So began our first day of retribution under the direction of Madam Wong. This morning, with the late summer warmth still in the air, the elegant tan outfit had gone, and she was ready for business, dressed in a sort black leather skirt and a low-cut sleeveless matching top.  On her slender forearms matching leather arm guards were laced.  Portia was dressed almost identically, except in red and minus the arm guards.  Both women were bare-legged, and while Portia wore medium-heeled red sandals with the straps wound around her calves, Madam Wong wore elegant knee length boots.  I suspected Portia was the better appraiser of the local weather conditions, which right then looked like being warm and steamy.

With our breakfasts eaten, Megan made the rounds of the prisoners and replaced our gags. It seemed Trish was to be the first victim as she was made to stand and had her wrists bound together in front.  The tail from these bindings was attached to the rope that had previously bound one of her wrists, running through one of the eyebolts at the top of one of the posts.  With her ankles unlocked from the chain, Trish was made to stand facing the post with her hands hanging in front of her face. The rest was very simple.  Madam Wong tied a cord from the top of the adjacent post to Trish’s right ankle cuff and Portia began to haul on this, through the eyebolt at the top of the facing post. 

Trish suddenly found her right leg going up behind her.  As the tension increased, she found herself pulled backwards away from the post she was facing, hopping on her left foot and trying desperately to maintain her balance.  As she neared the centre point between the two posts the ropes began to put more of an upward load on her arms and leg.  Her head dropped between her arms as she found herself staring at the ground as her arms, back and leg now formed a shallow inverted arch.  If last night had been hard, standing on two legs with arms stretched symmetrically, this position was ten times worse, I thought.  Trish made no sound as her limbs were pulled taut by Portia who wrapped the rope around the cleat.

Mary was next, and suffered the identical fate, in the same space between posts, a mirror image of Trish.  Mary was facing the opposite way, her right leg pulled back high so that it passed Trish’s leg at mid-calf.  Here the two legs touched.  Aside from the fact that it was a terribly stringent tie, the pose was incredibly graceful and erotic.  It was the sort the bondage mags would look for, but have the model sustain it just long enough for the cameras before having to be let down.  Trish and Mary were professionals, but something had changed them in the basement, I thought.  Now they were submissive, docile, beaten in the literal and psychological senses of the word.  They were accepting of their fate and all that it would entail. 

With the two victims bound into immovable positions, Madam Wong inspected them closely, running her hands over their thighs and viewing the weals that criss-crossed their buttocks from the three strokes of the cane they had received the previous night.  She caressed Trish’s breasts as they hung down, vulnerable to any malicious intent.  And here we were not disappointed, for after squeezing and pinching them until they hardened, the Madam Wong attached clips to them and screwed them tight.  Trish was making little wriggles and whimpers of pain, shaking her head in vain pleadings when her tormentor held the small lead weights in front of Trish’s eyes.  Madam Wong was unmoved and after hooking the weights to the clips, let them drop six inches as the slack was taken up.  Trish uttered a muffled cry and her body continued to tremble from the obvious pain being inflicted to her nipples.

Mary’s fate was identical, with an identical reaction.  Madam Wong strolled around the pair, viewing the living sculpture with satisfaction and taking more shots with the digital camera.  Then it was Monica’s turn, or so I thought.

Monica was unfastened from the ground chain and taken to a position beneath the overhead wire I had erected a couple of days previously and where Monica had previously suffered at the hands of Portia with the bullwhip.  This was something that was obviously still fresh in Monica’s memory, for she was not at all happy about having her collar fastened by a chain to the wire.  Both she and I were unprepared for me to be the next on the list for attention, however, and I found myself similarly chained to the wire alongside Monica, both of us still with our wrists handcuffed behind us.

“Do you know what’s going to happen now, Steven?”  Portia asked in her most honeyed voice.  I shook my head, not wishing to know.  “We are going to remove that little device that Monica so cruelly inflicted on you – when?  A week ago? “   I was not sure.  I had lost track of the days and how long Mr Willy had been imprisoned in his acrylic case, but despite all the temptations and consequent frustration he had suffered, I was suddenly now of the opinion that it might be a rather safer place for him to be.

Megan produced a key and my friend was suddenly dangling with the fresh breeze playing over him.  He was also subject to Megan’s skilled fingers playing over him as well.  This, together with her fingers toying with the twin padlocks through my nipples and Monica’s very adjacent nakedness, saw him in a state of arousal in a very short time, irrespective of any ideas Mr Brain might have had concerning the fact that such behaviour might not be well advised.

The result of this was that I suddenly found myself pushed against Monica, face to face, and without so much as a “permission to enter, Ma’am”, Megan’s nimble fingers had inserted me inside Monica.  It was not the first time I had been there, but never before under such circumstances.  But the defining moment came when the same nimble fingers locked another padlock through those in our nipples, tethering us just about as intimately as it was possible to get.  It had all happened so fast that I had barely had time to realise where it was all going, before I found myself resting my head on Monica’s left shoulder, with her head on my own. 

Mr Willy could not believe his luck, and I was certainly wondering what the catch was.  Portia ambled up to us and when I saw she had a riding crop in her hand I figured I was about to discover what the catch might be.

“You two make such a lovely couple,” she purred.  “Nearly as cute as you and Jillian, in Macau, Steven,” she added, sending my already whirling mind back to the circuits of the dance floor that Jill and I had been forced to make in a similar position, but not with our nipples locked together. “You must have been very frustrated in these last few days, Steven.  How would you like a chance to at least make up for what Monica did to you?”  Before I could think of a smart remark – at least in my head – she swatted me hard on my backside with the crop.

It stung enough on top of the bruises from the caning to make me jump.  And of course the jump had certain immediate implications.  Mr Willy enjoyed it and my nipples were tugged against Monica’s breasts with a clink of locks.  For all the momentary pain it caused in this region, it was stimulating in the extreme – a fact that was not wasted in being transmitted down to Mr Willy.

“Yes, yes that’s very good, Steven.  Let’s have a little more of that, “ Portia cooed.  “Up – down, up – down…”  I did not need the crop to be convinced to carry on.  “Excellent – keep it up while I attend to your friend Jillian.”

I did not know quite what was going on here, and my attention was momentarily distracted by watching Jill being unlocked from the chain and walked across to the pillory, where her neck and wrists were locked into the holes between the two planks.  The planks were down low, such that she was bent at the waist, her legs slightly spread, her back and head horizontal.

Up – down…

Megan and Madam Wong busied themselves with several lengths of rope which they wound around Jill’s upper torso, primarily for the purpose of binding her breasts.  In her helpless state with her breasts as accessible as they could possibly be, Jill could do nothing to prevent the ropes being wound around the bases and making her breasts tighten and swell as the cords were tightened.  Jill’s breasts were not large, but were well proportioned mounds that gave her a figure a firm and attractive look.  Having Jill’s torso horizontal gave Megan and Madam Wong the best opportunity to fully restrain the two lovely orbs with multiple turns of cord around them. 

Up – down… Monica’s breathing was starting to get faster, as was my own.  The proximity of Monica’s breasts was stimulating enough, but the incessant tugging on my nipples was arousing in the extreme and I knew Mr Willy was going to go all the way, very soon.  Of course I did not want it to happen too quickly.  Just this once I was selfish enough to consider myself only, for I considered it Monica’s fault that I had suffered this last week.  That said, a man still has standards to maintain, and not lifting off without proper pre-flight preparation was part of those.

Up – down…

Madam Wong had now clipped two weights to Jill’s swollen and distended nipples.  The weights dangled below the round balloons that were her breasts, and I thought I could hear muted whines of pain coming from the pilloried blonde. 

Up – down… My hearing was starting to go as the blood began to pound in my ears, while Monica’s heavy snorting was going on right next to my left ear which didn’t help things.  Then I saw Madam Wong come out with the cane again.

Three more strokes across Jill’s taut backside would under normal circumstances have left me horrified, and while Mr Brain registered the shock at seeing the bright red weals appear over the existing bruises, Mr Willy was on auto pilot and all systems were go.  Not even Jill’s awful screams behind the muting rubber ball could avert the launch process.

Up – down…  Leave me locked up for a week, will you, Monica! Take this…

“Uurrrrrgh!  Nnnnrrr!”

The pain shot through me with terrible force as the rocket exploded on the launch pad.  Portia had hit the remote that zapped me in the arse and left my plans in ruins.  Mr Willy went into reverse thrust and suddenly all the tugging at my nipples went from erotic to excruciating.

I felt my body sag and it was only with an effort that I kept myself upright.  I could hear Portia and Madam Wong laughing fit to bust.  I suppose having a male slave’s climax cut off so decisively - not to mention denying the same to Monica – was hugely satisfying to them.  I thought back to when the Twins had arrived as our reluctant clients for aversion therapy and I cursed the day I had ever built the damned plugs.

Monica and I leaned on each other for some minutes while the laughter and the pain subsided.  Mr Willy, disappointed in the extreme, retreated into the world without too much persuasion, and eventually the common nipple locks were undone to separate us.  Despite my intervening unkind thoughts about Monica I could see the tears and anguish in her face as she was pulled away from me and had her collar unlocked from the chain.

She was now prepared for her morning position, as it turned out.  Portia attached a large black strap-on dick to Monica’s triangle, the straps running around her waist and between her legs.  It was not the kind that had an extension that continued up into the woman’s pussy, enabling a good degree of pleasure to be obtained by the wearer.  This morning I reckoned Monica had come as close to any pleasure as she was likely to get.

With Madam Wong on one arm and Portia on the other, Monica was marched across to where Jill was bent over in the pillory.  A cord tied to each of the nipple padlocks provided enough incentive for Monica to bend over and allow the rubber dick to be inserted in Jillian’s backside.  From there on both girls struggled with the pain inflicted on them.  Encouraged by the pull on her nipples, Monica had no choice but to slowly screw Jillian in the arse.  Jill was whining and squirming with the undoubted pain in her back passage, never mind the weights clipped to her own swollen nipples.  Monica was trapped between the nipple agony and trying to lessen the inevitable pain for her friend beneath her. 

It was a fiendish process, controlled by Madam Wong on the end of the cords.  She played with them as though Monica were a horse and the cords a pair of controlling reins.  She encouraged Monica forward with a steady pull, then eased off enough to allow a little withdrawal, thus making the penetration as protracted as possible.  In truth it would have been much more painful had Monica been forced in up to the hilt in one movement, but I think Madam Wong liked the whole idea of Monica simply giving Jill a good rogering.  The images of Madam Wong being herself screwed in the arse in a not dissimilar situation in a light well in Macau loomed large in my mind, as it must have done for the Chinese women over the past few months, as they plotted revenge on us.  Once more the camera came out and the event was recorded for who knew what devious purpose.

When Monica was finally fully embedded in her friend’s backside, she was uncuffed and the top plank was raised, to take her wrists in the two additional holes I had made.  With the plank locked down again, Monica and Jillian were going nowhere, the former impaling the latter in an irrevocable and decisive act.  Portia let fly at Monica’s butt with a few cracks of the riding crop which saw Monica buck and squirm, no doubt making the rubber dick probe into any last crevice of Jill’s rear anatomy not yet touched.  I could barely contain myself when I saw Madam Wong pick up the cane and deliver three further strokes to the white flesh of Monica’s tautly bent buttocks.  Both girls jerked and screamed into the rubber filling their mouths before subsiding into a shaky series of sniffles and sobs that nearly broke my heart.

I wondered if this day would ever end, and whether Emma really had any chance with that crazy plan of hers…

*   *   *

It had been bad enough seeing what was happening to the girls around me on the back lawn, but the prospect now lay ahead of me that I would have to do some real suffering of my own, now that everybody else had paid their morning’s penance.  This was the way it looked to be going when Megan unlocked my handcuffs, replacing them with a series of sashcord turns around each wrist ending in a tail about a metre long. My right wrist was pulled up behind my left shoulder blade by Megan and the tail flipped over my left shoulder.  Portia stood in front of me and took the rope in her hands, and it was then that I saw what she intended to do with it as she passed it through the padlock on my left nipple.

I tried to struggle, but Megan, one hand gripping my wrist and the other waving the remote at me persuaded me it wasn’t such a good idea.  It was only with hindsight that I realised she had not kept my hand up as high as it might have gone, thereby making the potential pain a degree less severe than it could have been.

Soon my left wrist was similarly secured over the right shoulder to the right nipple, and there was no way I was inclined to struggle whatsoever.  Having ones pierced nipples bound to something had a fearfully calming effect, I could now state without fear of contradiction.   In this state I was unhooked from the chain at my collar and marched by Portia across the lawn and through the steel emergency door into the basement.  I discovered very quickly that the moment I let my arms relax and succumb to the presence of gravity, I developed a painful complaint in my nipples.  It was a devious method of bondage, placing all the strain on my arms through a self-imposed loading.

My destination was the dungeon room itself.  Here I found company in the form of  a naked Shawnee, riding the saddle that I had developed.  It had proven a highly effective device for inducing solo orgasms, including as it did arse and pussy vibrating dildos of the most stimulating sort we could find, as well as a clit vibrator and vibrators within the saddle itself.

Shawnee was astride the saddle, her feet on the floor and separated by a wide spreader bar.  The saddle, on a long levered beam like a seesaw, was held firmly in her crotch by strong bungy straps pulling the other end down.  At least I assumed it was Shawnee, for the figure was wearing a blow-up rubber discipline helmet which had a small tube poking out the front to allow her to breathe through her mouth.  It made her head look large and shapeless, like a creature from one of the early science fiction movies.  I could see dark brown hair clinging damply to the neck and shoulders which – on the basis of other possibilities – could not have been Emma’s or Leila’s, leaving Shawnee the only one unaccounted for.

Her arms were crossed horizontally behind her in a leather sheath, which was hardly the severe bondage I might have expected from her captors.  On the other hand the TENS machine was parked beside her and I realised she had four patches over and around each nipple.  Add this to the vibes that must have been coming up from her crotch and I thought our Shawnee must surely be away with the fairies. As if to confirm this, her body and voluptuous breasts were wracked with a series of shudders and convulsions.  She threw her head back and emitted a long wailing woo-ooo sound that dissolved into grunting gasping for breath.  Her torso twisted and I could see her sheathed arms banging against her back as she struggled to escape the spasms emanating from her crotch and presumably a few other sensitive spots.

“I wonder how many that makes?” Portia asked of nobody in particular.

“I think she must be into double figures.”  Madam Wong had followed us into the room.  She walked over to where Shawnee was doubled over from her exertions.  Sweat was dripping off the bound girl, forming a damp pool on the concrete.  Madam Wong lifted the black rubber balloon that was Shawnee’s head and told her:  “You have a whole day of this ahead of you my dear.  Perhaps you’d like a good caning instead?”  She turned to me.  “I realise she probably can’t hear me under the rubber.  Those things are awfully tight in the first place, and when you pump them up things go quieter still.  And of course when you are having an orgasm or trying to recover from one you go a bit deaf anyway.”  She smiled at me – a smile which gave me no comfort.  “Have you ever worn an inflatable hood, Steven?” 

I shook my head.  I didn’t want to try one out either, thank you very much.

“We must arrange something.  See what you can do, Portia.  Maybe when this one comes free, unless you have another booking on it?”  She raised a perfectly-plucked eyebrow.

“I think it’ll be occupied for most of the day, but possibly after that,” Portia said genially.  “You can get intimately acquainted with the smell of that sweaty little slave slut, Steven.  I think you’d like that.”

I realised now what they were doing to Shawnee.  While the rest of us were enduring the agonies of lash and clamp, Shawnee was struggling through the dubious pleasure of multiple orgasm.  The pair were obviously seeing how much she could take before collapse.  Caning or climaxing – some choice.

“Put him on the bench,” said Madam Wong.  I was made to lie down on my back on the padded whipping bench.  The top section had been removed so that it was a little above knee height.  My knees just reached the edge so that my lower legs hung down the end face.  Portia bound my ankles together and secured them to a cleat or some other anchor point, then passed a wide leather strap across my midriff, buckling it on one side so that I was locked in place, my arms trapped underneath me.

“I’ll leave you to enjoy the morning, then,” Portia said.  “You’d better take the remote, though I think our boy has learned his lesson.  He won’t give you any trouble, I’m sure.” 

“We’re going to have such fun this morning,” Madam Wong told me when Portia had closed the door behind her.  The dungeon was quiet save the persistent hum of vibrators in the corner and a distant ragged breathing interspersed with the odd grunt from the bound Shawnee.  Madam Wong circled the platform, dragging her long fingernails lightly up and down my body. 

“Things have come a long way since that little birthday present you gave me in the ballroom at my house.”  She smiled as if at the memory, but it may have been anticipation.  “I remember that.  It was very special.  You were very good.”

Just doing what comes naturally, Ma’am, I thought – if you could pardon the pun.

“I thought we’d do a little more of it here, if that’s all right with you.”  Her fingers stopped at Mr Willy, who seemed to have got over the nasty shock he had been privy to on the back lawn.  Truth be known, the noises that young Shawnee was making were having a decidedly arousing effect, and Madam Wong’s teasing fingers did nothing to staunch the flow of blood in that area.  Pretty soon Mr Willy was standing at attention and being caressed by my captor. 

“How long can you remain like that?”  she asked.

“Nnffftmmmmnp”  I said truthfully.

“A likely story.  I think you’ll need a little help.”  My quizzical noises were rewarded with a painful tightening down south and a zipping sound.  I raised my head and saw that she’d tightened a plastic cable tie around the base of my buddy.  She was pulling out another, smiling as she did so and waving it in front of my face.  I did not like this at all and shook my head decisively.  That only made her laugh as she zipped the second tie up around Mr Willy and Mr Scrotum.  Ouch – that stung!

“Guess you’ll be up for hours…” she murmured in my ear.  That was just before she unzipped her white leather skirt and let it drop to the floor.  She unbuckled my gag and pulled it out of my mouth with a plop.  What a joy it was to be able to move my jaw again.  Moments later her shaven pussy had insinuated itself over my face while her mouth performed a serious undulation up and down Mr Willy.  I was in no doubt that it was definitely time to get my jaw moving.

That set the scene for the next…I don’t know how long.  I was in no position to do anything except to eat pussy, which, I confess, I did to the best of my ability, forwards, backwards, sideways, whatever.  Madam Wong took off with a spirited climax which regrettably was not reciprocal, thanks to the now very restrictive ties about Mr Willy.  And in the background Shawnee was sounding off again, while Madam Wong was doing an intermittent hand job on me.  It was intermittent because in between hands she had stripped off her top and rubbed her breasts over most of my body, including Mr Willy. 

They were nice breasts, as I had remembered, small, well-formed, pert and hard.  I was also hard, and when Madam Wong skewered her well-lubricated pussy on me I thought I was going to die.  But anchored as I was at the ankles and waist I could barely manage a pelvic thrust, much less get my jet fuel past the constricting O-rings. 

Three times she climaxed, screaming the dungeon down in a flood of Cantonese that made Shawnee sound like the Horse Whisperer.  Three times to a big zero on my part, that is, Wong 3, Reynolds nil. And it wasn’t from lack of effort on my part.  It seemed I had swapped one form of unfeeling frustration for another extremely sensitive form.  The last effort was with her firmly astride Mr Willy using the tails from my nipple padlocks as reins – a fact which produced my best pelvic thrust efforts to date but alas, no satisfaction for me.

When Madam Wong had finished with me I was regagged and left to my own devices, lying bound on the whipping bench.  Shawnee hit another peak in the corner, but I could tell her exertions were becoming less ferocious and the efforts were obviously taking their toll.  I thought the poor girl must be nearly exhausted.

I was feeling a bit drained myself, although not as much as I should have been had those cable ties not been so effective.  Fighting against restraints can be quite debilitating.  When Leila came down with some lunch, however, Mr Willy was still doing flagpole impressions and she was not averse to playing with him for a minute in light of my helpless state. I could only make futile gagged protests as she teased me some more, although in truth she was no more able to take advantage of me being gagged herself and with the stainless steel crotch strap locked in place.  But some girls just can’t help themselves.  Her eyes were laughing over the gag as her nails ran provocatively and frustratingly over my member and she ignored my muffled complaints.

“Leila!”  Portia appeared in the doorway.  “You were told to simply deliver food down here, not to play with the merchandise.  Perhaps you’d like an hour on the exercycle next door.  If your bottom isn’t sore now, it will be after you’ve pedalled a few miles with that plug up your little butt hole.” 

Leila shook her head and made pleading noises of apology, but I suspected the damage was done.  Portia stalked into the room, fixing Leila with a withering glare, and unbuckled my gag again as well as the belt across my midriff..

“Do your job, girl.  Feed your friend so he has enough stamina to cope with me for the rest of the afternoon.”

So that was the plan.  Well, it was a tough job, but somebody had to do it.  However I reasoned that at least if Portia was in the dungeon doing rude things to me, she would not be outside flogging the girls. Leila looked very sorry for herself as she helped me sit up and held a large fruit smoothee for me to drink through a straw.  It looked like it would be all I was getting, so I tried to make the process last as long as possible. 

It was while this was going on that there was a muted cry from the corner and we looked across to see Shawnee slumped forward in the saddle.  Portia looked at her watch.

“Damn!  I thought she’d last longer than this.  I’m down a hundred bucks to Madam Wong.” 

Portia went across and turned off the vibrators and the TENS machine, but left Shawnee still straddled and impaled.  Portia released the air valve and Shawnee’s balloon-like head at once shrank to more human proportions.  With difficulty Portia pulled the thing off, leaving Shawnee, now conscious again, looking as though she had just come out of the shower.  She was gasping and trying to regain her composure when Portia spoke to her.

“One word out of you, missy, and everything goes on again – hood, machine, the lot.  Understand?”  Shawnee nodded dully.  She looked as though she would keel over if the saddle and spreader bar weren’t holding her up.

“Haven’t you finished yet?”  Portia demanded, turning back to me and Leila.  I gave a loud slurp that signalled the bottom of the container.  “Good.  Leila, come with me.  I think you can go for a bike ride after all.”

Leila was dragged out of the room by the red clad mistress to be secured, no doubt, on the exercycle and spend her time pedalling a number of miles with the nasty plug doing various uncomfortable things inside her, until there came a time for her other duties to be resumed. 

I, meanwhile, sat on the whipping bench, my arms still pulled up behind me by tender means and unable to go anywhere with my ankles bound.  Shawnee stood not so tall in the saddle in the corner, head bowed and looking like she had just set a new marathon world record, though perhaps a different sort of marathon from that usually associated with the Olympics.

*   *   *

The afternoon was more of the same for me, only this time with Portia doing the sitting, bouncing, teasing and a fair bit of loud noise making.  All in all it was quite unsatisfying from my point of view.  Finally, Portia grew tired and left me alone with Shawnee again.  This time Shawnee had been only partly silenced with a rubber bit gag, and had been blindfolded with a black bandanna.  But with the saddle and TENS machine turned on again she was away in her Shawnee World once more, and the periodic howls of ecstasy that came from her direction at least gave me some satisfaction that the device was possibly the best I had made.  I had my usual hard rubber ball wedged between my teeth.  It was starting to show bite marks now and fitted relatively comfortably, which is perhaps another way of making the scary statement that maybe I was simply getting used to it.

In the late afternoon – as it turned out to be when we emerged outside – Megan came to get me.  Mr Willy was still upright, if not totally and painfully swollen as he had been during the height of the painful abuse from Portia and Madam Wong.  Regrettably it did not take much from Megan to get him into that state again, and I was dismayed to find Monica and Jill still imprisoned in the pillory, with a nasty case of sunburn on their backs.  Evidently Madam Wong was of the opinion that this might highlight a beating later on, when she could have the joy of removing shedding skin with a flogger.  What fun that would be.  Somehow I did not think such thoughts were doing her a disservice.  I was even more dismayed to find that I was expected to do to Monica what she was doing to Jill. 

Being pulled into position by my nipples was a pretty motivating incentive to perform, especially as it was Portia doing the pulling.  Fortunately it was Megan doing a bit of lubricating as well, so that when I forced Monica’s cheeks apart and drove into her butt hole it was marginally less painful for her than it might have been.  She still uttered a mournful “Nnnnnrrnn!” as I was driven deeper.  Monica, now the meat in the sandwich between me and Jill was helpless to do anything about it.

Portia wrapped new cords from my nipple padlocks around the bodies of Monica and Jillian and we stood there, me still with my arms pulled up behind me and now giving me nasty cramps, leaning on Monica, who in turn leaned on Jill, still trapped at neck and wrists.  Secured and impaled, I made gagged sounds of protests as Portia appeared with the cane.  She made it swish horribly through the air with a few practice swings, and I tried to steel myself for the first stroke. 

But of course reality is always worse, and as it landed on my bare backside the pain made me clench my cheeks on the plug in my arse, while driving forward into Monica, who in turn gave the plug in Jill a shove.  All in all it was an unpleasant chain reaction, repeated two more times in front of Madam Wong, who was there again with her camera, exulting in our misery an desolation.  Sniffling and whining with the agony of my glowing and bruised buttocks I had to admit it was truly a low point in the history of Bilboes.

Trish and Mary, I had noticed, had been removed from their previous strenuous ballerina positions.  Only now, when I had done the dirty on Monica and been bound into place, could I look about me, and it was then that I could just see two forms bound hand and foot lying on the verandah. 

It was nearly dusk as Portia and Megan prepared the next two victims for some form of ritual humiliation, while Leila and Emma prepared the table for the mistresses of the house.  Once again they were dining al fresco, able to look down on their lowly subjects during the feast.

From my viewpoint half lying on Monica’s back looking over her shoulder I saw Mary’s ankles untied before she was hauled to her feet and her elbows bound so that they were touching, with multiple coils of white sashcord.  It was thin stuff, too, the kind that would cut off circulation and the sort we would not normally use for that reason.  But then we were not paying customers.  We were lowly slaves in a state of perpetual punishment until Madam Wong deemed that we had paid our penance and might perhaps perform a more useful role.

Mary’s wrists were hauled upwards via a rope over the beam so she was soon in a severe strappado.  Two minutes later Trish was in a similar position and Portia was working a large double-ended dildo into Mary’s arse.  It stuck out like a banana until Portia backed Trish up against it and the pair were skewered bum to bum, with a couple of turns of duct tape around their thighs holding them in place.  It was going to be a long, uncomfortable evening for them and for all of us.  I wondered how much worse things could get from this point.  I was shortly to find out.

*   *   *