We sat round the dinner table that evening as Monica briefed us again.  It was a bit like a military operation.

“I want to be out of here by nine-thirty, girls.”  I supposed this statement meant that I was now ‘one of the girls’.  “There has been a slight change of plan.  Sorry to disappoint you, Mary, but Megan will be coming with us after all.”  Mary frowned in obvious disapproval.  Monica continued, cutting off an outburst that Mary was clearly thinking about giving voice to:  “You did such a good job on her, Mary, that she has come around to my way of thinking and is being very cooperative.

“There are two other little incentives for you.  Firstly, I have made a few phone calls to our clients and explained the circumstances.  Pain slut Lisa is booked in for four hours on Sunday, two of which are on the house to welcome her back.”  Mary’s expression brightened visibly.  “Secondly, for you and Leila, because you have to stay behind, here are two little presents.”  She tossed two envelopes on the table.  Mary and Leila picked up one each and began to open them.

“Our various sessions with Madam Wong were very successful in persuading her to cooperate as well.  As a result, her gold Visa card will be doing a little overtime, courtesy of Emma, who today went into Myers department store to try it out – and very successfully, Emma, yes?”

“It went all right,” she agreed.

“Except you took the Wong card,” I murmured.  Emma laughed.

“Yes.  I signed the receipt as Jade Wong and nobody batted an eyelid.  I bought some gift vouchers.”

“A thousand dollars worth!  Monica – thank you!” Leila exclaimed, her face lighting up with excitement.  Even Mary was smiling, if slightly more controlled.

“Don’t thank me.  It seems only right that Madam Wong provide compensation for the damage she has caused,” Monica said.  “This means both to our business and to you people personally.  The others will get their chance to go shopping in Sydney.  Mary and Leila – I’m sorry you can’t come with us, but if there’s anything you especially want that you can’t get here in Brisbane, let me know and I’ll see what I can do.  Maybe something nice for your downstairs wardrobe?” 

It was a nice touch – a very human side to Monica that she did not often let show.  She cared for her people, however haughty she sometimes came across, and she would not stand for her staff to be demeaned, as our prisoners were now finding out.  To Madam Wong it would only be money – something that she had plenty of and that she would not think twice about.  But above this level Monica had more personal scores to settle.

“Jill, Emma and I will be in the Beemer, Steven and Trish will take the van,” said Monica, over the murmurs of excitement at Mary and Leila’s little windfall and the promise of a Sydney shopping spree.  “Leila and Mary – you can prepare the prisoners for travel tomorrow morning while the rest of us load up.”

*   *   *

I parked the Transit van on the grass near the back steps the next morning.  The two benches had been removed from the rear, one of which was sitting on a pair of sawhorses nearby.  On it was Jade Wong’s inert body, rapidly being turned into a mummy with several rolls over wet bed sheets that had been made into strips about half a metre wide.  I paused in the process of loading up my tools, to watch Leila and Mary do their work.  Mary was showing Leila how to wet the sheets and to wrap them tightly around the victim’s body.  They started with the victim’s feet, Leila lifting Madam Wong’s legs while Mary pulled the damp sheet tightly around the limbs, winding them up her calves and anchoring her legs together.  Mary paused at that point and worked a well-lubricated medium dildo into the woman’s pussy, before turning her over on the bench with Leila’s help.  Madam Wong’s arms flopped down beside the bench and I realised they must have slipped her a Bilboes cocktail for her breakfast.

Once on her front, Madam Wong received another insert – a vibrating butt plug that was pushed home into her rectum by Leila at Mary’s direction.  Like the dildo, there was a trailing wire from the plug, which was passed between her legs before Madam Wong was turned right side up again.  I recognised the end plugs on the wires and knew at that point that Madam Wong and (I presumed) Portia were going to be in for a very long day.  They were going to receive the bum-shock and pussy-vibe torture that Monica had forced on the girls at the end of my apprenticeship at Bilboes, when we had been obliged to partake in a treasure hunt all over Brisbane to find various release keys to unlock the girls one by one from the back of the van.  The girls had been locked inside, vibrators running, connected to the accelerator, with butt plugs connected to the ignition sufficiently to give them a jolt every time it was turned on.  It had been a day we would not forget for a while.  Our two prisoners would find it a very long and stimulating trip.

That was when I saw Mary and Leila mount two TENS pads over Madam Wong’s nipples, and join all three wires in a bunch.  I guessed with only the two prisoners Monica had decided on a further use for the six-way splitter box in the back, through the judicious use of some nipple stimulation.  These women were going to be a mess by the end of the day. 

Then it was on with the wrapping as Leila held the Chinese woman’s legs up again and more layers of wet sheets went around her knees and thighs and hips, leaving the wires poking out.  Then it was the more tedious process of wrapping the abdomen and chest, while securing the arms to the sides.  With each turn of the sheet, Mary showed Leila how to smooth it down and pull it as tight as she could manage.  This was accomplished by first winding the sheet around a fence paling, which kept the sheet from getting tangled, then allowed Leila to grasp each end of the paling and pull hard over the whole width of the fabric. 
I dumped another box of tools in the van and on my return I found Madam Wong fully mummified up to her neck.  Mary had positioned two thin cushions under the mummy – one in the small of the back and one under the neck, for contrary to popular perception we are not straight-backed creatures, and the neck roll positioned the head further back to allow a better air flow down the trachea, much as in mouth to mouth resuscitation.

On my third trip to the van I saw the strips of duct tape over Madam Wong’s mouth and the foam pads over the eyes before more sheeting – this time in much narrower strips – was wound around her head, locking her jaw closed and clamping the pads in place.  A minute later her head had been enveloped entirely and the sheeting was secured with safety pins.

The final act was to bind Madam Wong firmly to the bench, which was achieved with the multiple webbing straps already attached, enabling secure fastening with the click of a clip and a hard pull on the loose end of the strap.  Madam Wong was shortly anchored immovably to the bench.  Mary and I lifted her up and carried her into the van.

“The head needs to be raised about six inches,” Mary said.  “It’s better for blood flow, breathing, you name it.  Not my idea,” she added, as if to clarify that such namby pamby treatment of prisoners was not her style. “Monica said so.”

“I never for a moment expected it of you, Mary,” I told her truthfully.  “I know you have standards to maintain, despite all the backsliding that goes on here.”  Mary looked at me suspiciously then realised I was stirring her and smiled.  “You don’t have anything to prove to me,” I said.

“No, I guess not.  Well, I’d better help Leila with victim number two.  I still think they should have nipple clips, not these soft buzzy things.”

“Maybe they’ll agree with you after a day of it,” I suggested.

“Well I hope you have to do a lot of stops en route,” she said. “And I hope your ignition doesn’t work first time in each case.”

“It has been very troublesome lately,” I agreed with a smile, as I fixed the adjustable support at the head of the bench. 

*   *   *

By the time Leila and Mary had finished turning Portia into mummy number two, and we had stowed her in the van, the interior was starting to get just a little congested.  My boxes of tools were stacked under the benches and various leather, rubber and  pvc outfits were hanging on the horizontal rail down the centre.  Despite the fact that this was to be a one night stand, Monica, Emma, Jill and Trish seemed to think at least three outfits each would be needed, and then had the hide to tell me my tools were taking up too much space.  By the time I had stashed away a drop saw, skilly, drill, boxes of nails and screws, not to mention the carry carton of hand tools, perhaps they did take up room, but I could at least claim they were necessary.

That was when I found out there was to be a third passenger in the back – Megan.  In another flashback to the day of the treasure hunt, Megan was paraded in a Queensland Firebirds netball uniform of red, black and yellow lycra, that flowed about her thighs and clung tightly to her breasts.  Like all of the uniforms, this one seemed to be made a size too small, but who was I to complain.  I could see the outline of the TENS pads over her nipples and knew that she, too, would be in a state of exhaustion before the day was out.

Megan’s hands were locked inside rubber mittens which were similarly locked together in front of her, and her mouth was taped with a series of criss-crosses of duct tape, before a silicone rubber swim cap was pulled over her hair and several more turns of tape locked her jaw shut and wrapped further over her mouth.  With this done the motorbike helmet that I had modified many months previously was fitted over her head, the two padded steel flaps locking below her chin.  Megan was seated on the floor against the dividing wall between the back and the front, and a chain was locked to the overhead bar, dropping half a metre to have the other end locked to an eyebolt protruding from the top of the helmet.  This would allow her to be seated, but not to lie down, while still giving her some movement.  Monica poked her head in the rear just as I began to connect up the various plugs to Portia, now slowly coming to her senses on the left hand bench.

“Now that everybody is on Planet Earth,” she said genially, “let me explain what’s going to happen to you today.  You will be chauffeured in this luxury van to Coff’s Harbour today, which, for the benefit of the non-local passengers, is a distance of around four hundred and thirty kilometres from here.”  This was Monica at her pedantic best, making them realise exactly what was in store for them.  “At an average of seventy-five klicks an hour, it will take perhaps six hours.  But then there’s lunch and morning tea stops, so it will be a very full day, since driving is such hungry work. 

“And so you understand the luxury you’re travelling in, the butt plugs in your arses, ladies, are wired to the ignition.  Every time we start up, zapper-roony up the old rectum, comprendo? 

“However just to show we’re not totally heartless, you will discover that those nice little pads fixed to your nips, and the dildos wedged in your pussies, are connected to the accelerator.  It’s a very simple thing – the closer the pedal goes to the floor, the more the revs go up inside you.  I wish you a very pleasurable trip.”  Monica grinned at the two sightless mummified heads now twisting futilely as they discovered these were the only parts they could actually move at all.

“Oh, and as for you Megan, you have been spared the tight bondage that these two will undergo, in return for which you will perform a duty of care in watching over them.  If there is any problem, you are to communicate it at once, as best you can, to Steven and Trish in the front cab.  The sliding window will remain open for that purpose.  And woe betide you if they are forced to stop for any reason other than an emergency.”

I finished connecting Madam Wong and moved over to Megan, now leaning against the dividing wall.  Resignedly she raised the hem of her skirt and I picked up the three wires with their plugs ready for attaching.  All the connections were lockable and I saw that under Megan’s flared nylon skirt a wide leather crotch belt had been locked in place, effectively preventing removal of the inserts.  I reckoned the nipple pads would be off before the end of the trip, until I later found out they had been secured with super glue, and with Megan’s hands locked in the rubber mittens, it was evident Monica was ahead of the play again.

Our personal luggage was mainly in the BMW with Jill, Emma and Monica, whom we could contact by mobile phone if we got separated.  Obsessive Monica had given us a map, told us where we should have lunch and morning and afternoon tea, and where we would be staying the night. 

I started the engine.  It spluttered into life at the third attempt while I winked at Mary, standing by the door, and took no heed of the muffled squeals coming from the rear.

“You’re awful,” Trish said, meaning none of it.

“I know.  Remember that comment when it’s your turn to drive, and also remember that this van is very hard to start some times.”

With a final wave  we left Leila and Mary standing on the steps and drove around the side of the house to follow the silver Beemer down the drive.

*   *   *

It was a brilliant day for travelling.  The temperature was in the high twenties and once clear of downtown Brisbane we could hit 110 kph down the Pacific Motorway and I could picture the vibrators whirring away as the strapped down figures tried to fight their total immovability.  Fifty kilometres into the trip, her curiosity piqued by odd noises coming through the window, Trish undid her seat belt and turned around to check the interior behind her.

“Looks like Portia just took off,” she said with a grin, sitting down again.  “Monica is such an artist at this.”

“How did you come to be mixed up with her?”  I asked.

Trish gave a throaty chuckle.  “It’s a long story, Steven.  I think you hit the nail on the head when you said ‘mixed up’.  I guess we all are, aren’t we.”

“Some more so than others.”

“Damn right.  You’ll understand what I mean when I tell you that I came to Monica through Mary.”

“Oh.  That explains a lot.” 

She laughed again.  “Yeah, I think it does.  Not sure what it says about me, though,” she added.

“So how did you get mixed up with Mary, then?”

“Oh, a long time ago I came to Australia – the late eighties, it was.  I had my interior design qualifications and I was seeing the world for the first time.  Got involved with a guy… He was into B & D and from that point so was I, like it or not.”

“And did you?”

“Yeah – up to a point.  I wasn’t too keen on having the crap whipped out of me, but then came the time when I found my boyfriend having it off with another girl – after tying her up, of course.  Well, I have to say, I was mad as all hell, and I gave her a real good going over, ‘cos he’d left her like that, as he had a habit of doing.  I got the biggest buzz of my life and she got the biggest fright of her life.”

“And?”

“And of course I walked out on him, but found my whole world had been turned upside down.  You have to understand I was only twenty something, and Sydney in the eighties was still pretty liberated compared to BC.  Kings Cross had everything.  I was blown away.  Well, I saw opportunities here that interior design could never give me.  Still love it, but it comes a poor second.”  She gave a husky giggle. 

“Well, to cut a long story short, I got involved with all sorts of people, usually the wrong type.  Got into a lot of scrapes but managed to find my way out.  Got into drugs.  Mary found me and got me off them.”

“Mary did?”  I was astonished.

“Yeah.  Amazing, eh.  Let me tell you a few things about our Mary.  Firstly, don’t believe the act.  She’s not half as hard as she makes out.”

“I’ve already worked that one out.”

“Have you now?”  She shot me a sly look.  “I won’t go down that road.  Did you know she used to read the news for SBS?”

“I heard some allusions to it.  But you girls keep your stories pretty close to your collective – and I might say, beautiful, chests.  Why did she give up that life?  It must’ve been pretty glamorous.”

“Dunno.  She doesn’t talk about it.  I think something happened – something pretty significant that made her get out.  It was a very high profile existence – maybe too public…”

“And she’s never told you?”

“No,” Trish mused.  “I suppose we are a rather secretive lot.  I guess we’ve found our little niches in life and want to stay there.  We all have our secrets, and sometimes it takes a while in this business to trust people sufficiently to let them in on some things.”

“I still can’t believe you were on drugs, Trish.”

“Yup.  Not a pretty sight in those days.”

“And Mary got you out?”

“Sure did.  Into rehab, put me up in her own place and finally introduced me to an establishment where I could explore my own capacity for being a Domme under properly controlled circumstances.”

“So what was she doing at the time?”

“The same thing, but at least she had her life in order.  Do you know she speaks French, Spanish and some Arabic?”

“You’re kidding!”

“Very talented girl, is our Mary.”

“I’m gob-smacked.”

“She got me started properly and we’ve stayed in contact ever since.  That’s over ten years.”

“So when did Monica turn up?”

“She was one of Mary’s contacts.  The three of us wound up working at Dark Castle, under a well-known Sydney mistress.  It was quite a big outfit, but we had issues over the way the girls were treated and eventually we all moved to Brisbane, at Mon’s suggestion.  Once again we ended up working for other people, but met the other girls in the process.  They were mainly doing straight stuff – escort, massage, that sort of thing.  Monica being Monica, she can spot talent a mile off, and when her father died, she was the next in line and picked up the lot.  He had a nice little farming business which she sold for a tidy profit and Bilboes was the result.  She took Leila and Em and Jill with her, along with quite a few clients, and the rest you know.”

“Amazing.”

“I haven’t told you the half of it.”

“Let’s save that for this afternoon,” I suggested, as there was a muted wail from the rear.  “Damn, you girls have all the fun.”

*   *   *

We stopped in Byron Bay, Australia’s most easterly point and home to all manner of surfies, hippies and back packers.  Rather than eat in, Monica bought takeaways and we found a secluded spot near one of the many white sandy beaches where we could park and open the back doors to the van.  As we ate, we described the magnificent scenery to the two mummied figures, although Megan could still see to a certain extent through the grill on her helmet.

The beach was deserted, even though the weather was warm.  School holidays were over and the surf was apparently better closer to town.  That was probably the reason Monica decided that Megan ought to go for a swim.  Knowing Monica, it was something she had probably planned in meticulous detail, and her apparent spontaneous idea was undermined by the fact that both she and Jillian had their swimsuits on under their clothes.

By the time they were ready for the waves Trish and I had uncoupled Megan from the cables and had unlocked her helmet.  She remained, of course, gagged and cuffed and now had a long rope knotted loosely around her neck, the ends of which were handed to Monica and Jill.

Trish, Emma and I sat on the bench seat beside the van as the threesome ran off down the sand, the bright skirt and sleeveless top of Megan in between the two more appropriately attired girls.  There was a lot of squealing and jumping amongst the waves as they toyed with Megan, splashing her and dragging her into the water.  Eventually they tired of their game and returned, wet and grinning, the water sparkling on their skin.  Megan looked less than  enthused about the whole thing.  While Monica and Jill dried off and changed into their clothes, I gave Megan as good a rub down as I could before locking the helmet on her again and connecting up the cables.  She remained damp and shivering, her wet skirt clinging to her thighs and her sneakers squelching.

“Don’t worry, you’ll soon warm up,” I said to her.  “Both inside and out.”  She grunted unhappily behind the tape before I backed out and closed the doors.

“All right, kids, playtime’s over,” Monica announced.  “Let’s get this show on the road.  Wagons… roll!” 

*   *   *

It was nearly six pm before we entered Coffs Harbour.  We had had a good run, sitting on a hundred for much of the last hour.  When we finally pulled up alongside the cabin Monica had rented, I reckoned our passengers would be medium to well done, if the banging and frustrated cries from Megan were anything to go by.

The cabin slept six and was discretely situated far enough from adjacent ones in a grove of pine trees at one end of the camping ground.  By the time we had unloaded what we needed it was dark enough to bring Megan inside, and then the two stretcher cases.  The cabin was well appointed, with six bunk beds in three rooms, with a large living room/kitchen area with a microwave and hob stove. 

“Wanna be my roomie?” Trish asked, a come hither look in her eye.

“Sure, but only if you promise not to snore.”

“No promises on anything, Mister,” she grinned.

“All right, troops,”  Monica said.  “Seeing as how this is being thrust on me, yes Emma, you may share with Jill, and I will take the top bunk above the mummies.  I think we’ll give Megan the comfy chair, just like the Spanish Inquisition.”

*   *   *

There was a lot of fussing about before we could eat.  The Chinese girls had to be unwrapped and allowed to use the bathroom.  They were both exhausted and looked utterly wrung out.  Being unable to use their limbs all day while fighting an endless series of orgasms had drained them of any will to resist.  Monica was delighted at how effective the method had been.  Both Madam Wong and Portia just wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep, but this was not allowed until after they had eaten their meal of diet supplement.  Naked, they were taken to the lower bunk in their room and chained together head to toe, ankle cuffs to wide neck collars.  With these locked on, any wrist restraint became superfluous, but this did not stop Monica cuffing one of Portia’s wrists to the bed frame.  The women were left ungagged, on the clear understanding that Monica was sleeping on the top bunk and any noise would mean instant retribution from above.

Megan was allowed to shower the salt off herself then was taken naked to the living room and had her ankles chained to the legs of an armchair while the rest of us sorted out the dinner and relaxed in front of television.  She was allowed to share our meal, then was made to do the washing up before being bound hand and foot and laid out on the sofa as an alternative to the comfy chair.  She, too, was exhausted after the torment she had suffered in the back of the van, and before we had even prepared ourselves for bed Megan was asleep.

*   *   *