'They say you're a British Secret Service agent. You don't look like one; but then looks can be deceiving.'
Zoe said nothing as the man circled her, eyeing her up and down critically.
'You don't look very British. More Mediterranean, I would hazard.'
The man sifted Zoe's dark hair through the fingers of one hand then ran his hand down her bare arm and lightly brushed the back of it over the swell of her right breast.
'I'm half Spanish,' Zoe said, glancing up at the man and surprised to see him nod and smile in response.
'You're a pretty young lady. And fairly subservient too, from what I hear. Well, the question is how subservient do you really like to be?'
'I don't understand...' Zoe stammered, her gaze following the man as he circled her.
'All the girls who are here learn to enjoy their suffering - up to one degree or another. I know a little of what you've been through Miss Farquerson and it seems to me that you have great potential. Very great potential...'
Zoe said nothing in reply but her heart was hammering with excitement. She could still clearly remember the day she'd fallen foul of Stonefield and Mosafa; the heady rush of sexual arousal as she had been taken to the basement of the Arab's tower and tortured. The delicious feeling of helplessness as the two Arab youths had tethered her then punished her. Now she felt like that again and her body ached at the thought of receiving some new experience in punishment, something even more severe than anything she'd been put through up till now.
The Colonel swung away from her and walked back to where he'd left his drink. Zoe watched him pick up the glass, the ice cubes tinkling. He took a slow mouthful and nodded to the monk who stood holding Zoe by the leash.
'Take her to the gallery.'
Zoe was led through into another room, an unfurnished room with a polished wood floor and whose windows were screened by paper blinds that let in light but kept the room screened from any watching eyes on the outside. The array of smooth wooden poles and gleaming white ropes made Zoe falter in her tracks even as her pulse quickened in eagerness at the thought of being bound again. It was always the same; fear of the pain that she loved because it made her so aroused.
'Please... don't...' she stammered.
'If you start protesting, you'll only make things worse for yourself. Do you want that?'
'No...'Zoe shook her head.
'I think Brother Simon, the horizontal pole for her,' the Colonel announced, as matter-of-factly as if he was choosing clothes for her, as he lightly patted Zoe's exposed rump.
The monk led her across to where a four-foot pole hung suspended from a rope at each end. The collar was unfastened from her throat and discarded and the monk told Zoe to kneel. She did as she as instructed.
'Hold your arms out and back behind you.'
Zoe obeyed. The cool length of the pole came to rest against her back just below her shoulder-blades.
'Now lower your arms so they're the other side of the pole.'
Zoe did as she was told, glancing as she responded at the Colonel who stood watching, his drink still in hand, smoke curling from the cigarette he held.
'Brother Simon is our most accomplished rope binder. He understands perfectly the limits of stress and discomfort that the human body can be put under.'
As the Colonel spoke the monk was drawing a rope around Zoe's chest close under her generous breasts. She glanced down to see him wrapping each end repeatedly around the pole at either side of her and then the ends of the rope were drawn back across her chest just above her breasts. They were then pulled together behind her and knotted at her back just above where the pole pressed against her. Zoe felt the first stirrings of panic as she knew she was now held against the pole. She forced herself to keep calm. There was no point in resisting, she reminded herself, she had no choice. Already her pussy felt moist with arousal and she knew that the more intense the punishment the more exquisite would be her orgasm when it finally came.
'I have to say Miss Farquerson, other girls have objected to such treatment and occasionally it has been necessary for Brother Simon to receive the assistance of several of our brotherhood at this stage of the proceedings.'
'There's hardly any point in trying to escape whatever you've got planned for me, is there?' Zoe replied tersely, momentarily alarmed at the thought that these men might suddenly guess just how much she got off on being treated like this and then what would they do to her!
'Precisely. Very perceptive of you,' the Colonel smiled whilst Zoe grimaced as the monk tightened and knotted another rope around her arms just above her elbows. Experimentally she tried to flex her arms and her first assumption was confirmed - her arms were now secured; she was held to the pole. The second rope was tied below where the first was bound around the pole and this meant it was now impossible for her to extricate herself from the pole.
Zoe remained kneeling and passive as the monk took another rope and bound it in a figure of eight around her wrists. She glanced up at the Colonel and saw his cotton trousers bulging at the crotch as he watched her. She glared at him but said nothing. Why give him the satisfaction? She told herself.
'Feeling nice and comfortable, Miss Farquerson?'
Zoe ignored the Colonel's jibe as the monk took a fresh rope and drew it tightly around her waist. Sure, the ropes were tight but they didn't hurt, the now familiar sensation was in truth delicious, but she'd never admit that to them. The monk wrapped the rope again around her waist and drew it even tighter.
'Uhh...' Zoe sighed obligingly as if in acute discomfort and saw the gleam of satisfaction in the monk's eye. Again the rope was drawn around her waist before both ends were then wrapped around her arms. As the rope was pulled tighter Zoe's arms were drawn closely against the small of her back and glancing down she could see her waist tightly cinched.
'No tighter... please...' she begged, knowing full well such pleading would delight the man stood watching.
The Colonel smiled with satisfaction and stepped in front of Zoe. He flicked a few loose strands of her blonde hair clear of her face then lifted her chin with one finger.
'My dear, Brother Simon has hardly begun, so save your begging for later.'
'No more, please...' Zoe shook her head, looking up imploringly at the man who stood over her.
'Hush now... wriggling will only add to your discomfort.'
While the Colonel spoke the monk forced his fingers under the rope where it dug into her stomach. Zoe glanced down to watch him then secure another rope with a slipknot to the waist rope. Pulling his fingers clear, the rope snapped back tightly against her panting stomach.
Zoe stared, mesmerised as the monk, with practised ease, made a succession of knots in another rope and then tied one end of the rope to the rope around her waist. The knotted rope was then left dangling down between her legs. He fastened two separate ropes around both her ankles. These ropes were then stretched up and over the wooden pole and as they were pulled taut, Zoe's feet then calves were lifted clear of the floor.