There was no doubting the ancient sign above the door. It bluntly affirmed: 'Wm Herries" and added: "Custom creations in fine leathers." Watching the deft strong hands at work upon her wrists, Lynne Stacey could not doubt the Herries craftsmanship, any more than she could doubt her flaming cheeks or a seething fury at the Herries indifferance to her person. To Regina Conant he vouschafed the polite deference of a tradesman proud of his wares.
"A knife won't touch it, M'Lady. The hide itself, tanned and cured as this has been, has become a rarity."
"A razor blade, perhaps?"
"Yes, but even that not easily. And there's metal at the points of stress."
"It will remain supple and pliant without stretching?"
Wm' Herries sighed. "M'Lady, this young woman could no more stretch my leather than she could stretch me."
The girl whose hands were being joined refused to meet eyes. An understanding glance from either the man or the woman would flare her blush a deeper scarlet. It was best to see only a horizon beyond the walls or to watch, with fascinated distance, the tools and the skills being employed to partially rob her of freedom.
"One single link, M'Lady?"
"Yes. I want her hands close."
Lady Regina Con ant was enjoying herself. Lynne strongly suspected Wm' Hemes of enjoying himself too. She felt like a mare being shod in the village smithy, or perhaps a recalcitrant schoolgirl being fitted for a uniform in which she would be stiffly uncomfortable. She looked down at her hands, held close and proffered for the convenience of the wise fingers, busy with the leather wristlets of which he was so proud, and which she would wear, presumably, into a distant future she refused to contemplate.
"Tighten them on her as snugly as is practicable, Herries."
"I will indeed, M'Lady. The measurements are true. We have an excellent fit. The young lady will be proud-"
"Will you be proud, Lynne darling?"
Flame to maiden fire! Lynne Stacey cringed. If the roguish Lady Conant had been middle aged or an elderly beldame the situation might have seemed more plausible. But 'Gina held only six years seniority, and she herself was twenty-two....! Wm Herries would be quietly chuckling to himself over a pair of lesbians. "That's something I have to find out, isn't it." She retorted listlessly. She longed to scream in fury and run, to fling aside the bands upon her wrists as though they were serpents. But she stood, passive to the promise she had made.
Small screws, nestling wickedly into tough leather and the thin segments of shining steel, their recessed heads buried implacably beneath the droplet of molten metal from the electric arc, then filed and polished as though they had never been. For minutes at a time her wrist was within the clutch of a vise as the creator of her exquisite bondage sought perfection. The single chrome link shined mockingly in its promise of prisonment.
"How do they feel, Miss?" In the completion of his task Herries deigned to notice her.
"Tight."
Fingers tested. Her wrists were twisted, skinn pulled. A shrewd eye made her defenseless. "But not too tight, eh?"
"I suppose not-"
"Damnif, Lynne, be polite. You were asked a question!"
"Oh alright!" She gave a shamed attention to her hands. "They are tight-honest! But I'll get used to them. They don't hurt."
"Good! Now sit down so Mr. Herries can band your ankles."
"But, 'Gina, no-No! I won't be able to walk!"
"Yes you will. Don't be a ninny. Sit, and do as you're told."
Removing her shoes and nylons was her first task with joined hands. It was shaming before the man but easier than she supposed. Again she watched the curtailment of her freedom.
"They have a ring, darling. It dangles on the inside. No chain today." Lady Conant glinted in amused mockery. "I'm not going to carry you back to Castle Conant."
Ashamed, the ankleted girl stuffed nylons into her bag, they would be impractical over the shackle and its ring. Fortunately her shoe tolerated the steel and leather band. Sitting to await 'Gina's pleasure she felt more than ever the delinquent child.
"There will be other stuff, Herries....Send your bill."
"Keep her from razor blades, M'Lady."
Lynne's eyes implored, agonized.
"Drop the dying duck look, darling. You can walk to the car. If anyone sees, they probably won't care."
They gyved girl believed it the most difficult thing she had ever done. A memory of Lady Godiva flitted through her mind. True, she was clothed but the prisoned wrists and ankles were plain for all to see. Resolutely, she walked into the street. Beside her, Lady Regina Conant stared down startled curiosity. Three women and a child beheld cuffed wrists and heard the tinkle of ankle rings before the car door closed. But the Bentley made all things proper.
"Your last public appearance, darling. Solemn thought."
"I felt an idiot."
"Of course, sweets. Part of the treatment."
"You didn't tell me about my ankles-?"
"We were there. Seemed a shame not to get you nicely attached."
"You're loving every moment, 'Gina." Lynne held up her wristlets, tugging and twisting, morbidly curious. "Gosh, it's so strange! I'm not believing it-and I'll be sorry, I know I will."
"Isn't that the whole idea, pet."
"Yes, that's the idea." It was a flat acceptance. '"Gina-that man, and what you said-other stuff-?"
The Bentley purred expensively. Its pilot's lovely profile turned from a casual attention to the road, eyes sparkled mischief. "Girls have more than hands and feet, darling. Maybe a nice collar?"
""Gina, my neck!"
"To lock on, precious."
"Like a puppy dog? What else?"
"You're sounding sulky, Lynne. Watch it!"
"I'm sorry. I know you're breaking me in gently. But these things fastened on me-they're scarey."
"Couldn't really say you're helpless, could you?"
"No-o-o-o. But these things on my wrists make me feel helpless. It would be no use trying to fight you now. They're a sort of point of no return."
"Mmmmmm, lovely! The other thing I want Herries to do for you is something for your tummy."
"Oh, 'Gina, please-!"
"A lovely band, tight enough so if you overeat or put on weight you'll know about it."
"But I don't put on weight-and I've scarcely got any tummy!"
"And it will have a ring each side for your wrists-just in case...."
"But my wrists are already-!"
"I'm thinking a year or two ahead, pet."
Lynne quenched the spurt of fear. Femininely, she pouted. "But the rings will show through whatever I wear-?"
"Wear, darling...?"
"Oh alright, I forgot-"
"If I take you out in public we'll manage something."
"You showed me all those awful things down-down ... where I've got to so sometimes?"
"Oh-h-h-h, you'll wear those too, my precious." The mischievious voice became tender. "I thought I was being kind at the start."
"You are! Oh, 'Gina, I'm sorry. I know these things you've had fastened on me are-humane. Gosh, that word sounds awful!"
"You're a Trojan, Lynne. I'll try and not be too flip. But if I become too damn portentious, or allow you to be, we'll end up in tears or hysterics-or feeling we're strangers-"
The joined hands reached out and touched an arm tenderly. "You're sweet, 'Gina. If I have to be-well, the way I am, I'm glad it's you." Lynne grimaced ruefully. "It's just so long, so terribly, terribly much of my life."
"There's historical precedents, sweet. Way back it wasn't uncommon to lock up a relative for the rest of their life even if it was a woman, or a wife-"
"O.K.-O.K. I'm grateful! I'll try and be a perfect prisoner and be always smiling so you won't feel guilty
"You're feeling sorry for yourself, love. Like I said: watch it!"
"Sorry! I forget. I suppose I can get punished for saying the wrong thing? Has that time started yet? Or can I get rid of a bit of bitterness?'
"Let's say when you get inside the castle doors, Lynne."
"Thanks. Don't drive too fast. Will you really whip me-or have me whipped? It's so hard-"
"Yes."
"I'll try and not make you do it to me, not often. If you didn't love me I couldn't ever have said 'yes' to this."
It was the turn of the girl at the wheel to reach out a reassuring hand and pat a pinioned arm. "I love you terribly, Lynne." She spared a frank sideways gaze. "Is there a devil of cruelty in me?"
"Of course. It's in me too." The captive held up her linked hands. "Look at these exquisite things of leather and steel, dearest one, and say to yourself: "There, but for the grace of god, go I."
Regina, Lady Conant, looked avidly at the Herries masterpiece in feminine restraint. She shuddered deliciously. "They're too, too beautiful. You know damn well I wouldn't mind-" Her grin became pensive. "Is the heat in our bellies going to see us through this? I'm sure mine will. But you-?"
"I'm wet." The admission was simple. "I don't know about the bad bits." The captive parted with a wry grin. "I'm hoping I'll sort of-regenerate after-"
"I'd thought of practice. I mean, going beyond anything we've done-a sort of test. But I was scared. It's not as though either of us really has a choice. Back in that leather place I was mean-testing myself, Lynne. How'd Lsound?"
"Implacable. I think you impressed the pants off that poor man."
"Herries!" 'Gina laughed. "He adored you and what he was doing. Look at those works of art he brought into being just for us. Hold your hands up again, darling. I can't get enough of the way those leather bands nestle into your skin: your wrists cry out in sweetly ravished innocence."
"My wrists don't do anything except stay close to each other." In a wry and resigned demonstration Lynne tugged at the chrome link, compelling its unforgiving mockery. "See, I'm helpless."
"You're not, y'know!"
"Well, maybe-" The captive continued to test the heavy thickness of supple leather by which she was bound. Her laugh was rueful. "But that's the scarey thing, 'Gina. I've been thinking about it ever since he sealed me with those drops of molten metal. You could keep me like this for life. I couldn't possibly win a tussle with you, but I expect I can do the chores. I could drive a car."
"A lovely arrangement, darling. Even Enderby approved."
The captive hands relapsed into their owner's lap. "'Gina, let's leave that part out of it as much as we can? Keep it as though it's only you and I." Lynne's brow furrowed. "Has he changed the servants?"
"Yes, but damn cleverly. Castle Conant still has as fine an exhibit of 'Ye olde Brytishe retainers' as you'll find outside the movies. But I don't think any of 'em could raise an eyebrow if they tried." 'Gina chuckled. "We had a meeting about you. They're well briefed. Darling, for heaven's sake don't try and bribe the females of seduce the men. A list of penalties was drawn up."
"If I decided I wanted to escape, I'd be punished?"
"'Fraid so." Gina shrugged. "Logic in it I suppose."
"You mean some damn housemaid, cook or lackey can beat me-or something disagreeable? Oh 'Gina....!"
"Don't exaggerate, pet. They simply report your lapse from grace, then you get sentenced to something unpleasant as a deterrent."
"Who sentences me? As if I didn't know!"
"It doesn't have to happen, precious. Don't thrust it on me, I don't want the job. You'll have enough on your plate with what that blasted Diomedes woman demands. What on Earth did you do to that Greek bitch?"
"All I had to do was just be Me-and a Stacey-"
"O.K., O.K..-...! I don't like the way she looks at me sometimes...." 'Gina grimaced. "Let's forget her too. Here's the Castle."
"You mean: here's my prison."
"You love Conant as much as I do, sweets. Let's see how well the two of us can carry this off. It isn't all that easy for me."
Jeffers was almost too perfect. He ushered them into the Great Hall with a grandiloquence as of long association. With Olympian detachment he failed to see wristlets and anklets on the family guest, or to hear the metallic accompaniament of metal rings.
"This is Miss Stacey, Jeffers. She will be staying with us for quite some time."
"It will be a privilege to serve her, madam."
Lynne felt only the beginnings of a blush. Jeffers would be discreetly oblivious to even a ball and chain. She stifled an irreverent impulse to giggle.
"Miss Stacey and I will be in my suite, Jeffers. Send Nicole up, please-and then Tea."
"Thank you, madam." Jeffers effaced himself among the suits of armour, the old Masters, and the timelessness of polished wood and mellowed stone.
"Priceless, eh!" An amused Lady Regina Conant led the way up the main staircase. 'They're all like that: makes things a lot easier."
The 'Mistress Suite' was pulsingly familiar ground, but the leather bands on Lynne Stacey's wrists and ankles made her suddenly a stranger. She heard herself stammering awkwardly: "You'll have to tell me-well-I mean, how I'm supposed to act."
"Be yourself, pet. That's all! If you feel an idiot, it doesn't matter. Nicole will start you off beautifully."
The captive felt an idiot already, standing in centre stage with her hands together in a bond she could not seperate. The advent of Nicole was a relief.
"You sent for me, madam?" The accent held only a whisper of French.
"This is Lynne Stacey, Nicole." Lady Conant's words betrayed mischief. "You remember our Meeting? Miss Stacey is shockingly overdressed-?"
"Oui, madam."
It had been rehearsed! It must have been! Lynne gazed at the sissors in dismay. When the small Gallic fingers and the shining blades approached her sleeve her exclamation was spontaneous.
"No! Don't cut it! I'll take it off-"
"You can't, darling."
It was true! The leather mocked her. She could neither remove her dress or her bra'. Lynne looked at her companions appealingly. "But I love this dress-!"
"We know, dear. But you won't be needing clothes."
That also was true! She had been told. She had said a reluctant 'yes'. But to reach nudity by virtue of a French maid and a pair of household scissors....! Lynne Stacey cringed.
"Your first test of obedience, darling."
It was clever. 'Gina had engineered drama. To have her coverings cut from her until she was naked would leave a far more compelling memory than a mundane undressing. Her first milestone!
"Oh alright, I'll stand still.
"Thank you, Miss."
The shears bit hungrily. A sleeve fell away, baring a shoulder. Then the other. The beloved fabric fell wounded for her to step out of. Her bra' followed. Her briefs could have been lowered intact but the blades severed them with sharp venom. Lynne Stacey kicked off her shoes and was naked.
"Thank you, Miss. A figure of the most perfect, n'est ce pas."
The shears should have cut the leather too, but they had not. They remained upon her as Herries had fastened them. They would remain on her forever. Lynne felt the spreading blush as she watched Nicole gather the scraps she would never wear again.
"You wish me to shave her bush, Madam? It is of an epaisseur densite-?"
Lady Regina Conant's eyes sparkled with delight, but her voice was under control. "Now now, Nicole. It will be discussed. Quite probably at another time. The poor dear will never look quite naked with that shining pubic forest."
The captive waited out Nicole's discreet withdrawal before exploding. " 'Gina, you wouldn't! Would you...?"
"What? Shave your pussy? What's so awful-?"
"But it is awful!" The newly naked girl twisted her wristleted hands in protest. "I'd hate it. I love my hair."
"It's one of the Things, precious. It's exquisitely shaming to a girl who doesn't want it. Some do-"
"I'm not one of them!" Lynne's protest was almost a moan. "I'd feel twenty times naked with my hair shaved away-down there-"
"With that neat slit you've got I wouldn't worry, pet." 'Gina was amused. "Even if it happens you'll look sleek as a seal and right now it isn't happening. Hold the wails of agony, here's Tea."
The nude captive sat down and crossed her legs. It was comfortinglyless of an exposure than standing. The comfort did not last.
"Uncross 'em, sweetness. Forgotten the code already?"
Lynne flushed anew. She had forgotten! She seperated her thighs in time to allow the maid, proffering a teacup and a plate, an excellent view of her pubic hair. She had never cherished a hope of hiding her breasts. The damn girl might as well look: everybody else would! Sulkily, she accepted a sandwich.
"Pansy, this is Miss Stacey. Be very nice to her."
"Yes, M'Lady. Should I get her a small table-on account of-I mean, it's awkward for her with-"
"With her hands locked together? How very sweet of you, dear! Yes, of course you can get her a stand." 'Gina was very much the Chatelaine.
In kindness, Lynne experienced her first deep shame. The tiny table, the helpful hands, her own strange clumsiness as both arms must follow where one had gone before. Pansy was obviously enraptured.
"M'Lady. Nicole told me to ask-about Miss Stacey's feet? She sent a chain...?"
"How very thoughtful! I'd quite forgotten. Be a good girl and attach it for me." Lady Conant exuded beneficence.
Shocks and shames! The naked girl knew she must accustom herself to them. She looked to 'Gina for help but received only an encouraging smile. Chagrined, she extended her naked legs, and watched as Pansy opened a box on the Tea Trolley.
"It seems ever so short, M'Lady?"
"Never mind, dear. We can't have Miss Stacey leaping around the Castle, can we!"
To the apprehensive recipient of bondage the chain appeared both short and needlessly strong. It looked as expensive as the padlocks by which it was attached to her anklet rings. Pansy took studious care in her task and clicked the locks with a fine sense of drama. "Cor, M'Lady, there'll be no getting loose from them-not ever." Her exclamation was awed.
"That's true, dear. The effect's quite lovely, don't you think?"
"It 'ud scare me to death, M'Lady, to have me feet chained together like that. Couldn't nohow run-couldn't even walk proper-"
"Thank you, Pansy, and don't worry. You're quite safe. You can run along now. Leave the trolley, you can get it later."
The cups bridged a pulsing vacuum. The two girls eyed each other over the rims, holding in check the exclamations they did not need. Each knew the other.
"Hate me, precious?"
"I love you, Gina. This is the beginning. I can't help feeling strange. Don't feel bad about what you have to do....! I just wish I didn't blush so easy. D'you want me to get up and try and walk?"
"In a minute. Finish your Tea. Eat those little cakes, they're good."
"You're going to tell mc something-about what comes next."
"You asked me not to talk about it until I had to, pet. Time's close now."
"Are you going to have me whipped? Or do it yourself?"
"I want to do some things to you myself. We both know why. But there's other things I won't-want. I'll order these done. And set your mind at rest, you won't be whipped today."
"Something worse? I can tell."
"I think it could be. I have to lock you in a dungeon."
"Enderby or Diomedes?"
"Probably both. The end result's the same." Lynne essayed a laugh. "Well, I'm appropriately chained. They're sort of de rigueur in dungeons-"
"Yes."
They examined the monosyllable bleakly until Lynne could bear the constraint no longer. " 'Gina darling, I don't want any more Tea. May I try and walk?"
They found laughter in the absurdity of the question and the new need to seek permission, a laughter soon becoming sober. "I guess you'd better, pet. You may have to do quite a lot of walking-"
The laughter returned at her stumbles, her sad small shuffling steps. To the chained girl it was a discovery. "But, 'Gina-Oh, 'G-i-n-a-, I'm s-o-o-o-o-so helpless! I can't really do anything-?"
"Keep trying. You're adorable to watch. You've no idea-"
"Yes I have. 'Gina darling, can't I have a longer chain?"
"No."
"Well, that looks after that. I suppose in a dungeon it doesn't matter much." The hobbled girl caught her breath in dismay. "Gina, is this for life? This chain between my feet?"
"No, pet. If it had been we'd have had Herries seal it safe."
"Oh wow! Oh, darling, it's so much so soon. Don't laugh. I'm going to keep trying. This chain locked on my anklets isn't more than twelve inches, is it?"
"Exactly twelve. But you have to add the padlocks and the rings. You've got at least fifteen."
"Having to hold my hands together in front seems to make it worse ... I mean, I can't balance-or-or anything. Oh, 'Gina, I wish I could laugh this off."
"You're getting the hang of it, y'know. You'll make a pretty picture when you've got it beat. I want to take you to bed, I'm all wet."
"Gina, can we? Will this chain...? "
"No, the chain won't stop us, but Diomedes will. Our pussy's are tabu, verboten, forbidden."
Lynne paused, askance. "One of the things you didn't want to tell me? But, darling, how will she know?"
"The servants, of course! I doubt we can make love without them guessing."
"I want to try. Gina darling, it's all we've got!"
"No it's not. We have each other: like now. Do you want to risk being whipped?"
"Yes."
"I'd be whipped along with you, darling." 'Gina shrugged. "Another of the things I didn't want to talk about."
An abyss opened before captive eyes, halting captive feet. Lynne felt the leather bands constrict. "But, 'Gina...! You're Lady Conant! You own the Castle....!"
"Precious, don't be shocked. You know what we're into, both of us-in our different roles. They've got a sort of peasant logic."
"But how-? Who-?"
"The servants report any breaking of the Code. Then Enderby or Diomedes, or somebody would sentence me the same way I have to sentence you. Damned humiliating, but it was part of their terms."
"But, never again to make love-never....?"
They were suddenly locked in each other's arms, the joined hands fumbling and straining as best they could. 'Gina's whisper was fervid and urgent in her captive's ear. "No, no, no, not forever! I love you too much-I'd die. Trust me-trust me-Oh, darling....!"
They kissed and adored each other. After awhile they began what Lynne always thought of afterwards as 'The Long Walk'.
Lynne Stacey had seen the dungeon before. It was by no means the worst Castle Conant could offer an unwilling guest. Its ceiling was vaulted. There were slender pillars. There was even some daylight through a reasonable expanse of bars. "Arn't you being kind, 'Gina?" Its new tenant asked doubtfully.
"Not really. There's a motive. How's the ankles?
"They're not chafed. I thought they would be, I snubbed about every second step." Lynne thrust forth one hobbled foot. "See, 'Gina, nothing-that lovely leather!" She rattled her chain playfully. 'That was the strangest and longest walk of my life. Darling, it's absurd: I'm horny."
"It's not absurd, sweets. I'm throbbing inside like a little steam engine. Watching you take those little steps-wow! And it's cute the way you constantly try and do something with your hands-"
"I can't do anything right with them, 'Gina. They don't seem to like being together. They each want to go off on their own." The captive managed a wry grin. "If I raise them up it's like I'm trying to cover my breasts. If I let them fall it's as though they're reaching to hide my puss."
"Nakedness bother you, pet?"
"Not with you. But it won't be just you, will it! I'll die the first time a man has a good look. I suppose it's part of my punishment."
"'Fraid so. There's another bit coming up."
Lynne had made a quick scan of her prison. She had seen the rope. "Are you going to tie me up some way?" She asked, puzzled.
"To one of the pillars, darling."
"But why? I'm already chained-and the chains won't come off!"
Lady Regina Conant patted a flushed cheek and kissed two pouting lips. "You know why, darling."
"Yes, I suppose I do. It's just it's so new. I mean, sort of adjustments all the time."
"D'you hate me for loving this part of thejob?"
"Don't be silly! I've adored it so far. I'm shamefully wet. This typing me up...? It's something you have to do?"
"Orders, pet. Otherwise I'd leave you only chained. Those things Herries fastened on you are just too sweet."
"'Gina dear, do They know? About us, I mean-the way we get horny....?"
"I don't think so. Diomedes may guess, but she'll be banking on the rougher stuff, the things I may not even do to you myself." 'Gina pondered. "You see, pet, I think they realized they've pushed us both damn hard, so if we happen to find happiness in bits and pieces here and there they're willing to close a blind eye. That way we'll be more amenable for the rest of it."
Lynne nodded absently. She had chosen a column and clicked her hobbled steps to where she could turn and press her naked back against the stone. She gasped. "Oooooo darling, it's c-o-l-d! Am I going to have to warm it up with-just-Me?"
"That's right, pet."
"Tell me where I have to face then. I don't want to warm two places."
"Where you are is fine, facing the door. If you went the other side you wouldn't know who entered. I'll spare you that suspense. Stand still and push back hard."
It was a game: their game. A lovely, gorgeous, spine tingling eroticism filled with gasps of acute sensation and roseate imagery. The naked girl felt the stone grow warm in communion with her flesh and dwelt briefly in a shared ecstasy beneath the sure swift fingers of her love. In an hour she might weep. But in the minutes it might take for 'Gina to bind her to the stone she would know only joy.
"Tummy first, pet. Lucky you don't have one."
The several bands about her middle made Lynne Stacey one with "the vertical column. She emitted a cheerful 'Ouch!' as they were cinched tight by a cross-loop at the small of her back. When it was knotted her hips were welded immovably.
"Relax, darling. You can't fall now, and you can't escape. Spread your little tootsies as far as the chain permits."
It was true. Initiative was gone. She belonged to the post. In a heat of erotic arousal she felt her ankles tug at their tether as a rope joined them as implacably at the rear as the chain in front. 'Gina stepped back and admired her work.
"You look good enough to eat, precious."
"Eat me then."
The union of four lips was instant. The naked torso of the bound girl writhed and twisted against relentless rope in an ecstatic response to a tongue familiar with her sheath. Lynne's braceleted hands tugged demandingly at their single link, striving for a contact they could not make, flexing against their leather bands as the conductor of a symphony might weave the motions of his baton. In a rising crescendo she began to moan.
It was a gasping return to the dungeon for both. Dazedly, 'Gina stepped back, searching for errant pubic hairs within her mouth. The bound maiden had placed her fastened hands, palm to palm, beneath her cheek, nestling her head upon their support as though exhausted and awaiting sleep. When their eyes met they grinned sheepishly.
"Forbidden fruit." Lady Regina Conant admitted ruefully. "Sorry, you sexy darling, I couldn't'help myself. Tied like that you're just too, too yummy."
"Let me loose, 'Gina." The naked victim pleaded. "I can't love you like this-the chains won't matter."
"Not a chance, pet. It's playing with fire. I ought to be kicked."
"I loved it. It was beautiful."
"Were you watching the door? I couldn't."
"I wasn't watching anything. I was 'way off somewhere. Oh, darling, it was the most marvelous ever! I think it's being tied like this. It makes me all-all-"
"Don't tell me. I know!" The older girl disposed of the last silken thread of her beloved. She was suddenly vehement. "Lynne my precious, I promise you. We'll get through this-this-I don't know what to call it, but I'll get you through it somehow. It won't be for life, it just can't! It's too-"
"I don't mind, darling-Not as long as it's you." The tied loveliness was still in the throes of ecstasy. At that moment Lynne Stacey could contemplate a lifetime of such captivity without a qualm.
"I'd better lock you up, sweets. I hate to leave you....But the servants-It's hateful to have to suspect....! But I'm going to be careful."
"I don't want you ever to go." The nude girl pouted a pixie grimace. "But I'll behave. Tie up the rest of me, Gina."
"There isn't any 'rest of you', sweetness, that's it."
"You mean you're going to leave me free-above my navel!"
"That's right, pet."
"But I'll be able to reach back and untie myself!"
Lady Regina Conant giggled. "No you won't."
It was true. Lynne reached vainly with her cuffed hands but could find no knot. The jointure of her wrists condemned her to a partial freedom she could not enlarge. "But, darling, I'm going to feel-all funny-! This will tantalise me to death."
"That's the idea, love. It would be much kinder to tie a couple more loops above your breasts."
"I don't know what to do with my hands....!" The younger girl waved Wm' Herries masterwork ineffectually. "Just hold 'em out in front."
"That looks like the prow of a ship, or as though I'm holding a tin cup for people to drop coins." Lynee grimaced. "They ought to be tied behind the column, nicely out of the way."
"I could tie them above your head. But they'd be hurting bad before morning."
"Do it, darling! I'd look pathetically sweet: sort of sacrificial."
"Yes you would. And in an hour you'd be sorry. You've been sentenced to a tease. Be thankful with it."
They were suddenly sober, aware of themselves as pawns. Needing each other but forced to part. Unsure of tomorrow and all the tomorrows reaching into a vista of strange captivity. After awhile night would creep into the stone chamber and envelope the white and lonely nudity tied to the post. Then in the morning...?
"I have to stand like this all night, 'Gina?"
"Yes."
"It doesn't really hurt much-not yet. But-but, will I be able to sleep?"
"I don't know, pet. In the morning-"
With a sob of desire the older girl flung herself upon the naked loveliness she had bound. For long moments they kissed and clung. Then, without a backward glance, without a word, 'Gina fled. They heavy bolt studdied door thudded shut, there came the grind of grooved metal....
Lynne Stacey was alone.
CHAPTER TWO. REBELLION IN ROPE.
In times to come it would be called Anaguara's 'Freedom Day'. But, to Trixie Malone it was just one more bloody riot by bandits armed with Russian guns and waving banners condemning the United States for most of the crimes on the calendar. Bastique echoed with the crack and boom of firing and the whining ricochet of bullets triggered by exuberant marksmen who cared little for a target. The streets were a shambles. There was a good deal of smoke.
There could be no doubt of a planned purpose in her seizure. A panel truck. Four armed and whiskered ruffians in anonymous uniforms. When they had dragged her from the house she wryly computed her capacity to cope with four rapes in quick succession, and was fleetingly thankful for having taken her daily pill. In the panel job she was brutally stripped. Instead of sundering her thighs they tied her ankles. No doubt they would take her to a quiet place, stake her out spread-eagle, and enjoy her at their leisure. She remembered the nuns in the Congo. She had wondered then how they had felt.
The Avenida Maturas was Bastigue's main thoroughfare.
An un-likely place for the ravishing of feminine journalists, even on a day such as this. There was little traffic and fewer pedestrians. All were in a hurry to go elsewhere. Trixie's screams and struggles passed unnoticed as she was dumped nude upon the pavement. Her captors seemed to be enjoying a private joke she could not share. Two of them sat on her whilst the other pair dragged forth tools, a small anvil, and some frightening bits of chain. Whilst the shocked girl was groping for her Spanish she was addressed her own tongue. The words were an amused chuckle.
"We do you honour, Miss Malone. You become a National symbol."
A wad of rag stuffed into her mouth stifled her offer of cash to deliver her to the Consulate. She watched, wide eyed, the swift preparations for her discomfort.
"The Lamp Standard is of steel, Miss Malone. Made in Pittsburg."
She wanted to say: "So what!". But must perforce be a mute audience for her captors hilarity. She began to wish they had raped her and gone about their murdering. There was something ominous in their present activity.
"Specially made for a lady about your size, Miss Malone."
The idiot was holding up heavy metal bands from which dangled chain. The appropriate word flashed in her comprehension like a thunderclap-Shackles! The crazy fools were going to shackle her to a lamp-post on the City's Main Street. Some sort of fervid gesture. She could envision the headlines, and cursed the luck by which she was denied the chance to write them.
One ankle, one wrist! Glumly, Trixie Malone watched the iron circle and bite her limbs, watched the rivets splat under the hammer. The male hands hurt her compellingly so she ceased to struggle. The purpose of the anvil was now clear. She was thrust down for the cruel heavy circlet to be riveted upon her neck.
The Lamp Standard claimed her nudity for its own. It took only one man to keep her standing as they desired. He did it by the simple expedient of embracing her and the pole itself with a muscular constriction she could not counter. His beard rested on her chin while his companions grunted under the weight of the anvil and the blows of the hammer by which her slenderness was helplessly clamped, her hands behind and out of sight. Another heavy chain dragged around her middle completed the ensemble. It, too, was fastened by hammer on soft iron. Trixie's embracer stepped back with his fellowes to admire their work. The bound girl had never felt so naked in her life. The new sound of the motor and sight of the cable with its arc welder sent a scream of protest to spend itself against her gag.
"National monuments should be permanent, Miss Malone. The flame is not for you."
There was some heat from the sparking arc. But they were careful. Trixie Malone could not see what was being done to her chains but she could cherish no doubt. All four of her riveted fetters: ankles, wrists, stomach and neck, were being heavily and redundently welded to the parent post.
"Stand there with pride, Miss Malone."
They had a well constructed sign which she was not allowed to read. Trouble was taken to weld it to the standard above her head. The naked girl could cherish no doubt she was a complete and satisfying exhibition for whatever point the quartet wished to make.
"We have not raped you, Miss Malone. Remember that when you write your article on the New Anaguara."
Before they left they plucked the wad of fabric from her mouth. The welded journalist watched their departure in a fury of anger, of frustration and, above all, of puzzlement. If she could have read the sign it might have helped, but she could not.
She supposed it everybody's nightmare to stand naked in a public place. But in all her considerable experience Trixie Malone could not duplicate her own predicament. Her situation was unique. To have been raped or killed was commonplace. But this...! Her abductors had possessed both humour and originality. No doubt their purpose was political. But, suppose it was not! Suppose Trixie Malone was chained naked on the Avenida Maturas just for laughs! The thought was bitter.
She struggled. She had to test. There might be hope! But there was none. The collar chafed her neck. She could move but little. Her fingers explored the cooling metal enough to gauge its massive implacably. An attempt to close her legs failed. They had been fastened well apart and there they would stay. Her pubic triangle was well displayed for the edification of the rebels. She reflected, grimly, she'd be damn lucky if some of them did not use it.
Computing rescue, the possibilities were slim. Bastigue was strife torn, its people dying, there was no Law. Every street would project its own vista of the bizarre. In an atmosphere charged with death and destruction the vision of a nude girl leaning against a lamp-post might stop no one would be commonplace today. With a thrill of horror the chained girl realized she could stand thus until she died.
Welded naked to a lamp-post in a battleground! It was incongruous, but she had yet suffered injury. Trixie Malone concentrated her attention on such life as came her way. She could not wave, she could not writhe. Her best smile or wildest grimace might be hard to interpret at a distance.
A truck loaded with nondescript fighting men paused long enough to read her sign. They cheered, waved and roared away. Private cars sometimes did the same, but more discreetly and with a furtive air. When she shouted her plea for help it was lost and swallowed by the sounds of war. The metal by which she was welded to the post became, more and more, an implacable enemy, laughing at her impotence. For the first time in many years Trixie Malone shed tears. She recalled the legend of Andromeda. But for her, in Bastigue, there would be no Pegasus.
Trixie was proud of her breasts. She knew they were nice breasts of a curvaceous symmetry. They had been much admired. In the pursuit of her profession she had exploited them outrageously. She was equally satisfied with her pubic hair. Its shining fronds were not as convienient a lure as her pink nipples, but in the right times and places had drawn many a sigh of ecstasy and a number of contracts. That these assets should be blatantly displayed on the main street of a Capitol City and draw neither rape, cash, nor an offer of aid told her clearly how desperate her plight must be. Once more she struggled until everything hurt too much, then relapsed in her bondage, helpless, hopeless, and without expectation of a dragon or the knight in shining armour to slay it for her.
The girl was a bitter irony. What good was a girl! Blue jeans, a sweater and a man's cap. But the startled eyes were kind. Trixie parted with her Spanish in a volley. Intelligence lurked beneath the cap. There were vehement nods.
"The Consulate, senorita. I go there for refuge. I tell them of you here. But cannot I help?"
"No. I'm welded. You'd better take a look so you can tell them. They'll have to bring tools."
Searching fingers and comiserating sounds....! Hope flared. "It is most awful, senorita. I tell them. I run very fast."
Trixie watched her go. In irrational optimism her mind compiled the first sentences of the article she would write. The U.S. Consulate would be safe, safe, safe!
The jeep held three soldiers. They captured the running girl with ease, stripped her and raped her in a space of minutes, leaving her ravaged nakedness sprawled on the asphalt. They stopped before the chained girl long enough to read her sign, waved cheerfully, fired a couple of random shots in the air and went their way. Anaguara's Liberation was following a familiar pattern.
Her next visitor was more official. An officer, the uniforms less tattered. He flourished his English with contemptuous ease, heavy with sarcasm.
"You are enjoying your stay in Anaguara, senorita?"
"You know I'm not! Get me out of this. Inform my Consul."
His Spanish smile took full cognizance of the bare Trixie Malone. He overlooked nothing. "You are comfortable, I trust?"
"Don't be absurd!"
"My men had strict orders. You have not been injured?"
"No, I suppose not."
"Or raped?"
"No." She glared defiantly. "You'll be the first."
His bow of acknowledgement mocked her fury. "Wishful thinking, Miss Malone. And in any case-your present position-?"
"Arn't you going to set me free, get me out of all this scrap iron?"
"Alas, no. We have no tools." He smiled charmingly. "But you have an excellent view of our revolution. You will not be bored."
"You're not going to just go away and leave me like this?"
"Indeed yes." His tone became reassuring. "By tomorrow order will be restored. You will then be expertly freed."
"All today, and all night, and part of tomorrow-like this!" Trixie was horrified. "Suppose in the meantime I'm-I'm-"
"The fortunes of war-and journalism, senorita. But when you are released you will find our prison unusually well equipped."
"Prison!" Under Bastigue's hot sun she felt the touch of ice. "You have to be kidding?"
The official document was white and clean. He flourished it and read with relish: "Espionage. Sedition. Subversion. Enticement-"
"Enticement! What the hell-!" The naked girl's impulsive struggle was an emphasis.
"Possibly your breasts, senorita? They are most certainly-"
"They're just breasts. All girls have 'em! And that other nonsense....! You know damn well I'm innocent."
"Without a doubt, senorita. But who are we to quibble!"
"It's some sort of rotten politics. I'm being used as a hostage-or held to ransome-or something-?"
The Official shrug was charming, and more than eloquent. "Your sentence is twenty years, Miss Malone. In solitary confinement."
"But I haven't even had a trial!"
"A mere formality."
"But it's inhuman! Cruel! I'm innocent!"
"Your innocence adds a certain piquancy." He parted with a conspiratorial wink. "As for your solitary confinement, I am sure that I myself and other privileged revolutionaries will visit you from time to time to relieve your tedium."
"I get fucked to boot! Oh, come off it!"
"No, I assure you. The New Order has issued a manifesto on Penal Reform. We reject North American sterility and re-introduce the stocks and whipping post. Prisoners whose crime is against The State will be ironed. That will include yourself-"
"You mean you're going to keep me in chains-the way I am right now?"
"Of course not!" He reproved. "There will be no lamp-post."
Once more the prisoner of the post watched a shattered hope depart. Its exhaust seemed a personal mockery of her plight. In sudden concern she turned to where the raped girl had been left supine. But she was gone. A bullet struck the post above her head and sang its way into oblivion. The welded captive of the new improved Anaguara relapsed within her chains and bleakly viewed the vista of her promised prisonment. The U.S. of A. vanished into limbo. She was doomed.
The tiny Volkswagen ejected a pink cheeked clerk who viewed Trixie Malone's breasts and pubic hair in fascinated shock. He was middle aged and inclined to be plump. "The Consulate sent me-there was a girl-"
"Thank heaven! Are you enjoying my tits?"
He flushed pinker still. "Well really-how can I help-!" He bestowed a quick scan upon her pubic hair before raising anxious eyes. "You are Miss Trixie Malone, the journalist?"
"Yes. But right now I'm just a piece of naked female. Did you bring the tools?"
"Tools?"
"To cut me loose. I'm welded to this blasted pole."
He scurried to the rear. His startled: "Oh dear!" and disturbed: "My goodness!" told Trixie the worst.
"You can't possibly get me loose without tools."
"No. I can see. I'm afraid-" He absently produced a pen-knife and replaced it hurredly. "I'm afraid I shall have to leave you-"
"Please hurry. This isn't much fun."
"No. I am sure." He groped for chivalry. "I really should cover-something."
"That would be nice. How about my cunt?"
"All I have is a handkerchief?'
"That should be big enough." Trixie retorted bitterly. "But how are you going to make it stick? You wouldn't happen to have a few fig leaves....?"
The forces of the United States retreated in disorder. Even the Volkswagen sounded lost and far from home.
Abandoned in her metal bondage, Trixie shed a few more tears. They were tears she would have angrily shaken from her cheeks if the collar had not hurt when she tried. She swallowed her chagrin and hoped for the best. Someone knew where she was. It was comforting.
The black Mercedes was sinister from the start. Trixie watched its approach as a tethered goat might watch the tiger. It was silkily feline, its purr oblivious of the childish antics of war and insurrection. Its shining gloss spoke of omnipotence. There was a uniformed chauffeur and a man. Both had prognathous jaws and cold eyes. There was a bag. They spoke no greeting, reducing her to one of a long line of naked female flesh leading to the indifference of satiety.
"Silly bastards! They can keep their welds."
There was a reassuring clank as the bag was dropped to the pavement. Hard fingers probed. To the chained girl they did not feel like friends. She knew the answer, but she had to ask: "Are you from the Consulate?"
It was as though they had not heard. There was a satisfied grunt. "All we need here is the bolt cutters. The bands can stay on her."
Grunts and heavy breathing. A snap and clink of chain. Suddenly she had her hands, holding them up to view in incredulous joy. What mattered it that the iron bands were still riveted on her wrists, and from them links of severed chain-She was free! The rest of her liberation followed in quick succession. Joyfully she stepped away and faced her saviors.
"Gosh, I'm so terribly grateful! I just can't tell you-!"
The gag was no surprise. Nor was the padlock which clicked to join links behind her back. Both were done too swiftly for remonstrance. A bigger shock came from the rope looping her elbows and drawing them tight in a cruel cinch. It burned and hurt: a beastly unkind pain.
"Keep you sensible, girl. Nothin' like a bit o' rope."
He was right! Trixie hated him and the rope too. Against the stricture and its steady scald she had no defense. It reduced her to a demeaning submission. Anything she did hurt. Resistence would hurt most of all. She allowed herself to be guided to the car. In it was a woman who invitingly made room in the back seat. A woman as sleek and darkly menacing as the Mercedes. When Trixie's ankles had been harshly bound together, she nodded approvingly.
"We have much to talk about. Miss Malone."
Trixie Malone made wet sounds of denial into her gag and shook her head with emphasis. With the speed of a striking cobra a feminine palm slapped a captive cheek so that the nude helplessness cowered back into a corner, wide eyed and fearful.
"Behave yourself. You can do nothing."
It was true! Even to do nothing hurt. The two women gazed at each other assessingly. After moments of silence the captor smiled. "Perhaps I should introduce myself." The eyes became coldly searching.
"My name is Diomedes."
Pictures of naked girls hanging by their bound wrists to await the whip had surfaced enough in Trixie's life to leave a conciousness that such things happened. That it should happen to her had never been a thing to even remotely consider. It had happened now! Her wrists burned with a worse fire than her elbows had done previously. Her toes searched for the floor they were denied. She had, however, been cunningly suspended so as to enable her, with stress and stretch and strain, to barely make contact with a single toe. It was a tantalisation not worth the agony. She hung in limp despair.
It was a softening up. Esther Diomedes had explained this before leaving her alone with suspense. It had been kindly explained: suspension would undermine resistance, fewer stripes on her skin would be required to make her talk.
"But I'm willing to talk now!" It was a wail of anguish.
"Of course you are, dear." The tone had been maternal. "But when I return with the whip you will be willing to tell the truth."
That was the nub of terror, the core of her desuetude. Trixie Malone had nothing to tell, no secret to cherish. Torture would elecit nothing from her but the expediencies of lies. She might be whipped to death in protesting innocence. The naked girl allowed her head to fall so as to behold what she could of her own nudity. It was the last time she would see it without the crisscross grid of welts and purple etchings she would earn because of something she did not know. She wept.
Strangely, it was Esther Diomedes who dried her tears. Not from compassion but from a sense of order and neatness. In one hand she held the scrap of white cambric, in the other the whip. Despite absurdity, Trixie said a polite "Thank you."
"You are a most attractive young woman, a lovely body. Suspension brings out the best in all of us."
Trixie sniffed and said, wanly: "I'll tell you anything about anything."
"I will get a chair so we can exchange some thoughts before I start whipping you."
"Please don't whip me. There's no need." The hanging girl watched her new captor make herself comfortable. "I believe you think I know something I don't. I'm scared."
"And so you should be, dear. I have whipped a lot of girls in my time. I'm highly skilled."
"I'll scream horribly. I know I will!"
"That will be nice. I cannot abide Stoics."
"But haven't you any mercy, any sympathy forme? I've had an appalling day."
"You girls today! No stamina. Most of you are no more than pulsating glands."
"Mine arn't pulsating, Mrs. Diomedes. I'm dry as the Sahara."
Grimly, with an ancient wisdom, the older woman rose and cupped a palm hard beneath her captive's pubic labia. Exhibiting the result, she smiled. Her hand glistened. "I don't try and explain it." She said casually, resuming her seat. "But most of us females respond to dominance. I suppose that's the way it was in the beginning."
"Mrs. Diomedes, if we're going to talk, can I have my feet on the floor? My wrists and shoulders hurt like crazy."
"No."
"I don't mean let loose. You could leave me tied-But just so I could support my weight?"
The lash bit across the curves of Trixie's rump, wealed her hip and snapped its final inches across her loins. She screamed and kicked wildly against a pain too great to bear. Her gyrations made her a puppet on a string.
"Does that convey a message, dear?"
She knew she must answer. But her breasts were heaving, her lips gasping. She did her best. "I mustn't ask for things...?"
"Sensible girl. You catch on."
Fear spurred Trixie's tongue. At all costs she must please. The whip was worse than her most nightmarish imaginings. "Please help me, Mrs. Diomedes. I don't want to be-hurt. But I've never had this done to me before."
The pathetic plea drew a chuckle. "I'll be damned! Never had quite that response. You've got possibilities."
Trixie kept a discreet silence. Bowing her head submissively, she took the opportunity to observe her welted hip and a groin nipped in scarlet. The pathway of the lash scorched her skin in stern reminder.
"And now you can tell me where I can find Hammond Stacey, Miss Malone."
The hanging nude stiffened. Taut in realisation.
"Touched a nerve, eh! And why have you followed me to Anaguara?"
"I thought you knew where he was and would lead me to him. I want the story. Your name crops up all over, Mrs. Diomedes. I'm sorry."
"Scoop of the century, eh! Well, perhaps it would be. Hell of it is I don't know where the bastard's got to myself."
Trixie said nothing. She was sure silence would be golden. Esther Diomedes sighed heavily. "Maybe you know where Lord Victor Conant is? He and Stacey did a lot of business."
The weighted questions savoured of a trap. But Trixie's wrists were hurting. She was in no mood to temporise. Her answer was forthright. "He's dead-Quite young-in an accident. He left a widow. She's quite young too."
"Tracked it down as a lead, I suppose?"
"Yes. It didn't help. Lady Conant lives with Stacey's daughter. They're a pair of lesbians. Too damn beautiful for their own good....But they've got this Castle....It's a lovely place. As far as I could learn they nibble each other all day long."
Mrs. Diomedes sighed again. Trixie sensed a prelude. She had never felt so nakedly vulnerable in her life. All of her was exposed. Try as she would she could not refrain from looking at the whip in her Inquisitor's hand. Her whole being was still battling the shock of its impact on her flesh.
"There's a precept I've learned with you girls." Mrs. Diomedes said pleasantly. "You need bringing down to Earth. Basics! A touch of reality-"
"Please don't whip me-please!"
"Five strokes, dear. It will do you a lot of good. You may thank me afterwards."
"No! Oh, no!" The suspended nudity was frantic, swaying and turning on her tether. "I'll answer everything. I promise-I promise!"
"It won't stop, dear. You get them regardless. You'll feel quite different afterwards and we'll have a nice talk."
Another impossible nightmare! It was happening ... happening! She was being whipped on her bare skin by a woman who never believe anything she said. Visions of her hanging naked and unconscious with blood trickling from her wounds to the floor flitted vividly before her agonized mind's eye. Trixie Malone sought, bewildered, for a word of truth by which she could save her skin. But there was none there-None! The first of the five strokes curled round her taut tummy with a resounding snap. She screamed lustily.
"It's a very pretty effect when the weal springs up after the impact." Mrs. Diomedes said reflectively. "Pity you can't see."
The second blow was across the strained shoulders, flicking within a flattened armpit towards the curve of an unprotected breast. Its receipient choked against the higher peal of her scream in order to gasp: "I'll do anything....! Say anything....Oh, please, not any more-don't whip me again-"
"So sweet! Such predictable cliches." Esther Diomedes struck again. Her tone verged on admiration. "You girls are so enjoyable."
Trixie Malone abandoned everything except her body's response to agony. She writhed, she kicked. She jerked wildly against the rope by which she was held. Mrs. Diomedes prudently raised it an extra inch to compensate for any possible stretch. Never for a moment did her gaze leave the picture of contorting anguish created by her whip.
"That was three, dear. They soon pass. Since you're new to this I think I'll get you to open up your legs. You may as well learn."
Trixie was in such a daze of pain she failed to understand the import of the request. Her response was bewilderment. "What-I don't-I don't-"
"Open up those thighs! Stretch your feet as far apart as they'll go. Quickly! Now!"
It was specific. It was frightening. Trixie Malone obeyed unthinkingly.
"Nice. Very nice!" Esther Diomedes measured the exposed loins with the eye of a connoisseur. The whip slithered behind her on the floor like a living snake.
It was cruel! It was obscene! It was an outrage to everything feminine-something never to be done to any girl! But it had been done to her! Trixie screamed again and again as her crotch, her Venus mound, her belly were lanced and branded with flame. The woman with the whip watched, enthralled, her breasts heaving with an emotion beyond exertion. The suspended girl moaned and gasped as she kicked her bare legs in a tentative exploration of her newest injury It was all she could do. Perhaps never again would she reach to touch her pubic hair.
"I'm taking quite a fancy to you dear." The older woman said equably. "Now I want you to stretch exactly the same way again."
One more! Only one to go....! The whipped girl repeated the assurance over and over again. It made the impossible possible. In fearful anticipation she opened her sex to accept its kiss of venom. The thong cut up and under, splatting where no whip should go. Trixie rewarded it with screams that went on and on until she could scream no more. As her moans subsided into gasps, Esther Diomedes observed in tribute: "You're so damn pretty like that I'm a good mind to do it again."
It was not done again. After Trixie Malone struggled back into Mrs. Diomedes world, and the insistent hurt of her wrists began to obscure the more dramatic agonies of her stripes, the two women assessed each other anew. The older had resumed her chair and comfort. She smiled invitingly. "Want to talk about it, Trixie Malone?"
"It was awful."
"Hmmmmmm. That the best you can do?"
"I never realized such pain existed. I always supposed a girl became unconscious-"
Mrs. Diomedes laughed. "It's one of the fables. This whole business is laced with 'em. I suppose you might pass out after a couple of hundred."
"That would kill-"
"No it wouldn't. I'll admit I've been astonished myself. Some of the little dears are indestructable. It varies. You could take a lot more than you'd believe." She eyed the reaching toes with amusement. "Want me to let your feet down on the floor?"
"Oh please! Oh, thank you-Oh yes!"
"I'm not going to. I'm a thorough bitch." She absorbed her victim's dismay with relish. "Hurts twice as bad now, eh?"
"Yes."
"Shows what can be done with suspense, disappointment....Give a girl hope then snatch it away." The quiet voice mused as from many memories. "You can break a girl with words and nudity. But it's not dramatic: no screams." She eyed her stretched striped captive speculatively. 'Tell me the truth now. You're not the same, are you?"
"No."
"Care to elaborate? I'm interested."
"I don't see how a girl can possibly be the same after something like that. Girls who've experienced childbirth are different." Wide eyed, the captive appealed. "Don't torture me any more. I'll be obedient. I'll do anything you want-even if it's sexual. There! I don't suppose I could have said that an hour ago."
"Interesting. I'll bear the offer in mind. Are you a lesbian?"
"No, I'm not! But if you'll let me off this rope I'll try hard to please-"
The slash was instant. Esther Diomedes possessed a feline strength and fluidity of motion. To Trixie Malone the searing agony around her ribs and beneath her breasts seemed the cruellest yet. She swung like a pendulum, back in the realm of agony.
"You don't make terms or offer deals, girl. Remember that."
"I'm-I'm-I'm sorry." Trixie gasped. "I am trying-Really I am-"
"Good! Try and recall Hammond Stacey's address."
"I don't know it."
"Try and recall why you're following me around."
"I've told you that already. Honest, it's the truth!"
"I enjoy whipping girls." Mrs. Diomedes reflected cheerfully. "You are eminently whippable. You are also nicely exposed for it." Her eyes swept the sobbing swaying nudity so totally at her mercy. "I've had a lot of experience with stubborn females. Its led me to try and avoid cutting them to bits-Damned easy to do when I get hot between the legs watching 'em twitch. I'm going to let you think a bit. I'll come back tomorrow."
The tied girl watched the retreating back in dismay. Her cry of despair died, stillborn, under the slam of the door, scaling her alone in a room of pain. She looked askance at the empty chair and discarded whip, and knew with a terriblt clarity she would have preferred the woman and the lash to the prospect facing her now-to simply hang inert, swaying if she tried to move, her wrists and shoulders blazing. She looked up the bare taut columns of her arms to the rope by which her hands were bound. It was neatly strictured within her flesh-mocking! If she could have got an anchorage for her feet and put her teeth to work she could be free in minutes. But to hang suspended....! She was lost. The floor was a living tease. No more than two inches from her toes. It might as well have been a mile.
Trixie saw the hours ahead as small corporeal eternity, each hour a century, a millenium of misery repeated on and on. She cursed herself for failing to concoct a tale by which her captor might have been appeased. She refused to contemplate her resultant penalty when the falsity was revealed. She could deal with only so much horror at a time. She wept copiously without relief, the ropes around her wrists defeating nature. She wondered if, by the following morning, she would still be alive and not a stiffened ugliness upon the rope. Or would her arms be lost to her, the small hands become talons, robbed of life! Such thoughts were poor sustenance to sustain her through the night.
CHAPTER THREE. ENDERBY'S HOBBY.
The Chatelaine of Conant Castle suspected Enderby of deliberately cultivating the pose of an enigma. If he had a christian name, none seemed aware of it: He was Enderby. Bond Street attired him. He was not without a deprecating and sarcastic humour, his cherubic features sharing pixie grins that 'Gina found as suspect as the rest. They faced each other now across the neutrality of her desk. His voice was, as usual, faintly probing.
"Perquisite of office, wouldn't you say?"
"No I would not! I don't see why the poor dear has to be tortured." She looked at him irritably: "I'm surprised a man like you would want to whip an innocent girl."
"You are not surprised at all. You probably enjoy doing it yourself: a charming subject."
Lady Regina Conant flushed. Enderby's perceptions were acute. She was, as yet, unsure of him. "Whatever lies between Lynne and me remains our own. Those were the terms."
"Excellent. I'll cane her hands. You pick your own favourite part."
She ignored the goad. She sought an ally. "The Diomedes woman is ridiculous-to wish to imprison a girl for life, and constantly punish her. It's-it's-not even practical."
"Oh but it is! The sentence is already being carried out: with yourself as a most charming wardress." His smile was benign. "Let us never forget the Diomedes wealth. It is greater than the resources of many of the smaller nations. Your beloved Lynne spit in her eye, a most imprudent act. To dear Esther it was simple lese majeste."
"I'll sell Conant. Buy it and let us go our way?"
"Oh come! In a sense we have Conant already, without cost. It would not have the same value to us without your presence."
"Me in the Royal suite and Lynne in a dungeon!"
He gestured negligently. "It was ever thus. Probably your ancestors-"
"Do you intend to hold Hammond Stacey for life too?" She examined him shrewdly. "We only have your word that you've got him."
"The transfer of such vast holdings takes time, my dear." Enderby gestured vaguely. "And now, in the matter of caning your darling's hands....?"
"Do you really have to? Look, it was Lynne's first night. I doubt she slept much. She'll be tired and dispirited ... and what you intend to do will hurt her horribly."
"She has accepted the principle of dailyer, discomforts."
"Oh, damn your principle! Cane my hands instead, if that will make you happy."
Mr. Enderby perked. "A predicatable response, I suppose." He mused. "To tell you the truth, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to have you stripped and holding out those pretty hands, palm up, for me to strike."
"Why stripped-to cane my hands....?"
"Atmosphere, dear girl. Attitude-most important."
"Very well. Where do you wish to do this to me?"
"On your hands, of course!"
"Oh please, don't let's be cute! What room? Where?"
He was quietly laughing at her intensity, then shook his head with what appeared to be genuinine regret. "I have considered-you! Don't think I was not tempted. But I have to agree with Esther. You are serving a most useful function. What more impressive cover than Lady Regina Conant! Dammit', the name smacks of royalty. Can't possibly send you out and around with swollen hands and a striped bottom."
"If you'll work with me to just keep Lynne prisoner-and not have her tortured, I'll allow you to ... possess me-do what you like?"
Enderby shook his head sadly. "It's me who's being tortured, dear girl. To be offered-You, and to have to reject-"
He seemed sincere. Absurdly, she felt strangely flattered. The girl who was Lady Conant of Conant Castle voiced a thought never far from her mind. "I've never been sure about what we are trying to do, my ability to maintain a front behind which you work. Supposing the things you demand of us become more than we can bear-or do....? Suppose we balk? What then?"
Enderby shrugged. "Why ask! You know. There's Hammond Stacey and there's the servants here."
'Gina sighed. "Threats and compulsions! O.K., I understand them. But since the new staff came I've become aware of being a prisoner in my own Castle. Not like Lynne, not in the same way, but still-"
"Does the staff not give satisfaction?"
"It's not that. They're damn good. But I keep having visions of Jeffers or the head gardener tying me up and torturing me a bit as a gentle reminder....!"
"You're being fanciful. If anyone tortures you it will be me or Esther Diomedes."
"If it has to happen sometime, make sure it's you. That woman frightens me." 'Gina grinned ruefully. "Fancy talking such stuff. A year ago I'd have thought it in poor taste."
"There remains the matter of Miss Stacey's hands...?" Enderby's insinuation was gentle. "I've told you: Use mine."
"I prefer to keep you as an entrancing possibility. We will adjourn to wherever you have our douce damsel incarcerated. An hour or so with cane and whip will do me a world of good. I've felt a bit jaded lately. Do you wish to be present?"
"Yes."
"Eroticism? Or don't you trust me?"
"This is Lynne's first encounter with bad pain, her first deliverance of herself to you. It is best for both of us to know what degree of suffering you consider normal."
"You're making me the villian of the piece."
"Well, arn't you!"
Enderby sighed. "Yes, I suppose I am. But it's rewarding work. By the way, what about the camera?"
"I have it ready."
"I'll rely on you to use it competently. I want graphic shots. Something to curl Stacey's hair."
"I'll click the shutter. I won't enjoy it."
Enderby leaned forward confidentially. "Y'know, I don't always see eye to eye with Esther. She's too fond of cloak and dagger. What I've proposed is to have you sign over Conant to us, a spot of real torture on you and the Stacey girl would be the persuasion, and then sell the pair of you. In the right market you might fetch as much as your Castle."
It sank in slowly. Enderby was serious. Lady Regina Conant wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Sell us-!"
"Yes, sell you. There are markets....! They are for the cognoscente. The sums of money that change hands in them is sometimes staggering. The bidding on an English Noblewoman might well stajt in the millions."
"I'm not really a noblewoman. I simply married into the nobility."
"With your body, no one will quibble."
"Gina knew herself dealing in the impossible. But wealth and power would make it possible. She was a pawn. "What about Stacey then?" She asked listlessly.
"We could make a good supply of pictures. He need never know."
So simple! Give the father a couple of pictures a week, showing his daughter under torture. But the daughter sold for profit. The Diomedes organization overlooked nothing. 'Gina's query was bitter. "Oil Sheiks, is that who gets us?"
"Mostly. But there's quite a collection of disgruntled damsels held on a chain here and there around Europe."
"Why don't you buy out Diomedes share and keep us for your own perverted pleasure? You could whip us to your heart's content?"
"You are bitter and you are shrewd, my dear." Enderby waved a deprecating hand. "Fact is, Esther and I do a bit of trading in female flesh, just as a sideline where it serves a purpose. I get to use the merchandise while in transit." He chuckled. "Dear Esther's not avarse to a bit of dalliance herself-and it's free."
It was all hopeless. She was surrounded by compulsions and cynicisms beyond her ability to resist. She produced the camera and said, listlessly. "Very well. It's no use talking....!" She led him from the room.
It was a modern cell. Functional, as per the Diomedes edict. Lynne lay, nakedly asleep on the narrow cot, her joined hands nestling beneath her cheek, her joined ankles unconsciously taut against the links of their chain. Against the wall were the toilet and washbowl, blatantly vulgar. In such a sterile convenience the captive girl could be kept forever. The concrete of the walls was claustrophobic. The bars facing the passage permitted no privacy whatever. The naked girl could be examined by anyone who cared to look. She was not permitted a blanket.
"Very nice." Said Enderby cordially.
"Can't we let her sleep longer?"
"She is already awake, my dear. I know the signs. She is listening. Prisoners tend to follow a pattern."
The daughter of Hammond Stacey sat erect, instantly alert. Seeing Enderby and what he held, she knew! It was her first time. It had to happen. She made the best of it. "Hello, Mr. Enderby. I see you've come to cane me. And you have a whip too! Well....!"
'Gina was busy with the big key. "Do you wish to punish her here or in one of the other rooms?"
"In here for the moment ... While I attend to her hands."
The girls locked glances. "Mr. Enderby wishes to cane your hands, pet. I suppose we can call it your punishment for the day."
"Yes, of course." Lynne's heart was racing, but she would not make this first test more difficult for her beloved than for herself. She smiled brightly at the cherubic features of the Male. "How would you like me? I mean-what position?"
"You're quite enchanting, m'dear. Perhaps if you would kneel erect and extend your arm....?"
Lynne demurely tried to obey, but looked up in confusion. "My hands are fastened together....They don't seem to quite want to-" She made experimental motions and blushed at the absurdity of her dilemma.
Enderby turned irritably to Conant's chatelaine. "Can't you take those things off?"
"No. Mrs. Diomedes was insistent. They had to be permanent. Lynne has been sentenced to wear them for life. She is not allowed to have hands."
"Impractical nonsense!" He smiled down at the kneeling girl. "Does it shame you to have me looking at your cunt and breasts?"
"It's something I have to get used to, Mr. Enderby. A lot of people see me naked. I don't really feel ashamed-I blush easily."
"And do you think you can contrive to hold out a hand: in spite of those expensive leather bands on your wrists, dear girl?"
"I'll try. I'll do the best I can. I feel a little silly-I mean, I'm not doing it properly like in girl's school. But I expect I can get my palm out so you can hit it."
'Gina watched breathlessly, shamed by the flare of lust within her sex as her beloved contrived to hold out two arms and one hand at an angle of about forty-five degrees. The small proffered palm seemed infinitely sweet, too sweet to slash and wound....!
"Will that do, Mr. Enderby? I'll hold my other hand back all I can. There's only one link...."
"Excellent, m'dear! You're a little Trojan. Lady Conant, the camera, please. Snap constantly, there'll be one or two turn out. And, Miss Stacey, I'll need your hand a little higher and the palm more tautly spread. Ah, thank you!"
Enderby's cane was swift and sure. It impacted on the maiden flesh with a force and a thunk to send the kneeling girl in a sideways sprawl on the floor, there to strive ineffectually to comfort her hurt. The constricting work of Wm' Herries defeated every move she tried to make.
"Come, my dear, you are supposed to hold position and say thank you. When you've done that prettily you hold out your other hand."
"That's too hard! You don't have to hit the poor darting like that."
"I do as I please, Lady Conant. Mind your own business. Get that camera going while she writhes so deliciously."
Lynne Stacey controlled her agony. She resumed her humble pose. "I-I'm-I'm sorry." She apologised in a choked voice. "I've never been hit like that before. I'd no idea it hurt so terribly." She smiled up at her tormentor. "Thank you for caning my hand, Mr. Enderby. Now I'll hold out my other-"
It tore at 'Gina's heart. In her meek submission to a punishment she did not deserve, the kneeling girl was beautiful beyond imagining. The young pink palm crept out to receive its cut, changing to dappled white under the taut stretch of cruel compulsion.
"Thank you, Mr. Enderby." The caned hands fell, inert, against their owner's pubic hair. Locked together, they could follow no natural instinct. Each was a raging agony. Lynne's lips trembled, her eyes brimmed. But she did not move.
"That's enough." Said 'Gina decisively.
"The first hand again, please." Enderby requested softly.
"She can't! You hit altogether too hard."
"She must speak for herself, Lady Conant."
Lynne held our her arms again. The palm now offered bore a scarlet wound. When it was ringingly cut for a second time the chained girl toppled to the floor, writhing. "Thank you-But I can't! I just can't-!" Distressingly, she screamed.
"Quite lovely." Enderby approved with the air of a connoisseur. Pensively, he watched the twistings of the girlish body and limbs. "As I said: a most charming subject.
"Please be satisfied." 'Gina pleaded. "The darling's tried so hard to please. Don't hit her again."
"I had thought of six."
"You'd have to fasten her some way-and it would make her hysterical."
"Ah, fasten! There's the key! We're not trying to prove anything about self control. I have always believed girls to be whipped should be tied, strapped or bound in some pleasantly erotic posture which holds them impotent but at the same time allows a vent for their fleshly responses." Enderby beamed. "Let us adjourn to a more suitable facility."
It was a hesitant procession. 'Gina held her beloved's arm as the chained feet strove for normal steps. Enderby brought up the rear, chuckling at two swaying bottoms and the douce tears evoked by his mastery. "Hands above her head, don't you think?" He asked pleasantly when they entered the room where it was to happen.
"I suppose so. But not suspended-Please?"
"Very well. It's your little darling's first time. I'd sooner have had her hands spread wide though-nicer effect."
"Surely she'll be exposed enough-and helpless!"
"Oh sure! But, y'know, we're all going to curse those Diomedes cuffs, or whatever you want to call 'em. I'm going to speak to Esther. They're fine for keeping the little dear half helpless, but they limit her-punishment-wise, as much as anything."
"Sorry, pet." 'Gina kissed Lynne's ready lips as she raised the captive hands and slipped the hook into their only link. The motor whirred and the sweet bare arms rose until their owner's heels were in danger of leaving the floor. She looked at Enderby for confirmation: "High enough?"
"I'm sure both of you think so." He chuckled. "Gives her quite a bit of leeway for contortions, but that's where you use the camera....Don't spare the film." He turned his attention to the quaking Lynne. "Ever been whipped before, Miss Stacey?"
"No."
"Looking forward to it?"
"No! Of course not! Oh, Mr. Enderby, don't tease."
"If it's any comfort to you, m'dear, you'll owe your pain to three factors, all quite worthy in their own way. You offended her Majesty, The Diomedes. Secondly, we need some graphic art as a persuasion for your obdurate parent. And, thirdly and most important of the lot, it is going to give me exquisite happiness to mark your lovely skin. How old are you?"
"Twenty."
"The perfect age. Such resilent flesh!"
"Thank you."
"Was that to soften me up?"
"No. Honest it wasn't!" Lynne looked back appealingly. "It's just that I'm lost. I'm not sure what's required of me. I'm supposing I have to be very polite and formal with anyone who whips me. It's all very new and strange....! If it didn't hurt so terribly I'd find it hard to believe."
Enderby took his time, measuring his stroke. The naked girl looking back over her pinioned shoulder read the intent in his eyes. Before she could formulate a plea she beheld the flashing arm and the streaking lash. When it cut the centre of her bare back, curling to bite upon her ribs, she screamed.
They might have been artists perfecting a tableau. Hating her task, 'Gina snapped and snapped again, her lens capturing the apex of a maiden's pain. Enderby stood, engrossed with the rising red welt now forming on his victim's deltoid. The victim herself moaned her way back from the frantic contortions she had been unable to control.
"The essence of what we are doing here is beauty." Enderby said soberly, and struck again.
Lynne knew he was right. A naked girl, so tethered and tormented, must inevitably betray every nuance of motior.
Her muscles, her sinews, her nerves, all contributing to the saraband of sensuality she danced before his eyes. She screamed a primitive paean as the whip scorched her bottoms and cut one hip. After a long while she enunciated a pale "Thank you." Then added, wanly: "I missed one, didn't I? I mean, I missed thanking you. It was so-so-"
The third etched a belt around her waist. A scarlet loveliness she might wear for weeks. Somewhere in her gyrations she said her humble 'thank you', scarcely audible amidst her screams. When she again stood, trembling and in a sheen of sweat, she said clearly in a dull monotone: "I can't do this any more. I'm sorry...." Then, after a pause. "Daddy wouldn't want me to. He'll understand." Her pause was longer this time before she asked, child-like: "Could I be untied please, and have some clothes?"
If 'Gina's heart had been touched before, it was riven now. She was stricken with remorse at having acquiesced to cruelty. She looked to Enderby, seeking sympathy, but found only his rapt attention upon the palpitating flesh. His cherubic features lit by the ineffable beauty of the whipped nude.
To intrude upon his ecstatic trance seemed sacrilige. But Regina, Lady Conant was in a floodtide of retreat, the terrible realisation of a giant mistake and a need for its erasure. Her heart beat out the bitter chant within her mind: 'Too late! Too late!'. In a voice she tried to make as even and controlled as the bound girl's, she said slowly. "Lynne's right. I should have known. What you ask is more than girls can bear. We must re-assess-?"
Enderby turned slowly. 'Gina could swear he had not heard a word. "Would you procure me a suitable whip?" He asked politely. "I now wish to whip her breasts."
"No."
The negative pierced his euphoria. Enderby focused upon her, his expression still benign. "They make them specially. A short stock and several silken thongs, braided. Or maybe thin slivers of leather. They leave a girl's breasts scarlet-"
"No."
"What did you say?"
"I do not have such a whip. I would not give it to you if I had. Mr. Enderby, we've made a mistake."
Lynne Stacey watched, her heart pounding. She had become a helpless spectator in her own disposal. The tether above still possessed her hands, her arms were taut. The steady scald of the whip wounds were a frightening reminder of what 'Gina was now fighting for. She had not yet become used to helplessness, her linked limbs were like a prison wall against which she must continually beat her head. She listened in a growing realisation of terror.
"And what do we have now?" Enderby asked jovially, "Mutiny?"
"I suppose so." 'Gina sounded tired. "I'd prefer to call it a return to sanity."
"Hmmmmm!" Enderby eyed them shrewdly. "What's your next move?"
"To lower Lynne's arms....Excuse me-"
"Leave her alone!" It was a quiet command, but it stopped 'Gina in her tracks. "You're being impetuous. Dammit', girl, give me a moment to think."
"I'm sorry....! I know I've been silly." 'Gina was contrite. "I'm sure this all seems rational to you. But to us it's-it's ... Well, it's simply impossible."
"You made an agreement."
"My fault, mostly. We're a pair of innocents beside you. In some ways it seemed like fun-a bit cruel perhaps, but Lynne-"
"Lynne loves the cord and the whip. So do you. Esther and I checked you out, we've known from the start. You're a pair of romping lesbians."
"That doesn't mean we wish to be flogged by all and sundry."
"Meaning me?"
"Yes. And there's some of the things I am told to do to Lynne which I find I can't. I thought I could. But they're too cruel." She eyed him levelly. "For instance, this imprisonment for life....! The Diomedes woman means it for real. It seemed quaint at first, a fun thing we both giggled about. But, even with me for her jailer, it's too damn cruel for a girl of twenty."
"O.K., O.K.!" Enderby raised a placating hand. "So you want out. What about Hammond Stacey?"
"I don't know. Neither does Lynne. You hold him as a threat over us. But he's actually a ghost-the whole thing's unreal."
"So you'll go trotting off to the police?"
"No I won't! We'd look damn foolish. I'll simply get rid of your hirelings, employ my old staff, then get hold of a private investigator to dig out the facts on Lynne's father."
"Mmmmmm." Enderby's cherubic features were still amused. "I've always admired you, m'dear. Now supposing-and I do mean supposing! If I go to Esther Diomedes and persuade her to cancel out the Castle Conant deal, what do I get out of it?"
"Money? We'd certainly be grateful."
"I already have a great deal of money."
Enderby allowed his gentle statements to hang, almost tangibly, in the cell's still air. Both girls instantly picked up its implication.
"Your price is whipping me." Lynne said quietly. "I understand. I'll pay it."
There was an awkward silence. The bound and naked girl bestowed a cautioning glance upon her lover. They both turned to the man who might prove an unexpected ally. "Actually, no." Said Enderby hesitantly. He turned his full attention on the chatelaine of Conant Castle. "I had been thinking more in terms of you."
"No!"
This time it was the punished girl who ejected an emotional denial. She twisted impotently against her bonds and stamped a bare chained foot in painful contact with the floor. " 'Gina doesn't get whipped, Mr. Enderby. She just doesn't! If you want to whip a girl, whip me."
"You errjoy being whipped, Miss Stacey?"
"Well, no, not the way you do it-and by a man. The ways you've just hurt me were terrible."
"But you'd like some more!"
"Don't say it like that, Mr. Enderby! Oh please understand us properly. If someone gets whipped, it's me. 'Gina mustn't be whipped. She just mustn't!"
"And why not, m'dear?"
"Because....!" The captive clinked her ankle chain and blushed. "Because that's the way it is."
"I'd thrash you between your legs and stripe that pretty cunt?"
"Very well. I'll scream a lot, but I don't suppose you'll mind."
Enderby turned his amusement upon a perplexed 'Gina. "Miss Stacey defeats you, Lady Conant. She is imploring the thing you contend impossible."
"I'm not either!" There were tears of frustration in the young voice. "If whipping me is your price for talking Mrs. Diomedes out of this silly arrangement, then go ahead and whip me. I won't complain-not if it's just this last time."
Enderby's smile was feline. "Lady Conant-tell her!"
"It's me he wants to whip, pet." 'Gina explained patiently. "For him, I'm a turn on in a way you arn't-"
"But I'm a girl-with breasts ... and things!"
"But I have them too, sweetness. I sort of suspect Mr. Enderby would enjoy whipping a member of the British Aristocracy. He could point me out in Burke's Peerage when he tells of my shame in years to come."
"You explain it most charmingly, Lady Conant."
"'Gina, don't! You must not! Insist he does it to me!"
The girl who was Lady Regina Conant kissed the pouting lips of the tractioned loveliness. "Darling, I have to. Don't take on so. It's no worse for me than for you, and it's all mostly my fault." She kissed hard again. "I'm going to gag you, Lynne. I know you, you'll make such a righteous fuss if I don't."
Lynne Stacey sagged. She recognized authority. Eying Enderby with reproach, she obediently opened her mouth for the rubber ball and shook her head in disdain as the strap was tightened at the nape of her neck. She would now be very silent indeed. Inside, she was volcanic.
"And you'll collect your payment now, Mr. Enderby?" Lady Conant was determined to carry her martydom with a flair.
"If you please." Enderby bowed a sarcastic inclination of the head. "May I praise your manner of accepting this-token?"
"I expect you'd like to look at my breasts and cunt?"
"Thank you, of course! Almost essential under the circumstances, I suppose."
"D'you want me to strip erotically, or just get rid of my clothes?"
"Thank you, the latter. And then we'll require-?"
"The second button on the wall lowers a trapeze bar with straps. I'm sure you'll approve-"
"You are quite wasted in this backwater, Lady Conant. A young woman of your caliber should be tilting with the Diomedes on her own ground. ... Really, these preparations are most excellent."
"Do you wish to handle my breasts and pubic hair now while I'm naked but still free, or after I'm helpless?"
"When you are properly secured and positioned, if you don't mind. We all have our little quirks."
'Gina's tone was crisp. "Here, let me help. I'll slip my hands through the loops. You can buckle my wrists as tight as you like."
Enderby pressed the button and watched Lady Conant's arms rise. He was awed. He cherished no doubt of beholding two of the most perfect female figures in the world. He was fortunate indeed. When the feet of his newest willing victim threatened to leave the floor he took his finger from the control and stepped to where he could survey the twin nudities to best advantage.
"Do I please you, kind sir?" 'Gina mocked.
"Indubitably."
"May I plead for mercy?"
He shook his head. "There will be none."
She accepted his dictum without complaint, respecting his honesty. When he grasped her pubic hair she passively spread her legs to accommodate his exploration of her cunt.
"You're dry!"
"You're Male."
Each understood. 'Gina was standing taut for the whip, but when her new Master sought her breasts she thrust them out as far as she was able. "I hope you like my breasts, Mr. Enderby. I've always loved them myself." I think there's a touch of narcissism in every lesbian."
"You're going to strut this off to your last squeal, arn't you." He said admiringly. "And now let's try little sweetpea over here, I'm curious."
The two girls were tied twelve feet apart. Twin nudities. Helpless! 'Gina watched the male hand cup and massage her loved one's sex. It came away glistening and wet.
"If she wasn't gagged I'd make her clean that off with her tongue." Enderby chuckled. Casually he wiped his palm dry On Lynne's left breast. 'Those two feels certainly confirm the status of both of you." He grinned disarmingly at the newly captive Lady Conant. "Think you'll moisten up under the whip, m'dear."
"You'll have every opportunity to test me. I'll be curious myself. If I'm not in screaming hysterics perhaps you'll keep me posted?"
"A pleasure. I'll leave you un-gagged so you can lick my hand. And now, that whip! The one for your breasts?"
"I told you. We don't have one."
"I'll whip Miss Stacey until you decide to tell me where it is."
"It's in the next room, to the right. There's a chest-"
"We understand each other so well." Enderby shook his head regretfully. "Damn shame to dissolve such a partnership."
"Probably I'll be no good to anybody after you've finished whipping me." 'Gina looked him in the eye, proudly. "It's going to be bad, isn't it! I know."
"I'd supposed that implicit from the start?"
"Yes, of course! Mr. Enderby, must you whip my breasts? I wish you wouldn't?"
"I'm afraid I must, dear girl."
She nodded, understanding his compulsion, and essayed a smile. "Good thing I have that whip after all." She confessed wryly. "It's a perfect little brute, but maybe there'll be a bit of my breasts left after you've finished with them. It's kinder than-the others."
When Enderby was on his errand, Lynne struggled unhappily and made protesting sounds behind her gag. 'Gina glowed at her with love, smiling a reassurance. "I know, dear. You don't want me to do this. You think it's all wrong. But tomorrow this will just be a bad dream-"
"Pretty little bit of wickedness. I like it." Enderby had returned with the exquisite instrument by which 'Gina's breasts would be scourged. "I'll try it on your cunt as well." He examined 'Gina's fastened nakedness with a critical eye. "I like the way you're standing." He acknowledged. "Your arms are nicely apart, absolutely the perfect posture for a girl to be whipped. I can always ask you to spread your legs so as to get at your cunt and the inside of your thighs ... His glance rose. "And those straps around your wrists...! Damn good. You can't get loose, can you?"
"Not a hope."
"May as well start whipping you then?"
"Please do. I'm waiting."
Enderby laughed at her affectionately. "Cool as a cucumber!" He shook his head in mock despair. "I'm going to love your screams, and yet I hate to make them start."
"You'd find me very grateful for mercy, kind sir?"
"You mean, if I let you loose and forego the whipping you'll allow me to fuck you?"
"Yes. It's more of a concession than you may think. But the amnesty must include Lynne."
"Do I get to fuck her too?"
"Yes. Unless you'd like me to spread my legs for you a second time? I'd do it, and I think I'd prefer it that way." She paused a moment before meeting his regard. "I'd try and make it good for you. I'd try and make you happy....?"
"Sorry, dearl girl, this is not a day for amnesty." He put down the small breast scourge and picked up the whip, the whip he had used on Lynne Stacey.
Lady Regina Conant had always wondered. Now she knew! In loving play she had sometimes allowed Lynne to use a whip on her-always when she was bound naked and could do no more than verbally protest. It was a reversal of roles in which they had sometimes indulged, and in which had discovered strange new eroticisms in addition to the knowledge of how far a girl could be whipped and still survive. All of it now paled into girlish whimsey beneath a reality more shocking than she had surmised. The first blow traversed the width of her shoulders, biting an armpit. The agony of it burrowed, burned and glowed in what she knew to be only a single prelude to what must follow. Her clenched teeth held, she did not scream. But she knew it the last and only time she could remain mute. Despite all her determination, her breath whimpered against the thudding of her heart. Her wrists became bands of protesting pain as she fought the straps without being aware she was doing so.
"I am interested in your reaction, Lady Conant?" Enderby's query was politely solicitous.
She shook her head as though clearing it of the mists of pain. She searched her mind for the right words and found none. "I can only ask you to set me free. It's more awful than a girl can stand." She said slowly and ashamed. "That probably answers your question."
"That bad?"
"Yes. Maybe if I'd been brought up to be whipped from time to time....! I just don't know. All I do know is it's unbearably terrible."
"And you wish to be released?"
"Nnnnnuh, never mind. Make me go through with it. Its very horror simply confirms what Lynne and I discovered: we'd bitten off more than we could chew."
"You are a remarkable young woman, Lady Conant."
"Thank you. Actually I'm frightened and ashamed.
"I will resume whipping you, my dear. Please let us consider your opportunity to withdraw as now past."
'Gina closed her eyes, a childish seeking of oblivion. When her screams had died away after the second stroke she moaned weakly. "Is there blood? I mean, are you cutting me?"
"It probably feels like it." Enderby said gently. "But no.
I don't intend to. However, as the stripes crisscross there is a possibility of broken skin. I apologise in advance."
Lady Regina Conant screamed steadily as she was whipped. Shame lingered through the first few strokes, then fled. Screaming helped. It was all she could do: scream and kick. She did so lustily.
After twelve blows there came a pause. It was broken by the clicking of a camera's shutter, but she paid no heed. 'Gina discovered it took a long while for a well whipped girl to moan her way back to where she cared about anything except helplessness and agony.
"You are exquisitely lovely, Lady Conant. It would be wrong not to perpetuate what I see now."
It was hard to realise the trickling droplets descending her flanks were the sweat of pain from beneath her raised arms. She would have believed blood more easily. Once more shame claimed her as she beheld her whole nudity bedewed and damp. She wondered if Enderby was going to kill her, whip her to death without understanding what he was doing. She dared not look at Lynne. What might pass between them could be beyond bearing. She was thankful she had gagged her love.
"A girl's back is admirably structured for the whip, Lady Conant." Enderby's voice was quietly meditative. "But I would suppose it deeply humiliating for an adult woman to have her bare bottom caned. The whip carries a certain dignity. But a cane-! And the word 'bottom'-!"
The limber cruelty splatted across the twin virgin curves with such venom as to cause her to leap against her straps and squeal at a fresh and different pain. She kicked frantically as though to repel a palpable enemy. Guilt flashed briefly in her mind as she recalled the caning of Lynne's small hands. She had stood by and watched....! But what girl could believe a cane could hurt so much! Lady Regina Conant began to scream again as the blows fell steadily to slice and slash into a latticework of wounds the rounds of tenderness her slavegirl, Lynne, had loved to kiss.
"An even dozen of each, Lady Conant. A most admirable commencement." Enderby's voice was blandly satisfied.
Commencement! The word filtered through 'Gina's haze of pain to register its portent of horror. She had dared to hope, a hope shattered by Enderby's complacent words. She sobbed in desolation but said nothing.
"If you will be kind enough to place your feet well apart, my dear...?" The request might have come from a benevolent uncle.
She had forgotten! But he had promised the whipping of her cunt and of her inside thighs. She wondered if twelve on each place was the pattern to expect. She dared not ask. And there remained her breasts! His insistence on the correct whip told her they would not be ignored. Thirty-six more strokes with different whips in seperate areas of her body....! Could she bear it! Could she...? She had no choice. She had already twisted and tugged against the straps until her wrists were raw. For her, there was no escape. She made no demur when her inquisitor tightened the leather bands by which she was secured, tugging each buckle to gain another notch. It was in keeping. Perhaps a necessary part of what was being done. In defeated resignation, Lady Conant parted her feet and spread wide her legs.
"Ah, I had forgotten! Our little test!" Enderby's hand cupped and fondled Lady Conant's most secret place. He held up the result for her to see. His palm was wet. It seemed natural for him to smile and press it against her lips. Humbly, she licked it clean for him, knowing the dictate of pain she dared not refuse.
"You are exquisite." His tribute was sincere.
The whipping of Lady Conant's thighs and cunt required far more than a dozen strokes. She lost count, and no longer cared as one whip was exchanged for another and one part of her being was striped to match female skin already heavily striated by the thongs. Once more it was a different brand of suffering against which her defenses crumbled.
The camera clicked. Enderby was suavely conversational. "The colourings inside your thighs are superb, dear girl. I am tremendously grateful. Your vaginal lips are most sweetly swollen."
"Please, no more! Mr. Enderby ... Please?"
It was her first such plea. He chose not to hear. "I have saved your breasts until last, Lady Conant. The piece de resistance of our mutual pleasure. When I have marked them artistically with the scourge we can consider phase one of your punishment completed."
'Gina fought, flinging herself against her bonds, kicking and twisting in a frantic need to show by revolt her inability to face a repetition of the inflictions he had already dealt. She hurt her wrists in their tightened bindings. Panting and distraught she appealed:
"I can't take any more. I can't! You'll kill me."
"You were never more vividly alive, dear lady."
"Give me a break then. Free us now and resume on me tomorrow."
"But we have not even completed one cycle!" Enderby sounded both hurt and reproachful. "Your breasts are untouched, quite virgin."
'Gina sagged, she recognized defeat. There was an inevitability about her breasts she could not counter. Perhaps if he scourged them to his pleasure he might relent! Her ability to absorb pain had already astounded her, girls were evidently as resilent as Enderby had stated. Quite probably she could receive twelve more strokes and survive-Or would it be twelve on each breast! She deemed it imprudent to ask.
Lynne was nakedly writhing against her tether, her head in urgent motion revolting against her gag. Her ankle chain became a constant music in the room. She was cruelly helpless. 'Gina flashed her beloved a warning shake of the head and managed a reassuring smile, then turned her attention to the man who held the whip. "There's nothing I can do." She conceded wanly. "I've asked you not to whip my breasts, but if it's something you want to do and it gives you pleasure, I know you'll whip them. I can't stop you. Am I supposed to do something? I mean, stick them out or anything?"
"You are everything I hoped of you, Lady Conant."
"I'm just a girl who's been whipped more than she can bear."
"Ah, but you have borne it! That's the important thing. And since my last stroke on your delectable skin you've staged a remarkable recovery." He probed testingly at her breasts with wise fingers. "I whip these one at a time. I've found it far the most humane and gets a much finer colouration."
Lady Conant closed her eyes and leant her head back until it strained her neck. She knew this accentuated the thrust of her breasts, but it removed her face from the danger of the whip. Miserably, she wondered how long she could hold the pose.
She had described the whip as 'beastly'. It was! Her right breast was enveloped in flame, a scorching burn through which her nipple rose in rampant response. And then the left, her chest afire until she screamed.
"A delightful posture, my dear. Thank you." Enderby's voice glowed with pride. "But I really must insist you break it long enough to examine your mammaries. Please look down at them. For the moment we have a truce."
Lady Conant looked down at her own breasts. Each was streaked by the special thongs, thin lines growing steadily more scarlet. Each burned atrociously. But they could accept many more such inflictions before they became a solid bruise.
"I want you to look down for at least two strokes, dear lady." Enderby ordered pleasantly. "The effect should not be missed. On impact your breasts vibrate, they flinch of their own volition. It is quite remarkable. Do not fear for your face, I will whip your twins with skilled accuracy."
'Gina hated his pedantic absorption with her body and its pain. But in a fascination she could not control she obeyed. There came a whistling sussuration in the air and her right breast took on a momentary life of its own. When the thin leathers fell away from the curved flesh they left behind a tracery of red. "Watch the marks form and take colour, my dear-just watch." Enderby's voice was worshipful.
Lady Conant managed to watch the next impact on the left of her twin treasures. It was beautiful and it was frightening. Her nipples were traitors to her cause. She knew them hard as flint, outrageously stimulated. With a moan of despair and anguish her head resumed its pose. She did not wish to see more of her own agony. As the measured blows fell in cruel alternation she screamed and screamed. Her wrists screamed too.
It was twelve on each breast. She might have known! But the whip was salvation. Looking down at her scarlet rounds she could hope there was no injury beyond the pain. No doubt the scald would fade in time. For the moment it was vicious.
"I could have hit them a great deal harder, Lady Conant." Virtue oozed from Enderby's reminder. "Thank you-I do believe you-Thank you!"
"I'm sure you'll live. Allow me to illustrate-" Once again the male hand on and in her sex. Once more the shameful licking of her own secretions from his palm. It amused him, let him enjoy himself. All 'Gina wanted was the cessation of pain.
"And now the camera again." Enderby's tone was brisk. "You struck a pose there that shouldn't be lost. Head back, eyes closed. In profile it's magnificent."
Wearily, 'Gina obeyed. It was easy and better than more pain. She had hoped to be released but that still might come. She closed her eyes.
The gag was in her mouth before she could protest. She had not seen it coming, and was defenseless against the ball thrust hard behind her teeth and the straps buckled tightly to compress her cheeks. 'Gina had tensed into an alarmed alert, angry exclamations fell mute against the rubber in her mouth. She could not speak a word.
"An angry woman is best kept silent." Said Enderby chattily as he tugged at the buckle behind her neck. "And I'm afraid you're going to be displeased with me."
She struggled in instinctive revolt, gazing at him imploringly when he returned to view her distended lips making their pink wet frame around the brightly coloured ball she could not eject. He nodded, satisfied, and said, casually. "There's some unfinished business, y'know. I expect you'll be glad of a chance to watch."
'Gina watched Enderby resume his interrupted whipping of Lynne Stacey, but she was not glad. Gladness had become abstract, it was not for the two naked girls strapped tight to provide a sadist with joy. She supposed what she now beheld was a mirror of what Lynne had watched in her own agony. The cruel red lines became vivid on the ivory skin, forever multiplying, seeking the zones as yet unmarked, crossing one another in their urgency to hurt.
Lynne's arms were not spread on a bar, thus she could turn and twist more readily than 'Gina. Her body and legs flailed in a constant negation of what was being done to her. She was a puppet on a string, receiving the lash upon whatever part of herself she imprudently exposed. Enderby improved on this gyrating mobility by holding a whip in each hand and using whichever of them seemed applicable to the moment. Sometimes he, thoughtfully, exchanged one or the other for the cane. When Lynne was competently striped he paused.
"Nice effect, don't you think?" He inquired musungly. "If you look at each other you see yourself."
Both girls made imploring sounds behind their gags. They fell on deaf ears. When he commenced to whip again it was Lady Conant's skin to which he returned. "I'll alternate." He said cheerfully. "Keep you both amused."
The whippings went on and on and on. To the girls it was endless. Enderby played upon their nudities with zest and equisite joy. Gags and wrist straps were a torment all their own. When he tired and went away he did not release them. They hung helpless in their bonds in a growing awareness of horror.
CHAPTER FOUR. JIMINEY.
The two buildings had been made one by a brick structure connecting the rear of each. It had become respectably grimey from London fog and soot over the years, an anonymous link between the warehouse of "Thos' Ribling, Imports" at twenty-seven Bristow Street, and the austerity of "Robert Fonteyn, Investments" at thirty-four Prebendary Place. It was the premises of Thos Ribling to which Trixie Malone had been directed.
With journalistic caution she checked the address. It was still on the slip of paper given her by Mrs. Diomedes, the imprint of the pen firm and decisive. "Damn place is a front, if ever I saw one." The older woman had said with Greek wisdom. "Start there. I'll buy your ticket."
Esther Diomedes was not easy to forget. Trixie's mind was still alive with visions of herself as guest in the house in Bastigue. It was like a tape she ran over and over in search of hidden clues. Yet perhaps there were no clues. Two women sought Hammond Stacey and could not find him. The rest of it was in logical sequence....
Trixie Malone still hung suspended, naked and whip marked as Mrs. Diomedes had left her on the painful afternoon of Anaguara's Liberation. She wept and sobbed her way through the hours into the death of day and the gloom of twilight. As the shadows deepened in the room of pain she screamed and screamed again. But there was no response. Esther Diomedes had said 'tomorrow' and tomorrow it was evidently going to be. Trixie's wrists had become numbed out but her shoulders remained a constant torment, as did the tantalisation of her toes. She could not sleep. When the real darkness of night enveloped her tied nakedness in the Stygian room she knew she would do anything, say anything, or be anything to gain release. Morning was a million miles away. It was then the man had come.
He was neither heroic or brutal. It was late and he wanted to go to bed. He was one of the two who had cut her from the post. "No one's being kind." He told her indifferently. "If you hang 'till morning you'll have no hands." He chuckled. "But maybe you'll like what I do less."
Trixie had no will to fight. She was weakened by suspension, bereft of hope. She allowed her hands to be tied behind her back without complaint. Her poor hurt wrists feeling the strictures of a fresh binding with relief as compared to what they had endured. Dully, she had said, over and over again, "I don't know anything ... Honest, I don't ... nothing...."
He took her to another room and bound her ankles high up to a frame so she lay on her back uncomfortably upon her bound arms. Her feet were wide apart and stretched but her behind was still in contact with the floor. Her opened thighs were obscenely inviting, and when her jailer was satisfied with his knots he raped her with the same casualness as when he tied her hands. After he had gone she slept. She did not bother to try and free herself, she deemed it hopeless. Weariness and pain possessed her totally. Her bound arms were a handicap but sleep defeated them.
Morning brought Mrs. Diomedes and her lash. She whipped Trixie between the legs with tremendous verve, going up and down the inside of each thigh with intent thoroughness, then splatting the thongs squarely upon the ravaged cunt and concave belly. After an hour of agony she tossed the whip aside.
"Very well, Trixie Malone, you know nothing." There was no apology for the pain.
They had shared breakfast and made a pact.
The man who had raped her drove her to the airport. He was exceedingly polite.
Trixie Malone sighed and wondered if journalism was worth the price. She was atrociously tender between her legs, her loins ready to flare back into agony at a touch. Wryly, she hoped her swollen labia would return to size. At the moment it felt like a melon between her thighs. She returned Mrs. Diomedes slip of paper to her bag and advanced determinedly upon "Thos' Ribling, Imports".
A loading dock. Crates and boxes. A tiny unoccupied office. A scanty and nondescript staff. The man in the canvas apron eyed her knowingly and winked! "Mr. Hibbert, Miss. That there door with the brass handle. Go right on in. Don't bother to knock." She would remember afterwards that his Cockney voice had not dropped an aitch.
To door, zinc covered against fire, its handle turning easily. The small barren room without an occupant...! The door closed shut behind her with an ominous click. Looking up desperately at the tiny window she found it barred. Heartily she cursed her innocence.
There was another door in the opposite wall. Trixie tested it as well as the one by which she had entered. Both rejected her. She beat on both and shouted without response. Dejectedly, she upended a small wooden box and sat. Caustically, she wondered when the man would show up with the whip.
It was not a man but a woman. Thirtyish. Passably attractive. Trixie labelled her as not one to hassle. No whip was visible but she carried thin rope. "D'you mind if I tie your hands behind your back?" She inquired brightly.
A bizarre greeting! Trixie Malone replied in kind: "You might as well." She said ungraciously. "Everybody else does. I suppose if I make a fuss there'll be a couple of bruisers?"
"Don't need 'em, love. I could handle you. But you're not going to be silly, are you."
Trixie was not going to be silly. The Diomedes whip was still too vivid a memory. Resignedly, she turned and offered her hands.
"That's a nice sensible girl!" The tribute actually held warmth. "Your wrists crossed, if you don't mind-My, they have been tied! You poor kid, someone's given you a bad time. Sorry 'bout this but it's a formality we insist on."
In spite of the sympathy the new ropes were tight. Trixie Malone was being bound by a girl who knew her job. There would be no getting free, no point in even trying. But the fingers were feminine, their touch was not hostile. The girl who was being rendered helpless asked, listlessly. "You knew I was coming. Was it the Diomedes?"
"We don't ask questions here, love."
Trixie felt her freedom slipping away under the skilled fingers. She moved restlessly and complained. "I can't talk without asking questions. I'm lost. I don't even know why you're tying my hands."
There was a chuckle from the rear. "Makes it interesting, Trixie Malone. You're a journalist, iree lance. In fact, so free no one's looking for you. My name's Jiminey, leastways that's what I get called. Excuse this blindfold, love-"
"Another formality?"
"Don't get sarky, dear. Take things easy."
"I want to go home."
"Of course you do, love. But you're not going."
Jiminey's hand was gentle on her arm. Bound hands and blindfold made it easy to obey its pressures. The captive longed to cry. It was all hopeless and unkind. Esther Diomedes had made a fool of her. Ever since the soldiers had taken her to the Avenida Maturas she had become a thing, a pretty young feminine Thing for the convenience of others. A Thing to be punished or tortured to amuse sadistic whims. "If I do ask questions, will I be punished?" She asked unhappily as she took blind steps into a new captivity.
"Yes." Jiminey chuckled. "I'm quite nice actually. But hurting you doesn't bother me a bit. I love to watch girls squirm."
"Whipped, I suppose?"
"Oh sure-and other nice things. Lucky girl!"
"Mrs. Diomedes whipped me horribly. I'm still sore."
"And I'll whip you too, love, if you need it. Isn't it lovely the way a whip curls round a girl's bottom!"
"It's horrible. It hurts something awful." Trixie sniffed. "I can't be sure about you-whether you're putting me on."
"Ask the rope on your wrists, love. This is real."
There were odors Trixie could not identify. Most of them seemed expensive. Leaving the warehouse area there was good carpet underfoot. Then an elevator, going up. A passage and a door-opening! Sudedenly the grip on her arm was gone, the blindfold whisked away, behind her the door slammed shut. She blinked in daylight, and blinked again at what she beheld.
Eyes! The eyes came first. Seven pairs of them, variously amused or indifferent: all female. Seven girls, four clothed, three stark naked, possessing one thing in common: the wrists of each of them were fastened behind their back. "You make number eight." Said a platinum blonde casually. "Welcome to our Club."
Someone had spent a lot of money on the room. It was high above the street, huge windows heavily barred. A faintly oriental flavour from deep, deep rugs and a multitude of big cushions scattered here and there over a vast space of floor. A luxurious lounge with doors, presumably to convieniences or bedrooms. The girls were as scattered as the cushions. "My name's Bettina." Said the blonde. "Let's introduce you around."
"Let's get back to back and untie each other's hands." Countered Trixie urgently. "Why on Earth are we all tied up?"
There was laughter and bitter exclamations. The girls all wore their arms behind their backs with the ease of long practice. Rueful grins regarded the newcomer with comiseration.
"See that whip on the wall...!"
"The knots are wired, there's no way."
"D'you want to get us half killed!"
"Wear your hands behind you and be happy, love."
"We've all had it, kid. So have you."
"Just friendly advice." Said Bettina. "Can't blame 'em for being cheesed off. Jiminey must have brought you straight up. C'mon and say 'Hi' and rub noses." Her voice turned bitter. "It takes most of us a couple of days before we start kissing."
The names impinged, then fell away to be sought for later. As the eyes assessed it became evident that only loveliness was captive. Each girl was a beauty. Trixie excused their pouts.
"When we don't have clothes on it means we're being punished. It's a sort of extra disgrace...."
The punishments were obvious in proximity. The delinquents bore them in quiet resignation. One was gagged, the buckle padlocked at the nape of her neck. Her only greeting was a wink.
"Suzie talks too much." Said Bettina with mock severity. "And she talks back. See what its got her."
"I kicked somebody's shin." Volunteered another bare maiden. "And see what it got me!" She turned to present Trixie with a view of jointed elbows clamped tight with strands of rope deep in punished skin. There were traces of purple. Her shoulders were wracked by the strain, her breasts tautened and exposed.
"But that must hurt-wickedly!" Trixie was aghast.
"That is sort of the idea, love. It nags at a girl all the time, never lets up. I've used all my tears already, that's the only reason I'm not crying."
"And now there's poor Tulip." Bettina's snicker was deprecating. "Tulip argued about a second helping. We don't get fed much on account of our figures...."
"I won't ask again." Said Tulip fretfully. "They think of the damndest things to do to a girl." She stood erect to display one of the smallest waists Trixie had ever seen. Around it was a metal chain, cinched cruelly tight and padlocked, its links pressing hard into inflamed flesh. "It even hurts to breathe." Tulip mourned. Then added with brave humour: "But I don't feel a bit hungry."
"How-how long-?"
"They locked it on me yesterday. Goodness knows when Jiminey will take it off. I'm being awfully polite to her."
Trixie Malone looked about her new prison, bemused and disgusted with herself for being there. Her wrists were hurting again, the rope nestling into previous grooves in captive skin. Resentfully, she demanded: "But, tied like this-so damn helpless? How do we look after ourselves?"
"You'd be surprised. We manage most things. Did Jiminey take your panties?"
"NO-?"
"She will. Then you can go to the John fairly easily."
"But eating? How-?"
"Cat and dog style. Jiminey wipes our faces after with Kleenex."
"But to wash or have a bath, or fix our hair-?"
"That's why I'm fitted with these, love." Bettina kicked a foot and tautened a chain to snub against the metal anklets it joined. "Sometime every day I get my hands untied so I can do the chores. With my feet chained I don't try anything silly-not after that first time!"
Trixie looked at the gorgeous platinum hair and the loveliness it framed. She was still lost. "You mean you're one of them-sort of? Why is it you who wears a chain?"
"Probably because I've been here the longest. Nobody seems to want to buy me, not at the price they ask." She grinned apologetically. "It's my hair, y'know. It makes me worth extra."
It sank in slowly. Too impossible to be true. "I thought we were imprisoned like this because we'd made Diomedes mad at us." She said dazedly. "A sort of punishment, a getting even...." She gazed about the luxurious chamber in a growing comprehension. "But we're-slaves...? Slaves to be sold?"
"That's right, love. Thos' Ribling at the back, Robert Fonteyn out front. I think we're just a sideline in something much bigger, but I suspect we're profitable. Some men spend millions for a girl."
"But the police-?"
"How are they to know! We mostly walk in the way you did. Usually we're shipped out in one of those crates you saw in the warehouse. They drug us and tie us tight and nail the lid down. When we wake up we're in Singapore or the middle East."
"Don't tell me we're auctioned? I mean, a slave block and having to strip for the lustful eyes?"
"Sorry, love, nothing so cute. A guy just drops in and looks us over, takes his pick and pays. We have to be outrageously nice to him if he singles us out, put on an act. If we don't we get a real bad time after. Jiminey won't stand for sulks."
"We can't undress or anything for him with our hands tied."
"The men like us helpless-does something for 'em. And, tied like this, it sticks our breasts out. If you're wearing clothes you may have to smile while the S.O.B. takes out one of your breasts and fingers it. We're expensive merchandise." Bettina's laugh was bitter. 'There's nearly always one or more of us being punished for something, so she's naked. I've noticed punished girls sell more readily."
"Does the Diomedes woman come here often?"
"Never heard of her. At least-I don't think-"
The conversation ended with the opening of the main door. A man, a business type, foreign. Jiminey was in attendance. She flashed a warning shake of the head to Trixie Malone. Then went to the bar and mixed her client a drink.
"I'd have a girl do it for you, sir. But we like to keep them tied."
"Hmmmm...!" Drink in hand he stood looking at the platinum hair. "I'd take this one immediately if the price was sensible."
"We believe it is sensible, sir."
"I'm sure you do." His tone was sarcastic. He moved to the nude with bound elbows. "And this one?"
"A million and a half, sir."
The bound delinquent fell to her knees but gazed up adoringly. "Please buy me, master."
"Stand and turn round."
He examined the strictured flesh. The girl flinched under his probing but stood firm. The male hands roved over strained breasts and burrowed into pubic hair. "Nice." His voice was non-commital. "But her price-No!"
Trixie Malone would never know why she was next. He stood before her like a visible threat, his eyes stripping her, leeringly amused by her visible perturbation.
"That one is just acquired, sir." There was a faint anxiety in Jiminey's voice. Hastily she added: "And that reminds me-" To Trixie's horror she found herself relieved of her panties before male eyes.
"Step out of them, girl!"
She obeyed, blushing. It was absurd but the male was intrigued. "I suppose you know I've been kidnapped and I'm held here against my will?" She demanded furiously of the client.
"Her price?" He was simply bored.
"The same."
"A million and a half pounds is too much. I would make it dollars....? She has some small appeal."
She had been bid on! A man had offered to pay a million and a half dollars for her! Trixie Malone was dazed in disbelief. Wryly, she computed five hundred thousand for each tit and the same for her twat. "The police are looking for me." She lied bravely. "If you have any sense you'll go to them immediately you leave."
"She needs a thrashing." The client commented absently. "What's she like naked? No, never mind! I can manage." As though accustomed to such tasks he opened the front of Trixie's garment, tugged away her bra' and exposed her breasts. Before he could finger them she kicked him hard on the shin.
Seven fascinated gasps accompanied the client's yelp.
Seven pairs of slavegirl eyes focused in admiration and comiseration. "Two million even." Said the client suavely, rubbing his hurt limb.
"I'm sorry. The Organization's prices are always firm, sir.
"Three million, in dollars?"
"It would have to be in Sterling, sir. You are bidding quite close to our asking figure."
"Hmmmmm...." He had lost interest, and moved on to the girl with the gag. "And this chatterbox...?"
"I'd make allowances." Said Jiminey kindly. "You were new and hadn't been briefed. But Bettina tells me she did explain-"
It was a room pregnant with punishment. Trixie Malone shivered.
"Feel cold, dear? I think a girl always does the first time she's stripped naked by someone else. Sorry about tearing your clothes."
"I don't deserve to be punished." Trixie proclaimed dismally.
"Yes you do. Run along and pee. Hurry!"
Trixie hurried. When she returned she asked, apologetically: "Must I be completely naked?"
"You know the answer to that." Jiminey's appraisal of nudity was shrewd. "I'm going to raise your price. With some proper training you might turn out well."
"But he offered three million for me-!"
Jiminey laughed. "Can't help feeling proud, eh! Just wait and see what I finally get for you."
Trixie was groping. "Then he gave all that money for the girl in the blue dress! Why-?"
"Who knows!" Jiminey was amused. "Men are ridiculous: Maybe because her nose tilted. But she did have a lovely black bush-Or didn't you notice when he lifted her dress?"
Trixie blushed. She had noticed! "And is she in a crate now, being shipped?"
"As a matter-of-fact she's hogtied in the boot of his car. Heavily gagged, of course." Jiminey dismissed the subject with a shrug. "Look, dear, you do understand why I have to punish you?"
"Yes-I suppose I do." The new delinquent conceded reluctantly. "But if I promise to do better next time-?"
"No! You deserve it and you're going to get it. You'll do better next time for sure."
"Y'know, I think he bid on me the way he did just because I was-well, awkward."
"I think so too. But you still get punished."
Trixie Malone sighed and asked timidly: "How many strokes with the whip?"
"Who said anything about whips! Come over here."
It was not a whip! Trixie Malone could name it but did not want to. Her wrists were still crossed behind her back in Jiminey's original binding. Now she was naked. Resigned to helplessness, she allowed hermentor to position her nudity as desired.
"You won't like it, love. But I'll not let it injure you."
Strangely, she trusted the assurance. There was something about Jiminey! The naked girl, postured for her punishment, stood quietly as the metal prong rose between her legs. When the head of the simulated phallus nudged her labia, Jiminey paused to annoint its thrust with lubricant.
"Keep your thighs well apart, dear. Stand on your toes if you want, it won't make any difference." Her voice rose an octave. "Good gosh, someone really laced your cunt, didn't they! Poor dear little quim, it won't be ready to whip again for a week!"
"Must it be whipped again, Jiminey?"
"Not without a reason, dear. I won't look for one. Look, as this thing enters you, you're free to move to make it easier. I'll go slow."
"But it's so huge!"
"No it isn't! Don't be silly. If a boy wanted to push one that big up your slit you'd think yourself lucky."
"No I wouldn't! I'd hate-!"
"Just because it's metal! See, it's going into you beautifully. And don't get any fool notion about it coming out of your mouth."
"Oooooo-Oh-Oh, Jiminey!"
"Yeah, I know. Girls have been saying that since cunts were invented."
It was the strangest impalement ever. The fingers of Trixie's bound hands fluttered impotently. Her loins had become sensitive to the gradual invasion of her sheath. As though to delay the final lodgement she raised up on her toes. Closing her eyes she twisted imperceptably and blushed at the instant response of her clitoris. The phallus nosed its passage towards her womb.
"You've got him all, dear. He's way, way up inside. How's it feel?"
"Oh-Oh!" Trixie was ashamed. "Oh, Jiminey, is it supposed to feel good or bad?"
"That answers my question. You're in love with him."
"But there's something-else! I can feel....?"
"Oh sure. Life always hands us the kicker somewhere. Now I'm going to attend to what you say you can feel down there."
The phallus appeared to have a base. It thrust imperiously on each side, compressing the tender and swollen lips as seeking entry. Under Jiminey's fingers the thrust was suddenly gone, but a moment later the naked girl yelped in dismay as serrated jaws closed inexorably on each of her labia. Cunningly they nestled within and without to close with a firm bite upon her most tender flesh, their spring harsh enough to anchor them forever but not strong enough for injury. "Oh, Jiminey-Oh please!"
"Just to keep you from jumping off, dear. And, after all, you are supposed to receive punishment!"
"Yes ... yes, I know! But it's awful-!"
"You'll get used to it."
"You don't need them! Oh, Jiminey, I could never possibly jump off or get away. That-Thing is so far up inside-"
"Lucky girl. And you do need the clips. They make you a nice pretty fixture."
"I'm so helpless! Oh-oh-!"
"You'll probably have a few orgasms."
"Oh no, oh please-I'll be so ashamed!"
"Well, the clips will help you there, love. They prevent you wiggling. Without 'em you could pleasure your clit' all night long."
"All night! Jiminey, you wouldn't-?"
"Yes I will, love. You face a lovely lonely vigil on the prong, dear. That's your punishment. It could be worse."
"I'll fall...! I won't be able to sleep....!"
"You won't do either."
"But to just stand and stand and stand! And all alone! And with this Thing up inside me! Oh, Jiminey, please don't leave me like this?"
"Silly, girl!-You don't expect me to stand here with you?"
"I-I-I suppose not." The erotically fastened girl was trying to orient herself to new dimensions. Her shoulders twisted in distress but instantly ceased their motion as it translated itself to the hungry jaws upon her sex. Trixie Malone moaned in the strangest sensations of her life. Shame closed her eyes. When she opened them she was alone.
How strange a punishment! The bound girl supposed it cruel but could not disguise pleasurable sensations she most urgently desired to suppress. She was frightened of an endless stream of orgasms. The clamps bit at her with a steady burn, rewarding movement with agony. Perhaps, if she hurt enough, pain might quench the ardour of her flesh. But she would come to an involuntary climax: she knew she would! She could feel the orgasm mounting through every fiber of her being. Trixie groaned and jerked herself into a blend of agony and ecstasy she would always remember.
Having spasmed and gasped in assuagement of her clitoris's response to the invasion of her vagina, the impaled captive settled down to her punishment. It was tantalising, it was a little frightening, it was peculiarly painful in a manner all its own. Trixie wished she had not stood upon her toes, it meant she had to stand on them still. Passionately, she longed for her hands. She wondered if they would be untied before she was sold-or after! Her sex was on fire with more than the bite of teeth.
It was infuriating to have to stand nakedly without any visible bond. From a casual glance a passer by might assume she stood there with parted legs by choice. The compulsion of the phallus was hidden within her flesh but she must obey its dictates implicitly. Thoughts of releasing herself from impalement had to be rejected instantly. Trixie Malone was female, she wanted neither torn sheath or injured clit. Bitterly she desired to cry out against the injustice of her lot. Why her! Why such bizarre punishment! Loneliness settled on her like a pall and she started to cry.
Trixie supposed hours passed, she could not tell. Her measurement of time now stemmed from the rhythm of her loins. She was young, she was healthy, her clitoris ignored the pain of serrated jaws set deep in swollen lips, or the ache of tired toes as they fought impalement's thrust. The hidden bud of sensitivity reveled in the friction its owner could not control. Try as she might, Trixie Malone's hips and limbs imposed involuntary betrayals of her determination not to climax again and again in an exhausting succession of orgasms. But the phallus won! Deep within her it had its way. She could scarcely breathe without a wantonly joyous response from her sex. After she had gasped and moaned her way through several orgasms she realized that these too were part of her punishment. The aftermath of each left her panting, her nerves screaming for surcease. But it was only a short time before the enforced union of thrusting prong and fleshly bud re-lit their fire. And she could do nothing, nothing at all! Her crossed wrists mocked her with their bonds.
"How many times, love?" Jiminey's voice mocked her too.
The prisoner emerged from her cloud of concupiscence in a flood of relief and hope. "Jiminey-Oh, Jiminey, let me down off this contraption-Oh please-!" She pleaded breathlessly.
"It's four years. Please take it out of me-Please!"
"You're there for the night, love."
"Then just for a little while-for a rest?"
"You're doing remarkably well, dear. You'll stay right where you are. But I will lower the stem an inch to get your heels back on the floor."
"Thank you! Oh, Jiminey...!"
"Gosh, you're in a dither'. You make me wonder if this is a punishment-"
"It is! Oh, Jiminey, it is. It's awful. I daren't even twitch."
"I'm going to give you a diversion, love. I'm going to cane your bottom."
For Trixie, the shock was brutal. "But why? What have I done?"
"You're being punished, that's all, nothing special."
"But it will hurt-!"
"Of course it will you little idiot. But it's part of what you get for being naughty. Don't take on so."
"You mean you're going to hurt me terribly with a beastly cane and then go away and leave me like this!"
"Gosh, you agonize! But, yes, that's what I'm going to do."
The two girls surveyed each other. Trixie wished she could match her companion's smile. Instead, a tear trickled down her cheek. She sobbed: "I'm so tired ... and so helpless ... and when I'm not in agony I'm climaxing...."
"A brisk caning of that cute little bottom will give you a whole new perspective, dear."
"I don't want a new perspective. I want-"
Fire laced the captive's loins. The thin cane wrapped around the twin spheres she could not move. But the shock and the burn were disasterous. She blossomed into the most explosive orgasm of them all, twisting on her impalement and crying out a paean of primitive passion.
"Dammit, kid, I begin to envy you." With immense amusement the girl with the cane watched the agonies and ecstacies she had wrought.
"No, oh no! Please, no-!" The naked girl was panting in successive gasps, her skin glistened, bedewed by pain and lust. She stood motionless, afraid of motion. Her head bowed, eyes closed.
"That looked like pure pleasure. Arn't you going to thank me?"
"Yes, oh yes! Thank you, Jiminey."
"I don't think you even felt the cane, love. I'm a good mind to jack you back up that other inch or two."
"Nuhnuh. oh no! I don't want-Oh it's awful-"
Well, maybe you'll feel this one."
Trixie Malone felt it. She screamed. Her shoulders twisted against her bound arms, but her hips were held by that which thrust within and the implacable jaws still kissed by tender lips. The burn spread intolerably.
The cane cut with a solid thunk. Pain burrowed and spread. Trixie's screams lost all inhibition. So did her libido. She flowered into climax with a new intensity, her moans a mixture of joy, outrage and surprise.
"If you're going to come every time I hit you I might as well throw the cane away." Jiminey was immensely amused.
The girl with spread legs could find no answer. She was lost in sensation.
"I know what the trouble is, it's your bottom. Too close to where it's at." Jiminey mused thoughtfully. "I'll get a whip and move up to your breasts."
The naked girl tensed alert. Her eyes widened as she watched Jiminey exchange the instruments of her punishment. The thonged whip looked vicious, and her breasts were beautifully disposed for it. She could neither move nor shield them from its kiss. She groaned in defeat. "Jiminey, I'll do anything but don't whip my breasts....Whip me a hundred times somewhere else-but not my breasts! Not my breasts-!"
She was very beautiful in her distress, an exquisite picture of a damsel all forlorn. Jiminey was a girl, and not unkind. With a small cry of comiseration she dropped her whip and gathered the punished beauty in her arms.
CHAPTER FIVE. FEMALE PACKAGE.
"I recognize this as an historic ocassion." Enderby proclaimed with relish. His cherubic countenance beamed on the assembly. "I have asked Jeffers to snap a picture of us all. Please try and look appropriately aware."
Jeffers clicked the shutter and withdrew.
"Seven hundred years, I think you said, my dear? One may speculate as to whether the beginnings of Conant were as-unorthodox is perhaps the word-as what we are a part of now."
Lady Regina Conant thought it un-likely. But she had said her bitter words and had best keep silent. Her flesh was lingeringly tender from the lash.
"We must apologise to Mr. Ambrose for any embarrassment." Enderby was in fine voice and obviously enjoying himself. "But members of the Legal Profession are like the clergy: they get called to strange places and unusual circumstances."
Mr. Ambrose had a long face, a bald head and dewlaps. He had stared steadily at Lynne Stacey's pubic hair since the introductions, only shifting focus to give equal attention to her breasts. "Not at all" He assured hurredly. "Enderby and I are old friends, Lady Conant. I am only too happy-"
"I am sure you are." 'Gina said coldly. "What's a spot of torture more or less between old friends."
"Oh come, M'Lady, Miss Stacey has not been touched."
Lady Conant turned a studied regard upon the naked girl bound tight to one side of the huge fireplace. Lynne was tied fast at ankle, knee, wrists and elbow. She faced them unhappily, standing in precarious balance. To one side of her the fire glowed, within its red embers were metal rods....! She swivelled back to stare at the man of Law. "Not touched!" She exclaimed disdainfully. "She's covered in whip weak. It may interest you to know I am too. We have both been tortured. Those irons heating in the grate are for the purpose of branding Miss Stacey if I refuse to sign your documants."
Mr. Ambrose kept up a warning hand. He sighed, shook his head and rose. When he withdrew the glowing metal from the coals Lady Regina Conant flung herself to her knees at his feet.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry-I forgot. I'm only human. Don't do that-please don't! I'll sign ... I'll sign anything."
Enderby replaced the rod. He found a gag and buckled it tight within Lynne Stacey's mouth. "You were about to say you didn't mind being branded in a good cause." He adjured jovially. "I could see it in your eye. Let us leave the dramatics to Lady Conant here, she's damn good."
"Enderby, let's get on with it." 'Gina looked up, ashamed of her surrender. Horrified, she saw him retrieve the iron.
"Look!" He held the red heat to singe Lynne's pubic hair, a shining frond curled up in smoke, its odor assailing every nostril in the room. "I'll mark her once, one good deep burn. It will keep you sensible."
"No!" 'Gina was suddenly frantic at what she had precipitated. She had no illusions about Enderby, he would enjoy branding either one of them. "Not Lynne, not Lynne! Brand me."
"Very well, Lady Conant. Kindly bare your upper thigh." Enderby affected ennui "Do you wish to be bound?"
"I'll-I'll try and keep still for you-" She tore at feminine trifles to lay bare the skin already branded with his whip. "Do you want me to sign the papers now, or after you've burned me?"
"After will do. I can give you a drop of brandy."
'Gina became conscious of the intent eyes. "I'm sorry about this." She said humbly. "And I know I'll scream, please forgive me for screaming...."
"I have another gag." Said Enderby kindly.
""No! Oh no-never mind."
Enderby looked momentarily puzzled. He chuckled. "Y'know I think we've got something twisted." He admitted sheepishly. "Do you want to tell me you're happy to sign whether I brand you or not?"
"Of course. I thought I made that clear."
"Then why am I branding you?"
"I thought it was because you wanted to, just like whipping us. And I don't want you to brand Lynne. You can brand me a hundred times if you'll leave her alone."
"Hmmmmm,-greater love hath no woman...." He looked down into her wide eyes, and was for a few moments humane. He replaced the cooling iron. "Let us save harmless that lovely skin." He said pleasantly. "Perhaps another time...." He offered his hand. "Come, let us return to the table."
"If you will sign here please, Lady Conant." Said Mr. Ambrose as though he had seen nothing unusual. "And on this line ... and on each of these seperate deeds...."
There was a scratching of pens, the Principal and the two Witnesses. Without visible motion Castle Conant passed from 'Gina's possession into the hands of a body designated as: "The Diomedes Holding Corporation. Enderby poured brandy all round.
When the Lawyer and his clerk had departed with their brief cases and Lady Regina Conant's signatures there came a hiatus. Enderby used it to remove the gag from Lynne's mouth and hold a glass of brandy to her lips. "A bit trying for us all." He admitted. When he turned to meet her eyes 'Gina could swear she saw sympathy in his.
"What's it feel like?" He asked diffidently.
"Like being stripped naked."
He nodded. "Yes, I suppose so. Damned dramatic."
"I signed away even the liquid assets and the cash, didn't I?"
"Yes. Everything! As you said: you're stripped."
"And now you're going to sell me!"
"Yes. And Miss Stacey too." He shared her desuetude. "Damn rummy spot for girls like you."
"I'm trying to let it sink in." Lady Conant said slowly. "It's not easy. Even if you set us free we'd have to get ourselves a bedsitter and look for a job as shopgirls." She shrugged in disgust. "Maybe the slavery you're going to sell us into would be better."
"Keep that thought in mind. I can tell you honestly some of the girls we sell end up enviably."
"Have you enough charity to sell us both together, and to someone who won't whip us to death?"
"I've already spoken to Esther about that. I'm afraid you'll both have to take the luck of the draw. She still bears a grudge. And anyway, we don't do the selling. From here you go to a Dealer."
"A slave trader?"
"If you like. It's a very big concern. They buy and sell girls as a sideline. It works in with their other activities. "Am I allowed to ask my price?"
"Hmmmm, I don't see why not. You're going on consignment, but we expect to net more than a million from you and an even million from Miss Stacey."
It was staggering. Penniless but worth a fortune! And there was no escape. Lynne was already brutally bound, she herself could not best Enderby and the servants would be on the alert. She would only get herself brutalised.
"Tempted to make a run for it?" He had read her thoughts.
She faced him squarely. "Yes, wouldn't you!" She grinned. "Enderby, be a sport, can I have another brandy?"
Enderby poured lavishly. Lady Regina Conant gulped thirstily. For the first time in her life longing for oblivion. Watching her with understanding he refilled her glass.
"Here, they can relieve you of decision."
'Gina eyed the shining chrome he had passed across the table. The handcuffs gleamed with a personal message meant for her. She felt the atavistic tingling of her spine and the prickle at the nape of her neck. Fascinated, she examined their mechanism. It was hard to believe they had been fabricated to encircle her wrists in a manner she could never undo. She essayed a laugh. "You mean, if I let you clamp them on me I'll have passed a point of no return-Crossed the Rubicon?"
Enderby chuckled. "They could put your busy little mind at rest. Save you looking longingly at the window and the door. I'm not going to put them on you. I know you can't escape. Miss Stacey, neatly tied up over there, is a ball and chain you can't shake loose. But the idea's bothering you, so if you want relief clip 'em on yourself. It's quite easy."
It was typical. Enderby would enjoy her shame. 'Gina cringed from the idea of handcuffing herself like a criminal. The act would seem absurd and bitterly humiliating. She finished her brandy, her gaze still on the chrome. She had no illusion. Slavery was the icy water and the cuffs were a way of diving in all at once and getting the agony over with. She picked them up and carefully fitted them on a wrist, tightening it notch by notch until snug. The other was more difficult but she managed. She held them up to admire, their single link a tantalizing trifle she could never break. Between the frame of her pinioned hands she smiled at Enderby. "There! You were right, there is a kind of relief. Now that I'm safely chained do I have to call you sir or Master or something quaint?"
He was awed by her beauty and her cool insolence. Regina, Lady Conant would bring a fortune when the bidding was done. Enderby's cherubic features became wistful. "Call me what you please." He said absently. "I'll stop calling you by your title. You're demoted to 'Gina, that's enough. Damn the luck! If it wasn't for The Diomedes I'd buy you myself."
She was flattered. Women would always be flattered by a man's desire, even when it carried a whip. Quietly, she asked: "What would my life have been as your slave?"
"Chained luxury. Total obedience." He grinned. "That would likely mean you'd be whipped daily."
"I don't see why. Whenever I've seen the inevitable here I've obeyed." She let her cuffed hands fall. She measured him with thoughtful eyes. "I think you could help us. Please...?"
"I could marry you. But I'm not going to." He gestured in resignation. "All the dies are cast. Let things run their course. Dammit, 'Gina, we'll have another brandy "
'Gina sipped gratefully. When Enderby held the glass to Lynne's helpless lips she asked, puzzled: "Why not untie the poor darling? She could serve herself."
"Waste of time. She's nicely packaged. Just have to tie her up again."
"But I'm free, or almost! Why can't Lynne be?"
"Shipping time, dear girl."
"You mean it's that close, the time's here-now?"
"Much the best, 'Gina my love."
She was surprised by her sense of shock, that when her drink was gone her world would collapse. "Then I have to be tied-like Lynne?" She was annoyed at sounding superior to her beloved. She blamed it on the brandy. "Why can't we both be handcuffed, Enderby? Now I'm wearing them they seem nicely practical. Since we're not to be trusted you could lock them behind our backs. We'd be helpless."
"Not helpless enough. You'll see why."
She would not provoke him out of his good mood. She would obey. But 'Gina was female. Her plea became urgent. "But I have to pack! There's a hundred things to do before I go-!" She broke off in confusion. "Enderby, don't look at me like that, it's awful."
"How was I looking?"
"Sorry for me, that's how! You're the doctor who knows his patient's going to die, but the patient's only just finding it out."
"You're not going to die, m'dear. Far from it."
"No. But I don't need to pack, do I? I don't need to do anything. I don't matter any more. I'm being born again naked!"
Enderby found her realisations magnificent. He was a connoisseur of feminine distress and, obversely, of female courage. He said nothing.
"I feel an idiot." Her grin sought his tolerance. "I've been acting as though I was still-what I used to be. I've gone blissfully on being Me. Sorry, Enderby. Oh, and you'll want me naked, won't you-I mean, naked to be tied?"
"Thank you, my dear. You need apologise for nothing. Yes, I would like you naked."
She reached for her dress. Then, blushing, held up her cuffed hands. "I can't. Not locked in these."
"Yes you can. Tear what you must."
She shrugged hopelessly. "That's a message, isn't it! Lynne and I arn't going to need clothes ever any more." She reached for her dress and yanked savagely. "A pair of naked slaves...! Oh, Enderby!"
'Gina, who had been Lady Conant, stood passively and nakedly to be bound. It was not until her ankles had been knotted securely that Enderby unlocked the handcuffs. "You didn't trust me." She gibed. "You wanted me so I couldn't run before you loosed my hands."
"Saved you another decision." He reminded her drily.
She supposed he had good reason for tying her extra tight. 'Gina had seen the ropes on Lynne and had expected no less. Ankles, knees, then hands behind her back palm to palm. When rope looped her elbows she twisted in revolt. "Do you have to tie our elbows so they meet?" She protested. "They hurt brutally like that. Look at poor Lynne!"
"It's the perfect control of a girl, m'dear. Keep still!"
"You don't need it. It's just plain unkind. With our hands tied behind our backs we're helpless, we can't do a damn thing."
"It inhibits."
"Of course it inhibits! A girl's in agony. It hurts to breathe."
"I can tie it tighter, dear, if you want to continue complaining."
"Oh alright! Sorry I spoke."
'Gina stood, straight and erect, while the ropes were positioned and cinched to perfection. Enderby was an artist. Each small tug rendered her more helpless. When he stood back to eye his work she exclaimed bitterly: "You said it, I'm a package!"
"I have to gag you now. Good-bye, my dear."
It was suddenly impossible and insane. Enderby had become precious. 'Gina looked at him entreatingly. "But won't we ever-?"
Artfully, he slipped the rubber ball into her open mouth, buckling it firmly. "Yes we will." He told her gently. "We will see each other again."
The crates were a shock. They seemed so tiny, yet they would hold a girl. The men who carried them in examined the whip wealed nudities with appreciation, then lost interest. They lifted Lynne into her wooden receptacle and strapped her down. The nailing of the lid was spine chilling.
It was so quickly and easily done! The ropes and the gags were a splendidly practical preparation for the box. When her turn came, Gina was totally immobilised in moments. The crates had no inch of extra space for a naked girl. None was needed. She could not move. As the nailing of the lid hammered her into gloom she thought of an Egyptian mummy. Three small air holes were a small comfort to a naked girl who could neither move or make a sound.
Lady Conant would remember the journey always as pure terror. Stripped naked in a box! Bound and gagged! Bereft of all possessions and sundered from a Hfe! Soon her body would be purchased by a man, with it would go her mind. If the man whipped her enough she would become his slave within her psyche as well as by her flesh. Two desolations were paramount: Conant was gone forever, and perhaps Lynne Stacey! What assurance was there that the two boxes in which they reposed were going to a similiar destination! To be robbed of the warm scented loveliness of Lynne was to be robbed of the greatest treasure she had ever glimpsed.
Every thing hurt. The ropes were brutal and her jaws ached from the gag. No matter how the box was treated she remained wedged tight. She could well believe the men who carried her were having sport, they were far from cautious with their burden. But the motions and the jolts countered the claustrophobic horror of tight confinement. The sound of a slamming door and the rumble of a truck told her clearly that, wherever she was going, she was on her way.
An appreciable time had passed before the collision sent the box containing Lady Regina Conant sliding forward and impacting joltingly against she knew not what. There was a great deal of muffled sound which suddenly became close as the truck doors were opened. Her small prison was manhandled gratingly, then carried, once more to be tossed hurredly onto a solid surface. There were shouts, the roaring of motors, the whine of wheels in soft soil, a spray of gravel rattled like hail. Then the shots, the crack of explosives. Whatever vehicle her box was now in it was moving at speed, great speed! In darkness.
Something had happened! Something fierce and ugly at which the bound and naked girl could only guess. The shots were frightening, they meant a new dimension of captivity. The cherubic Enderby surely had no part in what had sounded like a small war! And yet-! 'Gina struggled furiously but did not move.
THE END of the journey was like the first. Then a respite in which her box remained stationary and she could hear no sound When, at long last, a tool was inserted in the lid, 'Gina's heart was pounding hard enough to alarm even herself. With a screetch of nails the lid was torn away to reveal her nudity. Above her face peered down, a male face, strong ageless features, smiling....It was a face she knew.
It was Hammond Stacey.
Lady Regina Conant was suddenly Eve in an awareness of being naked. A moment ago it had not mattered. Now it did! Hammond Stacey made it matter very much.
"Good evening, Lady Conant." It was the same amused vibrant voice she remembered. "I won't say I'm sorry to see you like this. You look delightful."
'Gina clothed herself in a blush and, with his help, sat up. They were in her own bedroom at Castle Conant. Her eyes widened in disbelief, but a quick scan revealed everything as she had left it.
"Bit of a shock, eh!" Stacey was enjoying her.
'Gina could not speak. But with a few decisive motions Lynne's father cut away ropes, provided a rug, and unbuckled her gag. Aiding her from her coffin he held her close, his whisper in her ear a little less than fatherly: "You've had a bad time, little girl, I saw the marks."
'Gina did not mind what he had seen. It felt good to be in his arms. The rug she had clutched above her breasts slithered to the floor. She did not move. "It was awful, awful, awful....!" It was all she could think to say. She was trembling.
"It's over." His arms tightened.
"But I'm home!" It was a miracle beyond comprehension.
"And you'll stay here. Get dressed. You'll find me in the lounge." He was a crisp as she remembered.
"But the servants-Enderby's servants? They'll-"
"They'll do nothing. They're gone. We're alone except for my men. Most of your old staff will return tomorrow."
'Gina did not question. Hammond Stacey was a force. She sped to her dresser and the bath, stealing extra minutes because of the man who was waiting. When she joined him she received a gift of frank approval and a question.
"Where's that daughter of mine?"
"Isn't she-?" 'Gina looked at him askance, flooded by guilt that he had failed to ask the same question.
"No, she isn't! Damn! We've botched it somewhere." His voice was grim but incisive. "Was there another box like your's?"
"Yes."
Hammond Stacey considered implications, and shrugged. He would shed no tears over a partial failure. He went to the bar and got brandy for them both. She thought of Enderby: she had never drunk so much brandy in her life. "I'm sorry." She said wanly. "You got the wrong box."
"Don't say that!" He glowered at her good humoredly. "Don't ever even think it. You're special."
'Gina started to tell him, but he stemmed her flood of words with a wave of the hand. "I know-I know it all." He said bitterly. "Found out a bit late, but it's rectified-damn their hides! We're back where we started from except for Lynne."
"But we're not! I signed away-"
Hammond Stacey laughed at her bewilderment. His hand on her arm was comforting as he led her to the coffe table. "Look 'em over, 'Gina. I think they're complete."
They were all there. Every document she had signed. She was still a chatelaine. Castle Conant had not changed hands. She flung herself at the father of her love and sobbed upon his male shoulder in an ecstasy of relief. He patted her gently and once more held her close....After long and satisfying minutes he refilled their glasses.
"Like a lot of kids, really." Stacey said reflectively, eying her in a manner to make 'Gina feel pleasantly female. "There's legends grown up around the Diomedes woman and myself. We're neither of us the richest in the world, but we are force, each of us. We're opposing forces in an absurd feud." He gestured apologetically. "We could probably end it if we tried. But the fact is we both eryoy our bit of nonsense. Its become a game beyond the ordinary tolerances or making money-we've both got a lot of money. What we jockey for now is the ultimate coup by which we divert the resources of the other to ourself." He chuckled in honest amusement. "It was a satisfying game until she touched you and Lynne."
"But, Mr. Stacey, you disappeared....?'
"Two things, Lady Conant." He said drily. "You're a big girl now. To you I'm Hammond. Don't ever abbreviate it-Hammond! And I'm not going to keep tripping over your title. I remember when they called you 'Reggie' in Conant's office before he married you. Regina Wyant, wasn't it! Damn shame the way he died. The two of you had it all."
"They said they'd kill you if we refused-?"
He laughed. "Damn clever bluff. Let's give 'em credit. I had a plan going with this disappearance lark. But they turned it to their own advantage." He shrugged ruefully. "I owe you and Lynne a massive apology....But it was so beautifully authentic....! Like I said: Diomedes and I both deserve a good swift kick."
"When I was in that box-I heard shots?"
"Oh, just more of the same, 'Gina. We've each got our own little private armies: sound effects, mostly."
"This Diomedes woman...? What is she really like?"
"Damned impressive bit of female if she'd drop the Imperatrix syndrome. Not as old as she pretends. I've never seen her when she tries to be feminine, maybe she never does. If there's a man in her life no one's met him. But I wouldn't be surprised if she had a little girl somewhere in a back room." Hammond looked at his watch. "Speaking of little girls, it's time you were in bed. Run along."
Obediently, and with a great thankfulness, 'Gina ran.
It was glorious to wake in her own bed in her own room in her own Castle. 'Gina gloried in every moment. Happiness flooded when the familiar face of the familiar maid brought familiar Tea, and the hands of someone to be trusted pulled back the drapes and flooded the room with sunshine. "I expect you were tired, M'Lady. I'll draw your bath." Heaven!
"Mr. Stacey's waiting in the Breakfast room, M'Lady. And there's a man-"
Hammond! 'Gina rolled the name over her tongue. Then thought of Hammond's daughter and blushed. Life was peculiarly complex. In love with herself and with the world she went downstairs. Stacey grinned his greeting and kissed her lightly. His companion was more formal, and with an old world courtesy lifted her hand to his lips.
It was Enderby."
"Believe you've met." Stacey said casually.
'Gina wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she longed to be coldly insolent. She did nothing.
"Please bear with me, dear lady." Enderby's cherubic features beamed benevolence. "I've been a perfect swine-"
"Nice thing about Enderby-no illusions." Hammond Stacey's acknowledgments was drily caustic.
"One does what one must, dear girl."
A sententious Enderby was beyond bearing. Lady Regina Conant withered him with scorn. "You did not have to whip us half to death. There was no 'must' about it, you loved watching us writhe."
"The fortunes of war-"
She turned to Stacey. "This man hung your daughter and I up by our wrists, naked, and flogged us-just for pleasure. Then he got all ready to brand Lynne with a hot iron if I didn't sign those papers."
"Ah, but I knew you would-!"
Stacey muted them both with a raised hand. "Let us sit down." He said gently. "Mr. Enderby's hobbies are understood, but he happens to be of value-"
"You'd sleep with the Devil?"
Stacey smiled at her vehemence. "Churchill said that about defeating Hitler. In my world we find strange bedfellows."
'Gina was not appeased. She flashed her fury at their smiling guest. "You'd do it again! I know you would. You'd love to take me downstairs, strip me and suspend me and whip me in all those beastly ways....!" Her breasts heaved.
Enderby was unperturbed. "Is that an offer, Lady Conant?"
Stacey quenched her explosion. "Our friend here is no hypocrite. It may be his only virtue, but let's be thankful for it. He's here for a reason, and a price. He's going to get us Lynne."
'Gina checked her fury, a fury partly directed at herself for her failure to be more angry with her cherubic enemy than she was. Enderby was an engaging rogue whose unabashed admiration was disarming. He was admiring her breasts now as he toyed with toast. "He's sold her into some sort of horrible slavery." She accused undertainly. "He was going to sell me too."
"Alas, I could not afford you myself, dear lady-"
"Stow it, Enderby!" Stacey admonished. "We all know you should be hung, drawn and quartered. But, in the meantime, what about my girl?"
Enderby beamed. Instead of being abashed by 'Gina's flushed regard he winked. "I am aware of the dealership...." He winked again at his unwilling hostess. "You referred to it as 'The Slave Trader', remember: The address where Miss Stacey was delivered. I know them and they know me...." His cheeks had the grace to show a trace of pink. "And there's the rub. In my somewhat, er, invidious position it would not be politic for me to take an active and visible part in the young lady's recovery."
"Sure, sure." Stacey said gruffly. "You're playing both ends against the middle. So what do we do?"
"I had thought of an inside job, a penetration ... Miss Stacey's release could be effected with subtlety-and no pointing of fingers."
"At you, of course! That's understood. But, dammit Enderby, what's to stop me walking into this establishment and buying my own daughter. My money's as good as-"
"Unfortunately, no. The sum involved would be in the region of one and a half million pounds sterling. Moreover you might be recognized. The final damper is the clients have to arrive most impressively accredited and vouched for. A simple subterfuge is best."
"For you, I expect it would be. What's the drill?"
"It requires the services of an intelligent and courageous young woman. Pulchritude is, I fear, mandatory."
The silence could be felt.
"She would enter the premises as an innocent who has been decoyed. She would bear a letter from me to-a certain person. There is a password....There would be a small sum for the greasing of palms. Miss Stacey would be on the street within hours. No bother. No bloddshed. No embarrassment."
"No she won't." Stacey said heavily.
Enderby affected to be obtuse. "Who-what?"
"'Gina is not going into any lion's den."
"But did I say-!" The round amiable features registered reproach, then beamed anew. "But you certainly have a magnificent idea there. I can think of no one better suited than Lady Conant-"
"No."
"She possesses every quality, plus a personal involvement." Enderby made it sound already finalized. "She could carry it off like a breeze."
"No."
"What would I have to do?" 'Gina asked." Enderby told her what she had to do. It sounded absurdly easy.
"No. Absolutely no!" Hammond Stacey said firmly. "I love her." 'Gina said simply.
"So do I! Lynne's my daughter. But I won't risk you-"
"I love her very terribly-in a different way...." Lady Conant blushed. "I owe this to her. It's little enough."
"It's outrageous! Enderby, you can find a girl-"
"It would take time. I don't keep 'em on tap, y'know."
Enderby fell back on mild reproach. He looked at 'Gina hopefully. "Miss Stacey could be back here by evening?"
"You can drive me to this place yourself. Why don't you both come." Lady Regina Conant had made a decision. None disputed it.
CHAPTER SIX. SLAVE MARKET.
"I've bent every rule in the book for you, love, and you're worth every twist." Jiminey sighed happily and rubbed her nudity against Trixie Malone's heated nakedness. "How d'you like my bed?"
"It's as gorgeous as you. Please, Jiminey, untie my hands?"
Mmmmmm, you're wonderful down there. John Willie did you no harm-probably did you a world of good. You're super."
"Oh, Jiminey-and I thought I'd be ruined....! Jiminey, my hands ...?"
"If you ask once more to be untied I'll put you back on the prong. Is that what you want, you little mink?"
"I'm so grateful you took me off it, darling. I can't thank you enough. I'd still be standing there in the dark."
"You're thanking me here in bed, you little sweetheart." Jiminey snuggled closer. "Are you ever! Dammit' I hope nobody buys you for awhile."
"Raise my price too high. I don't want to be sold."
"Hmmmmm, I can for awhile, and I will."
"Jiminey, you don't run this alone? Who else is there?"
"Questions can get you back on the prong too, love. Leave be. There's some House Rules I won't break, even for a tongue like your's. Get down between my legs again."
Trixie Malone had given up thinking. She was adrift on a tide she could not influence. Jiminey had become a goddess-omnipotent! She had pleaded for her hands to be untied but was strangely content that they were not. Bound behind her back they emphasised her oneness with the woman whose scented thighs hugged her cheeks and whose female flavour was heavy and potent on her tongue. She glimpsed a wisdom in this tying of feminine hands. With their wrists crossed behind their back each girl in this place would better understand her slavery. At the moment she could not have cared less. Her punishment on the prong coupled with Jiminey's magic had made her wanton. She sucked and probed joyously. One day she might write a story-but for now....!"
It was a strange interlude, born of an innate loneliness in both, and that peculiar chemistry of sexual attraction by which two girls pair off from the herd. It had been born in punishment, the minds of each now busy with expedients for its perpetuation. For a space in their lives they would love each other.
"You'll still be a slave girl, sweetheart." Jiminey instructed slowly after she had gasped her ecstacies into oblivion. Don't talk about us. Not that it matters, the poor darlings are too concerned about being sold to care about anything. Bettina maybe...! Best she doesn't know."
"What are they asking for Bettina?"
"Five million. It's a bit steep. I may be stuck with her for life. Not that that matters either, she's a good girl." Jiminey mused in silence for a moment. "Maybe there's competition for her. There's a crate arrived. That's why I had to leave you awhile back."
"You mean, some poor girl's waiting, tied up in a crate?"
"Sure, it happens often. We'll unpack her in the morning." Jiminey giggled. "You were lucky, you walked in the back door. Now go to sleep. I'm pooped, and if you're not you ought to be."
"Yes, I'm tired. A sort of Mmmmmm and Oooooo ... tired. Don't you want to tie my feet or something so I won't be naughty?"
"You're already tied. Go to sleep."
Trixie Malone went to sleep.
It is a cynical axiom that when you look at a naked person you do not see their face. It was so with Lynne Stacey and Trixie Malone. They had seen each other once, clothed and formal. When the lid was pried from her box and exhausted girl saw only whipmarks and bare skin whilst Trixie gasped at the brutality of ropes and gag as the new merchandise was lifted from the crate. She saw the weals, too, but weals had become commonplace. After they had been etched upon her skin for a day or so a girl wore them with insouciance. If, for either, there was a whisper of recollection it passed.
"Damn, I should have got to her sooner. Look at those elbows!" Jiminey bestowed a grin of complicity upon her companion of the night, then sliced away the embedded strands. Trixie recognized Lynne Stacey's moan.
The inventory of tied girls evinced only a cursory interest in this addition to the stock as their Mistress cut free the cords on the newcomer's wrists and bound them again, this time crossed as were all the rest. "Less discomfort and you can't get 'em loose." She explained succinctly.
"Mmmmmm...!" Lynne shook her head unhappily. "Oh, the gag! Bet you'll be glad to get rid of that." Jiminey's fingers were swift. There! Feel better?"
"Thank you. Oh yes." The words emerged distorted from a tongue and lips too long in bondage. Captive eyes searched the room, drinking in their owner's fate. "Am I-alone? I mean, the only box?"
"Did you have a twin, dear?"
"Nunnuh, just something someone said." The denial was cautious.
"And they told you what you are? What happens?"
"I'm a slave. I'll be sold." Lynne's wounded arms were twisting against roped wrists. "Why are we all tied like this? You don't need to tie me. I won't be silly."
"House Rules, love. You stay tied."
"Could I a bath or something? I feel awful. I bet I look-"
The discreet buzzer cut short the request. "Sorry darlings, that's my call."
Jiminey departed in a metaphorical cloud of dust. When she returned it was with a man. Trixie's heart froze. Suppose she was the one! Her tied hands mocked her spasm of revolt.
"There's a nice selection, sir." Jiminey informed brightly as though selling frocks. "They will obey you should you wish to examine-"
He was youngish, heavily and darkly handsome, foreign. Trixie sensed arrogance. She managed a polite attention when his gaze roved her nakedness and her weals. "Whipped for cause or pleasure?" He inquired indolently.
"She had trouble remembering, sir."
The answer pleased him. It was one he understood. He probed her breasts and pubic bush, then abruptly swivelled his attention on Lynne Stacey. "How much?"
"She has just been just arrived, sir. No price has been determined."
"Set one." Politeness was not his forte.
"She is in need of a bath, sir. In quite unsuitable "
"She smells as a woman should! Those grooves on her elbows?"
"Rope weals, sir. She was too tightly bound-"
"I like the effect." He smiled sardonically. "And her smell. She's been well whipped too. Does all your merchandise have poor memories?"
"Sir, there is Bettina-with the platinum hair....?"
"And no whip marks! She must be insipid."
"Or Dorothy, Dorothy's sweet-"
His eyes swept Jiminey insolently. "I might consider you. Strip naked."
"I am not for sale, sir. I'm sorry."
"Sorry? I doubt it. If I buy you I'll thrash you daily. Strip."
"Sir, please...! I really am not-"
"For sale?" He smiled at her concern. "Do not delude yourself. Everything is for sale." He smiled at his sally. "Even I am for sale at a price!"
"But, sir-"
"I am amused. I will buy one of you. Take me to the main office. Don't pretend there isn't one. I have just come from there."
"Sir, I am embarrassed-"
"You will also be flogged if you do not do as I say."
Trixie Malone was appalled. But Jiminey saw in his demand a way out of her dilemma, the front office was her ally. She smiled at all present. "Of course, sir. This way please."
It was a relief from boredom. Comment varied.
"Gosh, what a lark! I bet they sell her."
"They won't, y'know. Jiminey's a treasure."
"Wouldn't mind seeing her get whipped though. Think they'll let us watch?"
"You're a lot of ungrateful twisters." Bettina declared angrily. If we've got to be prisoners we'll never get a better jailer."
To Lynne Stacey it was delerium. Most of the night bound immovably in a wooden box, and now this! She hurt and ached. Her wealed elbows came close to being actual wounds. Her tied wrists were an aggravation behind her back. The ropes hurt, and she needed her hands. She had a compelling feminine need to arrange her hair and seek a bath. She did not share the brusk client's approval of her scent. She looked appealingly at the nearest girl: "Is it always like this?"
"I don't know. I haven't been here long." Trixie omitted to sat where she had spent most of her time. "All I've discovered is it's best to do what we're told. But with all those whip marks you must have found that out already."
"You're in luck, kid. I'm a working girl for an hour or two. Come along." It was Bettina, deprecatingly helpful. "See my lovely chain." She kicked a foot to set the links to clinking. "That's so I won't get big ideas when I get my hands back."
"Bettina's a slave too, but she sort of looks after us." Trixie giggled. "They want so much money for her she's become a permanent resident."
"I was flattered at first." Bettina admitted wryly. "Now I wish someone would buy me. But not that bastard who's with Jiminey now. Did you catch the way he looks at us-wow!"
Lynne expanded to the sympathy, the hot water and the busy feminine fingers. It was a strange sensation to be lathered by another girl, to have the wise wet hand massage her pubic hair and between her thighs. "Why don't you untie me?" She suggested practically. "I could save you all this work."
"It's forbidden, love. We'd both get whipped."
"But I'd let you tie me again! Honest I would."
"Yeah, I think you would, dear. You're sorta' sweet. But Mama knows best. Enjoy the maid service and be thankful." The soaped hand again became busy upon the Venus mound. "Like that, sweetheart?"
"Yes, it's gorgeous. But please, not here!"
"It's our only recreation, love. We've given up trying to hide it." Bettina giggled. "It's the one nice thing we can do without hands. Trouble is, most of the girls don't stay long enough for us to pair off."
"And the girl you call Jiminey?"
"She turns a blind eye. She thinks it keeps us docile-along with our hands being tied behind our backs. But she's given us a warning: If a Moslem buys us lay off. They don't approve."
"Jiminey's a sort of wardress, isn't she? I don't understand this man wanting to buy her?"
"It's happened before, sweets." Bettina's hands were agile. "Look, I'm going to do your hair like this ... You're really quite a package! And I'm dousing you everywhere with Chantilly. If that asshole reacts to woman sweat it should turn him off."
"Oh wow!" Lynne Stacey sniffed doubtfully. "You sure? I smell like a red light girl. I'd think that was right down his alley."
"Trust me, dear. If he moves your way I'll make a diversion." Bettina laughed bitterly. "Men are absurd. I suppose, basically, they buy us for our cunts. But Jiminey can promote a sale by marking us in some vivid and painful way. Or tying us so's we're in pain when he does his shopping. Or gagging us in some odd manner. It's simple merchandising: same as they do in the big stores."
"But the girl in charge? Jiminey....?"
"It's the lure of the boss-girl, the unattainable. If they'd just pop me in a cage with a sign "Not for sale" they'd all want to purchase me right now."
"Bettina, I'm frightened, you seem so cheerful-"
"Girls adjust to anything. You will too. Except for having our hands tied we're not badly treated. Jiminey whips us only enough to keep us from getting ideas, and to keep us polite to the clients. That's the biggest hazard: to stay smiling at the rotten twits while they feel us up or ask damfool questions like 'have we ever been fucked' or if we 'enjoy being whipped'." '
"Bettina, you said something ugly about them 'buying our cunts' ... Is that really all....?"
"Don't agonize about that one, sweetheart. In polite society men marry a cunt and spend the rest of their life paying for it. In a way, this is more honest."
"And that chain on your ankles! Can't you really get it off? I mean, when your hands are untied, like now?"
"Hell no! They took me back into the warehouse where they've got tools and riveted the bands round my ankles. There's not a key or anything-no way! It would take hammers and chisels and things to get 'em off." She shrugged resignedly. "I've become quite good at walking with chained feet, even if the chain isn't very long. It's part of the policy of keeping us in line."
They returned to the huge lounge that Bettina laughingly referred to as "The Slave Pen" in time to share the general consternation. The client had returned. With him, the immaculately attired faintly elderly figure from the front office some of them knew as Robert Fonteyn. He was definitely a 'Mister', an aristocrat who displayed an air of polite impatience at being diverted from more important matters. With them was Jeminey, a naked Jeminey with bound hands and cinched elbows, her lips unkindly gagged. She appeared dazed and in shock, bitterly ashamed and unwilling to meet curious eyes.
Lynne stood, one of a group yet feeling wantonly exposed. To stand bound and naked before the spit and polish of Fonteyn was like standing naked in the Bank of England or St. Paul's Cathedral. Her hands tugged constantly at their bond. She longed to possess them. When the finger pointed at her and the blatant voice declaimed: "That one too." she longed to die. There would be no way Bettina could rescue her from this.
"You wish to, er, secure the young lady yourself, Mr. Mossadag?"
The client's grunt implied confidence in the efficacy of his own methods. He beckoned, leeringly aware of her dismay. Cringing, she stepped forward beside the already packaged Jiminey, turning to present him with her bare arms.
Fonteyn looked pained. No doubt, for him, this binding of girls was a matter for subordinates, not principals. He pointedly refrained from watching Mossadag's competence, and turned his attention to the girl with fettered ankles. "Ah, Miss Bettina, isn't it. I have been given good reports....Perhaps you would be kind enough to take over during a brief, er, interim? I believe you are familiar....?"
"Yes, sir...." The platinum loveliness looked at Jiminey in comiserating dismay, at Mossadag with a flinch, and at Mr. Robert Fonteyn in bafflement "But, sir, you do understand? I'm a prisoner, like the rest?"
"Quite so." Mr. Fonteyn sparingly relinquished a faint smile. "Let us say you are a valued prisoner. 'Trusty' is I think the term."
"You mean I'm to look after the girls and and punish them if needed?"
"Quite so. Your services will be assessed and valued." Again the flicker of a smile. "Egress from this apartment is not possible. The doors, as you know, open only inward. You will not be tempted. You must, of course, keep the young ladies securely tied."
"Yes, sir. And these...?" Bettina hopefully extended a shackled foot.
"They will not inhibit your duties, m'dear. Wear them."
Lynne listened in amazement. The place was unreal. Yet she had no wish to leave it. Bettina would have been a sympathetic mistress: far more to be desired than the Master who was so busily and painfully tying her wrists and elbows. Once more she would not struggle, it would be too painful. When the gag was thrust before her eyes she obediently opened her mouth. Except for the pain the gag would not matter. She had nothing to say.
When Jiminey's ankles were bound and she was lifted into the slender crate in which she herself had arrived it seemed no more than normal, how else could you so handily transport bound and naked young ladies through the cities of the world! It was not until her own ankles were tightly roped and she too was lifted into a second box provided by a cheerfully leering warehouseman that the tears rose to Lynne's eyes. When the lid was nailed down she let them flow. This would be a final good-bye to everything she had ever known. Helpless within the bands of rope, mute with distended mouth and buckled cheeks, the daughter of Hammond Stacey was carried into slavery.
"It's all very ordinary." Enderby reflected. "Suppose it has to be. A perfect cover. The Robert Fonteyn facade on the other street lifts it into the ultra respectable."
"Don't see why I can't raid it." Hammond Stacey suggested. "Clean the damn place out."
"There's a considerable staff, all armed. Forget it."
'Gina gazed from their parked car across the road at the fortress she was to storm. It was not frightening. The fear would start inside. "How long before Lynne and I walk out of there?" She asked.
"Don't sound so doubtful, m'dear. Sometime before midnight, I'd make a guess. You'll have to trust this Jiminey girl. Obey her implicitly. She'll put you on the street, clothed and with money. Here's the envelope to give her. The only way you can blow this operation is to lose it."
"I don't see why you can't just phone her?"
"Because I can't hand her a thousand quid over the phone." Enderby said irritably. "And she wouldn't trust a call, it could be a test, a trap. Their organization is on the ball. It's you going in there that makes it kosher for her."
Lady Conant put the envelope in her bag. She felt silly and portentious. Hammond Stacey's quiet regard was her only comfort. "Do I say good-bye or 'be seeing you' or something?" Her voice was uncertain.
Hammond Stacey squeezed and kissed her hand. "Say nothing." he said gruffly.
"That's right." Enderby beamed. "Just trot your lovely self across the street and up those steps-and stop worrying, it's a cinch!"
Lady Regina Conant crossed the street and mounted the steps. She did not look back.
The enquiry and the door was as Enderby had said, so was the sad little room, so were the doors she could not now open. 'Gina supposed the girl was the same too. Brightly she followed her cue. "Hello, Jiminey. I'm Regina Conant. I'm supposed to give you this."
"Oh, hello."
The greeting sounded as off key as her own. The girl was a beauty. She accepted the envelope, examined it briefly, and put it away. "Arn't you going to read it?" 'Gina asked hopefully.
"Not here. You won't mind, will you?"
"No, I suppose not."
"You do mind. I can tell. Just trust me, will you?"
The girl was nice. 'Gina's heart warmed, her pulse slowed. She was attuned to what the girl now said. It was the first glimpse of the bizarre Enderby had promised.
"I have to tie your hands, please."
"Why?"
"They all ask that. It's just because ... It's company policy, a formality."
"Oh, alright." 'Gina proffered her hands, feeling folish.
"Behind your back, please." The girl laughed chidingly. "You can easily free yourself with them in front."
'Gina shrugged. It had been worth a try. She turned and crossed her wrists and felt them tied together with care and precision. She would not get loose.
"Thank you." The girl sounded relieved. "You can turn round now."
It was then 'Gina saw the shackles. "You Your feet-!"
"Eh? Oh, my chain!" Bettina extended her foot in a familiar gesture. "Like it?"
"It's lovely, but "
"Yes, I know. I didn't ought to be chained, not when I'm in charge. But don't worry, I'm actually quite fond of it. I've been wearing it long enough. I can walk without noticing."
'Gina shrank from the question, but the chain made it inevitable. "There's something odd Is your name really Jiminey?"
"No. I never said it was." The lovely face mirrored 'Gina's concern. "Why? What docs it matter?"
"But if you're not Jiminey you must give me that letter back." 'Gina fought to keep the panic from her voice.
Bettina slid the envelope into her captive's bag. "There! Your stuff's all together. You won't get it back. You won't need to."
"The letter! You must give it back."
"But, darling, suppose I offered it?"
"Oh damn! Of course! Look, you absolutely have to untie my hands."
"I'm not going to."
"And let me back out of that door."
"I'm not going to do that either. If you look at it you'll see there's no handle this side nothing! It won't open for us. I'm as much a prisoner as you."
'Gina fought panic. "This Jiminey girl? Where?"
"She's been sold. We all get sold here, y'know, sooner or later. Eventually someone will like my hair and buy me."
"But you're working for-Them!"
"Sure. It's better than getting myself whipped. And I won't be any more unkind to you than Jiminey would have been. Jiminey was a dear ... I say, you're not going to be silly and fight?"
"How can I, with my hands tied like this! Oh damn!"
Bettina's hand was gentle on a captive shoulder. "You see how wise they are! If your hands weren't tied we'd now be in a free for all fight."
"Oh, damn that! Look, P-L-E-A-S-E let me go! It's vital. There's more to this than you know "
"Hold on, darling." Bettina clasped the prisoned shoulders and shook them admonishingly. "When you walked through that door your whole life changed, and there's no going back not ever!"
"But I've got to! I must!"
"We all have to. Out there is our life. But it's gone." She shook again. "I have to warn you, you're now subject to punishment. If you get too pushey about anything you'll be whipped, and worse. You've become merchandise, part of the inventory."
"I'll pay anything. How big a bribe will interest you?"
Bettina's laugh was genuine. "You poor dear! You don't get it yet. A million pounds would be good to me-or you. What would I do with it! I'm a slave."
'Gina slumped, smelling defeat. Somewhere Enderby would be laughing! Or would he! It was possible he had not known. Glumly, she asked: "What will you do with me?"
"Not much, sweetheart. Just act as escort. You don't join us in the main apartment. You go straight to the top. I sort of got the impression you've been sold."
"What!"
"It does happen, darling. Sometimes a girl only lasts a few minutes before she gets paid for and packed in a box."
"But who'd want me? Who'd know?"
"I'm only a slavegirl, dearl" Bettina looked in sympathy at the troubled face. "But you're something special, arn't you! I mean, on the outside you're not an ordinary pretty girl?"
"Do I get to keep my title when I'm a slave?"
"You're a slave now, love. But, come on, let's go and find out." Bettina giggled. "Take it easy. I don't walk too fast."
Lady Regina Conant walked slowly into servitude.
It was a pleasant office, redolent of wealth. Two men. "Here she is, sir, I do hope-?"
"You have done well, Bettina my dear. It will be remembered."
"Her bag, sir. I thought perhaps-?"
"How thoughtful. Yes, of course! You may run along."
It was a bad dream and in poor taste. 'Gina shared a sisterly glance with her guide before the self confessed slavegirl disappeared. Then faced the inevitable and shame!
"Why, Mr. Arumin, what a surprise!"
He was forty, sleek, perhaps Lebanese. As symbolic of money as the room. He had risen at her entry and would have kissed her hand if she had possessed one to offer. "Dear Lady Conant, how long it has been! The Consulate at Casablanca for cocktails, was it not." His English was florid.
With her arms tied behind her back it is not easy for a woman to carry off a situation with flair. 'Gina tried. "And what brings you to London, Mr. Arumin?"
"You."
It was a frontal assault against which a tied girl had no defense. The second man bridged a gap. "How nice for you to have an old acquaintance. I am Robert Fonteyn, your host."
"You mean you're the man who's had me kidnapped?"
Fonteyn dismissed the charge with a wave of the hand. "Please do not speak of kidnapping. You have been-sequestered. And for an excellent purpose."
"Me." Said Mr. Arumin blissfully.
The older man looked pained at the blatancy. "Mr. Arumin does you the honour of wishing to purchase you, Lady Conant."
Once again the captive was forced to recognize purpose in her bound hands. Had they been free she might have done something indiscreet. Instead, she said it: "Mr. Arumin is completely dishonest, a sort of respectable bandid. He flits around the world like a bird of prey."
"You are too kind." Said Mr. Arumin.
"I would advise you to watch both your tongue and your deportment, young woman." Fonteyn warned severely. "In the past hour your status in society has changed drastically."
"Please allow me to be ransomed, Mr. Fonteyn."
"Mr. Arumin has arranged your ransome, dear Lady Conant. You are most fortunate."
"You mean he will release me to freedom?"
"A quite new kind of freedom for you, Lady Conant." Arumin said heavily. "Mine."
"I remember now. My husband offended you. Probably I did also."
"Indeed yes." Agreed Mr. Arubin cordially. Your husband called me a 'wog' and you spoke of me as 'an insufferable boor'."
"I am sure it was not the first time you had heard those terms."
"Alas no. But this is the first time I have been able to purchase a titled lady who uttered them."
She looked from one to the other of them in bewilderment. "But this all happened years ago-!"
"I am an elephant." Said. Mr. Arumin."
They were playing with her: cat and mouse. Arumin was enjoying it, even if Fonteyn was not. Arumin was not the simple soul he often aped. If he was bent on some sort of revenge she was in peril. She had heard stories: he was merciless. "What do you intend to do with me?" She made the question cover both men. It was Arumin alone who answered.
"Thrash you daily. Or have you thrashed, if I am busy."
The honest statement of cruelty hung heavy over the trio until Fonteyn dispeled it with inanity. "I would counsel implicit obedience to Mr. Arumin's wishes, Lady Conant." He counseled with hypocritical concern.
"I will enjoy your screams." Said Mr. Arumin with deep sincerity.
'Gina knew herself lost but tried again. "Mr. Fonteyn, will you allow this to happen? You are an Englishman! Surely you won't condemn me to torture!"
"By 'lesser breeds beyond the law' " Quoted her new owner.
"You are dealing in hyperbole, Lady Conant." Fonteyn's voice had become distant, remote. "I am sure Mr. Arumin will provide you with a good home, as do indeed all our clients with all our girls."
"Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage " Kaliel Arubin was scoring heavily with his English quotes. He added heavily: "There is, of course, the matter of fetters...!"
"Quite so!" Fonteyn had the decency to feel embarrassed. "What passes between our clients and their purchases is strictly between themselves. We would never intrude-
"It is I who intrude." Arumin assured his host. "I must take Lady Conant home."
The familiar words, now so false, brought tears to her eyes. 'Gina fought them back as she was led downstairs. She was half way across the sidewalk to the waiting Rolls before she realized the incongruity ... But the hand on her arm was of iron as she was thrust into the back seat.
"Believe me, Lady Conant, in England a Rolls is above suspicion. Anything that takes place within is hallowed. If you scream it will be assumed you are a diva preparing for Covent Garden."
It was infuriatingly true. Huddled in her corner, 'Gina's bound arms were not visible. Under her captor's eye she dared make no move. The ultimate symbol of respectability purred its expensive way through traffic and past intersections. The girl in the back seat could have been naked and blaring a horn, no one would have noticed. For 'Gina it was a final defeat, more chilling than if she had been bound immovably and gagged. "You see." Smiled Mr. Arumin, "You have joined the privileged classes. You are a lucky girl."
The house in Belgrave Square was as massively correct as the Rolls Royce. The drawing room to which 'Gina was escorted was pleasantly and informally English. She suspected Arumin had bought the place furnished. A maid fluttered, dusky skinned, doe eyed, unobtrusive.
"A Scotch and soda for me, my dear-and attend to Lady Conant's hands." Kaliel Arumin was expansively at home.
The girl was silently efficient. Having obeyed both commands she departed, closing the door, and leaving the newly purchased woman gratefully massaging chafed wrists.
"Thank you. I hadn't expected "
"Of course not. Get yourself a drink."
"Thanks, I'd rather not."
"Get one!"
The iron hand! It would be there somewhere. In this room Arumin was a different man. She sensed a change. 'Gina shrugged and went to the bar. Why not! It was her first act of subservience.
"Please sit down and sip with me, Lady Conant. By the way, I am Harrow and Oxford, in case it matters."
He was different! His voice had changed. The smooth wog had gone. This man was clean cut and crisp. She gulped her drink, suddenly thankful he had made her take it.
"You understand the basics of why you are here?"
"My husband and I offended you. Now you are going to hurt me."
"Hmmmm, true! But only in part." Arumin'seyes were keen, studying her with enjoyment. "I wonder if you can realise the acute deliciousness of this situation. The wife of a scion of the British nobility, slave to a wog."
"Must you keep using that word?"
"Your husband's choice, not mine."
"Very well, I apologise."
"You did not apologise then."
"So I'm frightened and prepared to be humble!"
"Ah!" It was the exclamation of a man making progress. "You are a sensible woman. By the way, would you care to run screaming from the room? I will not stop you."
"And be dragged back by a couple of bruisers! No thanks."
"It is desirable to get the escape compulsion dealt with."
'Gina sipped heavily, embarrassed. "Thanks, I'm sure you're right. If it wasn't for that tying of my hands this would be totally unreal. That Lady Regina Conant can-vanish! Her life cancelled out to-slavery! I am in a London house, a posh address. Outside everyone is free. But I am not. I'm a slave." She looked at Arumin intently.
"Is that really what I am, the word you want me to use?"
"Yes."
"I mean, I'm not just a female receptacle for your sperm, a whore? You're not making me your Mistress-?"
"No."
"I'm here to appease your revenge and furbish your ego?"
"Yes."
His monosyllables left her little to say. She voiced the fear by which she trembled. "These punishments you are going to make me suffer? I have no idea how I'll cope."
"It does not matter. Bound, you are without volition. The punishments will happen to you as an inevitability."
"May I have another drink and your's?"
"Yes. But first, strip naked."
Lady Conant fought for control. This was the first of the tigers ... waiting for her everywhere, ready to pounce. Arumin would unleash them as he pleased. "Forgive a silly question." She said tremulously. "But what if I refuse?"
"I press this button. Two men will come and strip you by force."
"Thanks. It helps to know. Must I do it here in front of you?"
"Yes."
'Gina found herself oddly grateful to Enderby. Without his cruel exposure of her nakedness and the pain he had imposed on it she would have found what she must now do nearly impossible. Quietly and without complaint she removed her clothes. By some deep feminine wisdom she made the shameful motions before Arumin's eyes as gracefully erotic as she could contrive. Bare, she posed for him, hands clasped behind her neck in what she knew to be pure provocation. "I hope you feel you got your money's worth."
"Your body would be a bargain at any price."
"And my mind?"
"Give me time and I will possess that too. Fill our glasses."
She knew he studied her as she walked, her hips were truant. On the return journey it was her triangular bush. She felt scorched and tingling.
He digested her whip marks. "Enderby?"
"Yes."
"A widow's lot is not an easy one, Lady Conant."
"He whipped me purely for pleasure."
"As I will too! Move your chair to face me squarely, then sit with one knee over an arm and manipulate yourself until you climax."
"No! That's ugly-" She was bereft. "It's not what you-"
"You prefer to be whipped?"
"Yes." She said it sulkily.
"In that case I must insist. Think of the caption: 'Lady Regina Conant of Conant Castle, Warwickshire, plays with her clitoris for the edification of a distinguished visitor.' "
"I prefer to be whipped. Will it be done to me here, or is there a Place?"
Arumin laughed, delighted. "Magnificent! In the noble tradition! You would not prefer to be whipped in the manner in which I will whip you."
"You deliberately ask something I cannot do."
"Of course! But you can do it. Stop being Lady Conant and give us both pleasure."
'Gina gulped her drink. It was her only ally. "I have never performed such an act never!"
"Even in the privacy of your bed?"
She blushed. "That's quite different."
"I will make the decision easy. Do it or spend the night suspended by your wrists."
Even the thought was agony. 'Gina gulped again.
"How how did you know....?"
"That you are already experienced? I do know. Never mind how. Today is still young. You would hang alone for a great many hours on through the night. Your wrists would not be grateful....?"
Lady Conant cocked her leg over the arm of the chair. Her fingers furrowed shining fronds, one of them entered a familiar sheath. She was surprised it was not dry.
When her shame had run its course the room seemed inevitable. 'Gina suspected there would always be "A Room' or rooms. This one contained a low pedestal and a chair. She understood their function instantly. "I will tie you down only enough for a graceful extrusion." Arumin explained affably. "I wish this to be a chattily informal caning of your noble bottom. I don't want you red faced and bent double."
Lady Conant positioned herself to aid him in the strapping of her ankles to each side of the vertical. When he had tied her hands she bent forward across the padded bar to facilitate their roping down to the ring. Arumin took some care in their tethering, forcing her to bend as he had promised. The pose was samefully childish. She felt like a little girl in a Victorian schoolroom.
Kaliel Arumin lolled in the chair, toying with the willowy length of riding crop. "Better than a cane." He had interpreted her dubious expression. "Far more limber. Leaves a nice line."
"Is this my life now?" 'Gina asked dully. "Punishments?"
He ignored the question. "I am intrigued by captions." He confessed. "In every situation you create a picture to evoke Victorian cliches. I see them now. Tell me your favourite: "Naughty girl", or how about: "Delinquent damsel"? I rather like: "Waiting for the cane." Or perhaps: "A blushing bottom". And, of course, there's "Bared for a birching."
"Why not write a book! I'm sure it would have a limited sale."
"I'd have thought you too vulnerable for sarcasms."
"Sorry, it slipped out. I'm sure you'll cure me." She turned to look at him, as her posture allowed. "Are you really going to beat me into total submission, so I'll crawl and beg? I know you can. I've no illusions about being heroic."
Instead of answering, Arumin rose with feline grace and cut the slim half of the crop across her bent cheeks. By the time 'Gina had ceased to heave and tug at her bound hands he had resumed his seat.
"Do I have to count-or anything?" The bent nudity asked pitifully, still gasping.
"I would believe that must have hurt grieviously?"
"Yes it did! I wish I could understand "
"Why men are impelled to do this to girls?" Arumin grunted sardonically. "It is both a prelude and extension of the sexual ravishment. Simple, really."
"But the act of love-!"
"Nordics equate lust with love. They are in error. The two hungers are worlds apart."
'Gina did not argue. Her breasts were still heaving from the pain. Her Master was watching them with pleasure. The leather pad thrust hard against her loins-if she writhed enough-!
"I could whip you into orgasm." He said, reading her thoughts.
"Please...." Her voice was trembling. "Isn't there something I can do or say-and be forgiven?"
Arumin moved so swiftly she had no time to prepare. This time the crop cut into her lower down into the crease. She cried out against the horror of its pain, and fought furiously so that the pedestal creaked.
"Beautiful, Lady Conant! Sublime!"
After a long time 'Gina gasped and blinked her way back to face her executioner. "I'm not a bit heroic." She panted. "If you keep hitting me with that awful thing I'll just become a noisey messy something strapped to a post. Is that what you want?"
"You could never be that."
"I will be that. Already after only two "
"You offer an alternative?"
"I will give myself to you-in any of the ways....!" He nodded thoughtfully. "From Lady Conant the offer is generous and revealing."
"Please take it."
"But I have it already. I can use you as I wish. I can have you staked out and ravish you for days on end."
The third stroke cut her protest as it cut her flesh. The pain of it destroyed thought, confounded reason. Lady Conant delivered herself to uninhibited acknowledgement. If he had to be a beast he could listen to her scream. Damn him! Damn Enderby! Longingly and in tears she thought of Hammond Stacey. How heavenly to be with a man who did not want to whip her. For her in the past few days normalcy had become almost aberrant.
"But there must be something, some way-?" She moaned her plea, uncaring.
"You could offer to make your body available to my male staff." He was back in his chair, his eyes avid on her struggles, amused. "They are numerous and virile. You would have a busy day."
"You could stake me out for them too."
"It would not be the same. There is a delicious subtlety in your making yourself subject. They might wish to tie you in various ways to add to their enjoyment."
"Would they whip me?"
"No. They would be grateful enough for the use of your loins. You would inform them of your social status. Absurd as it may be, your title adds to the allure of your cunt."
The conversation was outrageous, preposterous, insane. Lady Conant, strapped to a whipping device, bartering her body with a Lebanese financier of dubious integrity. "If it will earn me my freedom I will do it." She said simply.
'Gina heard his indrawn breath and knew herself on dangerous ground. "Am I that repugnant to you, Lady Conant-to make such a sacrifice?"
"It isn't you! You haven't even got around to ravishing me yet. It's the whip. I don't think you men understand how terribly it hurts. No girl can stand being whipped every day--on and on....! Not even a masochist! It reduces life to something that doesn't matter. You've hit me only three times like this, and already I've almost torn my wrists apart struggling. It's involuntary, I can't help it."
"Damned interesting, Lady Conant. Now, supposing you deliver your person to my men, how do you know I will release you afterwards?"
"I don't know. I simply believe you would. That's instinctive too."
"Hmmmmm, remarkable! And flattering. But they will not get you. It would constitute a sale by which you purchase freedom, and you are not for sale."
"Please...! Oh please...?"
"Lady Conant pleading to be raped and sodomised by a dozen men! I am priveleged to be a witness "
Arumin cut his captive's bent bottom with savage accuracy to etch the fourth of his weals overlaying Enderby's inflictions. Once again the pedestal creaked and groaned its protest at the heavings of the naked girl it held. 'Gina's scream filled the room with pain.
"Could I offer you a drink, Lady Conant?" The Master was politely solicitous of his slave.
"I can get you all the money you want to set me free. I know I can!" 'Gina panted. But she did not mention Hammond Stacey. "Please, please take money?"
"You do indeed dislike the crop! Am I more skilled in pain than Enderby?"
"Yes, oh yes! I'm sorry I'm not heroic, I can't be much sport for you, behaving like this."
"You are exquisite."
"May I have a drink? I'm sorry "
He went away, amused by her perturbation and her predicament. 'Gina remained bent over the crosspiece and the pad. She could look down at her bound hands but could not reach them with her teeth, they were pulled almost to the floor, mocking her, telling her of impotence. The fresh wounds across her bottom mocked her too. She longed to massage and to feel but the wish was denied. Everything was denied. She was a prisoner, presumably for life. She tried to adjust her mind to the premise but failed. She thought of Stacey and Lynne and of Conant. All were gone! In the manner of her disappearance there would be no trace.
"Have you experienced punishment before the Enderby affair, Lady Conant?"
'Gina drank thirstily from the glass held to her lips. For the first time in her life she was willing to become tipsy. Hastily, she replied. "No never!"
"But you had a lesbian relationship with Miss Stacey...?"
"Must we speak of it?"
"Yes, since I find it interesting." Arumin struck her again with cunning cruelty. "That last remark held a touch of disdain. It invited the stroke you have just received."
Lady Conant panted her way back to speech. "Yes, Lynne and I love each other. We lived together."
"And you constrain and punish her in various pleasantly feminine ways?"
How could he know! The servants? More probably Enderby! Woodenly, she made her admission. "Yes. It was part of our love play."
"I would like to buy Miss Stacey. I would enjoy you as a pair. I would fit you with chastity belts-damned provoking, I'd suppose."
"The people who sold me to you will know where she is."
"I already know her owner. I asked. To whip the daughter of Hammond Stacey along with Lady Regina Conant....!" Arumin sighed happily. "What more could man desire! I will see what can be done."
"How many more strokes are you going to give me?"
"We have all day." His tone was pleasantly casual. "Did I mention that when I have you suitably trained and humble I intend to marry you?"
The pedestal strained and creaked against the blow.
CHAPTER SEVEN. THE GRANITE PHALLUS.
Esther Diomedes descended upon thirty-four Prebendary Place like an avenging fury. Robert Fonteyn's defenses crumbled before her anger, the Diomedes name, the look in her eye. "My dear madam," He expostulated, "I have no association with Mr. Stacey, I have never met the man."
"You had his daughter and you sold her....! Of all the idiotic...!" The Diomedes eye was withering. "Didn't you realise?"
"I did not know the young woman." Fonteyn was stiff with dignity. "She was sent to us in the, er, prescribed manner, and immediately found favour with a client."
"I want her back."
"Quite impossible, I'm afraid."
"Nothing's impossible." She eyed him as a cobra eyes its prey. "You know who I am, don't you?"
"Indeed yes! I am hon ' ".
"Honoured my ass! Who bought her?"
Fonteyn scribbled a name and adress. Mrs. Diomedes eyed the slip with disfavour before putting it in her bag. "Huh, that idiot! I know him." Again she brought all guns to bear. "And you've purloined a fool of a girl I sent here: name's Trixie Malone. I'll be taking her with me."
"Madam, I really cannot tolerate-!"
Esther Diomedes casually spoke two names and several statistics. Her eye was firm. Fonteyn made a gesture of defeat but his voice betrayed cold distaste. "I do not make the acquaintance of these young women. However, if you will come this way...?"
It was scarcely a meeting of old friends. Trixie's indignation overrode a greeting. "Look what you got me into! Make this old turkey have me untied."
"I suggest a thrashing." Said the old turkey with his first show of spirit.
"Later...." Esther Diomedes had the abstracted air of a woman doing swift calculations. "And Samson Mossadag bought another girl along with the Stacey wench?"
"That was cruel!" Trixie burst out. "Jiminey was sweet, and you go and do that-!"
"Ah!" Mrs. Diomedes fixed the vehement girl with a speculative eye. "Licked clits, eh! I recognize-"
"Madam, I really must protest!" Fonteyn would fight his rear-guard battle to the end.
"I'll take her as she is. Don't untie the little spitfire: may save a bit of bother these damn girls....! Throw a blanket over her, or something to get her in the car." Mrs. Diomedes chuckled as though having glimpsed a light in darkness. "Don't bother to dress her, she may not need clothes."
Trixie Malone seethed with injustice. No one was honest, they were all a lot of twisters who appeared to regard her as a legitimate kidnap. But she followed her Nemisis to the car with moderate optimism. The great Outside must surely be better than Mr. Robert Fonteyn's slave quarters. The rug got her nudity to the Mercedes without any visibly raised eyebrows. Settled in the back seat she raised a question dear to her heart. "You can untie my hands now."
"I'm not going to." Said Esther Diomedes comfortably.
"But why? Arn't we sort of working together-! They never untie a girl in that damn place. Wait until I get to a typewriter!"
"This Jiminey girl...? She any better looking than you? And Lynne Stacey? How'd you rate her?"
"All three of us are the sort men want to screw. Look, about my hands"
"They stay tied."
"But I don't understand-?"
"You will."
Understanding dawned slowly. Sampson Mossadag lived in an outlying suburb in a sizable house with a sizable garden. It even sported a short driveway to the door. A bland yellowish factotum assured them Mr. Mossadag was 'Not at home'.
"He is to me." Said Mrs. Diomedes grimly, and presented her card.
"My apologies for the delay." Said Sampson Mossadag in his reception room. "My servant did not know."
He was different. Less arrogant than in his purchase of slaves, more assured in the authority of his own domain. He wore a white robe which made him mystically foreign. Mrs. Diomedes was unimpressed. "Shove this girl out in the hall, eh! I've got something to say."
Trixie waited in her rug and her bonds. There did not seem much else to do. She heard the drone of the Diomedes voice ... When the two emerged, she meekly followed the beckoning finger.
The room was Gothic. Stone. Windowless. Its dimensions lost in gloom. The only illumination came from candles around the base of a low altar. On the altar itself there rose a granite symbol at which Trixie felt no inclination to laugh. It was of an exquisitely carved and wonderfully polished phallus. It was but three feet high, yet it dominated all that was visible.
The two girls were naked, their wrists were crossed and bound behind their backs: probably the same bindings they had worn at time of purchase. They knelt reverently, one on each side and facing the altar. Their heads were bowed in submission with hair nestling on bare shoulders or falling beside a maiden cheek. On second glance, Trixie discerned the metal clamps in knee hollows and around ankles. Steel bonds unobtrusive in the flesh but compelling the seperated thighs and the humble pose. The girls could kneel erect or sit back on their heels, as they were now doing. But they were prisoners. They would be able to move but little in their supplicating homage to the granite god.
It was a scene of a strange and terrible beauty. The two girls did not move, but knelt with the candlelight yellow and gold upon their skins, their breasts both illuminated and in shadow as they breathed. It was by their breathing they acknowledged a presence, not by words.
"They pay their dues." Said Mr. Mossadag proudly. "Are they not beautiful!"
Unsure of her social status, Trixie kept quiet. Esther Diomedes snorted, unawed and unabashed. "Mumbo Jumbo!" She dismissed the erotically lovely tableau with the wave of an impatient hand. "No time to waste, Massadag. Play your little games but I've got work to do. Let's get on with it."
It was easily done. For Trixie Malone it was frighteningly easy. The master of the house pressed a button, the clamps deep in Lynne Stacey's limbs, popped up in release to leave her free. But her knees were too stiff and hurt to respond. She had no hands, they were still tied behind her back. An unkind grasp pulled her to her feet. As she passed she gave Trixie a shocked comiserating smile. It took no longer to relieve the new girl of her rug and force her to her knees to renew the picture. The clamps bit at the back of Trixie's knees and ankles. They were pressed home hard to make her irrevocably captive. "You turned out of some use after all, young woman." Said Mrs. Diomedes in farewell. "Don't suppose I'll be seeing you again." The ill assorted trio shuffled from the room. Bolts slid forcibly on the other side of the door.
Trixie and Jiminey were alone.
It was awesome, it was eerie. Trixie's knees hurt, her bound hands mocked. The shadows beyond the candles held a hundred eyes. She tried to shift position but could not.
"We're supposed to keep silent." Jiminey whispered. "Oh, darling, you look so good. I've wanted you "
"Jiminey," Trixie's voice was urgent. "This is all crazy-!"
"You telling me! Mossadag is nuts. I think he's got other girls ... some sort of fool religion. Gosh, what I'd like to do to that old bastard, Fonteyn! Selling me! Into this!"
"Jiminey, our legs...?"
"You mean our twats twinkling in the candlelight? Yeah, I know. I can't figure it. There's some heavy sex hovering around for us somewhere. But Lynne and I didn't even get screwed. The big event's still to come."
"This horrible granite thing-sticking up?"
"We're worshipping it, sweetheart. Get the idea? What'shisname said something about brides. We're the brides of this big dink."
"Jiminey-no!"
"Hold it, silly! This is a symbol. I suspect we get the real thing in a more modified form. I'm wondering about his."
"But, like this? Hasn't he-?"
"Not even a feel precious. When he clamped me with my knees apart I figured I'd get friction up the hoop: but no! The rotten twit's fixed us so our little slits are crying for attention but they don't get any."
"It's a sort of softening up?"
Jiminey giggled dolefully. "I wish you could soften me a bit and having to look at you the way you are is driving me up the wall I mean, I can't do anything....! Oh blast!"
"D'you think he doesn't know about girls tongues?"
"He'll know, damn him! But he's obsessed with cocks. Look at the beastly thing, sticking up there laughing....! But, Trixie, look at it close. It's the most beautifully carved and polished! Must have cost a fortune."
The naked Trixie gave Mr. Mossadag's monolithic phallus her full attention. Jiminey was right, it was superbly perfect. Her shiver was involuntary, annoying in its female response. The thing was cold stone. Why should her loins begin to heat!
"Gets to a girl." Said Jiminey imperturbably. "Given a bit of time...!"
They had the time. It weighed heavily on the bound and naked flesh in the shadowed chamber. They could not mark its passing or guess its end. Trixie twisted fretfully at the rope upon her wrists. The gesture of revolt had become an involuntary reflex, uncaring of the chafe. But the cords were still as tight as ever. Wherever the knots might be her fingers still failed to find them. With hands she might have eased the nagging hurt of this hateful pose of adulation for a thing she believed she loathed, but helpless her knees and ankles cried aloud their misery.
They talked. At first with animation, then in intermittent gasps of confidence, sudden flashes of speculation. Finally there were only the moans by which they shared their pain. The hours passed them by.
The clamps popped out of their sockets like toast from a toaster, tinkling to the stone. No one was visible but it had happened. Their feet were free, they remained captive only by their bound hands. But when Trixie sought to rise she could not, her knees were numb and without response. She toppled sideways, and was content to lay there savouring both pain and thankfulness.
"It will be some lousy trick." Jiminey opined from beyond the candles. "Oh, sweetheart, we're so close we've just got to-"
They were young. Their knees returned to life and to pain. But, stiffly, they worked. "Let's try the door first-"
White wraiths in the shadows they sought te portal of escape but found it solid. Impassioned, they leant against its implacability in the assuagement of their need, kissing and thrusting until Jiminey could bear no more.
"Come I don't care we've just got to!"
"But if we stand back to back surely we can untie?"
"No we can't. It's hopeless. The girls used to try when they thought I wasn't looking-no way!"
They sought the light as though it offered warmth, slipping to the ground beside the altar, oblivious to the vast prong which now stood sentry to their love. Mouth to mouth, tongues probing pungent lips redolent of musk, they writhed under the necessities of their bound arms like sleek seals at play beyond a beach. They were prisoners finding such surcease as only captive girls may know.
"Sacrilege!"
The word boomed, filling the chamber with metallic sound. The voice was not human. "Whores!"
It was such a voice as comes from androids in movies, mechanical. The naked girls tensed, frozen in their act of love. Wrists hard strained against confining cord, their lips still wet and swollen with desire.
"Idolatry!"
Both the white gowned and hooded figures could have been Sampson Mossadog, perhaps he was neither. They handled the squirming bound nudities with shaming ease. Wide eyed, the captive girls were carried to where a corner of the huge compartment began to glow from concealed light. Within this nimbus stood their fate.
Moulded exquisitely in white plastic, the five foot high male genitals awaited their victims. But here was a Dali dream. Rising from their testicle base each phallus took a sharp bend sufficient to provide a shaped seat for a female derriere. It then resumed its vertical rise to complete the head, shaped in a monsterous fidelity. They were like white tree trunks ele mentally distorted.
The motions were swift. Each nakedness was placed astride upon the moulded seat, legs were bent back and up, their ankles clamped, immovably as before. It was then Trixie saw the hollowed recesses where her breasts must go.
The fit was perfect. Her seat brought her into frontal contact by which her twin spheres protruded naturally into the orfices provided. There came adjustments, thrustings, the fingering of controls ... Suddenly her nipples were seized in small vicious unseen jaws within and pulled sufficiently to make her gasp with shock and fear and flatten her chest against the plastic to gain what easement she could from the serrated teeth. She was cruelly captive, held aboard the bent phallus by only her ankles and her breasts. But held without the faintest possibility of escape or the easement of her plight.
To complete the strange simile of a girl riding some legendary creature, Trixie's hands were freed, pulled strainingly around to embrace the plastic column and handcuffed at the level of her eyes. She sat astride her steed as though in flight, clasping its rearing neck with naked arms.
"I think they've gone." Jiminey's whisper was urgent. "Oh, darling, what have they done to us! Have you got some beastly teeth grabbing your tits?"
With equal urgency, Trixie Malone was exploring handcuffs and chafed wrists whilst striving against motion or a heaving chest by which the tension on her teats might be increased.
"I sure have!" She gasped, cheek hard against smooth plastic. Oh, Jiminey, is this because we?"
"I don't think it's because of any because at all. Maybe they like an excuse but we'd have got this anyway. No way they wouldn't use a thing like this when they've got it waiting."
"Jiminey darling, it was good, so wonderful....!" Trixie was discovering that by clasping her phallus hard with pinioned arms she could reduce the strain on her nipples to a nagging burn. "Hold real tight." She counseled. "It helps a little."
"I've never been hancuffed before, Trixie. Have you?"
"Gosh no! And they're so tight....I can't possibly slip out of them the way girls do in books."
"Wouldn't do much good anyway." Jiminey reflected morosely. "If they loosed our hands and feet we'd still have to sit here on these plastic dinks. Whatever holds our nips is inside where we can't touch."
It was a contingency they need not consider, Trixie reflected ruefully. Her ankles were clamped tight and her arms were captive to the metal bands about her wrists. She and her darling would go nowhere, do nothing but sit and wait for whatever Sampson Mossadag might intend. It was un-likely this enforced ride would be an end. There would be something else....!
There was something else.
"Sweetheart, can you feel-?" Jiminey's voice was tense.
Trixie jerked out of her reverie. Yes ... there was something! Slow and insidious a presence had come into being at the juncture of her thighs. Her exclamation was incredulous: "Jiminey...! Oh, Jiminey-"
"It's not alive, is it?" The query held panic. "And there's nothing we can do....!" Trixie's plaint rose to a wail. "I can feel it now. It's it's Jiminey, darling....!"
"We're going to get fucked." Said Jiminey succinctly.
It was cleverly designed. There was no way the clamped and fastened girls could evade their fate. They were perfectly positioned. They would even instinctively aid their invader to lessen their hazard of injury from the relentless thrust. Trixie gasped and shuddered as the rising object nuzzled her labia, seeking entry.
"That bloody Fonteyn!" Jiminey sounded close to tears. Anger, frustration, betrayal were vivid in her mind. "But I suppose I deserve this-the way I kept you girls tied and sold you off to those assholes with their millions. That smarmy old turd ... said I'd be a partner...." She squirmed, gasping, striving to test her enemy.
Whatever it was the thing was sufficiently alive to have been a snake. Each girl's first reaction had been in concept of an inquisitive reptile, its nose scenting and seeking....! But the vision passed. This fruit of the phallus on which they were inextricably secured was mechanical, a sophisticated instrument of complex cunning against which they had no defense. Their vaginas were freely available, Oecoming slowly and moistly accessable to its searching head.
"The damn thing's got secretions!" Jiminey exclaimed indignantly. "I'm damn sure I'm not this wet and wanting. Can you feel? I think it actually squirts."
Trixie felt the lubricant. It was real. Without it the invasion might have resulted in injury. But there was more than jell: The thing itself was moving, slowly revolving to make more easy a passage un-likely to be hospitable. Somebody had thought of everything.
"What we have to worry about now is how long." Jiminey contributed lugubriously. "I mean, does it know where to stop." She giggled sharply. "A revolving prick! I wouldn't have thought our owner had that much humour."
The girls were young, vital, potent, bereft of control. When the head of the invader was well within their sheath there began for them the first sensuous response. Their breathing quickened, interspersed with gasps. Whether they wanted to or not they were being provoked into orgasm. The slowly moving plastic had found their sensitive bud and was frictioning it to arousal.
"I can't stop it I can't! Oh damn and blast!"
"Worse than my prong, darling?"
"That was you, Jiminey. I didn't mind. But this this plastic monster-or some idiot I can't even see....Oh shit!"
"Waste of love juice. I'm afraid we'll spend a lot of it, sweets."
"But why doesn't he himself-? Blast it all what am I saying!"
Jiminey giggled. "Maybe he can't. He's getting his kicks this way. I expect he's watching somewhere: maybe selling tickets."
Trixie could not be cheered. What was being done to them now was such a waste of girls. Their love was sundered and replaced by nothing of value. They were female bodies for the amusement of a man. They would be lucky if that was all it was. The dark chamber and the candles spoke ominously of more sinister things. To spend their young vitality in mechanically induced orgasms, on and on and on....! She moaned at the thought, shifting uncontrollably to ease the passage of the weapon within her sheath-what choice had she! It was possessing her inch by inch and the small bud of flesh she longed to influence was playing traitor to her cause. Her breasts, no matter how she tried, had become a steady burn.
"How far is your's in?" She asked inanely: anything was better than a pain filled silence.
"I can't tell." Jiminey was aggrieved. "You can bet it will be too far. I say darling, how's your tits? Mine are giving me the devil, I can't keep still. Whatever's holding 'em won't let go."
Talking helped. It was inane, pointless, often vulgar, usually pathetic, never far from tears. But it meant they were together. It kept at bay the chamber's silence and its shadows. It kept a girl from thinking of tomorrow and tomorrow....Tomorrows were all a slave girl had, and there was no comfort in them.
The three girls were clothed in some gossamer stuff to make them emanate as ghosts from the gloom. Their feet were bare and silent on the stone. They carried whips, each different.
"So beautiful!" Breathed one.
"In such sweet misery!" Echoed another.
"Let us whip them very hard indeed." Said the third. "I can hardly wait."
"No, not too hard." It was a voice of authority. "Remember our Master's wish. Just look! One has been whipped terribly, the other not at all."
"May I give that one her first stroke?" The voice was almost child-like. "I do so want to. I'll come first if I don't do it soon, I'm so excited."
"They are not fully possessed yet. Shall we just watch while they get properly impaled and have their orgasms?"
"Of course. But every time they orgasm whip them hard. It makes it so much lovelier for them. Remember?"
"Have you climaxed yet, dear?" The tip of a thin riding crop traced the length of Trixie's bare back.
"Drop dead."
"Did you hear what she said!"
"She doesn't like us."
"What a pity we can't whip her breasts."
"They whipped her back with skill. Trixie knew they could have hit harder but it was bad enough. She dared not move as the blows fell, but clutched the phallus to protect her nipples in the hated jaws. Moaning in her distress she pleaded: "I'm sorry! I am, I am, I am! Oh please stop whipping me-!" On the last word she climaxed in a flowering of sensation beyond imagining, sensation deepened and extended by the sudden flail of whip cuts by which the three girls paid tribute to her ecstasy.
"I think the darling liked that."
"She didn't, y'know. Probably her first time. Doesn't she mark sweetly. No more for now."
"Will we be able to tell when it's all inside?"
"I expect so. Look at their faces. The poor dears are trying not to show anything. They don't like us watching. But there's a sort of strained expectant look-"
"You'd have a strained expectant look too if you were waiting to blow your orgasm and be whipped while you came. I don't think they've ever had it done to them as beautifully as we do it."
"We can't help having orgasms like this. Please don't whip us because it happens." Jiminey had become poignantly humble.
"Oh, we don't whip you because you have one! We do it then because it's much the best time-a girl sort of explodes. We know all about it, dear, we've all been fixed the way you are now on those lovely symbols. Isn't it gorgeous!"
"No it isn't! Our nipples hurt like crazy there's something biting and holding them. We daren't move but when you whip us-"
"Poor sweet thing, she's frightened. Let's whip her just a little so she won't be frightened any more."
They whipped Jiminey. As the sharp stinging blows fell across her back she wondered why they should stop her being frightened. But they were right about the orgasm! Under the stimulus of the lashes she followed Trixie's example and climaxed shudderingly as their strokes intensified. She screamed in pain and outrage, but also from sensations she had never before known. Her chained hands clutched, straining to hold herself motionless as her loins flamed and her belly was enveloped in fire. For several moments she did not feel the whips but only a transcendant lust.
"She'd be gorgeous to burn. Do you think I could ask the Master?"
"Lovely to torture so responsive."
"Darling, have you ever been tortured by girls?"
"I've never been tortured at all, and I don't want to be." Jiminey was gasping her way back to coherence. "Please don't be unkind to us, we've never hurt you."
"But you'd love to, wouldn't you!"
"No I wouldn't. I think it's horrible."
"We have the loveliest place a room! And there's all the nice things you've read about. Stocks and a pillory and a whipping post and a rack. They're just the beginning."
Trixie tried to rationalise. "Have you had all those things used on you too?"
"Of course." The quick affirmative evinced surprise. "They're terribly exciting. But it was a long time ago. Our marks have healed."
Asking questions helped keep ihe next creeping orgasm at bay. "Is Mr. Mossadag your Master?" Trixie ventured.
"Of course not. We don't know who the Master is. Mr. Mossadag just helps and, and does things....He provides the money to buy us with. I expect he bought you?"
"Are you three girls drugged?" Jiminey asked bluntly.
"Drugged?"
"Pot, cocaine, hashish, uppers and downers....?"
"She's thinking of our medicine. Poor dear, I don't suppose you've had any medicine yet?"
Such drugged innocence was frightening. It might never know when to stop. It might not want to. "That thing inside us is getting terribly high up. I'm just-full. Can you stop it moving?" Trixie enquired politely.
"Should we whip her for that question?"
"No, I think it's alright. Trouble is we can't whip her in the proper places. I'm so tired of backs. The proper place to whip girls is between our legs and across our breasts."
"You can whip me a little like that if you promise not to do it too hard. Want to?"
Such an impossible incredible innocence! The punished girls fastened to the plastic replicas peered round their prisoned arms and managed to exchange glances of questioning dismay. But their attention was instantly diverted.
"There! Like that. O.K.?"
The willing victim had shed her diaphanous covering. Exquisitely nude, she widely parted her legs and leant back and slowly back until her wide and reaching hands found the floor beneath her head. She had become a perfect bow. Her sex and breasts were provocatively exposed. She appeared to be able to hold the pose without discomfort
"Wouldn't you like to be tied, darling?"
"Oh, don't let's bother for just a mild whipping. You're not going to be too unkind, are you?"
"Well, since you've asked for it I think we ought to whip you properly."
The bowed nakedness languidly resumed the vertical. "Won't you please just whip me lightly? If you won't I'm not going to play."
"Oh alright then."
Once again the backward bend. The girl must be made of rubber and without bones, Trixie reflected. And surely it was not possible....But it was possible.
"You whip one of her breasts and I'll whip the other, darling." All three of the girls appeared to have forgotten the pair suffering punishment.
It was done with care and loving accuracy. First, the taut breasts were lightly lashed from each side, then one girl whipped the pubic bush from between the widespread thighs whilst the other dealt her cuts alternately from side to side upon the waiting groins. The maiden being whipped moaned constantly, but it was a moan of ecstasy. When it was done she was weeping tears of joy and kissed, with ardent embrace and passionate lips, the two who had marked her flesh.
"Isn't she sweet!"
"Wouldn't you like to do that for us if you were free?"
It was all insane, impossible, and should not happen! Trixie Malone thought back to the Avenida Maturas, the welded clamps, and all that had happened since. And it had not ended. It had no end. "I'm not as brave as she is." She ventured tentatively. "And I'm already hurting an awful lot."
"She says she's hurting. Darlings, let's feel their tummies. If the lovely thing is right up inside we'll be able to feel."
Small hands searched and kneaded what should have been soft abdomens, but which were now rigid with fright and the thrust of immensity within. "Yes, he's up in their bellies. He's up marvelously. Let's start whipping them again."
"But why?" Both victims echoed the plaint.
"Because now that he's way up you'll have the wildest orgasms, darlings, and need constant whippings to help you come." The explanation was delivered as to a fractious child. It was followed by a joyous slash across what was available of Trixie's bottom-
"That will be enough of that." It was a male voice, enraged.
Hammond Stacey strode into the bizarre scene like an avenging colossus. He was followed by two intrigued policemen. The three maidens greeted the advent with their usual enthusiasm.
"Oh look, lovely policemen!"
"They simply must arrest us and put us all in the same cell."
"Will they whip us with a cat 'o nine tails?"
"Officers, will you please handcuff us?"
"Oh yes, we absolutely insist on being handcuffed."
"We can lend you a pair if you're one short?"
Trixie Malone wanted to howl in pain, laugh with joy and ask him if he really truly was Hammond Stacey. But, once again, her loins betrayed. Perhaps it was the blow from the crop, the excitement, the monster male symbol within her sex. But, try as she might, she could not quench the rising tide. Ecstacy flooded her being so that she whimpered in joy and orgasmed right before his startled eyes.
She hoped he'd understand.
CHAPTER EIGHT. The Queen's Thighs.
"I regard this as a privilege." Enderby beamed his most cherubic smile. "I am fully empowered to act in Mrs. Diomedes interest."
"You know what you can do with Mrs. Diomedes." Kaliel Arumin said affably. "But I'll appreciate your opinion. Damn remarkable what can be done with these Nordic females."
"I hold Lady Conant in high esteem."
"So I gathered by the whip marks." Arumin acknowledged drily. "I'm indebted to you for-how shall we call it: breaking the ice?"
"Mrs. Diomedes appreciates your position. She is prepared to be generous. She suggests you amuse yourself with Lady Conant to the point of satiety before the sale."
"We're stymied, Enderby. I intend to make exactly the same offer to Mrs. D. for Stacey's daughter. As long as the poor child has a little skin left on her back I won't quibble."
Enderby sighed happily. For him this was familiar ground. "Have you considered that Esther has considerably greater resources than yourself?" He insinuated gently.
"I am a business man." Arumin said morosely. "I do not indulge in small private armies and ridiculous feuds. This Diomedes, Stacey vendetta has gone far enough. I am sure you've heard of the Mossadag debacle a fine concept wasted! Allow the Diomedes and Stacey to destroy each other. But, first, get me Stacey's daughter."
"Has it occurred to you that perhaps it is a case of Mossadag yesterday and yourself tomorrow? Stacey is a Force."
Arumin grunted. "Then why not Diomedes the day after?"
"She is a power. Stacey cannot invade her as he did Mossadag or as he may invade you."
"But she holds his girl. Isn't that a trump card?"
"Not with Stacey. He'll be ruthless."
"I gather he also desires Lady Conant?"
Enderby winked. "I suspect an affair of the heart."
"In that case I hold a trump card too?"
"A card Mrs. Diomedes needs to complete her hand. Perhaps three million...?"
"Tell you what, Enderby, let's demonstrate the merchandise. I rather flatter myself...!" Arumin pressed a button.
"You rang, sir?"
The minute simulation of a maid's uniform made the girl thrice naked. Her voice was respectfully subdued. Her attention was for her master, she carefully avoided meeting the eyes of his guest. A good expanse of her bottom was visible beyond the confines of what she wore. Enderby noticed it was heavily laced with purple.
"Drinks."
Enderby was enraptured. When the former Lady Conant knelt and proffered his glass he took it with a sense of awe. Her eyes were discreetly lowered but he was prepared to bide his time.
"Show Mr. Enderby your cunt, m'dear."
It was almost too perfect. Regina, Lady Conant stood respectfully before the cherubic gaze and lifted the trifle of a skirt designed to show as much as it hid. Her pubic bush proclaimed itself in unashamed profusion. With thighs parted sufficiently to enhance inspection the Conant cunt remained stationary for the delectation of the guest.
"Nice, eh?"
"The whole ensemble is superb!" Enderby was enraptured.
"Kneel, girl. Out on the rug. Face us."
Lady Conant knelt, clasped her hands behind her back and bowed her head. Arumin's domestic staff evidently knew its place.
"Expose one breast."
"It was easily done. The white globe and pink nipple shone in innocence. Across it could be seen several thin lines of scarlet.
"Put it back. Now answer. What are you?"
"I am your slave, sir." There was just the correct inflection of surprise over a fact so obvious.
"For how long?"
"For all my life, sir. You own me."
"Who were you once?"
"I was Lady Regina Conant. Now I'm your slave."
"Why are you going to marry me?"
"Because you wish it, Master, and because I have no choice."
"Explain."
Bare shoulders twisted, hair was tossed. The words were cautious. "By marrying you I endow you with my estate, all of Conant. Were I to refuse you would have me whipped and suspended until I became obedient."
"Are you obedient now?"
"Oh, yes, sir!" Sincerity was in every word.
"You dislike being suspended?"
"Yes, sir." The affirmative was almost vehement.
"Tell our guest why you are obedient."
"Sir, I am obedient because my Master has had me well whipped and has suspended me by my wrists until I have known I wish to obey him."
"Why did you have to be whipped to come by that realisation?"
"I am but a foolish girl, sir."
Enderby glowed. It was beautiful beyond words. Here was Woman! Here was the Female in her proper role! Here was the answer to most of the world's discontent. He looked at Arumin and nodded in tribute.
"Have you guilt?"
"A salve girl is always guilty, Master."
"Good! Do you deserve punishment?"
"Oh yes, sir, indeed I do." The ardour in the female assurance rang true.
"You may name an appropriate punishment."
"Thank you, sir. Could I have my hands caned, please?"
"Why your hands, child?"
The lovely cheeks flushed. "My bottom has been so well thrashed, sir." The statement was pure apology.
"And the number of strokes, m'dear?"
"Three on each hand, sir, please?"
"Very well. I am pleased. Go and find a cane and bring Nellie up from the kitchen to use it on you. Oh, and explain to Mr. Enderby about Nellie."
"Nellie is the cook's helper, Mr. Enderby. My Master feels that by having her inflict my punishments I am more properly humiliated. I was a noblewoman, now I am thrashed by servants."
"Thank you, my dear." Enderby felt reverent in the face of such total submission. He looked at Arumin with respect. "How the devil did you do it?"
Arumin shrugged. "First, we are dealing with a high intelligence. Lady Conant wants no more of the whip than she knows she must have. Thus, she does what she believes is the less painful of two evils."
"But she sounds sincere brainwashed!"
"Time will tell about that." Arumin smiled reflectively. "I quickly discovered her phobia about suspension. You must have-?"
"She is so exquisite like that."
"I hung her by the wrists several times and found the results most satisfactory. Suspension is a promise she is never allowed to forget."
"But she's more or less free! You let her walk around....?"
"I encourage her to escape. Then punish her. Soon she will shun an open door."
"You're crafty about the marriage. Just possible you might carry it off-if you own a clergyman." Enderby frowned. "We ourselves had the property legally transferred just when Stacey raided us for the first time. He recovered everything." Enderby smirked. "Looks as though you've got an opponent for the lady's hand. And her Castle."
"At least I own her hand. I can shackle it."
Bonnie was the word for Nellie. She was the typical product of an English kitchen. Neither beautiful or ugly she was incurably cheerful. She was, however, short on aspirates.
"Want me ter' cane 'er 'ands, sir?"
"Thank you, Nellie. Three on each. Quite hard please."
"She'll Oowl 'er 'ead off, sir."
"Then let us make a sporting offer: Six for silence, twelve for sound."
Enderby feasted on the startled tableau: Arumin in smiling authority. Lady Conant tensed in dismay. Nellie intrigued and obviously of the opinion silence was impossible under her ministrations. "Should she sort of get ready, sir?"
'Gina did not wait. She removed the few erotic trifles that had disguised her as a maid, then stepped forward to receive her punishment, gloriously naked but sadly striped. "Do you wish me to kneel or stand, sir?"
"Stand. Nellie will adjust your arm."
"A little lower, if you please, miss." Nellie tapped the bare arm with studied care. "I got to ger yer 'and where I can give it a good swish."
'Gina was trembling. She had adjusted her mind to the rigour of six strokes, but to take them in silence! Unhappily, she opened her innocent hand, making the small palm taut in invitation to the cane.
"There will be no unseemly writhings on the rug." Mr. Arumin admonished pleasantly.
The cut, accurate and enthused, beat down the hand extended to receive it. 'Gina' nostrils flared, breath fought breath, eyes widened as though seeing unexpected agony. But she allowed the punished hand to fall listlessly at her side and extended the other. That one, too, she coped with in control.
"A woman beyond price." Said Mr. Arumin thoughtfully.
Enderby was forced to agree, but silently. Lady Conant's acceptance of her caning was superb. Her eyes distant, her manner absent, she raised her arm time after time, then, wounded again, allowed it to fall inert and passive while its twin was similarly punished. When all six strokes had been administered she knelt before the man who had ordered them.
"Thank you for having my hands caned, sir."
"You feel your punishment adequate, m'dear?"
"Yes, sir. But if you wish?" The sweet nakedness tensed in readiness to resume.
Arumin himself was impressed. Reverently, his hand stroked the damp hair of his slave's bent head. "No, no, dear child. You were magnificent. You have had enough."
"Oh, sir, thank you....!" There could be no doubting the sincerity of response. Lady Conant had become a slave girl grateful for her lord's approval.
"I could give 'er six across 'er bottom, sir. I'm sure it wouldn't do no 'arm?" Nellie offered hopefully.
"Thank you. You may return to the kitchen, Nellie."
When the servant had reluctantly returned to the mundane, Arumin fixed Enderby with a deadly eye. "Such a woman is beyond rubies!"
"Shakespear, I believe?" Enderby said equably. "Most apt. But what we have witnessed would be wasted on Mrs. D."
"Replace your uniform, Lady Conant."
"Four million?"
"Hold the uniform, m'dear, we may need you as you are." Arumin bent a severe regard upon the other man. "Five?"
"Let us split the difference like old friends?"
Kaliel Arumin sighed. It would have been hard to tell if in defeat or victory. The look he bestowed upon the trembling nudity held love. "You may put away the uniform, Lady Conant. Then, if you will be kind enough to bring rope and a gag....?"
To 'Gina it was victory. In whatever prison she was now placed there would be Lynne. Her heart blossomed at the thought, refusing to think of the woman who would own them both. She left Kaliel Arumin without regret. The agony of her swollen palms was but a sample of her slavery within his house, and his terribly real intent of marriage was now removed. She would lose Conant once more to Diomedes, that was a foregone conclusion. But what did it matter! Wryly she recognized she was already thinking as a slave. But, dimly in the back of her mind, she remembered Hammond Stacey and smiled.
"You wish to tie Lady Conant yourself, Enderby?" Arumin was unfailingly polite.
"Ah, well thanks! Don't mind if I do. Damn pleasant sport, y'know." The cherubic features outdid themselves in bonhomie. "And now, Lady Conant, if you will stand quite still...?"
Standing to be bound carried its own degradation. It reduced even a slave to being a Thing, an object. But the naked 'Gina stood straight and firm and placed her hurt hands at Enderby's disposal. He placed the palms wound to wound and tied her wrists with neat severity. When his several bands of rope forced her shoulders back and her elbows together she did not complain: it would have been useless. She had come to understand the practicability of thus keeping her in pain, she would be tractable, humble and willing to please. Once more her awareness of slavery was acute.
"She can walk to the car. I can tie her ankles then."
It pleased Enderby to leash her neck and lead her with the rope. In the back seat he used it to bind her ankles and her knees. Hurt and helpless she could give him no trouble. He held up the gag. "Should I use this?"
"Please don't. I hate the thing."
He pursed his lips, reflecting. "On the other hand it might save us both distress. Temptation-?"
'Gina opened her mouth, refusing to argue or promise. The straps compressed her cheeks, the buckle creaked at the nape of her neck. "Lay down, please." The male command directed. When she obeyed they joined her wrists and ankles so she could not rise. Arumin threw a rug over her nudity. It was his last good-bye.
Esther Diomedes was content. All in all, things were well in hand. Stacey had emerged into the open. She had his daughter. She had Lady Conant. Soon she would possess Conant Castle. Stacey was welcome to the two girls he had rescued from Mossadag, there was no profit in either. She chuckled at thought of his chagrin when he learned of her stealing Lynne from beneath his nose. Just a few hours....! Enslavement of Regina Conant was another feather in her cap. Stacey desired her!
"I am curious." She said bluntly. "Use your skills. I'll tolerate a few gaffes but not many."
Lynne recognized the logic of the arrangement. She shrugged a wry grin to where her naked love stood against the boudoir wall, collared and tethered in iron, her leash no more than twelve links. 'Gina could neither recline or walk away. She had to stand and watch. Lynne's own ankles were shackled so she must walk daintily. Her left hand was loosely chained to a metal belt around her waist, her right hand was free. From the House of Diomedes there were no escapes.
"You make a mess, I whip her." Explained Mrs. Diomedes succinctly.
"Thank you for letting me do this for you. I really will try " Lynne Stacey was aware of privilege but still felt silly.
Esther Diomedes rose from before the huge mirror and stood regally at the younger woman's disposal. "You may remove my clothes."
It was a daunting task. Lynne wondered if anyone had ever before beheld a naked Diomedes. It seemed un-likely. Yet, as she progressed with the bulky garments of another age, there began to emerge a figure of unsuspected quality. The Diomedes was forty-two but ageless. She possessed the lithe sleek muscularity of her peasant forbears. She was by no means slender but there were no extra pounds. Her nakedness was Amazonian but classic, a reborn Juno in the flesh, radiating power. Her slavegirl shivered. "Not bad, eh!"
"You are very striking, madam."
"Yes, I strike." There was a Diomedes chuckle. "The armpits? I shave?"
The hirsute mass beneath each arm appalled. "I expect you should, madam." Lynne ventured cautiously.
"You say yes or no. I don't want quibbles. We shave." She patted a massive pubic thatch. "And this?"
"I could trim it with scissors and razer-and your legs."
"Hmmmm. All of me then. We make me bare. Come, we go to the bath. Your darling will still be there when we return."
Only the Diomedes was difficult, and that was mental. Lynne had performed these services for her beloved 'Gina many times. She shaved with skill and laved with gentle hands. Bereft of body hair the Grecian planes and curves were less awesome.
"The chains bother you?"
"No, madam. I have become accustomed to being-fastened."
"Huh. The little beauty out there made you a slave, didn't she. Bit of a change for her now?"
"Yes, madam."
"If you behave I might let you whip her?"
"But I don't want to. Oh, madam, that wouldn't be right for 'Gina and I-"
"It would amuse me though. The look on your face-! And don't be scared of using that towel on my cunt. I'm not a pubescent little mink that starts gasping....Dammit, Hike the effect."
"You have a magnificent mound, madam."
"Say that again properly."
Lynne Blushed. "You have a really beautiful cunt-"
"That's better. I'm going to enjoy training you two. I should have enslaved you both right at the start and saved a lot of bother. Enderby was right. Crafty bastard...."
Back at the big mirror, the mistress spread her thighs and examined the new condition below her belly and her arms without embarrassment. "Good. I like it. You've earned a credit, girl." She sat down, reflectively. "Look, here's the key. You know where the other stuff is. Go and fasten our English aristocrat the same as you, then let her loose from the collar. You can both work on the rest of me."
Lynne was flushed in a strange shyness. She had never bound her beloved except in fun. But these Diomedes chains and belt were grim and very real. She locked them on the unprotesting ankles, waist and wrist with a sense of guilt, of truancy from her proper role. 'Gina picked up the vibrations and smiled at her with love. When the iron collar fell away from the slender throat, they swiftly kissed. Lady Conant was the first to speak.
"Thank you for letting me help, madam."
"Like your chains?"
"They are very beautiful, madam. We neither of us expect ever to escape."
"I saw you kiss back there."
The silence seethed with slave suspense.
"You'll be punished, of course. But not now. I intend to talk to you both about nibbling."
"Thank you, madam."
"Now get on with it. I'm curious as hell."
They got on with it. Femininely wise, skilled in female lore, knowing each other's thoughts without speech, they worked upon the woman who was a legend in the world of wealth. Forgetting what they had become they fell into an intent absorption with their task, feminine Pygmalions inspired to create. The clink of their chains passed unnoticed as their movements became increasingly assured.
"Madam, your lips. They should not be pursed, never. They are full and voluptuous. Moistened, and with this lipstick ... "
"Your eyebrows ... May I shape them, madam?"
"Very well. But remember my threat. It still holds. Make an idiot of me and you'll have the tenderest pair of rumps in London."
"But, madam, you can watch us?"
"I don't want to. I trust you both. Or maybe I trust the whip you both respect. "I want to turn at the finish and get the impact. Dammit, I suppose I'm simply a woman!"
For a little while the two slavegirls were happy. They were doing a female thing they enjoyed, and while they pleased her Esther Diomedes was human. It was a lot better than a cell or a dungeon or chained to the wall.
"I suppose Enderby and me, and that fool place with that fossil, Fonteyn came as a bit of a shock, eh?"
"Yes, madam."
"A lot in a little while, I expect. Difficult adjustment?"
"Yes, madam."
"You say those pretty little 'Yes madams' because you're afraid of punishment, and you won't mess up on what you're now doing for the same reason." The naked Juno pondered. "Does this thought of punishment bother you?"
"We daren't forget it, madam. It's always there."
"I understand that. But suppose we get you into a pattern of behavior in which you don't earn punishment?"
"We are trying to be that now, madam."
"How would six with the cane on your bare bottom every morning first thing help?"
Esther Diomedes laughed at their silence. "Trying to think of something to say that won't offend me?"
"Yes, madam."
"But, seriously, isn't it a good idea?"
"We are scared you are joking, madam."
"I'm not. And don't stop your work because I've got you perturbed. Think of it: when you're punished you get something far worse than six with the cane on your ass. Sometimes something pretty had. If the six every morning prevent that wouldn't they be a boon?"
"Yes, madam, they would. But-"
"Good! That's settled. Don't let me forget. We start tomorrow. But you were going to raise an objection. What was it?"
"We are thinking, Madam that, being slaves, you will wish to punish us in various ways for your own pleasure: nothing to do with our behavior?"
The Diomedes guffaw was hearty. "I've got a treasure in you two. You think of everything O.K. then, I'm a sadistic bitch. But, just the same, starting tomorrow!" She left the rest unsaid, enjoying the flushed cheeks and lips trying hard not to be sulky.
"Have you jewelry, madam?"
"In the centre drawer."
The girls banished thought of the cane on their behinds by immersing themselves in an orgy almost pagan. This woman who owned them was being reborn beneath their deft fingers. They fitted and discarded and fitted again, becoming breathless at what they achieved.
"We think we have finished, madam."
The nude Amazon rose and slowly turned....
It was a moment, a happening, a time for bated breath. After silent minutes observing herself in the glass Esther Diomedes ejected a hearty: "Well, I'll be damned!"
The girls stood back on either side, entranced. Something pagan had occurred. Byzantium had been rebom within Mrs. Diomedes boudoir, Baghdad jostled it for space, and from the wings Cleopatra gazed in envy. The woman before the mirror had become exotic, her nudity bedecked with stones and metal, her hair a cascading monument to Greece. Esther Diomedes had become a barbaric queen.
"Where the devil did you learn to do this!" Her voice was awed.
"We're glad you like it."
"Like it! Why, dammit, I'll never wear clothes again!"
"You've always been beautiful and haven't known...?"
"I'm still not beautiful. I'm magnificent."
"And if you'll let us choose your clothes....?"
Esther turned slowly to gaze upon the two chained girls. She was breathing fast in an excitement all her own. "Been meaning to do this for years. Too blasted busy. But maybe I needed you, you're the answer." She looked at them intently for a long time, pondering. Her handmaidens kept discreetly silent. "If this was a book I'd set you both free."
'Gina and Lynne were breathless in sudden hope.
"Don't look so starry eyed." She shook the immaculately lovely head of their creation. "I'm still a bitch. And now, for sure, I'll never let you go. If I had to weigh you down with a hundred pounds of chain I'd keep you."
"We don't expect to escape, madam. We didn't do this hoping to be set free."
"I believe you. But, dammit, I ought to give you something! Tell you what: well forget about that morning caning for the time being."
Two slavegirls visibly brightened. "Oh thank you, madam!" They looked at each other, feeling a need for something more. "Madam, honest, we really are grateful."
"Good! You can now eat me. I want to try that too."
The silence was loaded. Two shocked slaves gazed at their mistress askance. She laughed at their stricken features. "What's wrong with that! You do it-at least you did before I got you. Why not me too?"
"We're lovers. I mean-" 'Gina knew anything she said now would be wrong. "Try loving me."
"Please, Mrs. Diomedes-"
"Call me madam or mistress. You're a slave!" The Diomedes glowered. "Now hear this! You do as I say or you'll never touch each other again. I'll lock a belt over your cunts six tongues wouldn't penetrate. At night you'll be chained to opposite walls."
Their desolation was piteous.
"You'll take turns at me. I'll stand and you'll kneel between my legs. That's the way I see it. I may never do what you call 'come.' But we'll see how good you are at that too. I'm still curious." The Diomedes finger pointed, the Empress had favoured her slave. "You, Lady Conant, you first."
Refusing to meet eyes, 'Gina knelt between the stalward thighs. Female musk was heavy as she raised her lips.
CHAPTER NINE. SEQUESTERED.
"I'm terribly sorry." Said Bettina with genuine concern. "But what can I do?"
"You can untie our elbows." 'Gina said hopefully.
"Yes of course, in a minute." The platinum beauty was upset. "They've given me Jiminey's job and everything's difficult. I mean, I'm one of the girls really. And they keep my feet chained, it's awfully embarrassing with the clients."
"Our elbows?" Lynne hinted firmly.
"Yes your elbows....The thing is that the damn woman left a letter. I'm supposed to read it to you. Do you know whether you're both for sale again? I forgot to ask."
"We're not for sale, Bettina. And don't worry. We won't be a bit of bother, not after you've untied our elbows...."
"Oh dear, I'm so sorry. Just turn round a minute."
Two slavegirls turned, exchanging a wry grin. It was not exactly coming home but Bettina was sweet. They heaved a concerted sigh as the bindings were cut away and peeled from their skin.
"There, that better? Oh, and I have to do your hands. That woman says I'm to handcuff you instead of rope-she left the handcuffs. Do you mind?"
"Did she leave the key?"
"It's here somewhere, I know it is. Anyway, I've got the cuffs. Hold still a minute."
"Behind our backs?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so. But she did seem to think you'd be more comfortable than being tied. I haven't been handcuffed yet but I bet they are."
"You can wear mine." Lynne giggled.
"Don't think I wouldn't! You've got it better than I have. All this worry, and Mr. Fonteyn says I'll be punished horribly if I make a boob. I say, darlings, I've just noticed you're both naked. Does that mean you're being punished some way?"
"She keeps us naked. I think it's you who's going to have to punish us. She said it was in the letter?"
"Oh damn, I keep forgetting. There was something. Here, let me just finish....Isn't it cute the way handcuffs go click, click, click and get lovely and snug. Mmmmmm, your hands are looked after....You can turn round again."
"Oh wow! Ouch....! Bettina, what the-!" 'Gina looked down at her breasts. From each nipple a small shining clip pertly protruded, its teeth well embedded in her flesh imparting a steady burn.
"Now you, darling." Bettina looked at Lynne expectantly.
"But I don't want-!"
"That's a good girl. If you keep still and stick your chest out I can do it better."
"Oh damn, they hurt! They're little beasts."
"They are, aren't they." Bettina agreed brightly. "I've had to wear 'em often enough so I know. But it's sorta' cute the way they bob when you walk."
"But what have we done?"
"Nothing. That woman seemed to think you needed things to remember her by. She gave me the clips along with the handcuffs." Bettina looked at 'Gina's breasts solicitously. "Would you mind if I put them on better? I didn't make a very good job. They sometimes hurt more when they're not on right."
"And they hurt like fury when they're changed."
"Well, yes. But in the long run...?"
Bettina was sweet. It was hard not to feel sorry for her concern about her charges and her unwanted job. She would probably exploit that sympathy, but still...! 'Gina stuck out her chest. "There they are, the only two breasts and nipples I've got. Go easy on 'em."
"You're a dear." Bettina made swift adjustments and 'Gina exclaimed: "Ouch! Ohhhhh, Ouch!" The clips bobbed cheerfully in their new position.
"Darlings, let me make a quick scan of this letter for you. Come in my office. Sounds good, eh. 'My Office'!"
They followed, feeling nude and strange and helpless. The handcuffs felt unkind, but if you did not tug at them they did not hurt. They were resigned to the small torments on their breasts. They sat patiently while their lovely wardress read hastily.
"It says she has to go away a lot and you'll be safer here because a man named Stacey may raid her home. She says you have to be punished a little every day...." Bettina paused. "I don't suppose you want to hear the list?"
"Yes, we'd like to. If we don't know the suspense will drive us nuts."
Bettina sighed. "Well, I can cane your bottoms every morning if you'd like me to?"
"Of course we wouldn't like you to! Do we have a choice?"
"Well yes. If you don't want the cane in the mornings you must have your elbows tied in the afternoon. Or be suspended in the afternoon. Or stand with that silly prong up inside all afternoon. And there's a thing called "The Horse" It's "
"We know about the Horse, Bettina. Is the list much longer?"
"You can stand in the corner looking at the wall....? It sounds a cinch but it's awful. I've had that too. And you must always be naked, and you have to wear those clips on your tits every second day, and there's a small compartment where it's pitch dark and they put mice in with you, and-"
"We'll take the cane every morning."
"It's six on your bare bottom-hard!"
"We'll have to put up with it. Those other things-Ouch! At least our punishments will be over'and done with."
"The letter says that when she's home she'll take you back. You both service her, don't you? I mean-"
"We know what you mean, darling, and, yes, we do."
"To make it easy and safe she's arranged for her car to drive right into the warehouse here. No one will see you."
"And we can't escape either. That figures."
Bettina looked surprised. "At the end she says she loves you both very much."
Bettina saw their embarrassment and quickly covered it. "This escape thing." She said soberly. "I think about it a lot. When they promoted me I felt sure there'd be a way. But there isn't. I'm just as much a prisoner as you." She sighed wanly. "I'm a beautiful girl, I know I am. But I'm imprisoned for life. I'll never have a husband or children or anything. No money, no fun, not even fresh air."
"Someone will buy you, Bettina."
"Someone bought you, but did it do you any good?" Bettina sniffed. "I'm not even for sale while I've got this job." She laughed bitterly. "And, wouldn't you know! Just because I'm not part of the inventory there's been four offers-even at the price they want for me! Damn!" She shrugged hopelessly. "Blood fool men! It's because my hands are free but my feet are chained. They get an erection out of the contrast while I do my sales pitch."
"But, Bettina darling, you don't get whipped or anything-the way we do."
"I sometimes wish I did." She shook her expensive hair. "Sorry, kids, I'm in a spot of self pity. It gets to me. I've been here so long, and these chains on my ankles...! I'm terribly ashamed."
"Don't be. You're gorgeous."
"Are those things on your breasts hurting bad? I suppose I could take 'em off. Fonteyn never comes near and the chap who does-"
"We're not going to get you in trouble, darling. Punish us the way you have to. We won't complain-at least, not much."
"Thanks." Bettina looked at them forlornely. "I'm frightened of the word 'punishment.' When they use it in relation to me I'm pretty sure they mean something damn awful. I know it's to keep me on my toes with the clients and making sales, and all that. But still-"
They eyed each other ruefully: three captive girls! Two of them clinked the handcuffs they could not see, the other rattled her ankle chain beneath the desk. "I didn't show you the cage, darlings." Bettina's natural effervesence was reviving. "You absolutely must see the Cage."
It should have been a birdcage, but for a very large bird. It contained a naked and sulky girl who instantly pitched her plaint.
"Bettina, why do I have to have my hands tied in here? It's bad enough not being able to stand."
"We've gone over that before, love."
"That's horseshit about guys buying us just because we're locked in here. Nobody's bought me."
"There hasn't been a client in yet, stupid."
"Well anyway, I'm tired of sitting all hunched up. How about putting one of the other girls in for a change?"
"Well ... I suppose...." Bettina turned. "Any of you others want in there?"
"If you untied my hands."
"Would I have to be naked?"
"If I sit in there all day, could I be forgiven that whipping I'm supposed to get?"
"You girls...!" Bettina surveyed her charges distractedly. "You're all-"
"III go in there. I don't mind. I want to be sold."
She was dark, petite, her breasts as perky as her retrousse nose and gamin face. She rose from the cushions on which she had reclined. "But if you want me naked you'll have to do it, I can't."
'Gina watched, amused. She sensed the unutterable boredom in which these girls spent their days. In similar circumstances she might have volunteered for the cage herself. She-realized, disgustedly, that if the Diomedes was often absent she and Lynne could become the oldest inhabitants, lolling handcuffed and useless on the cushions like armless odalisques awaiting the favour of their lord.
She fingered the metal bands upon her wrists. They were still strange and somehow foreign. She was still finding it hard to believe they could resist her fingers or that her feminine hands could not slip out of their grip. Rope was personal, never allowing you to forget the intent of the girl who had tied the knots, but the locked chrome had the impersonality of a uniformed policeman and carried the stigma of criminal association. But the Diomedes had been kind. A girl could remain handcuffed forever and, if passive in her metal bond, would bear no wound. But rope chafed. With rope a girl always believed that if only she tried and twisted hard enough ...!
'Gina examined with faint curiosity Mr. Fonteyn's current inventory. None of them could have been in her outrageous captivity many days yet they were amazingly resigned. There was only a smattering of whip marks on their lovely bodies, and their features showed none of the animation of rebellion or escape. It was being bound: that was it! With hands tied behind their back day after day they had become docile. Bettina's casual good intentions would engender no animosity. Perhaps, after all, the management's policy, their choice of a captive girl for wardress was shrewd and born of a psychological study of youthful females in captivity.
It was hard not to be piqued by the total lack of sympathy for the punishment she and Lynne bore so bitingly upon their breasts. No one noticed. The chrome clips shone brightly and thrust themselves out for attention but no one cared. The girls were bored with each other. Bored with breasts and bellies and pubic hair and the absence of hands through which they might have found communion. A group of men would have found more interest in each other, but these were girls at an ardent age, young and pulsing, emanating a sexual sensuality for which they had no audience. What they wanted was a male. They would desire him in the image of their own personal fantasy, but had already reached the point of being thrilled by the prospect of purchase, of being sold, of being taken from this place by a member of the opposite sex. No doubt the gaudy dream of a wealthy hawk eyed Oil Sheik prevailed. For one in ten it might come true.
Bettina was a jewel. She was absorbed, at the moment, with the removal of such scanty attire as the small girl wore. It was sparse and provocative. If a client wanted to see what he was getting it was easy for the wardress to whisk the female attributes into view.
"I don't mind about my hands, Bettina. I know you have to keep me tied."
The reluctant wardress kissed the petite nude affectionately. "You're a gem, Wendy. I hope a handsome Prince buys you and you live happily ever after."
"Maybe he'll buy you and the cage both." The sulky inmate was edging her way from behind the bars with serpentine wriggles. Cheered by a partial freedom, she exclaimed. "Gosh, Bettina, thanks for letting me out, thanks a lot."
"It's not all that bad in here, Jennifer." An agile Wendy was already within her small prison. "Kinda' cute really. They must have used my measurements when they made the cage."
"Isn't she sweet!" It was as though Bettina took pride in a well housed pet. "I wish the rest of you would be that cheerful."
"What have we got to be cheerful about?"
"Bought by some old geezer who'll whip my ass off!"
"Screwed to death in a brothel!"
"Oh, shut up!" Jennifer glared at her fellow captives. "It's bad enough to know it's going to happen, without harping on it. As for a whorehouse, they couldn't afford us, we're too high priced." She chuckled bitterly. "Boy, what they'd have to charge!"
The afternoon drifted into evening without a sale. Not a single client had been ushered through the door that otherwise was fast locked. A still perky but disappointed Wendy was released from her cage. With night the girls paired off. Lynne and 'Gina paired off too. It would have been better with their hands but it was still wonderful. They refused to think of morning.
But tomorrow came.
"I've got to cane a pair of bottoms. Do you girls want to watch?" Bettina posed her question with an airy benevolence.
"Bettina!" Lady Conant knew herself blushing. "Don't we have anything to say?"
"Well, I thought you wouldn't mind. I mean, it's an awful drag for the poor kids just sitting around. No clients!"
"It's bad enough to get my bottom caned, without making a Gala event out of it."
"I could insist, y'know." Bettina once more looked upset. "But I don't suppose I will. I mean, if you both really hate the idea we can use one of the rooms?"
Gina felt a bitch. Bettina had that effect. "O.K--"
"O.K.!" She conceded grandly. "If it gives someone pleasure. Lynne and I aren't going to enjoy it either way."
"I'll suffer in a good cause." Lynne agreed. She looked around at faces suddenly curious. "I bet some of you kids have never seen a woman getting her bottom whipped?"
"Gosh, no!"
"What on Earth have you done to deserve-?"
"You don't mean you're actually willing to bend over and let Bettina beat your bottom!"
"You see!" The wardress exclaimed proudly. "They're ever so grateful." She beamed impartially. "And I did have sort of an idea-about them getting in on the act."
There was a cautious silence.
"I mean, it's awfully hard to bend over and keep still for six cuts with the cane. I thought it might be nice if the girls took turns at holding your neck between their thighs....? You know, sort of a clamp or a set of stocks so you can't dither around."
"We wouldn't dither around."
"Well no. But the girls-!"
"We promise not to pee on you." Said female encouragement.
"And we smell real sexy down there."
"I think it's a groovey idea."
"Bettina, could I be untied long enough to give 'em a few swishes? I've never whipped a bottom."
"No."
"I'll let you tie me again. I promise."
"You see, dears, the poor things are so enthusiastic. You're doing a real kindness." Bettina was once more starry eyed. She looked at the handcuffed pair with bright expectancy. "Which of you would like to be first?"
The girl's skimpy skirt was just long enough to place 'Gina in semi gloom. The soft hot thighs clamped 'Gina's neck as a female vise. The naked bent over girl about to be caned fought away claustrophobia at the unexpectedly total control exercised by the fleshly stocks. As far as she could tell, she was helpless. Her small prison was redolent of musk.
In the heated excitation of female scents and female flesh, 'Gina had forgotten the cane. It cut her bottom unexpectedly and without warning. The flash of fire sent her surging against the compulsions on her neck, rearing upward to compress the plump damp pudendum of her constraint. But the thighs held her easily. There was no escape.
"Poor darling, that hurt her. Gee, she jumped."
There were feminine giggles. In consolation Bettina stroked the captive nipples, still tender from yesterday's clips. 'Gina twisted in an unhappy realisation of untidiness. She must look ridiculous with her hands held awkwardly at her back, straddled legs, and her head buried beneath a skimpy skirt. She hoped Bettina would hurry up and get it over. The second swish hurt enough to stop her thinking, but she absorbed it without sound or struggle.
"I daren't hit you too lightly, love, in case someone counts your stripes." Bettina apologised.
"Just hit me quick and get me out of here."
"She's ungrateful." Complained the owner of the thighs.
"Let's turn her round so we can all see her better, and get rid of my dress so I can get a look."
It was done, delightedly. In animation, the girls had become more beautiful. A red faced Lady Conant placed her neck in bondage once again, this time to mingle her own hair against a shining pubic bush. The cane sliced her bottom briskly in affirmation of Esther Diomedes love."
"Gollies, that's made me horny." Said the thighs in pleased surprise. "Bettina, can I go in a bedroom with someone?"
Two girls departed, hand in hand. If the captives knew nothing of lesbianish before, they knew it now. It was concomitant to the slavery of giiis. There were hushed giggles.
"Could I, please? Before I go back in the cage?" Wendy pleaded.
Lynne bent in homage to the sweet young nakedness who proffered her not open arms but open thighs. She gasped and trembled as the hostly feminine bonds clamped shut upon her neck. Wendy was small but strong. She moreover exuded a pubic perfume against which the captive knew she would have no defense. So potent were the vibes from the joyous nymphet that Lynne gasped in orgasm at the fifth stroke. Amidst reverent approval Bettina slashed number six with cunning wisdom to impact upon the pouting pussy impudently peeping backward from a captive crotch. Lynne screamed and surged and writhed so that Wendy, too, exploded with her in a constellation of ecstasy.
"Maybe you should cane us all." Said Jennifer wonderingly. "If that's the effect I wouldn't mind-"
The buzzer's warning held the urgency of rare use. Bettina looked flustered. "Oh damn, a client....!" She looked around appealingly. "Someone tell those two girls...."
Wendy leaped for the cage, inserted herself with deft wriggles, and pleaded. "Lock me in ... Hurry!"
Chained ankles are not conducive to speed but a flushed Bettina did her best. The padlock clicked its promise of captivity for the laughing child within the bars. The wardress clinked her way to the fateful door and rapped upon the panel her acknowledgement of girls ready to be sold. It opened with a flourish and a man strode grandiloquently through the portal.
It was Mr. Arumin.
There was about him an air of immense satisfaction, a man who had matters well in hand and knew where he was going. He patted Bettina's deferential bottom genially. "More beautiful than ever, m'dear. One of these days I really must buy you."
"Thank you, sir."
His interest roved the scattered maidens but came instantly to rest upon the cage. "Ah ha, what have we here!"
"It's for naughty girls, sir."
Arumin was enraptured. The vibrant bundle of mischief behind the bars looked up at him in an innocent homage to male superiority. "Please buy me, sir." Wendy's voice was sweetly dulcet. "I'm ever so nice."
"You may consider her sold." Said Mr. Arumin with regal decision. "I will take the cage too."
"But her price, sir!" Bettina had a sense of something missing. "Don't you want to know-?"
Arumin waved a lordly hand. "I have just concluded a most satisfactory financial transaction, m'dear. Let us not quibble."
It was then he saw 'Gina.
There was mutual shock. Somehow there passed between them a pact of silence. A burning bottom was forgotten, a quick mental computation made. "I'll take that one too." Announced Arumin with elan. "I'm afraid she's not for sale, sir."
"Nonsense! You are all for sale." He bent a fatherly regard upon his former slave. "Lady Regina Conant, I believe?"
"Why are you here, child?"
"To be kept in safe custody while Mrs. Diomedes is absent, master."
"Hmmmmm ... her!" He turned to his guide. "You run a kennel service here?"
Bettina squirmed. "Mrs. Diomedes is influential, sir-"
"I know all about her." Kaliel Arumin dismissed his competition with an airy gesture. "Take off your clothes, please."
"But, sir-?"
"I wish to see you naked."
"Of course, sir. But still-!"
"I'm sure you've been naked before a man?" He was drily amused and enjoying himself. "I expect you have breasts and a cunt-possibly some pubic hair?"
"Exquisite! Why have you not sold?"
"My price was very high, sir. And now-"
"Clasp your hands behind your neck and turn slowly."
Bettina's breathing quickened. She wished her ankles were not fettered. Arumin's admiration was heady stuff. Obediently she slowly turned, thrusting out her breasts, biting her lips to make them red, suddenly glorying in her own loveliness.
"I will buy you too."
"Huh!" Arumin glared at the door without a handle. "We'll see about that. Get me out of here." Bettina rapped the signal.
CHAPTER TEN. THE SORTED SLAVES.
It all happened with absurd dispatch. After the initial tension filled wait, in which Wendy cooed jubilation and wriggled gleefully behind her bars, Bettina sped distractedly to a mirror and the comfort of cosmetics and hairbrush, and Lady Regina Conant stood erect in shame at her involuntary submission, the door opened to admit a victorious Arumin and a Robert Fonteyn who looked somewhat more withered and imposed upon than usual.
Lady Conant and Lynne Stacey were instantly gagged. They had things to say but would not say them now. Each recognized Fonteyn's wisdom in rendering them mute. He wanted neither reproaches or questions. Hating their distended cheeks and the bite of straps they exchanged their desolation from anguished eyes. Recognizing inevitability, 'Gina stood quietly for her hands to be re-tied and her elbows strictured. She ruefully thought of the painful ropes deep in her flesh as her 'going away costume.' Certainly they were conducive to docility.
When Bettina's garment was removed and she stood expectantly nude there was a murmur of shock. The girls sensed drama. Wnen her hands were tied behind her back and her elbows drawn together by unrelenting bands there was a breathlessness as the captives beheld their impending loss. Her eyes sparkled when her purchaser spoke of her shackled feet.
"Leave her chained. I like the effect."
The two men from the warehouse were aware of privilege. Their grins were respectful but wide. They picked up Wendy's cage with her inside and carried the happy package through the other door. 'Gina's feet had not been bound. She meekly followed, not daring to again seek Lynne's stricken gaze. Behind her, Bettina's chain clinked joyously.
Within the warehouse was a panel truck, its door wide open in invitation to its prey. The captive beauties were ushered within, the door was closed. Mr. Arumin's shipping was complete.
"I did try." Bettina lamented. "But he wouldn't buy Lynne along with you. He said something about nibbling...."
'Gina nodded. She understood.
"I don't think I can get your gag off, darling. I would try but we'd only be punished. And anyway, you can nod or shake your head."
"I wonder why they didn't gag us." Wendy queried from within her cage. "Gollies, I'm excited! Do they do that, you know, thing to us right away or do we get whipped or something?"
"I don't know. Isn't that silly, I really don't. I've never been sold before." Bettina giggled. "We could ask 'Gina, she knows. But the poor darling can't say a word."
"Can't you even guess?"
"Ask him to whip you. I'm sure he'll oblige. I'd do it myself if I could. You're altogether too damn perky."
"Wouldn't it be a lark if he's forgotten the key! I say, Bettina, what's it feel like to be tied up? I mean, after you've been sort of our mistress?"
"I'd sooner have walked out with my clothes on. But since this is the only way I'd ever leave the place I'll take it and be thankful."
"But suppose Mr. Arumin whips you?"
"So he whips me! There's nothing I can do-"
"Why do men like whipping girls?"
"I don't know that either, they just do." Bettina pondered. "But there's females too ... I got horny as all get out using that cane on those lovely little bottoms this morning. As for you, you little mink...!"
Wendy giggled comfortably. "Y ou've lost your chance. You can't get at me in here. Besides, you're all tied up." She paused in erotic reflection. "I've never had men do that, you know what, to me. Is it really as big as they say?"
"Probably bigger."
"You're kidding! It wouldn't go in."
"You've got a surprise coming, kid." Bettina laughed ruefully. "The way you climaxed this morning I'd say you could probably accept anything Arumin's likely to have."
"Do you really think so!" Wendy was intrigued. "But will he be able to do all three of us? I mean, a girl usually has just one husband?"
"It will serve you right if he doesn't do it to you at all and whips you twice a day instead-"
'Gina listened to their half serious banter. For each of them this was an adventure, cherishing hope. They would be seeing visions of marriage or escape or a lush and loving concubinage. The demeaning realities of slavery would be thrust to the back of their minds. She envied them their brief happiness.
She thought of Conant. Esther Diomedes had delayed the signing of a second set of documents too long. The Castle was still her own. She wondered, wanly, if she would ever see it again and if Hammond Stacey was still in residence. He was her only hope. If only he could know her whereabouts and disposition! But how could he know! And to make things worse, Lynne would be sold to a slavery in which she would vanish without trace. In sudden revolt she struggled against her bindings to find relief in pain, relief against the most agonizing frustration of her life.
And Esther Diomedes! Fonteyn had betrayed a trust, sold a property he did not own. Or had the Diomedes told him to sell her-for a price! She had no way of knowing. Bettina might possess a clue, but, gagged, she could not ask. Tears of helplessness fathered but she blinked them back. Hammond Stacey would find her. ... He would, he would! She must cling to that belief. In the meantime she would question her fellow slave, if she got the chance! If-if-if....!
She knew the room, she had been there before, and suffered. It was a pleasant room converted to the discipline of girls. In it slaves were taught their manners. Mr. Arumin surveyed his purchases with approval, one in a cage, two still bound. Thoughtfully, he removed 'Gina's gag. She remembered her cue.
"Thank you, master."
How easily slavery returned! It possessed a girl. In it she found a strange comfort: she was owned and without decision. She had only to breathe, to scream, and to be beautiful and obedient. Sometimes her master would be kind.
"I am thinking of a small introductory period, m'dear."
'Gina sank to her knees, but gently he raised her to stand erect. "You are a practiced slave, Lady Conant. I want you to show these delightful girls the meaning of obedience."
"Yes, master."
"You will not like what I am about to do."
"It does not matter, master. I am a slave."
"You see." Arumin beamed at an enthralled damsel in a cage and a bound and bewildered beauty. "Lady Conant is most marvelously trained....And it took such a little time."
"Master, why do you call a slavegirl by a title she no longer deserves?"
"Because it pleases me. It emphasises your sweet humility. The mighty, now fallen."
"Thank you, master."
"I am going to suspend you."
She caught her breath. She might have known! Arumin would truly repossess her, making her plead and be abject before a shocked Bettina and a wide eyed child in a cage. Woodenly, she did her best.
"As you wish, master."
He tilted her chin and kissed her in a way he had never done. Remembering his threat of marriage, she quailed. But his lips had been tender. Men were strange, they wanted so much of a woman, so much even of a slave. There was a lot about Arumin she had yet to learn.
"I am going to take the ropes from your arms. When it is done you will offer me your hands to be bound anew."
"Yes, master." Her voice was acceptance, without parody.
'Gina stood. Or perhaps it was Lady Regina Conant who stood with a pleasant sensation of male attention to be untied. She moaned in sensual relief as her elbows were freed. When she could part her wrists she spent only moments in grateful massage before extending her hands. She watched her master bind them with care, several loops to spread the strain and hold her helpless, with her feet finding only air on which to tread. She wondered if she could bear it better now, or would it be as frighteningly awful as before!
The room was well equipped. A motor whirred and tautened the tether by which she would hang. Her hands rose up before her eyes and beyond. She did not watch. When her toes left the floor she gasped and emitted the smallest of her moans. She looked at Arumin. He smiled in happiness.
"And you, my dear?" The Master spoke to Bettina as to a child. "Have you been as you see Lady Conant now?"
The girl with chained feet shook her head, nonplussed. "You mean you're going to tie me up? Hang me? Like that? Oh ... sir...!"
"Should I not?"
Through her own travail 'Gina beheld Bettina's distress, wondering if dreams were shattering around the feet of the lovely nudity whose words, when they came, were innocent.
"I don't know, sir. I'm sorry, I just don't."
"But you have feelings?"
"Just frightened, sir."
"Do you not wish to plead?"
"No, sir. You bought and paid for me. I have to do what you wish." The lovely shoulders fluttered helplessly. "And anyway, I can't do anything...."
"Will you be obedient as 'Gina?"
"Yes."
"I want you to tell me why. Is not your mind filled with thoughts of escape?"
"I cannot escape, sir. We both know that." Bettina's voice gained assurance. "I would if I could." She hesitated. "I'll obey you because if I don't I'm sure you'll punish me, and you're a lot stronger than I am....Or do you want me to fight and try to get away so you'll have an excuse? I'm adult about such things."
'Gina watched as another girl was made as she herself. Bettina's breasts fluttered under accelerated breathing. She made her own small sounds when the ropes were taken from her flesh. The holding out of her hands was poignantly beautiful, a sight to tear the heart. When her feet felt only air beneath their toes she moaned but one small moan and, looking at her companion in distress, smiled wanly in recognition of shared agony.
For minutes the Master admired his nude creations. He found their taut stretched loveliness unutterably satisfying. Compared to these suspended girls money had no significance. For him they were the essence of life itself. Amused at a Puckish impulse, he attached a rope to the ring at the top of Wendy's cage and pressed the appropriate button on the wall. When the small barred prison was four feet from the ground it stopped, swaying gently as its occupant moved.
"Are you weary of your cage, child?"
"Well, sort of...." Wendy was being cautious. "Why have you hung me up?"
"Do I not have a title?"
Wendy giggled. "O.K. Master. Don't I get the same as the others?"
"You wish that?"
"Golly, no! It looks like a real drag. But what are you going to do with me?" She giggled again. " ... Master?"
"Leave you as you are."
Wendy wilted, feeling deprived. "I'm not just a kid, y'know. I'm every bit as female."
"You desire rape?"
"Not just like that! Jeepers!"
"You are an impudent child. Stay in your cage and reflect. Perhaps after a few days...."
Kaliel Arumin nodded cheerfully. His world was now complete. He left his three purchases alone with their thoughts.
The room was suddenly very large, and very lonely, and bereft of hope.
"He doesn't mean that, does he?" Wendy was indignant. "I mean, leaving me here for days?"
"You're better off than we are."
"Well yes, but what about when I have to pee?"
"Maybe he'll throw in some sawdust."
"It's not funny." Wendy was piqued by what she saw as discrimination. But she was also avidly curious. "I say, darlings, does that hurt much?"
"It's awful."
"Don't sound so mad at me, I only asked. Gollies, have you any idea what that stretch does to your boobs and pussies? Jeepers!"
"We can imagine."
"Can't you wiggle around and get loose?"
"No."
"But you haven't even tried."
"It hurts too much. Just shut up, will you. It hurts to talk."
Wendy sniffed, she turned her attention to her cage. Her efforts to explore its secrets with her bound hands set her to swinging like a pendulum. Having made contact with the padlock and hinges of the door with tied but twisting fingers, she exclaimed as though at discovery: "I can't get out of this!"
"You weren't intended to, dear."
"Isn't he going to-do something to us?"
"Don't see how he can manage it when we're like this."
Conversation languished and lapsed. Wendy contemplated a drab vista, the suspended beauties longed only for the floor beneath their feet. Hours passed in torment-or what seemed like hours. Heads drooped lower and lovely features became more wan. 'Gina wept silently. He had done to her the thing she hated most. She wanted to die but knew she would not. She made a resolution to be the most obedient slave in captivity. It was her only hope.
Animation was restored by the arrival of Esther Diomedes.
She did not come of her own volition but was escorted by two large and muscular retainers of The House. Strong as they might be, they had their hands full, Mrs. Diomedes was not a willing guest. She was swearing fluently in several languages, none of them English, and writhing her own muscularity in a prodigious determination to escape the hands upon her arms. But the hands were skilled and brutal. At the end of several minutes of intense stress the woman who owned an Empire hung suspended in a perfect 'X,' her arms spread wide from bands about her wrists, her feet tugged far apart and anchored to the floor they could not touch.
"I'll have you killed for this."
They paid no heed, but stripped her naked, tearing away the costly garments with which she had replaced her former shapelessness. Her magnificent opulence proclaimed itself to its finest advantage under the strain of a bondage more revealing than that of the forlorn maidens she faced at a distance of fifteen feet.
The woman was as skilled as the men. While they held fast the protesting head, she used her instruments and her cosmetics to make the Diomedes features as magnificant as the panting torso. When she had perfected the face she moved lower to the breasts, the nipples, the taut navel and the sundered sex. When she was done the trio left their prey. The barbaric splendor of their creation glared defiantly at the man who now drank in her impotence with avid eyes.
"Arumin, you'll die for this!"
"But not now, madam."v
"Alright, what do I have to pay to get out of this?"
"Not a penny, madam. You simply do not get out."
"Stop staring at my cunt. Let me down."
"Your cunt will be used later by my men. I was estimating its capacity. You will stay as you are."
"You son of a bitch!" She spat like a tigress caged. Suddenly she recognized the hanging nudity. "Where the devil did you get that girl? She's mine!"
"But I have you, madam."
"You polite bastard! How'd you talk Fonteyn out of her?"
"Money. He felt sure he could reason with you."
"I'll have the wrinkled old fart castrated. And as for you-!"
"Madam, quite soon I am going to thrash you into some semblance of femininity."
It was as though she saw him for the first time. The invective died, tense in her 'X' Esther Diomedes surveyed her captor in silence. After several minutes Arumin, satiated with sight of the embattled breasts and a pudendum that seemed to glower back at his regard, turned his back and went to where his purchases of that morning hung awaiting his pleasure. Nonchalantly, he lowered 'Gina's feet to the floor.
Lady Conant said nothing, content merely to obey. She watched in silence while he untied her hands. While Arumin went to the cupboard she massaged her wrists placing her fingers in the deep weals in wonder. Beside her the slender nakedness of Bettina hung in punishment When her master turned back he carried a whip. He placed it in her hand.
"You have the greatest privilege in this world, my dear. Use this lovely instrument on Esther Diomedes."
'Gina looked at the wicked thing in wonder. She allowed her master to lead her to stand before the most impressive, and most helpless, nudity she had ever seen. "Whip her breasts and her cunt, m'dear. I doubt if she would feel it on her back."
The two women looked steadily at each other, exchanging vibes. Lady Conant allowed the whip to slide from her hand to the floor. Her voice trembled. "I'm sorry. I can't do that. Mrs. Diomedes was not unkind to me."
"You must."
She fell to her knees before him, buried her face in her hands and wept. "Master, I cannot....!" She sobbed heartbrokenly, guessing her fate.
The Master sighed and was about to speak when Esther Diomedes intervened. "Whip me you little fool. He'll hang you up again if you don't."
"I cannot. You said you loved me."
"I do. But whip me. You have no choice."
"I have a choice."
The girl called 'Gina walked back to where suffering awaited her body. The rope still hung from the pulley. It had been but a few minutes....Apatheticly she watched her hands re-bound, holding them out for her master's convenience, seeing the same strands bite the same weals and the same knots deliver her back into pain. When her toes left the floor and her shoulders shrieked protest she whimpered, that was all.
"I doubt, madam, you have ever been woman enough to have orgasm?"
She refused to answer.
"You will have one now and you will share it."
"The object being inserted within you, madam, was designed as a thing of humour, an immensity beyond the practical. In you it has found its destiny. Congratulations."
"Pig!" It was all she would say.
The ministering hands now bandaged. First the taut belly, then the belt, cinching the spread crotch between the thighs. Tight, tight, and tighter still. Before the dildo disappeared a switch was pushed....The bandages neatly diapered both dildo and Diomedes, making them one. A faint hum delcared its presence in the room.
'Gina did not forget her pain, but she bore it as the price of entry to a theatre she would remember all her life. Bettina, too, was painfully intent. Within her cage, Wendy was pressed against the bars in wide eyed fascination.
"Must you watch?" It was Mrs. Diomedes only plea.
"We will all watch." Said Kaliel Arumin pleasantly.
The battle between the naked Amazon and the vibrating enemy within her sheath was not instantly dramatic. Stoically the Diomedes eyes sought a horizon above her tormentor's head, she hung motionless refusing to acknowledge the presence of the buzzing weapon with which her cunt must cope. Arumin found a chair and disposed himself comfortably.
It began with motions of the regal head, a tossing and twisting as at an irritant fly, a mane of hair was tossed fruitlessly. Then the hands, a clenching of a fist, the spreading wide of fingers that could reach nothing. Finally, a gasp and heavy breathing to set in motion the giant breasts.
"Madam, surely you do not respond?"
"Drop dead."
The response became undeniable. The Diomedes might remain aloof, but her redundant femaleness was not immune. Within the framework of the ropes that stretched it wide her curves began their tribute to the invader of her loins. Small writhings, a jerk, a thrust, an easement of the hips....It was a symphony of the flesh testing its prelude for the crescendo still to come.
"The batteries are guaranteed for many hours, madam."
'Gina was thankful it was not her own sheath housing the frictioning horror. It would be bad enough to be obliged to climax before an audience. ... But that there should be no surcease ... that the agonizing ecstasy should go on and on without pause, dissolving her vitality in a langour denied by the cruel beginnings of a recurring cycle!
Perhaps she was lucky as she was.
"How many millions do you want, Arumin?" It was Mrs. Diomedes first concession, signalled by a mantling blush of chagrin.
"None, madam. You are beyond price."
"Take this thing out of me and whip me decently?"
"All in good time, madam. Be patient."
It was an enforced patience. When it was rewarded by heavings and moans that spoke vividly of screaming glands and frantic nerves, Mr. Arumin began, with care and precision, to whip the feminine attributes so wantonly displayed for his attention. With excellent timing, his lash flicked breast, buttock and thigh to accompany the growing pressures of the volcano within. When the volcano erupted with such violence as was to be expected from such superb flesh, his whip became more cruel and more searching. In the final spasms 'Gina found her own hips working in a vicarious sharing of woman's eternal travail.
It did not stop. The faint buzz continued, the whip became dominant in the pinioned woman's suffering, its weals beginning to etch the moist and glistening skin hot in a concupiscence it could not control. The Diomedes was obviously fighting to maintain a motionless indifference to her flogging, but her flesh betrayed. It jerked, it quivered, finally it writhed in uninhibited recognition of the unbearable. The eyes and the wet and heavy lips bore witness to the regenerating violence within the Diomedes cunt. She moaned only slightly but she moaned. For her, it would be an admission of defeat.
It was at that moment Lynne Stacey entered.
"Ah, Miss Stacey! Your father is well, I trust?" Kaliel Arumin was unperturbed. "Would you care to use this whip a little while on this magnificent flesh?"
Lynne took the lash. Holding it diffidently, she asked. "Did you leave a letter-?"
"With our poor worried Fonteyn? Yes indeed. Since you are here I take it he managed to let you find your father? Or was it your father who found you?"
"He set me free and let me phone Conant, and here we are."
"All is for the best." Said Mr. Arumin sententiously. "May I suggest her rump, it is a worthy target. The sounds of impact I have been getting have been memorable-"
"Dammit', Arumin, is this your idea of a joke!" Hammond Stacey strode into the chamber with harsh intent but stopped in a grudging admiration for Arumin's bizarre tableaux.
"Alas yes." Arumin made a deprecating gesture. "Not in good taste perhaps. But still-?"
"Damned dramatic! Good heavens, isn't that the Diomedes?"
"Our dear Esther is completing her education. She has just discovered she is female. Miss Stacey seems reluctant to use the whip....Perhaps you yourself...?"
"Not my cup of tea, but thanks anyway." Stacey was trying not to smile. "Where on Earth have you got those girls?"
"Perhaps if you turned round-?"
With a cry of distress Lynne flew to her beloved. There were fumblings and flying fingers before 'Gina and Bettina stood free to thankfully rub wealed wrists.
"I trust I may be forgiven a selfish indulgence?" Kaliel Arumin inquired anxiously. "They were so exquisite-"
"I ought to punch you in the nose."
"Ah yes, but I have been of some small service, surely?"
"And you'll have an axe to grind." Stacey eyed the bland face sardonically. "Come on, man, what is it?"
"I am thinking of purchasing Mr. Fonteyn's premises. I would value your goodwill?"
"A bloody slave Market!"
"Even after relinquishing Lady Conant I have an inventory of two." The Arumin voice became warm. "Lady Conant represents a loss. Perhaps someone would like to re-im burse-?"
Hammond Stacey was in expansive mood. The Amazonian statue in flesh that was Esther Diomedes dwarfed all else. "I'll take her off your hands." He agreed amiably. "You're an outrageous rogue, but there's nothing wrong with a good rogue. Anything else?"
"I would be honoured if you would attend my wedding."
"You! Married?"
"Do not sound so shocked. I am going to marry Esther Diomedes."
The statue rocked and heaved. "Blast you both! Let me down. As for marrying you, you .royal asshole, you're dreaming."
Arumin smiled. "The lady has yet to be persuaded. It is a task in which I excel. In fact, you behold our courtship."
"The son of a bitch has got a torpedo up my cunt!"
"There is no danger of conception." Arumin said blandly.
Lynne and her beloved both tittered. The freed Lady Conant was hastily dressing. Bettina looked sadly around. "Am I still a slave girl?" She asked dolefully. "You're all so happy...."
"Daddy will buy you, won't you, daddy?"
"At cost price." Mr. Arumin offered magnanimously. "Her chain is included."
"It's a deal." Stacey conceded. "But I don't know what to do-"
"'Gina and I know what to do with her, Daddy. Don't worry."
"I've got something in mind for 'Gina myself." Hammond Stacey said dourly.
"O.K. You marry 'Gina and I'll have Bettina-Oh, Daddy...!"
"What about me?" Exclaimed a plaintive wail from the cage. "Please let me out."
"I forgot the key." Said Mr. Arumin regretfully.
'Gina was dressed. She was not bound. In freedom she felt lost. With a hand on Stacey's arm she asked. "Conant? You stayed there? Is everything all right?"
"I stayed there." His eyes met hers. "I intend to go on staying there?"
"I want you to. Always." She giggled. "We can keep Lynne and Bettina in a dungeon. They'd be terribly happy."
"Please, Daddy, can we?"
"An excellent idea." Mr. Arumin approved. "For Lady Conant, might I suggest handcuffs?"
"I wouldn't mind." 'Gina said demurely. "I feel a bit lost-"
"I have a pair upstairs?"
"Never mind." Said Hammond Stacey. "I have in mind a ball and chain."
"Perhaps we might retire to the lounge and celebrate with libations?" Mr. Arumin suggested. "I have some fine sherry and a notable brandy."
"Has anyone a key to these things on my ankles?" Bettina asked hopefully.
"You have to wear your chain, darling, I insist. And I'm sure the key's been lost." Lynne declared firmly.
'Gina glowed. The masculine arm about her waist was strong. In a satisfying intimacy the small group left the room. Mrs. Esther Diomedes orgasmed for the third time but no one noticed.
The purr of the vibrator continued in the empty room.
