The inhabitants of Lesser Blessing were divided in their verdicts only by ability to articulate. There was no approval anywhere for the new owners of "The Retreat." Disapproval ran all the way from Miss Willowby's "the brazen hussy ought to be horse whipped!, " all the way to the more considered judgment of the Duck and Drake:
"Barmy, they are, if you ask me about it, that there fellow sporting his imagine lady around in them there 'andcuffs. Where's 'em like a bracelets, so she does. Don't bother her none at all to be 'andcuffed like a ruddy criminal. That there girl's been in the lockup more than once, if you asks me."
The public Bar applauded this verdict and added. "Doin' it for a lark, most likely, 'aving 'er bit o' fun. Got money, they 'as. They're la-de-da folks, they are. Thinks we're for them to laugh at."
It was left to the Reverend, Mr. Amnesty the Vicar, to approach a possible daughter of Satan in her liar. He made the ritual visit for afternoon tea under the dictates of his cloth and was met at the door of The Retreat by the smiling lady herself who flashed shining handcuffs at him in total insouciance. He admitted afterwards he had found it extremely difficult to take his eye away from the nickel circlets about her wrists. It was all most unorthodox and appeared to have no precedence in the scriptures.
It was most excellent tea. The Vicar sipped, grateful for the stimulant. "I really must admire those unusual bracelets you wear, Mrs. Tremond, they have aroused a considerable interest in the village."
"Oh, these?" The Chatelatine of The Retreat held up her chained hands as though noticing them for the first time. "Yes, they're nice, aren't they. Trevor bought them for me, he also bought something similar for my ankles." She laughed with a silvery tinkle that was delightful to hear. "The people at the shop called them 'leg irons,' isn't that silly?"
With no precedence to fall back upon, the Vicar was at a loss, he dived manfully into deeper water. "We have not been formally introduced, but your name is Tremond, is it not?"
"Well, actually, my name is Modesty Blair." Again the silver tinkle of laughter. "I hope you don't mind."
The Vicar, realizing himself in the present of Sin, countered it bravely by offering his empty cup, "May I have another cup of tea, it is most excellent." Then he added, after his cup was taken for refill, "No, I do not mind. Miss Blair." He controlled his voice to only faint reproof. "These matters are not for me to judge."
Lessor Blessing allowed these judgments to rest. They refused to allow their lives to be effected by a girl with chained hands, especially since she appeared delighted to have her wrists thus joined. The new owners of The Retreat were obviously extremely wealthy and that explained and justified many things. After a few weeks they simply failed to notice the linked bracelets Modest Blair so unashamedly flaunted before their eyes. The Retreat, clothed in the respectability of wealth, remained only as an interesting subject of conversation when there was nothing else to talk about.
The Retreat had been built in centuries past when the cost of labor allowed the indulgence of a high stone wall surrounding the entire circumstance of the twenty or thirty acres comprising the small Estate. An extremely modern and forbidding steel gate had been provided for the only driveway to the house. This gate was operated by an electric eye which could reject or accept callers as it saw fit. It was generally agreed that the handsome man and beautiful girl living behind the wall were a bit odd.
Modesty Blair hummed a gay little tune as she arranged flowers in the vases of the sunlit room. She performed this task with the handicap of handcuffs as easily as she had served tea to the Vicar. Modesty herself was amazed at the adaptability of arms and hands she would once supposed helpless in the condition she now enjoyed. There was hardly any service she could not perform for herself or for the lord of the manor. Trevor Tremond did for her what she could not do herself. It amused him to often bath and dress her from the nudity in which she had shared his bed. For both of them the shinning steel upon the maiden wrist poses no more than a challenge for fresh postures in the making of their love.
Trevor's fingers took the last of the flowers from Modesty's hand and set them aside with the air of calm authority she knew so well. "Sit down. Modesty my love, I want to talk to you. No, I don't want a drink, it's far too early."
Modest Blair always thought of her obedience to these demands as "arranging herself." She did so now, obediently and without haste, and asked, "Am I to be lectured, darling?"
"We're comfortably settled here now. Modesty, and I want to get things started. What about those handcuffs?" Trevor walked slowly up and down several times as though in thought before seating himself to face the amused and shinning eyes of the maiden who had posed Lessor Blessing with such an enigma. Modesty raised joined hands in a gesture now familiar. "Yes, what about my handcuffs? I've worn them obediently for you, haven't I?"
He was a handsome brute of a man, alive and powerful, moving easily and with purpose, somewhere in his mid-thirties. He brushed her question aside with a wave of the hand. "You know that's not the real question. I want a proper answer."
Modesty sighed and lowered the handcuffed wrists to her lap. "Oh, Trevor, must we here? It's such an awful decision and I'm not sure I'm really it."
"You're as ready as you'll ever be, sweetheart, you've simply built the decision out of proportion. You've come a long way now, don't stop now."
"But for always! It's sort of a life sentence.. . "
"Come on now, you're just heating yourself between your legs, you little so and so. You don't have to tell me how handcuffs affect you. I know!"
Modesty gazed fondly at the silver bands upon her wrists, her voice plaintive. "But I adore these, Trevor. Those ones you've told me about scare me to bits."
"They're far more beautiful than what you wear now. I've had them made to your exact measurements. When they close around your wrists they do so with an unbroken band of metal and there'll be only one key and I'll hold it. I want you to make up your mind."
Modesty knew she was delaying the inevitably, deliciously savoring an event to change her life. She was in love with Trevor Tremond and made no bones about asking, "Trevor, why don't you marry me and put a ring on my finger instead of keeping me chained?"
The man swept that aside also but his voice had the cheerful carelessness of true intimacy. "We've gone into that one before. Modesty, I may marry you sometime. But even if I did, I'd still keep you chained. You know damned well so stop that and answer the question. "
"But I don't want to, Trevor. I don't see why you don't use force. You handle me so terribly easily, you could lock those things you're talking about on my wrists and that would be the end of it. I wouldn't have to make this awful decision."
Once more impatience wave of the male hand. "We've talked of that also before, you tiresome creature. You know damned well that's not the way it has to be. It's essential to the relationship we contemplate for you to make the decision voluntary and hold out your hands in loving longing. I won't accept anything less. In your purse you have the key to what you're wearing. There's nothing to stop you from going upstairs, unlocking your wrists, changing your clothes, and getting into your car and driving out of my life forever. Go ahead, it's a free choice."
"Oh, Trevor, don't be so brutal. I'm simply being feminine. Can't you make allowances?" Modesty pouted and rummaged in her handbag to product the tiny key that could unlock her hands. For her to possess it for those weeks had been a concession to make the impossible barely possible and plausible. She conceited the point, she had no complaints. As though savoring every moment of this delicious time with this most omnipotent male, she knelt before Trevor Tremond, offering the key, and saying with sweet simplicity, "All right, you hulking brute, you get your way with me every time. I surrender. Unlock these irons I wear and replace them with whatever monstrous things you've had made for me. Go ahead! Surely now I'm being submissive enough for any man."
It was with an air of reverence that Trevor performed the task, taking his time and savoring every moment as did the girl. When he put away the metal bands, warm from Modesty's flesh, and drew from his pocket the expensive things by which she would become his always. The kneeling girl gasped in delight at the unexpected. The irons which were to join her hands for life were unquestionably beautiful, even their serious intent subtracted nothing from the beautiful craftsmanship. In a choked voice. Modesty managed, "Oh, Trevor, I hadn't expected anything like.. . "
"They look like bronze, sweetheart, but no hacksaw or bolt cutters will touch them. Hold your breath." The open jaw slid around her wrist so easily and closed into a snug band upon her skin, no joint or lock was visible.
Heat flared in the belly of the girl as she exclaimed. "But darling, they must have cost a fortune!"
"Two fortunes, my pet. Now the other hand."
This was it! The final moment, the point of no return. Modesty Blair swallowed hard, then placed her wrist where it should go, there was another click of intense finality as to cause Modesty's breathing to quiver. As she gazed down upon the metal circlets rounded at their edges and an inch and a half wide, joined by two links of formidable chain which, in common with the cuffs, contrived to appear exquisitely feminine, a girl could wear such bracelets with pride.. . Providing she could get them off. But these would not come off, never.
Pouting again. Modesty said, with insincere acidity, "Well. I hope you're satisfied. You've got me. I bet I'm going to regret this. But.. . . ! "
"But what? Come on, out with it!"
Modesty flushed. "Well, damn you, you're right, these things have made me horny as hell. Really! I'm impossible."
"No you're not. You're Modesty Blair, and you've started something the two of us are going to see through together."
"Trevor? Please take me to bed?"
"Down girl, down! You can quench that little fire between your legs, I want to talk to you some more."
"Oh, all right." Modesty was playing with the new bronze bracelets in utter fascination. "What now? Do I have to call you master or stay on my knees?"
"No you don't. What you have to do is go and sit down and stop being a bitch. You're only playing at it, do you think I can't tell?" Trevor laughed at her annoyance. "Those lovely things you're wearing will be no different from what you wore before. The difference will be in your mind and your knowledge of who holds the key. Love 'em and be grateful."
"But what will the village think! Little Blessing had a bad enough time with those other handcuffs."
"If anyone asks, you can tell them your handcuffs have gone to the laundry. Don't worry about the village, you and I have got them properly conditioned already."
Modesty laughed at a recurring vision, her chained hands forgotten. "You really are an optimist, Trevor, if you think the sight of me in handcuffs will inure them to a vision of naked beauties bouncing around the grounds of The Retreat. . . . "
"Come of it. Modesty." Trevor's tone was patiently tolerant. "They won't be bouncing around, they'll be decently chained. And what's more, they'll be behind a ten foot wall and they won't be playing out in the sun all the time, cither. You've forgotten why they'll be here."
"Discipline!" Modesty laughed gaily. "It's a delicious word, it makes me quiver. But, darling, how do you expect me to impose it wearing these?" She held up the bronze beauties on her wrists for him to see.
"That's your problem. Modesty. You'll deal with it, you conquered Lessor Blessing, so I'm sure you can get the best of a giggling girl."
"They won't be giggling, they'll be mad as hornets or scared to death."
"You can call those bronze bands you're wearing your badge of office. There's not much they've stopped you doing these past weeks. You're a damned sight better in bed with 'cm than without 'em. Admit it now. you love the challenge."
The two of them adored these exchanges of repartee which were never quite meaningless or without a message. They communicated perfectly well. Modesty knew the new irons snug upon her wrists made her an interesting experiment for the man she adored. Trevor Tremond was instituting an insolent new order of things within the walls of The Retreat and the thought of Modest Blair being the high priestess of his Cult was an unfailing excitement. They were a man and a woman who, to an unusual degree, were a perfect foil to each other. Their deep, dark love was almost incidental to their intellectual union.
Trevor Tremond and Modesty Blair had weaned themselves from London society in a strange purpose. They had glimpsed one of the rarely mentioned secrets of mankind, a secret similar to the way they lived themselves. Trevor had conceived a brilliant concept to supply to those who could afford the luxury that which society denied. Within the high stone walls of The Retreat he and his love would sequester a stable of suitable female material to supply the diversity of male preference and desire. The stable was open to any maiden wishing to place herself within and accept its disciplines. There were those who did, but to maintain the stable at an even and continuing strength, it would be necessary to simply kidnap as required. Trevor Tremond had no intention of doing the kidnapping, there were plenty willing to do that task, a task surprisingly easy in a modern world in which most are isolated to a degree they scarcely realize.
Trevor and Modesty had discussed the ethics of the enterprise dispassionately. Their conclusion was that every inmate of their stable must inevitably find herself in circumstances after her sale so vastly superior to anything she had previously known as to cause her to feel only gratitude to her abductors.
Modesty mentally labeled the whole affair a "fun thing" spiced with adventure for all. But Trevor Tremond kept something secret he shared with no one. He intended to make a glorious human experiment that he would admit to only when the time was right. With the closing of the bronze bands upon the wrists of his beloved he had successfully brought chapter one to its conclusion. Modesty Blair was his possession. She might struggle within the web of his desires but she could not escape. He toyed idly with words: Wife? Mistress? Accomplice? He decided lovingly on one single word, the word was "Slave."
2
A girl can always be wise after the event. I can blame myself all I like but the way that gate opened and the way that truck went through was almost an invitation. And, anyway, the book about ancient monuments mentioned "The Retreat" in glowing terms, it was something to see. I allowed the truck to roar ahead of me up the driveway and followed on foot at a more sedate pace, the park around me was lovely, why waste it?
To the cute maid who opened the big door of the house I said, bashfully, "If it's not visiting day or I'm a nuisance please tell me and I'll go away." I delivered my best touristy smile. "This is the The Retreat, isn't it? Do tell me if I'm a nuisance."
The cute maid opened the door wide. I walked on in.
That's how it started.
She had the kind of loveliness envied by beautiful girls and I'm a beautiful girl, I know I am. It carried that wonderful assurance of being pleased with herself and her condition. Her voice was honey, "I'm Modesty Blair, and you'll be Amy Marchmond, we have you letter." He smile was the warmest ever. "You're ever so welcome and the first of the volunteers."
I didn't bother to dive right in correcting her misconception. I was staring in fascinated wonder at the hands she was holding out to me in greeting. They were chained together with some strange, attractive metal, and when I offered my own, they were clasp in both of hers as naturally as if she had offered only one. Modesty's handshake was as warm as her smile.
"What marvelous bracelets," I exclaimed. I was fishing.
"Do you like them?" She sounded pleased. "I have another pair, they're not quite the same but if you would like to try them on?"
I had to wonder if I had strayed into the lunatic asylum by mistake or is I was the victim of a harmless practical joke. I declined the offer and got back to the nub. "My name isn't Amy whatever it was you said. My name is Gentian Rothwell. I'm just a tourist, and I didn't write anyone a letter."
"Oh, dear, are you sure?" The resident beauty of The Retreat eyed me oddly. "Amy was suppose to arrive today or tomorrow and here you are. I suppose you know you're a very beautiful girl."
"So are you. I've always been grateful for being nice to look at."
"You will stay with us, won't you?" Modesty Blair sounded anxious. "We're all ready for you and this is such a wonderful adventure."
"But I've checked in at the hotel at Stretting a few miles back. I was exploring on my bike."
"Don't worry, dear, we'll get your things and pay the bill." Smiling, she came up with the cure for all ills, "And now how about a nice cup of tea?" Once more I fell. I must be a congenital idiot!
It was very English, the maid, the tea trolley with its little sandwiches and cakes, and then the fragrant brew dispensed from a magnificent English pot by the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in my life. It was so damned normal I stopped worrying.
Did I say normal! I did and there's the mystery of The Retreat in a nutshell, it was not normal at all. My tea was served to me by a pair of chained feminine hands which did everything with the grace and dexterity of total freedom. I tried hard not to look at the metal bands and joining links but it was a loosing battle. Miss Modesty Blair was not, strictly speaking, handcuffed, nor was she exactly chained. The obviously functional bond the wore upon slender wrists was an undeniably erotic and femininely lovely as a pair of expensive bracelets. Perhaps that what they were, bracelets, and the links joining them was just the latest fashion designed to shock the unwary and test tolerance. If the expensive things pleased her. well it was none of my business.
"I'll show you around The Retreat after tea," Modesty promised.
"It's a darling place, you'll love it. Do try these watercress sandwiches."
I was think up a suitable reply and reaching for the plate of sandwiches when there happened the incredible thing, after which my life would never be the same. It was the demure maid servant who's hands, suddenly relentlessly strong, came over my shoulders from behind to clasp my wrists in jaws of steel. It happened so quickly and with such neat dispatch that I managed no more than a startled exclamation as I looked down at my own hands mostly firmly handcuffed. The only scary thing about what had been done to me had been the swift scream of the ratchets as the metal circlets bit tight on female skin. I sat there in pure shock, watching the maid collect an empty plate and leave the room. I looked from my hands to Modest Blair and all I could manage was, "What the hell!"
"There, now we're both the same. Gentian." The surprising Modesty Blair smiled winningly. "It may interest you to know, I myself wore the handcuffs Daisy has just locked on you for weeks and weeks."
We stared. Modesty with bright earnestness, myself indignant and dismayed. I was aware of the beauty and the lovely room, I was aware of my teacup and the lovely little sandwiches, but most of all, and possessing me almost totally, was an awareness of the handcuffs on my wrists. I had never been handcuffed, associating such things with criminals. Ordinary girls would never possibly wear handcuffs, why should they! But Modesty Blair wore them with a distinct flair and now I wore them, too. The sensation of them pervaded every crevice of my being with the most vivid, sensuous feeling I had ever felt. I fought back hysteria and groped my tongue towards rational speech, "I think you had better take these off." I held my joined .hands for our mutual inspection. "I expect this is some sort of a joke, but it's gone too far. I find having my hands locked together like this frightening. It's scary."
"Well, maybe I'll remove them when we've had our little tour. But I do think it's rather nice for both of us to be in the same fix while I show you around. Don't you?"
"No. I don't!"
"Well, never mind, dear, but I'm afraid you'll have to indulge me in this little conceit. But come alone, please don't feel embarrassed."
Modesty Blair had a way with her. I would never have been so damned submissive had her wrists not been fastened the same as mine.
But I'd been watching her do some many damned things just as though they were not chained at all, and I was discovering I, too, could do a lot of things I would never have dreamed possible. The thought crossed my mind as to how silly it was to use handcuffs for the restraint of criminals, but then I remembered, a criminal's hands were behind his or her back whereas mine were in front. There was a world of difference, a world of difference in intent as well as physical handicap.
Quietly I said, "This whole thing has to be nuts!" before taking my place beside my guide to view something I had lost interest in seeing. But The Retreat was beautiful. Whoever owned it was a lucky man or woman. When we were sitting on deck chairs on the lawn. Modesty slipped me the next installment of shock.
"I adore the place, Gentian, you will, too. I didn't bother to take you downstairs to view the dungeons and the cells. They've been done over and modernized and there's lots of heat to make them comfortable. Or should I say bearable?" She laughed gaily as at a joke. "I've told Trevor he's wasted his money and they'll never be used."
"Who's Trevor?"
"Trevor Tremond? Oh, he owns the place. I'm his idea and so are you. You'll fall in love with Trevor, all the girls do. I'm so in love with him since we first met, I'm positively ashamed of myself. Trevor bought me these lovely things around my wrists and, if you're going to be around here a long while, I'll talk to him about getting a set for you."
Once more the almost girlish giggle, "I didn't tell you, did I? But Trevor positively adores handcuffed girls. It's a Thing he has. He's converted me completely."
"So I gather," I told her in stiff British disapproval. "And now, if you don't mind, you can unlock these your maid put on me, I've worn them quite long enough. I don't like them. I think we're both being very silly to tolerate what I suspect is a sexual deviation." I held out my linked hands and flatly stated, "I'm sure you have the key."
"Well, actually, no I don't, dear. Darling Trevor keeps all the keys in his possession. He's very much the master in his own house."
"You have to be kidding!"
"No, really, I'm not. But don't panic, darling, he'll be back before too long and the three of us can have a really wonderful dinner and get to know each other. He may tell you some of his plans."
"I don't wish to hear them. I am having dinner at the hotel. If you know what's good for you, Miss Blair, you'll get these things off my wrists without delay." My voice was firm but I was trembling.
"But. darling, I've just told you, I can't!"
"Very well, then. Thanks for the tea and the tour, I can walk back to the village and I'm sure I can find someone to deal with this problem you've thrust at me."
I got to my feet, but that was as far as I got! Daisy, the maid, had come from nowhere and suddenly grasped a handful of my hair, jerking back my head and throwing me off balance. First thing I knew I was flat on my face and there was some more of those screaming, clicking sounds as other metal bands bit into my ankles. Suddenly I was free and, shamed-faced, got slowly to my feet. I gazed down to find, with disgust, my ankles were joined by a length of hobbling chain and two snug, shinning bands upon my skin. The shackle, or whatever it was called, was simply a bigger set of handcuffs with a longer chain. I took a tentative step which was instantly snubbed. I needed no further test to tell me I would walk very slowly and could not run at all.
"They look positively darling on you. Gentian. I don't have a key, so please don't ask. Do please sit down again, you look so flushed and angry. I'm sorry about Daisy, but what could I do! I couldn't possibly let you go to the village and make a fuss, could I now!"
"Are you telling me I'm some sort of prisoner?"
"Well, yes dear, I thought you knew. I'm not a bit sure you're not Amy Marchmont."
"Damn your Amy Marchmont. Let me go!"
"I can't, darling, and anyway you'll feel much better when you met Trevor, he's so charming."
What we were doing was bandying. Resolutely I determined to do the best I could with shackled feet. I took a number of short, controlled silly little steps towards the driveway and then tripped and fell flat upon the grass. I got back up, feeling an idiot, and resenting the seeming freedom the bits of chain dangled in front of my face like the donkey's carrot. I just could not believe I was nearly helpless. I tried once more and this time got a dozen steps before disaster. Ashamed, I made my slow paced return to Modesty and the waiting chair.
"You'll feel better now that you've tried, dear." Modesty was the sole of sympathy and helpfulness. "You had to try that little run of yours but it won't earn you any demerits. It's just part of the settling down process."
"I don't want to settle down, I want to go home!"
"That's understood, darling, let's not mention it again."
"I don't see why the hell you can't free my feet and come away with me," I told her angrily. "I'm damned if I would stay with a man who kept me chained."
We might have snapped away at each other all afternoon had there not been an interruption, the appearance of Daisy and a bright-eyed maiden at her side. The maiden walked ahead while Daisy returned to her duties. The newcomer looked at me and my chains and smiled as though we shared a secret and then turned to Modesty.
"You're Miss Blair, aren't you? I'm Amy Marchmont. Sorry if I'm a bit late." She giggled. "But it will be for the last time, won't it?"
I stood there, feeling flushed and untidy, while they exchanged the pleasantries of greeting. I was well aware of Amy's eyes on my cuffs and anklets and chain, but equally aware of her interest, a far keener interest, in the bronze loveliness joining Modesty's hands. As though it was the most natural thing a girl might do. Amy fished around in her large bag while saying, "You two are ahead of me but just a moment while I catch up." She produced a pair of handcuffs and handed them to Modesty, along with two keys. She then knelt and extended her hands. I watched her breath quicken as Modesty locked the shinning steel on the eager wrists. This had to be a nightmare. I prayed I would soon wake up.
Amy was beautiful, but I gathered that was required of any female at The Retreat. She clinked her handcuffs back and forth like a pair of old friends and said, gaily, "I missed tea, didn't I? Would you mind if I went to Daisy and begged a cup? I'm very thirsty."
We watched her go, a gay and swinging walk, the same as Modesty. Evidently Amy was to be trusted not to run away. Modesty Blair laughed at what I suppose was clearly written on my face, "I own you an apology, darling, you weren't Amy, were you?" Her silvery laugh disarmed anything she said. "I think it's absolutely wonderful the way you strayed in here, totally unaware. It's fate and a good omen. Trevor's going to get a big charge out of you. Do sit down."
There was authority in Modesty's invitation, I sat. I told myself I was saving my strength for a better opportunity. I would leave this place without delay, but in the meantime, I was not going to demean myself by tripping over chain, making ineffectual motions, or indulging in treats and dire predictions. My breasts were heaving but soon quieted under the influence of Modesty's feminine loveliness. There was about her a power, a force, something hard to define. It was probably no more than me being helpless and she free to do as she pleased. In a sense, she now possessed me. It was the damnedest feeling.
Amy returned with a cup of tea in one hand and a sandwich in the other. It was impossible not to note the graceful way in which she did the impossible with joined hands. Amy and Modesty must have practiced with handcuffs for ages to obtain this total easy and absence of self-consciousness. Modesty waved to a third chair invitingly. Amy sat down and never spilled a drop.
"Did you capture Gentian or is she a volunteer?" Amy inquired with her mouth full.
I felt an ill-placed exhibit as Modesty made the introductions and added. '"Gentian sort of dropped in. Gentian is in a class all by herself, aren't you. Dear?"
"I'm an unwilling prisoner, if that's what you mean." I glared and turned to the cheerfully busy Amy. "If you've got any sense, you'll turn and run out of here as quick as you can before your feet get fixed the same as mine."
"I'll have to have a talk with Gentian." Amy spoke to Modesty as though they were alone.
"Miss Blair, do you have another set of leg irons for me. I've always wanted a pair but they're so damned expensive. If you do have an extra pair I think you ought to have them locked on my ankles." She laughed and added, with obvious insincerity, "Before I change my mind, y'know. and make a run for it."
I could now understand why Modesty's handbag was so large. It now produced more shining steel which, in the space of moments, was locked fast upon feminine ankles happily thrust forward to receive the kiss of chrome. The girl who's feet were now joined together admired her new bonds, said how absolutely gorgeous it was, and then finished her sandwich and drank her tea. I longed to slap her silly face.
I sensed this whole thing as something new, even to Modesty. She and I watched Amy happily hobbling her limited steps back to the house to deliver her empty cup. It was a slow progress but she did not fall.
I could well imagine she had practiced such a captive walk.
"Isn't she a perfect dear," Modesty infused. "She's going to be a pleasure to have around. But then, you'll be sensible, too, won't you, darling?"
"No, I won't," I affirmed rashly.
"Well, you must tell that to Trevor," Modesty pouted. "We'll make all sorts of allowances but you mustn't push too hard, I don't want to have to have you punished."
"Punished!" I sat up in alarm. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"Well, there does have to be some discipline, dear. I thought you would understand that."
"I don't understand anything. I'm beginning to think I'm in a mad house."
"Well, Trevor will explain to you, he's so good at explaining things. And. if you have to be punished. I'd rather he did it. I've never tried but I don't think I'd be very good at that sort of thing."
Once more Amy saved the day. She hobbled back, snubbing her ankles at each step, but smiling in a sort of enchantment all the time. She had the same gift as Modesty of doing graceful things with her hands and arms without overemphasizing their captivity. You might say she wore handcuffs well and they became her. Once more seated, she gave me the benefit of her full attention. "You're interesting. Gentian. You're a real, honest to-goodness prisoner and you don't want to be handcuffed or have you feet chained, is that right?"
"Of course, it's right. No girl in her right mind wants such nonsense."
"Well, I do, darling. I adore this whole thing. This is the happiest day of my life. I'm so glad I met Mr. Tremond and had that first talk with Modesty, it's changed my whole life."
"I don't want my life changed," I told her. "And everything you say is nonsense, it makes no sense."
Amy gave her attention back to Modesty. "She's actually for real. Miss Blair. She hates being restrained. Does she know what's going to happen to her?"
"I haven't told her yet and the poor dear is all upset. She actually did walk through our front gate without having a clue. I think I'll have Daisy make you share a bedroom for the night. You can talk to her."
"I don't want to be talked to. I want to be set free." I addressed them both so there would be no misunderstanding. "Don't you understand. Amy. I've been kidnapped. I suppose you have been, too. It's against the law!"
All that got me was a pair of silvery tinkles of laughter and Amy's, "But Gentian, don't you understand, this is private property. We're behind a high stone wall and if I choose to be handcuffed, it's nobody's busy. There's nobody going to make a fuse about you. not now, maybe not ever. Relax and enjoy."
By that time I was taking things seriously. I was doing a lot of thinking and refraining from using hands or feet. Strangely enough my main concern was what to do with my hands. I had them resting in my lap and I had tried a number of other positions for them, but they never felt right, they always felt shameful and conspicuous. I certainly wanted everyone to know my loathing at having to wear them but also was ashamed be seen in them. While I was deciding whether to rattle them in Modesty's face or hid them as best I could, Trevor Tremond arrived.
Trevor Tremond was indeed a handsome chunk of maleness, I wish I had met him elsewhere and under different circumstances. Despite his powerful build he shared a natural grace with Modesty and, when the introductions were over, he raised Amy's hands to his lips and kissed them both gravely. When he turned to me I wanted to follow the instinct which told me to withdraw from his grasp but I'm ashamed to say I never carried through. First thing I knew my handcuffed members were raised to male lips to receive the same grave courtesy bestowed on Amy. I'm ashamed further to admit how good it felt.
"This is a gala day for The Retreat," Trevor assured us both. "You probably have no idea how pleased Modesty and I are to have you with us."
I could now feel the full focus of his gaze turned upon me. "Since you appear to be an unwilling guest. Miss Rothwell, I hasten to assure you of the same preferred treatment Miss Marchmont will enjoy."
"I don't want preferred treatment, I want release and freedom."
"Naturally, but you will get neither. Gentian." He lingered almost lovingly on my name. "Have you ever been whipped?"
Coming out of a clear sky, his question was as impossible as all the rest. I tried to hide the tremor it send up and down my spine and profess only irritation. "I think that's a silly thing to ask a girl. I was punished as a child. I forget the various ways. I would prefer to pretend you did not ask that question."
Trevor let it drop, flowing easily into small talk as through we were a normal quartet upon an English lawn. He was a good talker but I sat and fumed in my frustration, finding nothing I could do or say. My best bet was to learn what I could and to avoid fighting useless battles. I was still half hoping the whole affair was a joke being carried much too far.
I got through dinner in the same muddled frame of mind. I simply could not adjust to handcuffs. I felt clumsy and awkward and was sure everyone was laughing at me. Amy used her hands with the same composed competence as did Modesty Blair. In walking to the house I had made such a mess of shackled steps that Trevor picked me up bodily and carried me in. I did not struggle or protest, it was as though I was borne forward on an irresistible tide. There was nothing frightening about these people, they were in fact charming people. Without the metal restraints I would have enjoyed myself.
The going to bed process took me a giant step forward. After a couple hours of brandy in the lounge. Amy and I were kissed good night by the lovely girl and the handsome man who had imposed captivity upon us. We followed Daisy meekly to our room, in my case knowing that I would be picked up and carried bodily if I made a fuss.
Amy stood uncertainly awaiting direction. It was a nice bedroom, charming like everything about The Retreat. If there were dungeons far below, I refused to think of them, this delightful bedroom banished all such morbid thought. "I'm not all that keen on these metal things." Daisy informed us brightly. "I'm going to give you a change. You first, Miss Marchmont."
I watched, avid for anything I could learn. There was now an undoubted rapport between Daisy and my fellow captive. Amy accepted the freedom of her hands and performed a curious act in response to Daisy's curious order, "Bare shoulders. Miss Marchmont, I'll let you do it yourself."
A summer dress and the straps of a bra are easily dealt with. Amy disposed of hers in swift compliance. I could see she was breathing hard and in the throes of a growing excitation as she stood erect, head up. and allowed Daisy to gathered her arms in back, cross her wrists, and tie they tight with cord. I realized I was privileged to watch a ritualistic approach to something Amy desired. When her wrists were tightly bound, the girl who held the rope turned her attentions to me. "Are you going to make trouble. Miss Rothwell, when I unlock your handcuffs?"
What a question to ask a girl! I was busy computing chances of escape with shackled feet when Amy's voice became warmly urgent, "Darling, please do as Daisy says. You can't possibly escape with your feet chained together and I think we'll be punished if you rebel." She turned to Daisy to inquire, "We will be punish if we act stupid, won't we Daisy?"
"Yes, Miss Marchmont. I'd be grateful if you will tell Miss Rothwell what to do."
Once again the tide worked its will with me. I got my hands back for long enough to bare my shoulders as Amy had done. I don't know if I looked as she had while my hands were bound behind my back by a girl for whom I bore no hatred and who was painstakingly polite with me. I tried to hate the whole thing but could not ignore the excitement. This was not the end of putting us to bed. Something else would happen.
Daisy backed away, regarding us with an a cocked eye. What she did then should not have shocked me but it did. Calmly, with sure swift motions, she stripped Amy naked, leaving her with nothing, exposing all. When she turned to me, I said instinctively, "No you don't! Keep away from me or I'll kick!" Considering my chained feet it was a stupid threat. Daisy proceeded to make me as bare as Amy except that in my case she had to deal with my futile struggles on the floor. I was almost helpless but I flopped around in violent protest over a nakedness I had never shared with anyone and didn't want anyone to see. If this made me odd, then OK, I was odd. It was only a minute before I stood, panting like a racehorse and as bare as a billiard ball.
"Really, Gentian, I would have thought you would have had more sense," admonished Amy. "Don't punish her, Daisy, not this time."
I was not punished. I was laughed at. I was enjoyed as a curiosity, the better features of my figure were noted and commented on as though I was in an auction ring. When Daisy produced a collar with a long, trailing chain, I allowed her to lock it about my neck, without protest but with bitter feelings. I recalled some saying somewhere about if you couldn't beat 'em, join 'em. I watched the end of the chain padlocked to the bedpost and then turned my attention to Daisy as she treated Amy in the same way. The whole damned thing was nuts!
"I'll leave your leg irons on, darlings, they won't bother you none in bed," Daisy assured us earnestly. "I guess that's about all for now." She giggled delightedly. "Be sure and be good girls."
I looked disgustedly at the closed door. Daisy didn't even bother to lock it. There was no need. Chained by the neck as Amy and I were, we weren't going anywhere. I looked at Amy with her shining eyes and asked, bitterly, "Would it bother you if I screamed as loud as I can?"
"You poor darling." There was plenty of chain, so Amy circled the bed to come and kiss my rebellious lips. Laughingly as she asked. "Have you ever tried this. Gentian?" She frictioned her breasts against mine, it was a girl-girl thing, taking the place of the embrace for which we had no arms. I saw Amy as something of a traitor to our cause. I wanted to break away but strangely didn't. I was soon pushing back hard and the two of us ended up laughing in unison over a sort of happy ending. Delightedly she asked, "Don't you adore being tied like this, darling. It's yummy, yummy, so much more personal that cold steel."
Whatever I might have said was interrupted by Daisy's return. She held pliers and a length of wire by which she proceeded to make the cords around out wrists doubly secure. Each knot was looped with the wire and cinched by the pliers' eager jaws and then cut off short.
"You'll be tied a long time, darlings," she assured us gaily. "And I can't have you getting loose. I know you're going to try. Night-night." And she was gone.
I had never in my whole life be bound or restrained in any way. The tight cords on my wrists, and the wrists themselves, so neatly crossed, was something new and frightening and yet something to be savored and explored. Amy was twisting and turning delightedly against her own confinement, but suddenly she stopped and looked at me with sympathy. "Darling, you don't like it, do you? You hate being tied. I'm so terribly sorry. Here, let me give you a little comfort."
I stood quietly, breathing heavily, as her lips explored not only my own but the rest of my body. It was a new experience. No girlfriend I had ever known had been this intimate. I was terribly ashamed of the ardent responses I could not hide. I suppose it was simply a case of my flesh being weaker than my will. I allowed Amy to have her way with me, not that I could have done much else, and she brought me to orgasm, a thing which had never happened to me before in this way. I flung myself helplessly on the bed to bury my face in the covers and weep out my battle with life and The Retreat. Amy contented herself with letting me sob while her lips kissed my back up and down from my bottom to my neck in silent sympathy. I suddenly realized how awful it would be if I were imprisoned all alone.
We were two girls in the same boat, two damsels in distress. If I was more distressed than Amy it was simply because we approached this imprisonment from different paths. Essentially we were the same, a couple of young, naked females in bondage and with our necks tethered to the bed in which we would sleep. We entwined our nudities together and talked.
"It's been with me since the beginning," Amy told me musingly. "I can't ever remember when I didn't want to be tied up. My memories go back to the age of five or six, beyond that I know nothing. Darling, don't tell me you haven't felt it, too."
"Never, not even a whisper of it. Right now I'd give anything I have to get myself free and away from this place. Oh, Amy, I'm so sorry I can't share. . . . What do you call it, a dream?"
"They use the word fantasy mostly." Amy giggled and wiggled her nakedness closer still. "Every girl has a fantasy, you know. We all dream of being raped or abducted by a handsome pirate, or being purchased on the slave block, or something like that. There's no end to the things girls dream up for themselves." She sighed reflectively. "Mine's so terribly simple. All I ask is to be tied up. Best by a very handsome, young man or by a very beautiful girl." Her voice gained a fresh vibrancy. "Modesty is the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. I've got my heart's desire."
"But it isn't Modesty who's tied you up," I pointed out reasonably. "She doesn't soil her hands with stuff like that. She hands us over to Daisy. Daisy's sort of sweet but I still wish I was free."
"I won't complain about Daisy, darling. She ties beautifully. Have you tested her cords? I've been trying to get loose every since she tied me but no way! All I've done is chaff my wrists. But it's not the first time I've done that. Gentian, dear, can you believe I'm happy like this, really and truly happy?"
I had to believe. Amy was living proof of an emotion and desire utterly foreign. I found myself wishing I could share her bliss but all I could think of was myself as a tied up, naked girl who couldn't ever get free and who didn't know what was going to happen to her. I suddenly asked, "But, Amy, I can't feel the way you do. But there's something else, isn't there. They're going to do something with us. Are we going to a brothel?"
"Of course not, what a shocking idea. Get it out of your head quick. No, we are not going to a brothel. We are going to be sold to some rich man as his personal possession. Possibly as his wife. He will be very, very rich and give us a wonderful life. There, do you feel better now?"
I didn't answer too hastily. Amy was so obviously enraptured that I had no wish to spoil her happiness. I coldly examined the proposition of being sold to a man I'd never seen in my life and who would probably have a pot belly and a bald spot. And this man would keep me prisoner and make me do whatever he wanted. I couldn't see it as a good deal, not anyway I looked at it. I told Amy so in no uncertain terms.
"Darling, that's negative thinking. He doesn't have to be the way you describe, he could just as easily be a most attractive male like Mr. Tremond. Doesn't he really get to you?"
"Well, yes, he does. But he belongs to Modesty. Neither of us are going to get him in the luck of the draw."
"Gentian, dear girl, I can see what sort of a trauma this is for you. You make me ashamed at being so happy at this captivity. I suppose it's hard for you to understand how I answered an ad, had an interview with Trevor Tremond, and then promised to go home and think about it. I mean, I wasn't that crazy that I went off half cocked. I thought about it a great deal before I wrote them that letter telling them that I would be her yesterday or today. Here I am, I don't regret a thing."
"I'm enormously grateful to you. Amy, I couldn't have borne this without you. I'd have been frightened and hysterical and probably got myself into some of these punishments they talk about." I paused thoughtfully to add, "Will they really punish us, I mean are they just threatening? Just fooling? Or are they dead serious? Mr. Tremond asked me if I'd ever been whipped. I mean, what a crazy question!"
"Yes, they told me that. Gentian-look, darling, would you mind very much if I called you Genn? Gentian is such a mouthful even though it is such a lovely flower."
"Go ahead. Amy, from now on I'll be Genn. I got called that a lot back when I was free. But you were telling me about being punished."
"Trevor was beautifully frank about it. He explained how, without discipline, everything falls flat. He explained some psychiatric principles about how girls need to be whipped to make them sensible. I'm not a bit sure about all he said but there's one thing I do know, if I was given a choice between being whipped and obeying an order. I'd obey that order damned quick. So maybe he's got a point."
I felt myself quivering, Trevor asking about the whip had really got to me. Now, with Amy talking about it matter-of-factly, the thought of it became reality. I could be whipped! It was not something hypothetical or a doubtful promise. With my rebellious nature I was almost certain to run afoul of authority and" feel its bite. I shuttered in a strange deliciousness which I understood coming from impotence. There was simply nothing I could do. Things would happen and I would have to put up with them. I bent closer and bit Amy's ear, something I'd never done before, not to any girl.
"I've read up on this a lot," Amy told me sagely. "Quite early on I discovered there was only someone like me just here and there. When I was thirteen I ran into a girl who talked me into allowing her to strip me naked and tie me to a tree in what we thought was a private sort of place. At first it was absolutely gorgeous. She used her hand and her fingers and I had orgasm after orgasm without knowing what they really were. All I knew was the rainbows and the hot, wet wonder of being possessed. But we hadn't chosen our place too well. It wasn't long before her mother came on the scene, grabbed her by the ear. and led her back to punishment, leaving me tied naked to the tree." Amy stopped and I heard her sigh. "This was still right up my alley. The girl had tied me ever so tight and there was just no way I could get loose. I always try to get free, it's a very necessary part of the whole thing because if you can't make it. it tells you that your being tied up is real and for sure. That was for real, all right! It wasn't until I'd been basking in a lovely erotic glow for an hour I realized my folks were away over night and. if no one discovered me. I'd stay right where I was a long, long time. I didn't have much hope that girl's mother would come back and let me loose. She would simply figure it served me right to stay the way I was."
I found myself utterly absorbed in Amy's bizarre tale of maiden tribulation. Once again I was foiled in the most urgent need to embrace the nudity thrusting against my own. Breathlessly I asked, "But what happened?"
"I stayed tied to that tree all night, that's what happened. And it wasn't until the next morning the girl could get away from her mother's eye long enough to come and cut the rope. Can you understand, darling, how this turned out to be the most awful and yet the most wonderful event of my life up to that time. That's the only way I can describe it."
We slept. Neither of us bothered about getting free, we knew we couldn't. We did not even test the tolerance of the chain tethers on our necks. An eye measurement told us they would snub us short of the door, the window, and anything else other than the bathroom. We were a pair of exquisitely confined damsels, and if only one of us was in distress I could at least be happy for the girl at my side in whom I found so much comfort. The two of us were going to be sold as some sort of slaves. It was crazy!
Everything was practical. Amy and I had been closely confined during the hours of darkness but. in the following morning, we could do nothing and go nowhere without being seen so the collars were taken from our necks and the cords from our wrists. We were allowed to revel together in the bathroom with no other constraint than the hobbles on our feet. We were handcuffed for breakfast and I fumbled my way through the meal while everyone else talked brightly of current topics. Captivity was not one of them. At the end of the meal, Daisy changed our linked hands from front to back. We stood, helpless and naked, to receive the strangest of orders.
"You won't be needed today, darlings." Modesty informed us brightly. "The weather's lovely so you may as well amuse yourselves out in the park. It's lovely out there, so enjoy yourselves but be sure to be back in time for lunch."
"Like this! Naked and helpless?" I faced Modesty and the incredible aghast.
"Of course. Gentian dear, you won't be wearing clothes much any more so you might as well get used to being without them. As for the helplessness, well you might as well get used to that, too. You're not really helpless, you know, you can do all sorts of things the way you're chained. You can certainly walk even through your steps may be a little short. Run along, sweeties, I'm a little busy."
Amy took nudity as a matter of course, but it was far different with me. To sit naked at the breakfast table had been one of the greater ordeals of my life. Now, to go out in the sunshine totally unclothed was one more blow at normalcy.
"No one will see you. Gentian," Modest assured me, laughingly. "You can walk in the park all day without a prying eye."
"Mr. Tremond saw me at breakfast," I said defensively. "I thought I'd die. I've never been so embarrassed in my life. Modesty, couldn't we call a halt to this, I've had enough?"
"Gentian!" It was Amy who made the exclamation but it was Modesty who produced the slim length of a riding crop. She grinned and admitted, "You really must be punished every time you say things like that. Genn dear. You really must be more careful." She looked at the wicked instrument in her hands and grinned disarmingly. "Genn, I don't mind admitting this is the first time for both of us. I've never whipped a girl and you've never been whipped. I feel sort of silly about this."
"Don't do it then," I said firmly. "And anyway, you don't have the right."
"It would be best if you sort of bend down, dear." Modesty suggested as though I had not said a word. "I'll just use your bottom this first time and maybe you'd best raise your hands out of the way. I don't want to hit them instead of those two pretty round cheeks you've got."
I think unreality possessed the other two almost as much as it did me. The three of us stood looking at one another as though about to begin something momentous, I looked mostly at the riding crop and felt my skin crawl on that portion of me most likely to receive it. "You're not going to use that thing on me and I'm not bending over or standing still for it. Forget it!"
"I'm so sorry, dear. I'll call Daisy." Modesty sounded patient and amused. She had been making practice swings with the crop and producing some alarming sounds as it cut the air but she now lamented, "It's crazy but I can't use this properly with my hands the way they are. Oh. damn! I so wanted to." She handed the limber horror to a smiling Daisy. "Daisy, dear, please give Miss Rothwell five strokes on her bottom with his thing, will you please?"
I backed slowly away from the grinning girl who now held the instrument I was to be punished with. Once more I affirmed. "Forget it. I absolutely refuse!"
Daisy subdued me so easily I felt a child. A rope noose swiftly tightening around my neck then dragged down to the back of an ornate chair and fastened leaving me bending over, scarlet faced and helpless. I wished now I'd had more sense, it would have been better to meekly accept the strips than to be bound thus. But I'd sort of asked for this and there was nothing I could do about it now except to draw my hands up to leave a clear field of my private skin. There was no way I wanted that horrible thing cutting the fingers of my hands.
"Well that looks after that, girls," Modesty assured us briskly. "Go ahead, Daisy, she's to have five strokes. Give them to her across her bottom anyway you like. The way Daisy liked was hard! Inexperienced as I might have been in the matter of whipped girl flesh I was pretty sure the horrible explosion of agony across my behind must have been all out with all Daisy's young strength. I yelped in shock, I twisted and tugged at my tied neck until I was in danger of strangling myself, I kicked and kicked at nothing to make the chain of my shackled feet sing. I was beautifully fixed, I couldn't do a thing. My control wasn't much better for Daisy's blistering second assault upon my skin. The other three strokes were sort of a jumble in which I did everything I could including scream. Having my neck tied down to the chair was something I vowed I'd never risk again. The whole affair had the damnedest effect on me. When it was over and the agony subsided to a burn, there was something almost pleasurable about the tremendous relief I now felt that it was over. I didn't want any more but I was strangely grateful for what I had received. Like I said, the whole thing was crazy. When Modesty asked me, "Are you going to be a good girl now, darling?" I believed every word of my, "Yes, I will indeed be a good girl and an obedient young lady." I caught Amy's sly grin and felt ashamed.
"You needn't have had that." Amy chided as we emerged into the sunlight from a side door. "I'll bet that really hurt, and you've got the loveliest marks, all scarlet with a tinge of purple. I wish you could see."
We clinked our carefully controlled steps out to the grass and the traces of dew on our bare feet. "I want to look at the front gate." I said determinedly. "If there's anyway to get out of here I'm taking it. Come on Amy."
"But, Genn dear, it's a long walk, and the way we're hobbled.. . ! "
"I don't care if my ankles are bleeding by the time I get there," I asserted. "There just has to be some way."
The pain of my cropped bottom plus the humiliation of such a childish imposition gave me strength and purpose. Amy tagged along in valiant support of a project she predicted would end in defeat. But the rattle of our chains in the sunlight kept us in giggling amusement the length of our journey. Reaching the gate, I despairingly conceded defeat. What we beheld was not the steel bar gate I expected. No doubt that gate was still there but it was now hidden by wooden panels the full height of the wall. No doubt they, too, moved back and forth from an unseen command but that didn't do us any good. We kicked it and shouldered it without effect and then wondered, pink cheeked, if any one could see us. Perhaps another electric eye was transmitting our chagrin to a laughing couple in the house. We grinned at each other in wry disgust as we resumed our chained walk at a slower pace along the wall. After a while we happened upon a bench and sat down, me painfully, Amy obviously enjoying herself. Disgustedly I said, "So, OK, we can't escape. Amy. tell me some more about why you're so damned happy."
She grinned wisely and then, with unexpected vigor, fought the handcuffs on her wrists behind her back, she tugged and twisted and pulled against the circling steel until, red faced, she stopped to laugh at my concerned surprise. "Do you believe I adored every moment of what I've just done? I've fought a bond placed upon me by someone else, a bond I cannot possibly escape. Their hand will be upon me until another hand turns a key. It's the same with any bondage or restraint. Can't you see, darling, how intensely personal this is, and when I'm naked the way we are now it adds an unspoken dimension to helplessness. I can be used, I can be punished. Anyone can do as they please to me and my best bet is to be submissive for fear of being punished more." Amy gazed at me earnestly. "Do you see what I mean, darling. There is something there, isn't there? I'm not just beating my gums?"
I could some of it. "If someone you love puts on the handcuffs or ties the rope. I could sort of understand that," I admitted slowly. "But I suspect you and I are prisoners for life, surely you don't get a kick out of that?"
"Yes, I do! Genii, something like that intensifies the whole deal. And the way you look at me as though you can't really believe I'm for real. The whole thing is very erotic. And the punishments.. .I thought I'd burn up between my legs when Daisy whipped your bottom." She made a small sound of apology. "It's not that I'm cruel or a sadist or anything, but watching you whipped was an intense, sexual experience. It made you twice as attractive and desirable. Before Daisy did the things she did to you, I saw you only as a beautiful girl. But as I see you now, you are a simply gorgeous girl with those marks across your ass. Jeepers, I'm getting radiations out of you like you wouldn't believe. Stand up. Genii."
Amy had me going. I stood up without question but was wondering why a whipped girl was more beautiful than one who's skin was innocent of marks. When she came and rubbed her breasts against mine, as she had done once before, I almost melted with desire. Maybe there was something to what she said but ail I knew was that I was a captive who could never escape.
"If I rubbed you tit to tit after getting myself all excited trying to explain the way I am, I'm going to have the damnedest orgasm ever," explained Amy as she backed away to leave me gasping and wanting more. "You see how wonderful it is, you see it as being absolutely helpless the way we are. But that isn't so-we could make love any time we want to! I could scratch your nose or you could scratch mine. It's a beautiful game!"
Amy was so damned beautiful. All she had said was animating her into a vivid radiance of life. Seeing myself mirrored in her planes and contours, in her swellings and curves, I stopped being ashamed of my own nakedness. And, anyway, we were just two girl who, if it hadn't been for the wall and the irons we wore, might have been having fun in the sunlight of an English park.
The fact was. The Retreat had me in a dither. I should have been hysterical and back there beating frantically against the gate which bared sight of the outside world as did the wall. I should have hated Modesty and Trevor Tremond and held poor Amy in contempt. But it wasn't like that. Even the burning of my bottom had failed to paint any of those three as more than amusing enigmas. But, on the other hand, this could be the pretty prelude to a game not yet properly started. I was still prepared to be set free with a laughing admonition to be more careful of the houses I chose to visit, or sold down the river to a male owner I might detest. In the meantime there was this lovely park and there was Amy.
"I'd love to walk all around the whole park." I suggested doubtfully. "But how are your ankles."
"Protesting."
"So are mine. But we're neither of us what you could call 'wounded' as yet. If we walk very, very slowly, sort of idling along, and if we get to the further limits and can't make it back, perhaps they'll come and fetch us. After all it was their idea to chain us like this."
"If they have to come and fetch us from anywhere, we'll certainly be punished. I don't want five more like I just had and I don't suppose you do, either."
"Darling, I can hardly wait to get them." Amy laughed at my puzzlement. "I just don't want to be too obvious in provoking Modesty into giving them to us. So long as it's only our bottoms and five strokes at a time, it's a breeze."
It was a game, a thing I might never understand. Daisy's whipping of my bottom had not been entirely devastating. I mainly felt ashamed and untidy. I remembered Modesty's embarrassed admission of inadequacy. For a moment it seemed to me that, if I could by some magic, shed my chains and make an escape, I would refuse to do so! I told myself that was because I wanted to see what happens next. The Retreat was beginning to take hold of me.
"It's dull walking besides the wall, Amy, and we know it's there. So why don't we wander through the woodland. It should be a lot more interesting."
We wandered cautiously, watching our steps. It would be beastly to have to wear these leg irons if there were wounds beneath the metal. If we were careful, we might get by our exploration with nothing worse than a chaff. In unconscious effort, our hands worked busily against our handcuffs. We would probably do that even in our sleep and we would never know.
The park was a lovely place, I envied Tremond this little bit of England. But there was more to it than trees, as Amy and I laughed our hobbled progress into the sun dappled greenery and the hot summer scent of fecund soil and lush growth we discovered paths leading off to either side and obviously maintained. But we stayed upon the main course until we reached what must have been the center of the park, an open circular glade, in the middle of which were sinister reminders to make me gasp and Amy tinkle with laughter.
"Oh, darling, this is priceless!" Her tone told of her longing that I share her joy. "Just see how ancient and weathered they look. A pillory, stocks and a bench, and a wicked whipping post." She turned upon me, eyes sparkling with desire. "Genn, wouldn't it be wonderful if they used them on us?"
I didn't bother to answer. Instead we clinked our suddenly anxious steps to where we could closely inspect these awesome relics of a darker age. It was instantly evident that, while the wood was old and of ageless oak, it had been recently crafted to fit only the less dimensions of the female. The holes would fit Amy's and my wrists and ankles, not those of a male. In the still summer air these solidly constructed engines of punishment radiated a dark power as though alive and waiting to clutch Amy and I in their cruel embrace. I shuttered and said, "Let's carry on, Amy, these things give me the willies."
We left the sunlit glade. Amy with obvious reluctance, our restricted steps finally brought us with confrontation with the wall and the knowledge we had reached the limit. Our ankles told us. thankfully, it was time to retrace our steps. Taking a different route back through the woods we discovered The Pond. We stopped with exclamations of delight. Like most small lakes confined by woodland, it had an air of mystery. Once again the hand of man was clearly evident, this pond had been deepened and its banks secured by human hand. Almost instantly we saw the structures by which The Retreat owners could put this pleasant place to good use. Amy was ecstatic. "But. darling, look it's a ducking stool! You know about ducking stool, don't you?"
I replied that, yes, I did indeed know and disliked what I knew. Crossly I admonished, "Amy, don't tell me you want to be strapped into that damned thing!"
"But think of the thrill, Genn, to sit there and be unable to move and to know what was going to happen! Oh, wow!"
I wished I could share Amy's love of this sort of thing but all I got was shivers up my spine. Surely these things would never have been put here without some one intending to use them. The next thing we saw was a cage, a quite small square of bars suspended over the water from a heavily braced arm of timber.
"They put a girl inside that," Amy informed sagely. "Then they lower her down and back up until she says that she'll behave and she is sorry she was naughty. Oh, Genn, surely that grabs you! Just think of being locked inside and watching the water rise! I bet I'd confess to anything."
"It will serve you right if they do it to you," I told her severely. "I'm going to pretend these things are just on display and won't ever be used. Good gosh, let's get out of here!"
Amy lingered regretfully but I was glad to go. Fortunately the natural beauty of the place revived my spirits for the rest of the increasingly painful hobble back to The Retreat. Trevor Tremond was not with us for lunch but I could tell Modesty was seething with amused expectation to learn our discoveries in the semi-freedom she had granted. Like I said, the whole thing was nuts!
"And everything is so authentic!" Amy was lavish in her praise. "You made such wonderful use of that old wood and it looks so grim and promising. Modesty, dear, would you try one of those things out on me.. .please?"
"It would be a lot more fun to try one out on Genn," Modesty rebuked. "Genn would hate it but you'd just get a big charge out of the whole thing. You would hate it, wouldn't you Genn?"
"Beyond words," I agreed. "Please don't put me in any of those things. Modesty, I'd die! I'm behaving myself and don't deserve to be punished."
"There's such a thing as punishment by caprice, darling," Modesty suggested softly. "When a girl is owned her punishments don't always follow strict logic."
"You mean you'd torture me for fun?" My tone was shock and bitter.
"You have a gift, Genn, for making things sound worse than they are. Properly used there's not a single thing you saw would do you harm. None of them would hurt as much as those five strokes on your bottom this morning."
The lunch was marvelous, Daisy was gifted far beyond the simple caning of a naked girl's seat. If the conversation was macabre I was hardly in a position to complain. Amy's hands and mine had been changed from back to front and I was beginning to acquire dexterity with knife and fork while handcuffed.
After lunch I got my first proposal of marriage.
I could understand the convenience of our metal bonds. Handcuffed and leg-ironed, a girl was available for almost anything. My courting pose was classically simple, a tether from the ceiling of the lounge came down to snap at my cuffed wrists and lift them up above my head. I stood there helpless, naked, exposed, and burning up with shame. A man was going to look at me! Think of it . . . a man!
"I haven't stretched you, darling, you can move freely. And I want Mr. Hawks to satisfy himself about everything you've got. You are terribly beautiful, y'know, don't you? I've put Amy in one of the little cells, she's exploring the bars and loving every moment of it."
"Why does he want me and not her?"
"Men are so silly, dear. He looked at the photographs and picked you, so here you are, aren't you lucky?"
"No, I'm not," I said sulkily even though it is hard to be sulky with Modesty. "I don't want to be sold to anyone and anyway you don't have any right to do this to me. Modesty, please let's call it quits, please let me go."
"Don't be silly, Genn, dear." Modesty kissed me. "Mr. Hawks is a very wealthy man, he'll give you a wonderful life. He promises not to whip any girl he buys unless her behavior is absolutely impossible. There, does that make you feel better?"
"No it doesn't. His idea of impossible behavior could be simply my tripping over my chain. I've heard about how most men like whipping girls. There's a lot of literature on the subject. And Amy's been telling me how she gets a thrill out of it. Modesty, please don't sell me into something like that."
It was there Daisy announced the arrival of Mr. Hawks. Mr. Hawks was not the fat, bald-headed, cigar-smoking banker I envisioned. He was large, big-boned, with stern eyes and jaw to match. His voice was faintly Yorkshire. He must have met Modesty before, he showed no sign of surprise at her braceleted wrists nor any embarrassment at my nudity. He was brisk and businesslike as though he didn't have all day to waste on the purchase of a girl.
"This is Gentian Rothwell, Mr. Hawks. Isn't she lovely?"
"O'aye, she is that. What's her price?"
Modesty mentioned a sum of money I couldn't believe. Mr. Hawks pretended he couldn't believe it either. "That's a damn silly name to give a girl, 'Gentian,'" he said. "I'll have to change that first off. As for that price of yours, there's no way you're going to get it."
"But. Mr Hawks. I thought you understood-these girls cost a fortune. Think of the risk and the trouble. And there's always an oil sheik who'll buy them if no one else will. The money isn't much when you consider you own her totally. She'll have to do whatever you tell her and she'll make you happy."
"How do I know that?"
Modesty's tinkle of laughter chided him. "Surely you have a whip, Mr. Hawks."
"O'aye, that I have! Any girl I buy is going to feel it just to smarten her up and get her minding her Ps and Qs. Mind if I feel around a bit."
"Please do."
Mr. Hawks' "feeling around a bit" comprised an examination of my teeth, the testing of my breasts, the pinching of my nipples, and then helping himself to a handful of my sex. He had a large hand! There was nothing I could do except stand there and take it. It shows how crazy the whole thing was that I felt any protest would be disloyal to Modesty. I didn't even tug at my raised arms.
"Nice bit of stuff," Mr. Hawks conceded. "Prime and ready to be bedded." He turned a fierce eye upon me to demand, "How about I marry you girl? That make you feel any better?"
"I'd rather not, if you don't mind."
They considered my polite rejection, each in their own silence. I shivered, feeling sure of punishment. Mr. Hawks was undismayed.
"You'd say 'yes' soon enough if I whipped your ass, young lady."
"I expect I would," I admitted modestly. "But please don't do that, I'd hate it. And I'd hate you, too. Right now I don't hate you at all."
I had hit the proper note. Mr. Hawks nodded as though in sympathy then helped himself to another handful of my pubic hair. I stood while I was mauled, avoiding Modesty's eye, until Mr. Hawks palm was sufficiently wet for him to wipe it upon a cheek of my red marked bottom and to announce a hardy Yorkshire rejection of my price. Modesty assumed a face of cold affront that any man could value money ahead of ME. They went away chatting animatedly and left me standing with my hands chained above my head and wondering how Modesty would evaluate my performance. But my mind was principally concerned with the concrete knowledge of The Retreat's promise being all too real.
Some time I would be sold. There would be other such Mr. Hawks!
Modesty was sweet about the how thing. She told me Mr. Hawks refused tea but accepted a double scotch. She said he was impressed by the handful of ME he had twice held, and would most likely be back. She said our efforts had not been wasted and that my behavior was a perfect as though rehearsed. All I could think to reply was. "Oh. Modesty, please don't sell me to anyone, please keep me here with you."
"You want me to keep you, darling, not let you go?"
I flushed guiltily as her finger tilted my chin. "Gentian, dear, I'm flattered but I'm afraid Trevor won't let me have a slave girl all my own." She kissed me lingeringly. "But thanks anyway, darling."
Amy was more critical. Once more out in the park in the afternoon sun, she listened to my account of the strangest proposal of marriage a girl had ever had, then vouchsafed a flat opinion, "But, darling, if you're sincere about wanting escape, if you're serious about wanting to get out of these lovely chains and this lovely park, you should have accepted his proposal. Don't you understand. Genn, our only possibly of escape is to let one of these men buy us and let him do with us as he will. If the idiot wants to marry you, that's all to the good. Think of the possibilities of escape when you walk up the aisle to the minister. You can't possibly be married while bound and gagged, and as long as you can speak, you've got it made. Oh, sweetheart, you've missed it."
I suspected Amy was right. But I also suspected Mr. Hawks would sample the wares before he took me to the altar. I did not wish to be ravished by Mr. Hawks even though he might, in his honest Yorkshire voice, insure me of good intentions while he bound me to his bed. I was satisfied to go back on the shelf as rejected merchandise which had found no favor. I was still wishing I could think of this whole adventure as something other than just plain crazy.
"There's not use longing for something tall, dark, handsome and rich," Amy advised me seriously. "Neither of us are going to get that. A guy with all those things doesn't have to purchase a girl from Modesty and Mr. Tremond. Girls simply hang around their necks imploring them to marriage. What we're going to get is a reject with cash. What I want is for his cash to reach eight figures." She giggled, "The extra digit is for inflation."
The next day we met Bridie Ross.
The introduction was informal. Modesty had Bridie Ross in a cage downstairs. Amy and I were privileged to make her acquaintance by walking cautiously down a stairs and being led to a room previously undisclosed. It contained a cage. In the cage was a naked young woman who's hands were cuffed behind her back as were our own and who was pacing up and down and testing bars as thought truly believing that one must give way under the thrust of bare foot or shoulder. She stopped this useless effort to stare at Modesty and Modesty's pair of chained and naked maidens. Vehemently she exclaimed, "I don't believe any of this, it simply can't be true!"
Modesty was always unruffled. Sweetly she told the caged girl, "This is Amy and this is Gentian, Bridie. I'm going to leave them here to talk. Please do ask questions." She flitted away and slammed the door. I felt sure the heavy slam of the bolt outside was for effect. "What the hell's with you two dopes!" Bridie surveyed us through the bars with disgust. "You going to a imagine dress ball or something?"
Bridie was magnificent, a bounding beauty of a girl who was straining defiantly at the handcuffs behind her back as though assured of tearing them apart. Then, catching up with something in her own mind, she exclaimed, "I've been kidnapped!" As though in sudden revelation she demanded, "Is that why you two are fixed the way you are, I mean like a pair of old time convicts?"
We assured her we were valid, even turning to display handcuffed wrists then turning back and kicking a foot to snub our ankle chain. Bridie looked at us doubtfully. "This whole thing has to be some kind of a put-on. Someone has to be pulling my leg. I was grabbed at a quiet spot in Wandsworth Common, tied up and stuffed in a lousy bag and then delivered here. Where the hell am I?"
Amy and I explained the facts of The Retreat, Bridie listening in disbelief. When our explanations trailed away she returned to square one. "Look, I've got to get out of this damned cage. Can you two help? I mean, kick some bars loose or jar open the door?"
We explained the limitations of bare maiden feet and of hands cuffed behind our back as where her own. It was easy to see Bridie supposed us to be making excuses to leave her to her fate. She kicked a bar and uttered an instant, "Ouch!" She then sort of deflated, leaned against the bars and wept bitterly.
Iron bars have no power over maiden sympathy and maiden lips. Amy and I used both lavishly until the prisoner in the cage obviously felt better. But with the defeat of her crying jag. belligerency returned. "Some one is going to pay for this." Bridie avowed darkly. "I'll have the police on them and, if I ever get my hands free.. . ! " She returned to tugging and twisting in a gorgeously revealing struggle of female curves. Amy and I made interested spectators, neither of us had ever fought out handcuffs with this vigor-not that it was doing Bridie any good, she would chaff her wrists horribly and still be helpless. But I was almost as much a novice as she so I watched and admired. Bridie obviously was thinking of freedom as something possible, I did not.
When the clank of the bolt turned us to the door, it was Daisy with a laden tray. She grinned at us and smiled at Bridie. "You haven't been fed. Miss Ross. I'm going to give you breakfast. I'll free your hands for it but first I'll chain you feet."
Bridie Ross stood in the center of the cage and glared silently, reserving a judgment. When Daisy had put down the tray, opened the door, and approached with the gleaming leg irons. Miss Ross used the opportunity to lash out with one still free foot to connect with Daisy's crotch. Moments later she was flat on her face and the scream of ratchets announced the subjugation of her feet. She sat up, staring almost in disbelief at the new bond and still voicing, "If only I'd had my hands!"
"I'm going to give you your hands so you can eat your breakfast," Daisy told her. "I'll cuff them in front of you, but I warn you, don't play tricks."
Bridie played a trick. No sooner was one cuff free than she swirled around to lash out with a fist. It connected with Daisy's cheek to send her reeling sideways. Bridie, leaping forward to cement her victory tripped on her leg irons and fell flat. She never regained lost ground. Moments later she stood, panting and furious, to gaze upon her joined hands with the same disbelief she had used upon her feet.
"You shouldn't have done that. Miss Ross," Daisy assured her seriously. "I'm afraid you're going to be sorry."
It was the first glimpse Amy and I had had of real discipline, of punishment properly provoked. Neither of us had known it. and to date its only demonstration had been the five scarlet bars placed across my rear. Those scarlet strips were trivial and in sonic quaint fashion I cannot understand, appropriate to the occasion. But this was punishment with a capital P.
There has to be something Amy and I don't understand about Modesty. Modesty has all the authority of The Retreat, she seems almost on wife-like terms with Mr. Tremond. Daisy obeys her totally. And yet Modesty's hands are chained by those beautiful bronze bracelets which even I envy her. No matter how agile a chained girl may be, there are limits to her ability to fight or physically subdue. Why Modesty was thus handicapped I did not know and Amy could only make a wild guess. But Modesty's decision was firm and swift-Bridie must be punished and Amy and I must watch. Laughingly and looking forward to what was soon to come, Daisy led us through the woods to the pond and fastened us to a single tree by a chain padlocked to Amy's neck, twisted around the trunk, and then locked to mine. Amy and I were indeed a captive audience.
"Isn't this exciting?" Amy breathed. She was panting heavily, eyes sparkling.
"I'm scared," I admitted soberly. "Today it's Bridie but tomorrow it could be us."
Modesty's contribution to dragging a furiously struggling Bridie Ross to her fate was the use of both of her joined hands to hold and subdue a young, bare arm. Daisy did the rest, her hand in Bridie's hair was the deciding factor in dragging the fresh, young captive to her punishment. The struggling girl lacked Amy's erudition and, as she was strapped tight to the fatal chair, demanded, "What the hell . . . ! Do you expect me to go fishing?"
Daisy was now in complete control. Modesty standing slightly to one side and as intently interested as Amy and I. The ease with which one girl was able to handle the cumbersome balance of the long bar and ducking stool was a tribute to the modern skill, the ball bearings and the oil we could not see. It was not until Bridie Ross found herself helpless above water of unknown depth that she understood what her punishment was to be. We saw her strain against the straps at wrist and ankle, waist and above her breasts. Except for her head she could not move but she tossed her hair wildly in demand. "You don't dare do this! You don't think you can get away with something this awful, do you! If you dump me in that water, I'll make sure you go to prison for the rest of your lives!"
Bridie Ross might have saved her breath. Waiting, Daisy looked at her mistress for the signal. It was a simple nod and the quiet command, "Yes, dear, you may do it now."
I can't remember all the things Bridie said or all the implications and utterances of alarm she made on her short journey down into the waiting pond. I don't believe she truly believed what was happening until her strapped feet were in the water and it was rising to engulf, first her pussy, then her breasts. With only her head above water she uttered her final threat, "I'll kill you for this." Then Bridie Ross was gone.
Amy and I had not even bothered to test the chain upon our necks. We were satisfied to be prisoners of the tree, expecting no escape. We watched breathlessly a tableau in which we had no part but which was probably intended to be a stern object lesson to us both. And, of course, to Bridie, too! I gazed fixedly at Modesty's serene features and wondered if she was counting. Bubbles were rising to the surface of the pond and I could only think of the agonies of the girl below who was struggling for breath and for all she knew for life. When Modesty gave the authoritative nod, Daisy used the levers and controls to bring the delinquent head above water, then the breasts and then the pussy. The fingers of each strapped hand were furiously straining in useless motion as their owner spit out a mouthful of pond water and frantically gasped to regain her breath. When she had done so it was evident she had learned but little.
"You rotten bitch. . . . You rotten bitch!" Bridie looked back over a bare wet shoulder at Modesty's serenity. "I'll use your guts for garters," she vowed. "Get me out of this. Don't you dare put me in there again. If you kill me it will be murder and see what that gets you!"
Modesty gave the punished girl a good time to sit above the water and fight the straps holding her firmly in the ducking stool. When Modesty once more nodded to her waiting assistant the dripping nakedness included us all in her vows of retribution. A stream of bubbles followed her decent-quite probably she still was talking.
Even Bridie had her limitations. It was a much subdued and very sodden young woman who reappeared the second time and spent most of her period of grace in coping with the physical disabilities of partial drowning. This time there were no treats but only a wail of anguish as her face once more approached the surface of the pond. This time
I doubted she had a word to say to passing fish or for the venting of her spleen. She was a long time under and the bubbles traced a new pattern as I looked at Modesty and prayed for her to say the word. It was a long time coming but finally permission was given for Bridie to reenter the world. After all the gaspings and truly horrible sounds she was asked if she was prepared to be sensible and stop fighting. Bridie contrived to utter the single affirmative. The battle was over, The Retreat had won.
Four girls had watched the ancient punishment. While Bridie still sat strapped above the pond, I tried to gauge the reactions of each of us. I knew my own. Modesty's serenity defeated analysis, Daisy was obviously delighted with her role and its success, Amy's breasts were heaving in pure sexual excitation. I suppose that about summed it up. There were four girls viewing the maiden in the ducking stool from four different view points, none of which would rescue her from the fate awaiting Amy and I. When she swung around and the stool was lowered to ground level, its occupant remained satisfied with catching up with her breathing while the straps were removed from every part of her body. When Modesty asked in direct challenge, "Will you obey us know, Bridie? Will you stop fighting us?" the only response was a whispered, "Yes." Then, as an additional assurance the defeated voice added, "I'll do whatever you tell me, honest I will."
The proof of any pudding is in the eating. Bridie provided all the proof authority might wish. She stood, pathetically naked, while her hands were bound tight with cord behind her back. Then her elbows were bound. I recognized the elbow bondage was an added punishment and admonition to obey. Then the leg irons were added, of course. Amy and I were unleashed from our tree, a bond we had never bothered to test, and Modesty, her assistant and the three captives made our painful, hobbled pathway back to The Retreat. I don't know why Modesty and Daisy were satisfied to keep us hobbled and condemn themselves to the same slow prisoner's walk, but that's the way it was.
There were now three of us. Amy, Bridie, and me. The Retreat now had an inventory from which clients could make a choice. I think by coincidence only, us three girls were different types, a client had a choice. Bridie said nothing on the way home, I'm sure she had much to think about, and certainly, for the time being, her submission was totally sincere. From time to time I stole a sideways glance to remember the maiden who had been so belligerent a short time before.
As we made our way back to The Retreat, I toyed with the thought of how leg irons dictated the speed at which everybody did things. Modesty and Daisy were forced to slow their pace to match that of their captives. I would have become impatient and free their feet, but I was beginning to glimpse how the hobbles were a more effective remainder of captivity than chained hands. If you hurt yourself against handcuffs, it was your own fault. But the constant snub of chained steps forced upon us a pain we did not desire. We had walked a great deal in a couple of days and our chaff marks beneath the steel bands were red and angry. But a girl who's skin was daily marked by the grip of irons might soon long to be sold to escape them. But would being sold release us from anything! I did not know.
Reaching the house. Amy and I were told to follow downstairs to catch our first proper glimpse of the arrangements for securing abducted girls. For a little while we forgot our anklets in this fresh curiosity. We watched an unresisting Bridie pushed into a cell and the door locked upon her. It was a tiny little cubicle and would have given me claustrophobia but Bridie clinked her chain against the hard bench. She spared Amy and I a brief smile and an shrug of bare shoulders. She sat down to reflect in naked solitude. I could not believe she was broken, I was sure she was not. Bridie Ross was prudently abiding her time. When we left I noted that Bridie still had her arms bound with rope behind her back, elbows linked tightly. I wondered how long it would be before her arms were in pain. By morning she would be in agony, and I was sure that our keepers intended to leave her until morning.
Amy and I were taken to shiver our way through or passed a number of bare and empty cells awaiting girls. They were variously furnished, mostly with things to hold or hurt a girl. There was also a truly magnificent dungeon which would have done justice to any movie set. It was too good to be true and Modesty freely admitted it was of recent origin and made to specifications. There was also a much larger room I didn't even want to think about. It was a room I just couldn't associate with Modesty, with Trevor Tremond yes, but not with the serene beauty who wore her bronze chains with such grace.
At dinner that night Trevor was very much the male presence in The Retreat. He was an amusing conversationalist and between he and Modesty there ran a current of something hard to define. I was pretty sure they were lovers. Modesty's authority was absolute when he was gone but his presence overshadowed us all including her. It was a forceful chunk of masculinity Amy and I would never dare to offend. I thought of Bridie down in her cell and wondered if Trevor Tremond would want to punish her more. I was certain he wanted his captive maidens submissive and obedient, he would instantly detect falsity or subterfuge. His approach to the two chained and naked maidens who shared his table was one of teasing raillery, to which a glass of wine helped us suitably respond. With brandy in the lounge he asked Modesty her plans for our night.
"I had intended to chain them in the bedroom the same as before," she told him without hesitation. "Chained the way I had them, they can't possibly get loose."
"Sure they can't get loose," he agreed. "But why not have a bit of fun with them. Give them a bit of fun, too. Turn 'em loose in the park for the night. Be a new experience." He chuckled, "If we have enough fun with them, they'll welcome the next client who wants to buy their pretty little persons."
There was an uncomfortable silence broken by Modesty's protest, "But. darling, they'll freeze out there, even if it is a warm night."
"Give 'em a blanket," he beamed at Amy and I as though we ought to be pleased. "Better than being chained up in a room, isn't it?"
"But, Trevor, people belong in bed when it's dark, not wandering around in a park," Modesty complained.
"There's a full moon, they'll probably see fairies."
"Well, you do it then, Trevor. The poor darlings have been so well behaved, I'd be ashamed to kick them out all night."
Trevor Tremond did exactly that. But first he linked our necks with padlocked chain, maybe three feet of it. to compel us to stay close. His masculine touch was harsh compared to Modesty or Daisy. I knew that if he was the buyer who purchased me, I'd be frightened. He opened the little kitchen door, patted our bare bottoms, then draped a folded blanket over my handcuffed wrists behind my back, telling me to do what I liked with it and that if I dropped it, it wouldn't be too difficult to pick it up. Amy and I took a few short steps outside. Trevor Tremond closed the door and we heard it lock firmly.
We turned again to look at where we must spend the night. The park had a strange, unearthly beauty in the pale radiance of the moon. It was beautiful and mysterious and, somewhere in the depth of the woodland, the pond would be waiting. We shivered.
3
Hobbled
"Isn't this exciting!" said Amy delightedly. "Just think of us, darling-naked and chained in the moonlight! I wouldn't have missed this for anything." She took a blithe step forward, forgetting the chain by which our necks were joined. "Oops, sorry, I forgot. Oh, Genn dear, isn't that man Tremond simply marvelous!"
I could never share Amy's enthusiasm for captivity, so I didn't try. "Let's roll ourselves in the blanket right here and save wear and tear on our ankles," I said disgustedly. "We're going to be as uncomfortable one place as another."
"What! And waste this lovely moonlight? Come on, let's go into the woods. I'll bet we see ghosts and satyrs and.. .well, simply everything!" .
"Bats and beetles," I said morosely.
But the enchantment of the night had infected me with some of Amy's own joy. I would remember this night the rest of my life, It would be too hauntingly incredible to forget. I remembered Richard Hallaberton's story of spending the night at the top of one of the Nile pyramids. If we had not been so severely chained, it might have been fun.
The collar of links and pendent padlock and its three foot span joining us was a surprising handicap. Goodness knows what impulse had caused Trevor Tremond to lock it on our necks, but there had grown between
Amy and I an invisible bond of rapport in our strange captivity. In the moonlight we made our slow clinking progress toward the trees.
"What will we do if there's something in there?" Amy asked breathlessly, "I don't know what but simply something?"
"Run!"
"We can't run, darling, you're forgetting! I don't think there's anything that keeps me so sexually excited as these leg irons. It's because they bite at us with every step." She heaved a big sigh. "Darling, I do hope you and I never get sold."
"What brought that on?"
"I don't know. Maybe someone walked over my grave. Or maybe I'm not as brave as I thought I was. Darling, it's a darn right shame that you don't love captivity the way I do. I've just been thinking, if one of us falls, the other has to go along, too. Isn't that cute?"
I wanted to make an irritable retort and tell her that there was nothing cute about it at all, but I could never be angry with the little sweetheart. Instead, I said, "Let's not go near the pond-that place scares me. If Modesty chained me to a tree there all night, I think I'd go mad. Let's just stay on the main path and forget about that place."
We had forgotten about the circular glade. It came suddenly into sight with its grim reminders of another age. The pillory, the post, the stocks were all there waiting, and for a moment we scarcely believed our eyes. In the pillory was a girl. I began to see Trevor's purpose in putting us out here for the night might be for a reason of his own. A girl can't quicken her pace when she's hobbled, but we did our best. Coming close, we beheld the listless droop of head and hands held in the oak boards. We saw the hank of blonde hair falling down beside her head, glinting in the moonlight with a silver sheen of its own.
When the clink of our chains awoke the girl she looked up, startled, and we saw her tense and surge her strength against the massive bulk of the pillory. "Don't be frightened, we can't hurt you," Amy assured earnestly.
Standing within the wooden clutch of a pillory no girl looks her best. But this one was a beauty, The Retreat was running true to form. Shocked, the ash blonde said, "You're chained! You're chained and naked.. . ! "
I had been holding the blanket all this time, now I let it slip to the ground and followed Amy in a circle tour of the pillory and its lovely occupant. The occupant, sensing absence of hostility, pleaded, "Can't you get me out of this thing? I've been standing like this for simply ages."
The links between our necks made everything Amy and I did a joint affair much like handcuffed hands where you must do everything with both hands. We solemnly examined the device but the heavy oak yokes were latched and padlocked tight upon the new girl's neck and wrists. They really were tight, the thing had been made strictly for girl. Interrupting each other constantly. Amy and I acquainted the captive with the facts of life and The Retreat. She probably did not believe a word of what we said but was bursting to tell us of her own kidnapping.
"They walked right into my own apartment and took me when no one was around," she said in an outraged tone. "They trussed me up with rope and cord so I could hardly breath, they put me in a box, and I must have been in that box a hell of a long time. When it was opened up there was two girls and an man, all grinning at me like Cheshire cats, remarking on the way I'm built. When they untied me, I had enough life left to kick the man square in his nuts and get in a good swipe at one of the girls, but that was as far as I got. They jumped me and said, 'My, my, wasn't I a little spitfire who needed a good lesson!. ' They brought me out here and fixed me like this. I've been here every since, I haven't seen a soul. Tell me I'm dreaming. Get me loose, please.. . "
Amy and I went over and over the facts of life as they now applied. Little by little comprehension dawned within the ash blonde head. She told us her name was Marjorie Ware, she was a fashion model and the police would soon be hot on her track and we'd all be rescued. She spoke condescendingly as though, wouldn't it be fun when Trevor, Modesty and Daisy were hauled off to prison by the cops. In the meantime she was very sick of the pillory and wanted OUT.
When we explained about obedience being the first virtue at The Retreat, she simply snorted and said we were a pair of sissies, and surely there was someway we could wiggle free of the handcuffs. Our assurances about how handcuffs were a very permanent fixture on a girl's wrist met with only an impatient snort. It was easy to see why Marjorie Ware was in the pillory instead of a comfortable bedroom in the house. Feeling guilty about our inability to aid the suffering maiden. Amy and I contrived to wrap ourselves in the blanket in a sort of a cocoon effect and go to sleep.
We are in the room I wish I'd never seen. We are here in force but strangely arrayed. Bridie's wrists are tied cruelly to each side of the whipping post. Marjorie Ware stands exposed with her hands crossed and drawn above her head. Amy and I stand like butterflies against the stone wall, arms out spread to either side, wrists shackled to make us seem victims of some monstrous spider. The clothes Daisy and Modesty wear accentuate the nakedness of the four captives. Amy and I have been told we are there as an audience to learn a lesson in deportment. We have been left to guess at the fate of the two nudities more stringently fastened. Bridie has already been sufficiently shrewish with her tongue to earn a gag. Beholding the strapping of it within her companion's mouth has cautioned Marjorie to be prudent with her speech, she is tense but awaits quietly.
The man is handsome and raises a flutter in the breasts of all of us, he could model for men's fashion magazines, and his manner is direct and brutal. With Trevor hovering and Daisy and Modesty more or less in the wings, he circles to scrutinize each of the two naked maidens displayed for his approval, he and Trevor remarking upon their better features or points of interest. He unblushingly palms and kneads the sex of each, they cannot kick at him, they arc hobbled. Amy and I watch them cringe and know just how they feel. I am praying Pretty Boy won't turn his attention to either of us.
"Nice collection of stuff you've got here," the visitor said as he turned his back insolently upon the merchandise and looks around the walls, his gaze gliding over Amy and me as through we were not there. "Do you have to use it often?"
"Only when they ask for it." Trevor's tone is light, after all what's a rack or a few thumbscrews between friends. "You'll notice it's mostly designed for immobility, we prefer not to injure or mark."
"Mind if I try out a whip on these two? A whip tests a girl's quality."
What do we matter, we are only girls! All Trevor says as he hands out the hateful thonged instrument of pain is a casual, "Don't cut the skin."
Marjorie is first. She screams in shock as a scarlet line forms across her back. We stare in fascinated horror. I had never seen a girl whipped, let along be so ill-used myself. All the stuff about the whipping of girls
I had ever read flooded back into my mind. I looked sideways at Amy, she is entranced and breathless. "Marks nicely," conceded the prospective purchaser. "I'll try one across her ass."
Marjorie was still striving for breath and composure when the second stroke lapped full across her twin cheeks and snapped wickedly across one hip. The sounds she made were frightening as she actually lifted herself off the ground in agony to impose all her weight and the force of her struggles on her cross bound wrists above her head. The client stood by, assessing her motions with the eye of a connoisseur of female pain. When Marjorie failed to turn and twist to present a portion of herself in which he held particular interest, he moved a step this way or that or made a complete circle in the simulation of a buyer in a farmer's auction pen. He nodded as though having made a mental note, then turned his attention to a wide-eyed Bridie who's efforts to tear loose from the whipping post had failed to make it even shiver. There was sounds coming from behind her gag, they were decidedly negative. The post held her where she stood, she could evade nothing. The thong wrapped itself around her waist with a resounding snap.
I felt unexpected shame. Along with disgust and fear I felt the unmistakable glow of sexual arousal within my loins. To be vulgar about it, I would have to admit that watching the whipping of a naked girl made me horny. I knew Amy was well ahead of me, leaving me to wonder what strange depths of emotion lay within us all.
The buyer made Bridie dance to the tune of three vicious strokes then asked, suddenly, "How much?"
It was Modesty who answered. The price she mentioned was startling. Amy and I exchanged glances. If we were worth such sums then certainly we would never be allowed to escape either from The Retreat or from a buyer's custody. We pressed ourselves back against the wall, breathless.
"Hmmmmmm." The buyer raised a quizzical eyebrow and turned his attention to the wicked furniture. His retort was abrupt as ever. "You're high."
The vendors of captive girls stood their ground, saying nothing. Running the thong through exploring fingers, the man who had used the whip turned a casual attention upon Amy and me. His glance lingering longer than before. Had I been able to claw my way through the wall and out of sight, I would have done so.
We found only limited praise. "They both submissives, aren't they. That's a pity. If they didn't cost so much I'd prefer the one's I've whipped, they've got more fire in them. One of these two is getting herself wet from watching and the other wouldn't say boo to a goose. What do you want for them?"
"No less than the others." Modesty's voice was unruffled.
"Keep 'em." He turned his attention to the two girls he had whipped. "Mind if I whip this pair a bit more?"
"We'd rather you didn't." Trevor's voice was firm. "Let's go up to the lounge and have a drink. He chuckled, "The girls won't miss us while we're gone."
Marjorie was quietly crying and wiping the tears away upon her raised bare arm. Bridie was dry eyed and furiously striving to disengage the gag which kept her silent. She, too, used a bare arm as her only aid.
"This can't possibly be true," Marjorie sobbed brokenly. "They can't possibly sell girls. I don't want to be sold to that horrible man, he's cruel."
"He's damn handsome and knows how to handle a female," Amy vowed ardently. "If he bought me, I'd die of shivers up the spine."
Bridie and I said nothing, she couldn't speak and I had nothing to say, all I was seeing and thinking about was the thud and impact of the whip upon virgin skin.
A sale had been made. Trevor's drink had worked its magic and the buyer was actually smiling. On his way to his new possessions, he took the opportunity to grasp a handful of my sex, a painful handful he did not relinquish quickly. He did the same with Amy, no doubt on the basis of being privileged of taking a freebie while we were so handy. I endured the clutch, staring straight into his eyes, hoping to shame him. But he had no shame. He tilted my chin with a heavy finger and kissed me on the lips. He must have considered submissives good for something!
Marjorie was swiftly gagged. It was not until the strap was harshly buckled behind her neck that she realized the full impact of that action. But Bridie knew and the effect upon her was much the same as the trauma of the ducking stool, she ceased to fight, convinced she could not win. But her eyes flashed a sympathy at her companion who was straining at her bound hands.
"I can wedge 'em both in the trunk of the car," the pleased purchaser said as though speaking of a couple of bundles from the store. "All we have to do is truss them up good and tight so it hurts to struggle. I don't know why some people have all the trouble they do in handling girls. It's simple."
I wished I could be angry with Amy, but I couldn't. She was tremendously involved and breathing heavily. The visitor's statement about trussing up two girls so it hurt to struggle touched the fire forever burning down below. All I thought about was the pain but Amy was sensing the deliciousness of hurt helplessness. Maybe someday I'll understand.
The two girls were not given much chance to struggle. Their feet were tied tight before their hands were freed. With a hand grasping their hair they were forced to stand rigid while their wrists and arms were bound behind their backs. It was a very thorough binding. I wondered how far they had to go. Poor darlings, I scarcely knew them, yet they were the first of the lush harvest The Retreat would garner from the sequestering of girls.
When the two poor girls were immobilized so that Amy and I could see the bulge of flesh around the cords by which they were so unkindly bound, Trevor picked up one and the visitor the other and carried them away. Modesty and Daisy followed. Amy and I were alone, still chained to the wall. Fortunately it was not hurting but it would have been nice to sit down.
"That's going to happen to us," Amy exclaimed, eyes shinning. "I can hardly wait. Darling, think of belonging to that terrible man. A girl would have to be so damned obedient.. . "
"She's be busy counting her whip marks," I consoled irritably. "Amy, stop wanting such awful things to happen. The best we can hope for is for things to stay the way they are."
"Well, never mind darling," Amy said, recognizing our emotional divergency. "But isn't this a yummy way to be chained, it doesn't hurt and I bet we look really beautiful. That idiot doesn't have any judgment or he would have bought us."
Daisy was first to return. "Two down and two to go," she said cheerfully. "How did that whip business affect you?"
"It was wonderful," Amy breathed reverently.
"It was horrible and awful," I lied. "What about you?"
"It sort of curled me up inside," she admitted modestly. "I'm sure glad it was those two and not me." She looked from one to the other of us and spoke more seriously. "There's things you could do to get yourself whipped, y'know. Please make sure it doesn't happen, I might get the job of whipping you." She gave a sigh and shrugged. "I've already been told that if that happens I'm to whip you real hard and not just on your bottom, either. I bet it hurts horribly on a girl's back."
How strange it all was! Novices and novices, with always hanging above our heads the threat of punishment. Perhaps in an hour Amy or I would be whipped. I tried to envision the agony of the lash upon my bare skin. At least I had had the advantage of Amy in memory of the five strokes with the riding crop on my bottom. It the whip was worse that that, I didn't want it. We went through the ritual of assuring Daisy that, yes, we would behave when our hands were freed. She could bind us any way she chose. We were not being as stupidly submissive as we sounded, we were still hobbled and could not have won any battle we undertook. It was only moments before our wrists were clasp in cuffs behind our backs. But at least our necks were free. We prudently kept silent about the absence of collars.
"Yes, he bought both of them," Daisy informed us happily. "Miss Blair is ever so pleased and so is Mr. Tremond. They're going to give me a raise." Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "They've also put your price up, darlings, you're getting to be terribly expensive."
"It won't be long before someone buys us if we're all that is left," Amy moaned. "Gentian and I want to be sold together, we don't want to be separated. What's the chances, Daisy?"
"How would I know! I'm as new to this as you two." She giggled confidingly. "Miss Blair told me they could sell me, too. That is if I wanted to be sold. She said they could split with me and give my half to my family while I went off into slavery. Isn't that something!"
"What did you say, Daisy?"
"Why, yes, of course!" Daisy looked surprised at our question. "All that money! Why even half of it would set my family up in good shape. And as far as I'm concerned, I could escape from anyone in a month or two." Her manner became arch. "I could always wear him out in bed so he'd be glad to get rid of me."
I was about to ask her how she could be that crazy when my attention was distracted by the way I was being handcuffed. Amy already had her hands cuffed behind her back and now Daisy thrust one of my hands down inside Amy's looped wrists before handcuffing me in the ordinary way. This left Amy and I joined, back to back, my hands inside hers and hers inside mine. We could walk together only by one of us yielding to the other. As far as going in opposite directions, it would be an immediate tug of war.
"Miss Blair said I should give you a change," Daisy said earnestly, "so see how you like that. To compensate I'm going to let you have your feet. No more leg irons, not for now anyway."
The first thing Amy and I did was kick. We kicked out at nothing in deep satisfaction but there our pleasure ended. To stand side by side each one of us had to sort of donate her outer arm. Daisy was entranced. "You both look like a bird with one wing," she said cheerfully. "Look, darlings, I'm going to turn you loose in the park so you can go for a real honest-to-goodness run and get yourselves accustomed to the way you're fixed now. Miss Blair says you ought to get some exercise so you'd better run and run good or I'll be after you with a riding crop."
"It's a good thing we like each other," Amy said morosely as we were ejected from the familiar door. "Talk about togetherness.. . ! "
At the end of an hour we had chaffed wrists. It was glorious to run, and we had done so until exhausted. But try as we might we could not avoid a series of tugs at our handcuffed wrists. It didn't matter which one of us was guilty of the tug, the bite of steel against our skin was the same. We decided to ask Daisy if we could be tied with cord instead. We never got loose from her rope bondage so what was the difference? In spite of all our impediments to freedom of movement, this new method of keeping us helpless did give us the freedom of the park. Our leaping limbs carried us ten times the speed of feet confined in leg irons. We were infuriated and could imagine Daisy laughing back at the house, for when we discovered a secluded spot in the wood, we sank to the grass and tried to make love. But we couldn't, no matter how we twisted and turned our arms were always wracked painfully as we approached our goal. We agreed that except for the glorious run we preferred to be chained the way we had been.
That night we slept close together on our tummies and woke up from time to time in an irritating tangle of arms and chains. Maybe Daisy wearied of feeding us with a spoon for the next morning after breakfast she did things to us which left us shocked and uneasy. She refused to answer questions and maintained that irritating air of knowing something you did not. It began with Amy.
My feet were ironed, my wrists handcuffed behind my back, so I was safe and made an interested audience of one when Amy was pushed face down upon the bed, her leg irons removed and her ankles bound tight with rope. When her handcuffs joined the leg irons on the floor. Amy's hands were crossed behind her back and most stringently tied with cord. If it had been me, I'd have been squealing both in indignity and at the pain of ropes cutting into my limbs. But Amy stole a sideways glance at me to show me sparkling eyes and a wicked little wink to tell me she was enjoying the whole thing. But Daisy was not through. She threaded fresh rope between bound feet and bound hands and drew it tight, then tighter still. The result was to bow Amy back in the joining of hands and feet in what I suppose would be called the hogtie. so often spoken of. When Daisy stepped back with a pleased smile at her accomplishment, poor Amy heaved and struggled without avail. She relapsed with a sigh to murmur. "Daisy, darling, you do the most beautiful ties. I'll never get out of this one."
We left her there, me in uncomplaining obedience to Daisy clutch on my bare arm. In the passage Daisy picked up a small bag before leading me out into the sunlight of the park. As we made my hobbled, slow progress towards the trees I thought longingly of the freedom of yesterday, but did not complain. A girl who has become merchandise and who is up for sale must not expect too much.
"You'll love what I'm going to do to you," said Daisy.
"It's not that awful pond, is it?"
"No, darling, you're not being punished, you just being.. Well, sort of sequestered all by yourself."
"That is a punishment. Daisy."
"Well, it's all in the point of view. Don't howl until you're hurt, darling. And don't ask questions, it's all a lovely surprise."
My first surprise was Modesty Blair. We had gone up one of the lesser pathways and there she was, sitting on the grass and leaning against the trunk of a tree. When she saw us she got to her feet to say, "I think this one, Daisy. It's just about right for the effect I want. You can take Gentian's chains off, she won't fight the two of us. Will you, dear?"
I said, "No." I would not fight and felt silly the way I always do when being too submissive. But I was curious and there was an atmosphere of fun in the air I could not ignore. And I hated the idea of fighting Modesty, she was a sweetheart. She still had on the lovely bronze chains which left me wondering. Modesty was a beautiful enigma.
I stood before them, naked and expectant. Something was about to happen. From the bag Daisy withdrew a white silk, shortie nightgown which I put. It only made me feel more naked that before. I was then pushed back against the tree, my arms gathered in back and my crossed wrists tied. It was all done very slowly and carefully with an eye to some desired effect. I began to share their absorption in the task. The next item was a length of heavy chain, wrapped around my middle and the tree to be fastened with an equally heavy padlock. The chain clashed with the pretty nightgown but I said no word.
Neither girl said a thing but studied me intently as they circled me and the tree they had chosen. Without warning Modesty's joined hands stretched out and tore the silk from my shoulder. She tore it savagely, to leave ragged ends. Evidently I had to look as though stripped by force. Daisy and her mistress debated this tear and that, sometimes they used scissors to start a rent in a desired spot. When they were done with me, one of my breasts was completely bare and the other only half hidden. The tore nightwear drooped sadly from one shoulder, and I was assured, laughingly, that my pubic hair was in that condition were first you see it now you don't. They gathered up my discarded chains, put them in the bag, and said goodbye. They went away laughing.
I was not perturbed, I was puzzled. The manner of my binding to the tree was unusual, the chain and padlock cinching my middle would keep me there forever, there was no need for my hands to be tied behind the slender trunk. But I suppose there night be nothing significant in both these facts, my hands would always be chained or bound in some way as a matter of course. But it did occur to me that I was attractively displayed. The tied wrists in back stuck my breasts out a little more than normal. And the chain and padlock might be to keep me safe against the tree in case strange hands sought my release. I shrugged the whole thing off, nothing was likely to happen in this safe park. Modesty and Daisy were having fun with me and probably chuckling at my expense. I settled back and hoped I could think of enough interesting things to fill the lonely, boring hours which are the principle discomfort of such punishment.
He had crept silently up the path and had probably been studying my for several moments before I snapped out of my dream world to stare back at a ferret-like little man in a business suit. I disliked him on sight.
"You're name's Gentian, isn't it? Nice name, nice girl. I've been watching you." He drew close to envelop me in the disgusting odor of alcohol and cigars, his breath was foul. "How'd you feel about my taking you home with me?" he said.
Without thinking I snapped a brief, "No thanks. Do you realize you're trespassing on Mr. Tremond's property?"
"He's the guy who sent me to have a look at you. Damn it. I think you're as good as he said you were."
My heart sank. Modesty surely would never have sent this despicable creature to view me so helpless and nearly naked. But. if ferret-face had Trevor Tremond's blessing.. . ! I couldn't think of a word to say except for, "Did Mr. Tremond give you the key to my padlock and permission to untie my hands?"
"No, he didn't. And I like you the way you are. You any good at fucking?"
He was of the dregs. If he actually had enough money to buy me, he must have won it in a lottery. A creature this uncouth could not have properly belong in the business world. He followed up his use of the hateful word and the beastly question by stepping close and helping himself to a handful of my sex. I couldn't stop him. It is at times like this a girl really and truly knows what it is to be bound and helpless. Previously, when I had been thus used, by feet had been hobbled, but now they were free. Instinctively I lashed out and connected a hard heel squarely on the spot ferret-face would like it least. He doubled over, cursing. But when he recovered, he stood to one side where I could not kick and once more went to work with beastly intent. His tobacco stained fingers penetrated me to their full length and, when withdrawn, were held before my face. "Suck it clean, sweetheart, see how you taste."
It was all happening too swiftly for me to think. I let him get his finger well into my mouth before I bit hard, as hard as I possibly could. His howl of agony, plus my own repulsion, parted my jaw and he quickly jerked back to nurse his wound. I shivered against the tree, knowing my vulnerability. I struggled hard and fruidessly against the ropes on my wrists. They held me effortlessly for what ever attention ferret-face might wish to bestow on me next. I thought of muttering an apology but I wasn't the least bit sorry for what I had done. But now I'd be punished, punished for sure.
Ferret-face took his time, stopping the slight flow of blood with a white handkerchief wrapped around the injured finger. With his other hand he began stripping me of the tattered remains of the nightgown. He tore at the bits and pieces of silk in a venomous determination to examine the goods he intended to buy. He pawed at my breasts and every other curve and crevasse of my person he could reach. He even went to the trouble of plucking the last part of silk from under the tight chain to leave me stark naked. He kept a cautious eye out for my foot, but I had no courage to kick again, I was in enough trouble now.
"Please don't buy me," I pleaded. "I'm sure we wouldn't get along."
His voice was almost gloating, "I'm buying you for sure, sweetheart. The only way I can whip you properly for what you've done is to take you home." He leaned one hand against my tree to give me the full benefit of halitosis. "Think of it, honey, I'll string you up by your thumbs and lace into you proper. When I'm through with you, you'll do no more biting and kicking, I promise you."
Strangely ferret-face left me alone, contenting himself with a knowing sneer, no doubt envisioning me in some horrible torture of his contrivance. His eyes positively burned into my skin as though he had not seen a naked girl before. Probably he had not.
When he went away, muttering promises of purchase and punishment, I stood against my tree in the depths of a despair beyond desperation. I was vividly frightened.
It was Modesty who came for me in early evening. They had given me plenty of time to imagine and conjure up vivid horrors. She eyed me with raised eyebrow and pursed lips. "Darling, you really have got yourself into trouble. You must learn to use more judgment."
"Have you sold me to him?"
Modesty laughed outright at my fearful question. "No. Trevor considered it but I talked him out of the idea. That horrid little man should never have been let loose on you." She noted the torn remains of the nightie on the ground and asked, "Did he give you a bad time?"
I told her the way it was, and then waited for sentence to be pronounced. Modesty was her usual darling self. She acknowledged gravely that, yes, I had indeed been bad and needed punishment. She stood there with her lovely bronze bracelets and managed to look far sadder than I remembered. "It's me who has to punish you. darling. Trevor said to that hateful little creep that I would have the job of teaching you a lesson. He told me what to do to you. It isn't a bit nice."
There was never much need to say things with Modesty, we understood each other, we were two girls. I often wondered if she was as much a prisoner as me. I loved her too much to make trouble and so stood quietly while she put the leg irons back on my ankles and unlocked the chain. I moved away from the tree that had kept me prisoner. It felt good.
"Come alone. Gentian, dear. Let's get this over with."
We might have been two girls out for a stroll except I was naked and was apt to make little hopping jumps to keep up my hobbled feet. Modesty might love me but she was taking no chances. Upon releasing me from the tree she had turned me about and tied my hands again the way they had been. I didn't expect much else, I was a bad little girl who must be punished. Modesty kept up an animated conversation, avoiding all reference to ferret-face and I was so busy trying not to trip that we came into sight of my punishment before I could guess it's nature.
It was the pond!
4
The Awful Punishment
"No, oh no!" I heard my voice as from a distance. "Oh, Modesty, I can't bare it, I simply can't!"
"Its not what you think, darling." Modesty's voice was as serene as ever. "I'm not going to strap you in the ducking stool. But there is something else."
I couldn't do anything. Even if I could have kicked Modesty I could never have brought myself to do it. Modesty, even in what she was now about to do, was an adorable creature who owned me utterly. Unhappily I walked beside her to the cage. We eyed the grim, square thing of iron bars in silence, my spine curling up. I didn't have to ask if I would be locked inside, I knew I would. But my own concern was what happened then! I watched Modesty unfasten and then lift the top which came up on hinges. Not until then dare I ask the fatal question.
"If I get inside that thing. Modesty, what happens then, what will you do with me?"
"Don't ask silly questions, darling." Modesty nodded at the open cage. "In you go. You know you have to. please don't make a fuss, darling."
The "darling" got to me. It might sound odd as applied to a girl facing punishment, but Modesty spoke it with sincerity. Timidly I said, "Oh, Modesty, I'm frightened."
"Of course you are, darling. But I'm not going to answer any questions until you've been a good girl and got inside and sat down so I can close this lid and lock you in. Gentian.. . Please.. . "
It hurt my thighs while I sat on the upper edge of the damned bared box and swung my ironed feet up and over. I sat down inside and was instantly afflicted with claustrophobia. My knees came up under my chin and I longed for my tied hands to clutch at the bars. I don't know why I wanted that so badly but I did. The way I was chained up made me feel like a package within a crate. Modesty gently closed the barred lid and snap the padlocks shut to keep me prisoner. An elephant couldn't have gotten in or out of that damn cage, it could hold me a prisoner forever.
Modesty lifted her bronze braceleted hands to place a finger on her lips, enjoining silence. "Darling, we both know what's going to happen, don't let's be silly about it. If you feel you have to scream, I won't be able to stop you, but it will sound awful echoing across the water. Gentian, dear, please try to take this like a.. . lady."
Modesty easily managed the controls, they were electrically operated. All she had to do was push the right buttons. The arm from which my cage was suspended rose to lift me and the cage easily as though we weighted nothing and then gradually swing us out over the water. By the time the arm had reached its maximum extension, I was petrified. I gazed down at the black water beneath in the surety of it being bottomless and containing a monster who would smash the cage and eat me without delay. It was fanciful. I know, but I was oh so close to the surface of that beastly pond and I could only sit, crotch, within the bars and await my fate. When the cage began its descent to the awaiting depths, I screamed. I screamed and screamed in panic.
My descent was halted. When I paused for breath. Modesty's voice came to me with an urgency all its own. "Gentian, dear, please don't scream. I want you to know that what I'm about to do is by Trevor's orders. I have to do what Trevor tells me, you don't have to know why, I'm not sure I know myself. But he was angry about that rotten little man who spoiled the delightful effect Daisy and I created with you. We'd expected someone else but Trevor says you still have to be disciplined." He tone became almost yearning. "Darling, please trust me."
I was in no mental state to consider the enigma of Modesty and the man who appeared to be her master. The cage was once more gently moving down towards the surface and a moment later made contact. I held my breath as water came through the bars, covering my feet, and then wetting with a cold hand my pubic patch. When my navel was submerged and the descent continued I could not contain my fear, my screams pealed out across the water in the darkening evening. When it lapped my breasts I remembered crying out, "No. . . . No! Modesty, don't!"
I could have saved my breath, nothing halted. I was tugging and twisting feverishly at bond hands and chained feet, but it was a pointless effort from which I had not the faintest hope as little by little the curves of my breasts sank below the surface and then my nipples and then the upward slope to my shoulders. Despite my love for Modesty and her demand for trust, I could not contain the screams I sent in wave after wave of awful sound across the stillness of the pond. I had never known such fear or such terrifying impotency, mine was the last sight of the earth and sky for someone condemned to drown. When the water reached my neck the decent stopped. For moments I could not believe in a halt in my progress towards a fearful death but finally I realized I had at least a brief reprieve. And discovered I was breathing painfully and harshly as if I had been under for a long time and was just brought up. I remembered saying in a choking voice, "Oh, Modesty.. . Oh, Modesty!"
"It's all right, darling, you're safe."
Her assurance bolstered my courage enough for me to take stock. I was not drowning, I would not drown unless something went wrong. If I dipped my chin it would touch the water. I looked out over the surface, silver in the moonlight, at a shimmering picture of serenity in which I was the only note of discord. Across, on the other shore, the ducking stool stood like an malignant growth.
"I have to leave you now, darling." There was no mistaking the sincerity of Modesty's loathing of what she had done and was about to do. So I blamed her for nothing, she was a symbol for something I did not yet understand. In this most shocking predicament of my life I still loved and trusted Modesty. Exclamations like "goodnight" or "please don't leave me" would seem trite. While searching for something appropriate to say. I watched Modesty walk slowly into the trees and out of sight alone.
I suppose most of my punishment was of my own making, gencrated within a mind frantic in apprehension. My first thought was of some control slipping while Modesty was gone, causing the cage and me to drop into the depths forever. Thinking of controls that probably were not delicate at all, I scarce dare breath at all for fear of precipitating such a disaster. If I move or struggled I just made waves and wet my chin. Half my hair was already soaked and made a wet mat beneath the surface. I remember how rope, when soaked, tightened and shrank to a point where my hands would be in jeopardy. My feet where OK but the leg irons were heavy on the ankles. Had I been free of my cage, they would have prevented my swimming. I sat within the clutch of cold water and iron bars and shivered myself mentally into a frightening fate.
I had no doubt I would be left where I was for the night, but as time passed and I adjusted to terror, I became increasingly aware of a creeping cold. If you were swimming, the water would not be so cold. But if you are bound and forced to stay still, the water saps the heat right out of your body. I became prey to a spreading numbness which set afire in me once more a memory to provoke a panic about the effect of lowered temperatures which slowed the vital organs until the subject died.
Damn it! Within that cage I could think up more reasons for believing myself condemned to death than enough.
It must have been seven pm when Modesty left me alone in the cage. It was midnight when she returned. By that time I was shivering in wet misery and wondering if I could hold out until morning. The pond mocked me, the ducking stool gave promise of other punishments. At first I thought Modesty a ghost, a figment of my over-strained imagination. I think she was scared, too, of what she had done. She lost no time with the controls, I was quickly swinging over to the solid soil of the bank. The thud with which it planted itself upon the grass was a thrill I'll always remember.
Modesty's voice came to me as if from afar, "Oh, Gentian, darling, darling, darling.. . Are you all right?"
I wanted to tell Modesty I was all right now that she was back, but with the departure of the enveloping water I was now simply a wet bundle of female with chattering teeth. In the night air the cold intensified and I made a poor job of assuring Modesty that I was all right now that she was back again. She was obliged to almost lift me bodily from the cage and then support me. She clutched my nakedness against herself to impart warmth, her joined hands raised over my head and descending to my back where they clamped my fast to her lovely contours and body heat. I felt life return and soon my teeth ceased to chatter and my flesh to shiver. It was a wonderful few minutes which cemented Modesty to me with a female bond more ardent then before. When she lifted her bronzed, linked bands back over my head, she first unlock by leg irons. "I'll get these off you. Gentian. We'd better run back to the house to get your circulation going and then pop you into bed with Amy. You won't mind if I leave your hands tied?"
It was glorious to run. Modesty kept a hold of one arm. more to assure herself that I would not stumble rather than to compel. She ran beside me and when we reached The Retreat we were breathing fast and my circulation was back to normal. We sped to the bedroom where Modesty locked the collar upon my neck and pushed me beneath covers already heated by Amy's waiting flesh. Since either of us had hands, we contented ourselves with the ardent contact of lips and breasts and thighs. I went to sleep almost instantly and it was morning before I could tell Amy of what happened to me. In that early morning twilight we made love.
I suspect Trevor Tremond was one of those who are all things to all men. He had shown me several of his faces and his concerns with Modesty Blair were still a mystery. I stood before him in his office, very much the naughty girl, the punished delinquent who must express repentance. I did so with all the sincerity I could muster. I suppose the pond had broken me, being more than I could take, but I stood there, humbly and nakedly before the master of The Retreat, my hands still bound behind my back as Modesty had tied them the day before. I remember finishing my outpourings of good intentions with the words, "Oh, Mr. Tremond, I'll be obedient, I promise I'll be obedient."
It appeared I was to have an early opportunity to demonstrate my intensified humility. In an hour's time a gentleman would await me in one of the bedrooms, a room variously equipped but basically a bed. I was to be pushed in at him, stark naked, the door locked behind my back and I would be expected to please him to a point where he would purchase me without quibblings. I promised I would do this, which shows how far down the latter I had gone.
The intervening hour was occupied by Daisy making me what she called, "A real knockout." Looking in the mirror after being bathed and worked on, I had to concede her point. I saw a very beautiful girl and the girl was me. "I have to leave your hands tied behind your back, miss, it's orders," Daisy assured me. "Come on, Genn, now's the time to strut your stuff."
It was one more moment to remember when Daisy opened the door just enough to insert me within and then lock it behind my back. I stood naked and beautiful and without the protection of hands to confront something quite unexpected. He was not exactly tall, dark and handsome. He was young, blondish and charming, all six foot of him. I judged him at only a few years older than I and had to wonder how he had made enough money to purchase something as expensive as ME.
"You're Gentian Rothwell, aren't you?" he said pleasantly. "Please call me Jim."
"How do you do, Jim?" I said lamely, feeling like a young whore meeting her first trick. "My name's Gentian but everybody calls me Genn. Please call me Genn."
"And you're for sale, Genn?"
"Yes, I'm for sale." I tried to make light of the incredible. "I'm afraid they want an awful lot of money for me. I'm terribly sorry."
"Don't be sorry. It's nice to meet you informally like this." He motioned to the waiting bed. "I hope this is all right with you?"
If he had been Dracula or Caliban I would still have said, "Oh, yes indeed, it's all right with me," but not with the same sincerity that I said it now. If I had to be sold, goodness knows I could find no better person to buy me. I figured I had better make the best of this opportunity. And, anyway, the submission of the pond was still vividly upon my mind.
"I haven't done this before, Genn. I mean.. . Well, I suppose I mean I've never purchased a girl before in my life." He blushed. "I don't mean just put her on the bed but what we're talking about here is to buy all of you and take you home. I'm finding the whole thing hard to adjust to. I only just recently found out about the existence of this place."
"Oh, it exists, all right." I turned my back and wiggled my bound hands at him in demonstration. "You see. I'm helpless." Then I turned back to give him a full frontal view. I was no longer ashamed either of being naked before a man or of those portions of myself most interesting to him. I told myself that this could not possibly be true but I played it for all it was worth.
"Would you like me to untie your hands?" he asked, unexpectedly. "Or is it a house rule?"
"I've been tied or chained ever since I came here, I don't even notice it any more. It's probably some sort of rule but I don't know if it applies to you. I've been told you can do whatever you wish to me."
The young man called Jim almost staggered beneath my frank admission. Hesitantly he came out with the missing piece in his jigsaw, "Well then, if you wouldn't mind terribly I'd like to leave you as you are. You are very beautiful like that. I've never seen a live naked girl with her hands tied behind her back. You've no idea what it does for you."
"Oh yes, I have. It makes me sexy and appealing, and leaves you with a nice, masculine assurance of being able to untie me if you wanted to. Don't worry about me, Jim, I know where I'm at."
He digested me slowly, a nice young man a bit out of his depth. I suppose the nicer they are the more difficult it is to face their longing to bind and whip a girl. Jim came right out with it.
"All my life I've had these yearnings, it wasn't until I inherited a sizeable estate a while ago that I realized it was something actually possible to anyone with money. Then I met Mr. Tremond who was kind enough to invite me here and tell me about you." He laughed boyishly. "I don't know if you're nervous but I sure am. For me this whole thing is too good to be true."
"You mean, being able to tie me any way you like and to whip me as you please and to keep me naked?"
"I think you're trying to embarrass me, Genn, but, yes, that's about the way it is. Am I as despicable as I feel?"
"No, you're just a man. Most men want to do these things to girl but they don't have either the money or the courage."
"You're very wise, Genn."
"It's probably The Retreat speaking through my lips." I laughed at his earnest features and, even though nothing had changed, felt a flood of freedom sweeping over my whole being.
He smiled. "If I buy you and take you home, I'll whip you. Are you sure you wouldn't hate it?"
Poor chap! He sure was a novice. I laughed straight into his face and told him not to take it all so seriously. I did my best with the explanations. "I don't think any girl can take the pain of being whipped, it's such a fierce and terrible pain but, after the last blow has fallen, everything soon returns to normal. And at the start, when we know we're going to be whipped but it hasn't started yet, there's a anxiousness and apprehension you'd have to be a girl to understand."
Jim had told me to make myself comfortable but, instead of accepting the offered chair, I knelt to face him in the submissive pose Modesty had taught me. It got to him all right. If I had to use The Retreat's arts and crafts to get this man to buy me, I would use them without shame. The thought of being owned by a man as innocent as this, and never again to be put in a cage and immersed in a pond, overwhelmed me with great thankfulness. I said, simply, "If you will buy me, Jim, I promise I'll be an obedient slave, I'll do everything to please you and I'll try not to scream too hard when you whip me. Please buy me."
It must have been the right note. Jim picked me up with an unsuspected strength and threw me on the bed. There was nothing innocent about the act, he was one hundred percent male, but one more inhibition prompted a pause. "I suppose they've been doing this to you all the time you've been a prisoner here." He blushed again.
I blushed, too. How could he believe me if I said that, as far as The Retreat was concerned, I was still a virgin! But I didn't want to start lying to this man this soon, I made a sort of wry admission, "No, they haven't done it to me here at all, they want to keep their merchandise as intact and immaculate as possible." I rolled onto my face and lifted my bound hands to reveal the full expense of the twin cheeks below. "Those marks you're looking at on my skin are about the only violation I've had." I rolled back over and grinned companionably.
Jim was almost gasping. "They did that, they caned your bottom!"
"Modesty used a riding crop, I think a cane is considered old fashion now. It hurt more than I dreamed possible."
"But why.. . ? "
"I was a naughty girl."
Jim was suddenly throwing his clothes in all directions. His body revealed itself as good as his features. He was also demandingly erect. Suddenly I realized I was about to be technically raped, Realized, too, I was not all that experienced in the arts of making love with a man, all I'd had so far had been experimental adventures into the unknown, none had been anything to remember. But this was undoubtedly it! I'd always suspected rape being better than the socially acceptable way, now I'd find out!
Jim had climbed upon the bed and was kneeling to gaze down at me with absolute reverence. I had enough sense to arrange my bound arms comfortably behind my back, this is actually possible, and then to raise my legs and allow my bend knees to fall to either side to leave me wide open.
"Don't do that!" Jim was staring at my pussy as though not believing what he saw. "Please. . . . "
Under the shocked masculinity my knees closed and my legs clamped together tight. I was about to ask if I could give him pleasure in the other way possible between a girl and a man, but before I could speak my astonished eyes beheld the shrinking of his erection. What had been huge was huge no more. I gazed up stricken and said, "Have I done something wrong, Jim."
He got off the bed and began to dress, leaving my world shattered and in ruins. What mattered was for Jim to buy me and take me from The Retreat, now I'd screwed it up and did not know why.
"It's not your fault, Genn," he said, stuffing his shirt into his pants. "I've never whipped a girl. I've never tied a girl, I suppose you've guessed . . . I've never done much of anything with girl."
"That's all right, Jim."
"But I mind." His tone was hurt and vehement. "But it was the sudden sight of.. . of.. . "
"My four letter word?" I inquired archly. "Or would you like me to call it what everyone else does?"
"Yes, your cunt," he spate the word out bitterly. "I've never actually been that close to one before and I hadn't realized.. . I'm being ridiculous."
I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed, I felt better. I looked up at my possible purchaser to inquire, "I suppose a girl's pussy can be a bit of a shock if you haven't seen one before." I grinned. "Mine's about the standard model, but I do have a lovely, thick patch of pubic hair."
We were suddenly laughing and everything was OK again. He bent down and kissed me. a nice brotherly kind of kiss, and then raised me erect. His hands felt good, they were strong.
"I'm going to buy you, Gentian Rothwell, and I'm going to take you back to my place and tie you with rope to my heart's content. And whip and whip you. What's more, I'll make love to you every night. I won't always go limp like today." He paused for a touch of drama before demanding, "You have only to say no and I'll walk out of here and leave you as you are. In a way I'm sort of proposing. If you say yes, I'll go and make the arrangements with Tremond?"
"Yes!" I met his eyes squarely.
I got hugged very tight and kissed deliciously hard before this young man who would be my master inquired, "Do I leave you as you are?"
"Oh, sure. My hands are still tied behind my back. No girl ever escapes The Retreat. Go and buy me now and thank you for wanting to. You make me a happy girl."
Jim departed to pay a vast sum for a girl he had never seen. I remembered the old adage about marrying in haste and repenting at leisure. But Jim wasn't marrying me, if I failed to give satisfaction all he had to do was whip me until I conformed. It was all very simple!
They took the longest time. But I supposed maybe they were making out bills of sale or writing checks or making phone calls to the bank. I suddenly felt immensely valuable and treasured. Amused, I considered how easy it was for men to pick up girls in bars or social gatherings. A few drinks and the guy gets her for nothing. So why would any fellow pay these vast sums to Trevor and Modesty? But. of course, the girls they pick up casually can't be chained or bound or kept safe in a basement without a terrific amount of fuss and risk. And I can understand a man's desire to own us. Women kick men around outrageously. I thought of all the theatre tickets and dinner tabs men had picked up for me and realized Jim would never have to do that. He'll own me always and I'll have to do whatever he says. I shivered delightfully. I was beginning the greatest adventure of a girl's life.
Modesty and Amy treated me as though I was a bride at a wedding. Perhaps I was. They swept into the bedroom and pounced on we with hugs and kisses and all the girlie-girlie stuff we indulge in at such times. Amy's hands had been changed from back to front. There was sadness in both our hearts at the separation but we had known it would come and she was glad for me to be bought by someone like Jim. She said she hoped she would do half as well. Modesty assured, "He's ever so nice, Genn, dear. We checked up on him and he's everything he says, a lot of money and an estate recently inherited. He's very civilized and frightfully well educated. Oh, Genn darling, please don't feel disappointed if he whips you. He will, y'know, but that's something slave girls have to put up with." She kissed me again, hurriedly, as we heard the male steps approach.
"Got yourself sold, huh Gentian! Damn lucky girl." Trevor was heavily into humor. "Be sure and whip her regularly, Jim, a girl needs it, they'll start to twist you if you don't."
Jim's stature suffered nothing compared to Trevor Tremond. They were different types but Jim appeared on even terms with Trevor, exchanging quips and heavily loaded with advise on the care and keeping, and above all, the punishment of slave girls. I'd never been talked about in my own presence like that before. It made me tremble and quiver in the realization of what was happening.
"I'll toss in a set of leg irons for her, Jim," Trevor said with mock generosity. "They'll stop her running and that's sometimes useful. You can buy your own handcuffs."
Jim had ideas of his own. "For the trip home I want her ankles tied good and tight. But she can sit beside me in the front seat. With hands and feet properly bound there's nothing she can do." He gestured with a handful of silver chain. "I'll use this differently for now."
I liked the way Jim went about things. He was not overawed at Trevor's weighty personality. Laughingly he locked the leg irons on my arms above my elbows where they served no real purpose but found a neat disposal. Jim picked me up and carried me to his car. When I was comfortable in the front seat. Modesty performed her parting act of binding my ankles tight with cord so they'd hurt if I struggled. She and Amy kissed me and Trevor patted my cheek with the admonish to "be a good girl." I was now officially a slave and on my way to my master's house.
"I've all the dark desires I told you about," Jim said without preamble. "I'm repeating this because all those hugs and kisses might make you forget I'm real. I think you're a wonderful girl, but sometimes I'll treat you cruelly." He grinned. "There, no false pretenses, you know where you're at."
"I like where I'm at. I'll put up with your 'dark desires.'" I laughed in his face. "You had best take good care of me. I'll escape if I possibly can."
We talked so naturally I forgot about bound hands and feet and being naked. He told me his name was James Bancroft and how I'd be a big help to him in settling into his new affluence. When I laughed and said I couldn't be much help to anyone tied up all the time he turned serious. "Gentian.. . Gee, that's a beautiful name. I understand a prisoner's right to escape whenever she can. But the way I figure it, I'll keep you tied all the time or in a cage until I truly believe you are ready for freedom within the confine of my life. Then you'll be done with chains and rope except when I punish you."
"Why couldn't that time be right now?"
"Because I don't think you're ready. I don't see how you could be. The way I see it, your kidnapping is still recent enough. You're remembering your prior life and your freedom in it. I think you just naturally have to escape if you have the chance. So I won't leave you having to make the choice, I'll keep you fixed so you can't escape at all. That make sense?"
"I'm afraid it does," I admitted sadly. "I'll put up with that, too, I won't complain."
Jim was partly absorbed with driving, so I flexed deliciously against the ropes around my wrists and ankles and thought how Amy would adore being in my place. And wondered why Modesty and Trevor had sold me to him instead of her. Unless there was a concealed kicker in the works. If not, I was damned lucky. Crazy or not, I was tremendously thankful for my present helplessness. It would frazzle a girl to shreds if she were forever on the alert for a chance to run. Because I had no chance, I was happy.
"Which do you prefer, sweetheart, being chained or bound?"
"I don't have a preference," I admitted slowly. "You may as well keep me fixed in whatever way turns you on." I giggled and hated myself for almost simpering. "We have to remember I'm designed for your pleasure."
We shared a laugh over that, too. The rapport between us was again growing and I again wondered how I could be so lucky. I knew I would escape if I ever got the chance because freedom is better than slavery, or I suppose it is! But right then, even though freedom was all around the car, I thought little about it. I snuggled safely within my tight ropes and thought about Amy and how she would adore being tied this way. I thought of suggesting Jim buy her, too. But I was suddenly female and flaming with jealousy. I kept my thoughts to myself and silently prayed for Amy to become as happy as I was.
"I've been thinking about sort of an inevitable awkwardness in the entry to my house. I'll sort of have to carry you over the threshold, like a bride." my master said thoughtfully. "Then it will be a case of'what will we do next.' Well, I've decided to whip you first thing."
There was a silence between us. Jim was waiting to see how I'd react. I decided to be feminine. "It's a marvelous idea, Jim. I'll hate it, of course, but it's something I'll have to put up with. So let's get it over with. If it's a nice, humble slave girl you want, I'm much too brash and bossy right now, but I've never been whipped the way you propose and I'm certain it will cure me after I've had.. . " I gave him a wicked sideways glance, "The hundred strokes, that's the usual number, I believe?"
"Good gosh, no! A hundred would kill you!" Jim was genuinely disturbed. "I was thinking in terms of about twenty. We're not going to play at this, each one is going to hurt. Forgive me, but that's the way it is."
I could forgive Jim anything. I thought of ferret-face and Mr. Hawks and that other brutal male who had whipped Bridie and Marjorie. I shuttered. If to be whipped as an introduction to my new slavery was the only price I had to pay, I'd pay it gladly. At least I was certain I would when viewed from my helpless security within the speeding car. Vibrations were bombarding us, each from the other, to cause me to wonder if and when my master would take me to his bed. I wasn't a bit curious about the details of my fresh captivity. Jim, and being whipped, filled my whole horizon.
It was another lovely old house like The Retreat. It did not boast a park but had spacious grounds all around. I hadn't the faintest idea where we were, I'd quite forgotten to look at passing signs. I was lifted out of the car and carried up the several steps to the front door, through a charming large hall and into an equally charming huge living room. There Jim stood me erect in the middle of the floor to stand unsteadily with my tendons protesting against the tightness of his cords. He then repossessed me in his arms and kissed me with an usual tenderness. His voiced was apologetic.
"I'm afraid I don't have facilities," he told me regretfully. "I'm not all that keen on dungeons and cells and torture chambers and things. You and I can do it just fine in this old house just the way it is. Look, Genn, I'll make you a bit more comfortable before standing you here to be whipped." He flushed, "This is where it's going to happen, right here in the living room. I terribly sorry."
""Don't be."
Jim saw me in a chair then knelt to untie my feet. It was the posture of a shoe salesman, and it made us share a giggle while he unwound the strands from deep within my skin. Modesty had made certain I was not going to run away. When he had my feet freed, he said thoughtfully, "I suppose this is were I use those leg irons Trevor gave me. I've heard of them but never seen them before. Here, turn around."
I lost the biting bands from my elbows. Jim clasped and closed them, immensely interested, upon my ankles where they belonged. Mockingly I told him, "Now it's safe to untie my hands, I can't run away."
"Untie your hands? Why would I do that?"
"Well, aren't you going to raise my arms up in the air to whip me? If you raise them up behind all that happens is I have to bend over-or do you just want to cane my bottom?"
"Of course, I was forgetting. This is a tremendous moment for me. Gentian, I've envisioned it all my life to be exactly the way you describe. You must have read my thought."
He busies himself with Modesty's knots, breathing heavily. I did not tell him it was the accepted way for fastening a girl to be whipped. My mind was seeing visions of Bridie and Marjorie thus made helpless and vulnerable. I was soon going to find out what it was like. When the rope fell away from my hands, Jim gave me only a few moments to message my wrists before crossing them in front and binding them every bit as tight as Modesty's tie. Jim had ceased to be apologetic, he was a man with a purpose. His touch was tender but inflexible. I kicked my ankle irons to assure myself it would be foolish to resist. It was more or less an apology to myself for not following the instinct to fight during my brief possession of free hands. The things a girl thinks of at a time like this.. . Really!
I could easily understand how it was for Jim, no matter what emotion he felt for the girl of his choice all else would be set aside in his desire to whip her. And to do it ritualistically as one reads about in books.
It's amazing how many of our hang-ups have their origin in something we read as a child. When he positioned me as he desired and pulled the rope down from above to tether my bound hands, my heart started to thud in the sudden realization that this was the moment for me, also. It's funny but it hadn't hit me until them.
"Scared, aren't you? I can hear your heart."
Jim had backed away to view this newly created posture for his slave girl. It occurred to me how we were both novices, both feeling our way into something for which we held high hope. He did now what he should have done upon the bed, his hands finding me to cause his fingertips to make traces upon my breasts, my belly and my pubic hair. Unblushingly he possessed himself of that moist part of me which had previously defeated him. Presumably it was OK so long as it could be felt but not seen. I said nothing, I just stood in pure ecstasy. It took him only a few seconds to get me totally aroused and responsive beyond my fear of the whip. Perhaps this young man was wiser than he seemed. To excite a naked girl to the point of orgasm but then to whip her.. . !
I was panting and twisting at raised arms and tied hands, not in an effort for freedom but as an expression of sensations too acute to bare motionless. Jim was breathing heavily, too, and came out with the ancient classic, "You are very beautiful. Gentian."
"Yes. And you're going to whip me."
"I want you to kiss the whip. It is an old ritual. Will you do this for me."
"Yes, of course."
Jim raised the leather thong by which I would be marked, holding firmly against my lips. I kissed it fervently.
5
The Thong and I
Jim and I stood facing each other. He had not stretched me, my bound hands were just above my hair but I could not possibly reach them with my lips, I was beautifully available. He was holding the whip he would use upon me and, seeing it like that, I wondered how I had contrived to kiss it so lovingly. I heard my voice, driven by an awful need, "Jim, please whip me! Please get on with it, please don't keep me waiting. I'm curling up inside."
"Turn around. Gentian, you can."
The simple words, "You can," forced me to present him with my bare back and bottom, making me come to him and not he to me. It sent a tremendous flare of heat in every direction from my crotch. I wondered what Jim would think of my sex if he could see it now!
I looked back timidly over a bare shoulder and raised arm. I wished I hadn't!! !
I don't think a girl can properly describe her own whipping. My mind was flooded with visions but no coherent thought other than not to scream even though I must. I can't imagine how I managed to bare the first strokes in silence before screams surged out of me in a flood of protest, not so much against Jim as at against the institution of agony. Somewhere in this welter of emotion I vowed I'd never kiss the whip again.
Jim did not speak, he made no laughing apologies. Stealing one more backward glance, I beheld his intense absorption with his task and realized I was seeing a man enthralled by heart's desire. It almost made me humble to think my whip-marked skin could give such happiness. After I started to scream, I looked back no more.
Jim whipped me rhythmically and methodically from shoulder to thighs. He also, and without words, used his whip to wrap my legs apart to the full extent of their irons. He then gave me a pair of truly horrible cuts up inside my thighs to splat wetly upon my open crotch and spend itself in a vicious snap across my belly. The second of these made me scream so hard in shock, I lifted myself by my bound hands off the floor and kicked wildly before again delivering my feet to the floor and my nakedness to the whip. The excoriating scald of each impact took me higher and higher in a rising crescendo of anguish until I was certain I would loose consciousness. But nature was not that kind nor were the ropes. They made me stand until number twenty had marked me well. I bared my face against bare arm and wept out the relief of knowing it was over. I heard the closing of the door and knew myself alone.
I should have hated Jim but all I felt for him was gratitude for his sympathy in leaving me alone in my grief. A man's hands feeling and patting at me in concern would have been unbearable. But Jim was a gentleman and I felt faintly comforted. I wanted to cease my weeping, dry my eyes, and compose myself before he returned. He gave me lots of time. Perhaps he peeked. It was not until I was dry eyed and beginning to feel the stress of raised arms that he returned. He did not say a word, but clasp my open armpits to hold me firm while he gazed deep into my eyes.
"Bad, eh?"
I nodded and managed a wry little pixie grin. Everything I wanted to say was in my eyes for him to see, but I managed, "Yes, terribly." It sounded inadequate so I added, without sarcasm. "Thank you. . . . "
It was then Jim took me in his arms, holding me exactly right so I started to cry again from overwrought emotions. But now I could dry my tears on his jacket and sniff pathetically in his ear. Without words or warning he let me go. untied my hands, and let me gently down to the rug. I must have been outrageously wet, he entered me with astonishing ease, after that I ceased to be aware of anything but his clasping arms, his long, deep thrusts, and the rainbows and the smell of both of us. I remember a fleeting thought of how wonderful it would be to be whipped everyday if it terminated thus.
Jim had taken away my leg irons, so when we finally stood up and laughed sheepishly at each other, I was completely free of restraints. I did not ask for any or remind Jim I should be tied or ironed. I just stood before him, stretching and twisting in an ecstasy of release and gingerly trying to feel the whip marks on my bottom. My master watched, amused, but finally asked, "How 'bout coffee, sweetheart?"
Both of us were naked, Jim led me to the kitchen were we made coffee and arranged cups and saucers. He deliberately sat down and watched me fuss with cups and spoons and things. We were intensely aware of each other, could smell the sweat from each other's bodies, delighted in the intimacy. Jim made me stand straight, showing him my back and raising my arms to give him an unobstructed view of the punishment he had placed upon my skin. My heart was leaping about like crazy because I was now intensely aware of Jim as a very real male. In things that mattered he was not shy. He told me to back up and when I obeyed, he inserted his forearm between my thighs and grasped a handful of my secret place which had received only two strokes of the twenty. I suppose his clutch should have hurt but it didn't, I gasped with pleasure and realized this was probably the way it was when a fellow and girl were married. I wondered how many young wives offered themselves to the whip to double their husband's potency. I knew if I had to offer myself, I would!
Jim and I knew I would be ravished again, and soon. But we sipped our coffee, enjoying the intimacy of the moment and giving me the opportunity to shyly admit a deficiency in my education. "Yes, it really was my first time. Master. And it's had all those effects on me usually quoted. The pain was ten times my expectation. But now it's gone, only a tenderness is left and it's a pleasant tenderness as though each whip mark wants to tell me it won't hurt any more so long as I'm a good girl. Isn't that silly!"
"But, Gentian, you couldn't be silly if you tried."
I basked in Jim's approval. Timidly I asked, "Jim, do you want me to call you Master? I don't want to call you Master if it sounds like I'm crawling."
"Yesterday I would have said no. but today I say yes. You make the word plausible." Jim raised a querying eyebrow. "Do you hate me for whipping you, Genn?"
"No. I suppose I ought to, but being at The Retreat taught me a lot of things. A man has to want something awful bad if he'll pay the price you paid for me. Such a price puts it in the class of heart's desire, lifts it out of sadism and cruelty or ugliness. A wish that strong surely has to mean a lot to any man and woman sharing it." I gave him a shy, quick glance. "But goodness known I'm not a masochist, believe me I'm not!"
"I'm not a bit ashamed of doing it, y know It was a glorious thing. Whatever it did for you, it did for me, also."
"I'm sorry I wasn't more.. . with you. I wanted to look over my shoulder and smile and I did not want to scream. But the pain was so instant and demanding I could think of nothing else. Maybe I'll do better next time."
I made a sad little gesture. "I suppose there will be a next time?"
"Of course, many times. Can you take it?"
"I'll make up my mind to take it." I allowed a pause to lengthen before adding, slyly, "Master."
We had both gained stature. Jim had dropped his diffidence and I had no uncertainties to ponder, I knew where I was at. When our coffee was finished, Jim said, "Come on, sweetheart, we'll do it on a bed this time." Without waiting for a reply, he picked me up and carried me up the stairs.
But before reaching the top there came a thunderous knock at the front door. Jim said, "Damn!. " and told me to sit right were I was and be a good girl while he disposed of the visitor.
It did not occur to me to do anything else. I sat as ordered and let my mind rove happily on what was to come. I was completely free but thought of escape did not enter my head. I listened idly to the murmur of voices below. I could neither sec nor be seen but tensed in sudden recognition of the voice of Trevor Tremond. There was a brief exchange before Jim invited him into the living room. The closing of the door left me puzzled and stranded on the top stair. I couldn't hear a thing and it was only a few seconds before an awful premonition prompted me to go down and listen.
It was when I was stooped over with my eye to the keyhole and my ears picking up a dull rumble of voices, that someone slipped a hood over my head and drew it tight to place me in utter blackness. I was quickly tripped and taken down to the floor where a practiced knee in my back kept me still while my arms were gathered and tightly bound with thin cord that bit and cut at me viciously. The fingers were as practiced as the knee and I was soon very helpless. There came a snap on my collar to tell me I was leashed. Then I was dragged erect and compelled to follow my new captor by a series of tugs at my neck. I was quite helpless. It did not occur to me to scream until too late and, anyway, the hood would have muffled sounds. When I was growing faint from lack of air, the fastening was loosened to enable me to breath but I was still in darkness. When I dug in my heels and refused to follow, a finger and thumb grasped one of my nipples and pinched hard enough to make me yelp and follow obediently. It was easy to recognize the back seat of a car and once more the strong, clever fingers had their way with me. I was turned face down, struggling and tearing like crazy at the thin cord on my wrists, to have my ankles tied even more cruelly tight. I wept in frustration, tossing my head in a frantic effort to get rid of the blinding cloth, but warning fingers and thumb gripped my nipple again and a warning voice commanded. "Do sit still, darling. Be a good girl and I won't have to hurt you any more." It was the voice of Modesty Blair.
I had been brutally tossed upon a bed, Trevor Tremond stood gazing down at me in satisfaction. He had taken away the hood and untied my ankles but my wrists remained painfully bound behind my back. I was compelled to lay across one forearm while gazing up at the man who should have been Jim Bancroft but was not. Trevor's voiced swept my angry words into limbo. "I must have been crazy to sell you. Genn. Consider yourself repossessed. I've dealt with young Bancroft and I don't want his name spoken within my hearing, understand?"
"You've hurt him, haven't you? Is he all right.'"
"Forget him! Next time you mention his name. I'll hurt you. So save yourself some pain." He surveyed me dourly. "There's been a change. Accept it. you have not other choice."
I sensed I was about to feel his thrusts within my sheath. Trevor Tremond was in the grips of one of those male compulsions a girl must recognize. He desired me carnally and would take me. The pain of the twine around my wrists bespoke helplessness. But my mind was filled with other things, uncomprehendingly I asked, "You mean.. . I'm not for sale? You're going to keep me the same way you do Modesty?"
For answer he held up Modesty's beautiful bronze bracelets, dangling them from one finger for me to see. "This tell you anything?"
"It tells me how Modesty was able to help you kidnap me and tie my hands the way they're still tied."
Trevor was methodically tossing aside his clothes to reveal all his masculine features, which made me feel tiny and helpless and very, very female beneath the threatening rod I had supposed was for Modesty alone. It was a wicked thing with which to pierce an unloved girl.
I need not have worried. Trevor's fingers were wise and very patient. They transported me through the valley of doubt and fear into the wonderland of erotic excitation which those who know no better describe as love. Soon I was panting and jerking against my tied wrists and imploring this great hunk of male to untie my hands. He appeared not to hear but gathered me into his arms, bound arms and all, to gently make his entry and thrust slowly on and on. And up. I thought of Jim and was bitterly ashamed at my arousal. From then on I was most competently ravished. All and every thought banished from my mind by what Trevor Tremond was doing to me. I was vanquished utterly, my tied wrists no longer mattered. I was torn apart by explosion after explosion until I lay there upon the bed, unaware of the world or of anything save the intensity of my own sensations. I knew I was now alone but did not open my eyes. It was easy now to understand Modesty Blair.
I drifted into sleep, it was perhaps an hour later I heard Trevor's command, "Wake up, Genn, I want you to stand."
Obedience, once imposed, is a habit hard to break. I groped my way back into the world, twisted against my cords to make sure I was still bound, then stood erect as ordered to gaze in mute question at the man who's property I now was. Trevor smiled at the mixture of emotions in my eyes. "Turn around."
I stood, suddenly breathless, as my hands were untied. And Modesty's cords peeled from my skin. Once more I was turned about to face my owner. "You're completely free, Genn. Why don't you run away?"
"Because you'd catch me and punish me," I stated my case simply.
He nodded approvingly. "Your punishment for any serious escape attempt will be one hundred strokes with the whip. Gentian. I want you lo know this."
"Very well. I understand."
"Hold out you hands."
Trembling, I obeyed, knowing instinctively what came next. I should have felt elation but was conscious only of a dark grief for Modesty. But I was panting as the lovely bronze circlets were fitted on my wrists and carefully closed to clasp me snugly as might a man's hand. Fancifully. I could imagine I could feel Modesty's heat. "There is no ordinary key, Genn. Only I can take these from your wrists. Think girl, you might wear them for a decade or for life. Hold them up so we might both admire them."
The bronze circlets and their connecting link were as beautiful on me as on Modesty. I looked Trevor straight in the eye to say. "Thank you. They are beautiful. But Modesty wore these with authority because she loved you, they were right on her but not on me. Please let Modesty wear them again. You can easily keep me helpless with handcuffs or a bit of rope?"
"I like them on you." His tone was once more abrupt. "You'll wear them and like it. In the meantime I've things to do and you can wander around as you please. I'm giving you 'Mistress Status.' as of now."
"But Modesty was always clothed!"
"You'll stay naked. I like that, too. Now, no more complaints."
Alone, I continued to examine the lovely coppery bonds upon my wrists. They were undeniably beautiful and would hold me as securely as any ancient shackle riveted by a blacksmith. But the whole thing was crazy, there's just no way I could ever take Modesty's place. And there's no way I could ever imagine Modesty being sold the way I was. Trevor did not love me. Having me around, naked and chained as I have been, simply built a sexual appetite within his masculine libido, that was all! He would tire of me as he had apparently tired of Modesty, and then another girl would wear the bronze bracelets instead of me. I longed for Jim and cursed Trevor and the brutal way he had jerked me away from Jim. And just as I was about to be raped again! I wondered if he had killed Jim. I could believe him capable of such an act. But if Jim were still alive and functioning, he would find me. I knew he would, but there was a how and when and an if from which I drew no comfort. Uncomfortable in my new status. I went in search of Amy.
I could not find her in The Retreat. I dare not invade Trevor Tremond's quarters, and she was scarcely likely to be there, anyway. I tiptoed past the empty cells, the bars and the concrete mocking me. The door of one cell was open and I went inside in much the same spirit as the child who invades a dark room to beard its ghost. It was easy to imagine the slamming of the door which would keep me there always. Shivering, I hurried out of the harsh metal cage and explored the rest of the downstairs until some feminine intuition told me where Amy was.
Promotion brought at least one reward, it was pleasant and exhilarating to walk the green fields of the park with feet unshackled. I could now scorn the hobbling frustrations of my earlier excursions and make my way directly to the pond. Sure enough, the ducking stool held the tight-strapped figure of a naked girl. As I torn at the leather and buckles, I narrated the sad little story of my sale.
"The guy's gone round the bend," Amy affirmed as she hugged me ardently. "I haven't done a thing or disobeyed anyone but he was going to duck me anyway. He strapped me in the chair this morning and told me I could look at the water until he got around to me later. She shivered. "The straps in that chair are simply super, darling, but looking at that water and thinking about going under the way Bridie did drove me up the wall. Darling, are you sure he won't punish you terribly for letting me loose?"
We kissed and made love. It was so sweet and simple and innocent there in the grass beside the pond. No men, no harsh demands, no concern about obedience. Amy was a completely free girl but I was not, neither of us was unaware of the bronze upon my wrist. In a way, they were as much an enigma as when Modesty had been wearing them. We drowned each other in kisses, not all of them upon our lips, and were oblivious to the world in a glorious girl-to-girl happiness at our reunion. It ended with a stern male voice.
"Figured I'd find you here," said Trevor Tremond.
Our failure to turn and run showed the degree in which obedience had become a part of us. Amy and I got sheepishly to our feet and surveyed our master, a pair of delinquent damsels caught in a sinful act.
"Who the hell told you to let Amy loose?" Trevor demanded without rancor.
"It was the natural thing to do, the proper thing to do.. . " My assertion trailed itself into silence.
Trevor turned his attention to Amy. "You're free, girl, why don't you run?"
"Because I can't get out of the park and I don't want to be punished any more than I will be now," Amy said matter-of-factly. "But please don't punish Genn, she was only trying to be kind."
"Sit yourself in that chair again."
The world seemed to stand still for moments until Amy shrugged hopelessly and resumed her shameful seat on the ducking stool. I watched in horror as the straps circled wrists and ankles and waist and were drawn wickedly tight. I knew the straps wouldn't bother Amy, she'd get her usual kicks from them. But what would follow would be terrible for any girl. I placed a tentative chained hand on Trevor's arm and pleaded, "No, please! Don't punish Amy, punish me. If you want to punish a girl, surely I'm the one."
"Stand and watch. Don't give me any trouble. I'll get to you later." Trevor's voice remained without anger but was firm with determination. I had no thought of flight. Amy had summed up the possibilities, instead I watched in dull misery as Trevor fingered the controls. The ducking stool lifted from the ground and began its gentle quarter circle out and around until its long arm was posed by the surface of the pond. I remembered my own travail in the cage as I had watched the water creep up to cover my breasts. I bled for the girl who was about to suffer something much, much worse. Amy looked back over a bare shoulder to plead, "Please . . . please, don't do this to me. I don't deserve it, I haven't done anything. . . . "
I shared Amy's agony, gasping as she gasped when her feet went below the surface and then the awful immersion of her sex. When the water crept up and covered her nipples and her breasts, her cry was pitiful, "Please, please.. . " It was a cry abruptly halted as Trevor lowered the lovely head beneath the surface. I stool in disbelief that this could happen.
"Does any girl a world of good," said Trevor, conversationally.
I did the only thing I could think to do. I flung myself at Trevor's feet, clutching his leg with my joined hands, to plead, "Let her up! Let her up! You're killing her! Do it to me.. . Do it to me.. . "
"You mean, instead of.. . Or just to keep Amy company?" Trevor's query was insolently casual.
"Instead of. . . oh, instead of! Let her up, oh, let her up!"
Amy emerged, still firmly strapped to the ducking stool, her breathing a series of heaving gasps for air. From its fresh elevation, water ran and dripped back into the pond from the suspended chair and its half drowned captive. Amy was fighting the straps with all her strength but could hardly move. Her cry of agony should have melted stone. "Not again.. . Oh, not again!"
I watched in mute agony as the chair with its pitiful naked occupant sank slowly beneath the surface of the hateful pond. Convinced of impotence, I simply kneeled there on the grass, my chained hands resting there on my lap. I had never felt more useless in my life.
"That's a pretty pose, Genn, stay that way," Trevor ordered in good natured approval.
I knelt, dismally, and watched Amy's second return to the world and to life. She was visibly distressed and finding it difficult to recapture her lost breathing. But Trevor gave her time and remained oblivious to the pleadings she poured out when breathing returned to normal. Once more, under the control of his fingers, the hateful stool and its lovely, frightened burden, sank from sight.
When Amy was brought up for the third time, her head was slumped and she coughed out a great deal of pond water. Her agony and closeness to drowning was unmistakable. Even Trevor considered she had had enough and shifted her back to solid ground. He unstrapped her and went through a few of the motions of resuscitation to bring Amy back into a consciousness of things around her. She stared, dull and with little comprehension, while her lips spoke words of total abnegation. "Oh, please don't do that to me again, I'll obey you always, I promise I will. I'll obey anything you want." Her surrender trailed into shameful silence.
"Your turn, sweetheart."
For a moment I did not believe what I had heard. But Trevor followed up his words by lifting me erect and patting my bottom. "Go ahead, sit down."
"But I haven't done anything!" The futile cry came too late. "Please, I don't deserve to be punished."
"That's not for you to say, sweetheart. I punish at will. Do as you're told."
I looked at Trevor but saw only a smiling enjoyment of my predicament. I turned my eyes to Amy but she was preoccupied and probably had not heard a word. I held up my bronzed wrists. "You'd have to take these off to strap me?"
"No, I won't. Try it. you'll see."
I saw all too well! In a daze of fear and misery I took the awful seat and sat in mute horror while the straps tightened cruelly around my belly and ankles. When done my hands did not matter at all. they could reach nothing, I was going nowhere except beneath the surface of the pond.
"If it works as well with you as it has with the others. I'll have a pair of well behaved young women," Trevor amused aloud. "All ready, sweetheart?"
I was as ready as I would ever be but did not say so. I was not only strapped but also frozen to the chair in a sort of fascinated disbelief. I watched the water pass as the arm swung out to its full length to hold me for a moment poised above the surface beneath which were monsters. I made the appropriate gasps and exclamations at the immersion of feet and sex and breasts. Then, with a swimmer's long practice, drew in all the breath I could before the surface of the pond closed above my head.
I doubt if there is a more terrible feeling or any more awful thing one person could do to another. I understood now why my chained hands mattered not at all. I was reaching with them in search of something which did not exist, the straps held me in the chair just as they had held Amy and Bridie, and would doubtless hold others. I was concentrating every ounce of will power to ration the air within my lunges and part with it grudgingly. I looked up to the sunlit surface but, as though sensing my need, the stool sank lower into the depths By now the panic had me in its grip.
There are legends of drowning being painless. For all I know they may be true of others but not of me. Had I been free it would be far less awful, but strapped in the chair and with chain wrists, it was fearful beyond description. Somewhere in another world a man could finger a control and leave me here to drown or raise me again to life. At that moment I believed only in the drowning.
In its way my return to daylight and air was worse then being beneath the surface, worse because I knew where I would be returned. My agonized gasps were only a brief pause in a continuing punishment. Amy had been lowered into the water three times, but for all I knew it would be more than that with me. But this I did not know. I knew nothing except a terrible longing to be safe beyond the walls of The Retreat. At this point in fiction, Jim would appear to rescue me, but I did not believe that would happen. I sat and panted and dried my fact with shackled hands and shook my head in despair. I remember, that as the chair began its second descent, I cried out, "Oh, no, no, no.. . ! "
It was hard not to waste my small store of breath in frantic struggles but I knew the straps would hold me tight, there was no escape from them. As I was lowered slowly into the depths, I found a strange comfort by burying my face in my hands as though to shut away the cold, dark, wet world in which the ducking stool and I were strangers.
Trevor knew preciously how much a girl could endure without drowning. But when I was raised above the surface the second time, I was coughing out great amounts of water and finding it hard to recover breath. I was too frightened and hopeless to make outcry, and wanting most of all to never go below the surface of the pond again. But I knew I would.
I was too preoccupied to spare a backward glance at my torturer or at poor Amy. I was nothing but a sad and wet girl strapped to a chair which would soon be once more lowered beneath that terrible, black water. I simply sat with my head bowed. All too soon the third descent began and I remember as the water reached my breasts letting loose with one horrendous scream. Then I gulped in all the air I could and reentered the ordeal of the pond.
Trevor dunked me four times. I don't remember much about the last, I was only half conscious and well on the way to drowning when he swung the chair to lower it and me to solid ground. I sat and dripped water in a great thankfulness. Hating myself and without caring, I heard my voice making the same choked, fervent assurances of obedience to a man's will, those same pitiful pledges of enslavement I had heard from Amy and Bridie. All I knew right then was that I did not wish to ever be punished again and would do anything I must to save my skin. Whether for real or not, the increasing periods under the water had, to my mind, brought me very near to death.
It was good to stand free of the stool, I looked back at the hated object and abjectly knew I would obey any order rather than be strapped within its clutches again. I turned to Amy and read within her stricken gaze the same sad message of subservience. For this moment we were two girls without fight left in us. We would obey.
"Wanted to get you off on the right foot," Trevor remarked as though speaking of some innocent exercise. "I can see that stool has done you both a world of good. I've got me a pair of well-behaved women. If I should decide to sell you, I'll double the price."
Amy's hands were already tied behind her back. Trevor now linked our necks with rope and we began a shameful march back to The Retreat; we had never felt more disorganized or disheveled in our lives.
"I'm impressed with that ducking stool, brings a girl down to size," Trevor remarked. "Think I'll include it in the training of each girl who enters the inventory. It's a damn sight more effective than the whip and doesn't leave marks. What do you say, girls?"
Amy and I choked out an ardent affirmative. The stool was our worst experience yet, but it was not a bit like being whipped, they were two separate horrors, neither of which should happen to any girl. I lifted my bronze bracelets and wondered what had become of Modesty.
I was soon to know!
6
Submission
There's a Gothic inevitability about me being locked inside this cage. It was me who thought of it all that long time ago, so it is now easy to tell myself I deserve what I'm getting. But if I said those words, they would not be true. At least. I don't think they would be true. I haven't done a thing to Trevor to deserve this. He's even taken away the lovely bronze bracelets he once said were mind forever, and tied my wrists behind my back with thin twine I simply have to accept because it hurts too much to twist and struggle. But anyway, what's the use of twisting and struggling. I know I'm doomed and must put up with anything Trevor wants to do with me. I keep looking at the calm surface of the pond, remembering the heartless way I dunked poor Gentian, but just the same I'm praying it won't happen to me. It must be awful beyond words. I could look through the bars of my cage at the peaceful scene, my nakedness bend and bowed in this confined space, and I can't believe any of it has happened-not even that first part when I was so gloriously happy.
I met Trevor Tremond at a cocktail party. It was one of those cases where a man places his eye upon a girl and possesses her for the entire duration. Then he took me out to dine and captured me with speech before taking me to his apartment with the avowed intention of seducing me, and intent I in no way contested, I wanted to be seduced by Trevor Tremond more than anything else in the world.
It would be easy to say I was not that kind of a girl. I wasn't until I met Trevor Tremond. And now that I've met him, I'm not a casual pickup or I would not be if I were free! Trevor Tremond holds a magic for me I can not fight. He enslaved me first with the dark timber of his voice, then consummated his victory in his bed. His phallus and his carnal skills dissolved me utterly. I had been Modesty Blair but he turned me into a palpating bundle of female ecstasy who's moans and cries were tribute enough for any male. I was never ashamed of my surrender, I simply wanted more.
We, neither of us, had to work. So we spent most of each day together, and all of every night. Instead of becoming blase I longed more and more fervently for the next night still to come, and then the next and the next. Trevor laughed and called me a "carnal kitten." But he was enslaved, too, my body was a delicious trap he hungered for. And I gave it gladly. On the fact of it, we were a man and a woman outrageously in love.
Trevor introduced me to "The Retreat" gradually, first referring to it in conversation, and then taking me down for an afternoon. The place was magic and presided over in Trevor's absence by a young damsel by the name of Daisy who looked at me with shrewd, wise eyes and no doubt concluded I was her master's mistress. For all I could tell, she had probably been his mistress, too. We had been lovers quite a while before Trevor suggested we go down and spend a week at The Retreat to get a feel for the place and see if I felt at home there. I could hardly wait.
Remember, I used the word Gothic? Infatuated as I was, I could still not miss the deep, dark depths to this man. I was not concerned about those deep, dark depths and was, in fact, intrigued by the possibilities they held. I suppose I was emotionally prepared for what Trevor had in store.
In my first visits I had not been taken downstairs to the cells, they were a bit of a shock. But I had to admit that, as I viewed the strange solitude behind the bars, I felt a tingling down my spine, I suppose you could call it a delicious fear or a palpitating expectation. In any way, when Trevor gently propelled me inside the last in line and gently closed the door, it was really no more than I expected. What better way was there to help me sample the atmosphere of this place which was a "retreat" in more ways than one. As the door clanged and I turned around to survey the concrete and the bars, I realized I had come a long, long way from the outside world. It was not many moments before I said, "Oh, gosh. Trevor, I wouldn't want to be locked in here very long. Jeepers. it's creepy!"
"You are locked in there, sweetheart, safe and secure."
"Yes. I know I am, but you can let me out anytime. What are these cells for?"
"You."
"Oh, Trevor, don't tease! And, anyway, I can't possibly occupy all of them."
"They're for the inventory, sweetheart. Keeps them under control and on display. Daisy can look after the whole bunch comfortably."
"But, Trevor, I'm not inventory, am I?"
"No, you're not. But I want you to sample the other side of the picture before you become the Grand Mistress."
"You mean . . . ? " I was beginning to shiver.
"That's exactly what I mean daringly. You're going to do a bit of time as though caught robbing a bank. I won't tell you how long. Goodbye."
Speechless. I watched Trevor depart. I was not a shocked as some girls might have been. He and I have reached a remarkable rapport in which games likes this were understood. But, I was immensely relieved when I heard his returning footsteps. But my hope of instant release was dashed.
"Can't have you wearing clothes, darling, take 'em off."
It shows how far we'd gone that this demand did not unduly disturb me. Trevor had seen me naked a hundred times, and Daisy, too, on several occasions. Trevor's demand seems somehow is keeping with the cells. But I had no choice. Slowly, and savoring every wicked moment. I removed everything I wore and handed it through the bars. My master said good-bye once more and left me to my nude imprisonment.
It was very still and very quiet. My bare feet made no sound as I patrolled the limited confines of my cage. I clutched the bars and prisoners arc suppose to do, and looked this way and that as far as I could see. But Trevor was not in sight. I knew myself in a solitude far more alone than any normal prison cell. I thought of the dread term, "solitary" and shuttered. I sat on the narrow bench to survey my plight.
To endure this captivity I must live entirely with myself. There was no external stimulation whatsoever, I might as well have been entombed. When Trevor returned, after I don't know how long, all he had with him was a glass of water and a pair of handcuffs. I drank the water gratefully and the, obediently, turned around to allow him to cuff my hands behind my back. He did this through the bars as though fearful of offering me the slightest possibility of escape.
I adored the man so much that I was only anxious to provide him with whatever reactions he expected from me. I remember saying, "Trevor, it's been sort of exciting so far, a scary excitement but enough to wet my puss. Darling, please don't leave me here too long."
Trevor reached in to pull me hard against the bars and to kiss me fervently to set my heart afire. I wanted him terribly, the little cell with its bars and concrete acting as a aphrodisiac. He cheerfully bid me to "be a good girl," then left me in my handcuffed loneliness. He did not reappear until the next morning.
I was absolutely besotted with the man, so I suppose my reactions weren't normal. Some other girl might have had hysterics or torn her wrists struggling against the metal bands, but I had been handcuffed before, it was one of Trevor's principle delights with me. And even if I'd not been handcuffed there was nothing I could do except play with myself. And I've never wanted to do that because I save every bit of ME for Trevor. But I have to admit I might have done it in this awful loneliness of endless hours behind bars had I been able to. I slept a lot and by morning was so damned anxious for release I would have promised anything to get outside that barred door. The handcuffs didn't matter, I could rely on Trevor doing everything I might have done with hands. When my master arrived with his best grin to say a fatuous, "My, my, and how is our little caged canary today?" I was wise enough watch my tongue and just stand there in full view, a submissive and anxious maiden if ever there was one. "You look so damned sweet in there. Modesty, it seems a shame to let you out."
I still said nothing but radiated all the sweet submission I knew how, it isn't hard for me, I'm a natural. But I felt myself quivering as he turned the lock. "OK. fine, come and have breakfast."
My imprisonment in the cell was the highlight of that first week in The Retreat. It wasn't long before we moved in permanently and began our wicked little game of displaying my chained hands to Lesser
Blessing. At the start it took every ounce of will power I had to thus display myself even though Trevor was at my side, his fingers often on my arm. But the fact was I enjoyed it, I loved the stares and I loved our quiet speculation and chuckles over what was being said in private. I was amazed how well I was able to handle Mr. Amnesty when he called. But mostly these were diversions beyond the wall of The Retreat, what took place within the walls themselves and within the sheltered park was far more significant. Trevor took his time explaining about discipline, I absorbed slowly in much the same sensations as within the cell that first night. He painstakingly removed from my mind silly notion about my having to be delinquent in order to be disciplined. I even laughed with him over the affirmation of discipline building character independently of punishment."
"If I waited for you to disobey, you'd never get your ass whipped. Modesty," he assured me earnestly. "But you need the experience, we might as well get on with it."
I'm sure I'm not a bit like other girls in this sort of thing. Or maybe it was my devotion to this magnificent male creature who owned me so totally, it doesn't matter, if he had wished me to swim the Atlantic. I would have tired. We discussed the matter of whipping my bottom as matter-of-factly as mowing the lawn or fixing dinner.
"A whip or cane on your skin, Modesty, will give me the greatest possible thrill. Do you understand?"
I understood. I don't how or why, I simply did know for sure I could give my master maximum pleasure by yielding my curves to whatever he wanted to lash them with. I did not mind if he did not mind!
I was mostly naked in the house so it was easy for me to bend over and touch my toes before my introduction to a punishment I did not deserve. I was as excited as a schoolgirl on her first date, viewing the yellow, limber length of cane with nothing more than a vivid, erotic curiosity. When it lapped from hip to hip the pain was so unexpected terrible I refused to believe it. The agony scorched and seared and all those other adjectives used for such descriptions to a point where I almost did a dance as I clutched my wound and felt its anguish spreading into every part of me. I remember looking squarely at Trevor, who still held the cane, and exclaiming, "Oh, Wow.. . I don't believe this!"
"I want you to see the weal form, I want you to get the full beauty of what we've just done together." Trevor's voice was a gentle as the hand which led me to the big mirror. There he turned my nakedness to the best advantage so I could look back at my bare bottom and could witness a phenomenon new to me, the birth of a weal!
It was not a quick look. Trevor insisted I savor every moment and I was so absorbed in shock and curiosity that I simply stool there and watched my wound do what Trevor jokingly described as "ripen." He explained that at the moment of impact the skin turned white but when I first beheld the brand of the cane it was a pink rapidly changing to red and then scarlet. After a while there were tinges of purple. Trevor informed me that the stroke was as hard as I need ever expect, delivered by a full armed swing. I said I was glad to hear this, then stood erect, still fingering my flaming flesh. I was in an absolute dither of emotions.
I was led to the room downstairs where there exists the means by which a girl can be suspended any way her master choices. I was in a kind of mute suspension already so far as my tongue and motions were concerned. I watched Trevor strap each wrist to the end of a two foot long wooden bar. and then watched them rise up until my toes were in danger of leaving the floor. I said, in disbelief, "You're going to whip me, aren't you, Trevor? You really mean it!"
"Yes, there's other ways of fixing you but for this first time I want you able to kick. You're welcome move all you can but I don't want you to do too much screaming. I intend to check with you on your emotions and feelings as we progress. Get the idea, sweetheart?"
"Yes. Is it appropriate to say 'thank you'? "
My answer was a fearful stroke across both cheeks. I bit back a howl of shock and anguish to kick and twist and turn as if by so doing I found a different outlet for the pain. I think being bound immovably is the worst of all when being whipped.
"Well?" Trevor's tone was conversational. "Tell me about it, sweetheart."
"It's too awful, Trevor. It makes me curl up inside. It's not just the part of me that gets hit. it seeps in every place. Could we stop now, please?"
"You know damn well not, and we won't." Trevor's tone continued even and unemotional. "Remember, darling, it's only a cane and it's only your bottom. A girl who really gets whipped gets it across her back."
I felt I was somehow in the wrong and ought to be grateful. I still adored this man and knew his hurting me would change nothing. A girl endures childbirth for a man so why shouldn't she put up with the caning of her bottom! Next time Trevor caned me I would be better prepared for both shock and pain, and would not associate the caning of bottoms with school classrooms.
"The marks are coming up beautifully on you, sweetheart. I'll try and space this first lot so you can distinguished between them. If I give you twenty or thirty strokes they would crisscross and make a blur. With you I want the artistry."
I did not sneer at the word "artistry." Trevor watched my kicks and twists and struggles, then, at the crucial moment, cut hard at an exposed area which had escaped the cane before-my pussy. I screamed pretty loud.
He caned me slowly after that, frequently stopping to inquire of my sensations and if I still loved him. I told him of the sensations and assured him that I loved him as fervently as ever. I got a little reward out of this because he took my bound and suspended nakedness in his arms and loved me most tenderly. After the seventh stroke he lifted me up and impaled me on his rod. He grabbed one globe of my wounded ass in each hand to support and guide my body down on his tool until I thought I would burst with pleasure. I had been ravished. And I knew it would not be the last time. Trevor and The Retreat held endless surprises for a girl.
Surprisingly my caning continued after the sexual interlude. After the fifteenth stroke, the last half of them a strange combination of pain and pleasurable aftermath from having been driven into a crashing intercourse, he let me down and had me dress, handcuffed me. and took me for a walk through Lesser Blessing.
That walk was my most exquisite sensation of a painful day. I burned with blushes and was certain the villagers would note some abnormality in the way I walked. My bottom burned. Trevor had insisted on my wearing panties, nylons and garter belt to increase the friction which was bad enough simply from my dress. Every time we passed someone I recalled the awful image of my bottom in the mirror just before I had dressed. It had be frighteningly hued with ridges of scolded flesh. These villagers knew! Surely they knew! I hugged Trevor's arm and longed to be invisible.
"I'm so ashamed." I whispered to my lover. "I'll bet every one of them know what you've done to me. I'll bet they know I'm a girl who's just been whipped."
"Not a single one," Trevor assured me cheerfully. "Most of them have never even heard of a girl having her ass whipped. And certainly would never associate it with the residents of The Retreat."
"But my handcuffs, Trevor, they tell the story!"
"It's all in your mind, pet. If we make this stroll tomorrow when your bottom stops hurting, you wouldn't be so fanciful. Stop worrying."
Trevor was right. Trevor is always right! We finished our stroll and made another one the following day with the results he had predicted. They didn't even notice my handcuffs any more, we had become an institution. When Mr. Amnesty came to call I almost longed to tell him I was sitting on a beaten bottom just to see the shock on the poor man's face. You will see from this how Trevor owned me utterly and how I responded with affection to what he did. Anyway. I had been whipped and also imprisoned. I had a taste of what I would be handing out. And the way Trevor explained it all I would handle his young female merchandise with the greatest of ease. The way Trevor explained it there would not even be guilt.
"You mustn't worry about their feelings. Modesty. Sure they've got them same as you and me, but most of them will come from the lower half of society and will be sold into conditions of wealth. A man has to be a rich SOB to buy one in the first place." He laughed. "Actually, we're doing the little darlings a considerable kindness. If they have to be whipped or ducked in the pond, it's all in a day's work. Keep that in mind, sweetheart. We're doing them a favor."
We had not yet reached the arrival of our first merchandise. We spent our time making love, enjoying The Retreat, and expeditions to the village. What Trevor had done to me had effected my feeling for him no whit. I adored him even more and I freely and gloriously admit to a growing dependence upon the immense weapon with which he ravished me at will. I'm probably crazy but keep telling myself I am the only girl ever to know such bliss. I could go on and on about the specifics of our lovemaking, but such things are personal and if it held me more his prisoner than did the chains upon my hands, so what! I was very happy.
I had been imprisoned and I'd been whipped. I didn't realize there had been anything more waiting. Trevor had shown me the cage and ducking stool out by the pond but I never associated them with myself, or with what Trevor loved to call "the merchandise." But, when one day he led me across the grass and through the trees to the pond and there unlocked the handcuffs from my wrists and told me to remove my clothes, my heart was pounding from the unexpected. We had come to stand beside that quaint, ancient relic called "the ducking stool," and I suddenly realized what Trevor was going to do to me. That realization should have driven me wild, made me run, but I did neither. I gave in to the sexual emotions I could not control. My desire to do what Trevor wanted was greater than my fear. "Sit down, Modesty."
I did not have to ask where, I knew! I sat within the brutal confines of the ducking stool which was actually a heavily built chair, and inserted my all too willing hands into the waiting loops of strap. Trevor buckled them tight to leave me at a point of no return where a girl knows she's going to get it and there is nothing she can do. Strangely there was nothing I wanted to do! Trevor buckled my ankles and waist. The long arm lifted me and swung me out above the water and there I stayed, helpless and terribly afraid. But with all my fear I still knew that if Trevor asked if I wanted to be returned to dry land, I would have told him "No," and bid him go ahead and do what he wanted to me.
It is vivid in my memory, I recall looking down at my strapped wrists and the way my fingers weakly struggled in futile protest. My waist was buckled so tight it was foolish to fight the band. Even if I drowned it would hold me firmly in the chair. I could not see my ankles. I sat in heart-throbbing wonder that this could happen, that this was actually me, that the man that I loved would soon dip beneath the surface of the pond.
Trevor ducked me only once, one single terrible submersion beneath the surface in which I was positive I was about to die and was no longer the beloved of he who fingered the controls. But Trevor knew what he was doing, when I once more emerged into daylight and air, and as I coughed my way back into the world, I knew for sure the ducking stool was a sure way to make a girl behave. Rather than go down below the surface a second time, I would have promised anything. But, of course, Trevor didn't want promises or anything else. Trevor was training me at this, being strapped to this hateful chair was a lesson I must learn. When we walked back to The Retreat, my linked hand in his, I was about as submissive a girl as you would have found in a day's march.
In the following days I wondered why he did not put me in the cage. Now I know the answer. He was keeping it in reserve for a purpose yet to be disclosed. I refused to think of it and put it from my mind. But, as the days passed, one thing emerged for sure, I was now the Mistress of The Retreat, I had paid my dues.
Trevor never made a pretense of being anything but a sadist in his own muted, sardonic fashion. He hadn't much in common with real sadists like those in the history books. But he adored making a girl wiggle uncomfortably, even though her distress might be only in her mind. And to hear us squeal. He regarded screams as vulgar and warned me against them. I agreed with him in everything.
We evolved again. It was obvious to us both that if we were to await my delinquencies before punishing me, we would get but little entertainment. It became necessary, therefore, to create artificial entrapments by which my feet and hands would delivery me, guilt-laden, into my master's waiting hands. I would even be allowed to think up my own punishments. But I found this task too difficult and allowed Trevor to keep me unaware of the lurking pitfalls of pain he would proscribe. We drew up a set of rules, some of which I must most obviously break, and hung it up in plain view where I could read it at leisure and Daisy could giggle over it to her heart's content. The sins were such as "arguing at dinner," or "forgetting to kneel and make my vows to THE MASTER each morning." With regard to this last, we had long since set up a small slave vow which I must recite upon my knees. It was a reaffirmation of my being owned completely by my MASTER and I said it gladly and fervently for I believed them. They were very much ME. I have now forgotten what rule I broke to earn the first of these small punishments which would give my master such delight, and which would leave me in my usual dither longing to scream or gasp in ecstasy. I knew I was going to be punished when Trevor led my out into the park.
I was still handcuffed from our walk through the village. I was in a silly, giggly girlish mode and tried to pry out of this grim male what he was going to do to me. But he kept his silence other than to hand me a small bag of rope and tell me I might as well carry it since I was to be the one it would be used on. When we came to The Tree. I knew
I was looking at something I was not going to like. It was a gnarled and stunted veteran of the cops, oddly misshapen and not nearly as large as its age might dictate. Well within its reach was a branch I sensed was especially for me. It stuck out from the main truck for several feet until it abruptly turned to the vertical for perhaps another foot and then resumed its horizontal search for sunlight. In the saddle effect just before that vertical turn the bark had been stripped away, leaving a smooth surface, it was a small wound, big enough only for a female crotch. My handcuffs were unlocked and I was told to remove my clothes, which I had obeyed, Trevor made them into a inadequate pad to soften my seat upon the branch which we both now understood was where I had to sit astride this uncomfortable and uncertain perch. I reached out for support to other branches to either side, and Trevor bound my wrists to one of those branches, spreading my arms wide. When he finished, my wrists were tied tight at a level only a little below my shoulders. Without warning he took away the wad of clothing beneath my pussy. I gasped in surprise at the discomfort which rapidly advanced to being plain, old-fashioned pain. I asked Trevor, "My feet.. . What are you going to do with my feet?"
"Nothing, love, just let 'em go. That old tree hasn't looked this good in centuries. You're doing a lot for it. Bye-bye, I'll see you sometime."
I knew there was no use pleading. I watched Trevor return to the house while I sat, feeling idiotic and insecure. I did what prisoners always do, took stock of this fresh captivity and what I could do with it.
It took me quite a while to realize I could do nothing. I could not reach either hand with teeth nor wiggle them free, you could not wiggle free when Trevor tied you. My most pressing need was to get my crotch out of its horrible saddle and either sit more naturally upon the bough or see if my feet would reach the ground. The old tree was not large but I was high enough up that, when I did some mental measuring, I realized the ground and I would not make contact again until Trevor untied me. My feet helped in this computation for they hung limp beneath the bough on which I was half impaled and were a long way from the grass below. This left me with one more possibility of cautiously throwing one leg up and over to sit more normally and infinitely more comfortable until released. But I was not a bit sure I could swing my leg high enough to get over that rise in the branch. It might be possible but then again I might slip! I saw what must happen.
I would fall to one side or the other and break an aim. I soon understood my punishment to be a quiet and painful sitting astride the tiny saddle and trying to take such of my weight as I could upon my outstretched arms. But that little bit of ease was nothing, I might as well not even try.
I soon discovered it was best not to move and to breath cautiously, anything I did hurt and all the hurts centered on that part of me I sat on. As time passed I became convinced that my poor pussy would never be of use again and I would walk with legs wide spread forever. That branch became a personal enemy and I could well imagine Trevor having a chuckle to himself when he thought of me. I wondered how I could have been such a cheerful idiot when walking to this terrible fate, a fate I was now quite certain was unjustified. I had been expecting to get my bottom caned, maybe half a dozen strokes, or some such simple infliction, I'd never dreamed of anything like this.
Trevor left me there for hours and hours. A watcher would have thought me a part of the ancient tree itself, so still was I and so cunningly bound. When he did come he was in no hurry to take me down, but walked around and around to enjoy the full effect of my sufferings and whatever other pleasure he could get from my naked form. He knew damned well I was fighting hard to keep from pleading or saying something terrible that would earn me an extra hour of punishment. He had me figured perfectly. But when he untied the cords and lilted me down, he place me straight on the grass upon my back, spread my legs, lifted my knees and entered me without waste of words. I could not believe it was happening or in the joyous pain I felt in my love-tunnel as his rod impaled me. I had supposed my pussy non-functioning after hours of painful contact with that tree, but a girl can take far more than even she thinks. It responded wonderfully!
As we walked back to the house Trevor told me I was a very lucky girl. I did not disagree.
My punishments were often sexually shaming, resulting either in orgasms or erotic arousals I could not appease. The last thing Trevor Tremond needed was a dildo, he delighted in inflicting these monstrosities within my sheath. One instance of this penetration aroused from Daisy's fibbing over something I hadn't done. Trevor and Daisy had a little thing going at my expense, in which Daisy could at anytime inform on me and I would be punished without any opportunity to defend myself. All three of us were well aware of the fictional nature of these accusations. But they did produce delicious situations which none of us were willing to forgo, least of all myself. I gloried in the pure lust in Trevor's eyes as I stood naked, demur, and firmly handcuffed to receive my sentence. When Daisy had safely betrayed me, she want about her affairs, happily giggling, and I was left to face my master's wrath.
The dildo was so immense it had to be anointed and inserted within me with tender, loving care. I had been compelled to look hard at the hateful thing and was frankly scared. I stood trembling, my feet wide apart, while Trevor amused himself. When the final inch was within my unloving lips. I was stoutly fixed with a wide strap covering the entire pussy and buckled tightly. The entire arrangement secured the horrible monster within and was locked with a large padlock. In order that I should not influence the turn of events, my hands were equally securely locked behind my back. I was then taken, naked, to an outrageously visible portion of the back lawn wherein a stake, with ring attached on top. had been firmly driven to stand between my shamed legs and thighs, to have that ring padlocked to a similar ring at the lowest part of my crotch harness.
"You won't mind standing here a while, will you, love?"
"No, Master," I lied.
"Good, I'll leave you to enjoy the scene. You'll be interested to know I'll be watching you almost constantly from the house. I'm sure you won't always be standing still."
I sniffed and refrained from comment. I could think of a lot of things to say but kept them to myself as I watched my master's retreat. I gazed down at the manner in which I was secured. I could touch none of it. Normally, even with her hands behind her, a girl could do a lot. But with my hips locked to the top of that stake, I could do nothing. I tried to reach the stake but it eluded my grasp and finally I stood there, naked and dismal, with a leg on each side of the beastly thing and the dildo way up in my inside. I soon discovered I could aggravate the effect of that terrible thing by any effort I made to free myself or thrust with bare thigh against the wood. Sulkily I stood there and fought the loosing battle against the gradually increasing heat within my sex. When I finally flowered into orgasm and could no longer remain still, but contorted and wiggled and twisted under the dictates of overwrought glands. I was positive Trevor was watching and chuckling and perhaps making a count, "Number One!" I won't tell how high that count went.
The following day Trevor showed me the gorgeous bronze bracelets and told me I would wear them for life. It was a wonderful, solemn moment, especially since I was told my tests were over and I would wear them as a sort of symbolic reward. Once I had willing allowed Trevor to clasp them on my wrist, my life become more circumspect, and I was told that once our "inventory" began to arrive, I would be in charge of them. With Daisy's help I would insure their security and dole out whatever punishments I deemed appropriate. It was a wonderful time and I didn't really believe any captive girls would show up at The Retreat. I was sure Trevor was still having fun at my expense. But when, much later, a girl named Gentian innocently walked into captivity, I began to take the whole thing seriously. I adored the girl, she was a real sweetheart. And for a little while I cherished the secret hope that Trevor would find his pleasure in her and then let her go. But when I thought about this, I realized its impossibility. Once The Retreat had possessed a girl, it must possess her always, for to let her go spelt disaster and the police. I didn't want Trevor behind bars and I didn't want to be behind bars myself. When Amy volunteered and arrived positively panting to be bound or chained or restrained in any way I chose, I realized I was still learning a lot about girls. I let them teach me and adored them both.
It was about there I began to notice the change in Trevor, he became preoccupied, absent-minded, and took to long trips to the city on business. I never adored him a particle less, but it was in this period he made me hand out some cruel punishments to the girls. I wondered a lot but did not utter a word. I had received these punishments myself and wanted no repeats. I lived in a strange new world of curiosity about the girls captured and delivered to The Retreat. I realized more and more how utterly dependent upon him I had become, the things he did to me in bed enraptured me to a point of being obvious to all else. He had me in a state of emotionally suspended animation, in which I'm sure others saw me as being a little fey or out of this world and in a world of my own. Bridie and Marjorie came and went and left behind a profit for The Retreat huge enough to make my hair curl in a realization of the value men place upon a pretty girl. It was somewhere around here our delightful maid servant Daisy decided to become difficult. She decided to be included in the inventory and sold for the same price as we had gotten for Bridie and Marjorie, the money to be delivered to her family while she went her way into slavery. She was most persuasive.
"You see. Miss Blair, I ain't a bit scared." She giggled at some delightful prospect in her mind. "I will get loose from whoever buys me. He'll never manage to keep me prisoner more than a month or two. And then think of all that lovely money." She sighed at the prospect.
"Absolutely not!" I told her primly. "You'd hate it and cry your eyes out the first day. I feel guilty enough about the others, I don't want you on my conscious, too."
"After I escape I'll come back here and work for you again." Once more the familiar giggle. "Maybe you could sell me twice? Or even three times.. . . ? "
"Stop being silly, Daisy."
"It ain't a bit silly. Miss Blair. You've seen me with my clothes off. men get a hard-on just thinking about what I got under these clothes. You could sell me naked or in this uniform, there's a lot of guys go for a little French maid effect like you got me in now," she argued reasonably. "So when you got a guy you think might be interested, you just put me in irons any way you like and I'll be real meek and obedient. I bet you I could fetch top price."
I made the mistake of telling Trevor. He was all for it. He had Daisy strip naked for him, looked her over, asked a lot of questions, and then stated that she would simply have to wait until the right purchaser came along but not to bother him about it again. Daisy was delighted but it fell to me to receive Trevor's orders to "put her through her paces," which simply meant I would inflict on her all the tortures or semi-tortures Trevor had inflicted on me in what he called my "training." I flatly refused. And while he did nothing about it, I was aware of the first rift in our relationship. Trevor's moods became more dark and brooding, but our nights, as always, bridged any gap the day had brought. Things continued on an even keel until the day a pleasant young man named James Bancroft purchased Gentian.
It was then, in one fell swoop, I learned the reason for Trevor's preoccupations and at the same time faced the most awful pitfall of my life. Abruptly and without warning Trevor said to me, "I'm in love with Genn Rothwell." He allowed the shocked silence to hang for moments before adding, Sorry, old girl, I didn't plan it this way."
Out of the depths of shock I stammered, "But you've sold her!"
"I'll get her back. Don't worry, I'll handle it."
I was sure he would and that I would help him, wishing to or not. I looked at him, stricken, and he read the question in my eyes. "You'll be free of me. Modesty, I've treated you badly but you'll leave this place with a check for one hundred thousand pounds. Like I said. I'm damned sorry!"
I lifted up my hands and the beautiful bronze bracelets, "But you've locked these on me for life, Trevor. You can't just.. . "
Trevor did not answer. He took the funny little steel sliver and used it to cause the bronze to fall from my wrists. He swung them and said jauntily, "No more chains for you, Modesty my pet. You're young and free and beautiful and the world's all yours. Take it."
"I don't want to take it. I want to stay here."
"You believe that now. The Retreat has become a haven for you. It's a crutch you lean on. Take one of the cars, which ever you like and be out of here this evening. I'll prepare your check."
It was worse than being fired. Worse then being suddenly widowed. It was also totally unexpected. I looked at my master askance and heard myself say, "I don't believe it. Trevor, you mustn't do this. I love you terribly. I simply refuse to go."
I remember Trevor nodded as though I had confirmed his theory about something. "I'll always love you. Modesty, but no longer in the way you want or need. If you refuse to leave The Retreat with the benefits I've offered, I'm not going to personally dump you on the road. I'm going to strip you naked, put you in a cell, chain you, and sell you to whatever man will pay the very large price I'm going to ask. Think about it, sweetheart."
I thought about it for sure. Trevor went about his affairs, leaving me to mine. I wandered up to the bedroom we had shared and into all the memories it held. Trevor's threat about selling me hadn't taken a hold of my consciousness. I was not thinking of time in the sense of an hour or a day in the future, I was thinking of it as only in the past. For me it was an impossibility to leave The Retreat and the man who owned it, and who owned me, whether he wanted me or not. I knew it was no use talking to Trevor, I needed a bit of drama. Something to satisfy my own hurt and impress him with the enormity of my love.
I suddenly knew what to do. I stripped naked, found a pair of handcuffs, and went downstairs to the row of cells, all of them empty. Nakedly and without much conscious thought, I walked into the center little prison and slammed its door hard behind me, it had a snap lock and would not open without a key. I then cautiously handcuffed my own wrist behind my back, making sure to get them properly snug but without hurting. Then I simply stood and remembered that first afternoon and night when Trevor had made me prisoner in just this way. If this act would not impress him or touch his heart, nothing would.
I had imprisoned myself without thought or reason. I was soon regretting the rashness of my act, I had placed myself in a position of no retreat. The silence and solitude of the concrete and bars brought home to me for the first time the possibility Trevor might keep his promise and actually sell me, it would be the neatest way possible to get rid of an unwanted girl. Suddenly I knew for sure I had not wish for this to happen, I did not want to be sold. Mature judgment told me I should have accepted the freedom offered, gone away from The Retreat with the money offered, and then dealt with Trevor from a position of strength. If Trevor's affections were as impermanent as indicated, he would soon tire of Gentian and he and I would pick up where we left off. I stood in that damned cell and twisted my hands against those handcuffs I'd clicked tight against my own wrists. And I faced the fact that Trevor had been very generous in his offer of freedom, car and money. But I could envision the possibility of him being pleased to have me exactly where I was and to sell me for whatever he could get. He could do this without guilt for he had, after all, first offered me freedom and great benefits. If I got myself sold into slavery, it would be by my own choice.
When Trevor finally came down to look for me and exclaim his friendly, "Well, well, here you are! I might have guessed. Neatly locked up, stripped and handcuffed. Modesty, you are a remarkable girl."
"I'm a very silly," I said humbly. "I did this in a tantrum. Please let me out."
"No way, sweetheart. You've made your choice, you'll stay with it. I'll find a buyer before too long. In the meantime, this is as good a place for you as any."
I cried the bitterest of tears, the tears of "what might have been."
I tried to cry them through the bars to wet some portion of the man who's captive I had become. But a girl can't project tears like bullets. I simply wet the bars and sobbed miserably.
"Don't carry on so, old girl, I can't begrudge you a few tears. And, if it's any help, I'll say again what a bastard I've been over this whole affair. But you made your choice, entering slavery and being part of the inventory of The Retreat. What a beautiful way out for both of us! Whoever buys you has to be a wealthy man who can probably do more for you than me. Cheer up. Modesty."
There was another terrible hour of regrets before my master reappeared. This time he unlocked the door and entered with a trey of food and drink and a couple of things I found myself wanting to laugh hysterically at. In my mood, they simply stuck me as funny. Trevor carefully placed the trey, then good-naturedly explained, "Brought these leg irons and this collar along. They'll help you get in the feeling of your new condition, sweetheart. Stand still a minute."
I stood still while my ankles were joined in the familiar irons I had often put on other but never myself. Erect and stiff, I allowed him to tilt my chin and affix the collar around my neck and padlock it snug. Neither piece of bondage would serve any purpose other than to tell me what I had now become. If any girl is dubious about a state of slavery, let her wear leg irons on her ankles and a metal collar around her neck. They are graphic remainders of lost freedom.
"You over did it a bit. Modesty, with the handcuffs. I don't want you completely helpless, it's much more convenient if you can fend for yourself." Trevor turned my about with a clatter of chain, unlocked one of my wrists, then turned me back again and locked both of them together in front. I was uncertain whether to feel foolish or relieved. It did not matter. When Trevor had gone and left me chained and alone, I drank the hot tea and nibbled at the food. That I was later able to lay on the hard bench and sleep was more a tribute to my knowledge of total helplessness than to peace of mind. I suppose that had I been entirely new to the scene, I would have spent the hours of darkness striving to rid myself of irons and to find some way to squeeze between the bars or unlock the door. All nonsense, but that's the way girls are when first imprisoned.
I was embarrassed by Daisy and this was silly because she was a delightful girl and The Retreat had brought us both into a considerable intimacy. But I, who had been the mistress, was now a slave whereas Daisy was still carrying on in her original occupation. It was Daisy who brought my breakfast.
"Oh, Miss Blair, you're so beautiful with your clothes off." Daisy's strong suit was sincerity. "You're really lovely naked like that and them there chains sort of put an accent on the whole thing. Gee, Miss Blair, you'll sell for a tremendous price."
"But I don't want to be sold, Daisy! Can you get these chains off me?"
"Gee, no miss. Only the master has the keys, you know that. I mustn't even let you out of this cell." She giggled, "You wouldn't want me to get myself whipped, would you?"
Daisy had brought her own breakfast, too, so me made a picnic of it. I spent the time trying to change her mind from disaster. "Look at me, Daisy, you don't want to be chained like this and locked in a cell."
"I think it might be fun. Miss Blair. I just hope I look half as good as you."
Daisy was hopeless. I simply had to write her off. She was a darling girl and it was a trifle of comfort to know I had a female friend on the other side of the bars. When she left me alone I kicked myself for not asking what Trevor was doing with Gentian and Amy. But that could wait. The thing hitting me with a sudden and tremendous force was the realization of my own imprisonment. I couldn't get out of this cell! Even if someone unlocked the door. I would still be chained in a way to make escape close to impossible. I hadn't wanted to escape The Retreat but now I did. I felt a sudden and compulsive need to get out of the cage and out of The Retreat and into freedom and sanity. Dismally I looked at my chained hands and ironed feet. I fingered the metal collar around my throat. I had to admit I had no hope of freedom whatsoever. Why, oh why, had I not accepted Trevor's offer of the money and the car. Knowing Trevor, I realized how slender was my hope of changing his mind and giving me one more chance. By Trevor's standards I'd had my chance and miffed it. Now I would be sold and that would be the end of me as a human entity. I didn't feel much of an entity right then, I was a silly little captive bird sitting in a cage. I tugged and twisted at my irons in anger. It was then I heard the sounds down the passage.
"Let me go! Take your hands off me!" It was a young, female voice alive with anger. "It's not fair the way you're treating me, I don't have a chance the way you've got me fixed. Stop pulling at my hair. . . . OK, I'll come along if you'll just stop yanking."
She was more beauty. What else! Daisy had her by the hair while her hands were cuffed behind her back. She was as naked as I. Her breasts were heaving with exertion and emotion and she stood looking at me and at Daisy unlocking the cell door as though not believing what she beheld. She allowed Daisy to push her within the cell and clank shut the fatal door. Daisy gave me a broad wink and said, "This is a new one. Miss Blair, you can tell her what she needs to know. I don't have the time."
Alone, we stared. I had risen to my feet and must have made the prefect picture of a prisoned girl. In a flood of sympathy I reached out my shackled hands to touch this new girl's pinioned arms and to kiss her gently on the lips while she stood in total bafflement. Stupidly I said, "Don't be frightened, everything's all right "
She stepped back from my reaching fingers and said, "It's not all right! Nothing's all right! They've taken my clothes and look what they've done to my hands!" She turned to wiggle indignant fingers, then turned to view me with suspicion. "What are you, a Judas Goat, a shill, one of them?"
I remember sighing heavily at the prospect of trying to make The Retreat understandable to this girl. I didn't relish the task and wondered if I should even try, but she would ask questions and I could answer them, that would be the easy way. I dropped the first bomb by telling her my name and telling lier that I was being held captive awaiting sale.
"You have to be kidding!" She was eyeing me with even more suspicion.
We hammered her disbelief back and forth, and in the course of this exchange I learned that her name was Joan Peters, she was steno and had been kidnapped on the outskirts of Tumbridge Wells. I waved away the details, explaining that they were all much the same and changed nothing. All the time I talked Joan Peters stood, twisting and tugging at her ironed wrists and never taking her eyes from my face. I think it was the shackled feet and the collar around my neck that finally convinced her that I was not "one of those." Quite suddenly she melted into my arms and sobbed on my shoulders. She could not hold me and
I was forced to lift my bound hands and put them over her head to hold her nakedness so we were two girls, breasts to breasts. After that was over telling Joan Peters of her new fate was a lot easier.
I told her nothing of Trevor and I, it was still a far too private thing to speak about. But I did tell her about Amy's love of bondage and of how Gentian had innocently walked through an open gate into enslavement. I mentioned Bridie and Marjorie and tried to make Joan understand how easy it was to trade in kidnapped girls. Joan listened politely but I could tell she was like the rest who had entered their enslavement with a hundred mental reservations. She was a absolutely beautiful creature and totally exposed for my enjoyment. That was her first question.
"Why must we be naked?"
"So a prospective buyer can examine us and make up his mind, they won't pay all that money for a pig in a poke."
"So, OK, I can see that. But why these restraints on us?"
"To keep us in a proper frame of mind and make it easier for Daisy to take care of us. I'll bet you feel a lot more captive when handcuffed than if your hands were free."
"All right. But these cells, I don't understand? There dead ringers for the real thing in a prison, aren't they?"
"Sure they are. The man who owns us has a little fantasy about putting naked girls in prison cells, so he's made his fantasy come true, and here we are."
"The first thing I shall do is go straight to the police. When I get out, that is."
"You never will get out, Joan," I told her wearily. "You're a prisoner and you'll never, never see a policeman again."
Joan Peters had not sat down. She was still busy twisting at her handcuffed wrists in a preoccupied sort of way while she considered my information. She came up with a bright idea, "Can't we behave so outrageously no man would buy us. Isn't that the thing to do?"
I explained about the encouragements and watched her sort of wilt and loose steam. I felt a bitch as I closed every door she sought to open.
"But this man, Trevor.. . what's-his-name? Couldn't we be nice to him, you know what I mean, ask him to fuck us because he's so damned handsome. Wouldn't that help?"
"You're not offering him anything, Joan. He can take us any time he wants. We're all chained or bound and couldn't put up a fight. So when he tells you to lay down, you'd best lay down."
"That's a hard one to take," Joan Peters said slowly. "I've never run into any situation in which offering my body to a man couldn't save me. Hell, I've had men give me a lot of money to use my body!"
I bestowed a wry look on her. "That's over, sweetheart. From now on your pussy is free to your owner. Right now Trevor Tremond is your owner."
"But that reduces us to nothing!"
"That's right, Joan, we are nothings, just naked bundles of female neatly chained. I am absurdly obedient and you'll best be absurdly obedient, too. Your best bet is probably to get yourself sold this afternoon."
Joan Peters would have had a retort for that, too, had it not been for the interruption. It was Trevor and another man almost his own size. The two of them filled the passage and emotionally dwarfed a girl by their mere presence. I felt like I was back in school and might be asked to hold out my hand for the cane. I almost said hello to Trevor but stopped in time. I was a slave.
"You wouldn't find two more beautiful girl than these anywhere in the world," Trevor said to his companion. "The ash blonde has been properly trained, the other girl is brand new and probably needs a good thrashing."
They entered the cell and the client turned me this way and that in examination. Suddenly he cast me into the discard, "No. Too, damned submissive. She's a beauty all right, but not for me."
Thankfully I stepped aside. Being sold is a momentous thing in the life of any girl but I was glad to miss the honor. I was sending out wave after wave of adoration towards my master, but if Trevor felt them he made no sign. They turned their attention to Joan, who stood incredulous in disbelief.
"Ah, this one looks better!" The client surveyed Joan's tensed muscles and thin lip with approval. A moment later Joan Peters lashed out with a free foot at his groin, but he deftly grabbed her ankle and held it up laughingly to display her pussy in all its naked glory, and to cause her to teeter on one foot. His tone was casual, "I'll take this one. That kick tells me all I need to know. I'll whip her ass for it when I get back home, no need to do it now." He gazed around the cell and. with his own authority, said to Trevor, "Let's you and me go upstairs and look after details. I'll hang this little vixen with her toes off the floor. Teach her a lesson, help her to stop kicking."
These two men were so big and so strong a girl might get an erotic thrill out of their masculinity but at the same time be helpless in their hands. They might use us as they pleased with the greatest of easy. The purchaser of Joan Peters held her while Trevor retrieved his handcuffs and replace them with tightly bound thin rope, this time in front. I knew what was coming. There were ropes from above and it was only a minute before Miss Joan Peters was suspended from one of them and her naked feet were vainly reaching for the floor. Her new owner delivered hardy smacks upon her bare bottom before laughing himself and Trevor out of the cell and leaving us alone. Joan Peters ran true to form, "Untie me. Modesty. Get me down, I can't possibly endure this!"
"Sorry, dear, I can't. I can't reach that high. But I don't suppose they'll be away too long."
"You mean.. . You're willing to leave me hanging here like this and do nothing to help!" She sounded shocked.
"If you know any way I can help you, you'd better tell me," I said dejectedly.
There was nothing I could do except stand and watch Joan Peters' nakedness contort and bounce around at the end of its tether. Her toes were pathetically reaching for the floor and I knew how her wrists would be hurting from the thin rope. She was sweating from her efforts, and turning and twisting in the air. But her main effort was to look at me with the deepest reproach as though I were in some way letting her down or responsible for her present punishment. I made the kindliest comments I could at her barrage of invectives and complaints. I realized it was hard for her to understand my total impotence. She was sure there must be something I or she could do. Her struggles diminished until she hung limp, dejected, and sobbed. But even when the two men returned they were in no hurry to put Joan Peters' feet back on the ground. They walked slowly around the suspended nudity and made male comments about its curves and contours, now stretched painfully. Joan's eyes followed their every move. I could tell she was bursting to speak but the pain of suspension had worked its minor miracle and she curbed her tongue. I could tell it was in her mind to lash out with her feet but she controlled that urge, too, and maintained a pained silence until the rope was lowered.
"I'm willing to forget this whole thing if you'll set me free immediately." She spoke rationally as if it were something that might actually happen. "But what you've just done to me is utterly despicable."
The omnipotent males looked at each other and laughed, evidently the passing over of a huge sum of money had been achieved with good will. Joan Peters' new owner seemed in a happy mood. "You talk too much, lady. You are now a cute little slave girl who's libel to get her ass whipped any time and who might find herself wearing a gag if she doesn't know when to keep her mouth shut."
For Joan it was evident enslavement was still abstract, not to be considered in connection with herself, she almost swelled in indignation. She raised her bound hands to her lips and began to tug at the rope with her teeth. The men were amused. In a businesslike way Trevor offered the full facilities of The Retreat. "I can take her out of her and give her a punishment that will smarten her up," he offered abruptly. "Would you like me to do that?"
"No, but thanks. I'll break the girl in myself. It's going to be a pleasure." The purchaser chucked in visible enjoyment. "I may leave enough spirit in the little trick to warrant breaking her again and again, say once a week or once a month? She's a perfect product of the British middle class and dumb. I suppose we just as well tie her down here and carry her to the car. OK with you?"
Poor girl, she hadn't a clue. Only now did it really come to me how valid was Trevor's training. The things he did to me would serve me well at a time like this, avoiding the shame of futile protest and the bruises of a struggle. Joan Peters indulge in both to the full extent of both lips and limbs. But she was a mere plaything in the hands of these powerful male creatures who took delight in subduing her. She was easily flipped over the bench, a male knee planted in her back while her ankles were tied tight with bitterly thin twine. Then her knees. Then her hands were taken from front to back where they were viciously bound again. I noted that heavier rope was used on her elbows, perhaps out of consideration of circulation, perhaps only because they were out of thin cord, but the elbows were drawn together and bound very tightly. Maximum security for transit was obtained by a hogtie joining hands and feet. I was almost thankful when the poor thing was tightly gagged. I had been fearing all along she would say something unforgivable and earn some terrible punishment. But so far as punishment was concerned. Joan Peters' prospects were not the best. I could well imagine what would happen to her when her purchaser would get her home. But at least she was safe from the pond, it was unlikely any other place would have such a punishment device. Even to think of my head going down beneath the surface of the water still made me shutter.
Joan and I said goodbye with our eyes. She could not speak or scream and I was wise enough to know my place. I got one more shiver as the purchaser, holding his naked burden with the greatest of easy, paused in the doorway to look back at me as I stood there nude and chained and bitterly unhappy. His gaze roved up and down my nudity until he said grudgingly, "I could handle this one, too, Tremond. If she's still here next week, you might make me a price on her. The two of them make a foil for each other."
Trevor said nothing other than to slam the cell door with needless vigor.
It had been quite a day but was not yet over. When Trevor returned I lost no time in pleading for the deal that he had offered me and I had stupidly rejected. I remember how the words flooded out of me and how I finished up with a reiteration, "Please . . . please . . . please.
Trevor cocked a sardonic eye my way. "You had your chance, sweetheart, I was playing fair with you."
"Yes, I know. I can see now you were being fair with me. But can't you understand, I was in love with you, terribly in love?"
"Modesty, my pet, did I detect a trace of the past tense?"
"Well, yes, you did. I'm sorry. But you know in your heart I'm still in love. I could still so easily go back to the way we were. If you want Gentian in your bed I wouldn't complain. Trevor, darling, I wouldn't complain about anything if you'll keep me as a companion and not sell me as a slave."
"OK, supposing I keep you just the way you are in this cell and enjoy myself with Gentian upstairs?"
I kept silent. Trevor was merciless. I had no answer. But Trevor was not done with me.
"Tell you what, Modesty, dear girl. You're at sixes and sevens with yourself and the world. I know exactly the thing to straighten you out. Here, I'll tie your hands behind your back so you can't be a nuisance when we go for a walk."
I let him do it, I couldn't stop him anyway. He crossed my wrists brutally, discarding the handcuffs. He picked me up and, as we left the cell and mounted the stairs, it felt so damned good to be in his arms again that I forgot everything until he took me out into the park. I couldn't kick or struggle but I could still plead. In a terrible fear I said over and over, "Trevor, not the pond, not the pond! Please, darling, don't take me to the pond."
Trevor said nothing, his mouth was grim with determination. Hopelessly I said over and over, "I love you, Trevor, I love you, I love you, I love you.. . "
Trevor took me to the pond, stood me erect upon hobbled feet while he unlocked the cage. His voice was cruelly mocking, "You know about the ducking stool, darling, this will be a pleasant change."
I didn't fight, I no longer pleaded. Like every girl prisoner who had been put into the little cage, I cherished the hope that it would be confinement only, that my master would stop short of lowering me into the pond. The padlocks clicked upon my curled up nudity within the cage. I stared at Trevor but he would not meet my eyes. I stared at the little lake that should have been so beautiful but was not. Where ever I looked I saw everything from behind bars. I twisted at the rope on my wrists but mainly reserved that exercise for when I would be left alone.
I watched Trevor go to the controls and felt the jerk as the little cage was lifted from the grass and then the awful swing as I was moved out over the water. The controls clicked and there I was! Where ever I looked was water waiting to receive me. Above all I looked down at what seemed a dark and bottomless infinity. Trevor's goodbye was cruelly casual, "So long. Modesty, I'll be back later. But don't cherish hope. That cage and you inside will be going down, down, down beneath the surface. Be seeing you."
He walked away and left me in the suspended cage.
That's where I am now.
7
Handcuffed Chatelaine lr is a terrible thing for a girl to be adored by any man she does not love, with Trevor it was doubly so. Trevor is a Force, a Force I cannot brush off or easily dismiss. Even though he tells me I am now the Chatelaine of The Retreat, replacing darling Modesty, he keeps me naked and has my wrists firmly locked in the beautiful bronze bracelets which I will always sec as Modesty's and never as mine.
It would be easy to say Trevor is mad, but he is simply a powerful and selfish man who has contrived a condition other males would envy. He owns, briefly, every girl who passes through The Retreat. But he loved Modesty and now loves me. I don't think it's love at all, it's simply that ridiculous male compulsion to plant his seed in as many wombs as he can find. It affects all men but usually without much harm. Here, where every girl is Trevor's slave, it becomes a terrible fate to be loved by him for when his loves dies he can dispose of us cruelly. I am positive he is doing something beastly with poor, darling Modesty. And if he can torture Modesty, there is no hope of any of us. Modesty loved him, I do not.
After my promotion he ravished me again and again as though trying to catch up with the desires he had evidently suppressed when I believed I was no more than a captive and Modesty the Chatelaine. His huge male phallus subdued me utterly, it had made me disgustingly smug and submissive. When Trevor called, I laid down instantly and spread my legs wide. But I did not love him!
I was forbidden to go to Modesty, she was in one of the cells downstairs, naked and chained, and I am sure terribly unhappy. Trevor told me she is for sale and will soon be picked up by an avid purchaser. I listened to all he tells me and complained about nothing. Whatever feelings Trevor may have held for me would not hinder him from inflicting any of the outrageous punishments upon my person. I didn't want to be taken out to the pond, I just didn't! Where that pond is concerned, I'm a coward.
A girl named Joan Peters has added to Trevor's coffers with amazing speed. She was kidnapped, imprisoned, and sold all within twenty-four hours. I saw her only briefly before Daisy took her downstairs to the cells. She repulsed my efforts at rationalization and explanation, refusing to take me seriously because I was naked and my hands were chained. I resolved to talk to Trevor about allowing me some clothes. I knew I'd never get rid of those handcuffs but the clothes sure would help.
At the moment my only confident was Amy. I don't know why she hadn't sold but she remained a happily constrained prisoner of the House. She assured me there is nothing either of us can do about Modesty and I had best make the most of my promotion. I rather suspected she wished Trevor would have chosen her-so did I!
I couldn't manage terms of endearment but Trevor scattered them around with a free hand. I was Genn darling, Genn dearest, Genn my pet.. . if he gave me the full tide of Gentian, I knew I had displeased and would soon feel the cane. I had transgressed only in minor ways. He punished these instantly by having me bend over to touch my toes for five swift and bitter strokes on a bottom never entirely unblemished. I had to say please and thank you on those occasions. And, if I sounded the least bit sarcastic, I got them over, the whole damned five strokes! Modesty knew where she was, I was damned if I did.
I had thought very little about escape. .The bronze circlets joining my wrists had something to do with that. Their effect was mostly mental, basically a constant reminder of Trevor and his punishments. He possessed a lust for my flesh but that didn't stop him from marking it with a whip. But, upon reflection, I thought that surely there must have been opportunities not present when I had been part of the inventory. There was only the main gate. Perhaps I would never reach it, but a growing idea took hold of me. I had to try. I had to escape! There had to be some way.
"How'd you like to be sold?" Trevor beamed across the dinning table. "There's a client coming tomorrow, I'll give you first whack at him if you like."
"I thought you said you loved me? Why would you sell me?"
"I won't. I've got Amy in mind. Have Daisy make her as pretty as she can then put the spotlight on her. She'll sell."
Amy was dinning with us and had to listen to that, but I could see she was pleasantly excited. Each of us had come to realize that our only escape from The Retreat would be through a sale, and being sold is enough of a lottery to quicken the pulse with hope. Innocently, Amy gazed at our master and said, "Oh, thank you, Mr. Tremond. Daisy makes a wonderful job of us, honest. I will work hard at getting myself sold. Try to get the guy to tell a joke and I'll laugh at it as though it was the only one I've ever heard. That ought to do the trick."
I envied them the easy laughter they shared then. Amy was in a class all by herself, her adoration of constraint was something I could not match. Modesty had a sweet submissiveness in bonds and had worn the bronze bracelets with a tremendous flair I could not match. But she loved Trevor while all I could manage was to long for him in bed and be frightened of him the rest of the time. I knew he would tire of me and was willing to bet I would be sold inside of a month. But not that next day!
Trevor beamed at Amy. "You're a wonderful girl, I wish I had a dozen more like you." He paused heavily before he added, "Look, sweetheart, supposing a couple of months after you've been sold I could make it possible for you to escape, would you come back here to me?" He grinned, "I'd sell you all over again."
"Oh, of course I would!" Amy's eyes were shinning.
"But supposing you'd fallen in love with the man?"
"If I fell in love with him it would be because he keep me tied ever so tight. And if that were the case, I don't suppose you could help me," she said brightly.
Amy was ever so practical. I truly envied them. Trevor was not a bad companion if he wasn't in love with you, or if you shared some interest of his. He was right, what he needed was a dozen Amys and everyone would be happy. But I shrank at the thought of being left alone, a naked handcuffed girl, in the shadow of his potent masculinity. After dinner and brandy and some remarkably bright conversation, mostly due to Amy, she got chained by the collar to the bed where she and I had spent our first night together, and I obediently followed my master to where I would be ravished into an even deeper enslavement. I cannot deny that the sight of his bedroom and bed set me to tingling in excitation. For the next several hours I would not escape even if it had been possible. I felt a louse for it but gave myself joyously.
I had no useful function except to be seen and, hopefully, be admired. I was present in the capacity of Trevor's consort, that's a beautifully ambiguous terms that covers the distance from wife to whore. I had actually persuaded him to allow me a pair of panties and a tiny little vest, open all the way down the front to allow my breasts to constantly peek into full view to see and be seen. It is an oriental sort of thing, or more likely Asian, and is made complete by the tiniest of skirts to go with the vest. When he had finished dressing me, Trevor had been breathless and, had there been time, would have taken me instantly to bed. Men are ridiculous about things like this. To me the ensemble is simply cute and erotic but I was exceeding grateful for it. I had made the point with Trevor that, if he kept me naked I would be mistaken for part of the inventory and he would forever be making explanations.
Amy was having a hard time not giggling over all the preparations everyone was busy with on her account. Daisy had made her wickedly and wonderfully beautiful, and Trevor had stood her in the center of the lounge where he and I pondered seriously about the elevation of Amy's bound hands. If we stretched her, she would loose some of the contours of nakedness. But if her hands were too low they would be untidy. We finally achieved a compromise where her hands were tethered just high enough above her head to be well out of reach of teeth but still give her a delightful posture.
"Bring him on," she mocked us gaily. "I'm as good as sold."
When the doorbell rang, it was Trevor who answered the summons. He had a quiet little smile I did not trust, and I soon discovered why. When he returned he was accompanied by James Bancroft.
There was suddenly silence in the room. I know there were others in the room but I saw only him, and everything I felt for him came flooding back.
"I see you're back where you belong. Gentian. Congratulations," he said evenly. "I hope you're very happy."
"But you've got it all wrong," I stammered in distress. "I thought you were.. . I mean, I supposed you had been.. . " I broke off in confusion.
"Gentian, keep quiet!" Trevor's voice was a command.
"I couldn't find you." Jim was thinking out loud while his eyes devoured me. "I wanted to get you in to discuss the matter Mr. Tremond was concerned with. But you'd gone. I'd left you completely free and you'd taken advantage of that fact to make your escape. Trevor said you'd come back to The Retreat, and I see you have." He turned his attention to Trevor, his voice warm with friendship, "Nice little tunic you've got on her. She's a nice little slave girl when she not running away."
I took a step towards the man I loved, the man who scorned me now, but Trevor's bark halted me. "Go and stand against the wall. Gentian. You can watch the proceedings but I don't want a word out of you. Understand?"
I understood all too well. Angrily I flounced my way to the nearest wall and leaned against it. Trevor had chosen a humiliating stand for me, like a little girl told to stand in the corner and face the wall. Suddenly I was crying and covering my face with my joined hands in shame. Throughout all that followed I stood there, weeping and sniffing and using my hands and arms to dry my tears. Trevor would be chuckling silently at the contrast between myself and the girl to be sold, she was beautiful and I was simply a mess. I longed to do all sorts of dramatic things but did none of them. I was ashamed to say it but fear of the ducking stool still had that power over me. I watched through a blur of tears. I had thought Trevor had done Jim an injury, perhaps killed him. But the two of them were in complete accord and enjoying the bickering over Amy's price. These were two men to spoke the same language. I was chagrined that Jim finally agreed to a price greater than what he had paid for me, Trevor justifying the price by Amy's tractability and desire to please. He hinted that if Amy were inadvertently left free she would not immediately fly the coop.
"Want to whip her first, Jim?"
"Thanks, no, Trevor, I'll wait until I get her home."
"It would do Gentian do a lot of good to see you give Amy an introductory thrashing." Trevor's tone was persuasive.
"It would do me a lot of good to see you give Gentian a sound thrashing, Trevor." Jim's voice was loud with exasperation. "She fooled me, she really did!"
The suggestion hit a responsive cord. Trevor had seen the love in my eyes and would hurt me in return. A few minutes later Amy's arms were down, her hands were now tied behind her back for delivery to her new owner, and I was put in her place. My braceleted hands were at the same height as hers had been, no doubt to give me enough leeway to kick and struggle against what I was now about to receive. I was relieved of the scanty skirt and panties but the vest remained, it left plenty of me uncovered for the whip. Trevor chose a cruel wand and, winking broadly at his guest, said, "Now I'll show you how this ought to be done."
I longer to take my thrashing with cold contempt, I longed to not move and not scream. All I wanted to do was gaze deep into Jim's eyes and bestow all the reproach I felt. But a naked girl cannot best a whip, especially the whip Trevor had chosen for me. I was soon dancing like a puppet on a string and pleading for surcease. Once more I longed to die.
It was Amy who purchased my relief. Piteously she turned to her new owner to plead, "Please, Master, ask Mr. Tremond to stop. It's hurting poor Genn terribly and she doesn't deserve it."
Jim, surprised, focused on his new purchase. "Will you take her thrashing instead?"
"Oh, yes, of course I will." Amy stated it as a fact of life.
I was only dimly conscious of this exchange which came to me through the mists of agony. Trevor cut continuously and my body responded with gyrations I could not control. But Jim's voice came through loud and clear, "OK, Trevor, let's call it a day. The girl was hasty and so was I. You've given her a pretty good dose."
My hands were lowered and untied. I was tossed the panties and skirt and fumbled with them awkwardly with joined hands. But no one offered to help and I felt like the outcast of the tribe as I sniffed my. "Thank you for whipping me, Trevor," then resumed my humiliation against the wall.
"You've got her nicely trained, Trevor." Jim conceded in one last. unconscious effort to break my heart.
Amy stood pertly to be bound. She and I both knew there was no need for the careful knotting of cords around her knees, ankles, and elbows. When Trevor started to complete the hogtie, Jim intervened, insisting he wanted his new purchase to sit beside him as he drove. She was very tightly and securely bound for such purpose.
"OK, she's you property now," Trevor conceded hardily. "But you'd best watch her. I've never been completely sold on this loving to be tied up act of hers. She could be pulling a Sandy on us."
They allowed Amy and I to kiss goodbye. Amy was tied too tight to offer more than her lips but I did the best I could until the men. with male impatience, separated us. "Bloody lesbians!" Trevor said with heavy humor. "You can't trust girls. If I was you, Jim, I'll stay with just a single. If you get a pair, they start nibbling away at each other as soon as your back is turned."
Jim carried his slave girl to the car, Trevor and I accompanied him in a last farewell. I trailed along, feeling foolish, but remembering my role, a role much impaired by the whipping I had just received. I was grateful for the panties and skirt, my stripped skin would have looked ridiculous below the tiny vest. When we were back alone in the lounge Trevor revived the subject, "How about I give you the other half of that thrashing?" he asked with heavy, good humor. "Jim boy doesn't know how to handle you females."
"If you wish. I can't stop you, Trevor," I said wearily but added, "I'd be ever so grateful if you wouldn't. That hurts something awful."
"Can't you ever show a sign of life, why not get mad and belt me on the beak? Right then you sounded like a widow at the graveside. Damn it, girl, all I'm doing is telling you I love you and want to fuck you more than I want to fuck any other woman in the world! Is that so bad?"
For once I unsuspecting did the right thing, with a tiny cry of anguish I flung myself against his massive chest, clutching hard where ever I could with braceleted hands and sobbing bitter tears against his jacket. Strangely his arms went around me, pressing me unto himself in a way he had never done before. This male reassurance was what I needed most but it did not stop my tears which were now of relief and gratitude. After a while I earned a laugh by blurting out, with a sob, "Thank you for not whipping me any more, Trevor. Oh, thank you, thank you."
"Did I say I wasn't?"
"Well.. . Not actually, but I thought.. . "
Trevor loved me in a glorious male fashion with his arms and his lips and a questing knee up between my thighs. He was very masculine and very comforting. I could easily understand how poor, darling Modesty had adored the man. Perhaps men like Trevor Tremond are simply too big and virile to be satisfied with one girl for life! Modesty had gone her way and presumedly I would follow at some point in the future, but in the meantime I would be immensely happy to be thus owned. I would wear Trevor's bronze bracelets with pride.
Later in the day, Daisy told me what Trevor had done to Modesty.
I have crossed this same grass so many times, mostly with another girl, our legs ironed, our steps short and hobbled. But now my feet were free and I leapt toward the woodland and the park, spurred by a terrible premonition and Daisy's whispered confidence. The pond was the last place I wished to go but it was there I would find poor Modesty in a dire peril she did not deserve. The still, small stretch of water greeted me as though it had an eye which to see. The ducking stool was without a female body, I turned my attention to the cage on the other side of the water and a minute later was panting down through the bars at the features of Modesty Blair.
"Oh, darling, I'm so glad it's you. When I heard the footsteps I thought it might be Trevor. Look what he's done with me!"
I looked. The poor darling was crotched, knees up under her chin and her hands tied behind her back. Trevor had arranged her with a view of the pond into which she told me he intended to lower her sometime that evening.
"He's really going to. Gentian, he told me so. He told me about how he would put me under the surface again and again so I would have something to think about while waiting. Oh, Gentian, can you get me out?"
"I don't have a key, you know that."
"Yes, you do." Modesty's voice was high with hope. "He's been too clever this time. Look over on the tree, there's a nail there and he's hung the keys there so I could look at them. You can get me out of here easily." She gazed up through the bars anxiously. "You will won't you? Oh, please.. . ! "
If I thought of consequence I would be lost. I closed my mind to the potential results of my action and sped to the tree. It took a minute to unlock the three padlocks then she was free. I helped her rise stiffly from her overly long cramped captivity. It was a few moments before she could step out of her hated cage. We could not wait for the freedom of hands but kissed each other passionately where we stood. I was refusing to think of the punishments I would receive for what I had done, but Modesty's mind was leaping ahead.
"Darling, we've absolutely got to escape. The man's crazy, he's not responsible, we've simply got to find some means of operating the control to the front gate." Modesty was breathless with excitement. "Never mind about us being naked or chained or anything else." She actually giggled. "Once we're out on the road someone will be sure to stop for a couple of naked girls."
"But, darling, I can untie your hands, you're only bound with cord."
"That's right, why don't you untie her hands. Gentian, my pet?"
The male voice mocked. Trevor stood, a gigantic figure, holding a whip. Modesty and I stood in silent dismay, two delinquents caught in an unforgivable act. I wondered if he could hear my heart pounding painfully hard.
"A hundred strokes, I believe, wasn't it? I mean, the penalty for attempting escape?" Trevor's tone was pleasantly conversational. He had us!
We stood in mute desolation. I considered throwing myself at his feet in abject surrender and claiming all the blame for Modesty's release, but Trevor did not respond to the theatrical. And I was secretly wondering if this whole act had not been cleverly contrived, perhaps Modesty and I were doing exactly what he planned.
"Well?" he barked at our silence. "Was it a hundred strokes or wasn't it?"
"It was a hundred strokes," I admitted hopeless. "But a hundred would kill a girl, don't you understand, Trevor, you'll kill us?"
"Oh, I'll watch out for that!" he assured us. "You two girls have got an interesting week ahead." He paused for effect. "But, Modesty, my dear, you can still correct the situation by getting back in that cage and asking me to padlock you in. How about it?"
My instinct was to clutch her arm and tell her not to be so foolish but I suddenly realized the two punishments might be comparable.
Perhaps some girls would prefer to go below the surface in the cage than to have the pain, the awfulness of a hundred strokes with a whip upon her bare skin. Examining myself, I wasn't so sure I should not plead for the ducking stool, the agony of which would be over much more quickly than the hundred blows with that whip he so carelessly held. But Modesty was way ahead of us both. Her question was firm, "If I get back in the cage, you'll forgive Gentian?"
"Yes, I'll forgive Gentian. And you'll save yourself a hundred strokes."
Modesty stepped back into the cage, she sat down and asked, unemotionally, "Please padlock me in, Trevor. Then do what you want with me."
I could run away, Trevor had not secured me or even given an order, but it was something I could not do, I was held to that place by invisible chains of horror, sympathy, and a terrible curiosity. Trevor wasted no time, the controls were Fingered and the cage lifted from the grass and swung gently over the water to the full extent of the arm, it then began its slow and agonizing descent. I was able to watch the horror as the water crept up Modesty's naked and confined body, a horror reflected in her lovely face as it covered her pussy, her breasts, and then surrounded her neck. A moment later her anguished eyes had disappeared beneath the surface, her lovely ash-blonde hair floated for a few seconds upon the surface then were sucked under as the cage lowered farther.
I had seen it before. But as the water covered all but the cable, I was gripped by the same fear and doubt and disbelief as to whether Trevor knew how much of this cruelty to impose upon the girl he had so dearly loved. I dared not plead.
It followed the same agonizing sequence of a semi-drowning, of a watery death repulsed only at the last moment, to bring the soaked, chocking captive of the cage up into the air for a reprieve that would be all too brief. But, brief as it might be, Trevor would deem it sufficient, he would have no wish to leave the anguished girl above the surface long enough for her to gain the strength to plead. As I watched the cage and its lovely contents sink again and again below the surface, I felt myself in a nightmare and did the only thing I could think to do. I knelt at Trevor's feet and pleaded for his mercy. Strangely enough, he raised the cage and swung the huge arm in its half-circle to bring her to rest on the grass. Perhaps he would have done this anyway, I do not know. All I do know was my own pleas to, "Oh, Trevor, unlock her. Get her out of there, help her to get her breath back!" Then I stood to watch as he did all those things and brought Modesty Blair back to life. Modesty had suffered this to save me a hundred strokes and I would be eternally grateful.
But it was not over. Trevor untied his former mistress' hands, clasp a handcuff on one wrist, then joined the two of us by forcing me to raise my hands over a convenient branch, then pulling Modesty's cuff up and securing it to my own bronze links. Thus we stood, Modesty with one bare arm upraised and I with both. There was no stretch or strain, but just a pretty pose we would be forced to hold. To make quite sure we preformed no gymnastics by which to free ourselves, he took another pair of handcuffs from his pocket, locked one cuff to Modesty's ankles and the other to mine. We were now as much prisoners to the tree as one of its own branches.
Trevor waved his whip at us in a self-satisfied manner and went away. I was sure he designed that present punishment to force us to view the pond and the hated instruments by its shore. I had no hands to use but Modesty used her single free arm to put it around me and the two of us cuddled against the rough bark and as best we could against each other and wept in total surrender to a man we could never defeat.
It was early evening when we were left alone. For now we were content to nurse our grief against each other's nakedness. Modesty had suffered terribly for me, but what good would it do! We had less freedom than ever, punishments hovered, and Modesty was still shivering in terror from her ordeal in the cage. Having fastened us as we were, there was no doubt Trevor had something else in mind. He had left us there to think.
We explored the possibilities of our bondage. If our ankles had not been so joined, we might have been able to devise some way to free ourselves from the tree, we had no expectation of freeing ourselves from the handcuffs, they were on us to stay. But Trevor had done his work too well, we could twist and shift and even lower our arms within a small tolerance, but basically we remained two naked girls chained to a tree and there we would stay.
"We'll never escape him, will we, Genn?" Poor Modesty was quite broken by her ordeal in the cage, her previous optimism flown. "Our only hope now is to be sold. Maybe he'll be mad enough to sell you, too. He won't forget your disobedience."
Two ex-mistresses shackled to a tree! The sentence trickled through my mind with grim humor. Most certainly Modesty and I were two girls with little to look forward to. It is tiring to stand with your arms held above your head. Modesty and I indulged in frequent bouts of sniffles and self-pity. Two girls together can do much to help each other's morale, and we tried.
Trevor left us against the tree all night. It was easy to imagine the pond eyeing us hungrily as we stood so close to it. If there was indeed a monster in the depths, now was his time.
We could not sleep, we talked and talked until we could talk no more, and until the sound of a voice in the dark, silent night was an affront to whatever demons lurked beneath the trees. Perhaps the greatest affront of all was to be held so helpless by so little, a couple of steel circlets held us to Trevor's will. Even with the coming of morning and the sun. it was a frightening long time before we heard footsteps and tensed with hope. What we saw approaching was Trevor and a woman.
"You wanted a bit of realism. Mrs. Benson." Trevor said easily. "Well, here it is. These two girls have misbehaved and are suffering the consequences. They're pretty well exposed so you can get a good view of them and please do ask questions."
Mrs. Benson smelt of money. She was a handsome creature who might have been thirty-eight of forty. She wore jodhpurs and carried a riding crop but she was far too feminine to warrant the term "horsey." She examined us with bright interest. Her voice spoke of expensive schools. "Are you posing, dears, or has this terrible hunk of man really got you fastened?"
We rattled our handcuffs and told her we hadn't a hope of getting free. She nodded, drinking us in, and then came out with a real honey. "They would you mind if I whipped you just a little, darlings?"
It was just too damned much. We were tired and overwrought, and Modesty was still suffering the terrors of the cage. We clutched what we could of each other and shed tears on each other. Mrs. Benson watched with interest then commented, "My. my. are they always this easily brought to tears?"
"They've been fastened here all night," Trevor told her gruffly. "I suppose I've been a bit of a bastard, but I wanted you to see my two diamonds in the rough, as it were. If you give these two girls a night's sleep and leave them alone with some make-up. you'll have a pair of beauties."
"I can see that, I don't need make-up. But about that whip? Do you mind . . . ? "
It was a bitter and hateful and needless addition to all the rest. I have to admit she did not whip us hard or cruelly, there was something almost artistic in the way she went about marking our skins, but Modesty and I were utterly depleted. To now get a woman with a whip instead of the release we had hoped for was all together too bitter a pill to swallow. We wailed dismally throughout, made no pretense of courage. We'd had a bellyful.
"Very nice." The whipping stopped as abruptly as it had started. "I'd be interested in the two of them. You could play one girl against the other, you know, to marvelous advantage. The little dears become tremendously fond of each other in captivity, whereas, out on the street, they might not give each other the time of day. What are you asking for them?"
We listened, we stared. Suddenly our hearts beat high with hope. Mrs. Benson was probably an ardent lesbian but, if her whipping was something to judge by, her chains or ropes or whatever else she used would be welcome in contrast to the overly tight, painfully harsh confines of The Retreat. The pond waited as silent and as expectant as ourselves. If no sale was made it might once again lay claim to our nakedness.
"Why don't we go back to the house, Mrs. Benson, and discuss this over a drink?" Trevor was very friendly.
"Nothing to discuss, I'll take em. But I've a quaint notion I'd like you to indulge me in, Mr. Tremond. But to make it practical these girls need sleep. If they've been standing like that all night, they're about played out. I want them fresh and bouncy. Can you fasten them so they can sleep through the day?"
Could he ever! Fastening us was the least of Trevor's problems. In about two minutes flat he had Modesty's left ankle handcuffed to my right and my right to her left. The trouble was there was a tree trunk between us. It was only four or five inches thick but would hold us securely. But we were so damned grateful to lay down my made no protest. We simply went to sleep.
It was early evening when Daisy woke us, we had slept nearly ten hours. She dealt with us by unlocking only one cuff. This enabled Modesty and I to do the things we needed to do and to sit up to eat and drink. When that was over, she fastened us again as we had been before, laying on our bellies and cradling our heads in our arms. It could have been much worse.
"She's a widow and ever so rich and all the men want to marry her," Daisy told us. "Nobody knows what she's going to do with you, but at least you won't get dunked in the pond any more." She sighed a mournful sigh. "Gee, I wish I was going with you, I'd escape from her in no time flat."
Our present condition made escape impossible but maybe sometime in the future, if this Mrs. Benson proved to be not so good as Daisy and Mr. Tremond.. . ? Alone again, I asked Modesty, "If she is lesbian, are you going to do what she wants us to do?"
"Darling, we won't have any choice. She can make us do anything she wants simply by whipping us until we say yes. Or maybe she'll have some other horrible punishment like the pond. But be thankful we're getting away from Trevor, he's beginning to frighten me."
"His love affair with me hasn't lasted too long," I complained. "He might just as well have left me with Jim. I'd sooner belong to Jim than this Mrs. Benson."
"It was just his glands getting the better of him," Modesty said quietly. "You weren't nearly submissive enough for his taste. That's what he liked about me and why I lasted so long. I'm a natural submissive. I like a man to do things for me and to me. I love to obey. Anyway we're both in the discard so he'll have to kidnap himself another girl.
Modesty had underrated our master. When he reappeared, Mrs. Benson was with him but also a giggling and radiant Daisy. Without greeting, Trevor used his sliver of steel to take the bronze cuffs from my wrist. Still warm from my flesh he clasp them upon Daisy's eager hands. They fit her as snugly and beautifully as they had fitted both Modesty and myself. The silly girl surveyed them with pure delight and came out with, "Oh, thank you, Mr. Tremond! Oh, gee. I'm a lucky girl!"
Well, that got the problem of Trevor's glands looked after. I longed for the courage to tell him so with bitter words but I was in no position to be cute. Resting on my elbows I kept silent.
Our walk back to the house was easily achieved by handcuffing Modesty and I together, wrist to wrist, and using a bit of rope on our necks. We really couldn't do much and didn't try. We were dispirited and without much hope. Trevor and Mrs. Benson talked the whole time, not about us but about the stock market. Daisy spent most of the trip admiring her lovely bronze.
It was in the quiet of evening Modesty and I discovered the quaint notion Mrs. Benson had spoken of. It was one of those cute little carriages they use in horse racing were idiots get themselves up in imagine dress and hold a long whip. This one was different, it was designed for two horses, and it didn't take us long to realize who those horses were. They were Modesty and me!
There was no hurry. It was a gala occasion with Daisy giggling in the wings and clinking her cuffs and Trevor, for once, helping out with something he couldn't believe. His, "Do you do this often?" was in genuine curiosity.
"Of course, I've got a sizeable bit of land at Ashlands, but quite often in the night I'll take the little dears out on a public road. I'll be doing that this evening, so there's no rush. And anyway I want to get them properly fitted."
Our "fitting" appeared to Modesty and I as regrettably simple. We were placed, one on each side of the pole, which they referred to as a "tongue." It was lifted to bring a crosspiece to where our wrists could be strapped. It was all good solid hardwood which pressed against our bottoms and was held there by our strapped wrists, palms up. in such a way that we could pull our new carriage with our mistress waving the whip.
We were admired and commented upon as we stood there in a fresh helplessness. But this helplessness was only beginning. We were referred to now as "ponies," and we could sense that we would get about the same treatment as a young and spirited filly. Modesty and I exchanged glances and shrugged.
Another crosspiece was fitted solidly to the tongue to embrace our tummies. There were the inevitable straps, which buckled around our waists to hold us even more captive but would make pulling the carriage easier. It was all very clever.
"Hope you girls will enter into the spirit of this," Mrs. Benson said with bright cheerfulness. "By the way, you will address me as 'Mistress,' or, if you have been very good, you can call me by my proper name, which is Margot. Understand?"
We assured her. in unison, of a dutiful understanding. We added a polite. "Thank you." The next thing was harness for our shoulders. It was a strap affair which crisscrossed between our breasts to a band immediately below them, its other ends going over and across our shoulders. It was buckled in back and from it ran long straps back to the carriage. I suspected its function was decorative. But it did not hurt. I was amused to see a growing admiration in Trevor's eyes. I could almost imagine he was regretting the selling of us. He could have purchased a carriage and had a lot of fun.
Modesty and I moved restlessly and experimentally within and against our fastenings. It was a strange new sensation. Margot Benson no doubt considered it absolutely proper to extract two girls from their lives and convert them into a pair of youthful horses. And at the moment we were in no condition to contest that opinion. The straps were tight and accentuated our breasts to make them protrude attractively. Margot's voice held caution.
"I hope you two girls are going to be sensible and not force me to use the whip? I can cut you to bits, y'know, every easily. And there's no way you can get out of that harness. Please be a well-behaved team of ponies so we may all enjoy ourselves."
Modesty and I looked back to eye the whip in its little holder, its long length almost a banner in the wind. We just knew it would hurt and were sure Mrs. Benson knew how to use it. We meekly agreed we would be very well behaved ponies.
By this time Trevor was almost watering at the mouth over us. But our assurances of good behavior were the last words we spoke for quite a time.
The bridles were a surprise and a shock. We hadn't even dreamed of such refinement. In Margot's hands they seemed no more than a shapeless mass of leather straps. But fitted on our heads they took on a beauty of their own. They were very well made and must have cost a lot of money. Obedient to the command. "Open up, dear," I opened my mouth to accept shaped and shinning metal upon my tongue and a bit protruding from each side of my mouth with a tiny ring at each end. Tied to those rings were the reins by which commands would be transmitted from our mistress to ourselves. It did occur to me that she could have just as easily have spoken the commands, but it was now too late to make the suggestion, and I suspect it would have not been well received. As the soft leather tightened around my checks, across my head and around my forehead, and beneath my chin, I shook my head in disbelief and rebellion against this unfamiliar control. I was sharply told to keep still. As the busy fingers made the thing of leather and metal more and more a part of ME, it soon tightened to where I could dislodge nothing. I realized just how practical it was, not only for control but as a gag, too. It would even act as a tether to anything handy.
Trevor's voice was almost reverent, "Marvelous effect, Mrs. Benson, let me congratulate you. Those bridles are a work of art."
"Yes, aren't they. Took me a long time to get them just right. Can't have anything sloppy and at the start girls were forever getting the bit out of their mouths. They can't do it now."
With the tightening of the last strap, Margot Benson climbed up into the seat and invited Trevor to join her for a turn around the garden. It was the very pit of penance for Modesty and I when Margot did the couple of clacking sounds, slapped the reins, and then flicked each of our bottoms skillfully with the buggy whip. Modesty and I looked at each other in dismay but stepped sharply forward. The harness by which we were secured proved its quality by a perfectly even stress on every part of us.
It was frustrating, infuriating, everything a girl does not want. Modesty and I were almost shocked to discover the degree in which we were controlled. We could do nothing except what we were told and those commands were delivered by pressures on the steel bits in our mouths. There was also the whip to accent the commands.
Even though to be converted into a ponygirl was a much easier ordeal than Trevor taking me to the pond, I was nonetheless furious at the indignity. My mind searched for some trick by which Modesty and I could overturn the carriage and perhaps break something by which we could gain freedom. It was a silly dream and quite impossible. Every bit of myself I flexed or twisted was completely controlled, I had no more hope of getting out of Margot's restraints than a canary had of getting out of its cage. For the first while, whenever a pressure was felt upon our lips. Modesty and I were inclined to throw our heads to that side for fear of hurt. But it was a woman who held the reins and her pressures were firm but feminine, she had done this before. We were in the hands of a Mistress!
Our measured paces did not last long. There was some more clacking sounds and a couple for flicks of the whip to urge us to speed. Hating ourselves, we broke into the gentlest run we could contrive. The whole ensemble worked with precision so the carriage we propelled imposed no greater burden upon on part of our nakedness than another. Our hands were completely lost to us, strapped to the crosspiece behind our rumps. Another flick of the whip compelled us to abandon restraint. We broke into a trot and then a run so the whole thing bowled merrily along the driveway to the closed gate. Reaching it, the reins told us to turn around and do the same thing on the way back to the house. We were now panting but had no thought to disobey. There had never been two maidens less able to assert themselves. We were conquered, and I fleetingly remembered the term applied to horse, the word was "broken." Our breaking in had been without pain but was nonetheless implacable. Behind us on the seat, Margot and Trevor chatted pleasantly about our performance and suitable punishments for rebellion. It was all impossible, horrible, and not to be stood for. But we did stand for it and quite soon had the little carriage in brisk motion behind our fleeting legs. When Margot Benson announced herself satisfied with our performance, in fact delighted, she drew us up to a ring in the garage, and there we were tethered while she and Trevor went indoors for a nightcap.
Once more humiliation had us in its grip. The tether were simply a length of rein with a snap on one end which clicked shut into the ring beside our mouth. Both tethers were then tied to the ring in the garage wall. Modesty and I stood, breathless and furious, without the slightest hope of freeing ourselves. We twisted and tugged in disbelief at being so helpless, and then gazed at each other in forlorn resignation, shrugged harnessed shoulders, and settled down to wait. We could not speak, we did try, but the result was just one added humiliation.
Pinioned beside Modesty, each of us clothed in our own thought, I realized we could be much worse off. If this was the worse Margot Benson would subject us to, we'd be lucky. As yet, she had shown no signs of being whip-happy, or of bearing us malice because we were young and beautiful. It almost seemed impossible that we would be leaving The Retreat and escaping Trevor's disciplines.
Forced to stand. Modesty and I tried to lean on each other but were foiled by the strictures around our waist, the best we could manage was to rub shoulders and strain against the straps to caress each other's cheeks. Being kidnapped had taught us much, we were still leaning.
We were to start our journey to Ashlands by midnight. It was evident that Margot Benson had little to fear from any person encountered on the way. When Trevor came to view our departure, she lost no time in killing any hopes we might have cherished, "We won't meet a sole, darlings, not this time of night. And if we do, I can assure you nothing will come of it. Don't get your hearts set on a nice, easy escape, I've got you and I'm going to keep you. If you act up, you'll get the whip up between your legs."
The gate to The Retreat opened by remote control then closed. There was a finality about it almost frightening. And yet. as the reins directed us down the road and the whip flicked us into a steady trot, I found an exhilaration in this silvery night of full moon, a new owner, and a new home. I had pretty well abandoned thought of escape from The Retreat and I gave it little chance now, the bit in my mouth laughed at escape and my bound wrists were mocked by the crosspiece to which they were fastened Whatever Ashlands held for us, we were on the way.
It is not every owner of a pair of spirited fillies who can carry on a conversation as they trot down the highway. Modesty and I could not answer back but I suppose Margot didn't wanted us to. As the miles passed in a semi-blur of dark forest green and silver moonlight, she briefed us as to what we would find at Ashlands and what would be expected of us.
"You'll be harnessed for a run almost every day, darlings, you'll be in top shape.
"I insist on total obedience, anything less gets you whipped.
"If I wish to make you available to any of my men guests, you'll be nice to them and do what they ask. If I get bad reports, it will be just too bad for you.
"And, of course, you'll service me, darlings, whenever I give the word. And you'd better be good. If I find you need training, you'll get it!"
It was not exactly encouraging. I had hoped she wasn't going to mention whips, but I suppose whips and slave girls go together. One good thing was that she hadn't mentioned a pond.
Margot Benson treated us as she would have treated a pair of ponies, giving us a break on the hills, whipping us to speed on the downward slopes, resting us for a minute when our breathing became too labored. She prudently guided us from the main roads to lanes or across fields. Ashlands was a fifteen mile journey, and half way there we were given a rest and allowed to sink to our knees. It wasn't very comfortable nor much of a rest but better than nothing. The way we were fixed wouldn't let us sit down properly. Bitted and bound, we could not complain. It was a gorgeous night and I had to admit the exhilaration of motion took possession of us. After being bound and chained and hobbled for so long, this freedom of movement, instead of being punishment, was a delight. When Modesty and I got our second wind, we forgot our harnessed helplessness and were as good a pair of ponies as any autocratic woman could desire. The whip flicked at our bare skins just often enough to keep us, quite literally, "on the bit." When we arrived at Ashlands, Modesty and I were in far better shape that we had ever dreamed.
The moonlight showed us a sprawling mass of masonry with a stable distant from the main house. It was to the stable our reins guided us. "Welcome home, darlings, I'm sure you're going to love it here. I'll just do a quick fix on you and we can all go to bed. You did very well on the journey and I'm pleased with you."
The bridle harness upon our heads made argument impossible, Margot could hurt us bitterly with the greatest of ease. We were two tired and well-behaved ponies as we were led to our stalls. There wasn't much of a stable smell and the straw on the floor was fresh. Our disposal was simple, our hands had been handcuffed behind our backs as we were unhooked from the carriage. On arrival at the stall, a chain and padlock was raised to the back of the harness at our necks and snapped firmly shut. I watched this done to Modesty and I watched her hands freed of the cuffs. I was then taken to the next stall and similarly treated. The door of the stall was slammed shut and a silvery, feminine voice bid us, "Sleep tight, darlings," before Margot Benson went to the big house and left her ponies safe for the night or, for that matter, for life.
My first response was elation, my hands were free, my feet were free, in fact all of me was free except my head. But when I tried to do something about the bit and all the connecting straps, especially the one around my neck, I discovered the padlock had not only connected the whole thing to a solidly anchored chain but also acted to prohibit interference with the harness. Margot Benson was absolutely right, I was fixed! I was also alone and very tired, I lay down on the straw and went to sleep. A girl does not sleep late when her mouth is full of bit and her cheeks and neck and head strapped and locked tight in leather and metal. I awoke in alarm, wondering where the hell I was before the stall took shape and form. A stall is designed to hold a horse in relative freedom, it can move around without getting out. That was my case, except that I wore the bit and from it a chain. I experimented and discovered that the chain would allow me to peek over the top of the door. The doors were four or five feet of wood and above that stout iron bars. The chain from my neck was padlocked to the outside brick wall, it would be an additional safeguard if someone opened the door or forgot to close it. I spent the next hour trying to rid my head of leather and steel without success.
When I heard Modesty stir in the next stall, I thrust my hand, gloriously free, through the bars and wiggled it for her to grasp. It was all we could do, we could not speak and such noises as we could utter through the bit were shameful.
It was about an hour later the door to the stall opened to reveal a teenage boy, about seventeen at the most. About him were the marks of the aristocrat, a superciliousness all his own. He surveyed me without surprise. "My, my, the Mater has outdone herself this time, you're a beauty!"
My visitor was presumedly Margot's son. I started to tell him of my kidnapping and also plead for release but I could not speak. I started at him, wide-eyed, and wondered if I might ever communicate again.
"I knew Mother was getting a couple of new girls but I didn't expect anything as good as you." He spoke with total assurance as though unaware of my nakedness and his juvenile status. "My name is Nigel. You won't mind if I fuck you?"
I minded a lot but could not tell him so. The idea of ravishment in the straw in a stable stall lowered my social status even farther than it was. Instinctively I backed against the wall. Nigel laughed, he had a delightful laugh and told me not to be a silly girl but to accept the inevitable with good grace. "I could get a riding crop," he pointed out reasonably. "But why make me do that? If I start lacing that pretty skin you'll lay down soon enough."
I was sure he was right but I was not going to give in without a fight. When he entered the stall I made a leap for the door, quite forgetting the tether. It jerked me back painfully, and before I could rearrange myself, Nigel had me exactly where he wanted. I suppose there is a time in the rape of any girl when she realizes it is no use fighting any more. That is the way it was for me then, I spread my legs and closed my eyes and was thankful it was not my first time.
When Nigel had performed a most competent job on me (and I must say he was no slough), he rose to his feet, rearranging himself and paid tribute, assuring me it would not be the last time and I was a lucky girl to have him to look forward to. He then went to the next stall and, judging by the sounds, did to Modesty exactly when he had done to me.
Nigel had carelessly left my door open. The sight of this portal to freedom was simply too much. I didn't make another run for it but I went as far through the door as my chain tether allowed. It was not very far, no where near as far as needed to allow me to peek in on Modesty and Nigel, but it did allow me far enough into the stable to be there in view when Margot Benson came from the house. The open stall door told her what I could not.
"That young blighter of mine having it off with Modesty?" she demanded of me without anger. "Just nod or shake your head, sweetheart, I know you can't talk."
I nodded my head. "Well, he doesn't usually take long, so we won't disturb them. I forgot to tell you about Nigel. Nigel is something you girls have to put up with. He has carte blanche to screw you anytime he feels like it, and at his age that's often enough, believe me."
I nodded again as though to indicate my agreement that anyone as virile as Nigel should be at liberty to rape his mother's Stable, but I was remembering Trevor and me in bed back at The Retreat. With Nigel in the picture, I wished I was still back there.
Margot grasped a handful of my sex, nodding in confirmation. "The boy's had you already, sweetheart, so let's get that bridle off you while we're waiting. Hold out your hands."
Thankfully I obeyed. The handcuffs felt familiar, and I had to expect something of the sort. Margot shouted over the partition, "When you're through with her, Nigel, tie the girl's hands and bring her up to the house. We'll bath them and give them a civilized breakfast. If you let her get loose, I'll murder you."
While Margot dealt with my gag with its multitude of straps, she told me forcibly that I might as well be sensible about my hands. Sure, she could have cuffed them in back, but she was taking me to bath and to breakfast and assumed I had enough sense not to make any stupid moves. When the sled came away from my mouth, I gulped one of the most sincere thank yous of my life. The walk up to the house was a delight in the dewy English morning. I considered making a run for freedom but couldn't see a hope of success. And since Margot wanted to talk, it behooved me to listen.
"I ought to do something about that twerp, Nigel," she confided cheerfully as we walked across the grass. "But I think it's good for the boy to have freedom with my ponygirls. helps him grow up, helps him get it out of his system. If he's mean to you, just let me know." She surveyed my nakedness approvingly, "You're a lovely girl and the way you wear those handcuffs tells me something, you've worn them before. I'm glad you're not making a run for it. All it would have got you was a punishment. Get freedom out of your mind, I'll never give you the faintest chance."
Modesty and I shared the big bath, it was a sheer delight. After our exertions of the night and our sleep upon the straw, we smelt strongly of girl. We used the scented soap and hot water lavishly. Breakfast brought the next surprise.
Since Margot had a son there was no reason she should not have a daughter. The moppets name was Twinkle and she was wdl ahead of us at the buffet. She was also sulky. "Oh. Mother, they're simply gorgeous! But you let Nigel get at them first, it's not fair."
"This is ray daughter. Theodora, we prefer to call her Twinkle.'" Margot Benson introduced us formally "My children fight continually so after breakfast I'm going to divide you. Twinkle gets one and Nigel gets the other." She laughed at our concern. "Don't worry, darlings, I have priority over both my children where you are concerned. But you had better obey the little brats."
"But. Mummy, if I've got one and Nigel has the other, he'll forever wanting to use mine. He be wanting to 'you know what' to her."
'There's nothing to stop the two of you lending your girl," Margot
Benson told her offspring pleasantry. "Really, you do make such a fuss."
Modesty and I exchanged frequent glances as our handcuffed hands busied themselves with food. It was really a delightful breakfast and a delightful home. Even Nigel and Twinkle might have been delightful under different circumstances. As though reading my thoughts, the Mistress of Ashlands suggested gently, "Don't worry yourself. I'll keep an eye on things. My two darlings aren't going to kill you or plant a brand on your bottom. I want you to be happy here, except for those time when you're being punished. We do so love punishing girt, it's such fun!"
It was hard to relate the friendliness of breakfast with our present condition. Except for being naked and handcuffed. Modesty and I were treated with much kindness and invited to share in the general conversation. The maid who served must have seen enough handcuffed girls before, she didn't raise an eyebrow.
It was all crazy! I watched Modesty led away by her teenager master who, by now, was probably ready to ravish her again. I lent my bps to the warmest of kisses from Margot Benson and was then suddenly alone with my new teenage mistress, a girl who was probably sixteen and knew too much for her age. But. despite misgivings, we were two girls together and sharing all the things girls shared. Twinkle took me to her bedroom, stood on a chair, and ordered me to raise my arms to have the handcuffs snapped fast to a ring in the wall above my head. I stood there, naked, to await her pleasure.
"I'm going to show you around Ashlands. darling, but we don't know each other so I'm not going to trust you." Twinkle informed me cheerfully. "I do hope you understand about these things."
I assured her I did understand about such things, that I'd been a prisoner long enough to know how to behave. Hopefully, I added. "I know you won't give me a chance to escape, but you don't have to be mean to me to make me behave."
"Well, anyway, today I want some control over you, darling." The moppet mused thoughtfully. "There's a cute little thing I've thought up and it doesn't hurt that much, unless you make it hurt. Open up your legs."
I did as I was told. My arms were not stretched too high so I was able to bend forward and get half a view of what was rating place.
Twinkle's device for keeping me in line was classically simple, a ring, open at one end, a tiny thumbscrew to close the jaws upon whatever was desired, in this case the lips of my pussy. I stood breathless, fearful of real agony, while my juvenile mistress busied herself with closing the jaws on my tender part. She stopped just before they reached a point of real pain. A short leash was snapped on the ring and my new owner rose erect, pink cheeked, eyes alive with mischief. She tugged gently to make me gasp.
"Isn't it wonderful. Gentian, all I have to do is tug and you'll do anything I say. You will, won't you?"
I made a vow of obedience. With this device the little so-and-so had me safe and sure. All I had to do was make sure I didn't fight. Twinkle wrapped the tether around her hand while she took my hands down and unlocked them. They were quickly re fastened behind by back. "Just for this time, Gentian, we don't know each other and its best to be safe. You'll enjoy our walk all the more for not having to think about escape."
The little so-and-so was absolutely right, I knew this from past experience. I fingered the cuffs on my wrists and knew I could not slip out of them. And the tiny burn on the lips of my pussy were not enough to worry about. I said thanks and that I was sure I'd enjoy our morning. Everything was crazy, I might as well be crazy, too!
Ashlands was worth seeing. It would have been a show place had it not be for its owner's tendency to keeping naked girls around. In a quivering whisper, Twinkle confided, "I do so love to have a naked girl. Girls are so beautiful. I still have to get a few curves but I'll show myself to you quite soon, maybe the first time we make love. Mummy says I'm too young to that do, but she knows perfectly well that's what I'll do. Have you been whipped lots and lots and put in dungeons?"
Twinkle was easy to talk to. I found myself telling her of how I had wandered into The Retreat and what had taken place afterwards. As an additional touch of romance I told her of Jim Bancroft and about the stern qualities of Trevor Tremond. She lapped it up in pure delight, especially the awfulness of the pond. I am quite sure I gained in stature in her eyes by my tribulations. As though asking if I would like some candy, she sweetly inquired, "Would you like me to whip you. Gentian? I do you think its the nicest way for two girls to get to know each other."
Figure it! My hands were behind my back and my every motion controlled by the clamp upon my sex. As cheerfully as I could manage I said, "Not really, I'm not sure any girl likes to be whipped. But if it gives you pleasure. Twinkle, I won't complain."
We were well out in the park when she asked the question. Here and there were trees. Twinkle led me to one of the slender trunks and there attached my tether. From a nearby bush ! he broke off a couple thin branches and stripped them. "All you have to do is stand still, darling. Be careful of that cord I've got on you. If I were you, I'd press my forehead against the tree and stick out my bottom while you lift your hands so I don't hit them, too. Don't worry. Gentian darling, it will soon be over."
How crazy can two girls get! I found myself doing everything suggested. The fact is I was deathly scared of that clamp on my pussy and the tether cord. I could not bare to think of being torn down there. Breathless and expectant, I awaited pain.
It came swiftly. Stripped switches are horrible instruments on bare skin. But Twinkle was evidently an expert. While I tried to hold still and not to make too many shaming sounds, she beat my twin cheeks with skill and judgment. It hurt like crazy but I wouldn't be cut and. if she didn't persist too long, I would emerge without trauma. My forehead was almost burying itself into the trunk in its efforts.
It seemed to last forever the way whippings always do but Twinkle had been right, it was soon over and I just had to stand and pant and take my forehead from the bark, my joined hands striving to explore by burning bottom. A pile of broken and shatter twigs lay on the ground. Without warning. Twinkle grabbed my sex, ring and all, and squeezed experimentally to accuse, "See, darling, you're all wet, you love being whipped, don't you?"
"All girls get wet when they're whipped."
"Not like you have. Of, darling, I'm so pleased!"
I cursed my secretions. If Twinkle was pleased with this, then most certainly I would be whipped often. The thought ran through my mind, "What else are bottoms for?" but I kept it inside.
"And your nipples have gotten ever so big and hard, darling." Twinkle was eyeing my breasts. Her fingers rose to caress them and I was instantly panting. She laughed delightedly at my instant response and inquired, "Did you know Mommy whips me, too? I get whipped whenever she thinks I need it. So I know what its like and every time
I whip you I'll know exactly what you're feeling and I'll sort of feel it, too. Oh, wow. darling! You and I are going to have so much fun."
I'll never know what made me do it, but I leaned forward and kissed Twinkle on the forehead, a sisterly sort of kiss. I was instantly ashamed at what I'd done.
"Why, darling, that was so sweet! And after I'd just whipped you! You see, it's like I said, two girls together have so much more fun that men ever have. I'm going to pinch your lips and then your nipples. I should have done it before but I've been so excited."
I flowered into orgasm under the attention, just as Twinkle had known I would. She made me gasp and moan and twist with expert finesse. Twinkle then came up with, "Would it surprise you, darling, that Mommy allows Nigel to whip me if I've been mean to him? And I can whip him if he's been mean to me? It's awful being whipped by your own brother, I hate it!"
"But he can hurt you, he can hurt you horribly!" I exclaimed.
"Well.. . I suppose he could, but Mommy stands and sort of referees. She won't let either of us go all out or too far. Darling, I'm going to hate lending you to him, but he's bound to want you. If I were a man, I'd want you, too."
We left it right there. But, by this time, enough of a rapport had sprung up between Twinkle and me to make me ask the inevitable. "Twinkle, darling, after you've had lots of fun with me, would you please let me go? I mean, put be outside the grounds on the public road so I can go back to my former life."
I knew right away I'd made a mistake. Twinkle's face clouded as she soberly informed. "Oh, darling, I should have warned you not to ask that. Girls always ask, and to cure them of asking, Mommy punishes them terrible. I'm suppose to report you and then she'll whip you for real. She whipped me once like that and I don't every want it again, it just curls you up inside. The pain is terrible. If I don't report you this time, will you promise to never ask again?"
I sighed, it was like being captive in a huge, loosely held net. I twisted against the cuffs and compressed my thighs so I could feel the ring by which I was controlled.
"I really am terrible sorry. Gentian, but that's the way it is." Twinkle was eyeing me sympathetically. "I mustn't ever let you escape or give you the faintest chance. Please tell me you understand?"
I told her, yes, I understood. I was utterly mortified by being totally within the control of this sparkling-eyed moppet. But there was nothing I could do to assert myself and there never would be. I was captive now. and obedient to relatively tiny bits of metal, and I was likely to stay that way. Anyone can pluck a girl out of her life and hold her captive forever by using these little gimmicks on her flesh. I mean, what else is a pair of handcuffs but a gimmick! They're a notched cuff and a ratchet. I've seen imitation ones in toy shops. There were made of light aluminum but made the same clicking sounds and looked surprisingly like the real thing. But the real thing was cold, shinning steel and needed a special key. When I thought of it. I could have screamed in frustration. As for the tiny clamp on my puss, it was purely ludicrous but, fixed the way I was, there was no way I could rid myself of its grip. Touched by despondency I thought aloud, "Twinkle, I can see your side of it and you're a lucky girl. But can you see it from my point of view? I've been taken out of my life and I'm held naked and chained, caged or bound, for the amusement of others. I don't have anything to say about anything. Do you think that's right?"
"Yes, darling, isn't it wonderful!" Twinkle's eyes were bright with understanding. "It's so beautifully simple, I belong to the privileged class and you don't. I think it's always been that way. But what makes it hard for you is the change. You changed from what you call freedom into what you now see as slavery. But, Gentian dear. Mommy and Nigel will make things so lovely for us, you'll forget that other." She was suddenly an earnest little girl. "Nigel will screw you, and you and I will get up to all sorts of tricks, and you know what Mommy will have you do.. . ! I'll bet you could never have afforded to live in a place like Ashlands while you were free."
I must truly have looked dejected. Twinkle was spurred to ask, "Darling, you do look down in the dumps. Would you like me to whip you a little more, just to cheer you up?"
"No. thank you. I'll try to cheer up myself. By the way, where is Nigel and Modesty, we haven't seen them?"
Twinkle giggled, "You ask such silly questions, Gentian. I don't know where they are but I'm pretty sure I know what they're doing. Nigel hasn't ever been given a girl for a present before so he'll be using her steady at 'you know what.'"
"But they can't do that all day long!"
"Nigel can, for a day or two. I don't know much about men but I think they eventually have to stop for a rest, don't they?"
Twinkle was so sweetly naive, so wickedly wise. Twinkle was a adult child, if such thing is possible. Striving to match her mood. I inquired, "What have you got to show me next. Twinkle-or am I suppose to call you Mistress or something?"
"Call me anything you like, darling, call me Miss Benson if that sounds right to you." Twinkle chuckled as she knelt to examine and then to tighten the clamp between my thighs and then to turn me around to make the same check upon my wrists. I considered landing a hardy kick to catch her off balance but it was something I could not do. I couldn't hurt Twinkle, no way!
"I got something to show you in a minute but first of all there's a little notion I want you to be sweet about." She reached inside her frock and pulled out a couple little metal objects I was not sure about. "Do you know what these are?"
When Twinkle compressed them to open small, cruel jaws I recognized their use instantly. "They're to put on a girl's nipples. Oh, Twinkle, please don't put them on me. Please . . . ! "
"I want you to wear them, just a little while, as we walk on to what I want to show you next," she said with the total assurance of being obeyed. "The pain will be good for you, it will tell you how much you belong to me. Now please stand still and don't be silly."
The tether on my lower lips had tightened, I could not back away. My hands were useless. I stood still and naked in an unhappy realization of how this youngster possessed me. I gazed down at what Twinkle was opening and closing experimentally and said, "Please don't put those things on me, I've been good and don't deserve them. I don't want to be punished and I'll bet those things hurt a girl something awful."
Twinkle playfully frictioned a nipple, at the same time tightening the leash as a warning. She then raised the little jaws and indulged in a studious exploration of just where to allow the jaws to close upon my nipple. She explained that it hurt much more upon the tip and less upon the base. What she would strive for was to "get it just right" and io have it sticking straight out so it would bob jauntily as I walked. When she allowed it to close as she desired I could not hold back a moan of anguish, the bloody thing hurt like hell. Twinkle repeated the performance on my other nipple, tugged my leash gently and I found myself walking beside her with these two metal demons pointing straight ahead and bobbing merrily with each step. The pain was bitter and I wanted to cry.
"Do you feel terribly helpless. Gentian? I mean, when I put those on your nips, you couldn't do a thing about it, could you?"
"No, I couldn't do a thing and I am helpless, I'm so terribly helpless I want to cry."
"I thinks that's terribly sweet, dear. And I do understand the way you feel. But I want you to feel that way. Cheer up. Gentian, I'm going to give you the most marvelous surprise."
I was more concerned with pain and shame than scenery, but when my tether commanded me to stop I did, and there, sure enough, was something I did not believe. Naked and bound fast against a tree was the exquisite loveliness of Margot Benson.
8
Mistresses and Master
I stood and stared, the pain on my breasts forgotten. The bound woman was quietly smiling as though in reverie, seemingly oblivious to our presence. The moppet who held my leash was obviously waiting for me to say something. But it was the mistress of Ashlands who broke the shocked silence.
"Hello, Gentian, dear, I see my daughter is being cruel to you." The lovely voice trailed away.
I drank in the incredible, well aware of factors beyond my knowledge. Something strange went on m Ashlands and I was now involved. Stupidly, I exclaimed. "That's your mother. Twinkle, untie her quick!"
Nothing happened. Realizing I was being played with, I took stock of the bound beauty imprisoned by the tree. Whoever had tied Margot Benson to the tree had done a truly marvelous job, she could scarcely move and some of the cords must have hurt. Ashlands had been both artistic and unkind. There was no tender crevasses of her femaleness overlooked. A cunning cord was strictured within every possible part of her femininity. Only one thing was left unbound, her truly lovely breasts. Cords were tightly wound above and in between but her breasts were inviolate and protruded in my direction like pointing cannon. Margot had two of the loveliest breasts I had ever seen. Her pubic patch blazoned black but was bisected by cords which, as far as I could see, entered her pussy before traveling on to damp her loins securely against the bark. There was even a couple more strands circling her neck as though in additional admonition of authority.
"Do I look beautiful, darling?" He gaze was fixed upon me.
"Beautiful."
Margot's eyes flitted to the girl who held my leash. "How much longer have I got, darling?"
"Oh. hours and hours. Mommy. I'm sure you know.. . ? "
"Well, yes, I suppose. But now Gentian has had a good look, you can untie me, you have my permission.""
"Oh, Mommy, you know I can't do that!" Twinkle placed a silencing finger upon maternal lips. "You know the rules."
"Very well, you little monster. I'll suffer."
"No you won't. Mommy, you'll love every moment. Do you want me to tighten anything?"
"How long has poor Gentian been wearing those nipple dips?"
"Oh, gosh, I forgot." Youthful fingers flew to my breasts and I gasped in agony as the metal jaws released my nipples. I had never been so glad to get rid of anything in my life. "There, is that better. Gentian dear." The young voice was anxious.
"I've warned you about forgetting punishments. Twinkle. You'll bend over for me this evening."
"Yes, Mommy, of course. I really am sorry."
The exchange was for my benefit, I could not doubt it. Ashlands was a nut house. I spoke to the woman bound to the tree, "Margot, you must be mad to let your children do this to you Think of the things they can get up to while you're helpless. I can't offer to untie you, I'm helpless."
Twinkle was shocked, she tugged my leash enough to hurt and admonished severely, "Surely you don't think that of Nigel and me. We wouldn't think of disobeying Mommy, least of all when she's helpless."
"You've just disobeyed her request to be let loose."
"That's according to the rules. Mommy just asked that in order to show you how strict the rules are." her voice chided me "That's the difference between people like the Bensons of Ashlands and the Hoi Polloi. We have standards and we stick to them."
I recognized I was possessed by a segiiieul of British aristocracy who's Code I did not know. Unwisely and in irritation, I said. "I'm sorry.
I don't know about these things. I'm just a lower-class working girl. You know the kind-never had a slave girl.
"Give her five strokes. Twinkle dear, she was damned sarcastic," said the Mistress of Ashlands.
It was too absurd. The bound and naked woman, totally helpless, could command my punishment and I would receive it as though Mrs. Margot Benson was totally free and fully clothed. In a matter-of-fact sort of way, Twinkle attached me to a tree the way she had before and went in search of switches with which to punishment me. From within her own bonds, Margot advised, "You really must watch your tongue. Gentian dear. Just five strokes this time because I can see Twinkle's already given you a few. You'll soon pick up the dos and don'ts."
Feeling I hadn't much to loose, I managed to turn enough to stare at the woman who had purchased me. I said, apologetically, "Don't you understand, Margot, how I feel about all this? I've managed to adjust to being imprisoned and bound and ordered around by two children, but this business of you being naked and tied to a tree is out of this world. You'll have to forgive me, it doesn't make sense."
Twinkle had returned in time for her mother's fresh command, "You can give Gentian ten instead of five. She really must learn the proper things to say."
"Shove your forehead against the bark, darling, you're not going to like these." Twinkle's tone was sympathetic.
She was right, I did not like them! These strokes on my bare skin were not designed to give me a wet puss but simply to give pain, a pain and punishment I would remember. Once my cuffed hands slipped down to comfort my wounds but the switch bit across my knuckles and I was told the count would start over. By the time the two switches were shredded and discarded I was sobbing quietly in total disarray. When the final stroke had cut and burned itself into my skin, I said an abject, "Thank you. Twinkle." Then, as an afterthought, I looked back over my shoulder at Margot's bound figure and added, "Thank you, too, Mrs. Benson."
Their "you're quite welcome, dear" came in unison. Everything was nuts and I let my tears flow, not so much from the hurt of being whipped but from the strange solitude of a stranger captivity.
It appeared the "pony" fiction would be maintained through my second night at Ashlands. I had seen Modesty at dinner over which Margot Benson presided as though having spent a normal day. But Modesty and I could make no exchange in front of the family. We were reassured by each other's normalcy, but that was all. Nigel looked at my breasts far too often for my peace of mind, promising an unspoken, "I'll get you yet, Gentian."
Two naked girls, handcuffed, the rest of the company clothed and normal. Daphne, the maid, smiled sweetly and served. I had a premonition that Daphne and I meet somewhere in the future. When she met my eye, she winked in unspoken promise.
I was bedded down, if that's the proper term, for the night by the most youthful of my two mistresses. The stall with its straw was just the same as was the beastly bridle with its tethering chain and padlock. I stood, handcuffed and fuming, while leather and steel was deftly fitted upon my face and head and within my unwilling mouth. The tightening of the buckles in this procedure held a venom all its own. The steel in my mouth robbed me of speech but Twinkle did the talking.
"I'll take my clamp off your pussy, darling, but I'm going to leave your hands handcuffed in front. I like the effect and you won't be using them anyway, so I'm sure you won't mind." She fitted the padlock in place and snapped it loudly shut. "There we are, darling, you're nice and safe, you can't get away. But you can have the loveliest sleep."
She pretended to cock one ear to listen. ' T don't know whether Nigel's got you Modesty next door or not. When he's plowing away at a girl he doesn't always make much noise, but for all I know he may have her up in his bed at the house. It will take him a day or two to work off steam before he starts doing other things to the poor girl. He has the damnedest notions. But as long as he doesn't injure. Mother won't stop him. I suppose it's much the same with Mother and me. There's a whole list of things I'm not allowed to do with you. Good night, dear."
She made the heavy door thud dramatically and locked it with the maximum sound possible. I heard her footsteps recede and the stable door close. This time I could explore my bit and harness but with hands joined by steel. It did not matter, the result was just the same. I was a make-believe pony, bitted and haltered, and hobbled, if you counted my handcuffs. I was not as weary as the night before. I sat on the straw and thought. I had a lot to think about.
I had managed to get Jim Bancroft out of my mind but now he returned as I mourned the events by which we had been separated. It seemed so long ago. But Twinkle raised a fresh hope. She had been intrigued by the romantic aspects of the blonde boy possessing me so briefly before my return to enslavement. Jim Bancroft actually "rated" in the Ashland's calendar and there would be social functions in which I might actually meet my former owner and converse with him. Twinkle has quickly assured I would be securely chained so my knight in shinning armor could not romp home with me. Twinkle had dangled it before my eyes as a possibility.
Considering Jim, my pulse quickened. His possession of Amy did not mean he was married or pledged or beyond my reach. Perhaps if I got to talk to him I could persuade him to do something about my present captivity. A little transaction between aristocrats in which a girl changed hands might not be beyond possibility! On the other hand, for him to see me as I was right now.. . ! I pictured the door opening and his viewing a naked maiden securely chained and unable to utter a sound. That would hardly be helpful to my cause. My next thought was of escape. When I considered a mother, two children, and one maid in a big, old house it seemed incredible that sooner or later a chance would not present itself. Or perhaps I should make that chance! I doubted I could get the best of Margot, or even Twinkle. But Nigel was still an unknown quantity. I had to suppose that if Modesty had found a weakness in his amour, she would have exploited it by now. But I had not been able to talk with her and didn't know what was happening.
The strange thought crossed my mind that I should be thankful to Trevor Tremond. His manhandling of me and repeated ravishing had made me used to intercourse and that had taken the edge off my morning rape by Nigel. If Nigel was as carnal as his sister indicated, then surely I could persuade him into some situation in which I could plea for my freedom. Yes! Nigel would be my best bet and I would lay in wait for him.
It showed how much I had become used to being a prisoner that it was third on my list. With imprisonment went punishment but it was evident I had fallen into possession of a zany family who delighted in making each other captive by some esoteric rules of their own and, unsatisfied with family ties, no pun intended, had reached out and diverted Modesty and I into their games. I looked around the stall in which I sat and realized I would be more comfortable in the prison cell of a jail but knew, also, I would not wish to make such an exchange. Ashlands treated its captive maidens very much as loved but delinquent children who must be punished often for their own good. I had gotten a sore bottom today and no doubt would get it on some other tender place tomorrow. But punishments such as these could be lived with if only there was nothing worse . . . ! It was about then I heard the voices.
"Oh, Nigel, must you put me in this rotten stable again tonight!" It was unmistakably Modesty's voice.
"Of course, it's a good place for you and I'm absolutely screwed out. I couldn't possibly take you to bed."
"But couldn't we just sleep together? I mean, we don't have to do anything.. . "
"Aren't you forgetting your status, Modesty, my pet? Sometimes you come awful close to giving orders and forgetting who you belong to."
"Sorry, Nigel, I didn't mean to. Look, you've got me handcuffed now and you can tie me up any way you want in bed. Nigel, dear, I don't want to sleep on that rotten old straw again."
My heart leaped, Modesty was in good form and going strong. From his voice, I could tell Nigel was on the verge of trusting her. Perhaps not tonight or tomorrow, but sometime.. . ! I was on the verge of calling across the wall for him to come and sleep with me when I realized I could not utter a word. I clinked my chain to let them know I was here but that was all.
"That was Gentian we heard," Modesty's voice came again. "Why can't you let me share her box or she come in her with me? It wouldn't hurt you to let us have a night together."
"Rules, sweetheart, rules. The Code of the Bensons and all that rot." Nigel was being masculine.
"Please, Nigel?"
"I know what you two want to get together for. You want to do some muff diving. No way!"
"But, Nigel, I'm pretty sure poor Gentian is bitted already and, if you're going to put that awful bit thing on me as well, how could be do what you just said! Nigel, be a darling. You want me to love you, don't you?"
That was the last of the conversation. There came some sounds by which I knew my poor darling Modesty was being bitted, same as me. It was not too long before Nigel stomped out of the stable and closed the door. I wrapped my handcuffed wrists against the wall and received back three less distinct wrappings on the wood. Evidently Nigel had not handcuffed Modesty as Twinkle had me. It was a sad good night but the best we could contrive.
I suppose being able to change their playthings daily was wonderful for the Bensons. And it provided us playthings with change and diversion. I had not yet discovered which of them would be kindliest or crudest. Nigel took a mute and silent "pony" from the stable real early and I had to wait in chains before Margot opened the door. Brightly, she asked, "I've your mistress for today. Gentian. Are you going to be a good girl?"
Since I could not yet speak, I nodded a fervent assurance and raised handcuffed hands so she would understand my helplessness. I then knelt obediently while she unlocked and the unbuckled the harness from my head. She then guided me, by a handful of my hair, up to the big house and the bathroom, shared by none but she and I. She bathed me herself like a child with a toy, loving and lingering on every private place. Then she herself disrobed and shared the bath. I instantly guessed why, and did not demur about performing the ancient female rite she had in mind. She stood with legs apart and had me kneel between to raise and bury my face within the wet fur of her muff. I used my mouth and tongue as best I could from my own experience, aided by her whispered commands. I did not get whipped, so I assumed I had given satisfaction. But I did not get a return favor either. No doubt my pussy was too plebeian for my lady's lips.
On the way down for breakfast, Margot threw open a door and invited me to peek inside. Ashlands was full of shocks; it was a bare, bare room holding only a heavy table and upon that a cage. It was a cage designed for very large dogs or some type of animal. In the cage was Twinkle, naked, handcuffed, and bend over into an uncomfortable accommodation. As usual she was remarkably cheerful.
"I've been a naughty girl. Gentian darling, so you can make fun of me through the bars all you want. I have to stay locked in this cage all day. Isn't that simply for the birds!"
I was not allowed to linger. On our way down the hall Margot laughed, "I have to put her in there every so often, she such a bundle of energy. Sometimes I have to whip her too, but mostly the cage looks after whatever sins she's committed. I rarely have to chain her in the dungeon."
I shivered. I had seen the dungeon on my tour. I wanted none of it and could scarce imagine Twinkle's high spirits chained inside that horrid place. But breakfast banished dolor and Margot Benson was never dull.
"If you think the present owners of Ashlands are the results of inbreeding, darling, you're wrong." She handed me a second cup of coffee. "As far back as the records show, the Bensons of Ashlands have indulged themselves by tying up or chaining up or caging any desirable females they could put their hands on. I get the impression the hunting was better and cheaper in times past. But we don't do too badly even now."
"You mean Ashlands has always been full of girl prisoners?"
"Don't exaggerate, Genn darling. It's never what you would call 'full.' But it's always had a few very nice maidens in irons or ropes. And there's always been a cage around. And, of course, the dungeons. Darling, you have joined the ranks of a long and honored line."
"I can see no one here now is the least bit odd," I ventured timidly. "But do you mean all these people through the centuries have been sane?"
"Of course, darling. Keeping girl captives is one of the oldest institutions in the world. All you needed is money or even rank; rank enables you to get away with it even if you're a bit short of cash. If you've got both, it's that much better. I have both."
"You also have me," I reminded gently. "What are you going to do to me today?"
"After breakfast you can see young Twinkle get her 'bend over' punishment, the one I promised her yesterday. I'll take her out of the cage briefly so you can see. I insist on strict rules and strict punishment. My children are not immune."
"I'm also wondering about my life, Margot, you can't keep me prisoner for life.. . Would you even want to?"
"I keep a girl as long as she entertains, so long as I'm in love with her. Then I sell her and buy another. I've been doing it for years."
"But supposing the person you sell her to is cruel and treats her badly?"
"I associate only with the nobility," Margot informed me stiffly. "We never forget Noblesse Oblige. You were lucky, darling, not to be kidnapped by a plebeian."
"Please don't be angry with me, Margot. But if you did get around to selling me sometime, would you please sell me to James Bancroft?"
"Of course, I would, darling. If it was agreeable all round. He's a charming young man from a lesser but still acceptable family. But until then I'm keeping you. I'd best put some extra chains on you to make sure."
"I'm sure he'd treat me well and pay you a great deal of money.. . ? "
"That's quite enough, Gentian dear, don't nag. If I sell you to James, it will be because I want to, not because of anything you said. May I expect to hear from him?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "When he lost me, he purchased another girl. Maybe he'll never buy another."
"Any time you fell down in the dumps, dear, I can always give you a light whipping. It does wonders for the system and cheers a girl up no end. Would you like one today?"
This was about the tenor of our talk. It was amiable, almost girlie-girlie but not quite, and it was all informative. But it changed nothing, I was still the prisoner of Ashlands and likely to remain so. I wished Margot had pleasured me in the bath, it would have made me feel more human and less a captive. With breakfast done with, I followed her to the room down the hall were Twinkle was spending her sentence.
"Ready to bend over, dear?"
"Yes, Mommy, I'm ready."
It was swift, methodical, and no doubt practiced from many previous occasions. Margot unlocked the cage, aided her daughter to rise from the metal enclosure and step out onto the floor. Without a word, she bend over to touch her toes, knees stiff, back arched over, and without having to be told.
"Ready, sweetheart?"
"Yes, Mother." The young voice had now acquired a tremor.
It seemed to me unusually severe. It was a wicked yellow cane and it wrapped across Twinkle's twin globes to bit hard at unprotected hips. Margot changed position from side to side as the punishment progressed. Twinkle was to receive only six strokes but it seemed to me more like sixty as I watched breathlessly the infliction of Benson justice. When it was over and the ridged flesh was rising proudly upon young skin in purple and scarlet. Twinkle stood erect, said a quiet, "Thank you, Mother," then stepped back into the cage and sat down. I'm quiet sure the sitting down was the last thing she desired, the only thing to sit on was heavy wire mesh. Margot closed the door and snapped the padlocks tight, then led me from the place of punishment. As I looked back I could tell Twinkle was quietly crying into linked hands.
"Nigel tells me he's going to give Modesty her first whipping today," Margot informed me pleasantly as we made our way down the hall. "The dear boy tells me Modesty has been a bit too big for her breeches and tries to twist him around her finger. I'm sure you'll love to watch."
"No thank you, I'd rather not."
It was as though I hadn't said a word. I was swept forward, like a child before its governess. Margot was pleasantly informative. "It's a trouble Nigel has had with girls before. They're mostly quite a bit older than he is and think they can twist the dear boy. He always tries to reason with them first and thinks that the pleasure he gives them between their legs should make them happy. But they almost always have to be whipped at least once to get the proper status fixed in their minds. Personally, I don't begrudge the time."
Ashlands had a lot of rooms, both up and down, I never did keep track of them all, and anyway they were not all rooms in which naked girls were punished. The one we entered now had no more furnishings that I had seen in the room with Twinkle and the cage. Its principle appointment was Modesty.
Modesty stood, naked, with her feet wide spread upon a couple of concrete building blocks. They were not tied or fastened in any way, and the only reason she did not step off this uncomfortable perch was because her hands had been well bound and raised above her head. The poor darling had a choice, to stand as she was or to take her feet from the blocks and hang suspended from her wrists. On a little coffee table set to the side were displayed a thin, yellow cane and the more snake-like wickedness of a whip to mark her back. Until Margot and I arrived these instruments of punishment were the only thing Modesty had to look at it. It tore my heart when she greeted us with hope.
"Oh, Mrs. Benson, I'm so glad it's you! Nigel says he's going to whip me and I haven't done anything, I don't deserve to be whipped."
Modesty left her statement sort of hanging in the air. Margot soon crushed her hope. "If Nigel wishes to whip you, then that is the end of it, darling. I absolutely won't interfere."
"But I haven't done anything!"
"That doesn't matter, Modesty dear. If Nigel thinks you need to be whipped, then whipped you will be. Please don't make an unseemly fuse about it."
"But Nigel's spent the last couple of days between my legs banging away as though his life depended up it. He's worn me to a frazzle and now he's going to whip me. It's most unfair!"
"Men are never fair, Modesty dear, they're the most unreasonable creatures. That's why I no longer have one. Take your whipping like a good girl and you'll feel better afterwards."
If I had not known and loved Modesty so well, I could have gotten a chuckle out of this exchange, it was so absurd and typical of Ashlands.
"But I've tried so hard to please! I mean, it's not as though I don't know how.. . " Poor Modesty's voice rose to a wail. "I've done everything he wanted and he still wants to whip me. At this rate I'll be getting whipped every couple of days."
"No you won't, dear." Margot's voice was silky smooth. "Gentian and I have come to watch your punishment. I simply adore watching Nigel whip a girl, he's so terribly shy about it. But you don't have to worry, I'll be here, and if the dear boy sort of goes overboard, I'll put a stop to it-not that he ever would, of course. You must remember the family he belongs to. But I mention it for your peace of mind. I do think it's nice for a girl to enter a whipping with peace of mind. Don't you?"
"I don't want to enter it at all! It's not as though I've been guilty of something.. . "
"You're being tedious, dear, would you like to be gagged?"
No girl wants to be gagged, so the question was rhetorical. Modesty swallowed hard to contain her emotions. I could guess how debasing and humiliating this must be for her, Nigel was just a boy and she was a mature girl, or perhaps more properly called a woman. Soon her skin would be cut and welted into multicolored crisscrossings of pain. And all without a better reason than the carnal gratification of a teenage boy. Unhappily I realized this might soon happen to me, too. In Ashlands a girl might be as pure as snow and without sin but still get herself whipped because someone wanted to see her behavior under the lash. Like Modesty had said, it was monstrously unfair. But Ashlands did not pretend to be fair, all Ashlands wanted was beautiful girls.
Nigel breezed in without a trace of shyness. "Why, hello, Mater. And our gorgeous Gentian who I haven't entered yet. At least not today." Despite his youth he eyed his mother and I as from an eminence. "Come to watch the show? I'm going to whip dear Modesty, she needs it so badly."
"What do you want to whip her for?" his mother inquired without heat.
"I suppose it's her age, mother, but she's always talking down to me. I suspect she's leading up to some sort of help I'm supposed to give her. If she only knew!"
"You've got Modesty delightfully arranged, Nigel. Gentian is terribly interested in the way you whip a girl. You might as well get started and let her see."
I wanted to disclaim the supposed interest in seeing Modesty whipped but thought it best to keep quiet. All three female pairs of eyes watched Nigel as he picked up the yellow length of cane and flexed it back and forth between his hands. It was all very familiar and a bit old hat. we'd seen it on the movies. But it would hurt just the same. He took a solid stance and lashed Modesty squarely across the bare twin bottom she could not hide. It was a terrible blow and, fascinated, I watch the white line, then the pink, then red followed by scarlet-soon purple would appear. Darling Modesty was trying hard not to scream, I judged she would be good for about six or seven strokes in silence before her resolve crumbled.
Nigel whipped his slave girl carefully and methodically. He went from side to side to fairly place the cuts of the cane on either cheek of the helpless bottom. After the six wicked cuts, he cheerfully said, "Well, there's six of the best. I'm going to tickle up your private parts, Modesty dear, with the whip just in case you've never had that done."
I knew Modesty had had it done. She had been "tickled" between her legs often enough. We hated it, it hurt like fury. It was as much a violation of our flesh as rape itself. Nigel had picked up" the black leather whip and was fingering it uncertainly, his eye upon the wide spread crotch and that which it contained. His mother's voice broke into his hesitation, "Well, what are you waiting for, Nigel, it's all there. You just have to take a good backhand swing and cut upward." She paused only a moment. "Don't keep the poor girl waiting."
That admonition did the trick. Nigel, almost watering at the mouth, swung squarely at the apex of her thighs. It was a wicked intrusion into her most private place and she reacted accordingly. With a scream of pure pain, her feet jerked from the blocks to leave her hanging suspended, legs kicking wildly at nothing. The scream died into a pitiful wail of agony. After a while her feet sought to regain the blocks and were helped by Margot's hand. The naked woman who had been mistress The Retreat waited the mercy of a teenager. His mother's warning fingers cautioned Nigel against a repeat. His first blow had been unexpectedly successful, her response had touched us all. He could now advance to the more mundane whipping of a girl's back, a naked back well positioned for his whip.
"Please don't hit me any more," Modesty plead with desperation. "Please, I haven't done anything. Please. . . . "
The back is worst of all. I should know. I think it is because a girl offers more of her skin there than any other place, the lash can slash and cut and splat across our nakedness in a way not to be achieved elsewhere on the female form. My heart went out to my semi-suspended darling. Even when punishing me. Modesty had been so very sweet, I could not bare to see her thus.
Margot must have sensed my mood for gentle fingertips were suddenly firm upon my lips, enjoining my silence. Now came the strangest thing of all. Nigel was suddenly shy. "Mater, do you mind? I don't want others watching while I whip Modesty."
"Nigel, behave yourself. I don't want this lovely creature cut to bits and you're a lot stronger that you think you are. I'm staying right her to make sure you stay within reasonable limits. That girl I've given you is a beauty and I don't want her marred. You're in a mood to leave marks she'll carry for a month."
"If I can't whip her properly, I don't want to whip her at all." Nigel had turned sulky.
"Don't be absurd, Nigel, go ahead and enjoy yourself. You've got the young lady waiting and anxious, don't keep her waiting any longer."
"It's no fun with you watching, you're a spoil sport. Mater. I'd be scared to lay it on her properly."
"That's exactly what I mean. Your idea of 'properly' is on the heavy side. You need a bit more experience before I leave you alone with a girl. These girls cost money, you know."
"Well, you know what you can do with this one." Nigel was in a real snit. He threw the whip to the floor and stalked from the room.
"He'll soon get over it." Margot confided. "In the meantime, dear, since Nigel's not going to whip you. I guess I should do it myself. It's something I really do enjoy."
"Please don't feel an obligation, Mrs. Benson," Modesty's voice quavered hopefully. "I really don't enjoy being whipped."
"Was there a tract of sarcasm there, dear?" Margot had picked up the discarded whip and was caressing it lovingly.
"No. Oh, no . . . I didn't mean . . . really!"
I knew exactly how Modesty was feeling.
"Just a few strokes to keep my hand in. And you do have such a lovely back, dear. I'll try and place the strokes so you'll be proud of your marks."
Once more the feeling of unreality. Modesty gulped and uttered an insincere thank you. And turned so she could not see what was coming. I'll admit I did think of offering my own back instead, but, with Margot. I didn't have much faith in noble gestures. I would probably get myself whipped right along with Modesty without doing the poor girl a bit of good.
As a study in motion, it was quite beautiful. Modesty's spread and stretched loveliness quivering in suspense as compared with Margot's fluidity and reptilian grace. The whip sang a wholly female song to imprint in scarlet an artistic line across Modesty's innocent back. Margot and I watched it flower and flame and beheld Modesty's frantic efforts to maintain balance on her wide-spread feet.
"No man could mark you quite like that, dear," Margot stated. "They're either namby pamby or cut a girl to bits. Now. let me try another just to illustrate."
I did not want another for Modesty. Modesty was far too beautiful to be marked. Modesty did not want it either. She was panting with the duel ordeal of suspense and keeping balance. But the snake-like thing sang its familiar song again and another scarlet line joined the first on naked skin. Modesty moaned and I knew it would not be long before we heard her scream.
Margot was artist enough to know when to stop. The sixth crimson strip had evoked Modesty's first scream and once more the naked girl lost her footing. With the air of a connoisseur, Margot watched and admired the struggles of the nude girl before kicking the concrete blocks beneath her seeking toes. The punished innocent uttered a moan which I knew to be one of gratitude. Any girl sentenced to be whipped would be grateful if her strokes number no more than six. It was at this moment Nigel choose to return.
"Hell, Mother, I could have put those marks on her just as well as you. Looks to me as if you let her have it all out."
"Modesty is not to be whipped any more today," his mother ordered as though he had not spoken. But the teenage boy had grace enough to lower Modesty's arms and let her stand, passive and obedient.
"Where's Twinkle," he asked with sudden interest.
"Twinkle's in the cage for the day, she's being punished."
"Why then couldn't I whip her?" The boyish interest was suddenly aflame. "I don't mind if you watch me whip young Twinkle, she's only a kid."
"The two of you are about the same age, Nigel, don't be silly. I have already decided on her punishment. Twinkle will not be whipped."
"Well, then, how about Gentian?" Nigel stared at me hungrily.
"Gentian is not to be whipped, either. Really, Nigel, you've got whips on your mind. Tell you what, you leave Modesty with me and you can take Gentian. All the usual rules apply but no whipping. After the sulky way you've acted, I think I'm being more than kind."
It was at times like that I was shockingly conscious of being bound. I was being talked about and there wasn't a thing I could do about it. The look on Nigel's face told me what to expect from him and prompted me to tug harder at my joined wrists. I gazed upon his mother reproachfully and at Modesty with a resigned shrug.
"That's awfully decent of you, Mother." Nigel was all smiles again. "How long may I have her?"
"Until I say differently. Don't worry, Nigel, we've got both of them for life, there's plenty of time for anything your carnal little mind can devise."
Using needless force, Nigel grasped my bare arm and led me from the room.
9
Prisoners
"They didn't need to chain us this way," Modesty said with remarkable cheerfulness. "They didn't need to chain us at all. Naked girls can't get out of dungeons."
"These things they've locked on us aren't ancient relics," I said with curiosity, "they're brand new and cleverly made, they fit us like a glove. Don't gloom about it, darling, it's so wonderful to have each other."
"But that awful boy!" Modesty looked at me with sympathy in her eyes. "Did he fuck you first thing or wait a while?"
"First thing. He said he'd been doing it to you right alone without tying you down and now he wanted to experiment with a girl who was tied down and helpless like she'd been kidnapped and had no choice. He spread-eagled me on his bed and tied me so damn tight!"
"He's not bad, is he?"
"I've never been raped or violated or ravished or whatever else you want to call it, by a teenager before," I admitted. "But, yes, he's good. No finesse, it's all thrusts and explosions. But he doesn't need much rest between, he's a boy wonder!" I sighed. "Gosh, I wish we could escape!"
"Oh, Genn, don't be silly." Modesty held up her ironed hands and kicked at a similar confinement of her foot. "Don't you realize there's never been a moment since Margot purchased us that we've been free for a minute and able to make a run for it? There never will be."
I ruefully examined us. not for the first time. These were not ordinary chains, there was an individual locked band and from it a sizable length of links to the stone wall. Both hands, both feet, and as a final indignity, another chain to the collar on our neck. We could move around freely, the chains were long. We had already made love and would do so again. But the weight of all those iron links deterred motion, and no matter how we arranged ourselves, standing or sitting. We remained two naked maidens sentenced to a night in the family dungeon.
"I think it's Margot's way of giving us time together without breaking their silly rules," Modesty said slowly. "We could have a hell of a lot worse mistress."
"I never thought I'd see the day when I was grateful for being locked in a dungeon," I observed soberly. "But that's about where we're at, isn't it? Damn them, there never was a chance of us winning that race."
Both our minds were channeled to the same memory-two naked girls, both bound and both pounding their naked feet upon the grass towards an unknown destination. The park at Ashlands dwarfed anything The Retreat could boast. Doubtful as me might be about the project, we spared breath to comment. Modesty echoed my anger, "Do you think Nigel and Twinkle really will give us a five minute start?"
"What's it matter, they'll catch us in the end any how? I'll bet there's a wall around this place you wouldn't believe."
"They've played this 'hunt' game a hundred times, you can tell from the way they go about it. All we're going to get out of it is a lot of exercise and a night in the dungeon."
"We must want to run or we wouldn't be doing it."
"They know a girl will always hope, that's what we're doing right now, we're hoping we'll get some sort of break they haven't figured on. And. anyway, they promised to whip us if we refused to play their rotten game so we really didn't have much choice."
"I wonder why Margot isn't riding after us, too? I would have thought this was right down her alley."
"It's a kid's thing, she's just indulging dear little Twinkle and dear little Nigel. Someone ought to chain them up in a dungeon and never let them out."
I allowed my thoughts to rove back to Nigel, there had been a little bit more to him than I supposed. I remembered my protest, "But, Nigel, you've had me stretched and tied up to this bed of yours while you've done it to be three times! Girls need to move around a bit, you know. This is getting to be a bit like torture."
"You enjoyed it every time you came. One way or another I made you come as often as I did."
"Well, yes, you did." I moved unhappily against the ropes. "But I could make it so much better for us both if I was free. Look, if you absolutely must have me tied to be raped, couldn't you have a sort of intermission and a change of posture? I promise I won't struggle or give you any problem while you're changing me to some other position . . . ? "
Nigel was doing what he had done many times before, standing at the bottom of the bed looking directly at my cruelly exposed pussy beneath which he had thoughtfully placed a pair of pillows as an aid to my impalement and his view. I don't believe any girl looks her best under these circumstances. I couldn't see myself, but what Nigel was looking at evidently entranced him. Almost reverently he breathed, "You've got the most wonderfully neat slit."
"Thank you. Could we keep it that way?"
"You want me to tie you different? Tell me a good way."
"Well, if you just gave my hands and feet a bit more freedom, not enough so I could get loose, but enough so I could . . . well, sort of help?"
"Not worth the trouble, Genn. You're cute as you are."
I must have seemed cute to Nigel, exposed completely as I was. But he was exposed to me, also, and it was evident our conversation had a potent effect, his phallus was once more pointing to the sky. The damned thing appeared to have astronomical ambitions.
"How about dog fashion?"
"Don't you understand, Nigel. . . . " I found myself talking like a school teacher, "there's more to what you're doing that just plowing away like you were drilling a well. If a girl's allowed to she's able to do all sorts of nice things."
Dog fashion made me wish I'd kept quiet. It consisted of tying my hands behind my back, flipping me over on my face then tying my ankles out to each side of the bed. His lordship then positioned himself between my legs, grasped my hips, and raised me up to the precise elevation to accommodate his penetration of my sex. It was uncomfortable, degrading, and made me wish I'd kept quiet.
Once dog fashion was not enough. Nigel was intrigued. "Should have tried this before," he announced cheerfully. "Here, I'll use my hand to help you come."
"I don't want to come. Just leave me alone."
Nigel did not leave me alone. He observed genially that what I needed was a good whipping but, since mother had forbidden that, the least he could do was to make me feel good. He proceeded to do this to his own satisfaction by manipulating my helpless nakedness to achieve his own ends. By the time he had contrived to get me to moan and gasp and spasm in a climax I could not hide, his own forces were regenerated and the cycle started over. By the time Nigel announced the nature, the rewards, and the penalties of his "hunt" I was grateful for any diversion, anything at all, even a absurd race I was pretty sure I could not win.
Twinkle had been let out of her cage for the occasion, she would go back in after the sporting event. She and her brother rode horses easily from long practice and Margot announced the rules.
"If you can get beyond the wall, you're free for life, darlings. There's gates and trees and all sorts of possibilities for you. It's up to Twinkle and Nigel to catch you first. The prize for your winning is complete freedom." She gave us her sweetest smile. "I think that pretty damned generous. The penalty for being caught is a night chained in the dungeon. All Nigel and Twinkle get if the thrill of the chase and the pleasure of dragging you back into captivity any way they choose. I wouldn't suggest sitting down and refusing to play, the penalty for that is fifty strokes with the whip. And they'd be laid on hard, believe me."
"We give you five minutes start," Nigel promised as though offering the earth.
"And we do want you to run and hide and dodge every way you can think of, darlings," Twinkle added her own little bit. "To think, you could be free girls before evening."
Looking back, I could see there was nothing else we could have done. We looked across the wide expanse of park that we could flee to and our hearts leapt in hope. Silly, I know, but we were only human. We began our run.
It was altogether glorious. I forgot recapture or past imprisonment. All I was concerned with was the wonder of the sky and the green grass and the lovely trees to which we ran. When England wants to be beautiful, she is very beautiful indeed. So it was at that moment, which along with the rest, dangled before our eyes a vivid hope. I occurred to me to think that Margot had enjoyed her play with us and was now allowing us our return to freedom. It shows what blue sky, green grass, and free limbs can do for a girl.
"We absolutely must reach the wall, darling, and see what it looks like," Modesty panted at my side. "Oh, darling, I wish there wasn't any wall at all."
We had agreed not to look back but to cherish this freedom for as long as it lasted. We crossed the grass, we traversed the loveliness of woodlands and cops, and sure enough, far beyond, we found the wall.
"Look, darling, there's a door!" Modesty was jubilant.
But the pounding of hoofs could no longer be ignored. When they became too loud we spared a frightened glance back and there, sure enough, was the doughy huntsman and his hunt-maiden. Twinkle. Nigel was making play with a loop of rope.
A horse may easily run down a naked girl but horses are no help when it comes to dodging around trunks of trees or leaping into bushes. Our pursuers dismounted and tethered their steeds. From the way they did this I was more than ever convinced they had played this game often before.
The tactics of evasion can be many and prolonged. But Modesty and I were already exhausted from the run, whereas Nigel and Twinkle were relatively fresh and skilled in the art of capturing defenseless maidens on the run. I still feel ashamed at how easily Twinkle caught me. I tripped on a root and a moment later she was on my back, knees hard against my back bone. Despite my struggles it was only a matter of seconds before she had a handcuff on one of my wrists and then the other. As far as I was concerned the race was over. When Twinkle was sure the handcuffs were tight behind my back, she allowed me to sit up while she stood triumphant over me.
"You did wonderfully, Genn, dear. There's been girls I've caught in half the time."
I tugged at the handcuffs, I don't know why I always do this when they're First locked on me, it's just an instinctive act. I sat awkwardly on one bare hip and gazed up in a measure of indignation at the glowing teenager who had made me captive. There was something wrong somewhere, it just wasn't fair.
"I put up a damned poor show," I admitted. "I didn't give you any worthwhile fight at all. Twinkle."
"You were tired and I'm experienced," Twinkle assure me. Then added, generously, "I'll take the handcuffs off and we'll do it all over again if you want, darling."
Strangely. I did not want. One humiliation was enough. Instead, I looked to where Nigel was dragging back his own prisoner. Modesty was handcuffed the same as I, and was being encouraged to behave by Nigel holding a handful of her lovely hair. Nigel was in high spirits when he asked his sister, "What say we take 'em to the grass and give 'em a belly brush?"
Laughing, they refused to tell us what a belly brush was. We soon found out. They took us out of the trees and to the beginnings of the grasslands that led up to the main lawn and the house. There they told us to lay down. A moment later our ankles were bound together and a long length of rope connected our ankles to the saddle of each horse. When the march began, it's effect was to drag Modesty and I on our bellies across the grass.
At first I didn't believe it was happening. But when I contrived to look back over a pinioned shoulder I could see our captors in gay conversation and quite ignoring us. Modesty and I shared a shocked glance of mutual dismay. That was all.
It was the most awful sensation. I suppose Twinkle and Nigel knew there were no stones or sticks or anything to injure us. Perhaps they followed a path previously devoid of such things. But our roped ankles hurt and were slightly lifted from the grass by the tension. Our hands were useless, tight behind our backs. Our main concern was to bow ourselves back enough to ease the friction of our breasts upon the grass. We were franticly frighten of injure but no harm came, the grass, slightly damp, slithered kindly beneath our flesh and our disheveled hair spayed itself out to bring up the rear of our disgrace. I prayed the teenagers would have sense enough to cease this madness before we reached a graveled path.
Visions of the skin being ripped off my belly and my poor breasts slashed to ribbons by the harsh ground filled my mind. But the grass was thick and soft. Not that the ordeal didn't hurt. For over half a mile Modesty and I were dragged like captured game, powerless to do anything to ease or stop this strange punishment.
Margot was there waiting, and helped us to our feet when our legs had been untied. She listened avidly to the details of the chase and our own avows of not wanting a replay. As usual, I gathered what we wanted didn't really count.
Dinner was a gala event. We had been formally sentenced to the dungeon for the night so that matter was dealt with. It gave us something to think about. But our hands were moved from back to front so we could eat our meal. The food was superb, under its influence and that of the accompanying brandy, we managed to share some of our captors' enthusiasm about the day. After all, as they reasonably pointed out, we had sustained no injury and, if we smelt to high heaven of being a girl, everyone found it the most erotically stimulating of perfumes. We were encouraged to exude all wc could. We could not help doing so and I, for one, could see that it made Nigel rather horny. It was a delightful dinner.
After dinner we retired to the lounge were further brandies were served and our three owners enjoyed our chained company. I suppose there must be something intensely erotic about a handcuffed girl. I wish I knew what it was.
Escorting us to the dungeon were we would spend the night was very much a shared happiness between our owners. Modesty and I would have preferred a bed or something along those lines but, of course, we didn't matter and were ushered into the gloomy stone confinement with much gusto, and then introduced the lovely new chains on which Margot coyly admitted she had spent a fortune. Three pairs of eager hands locked the metal on our wrists, ankles, and necks as if it were a solemn ceremony.
Dungeons are not normally cheerful places, but this one was. Its gloom was modified by the joy the two of us felt at being along together and not chained apart. We could clasp and hug and hold and kiss to our heart's content. And with a whole night ahead! We made female love instantly to sort of put things in their place and to curb our overflowing lust for each other. It was wonderful to have Nigel on the other side of the locked massive door and out of sight.
We then laughingly explored our chains, they really did not matter since we couldn't escape the dungeon itself. They told us only of our enslavement and warned of foolish hopes of escape. We tried them out to see how far they would allow us to go from the wall and then lost interest. Our interest was now in only two things; ourselves and escape.
"That door in the big wall simply has to mean something, darling," Modesty affirmed earnestly. "I think they deliberately let us have a look at it but not get close enough to touch. If there is ever a next time.. . ! "
"If there ever is a next time, it had better come soon before Nigel has me walking with my legs far apart," I said. "That young SOB has screwed me steadily every since his mother made a gift of me to his cock. Since you and I can't wear him out, it's hopeless. That's all we have to look forward to, being screwed by Nigel! It's hopeless."
"But, darling, he only has one of us at a time."
"That gives us a rest. He doesn't seem to need one. Oh, damn, I wish we could get over that wall!"
It was glorious to talk. We had not been allowed to bath so the girl smell enveloped us in wave after wave of potent scent. We fed hungrily on each other and finally fell asleep in sheer exhaustion, our chains draping our nakedness like discarded clothes. We did not waken until Daphne called us for breakfast and took us to the bath. We did not fuss about the handcuffs, after a night in a dungeon, a girl doesn't fuss much about anything, she's so damned grateful to get out into the daylight.
"What would you two darlings prefer?" Margot asked us sweetly after the second cup of coffee. "I can offer you a mild whipping, another hunt like we had yesterday, or a return to be chained in the dungeon until tomorrow. Please think about it carefully?"
"You mean I don't get to.. . Oh, you know what. Not to either of them?" Nigel protested indignantly.
"That's correct, darling. A day of abstinence will do you good. Watch that pout or I'll have Twinkle using a whip on you."
Nigel subsided. I felt sure he was longing for his twenty-first birthday when, I assumed, he would be able to do anything he liked with any girl at Ashlands. Margot continued equably, "Come, darlings, isn't there something there to appeal?"
"No!" Modesty and I said the single word in unison.
"In that case, dears, you will have all of them. A modest whipping to begin your day. Then, later after you've spent a few quiet hours suitably fastened, we'll have a hunt again. It's a beautifully sporting event and, like I said before, you could be free girls by evening."
I wished Margot could suffer one of her "light whipping" herself. I know they could be worse, but they certainly no fun to endure. She was wise in whipping us herself because I was quite sure neither Nigel nor Twinkle could exercise such restraint when confronted by an expanse of helpless female skin.
After breakfast we went to the horrible room again and there our hands were tied and lifted above our heads to expose everything we possessed to whip-happy hands. Modesty and I had sort of reached a point where being whipped like this was just something disagreeable to get over and done with and out of the way as quickly as possible.
Margot whipped first one then the other of us, the children watched, eyes glowing, longing to hold the whip themselves. The strokes were bitter and the commandsingenious. Both children were allowed to participate in the commands. Their suggestions were not always obeyed but they did sometimes point out choice targets to their mother who followed up with the whip, much to our disapproval. I wished the kids would have shut up.
"There, darlings, five across each of your bottoms. But that's sort of old hat, isn't it," Margot said lightly. "We'll now move on to something more serious. What do you say, darlings, make them lift their legs?"
Modesty and I lifted our legs to receive bitter, hateful cuts up and under. We whimpered in the hopeless of not knowing were a punishment ends. Believed me, it is the most hateful of situations in which a female prisoner can find herself.
You never become accustomed to the lashes. I sometimes think that each successive whipping is worse than the last simply because you know what to expect. There is no mercy in the whip, it bites at you with a venom all its own. It marks the skin. And, if you do not know the number of strokes to which you are sentenced, each one becomes doubly hard to bare. I always begin my whipping by vowing to myself. "I won't scream. I won't scream. I absolutely won't scream!" But it does no good, I manage the first few hateful strokes with only pathetic small sounds, but in the end I scream. It is a scream of outrage, a scream of anger, it is also a scream of protest on behalf of the millions of maidens who have wailed their agony beneath the lash. I also scream because it hurts like hell.
Being an experienced prisoner I can understand why they tie me mostly in the same way, naked, with my hands above my head, ail my body available to the whip. I cannot think of a better posture for whipping. There is, of course, the "X" but that result is achieved pretty much by the order to spread your legs, an order I hate probably worse than any other. Of course, the order to stick your tits out and hold the breasts as far out as possible so they can receive their share of cruel cuts, is pretty bad, too.
But whatever a helpless slave girl is ordered, she will do. I know.
Well, anyway. Modesty and I got our "light whipping." It left us thankful we did not get a whipping described as "hard." We were shivering and sweating and exuding girl scent in waves. Margot congratulated us on that potency by which we turned loss to profit. Brightly she kissed us both on our lips followed by a fleeting caress on our nipples. She told us we must now wait a while before the hunt will begin. Margot went away. Modesty and I stayed.
Alone, we twisted and tugged at bound wrists, we could just as well have saved ourselves the time and pain. We gazed forlornly at each other until Modesty suggested, "If they do have a hunt with us this afternoon, let's head to one side and get a look at more of the wall than we did yesterday." There was a awkward pause before she added, "Do you hurt real bad, Genn, I do. I never realized how bad whipping could be until I got one myself."
Dear Modesty, I loved her terribly and felt only anger for those who used her ill. Trevor Tremond must have been insane to discard such loveliness. But men are crazy, all girls know that!
Once more Modesty and I were together. This business of having to stand naked and helpless after you've been whipped can be a trying and cruel addition to the punishment. We didn't talk much but the privilege of being able to was enough. I remember Modesty's vow, "Darling, if we ever do escape, you and I must stay together and sleep behind locked door and with a loaded gun at our side, we must never be made captive again." She had said it all right there.
The hunt sent us to the dungeon with something to talk about. It was a ladder. We had run at a different angle and found the wall at a different place, soon there had been another of these mysterious doorways and beside it, of all things, a ladder. We headed for it instantly but our pursuers cut us off and sent our bare feet to pounding towards where we had been captured the day before. We got further this time but there were no more doors and no more ladders. We had to ask ourselves if that ladder had been put there for our benefit; a temptation, a tease, something which Twinkle and Nigel and Margot got a chuckle out of. But there was another day and we kept the ladder at the forefront of our minds.
It appeared we could never be taken back to the main house by any ordinary process. Once caught and cautiously handcuffed, we were then arranged for another terrible trip, our hands and feet were tied tight with rope and we were dragged back across the grass by a tether to our bound wrists. It hurt and we were even more helpless than before. The annoying thing was the frictioning of our sex, it was not pronounced but continuing over a long trip eventually made itself known. Believe me, there are times when the very last thing a girl desires is a climax. Modesty and I suffered two of them in our journey back across the grass. have problems no one else even catches a glimpse of.
The dungeon greeted us as old friends, it was our punishment for loosing a race we could not win. This night there was a difference, the lovely chains had vanished and in their place were four straps which our owners lost no time in buckling around our wrists and ankles. They were made of broad, supple leather that could be tightened down amazingly snug. When their last inch had been tugged to the limit and tucked firmly into its resting place there came an ominous click. The leather bands had been padlocked shut! When Modesty and I were snugly helpless, a final refinement made us long to weep. It was one more padlock to join those already fastening our wrists. It would keep us back to back throughout the night, preventing fun and games or anything else two girl might have wished to do. True, by wrenching our arms we could achieve a great deal of movement and even sit side by side. But we could not join our bodies face to face, nor invert ourselves so that we might enjoy oral pleasures on each other. That was Ashland's final gift of the day to its two prisoners.
Twinkle and Nigel were obviously waiting for our protests, so we kept silent. It was after they had gone away and locked the huge door that we became vocal.
"The rotten little twerps," said Modesty.
"Let's try to do it anyway," I added.
We were more helpless than a pair of seals or a fish out of water. All we could do was sort of flop around to discover how close we were and yet how far! Some of the positions we managed took quite a while to unravel. But finally we admitted defeat and went to sleep on the stone floor, back to back.
"I've sent the children away for the day," Margot Benson informed us in the morning. "It occurred to me that I had scarcely enjoyed you myself so I'm having you all to myself today. Isn't that wonderful?"
We agreed it was wonderful, and actually meant it. Modesty and I were both weary of childish exuberance and Nigel's endless screwing. Optimistically we allowed ourselves to be handcuffed in front for breakfast. Our ankles were completely free, which caused Modesty and I to exchange a questioning glance. But we decided it would be useless to try anything. Margot held a riding crop and Daphne was still around. And, even if we got out of the house there was still that damned wall.
Over breakfast our hostess inquired, "How would you like another nice, light whipping, the same as yesterday, dears?"
"We'd rather not, thank you," I ventured cautiously.
"Don't tell me you're adverse to a little whipping everyday, darling!" Margot sounded genuinely shocked.
"But it hurts a lot more than you think. Why do we have to be whipped almost every day? We honestly try to behave."
"Yes, darlings, I know. But it's more a mental thing." Margot beamed from Modesty to me. "But you're still seeing yourselves as persons and not as prisoners. A whipping a day will help you sort that out in your own minds. It's not as though you're being cruelly flogged.
Once more Modesty and I were up the creek. We knew Margot was playing with us but it was a deadly game which could end in more pain than we could bare. As thought by mutual agreement we said, "Oh, very well, please give us another light whipping and we'll try to be good sports about it. If it makes us feel more like being your prisoners, we'll let you know."
"I detect a touch of sarcasm, darling, but I mustn't be too demanding, must I? I've got the most delightful surprise waiting for you."
Thoughts of the "surprise" added nothing to breakfast. It would probably be some sort of new, horrible whip, or a new way of binding us into painful postures. I told myself we were prisoners and what more could we expect! I drowned my fears in coffee and had an extra slice of toast. Margot treated us like a pair of adored nieces. I couldn't believe she could be that rough on a daughter.
There was no hurry in sending us to our place of whipping. Margot encouraged us to spend whatever time we needed for hairdos and our faces. Once more we discovered how m a girl can do with handcuffed wrists. When, with Margot chatting cheerfully, we were escorted to The Place wc looked more like a pair contestants in a beauty contest. Except we were naked and handcuffed and that would make it a pretty unusual beauty contest. The surprise was a low, massive table at one end of which was a sliding portion with a couple large, round holes. That gave me all the clue I needed. Those holes would exactly fit our necks.
" I do think the way a girl is fastened has a lot to do with her enjoyment of her punishment," Margot observed conversationally. "Darlings, if you'll just insert your heads in those holes while I slid out the yoke.. . "
It was the last thing Modesty and I wanted to do. but we couldn't see a choice. We climbed up on the table and placed our necks in the half circle created by Margot's sliding out part of the contraption. When our hair had been arranged to her satisfaction, she slid that part back in to imprison our heads and neck in heavy hardwood. To achieve this Modesty and I had to kneel on elbows and knees and it didn't take a vivid imagination to know what was coming.
"I think that at a time like this, it is so nice for a girl to have her hands," Margot explained as she unlocked the handcuffs we could no longer see. I couldn't see any real reason for her statement, our freed hands did little beyond allowing us to take a little of the weight off our necks. But I think the effect was for Margot, seeing us completely free of bonds on arms and legs but still helpless and with our bottoms raised up in the air for her whip to find.
"You can stay like this for the morning, darlings," she said. It was a bit of a surprise, and I didn't know if I appreciated the delay in being whipped or resented having to be in such an awkward position for what might become hours.
"I'll leave you two to exchange ideas on your new condition, darlings," she added. "You won't know whether I'm here or not but I've got the loveliest cane and an assortment of straps that I'll use on you without warning. I don't think you'll be the least bit bored."
It was the damnedest sensation, I couldn't see a thing with my head stuck in that damned hole in the table. I used my free hands to explore the structure a bit but that wasn't much. Modesty and I gazed unhappily at each other under the table. "We're never going to know, are we? All of a sudden there'll be a awful pain and we can't properly move!"
"That's right, Modesty, dear," Margot's voice came unexpected from behind. She had not left as promised but was certainly standing there, laughing at our plight. She now walked round to our head end and knelt down to where she could see our faces and we hers. She was holding the wickedest looking riding crop I've ever seen and with it a supple length of strap. I didn't like the look of that either.
It was not a happy morning. I remember it mostly for our senseless striving with our hands, we felt that surely there must be something we could do with free hands but found nothing. The massive wooden table held us firm, just out of reach of each other. Oh, we could touch and hold hands, but we were far enough apart so that either of us could touch a part of the other that would give stimulation and perhaps sexual relief.
The slap and cut of leather whip and strap came occasionally and unexpectedly to keep us remembering that we were prisoners and being punished. It was impossible to lay down, so we had to remain on our knees and that forced our bottoms into the air. At one point I almost laughed when I considered what we must look like from above the table-a couple of curvy, naked ostriches sticking our heads in the wooden sand.
But it wasn't really funny. The cuts and slashes against our offered skin hurt and we let out with good yells every time. It also wasn't long before our necks were chaffed from the sudden, pain-induced jerks of our heads. The holes into which our necks were locked were precisely made to our size. After a while we ceased to concern ourselves with Margot's presence and discussed our situation as if she were not around at all.
"Let's play with ourselves," Modesty suggested boldly. "Can you reach?"
I had no time to reply. Margot had been there and didn't like the suggestion. She rewarded us both with an instant slash with the riding crop. It made the most horrendous noise and hurt like hell.
"That's a waste I will not tolerate," she told us angrily. "That will earn you something I had not intended to use."
I could tell she was standing astride my naked waist and whipping down into the cleft between my thighs. Whatever it was she was using bit and scorched my pussy unbearably. I made some pretty loud sounds of protest and pain. Modesty did the same when it became her turn. For quite a while after the searing strokes stopped, the two of us wept and moaned and gazed at each other in mutual agony, totally devastated. I could have sworn Margot had lit a fire between my thighs and left it to burn its way into my crotch. I was too scared of Margot's eagle eye to even reach down to comfort the burn. Instead I left my pussy to suffer in a solitude of its own.
It was not long before we began to tire and our knees to hurt. There was just no way we could get comfortable. When we pushed down with our hands to take the weight off our shoulders and neck, we were rewarded with quick cuts from some beastly little whip right into our opened armpits. We were severely told the clutching hands were unladylike and we could use them in some other way. But there was no other way to ease our stress, Margot really had us where she wanted us.
Sometimes, while we were being slowly and methodically strapped. Modesty and I held hands to give each other what comfort the human fingers can transmit. But mostly we simply placed the palms of our hands upon the table to support our weight. We were a pair of very sad young women when the cane, the crop, the strap, and Margot were through with us. She handcuffed our wrists again before freeing our necks. We stood up stiffly and gratefully to feel back, as best we could with joined hands, to explore the morning's ravishes of our rumps.
"You'll be in great shape for your run this afternoon," Margot promised us as she watched our efforts with glowing eyes. "You can't reach yourselves properly while handcuffed, darlings, but why don't you soothe each other's bottoms, that's quite possible? I'll wait."
Half ashamed, we did as suggested. The feel of Modesty's fingertips upon my burning skin was pure delight, but the fingertips of another girl you love upon your flesh can have but one effect. It was so shockingly erotic as to be worse than playing with the forbidden part. Scarlet faced, we stopped in unison and followed our mistress up to lunch. Margot had thoughtfully provided hard chairs without cushions, it was the final blow.
"If you're wondering about being free for the hunt this afternoon, darlings, I can tell you how easily we deal with the problem. Daphne will be with me and we'll both have whips. We will also tether your necks and have a short training rope by which to control you should you decide to be silly. You won't be silly, will you?"
We had told her no, we wouldn't be silly. At that moment there was not enough enterprise in Modesty and I to say boo to a goose. Our backs whipped yesterday, our bottoms strapped and caned today was enough!
"You're quite right, darlings, I can't whip and strap you everyday." Margot had a gift for sensing the right moment and saying the right thing. "I'll do something else to you, of course. For goodness sakes, stop looking like a pair of lost sheep. Think positively, a glorious afternoon in total freedom!"
"Until you catch us," said I.
"And fasten us in the dungeon," said Modesty.
"Such lucky girls!" said Mrs. Margot Benson.
10
Run for My Life
We were getting into condition and running better than before. The ropes from our necks danced a jig behind our backs as we fled. They had been painstakingly knotted to preclude us taking time to untie them while in flight. We deplored their shameful presence because they would aid Margot in subduing us whenever it came to the final round of this shameful hunt. But we cared little and spoke not at all as we speed toward our determined exploration of The Wall. If there was a weakness in that wall, we had to find it. We were two young women who's burning asses demanded escape. We were weary of enslavement, even beneath the loving hand of Margot Benson. We wanted to go home.
The ladder was gone. It was one more let down. In tight lipped determination, Modesty and I sped on and on to explore areas we had not previously seen. We were surprised that Margot had not caught up with us as of yet, but for all we knew we were running to meet her head on. We knew we had to loose, it was simply a case of how and where.
A few hundred yards farther along we saw the ladder. It was propped against the wall as yesterday. I could well have been a trap set by Margot or it could have been a genuine avenue to freedom. If we could climb it and drop down the other side we might be done with slavery forever. Modesty and I exchanged a glance of hope and redoubled our strides. We were almost to it when we beheld the unbelievable.
James Bancroft was seated on a fallen log. He waved to us carelessly as thought keeping saying hello to a neighbor. A few feet to one side, Amy's lovely nakedness was bound with amazing artistry to a tree. She did not wave, she could not move, but her smile was the Amy I had always known. Modesty and I stopped breathless before them and totally at a loss.
"Hello," Jim said pleasantly. "Remember me?"
I was on the verge of flinging myself into his arms or at his feet when he held up a warning hand. From his fingers dangled handcuffs. "You two girls have a choice," he informed. "You may climb that ladder and in the road over there you'll find my car. In it are some clothes and some money. That's the way to freedom if you want to take it." He smiled pleasantly and awaited our reply.
I looked at the handcuffs, so did Modesty. Never had so much of two girl's lives hung precariously on a few trifles of steel. Jim's voice was firm, "Gentian is mine." He turned his gaze to Modesty. "If you accept the handcuffs. Miss Blair, I will return you as a gift to Trevor Tremond. It's all very simple." With that he slashed the rope joining Modesty's and my necks.
Modesty hesitated only an instant. Then she kissed me fleetingly and fled for the ladder. The last I saw of her was a pair of scarlet and stripped buttocks going over the wall.
It appeared, however, that my life was more complicated. Yet I paused only a few seconds then went to my former master and held out my hands. "I'll choose the handcuffs," I said as simply as Modesty had chosen freedom. Alight with a great heat of longing I watched my master encase my wrists in shinning steel and click the circlets snugly tight. Even at that point I had no regret. It was not until then we heard Margot Benson's horse.
The Mistress of Ashlands drew her horse to a halt. "Where's Modesty?"
"Over the wall, dear lady, well on her way to freedom. I'm afraid you've lost Miss Blair."
"You son of a bitch! Do you realize you're trespassing.. . And stealing my girls!"
"A fair exchange, Mrs. Benson." Jim nonchalantly waved a hand in Amy's direction. "Have you ever seen a girl more sweet, or bonds more tight?"
Margot spared Amy but a glance, she was in the full flood of anger and surprise. "I had my chance to buy Amy. If I had wanted her, I would have bought her then. Where's my property?"
"Modesty is on her way to freedom. Gentian is here, as you'll observe."
"Why is she handcuffed? She wasn't handcuffed when we started out!"
"I have decided to divert Miss Rothwell to myself. You may recall our previous acquaintance."
"Previous acquaintance, my royal ass!" Margot Benson exclaimed in fury. "Get off my property!"
Margot spurred her horse, flourishing her riding crop to slash at Jim's smiling face. He grasped it neatly to yank it from her hand. He also grasped her wrist and dragged her from the saddle. It appeared he was well supplied with handcuffs. A few moments later, Margot Benson's hands were handcuffed behind her back and she was twisting and tugging at unfamiliar bonds while glaring angrily at Jim. "You absolute bastard. Who the hell do you think you are!"
I stood, comfortably handcuffed, to watch the show. Amy was an interested as I. Jim proceeded to strip away Margot Benson's clothes until she was completely naked. She put up a marvelous fight and was extremely vocal throughout. "What do you think you're doing, you crazy bastard! I'll have your guts for garters! You can't get away with this!"
Clutching a captive arm, Jim seated himself once more upon the log and draped Mrs. Margot Benson over his knee where he held her securely by her cuffed arms. He then proceeded to spank her bottom, going from cheek to cheek and making the most horrendous smacking sounds. When a man slaps the bottom of a girl, it's no longer kid-stuff, it hurts. I'm ashamed to say neither Amy or I said a word in the defense of my former mistress. When he had beaten the lovely bottom to a prime red, he retained his grip but said to me, "Genn, you can go now. Do what I told Modesty to do but stay in the car and wait for me."
I obeyed instantly, leaving Mrs. Benson to my master's tender mercy. He resumed the spanking and was hard at it as I climbed the ladder. Dropping down the other side, I found myself face to face with Modesty Blair.
It was shock on top of shock. Modesty's wrists were confined in the same lovely bronze bracelets she had worn when I first saw her. Trevor Tremond was there, too. They both seemed pleased. Before I could get into Jim's car to dress, we were joined by Amy who wore no clothes but was almost adequately covered with tight ropes. Innocently she said, "I'm sure you have another pair of handcuffs, Mr. Tremond?"
I felt out of things while Trevor bundled his two new possessions, or should I say repossessions, into his car, locked their ankles together, and returned to me just in time to catch Mrs. Margot Benson as Jim dropped her over the wall.
"A bonus for you. Trevor," Jim said in an unconcerned. "She's got a couple of brats you could pick up tomorrow, do them a world of good."
Margot's screeches of fury were controlled by a large white handkerchief stuffed into her mouth. She was stuffed into the trunk of Trevor's car, evidently not rating the more comfortable interior. The men shook hands in a way that tells a woman she is forgotten for the moment. They liked each other. Jim stood and watched them drive away, then turned to me. "That's got things nicely sorted out, sweetheart." he said as though he expected no other ending to the day. "Now I'll take you home and whip your bottom just to get us started off on the right foot."
"My bottom's already been whipped."
"Why. so it has! Beautiful job." He looked inquiringly, "Margot Benson. I suppose?"
"Don't you dare whip it again.. . At least not today!" I said with more courage than I felt.
"Sweetheart, I'll give you one more chance. If you want freedom or have had second thoughts, just hold out your hands and I'll unlock the cuffs?"
I held my chained hands tight against my pubic patch and wished I didn't blush so easily.
My master nodded. He understood. "I won't bother to dress you," he said. "No use starting you over again with bad habits. If need be I can throw a blanket over you."
Mr. James Bancroft took me in his arms and said, "Oh, and in case you're worrying about the horse, I took the saddle and bridle off and let it loose. It will find its way back to the stables where it belongs."
He hugged me tight as though to weld my nakedness against himself. Impatiently he paused to free my hands then handcuff my wrists behind my back. "There, that's got them out of the way. And now, my proud beauty, let me deal with you."
He dealt with me beautifully. He was so considerate. I hadn't given a thought to Margot's horse.
