The following day, Tuesday, Trish and I were left to get on with the next stage of the float construction.  Monica, Jill and Emma took the van and its two backseat passengers on an outing.  From the hints that Monica had dropped, the pair would doing quite a lot of exercise with those nasty zappers inside them that they had been so fond of us wearing.  I didn’t fancy a five kilometre run while wearing those things under any conditions, much less with somebody holding the remote zapper at my heels like the sword of Damocles. 

At my request Megan was left behind, and I ignored Monica’s wry look when I made this request, claiming it was simply for testing purposes.  In this case it was the truth, too.  Megan spent most of the time getting us drinks and lunch, clad in the same ensemble as the previous day.  I had to confess I liked the netball outfit.  I was not sure whether Megan was also growing to like it or to hate it, since she had not had much opportunity to explain her preferences.  Nevertheless she trotted hither and thither, gagged and hobbled, fetching things as necessary and occasionally lending a hand.

Trish was right into it.  Dressed like a true Tool-Time girl in a red checked short-sleeved shirt and denim skirt with sneakers and white socks, she looked totally spunky.  We had a lot of laughs – as we usually did – mainly because we seemed to have similar dark senses of humour.  I found it hard to wind up Trish, despite my best efforts.  She was usually on the same wavelength and met my efforts with a suitably droll retort.

By lunchtime we had erected the two I-frames with the internal frame between them on the centreline.  Criss-crossed wire bracing was then fitted at the top level, and I finished by installing further bracing from the top outside points of the I-frames to dynabolts in the concrete which represented fixing points on the front and rear of the truck.  I was pleased that with a minimum of heavy members the structure remained quite stiff.  Whether this would be the case under the loading with two semi-suspended prisoners was another story, however, and after lunch we tried out the fittings with Megan in place.

Megan served as our first crash test dummy, as we called her, much to her annoyance.  She wound up spread in a stretched star shape, arms and legs at forty five degrees, wrist and ankle cuffs attached by cord to the top and bottom points of the I-frames on one side of the ‘truck’, facing outwards.  The rope from her right wrist rang over an upper pulley down to a ratchet pulley between the upper and lower arms of the I-frame, a rope from which in turn ran through a lower pulley to her right ankle.  A similar configuration existed for her left wrist and ankle.  The beauty of the system using the ratchet pulley was that with a single pull of the rope through the ratchet, right arm and right leg were pulled tight in the blink of an eye and similarly the left side could be done.  Because of Megan’s suppleness, however, we had to leave a meter of rope attached between her ankle cuffs, to stop her spreading her legs too far and destroying the tight symmetry of the position.

“Okay, struggle,” I told her.  She twisted her body a bit and tried to throw her weight against the ropes.  I watched the wires and timbers take the strain and noticed a slight bit of lift at the opposite bases of the I-frames.

“She’s not making much of an effort,” Trish said scathingly to me.  “Maybe you need a bit of an incentive, Missy.”  She picked out a narrow flat paddle from one of our boxes of props.  Megan looked over her shoulder wild-eyed, shaking her head and indicating through indecipherable sounds that she thought such motivation was quite unnecessary.  Trish let fly at Megan’s inside thigh.  Megan yelped and jerked hard on the ropes.  Trish continued with her attack, up both thighs and on the backside, swapping the paddle for a long-tailed flogger which she could flip around Megan’s body to catch her breasts. 

“I want to see how much room we have to swing these things, too,” she explained casually, as though Megan was not there.  But Megan was there, and was putting up a hell of a test, throwing herself against the ropes in a futile reaction to the relentless bite of the flogger and crying out against the ball filling her mouth.  When Trish finally stopped, both she and her victim had worked up quite a sweat.

“How was that?” Trish asked, catching her breath from her exertions.

“Pretty good,” I replied, “but there’s still some movement on the opposite side.  I think that will go away with a counter balancing load, but I need to be sure.  Care to volunteer?”

Trish looked at me with a slow smile.

“Oh no – I know what you’re up to,” she chuckled.  “You want to whip my arse.  How silly do you think I am?”

“Honest, Trish, I won’t.  I do need to test this thing.  Monica always wants a proper job and so do I.”  Trish laughed again, that infectious sound that left me unable to keep a straight face.  “Monica will be pissed off something terrible if this fails at the critical moment.”

Trish sighed and shook her head, but it was an expression of resignation.  “God, I don’t know why I let you do this to me, Steven.  I know I’m a silly girl to go along with this.  I just can’t help myself, damn you.”

“Thanks Trish.  I do appreciate it.  I’ll make it up to you.”

“Damn right, buster.  I suppose you’d like me to put the cuffs on myself?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Hell no.  I’m really into self bondage, you know that.”  I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not, given one or two stories she’d told me that nominally concerned experimentation techniques but which might have been something more self-satisfying.
With the cuffs on, Trish positioned herself between the opposite points of the I-frames to Megan, facing the opposite wall.  I ran the ropes through the top and bottom pulleys and attached them to the cuffs after putting a metre of rope between her ankle cuffs.

“This is the part I really like,” I said. “It’s like starting the motor on something you’ve built.”

“Who’s motor are you intending to start?” Trish asked ingenuously.

“Shut up,” I said, hauling hard on the right and left ropes simultaneously.  The ratchets gave a burst of clicking as Trish’s arms shot up in the air and her ankles slid apart until restrained by the joining rope.

“Wow!” she exclaimed, losing her balance momentarily and falling against the restraints.  But of course she could not fall over and quickly regained her poise.  I tweaked the ropes through the pulleys further, eliciting a few more clicks from each and a protest from Trish.

“Hey!  That’s tight, mister!”

“I bet you say that to all the guys.”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“What did you expect?  Special treatment for Miss Softy?”  She was silent, trying to think up a biting retort.  “Well, go on, struggle.”

“Say please.”  I lifted her skirt and slapped her cheek.  “Ow!  That’s not ‘please’!”

“It’s a special Bilboes form of ‘please’.  Want to go for the cherry on top?”

“Okay, okay, you win.  I’ll struggle.  How’s this?”  Trish tried her best to rock herself forward and back and side to side. 

“Megan!  More struggles, please!” I demanded.

I did my best to coordinate the struggles, to the left, the right, then forward and back.  As the testing went on I climbed a ladder and tightened the wire cross bracing with the turnbuckles I had installed, then did the same for the main guy wires back to the bolts in the concrete.  By the end of the exercise any movement in the overall frame had gone, and with the tightening of the wires the wrist and ankle ropes appeared to have tautened a smidgen as well, or else the girls were just getting tired.

“That was good.  Thank you Megan,” said, wrapping a bandanna over her eyes and tying it snugly at the back of her head before I put the bulky noise protectors over her ears.

“Hurrh?” she asked, as if to say, what was going on?

“Nothing,” I said, although she couldn’t hear me by then, so I ran my finger around a nipple, letting it slide over the shiny material.

“What are you doing?” Trish asked, looking back over her shoulder as best she could.

“Keeping control of inquisitive eyes and ears,” I told her.

“The point being…?”

“Just a little privacy, that’s all.”

“Ste-ven…”  Trish’s voice had a warning tone that said she was on to me, but wasn’t in a very good position to do anything about it.  “Okay, we’ve done the testing. You can let me down, now.”

“Why on earth should I do that, my dearest Trish?” I asked, sidling up behind her and stroking the back of her neck.

“Because I asked nicely?”  I slid my hand around the front of her body, undid the  top buttons of her shirt and slipped my hand inside.  Her breast was warm and felt wonderful.  The nipple began to harden at the touch of my fingers and as I pressed against her body Trish shuddered and gave a whispering sigh.

“Oh… No, don’t… Look, they’ll be home any time… Please let me go…  We can go back to the motel.  That’ll be much more fun…”

“I don’t think so.  You know you like it like this.”

“Oh shit.  Why do I always let you do this to me?”

“I rest my case.  You always let me.”

“You bastard.”

“Lacking conviction, my dear.  Plenty of resignation about what is about to befall you, though.  Did I tell you that you look very spunky today?”

“No.”

“Well you do, and I’m sure it isn’t just because the outfit looked good in the mirror.”

“You fancy yourself, don’t you,” she said with attempted sarcasm but failed totally. 

“Actually I fancy you at the moment.”  I worked my hand under her skirt and down the front of her G-string.  Mr Willy also chose that moment to put in an appearance and I pushed hard against Trish’s buttocks.

“Oh!” she said, possibly in reaction to the appearance of both parts of me.  She attempted to recover herself.  “Can I take it you’re pleased to see me?”  I could tell that things were starting to warm up, because her breathing was just a little irregular.

“Always pleased to see you, Trish.  You know that.”   Both hands went under the skirt now and there was a ripping sound as the G-string parted.

“You bugger! That was brand new.” 

“See Emma and get Madam Wong to buy you a whole new outfit on her credit card.”

“You have an answer to everything, don’t you…  Aaahh…”

Mister Finger went for a little exploratory foray up what was a very damp pussy at that point, followed by another finger, and another. For several minutes they made concerted forays around the general area and Trish began to tremble and say all manner of rude things under her breath.

Deciding it was time for a change, I went round in front of her and did a long exploration of her tonsils, which she seemed to enjoy, if the way she sagged at the knees was anything to go by, I thought.  Mr Willy was now painfully aware of his destiny and bulged against the target area beneath Trish’s skirt while I was involved in the tongue hockey.  I did love the way her nipples hardened and thrust against her shirt, which – strangely – had come undone totally.

“Ohhh…Jesus, do it, will you!  Now, Steven!”

“That’s a bit impolite, don’t you think?” I asked, as she broke away for breath as best she could.  I stood back a fraction leaving her trying to make body contact again, but the ropes holding her wrists and ankles prevented much movement. She let out a shuddering moan of frustration and squirmed in her bonds.  I knelt slowly in front of her and lifted the short denim skirt, burying my face in her pussy. She uttered an explosive sigh as I started with my tongue on her clit.

Conversation became somewhat one-sided at that point as I was otherwise engaged, but that did not stop our Trish from carrying on in a long and mildly obscene monologue to nobody in particular.  I say nobody in particular, but in fact God figured quite highly and frequently in the outbursts, which were accompanied by lots of little cries and intakes of breath.

I finally came up for breath myself, just short of pushing Trish off the Heights of Orgasmia.  She was prepared to roundly abuse me at that point, but changed her mind and pleaded instead, which I liked much better.  I finally let Mr Willy out of his room and slipped him under the skirt, letting him find his own way, slowly, into  Trish’s docking chamber.  When he nuzzled the air lock and slid into the passage Trish was so aroused that she expressed herself the only way she could, by biting my neck.

“That’s not nice,” I told her.

“Sorry…” she gasped.  “No! Don’t take him out!  Don’t – oh shit!  You bastard!  No, please, I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to be rude – please put him back in…”  She turned her big brown frustrated eyes on me but it was too late then.  Mr Willy was also a bit peeved, but decided to see where it was all leading.  I had decided to avoid a repetition of the vampire act and also to keep some semblance of decorum in the outbursts from Trish.  She looked at me unhappily as I dug out a bit gag from the props box.  The gag was made of thin dowel with a thick overlay of rubber.  I wedged it in her mouth despite the protests and buckled it at the back of her neck over her hair.  Trish continued to splutter but at least my carotid artery was safe for the immediate future.

The bit gag was much less effective than the ball gag, but in some ways more fun for that exact reason.  You could get more of a conversational flavour though without the specifics, and climaxing women tended to find it easier to cope with than a large ball that caused conflict between the need to shout the house down and breathe at the same time.

Trish didn’t care once Mr Willy was docked again and the flight to the stars was underway.  She was way off planet Earth in a very short time, shuddering and heaving against me in journey that was anything but smooth.  When she finally impacted somewhere west of Saturn I had slipped a finger up that other planet, Heranus, which saw her crash and burn in spectacular fashion, screaming and jerking madly on the ropes.  I was right behind her and we were quickly marooned on the same planet, me clinging to her like a lifeboat.

Fortunately I had time to tidy up things a bit better by the time the others returned, although much to her frustration and annoyance I left Trish tied up as she was, ostensibly to show Monica.

“Very good, Steven,” Monica said, studying the whole structure and the two  gagged and spreadeagled girls. “This will be fun.  Tell me, why is Trish’s shirt undone?”

“I… It got quite warm in here for a while.”

“And she took off her underwear to cool down?”  I followed Monica’s gaze to where Jill’s G-string lay in the corner.  “And tore it in the process,” Monica finished.  “Hmmm?”

“It was actually quite hot,” I said lamely. 

Monica laughed.  “You’re incorrigible, both of you.  Slutty and uncontrolled.  I hope you’re still on programme.”

“Of course,” I said indignantly.

“Good.  Do remember to let Trish down before you lock up,” she said as she left the garage.

“Momiha!” Trish spluttered after her.  “Harm hack!”

“Teacher says you have to stay there for the rest of the day!” I said smugly, poking my tongue out at my prisoner.  Trish just glared at me.

*   *   *

Over dinner that night, while Trish was still not talking to me, Monica told us how Madam Wong and Portia had done a lot of jogging along Manly Beach and then had gone for a walk and a picnic in the nearby state park.  Except that Monica, Jill and Emma had done all the eating and their charges had been tied uncomfortably to a tree in a secluded spot during the process.

“I’ve also been on the email,” Monica confided.  “Mr Wong will be looking with great interest at the Mardigras parade, since his wife has asked him to do so.  He’s aware of what’s happening, except that perhaps, just maybe, he’s got the story wrong.  He knows she’s in Sydney, but he thinks she’s brought us here as prisoners, and that we are going to be the ones on display on the back of the truck.  Madam Wong said to tell all his friends.  Hopefully they’ll be guzzling San Miguel around the widescreen TV.   I just wish I could see his face when he sees her and Portia hanging from that wonderful frame you’ve made, Steven.”  Monica smiled at me and when she glanced away I poked my tongue out at Trish again.  Teacher’s pet, that was me.

“I’ve also finalised and paid for two air tickets. How does this catch your fancy, team?  First leg, Sydney to Perth on Sunday afternoon, in time to catch a South African Airlines flight to Johannesburg.  Arrive Monday morning after a long uncomfortable flight.  Four hours later, catch a Kenya Air flight to Nairobi.  Monday evening take another Kenya Air flight to Bombay and arrive Tuesday morning.  Indian Airways flight to Calcutta and thence to Bangkok, finishing with an overnight to Hong Kong on the worst Chinese airline Emma could find.”

We looked at Monica in stunned silence, admiring the ingenuity and audacity of her.

“Wonderful!” said Jill, clapping her hands.  “Absolutely wonderful!”

“But there’s more,” said Monica, with the air of a magician producing a rabbit from a hat.  “They will be travelling with just their passports and plane tickets. No money, which means no changing tickets, because they’re all non-refundable.  It also means no food other than the airline stuff, which, I think we can assume, will not be too crash hot between Johannesburg and Bangkok.   Our passengers will also be very uncomfortable, trust me.  I will let you know the details closer to the time, and you can all watch.  This really will be such fun!”

*   *   *

That evening there was a knock on my door.  It was Monica.

“The girls and I are going to a movie.  Wanna come?” 

“What’re you going to see?”  She told me.

“It’s a girlie flick,” she said.  “I didn’t think you’d like it but thought I’d ask anyway.  You could do something for me instead,” she added.

“Like what?”

“Try something on.  Something I bought yesterday.”  That was when I saw the shopping bag she had, and it was probably the same time I decided I wasn’t going to like this option either.  When she pulled out the assortment of leather straps I had this sudden flash of déjà vu, thinking of what I had conned Trish into doing that very afternoon.

“Oh no… No you don’t – I know what happens next – you do rotten things to me when I can’t defend myself!  How silly do you think I am?” How silly did I think Trish was that afternoon?

“It’s either this or the girlie flick.”

“Thanks for nothing.  Anyway, what is it?”

Monica laid the device on the bed. 

“It’s nothing too special, just an arm sheath, but it’s really good quality,” she enthused.  “You can’t get this in Queensland.  Have to come to the big smoke to get decent stuff.  Sophisticated, these Sydney people.”

“That’s not what you usually say about them,” I grumbled.  “You usually say they’ve lost touch with reality or else they’re totally up themselves.”

“That’s what I say about all our clients, Steven, and most times I’m right, one way or another.  Now are you going to help me with this or not?”

“Help you?  How is my getting imprisoned in this thing helping anyone?”

“I have to test it, don’t I?  If there’s a problem with it I want to be able to take it back before we leave here.  Look, don’t be such a sissy.  It’s only while we go to the movies.  It’s quite comfortable, but I want to know is it strong enough or is there anything that needs modification.”

“All right,” I sighed reluctantly.  “But you make sure you get straight back in here after the movies.  No swanning off to clubs for half the night.”

“You are so-o distrusting,”  Monica complained.  “Now get your shirt off and cross your arms behind your back.”  I did as I was told and Monica slid the sheath over my arms like a large open bag.  The black leather was soft and pliable and came halfway up my upper arms, my forearms resting on the bottom of it in a relatively comfortable manner.  I watched in the mirror as she took a long strap from the outer edge and threaded it though a hole at the top of the inner edge near my left armpit.  She did the same on the right hand side and draped the straps over my shoulder.  I saw then that each strap was in fact two joined straps, with a buckle  that sat each side of my chest.  The loose ends continued under my armpits, across my back and round  my arms to meet in the middle of my chest, where Monica buckled them straps together.  She then undid the buckle each side of my chest and pulled the shoulder straps tighter before re-buckling them.

“Comfy?”

“Yeah, wonderful,” I said sarcastically.

“Good.”  She ignored my tone. “Oh yes, I bought something else.” Hullo, here we go, I thought.  Give an inch and they take a mile.  I groaned when I saw the shiny black leather discipline helmet appear from the bag.

“Monica!  You never mentioned that!  You don’t need to test that, surely?”

“Oh stop your complaining.  For your information this is a new model and you’re going to be the first to test it.  I don’t know why I’m so good to you.  All you do is whinge, now sit on the chair.”

Sitting in front of the mirror I saw the black helmet descend in front of my eyes and then everything went black.  Helmets, I had found out, came in all shapes and sizes.  Some had eyeholes, some had mouth holes, some had integral gags.  This one, fortunately, did not have the last.  I glimpsed a zippered mouth opening but the only other concession to the wearer was a hole for my nose.  Soft pads covered my eyes under the leather itself and Monica even pushed a couple of those expandable foam plugs in my ears before she pulled the thing into place.  I felt the laces being tugged tight as they went from the crown of my head down to the neck, which had a wide collar.  I guessed there were more straps on the outside for something clamped my jaw closed and the fit across the face seemed to grow tighter.  Monica clamped her hands over the leather and tugged it further before retightening the laces and buckling the strap at the base of the neck.  Even though I had nothing in my mouth the silencing effect was quite considerable.  I could only mumble my protest.

“Good,” I head a voice say, way off in the distance.  That was just before I was stripped of clothes from the waist down and some fingers began to tease Mr Willy, who in an uncontrolled initiative had decided that everything was actually a bit of a turn on.  The fingers seemed to confirm this with a delicate bit of lubricating, until  Monica’s faint voice whispered:  “See you in a couple of hours.  Don’t go wandering.”

Yeah, like I even had a chance to start with.

*   *   *

I wasn’t impressed.  I thought I might even have been able to listen to the radio, but even though my hands were not tied as such, I could do little with them trapped inside the leather bag.  I struggled and twisted to get them over the top, but the straps were too tight and I just couldn’t manage it.  My attempts to work the television remote through the leather came to nothing, and I decided I was condemned to an evening of boredom, eventually electing to see if I could go to sleep.  Even getting into bed was a chore without arms, but I managed it finally, though failing to pull the covers back over me.  There followed all the tossing and turning to establish the best position in which to sleep.  I finally opted for my stomach, once I had pushed half the pillows off the bed with my head.

That was the way I finally fell asleep.  I had no idea of the time when I became aware of a naked female body climbing into bed with me.  I don’t know if she said anything, but my hearing was strictly limited in any case.  What I did know was that Mr Willy was up and running, as were this female’s fingers in the same vicinity.  Without so much as a by-your-leave I was rolled on to my back and forced into the second docking procedure of the day as a pair of thighs straddled me and my good friend impaled the newcomer in what was admittedly a very pleasant process.

I tried to make some noise to establish just who my ‘attacker’ was’, but that proved singularly unsuccessful.  What soon became apparent was that the pleasurable nature of the event appeared to be aimed at only one participant, for as Mr Willy and Mr Brain began their coordinated approach to lift off, something tight was attached around the base of the former, and painful pinchings of my nipples drove back the immediate urge to climax.  That pretty much set the tone for the next hour.  I found myself skilfully manipulated by whoever this woman was, serving her pleasure through two major orgasms without one to my own name, despite my struggled and mumbled pleadings.

Through all of this, of course, I was searching for a clue as to who this mysterious person was.  When she climaxed it was with little noise, or at least little that I could hear with my ears plugged.  I tried to detect some scent, some whiff of perfume that might enable me to identify her, but the smell of the new leather hood was too strong, and I suspect she had showered recently in any case.  Which left me only with the sense of touch, and here I was worse than useless.  Yes, the girls all had their little tricks, but hooded and distracted by my predicament I could not narrow it down.  I say ‘all the girls’, but in fact I had not known either Emma or Mary in the biblical sense.  However since Mary was in Brisbane, that only left one suspect untried.

The left field thought crossed into my mind that there were in fact other potential candidates, in the three prisoners plus Debbie.  This all seemed unlikely, and whoever was giving me the going over I knew Monica was behind it.  And this thought in turn started me looking at motives and revenge and ended up just getting my mind all screwed up.  Which came round to the final conclusion that this would be exactly what Monica intended.  I would not have put it past her to have the whole team in there watching.  Sometimes my mind was its own worst enemy.

When she finally dismounted I could sense her legs shaking and the effort her body had put in to achieve what had been a not insubstantial climax.  I was rolled on to my side away from her, Mr Willy still at attention and still secured with whatever strap had been wrapped around him to keep him that way.  I moaned my displeasure and discomfort but my bed partner simply rolled the other way and went to sleep.  I could sense her there in the big king sized bed, without touching.  I  thus decided to try touching, and slid my leg across the distance that always existed in beds that size.  The bed covers raised for an instant and I got slapped on the thigh for my temerity.  There was no mistaking the message; go to sleep!

*   *   *