity to regain some element of your freedom in working for me.  Otherwise life will prove very difficult for you.  Anybody who tries to contact you is being told you have left the establishment, and that I am the new owner.  Letters are already being returned to senders, although I have to say you don’t get much mail, do you? A tight knit little group, aren’t we.  Too bad.  Nobody will miss you, except your regulars, who will be diverted to The Citadel on the south side. And of course some of my regulars, who fancy some rather more exotic treats, will enjoy coming to a new venue where such niceties as safewords are not a feature.  Now, on your feet!”

*   *   *

Megan had clearly thought through the whole process that developed from that point.  I found that at some stage since the posts had been erected lengths of white sashcord had been threaded through some of the eyebolts at the top of the posts.  Looking closer, I saw that the cord ran from the ground up through one eyebolt, then passed around the post to pass through the eyebolt on the opposite side before dropping to the ground again.  The short length of cord between the eyebolts, however, had a pulley hanging on it, attached to another length of cord that dropped vertically.  I was to see how all this worked soon enough.

Megan retreated to the verandah to collect a box from the table.  This turned out to contain a number of wide wrist cuffs with double straps and buckles and D-rings.  There was only one thing these cuffs were normally used for, and I had a feeling that use was ahead of us when Megan dropped a pair of cuffs in front of each of us then unlocked our handcuffs and put them in the box.  There was no denying her economy of action here.

“I want all of you to put on the leather cuffs and buckle them up properly.  No slacking unless you want to be whipped afterwards.  You’d better make sure they’re comfortable because you’ll have them on for a long time.” 

Uh-oh.  I picked up the pair lying at my feet and fastened them around my wrists, D-rings on the outside.  There was enough play so that I would not cut the circulation, and these cuffs were well-used, round-edged and malleable. 

“Very good, children.  Now the ankles.” 

Another distribution of pairs of leather cuffs, these being less substantial than the wrist cuffs, and slightly longer to enable them to be buckled around boots.  Then Megan began at Monica’s end, tying the first rope to her right wrist cuff.  This rope, being on the last pole, rose up through only one eyebolt before descending to the cleat.  Here Megan tied it off so that Monica’s right arm was outstretched, albeit loosely.  The left rope was similarly tied to the left D-ring, and the other end of the rope tied to the right cuff of Jillian.  And so it went on – Jillian to Tomb Raider Trish, Trish to Elektra/Mary, Mary to Catwoman Emma, Emma to Gwendoline/Leila, and finally to me.  Having done this, leaving us with our arms loosely outstretched, Megan walked along the poles pulling down on the pulleys attached to the free cords, and wrapping those cords around the cleats. Pretty soon we were all standing with our arms pulled wide and high.  I realised that if one person pulled on a rope the loading would transfer to the next person, an so on, with a diminishing effect down the line.  It struck me as being particularly devious.

Megan’s next act was to chain our feet properly to the cuffs.  She made us stand with our feet about half a metre apart and unlocked the single ankle loop, replacing it with locks on each cuff.  She made sure that any slack in the chain ended up between our feet, so that the lengths of chain between prisoners were taut.  This was not nearly as extreme as it could be, but I suspected we were in for the long haul here, and what seemed tolerable at the start might soon prove to be the opposite after a few hours in an unrelenting position.  Any attempt to pull one’s legs together would immediately go against the people on each side - she was playing us off against ourselves.

Darkness was rapidly falling by the time Megan had adjusted the tension in our arm ropes further to centre us properly between the posts and above our ankle restraints.  She unrolled a length of cable from the verandah and positioned seven obviously low voltage garden spotlights on the ground in front of the semi-circle, spiking them into the grass then retreating to plug in the transformer inside  the house. Moments later we were basking in the glare of the lights, the Secret Seven taken prisoner and waiting for retribution to descend on them from a great height. 

*   *   *

Night fell and we stood there, listening to the chirp of the crickets.  Megan had turned the lights off after a few minutes, and had closed the doors and drawn the blinds to cut down light leaking out on to the verandah and the grand surprise awaiting Madam Wong.  It was probably this waiting that plunged us further into despair, although we all knew that things would become far worse.  This was the proverbial calm before the storm.

There was the sound of a car in the driveway and glimpses of headlights in the trees before it parked at the front of the house.  On the still night air we heard voices and the sound of high heeled shoes going up the front steps.  We waited expectantly, and then the back door opened.  There was a chatter of Cantonese and then a voice said in English:

“What is it, Portia?  I can’t see anything?”  The voice sent a chill through my bones with the memory of the S/M party in Macau and the torments that took place during and after it.  If I felt like this, I thought, what would Jillian be thinking, after the agonies she had endured in Madam Wong’s dungeons?

The lights came on.  I half closed my eyes in the glare.  There was a delighted squeal and excited Cantonese exclamations.

“Aiyaaah!”  breathed Madam Wong, clapping her hands in amazement.  She turned and hugged Portia, then Megan, as though scarcely believing her eyes.  She stepped down to the grass and walked over to Monica. 

Straight off the plane from Hong Kong Madam Wong looked remarkably fresh, wearing a tan silk jacket with a mandarin collar and a skirt slit halfway up her thigh.  Her hair had recovered from the mauling it would probably have received from being extricated from multiple wrapping of duct tape Jillian had instigated, prior to the Mistress being locked into heavy chains in the lightwell of her house.  Now her hair was carefully styled, with immaculate fringe and slight upturn at the jaw line.  Madam Wong was every inch the billionaire’s wife, wielder of authority and power, not to mention the sophisticated good looks of her Chinese heritage.

She lifted Monica’s chin and gazed into her eyes for a long time.  From my position opposite them, I could not tell what exchange was taking place, but I suspect in the battle of wills Monica came a bad second, not least in through her stretched and gagged position.  Portia sidled up beside her boss with a small cardboard box in her hands and a flashlight.  I saw them fiddle with Monica’s Wonder Woman costume where the material stretched over her breasts and realised that there was a small slit in the fabric over each nipple. 

“This is like a little investiture ceremony,” declared Madam Wong.  “I will award all of you then Order of Submission, with different  distinctions.  Firstly, Monica gets the first class honour…”  There was a lot of tugging and more fiddling about, accompanied by a deal of pained whining by Wonder Woman.  It seemed that something was being done to her existing adornment through her now pierced nipples.  I had a nasty feeling I was going to be receiving the same honours.

The pair moved down the row, and sure enough each prisoner had a slit in her costume that allowed for easy nipple access, and in short order Super Girl, Lara Croft, Elektra, Catwoman and Gwendoline all had various clamps attached to their nipples, with weights the size of walnuts hanging from them, all to the accompaniment of muffled gasps of pain as the devices were attached.  Then it was Yours Truly who was in the firing line.  I was about to find out what had happened at the other end of the queue.

I was unable to stop myself watching, fascinated in a morbid kind of way, as the black fingernails of Madam Wong searched for and found the slits over my nips and popped the ringed and barbelled nubs into fresh air.  The barbell was unscrewed and removed, but then she pulled hard on my right nip via the ring.

“Nnnnnp!” I said, with feeling.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked solicitously, and meaning none of it.  “Too bad.” 

Portia handed her something and I saw it was a stainless steel padlock, about the size of a watch face and circular.  Holding the ring, she slipped the thick shaft of the padlock through the extended hole and clicked it shut.  It hung like some form of medal, the metal cold against my chest and the weight not inconsiderable.  Moments later the other nipple was similarly impaled and decorated, and the two rings were removed with what was obviously a special tool.

“Nice,” said Madam Wong, stepping back.  “In time we can increase the size of the weights, which will enlarge the holes, to take even bigger weights.  It will be such fun.”

With the award ceremony over, Madam Wong produced a small digital camera from her handbag and proceeded to take numerous photos of us all.  “I am going to start a new album,” she told us with obvious relish.  “Some of these may also go on the net, and they will all give me much pleasure to look back on in future times.”

Portia and Madam Wong then retired to the house, while Megan untied the ropes holding Leila and Emma, to allow them to continue with their domestic duties.  The pair disappeared into the kitchen while Megan secured the loose ends of the free ropes, leaving two empty spaces between me and Mary in her Elektra outfit.

Soon afterwards we were treated to the sight of Leila’s Gwendoline trotting unsteadily in and out of the kitchen to set the table on the verandah.  Catwoman was presumably slaving over the hot wok, which couldn’t have been all that nice when clad from head to toe in black latex.  In due course the three jailors were seated at the table, the wine opened, and with Leila fussing about like an attentive but silenced moth around a flame.  We all knew that any mistake would be met with a nasty punishment and we hoped for Leila’s and Emma’s sakes that they could pull off the Chinese dinner to the satisfaction of the visitor. 

It seemed, however, that Portia had a point to make to her employer, and before the commencement of the meal itself, she called both Leila and Emma from the kitchen and ordered them to stand facing away from the table with their feet apart and their hands behind their heads.  As the pair did this, I saw Portia pass an object across to Madam Wong and say something in Cantonese.  It was obvious to me what was going to happen next, but I was helpless – as were we all – to prevent the inevitable.  Portia was explaining the use of the remote, and showing her which buttons to push.  Madam Wong stood up and pushed both buttons at once. 

Leila and Emma doubled over as the cramping pain hit them.  Both fell into kneeling positions, their arms clutching their abdomens, making groaning noises behind their gags – noises that merged into whimpering snuffles.  Madam Wong was impressed.  Portia said something to her and pointed to me and to the Megan, obviously referring to the remote that she carried for my periodic training.  Oh no, I thought, not like this, not now!

Madam Wong came down the steps with slow deliberation, followed by Megan.  She stopped a couple of paces in front of me and without even looking at Megan held out her hand for the remote. Megan placed it in the waiting hand as if passing a scalpel to a surgeon, but I thought I detected a look that might have been disquiet cross her face. Perhaps it was one thing keeping a slave in line and checking that a device was connected and in working order, but was it different to utilise such a device to unnecessarily inflict pain?  Megan had generally been fair to me, I had to admit.  I had been on the receiving end of her, but there had usually been a purpose.  No it was simply Madam Wong’s bloody mindedness.

When the pain hit everything in my body went rigid as I jerked futilely in my arm and leg restraints.  I threw my head back but could utter nothing more than a long nasal groan before the need to actually breathe stopped that.  Megan’s use of the device was usually restricted to a stab of the button.  Madam Wong’s finger remained on the button for maybe five seconds, although the cut off came in after three, not that you could probably have guessed from my shuddering and twitching.  I thought the deep, bowel-cramping agony would never stop, even after I knew the current had actually ceased to flow.  I hung there with my eyes closed, making plaintive grunts and feeling the sweat dribble down my skin under the costume.

Well pleased with what her minions had devised and implemented, Madam Wong returned to the dining table to commence her evening meal. 

*  *   *

Despite having experienced the rigours of (presumably) the first class in-flight cabin service, Madam Wong seemed in no hurry to go to bed.  There was a lot of chatter in Cantonese as the night wore on and the delicious smells of Chinese food drifted down to the five prisoners on the lawn.  It was pretty clear that we weren’t a part of the food distribution network.  Rather, we were there for some preliminary entertainment value.  I realised this when Megan came down the steps with a large plate of steaming food which she paraded in front of the four girls bound between the poles.  I, at least, had had some lunch.  The others must have been starving.

Then she walked to a position about twenty metres away, just past the workshop, and placed the tray on the ground.  I realised it was just beyond the line of the trench and cable that had been activated that afternoon.  I also realised that none of the girls understood the meaning of the boxes on their collars and the function of the cable in the ground.

“Who would like some dinner?” asked Megan.  “Unfortunately there is only enough for one.  Who would get there fastest, I wonder?  Wonder Woman, Supergirl, Electra or Lara?”  She paused exaggeratedly with finger to chin as if thinking.  “Supergirl – must be faster than a speeding bullet… If you get to the food in less than five seconds, after I say ‘go’, you may eat.  If not, well somebody else will get it.” 

Megan unlocked Jillian’s ankles and untied the ropes, looping the free ends around the cleats. She removed Jill’s gag, for there was clearly no point in getting to a plate of food if you couldn’t eat it.  Megan looked at her watch and then at Jill, who was obviously wondering what the catch was.  I made a mmph to catch her attention, but failed as Megan called out:

“Ready, go!”

Jill ran well, for a girl.  It was probably not surprising considering her physio and sporting background.  None of the silly arms-away-from-sides stuff girls do so well.  Jill was all focus and was halfway there, her red cape streaming behind her when the first tingles of the collar started, followed immediately by obvious choking pain that saw her drop in her tracks, clawing at the collar.  Whether by instinct or logic, she decided that retreat was her only option and crawled back towards us, half on her knees, half on her stomach as she vainly tried to separate the prongs from the flesh at her throat.  She finally collapsed, as she cleared the range of the cable, tears streaming down her face, gasping and crying out, on her knees, holding her head in her hands.

Portia and Madam Wong were on their feet applauding.  Leila and Emma were also there, summoned to watch.  Emma ran down the steps and bent over Jill, making plaintive grunting noises and helping her friend to her feet. Obviously shocked by the unexpectedness and severity of the pain, Jill was shaky on her feet as Megan directed she and Emma back to Jill’s space between the posts.  Here Jill was again secured and Emma banished back to the verandah.  Megan turned to the semi-circle. 

“You slaves have just seen what will happen to you if you now try to leave while wearing your nice new collars.  I’m sure Jill will tell you that it is a very painful; experience.  Steven will no doubt endorse that, since he, too, has tried it out.  The cable runs around the house, the workshop and sleeping quarters.  Don’t even bother trying to cross it – really.  You’ll only hurt yourselves, and will then have to undergo even further punishment afterwards for disobeying my instructions.  You may nod if that is clear.”

She gazed around the semi-circle and one by one we nodded and hung our heads in final defeat.  Turning, she looked at Emma and Leila on the verandah.  They too nodded, then were sent into the kitchen.

Madam Wong spoke appreciatively to Megan and Portia after dinner had been completed.    After Leila and Emma had finished tidying up, they were returned to their pole positions.  Soon we were a team again, the world’s greatest collection of superheroes and heroines, bound and helpless and there for the long night. 

But our captors had one final surprise for us.  Well, I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised, really.  Portia went inside and returned with a nasty-looking cane.  It reminded me of the sort that the teachers had used at school – pale, solid rattan cane, the thickness of one’s finger and quite stiff.  She handed the instrument of punishment to Madam Wong, who flexed it expertly, as though she was well-used to handling such things.

She moved to the opposite end of the line of prisoners, positioning herself behind Monica.  Monica looked over her shoulder with wide eyes and tried to struggle in the ropes holding her, but it was a futile exercise.  Admitting the inevitable, she faced the front and closed her eyes.

The first blow caused her to jerk forward and utter a muffled cry.  Her eyes were open now, as the second blow caught her across her buttocks in quick time after the first.  The third made her scream, albeit muted and nasal, but the agony in the cry was obvious.  Madam Wong paused, then decided that perhaps too much punishment at this stage would be detrimental to her long term plan.  I had no idea what that was, of course, but I was in no doubt that it would be well thought through, not to mention arduous, protracted and painful.

Jill was next to receive the three strokes, which left tears rolling down her cheeks.  Then Trish and Mary, stoic and silent, before Emma and finally Leila took their punishment.  The cane made a fearsome sound as it whistled through the air and impacted on buttocks that were at best protected by only a thin layer of material.  My own were no exception, and despite doing what I could to prepare myself for the blow, when it cane I could barely suppress a grunt of pain.  The second and third came quickly, in close proximity to the first.  The shocking pain of the first was the worst, with the other two heightening this and leaving my backside on fire.

Madam Wong returned to the centre of the half-circle and gazed at her prisoners.  Then she spoke, her voice sharp and cold.

“That, slaves, was a little taste of what is to come to you.  By the end of your training you will look back and consider it a mere tickling.  You will have many long and painful hours to think about your actions in my house and the loss of face you caused.  However the damage you caused in the House of Wong will be nothing compared to the fall and total destruction of the House of Bilboes.  You may consider that for the rest of the night.” 

*   *   *

Suspension is a fearsome form of bondage, and despite stories that seem to regularly feature victims being subjected to it on a long term basis with minimal ill effects, it just doesn’t work that way.  In this particular instance, of course, we were not fully suspended, although our arms were nevertheless pulled high and wide, but even this is enough to put a fair strain on our wrists and arms.  When you exacerbate this over a lengthy period such as through the night, the body starts to succumb to the ravages of sleeplessness, lack of food and general wearing down through continued punishment by stringent bondage.  Every now and then one of us would nod off and fall forward, the knees bending, then jerking awake with the sudden pull on the arms that went through to the muscles of the neck and shoulders.

Although our jaws ached from the gags, our bottoms were glowing and sore and perhaps the painful stimulation of our nipples helped the wakefulness, after a while (in my case) those pains subsided into dull aches.  The constant standing and inability to move one’s feet more than a couple of inches also led to aching joints at ankle, knee and hip, and after a while my back joined in just for fun.  Keeping one’s arms in the air meant, inevitably, reduced blood flow to the hands, and eventually these went numb, despite best efforts to periodically wiggle fingers.

I considered myself perhaps fitter and stronger than the girls, even though I had to support extra weight.  However I had not been subjected to the same torments that Jill and Monica had been, for example, and I wondered how they were faring.  Megan had left the lights on, perhaps to help us to stay awake, or perhaps just so Madam Wong could look down on us from her upstairs bedroom and gloat at our impotence and vulnerability.  I looked at Monica and Jill.  There heads were down and they looked a picture of dejection and despair.  Wonder Woman and Supergirl, gagged,  nipple clipped and roped up side by side.  Not a good advert for the future of the world.

The night seemed to go on for ever.  Slipping in and out of a doze I was partly aware of the night sounds of the bush.  Possums roamed about in the trees and occasionally flying foxes would screech at each other in the nearby black bean tree.  A small ring-tailed possum crossed the grass furtively to gorge itself on the plate of food that had been left beyond the buried cable. 

There was no way to judge the time, but I guessed it was perhaps one or two in the morning when the kitchen door opened and Megan appeared.  The noises of the animals in the bush had been supplemented by groans and whimpers of pain from some of the girls as the constant pull on their muscles took its toll.  Megan was barefoot and wore a short satin wrap tied at the waist. She stood on the top step briefly, looking down at the seven captives, before picking up a small cardboard box that was beside the top step, and descending to the lawn.  She came across to me and spoke in a low whisper.

“In my opinion this position is not suitable for an all night duration.  I’m sure you will agree with me.  I am going to let you down and lock your wrists to the chain.  You will at least get some sleep before dawn.”

I don’t know why she was telling me this, but I wasn’t going to argue.  I nearly collapsed when she untied the ropes from my wrist cuffs, then I sat down promptly on the grass, offering no resistance as I was made to bend my knees and my wrist cuffs were locked to the chain a couple of links outside of where the ankle cuffs were secured.  It was a huge relief after the taut vertical bondage and I let my aching body slowly unwind from the strain of being pulled apart and having to stand immobile. I was barely aware of Megan doing the same to the girls, and by the time she had finished I must have fallen asleep.

*   *   *

Being taken down from the spread position in the middle of the night seemed like a dream the next morning, one of those half-forgotten events that sometimes take place during the darkness when one is in a state of extreme tiredness and which seems like something removed from reality.  As it was, after a few hours exhausted sleep my shoulders and knees were beginning to cramp and with the first light of dawn and the birds came more discomfort, not least hunger and a need to perform one’s ablutions.

Megan was up early.  She was a willing worker, I would say that for her.  Just how much of it was simply a fear of or a desire to please Madam Wong, I couldn’t tell, but it was the end result that counted in this case.  Leila and Emma were the first to be freed and eventually we saw them again, this time wearing the severe corsets, stockings and high heels that appeared to be their serving uniforms. A short while later we began a procession of releases and rechainings as one by one we were taken to the bathroom. 

I was the first after Leila and Emma.  With my wrists handcuffed behind me, I was taken through the basement emergency exit, a steel door half hidden under the rear verandah, into the Sluice Room.  Here, with my collar now secured to the wall on a length of chain, I was left alone for fifteen minutes with some keys.  In this time I had to unlock my cuffs, remove the gag, remove the anal plug and use the toilet.  If I had time I could wash as best I could, before replacing everything as before.

Included in the keys I was given was a small one which fitted the lock to the zippers on my costume.  I also examined the padlocks now locked through my nipples.  Walking made them bounce somewhat and my nips were sore following their insertion.  They were also supersensitive just to touch. 

When Megan returned I had not quite finished and she watched as I inserted the plug and locked the belt in place.  I asked her if it was necessary to test the plug in this instance.  She looked at me for a few seconds, as though weighing up my request.

“Just this once, Steven, I will refrain, but only because I have seen you putting it in place.  You realise I have to ensure it’s working, as a matter of common sense.  I don’t believe you have yet fulfilled all your training requirements and some work still remains.  Until that time you will continue to be tested, as necessary.  It will not be as severe as Madam Wong was last night – unless you give me cause,” she added, gazing at me keenly.  “Oh, and you may leave the costume off for the moment, and the gag.  That can stay around your neck until after breakfast.”

Oh good.  I much preferred being naked over breakfast..

*   *  *

Breakfast was served by Emma - plates of cereal and bottles of water.  We were all naked now, save Leila and Emma, and with our ankle cuffs again locked to the ground chain and our hands cuffed behind us we were obliged to remain kneeling, firstly to eat our breakfast, and secondly while Madam Wong, Portia and Megan ate theirs. 

The day began with a surprise, however, which lifted my spirits.  It happened when Emma came to collect the plates.  As she reached me, she glanced behind her to where the threesome sat eating breakfast at the table on the verandah.  Seeing their preoccupation, she dropped on one knee in front of me as if to adjust her shoe.  She wore leather cuffs at her wrists and ankles, as did Leila, joined with short connecting chains.  Over the top of the stiff-boned rubber corset she wore was the locked-on stainless steel belt and crotch strap that held the plug up her arse, the same as my own.  In Emma’s case, the strap through her pussy was perhaps two centimetres wide – probably just enough to be uncomfortable, although the steel edges were smoothed and rolled outwards slightly.  As I raised my head to meet her gaze, her hand dropped to her crotch.

With an inward pull of her groin muscles, Emma slid the steel strap slightly to one side and with another muscular contraction ejected a small bottle the size of my thumb from her pussy.  She held it close enough for me to read the word “Rohypnol” on the label.  Roofies!  She must have sneaked them from Monica’s drawer in the study.

We used ‘Roofies’ occasionally for unsuspecting clients to render them unconscious with a judicious dose in their drink.  Emma’s plan was at once clear, for she obviously had access to the food and drink being served to Madam Wong and her minions. 

“Tonight?” I whispered.  She nodded, then in a fluent move the bottle was secreted back in its hiding place and she stood up, collecting my plate to go with the others.

*   *   *