The Healing Lash - The Monica Chronicles #2 - Excerpt

My name is Shannen. I'm twenty-two, 170 cm tall, with dark hair just covering my ears. I reckon I'm not too bad looking - enough men have told me so. I've got a Masters in journalism, so I guess I must have some brains as well. Or so I thought. I guess if I was that smart I wouldn't be where I am now, writing this crap.

Where am I? God, this is embarrassing. But they said if I didn't tell it like it is they'd start the shocks again, especially that Mary girl - she is some bitch! So here I am, squatting at the foot of the stairs into the basement, in black stockings, black high heels, a dark red skirt that shows off my legs pretty well, and a white satin blouse. And no bra of course. (If I say so myself, my tits are my best attribute - not huge, but bouncy enough that men can't resist them, and no problem with the pencil test. Unfortunately the bitches in this place seem to like them too - to the extent of placing those bloody nipple clamps on them. Jesus they hurt!) So here I am, squatting at the foot of the stairs, writing this stuff in a bound exercise book resting on my thighs. Sound pretty straightforward? It is.

It's also pretty limiting, too, since there is this chain locked around my waist, with a short side chain locked from each hip to each ankle, which makes it pretty difficult to stand up. But that's not the real problem. The real problem is that I'm squatting on a piece of steel plate around half a meter square. Sprouting up from it is a fucking great butt plug which is embedded in my ass. The fact I can't rise off my heels means I can't exactly extract this device, even though my hands are free. I tried it. Oh yes, I can squirm around a bit, and rotate myself in a circle on the plate, but other than getting screwed in the ass in a big way, Shannen really isn't going anywhere. And just to make sure, the locked collar around my neck with its chain locked to the banister rail would make doubly sure.

And it hurts, too - the butt plug, that is. It's wide and long, and even though they had the decency(!) to lubricate it, it still fucking hurts, especially when I lean back a little. It hurts to the point where I yelled at them and cried and carried on. Well, up to a point.

There's this huge rubber ball in my mouth that also hurts - it makes my jaw ache. The Mary bitch locked it in place with a padlock at the back of the wide strap behind my head. I've pulled at it and tried to force the ball out, but it's impossible. My mouth may be big, but it's not that big. Big enough to get me into trouble, I guess. It's hard to get any answers in this state. I don't know how long I'll be kept like this - I'm told it's until I write what they want to read. I'm also told it will be when they know it's the truth. What a pack of stuck up sluts! Talk about arrogant and full of themselves!

So how did I get here? It's clear to me now that my father is behind it all. He was the one who told me about the party here - about the private nature of it and the big names who would be here. I suppose I should have suspected something. What was in it for him? Since when did he owe me any favors? All we've ever done in life is argue, but in this instance I guess I was too keen for the scoop. Too keen to get one up on my boss and the office competition.

So there I was, knocking on the door of this place, tarted up in short skirt and high heels, but looking like a million bucks in all honesty. It was an American chick who opened it - thirty something, I guess, but with a husky voice and a nice smile - or so I thought.

"Hi! You must be Shannen. Come on in. You're the first. Why don't you come and meet Monica. She's organizing the do."

"Sure," I said, ever the gullible one, or was it just my need to be sniffing for the dirt? I sensed the American chick moving behind me, and didn't quite take in her words when she said:

"There's just one formality we have to take care of first. House rules, I'm afraid."

It was all so unexpected when she grabbed one wrist and clicked a handcuff on it in a fraction of a second, before pulling my other wrist behind me and snapping the other link on it. Well, I went right off at that point, so unexpected was the attack. I had dropped my handbag on the floor of the entry hall and found myself propelled into this other room - a study lined with bookshelves - where there was this chick sitting behind a desk, smiling at me and looking ever so up herself.

"Ah, Shannen. Thank you for joining us this evening. Please have a seat."

Return to Top