Monica's PlaceBook 1 of the Monica SeriesbyRichard AlexanderAll comments would be welcome at bilboes@hotmail.com.(c) 2000Monica's PlaceChapter 1 The InitiationChapter 2 Testing TimesChapter 3 The Customer's Always RightChapter 4 ChristinaChapter 5 Trish Gets The ShaftChapter 6 Contrary MaryChapter 7 The GymChapter 8 The Tardis and the SubmarineChapter 9 Shannen's Story - Day OneChapter 10 Shannen's Story - Day TwoChapter 11 Shannen's Story - Day ThreeChapter 12 Shannen's Story - Day FourChapter 13 The TwinsChapter 14 Shannen Rides AgainChapter 15 Dungeons and DragonsChapter 16 Photo OpportunitiesChapter 17 House CallsChapter 18 The RackChapter 19 Cutting Loose (by Trish)Chapter 20 Death and TransfigurationChapter 21 Escape and CapitulationChapter 22 Transfiguration and EnslavementChapter 23 Coming OutChapter 24 The Final Exam Monica's Place - A 24-part NovelCHAPTER ONE - THE INITIATION Monica and I had been at junior school together, but had not seen each othersince then. It had been perhaps 15 years previously when we had each gone ourseparate ways to different high schools. While I had attended the local stateschool, Monica - as I later found out - had been sent to a rather expensiveboarding school for girls on the outskirts of Brisbane. We had been friends at school, but I had barely thought about her in theintervening years as I got my building business up and running - something whichtook all my time and energy. Then had come the crash, the failure of clients topay and the collapse of the construction industry that had cleaned me out. Inow worked as a one-man band in the western suburbs of Brisbane, doing smalljobs that kept my head above the financial water level dictated by my bankmanager. As I said, I had barely thought about Monica Armstrong in the interveningyears. The message on my answering machine, requesting that I visit an addresson the western fringe of the city to look at doing some alterations to anexisting house for a Miss Armstrong, meant nothing at the time. The house was an old Queenslander - large and square, with a coveredverandah on three sides, and the main floor raised on poles above the ground.This latter effect was partly for coolness and partly to keep crawly insectnasties at a distance. This particular house was perhaps a hundred years old andlooked to be in a wonderful condition. It was white with dark green trim to thedoors and windows which were of clear varnished timber. The verandah posts, theornate filigree work beside each one and the elaborate wrought iron infills tothe railings were also painted dark green. The house stood at the end of a hundred metre long curved drivewaysurrounded by eucalypts and various types of palm trees - a not-unusualcombination in Queensland's lush climate. It was a very private setting, beingperhaps a kilometre from the nearest neighbour down the road, and it couldbarely be seen from the road. The road frontage was a thicket of dense foliagewith probably all manner of nasty thorns that any intruder would have tonegotiate, and the only break being a pair of large steel gates between stoutabutting stone walls. On one side a brass nameplate simply stated "Bilboes". Thegates had opened silently when I announced myself on the intercom. I parked in front of the house, noting how at some recent time theunderneath of the house had been enclosed with blockwork walls set back a coupleof metres from the overhanging edge of the verandah. Ordinarily I would haveregarded this as heresy, but it had been done so discretely, and was so wellconcealed with planting that it was barely noticeable. I could not help noting,either, the carparking for perhaps ten cars. Once again it had all been donevery cleverly, with little spaces tucked between trees and areas of garden. I walked up the wide timber steps on to the verandah and rang the bell,admiring the polished double cedar doors as I stood there. "Good morning." I was greeted by an extraordinarily attractive young woman in herlate-twenties, who introduced herself as Jillian. Her blonde hair was short andpulled back behind her ears. She had a strong, angular jaw line and smiled themost welcoming smile I have had from a client for a long time. I followed herinto a spacious reception area. The floors were of polished Tasmanian oak, andall the finishings were in keeping with the era of the house. As a builder Icould appreciate quality fittings and hardware - or, more to the point, themoney required to purchase such things and maintain them. In between admiringthe construction of the place, I could not help but also admire the constructionof Jillian, as she led the way down the main hall before knocking on a door tothe left, and entering. She was about 180 centimetres tall, her height accentedby the sleeveless white dress she wore that stopped halfway down her thighs.Simple brown leather sandals with the straps winding about her ankles completedher outfit - the essence of coolness on what was a sticky humid Brisbane summerday. I followed her into a large high-ceilinged library or study, with floor toceiling bookshelves on two opposing walls, while the side opposite the door hadlarge French doors that opened on to the verandah. Overhead a ceiling fanrevolved slowly, while on the wall beside the door through which I had enteredwere two wall-mounted television screens. The room had an air of tidiness andorder that suggested its usual occupant was organised and fastidious. "Mr Reynolds, this is Monica Armstrong, mistress of the house," Jillianannounced, before leaving and closing the door behind her. It was then that thepenny finally dropped. I guess I grinned stupidly, with the realisation thatthis elegant woman was the slightly gawky girl I had known all those years ago. Monica smiled. "I thought it was you - just a hunch I had from youradvertisement. You always did want to be a builder." She was not just elegant,she was stunning. As she shook my hand I saw she was as tall as I was, herpenetrating blue eyes looking directly into mine. The jet-black hair was nowshorter - just touching her shoulders and impeccably styled. Like Jillian, herattire was suited to the warm weather. A deep emerald green colour, her dresswas short and simple, with a plunging neckline set off by a gold choker collar.I could not help but notice that Monica's figure had certainly developed sincemy last memory of her. Her cleavage was a striking cream against the material ofthe dress. "I was hoping it was you, Steven. Even if I had been wrong, I stillneed a genuine builder. I feel more comfortable now, knowing it is you. I thinkI have some work that may be a little out of the ordinary, but it maynevertheless interest you." And that was how the whole thing started. Monica was very up-front. The house was hers - bought partly with aninheritance and partly through her own earnings, she explained. I did not gointo exactly what the 'earnings' originated from. Suffice to say the place nowoperated as a high-class brothel, catering only to the well-heeled and powerfulfigures in Queensland society. Discretion was guaranteed, not just by the staff,but by the fact that a number of Monica's clients would neither like to bepublicly associated with the place, nor would they like to see it's servicesdisappear. Monica gave me a tour of the ground floor and upper storey, sizing me upinitially, as though assessing how much to disclose. The house was roughlysquare in plan, built around a central stairwell with clerestorey windows whichlet in light but were protected from the harsh sun by slatted shutters. Therewere five bedrooms upstairs, with brass numbers from "1" to "4" on each door. The fifth was Monica's. Each had an ensuite, and each bedroom was decorateddifferently. In one there was a four poster, in another a waterbed, and so on. I had to admit that it had all been done extremely well, given the century-oldsurroundings. That, I was told, was due to Trish, one of Monica's team whoevidently used to be an interior designer in a past life. On the main level,branching out to the right off the main reception area at the foot of the stairswas a large living room. This could be partitioned down the middle to createtwo smaller "waiting rooms" as Monica called them. Next to the living room andmoving anticlockwise around the house was a dining room, a less formal communalroom with a large breakfast table, then - also looking on to the rear garden - amodern kitchen, laundry and adjoining verandah. Then came Monica's office and aground floor bathroom. Once again I had to say I was immensely impressed withthe quality that had been achieved. To the rear, from the verandah, steps ledpast a jacuzzi, down to a pool that seemed to appear straight out of the jungle,amidst rocks and palms. Beyond that, up a small rise and half hidden by foliagewas a small, obviously new building, which Monica referred to as "the girls'quarters". "All this is, if you like, the "front" - the more legitimate side of thebusiness," she told me, watching me carefully. "All our services here arestraight, standard, orthodox, call them what you will. Are you interested ingoing further? It's not all strictly legal..." She looked at me quizzically. "Sure," I said. "Lead on." We were standing in the reception area at thispoint. Monica smiled, and swung a small picture out from the wall. Behind it wasa small lever recessed into the wall. It was a little cliched, but I was stillimpressed. When she pulled it down, a section of wall beside it swung open,revealing a stairway leading down into the closed in section below the house. "This is the other side of the business," she told me seriously. "We can caterfor many clients here - or at least we will do, when we have it properly fittedout. The area has only recently been built, and hasn't been finished. We'vebeen looking round for the right person to do it - someone with the skills to doa proper job, someone who won't rip us off, and someone with absolutediscretion. I hope you're that person, Steve. My instinct tells me this may bethe case." Her blue eyes looked at me steadily, then we descended the sandstone stepsinto the cool gloom. "I told the previous builder this area was to be acombination of wine cellars and a darkroom complex. He didn't care, as long ashe got paid. And even then he charged like a wounded bull. I got rid of himbefore we got to the fit-out stage. Which is where we are now..." Which is where it all got interesting. What Monica was talking about herewas fully equipped dungeons, with racks, cages, chains, pillories, the works. At her previous premises she had indulged in it to a limited degree - limited byspace, cost - and noise insulation. With her inheritance she was now gamblingon an increase in a very special patronage, catering for a niche market. WhileI had not had first hand experience of such an establishment, I knew what theywere about, and - I confess - the prospect of such varied and interesting workexcited me. We walked through the gloomy rooms beneath the house. They werestill at the bare blockwork stage - no doors, just the openings in theblockwork, save for an emergency exit in the form of a solid steel exteriordoor. The ductwork from the airconditioning system was visible, since noceilings had been installed. It was a basic, empty shell waiting for atransformation. We talked all afternoon and then over dinner. Monica introduced me to therest of her "team". Jillian I had already met. She was Monica's right hand,arranging, coordinating and sharing working with the clients, but it was Monicawho controlled the money, the policy, the clientele and the girls. There werefour others: Mary was the eldest, perhaps in her mid-thirties, tall and elegant, but witha mean streak, so Monica informed me later. She was slim with short raven-blackhair waving gently behind her ears. She had once been a television reporterbefore succumbing to the lure of the call-girl money. Emma was Hong Kong Chinese, although she had lived most of her life inAustralia. Her hair hung past her shoulders, but unlike most Chinese, she hadbreasts that any European girl would have died for. They bounced nicely whenshe walked. She came across as demure and submissive, but Monica warned me notto be fooled. Leila was a blonde, a little like Jillian, but slightly shorter. Her haircame just to her neck, and she had a cheerful, pleasant personality. Again, Iwas warned, don't be fooled. Patricia was the last of the team, tall and brunette, with her hair straightto her shoulders. Trish was in her thirties - not that she looked it - and wasfrom Vancouver, where she had first indulged her interior decoration fantasiesbefore turning to the more hedonistic of them. She had the huskiest, sexiestvoice I had ever heard. Her laugh was throaty and infectious. I could hardlyget enough. But that really went for all of them. Monica sure knew talent whenshe saw it. I stayed for dinner, cooked, in this instance, by Monica herself. The girlsall joined Monica and myself at the big dining room table after dinner, wherethe ideas poured forth. It was pretty clear that despite the apparent freshnessof these girls, at least Mary and Trish were hardened to the darker side of thework, and had come across clients and client needs that I could barelycomprehend. Monica explained that they had to cater for both male and femaleclients. Sometimes they were straight, sometimes gay, sometimes dominant,sometimes submissive. Both masters and slaves (sometimes together) visited"Bilboes". The girls categorized them into "upstairs" and "downstairs" clients,depending on whether they wanted straight sex or something more elaborate, be itpunishment, role-playing, or catering to some sort of fetish. Most tastes couldbe catered for by the downstairs team, I gathered, if the money was right. Ifthey didn't have the equipment, they would get it. Which was why I was there. During the early part of what was turning into the longest interview I hadever had, Monica had quizzed me about my technical abilities. Could I weld? Could I lay bricks and mix concrete? Did I know anything about electrics? Atthe time it had puzzled me, but now it was all falling into place. They wantedone trustworthy guy to fully fit out their dungeons. Over the course of the evening, all manner of ideas came from the girls overseveral bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon. Entertaining was also something theywere adept at. I made sketches, drew rough plans and - truth be known - enjoyedmyself more than I had for years. Money, it seemed, was not a major obstaclefor Monica. She did not mind spending it as long as she knew she was gettingthe best job possible and was getting a fair deal. And I could see a lot ofmoney being spent. I did not know the extent of the inheritance she hadreceived, but it was obviously not small. "You let me worry about the budget," she told me. "As long as you don't ripme off, there'll be no problem. If you do -" she added with a malicious smile, "you'll get to trial the full extent of all the facilities I want to construct -slowly, and over a long period of time. You really don't want that, do you?" There was no business at "Bilboes" that night, other than our long tabletopdiscussion. With the amount of wine I had drunk, I took Monica up on her offerto stay the night. After the girls had retired to their "quarters", Monicashowed me to a huge bedroom dominated by an ornate four-poster. Much as I wouldhave enjoyed her company further, she let it be known that our relationship - atleast at this stage - was to be purely business. "Why 'Bilboes'?" I asked Monica just as she turned to leave. "Nothing to do with Hobbits and Middle Earth folk," she told me with asmile. "That's what most people think of, but the spelling is wrong. Bilboesare kind of leg irons - like two D-shackles with a long bar through them. Thename came from Bilbao in the sixteenth century." "Ah," I said. "Discrete, memorable, catchy, but with enough overtones forthose in the know. You've thought it all out, haven't you." "I think so," she said softly, confidently, pulling the door closed as sheleft. The next day Monica and I studied plans and I drew up lists of material wewould require. More importantly we programmed the work firstly to suit therunning of the place around her clients' schedules. Secondly there was apriority to the work to be carried out "downstairs". Despite my wish to do thewhole area by trade, that is, install all the plumbing first, then theelectrics, and so on, Monica wanted a sequence of rooms to be fully completedone at a time. The obvious reason for this was to get the rooms up and runningwith paying customers. "We already have a number of clients waiting from our previous place - thatis waiting for us to get their little perversions teed up," she laughed. Therewas no malice or condescension here. Monica genuinely enjoyed what she did, andseemed to have no reservations about what might be normal or abnormal. She wasnot one to make judgments, it appeared. "Mary and Trish are the main purveyors in the downstairs department. Theother three are only just beginning. They've been with me for a while on thestraight stuff, but downstairs is a whole new ball game. Well, perhaps not forJillian and Emma," she added cryptically. "But at least they're learning to doit properly now. They're our trainees, and they recognise that they will haveto often learn the hard way... Let me show you an instance of a client on thewaiting list." I followed Monica downstairs. She led the way with a broadbeamed torch, choosing to ignore the temporary lights strung at infrequentintervals via a loose cable tied to nails on the exposed joists above. Turninginto a black opening in one room, I could hear whimpering coming from thedarkness. "This is Lisa," Monica said, playing the torch on a pale form that hungsuspended in the gloom. "Lisa is one of our regular clients," Monica explained,playing the light again over the suspended woman. I could see a long hank ofblonde hair trailing in the dust of the concrete floor from where her head hungbackwards, about half a metre clear of the ground. Lisa's ankles had beencuffed to a spreader bar, the ends of which were attached to a large hook bychains about a metre long. Lisa's wrists, cuffed together in front of her, hadalso been chained to the hook with a metre-long chain. The hook was on the endof some stout-looking sashcord looping over a pulley which was in turn chainedto an exposed beam. The cord went down to a small hand-winch that had beenchained to the base of a supporting post. I shuddered at the makeshift way thesystem had been installed. Lisa hung there, slowly revolving in the torchlight. Her head was encasedin a black leather hood which only had holes for her nose and the long tail ofhair. From her nasal moaning I surmised Lisa was well and truly gagged behindthe leather. A short silver chain connecting two nipple clamps glinted in thelight. With her ankles and wrists in the air, her buttocks and pussy wereextraordinarily vulnerable, and Monica swatted her several times on the insideof her thighs with a loose rope end. The woman jerked and whined, the noiserising as Monica slipped her hand between the exposed pussy lips. Lisa began tosquirm and shudder, her breath starting to come in rapid nasal panting. "Mnnh! Mnnh! Mnnh! Mnnh!" she moaned, beginning to struggle and quiver,striving to extract more from Monica's gently tantalising fingers. Monicalaughed pulled her hand away, then spun the helpless figure. "Not yet, Lisa dear. You still have a long way to go before that. It'sbetter to travel hopefully than to arrive, isn't that what they say?" Theprisoner shook her head in a desperate whining plea. Monica took me by the armand we left the girl slowly rotating on the chain. "See what I mean about paying customers?" "Yes. And I see what you mean by needing someone to make a proper job ofyour suspension apparatus too," I added. I tried to overlook the fact thatwhole scene had been an intense turn on, and Mr Willy, my best mate, had viewedLisa's predicament with unabashed interest from an upright position. I was to see more of Lisa in the coming months. She could usually be reliedupon to be the client in the most stringent position - a regular customer ofMary and Trish's. I had just been introduced to the world of B & D, S & M, anda variety of other parts of the alphabet. I had to admit the job prospects justseemed to be getting better and better. Monica was an amazing person who knew exactly what she wanted, and usuallygot her way. In designing the layout for "downstairs", she had done a prettygood job, obviously based on previous experiences which I did not ask about. There were something like seventeen rooms downstairs - eighteen if you countedthe caged spaces under the stairs. All windowless, their walls of solid-filledconcrete block, and with a three and a half metre ceiling, the rooms wereair-conditioned through ceiling-hung ductwork and were able to be cooled orheated at the touch of a dial. Monica's sequence of rooms to be completed was in fact totally logical,governed by which could be most easily finished, and which would support theknown good-payers. She aimed to provide the best B & D service in the state. What I did not realise at the time was the degree to which I would becomeinvolved in the whole scheme... As I become more familiar with Monica's requirements and the scope of work,I relocated to a vacant room in the girls' quarters. The amount of work facingme was such that I deferred all other calls and jobs for the time being,referring them to a friend who was also a builder, telling him I was on a bigjob out of town. I returned home once a week to collect my mail, but basicallymy bachelor pad had little to be taken care of in it. At my new abode, there were six rooms with ensuites and a separate laundryin the block at the rear of the house, beyond the pool. While Monica had herown room and office in the main house, the girls were independent within theirown quarters, connected as they were by phone to the main building. Thebedrooms all faced on to a long verandah, and it was here that they oftenlounged about between clients, enjoying the peace and quiet of the idylliccountry setting. My room was next to Mary's, at the near end of the row. Ishared meals with the girls in the main house, they taking it in turns to cook,all having considerably better than my limited culinary skills. What I only gradually came to understand, as building work progressed beyondthe more mundane aspects of electrical wiring and plumbing, was that all thebasement rooms had been very carefully thought out by Monica. Not only therooms themselves, but also their contents. What I did not appreciate, either,was that any apparatus I designed and made, had to be fully tested. Since I wasthe largest person in the household - as strong as the average client might belikely to be, I had to build everything with my body in mind as a minimum forstrength requirements. Being a cautious person, everything was considerablyover-designed, probably able to take Arnie Schwarzenegger at a pinch. Nobodyescaped from or broke my stuff, I decided. Ultimately I had to test it, however- to be the guineapig. Similarly, one of the girls had to volunteer, and allhad to be familiar with the little nuances that Monica and I designed into thesespecial fittings. I set up shop in a spare garage next to the house. This gave me privacy anda place to experiment and put my ideas into practice. In other words I wasdoing what I loved - creating, experimenting and improving. And getting paidfor it! The first downstairs rooms I worked on were very plain cells - holdingcells if you like. Facing on to the hallway to the right of the stairs, theywere only three metres by one and a half. This was just enough room for anarrow futon on the concrete floor, and a toilet. The cells had heavysteel-faced doors and frames set securely into the blockwork, with spy holes inthem and keyed locks. The walls remained concrete block painted matt black, aswas the fibre-cement ceiling. Fibre cement is heavy stuff to lift, and eventhough I did it with an airlift - a half metre square platform that could riseup on a telescopic shaft powered by compressed air - it still required theassistance of a second person. It was Leila who volunteered for this duty, inpart, I think, because she was the most junior and in part because she had mostto do with the storeroom, which was to be my next task. I liked Leila. She was probably 24 or so, and still had that fresh-facedenthusiasm that had yet to turn to the cynicism that so often befalls us,especially in such a business that was exposed to the misfits of society. Leilatold me she was only in it for the money - she had not yet got to the stage ofreally enjoying inflicting pain and humiliation. "That said," she admitted, "some of it still turns me on, as much as some ofthe other stuff turns me off." "Do your clients ever get violent?" I asked. "Very rarely. Firstly, they are generally here voluntarily, although we dohave some slaves that are brought here already restrained, sometimes gagged, sowe can't always get their opinion." She smiled. "But we don't go in for realpain - I mean mutilation or anything like that - and what we do is usually withthe client's written permission. Monica has forms that they have to sign. Butwhile they're under treatment, we generally keep them well secured - you know,only releasing one hand at a time. That sort of thing. Mary and Trish taught mehow to do that. They're really good." "But don't you get the odd one - maybe a bit drunk, or deciding he didn'tget his money's worth, or whatever?" "Only very occasionally. Usually Monica will calm things down, but once ortwice we have had to get physical with them. We all know self-defence, if theclient starts on us, and we know a few subduing holds as well. Maybe I'll get toshow you some time," she said, a roguish twinkle in her eye. "I'm not sure I really wish to try you out," I said, from the top of myladder, screwing up the last of the sheets to the ceiling. It took me the rest of the day to fit the light, with it's recessed perspexcover, the flush air conditioning supply and return grills, and the tiny closedcircuit camera, which could also operate on infrared, in the dark. This tooktime, with Leila calling out directions from the observation room round thecorner. The final fittings were several eyebolts screwed into the concreteblocks at strategic points within the room. There was no mistaking what thesewere for. Leila also helped me with the storeroom over the next couple of days. Aboutthree metres by four, it was directly opposite the foot of the stairs, with thecorridor running right round it like a moat around a castle. Off the corridorwere all the other rooms I had yet to work in. It was in the storeroom I reallystarted to get to grips with what the business was all about. While I had readabout half of this stuff, there was no substitute for seeing it in the flesh,ready to be used on the flesh. Leila took great delight in explaining to meabout the different types of vibrators and dildos, and all manner of nippleclamps. I put up shelves for these, and a variety of hooks on one wall to caterfor chains, handcuffs and whips. These ranged from flat paddles to floggers, tocat-o-nine-tails, riding crops, canes, and a nasty-looking bullwhip abouttwo-metres long in braided leather. "It's a cut-down version," Leila explained. "We really don't have the roomto use a full sized one indoors here, apart from the fact that it does a lot ofdamage to unprotected skin." There were more shelves for the gags and the blindfolds, the hoods,harnesses, cuffs and ropes. In the middle of the room I installed a largestand-alone closet, where a range of "garments" were stored. "All of us use these," Leila explained. "There are nurses uniforms andmaids uniforms and school uniforms, and even a Gestapo uniform. Mary uses thatone," she added. "She's real big on role playing - sometimes she gets reallycarried away and I swear she forgets where she is and who she is... She can bescary. We also have these rubber outfits - the hoods, skirts, dresses,catsuits. Mind you, quite often we make the clients wear them - or they ask to. It's all part of the service. Each of us girls has our own leather wardrobe,which we keep in our rooms - that's a bit more personal, don't you think? " Around then was when I first met Shawnee. Shawnee was a diminutive girl,perhaps barely twenty, with straight brown hair falling past her shoulders and awide-eyed look as though everything she encountered was new and wondrous. Herbreasts were quite wondrous as well, as I saw when I first encountered her. Shewas half-naked, wearing only a short wrap-around skirt that barely concealed hercrotch, standing as she was with her bound hands tethered above her to aceiling-hung water pipe in the corridor outside the storeroom. Standing ontiptoes, she was gagged with a leather pad strapped across her mouth, insidewhich I suspected there was a large object filling all available crevices. Shelooked at me, with a surprised expression on her face, which I later came torecognise as pretty much normal for Shawnee. Mind you, I'm sure my expressionwas much the same. "Are you okay?" I asked in my naivety. She nodded, her large, pointy breasts bobbing with the effort. They lookedtoo big for her petite frame, but stretched as she was, they provided amagnificent display. "Is there anything I can do?" I asked, still unsure of the situation. She shook her head, uttering an "uh-uh" from behind the gag. Just then Leila clattered down the stairs on her high heels. "I see you've met Shawnee. Shawnee, this is Steven. He's going to bebuilding all sorts of neat stuff for us, so you'll get to try it out as well." The prisoner's eyes seemed to light up and I was sure she would have smiled ifshe could have stretched her mouth a bit further around the object filling it. Leila explained to me as we continued to where I was working. "Shawnee's a legacy of Monica's previous establishment. She's a unistudent, and initially she needed the money she could make by doing housekeepingchores over the weekend - you know, washing the bed linen, ironing and so on. Then she started getting into the B & D stuff and we've reached a differentagreement. Now she gets paid in kind. She works hard all day Saturday andSunday, and spends the nights in various uncomfortable positions, depending onwho is available and what space we have. You'll no doubt bump into her duringthe weekends in odd places." As part of her duties, Shawnee was sometimes directed to assist me, sincethe girls were frequently at their busiest during the weekends. Shawnee wasalways a willing helper, but always a quiet one, her mouth invariably beingtaped up or stuffed with something or other. I got used to the distinctiveclinking of chains on her hobbled ankles as she pattered barefoot about theplace, fetching tools or holding on to the ends of sheets of cladding or othermaterials. She was not much of a conversationalist in that regard, but she wasintelligent and did as she was told. Mind you, with the prospect of a severethrashing from Monica as an incentive, who wouldn't have been. I did not knowthat in the distant future I would have a face to face altercation with Shawneeand she would not even recognise who she was yelling at. Such was theunpredictable nature of life in Bilboes. The Interrogation Centre comprised four rooms, each roughly four metressquare, laid out in the form of a Tee. A central room was actually anobservation room, where the girls could sit and observe their victims in thethree surrounding rooms through one-way mirrors. In addition there twotelevision sets, on which the activities in any "play room" in the house couldbe viewed by closed circuit television in both infra red and normal light. Ithad taken me a while to get the cabling for this sussed out, but it came inkitset form, with relatively easy to understand instructions. No doubt it camewith a relatively easy to understand price tag as well, but that wasn't myproblem. By the time all these aspects were multiplied by 18 rooms, Monica wasgoing to have to take a deep breath when she wrote out the cheques. This closedcircuit television system could allow the girls to deal with several clients ata time in different rooms, and to see without being seen. There were alsosecurity cameras in the grounds and at the gate, to check on the arrival anddeparture of guests and for security generally. Monica had two monitor sets inher office, which she often viewed during "sessions". The Interrogation Centre itself, or the IC as it was known, was all aboutrole-play and mind games. The doors to the two main rooms used forinterrogation were made of solid core timber faced with sheet steel, with heavysliding bolts and a small eyehole looking in. The rooms had required little inthe way of structural alteration, keeping the bare concrete floor and theblockwork walls as built. The ceiling was heavily insulated fibre cement with atextured coating that looked not unlike damp concrete. Main lighting could comefrom a single bulb of about 25 watts on a short flex that made it all lookextremely seedy, plus there were flood lights to assist the questioning process. Mary was the main user of these rooms - role-playing was her speciality. "When the client comes down the stairs, he or she will be blindfolded andhandcuffed," she told me seriously. "I want them to think they've arrived inthe foulest most feared basement room in the Gestapo headquarters. They mustforget anything of the outside world. There must be no hope of getting out,unless they tell me everything." Mary gave me a look that sent shivers down myspine. Not content with the still-pristine look of the newly laid blocks andconcrete floor, Mary and I managed, by a number of experiments, to turn the tworooms into damp, grimy, oppressive chambers that even gave me the creeps. Beneath the one-way mirrors, I had installed two pairs of car headlights and anintercom/tape system, the latter having considerable power, with all manner ofsound effects able to be produced. As an option it could be connected toheadphones that the victim might wear. The headlights were directed at the focal point in each room. In Room 1,this point was a chair, bolted to the concrete. It was a massive, high-backedpiece, with stout arms and a headrest higher than most people's heads whenseated. Monica had evidently found it in a second hand furniture shop at abargain price. It was a simple matter to fit velcro straps to it to secure avictim at wrists, arms, ankles, above and below the knees, waist, chest, neck,and forehead. Any captive would not be going far. "I may not use all of these," Mary declared, eyeing the straps, "but atleast I'll know they're available." "How do you get people to cooperate?" I asked. "I know a few holds," Mary said, narrowing her eyes. "All of us can handlemost difficult situations that might come our way. We'll show you, soon." Hersmile made me shiver again. I hoped 'soon' would rather be later. I re-covered the chair in vinyl, and revarnished it heavily, so that it waswaterproof. All rooms had floor drains, and I was told by Mary that water wasan integral part of the role-playing in some circumstances. What came next wassomething I was not expecting, however. "I want some electrical gear now," Mary demanded. "Something that will makethem jump - not hurt them, but make them think they might get hurt. Somethingthat will give them a good jolt, and something that will give them a continuousbuzz, neither of which will be too pleasant. There need to be clips on the end- different sorts for different jobs, and some sort of control for the voltage. Can you do all that?" I told her I probably could, but secretly confided in Monica forconfirmation. "Is this for real? " I asked. "Sure," she smiled. "Some people get right off on that sort of thing. You'dbe surprised." And I was. Despite my misgivings I assembled the equipment. Itwas run from a battery and battery charger in the Observation Room, with wiresthrough the walls into the two chambers. I had toned down the current through aseries of resistors, and with some equipment the likes of which I had not usedsince my first (and only) year electrical engineering at University. I createdtwo sources of torture - a quick fix, not unlike a reduced power stun gun, andan adjustable current that would give a small but continuous buzz. Late oneafternoon at the end of the first week, I jokingly told Mary the electric chairwas ready for testing. "Good," she said. "You can help me test it." We were in the Observation Room at the time - I had just finished wiring andtesting the apparatus with a megger meter, and had explained to Mary in somedetail how the equipment worked. I had also had instructions printed andlaminated, to sit beside the controls, to ensure no accidents could take placethrough unfamiliarity with the gear. "You're not afraid, are you?" she said, teasing me. "You at least know whatit's all about. No surprises for Steve. You have to test it, you know. Part ofyour job description." It must have been in the small print, I thought. I suredidn't remember any such thing. We went into Room 1 and there was the chair, sitting beneath the single dimbulb. I sat in it, with a hint of reluctance. "Shirt and trousers off first,"declared Mary. I looked at her for a moment, then reluctantly obeyed, taking myboots and socks off in the process. I had been swimming before and still had mytrunks on underneath. Again I sat down. With two deft movements Mary secured mywrists with the wide velcro straps that took only a second to do up. Momentslater there was a strap around my chest and around each of my ankles. "Now, Steve, you are about to see what real domination is all about. Don'ttake this as anything personal. I'm just doing my job. It may seem strange toyou, but you'll get used to it all. If you last out the contract, it will seemlike routine by the end of it. You may even begin to look forward to it." Shehad moved behind me as she spoke, out of my line of sight. "Now open wide..." "Wha-" I started to say, in my naivety, as a red ball on a strap appeared infront of my face and was jammed into my mouth. I struggled, trying to close mymouth against it, but Mary had got it halfway in, and was not about to bebeaten. She pinched my nose and pulled backward. Under those circumstancesyour mouth seems to open of it's own volition. I had no option but tosurrender, and felt the hard rubber ball slip in behind my teeth, then thetightness of the strap as she buckled it behind my neck. Mary knew exactly whatshe wanted. From a box somewhere behind me, she produced my battery-powereddrill, complete with a 25mm bit. She undid my chest strap. "Sit forward!" she commanded. I was not about to argue - not with her wavingthat thing about. Moments later there came the sound of drilling, and I felt herhand with the drill making an impression in my newly upholstered seat. Bitch, Ithought. Then I was pushed against the back of the chair and the chest straprefastened, really tight this time. "Now I want those trunks off," she demanded. "Mmmph!" I said, not that it made the slightest bit of difference. With mywrists, chest and ankles secured, I was helpless as she reached around me andworked my swimming trunks down my legs. This surely was not part of thecontract! Then, after the velcro had been tightened above and below my knees,my ankles were freed one at a time and my trunks taken away totally. Then itwas more straps - my upper arms, waist, neck, and finally about my forehead. Tosay that I couldn't move was an understatement. I could roll my eyes and make"mmming" sounds, but that was about it. Here I was, stark naked, gagged andstrapped to a chair by this woman who looked as though she might definitely havea sadistic streak. But what was most disconcerting was the sight of my willysuddenly rising to the occasion! It was not something that had escaped Mary'snotice, either. She ran her hand over it with the lightest of fingernailtouches that would have made me jump half a metre, had I been able to move. Shewas obviously not going to play fair. "Don't go away," she said, with more than a hint of condescension. "I'll beback in a few minutes." Out of the corner of my eye I saw the door close behindher, just after she turned off the solitary light. There followed the sound ofthe key turning in the lock. Then it was pitch dark and silent. I couldn'tbelieve this! What had I got into? Was she really only going to be a couple ofminutes? I squirmed and tried to struggle, but I could barely move. I guessthis was what testing was all about. And I guess this was what the wholerole-playing thing was all about. I tried to imagine being a prisoner in such achamber. I think it was the uncertainty of my immediate future that was themost fearful of all. Then the lights snapped on. Not the single bulb overhead, but the two setsof car lights. Jesus. Talk about a rabbit in the headlights. Talk aboutexposed. Mary was obviously in the observation room. Who else was in there, Iwondered? Were all the girls sizing up their victim? For some reason thethought of it made Mr Willy grow a little more. Maybe half an hour went by... "Prisoner Pierre Lasalle, you are charged with resistance and sabotage. Whoare the others of your group? Do you have anything to say?" It was Mary's voiceechoing all round me from the concealed ceiling speakers. The effect was eerie,made moreso by Mary's sudden - and very good - German accent. "Speak!" How the hell could I, with this bloody great ball wedged in my mouth! "This is your last chance before we are obliged to resort to persuasion." "Mmmph!" I said, unable even to shake my head. I suddenly realised Marymeant to try out the electrodes on me. Shit! The concept of "fair" was noteven in her vocabulary, never mind whatever was in my mythical jobspecification! Then Mary entered the room. She was at first just a silhouette between meand the lights. Only when she moved to the side could I see she was wearing along leather skirt that was slit up the front, over knee-length high-heeledblack boots. Her tailored black uniform jacket was buttoned tightly over awhite shirt and black tie. What was really scary was the insignia on the jacket- the four polished silver buttons up the front and one on each breast pocket, awide red armband on the left sleeve, and the double lightning bolts of the SS onthe collar and silver buckle. Something was both ominous and imperious aboutthe Mary I now saw - I suddenly felt very vulnerable, and the intense look inher eyes told me somehow Mary was right into this role, transported back to aBerlin bunker in the middle of World War 2. She wore black leather gloves, and once again they caressed my own littlesoldier, who insisted in still remaining at attention. There was no doubt thatthe uniform had something to do with it - Mary looked sufficiently senior towarrant a salute. But her touch only made me squirm, as much as I could, and Ifelt a thrill of fear as her shadowed face came inches in front of mine and shewhispered: "Nobody knows you're here. Nobody will hear you, or ever find you, if Idon't want them to. If you don't cooperate you will not leave here alive, andyour passing on will be very slow, and very painful. You will answer myquestions truthfully. Do you understand? " "Mmmp!" I whined "Too bad," said the husky voice, not disguising the menace. Mary had adefinite screw loose, I decided. "Perhaps after some 'treatment' you willreconsider..." The figure disappeared behind me, and there followed the sound of rummagingabout before she reappeared and slapped two sticky pads - about 50mm square -over my nipples. Wires trailed off and I recognised them as TENS electrodesused in physiotherapy treatment, and I did not at all like where this was going. What came next was totally unexpected and even more sinister, not to sayuncomfortable. I found out very quickly why Mary had drilled the hole in theseat of the chair, when something abruptly wiggled through the hole and startedsearching for mine, which was inevitably in close proximity. I tried towriggle, to avoid it, but I could barely move. I tried to clench my bummuscles, but a voice hissed in my ear: "I wouldn't do that if I were you. It will only make it more painful. Letit go... lie back and enjoy it..." Enjoy it? She had to be kidding! But I relaxed, and felt the cold intruderslide inside me. Mr Willy seemed to get a kick out of it - what a giveaway... I guessed whatever it was, was about two centimetres in diameter, and itseemed to be flexible. It was bearable, I decided. Until I felt it start toenlarge... "Mmmph! Mmp-mmrp!" I tried to tell her, knowing it made no sense whatsoever,and guessing that she knew exactly what was going on. It seemed to go onforever, filling me in all directions. "I'm going to leave you now," she said. I smelt her musky perfume close tomy face. "I may come along to watch. I may invite others to participate or itmay all be random and remote. Say goodbye to your senses. It may be a longnight. It may be your last..." She left, and the lights went out. I was alone in the blackness again,waiting for what might lie in store. I was scared now. Despite having workedwith her, I no longer trusted Mary, and tone of her voice left me seriouslywondering how much was the SS officer speaking and how much was the real Mary. Waiting for the unknown was scary. The sudden tingle across my nipples made mestart. I felt the current rise slightly, making the muscles quiver. Momentslater what was obviously an inflatable dildo up my bum began to vibrate. Ijumped again, or as much as I could, given my bonds. The thing began with anormal vibration, then began to somehow wriggle about, like a kind of corkscrew- up and down, side to side. Mr Willy went painfully wild, and so did I,moaning into the rubber ball, for all the good it did me. The sensations gotfaster and faster, both on my nipple and up my arse. I was squirming andstraining, not knowing if I was trying to stop it, get away from it, or evenenjoy it. I was sweating by now, from my exertions, but I also suspected Maryhad turned the heating up. Then abruptly it stopped. I heard the blood pounding in my ears and thepanting moans through my nose as I pulled in air as much as I could. Thank God,I thought. Please let me go, Mary. Then it was wham! An electric shockthrough the vibrator! No, please - not that! I knew the current was minimal -I had made the device myself. Against a hand it did not amount to anythingmuch. Inside one's rectum it was a whole new ball game, so to speak. Thenipple pads started again, this time with more current, so that soon my chestmuscles were doing all kinds of crazy things of their own accord. Once again, Ihad set the limits on the supply, through judicious use of resistors and thelike, but I was not enjoying this. The sweat was running freely down my body inrivulets, stinging my eyes as I tried to somehow control my nipples. Then therewas another jolt inside me. I felt so utterly helpless and under another'scontrol. I panicked, tugging with all my might against the two-inch velcrostraps fastened all over me, but nothing budged. My cries went unheeded, withwhines and moans through my nose being the best I could do - not a hope of beingheard! I had lost all sense of time, staring at nothing in the darkness, withmy own plaintive grunts and groans echoing about the room, as I bit down on therubber ball. My breath was coming in quick pants now, as my body wentuncontrollable. Then everything stopped again. If I could have slumped, I would have, but movement of any sort wasimpossible. I was almost sobbing when the dim light went on, and the imperiousMary, in her black SS uniform strode into the room. "Still not prepared to cooperate?" she said contemptuously, looking at me asthough I had emerged from the evolutionary slime. I whimpered pathetically. "Too bad. As I said before, they'll never find your body." She disappeared behind me and I felt the straps undone about my neck andforehead. My head fell forward, little streams of drool running from the edgeof my mouth around the big rubber ball. At that point the room went dark, assome kind of leather hood was pulled over my head. Mary positioned it verydeftly, with two holes for my nostrils, then started lacing the thing tightlydown the back of my head. It did up all the way down to the neck, and then Ifelt a further strap tightened under my chin, and one around my head at eyelevel. I guessed these would stop my airholes moving about. I was now totallyblind as well as dumb. A wide collar then went around my neck, with a clinkingsound and the feel of something weighty down between my shoulder blades. "Time for your last walk," said the accented voice in my ear ominously. Thestraps around my chest and upper arms were undone, and my head was pushedforward. I felt the velcro on my right wrist removed, and decided it was now ornever to make a break for it. As I was just about to swing my arm to undo theother wrist, it was seized by Mary and twisted expertly behind me. There was asharp clicking sound and the steel of a handcuff circled my wrist, holding itbelow my shoulder blades. Predictably I had even less chance with the otherwrist, and moments later both were secured behind me, tugging on my collar. "Very well, your bullet is waiting," hissed Mary. Abruptly a wailing soundfilled the room, overlain with a shouted voice in German. "Air raid!" Maryshouted into my ear. "Your own people will do the job for me! You can stayhere for the rest of your life instead, under the bombs and rubble! Aufweidersein!" I barely heard the sound of the door as the first rumble of bombs started. The explosions got louder and louder, nearly deafening me. I was still strappedat my waist and legs, with no way to reach the velcro with my wrists pinionedhigh behind my back. The room seemed to shake with the noise. In the darknessunder my hood I did not know if the lights were on, off or what was happening. The bombardment of my senses went on for maybe ten minutes, before slowlyabating. Although my brain told me it had only been a recording, with a verygood sound system, it had been terrifyingly real, given my sensory deprivation. I was still sitting there, trembling and sweating, when I felt a handlightly touch the skin of my inner thigh. I lifted my head from my despair, atthe same time Mr Willy did likewise. The hand was there again. There was noglove on it. In the silence after the bombs, I could hear nothing to detectanother's presence. Then the hands were together, stroking Mr Willy, and I felta female body slowly slide on to mine, slipping back against me. I did not knowif it was Mary or not. Mary had been wearing a twill jacket, leather skirt andboots. This woman seemed to be barefoot, stockinged, and wearing some sort ofsoft, silky dress. I felt her lift herself against the chair arms and settlesquarely on Mr Willy. She wasn't wearing underwear, either. I groaned in ecstasy through the gag. Mr Willy was hard, hurting anddesperate. But the straps were still on my waist and thighs, making itimpossible for me to lift my body to meet this angel of mercy. I was totallyreliant on her movements. They were very slow and gentle, but graduallybecoming faster. This was not going to take much, I knew, and just when itseemed the message had got through to send the first load, my angel was gone -just up and left! The bitch! I cried out behind the rubber in my mouth, andunder the leather of the hood. But for all I knew the room could now have beenempty. They were playing games, I knew. How long could I stand it, and who wasin on the session? I had no idea how much time passed at this point. I was sitting in darknessand silence, running through my mind who was behind this teasing. Mr Willy wasmost unhappy. Why did I wonder if they were actually watching me suffer atthat very moment? My arms began to ache behind my back, but there was nothing Icould do, other than bend forward at the waist. I tried this for a bit, butcouldn't get any more comfortable. I was hot still, and I was sweating. Theheat seemed to finally overwhelm me, and I must have nodded off... A bucket full of cold water over my body awoke me. Somebody was screamingat me in a foreign language. To my half-conscious brain it sounded likeChinese, but what did I know? Then there were hands on my body, undoing thestraps and pulling me to my feet. There were at least two of them, hustling meoutside and a few paces along the corridor. I had got past caring about beingnaked - I had no choice in the matter anyway. The inflatable vibrator was stillinside me - there was no way I would be rid of this until somehow it was letdown. It was uncomfortable, moving inside and causing all sorts of strangesensations. My captors said nothing as I was pushed into a room I guessed to bethe one on the other side of the observation room. I knew what was in here -the posts and the suspension apparatus. Was this never going to end? I was propelled over to where I knew the posts were. They were eight-inchpoles supporting the house. Under the latest refurbishment they now hadeyebolts at various heights and pulleys in strategic locations. I had no doubtmy captors knew how to use everything. There was more yelling in Chinese. Asoft but menacing voice in my ear translated: "Gweilo, you have offended the people with your behaviour. The statecommittee has decided you must be punished. You will receive sixty lashes. Thenyou will be sent to a labour cooperative to truly repent your crimes." I moanedbehind my gag and shook my head. More screaming. "You dare to argue? Onehundred lashes!" God, would these women really do this? Just how sadistic werethey? What did their clients expect of them? Cuffs were placed around my ankles, and they were hauled apart, so I stoodlegs wide apart and feeling just about as vulnerable as I could possibly be. Some sort of bar was then lashed to my ankles, which at least stopped me doingthe splits, but still put a big strain on my thigh muscles. Next it was mywrists, but at least they were out of those awful handcuffs behind myshoulderblades. Leather cuffs on my wrists this time, and a front spreader barhere, too, with ropes at each end through the pulleys I had installed two dayspreviously. The ropes ran through the pulleys to a ratchet system with a wheel,which pulled both arms up equally. I now found out the system worked perfectly,much to my discomfort. My arms were at full stretch, and I could hear the clickof the ratchet as the wheel was turned ever so slowly. Bit by tiny bit I was hauled on to my tiptoes, my legs spread wide and myarms likewise. I was moaning loudly under my hood now, pleading for them tostop. They did, finally - I was stretched out as far as I possibly could be,totally unable to move anything other than my head. Then the whipping began. I lost count of the strokes. They seemed to come at me from all directions. There was a flogger with a bunch of leather straps, and a flat paddle. Theystung, rather than hurt, but the same could not be said for the riding crop,which slashed at my buttocks for variation. The flogger got me everywhere -chest, legs, arms, stomach. Fortunately they stayed away from Mr Willy, who bynow was desperately trying to counter gravity by having withdrawal symptoms andwishing he could hide away totally. Several none-too-gentle swats with the cropcame perilously close, striking instead the base of the vibrator that was stillstuck up my bum. That was decidedly not nice, and I tried to tell them so. Eventually they stopped, and some crazy Chinese voice began whispering in myears. I did not know if it was Emma or the PA system, but it was pretty scary. I hung there, trying to ignore the burning of my skin which I was sure wascovered with great welts. My wrists and arms were beginning to go into spasm, aswere my thighs and ankles, when I felt the tension released finally. Thespreader bar between my wrists was gradually lowered, until it ceased to haveany tension, and the bar came to rest in front at waist level. I felt a broadbelt fastened about my waist and I was pushed from behind without warning. Crying out into the gag I tried to stagger forward, but of course my ankleswere still effectively immobile, and I pitched forward, only to be brought upshort by ropes attached to the belt. I had all but fallen over, and was nowbent at the waist, my hands just touching the floor. I felt tugging at the wristspreader, and had to wriggle to adjust my position, which I soon discovered wasfully bent over, with my wrists out and as far forward as I could get them. Here the bar was secured to one of the conveniently located eyebolts, no doubt. My waist was supported by the leather belt, but my bum was up and my head wasdown. Where was this all going to end? I thought I had had as much pain as I could stand, but evidently my captorshad more in store for me. Was this some kind of a test? Was this Monica's ideaof an initiation? Was she even behind it or aware of it, or was it the girls'idea? Had I upset them? I had thought we all seemed to be getting on ratherwell... Whoever attached the clamps on my nipples did not think so. The TENS padshad been removed - only to exchange them for something new and exciting. Iyelled into the gag, grinding my teeth into the rubber as the piercing pain shotthrough my right and then left nipples. Seemingly not content with inflictingthis agony, weights were then hung on the clamps, so I could feel them swingingwith every movement I made - not that this was particularly extensive. The room seemed to be getting very hot now. Whether this was just becauseof the blood rushing to my head I didn't know. What I did know was that thevibrator started up again, and so did the whipping - both in the bum region. Iwas groaning and whimpering into my gag, but nothing seemed to deter thesegirls. The punishment seemed endless. My brain was on the verge of shuttingdown, and flashing lights were starting to appear when there were two blindingpains in my nipples and I realised in my agony that the clamps had been removedand that blood was flowing freely again. The vibration stopped, and arubber-gloved hand eased the offending intruder out from my passage. In quicksuccession the spreader bars were removed and I all but collapsed, so wobblywere my legs, and so drained was I. I had no will left to resist as my wristswere handcuffed behind my back and my ankles were hobbled with a short stretchof chain. I stumbled out of the room, female hands gripping my arms and supporting me. Dimly I was aware I was being led down the hall, and into a holding cell. I waspushed on to my knees, then gently laid on my stomach on a futon. A voicepenetrated into my consciousness: "Somewhere in here you'll find some keys..." and there followed a metallicclink. Then the door slammed shut. I lay there for a long time, unable to move. Perhaps I fell asleep - I hadno way of really knowing what I did. After maybe an hour, or perhaps two, Idragged myself back to consciousness, remembering the words and the clink ofkeys. I struggled to sit up, and eventually got into a position where I couldswing my legs about the floor in a sweeping motion. The room was not big, butin my disoriented state, blind, hooded and gagged, it still took me time to findthe keys. For a panicking moment I thought it had been a joke, and that I wasjust being teased. Finally I managed to get the key into the handcuff lock, andit was with such relief that I freed my aching arms. It took little time to getthe hood unbuckled, and removing this felt just as good, if not better. It madeno difference to my sight. I was still seeing stars as the pressure wasrelieved from my eyes, and the room was pitch black in any case. Not a chink oflight came in around the door. Whoever put that in had done a good job, Ithought smugly. I unbuckled the strap from behind my neck and slowly prised the ball outfrom behind my teeth. My head was streaming with sweat, and my jaw ached. Butrelief was bliss. I undid the hobble in no time, before staggering to the doorand banging futilely on it. I had soundproofed it well, too. There was noalternative but to lie down, and in the warm, comfortable temperature, I fellasleep, totally exhausted.
