The closing of a door after departing guests leaves a hiatus. Those who remain strive to fill a vacuum. The bubbling Bunny and his dubious Myrtle were not easy to replace.
Melynda and Horace Wilferforce eyed each other uncertainly. "Not sure I could keep up with Lord Ripping," Mr. Wilberforce said doubtfully. "I suppose in a way we're twin souls, but he's so frightfully exuberant. Poor Myrtle."
"Well, she could work for a living," Melynda said crossly. "I suspect poor Myrtle's no better than she ought to be. She probably actually belonged in that Approved School. Oh, Willie, I'm so grateful you got me out of there. It was awful, awful... " She flung her arms around his neck in an expression of feeling beyond words.
Such moments were difficult for Horace Wilberforce. He longed to strip his darling girl and crush her within his arms. But suburbia still weighed heavily on his psyche.
"Dear Willie, will you please fuck me?" invited Melynda striving to break the ice. She actually felt a great need.
She felt his recoil from the four-letter word. "Really, my dear... " He trailed off into an unspoken reprimand.
"All right then!" Melynda declared obligingly. "Darling Willie, please take me to bed and make love to me in the good old-fashioned way."
He evaded the reality of her need of him, an evasion he would long regret. "D'you think Lord Ripping goes from girl to girl? Myrtle tonight, another tomorrow?"
Melynda was impatient. Poor Willie had to be carried every inch of the way. She tried again. "Well, if you won't fuck me and if you won't make love to me in a nice suburban way, how about giving me a good whipping?"
She felt him tense. She had made him glimpse heart's desire. She pushed: "Tie me tight, darling. Tight so I can't twitch. Then gag me so I can't irk you the way I do, and then whip me. You'd like that, I know you would."
"I'm not Lord Ripping." Poor Horace refuted his dream.
Melynda sighed. She knew her Willie. "At least he takes what's offered," she pointed out.
"You didn't have to invite him to cane your bottom." Mr. Wilberforce was on his dignity.
"I'm sorry, Willie. I really am! I don't know what got into me. I regretted it, if that's any comfort to you. It hurt something awful."
"Served you right!" Mr. Wilberforce did not mean it. He hoped Melynda would know he did not mean it.
"Well, you never use the space," Melynda said plaintively, her imp of mischief getting out of hand.
"I have never been invited to," her employer pointed out stiffly, but with his heart in his mouth.
"Please, Willie, give me six of the best on my bare bottom well bent over." Melynda could not resist temptation.
The silence lengthened. Melynda was thankful to be alone with her Mr. Wilberforce. Their guests had happily departed. She knew that Mr. Wilberforce was happy too. She could have kicked herself for placing this loaded bomb in his hands. She wanted him to whip her in his own good time and in his own way and for his own reasons. He might do it now from a feeling he had to prove something. Lord Ripping's philosophy was insidious, a sense of something proper... Besides, her bottom hurt! She would accept them gladly. But she did not really desire six more stripes on top of the other five. For Willie she would be honor bound to bear them with joy and affection and gratitude, with no twitch of muscle or gasp of breath. It might not be easy.
"I think you are teasing me," Mr. Wilberforce neatly circumvented his dilemma. He was as pleased as Melynda was thankful. "You don't want to be whipped at all, and you know it!"
He came over, tilted her chin and kissed her. "I'm glad it's just the two of us again. You are all I want. I'd say we are damn lucky about Myrtle. She's well looked after." He grinned. "At least for as long as she's willing to bend over. I wish Susan was as lucky." He glanced at his watch. "Look, Melynda, get us some lunch while I go and see the lawyer chap about her. I told him I would. I think he believes her guilty. But he'll do his best. I'll only be an hour or so. I'll take my shortcut through the park."
When Melynda had hugged him and watched his figure jauntily stride down the walk she had no inkling of what would befall them both before she placed her arms around him again. Had she been able to glance into the future she would never have let him go.
She went happily to make a lunch they would never eat.
Mr. Wilberforce enjoyed the park. He had walked in it ever since buying his house. He found its pleasant green a shortcut to many destinations. He did so now. The path was familiar. His thoughts were busy with his errand. The piercing scream struck him like a blow.
It had come from close beside the path in a small plantation of bushes. It had sounded like a child. Horace Wilferforce made no profession of either heroism or cowardice. He felt a profound distaste for the idea of entering the bushes as he presumed a good citizen should do. But he did his duty!
She was perhaps ten years old. A grimy little girl with tangled hair who surveyed him without joy. She was nearly naked. Torn scraps of clothing littered the ground.
"Was that you who screamed?" Mr. Wilberforce demanded. He did not like her. He suspected some juvenile obscenity.
"'Corse it was. 'Oood yer think!" she retorted belligerently.
"What did you scream for? Are you in trouble?"
"I juss bin fucked." She sounded aggrieved. But not unduly so.
Mr. Wilberforce felt only disgust. Even when the tattered urchin threw her arms around him and buried her face in his second best pair of trousers and burst into tears, presumably tears of relief at being rescued, he could generate little sympathy for this unlovely product of a slum. Time was passing. What on earth was the proper thing to do! He felt inadequate. His quandary was resolved for him. "What's goin' on 'ere?" said a gruff male voice. Even without turning to look, Mr. Wilberforce knew it was a policeman.
The little girl had backed away and was quietly sobbing into one of her bits of clothing. The constable surveyed the sordid little picture and drew an obvious conclusion.
"You been interfering with 'er?" he demanded.
Mr. Wilberforce had always found amusement when confronted with the term 'interfering' in court reports in the press. It had always struck him as an absurd and inadequate euphemism. He was not amused now. Suddenly there opened up before him a vast chasm of horror. A horror compounded many times over by the little girl's matter-of-fact statement: "'e juss fucked me, 'e did. Rotten bastard!"
"It's a lie," said Mr. Wilberforce hotly, knowing all was lost.
"I think you'd both better come along with me," said the policeman with total finality.
* * *
To Melynda there was an incongruous familiarity about her situation. But this time the policeman across the desk was an Inspector. A fatherly man who obviously felt sorry for her. He was telling a story that she miserably understood he had probably told a thousand times to a thousand others who had sat in the same chair she now occupied.
"We have to believe in those we love, Miss. That's understood. But sometimes they let us down. When this happens there's not much you or I can do. Right now I'd like to send you away happy. But it wouldn't be kind. I think this poor chap's guilty. I don't know why they do it-say they are sick if you like. But there's always one of 'em at it, every day. Mostly they go to prison. I expect your friend will. Stiff sentence, too, I expect. No mitigating circumstances."
"But it's a put-up job. The same as the girl I told you about. Can't you see the connection?" Melynda was frightened.
He looked at her sympathetically, but shook his head. "Not really, Miss. In trouble like this we mostly see what we want to see and believe what we want to believe. If, as you say, this chap Wilberforce was trapped: framed, as they say in the U.S. Then his counsel will have a chance in court to break the child's testimony. But it's badly conclusive. Think of it: Caught more or less in the act. Stains on his trousers which he says are tears but turn out to be something else. True, the child might have done it with her fingers. But that's stretching it a bit. It's the child's evidence they will convict on. She had been molested. We always ascertain that first thing. Then we try and break her down ourselves with questions. But we couldn't move her. Don't like the little brat. But that's beside the point. I'm truly sorry, Miss."
Melynda believed him.
It was late afternoon when she got home after the harrowing five-minute interview allowed with the prisoner in a stark room divided by a screen through which they talked in whispers. Melynda knew she would remember Mr. Wilberforce's stricken face as long as she lived.
Mrs. Terence opened the door. It was her day. She was obviously put out about something. "You got a visitor," she stated without preamble. "Hoity-toity lot, I must say! Insisted on being let in and insisted on waiting for you. Even demanded tea. I give 'er some, but I come near tellin' 'er where to put it."
Melynda knew instinctively who her visitor would be.
It was Lady Crowther.
Melynda supposed it typical of the day. One shock after another. Lady Crowther was sober. She was not dressed in tweed. She did not bully. She was lucid, business-like and prepared to reason. She was nonetheless to be feared. At the end of her summation she placed the issue squarely before the girl who sat looking at her with wide hurt eyes.
"What happens now depends entirely on you."
The silence bristled with hostility and disbelief. Lady Crowther broke it by recapping on her fingers.
"I found the film while that fool woman was getting tea." She held up the undeveloped roll. Then put it in her bag.
"Next I have to make you understand something. Leverett and I won't be bested. We won't be made to either look or feel stupid. We won't have our premises invaded and allow whoever did it to get away scot free. Understand?"
"Not really. But I heard what you said."
"Next I have to make you understand that whilst we probably are a couple of right bastards in one way, there are other directions in which we aren't bad citizens. Some people even like us. Can you grasp that?"
"Why did you do this awful thing to Willie-to Mr. Wilberforce?"
"You know why! These things are surprisingly easy if you have money and a bit of influence. Susan was even easier. Her background did half the job for us." Lady Crowther chuckled. "You can do 'em, and you can undo 'em. Leverett and I can, and will."
"But why do you want me? You have that awful school full of those poor girls. Why go to all this trouble to get me back there?"
"Wouldn't have a drink, would you?"
Melynda had been waiting for that one. She obliged. She sensed that the older woman was trying to convey a message. That there was, behind the melodrama, some subtlety in need of expression. She waited. Lady Crowther, over her tilted glass, eyed her almost with benevolence.
"I'll try and make you understand. You won't like it. But on the other hand it may not be as bad as you are thinking right now. I'm no Cambridge lecturer and Leverett would be a bull in a china shop with this. But here goes." She paused and shot a sudden question: "If you got that absurd cleaning woman to tie you up, what would be the result?"
"Ridiculous!" The word came automatically to Melynda's lips.
"Exactly! You and your Mr. Wilberforce have a little game you play. It means a lot to him and probably a good deal to you. But it's got its rules. Break 'em and the whole thing falls flat. Right?"
"I suppose so... "
"This little game of yours, and don't think we don't know all about it, also depends on variety. If he tied you in the same way and locked you in the same room every day it would fall a bit flat. Right?"
Melynda nodded. "Alright. Yes."
"I can make a guess about your Mr. Wilberforce. He's a suburban type who thinks everything should be just so. Nothing untidy or vulgar. I bet when he first spoke to you about what he wanted most of all, sex wasn't mentioned. I'll even bet the two of you still keep up the notion that when he ties you to a tree and takes his pictures there's nothing carnal in it. Right?"
"Why make it sound ugly. It isn't, y'know."
"Now we are getting somewhere!" Mrs. Tweedy leaned forward earnestly. "Try and be a bit fair in this. Look at what I say. Don't instantly blank it out because it comes from me. But take your game where Mr. Wilberforce ties you up and chains you up all over England. Alright! Move it up a notch. Take it a step or two further and you have the little game that Leverett and I enjoy. Can you grasp that? Don't say yes unless you mean it."
"But where does it stop!" Melynda felt trapped.
"That's the whole snag!" Lady Crowther exclaimed triumphantly. "Those weren't really your words. They are what society says. And they say it just as emphatically about you two as they do about Leverett and myself. Dammit, girl! If it wasn't for that 'Where does it stop' business there would be no need for subterfuge and the cloak and dagger expedients you and I are driven to. Don't tell me you haven't resented the hole and corner way you have to play your harmless game?"
"Alright, I'm with you in that," Melynda conceded. "But you have to understand that in these degrees of involvement a girl like me can't just casually walk up and down the scale, as it were. I mean: I can do what I do for Willie and love it. But I can't do what you two were doing in that special room of yours."
"We are making a bit of progress," Lady Crowther said, satisfied. "Here, make me another drink. And have one yourself. You are too bloody solemn!"
Melynda obeyed. It did not occur to her not to. The older woman had that quality. But having done so she faced her visitor squarely and asked bluntly: "You want me to go back there and be tortured?"
"There you go, m'dear! Back to the 'Where does it stop' claptrap. The colonel and I have our little game just as you have. In our little game we crave a bit of variety just as you do. Don't look alarmed. Variety does not mean another awful step up the ladder. You know the force and impact of subtlety and sensitivity-let's say a sort of sideways exploration on the same level. Those girls at the school don't have it in 'em. They are common stuff. But you have it. Actually you are one of us. Your rejection of that would come because we are a bit long in the tooth and not pretty anymore. Something you shouldn't hold against us. Sure you are not a little bit of a hypocrite?" Lady Crowther looked at the younger girl speculatively and grinned. "Dare you to show me your bottom."
Furious, Melynda knew that her flush and the instinctive motion of her hands had betrayed her. How on earth explain the five livid weals she bore! Lady Crowther laughed complacently. "A shot in the dark, my dear. Hit the bull'seye! Don't feel badly about it." She gave her victim a shrewd glance. "Don't tell me it was dear Mr. Wilberforce?"
"Does it matter." Melynda knew she had lost ground. She tried desperately to regain it. "Don't you see a difference! A girl can accept pain from someone she loves, or even just in fun! But tie her naked to the awful bench thing you had me strapped to so I could not move, and you half tipsy whipping me in the most awful ways in the most awful places. That's something else. It... it just demoralizes. You... you just break down and scream. I've never been so frightened as you made me then... "
"Are you trying to tell me that there are things so awful you can't face 'em or volunteer for 'em, even to save dear Mr. Wilberforce from seven years in the pokey?"
Melynda had been asking herself the same question. She had not found the answer. Noble declarations come easily to a girl in love. But the memory of the bench and Mrs. Tweedy's whip cutting within her loins was still a vivid horror. Were there things you could not face or could not do!
Lady Crowther correctly divined her dilemma. "If we are to sort this little lot out it has to be with some sort of understanding," she said slowly. "Don't think I don't know your state of mind. You are seeing just the awfulness. You were rescued right at the peak of a bit of it. It's your sharpest memory of me and the colonel. But if you had not been kidnapped out of there you would have put in your twenty days and left at the end of it quite undamaged and in good health. Marks and memories, yes! But that's all. It has to be all! Girls have been going in and out of that Approved School for years. I wouldn't even say it did not do some of the little bitches good."
"I am frightened," Melynda admitted. "If you were not so damn cruel I could easily make that noble gesture you spoke of: you are right about a girl feeling that way. But if I say O.K. now and then get to the door of that rotten school and my courage fails so that I cut and run... What then?"
"We are both getting too bloody portentous and sober about something that's really a bit of a lark," Lady Crowther complained, reverting to her more natural manner. "Here, fill these again and let me have another bash at it." She brightened perceptibly as she accepted her refill. "Cheers! You can get your Willie back if you are half the girl I think you are."
Melynda was almost glad of the drink herself. She felt depleted. If only this absurd creature could offer some sort of silver lining somewhere... Lady Crowther proceeded to do just that.
"Look at this in a sporting sort of way, my dear. I'd say it was a bit of a new challenge, even for you. Here's what the Colonel and I want. It tickles our fancy. You can hate us for it if you want. But it's a change. Something none of us have done before. You have the intelligence and the will and, deny it all you like, you have been emotionally halfway there for a long time. We want you to come back, quite voluntarily, and finish your sentence."
"And be whipped half to death!"
"Ah! There's the nub! Of course you'll be whipped! But this time the whip is going to be quite secondary for me and Leverett and for you. We have a score to settle. We want to settle it with a punishment that could be even harder for you to endure than the cane on your backside. I'm not sure about this. Probably you won't be sure either until you try it. Should be damned interestin'! One of those nice psychological studies that's in fashion these days." She guffawed at some sudden thought. "Could even add it to the curriculum."
"What do you want of me? Say it," Melynda demanded irritably.
"Humility, my dear. Total and utter humility! You will obey implicitly. You will abase yourself. You will be always subservient. You will desire punishment and accept it with gratitude. You will be at all times one pace beyond your penance in your anxiety to please. This accentuation of humiliations you will employ within the school and its disciplines and with the colonel and myself during such times as we spend together."
"In the Special Room?" Melynda sounded bitter.
"The Special Room is not exclusively dedicated to the whip, my dear," Lady Crowther suggested gently.
Melynda soberly considered this new vista of debasement. She had to. It seemed almost certain that the fate of Horace Wilberforce rested upon her ability to give what this strange woman demanded. She understood the demand. It was well within her comprehension. Under other circumstances she might have seen it as a challenge. Perhaps even found amusement or mischief in it. That being so, it must then be within her capacity to perform.
."If I accept nineteen days of constant humiliation I will be whipped less?"
"Be realistic, dear girl. I won't bargain. You can't! I'll make you one promise only. When you are to be whipped you will be told exactly the number of strokes. You will not be required to suffer the trauma of never knowing. It is that indefinite vision of the strokes going on and on and on that breaks you down. Am I right?"
"In a way, yes," Melynda conceded grudgingly. "But what's to stop you sentencing me to a hundred... Or some number that could almost kill me?"
"It's a weakness in my position," Lady Crowther admitted. "I can only tell you that such cruelty will not happen."
"You ask me to be satisfied with your word?"
"Yes!" The older woman sat straight in her chair. Her jaw was very firm. "Whatever you may think of Leverett and me I don't think it's hard for you to know that we are old-fashioned. Colonel Blimps, if you like! It won't be hard for you to believe that our word is our bond. Will it?"
Strangely enough Melynda did believe it. This impossible couple belonged in another age. Noblesse oblige would still be real for them.
"I must accept it, too, for Mr. Wilberforce? How can you free him?"
Lady Crowther relaxed. "My dear, you make an old woman very happy. I was sure there was good stuff in you. Within the hour of your entering the Approved School that obnoxious child will renege on her testimony. She will suddenly recall some quite unknown male as guilty of her ravishment." Lady Crowther bellowed a gust of laughter. "Believe it or not I even had to give some lout five quid to stick it in that little bitch just before your hero arrived. Had to have the evidence, y'know," she added a bit sheepishly. "First thing the coppers look for."
"But Willie will go wild. He'll guess. He'll come banging on your door."
Lady Crowther held up a placating hand. "When our freed hero returns home he will find a letter from you explaining that your conscience got the best of you and you have returned to prison to voluntarily complete your sentence. You will implore him not to interfere with the course of justice or to try and visit you during your short incarceration. Tell him to wait patiently for nineteen days and then he can tie you to every tree in the British Isles." Lady Crowther grinned. "Not a lot to ask, surely. Just to set the dear boy's mind at ease you can tell him you have been promised preferred treatment for being a good girl."
"He won't believe a word of it."
"Well, perhaps not," Lady Crowther admitted. "But what the hell can he do! Anyway, let's be reasonable and try to make it a bit easier and more understandable for him too. If you wish, and mind you I'm not sure I'd want this if I were you, he can be allowed visiting privileges for fifteen minutes one afternoon halfway through your sentence."
Melynda recalled the awful visit of that afternoon. She was not sure she wanted a repeat. "Could we sort of leave that for now?" she asked dubiously. Having said it she realized it was an admission. "When do you want me?" she asked miserably.
"You can come back with me this evening."
"Do you march me in? Or leave me at the gate?"
"At the gate. Remember: the return of the penitent."
"But don't they double your sentence or something after you have run away?"
"Leverett and I can deal with that. But we won't interfere with the normal school routine."
"You mean they will punish me in their own way, and you'll let them?"
Lady Crowther shrugged. "We have to be realistic, my dear."
Melynda fought hard within her mind to sort out the events of the day and the role she was being forced to play. The ground seemed to be slipping away from beneath her feet. She sought for some firm footing.
"I think before I go knocking at that door you and I ought to be fully convinced about this humility thing. Sounds easy on the surface. But I think you want something that goes down deep inside me, don't you? Something that's going to make me quiver and shrivel?"
"Right! I'd better do a bit of briefing. I think I can be specific enough that you can carry the performance on your own later."
Lady Crowther looked at the defeated Melynda benignly. One might almost have believed there was a trace of affection in the glance. She was a strange mixture of a woman. At that moment Melynda did not fear her. She listened intently with a real curiosity.
"It'll go something like this," Lady Crowther explained, obviously taxing her imagination. "You'll knock at the door and tell Matron you are a repentant little girl and have come back for your punishment. Be respectful. Say please and thank you. Don't look hangdog. Avoid sarcasm. Keep one step ahead of her in your desire to be penitent. She will tell you right off about adding to your sentence and being punished. Just say thank you as though you are pleased. She will phone me and I'll fix the sentence thing. The rest you will have to put up with."
The older woman paused, considering. "You may wonder why we want you to exhibit penitence in the School itself. Why not just with us!" She shrugged. "I don't know! It does not matter. We want it. You will obey. It will please us to know that all day you are paying a tribute. A tribute to us, not the school. Matron and Rigby and the rest could care less. But I will demand reports and get them. I will know your sincerity. Sincerity will be the essence of what you give the colonel and I. It will be the same in the schoolroom. You will strive to please. You will even suggest punishments you think you should receive for any trifle you think Rigby may have overlooked. You will miss no opportunity of bending the knee, bowing the head, stripping naked, offering your hands to be caned-or your bottom, suggesting that you be chained at night to avoid temptation. In fact, you are going to use every bit of ingenuity you have to think up inflictions on yourself. They may think it a bit odd. But girls come in all sizes and types, and they will attribute your docility to a wish to avoid the doubling of your sentence. It will make sense to them."
"But you and the Colonel? How often will I be delivered to you? That's what you really want, isn't it?"
"It will be often enough, my dear. You may be sure of that. We won't want to miss many of those nineteen days. Have to have another little filly in with you at times, just for appearances. But that won't matter. And I don't have to tell you that you'll give the colonel and I the same humility you give the school. For us you will lay it on with both hands. See how original you can be. Think of things... "
Melynda pondered, her mind busy with possibilities. "Are you really saying that I'll be a sort of Scheherazade? That I'll keep a whole skin only for as long as I please and entertain?"
"I suppose, in a way, I am. Not really as a threat. But it's sort of implicit in the whole picture, isn't it! I mean, you could get fed up with the whole deal halfway through and revert to normal. But if we were denied our enjoyment of you in one way we, too, would revert and get it in another. Once you walk through that door the die is cast. This time there will be no escape. So you will have a real incentive to sharpen your wits on all of us. I'm looking forward to watching sweet Melynda be a good little girl. It may be the worst punishment you have ever had. At the end of the nineteen days I hope you won't hate me too badly to tell me just how the role affected you."
Melynda nodded and grinned wryly. "I'd like to think that, too. In different circumstances it's something I'd want to do very much. A thing like that should be shared. I'm not very devious, so I'm sure you can see you have struck a chord. It could be damned amusing! But there is something I can't promise. If I'm hurt too much the role may slip and the real Melynda show. I won't be able to help that, and I'll be sorry. Will you make allowances? I mean, if Matron or Rigby or even you are using the cane on me I'll probably scream. It's hard to be docile and douce when you are screaming and wriggling."
Lady Crowther did something incredible. Crossing the space between them she planted a warm kiss firmly on Melynda's mouth. "You are as perfect as I knew you would be," she enthused as she resumed her seat. "You don't need coaching. In this little hazard you have foreseen, I'd say it does not exist. It's natural to scream at such times. Scream all you want. It will be expected of you. Don't enter into a contest of wills so that Rigby or someone else feels they have to break down your humble facade. When it's over and the screaming stops you can quite plausibly resume your role and pick up where the cane interrupted. You'll handle it."
For moments the two of them remained silent, gazing at each other pensively. Spontaneously they shared a grin. Suddenly thinking of Mr. Wilberforce being a free man of unblemished character Melinda laughed. She was almost happy.
'I'll get a coat and my bag, and I'll write that letter," she said, almost gaily. "Have a drink while you are waiting. Then you can deliver me." At the door she turned and asked impishly: "Are you going to handcuff me?"
"There's a pair in the car," Lady Crowther acknowledged cheerfully. "Get along with you now!"
Melynda obeyed. It was a beginning.
* * *
Melynda had not expected her heart to pound so distressingly as it did when she rang the bell at the door of the Approved School. Despite the coaching and the agreement with Lady Crowther she was scared. When the door opened she gave herself no chance to think, but instantly took the stage and adopted her role.
"Hello, Matron. I'm sorry I ran away. I know it was wrong. I've come back. This time I'll behave myself."
A blow could hardly have startled the Matron more. She examined the returned fugitive suspiciously. "You got a nerve! Comin' back 'ere. This time o' night and all."
"Can I come in, please?"
"Left yer in the lurch, ain't 'e? I know 'is kind! Now yer 'ungry and want a place ter sleep. Yer can't fool me."
"Yes, Matron. I have been foolish. I deserve whatever I get." Melynda felt she was doing well.
"And get it yer will, young lady!" the Matron affirmed emphatically. "It'll go 'ard with yer!" It was almost as though she was advising the delinquent to turn and flee.
"Well, yer better come in since yer 'ere." With the slamming of the door behind her Melynda once more felt the remembered harsh grip on her arm. "We got the usual little welcome for you," the Matron said ominously.
Melynda had wondered! She wouldn't like it. But it was almost inevitable. She shed her clothes and offered her ankle to be chained. She accepted the deluge of cold water without complaint and managed to maintain the many positions demanded. The infliction was long, longer than previously. It was cold. It was demoralizing. She ruefully endured it as a fitting prelude to all that would follow. When it was done she was allowed to dry, but refused clothes. She saw her own possessions put away in a drawer. The handcuffs were a shock, especially when she was ordered to turn round. But she obediently and without protest placed her hands behind her back and felt the metal tighten about her wrists so that she lost the use of them.
"Upstairs to your room. Tomorrow's soon enough for your punishment. Your sentence doubles automatically for what you done. You know that."
Melynda was thankful for a bed. She had feared some sort of cell or black hole. A startled Prudence, blinking in the sudden glare, watched the Matron chain her returned roommate's ankle to the bed and depart. In the darkness the two girls had much to whisper about.
Melynda dreamt of Mr. Wilberforce.
Prudence tempered the shock with knowledge of what had happened to others. There was no standard procedure for runaways. Much depended on circumstances and on the length of their sentence. A girl who had a year still to serve might spend a week in solitary. It was un-likely that Melynda would. Prudence favored the short and sharp probably. The hands or the bottom would suffer. Perhaps both. One girl had received her strokes upon her back. The culprit was kept naked for whatever number of days might be involved. Girls did not go to the Special Room during this period. The naked girl maintained whatever routines did not conflict with her punishments.
Standing at attention before the Matron's desk, Melynda felt shamefully naked. There was something dispiriting about the whole atmosphere of delinquency and retribution that clung to her. The faintly cheerful mood engendered with Lady Crowther could not survive this place. But she was determined to cling to her agreed upon role. Perhaps after the first inflictions, because of her escape, had been disposed of she might keep the cane and the whip at bay by the employment of whatever skill she possessed as an actress.
"Any extenuating circumstances to offer?" The Matron's voice betrayed only irritation. "No, Matron. I was simply foolish."
"You expect to be punished?"
"Yes, Matron."
The official looked up sharply. Was this sarcasm! Was the little bitch pulling her leg! Suspicion flared. Melynda glimpsed a fresh hazard. With this woman she would have to walk a fine line.
"You'll spend a day in solitary under restraint."
"Thank you, Matron."
"Each night for your short sentence you will be handcuffed and ankle chained as you were last night."
"Thank you, Matron."
"You will wear nothing for two days."
Melynda omitted the thank you. She felt it might be one too many. She waited, quivering. Was that all!
"Thank you, Matron, for not caning me," she said it with genuine sincerity. It seemed too good to be true.
The Matron smiled sourly. Interpreting the facial contortion, the prisoner guessed that Lady Crowther was probably reserving as much unblemished skin as possible for her own use and that of Colonel Leverett. Her suspicion about a probable phone call was confirmed.
"The magistrates have decided not to extend your sentence," the Matron sounded disappointed. "Don't approve, myself. But I suppose they know what they are doin'." She smiled reflectively. "Yes, come to think on it I expect they do!" Her mood improved. Her thought must have cheered her. "You'll probably be hearing from 'em." She laughed as though pleased.
Melynda thought it best to keep silent.
"Well, come on! I'll tuck you away for the day."
It was a dismal square little box of a cell. A small window high in the wall gave a little light. But only enough to accentuate the dreariness of the place. A metal pole ran from floor to ceiling dead center. Melynda was roughly backed against it and her wrists handcuffed behind it. A chain, already attached at one end to the pole, was passed round her waist with an icy clasp, and locked. "Just to stop you sitting down," her jailer explained cheerfully.
When the sad task was completed the Matron backed away and surveyed her captive. "I could make it worse for you. There's the ankles and the knees, and a Cord round the shoulders gets hard to bear as the day drags on. But fixed like that you'll pass inspection for 'Restraint'. You aren't going anywhere." She chuckled. "You said thank you for this! Maybe it didn't sound too bad. Maybe it doesn't seem all that terrible to you right now. But after I have gone and shut and locked the door you'll begin to understand why we use this on a girl. By evening you'll know for sure!"
Melynda did indeed understand. As the Matron had predicted the slamming of the door and the thudding of the bolts and the snap of the lock, all no doubt purposely emphasized, left her in a claustrophobic vacuum. The beastly square box in which she was locked and bolted grew smaller. The metal on her wrists and about her waist confined her more tightly. She moved ineffectually against her bonds, but did not struggle. It would be useless. She reflected ruefully that at least she had the pole to lean against. But it would be wickedly tiring to stand and stand as the hours slowly passed. Being restrained did not matter much. There was nothing she could do in such a barren little hole. But it was an added cross to bear. It would have been nice to sit down, even on such a filthy floor. She knew she would hate the post and the handcuffs before night came. But, most of all, she would hate the gloomy little cell and its silence. It had but one function: to punish! Its deliberate gloom would sap the spirit of the most cheerful prisoner. Melynda felt like tears, but held them back. It is uncomfortable to cry when your hands are cuffed behind your back. She settled down to wait.
"Was it that terrible, love?" Prudence was kneeling beside the cot on which Melynda lay chained and sobbing heartbrokenly into her pillow. Using a comer of the sheet the girl who still had the use of her hands dried the cheeks of her roommate whose wrists were firmly handcuffed behind her back as Matron had promised they would be.
Melynda was distraught. She had been left chained in the cell until bedtime. She had been given water, but no food. The philosophical mood in which she had started her day in "solitary" had not survived the morning. Little by little the hours and the silence had sapped her courage. Fatigue had taken its toll. To simply stand! The aching shoulders! The implacable grip of the handcuffs where she could not even see them. The day that had slowly died and taken with it her hope of freedom at the end of the afternoon. What was a day! It could be twenty-four hours! She could be left standing there against her pole all through the night. The door might never open to admit anyone interested in whether she was alive or dead. Twilight was the worst. It brought with it utter loneliness and a knowledge of abandonment. It brought the loss of hope. When darkness filled the small room all hope had gone. The naked girl chained to the post gave up pretense. Her tears flowed. She did not try to stop them. She no longer cared that she could not use her hands to dry her cheeks. What did it matter! What did anything matter!
The thought of Mr. Wilberforce had buoyed her spirits at times. He would be free now. He would have read her letter: and between the lines of that letter! Would he be happy to know that she would return to him in nineteen days! Would he try some desperate act to free her! Even that thought did not excite. Chained in the dark small prison she could no longer believe in release. No longer contemplate nineteen days as something bearable. With darkness the nineteen days had become forever. She would have welcomed the whip rather than stand there longer. "This beastly, beastly place!" she sobbed. It was so good to have Prudence. Even talking in whispers the other girl was a presence. Something living and kind to cling to. But she could not cling. Her hands were chained behind her back.
"I wish I'd never come back here! I must have been mad!!" Was this disloyalty to Mr. Wilberforce! She did not know, or at that moment care. The Approved School frightened her. As yet it had touched her with neither whip nor cane. But it had subjugated her utterly.
"It's bad. I know! But you are tired. It won't seem so bad by morning." Prudence did her best. She, too, had spent time once in the little room. Her memory of it was still bitter. She bent and kissed the wet cheek and tucked the covers round the slender neck. Melynda cried herself to sleep.
Except that she was naked, the routine of the day was familiar. Even in the little time she had spent there previously the Approved School had etched its mark upon her. Freed from her ankle chain she had responded automatically to breakfast and the call to class. Miss Rigby had not changed. Without any show of consequence she invited the returned runaway to stand before the class. It was almost as though she had been briefed by Lady Crowther.
"Why did you run away, Melynda?"
Sleep and food had strengthened the naked girl's morale. Terrible as the day before had been, she would not yet contemplate defeat. She did her best as though Lady Crowther was listening.
"Because I was a foolish girl, Miss Rigby."
"Are you sorry?"
"Yes, Miss Rigby. I am sorry."
"Why are you sorry, Melynda? Face the class and tell them."
Here was humiliation indeed! But she obeyed. Her voice sharp and clear in the hushed room. A room waiting for something to happen.
"I am sorry I ran away because it was wrong. I am sorry because I have given distress to others. I am sorry because I have set a bad example. I am sorry because of the trouble I have caused."
Surely that was enough! Best not go on ad nauseam.
"Is there not another reason, Melynda?" Miss Rigby's voice clearly indicated that there was. Miserably Melynda supplied it.
"I am sorry I ran away, because by so doing I have earned punishments. I spent yesterday in solitary and in restraint. It made me understand how foolish I had been."
"I am glad you used the word 'earned', my dear. It is correct. You may face me."
Melynda stood stiffly to attention. She suspected she was being played with.
"You sincerely believe that what you did merits punishment?"
"Yes, Miss Rigby."
"Do you feel that having abandoned this class without my permission justifies my punishing you?"
It was a cruel question. It demanded only one answer.
"Yes, Miss Rigby. Please punish me."
"And what punishment do you suggest, pray?"
"What punishment do you suggest, my dear?" Miss Rigby asked pleasantly as though asking her pupil to choose a new dress.
Melynda knew that this, too, was part of her punishment. But what to say! She knew of only one thing that was done to girls in this room.
"Please cane me, Miss Rigby."
"Of course I will, dear. Hands or bottom?"
It was a sad choice to make. Melynda suspected that her fear of being caned on her hands with the awful vigor Miss Rigby employed had been perceived. She took a hazardous gamble.
"My hands please, Miss Rigby."
"An excellent choice," Miss Rigby enthused. "Take up position, my dear. We will start with your right."
The victim's heart sank. She had lost her gamble. Or perhaps the teacher was simply too clever. But she had a job to do. What was it: 'Over and beyond the call of duty.' Smiling brightly at her tormentor she obeyed.
The cut seemed worse than before. Or perhaps the last days had depleted her courage. She cried out in agony and hugged herself. She no longer cared about pride. A sharp rap on the shins brought her upright. She extended her left hand. Her eyes were tight closed in trepidation.
"Open your eyes, girl! How dare you close them! For that you will keep your eyes open. You will look carefully at your left hand so that you will observe the stroke fall upon it. You will keep your arm and hand quite still and fully extended to receive a second stroke I shall give you immediately following. Somehow we will teach you."
"Thank you, Miss Rigby."
Melynda had no confidence in her ability to follow the cruel command. Her right hand was in torment. It was almost impossible to let it hang limp and inoffensive. Now two strokes in swift succession. At this rate she would not last the day.
It was a terrible thing to watch closely the cane cut into her palm and leave its angry brand. She achieved the impossible and kept her arm out-thrust. The second slash fell instantly. She screamed and writhed without regard to anything except the pain. Once more she was rapped upon her shins.
"For heaven's sake, girl! Stop that absurd performance and go and sit down."
Melynda had never been more thankful to obey. She guessed that what she had received might be a known limit. She had harbored fearful visions of her own behavior had she been ordered to hold her hand out again. She closed her mind to such horror. She even managed a meek thank you.
Being naked was a punishment. You had no secrets. Every mark you bore could be seen and speculated about. You had no anonymity. You sat alone. Visible to all. It was not that Melynda was ashamed of nudity, nor were the other girls any more than very scantily clad. But in their brief tunics they blended as a whole. Because it was a punishment setting her apart she felt thrice naked. There was but one glimmer of humor; no one had commented on the five purple weals she bore from Lord Ripping's infliction. All who saw them discreetly assumed she had acquired them as part of her just desserts.
Her wounded hands fumbled with her pencil. She dropped it.
"Come here, Melynda." The command was automatic. "You dropped a pencil." Miss Rigby made it sound heinous.
"My hands are numb from the cane, Miss Rigby."
"You cannot use them?"
"No, Miss Rigby. I am sorry."
"Hold both of them out in front of you."
Melynda cringed. More strokes! She obeyed.
But it was not the cane. Miss Rigby, instead, produced something with which her pupil was all too familiar. A pair of handcuffs. She locked them tight about the proffered wrists.
"If your hands are no use to you, then you don't need them," she said caustically. "Resume your seat."
As she made her way back to her desk, limp hands linked closely together in shining metal, Melynda's cheeks flamed. She felt like a child of seven, made to wear a dunce's cap.
At bedtime it was the same. The sense of being a small child disposed of for the night. Her handcuffs were unlocked, but her hands had no moment of freedom. They were instantly locked again behind her back. Strangely, the ankle chain was the most demeaning of all. To passively extend her foot and watch as Matron clasped the metal upon her, its absurdly short chain snubbing any attempt she might make to leave her bed.
Melynda never knew whether an understanding about herself existed between the school and the two magistrates who had lured her there. Certainly there was, now, an emphasis on her humiliation. She did not like it. But bore it gratefully. It was less painful than the whip. The degree in which abasement might exonerate her from pain would only be known in the Special Room. Her summons there came the following day.
Her last memory was bitter. It was not easy to create the smile and sprightly cheerfulness that was required. But Melynda was determined to fight. If humility and penitence could absolve her from diminished suffering through the balance of her sentence she was prepared to deliver them in full. So she entered the dread Special Room with a bright cheerfulness she did not feel. The unforeseen shocked her. Both Lady Crowther and Colonel Leverett were smiling broadly in welcome. It was hard to believe other than that the smiles were sincere.
"Damned glad to see you again, m'dear." The Colonel lumbered to his feet and kissed her soundly.
"We both missed you," Lady Crowther contributed in her best motherly vein.
It should have been sarcasm. But it was not. The absurd couple were quite genuinely pleased to have their captive plaything once more in their possession. It became easy to respond.
Melynda gave it all she had. In view of both she dropped a curtsy and turning this way and that to give each the benefit of her radiant smile, said: "I am so grateful to be back again. I was wrong and foolish to run away. You are so wonderful to us girls. I do hope you will punish me severely. I know I deserve it."
The response was disconcerting. The Colonel clapped. "Jolly good!" He turned to his companion. "I say, Amelia, jolly good, what! Delightful little filly!" He gave the naked girl his full attention. "Of course we'll lace your bottom for you! Be a pleasure! I say, jolly fine figure, eh! Shouldn't ever wear clothes." He chuckled. "Hear that's part of the penalty, eh?"
Melynda kept pace. "May I pour you a drink, sir?"
"Absolutely, m'dear. Pour us all doubles! Bit of an occasion, what!" he said expansively, as the quivering girl hoped he would. A drink at that point would help.
Melynda delivered the brimming glasses daintily with one bent knee and a douce arrangement of her features. She then knelt submissively on the rug and sipped her own. She thought nostalgically of Lord Ripping and Mr. Wilberforce.
"And what has our good Matron done to discourage you from roaming?" Lady Crowther inquired interestedly.
Melynda supposed this was the beginning. She made her voice animated and alive. "I was sentenced to a day in solitary under restraint. Each night I am chained to my bed by one ankle and my wrists handcuffed behind my back. That is how I must sleep. My dress was also taken away for two days so that I must be naked. Matron has not yet returned it to me. I did not feel it my place to ask."
"I'd say a fairly lenient punishment, wouldn't you?" There was complicity in Lady Crowther's smile.
"Yes, Madam. I have been treated with much kindness," Melynda lied.
"Didn't Rigby warm you up a bit?" The Colonel obviously felt the Approved School had shirked its traditions.
"Miss Rigby gave me three strokes with the cane on the palms of my hands, sir."
"Damned odd! Why three?"
The captive explained.
"Just shows! Can't be too careful, eh!" The Colonel winked.
"No sir, and I do hope you and Lady Crowther will correct me for any similar thoughtlessness."
"That we will, my girl! We'll have you yelping! Won't we, Amelia?"
"This is good stuff," Lady Crowther admonished. "Practice a bit of conservation, y'know. Make it last."
Melynda's heart went out to her. But she deemed it wise to keep the Colonel happy.
"Perhaps, sir, you would be kind enough to give me a couple of strokes on my bottom now, just so I won't be forgetful."
Had she offered the Colonel the command of five divisions of crack troops she could not have pleased him more. He visibly expanded and glowed. "Splendid girl! Y'know what's good for you, by jove." He looked at her shrewdly. "You really want a couple?"
Melynda guessed the instability of alcoholic moods. She was walking a very thin line between the penitent and the pert. Colonel Leverett would savagely punish any infringement on his dignity. A quick glance at Lady Crowther, who was watching the little play with amusement, gave no clue. No girl could possibly desire to be whipped. But somehow she must convey to this military type that pain from him would be a privilege. She looked at him squarely and evenly. The look of a girl who knows a man when she meets one. "Sir, it would be very silly of me to tell you that I enjoy being whipped. Any girl is terribly afraid of such pain." She looked up at him appealingly. "With me it is just that I have been lucky in coming to know that discipline is good for me."
The Colonel's gaze remained sharp and appraising. She had gone this far, so must continue. She held his interest. How plausible could she make what she must say! She was both perturbed and amused by a glimmer of perception that perhaps there was a coloration of truth in these words that she must utter. Of course pain changed a girl's attitudes! There was nothing strange about the discovery. Nothing to be ashamed of. She combined a winsome smile with deprecation.
"I know, sir, that I have not been in this school long, but I have managed to get myself punished a good deal." She made a feminine gesture of half-shamed apology. "If I had been here longer I don't think I would have run away in that silly manner. But my punishments have made me think. In solitary I came to realize how thoughtless most girls are. I asked myself why, and what could we do about it. Because I was face to face with the cane it was easy for me to know that nothing in my whole life had influenced my judgment in the way the cane and the confinements have done. I am kept handcuffed most of the time. It makes me realize how unimportant I always was, how I had always taken freedom too much for granted. When I ask you now to cane my bottom the request comes simply from my realization that I deserve the pain, and that receiving it will keep alive in my mind this knowledge... You see, sir, it is all so new and strange and a bit scary... "
It was the right note. The Colonel's chivalry took the bait. "Dammit, I believe you mean it, girl! Thought at first you were just buttering me up. Let's do the right thing by both sides of the question, eh! I'll lace a good one round those nice little cheeks and we'll let the other go for now."
"Oh, thank you, sir." There was some genuine gratitude in Melynda's smile. "May I bring you the cane?"
But, of course, another round of drinks came first. As she poured them, Melynda realized that, in this room, alcohol might be her greatest ally. Fetching the wicked black thing that would weal her she kissed it gently. Then, sinking daintily to one knee, she offered it to the man who would use it on her naked skin. Without pause in her fluid movements she next took up position and bent gracefully to receive the agony on a bottom which she stuck out in a protrusion that stopped at just the right moment to fall short of the obscene. As she did so she realized that the Colonel had never caned her. He was a powerful man. With only a single stroke it was to be expected that it might be a very hard stroke indeed...
It was! As he had promised, it wrapped around her loins. Because she had exposed herself so tautly its bite was savage. Colonel Leverett had not spared himself or her. Had she known another was to follow she might have lost control. The pain was sickening and stomach curling. But the knowledge that it was deemed sufficient aided the hurt and naked girl to carry on with her role. Slowly she knelt submissively before the man who had so grievously agonized her.
"Thank you, sir, and thank you for making it a single. I am not sure how well I could have borne two such competent inflictions." Melynda longed to caress her wound, but fought the impulse down.
"I told you she was good stuff," Lady Crowther addressed the Colonel. "Took it like a lady." She turned her attention to the kneeling girl. "Would you like one from me now, love?"
Melynda was sickened. But there could be but one reply. "Of course, Lady Crowther! Thank you for offering. It is kind of you. May I take the cane, please sir?"
Once more Melynda knelt. Once more she kissed the hated object and placed it in the avid hand. Once again she assumed the dreadful pose. She dared offer the woman no less than she had the man. Lady Crowther got up, stretched and swished.
"Tell you what, Leverett! Make you a sporting bet. A quid says I can place this one exactly on top of yours."
Melynda's heart almost stopped. If the woman won her bet the resultant agony would bring the victim's sangfroid to an abject conclusion.
"You're on, Amelia! Not that easy to do, y'know. Right on. No lapping over! I say, young woman, if she makes her point you'll have to give us a play by play on what it feels like... Tingle a bit, I expect."
Melynda almost told him that should Lady Crowther's confidence prove justified, her own behavior would leave no doubt as to the sensations of the recipient of such accuracy.
The blow drove the bent and naked girl to the floor where she writhed and moaned with total abandon, her hands seeking the source of her distress. She abandoned pretense and let her tears flow.
"By George! I think you must have made a bull's-eye!"
The Colonel's exclamation reminded the weeping girl that she possessed evidence that must be tendered. It would not be wise to keep the magistrates too long in suspense. Apologetically she rose to her feet. "I'm sorry," she said with sincerity. "I just couldn't help it. I'm not as brave as I hoped I was." Helpfully she bent over for the examination.
"Have to see it to believe it! Here's your quid, Amelia. Earned it fair and square. Neat a job as I've ever seen." A rough finger traced the striation. Melynda winced. "Our little filly's going to carry that stripe around with her for a long time. Be a fine shade of purple tomorrow I'll wager!" A hard hand patted the bent curves. "Take it easy, lass. Kneel on the rug where we can both get a look at you."
Melynda obeyed, dabbing at her wet cheeks. Suddenly a square of white cambric was placed in her hand. A moment later a replenished glass appeared on her other side. She accepted both gratefully. This couple who held her captive were incredible. Sadists one moment, benign aunt and uncle the next. It was hard to maintain a proper equilibrium. Could it be that they were no more than an aging couple possessed of rare authority, using it to gratify some frustrated instinct, repel boredom! Was that all!
There was a task unfinished. They must receive their pound of flesh. Melynda drew a deep breath.
"You are very kind to me, sir and Madam," she cringed inwardly. She sounded like a Victorian scullery maid. "In telling you of the pain you have been good enough to impose on me I want to avoid things like saying it was terrible or awful or agony... " She looked from one to the other of the aging intent faces and knew sympathy. They were lumpy and middle-aged and she was young. Young with all the resilience and joy they once had known. Was it possible for them to find some quickening of the spirit and the flesh in her tears! "I did not know much about pain until I came here. I thought it was something that happened if you had an accident, or happened to others but not to you. I thought it a thing only of the flesh. I did not know it could affect thoughts and attitudes. I did not know how very simple pain made things. It saves decisions. It tells you what to do. It makes you want to do that thing. When you both caned me a moment ago and I was curled up on the floor I wanted one thing most of all: to please you. But not only because I might save myself pain that way. That is not even so: I know you will cane me again, and that there are... other things. My bottom hurts now and I am glad it hurts. The hurt tells me I should try to make you happy... " She looked at them doubtfully. "That was not very good, was it... "
The Colonel blew his nose with a fine trumpeting. Was there a glint of moisture in his eye! Lady Crowther summed it up: "Dammit, Leverett, bloody good thing there's not more like her! They'd reform us!" She turned to the kneeling girl. "I'm not sure whether to really tan your hide or kiss that pretty mouth! How about a drink?"
Despite her smarting rump, Melynda's heart sang as she walked back and forth with the tray. It was a Pyrrhic victory, but a good beginning. If only they would not be too cruel perhaps she could cope. But what was the function of the Special Room other than cruelty that might be enjoyed in comfort by her companions. Her evening was still young.
She knelt in the position they had chosen. An exquisite picture of submission. The couple talked of many things. But their eyes devoured her. She could feel the tension build. After all, she had received but two strokes. By their standards a mere beginning! Melynda could sense a "six of the best" hovering in the air. She wilted at the thought. Apprehension drove her into the unknown.
"Sir and Madam," she ventured, "I do not wish your kindness to me to affect your enjoyment of your evening. Should I not, in some way, be punished while you talk?"
The Colonel's eye glinted. Lady Crowther smiled indulgently. "I do believe you have thought of something, dear child?"
"Yes, Madam." Again the flash of understanding between them. "I could not help noticing the equipment." Melynda flushed and felt ridiculous. "I wondered if it might not be entertaining for you both if I was suspended while you chatted?" She looked above to where a pulley hung from the ceiling.
"I expect you noticed where the cuffs are, too?"
"Yes, Madam."
"Get them, you delightful minx. Have you done this before?"
"No, Madam."
"It isn't much fun, y'know!"
"I'm sure it isn't, Madam. Please bear with me if I don't behave too well this first time."
Melynda helpfully handed over the padded leather wristlets and held her hands steady as they were tightly buckled round her wrists. The Colonel touched a button on the wall until a trapeze bar dropped into convenience. The wristlets were snapped one at each end, the motor whirred and the victim watched her hands slowly rise, to eye level, above her head, then to where they were tractioned so that her arms strained at their sockets. She stood on her toes. It was a revealing posture. No part of her that was not stretched taut inviting attention.
"I think she is the most beautiful thing we have ever had, Amelia," the Colonel said in frank admiration. He pressed the button again.
The naked girl gasped as her toes left the floor, her wrists spread wide by the bar taking all her weight. The motor stopped when her extremity was a foot above the carpet. It might as well be ten feet, or a hundred, she reflected wryly. Her toes would touch nothing but the air. She would hang at her companions' pleasure.
As Lady Crowther had warned, it was not much fun. In pictures it did not look too bad. In actuality Melynda found it frightening. She was so shockingly helpless. The first few moments told her plainly that the longer she hung the worse it would get. The only redeeming feature was the padded cuffs. They did not cut. The flow of blood was not impeded. In one way this was good. In another it was bad inasmuch as she could be left as she was indefinitely. She would suffer pain and fatigue but not injury. But she smiled winningly at the two who drank in her stretched nakedness with hungry eyes, and said her thank you as sweetly as she could. The magistrates resumed their chairs and their drinks. The conversation carried on... It was a quite normal evening in the Special Room.
The suspended girl made tentative experiments. But gave them up. Whatever she did hurt. Even to lift one leg and let it fall again increased the tug on her arms. Even to move her head from side to side so that she might view her companions did not work. It, too, had its strain. If her eyes met those of one of her captor's there was an awkwardness. She smiled and did it well. But to keep up a succession of bright responses was unreal. It was not long before Melynda accepted her new punishment in its complete simplicity by hanging motionless, her head resting against one raised arm, her gaze fixed penitently on the floor she longed to touch but could not.
She hung between the man and the woman, just enough to one side that her nudity did not impede their view of each other, but close enough that she was always closely in their range of vision. She knew there was scarcely a moment during which eyes did not drink in her loveliness.
"Say what you like," Colonel Leverett commented. "There's nothing like the real thing. Those painter chappies created some pretty good stuff. But nothing they did could touch this girl here."
Rising, he ran his hands up and down the taut curves, the hips, the flanks, the raised breasts, the total femininity that could not gainsay him. Then, much as one moves a picture to take advantage of the light, he gently imparted an impetus that caused the suspended nakedness to slowly turn in a half circle so that, resuming his seat, each profile of the captive would present itself.
It was different from the whip! Here, the awareness of her condition was constant. There was no suspense: what her pain did was place her in a world of her own. There was no cringing from a blow, but also there was no relief after it had fallen. At times her total impotence drove her to a longing to kick and struggle in wild revolt. Perhaps, for a few moments, it might give surcease. But afterwards her pain would be worse. She was unsure whether her audience would enjoy her writhings. She could imagine they might. But if they took it amiss they would probably whip her. She hung passive from the bar.
That night when her hands were being locked at her back, the Matron chuckled and traced her finger across the flaming wound.
"Only one!" she exclaimed with amused surprise. "Don't tell me you have converted them." She bent and examined the exhibit. "Just as well, perhaps. Six cuts like that and you wouldn't sit down for a week."
Melynda explained.
"Well, you never can tell," the Matron mused. "I'm never sure if I'm going to get you girls back in one piece or not." She clamped tight the ankle shackle and threw the covers over the now helpless girl. Making for the door, she turned. "Another thing, don't go to class in the morning. Report to me." The final snap of the lock left Melynda wondering. Even when Prudence had been told the evening's chronicle and had gone to sleep the chained girl lay there with her question: why not report to class... !
Nakedness and the handcuffs had become permanent.
Melynda did not question them. There were worse things. So long as her hands were locked in front it was not so bad. She had discovered that a handcuffed girl could do most things except resist. She wore the shining metal on her wrists as once she might have worn bracelets. The Matron's' grip on her arm was also to be expected. But the place to which it guided her was a shock. At the door of the "solitary" cell she could not contain her desolation.
"But, Matron, I haven't done anything!"
"You haven't, have you, dearie," the Matron agreed cheerfully as she unlocked the massive door and thrust her charge inside. "Life's a swindle, ain't it!" The door slammed and the bolts shot home.
The prisoner was close to tears and might have let them flow had she been alone. But she was not alone. Small as the dark little cell might be it contained another naked girl. Chained to the metal post, just as she had been, was the wide-eyed figure of Susan.
When the shock and the joy was exhausted, the explanation was simple enough.
"Those two have got all the power there is," Susan said hopelessly. "I got another six months for the charge they trumped up. I had two to go on the old sentence: that gets doubled. So now I'm here for ten months. It just as well be for life." She shook her head angrily against the tears. "It's so bloody unfair!" She started to sob in earnest. "I couldn't get anyone to listen. They said it was wicked of me to make up such tales about decent people. I was sent to Holloway. But a transfer was put through to bring me here. They told me how lucky I was to be chosen... " Susan sobbed out her distress. I told the people there I'd be half killed when they got me back here again. But they just smiled and told me not to be silly. I was delivered here last night. Look where I am already! I hate this beastly hole! I was in here for a week once. But never fixed this bad."
Melynda had only her fingers with which to dry her companion's tears. She kissed some of them away. Susan was in need of comfort. Not only had she been chained as Melynda had been, but in addition, cords had been knotted tightly at ankles, knees and shoulders. The strictures had been drawn cruelly tight so that they were bedded deep in her flesh. She could not move. She was in pain.
"I'll undo these," Melynda said instinctively. "I can't loose the chains, but I can get rid of this damn cord."
"You'd better not touch them," Susan admonished. "If they come back and find me halfway comfortable they'll take the skin off both our backs."
Miserably Melynda desisted. Susan was right. The kindness would invite some awful retribution. She wondered why she had been locked in with the girl under restraint. She was never to know. In the afternoon she was sent to class. Afterwards she was summoned to the Special Room. She had expected no less.
But she had not expected to find Susan hanging as she herself had hung the previous night. The slim tractioned nudity bore vivid bruised circles where the cords had left their kiss. Susan must have spent the day bound to the post before being brought to this room.
Nothing was easy. Melynda had her role to play. A role with which the hanging girl was unfamiliar and of which she was scarcely likely to approve. Susan's punished nakedness was a vivid presence in the room. Melynda hated what she must do before the pained scrutiny of those hurt eyes. But she had a job to do.
She knelt first before Lady Crowther. "Madam, thank you for being kind to me." Then the same for the Colonel. "May I pour you drinks?" she inquired brightly.
"What do you think we should do with young Susan here?" the Colonel inquired affably as he accepted his glass. "Fool girl ran away, y'know. Same as you."
"I am sure she is repentant, just as I am, sir. She is being punished." It sounded trite.
"Humph! Not good enough though! Needs a sound caning, wouldn't you say?"
"I am sure Susan will be grateful for correction, sir."
"Give it to her then!" The Colonel leaned back, beaming as though deploying a master strategy.
"You wish me to cane Susan, sir?" Melynda was genuinely shocked.
"You are the girl to do it, y'know! What do you say, Amelia?"
"Do both the little fillies good," Lady Crowther agreed. She winked knowingly at Melynda. "Do a nice artistic job, love. I want to see her dance."
The trouble with acting, Melynda reflected, is that while on stage you cannot stop. She was aghast at what she must do. A protest had risen to her lips. But she killed it. Even Susan's well-being, contradictory as it might seem, probably depended on how successfully she could feel her way.
"The usual cane, Madam?"
"Hard to improve on," Lady Crowther nodded. "What d'you say, Leverett?"
"Oh absolutely, old girl! Use a whip on 'em sometimes. Mustn't fall in a rut. But the cane, by all means." He favored Melynda with a paternal smile. "Bit of a test for you, girl. First time, eh?"
"Yes sir. I do hope I can cane Susan competently." Melynda deemed it wise not to mention previous experience. She avoided Susan's shocked eyes.
Feeling lower than a snake Melynda fetched the wicked cane. She flexed and tested it as though enraptured. "May I make you both another drink before I start to cane Susan?" she inquired innocently using a tried and true expedient for delay.
"Let's all have one!" the Colonel responded true to form. "You can hold the glass up to her lips. If you are half the girl I think you are she'll need a bracer."
It absorbed time. Melynda did it all with a flourish and did not hurry. It was a bad moment when she lifted the glass to Susan's lips. The hurt eyes of the suspended girl sought hers reproachfully. Melynda tried, by means of winks and small facial contortions to convey a message that all was not as it might seem. She had not really gone over to the enemy. But she was conscious of Lady Crowther's sharp scrutiny. She took a verbal gamble. "I think it would be nice, Susan, if you were to thank our hosts for their kindness in correcting us. I did so yesterday, and I am doing so again now. They have been very kind to us."
It was outrageous. But it passed. Susan must have got at least part of the message for she copied the tone. "Thank you, Colonel Leverett and Lady Crowther, for correcting me and having me punished in the school. I will never be so foolish again. Punishment is so helpful to a girl like me." She paused. Melynda wondered if Susan, too, had glimpsed the grain of truth in the redundancy she had just uttered. It was possible! "I am sure Melynda will whip me very well," Susan continued breathlessly. Looking down at the girl who held the cane she pleaded, "Please, Melynda, whip me hard and properly. Don't spare me because we are friends." Her voice trailed away to a tense silence.
"How many strokes do you wish me to give her?" Melynda asked in a business-like manner.
"Just whip her slowly and carefully," Lady Crowther instructed. "There will be no specific number. You will just continue until we give you permission to stop. I want you to cover the whole area of her bottom. I want the strokes reasonably hard. I am sure you can understand, m'dear, any light ones will get you both double from me and the Colonel. Give her the rest of her drink and then begin."
Here was another thin line to tread! But Melynda was quite certain that the strokes would have to be severe. Taking up position behind the delinquent she realized how beautifully the bottom was exposed. The taut stretch had not robbed it of delightful curves. She would have sooner caressed it than whipped it. At least it was not bent tight. That might help! In her anxiety not to err her first stroke was swifter and harder than she had intended.
There was an erotic beauty in the result. Susan gasped but did not cry out. However, her suspended loveliness bent and curved. First one knee was raised and allowed to fall, then the other. The bottom itself contrived a motion of its own. A lascivious writhing that was probably far from its owner's intent, but which caused the watching Colonel's features to turn scarlet with emotion. Strangely, Melynda felt a stirring within her own loins. Strung up as she was and whipped Susan was almost too beautiful to bear.
The second stroke caused the victim to throw back her head in anguish. All of her below the waist writhed in protest. Remembering her own suffering Melynda had to firmly close her mind to sympathy. She dare give none. Instead she, almost gratefully, utilized the primal response within her to watch, gloat and absorb, the eroticism that the two magistrates had known would be there. The female bottom she was caning sent its own urgent messages to her with the impulses of an electric current.
Using all her skill Melynda placed her strokes with care. For a little while it would be possible to avoid lapping. She recalled her own agony of yesterday. Even so, the third stroke elicited a moan of distress from its recipient. From now on, Melynda guessed, the responses to the cane would be more vocal and less physical. Continued writhings would be too painful on the wrists and arms. How shockingly helpless a girl was hanging thus. She could contort her body at will under the cane. But, in the end, would be forced to simply hang and accept the strokes because of a sister agony in her arms. She was delivered to the cane, possessed by it.
"I want you to change sides from time to time," Lady Crowther instructed soberly. "It evens up the markings. Gets each cheek its fair share. If you aren't ambidextrous you'll have to do a bit of backhand. Take your time. We'll allow for a bit of practice on that one." She turned her attention to she who was being punished. "You make a beautiful picture, Susan," she said, almost reverently. "I wouldn't have missed this for worlds."
Melynda performed her task as slowly as she dared. She lost no opportunity to stop and serve drinks. There was a respite when, once more, she was told to hold the glass to Susan's lips until a drink was done. The evening would seem interminable to the tortured girl whose bottom became a grid of criss-crossed weals but Melynda felt it was slipping by as well as could be expected. Susan had given up trying to control her responses. She sobbed and moaned constantly. Sometimes, under an especially shrewd stroke, she screamed. But, cruel as they might be, the strokes were not of the savagery that both girls had felt upon their persons in times past. It ended suddenly and unexpectedly.
"Get another set of cuffs, Melynda." Lady Crowther evidently had something new in mind.
Melynda brought the wristlets. It was too much to suppose that the evening would not bring her some pain. Moments later she found herself face to face with the sobbing Susan, their breasts and stomachs flattening against each other, her own wrists now fastened at each end of the bar just as were the other girl's. But there was more! Lady Crowther produced two buckled straps. One she cinched tightly to join the two narrow waists as one, the other did the same for their loins encircling their flesh just below the last curvature of their bottoms. Above their knees and below their necks the two girls were welded together as one.
A moment later their feet were off the floor. They hung. But this time a curved bottom protruded in each direction. Melynda supposed ruefully there was some kind of justice in her predicament.
"Damned ingenious, Amelia," the Colonel enthused. "Have to get our own drinks now, but it will be worthwhile." He mused for a moment, then asked lewdly: "I say, old girl, can the little darlings give each other a bid of solace fastened like that?"
"You would think of that," Lady Crowther chuckled. "No they can't! Did think of letting 'em. But it spoils the effect. That lower strap round their thighs makes sure they behave."
"Might call the position a 'Twat Not', eh!" The Colonel roared enjoyment of his pun. The three females in the room failed to respond.
"I say, Amelia, are we going to cane 'em both together now. Or is our little treasure going to catch up on what she's missed."
"More effective one at a time," Lady Crowther decided. "Get more concentration. If we lace into 'em at the same time they are just wrapped up in themselves. One at a time they are going to feel it for each other, too."
It was a strange feeling. Never had two girls been closer! It was not easier. It might be harder, since any motion affected the other. The strain was just as great and just as constant. Melynda ruefully reflected that Lady Crowther with her straps and buckles had indeed frustrated the "little bit of solace" the Colonel had seen as a possibility. No friction could be achieved down there at all. Even their nipples were crushed in the other's breasts. Their faces were cheek to cheek. But they would emphatically share each other's pain. Each twitch of a nerve would transmit itself through their skin.
The blow caught Melynda without warning. She supposed she had had worse. But it struck low and hurt sickeningly. Susan's gasp matched her own. The second stroke was more than she could bear without motion. Her legs bent at the knees and waved their protest. The third caused her to whimper in misery. They came in such rapid succession.
When the evening was over the girls knelt thankfully and sipped the inevitable drink that was the Colonel's panacea.
"Did jolly well," he told them. "Absolutely lovely. Two well-whipped bottoms if ever I saw one! Deserve a reward! You'll get it!"
"Got a bit of a surprise for you tomorrow, too," Lady Crowther contributed. "Won't tell you what. You might like it... "
Melynda had expected to be taken to join Prudence. She had also expected that Susan would be returned to "solitary." She was wrong on both counts. A smirking Matron had produced the inevitable handcuffs and locked each girl's wrists behind her back. "Can't make it too easy for you," she chuckled at some private joke. The door she opened was to a bedroom. "In you go, both of you." Still chuckling she left and shot the bolts with unnecessary emphasis.
Surprised, the two girls surveyed each other and the two neat beds. It was too good to be true! They were alone in a room to share. The day was done. The night belonged to them! The realization was ecstatic. If their hands had not been locked at their backs they would have wildly embraced. But as joy shone from their eyes they gave each other their lips... Suddenly each remembered the Matron's coarse chuckle. Eyes flashed their message, and with small cries of delight they flung themselves upon a bed and sought each other ravenously.
They had thought little of the morrow. When it came it was astounding. Breakfast over Melynda and Susan were diverted from the classroom. A handcuffed Susan was led away: Melynda suspected to the "solitary" cell. Her own wrists were then cuffed behind her back. But that was not all! The Matron produced a short broad strap and buckled Melynda's elbows so that they touched. In response to the girl's dismay she laughed. "Just to make you quite safe, dearie. Nothing like the elbows tight together to let a little girl know she has to behave."
"It hurts!" Melynda protested.
"Not more than you can bear, love. You are going on a little trip, and the less notions you may have about escape the better. Feel like running?"
"No," said Melynda honestly. She had never felt so trussed in quite this way. She had totally lost the use of her arms.
"Best make sure, love. Stick your foot out a bit."
Melynda watched, fascinated as her ankles were chained together. Neither run nor fight, she reflected wryly. Where on earth could they be taking her to justify this caution.
"I'd have given you my word not to run," she pointed out mildly. "I still will if you'll take this beastly strap off my elbows."
"Don't take on so, dearie. This way now. Watch your step."
Melynda did watch her step. She had to. Short, hobbled little steps they were that led her to the back door and the Bentley.
"In you get." When Melynda was settled in the back seat comfort was impossible, fastened as she was, her ankle chain was padlocked to a ring in the floor. Blinds were drawn so that no prying eye should see the bound girl. Wherever she was going she would certainly not escape on the way.
The chauffeur glanced at her once and grinned. It made her remember she was naked. But there was no other communication. When the journey was done, it was not long, the door was opened by a familiar figure. Melynda was not surprised. It was Lady Crowther.
"Welcome to the Castle, m'dear. Make a nice change."
Melynda had to admit to a lift in spirits. To get out of the dismal atmosphere of the Approved School made any sacrifice worthwhile. Besides... was there a sacrifice! When the chains were removed from her ankles she stepped cheerfully into the open air. How very good it was! She looked about her curiously. Here was grandeur! It was understandable that the woman beside her wielded authority. Everything spoke of money! A mansion in its own park. It became easy to understand that for such a woman to take a convicted girl from an Approved School to a form of guardianship within her own domain would present no difficulty. No doubt authorities had already been signed. Melynda felt like a filly indeed!
It was exciting enough that, for a little while, the captive forgot the elbow strap. When she was seated in the study facing a benign Lady Crowther across an immense desk the pain reasserted its presence.
"Could I have my elbows undone, please?" she asked demurely.
"No you can't," stated Lady Crowther crisply. "Two reasons: I'm not going to coddle you right at the start, and you look damn pretty like that! It sticks your tits out. Every girl ought to have her elbows strapped for an hour a day. Perfect posture."
"Thank you," the captive acknowledged prettily. "I should not have asked. You are quite right about the posture. I should have realized."
Lady Crowther guffawed. "You certainly should have! If I'd got a couple of those lovely things sticking out on my chest I'd have noticed them. You're a damn fine girl, y'know." She paused and eyed her captive speculatively.
"Wondering why you're here?"
"Yes, Madam. But it's, oh so good, to be with you in this lovely place."
"Even if I whip you?"
"Yes, Madam. Even if you whip me I would sooner be here than back at the school."
"I'm a wicked old woman, aren't I?"
"Not really, Madam. You own privileges, so you enjoy them. You have shown me kindness."
"Bet your mother or your grandmother or your aunts never whipped you."
"That is true, Madam." Melynda smiled in what she hoped was an acceptably confidential manner. "But from what I've learned in the past year or two I would not want to say they never wanted to. For one of them it might have been her dearest wish."
"You understand it, don't you. Most girls couldn't. Your Mr. Wilberforce ever whip you?"
Melynda glowed in genuine comradeship. "No, Madam. I am sure he would like to. But he does not think he knows me well enough. He's very shy. But I'm sure he will one day. He's got a thing about being 'nice'."
"Horsecock!" Lady Crowther exclaimed, disposing of all niceness. "Silly young twit doesn't know when he's well off. Drop him. Stay here with me. If you're in two minds about it I can simply keep you prisoner. You'd never get free. Save you a lot of dithering."
The naked girl realized that the woman across the desk was far from joking. How easily a few links of chain could hold her captive forever! She knew a momentary fear. Uneasily she recognized its dual nature. Lady Crowther could enslave her utterly. But just how devastated would she be to know herself enslaved! Was there not some faint wish...
"Thinking about it, aren't you?" the older woman taunted. "You should! Anything you want... anything! I wouldn't whip you more than you could bear."
"But, Madam, to live in chains... "
"They suit you. You are more beautiful at this moment than most women will ever be."
Melynda was both intrigued and alarmed. What an incredible proposal! Perhaps, without knowing, she had already crossed a point of no retreat. Who would miss her! Only Mr. Wilberforce. He would be deluded and diverted in some way...
"But to be kept in a dungeon... "
"Dungeon my arse!" Lady Crowther retorted. "Best room in the house. There would be a chain on your ankle. But you should be used to that by now. I still think you like it! Remember what introduced us?" She grinned and winked. "Can't get round that one, can you." She paused, considering. "I'll admit you probably would get in a dungeon sometimes. You need it just as you need the whip. There's something about you that invites."
"Would the Colonel share me with you, Madam?" Melynda knew she was flirting with fire.
"Poor old Leverett! Oh, I suppose I'd let him have a go at you sometimes. He'd be grateful. Depends on me a bit, always has."
A silence fell upon them. Each studying the other. What sort of a life would it be, Melynda asked herself. On the face of it a cruel and degrading existence. And yet... Wealth has an insidious appeal. It makes possible so much. She was annoyed with herself for even giving credence to the idea. But how much of that credence stemmed from the possibility that she really had no choice. She was already a prisoner. The band round her elbows emphasized her state. Lady Crowther need never let her go. A chain could be kept upon her always so that she could not flee. Was the suggestion of a decision any more than making a virtue of the inevitable! "Plausible, isn't it?" The older woman read her thoughts. "Bit frightening, too, I expect. I already have you."
Lady Crowther rose and unbuckled the strap confining her captive's elbows. Melynda almost cried out in relief.
"Served its purpose," Lady Crowther said gruffly. "But remember it. You'll wear it again. So far as our little notion goes you can forget it for now. Best you have a good look at life here." She chuckled. "There's some of it you won't take too, girl. Not easily, that is! I can tell you that right now. Come on, m'dear. You and I have work to do."
Colonel Leverett was pacing up and down outside the stables, obviously impatient. At sight of them he brightened and gave Melynda his attention. "You look simply smashing, dear girl. I'd swear you don't even know you're naked anymore. Right?"
He was right! Melynda supposed her lack of awareness must be significant. In losing her concern for clothes had she relinquished her concern for freedom! "Yes sir. It was very strange. But I'm used to it now."
"Got something today you aren't used to, I'll wager." He turned to Lady Crowther. "Just made an inspection. Everything ship-shape. Should be a damned interesting morning."
Melynda was sure it would be. It was!
At first sight it did not register. It was not until their approach made it the focus of attention that she glimpsed its function. It was too absurd! But with this couple, whose plaything she had become, nothing was too improbable.
It stood, resplendent, alone in the courtyard. A thing of exquisite workmanship. With this horsey pair it had a sort of inevitability. Its gleaming aluminum and steel had been polished. Each of its large wheels was ringed by solid rubber. It was patterned on the small light vehicles used in harness racing. Its shafts, however, were obviously not designed for the bulk of a horse. The unusual crossbar that joined them in front held straps.
"Do you a world of good!" The Colonel enthused. "Damn school doesn't give you girls enough exercise. You should enjoy this as much as we will."
"She won't, y'know," Lady Crowther told him, amused.
"She'll get used to it, Amelia. Mark my words. In a month she'll be out here pawing the ground."
A month! Was it a slip of the tongue! Melynda hoped so. But now there were other things...
They led her to the stables. Her hands were still cuffed behind her. Colonel Leverett's grip under her arm was familiar and possessive. It was a new building. Mostly loose boxes, a few empty stalls, several horses, a good deal of straw. At one end there was a space for storage: The carriage, no doubt. Possibly other things like it. The distance was too great to see.
The Colonel retained his grip. Melynda wondered if he really thought she would try and make a break for freedom. Lady Crowther took from a peg in the wall a tangle of soft leather and steel whose purpose Melynda instantly divined.
"This won't hurt," the older woman said, "unless you make it hurt. It isn't just a toy either. It keeps you quiet and it's the best way to guide you I know. It also keeps you from getting ideas when you are out in all the lovely open space."
The bridle and its bit was a work of art. Some craftsman must have spent much time and care in its fashioning. It looked expensive and beautifully functional. "Any famous last words?" Lady Crowther inquired pleasantly.
"No, Madam. I know what is required of me."
Melynda accepted the bit without demur. She felt foolish opening her mouth for it. But what else could she do! It was cleverly designed. A serrated metal ball that rested loosely and half filled her mouth above her tongue. From it thin gleaming steel came from each side of her mouth. These were joined to the bridle and, themselves, terminated in the rings to which the reins were snapped. The bridle itself fitted her as though measured. Soft straps across her cheeks and locked behind her neck made it impossible for her to eject the bit. Even if her hands had been free she could not have taken the metal from her mouth. The whole composition was completed by other straps over head and across her forehead. She suspected the whole effect not unpleasing.
"Finest looking filly we ever had. That bridle must have been made for you." The Colonel's approval and obvious admiration confirmed her suspicion. She felt absurdly pleased. She tossed her head. The gesture was instinctive. She flushed at the realization that she was doing just what horses did when bitted: shook their heads to get the feel of the thing they must wear and to discover that indeed the strange object within their mouth would stay there until someone chose to remove it.
Obediently she stepped within the shafts. They were quaintly narrow so that when the broad belt which was a part of them was buckled tight about her middle they hugged her waist and were firmly attached to it. When her handcuffs were unlocked she knew what to do. The bar in front was double. Her hands grasped the front bar at each end so that her wrists fell exactly into the waiting straps. When these were buckled snugly she was quite helplessly attached in ways that would enable her to perform her function with complete efficiency. When the reins were snapped to her bit rings she knew the moment of her humiliation was at hand.
"You first, Amelia." Colonel Leverett had released Melynda's arm and was standing back enjoying the view. "She's going to be splendid, y'know. Simply splendid!
Probably out of training, so watch her wind, eh. Take a bit of time to get her in top condition."
Melynda herself was apprehensive about her "condition." She had never run a mile in her life. Ridiculous visions of a whip curling round the flanks of an exhausted filly came easily to mind. She put them aside. She could neither struggle nor protest. Her transformation into a pony was complete. She would do what she must.
The two-wheeled affair was beautifully balanced. Even when the considerable bulk of Lady Crowther had adjusted itself in the seat there was no strain on the shafts. The girl fastened within them felt and was aware of every motion. But not with discomfort. It was not until the reins tightened under a firm and authoritative hand that she sensed, with a surprising excitation, how totally she was in the control of the driver of this quite incredible equipage. Suddenly the reins were shaken so that the bit in Melynda's mouth told her plainly that it could hurt. Lady Crowther made a clucking sound. After the first shock and an impulse to laugh, a thing that a bitted girl cannot do, Melynda grasped the understanding that she was expected to move. She heaved the carriage into motion. It followed with unexpected ease. The girl who had become a pony started to walk down the narrow paved roadway to the park. She dared not look back. The well-lubricated axles made her task relatively light. She was relieved to discover that the load she must tow was within her capacity. She decided to worry about hills when she came to them.
A repeated clucking at the rear conveyed its message. Taking no chances with a possible tugging of the reins, or an even more probable flick with the whip, which had been a conspicuous feature of the ensemble, the pony girl began to run. She thought of it humorously as a light trot.
The park was huge. Its boundaries unknown beyond the trees. Melynda trotted gently, hoping for the best. She soon discovered a tendency to dribble where the bit indented the corners of her mouth. Another humiliation! She could do nothing about it. Her hands were, as usual, lost to her. A slight rise ahead was a challenge. She increased her pace. Momentum took her comfortably over the crest. But her breath had quickened. A nagging fear that she might be taxed beyond her strength was ever present. Light as her load might be, it was still a burden beyond the demands of ordinary motion. The silence had an uncanny effect. There was an obvious inference: Lady Crowther was not in the habit of talking to horses.
The whip curled around her flank and stomach. It was not a savage slash. But it stung. The humiliation of it stung more. No doubt her thoughts had caused her to slacken. Responsively she set a faster pace. But it was not enough. This time the lash curled across her ribs and hurt badly. Now she ran hard, her breath panting. The road stretched ahead forever...
Like so much of all her recent experience, fear was the enemy. Fear of the unknown. Fear that the whip will go on and on. Fear that the door will remain locked and never open. So it was now! Melynda recognized the emotion. But it did not help. Lady Crowther could go on plying the whip and demanding greater and greater effort until exhaustion brought her to some sort of awful finale. The hearty "Whoa" and the steady pull on the reins came when least expected. Melynda had no brakes. Momentum thrust her into additional stumbling steps so that her head was dragged well back and the serrations of the metal bit assumed a frightening threat by the time the carriage came to a dead stop.
Lady Crowther came forward to examine her panting and perspiring steed. She was grinning hugely. A grin that inspired confidence. Melynda's heart beat less hard. She noticed that the reins were still held loosely in the driver's hand. No chances were being taken! Lady Crowther produced a handkerchief and did with it what Melynda had longed to do. Instinctively she tried to utter thanks. It was shocking to discover the impossibility of articulating a single word. The bit was as effective as a gag. All she could manage was an inclination of the head. The watching woman laughed.
"You can't say a word," she acknowledged understandingly. "Must be a damn rummy experience for you. Bit of a spot to be in, actually. You are damn helpless and the driver could whip the daylights out of you if they wished." She reached up and patted Melynda's head. Their eyes met and glinted with humor. The gesture was exactly what the fond owner did with a favorite horse. Melynda wished she could manage a good whinny. "Take it easy for a while now," the owner said, and climbed back into the driver's seat. Thankfully Melynda walked.
By the time they returned to the stables and the waiting Colonel, Melynda was tired but not exhausted. She had been put through her paces, tested. "She's soft, just as you said," Lady Crowther told the Colonel. "But when she gets her second wind she does well. Persevere, and we have a winner. Give her a rest for a moment. I could use a Scotch."
While her owners went for their Scotch, Melynda was left humiliatingly tethered to a post by one of the reins from her bit. Experiments soon proved that she could manage no contortion by which she could free herself. However, she did discover an unexpected boon. She could sit down. The shafts were hinged so that she could lower herself to the ground. Only one position was possible. But it was not uncomfortable. She needed the rest, so was thankful. She dreamed quietly of release and Mr. Wilberforce.
"I say, we can't have this, y'know!" The Colonel sounded genuinely shocked. The whip sang across her back again and again as she rose awkwardly to her feet. She could not evade the strokes, but stood as still as she could manage while they bit at her.
"You sit only when given permission," Lady Crowther chided. "It is the driver who decides, not you."
Smarting and angry Melynda started out on her second trial. The Colonel was angry too. His horsey sense of what was proper had been outraged. They had gone no more than a hundred paces when a controlled tugging of the reins told the captive girl that more was expected of her. A sharp cut with the whip emphasized the command. She broke into a hard run.
It was a long time, but when the pause came the girl between the shafts was deeply thankful. She was panting almost to the point of distress. Without a word the now mollified Colonel tied a rein to a tree and disappeared down a narrow footpath. The roof of a house was discernible through the leaves. Evidently Colonel Leverett was combining business with pleasure.
As though under compulsion Melynda struggled to get free. Surely it must be possible! But it was not! Fearful of giving offense and earning more stripes she desisted and stood passive in her harness. She had most effectively been transformed into an animal, a quite beautiful animal it was true! But still a creature without will, utterly dependent. She longed to sit down but dared not. There had been no permission. She wondered ruefully how a bitted and bridled girl could ever ask for permission. Rest was dependent on a Master's whim.
The rest of the run brought several more cuts with the whip across her flinching skin. Colonel Leverett seemed actually to regard her as something equine. Hearty benevolence vanished. She was a filly in need of training. Any response that was less than instant brought the lash curling round her shoulders. Even a toss of her head was, on one occasion, construed as petulance-which indeed it was-and earned the perspiring girl two fine red lines around her ribs. A final return to the stables brought lunch and another bitter humiliation.
The utter unpredictability of her owners led always to hopes or disappointments. Melynda had been proud of her performance. In spite of the whip, which had not been overly severely applied, she had felt sure she must have given satisfaction. A decent lunch was not too much to expect. The Colonel and Lady Crowther lost no time. With practiced motions they relieved her of her harness and the bridle. Her hands were instantly handcuffed behind her back. Lady Crowther, once more, used her square of cambric helpfully. Without pause the chained girl was thrust into a loose box in the stable, locks and bolts audibly imparting their message. It was then that the naked girl fully understood her condition.
It was a low bench or table. On it was a wide bowl of water and a flat plate of food. The message was clear. Horses ate without hands. So would she!
Melynda was angry. She was tempted to kick the whole thing over in the straw. But the sting of the whip was still hot upon her flesh. Besides, she was both thirsty and hungry- At least there was no one to watch! Disdainfully she knelt in the straw. Good heavens! They didn't need to carry the silly game to this extreme! Why, oh why couldn't she have her hands! But they were locked safely behind her. Bending forward she thrust her face into the bowl and drank as a horse drinks, or as a dog drinks, or any other domestic animal. Melynda was furious!
Having drunk her fill she now had a wet chin and nose. She could do nothing about either except shake her head and strain to reach her shoulder. There was nothing in the box except the straw on which she knelt. Next the food.
There was no other way. She bent her head and lapped at it with her tongue. Perhaps in that way she might keep the smears on her features to a minimum.
To clean her smudged lips and chin the captive was obliged to lay flat and bury her face in the straw. Unsatisfactory, but it more or less achieved her purpose. She was tired. It was pleasant to lie there. She fell asleep. When she awoke it was to a feeling that some time had passed. There was also a consciousness of being watched. Searching, she discerned a pudgy red face peering at her through the bars that ran from the timber partitions to the roof. Still half asleep, Melynda asked, "What time is it, please?"
"'Bout three." The voice was male and rural. The chained girl suddenly remembered her nakedness. She felt sure it had been enjoyed by the peeping eyes. She could cover nothing! Angrily she rejected the idea of burrowing in the straw. He couldn't see more than he had seen already.
"Go away!"
No answer. The peeper continued to peep. Melynda had a sudden hope. "Well, unlock the door then."
"Why should I?"
How much did this yokel know! Was escape even remotely possible! "Well, why shouldn't you?" she demanded reasonably.
"Muss be good reason if 'ee be locked in. Ain't fer me ter stick me nose in."
"Just an accident," Melynda affected boredom. "Lady Crowther must be wondering why I don't show up."
"Just accidental like 'ee be nekkid too, no doubt?" He continued to visually devour her. "And what's 'appened ter yer 'ands?"
Melynda was enraged. Those damn handcuffs! Would she never be free of them! How on earth did a girl explain away such an abnormality!
"Oh, never mind," she said wearily. "It's all a silly joke.
Just go away. Someone will find me sooner or later."
"If I lets 'ee loose will 'ee gimme a piece o' tail?"
Melynda almost laughed. Everything was absurd. This was no more farcical than the rest. "But can you get me loose?" she demanded cannily.
"Oh aye." He shot back the bolts and turned a key with a snap the prisoner recognized. The door opened.
"You can't get the handcuffs off," Melynda said defensively.
He was a pudgy, nondescript youth. Probably some sort of stable boy. He was eyeing his prey with increased interest. "Don't really need 'em off," he said with satisfaction.
"Well, you needn't think I'm going to walk around like this afterwards!" Melynda hoped her use of the word afterwards sounded sufficiently enticing.
He considered. "Ain't never fucked a girl with 'er 'ands 'andcuffed behind 'er back," he said regretfully and with a remarkable absence of aitches.
"It's better without them, that's for damn sure!" Melynda hotly affirmed. She was fearful now that he might take her as she was. It would be impossible to defend herself. Without the handcuffs she might best him.
"O.K.," he agreed good-humoredly. "Ain't got no key. But I know a trick or two." He produced a bit of wire and some bent metal. "Turn 'ee round and let me 'ave a go."
Outwardly calm, but trembling inwardly, she obeyed. Suddenly much was at stake.
Spurred, no doubt, by carnal visions of joys to come her rescuer prodded and poked and twisted with vigor. Suddenly one cuff opened, her wrist fell free. Encouraged by success he worked intently. Instantly the other cuff fell away. Melynda leaped through the door, slammed it and shot the heavy bolts. Angry shouts of frustrated lust fell behind as she raced into the yard.
In any chronicle of human affairs the impulsive act has an integral place-for better or for worse! Sitting behind a bush where she could command a good view of possible pursuit, Melynda soberly considered her new freedom. It was a far cry from her conversation with Lady Crowther in the early morning. It carried with it acute and difficult decisions. Her mind reviewed them: She was naked. A naked girl within ten miles of the Approved School was marked as surely as a convict of old with his prison stripes. And what of Willie! Was he safe? Was he free? Could he be the victim of reprisals? How much of his well-being depended on her compliance as a captive! What of Susan? She had cherished a hope of helping Susan. Under pleading, Lady Crowther might have used influence... Strangely enough it was the horsey woman in tweeds who posed the real enigma. On the face of it the only thing to do was run as far and as fast as she could run. Yet she had made a deal. She had accepted terms and an obligation: outrageous perhaps! But real. She had delivered her person as a price. Could she, or should she, renege! To return now after this escapade would earn her at the least a sound whipping. But intermixed with these considerations was the memory of a brief rapport that had touched them more than once. Of glimpses of warmth: of something shared. The concrete offer made that morning had not been casual. It had come from some deep need in the woman who made it. She herself had toyed with it from other sentiments than pure mischief. Behind Mrs. Tweedy's sadism was there anything more than loneliness...
As usual Melynda was angry with herself. If the conclusion, to which a sequence of logic had led, was that easy and that simple, why on earth had she seduced the redfaced youth into setting her free! She had probably got him into deep trouble, as well as herself. Her sense of mischief, she supposed. But was it! Had not fear been there too! The possibility of Lady Crowther's suggestion that she be held prisoner for life was so utterly plausible, so easy of attainment that it had held a nagging place in her thoughts throughout the day. Melynda shrugged hopelessly. There were too many things to consider. Too many intangibles...
Resolutely she retraced her steps back the way that she had run.
* * *
"I suppose you wonder what we would have done had you not come back?"
Melynda looked across the huge desk. She was back at square one. Her wrists were, once more, safely handcuffed behind her back. Her elbows were strapped together. She had been bathed and made presentable.
"Yes, Madam."
Lady Crowther leaned forward. "You have been damn good with the respect and the humility. Half the time I haven't known if it was real or acted. But you are out of school. Let's drop it! That does not mean you are forgiven anything. But it's easier to talk."
Melynda was grateful. Humility did not sit well on her. Though she suspected she had some yet to endure.
"Anyway, we won't wonder what we would have done. We would have done something. Though I'd be willing to wager you would not have got far. Someone would have turned you in."
"What would have happened to me then?"
"The Approved School and Solitary for the rest of your sentence."
Melynda sighed. To be whipped was best.
"What about that poor chap in the stable?" she asked guiltily. "It was really my fault. I egged him into it."
"A put-up job," Lady Crowther dismissed the matter. "George put on a good show as a country bumpkin. Wanted to test you." She looked at her captive shrewdly. "Gave you a bit of time to think, eh?"
Melynda felt an idiot. She should have guessed. Handcuffs don't come off with bits of wire. She looked evenly at the woman who faced her. "I'm glad I did not get taken back to the school," she said simply. Then added hurriedly, "I don't mean because of the solitary... I'd just sooner be here."
"I'm glad too." There was feeling in Mrs. Tweedy's voice.
Melynda took the bull by the horns. It was not easy. "I'll drop the humility bit," she said hesitantly. "But this sounds as though I'm picking it up again. I've been a silly little ass, so I deserve to be punished. Please whip me, or do whatever you think best. I expect it may do me good."
"Fifty be about right?"
The impact of the number was an explosion. The way in which the cane was laid on by either Lady Crowther or Colonel Leverett made fifty strokes an unthinkable ordeal. She had thought of twenty as the ultimate a girl's bottom might bear.
"Thank you," she managed in a small unsteady voice. "I'll try and not make too much fuss."
"Put the bridle and bit on you. They'll look after that problem."
The culprit fought to hold back her tears. Her companion's next question helped.
"What d'you think about young Susan?"
The tears were still hovering. So much was happening. Her elbows hurt dreadfully. "I feel terribly guilty about Susan," she admitted unhappily.
"You mean, if it hadn't been for you...?"
"Of course! She'd be nearly through with her sentence now. And she wouldn't be in that beastly solitary place."
"If you could do something to reinstate her, would you?"
"Of course!"
"I mean something that hurts. A second fifty perhaps?"
Melynda paused uncertainly. Was this rhetorical! Or cat and mouse! Or grim humor. She smiled wanly. "You are testing me."
"So! What would you give?"
Melynda would have shrugged. But she could do no more than flutter her shoulders. She made a regretful moue with her lips. "I haven't anything to give except myself," she said heartbreakingly. "But I do mean it. I'd bear anything bearable to get Susan released." She looked appealingly across the desk. "I'll even ask: Please whip me or put me in a dungeon or tie me to a post or hang me up by my wrists if, in that way, I can help Susan. I hate all those things. But I expect I'll live... " She burst into tears.
Lady Crowther walked round the desk. Without comment she unbuckled the elbow strap and tossed it aside. She unlocked the handcuffs and fastened the slender wrists again in front.
"Been quite a day," she said casually. "Come along, you little donkey. I'll put you to bed."
It was all very baffling. The kindness and the cruelty! Her own mixed and jumbled emotions. The hovering in the air of possibilities both intriguing and frightening. Her state of mind had been both helped and hindered by the night. It had been pure fantasy.
Melynda had expected a cell, a dungeon, the loose box in the stable. Or, at the best, an austere little bedroom with barred windows and locked door. Instead she had been led through the rich and ornate interior of a wealthy woman's mansion and upstairs to a suite of rooms of a quality and luxury beyond anything she had ever known. Lady Crowther's tweedy exterior hid the inclinations of a sybarite. The private bathroom alone was a combination of ancient Greece and modern chrome plumbing.
As usual there was unreality. Whilst the puzzled girl was looking about her in disbelief Lady Crowther had knelt and locked a metal band about her left ankle. Then, as they walked through the rooms and the older woman explained their features, Melynda found herself dragging a length of chain that had no end. The links were relatively small. Their weight heavy enough that she would always be aware of it, but no more than she could manage. "Special steel," Lady Crowther explained gruffly. "Nothing massive. But there's no tool in this house that will cut it. No heroic rescues once that's on your leg."
The tour completed, they sat and surveyed each other. Melynda was lost. Lady Crowther was amused and enjoying herself hugely.
"Pure bribery, m'dear," she assured her captive. "If I keep you here, or if you elect to stay, everything you have seen is yours. No dungeon! Except once in a while for contrast when you act bratty."
Melynda was intrigued. She raised her foot. "What about this?" She shook her fetter so that the chain gleamed.
"I told you, girl. You'll never be free! There must always be a chain on you. Then you'll stop worrying. Once you know for sure that you can never escape you'll stop thinking about it and start enjoying yourself."
The captive lifted her foot and played with the shining links. The metal anklet was of the same stuff. It was also beautifully ornate. It held her ankle with an intimate snugness.
"Go on, walk around. Test it. There's enough chain so that you can go everywhere in these rooms. You can even take a step or two outside the door, which incidentally won't be locked. You can look out of the windows which are not barred. You can open them and scream if you want. No one will hear you or pay attention. They are on the wrong side of the house. Trace your chain. You'll find it is welded to a ringbolt in the masonry. When you get used to it you will find you can pull bits of it around where you want them. You don't have to be dragging your foot all the time. All in all you should be damn comfortable."
Incredible! Gorgeous luxury and chains all in one room. Melynda knew she loved every bit of it. Her tether best of all.
"It's gorgeous!" she breathed. She had slept like a log.
Now, in the morning, on their way to the stables the bewildered girl refused to face decisions. They were beyond her. She would take each thing as it came. There was only one certainty: her fifty lashes! She had no idea when she would receive them. Quite probably she would have to think about them for a long time as part of her punishment.
"Do you no end of good, this," Lady Crowther observed. "I'll give you a run most mornings. I want you in shape. You'll toughen up. You'll see."
The bridle went on first. Melynda accepted the bit. Then thought of things she had intended to ask. But speech was now denied. Next she was tethered by one rein and her handcuffs removed. She stood quite free of all bonds, held only by the bridle and bit. But as much captive as if loaded with chains.
"Not the same drill as yesterday," Lady Crowther announced as she tightened a light strap harness over the captive's shoulders, under her arms and beneath her breasts. It was a sort of halter. It held rings. Then the inevitable handcuffs. Melynda wondered what it was going to be like to run with hands locked behind. Then her eyes widened and she caught her breath. She recognized the short broad strap.
But she stood passive while her elbows were firmly joined. It was indeed a different drill from the day before! Another difference still remained.
Melynda watched unbelieving. Surely this could not be true! It wasn't going to happen! But it did.
Lady Crowther produced a plume of ostrich feathers, the quills of which terminated in an odd rubber protrusion which she now liberally smeared with vaseline. "Spread your legs and bend over." Melynda had guessed, she did not need to be told. Had she been able to speak she might have pleaded. But she could not. Meekly she obeyed.
It was not as awful as she had expected-not after the insertion and she was allowed to stand straight again. Whoever had designed the thing had known what they were doing. Melynda was blushing. But, at the same time, knew her bit was stifling laughter. Lady Crowther was an inexhaustible source of surprises.
Melynda had a tail. A beautiful plumed tail. It rose up behind her so that her captive fingers could touch it, but certainly never remove it. She found she could walk without pain. She knew her reaction divided between fury and hilarity. Even a touch of feminine pride in adornment...
The band round her middle fastened her within the shafts as before. But now a strap descended from its front, under and between her legs in a way that encircled the insert within her, and fastened at her back. Thus her new feathered appendage was doubly anchored. It would stay exactly where it was. This new strap was not cinched. It might annoy or chafe, but would not hurt. From the harness on her shoulders traces led back to the base of the shafts. With her hands and arms immobilized they would now take the strain. Once again Melynda was helplessly fastened. There could be no escape. She would go where the tug of a rein directed.
Lady Crowther, holding the reins, walked back and forth admiring her work. Despite vexation the captive admired it too. She hurt. But she was sure she looked wonderful. When the shuffle of the reins and the clucking sound gave the signal she started away at a gentle run.
It was different! It had to hurt! The band round her elbows insured pain. She supposed she was being punished. Yet she ran more easily than she had dared hope. Her harness was cleverly designed for a girl who had no arms. But her main concern was the plumed tail. She blushed furiously as she realized that it swept from side to side in sprightly fashion with every step. The simulation of a spirited filly was complete. There was discomfort. More punishment, no doubt! There was no way she could speak if it became severe. She would have to suffer it. She wished very much that she could see herself. The whole effect had to be remarkable. Her most prominent feature visible to herself were her breasts as they thrust arrogantly forward. Between the effect of the band at her elbows and the constriction of the shoulder harness they attained a prominence hitherto unrealized. They were strained so tautly that they scarcely trembled as she ran.
She was not spared. Lady Crowther made no allowances for the new strictures. The pony girl was taken through her paces. Walk, jog, run. She must do them all. When she faltered the whip found her. With her back shielded, the lash flicked viciously at her tummy and ribs. Twice it snapped at a breast. When this happened Melynda shook her head angrily and leaped forward at a pace she could not maintain. It was her only protest. It earned her sharp tugs by which the bit in her mouth compelled her to a steadier performance. She was being trained!
At lunch Lady Crowther had the air of a woman thinking deeply. She was preoccupied. Such observations as she made were humorous. She was immensely pleased with her morning and with Melynda. Melynda, in fact, was pleased with herself.
The afternoon brought rapture. She was taken to her apartment. The shackle was locked upon her ankle. She was told, cheerfully, to enjoy herself. She was not even handcuffed. Even chained as she was it seemed to the captive girl that she had never known such freedom.
She was to dine "with the family." She was given a freshly laundered prison tunic. The brief sheath was becoming. She slipped into it happily. Clothes felt strange, even so scanty a covering as this. She guessed there would be servants...
When Lady Crowther unlocked the ankle band, she said tersely: "Cocktails, m'dear. May as well do it up brown." Melynda followed her happily. At that moment she would have followed Lady Crowther anywhere. When they entered the huge lounge the florid and beaming features of Colonel Leverett came into view above the inevitable glass. But it was a quite different figure that caused Melynda to stop, breathless and wide-eyed, in mid stride. Standing diffidently before the huge fireplace was Horace Wilberforce.
It was a tense moment. A moment of "This can't possibly be true! But it is!" Melynda gave an ecstatic cry: "Willie!" Mr. Wilberforce dropped his glass. Fortunately it shattered in the fireplace. The lost cocktail was ignored. The enraptured captive flew into her employer's arms. A scarlet Mr. Wilberforce kissed her soundly. Then gave his hostess an apologetic smile. Everyone beamed.
"True love, eh!" Colonel Leverett exclaimed jovially. "Let's all have a drink," he added as though guarding against infection.
They all had a drink. Mr. Wilberforce held his above the grate as though thankful for a place to drop it in emergencies. He could not take his eyes from the delighted girl. Melynda glowed.
"Poor fellah made such a fuss, had to let him see you fit and chipper," the Colonel informed Melynda. "Down for the night, y'know."
"I am most embarrassed." Mr. Wilberforce looked from one to the other, obviously at a loss. "I'm afraid... I mean, I thought... Really, our first meeting...!"
"Don't go in for sports, I take it?" contributed the Colonel helpfully. "Missing a lot y'know."
"I would hardly have described-"
"Backbone of the country!" The Colonel cut Mr. Wilberforce off at the pass. "Any sport's better than none, I say!"
"I am afraid I am hardly attuned... "
"Capital!" said the Colonel jovially. "We'll have a couple of the girls over. Give you a few pointers."
"I had rather hoped to take Melynda for a walk."
"Great Scot, man! A walk!" The Colonel was aghast. "Is that what you do with a girl!"
Mr. Wilberforce was conscious of a blunder. "Frightfully sorry, sir. I forgot. Melynda is probably somewhat restricted in her freedom. Thoughtless of me."
"It is arranged for you and our dear girl to spend a pleasant social evening," said Lady Crowther grandly. "We reserve our dungeons for the lower classes."
"I didn't mean... "
"Quite." Lady Crowther scored heavily.
Melynda tittered.
"Tied any naked gals to trees lately, old chap?" the Colonel inquired conversationally. "I hope you don't think...?"
"He just ties me," Melynda explained. "Can I get you a piece of rope, old boy?"
"It's photography, you know."
"Hardly pass for a sport, that," the Colonel commented sadly.
Mr. Wilberforce swallowed his drink. He made his declaration. "I love Melynda."
The Colonel looked puzzled. "Title of a song?"
"I mean I love Melynda."
"You said that the first time," said the Colonel peevishly. "You'd best have another drink. You're in a rut."
"I mean I am emotionally pledged. I love her spiritually."
" Colonel Leverett looked at Mr. Wilberforce with sympathy. "Bit of a bore, isn't it? Don't you ever cane her bottom? Nothing like it, y'know."
"Willie doesn't think a man should cane a bottom he isn't married to," Melynda improvised.
"I wouldn't think of such a thing," Mr. Wilberforce flushed.
"You would, y'know, Willie," Melynda said impishly.
"Interested in horses?" Lady Crowther inquired, fearing the conversation was veering toward dangerous ground.
"Horses?" Mr. Wilberforce looked shocked.
"Not to sleep with, old boy. You ride 'em," the Colonel explained.
"I have never ridden a horse."
"Capital! Start you out tomorrow!" From the zest with which it was said one might suppose the Colonel had at last caught sight of a legal method of disposing of Mr. Wilberforce permanently.
"I think we should go in to dinner," Lady Crowther declared decisively.
"Let's have another drink first," said the Colonel.
"Aren't they delightful!" Melynda asked Mr. Wilberforce, her eyes glowing with excitement and happiness.
Mr. Wilberforce gravely considered the question. "You mean... horses?" he asked, puzzled.
They went in to dinner.
The wise recipient of great gifts does not question. Nor do they demand more. They enjoy the beneficence of the gods and are content. Melynda was wise. She had been granted a wonderful evening, a wonderful night and a wonderful breakfast. It was understood that Mr.-Wilberforce would be suitably entertained that day and would return to London in the evening. Everyone had tactfully refrained from mention of her penal status or restraints upon her liberty. The visitor would return to London fully reassured by a Melynda in such obvious health and well-being. A Melynda who would soon be free to fly into his open arms.
She stood pensive and happy while her harness was adjusted. Even the plumed tail and the elbow strap could not dent her determination to demonstrate her gratitude to Lady Crowther by being everything that was demanded. If Lady Crowther wanted a pony girl she should have one!
Firmly fastened within the shafts, she was led to the post and tethered there with a rein. "Be back in a moment," Lady Crowther said hurriedly.
Melynda did not mind. She had become used to being tethered like this. She no longer tried to get free. It even felt good to be naked again. Clothes were a bore when you weren't used to them. Her thoughts dwelt lovingly on Mr. Wilberforce. How good life was! There still remained the small cloud of the fifty lashes she must receive. Perhaps, after all, Lady Crowther was being kind in delaying their infliction until after the visitor had taken his leave. What would fifty be like, she wondered. Would she still be harnessed to the carriage the next day. She set the speculation aside with her other imponderables.
"I say, you look simply smashing!" said Mr. Wilberforce.
Melynda froze. Oh no! Her whole being cried out in protest. Not Willie! Mr. Wilberforce must never, never see her like this. She could not bear it. She just couldn't.
"You look just too beautiful...!" Mr. Wilberforce walked round and stood surveying her raptly. "Too beautiful for words... You do, y'know." If he felt embarrassment at her nudity or the appendage at her rear he did not show it. His eyes showed only worshipful adoration.
She looked at him helplessly. She longed to tell him to go away. Go away and not look at her like this. But the bit in her mouth denied her need. Instead, she shook her head angrily again and again so that the rings clinked and the reins flapped. "You do that marvelously," said Mr. Wilberforce. "It's an absolutely perfect imitation. When Lady Crowther told me I could hardly believe... " Melynda was furious. In her present plight she could do little that might not, in some way, evoke equine similes. She would have stamped her foot in vexation had she not recalled that horses did that too.
It might be supposed that her loved one would now instantly rescue her. Undo the straps and remove the bit. The fact that he made no move to do so told its own story. Lady Crowther must have suggested he share this secret joy. He would feel, too, that this treatment of his dear girl was far, far more desirable than that she should languish in a prison cell. He would not know about the whip so would not be distressed by it. But, quite apart from these considerations, the helpless girl realized in total frustration that seeing her as she now stood came very close to Mr. Wilberforce's heart's desire. She knew she looked lovely. He did too. He would have no wish to release her and spoil so perfect a picture. Angrily she refused to meet his gaze.
Once more the bit in her mouth silenced her protest as Mr. Wilberforce untied her tether, gathered up the reins and climbed into the carriage. Melynda shook her head furiously, stamped her foot and with every nerve and sinew strove helplessly to impart her rejection of what he was about to do.
"Giddie up," said Mr. Wilberforce. He clucked, and made a swishing sound with the whip.
Melynda fumed. She stood still. He wouldn't dare!
But Mr. Wilberforce had found a treasure. He was not about to relinquish it. Melynda gasped in fury as the tip of the whip bit lightly under her right rib. She stood firm, head high. Let him whip her if it amused him. She would not budge!
Horace Wilberforce's dexterity with the whip was surprising. None of the strokes were hard. But they bit at Melynda here and there. Involuntarily she began to flinch as they etched their small red lines upon her skin. Humiliation inspired her. Without warning, she lunged back and continued to propel the carriage in reverse until it collided with the horse trough. By throwing herself sideways she contrived to tilt it sufficiently that its occupant tumbled into the water. Satisfied and glowing with victory she walked herself and carriage back to the post and stood meekly to await whatever might befall.
Lady Crowther must have been watching. Melynda, her hearing sharpened by apprehension, heard her suggest a change of clothes. A minute later she came into view. She was chuckling with amusement as she, once more, tethered the rebellious steed by one rein to the post. But her voice was decisive. "You can't get away with that, y'know. Feeling your oats a bit, aren't you!"
Melynda endured her whipping philosophically. She was thankful that Mr. Wilberforce was not there to watch as Lady Crowther plied the lash. The captive could not avoid wriggling and gasping as the strokes bit at her. They were nowhere near as devastating as the cane, but they cut and stung and came in such rapid succession that they were hard to bear. When it was done the tears in Melynda's eyes were of chagrin rather than pain. The woman who had used the whip wiped them away and dried her cheeks. She put the whip back in its socket. "I'd be a good little horsey if I were you," she advised good-naturedly as she turned to leave. "Next time it could hurt a lot more, and your Willie would be here to watch. You wouldn't like that, would you."
Melynda knew she would not like that at all. She stared stonily ahead and waited.
Mr. Wilberforce must have been doing a bit of thinking of his own. He made no comment on the thin red lines that freshly decorated his steed. He made no comment at all as he loosed the tether and resumed the driver's seat. But a brief sideways glance had shown Melynda's lips set in a straight line of determination. Her mouth felt the gathering of the reins, a flick of the whip was her signal to get underway. The clucking came second. Boiling inwardly with rage and embarrassment the pony girl took her first steps.
Melynda was mortifyingly aware of her plumed tail. She was quite sure that Mr. Wilberforce was too. It was, more or less, staring him in the face. Strive as she would, she could not control the pelvic motion that endowed the damn thing with life. Mr. Wilberforce would chuckle at the memory of this moment all his life. Another flick from the whip told her to run. She longed to rebel and to assert herself. But to what end! Only some more pain and a greater humiliation than before. Gritting her teeth hard down on the bit she did what any other horse would do and broke into a trot.
It would be delightful to chronicle a battle of wits between the pony girl and her driver. A battle ending in tears, reconciliation and joy. But Melynda's morning did not follow that course. The battle of wits was there. But hers were almost totally inhibited by her bondage and the bit, whereas Mr. Wilberforce enjoyed complete freedom of all his faculties. In honesty, one must relate that, for her, it was a time of vexation, discomfort, humiliation and chagrin. For Horace Wilberforce it was pure joy. His heart went out to Lady Crowther in a flood of gratitude and admiration. It is to be feared that, man-like, he felt quite sure that Melynda would get over her pout and perhaps secretly enjoy. He was thankful, however, that his dear girl was denied speech. Melynda's tongue was a potent weapon.
It was a strenuous morning. Melynda had angrily punished herself by running hard and fast and long. She would show him! Just what she proved she did not care. At least the panting effort worked off some of her frustration. But when she was led back to the stables at noon she was still in the mood to thrust her employer into the horse trough, once more, had she been given the chance.
Mr. Wilberforce took his pony girl into the loose box. She stood, stiff and haughty, while he removed the bridle and the bit. Neither spoke. Melynda's breath was still catching up with her exertion. Finally, having regained the faculty of speech, Melynda could not refrain from using it.
"Well?" she demanded coldly. "Aren't you going to take that damn strap off my elbows?"
"No," said Mr. Wilberforce.
"Then loosen, it a bit."
"No."
Melynda digested this. The effect of Lady Crowther upon her Willie had evidently been potent. She considered tears. But saved them as a last resort.
"Aren't you ashamed of yourself, treating me like this?"
"Not a bit. If you hadn't been so bad-tempered you'd have enjoyed every moment. You probably did anyway."
Melynda made a rude noise. "The least you can do is take that damn feathered effect off me."
"I don't know how it works."
"Well, find out then!"
"Rather not, if you don't mind. Besides, it's part of the ensemble."
Melynda knew they were both blushing.
"You don't intend to leave me here like this, do you?" She felt genuinely outraged.
"Why not?" Mr. Wilberforce asked reasonably. "I'm going to take you for another run after lunch. Lady Crowther offered me your services."
"You mean you are going to go in and lap up a luscious lunch with her and leave me like this?"
"Of course. Why not? All in character, y'know." He bent and kissed her. She bit his chin.
Mr. Wilberforce stepped back, shocked. He examined the angry girl as he dabbed at the blood with his handkerchief. She glared at him defiantly, though inside she was quaking with fear and regret of her act. Both were hurt. Their locked eyes failed to find a meeting ground. Slowly but determinedly Mr. Wilberforce picked up the bridle.
Melynda could have fought without hope of victory. It would have been a gesture. Nothing more. She was too tightly bound. Besides, it would have meant his arms around her and his fingers on her face. She contented herself with a fierce glare. Then looked past his concerned face. She opened her mouth to receive the bit. Disdain was her best weapon. She used it while she could. A girl bridled and bitted finds facial expression difficult. When the last buckle was tightened and the lock at the back of her neck snapped, the tear that trickled down Melynda's cheek was quite genuine. She was so damn helpless! Even a horse would have had more freedom.
Mr. Wilberforce stopped dabbing at his wound and used the same handkerchief to wipe away her tear. "You are a silly little minx," he said gently. "You need your bottom spanked."
Perhaps it was Mr. Wilberforce's unusual assumption of omnipotence: perhaps it was her pain, or her humiliation. Certainly it was her anger. Without a thought as to consequence Melynda used the only weapon she physically possessed. Her feet were still unconfined. She kicked Mr. Wilberforce furiously and without aim.
The effect was devastating! The heel, with all her force behind it, made contact with her employer in that area where a lady is not supposed to kick a gentleman. Mr. Wilberforce's eyes bulged. He bent over in agony.
Melynda was horrified at what she had done. Words of contrition and comfort rose to her lips. She could not utter them. Her hands and arms fought to reach out and touch, but she could do no more than flutter her shoulders. She was distraught. She went to her knees before him so that her face and her concern might be evident to the crouching figure with scarlet face and clutching hands. But he did not see her gesture. Mr. Wilberforce had turned and stumbled from the stall. The door slammed and the key turned. The captive heard his gasping breaths, his stumbling footsteps. As he took his pain and indignity further and further away from the girl who had inflicted it she cried desperately, again and again, Oh, Willie... Willie. Come back... come back! Oh please! But no faintest word passed the bit within her mouth. Within a minute she was alone.
It was a bad afternoon. Melynda knew not what to expect: An angry Mr. Wilberforce? A Mr. Wilberforce contrite and forgiving? Lady Crowther with a whip? She got none of them. She was given the most subtle punishment of all. To simply stand helplessly in the locked stall and wait. As the hours dragged by the strap around her elbows became a torment. Her wrenched shoulders cried out for release. She wept and could not dry her tears. She longed to tear loose her plumed tail. It was an absurdity that had no place at such a time. But it was as firmly lodged as though it was indeed her own. She kicked the door a few times, just in case. But she was a prisoner.
When Lady Crowther finally appeared, the bound girl eyed her apprehensively. But the older woman was chuckling.
"Inked your blotter, didn't you, dearie! What d'you think is going to happen to you now?"
Since Melynda could not reply, the question was rhetorical. But, oh what bliss to have the elbow strap loosed and set aside! What equal joy to be relieved of the ostrich plumes. "Ought to leave you with 'em," Lady Crowther laughed. "Good a punishment as any. Earned one, haven't you?"
Next the bridle and the bit. Even with wrists cuffed behind, Melynda felt free as air. It was glorious! If she was still to be punished she did not care. The moment that was now was good! But curiosity prompted her question: "Must I be punished for what I... for what I did?"
"Wasn't very lady-like." Lady Crowther was obviously vastly amused. "If a horse had done that we'd really have laid into her." She guffawed at a sudden thought. "Damn good thing you weren't shod."
Melynda nearly shared her laughter. But she was troubled. "Where is he? What did he do? Is he...?"
"You mean your own dear Willie?" Lady Crowther could not keep her merriment within bounds. "He's about halfway to London by now. I tried to talk him out of it. But he's never been kicked in the testicles before and he took it hard. Said he was sure you did not love him and did not want to see him again. So away he went. What he had between his leg's was worse than a tail." More laughter.
It was worse than she had thought. Willie was gone. It was all her fault! Where did that leave her now! Melynda felt lost.
"Come along, pet. I'll give you tea. There's things to talk about." Again her amusement surfaced. "Think of it! Punishments: Willie; being a good little horsey, horsey. You are a busy girl!"
"I just feel awful," Melynda confided morosely. "Empty tummy. That's all, m'dear. You want your oats."
Tea did make a difference. Melynda had been given her hands in front so that she could be a civilized guest. It had been a long time since she was last nourished. She felt better.
"What are you going to do with me?" she asked dolefully. "I'm not supposed to ask, am I?"
"I suppose you are thinking about that fifty that's hanging over your head," Lady Crowther suggested casually. "Well, they are still there."
"And what about today?" Melynda felt in a mood to total up her disasters.
Lady Crowther gave her the shrewd look. But she smiled. "You don't really think you should be punished for today, do you?"
"I didn't have a very pleasant afternoon," Melynda ventured.
"You think that's enough? Nonsense! A little bit of strap round your elbows! Good gracious, girl! You know better."
"Is what I did that bad... you know...?"
"You rebelled and tipped a guest of mine into the horse trough."
"You whipped me for that."
"Of course I did! So is there any reason why I shouldn't whip you for kicking the same guest in the balls?"
"I... I suppose not." Melynda was between laughter and tears.
"Actually it merits another fifty."
Melynda looked bereft.
"But forgetting about that, for now. What I'm interested in is your state of mind." Lady Crowther was suddenly serious. Mr. Wilberforce and his genitals receded into the distance.
Her state of mind was something that the captive girl was much concerned about herself. She was not sure what her state of mind was. But gradually through the painful and miserable afternoon a decision had coalesced. She had toyed with it in her mind. Now she put it into words.
"I want you to put the chain on my ankle and keep it there always." Her voice was tired. But her eyes were bright. ( "I was waiting for that one," Lady Crowther said indulgently. "Lover's tiff, and all that rot. We girls go through hell at your age. I knew the world had ended at least twice."
Melynda sat despondently and looked at her handcuffs. They were beautifully symbolic of her feelings. She lifted her joined hands and looked wistfully over them at her companion. "You know I love these, don't you?" A tremendous admission was in the simple words.
"I've guessed it or known it ever since I first saw you. You often give yourself away. You wear chains and cords as though they were jewels."
Melynda became animated. "It's silly but I have to make excuses. I sort of have to justify. I want to be a bad girl. But a good little bad girl, if you see what I mean." She paused and reflected, wistfully. "I suppose I'm back to poor Willie's 'nice' bit."
"Go on." Lady Crowther was intent.
"Well, what I mean... it's nuts, isn't it! Here I am, young and pretty. I live in London. I can get all the boys I want. It's easy to make a living. So now I'm going to toss it all in the drink and be a slave girl in chains for the rest of my life. I'll be whipped for fun. I'll be whipped when I misbehave, and I'll get things like that damn elbow strap put on me every day. I have to be potty to even think of such a thing, don't I?"
Lady Crowther smiled gently. "Some men climb Mount Everest. They get their feet and their fingers frozen. Never looked like fun to me."
"But there's a sort of morality thing with me." Melynda was concentrating hard. "Is it good to sort of turn my back on youth and being a girl in order to become a little female slave and a make-believe pony for your amusement and so Colonel Leverett can get a thrill and maybe an erection?"
"My amusement, dear?"
"Oh, alright! I know! I like it too. I can't help it. I'm scared sometimes. But I know, deep down, that even if I got away or you sent me away I'd probably come back."
Lady Crowther spoke quietly. The words carried a deep sincerity: "I am a rich woman, my dear. If I enslave you there will be ten thousand pounds placed to your account in a London bank. When I die everything I have will be yours. I have no other heirs." She gazed at the captive girl, a half smile etching the lines of wisdom that suddenly erased the caricature of Mrs. Tweedy. "It is not a bribe, or even a purchase price. It is simply that you belong here just as I do."
Melynda wanted to cry. The knowledge that this woman had been alive beneath the gruff, hearty exterior was shattering. It was also sad, for this woman was lonely...
"Suppose I really truly want to break my chains and can't?"
"Isn't that what chains are for, my dear?"
"But all that money... You don't have to, y'know."
"It is instead of a man."
"I don't think I want a man," said Melynda.
They sat in silence and surveyed their lives. Melynda was breathless with what she had done and at what had been said. From Lady Crowther there radiated an immense calm. The perplexed girl sensed that the older woman possessed her every thought. Melynda longed to say something meaningful.
"I don't think the money makes any difference."
"No, it doesn't. But you should be aware of it."
"But... it's so tremendous. I can't comprehend it. I want to cry and throw my arms around you. I want to be a real baby. I want to... I don't know what I want. Silly, isn't it!"
"I'm not really giving you anything, y'know."
Melynda enunciated her words slowly. "You mean that... the way I'm going to be, I won't need money. I wouldn't be able to spend any." She grinned in comprehension of a new vista. "Makes you think a bit. I mean... sorta tells me what I'm in for."
Lady Crowther kissed her. "You are a sweet child. But I will still be very cruel to you. Do you want that?"
"But not more than I can bear?" Melynda looked at her appealingly.
Lady Crowther patted her on the shoulder and resumed her seat. "It will be more than you can bear the first time. You have debts to pay. You had better pay them before you get too heroic."
"My fifty?" To Melynda their original awfulness had somehow diminished.
"I'm a good mind to give them to you right now. You need something to stabilize all those thoughts chasing themselves around in your mind. But you are tired. Tomorrow morning will be best."
Melynda looked at her companion evenly and with decision. "Please. I don't want to go to bed and think about it all night. Whip me now. I want you to."
Lady Crowther studied her captive with an amused smile. "I shouldn't let you fox me. Get it over with: that's the drill, isn't it. It's only four thirty. There's plenty of time. Come along, pet."
It was another of those functional rooms. Melynda stood in the center. Her wrists were strapped apart to a bar well above her head.
"Does it help to kick and jump around? Or would you sooner your tootsies had to keep still?" Lady Crowther asked helpfully.
"Please fasten them." Melynda did not want the humiliation of the gymnastics she would probably perform.
Lady Crowther obliged. The prisoner's ankles were corded tight together, the circlets cinched down to a ring in the floor. "Try it out, dear."
Melynda struggled. She managed some erotic motions with her loins that amused the watcher greatly. But that was all.
"Any last words?" Lady Crowther was holding the bridle and bit.
Melynda had forgotten the promise. She stifled an instinctive rejection. If she did not want to kick and writhe, then certainly she did not want to howl. She shook her head and managed her best smile. Then opened her mouth.
"I could forgive you this little lot," Lady Crowther said cheerfully, "just as I'm going to forgive you that little indiscretion before lunch. But I won't. It will serve several purposes-for you more than me. First, you deserve it. You know you do! Second, I want you to understand that trying to escape will get you this every time. It will be something for you to consider when tempted. Third, I wish you to know that you will never be hurt this badly again except for that unforgivable offense." She paused and gently patted the helpless girl's bottom with the cane. She was obviously enjoying herself. "And it's going to be a test. I'm not going to stand here and whack away at you for the whole lot one after another. I'm not sure you could take it. So I'm going to cane your bottom twenty times. Then I'll ask you if you want to call it quits. If you nod an affirmative I'll have you back at the Approved School by bedtime and you can finish off your time with them. It isn't that long anymore! I'll tell them not to be hard on you. But if, when I ask the question, you shake that pretty little head, I'll give you a breather before we carry on."
Melynda nodded and blinked her eyes brightly.
"But I won't let you have things all your own way, you little so and so. You talked me out of worrying yourself about it all night. So now you can do a bit of worrying all on your own anyway. I'm off."
Melynda did not exactly worry. She wryly reflected how true it was that a girl in her circumstances had no decisions. In a sense, therefore, she had no worries. But she did have fear. Bound as she was her punishment became cringingly real. There had fallen upon her another consciousness of being naked. She could move very little and speak not at all. Why on earth did she get herself into such plights! Or was it that they just happened to her! Ruefully she recognized an interlocking connection. She was prone. Quite willfully prone.
Mr. Wilberforce flitted in and out of her mind. She cast aside a pleasant fantasy of him walking through the door, setting her free and carrying her away to the nearest registrar. She knew it would not happen, and was not sure that she even wanted it to happen. Aside from the pain she was about to suffer. Melynda was obsessed with wonder: A wonder of curiosity; a splendid wonder of great glory; a radiance! Why? she asked herself. Why? Why? Why? To be the plaything of a middle-aged woman! To wear upon her ankle always a fetter she could never remove. To walk with glowing eyes and firm step into a lifetime of bondage! How different was she to the novitiate and her convent. She comforted herself with the simile. It was apt.
The bound girl reacted normally to the reappearance of Lady Crowther, a Lady Crowther attired in only shirt and trousers and looking extremely athletic. Her heart thudded painfully and she wished ardently that she was anywhere other than where she was. In an instant her mind was stripped of all else except acute awareness of her nakedness and the cane.
It began very simply. Lady Crowther kissed her victim warmly on the mouth. Placing a hand on each of the captive's shoulders, she backed away and searched deeply in the girl's eyes. The second kiss was very long. It seemed she relinquished the sweet lips reluctantly. A strange atmosphere of solemnity fell upon both the older woman and the young. Even the first sweeping stroke did not dissolve it.
Melynda had wondered about the strokes. Fifty of the intensity of several she had received in the past would be more than any girl could bear. She was sure of it! But could she be sure of anything! Female flesh was resilient.
She jerked and gasped. It seemed every bit as bad-. It had that same sickening stomach-contracting awfulness that she knew so well. This cane was no relation to the horsewhip used on her earlier that day. They were poles apart. The second stroke bit into her bottom with a savagery that told Melynda very clearly that, whatever the manifold purpose of this fifty strokes might be, Lady Crowther would not impair their influence by lightening their impact.
By the fifth stroke, Melynda was sure she was confronted with the unbearable. That before the end she would hang unconscious in her bonds. She twisted and writhed within the small limits possible. Her beautifully curved bottom had a life of its own under the impacts that fell upon it steadily. Sometimes its lewd thrusts and retreats earned it added pain as the tip of the withe bit at fresh exposures.
By the tenth slash she found herself no nearer unconsciousness than she had been when the first blow fell. All of her still possessed an undiminished sensitivity to pain. She was tearing frantically at her strapped wrists and shaking her head wildly to dislodge a bridle and bit that snugly performed their function unaffected by her paroxysms. There was no release for her and no ease. She knew that had her feet been free she would have been kicking and leaping evasively as though insane.
It went on and on. The whipped girl did not count. She endured. But not willingly. Every nerve and sinew fought back, but to no purpose. She was wonderfully held. Superbly positioned for the cane. Her bottom felt as though it swelled progressively with each stripe until twice its size and must surely split asunder. One stroke now fell upon another as a matter of course. She had started the punishment with cheeks well marked from other inflictions. There was only so much skin area upon her pert behind. It was now used up and was being striated a second or a third time. Melynda shrieked and shrieked against the metal in her mouth that forbid the utterance of more than groans and sobbing wails. Saliva dribbled down her chin from where the bit indented her lips. She did not notice. She did not care. There were flashes of thankfulness that she was held upright and not bent over. She supposed that helped. But was not sure... was it possible there could be greater agony. She was bathed in sweat.
When such things stop there are moments of disbelief. The rhythm continues after the motion or the pain has stopped. Melynda continued to writhe and fight the bit for an appreciable time after her flesh had gained respite. By the time she had opened her eyes and made her way back through the haze of agony she was alone. Glances back over her shoulders confirmed that Lady Crowther had gone.
It wasn't right! She should not have been abandoned. That was not the deal... not the promise. There should have been a question. A question to which she could have nodded and ended her martyrdom. Instead, she was standing in her bonds and with her pain alone. There was no one to whom she could signalize defeat. She could nod all she liked. But Lady Crowther was not there to accept her surrender. Melynda fought the straps once more in anger and desolation. Then slumped wearily to wait. Why had she not slipped into insensibility? Girls could only endure just so much, couldn't they! She felt cheated. She was scared. Nature and her healthy youth were not her allies in this ordeal. She suspected, now, that no matter how many strokes there was she would feel every one of them as vividly as she felt the first or the second or the third... She wondered fearfully how long the twenty strokes had taken. It had seemed hours! Reason told her it could have been but minutes. Her bottom was a raging agony. Her every motion added to its awareness of itself and her own awareness of a terrible vulnerability.
Her thoughts drifted forward to the Approved School. Tonight she would be chained to her bed there with Prudence. A Prudence with whom she would whisper far into the night. She had little doubt that, even with Lady Crowther's good will, she would have to endure a daily caning of her hands by Miss Rigby. But her imprisonment would be of short duration. She was surprised to find that she had lost track: she did not know how many days of her sentence remained.
She wished she did not have to leave this lovely place wherein Lady Crowther held her captive. It was so beautiful! Even with the elbow strap and the plumed tail she would much prefer her role of pony in the park or even in the stable to sitting in the austere schoolroom. The carriage whip was almost a caress compared to Miss Rigby's cane.
How fickle is the flesh! She had approached this whipping thoughtlessly. But was betrayed by an agony she could not bear. How wise this woman was who held her! She was not the bumbling tweedy creature she had first seemed. That was only a facade most visible to the world. A dramatic part that perhaps, like so many of the English, she enjoyed playing. Melynda had secretly entertained the hope that her whipping might be forgiven, forgotten, or at least made easier to endure. The fact that it had not was in keeping with Lady Crowther's character. It had also taught the girl whose bottom absorbed the weals a lesson she needed to learn.
Lady Crowther returned with a whip. A quite beautiful and quite wicked tapered length that hung from her hand as though a part of her. She gave the waiting girl a comradely smile and another kiss that Melynda found herself returning in a great need for human contact. For seconds their mouths clung together, unwilling to part.
"I'll use this for the other thirty," Lady Crowther said casually as though speaking of a pair of gloves. "That poor little bottom of yours has had enough. On all the other nice bits of you available the cane is too rigid. A cane should not be used over a bone structure. A cane and a bottom go together. But for the rest of a girl this whip is much the best. You can tell me afterwards whether it hurts more or less. You'll find one thing, though, it's quite different."
Melynda's head shaking and bit rattling were an entrancing display of frustration and need to convey a message. Lady Crowther laughed outright. "Alright, pet. I won't tease. I'll ask you the question. Do you want to call it quits?"
Melynda was flooded with relief. It was over! In a few moments she would be free. That awful whip would never curl around her slender nudity. Another chapter of her life was done. A vista of something strange, enticing, yet undefinable would pass into the shadows. When the school was done with her she would walk out into another world. Vigorously she shook her head.
She never knew how or why. Feminine illogic would always excuse her decision, a quite involuntary decision arising from deep compulsions she would never understand. It was a decision she had no wish to change, then or later. It had been inevitable. It was immutable. She saw the glory light her companion's eyes, and knew it reflected in her own.
Content, she closed her eyes, let her head rest against one raised arm, and waited.
Had she who held the whip been other than Lady Crowther, one might now tell that she took the punished girl in her arms and that the two of them lived happily ever after. But life is not like that. Certainly Lady Crowther was not like that. Her character and conviction made it certain that she would apply the remaining thirty lashes with the same resolution and surety with which she had administered the first twenty. Her inflexibility was not without purpose.
Melynda had never been whipped in exactly this way with such a whip as now curled itself upon her every curve and plane. It was, as the older woman had said, different! It was as different from the carriage whip as the cane had been. It sought her with its own venomous intimacy. No part of her was inviolate. It often bit, scalded and cut where least expected. If her nakedness had tugged and fought and quivered, it did so doubly now. She could not evade the lash a single inch. But she tried. She fought with every ounce of strength she had and pealed cry after desperate cry against the metal bit within her mouth. The bit rings clinked and rattled as she strove frantically to cast aside the bridle that so snugly retained its embrace upon her head and lips.
There was a pause as the whip worked its striations above her waist. Lady Crowther produced a padded bra and, nestling the fearfully exposed breasts within its cups, strapped it tight. Gratefully, Melynda tried to smile her thanks. Once more there was a meeting of lips. Once more the captive braced herself for the fire of the lash.
The natural domain of the whip lies between a girl's curved bottom and her neck. The narrow concave waist invites the curling thong to encircle it with its whistling biting clutch. Again and again she who held the whip guided it to this wraparound haven. The recipient was agonizedly sure she would wear a red and purple belt for weeks to come. When the lash rose higher to squarely slash across shoulders and back that had never known the lash before Melynda truly knew the wisdom of the bra. Again and again the thong curled beneath her raised arm so that its vicious tip found a breast, rapping audibly upon the protecting cone. It was bad enough! She shuddered to think of her breasts and nipples without their guard.
It was the same as before. By the time Melynda had surfaced through the pain and the tensing for the next blow that did not come, she was alone. Perhaps it was as well. Perhaps it was done from delicacy rather than a wish to prolong suspense. It gave the hurt girl time to clutch at lost pride, time to assimilate survival, time for the sobbing breaths and pounding heart to ease back to normalcy. Time to be thankful.
The bound girl could not know how beautiful she was! Lady Crowther drank in the loveliness of the tired figure resting against the straps that held the arms high. Melynda's head drooped, eyes closed. She rested and savored the cessation of torment.
So quiet had the older woman been that it was not until the shielding bra was unfastened and taken from her that Melynda realized she was no longer alone. She lifted radiant eyes in greeting.
"I hate to set you free," Lady Crowther admitted. "I have never seen a woman look more beautiful. Always said you were something special, didn't I!"
"Leave me like this. I don't mind! I don't mind anything now. If I give you pleasure like this, then leave me be." Melynda was in a seventh heaven of rapture. She was tired. But was prepared to spend the night fastened as she was if it gave her Mistress happiness. That she herself be whipped no more was all she asked. That and the bit. She did not want the bit in her mouth again. Speech was a miracle.
"You are a delightful little donkey. I believe you mean every word." Lady Crowther laughed and hugged her new possession. "Believe it or not, this whole exercise only took a couple of hours. I'll set you free and we can have a civilized dinner. Then I'll put you to bed."
It was another relief to get her arms down. Melynda happily rubbed her wrists and cautiously fingered some of the more prominent welts upon her skin. She looked at the waiting woman questioningly. Her ankles were still tied to the floor. Suddenly she realized and laughed, almost in glee. Lady Crowther was holding a pair of handcuffs.
"Never without chains," Melynda intoned. "I don't get my feet free until I'm safely handcuffed. We are starting out right, aren't we."
She held out her hands and watched as the shining metal bands clicked their way snugly upon her wrists. When it was done she held them up and admired the effect. "It's lovely to be handcuffed," she admitted. "There's something safe and secure about it. I've got so used to them... "
"Feeling pretty chipper, aren't you?" Lady Crowther was amazed at Melynda's resilience. "Wasn't too sure you might not have to be carried. What you took was pretty bloody awful!"
"I thought I'd die. But I didn't. I hurt something awful still. But I'm so damn happy I don't mind." She was thoughtful for a moment, looking at her Mistress cautiously. "I s'pose I ought to ask... I mean... I'm a bit careless in my speech, sort of. There's been a change... I mean, I sort of belong to you now. Am I being too familiar, or forward, or whatever Grandma used to call it? Do you want me to call you Madam, and all that?"
"You are a delight, child. What do you want to call me?"
"I have it all ready," Melynda said excitedly. "It came to me while I was being whipped. It's super! May I call you Mistress?"
Lady Crowther glowed. "Perfect, m'dear! It's absolutely right for both of us." Once again she placed her hands on the girl's shoulders and gazed face to face. "I'll be a good Mistress for you, pet. I'll whip you. But I'll love you. I love you very much."
Instinctively Melynda fell to her knees before the woman who now held her destiny in her power. She reached for and found the weathered hand. Tenderly she kissed it and caressed it with her cheek.
That night as she was escorted to her apartment there fell upon them both another moment of solemnity. Melynda was inwardly seething with excitement. Lady Crowther was serene. Within the rooms that were now especially her own, Melynda arranged a chair and placed upon it her left foot. There was a breathless silence as the Mistress locked upon the ankle the ornate metal band that now held for them both a practical as well as symbolic significance. When the lock clicked shut the older woman took the girl by the hand and led her to the full-length mirror. The chained captive gasped, then sighed in ecstasy. Never had she dreamed of a nude girl so striped and striated as she. The effect was incredible. It had an erotic loveliness all its own. No feminine adornment could be more potently arousing. The two women stared raptly for minutes. The proud bearer of the stripes turning this way and that to savor the full effect.
"Tonight, m'dear, you are the most beautiful creature alive." There could be no doubt that Lady Crowther herself was awed. Contentedly and with love she looked down at the striped back bent once again to pay her tribute. She let her hand be taken. But this time when the lips and the cheek had done their task she raised her captive to her feet and took her gently in her arms so that their lips could find each other.
That night Melynda was not alone.
* * *
Quaintly enough it was Colonel Leverett who brought into the open a nagging memory with which Melynda had been uncertain how to deal. She had been the perfect slave girl. She knew her Mistress was proud. It had been good to serve the two of them. The Colonel, absurd as he might be, was very much a part of the scene in which she would now dwell. Having served the drinks and lit a cigar Melynda now knelt at ease equidistant between her owner and her guest. She happily sipped her own drink at the Colonel's behest. . "Dammit, Amelia. You have the devil's own luck! Fancy owning a little filly like this! Worth her weight in gold. Never seen such perfection. Beautifully striped!"
Melynda felt like a tiger in the zoo. She wanted to giggle.
"Damned hard on a chap to sit and look at that all evening. Like to lay a couple across her hips myself. But wouldn't be sporting. Have to scratch her off the list for a week, I'd say."
"Won't be a dog in the manger, old boy," Lady Crowther assured him. "But you're right. Melynda's earned a rest."
"How about a couple on her front?" the Colonel asked hopefully. "No!"
Colonel Leverett sighed. It was easy to guess he was thinking of other days. "I say," he said suddenly, struck by inspiration. "What about that other filly we had the to-do over? Young Susan. She ought to be ready and willing."
"She's in solitary down at the school."
The Colonel pondered. "Seem to recall some sort of bargain you were going to offer Melynda here, about that little wench?"
"I was going to forget it," Lady Crowther admitted.
He chuckled. "Melynda was to donate fifty of the best as a token of good intent to ransom her girl friend out of the pokey."
"She hasn't got room for fifty more, so you can forget that," Lady Crowther said shortly.
"Seem to recall something about dungeons or hanging up by the thumbs." He turned to the kneeling girl. "Seems to me it was your offer, wasn't it?"
The kneeling girl, conscious of the whipping still vividly upon her, felt as though offered a bargain for which she no longer had the wherewithal to pay. "Yes, sir," she admitted meekly. "I feel guilty about Susan. She has such a long sentence to serve now."
"Not half as long as yours!" he guffawed.
"No sir. But there's a difference."
"You'll probably get whipped a damn sight more here than down in that damn school," the Colonel pointed out reasonably.
"I don't mind, sir," Melynda assured him meekly.
"Bloody remarkable!" he pondered. "Feel a bit guilty about that Susan female myself," he mused further. "Tell you what, girl. Show us your spirit. Take her place in solitary and we'll go to work and get her back in good standing. Can't wipe out the original sentence. But the rest shouldn't be too hard. What say, Amelia?"
"No."
"Don't want to part with her, eh! Can't say I blame you."
"There's no need to penalize Melynda. That nonsense was in fun."
"It wasn't, y'know. You meant it at the time. You've gone soft, old girl. Damn, I think you're in love."
Lady Crowther flushed. "You are a dirty old man," she said gruffly. Then to Melynda, "You don't want to go back in solitary, do you?"
"No, Mistress. But I want to help Susan."
"You'll do it then?" The Colonel was insistent. The situation obviously intrigued him. Melynda suspected an element of sour grapes.
"Only if it pleases my Mistress, sir."
"Damn! The girl's a diplomat. Tell you what." The Colonel was jubilant. "Toss a coin, eh?"
"No."
"Where's your sporting blood, old girl? Come now. At the worst you'd only lose your little pigeon for a few days. They don't keep 'em in solitary all that long."
"Oh, very well then." Lady Crowther had been driven into a comer. "But only if Melynda really wants to do it."
"Heads or tails, old girl?" The Colonel produced a coin.
"Let Melynda choose," Lady Crowther retorted unhappily- "Tails," said Melynda. The coin turned up heads.
* * *
The solitary cell had not improved. After what Melynda had become accustomed to it looked infinitely worse than before. A dismal depression settled upon the naked girl chained to the metal post. Why was she here! Melynda blamed herself. She had asked for it! But, most of all, she blamed Colonel Leverett. Without his insistence she would have had to endure martyrdom. Silly old idiot! Melynda tugged at her chains irritably.
It had all happened with great dispatch. Matron had raised one caustic eyebrow, but that was all. Even when they were alone for the time it took to handcuff Melynda's hands behind the pole and to fasten the chain round her middle, no comment had been made about the whip marks on her back. The prisoner had been amused by official tact. The Approved School was infinitely tolerant of authority.
Melynda had managed to ask how much of Susan's punishment was left for her to serve. Four days! It would seem an eternity. But she supposed she would endure and that it would pass. She began to believe a girl could endure anything. Her questions about Susan had been ignored. She presumed the girl she was rescuing would be dealt with through "channels." The Colonel would deal with the matter. Probably Susan was now back in the classroom getting her hands caned. Melynda's loathing of having her hands caned by Miss Rigby made her feel her present condition preferable.
Midday brought an unexpected visit from the Matron, palpably curious. "What on earth did you do to get whipped like that?" she demanded.
Melynda explained.
The Matron chuckled. "And now you're stuck in here! What's wrong with you, girl?"
Melynda could not explain that one.
Shrewd eyes examined the captive. "We don't ask too many questions here," she admitted. "I draw my own conclusions. Sometimes I'm baffled. I am now. I have been told to chain you here and give you the full solitary treatment. But I have also been told you are to be treated with care, a bit privileged, so to speak. What goes on, dearie?"
Melynda did her best. Truth was impossible.
The Matron nodded, amused. "Not that I care. But there's a bit of a snag about treating you easy."
Melynda tensed. What now! She felt trapped.
Matron laughed. "Not to worry! Leastways, not about me. It's Rigby. She's curious about you, and a bit miffed. Colonel forgot to talk to her, so her back's up. She wants to cane you."
"Whatever for?" Melynda was aghast.
Matron shrugged and made a gesture of despair. "Just on general principles. Says you are a disturbing influence. She's right in a way."
"Can't you stop her?"
"Wouldn't be easy, love. Authority's about the same as mine in a different way. I'm not going to fight over you." The Matron grinned confidingly. "You probably guessed. Rigby loves to cane you girls. If they took that cane away from her she'd resign tomorrow. Likes her bit of fun same as the Colonel does."
"Well, phone the Colonel or Lady Crowther. They'll jolly well stop her."
The older woman winked knowingly. "Like that, is it, love! Well, it's all beyond me. But I can't phone. Don't you see: I have to live with Rigby. I can't tattle."
Melynda did see. She was frantic. It was too much to have to endure solitary and be caned too. She clutched at straws. "You have the keys to these things on me. Don't give them to her."
"Sorry, dearie. They are kept on the hook here. You know that. She knows it. It's part of a girl's punishment to be able to see 'em but not touch."
Melynda wailed, "Oh please do something. I don't want to be caned."
"With that back and bottom you've got I wouldn't think a few with the cane would seem so bad."
"You would if you'd ever had them! Miss Rigby's a perfect fiend. She hits as hard as she can lay it on. It's far, far worse than the same number with a whip."
"You should know, dearie. Tell you what. I won't take you up to class to get your caning. I'll tell her to deal with you herself. When she comes down maybe you can talk her out of it. Maybe when she sees your back she'll relent." The Matron looked at the helpless girl sympathetically. "Sorry, kid. It's all I can do."
With that Melynda had to be content.
She reflected ruefully that at least it was something new to worry about. Hardly a thing to look forward to. But the silence of solitary would be shattered again. If only she could speak of her status with Lady Crowther! But that she could not do...
The infuriating thing was that Miss Rigby could have her way without censure. When it was done it was done. The Headmistress could plead ignorance of any edict. The live and let live laissez faire between the magistrates and the staff of the Approved School would prohibit action. The naked victim could have wept with vexation.
As usual, it was a long wait. The cringing time, Melynda had come to call it. But it ended.
"Good afternoon, Melynda."
"Good afternoon, Miss Rigby." How absurd these niceties!
"You are aware of my motive in coming here?"
"Yes, Miss Rigby."
"Have you anything to say?"
"I believe the magistrates feel my punishment in solitary sufficient, Miss Rigby."
"I have not been so informed."
"Perhaps you would be kind enough to phone them?"
"I shall do no such thing! You are impertinent. I shall add two strokes."
"Thank you, Miss Rigby," the captive groaned inwardly.
"I understand you have been soundly thrashed?"
"Yes, Miss Rigby."
The Mistress circled the pole and the slender figure fastened to it. Melynda heard her gasp.
"I am sure you earned it, my dear. It is a mistake that we are not allowed such latitude here. I have long felt my cane inadequate."
"Your cane hurts terribly, Miss Rigby."
"Are you being impertinent again?"
"Oh no, Miss Rigby. I just wanted you to know I respect your cane very much."
"Ah! I hope you are sincere. I had intended to use it on your bottom today. I have been forestalled. We must fall back on your hands. I don't suppose they have been attended to since you were last in class?"
"No, Miss Rigby."
"Excellent! I will remove your handcuffs. Without further instruction you will hold your hands out as required."
"Yes, Miss Rigby."
The captive was quaking with a fear she could not control. Alone in this horrible room the Headmistress would be uninhibited by other eyes. There would be no help. It was going to happen. When the handcuffs fell away Melynda obediently extended her arm. How strange to be chained by the waist in this dungeon place and to enact this schoolroom ritual.
The strokes could not be worse than before. They were no better. Melynda made no pretense of pride or heroism. She did whatever came naturally with the agony. She twisted, hugged, sobbed and groaned. At the fourth slash she pleaded. She was doubled over tensing the chain that held her against the pole, each hand tight under an armpit.
"Oh please, Miss Rigby! I beg you. Please don't cane me anymore."
"Stop these absurd gymnastics, girl. Stand properly and hold your hand out again. I shall cane you as long as it pleases me. If you refuse to behave I shall handcuff you again so that you are compelled to stand upright. I will then whip your breasts."
Melynda's breath stopped. Her heart seemed to stop.
Everything seemed to stop! Surely it was not possible! This could not happen! In an Approved School, could a girl's breasts be whipped! Could they... ! With certainty she knew they could! Miss Rigby had produced from somewhere a small, many-thonged whip. Fighting down every natural instinct the naked girl straightened up and thrust out her arm. Just in time she remembered not to close her eyes.
The caning stopped at six. From Miss Rigby this equaled twelve or twenty-four from other sources. Panic gradually subsided as the commands to hold out her hand were not repeated. Grateful for the respite, Melynda contrived an upright posture and respectful demeanor.
"What do you say, Melynda?"
"Thank you for caning me, Miss Rigby. You are very kind."
"It was a pleasure, my dear." How stilted these exchanges! "I am sorry you have so little control. You should be able to accept six without all these dramatics."
"I am sorry, Miss Rigby. I will try harder."
"It is fortunate you were chained at the waist. It prevented you rolling on the floor. It is possible this facility has some merit with unduly sensitive girls. I shall remember. Replace your hands."
"Yes, Miss Rigby." Obediently Melynda put her hands behind the pole.
They were quickly cuffed, a notch tighter than they need have been.
"I shall visit you another day, Melynda." The Headmistress was gone. The door locked. The prisoner was alone standing at her post. Unhappily she eyed the keys upon their hook where she could never reach them. It was disquieting to know that Miss Rigby could use them at will.
The afternoon was worse than Melynda had bargained for. Her hands burned and throbbed. The weals chafed where her back and bottom were held tight against the pole. The knowledge that a visit from Miss Rigby could be a daily event occupied her mind fully. She wracked her brains to find a means of communication beyond the school. But she was a fast prisoner. It would be hard to be more helpless or confined. As the afternoon waned and her fatigue grew, the tears began. Melynda let them trickle unashamed. She did not even shake her head. She had ceased to care.
When the Matron came to release her the woman was grinning hugely and shaking her head. "Beats me, love. I don't know whether I'm coming or going. I've never had a one like you before-that I haven't!"
Busily she loosed the girl from the pole. But immediately cuffed her hands again behind her back. As she did so she examined them, making sounds of disapproval. "How many, love?"
"Six."
"She is a bitch. Sorry I couldn't help you, dear. You can tell him about it."
"Who?" Melynda was alert.
"Never you mind," the Matron admonished, still grinning. "Come along, Little Miss Consequence."
A sheath was zipped around her. She was thrust into the front seat of a car beside the driver. It was Colonel Leverett. His face seemed slightly redder than usual.
"Damn sorry about this," he said gruffly as they traversed the driveway. "Don't know what got into me! Amelia's been taking me over the hurdles all day. Regular tigress without her cub she is. Nothing for it but to come and get you." He gave a sheepish sideways glance. "Sorry and all that... "
"What for, sir?" Melynda asked innocently. She was flooded with happiness to be out of the school.
"Need not have put you through that. Silly old codger's notion to make you pay a penance for young Susan. See it now! Seemed like a smashing idea at the time... drink too many, I expect."
"If it pleased you, sir," Melynda acknowledged prettily.
"I say, y'know, you're a simply ripping girl! Can understand Amelia going overboard a bit." He paused, thinking. "How was it back there? I told 'em the drill."
Melynda told him. She could not show him her hands. But her description of the session with Miss Rigby was graphic. The Colonel roared with laughter. Melynda was furious. What was so damn funny! But she dared not say it.
"Rigby's a character, y'know. Loves it. Bad luck today. But she won't get at you again. Remember once spending the afternoon with her in class. I'm supposed to keep an eye on things, y'know. I'm chairman of the board. I'll never forget it! She caned every girl there on one pretext or another. May even have been justified for all I know. Every so often she had one of the little dears up front and laced into her. Never seen so many .motions! Tears all over the place. When they'd all had it on their hands she started over again on their bottoms... Really splendid afternoon!"
"Yes sir." Melynda felt it was all she dared say.
The Colonel gave her another sideways look. "Bit of a contretemps, don't you think? This Sir business?"
"In what way, sir?" Melynda wanted to be very correct with this unpredictable man who thoughtlessly held such authority.
"I mean... about Amelia-Lady Crowther, y'know. Your new status and all that. Didn't get all the gen from her. But wondered if Sir and being formal was still the proper drill. You are frightfully stiff with me. Don't have to be! Not anymore," he amended hastily.
"It would be pleasant to be less formal, sir," Melynda said thoughtfully. "I think it's something Lady Crowther and I have to sort of feel our way into. It's all very new yet. At first I thought how nice it would be to just be natural and let the words flow as they may." She looked at her companion, serious and intent. "But the more I think about it the more I can see that it wouldn't work too good. Alright for you, perhaps. But I'd get slack." She smiled appealingly. "I'm a slave. I must never forget I am a slave. I don't want to forget I'm one."
"Astounding!" said the Colonel.
"I call Lady Crowther 'Mistress'. Would you like me to address you as 'Master'?" Melynda asked shyly.
The Colonel glowed. He expanded. His male ego visibly shone! "I say, dear girl, that's simply smashing! Would you...?"
"I'd love to, Master," said Melynda sweetly.
Melynda luxuriated. The bed was vast. Morning filled the room with radiance. Breakfast was a pleasant excitation of the senses. Sensuously she felt the chain upon her ankle. It was locked fast. It would always be locked fast. Wherever she moved it would follow her. How rich life was! Yesterday the Approved School. Today... glory! She would never see Miss Rigby again. What would today bring! Probably in a couple of hours she would be trotting her carriage through the park. She smiled at the thought and wondered if she could behave herself long enough to avoid being whipped. She felt mischievous.
The knock at the door was odd, for it was open. When Susan demurely walked in pushing the breakfast cart, Melynda sat straight in amazement. Instead of the prison sheath or simple nakedness the newcomer was provocatively attired in the garb commonly associated with French maids. But it was a very scanty attire indeed. Probably designed by Colonel Leverett, Melynda reflected. It was also evident that the wearer was unsure of her condition and just how to behave or what to say.
"I brought yer breakfast, Miss."
Melynda leaped out of bed and kissed her. Susan's eyes popped at sight and sound of the chain.
"Did you bring enough for two?" Melynda asked.
"Well, yes I did, Miss. Lady Crowther said for us to eat and talk." She looked at Melynda, obviously unsure of her social status. "I owe you a lot, don't I?"
It was a happy time. When breakfast was done Susan struggled to gather up the loose ends of her comprehension.
"You can drop the 'Miss'," Melynda told her laughing. "I'm a slave. Slave girls don't get called Miss. Use my name."
"Yer jokin', Miss."
"I'm not. Really! Look at this chain on my ankle. I can't get it off."
"Them awful marks, Miss. Must 'ave 'urt somethin' crool."
"You've been whipped, Susan."
"Yes." Susan looked doubtful. "What's goin' ter 'appen ter me 'ere?"
"I don't know," Melynda admitted. "Maybe they'll let you work out the rest of your sentence. You'll almost certainly get whipped-but not like I was," she added hastily. "They are going to get your last sentence commuted or something. Would you sooner have stayed at the school?"
"Wot! In that rotten solitary! No thanks. Loverly 'ere, ain't it." She looked around with immense curiosity. " 'ow come yer got all this and 'ave ter wear a chain?"
"So I can't run away." Melynda was enjoying Susan's bafflement.
"Do you want to run away?"
"No. But if I'm always chained I won't be tempted."
"You really mean always? You know... for keeps?"
"Always. I can have almost anything I want. But I'm a real slave. I'll always be chained in some way. Lady Crowther can do anything she likes with me."
"She whip you like that?"
"Yes."
Susan looked dubious. "This ain't likely ter 'appen ter me, is it?"
"I don't think so. Feel scared?"
"Crumbs, yes."
"Wouldn't you like to be a slave?" Melynda rattled her chain and waved proudly at the surrounding luxury. "It's not bad, y'know."
"Yer pullin' me leg?"
"I'm not. Supposing you were chained the way I am in a place like this. Would you hate it? Would you spend all your time trying to get free? Or would you just relax and enjoy it?"
Susan looked at Melynda knowingly. Her voice had an almost conspiratorial sibilance. "I ain't like you. You're different. I always knew you were. That's why they wanted you back. You can do things and feel things I can't, 'ard to explain... " She started suddenly. "I got ter go. Told me ter be back after breakfast was done." She gathered up the things upon the cart. Before departing with it she looked at Melynda doubtfully. "S'pose we'll see each other again? I don't know what's goin' ter 'appen... "
Their separation was short. Melynda was told it would be a social evening. Since she was invited to it in nothing more than handcuffs she guessed their guest would be the Colonel. She was right. On arrival in the huge lounge she found him solidly ensconced in his favorite chair across the hearth from Lady Crowther, well supplied with a massive drink and puffing a huge cigar. Beside his chair there knelt a naked girl whose hands and feet bore chains. It was Susan. The Colonel so resembled, by his mien, the cat who had swallowed the canary that Melynda's agile mind leaped to the obvious conclusion.
"What do you think of her, eh!" Colonel Leverett guffawed jubilantly. "Should have thought of this before!"
The kneeling girl did not move. Lady Crowther snorted. "No fool like an old fool. You'll have her bottom whipped off the first week." But she was laughing.
Melynda felt awkward. "Can I get you drinks or anything?"
"Your night off, m'dear," the Colonel assured her expansively. "Young Susan here is doing the honors. Starting her off right. Get Melynda a drink, Susan. And show her how it's done," he added as though assured of a superb performance.
Melynda sank to her knees in her accustomed pose and watched with interest. The first thing she noticed was a lithe whippy cane resting against the Colonel's chair. She could sense that Susan was acutely aware of it too. She caught her Mistress's eye and received a broad wink. Evidently everybody was prepared for a happy evening except Susan.
The Colonel's new property was not without experience of such functions. Melynda suspected, however, that she saw them only as a prelude to having her bottom soundly whipped. Susan moved with great caution in her new chains. They did not impede her greatly. But a slave girl cannot be too careful. She bent and offered Melynda a brimming glass.
"Bend the knee there, girl," the Colonel admonished.
"Oh, yes sir!" Susan completed her task and hastily resumed her place beside her new owner.
"You've got the poor gal scared to death, Leverett," Lady Crowther chided. "Put that damn cane where she can't see it. She's trembling."
"Listen to who's talking!" said the Colonel indignantly. "Last time we had this little filly with us I seem to recall you being busy with a cane. I haven't used this yet."
"Girls from the school need a few licks," Lady Crowther retorted defensively. She directed her attention to the chained girl. "The best thing you can do, Susan, is get this damn suspense over and out of the way. We all know you are going to get your bottom caned. So why not ask the Colonel nicely to cane it for you? Lay it on thick. He loves it. So do I," she admitted honestly.
Melynda's heart bled for her companion in chains. To ask for punishment is a terrible ordeal. To fail in sincerity is to invite extra. To excel in sincerity may inspire an added infliction anyway.
Susan did her best. Facing her Master, she began in a voice far too low...
"Speak up, girl," the Colonel encouraged. "We all want to hear this."
"Please cane my bottom, sir," Susan made it short.
"Best you can do?" The Colonel felt cheated.
Susan flashed a fearful look at Melynda as though seeking moral support. She tried again.
"Please, sir, my bottom has not been caned for a long time. Would you be kind enough to cane it for me?"
"That's much better," said the Colonel, mollified. "Be happy to oblige. Stick your little bottom out in your favorite position." Picking up the cane he moved away a few paces to watch.
Susan must have decided to make a virtue of necessity. Shuffling to a spot where her owner would have ample space to swing his cane, she crouched with head, shoulders, breasts and forearms flat upon the carpet, whilst at the same time raising her thighs and bottom so that the latter became her most prominent feature, rearing itself isolated and inviting. It was a quite startling effect. Melynda admired it. Yet she wondered why Susan had chosen it. The skin was stretched cruelly taut. The cane would hurt wickedly. The poor girl was probably striving to please. . Colonel Leverett was enraptured. "I say, that's simply splendid! Don't recall a bottom just like this before. Your girl couldn't do better than this, Amelia."
"And she isn't going to either," Lady Crowther assured him, refusing to be enticed.
Melynda smiled her thanks, and received another wink. She glowed.
The Colonel addressed himself to the pouting curves. The posture Susan had chosen was almost the fetal one. No doubt she found comfort in being unable to witness his preliminaries. It occurred to Melynda, with untimely humor, that Susan's situation had much in common with a golf ball.
Melynda flinched at the thud of the cane on flesh. It was a beautifully aimed stroke. The bottom responded with its flash of white, turning to scarlet, then a gently raising weal. Susan did not move. Perhaps there was some magic in her pose.
Colonel Leverett watched fascinated. Obviously he longed to repeat. But a new spirit was at work. He sighed ecstatically and relaxed. He did not return to his chair but stood looking down at his work and at the crouched slight figure of the girl.
"Mustn't spoil a good thing," he said finally and with emotion. "Spread it out a bit, eh." He seemed bemused. He returned to his chair. His glass was empty. But it was a minute before he said, "You may get up, Susan. Get me a drink."
"Congratulations," Lady Crowther said. "To both of you. That was a damned artistic piece of work. Maybe you have something there, Leverett."
Susan got slowly to her feet. Her face was drawn with pain. But she manufactured a smile. "Thank you for caning my bottom, sir," she managed in a small unsteady voice. It must have drained her utterly to remain motionless through her ordeal. She made the drink and placed it in her Master's hand. Again she knelt beside his chair.
"Look here, Leverett, you've got some crazy notion about this girl. What do you intend to do?" Lady Crowther came right to the point.
"Keep her, of course." The Colonel seemed surprised that such an intent should be doubted.
"You can't keep her, you idiot, not beyond her sentence."
"Why not? You're going to keep Melynda."
"Don't be childish."
"What's sauce for the goose, old girl... "
"Sour grapes. That's all it is," said Lady Crowther with conviction. "These girls are miles apart."
"Both got bottoms," the Colonel said huffily.
"You'd have yours worn out in a week the way you cane 'em."
"She'd get to like it," said the Colonel optimistically.
"No I wouldn't!" Susan said with conviction.
"Who asked you?" the Colonel demanded testily.
"Have you any relations, child?" Lady Crowther asked.
"No," Susan admitted, missing an obvious cue.
"You see!" The Colonel was jubilant. "I'm going to keep her properly chained and hang on to her. No one will mind."
"I will!" Susan's temerity was spurred by panic.
The Colonel turned his full attention on the kneeling girl. "Perhaps you'd like to bend over again," he suggested with dignity.
Susan burst into tears.
"Stop it! Stop it!" Lady Crowther demanded laughing. "You men! Why can't you help the child a bit? You just alarm her. Make her happy. Give her something."
"It isn't bedtime," said the Colonel stiffly.
"I mean money or a diamond necklace or something, you old fool."
Susan stopped crying. One interested eye peered over the chained hands that were coping with the tears.
"What do you want, child?" Lady Crowther demanded. "Tell us."
"That diamond necklace sounded nice, Madam. Could I have it with sapphires?"
"You'll be whipped and kept chained and you'll never get free. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, Madam."
"He does not have to ask you or be kind to you. But he will if you are kind to him. You are chained now. Actually your enslavement has already begun. But it is much the best that you be a happy slave. I'd feel better about it myself."
"If I was like Melynda, Madam?"
"No one is like Melynda! But you can visit her sometimes. She could help you."
"And I'd get nice things and have an apartment like she has?"
"How about it, Leverett?"
"Of course, m'dear," the Colonel said expansively. "Thought you took all that for granted. You can even share my-"
"Never mind that," said Lady Crowther. "I don't want to know. For goodness sake, Leverett, go easy on the child. She's got possibilities."
As though inspired, Susan found her spot upon the rug. This time her wealed bottom jutted itself upwards into an even more provocative prominence than before. "Please, Colonel Leverett, sir, please give my bottom a good sound whipping," she asked in a sweet little girl voice that almost made Melynda envious.
A deep hush fell upon the room. Reverently, the Colonel rose and went to claim his dearest wish.
* * *
In the days that followed, Melynda and her Mistress reveled in her slavery. For both of them there was a deep sensuous delight in all they did and all they shared. Her chains, her wounds, her plumed tail, all the intimacies of the things she must do and which she loved to do gave them endless joy. They were fulfilled.
As with Lady Crowther, the Colonel had mellowed in his enjoyment of Susan. He visited as always. Sometimes he brought his slave girl. Sometimes he left her chained at home. She was always well decorated with stripes. But bore them with increasing good humor. There were even days when the Colonel harnessed her and the two pony girls were compelled to race. Melynda always won easily. Perhaps because the Colonel's bulk was a handicap. Or, more probably, because she had come to love the fierce exertion. She had developed into a magnificent runner. If the carriage whip was used on her it was because of some prank spurred by mischief rather than failure to perform.
Sometimes Melynda thought of Horace Wilberforce. "Her Willie." She wondered what might have happened with them had Amelia Crowther not stepped into her life. She wondered if she would have become possessed by her Mistress had no coercion been used upon her. Had she needed the bit and the spur! How easy they had made the decision.
She wondered about men. She had no need of them. Almost she wondered why any girl bothered.
She was punished often enough. Sometimes because she deserved it, sometimes because she provoked it purposely in mischief, sometimes simply at the caprice of her Mistress. It was as though each of them understood the need of contrast. So there was the dungeon and the whip, and often Lady Crowther would devise some particularly painful or humiliating innovation Melynda must bear, hating it at the time, but sharing laughter about it afterwards.
One of these quaint notions was the afternoon Melynda spent in the stocks.
It was a day when Lady Crowther was exercising her hunters. She had neglected them shamefully in her preoccupation with her slave girl. On this day she was making up for lost time. At the far end of the park, in a grove of trees her grandfather, in an absent-minded moment, or perhaps with humorous intent, had set up a complete installation of some old antique stocks that had been discarded by some village authority and come into his possession. They sat there forgotten and unused. Visitors found them curious. It was their only function. Riding past them on this day their owner was reminded of their existence and their potential.
Melynda was far from pleased. Her hands were handcuffed behind her back, a rope circled her neck and led as a tether to where Lady Crowther slowly walked her horse along the path. Melynda, perforce, was obliged to follow where she was led.
The stocks were a relief. She had expected something worse. She watched, with a return of good humor, as Lady Crowther produced a huge padlock and key and raised the top section invitingly. With a shrug and a wry grin the slave girl sat upon the bench and placed her ankles in the apertures provided. The good oak had withstood weather and time. Everything worked as its maker had intended. When the Mistress lowered the heavy timber the captive's ankles were snugly encased and held. Curiously, the thing must have been fashioned for a girl. It would not have accommodated limbs larger than those it now prisoned. Lady Crowther pounded the rusty hasp home upon its ring and secured them with the padlock which clicked shut with a sound that Melynda was certain could have been heard a hundred paces distant.
No words were spoken. There was no need. Eyes met and conveyed their messages. Melynda's handcuffs were changed from back to front. She divined she would sit there for a long time. The Mistress held up the key mockingly, then slipped it in her pocket. A moment later she was galloping away through the trees.
There are worse punishments than the stocks. Frustration and humiliation are their weapon. The girl now gripped in their embrace could envisage the awfulness of sitting thus in a public place open to all, subject to ridicule and coarse humor. But she was lucky. She was alone. All she had to do was wait.
Even that was not easy. It was hard to get comfortable. The seat was rough. Probably no one had sat on it for a century. Her ankles were held far enough apart to make easement of her position almost impossible. She just had to sit. When her bottom got numb she tried to move this way or that but was foiled. Had her hands not been cuffed together she could have used them to raise and lower herself. It would have helped. But, infuriatingly, she could not even do this. She wryly reflected that by the time her Mistress returned to free her she would have a very numb bottom indeed. Fortunately she had not been caned thereon for a couple of days. To sit thus on a freshly caned bottom would be torment. She resolved not to mention this possibility. Her Mistress might find in it an intriguing appeal.
As usual, the prisoner had no knowledge of time. It was quiet in the wood, almost eerie, as the hours slipped by. At least Melynda supposed it was hours. Her bottom believed it. When the foreign sound came she was instantly alert. A voice behind her said: "You look very beautiful, Melynda."
It was Mrs. Prentice, the pseudo Lady Marcia Stanhope.
"What the devil do you want?" The startled exclamation burst out of Melynda angrily. It was rhetorical. She had already guessed.
"You, darling."
There were other footsteps. Gloria was now standing beside her Mistress. She was obviously both pleased and curious. "Afternoon, Miss. Nice to see you again."
It was laughable. It was absurd. It was also frightening. Melynda had never felt more vulnerable. She temporized. "Why not visit properly at the house? I feel foolish being caught like this."
"I'm sure you do, darling. Such a nice little package waiting to be picked up. We could hardly make a social call on Lady Crowther and walk away with you bound and gagged, could we now!"
It had all the earmarks of a game. But it was coldly serious. The helpless Melynda's mind raced: Lady Crowther was far away. She would deliberately ignore this area of the park until such time as she chose for the captive's release. When she found the stocks unlocked and empty there would be no clue as to how or why. Her slave girl would have vanished into thin air. Melynda clutched at a straw: "My ankles are locked tight. You can't get me loose."
She would never underrate Mrs. Prentice. When the intrigued Gloria produced a huge ring full of a vast variety of keys, it was no more than was to be expected. There came the trial and error, the pushing and twisting. Inevitably the padlock yielded.
"Couldn't' possibly leave a poor girl sitting here like this, could we?" Mrs. Prentice cooed happily. "You'll be glad to stretch your legs."
"No, I won't," Melynda said firmly. There was now no doubt in her mind as to what was in store. She dropped all or any pretense. "Please don't take me away. It's kidnapping. It's going to ruin my whole life. It's going to break someone's heart and drive her frantic with worry. Do you want money? You can have it."
"Come, come, darling! You know perfectly well what I want." Melynda knew! A terrible vision of Mrs. Prentice as she had last seen her flashed through her mind. Mrs. Prentice wanted revenge.
"How long are you going to keep me?" she asked miserably. Perhaps there might be some ray of hope somewhere.
Lady Marcia affected surprise. "How long! Why, darling! Always, of course. Think: I can whip you every day."
Always! It was probably no idle threat. Beneath Milady's lovely femininity was steel. From her previous stay at "Green Elms" Melynda was quite certain that this time there would be no escape. Mrs. Prentice would always win. She would never be free of a chain upon her somewhere.
"Up's-a-daisy, darling. I'd think that little bottom would be glad to lift off that bit of oak."
Melynda played her only card. Her wrists were cuffed in front so she was not entirely helpless. Simulating a gasping stiffness she gingerly extricated herself from the stocks and the bench, then leaped like a deer for freedom.
Had there been only one of them her ruse might have succeeded. But the agile Gloria managed to grab a handful of hair as she passed. Melynda's head was jerked back and held. She sank to her knees sobbing while an even firmer grip on her tresses compelled her to passively allow Mrs. Prentice to change the handcuffs from front to rear and to tie her elbows tight together with cord.
"Not my elbows!" Melynda pleaded between sobs. "Oh please... not with cord. Use a strap if you must, but not cord. It cuts them in two."
"It's intended to, darling," Milady assured her in a business-like way. "Keep you in a tractable mood for the journey. Nothing like a bit of good honest pain to make a girl behave." She pulled back the captive head and kissed the girl she had tied, a long kiss warm upon the lips. "You'll adore being my slave girl after this first shock has worn off and after your first day or two of welcome: you may not enjoy them all that much."
Melynda was quite sure she would not enjoy them. Yet she could not entirely escape the charming sensuality of this woman who had kidnapped her once and now was doing so again with the utmost equanimity. She looked up appealingly at the lovely smiling face: "Please leave a note. Don't let Amelia, Lady Crowther, worry that it's anything worse than it is."
Milady patted her cheek. "You're a sweet child. I can understand a woman wanting you. We'll phone and you can speak. I'm not going to unfasten you here and now to write letters. And now, darling, we've made you a comfy little nest in the boot."
The prisoner had known from the start there was no hope. She ceased to protest. Her tears were understood. She was a prize that had been taken as in conquest. She longed to make one more plea about her elbows. It would be purgatory to lay curled in the boot for a long journey tied as they were. But she knew the biting cords to be the beginning of her retribution. There would be no easing of them until they had served Milady's purpose. Their pain was now added to by other bands about her ankles. These, too, were knotted unnecessarily tight. Milady took her feet, and Gloria lifted her shoulders. Between them she was placed in the 'comfy little nest' in the boot. A gag was strapped in her mouth. Her ankles and wrists were joined so that she lay jackknifed and frighteningly impotent. Two faces smiled down at her tenderly before the lid was slammed. Melynda lay in darkness. She could neither move nor make a sound. She would occasion her abductors no anxiety.
Melynda expected the dungeon. But Mrs. Prentice would never be guilty of the mundane or the unsubtle. The captive girl slept in the luxury of Mrs. Prentice's own bed with Mrs. Prentice in it. True, Melynda's wrists were handcuffed behind her back and one of her ankles was chained to the bed. But it was infinitely better than reclining on cold stone in a weight of chains. No doubt that would come another time when she was not expecting it. In the meantime, Mrs. Prentice was a most enjoyable companion in bed. But the captive girl's dreams were infinitely sad.
Breakfast on the terrace brought fettered ankles and handcuffed wrists. "Just so you won't be argumentative, darling," Milady assured her gaily.
Melynda had considered her new captivity and viewed askance the prospect of forever being chained. She broached her thought to her Mistress. "If you are really going to keep me a prisoner for... for, always: must I be loaded with chain? I know you will never give me a chance to escape. So I may as well face it. Can I give you my word... my parole or whatever it's called, so I could be free sometimes?"
"Oh darling, aren't you stretching credulity a bit?"
"I would behave. Honest I would!" Melynda gave her nicest smile. "You can understand... ? To never kick my legs or wave my arms...!"
"I have thought about it, darling. I want you fit. I'd thought about the odd game of tennis or something. We'll see what we can manage." She grinned companionably. "It's not easy, y'know. You're a slippery little baggage."
"But my word...?"
"That word bit sounds beautifully plausible," Milady admitted. "But think about it from your own point of view. You long to escape. Every day there would be opportunities that you would have to look at then turn your back on. Wouldn't it be more agonizing than a chain on your ankles?"
"How about just handcuffs?" Melynda pleaded. "Oh come, darling! With handcuffs you can still run like a rabbit."
"I suppose you're right," the captive admitted forlornly. "Haven't much to look forward to, have I!"
"Well, not today, you haven't," Milady affirmed brightly. "I suppose you know what's on the agenda?"
"I can guess," Melynda admitted. "You're going to put me on that bar, aren't you?"
"There's a sort of Tightness about it, don't you think?"
Melynda grinned ruefully. Her conscience wasn't easy about that bar. "How long was it before they found you?" she asked hesitantly.
"Damn near midnight. Bloody near went crackers."
The girl in chains quailed. Revenge would place her on the bar most of the day, perhaps the night too for good measure. She looked stricken, but blinked back the tears.
"I don't mind admitting I shed a few of those myself sitting there all alone and not knowing when those fool girls would happen along," Mrs. Prentice said without rancor. "It's not exactly a fun thing. I expected for sure little Fanny would never work again." She smiled in retrospect. "But it's amazing the recuperative power of that little spot of hair. You'll be finding out yourself... "
"Could I say I was sorry?"
"I'll take it as said. But it won't do you any good. You'll probably mention it from time to time when I come to visit. It's a good opening gambit."
"When does it... start?"
"About an hour, say. No hurry to put you on because there's no hurry to take you off. Tidy yourself up, y'know, and be sure to have a good pee, it's very difficult up on the perch."
Melynda absolutely had to ask the next question even though she" was afraid of the possible answer. "How long must I sit there?"
Milady laughed in genuine merriment. "Darling, don't be silly! You don't expect me to tell you, surely? I didn't know how long and neither will you."
The condemned ate a hearty breakfast.
* * *
"Are you going to be a good girl, or shall I bring some help?" Milady asked practically.
"I'll be a good girl. Honest I will. I promise." Melynda wanted as few smiling faces to witness her shame as possible. She obediently put her hands behind her back for them to be handcuffed there before her ankle chains were removed. The ankle chains were decidedly de trop for the project in hand.
"How's the courage, child?"
"It's gone, Mistress," the culprit admitted wanly. She was hoping she could be as good a sport about what was to happen to her as Lady Marcia had been so long ago. "But I will behave!" she added hurriedly.
"You really are a pet," Lady Marcia said affectionately. "I almost hate myself for what I'm going to do to you. But, as I said, it's so very apt I can't resist. Besides, it may even be good for you."
"How can it be good for me, Mistress?"
"Puts you in a proper frame of mind, Puss. Humility and all that. Every slave girl should have it. Up on the box, darling."
It was as though rehearsed. Melynda knew what to do. She threw one leg over the hated bar so that she stood astride. Most of her weight was still on her feet. But that would not last. She looked down and watched her ankles strapped and looped to the distant rings each side in the floor.
"Sit down, darling."
It happened with merciful speed. Melynda sat. The box was kicked away. Her feet were drawn out and down, tighter and tighter and the buckles fastened.
The naked Melynda was sitting on the Horse.
She was scared, and uncertain, and shamed by the posture. She had never felt more helpless or more unsure of herself. She remembered how the proud and imperious Lady Marcia had dissolved into humility sitting where she now sat. She prayed she would not disgrace herself too shamingly. Absurd as the wish might be, Melynda wanted to stand high in the esteem of the lovely woman who held her prisoner.
The pain began immediately, of course. If only it could stay like this I could bear it, she told herself. But she knew it would not stay like that. It didn't! The pole began to burrow its way into her being. Her weight on it parted and divided her. Her breath came faster and faster. Her nostrils flared. She looked at the woman who owned her, pleading for mercy.
Mrs. Prentice watched glowingly. She remembered every nuance of sensation Melynda now knew. Remembered them all with a frightful vividness, and with shame. She could not forgive the shame. She had pleaded and abased herself. She remembered her own words: "I'll crawl. I'll crawl... " Would this gorgeous young female creature sitting up there say things like that! Lady Marcia's interest was almost clinical. She enjoyed asking the redundant query: "Does it hurt, darling?"
Melynda made a strange noise. She did not know herself what it was: A groan, a plea, a simple moan of pain! It was all these things. But, most urgently, she saw the hours that lay ahead. If it was this bad now... ! She was human. She was a girl in agony. She was desperately afraid! It was these things rather than conscious thought that framed the words: "Please forgive me."
It was understood that a girl placed as she was placed would utter such things. They merited no answer. She was there to suffer and be humbled. The process had only begun. Tentatively she leaned back. Perhaps her rectum could take the punishment better than her vagina! She had to try. There was a faint easement. She sighed.
"You know what that means, don't you, darling? Remember...?"
Lady Marcia snapped the hook from the dangling rope on to her captive's handcuffs and pressed the button on the wall. Melynda's arms started to rise.
"Oh, please no! Not with handcuffs!" Melynda wailed. "My wrists will be cut to pieces. Oh please! Use cord or rope or a strap or something. Oh please, Mistress!"
"Seems to me I wore handcuffs that day," Lady Marcia observed musingly. "Try 'em for a while. You may get to like 'em."
Melynda moaned. Her cuffed hands were rising higher and higher. Her wracked arms and shoulders forced her to lean more and more forward. When the small motor stopped its whir she could not move at all. Her arms were high behind her. Bands of fire encircled her slender wrists. Her weight had been returned to that portion of her anatomy where she least wanted it. Suddenly she screamed. The scream was a safety valve from the unbearable. It was a protest against the unendurable. It was a plea for pity.
"That had a lovely sound," said Mrs. Prentice. "Try another."
Melynda screamed and screamed as thousands of other females through the centuries had screamed their outrage upon the Horse. That jocular cognomen for a narrow bar that violated their final intimacy. She supposed the screams helped. She had wanted to utter them. But they, too, were exhausting. She remembered how, finally, Lady Marcia had lapsed into a hopeless silence.
"You are too beautiful for words, pet," Lady Marcia said approvingly. "A gem, a work of art. What a pity that funny young man of yours is not here with his camera. What I see before me deserves to be immortalized. Should I leave you alone now? Suffering in silence is supposed to be best."
"No! Don't leave me." The words burst out of the tortured girl like bullets from a gun. "Why, darling?"
Melynda was not sure she knew. "I might faint."
"It does not matter. You cannot fall."
"Please... I did not know it was like this... "
"Neither did I, darling."
Melynda groaned. Her head fell forward in defeat. Mrs. Prentice kissed her and went away.
The irrevocable has an awfulness all its own. The sentenced felon looks bleakly at what might have been. The doctor's verdict that there is no hope opens up a vista of a wasted life. The amputee will forever mourn... Thus it was with the girl upon the bar. She had erred, now the woman who owned her would exact the penalty. True, it was not for life! But at that moment for Melynda it might as well have been. Each minute cleft asunder as she was would be an hour. Each hour an eternity. She would crawl... Oh yes! How willingly she would crawl! But there was no one to whom she could make the offer. She sat astride the bar in solitude with only her anguish for companionship. "You have been up there an hour."
The silky voice jerked Melynda out of her haze of agony. She turned gratefully to the smiling and radiant woman in whose hands her pain was measured.
"I'll do anything. Anything at all... "
"Seems to me I said something like that?"
"Alright, Mistress! I was a little bitch!" Melynda moaned. "I didn't understand. I didn't know. No one can know who hasn't had to sit here. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry... "
"Almost an echo of my own voice," Milady observed pensively.
"Please let me down. Please!"
"Tell me why I should."
The tortured girl moaned in desolation. She had no answer. She herself had been relentless. Had even seen humor...
"Forgive me, Mistress. Have mercy."
Once more she was left alone.
To be unable to move. It was awful. She could make some small motions, of course. But they hurt and were meaningless expressions of revolt with none to see. Melynda wept, her tears coming in cycles as though the reservoir needed time to replenish. She longed bitterly for straps or cord instead of handcuffs. The metal was implacable upon her wrists. Its bite was constant. No pain could match the other pain. But it was something she could have done without. She surveyed the day that was still young, and found herself longing for the unconsciousness of a good old-fashioned faint, but had little hope even for that.
"How about some company, darling?" Milady's voice was insouciant.
The naked girl on the bar opened her eyes. She had no hope. But anything was better than solitude. She saw a smiling Mrs. Prentice and an anxious Amabel. The latter, significantly, had her hands behind her back. She was also naked.
"Dear Amabel. She wanted to come and comfort you," Lady Marcia's voice was a seductive purr. "I thought we should kill two birds with one stone. She hasn't been that well behaved lately. An hour with you may work wonders."
"I just wanted to talk to you, Miss," Amabel said disconsolately.
Melynda watched. Unless she closed her eyes she had to. Amabel joined her on the bar face to face at a distance of but a few feet. "She's a darling girl," Lady Marcia enthused as she insured the newcomer's wrists were as high as practical without injury. "I'm sure you'll have much to talk about. Mostly me!" She exited laughing.
"Sometimes she's real crool, Miss," Amabel pronounced. "I don't know how you've been standing this. I can't. It's bloody awful. Is there any way...?"
"None!" Melynda thought it kindest to dispel false hope.
"Me and Gloria wouldn't have left her that long if we'd known... "
"Neither would I," Melynda admitted. "But that's not going to help us now. Any idea how long we have to suffer?"
"I think I'm an hour, Miss," Amabel sounded hesitant. "But I'm not sure about you."
"I'm here for life," said Melynda through her pain. "Amabel, tell me: Mrs. Prentice says she wants to keep me prisoner for always. Does she really?"
Amabel was beginning to gasp. "I think she does, Miss. Shocking how easy it is for her."
"Amabel, dear? Did you get let in for this just because you felt sorry for me?"
"'Fraid so, Miss. Didn't really expect... "
"You're a sweetheart! Are you sitting on your cunt the way I am?"
"Yes, Miss. Bloomin' awful, ain't it!"
"I say... what sort of shape was Her Ladyship in when you let her loose that other time?"
Amabel giggled. "She couldn't walk, Miss. We had to carry her. She was really upset."
"That's what I've got to look forward to?"
"'Fraid so, Miss. She vowed she'd get even."
"But, Amabel, is any salary worth what you put up with?"
Amabel giggled in her pain. "I like some of it, Miss. And I get to see what she does to you and Gloria. Ain't all bad."
"And Gloria gets to watch when you get it in the neck?"
"That's right, Miss. Sort of evens up, like."
"Do you enjoy getting whipped?"
"Not while it's happening, Miss. But afterwards it's sort of nice. I get real horny. If it wasn't for Gloria and Her Ladyship I don't know what I'd do."
"Her Ladyship?"
"Oh yes, Miss, Her Ladyship is a real good sport if she thinks we're suffering. 'Course, we do the same for her. I say, Miss, don't think I can stand what's happening... I'm going to scream... "
"Be my guest," Melynda said hopelessly.
Amabel screamed, high-pitched acknowledgment of ultimate pain. Melynda joined her and screamed too. There was nothing else to do.
When Amabel was released, Melynda knew the nadir of despair. The other girl limped away thankfully. But not she! For her nothing was eased. She remained. Immolated on the bar. She could stay there for days. Who would care! Her wrists scalded, her sex screamed, her whole femininity howled outrage. But she sat upon the bar. She would continue to sit until Mrs. Prentice chose to set her free. She could be kept thus for a week. She was a slave. She wept.
"Sorry you were thoughtless?" Milady's voice was kind.
Melynda nodded through her pain. "Yes, Mistress."
"You have been here three hours."
It was like being told the punishment had just started. "Yes, Mistress." Melynda was without hope.
"You are exquisite, I could keep you there forever."
To the girl on the bar it already was forever. "I will be utterly your slave. But set me free," she moaned.
"Every girl should be placed there once a month," Lady Marcia mused pensively. "Cure half the world's problems." She looked up enjoyably. "Would you like me to whip you now? You didn't think of that, did you?"
The straddled girl's moans were sufficient reply.
"You're in an ideal pose: your back, your breasts, your bottom. It seems a shame not to. I'll go and fetch a whip."
It could be a threat, a bluff. But Melynda was sure she would be whipped. Mrs. Prentice was right, she was beautifully vulnerable. When her Mistress returned with the snakelike thong Melynda screamed before the first blow fell. Screamed and screamed... !
It is possible to place pain on pain and add to the total. With sound the decibels merge and blend. But the whip extracted from the helpless girl an acme of suffering that gave a new dimension to the screams by which she told her agony. Told it in the hope that its voice might invoke mercy. Lady Marcia was immune. She whipped the strained and tortured figure on the bar with skill and cunning. Melynda repaid her over and over by acknowledging the stripes upon her buttocks and her breasts with peal after peal of an admission of guilt and pain.
"Please... don't whip me. I did not whip you." It was not an accusation. Only a statement.
The blows stopped. "You're right, darling. You did not whip me. I'm being a bitch. Sorry! But you are so damn seductive sitting up there like that it makes me burn up. I'm going to have to get one of the girls... So long, darling."
The hours drifted. Melynda hoped they were hours and not minutes. To her they were days and months. She moaned and cried with none to hear. She did not care. She was alone with an enemy. A thing of pain she could not cope with. It possessed her utterly, and in tribute to its mastery of her flesh she paid it with small cries and groans, with gasps and labored breath. Sometimes with a scream torn from her throat by something beyond her capacity to bear.
This was Melynda's first day on her return to "Green Elms."
* * *
The fingers were seductive in her hair, the voice filled with love. "I had meant to leave you there on the bar all night. I had dreamed of you sitting there in the dark all alone with your pain. You are a witch. You have diverted me."
"I am your slave. I am not a witch," Melynda said simply. Pain had exorcised all else. She wanted only to obey.
"You are too beautiful... too beautiful." Milady herself was enslaved by joy in the naked girl who knelt at her feet. "Do you understand that whenever you displease me I will put you back on the bar?"
"Yes, Mistress. If I offend, I will position myself willingly."
"You're just too good to be true!" said Lady Marcia Stanhope. "You've got me in a terrible state. Eat me. Hurry!"
That night, again, they shared a bed. But Melynda's hands were cuffed behind her back and her ankle was securely chained. She would never, never escape. Never!
To dress for breakfast was so simple. Ankle chains and handcuffs. Her Mistress put them on her. During the hours of the night Melynda dreamed or thought of Amelia and of Horace Wilberforce, but only in an abstract way. The bar had made her know and submit to her new slavery. It had also made her recognize the fact that she was by nature slave. If not of one person, then the other. Slavery was her natural state. She found happiness in it. She should hate Lady Marcia: instead she loved her and desired only to feast upon her flesh.
For Mrs. Prentice too was a dream come true. The submissive adoring girl was heady stuff for a sensuous woman. An elixir forever to be quaffed, forever taking her into the land of perpetual youth and delight. She loved to tease.
"Shall I whip you, darling?"
"Why, Mistress? What have I done wrong?"
"Nothing, puss. I just want to."
"How do you want me, Mistress?"
It was that simple! Elemental! Lady Marcia Stanhope had discovered the fountain of youth.
"Would you like to whip my cunt, Mistress?" Or perhaps, "Darling Mistress, would you like to whip my breasts?"
It was as though each generated in the other an insatiable lust.
Amabel and Gloria watched, entranced. But they could not remain immune. Miranda's sexuality engulfed them.
"Take your pants down and bend over." It had become a familiar command.
The two girls obeyed, wondering at the effect of Melynda on their Mistress. They accepted the cuts upon their bottoms with good grace. But implored Melynda to ease her erotic influence on their Mistress.
"She'll whip us half to death," Gloria complained, not unhappily.
"My tongue's near worn out, Miss." From Amabel.
Melynda herself could complain on both counts. Milady used her with a gargantuan appetite. Melynda found herself sorry for the two amenable girls. She hesitantly broached the problem to Mrs. Prentice: "Mistress, could I please be whipped instead of poor Amabel and Gloria?"
"What d'you mean, poor?"
"I think they get whipped instead of me, Mistress."
"Well, you can't be whipped all the time, can you, darling?"
Melynda was forced to concede her limitations.
"Just for this, I'll teach you all a lesson." Here indeed was food for Lady Marcia's fire! "String 'em up, the young baggages."
Melynda imparted the instruction. The two girls shrugged. "S'pose we asked for it," Amabel mourned.
"Strung up downstairs, I suppose," was Gloria's response.
When Melynda had the passive delinquents standing on their toes with their hands tugged high by cinched straps, she went in search of her mistress. "What do I do with them?" she asked unhappily.
"You are going to join them, love," Lady Marcia declared. "Just think of it. Three naked girls for me to whip!" She laughed joyously. "You did strip 'em, didn't you?"
"Oh yes, Milady."
"Good! Now all we have to do is string you up too, and we'll have a pleasant afternoon."
Melynda was dubious. But allowed herself to be fastened. Disobedience never entered her mind. She had been broken by the bar. The other two naked maidens watched her submission with sympathy. All three now stood upon their toes.
"We are going to vary this a bit," Milady told them. "Each of you in turn will raise one leg and ask me to whip your cunt. Do it nicely or I'll give you one that won't count."
Instantly three legs flew out to one side and three girlish voices pleaded: "Darling Mistress, please whip my cunt."
Milady laughed in glee. "I'll be damned! If you girls ever have any doubts about the efficacy of the whip, remember this moment." She slashed Amabel's rump.
"Thank you, Milady."
The whip found each. Their thanks were fervent.
Milady whipped. The three girls danced. Each implored attention to her cunt, then screamed entrancingly when that attention was vouchsafed. Milady had never been so happy. "It's all due to you," she told Melynda seriously. "There's something about you. It inflames. You've got me and Gloria and Amabel burning up. I'm going to let you loose and you can damn well service the three of us. It's the least you can do. You're a glorious infection. Me first, of course, before your tongue gets tired."
Thankfully, Melynda sped to her task. It was much, much better than the whip.
* * *
The scent of happiness clung to "Green Elms." Milady extracted from her three maidens the quintessence of joy, and in so doing gave them delight. A delight tempered by the whip and other things that momentarily dampened their ardor but never quenched it. But it was on Melynda that her attentions were focused. They were close to inseparable. Only when the slave girl was being punished in some solitary way were they apart. They shared a bed. But never, never was the beloved given even the smallest chance of escape. Always, on wrist or ankle or neck there would be a chain. The captive wore her ornaments gracefully with no concern that her confinement be otherwise. From the first day she had known and accepted that she was a precious prisoner.
Melynda possessed the gift of happiness. It is a rare gift, glimpsed only here and there in humanity. Those who have it inherit the earth. She herself was not unaware of blessedness, so that she often felt guilt in the fulfilling bondage to Lady Marcia that she embraced both physically and psychically. The guilt came from memories. Horace Wilberforce, "Her Willie," hovered dimly far away. "Green Elms" was full of recollections of that other time with him. Amelia Crowther remained a presence. Milady's captive wondered if they were concerned about her existence or what that existence might be.
But memories fled before the sensual vividness of Mrs. Prentice's glowing charisma. That vital creature was the brightest star in Melynda's firmament. She gave her slave girl little time for retrospect or nostalgia. Her moods were many, her ingenuities endless.
"Come along, darling. I've thought of the most amusing idea."
Melynda knew that her Mistress's amusing ideas were mainly diverting to the Mistress herself. But she put on her brightest slave smile and followed where she was led. Her wrists were handcuffed behind her back. Her feet were free. She wondered why.
The old shed had been kept in good repair. It had many uses. Today it would witness a slave girl's shame. Melynda looked about her expectantly, but saw little from which to cringe.
"A change is as good as a rest," Milady lilted happily as she produced a hardwood bar decorated by metal cuffs at each end. It was not hard to define its use. When the steel had been snapped round the willing ankles Melynda stood awkwardly and shamingly with her feet spread thirty inches apart. She grinned ruefully at her Mistress. "I won't be able to walk much."
"Enough, darling, enough. Hold still, Puss."
Now it was a collar round her neck. The slave bent and twisted her head as directed while it was locked snug beneath her hair. From it trailed a length of chain.
Despite qualms Melynda was curious. When her Mistress produced a small stepladder, she raised her eyes and saw the metal rod and the ring. The truss rod had an untrammeled length of perhaps fifteen feet. The ring could move freely up and down that span. Her neck chain was snapped to the ring. Lady Marcia's task was done. She set the ladder aside and inspected the ensemble she had created with satisfaction.
"Doesn't matter what awful things I do to you, darling, you always look adorable."
Melynda did not feel adorable, but was quite sure she presented an interesting sight. She was glad none other was present. She hoped Sykes would have no occasion to use the shed.
"Feel like a little walk?"
"Oh Mistress...!" The slave's plaintive reproof was half humor and half distress.
"You can, y'know. Go on. I want to see." Milady was enjoying herself.
It was even more difficult than it looked. Melynda managed a few hobbled shuffles before turning appealing eyes. "Must I?"
Milady casually lifted a riding crop off its hook. No word was said. Melynda resumed her tethered progress.
It took an absurdly long time to reach the limit of her leash. Turning round was an ordeal. By the time she had zigzagged her way back to where Mrs. Prentice was smiling broadly Melynda was flushed and displeased both with herself and her Mistress. She was certain her pubic hair was all too prominent. Her handcuffs imposed their usual vulnerability.
"You did that beautifully," Milady enthused. "I knew you could, but I wanted to see you actually do it. It's going to be so nice for you to actually be able to take a walk."
"Thank you, Mistress." Melynda knew she was being teased.
"Strolling will help you while away the afternoon."
So that was it! To stand or shuffle like this through several hours. The slave girl ruefully supposed she had suffered worse. "But I can't sit down, Mistress!" Sounding mournful sometimes earned some small remission.
"You can't, can you, darling! That's the idea of the chain and collar. Keeps you on your toes as it were." The captive looked coyly hopeful. "My Mistress enjoys me like this...?"
"Of course I do, Puss. You'll enjoy it too. You see if you don't." Milady kissed her doubting slave girl and made her way from the shed. It seemed more gloomy when she was gone.
The captive assessed her plight. It was a sort of bondage stock taking she always made at such times. She was alone with the things that had been fastened on her. It was their impact that would determine her reactions to the hours ahead. Melynda twisted and tugged. She did not hurt! That was something on the credit side. She could move within the limits her walk had defined. She doubted that she would take another, but boredom is a powerful spur. With the handcuffs behind her back she could forget her hands. They were lost to her, deceptively painless but implacable. It was the bar that separated her feet that was her punishment. Her legs would tire and ache. Her whole posture was strained. She would be immensely glad to be freed when that time came, but it was still far distant. She found it strange that she should blush at the exposure of her pubic hair. There was none to see, but her stretched legs were wanton. She longed to close them, longed with an intensity that told her it was the most cunning part of her penance.
Melynda knew not how long she had stood in uncomfortable reverie by the time the dog appeared. He slipped through a slightly open door that closed softly behind him. He was a large spotted Dalmatian with an amiable eye. He seemed as much at a loss as the captive girl herself. For a few moments she was pleased with the company, even a dog was better than nothing to relieve boredom. She felt gratitude for whoever had thrust him into her prison. Then knowledge smote her. This large dog had a function. She guessed what it must inevitably be!
He made the grand tour as animals do in a strange place sniffing and searching. It took him finally to where he stood looking up at her hopeful of human largesse. "Nice doggie," Melynda said inadequately and felt a fool. He sniffed and zeroed in on her inviting cunt.
Her first and only defenses of "Shoo!" and "Get away from there!" deterred him only briefly. He cast reproachful eyes at her failure to produce either bribe or blow and returned to his pungent discovery. His victim wailed in frustration.
"Don't just stand there!" Melynda reflected wryly on the oft-used admonition. She had an awful premonition that she would end up doing just that. But in the meantime there were motions. Token motions, perhaps, but her reflexes compelled. At the first touch of the cold snout she sought to double over to deny him entry. But before the movement was properly underway she was snubbed short by the collar and leash. She could do nothing with her straddled legs. Nor could she twist or sway her hips. She could, however, manage a small obscene action with them as though thrusting in copulation. She tried it a few times, but it threatened her balance and imposed only a small handicap that the animal seemed to enjoy.
There remained "The Stroll." Milady had shrewdly deduced the sporting element it would provide. With a warm wet tongue assiduously feasting on her sex she shuffled back a step. Her busy companion followed automatically without pause. Her cringing reflexes writhing from the lapping tongue, she determinedly moved forward. But her motion was too slow and cautious to be effective. She persevered with a forward march of several feet that took her almost as many minutes, but to no avail. Her canine consort gave her only a brief look of reproof at human intransigence and returned to the delicacy so thoughtfully and helplessly provided for his enjoyment. Melynda longed to scream.
The spread-legged girl was well aware that a human tongue or finger as busily employed with her most intimate recess as was the spotted dog would not have been impossible to bear. Probably quite the reverse! She knew not if it was mental or some abrasive or temperature factor that churned her into quivering revolt against the cold snout and agile tongue. She longed desperately to kick her benefactor in his ribs and throw a stone. She felt certain there must be something demeaning about being brought to orgasm by a Dalmatian. But she closed her eyes and surrendered to the inevitable. "Busy little chap, isn't he."
Melynda's eyes leaped open. Lady Marcia had crept in quiet and unobserved. She had probably had a damn good look. The captive blushed. Her Mistress was elegantly seated on a box.
"Darling! It's too priceless! You're a dog's breakfast." The blush deepened. Fido continued his ministrations unperturbed.
"How many orgasms, darling?" Milady's eyes shone with amusement.
"I've lost count," the tethered girl admitted. "Oh, please, Mistress! Take him away. It's horrible."
"It's not horrible at all, and you're loving every minute. Come now, be honest?"
Melynda was shamingly aware that after the first flinching reflexes had been exhausted the attentions of the spotted dog had kept her in continual sexual arousal. But she did not-want to say so. "Oh Mistress! Not a dog! Please...!"
"Makes a nice change, I should think, Puss."
"Well, you have him then!" Melynda burst out. Shame inhibiting caution.
"Darling, that was impudent."
"I'm sorry, Mistress. It's just that... "
"Just one then, puss cat. Very hard. Lift your hands."
It was very hard indeed. Melynda yelped. The thud of the impact caused the faithful hound to look up in surprise at the interruption and then take a few tentative licks at his hostess's navel.
"He's looking for dessert," said Milady.
"He's making me come again," the slave girl moaned in shame.
"How nice for you. Don't hold back. I'm watching."
The bound victim whimpered her way through one more climax. She would not plead more. If Milady wanted to see her degradation she damn well could!
Suddenly the searching tongue was gone. The fickle male had wearied of his sport. He had licked her dry and abandoned her. He cocked a leg against a post and looked hopefully at Mrs. Prentice.
"Oh no you don't!" Milady laughed. "But you do deserve a little reward for services rendered." She turned to her slave. "Don't you agree, Puss?"
"The only reward he'd get from me is a swift kick," Melynda said without gratitude.
"Perhaps a little dessert?"
There was that in her Mistress's voice that caused the slave to tense. Her ordeal was not over. Milady had taken something from a paper wrapping. She was approaching with a small burden and a large smile. "Don't have to tell you to part your legs," she said gaily, and deftly inserted the thing she held between her captive's nether lips and pushed it well in.
"What is it?" The recipient was horrified.
"Fido's dessert, darling." Milady retired to her box.
Melynda never did discover what had been placed inside her vagina. But whatever it was it possessed a canine wave length. Fido perked up and returned to the fray with fresh vigor. His snout was between the offered lips in seconds. Melynda writhed in outrage. Milady laughed.
It took the dog a long time to extract that which had been placed within her. He did it with amazing finesse. It took him an even longer exploration to satisfy himself that he had indeed raped the moist grotto of all its treasure. Throughout the Dalmatian dessert Melynda writhed and moaned in constant excitation. Mrs. Prentice enjoyed his meal immensely. When she finally ushered the grateful hound from the shed her slave girl was depleted and moist.
"Not exactly a bore, was it, Puss?"
Melynda raised thankful eyes. "Oh Mistress... have you ever... ever had that?"
The Mistress pretended to ponder. "I'm not sure that wasn't impertinent?"
"I don't care if it was," Melynda wailed. "But have you?"
It was two stripes this time. Their scald seemed clean and gloriously sterile on her behind after what happened in her front.
"As a matter-of-fact that dog and I are old friends," Milady confessed blandly. "But it's not for a slave girl to ask. I'm a good mind to give you two more."
The two more were quick and vicious. They hurt abominably. They were a last straw. Between her yelps of pain the slave girl started to cry. Milady watched the incredibly erotic picture pensively and with keen appreciation. Her smile was tender.
"You're tired, Puss cat. Let's go and have tea."
Ankles freed, a sniffing but grateful Melynda followed her Mistress to the terrace. She was still handcuffed.
At "Green Elms" life was never dull.
Like most domiciles of its size and status Mrs. Prentice's mansion had its share of bedrooms. Blue rooms, green rooms and several other colors. There were also purely guest rooms. One of these latter was equipped with twin beds, on one of which a puzzled Melynda found herself spreadeagled and cunningly fastened at wrist and ankle with handcuffs from which she had no hope of escape or release but which allowed her a good deal of small movement and a modicum of comfort. She lay naked on her back.
"Oh Mistress, aren't we together tonight?" she had asked mournfully as the ratchets clicked and the steel tightened on her skin. Her need of the glowing woman who possessed her had become an obsession.
Lady Marcia had kissed her lovingly. "Miss me that much?" Her voice was tender.
"You know I do. Chain me to your bed as usual... Please!"
"We'll see, Puss cat, we'll see." Milady had laughed and gone away.
The naked girl tested her shackles. Satisfied that they held her helpless she turned and twisted within the limits of motion they allowed. That done, she lay and waited for whatever her Mistress had in store. She relaxed in beauty. She was comfortable. She fell asleep.
It was the light sibilance of whistling that wakened her. It was a ragged rendition of "Coming Through the Rye." She sprang into alertness instantly, tugging uselessly at her fastenings. It was male lips that made the reedy sound. She recognized the tune and divined agonizedly who would open the door.
It was Horace Wilberforce.
They were equally shocked and equally mute. The naked girl on the bed broke the deadlock. "Oh, Willie, what on earth are you doing here?"
Mr. Wilberforce looked hurt. He was painfully conscious of his companion's lack of covering. "I might as well ask the same thing," he retorted stiffly.
There was another awkward hiatus. "That little exchange left us where we started," Melynda pointed out. "I'm here because I'm chained on this bed and couldn't get off it if I tried. Sorry if I'm intruding."
"Not at all, dear girl. I'm frightfully sorry... "
"What are you frightfully sorry about?" Melynda asked irritably. "And aren't you going to kiss me?"
Mr. Wilberforce placed a chaste and hesitant kiss on the chained girl's forehead, then chivalrously covered her nudity with his mackintosh.
"Oh Willie! You are absurd! Take that damn thing off me." She struggled against the handcuffs. "It isn't raining."
Dubiously he removed the offending garment and was deterred from using a blanket off the bed by the look in the eye of his erstwhile beloved. "Have a good look at me," she said furiously. "It will do you good."
Mr. Wilberforce kept his gaze above shoulder level. "I hadn't expected to find you like this," he said inadequately.
"How else did you expect to find me? You know what I am. I'm a slave." She felt a great tenderness for this fumbling young man. But was determined not to show it. Not yet.
"Certainly not in a gentleman's bedroom."
"You sound like a cross between the Archbishop of Canterbury and the butler Jeeves. You don't think I chained myself here on purpose, do you?"
"Perhaps I can release you?"
"Don't be silly. We both know you can't. Not without the keys."
"Really, I am mortified."
"You mortified! It's me that's lying here naked!"
"I did offer you my mackintosh."
"Oh Willie!" Melynda wailed. "Why are we fighting? We did it last time. Remember? We shouldn't fight. Not you and me."
He kissed her better this time, frighteningly aware of her breasts. "Hold them, silly," she pleaded, arching her nudity up against her bonds. "And put your hand on my puss down there."
He backed away as he always did when confronted by her flesh. How strange a mixture of inhibited longing he was! Her heart went out to him. But still there was irritation. "I suppose this is Marcia's idea of a bit of fun, fixing me like this for your attention. Are you going to fuck me, Willie?"
"Don't talk like that." He was genuinely hurt.
She sighed. "What d'you want me to call it?"
"We don't have to talk about that. The thing to talk about is getting you out of here." . "You mean escape?" She was genuinely aghast.
"This is England. You can't possibly be held against your will."
"Oh Willie, you know better than that. The room you have in your own basement... You could keep me there forever and no one would know."
"If I ever get you back into that house that's where you'll stay," he threatened as though he meant it.
"See! England has nothing to do with it. Mrs. Prentice has got me and I bet she won't let me go. Have you talked to her?"
"Of course. How else would I be a guest for the night?"
She grinned at him impishly. "You're taking a chance, y'know. Supposing she drugs the tea. You could wake up in the dungeon." She giggled at a mental picture. "How'd you like to have Gloria and Amabel and Mrs. Prentice whipping you every day?"
"Why can't you be serious?"
"I am serious, Willie." Melynda's voice softened and became somber. "What I've just said could happen. It won't, but it could. Look at me: I've been kidnapped all over the place, and the only one who went to prison was me myself." She tossed her head in its halo of hair upon the pillow. "You see, darling, we're all guilty. No one can go to the police except me, and I won't. You have all kidnapped me. Lady Crowther would be down here like an avenging army if it wasn't for that. You do see, don't you...?"
He pondered. "The only thing I can see is for me to go to the police tomorrow and get you out of here. They can do what they like about my involvement." His words were without conviction.
"You can't." The girl on the bed was vehement. She looked up at her would-be rescuer piteously. "Willie! The trouble's me. No one else. There's something wrong with me, I expect. But if a policeman walked in here now I'd tell him I always slept like this and please go away. I hope you don't hate me. But that's how it is."
"You love Mrs. Prentice?" his voice accused.
In frustration Melynda tugged at one tethered ankle. "Yes, I do love her... terribly. But it's worse than that. I love Amelia and I love you. There's a word I read once: amoral. It's probably what I am. There's something inside me that responds and makes others want me. I'm a sort of natural-born slave girl wandering around. Whoever puts chains on me first has me. Make any sense?"
"You're not amoral. You're too sweet. You've just got an affectionate temperament. You love people too easily." He looked at her speculatively, even allowing his eyes to encompass her breasts. "I don't see why the two of us can't walk out of here together tomorrow."
"Oh Willie!" She rattled a handcuff at him. "Like this?"
"I shall make her release you."
Melynda smiled at an entrancing mental picture. "How are you going to manage that?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "But one thing I do know is that I'm off to see her right now. I'll have a showdown. And anyway, we can't possibly leave you in that shameful condition for the night!" He turned and marched resolutely from the room.
Melynda sighed. He was so difficult, yet so dear! She tugged irritably at a handcuff.
It was much later that Mrs. Prentice said: "Really, Puss, that young man needs his head examined." She chuckled. "Or is his trouble lower down?"
"His trouble is somewhere back in the depths of suburbia," Melynda sighed. "Why don't you strip naked and see if you can get into bed with him."
Lady Marcia laughed joyously. "What a delicious idea! I'm not going to risk rejection, and anyway I prefer you. But I'll send Amabel." She snapped a handcuff on her slave girl's wrist and clicked it to the bed. "Stay put. I'll be right back."
Melynda stayed put, playing with her handcuff and chuckling over poor Amabel's task. She had no doubt it would fail. But would have loved to watch.
"I've offered her ten pounds bonus if she can seduce him," Lady Marcia announced on her return. "The girl's honest. She'll tell me."
Melynda had to laugh as she offered her wrist for release and then helped as both her hands were locked behind her for the night.
"Y'know, Puss, if that young man had done to you what he should have done I'd have set you free and given you both a wedding present."
Melynda's heart was full. She loved this radiant creature whose slave she was. She kissed her Mistress before she allowed herself to fall forward on the bed. "Willie defeats us all," she admitted as she thrust out her ankle to be chained. Then as an afterthought: "Oh darling, it's you I belong to... "
At the moment Melynda believed it true.
* * *
Gloria and Amabel approved of Mr. Wilberforce. He was amiable, he did not pinch their bottoms, he tipped generously. He was the ideal guest. That he refused to copulate with either was written off as a quaint aberration in the same class as collecting stamps or breeding hamsters. They obtained a vicarious romanticism from his affection for the girl they both adored. They watched events with a sympathetic eye.
It was breakfast on the terrace. There is nothing in the world like an English morning in June. The three people at the table basked in its benign iridescence. Two clothed. One naked. The naked girl wearing bracelets of joined steel.
"You are going to stay a while?" Lady Marcia inquired pleasantly.
"Not much point, is there?" Mr. Wilberforce replied morosely. "I mean, if you're not willing to let her go."
"Of course there's a point," his hostess trilled. "There's so much to do. You can whip Amabel and Gloria to your heart's content. You did bring your cameras, I hope?"
"They are in the car" the guest admitted. "But I wouldn't dream of hurting the poor girls." He eyed Lady Marcia with misgiving. "Do you know that last night one of them offered me her body! I was deeply touched."
"Did you take it?"
. He looked at her reproachfully. "You are joking, of course. But I did think it awfully nice of her."
"The least you can do is whip her bottom. I mean, after all, you should show some appreciation."
Mr. Wilberforce looked uncertain. He was never sure when his leg was being pulled. "I couldn't possibly" was the best he could manage.
"How about fucking me?" Lady Marcia looked radiant with hope.
He visibly recoiled under impact.
"Dammit, man, you won't fuck Melynda, the girl you love. You won't fuck poor Amabel. And now you won't fuck me. What are you holding out for, Queen Elizabeth?"
He felt himself drowning in a sea of female lust. He turned to his beloved for succor. "If you fucked one of us, Willie, we'd all feel better." Even Melynda betrayed him.
"We could call it by another name if you prefer?" Milady suggested helpfully. "There's quite a number of them."
Mr. Wilberforce made a gesture of surrender and refused to be drawn. He gulped his grapefruit.
"Tell you what," Milady said with certainty. "Give Melynda a good whipping. It would clear the air." She turned to Melynda and winked.
Melynda was not anxious to be whipped. But she could see some logic in the idea. Horace Wilberforce needed some ice broken. She turned to him and breathed: "It's a wonderful idea, Willie. Wouldn't you like to?"
Mr. Wilberforce would have liked to very much. But before these adoring and laughing female eyes his rectitude rose like a wall. His vision of a naked Melynda writhing under his lash faded.
"You are making sport of me," he complained.
Lady Marcia sighed and examined her guest as an alien being from another world. "Just what would you like to do with us, Mr. Wilberforce?" she inquired wearily.
"I just want to take Melynda home," he affirmed. Compared with all the other delights offered it seemed a modest request.
Amabel caught Milady's nod. She brought the shackle and clamped it shut on Melynda's ankle and padlocked the other end of the long chain to a ring in the concrete. She handed the keys to her employer.
"Very well, take her," Melynda said complacently.
Mr. Wilberforce munched toast. The keys to his beloved were tucked into Milady's bosom, thus unattainable. He looked inquiringly at the disputed slave.
"I belong to my Mistress," the slave stated the fact tonelessly.
Horace Wilberforce finished his coffee, got up and walked away.
They let him go in silence.
* * *
"Puss! Puss! You're free. You can do what you want. Anything." Milady unlocked the handcuffs and the ankle shackle and cast them aside. She took the sobbing girl in her arms. "There, you've never been more free than you are at this minute." She comforted Melynda as one comforts a child. "Run after him if you want to. Go to the police. They may even handcuff me when I'm arrested. Do anything you want, darling."
The sobbing went on and on. Female arms held her. Female fingers dried her tears. Free of handcuffs she clung to the loveliness that was Marcia. When the paroxysm was done the slave said simply: "Darling... I'm scared."
"What of, Puss cat?"
"Me! I'm not safe alone. I'm not safe free. I need to be chained."
"Is that bad, darling! It's true of half the people in the world."
They clung with a great need to be loved, a need from which even Mrs. Prentice was not immune. After much silence in each other's arms she said gently: "Puss cat, there are no chains on you. Take that sweater there on the chair. It's long enough to be reasonably decent so your cunt won't show. Walk off into the world. There's enough money in the pocket to take you anywhere. Run along, Puss, before I change my mind. Quick! Now...!"
In a trance of bafflement and mixed emotions Melynda got to her feet and donned the sweater over her nakedness. It covered her breasts and her pubic hair. It was what the law allowed. Her fingers found the wad of banknotes in the pocket. She looked at the woman who had been her Mistress and now was not. She looked for help.
"Run like blazes, girl! Now! Run...!" Milady's voice was husky.
Melynda turned and ran.
The gate stopped her! It was open. The road beckoned. She was free! The tears came, and the desolation! She turned and walked back the way she had run. When she reached the woman still sitting where she had left her, Melynda removed the sweater that was warm upon her flesh unaccustomed to clothes, and placed it across the chair from which she had picked it up. Her eyes searched and found the discarded handcuffs. She picked them up and dropped them in Milady's lap. In adoration and in a great hunger she held out her joined wrists.
* * *
It was the next day. They had loved steadily. They were replete. "Please whip me, Mistress," Melynda asked naturally. She held up her handcuffed wrists and adored them. "I have to be whipped," she said matter-of-factly, "so I can get back in the proper state of mind I was in when all this nonsense fell on us."
"I'm too tired to whip you, Puss."
"Let me get you a drink."
"Seductress! You really do want to be whipped, don't you?"
Melynda stood up on her toes and stretched her chained hands high above her head. "There!" she declaimed, her femaleness demanding. "Doesn't all this strike a spark of sadism?"
The slave filled two glasses. They quietly sipped, enjoying the moment that was now. Melynda was on her knees as a slave should be. "You will whip me, y'know," she said quietly.
Lady Marcia smiled with a great content. "I know you are provoking me, Puss. Keep on doing it. I love it."
"Don't you think I should be whipped?" Melynda asked conversationally.
"Actually, no." Milady had decided to be obstinate. "Let the puss cat work for her whipping."
"I ran away."
"And came right back. You should be rewarded, not whipped."
Melynda sighed. "You are being very difficult, Mistress."
"I intend to be. Try again."
"I failed to thank you for setting me free."
"Anyone who sets you free does not deserve thanks. They need their head examined."
Melynda was in paradise. Her Mistress loved her. "I can't think of any other reasons for whipping me," she complained. "Why must you have a reason, darling Mistress? Couldn't you just whip me for the good of my soul?" She added quickly, "I read that last bit somewhere. It sort of fits... "
"You are without doubt the most erotic creature I have ever even heard of," Lady Marcia said contentedly.
"There you are!" her slave proclaimed triumphantly. "Whip me for being erotic. It's not quite respectable, is it?" she added dubiously.
"How do you want to be whipped?"
"A slave girl does not choose her whipping, Mistress." Was there something sly about the ready answer!
"You are becoming quite impossible. If we keep this up I shall want to whip you."
"Thank you, Mistress. I will obey."
"You're a temptress," Lady Marcia sighed happily. "If I whip you it will be in ways you won't like. I'll be deliberately cruel to teach you a lesson."
"What are the ways, Mistress?" Melynda breathed joyous expectation.
"You don't want to be whipped between your legs, do you?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Or on the soles of your feet?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Or across your breasts?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Or cut across your cute little cunny?"
"Yes, Mistress."
Lady Marcia Stanhope sighed. To own a slave girl carried its obligations. "I suppose then there's nothing else for it, is there?" she deplored languidly.
Standing on tiptoe with her wrists high and hurting was so familiar to Melynda that it felt like home. But, as was customary at this point, her courage ebbed. She wished she could have been less brash. Some of the things mentioned were not her cup of tea.
"I'm sorry, Mistress," she essayed hesitantly. "I am a foolish girl. Can I please just be whipped on my bottom?"
"No."
"But you did not want to whip me at all, Mistress."
"That was before you aroused my latent lust, you delectable puss cat."
Melynda wondered why she could never keep her mouth shut. What she was about to receive was no doubt merited. "Are you going to hurt me in all those awful ways, Mistress?"
"Of course. You can start by raising your right leg as far as it will go. I'm going to cut the tender spot underneath." Milady's lethargy had vanished. It was impossible to remain unaroused by the tender morsel that was Melynda.
The tender morsel raised her leg. She was wishing she had left well enough alone. The cane instantly bedded itself in her most tender spot. She howled.
"It was your idea, darling."
The hurt female did not answer. She was too busy contorting from her strapped wrists. Her moans were constant.
"I'm so glad you enjoyed it, dear," Mrs. Prentice approved. "Now raise your other leg."
Melynda obeyed without zest. She had asked for it: why complain! The cane once more searched and found her secret place. She howled and bucked without concern for the one who watched. Let her look! Who cared! She went wild. Her wrists protested, but she heeded them not.
"It's beautiful down there, isn't it, darling." Mrs. Prentice sounded as though they shared a delectable secret. Perhaps they did!
The naked girl did not answer. She kicked and heaved and tugged. She was beautifully held. The whip would find her again.
"Would you like me to move to your breasts now, Puss cat?"
"No, no, no! Please, not my breasts!"
"But you asked...?"
"Next time I'm in that mood gag me," Melynda pleaded.
"You don't want your breasts whipped?" Lady Marcia sounded desolate.
"Oh, all right then! I deserve it. I asked." Melynda surrendered. "Maybe it will teach me a lesson. Goodness knows I seem to need one. Why any girl in her right mind...!"
Her plaint was cut short by a howl of agony as the whip splatted across her breast. For at least a minute she was allowed to devote herself entirely to her pain. She fought frantically against the straps that would not let her go, her breath panting, her nostrils flared.
"And now the other breast, darling. Stick it out nicely for the whip."
Fighting back her natural instinct to shield her curved loveliness, Melynda obeyed. Tugging at her strapped wrists she arched her back and thrust her breasts as far into prominence as she could force them. They were superb. Her Mistress cut the unmarked one savagely with the whip. The pose dissolved. The punished girl relapsed into anguish. She cried and moaned her pain. Once again the Lady Marcia found herself becoming aroused. Melynda's naked eroticism was invincible. It reached out and clutched the heart and the loins of anyone who witnessed its sensuality. The writhing nudity was ineffably lovely. Even the whimpering voice was sexual. Melynda was Eve.
"I'm not going to whip you anymore," Milady announced.
Melynda moaned and gasped.
"It's an indulgence. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you sensuous puss."
The whipped girl kicked and fought against her bindings.
"You are loving every moment, you erotic kitten."
The slave girl had gone beyond the brink. "Whip me, whip me," she pleaded as though starving for the thong upon her flesh.
Mrs. Prentice gave her a hard slash across the back. "There, puss cat. That's enough."
"No! Oh no! I must be whipped. Please darling... " The female plea trailed its way into Milady's heart.
Two more swift cruel strokes across the white back.
"Thank you, Mistress. Oh, thank you...!" The white body gyrated and plunged against its straps.
"You want more?"
"Yes, Mistress. I must, I must! I love you... "
The whip rose and fell again and again. Milady was infected with her slave girl's need. She had become subject to her slave. The scarlet stripes sprung one after the other on the white skin. Melynda screamed in an ecstasy of fulfillment. The whip cut and cut again.
* * *
"Don't suppose it was a very comfy night, Miss?" Amabel was concerned.
"All them chains... " Gloria shuddered.
Melynda looked up at them thankfully from where she reclined on the stone. Her wrists were chained together. Her ankles were chained together. Another chain attached her metal collar to the wall. They were quite the heaviest chains that had ever been fastened on her. The night had indeed not been easy.
Amabel giggled. "Her Ladyship seemed to think it was good for you," she apologized.
"Said something about the good of your soul," Gloria added. "I expect you know what she means."
Melynda knew. Perhaps Lady Marcia was right. She had needed the cold stone upon her flesh after the hot blood of the day. "Where's my Mistress?" she asked eagerly.
"Gone to town, Miss." Amabel giggled again. "Left you in our care. Says we can do what we like with you for the day."
"Much the safest to leave you chained here, Miss," Gloria suggested.
"Oh no... Gloria please!" The exclamation burst from the chained girl involuntarily. Melynda had had quite enough of the cold stone and the weight of metal.
Gloria joined the giggling class. "Won't any of us get into trouble that way, Miss."
The captive awkwardly rose to her feet and lifted her chained hands. It was obviously an effort. She looked at her companions appealingly. "Darlings, you're not going to leave me like this?"
More giggles. "We've been wondering, Miss. Shouldn't really whip you again today. You've got some champion marks from yesterday."
"Couldn't I just walk around and keep you company?" the prisoner pleaded. "You could keep me properly chained. But not these awful things, they're like being harnessed to a house. I really would behave," she added plaintively.
"We wondered if you'd like to spend the day out in the garden under a tree?" Gloria giggled.
The captive tensed. She sensed something in the wind.
"It's nice out there on a day like this," Amabel said brightly. "So we thought we'd tie you to a tree for the day while we do our work. Isn't that a lovely idea?"
Melynda was cautious. "Depends how tight you tie me?" She eyed them whimsically. "Do I have a choice?"
"Not really, Miss. We've already decided. It'll be ever so nice for you... "
Melynda supposed there were worse ways to spend a day. She was fond of the two girls. If it amused them to tie her to a tree she would not complain. She shared their amusement as they dealt with her.
Gloria and Amabel took no chances with the maiden left in their care. Their concern that their Mistress should not return to find her captive flown was extreme and laughable. "Proper old how-d'you-do if cut and run, Miss," Amabel explained as she replaced the heavy metal collar with a leather one and the heavy chain with a light length of links by which their captive could be tethered and led.
"Mustn't take any chances, Miss," said Gloria as she got rid of the massive fetters and replaced them with handcuffs of Melynda's wrists.
"You are lovely, Miss. Wish I had a body like yours," Amabel said wistfully as she freed the slender ankles.
"You have one. You've got mine!" Their prisoner laughed. "Honest, darlings, you don't have to be so nervous. I'll even give you my word if you like."
"Oh Miss, we do know your word would be good. But we've sort of got our minds set on that tree thing. D'you mind?"
They had been right. It was nice in the garden under a tree. After her jailers had giggled their way back to the house and their duties Melynda looked about and assessed what the day might hold for her. Certainly there would be very little motion. She was very capably and cunningly tied. There would also be no escape. Cords neatly bit at her in every strategic spot. They were tight and had been additionally cinched. Her wrists were tied together behind the slender trunk. Undoubtedly she would still be standing there when the girls came to visit or release. She wondered if they would visit. If they did not the day would be very, very long.
Melynda was nervous. She was naked and exposed. She was out in the open. In private grounds it was true, but still... ? There would also be beetles and things... Melynda tried not to think about the things. She had mentioned them while being tied. But had evoked only fresh merriment. "You won't mind a couple of gnats, Miss," had been Gloria's consolation. But there was always the hazard of a stray dog. Melynda had no wish for a dog! Nor had she any desire for stray humans. True, they would have to be trespassers, but she cringed from the thought of hungry or shocked eyes finding her like this. She supposed, ruefully, that it was knowledge of such hazards that endeared this disposal of her person to Gloria and Amabel. For them such thoughts would be a big giggle.
She did her usual tugs and twists. She was tied very tight indeed. She quickly desisted. The cords would hurt enough before the day was through. Best not chafe them herself. She looked about at the pleasant scene. Clothed and free she would delight in it. But it was open and she was very much alone. If she called no one would hear. She was out of sight of Green Elms. It was hidden by trees. She found herself paying wry tribute to the girls' choice of her tribulation for the day. Tied like this inside a building would be a bore. Out alone in the open it had a quality of its own. A cringe-making something that would raise the hairs at the nape of the neck again and again. Keep her forever hopeful of their return. Quite probably Milady had tied them thus once and they had remembered.
As is usual with such punishments, time did not exist. Presumably it flowed, but at what speed the captive could not tell. Melynda stood passive within the embrace of her cords and let her fancy drift, her memory revive its pictures. What else was there for her to do!
She saw the boy before he detected her. She registered the vital details instantly. They might be important! About thirteen. Well dressed, nothing casual. A school cap of some kind. He was exploring, eager for anything the wood might yield. He picked up acorns and discarded them, threw stones at bird's nests high in the trees, kicked tentatively at mole hills.
It was agonizing! The tied girl had never known such suspense. With natural interests to divert his attention on every hand it was barely possible that he might not notice her, might pass far enough distant that she would be safe. She could not move. Welded as she was to her tree she was almost a part of it. But she wondered how well her white nudity might blend with the colors of the wood. She watched his progress with shrinking fascination.
She was betrayed by the flight of a squawking rook from a nearby tree. The boy turned towards the sound and saw her. She saw him freeze, and prayed that being a trespasser he might flee. Or that being respectable he might have the decency to turn away. But he was a boy. Here, suddenly, was the thing he sought: adventure! Romance! Determinedly he made his way toward the captive girl.
Her mind revolved. She had a choice: To tell him to go away and leave her. Or to plead for release. She chose the latter as being the most logically satisfying for a boy his age. Having made her choice she lost no time in avoiding the embarrassment of awkward stares and silences.
"Hallo there! I'm so glad you've come. Please untie me." Did all bound maidens greet their knight errant thus!
He did not hurry. His eyes assessed her plight. His greeting was but a vague motion of hand and arm. He was a good-looking boy with intelligent features, for which Melynda was thankful. From such as he a girl might expect rational behavior.
"I've been tied here so long. The ropes are hurting. Please hurry." She made her voice pathetic.
He did not answer. But stood examining the cords and the feminine curves they held. Finally he asked: "Who tied you like that?"
It was a bad question. But she was ready for it. "Some friends. They'd had too much to drink. It's their bad idea of a joke."
He nodded as though confirming a thought. "I don't believe you," he said simply. "The way you are tied he was not drunk. I don't think you've been there all that long either."
Melynda's gambit was blocked. "Does it matter?" she pleaded. "You can see I'm here and I'm helpless. Please untie me."
"You said that before." His voice was amused. "Why are you naked?"
"Part of their joke," she said bitterly. "They took my clothes with them when they went back to the car."
"I've never seen a girl naked," the boy said slowly as though this fact was the first order of business.
"You'll see me just as well when I'm free," she promised dismally. "Maybe a lot better."
"What are those marks on your... breasts?" He stumbled on the word.
Melynda was growing impatient. "They don't matter. Someone hit me. Please hurry and set me free."
"It must have hurt terribly. They're very tender, aren't they?" There was no sympathy in his voice, only curiosity. He stepped forward and cupped her twin spheres in his hands, gently assessing their nature and quality. "They are very beautiful. I've read about them so much. Did they rape you first?" He stepped back, his eyes focusing on her pubic hair.
A logical thought, Melynda supposed. Rape a girl, then tie her to a tree while you made your escape. She was beginning to dislike the boy. Why couldn't he either go away and leave her or else set her free! He was frankly ogling. Horrid suspicions entered her mind. "If you're not going to set me free, you might as well have the decency to go away and leave me."
"That's what you really want. I can tell." His agile mind had found a missing link. He produced a comradely smile. "Don't get starchy about it. But I may not get to look at a naked girl again for a long time. I'm not going to waste this chance. Nothing you can do about it, so don't start getting huffy."
Melynda groaned inwardly and cursed the girls and their bright idea. She fought down panic-He was only a boy, even with his active mind. If he ogled her for an hour and left her as she was she would have lost nothing. She cringed and gasped in dismay as he fell to his knees before her and began a digital probing of her sex. She choked back outrage. She suspected he enjoyed the sense of power her pleading gave him.
"Not really what I expected," he said, disappointed, as he got back on his feet. "Have you been fucked much?"
Melynda kept silent, her face aflame.
He considered her gravely, eyes bright. "There's something you'd better understand," he told her with emphasis. "You're a lot older than I am, so you think I have to do whatever you say. You think I'm just a kid. You think I have to have good manners and be a little gentleman. You think you can keep silent when I speak to you. Well, you're wrong. Don't be a silly. I could hurt you terribly and make you do or say anything I wanted. Don't you see that?"
"I see it," Melynda admitted miserably. "But I thought you were... " She sought for the right word: "I thought you'd be nice. What is it you want me to do?" She smiled wanly. "Not that I can do much of anything."
"First off you can answer when I speak to you. None of this haughty adult stuff. Now, let's try again: Have you been fucked much?"
Melynda knew herself defeated. She was also scared. "I suppose about the average for a girl like me. I'm afraid I didn't keep count, so it must have been quite a lot."
"Then why isn't your hole bigger?" He was trying to score a point.
"It doesn't work just like that," she told him hesitantly.
"How does it work then?"
"If a girl gets sexually excited it gets bigger."
"Have you sucked a man's cock?"
"Yes."
"Will you suck mine?"
"How can I! Tied like this... "
"You mean you would if you could?" The words excited him.
"If that's your price for untying me, I'll pay it." She hated herself and him.
"Have you ever had a baby?" He was almost clinical. "No."
"Having a baby spoils your breasts, doesn't it?"
"Mostly, yes."
"If I fuck you now, will you have a baby? There's something about times of the month, isn't there?"
"I'm not on the Pill. So I could have a baby," she told him shamefacedly. She knew now that she was in trouble.
"Why aren't you on the Pill?" He paused in thought. "You're a lesbian, that's it. Right?"
"Most girls are lesbians at one time or another."
He was intrigued. "How do you do it?" He saw her distaste. "Don't start getting grown up or I'll get a willow withe and whip you with it until you treat me properly. Now! How do you do it?"
Melynda explained. He listened enthralled. "That's better. I bet you could be a really corking girl if you tried."
"Untie me and let's be friends," Melynda pleaded.
"That's better! I may do it, y'know. I'm thinking. Know what I've decided! I'm going to take you home."
It was too absurd. But if it set her free, Melynda was for it. "Oh, what fun!" she exclaimed. "Where do you live?"
"Quite close actually. The Mater and Pater are away. We'll have the house to ourselves."
Her heart leaped. He'd have to set her free! Then she'd run and leave him with his pornographic speculations. His shrewd young eyes read her mind. He laughed. "I know what you are thinking... You are a silly girl."
He had a pocket knife. When he untied her waist he used the rope to make a noose for her neck and a leash. Melynda recognized it all as too, too familiar.
He went and cut the willow wand and stripped it of foliage. It emerged as a beastly instrument of pain. The captive girl eyed it without enthusiasm. "I'm going to untie your hands now," he explained. "You'll be helpless because your ankles will still be tied. If you want to make a fuss and try and untie yourself, which you couldn't do anyway because the knots are where you can't reach them, I'll whip you until you decide to be sensible. Then, when you've decided to be nice, I want you to bend and turn and put your hands behind your back and help me to tie them. You know, your wrists crossed. Understand?"
He might have been a satyr a century old. He had all the cunning. The captive knew she would have to do his bidding. His reasoning was faultless. She could not best him. "Don't hurt me," she said listlessly. "I'll do what you want."
It was neatly and expeditiously done. At the end of it a captive Melynda stood, her wrists cruelly tied at the small of her back, a noose round her neck, from it a leash led to the tight grasp of her captor. She was thrall to a child! She writhed inwardly in mortification. Never had he given her a chance to run. She had none now. The boy had her!
A girl's neck is fragile. It is pitifully small in its circumference. She dared not risk what he might do to hers if she fought. She followed obediently on her leash as he led her by devious ways into the back garden of a house. Her eyes had roved in frantic search of succor. But she had seen no one. When the boy closed the back door behind her she knew herself lost. "Don't hurt me," she pleaded humbly. "I'll do whatever you want."
It was undoubtedly the highlight of his youthful life. He radiated joy. She was certain he had an erection. She supposed him old enough. He led her into a pleasant lounge that spoke of a moderate middle-class affluence. Nothing like "Green Elms", but comfortable. He tied her ankles together. "What say we have a drink?" he exclaimed with a child's naughty daring.
"No." He was dangerous enough sober. Melynda did not want him drunk.
But, as he had said, she had nothing to say about anything, save perhaps consent. He poured drinks that were far too liberal and compelled her to down hers from the glass he tilted to her unwilling lips. Melynda was genuinely scared.
"Before we do anything else, I'm going to fuck you," he told her grandly. "S'pose we'd better go to a bedroom."
He tied her leash to a bedrail. Melynda knew she could thrash around ineffectually. But he still held the length of willow. She arranged herself painfully on her bound hands and opened her legs. She was not the first maiden to capitulate to the inevitable.
He pumped away. But not for long. She absorbed his panting and his seed without gratitude. He was obviously chagrined by the absence of exploding constellations. She felt sorry for the disillusioned male creature. "It isn't all that good, is it!" she said sympathetically, hoping to strike a chord.
"You did something... " he accused, "you did something wrong. You spoiled it."
"How could I!" she wailed. "It wasn't any good for me either."
He was obviously at a loss. But was loath to show it. "Suck mine," he demanded, and arranged himself upon the sheets so that she could obey within the limit of her leash.
Without joy, Melynda began her task. It was herself she tasted at the start. Her subject was young. In a surprisingly short time there came into being a hard tumescent flesh to fill her mouth. She was sure she had pleased him with the final explosion and her expert cleansing of his organ.
After quite a long time, during which she lay beside him, helpless on her leash, he said judicially: "That was super!"
He sounded incredulous. "It was better than the other...!"
"It often is." Melynda felt a thousand years old. "Then why do people bother...?" He had glimpsed a chasm.
"Half the time they don't," she informed sardonically.
The boy was determined. Fate had placed Nirvana within his hands. He would not waste it. "You mean that's all?" he asked disgustedly.
"That's about it," Melynda explained with equal dolor. "Except for people who really hold something good for each other it's a bit of a swindle. Sorry!" She reflected a moment. "Of course, if you can manage another erection you can stick it into me from the other side. I think we have to shove a couple of pillows under me to get the proper position... no one's ever done it to me. But a lot of chaps think it's something special. I believe you have to use a bit of vaseline... "
"You're just saying that because you know I can't," he accused.
"Don't hold that against me," Melynda retorted bitterly. She felt she had given the child good value and received only petulance. "I've no doubt it will sprout again before long. At your age," she added maliciously.
An exhausted silence fell upon them. Melynda was infuriated by her leash. It held her inexorably for his pleasure. Surreptitiously she searched for the knot on the cord that bit her wrists. It eluded her. , "You can't get loose," he said complacently as though her every motion and thought was known to him. Irrelevantly he asked, "I suppose you've read those books... you know...?"
"Pornography?" she asked bleakly. She guessed what was coming. Quite probably a limp prick was the root of all evil.
"People do the damndest things," he mused. "I suppose you've tried a few?"
She tried the comrade approach. "We do what seems best for us and the person we love. Sure, there's lots of things. You pick your own."
The boy digested the information. Her fingers worked frantically without result. He recapitulated: "Here we are. We are both naked. We have done two things. Now my prick's gone limp. There's something we can do, isn't there?"
"I can suck it."
"Something else...?"
"I suppose so," she acknowledged miserably. "How do you want me?"
"See! You knew it all the time!" The boy was jubilant. "It's whipping you, isn't it?"
"I suppose so," admitted Melynda, feeling that all roads led to her bottom. She turned on her tummy and raised her bound hands so that the most curved portion of her anatomy was placed for his convenience.
"Someone's already whipped you." It was an accusation as though he resented someone having a go at her first.
"Yes, someone whipped me," she acknowledged. "I'm sorry if it bothers you."
"Why did he whip you? Same reason?"
"It wasn't a he. It was a she."
He tried to digest it. But failed. "Why did she whip you?"
"Because we love each other. I asked her to."
"You're kidding."
"Honestly, no! There's so much you don't understand." She cried out in shock as the willow wrapped itself across her bottom and round her hip. It hurt sickeningly.
"You were being grown up," he accused. "Say you're sorry."
"I'm sorry. I really am. I didn't mean to sound like that." She writhed under the pain.
"That did it!" The boy's voice was exultant. "The books were right."
His captive moaned inwardly. Her flesh was the magic key, and he had found it. Obediently she raised her hips for the inevitable pillows. She lay quiet and unprotesting while he sodomized her. He seemed to derive a considerable enjoyment. She did not.
"I'm afraid that's about the total list," Melynda said apologetically after a long silence.
He accepted her assurance. "Bit of a swindle," he agreed. "But I'm damn glad I found you. Taken me a hell of a long while otherwise... " His voice brightened. "Some of it was good. I say, did you get anything of that, whatever you call it?"
"Oh yes!" Melynda lied. She knew her male!
He sighed. "Well, if that's the lot, I suppose I might as well take you back."
"Back where?" Melynda asked, bewildered.
"Where I found you, of course! I'll tie you just the same. No one will know you were ever loose."
She was nonplused. "But why not just let me go?"
"Hardly sporting, that," he reproved.
Melynda was furious. She was being treated like an article: borrowed and now returned. All in good order. She repressed her wrath. "Please just let me go. I won't bother you. I promise. Please don't tie me back on that tree."
He laughed with his first gaiety and tugged on her leash. She followed like a servile dog. He tied her to the tree and went away, whistling. She never saw him again.
"You must have really struggled," Amabel complained.
"These knots are awful tight."
Melynda never told them. They probably would not have believed.
* * *
The clothes were frightening, tossed at her with a hasty word. Even more frightening was the severe blue uniform and the woman who wore it. Milady seemed in command of the situation. But was desolate. Her heart was in the stricken eyes she turned to the bewildered girl who wore no chains.
"Miss Chayne? Miss Melynda Chayne?"
"Yes?"
"I have a warrant for your arrest. You escaped from the custody of a magistrate. A Lady Amelia Crowther?"
"Did I?" Melynda was lost.
"Is this lady holding you against your will?"
"Good heavens no!" Melynda managed to make it most emphatic.
"In that case I must ask you to accompany me."
Melynda's world shattered. Lady Marcia's stricken features matched her own. Gloria and Amabel watched, petrified.
"Accompany you where?" The query was born of pure horror.
"To the Approved School from which Lady Crowther had accepted responsibility for your welfare and security."
"I'm not going back to that place!" Melynda said with total conviction.
"I'm afraid you have no choice." The uniformed woman's voice was kind, but firm.
Melynda turned hurt eyes on the officer. "You can't understand. I can't go back to that awful place. They'll whip me and whip me and whip me, and they'll chain me in a filthy rotten little cell all by myself... " She burst into tears.
"There are certain disciplines... " The uniformed woman sounded shocked.
Melynda turned and ran. She might have made a successful evasion of the Law had not a round stone rolled beneath her foot and brought her down. By the time she got to her feet she was in firm hands.
"Do you have to handcuff the poor girl?" Mrs. Prentice demanded indignantly.
"What would you do, Madam?" The officer gathered Melynda's wrists at her back and locked them tight. The prisoner wept. She was marched forcefully to the official car. She looked back at the bereft faces of those she had come to love, but could not wave.
"If you cause more trouble I can iron your feet," the officer said without emotion. "You are getting yourself a bad reputation."
The handcuffed girl sobbed hopelessly and helplessly. "I'd suggest you go back to school in a sensible frame of mind," the female officer said kindly.
"They'll whip me half to death! You don't know the place... "
"Oh come! This isn't some barbaric Republic."
"That is! I'll be doused in freezing water, and chained, and whipped. My hands will be caned until they're useless. Then I'll be locked in a beastly little punishment place... " Melynda's tears burst unchecked.
"You're exaggerating, child."
The prisoner stopped arguing. What was the use!
* * *
It was the same beastly little punishment cell. The same irons upon her wrists and round her waist against the pillar so that she could not rest. Everything had been done to her. Everything! Her hands were numb from Miss Rugby's cane, her back was scarred from the matron's whip. It had been intimated that there was worse to come. Lady Marcia and her girls had vanished into limbo. Even the tears were dry, she had shed so many. She had no hope at all...
The door opened. An army entered. It was clothed in tweed. A demoralized matron hovered. "Get that girl unfastened. Give me the handcuffs!"
It was done! Melynda held out her wrists that they be locked in steel. Reprieve can be the sweetest feeling in the world.
"Now the papers! I'll sign 'em!" Lady Crowther was angry.
A dazed and handcuffed Melynda walked back into the world.
They loved and comforted throughout the day and through the night.
It was inevitable that the captive girl should be disturbed. One cannot change loves or loyalties in the span of minutes or of days. She wept much. But found comfort in her chains and in the loving arms that were forever closed. She recoiled from freedom or any hint of it. Freedom led only to the Approved School, a horror from which she recoiled demoralized.
"Silly bastards!" Lady Crowther was vehement. "They were supposed to phone me, but they wanted at you. I'll never forgive 'em."
Melynda wore the chain upon her ankle. The chain that gave her the limits of her apartment, but no more. It was her first demand through her surge of tears and of relief. The chain was sanctuary. It made her safe. True, she could not escape from it. But with it securely locked upon her ankle none could take her. She would stay where she belonged.
"There was no other way, child!" Lady Crowther was heartbroken.
"No other way," her slave agreed. "I do not mind. I will forget what they did to me at the school. Please keep me chained always, always, always. Oh, darling Mistress... "
There was no immediate thought of punishment. Melynda was without guilt. It was her Mistress who was selfcondemnatory that she had locked her beloved in the stocks that day. But they did not bother with the past. Their lives were now. "You do want to whip me so badly, don't you, Mistress?" Melynda whispered.
"Of course I do, love. But you're wearing more marks than a sergeant major. You've been whipped half to death. I can wait."
"Could we have one of our old evenings. You know, with the Colonel and Susan? Has he still got Susan?"
"Has he ever!" Lady Crowther chuckled. "That poor girl's had it for life. He spoils her rotten. But there's always a chain on her ankle."
"There is always a chain on mine. I wish it so."
Lady Crowther laughed delightedly. "Wonderful! I'll give the old so-and-so a call. It'll be a nice change for Susan too. Poor child wants her bottom whipped by someone besides that dirty old man. Fact is, though, I think the girl's come to love that ridiculous man. We're a damn rum lot... "
Colonel Leverett himself met them at the door and bussed them both soundly. He also patted Melynda's bottom and enveloped her in a strong aroma of Chivas Royal. In fine military fashion he held beneath one arm a truly beautiful polished length of black cane, slender and vibrant. Lady Crowther had explained that he carried this emblem now at all times. Some sort of symbolism, perhaps, that he found satisfying, an insignia of slave girl ownership. Most certainly a potent communion between himself and his adored Susan. Melynda eyed it with premonition.
"The dear girl's a bit involved at the moment," the Colonel chuffed as he bustled them into the familiar lounge with its blazing fire and impressive array of bottles. "Inked her blotter a bit, I'm afraid. But we'll need her to serve." He turned to Melynda. "Trot down and bring her up, m'dear. Down the stairs, y'know. You're bound to run into her sooner or later. I say, Amelia old girl, this is simply corking, what!"
Melynda did eventually run into Susan. It was more later than sooner. "Downstairs" was a rabbit warren of rooms of all kinds. Her quest ended in an austere compartment in which the only furnishing appeared to be Susan herself.
Melynda's bare feet had been soundless. Her wrists were handcuffed, but there were no chains upon her ankles. Her arrival at the open door had been unheard. She stood enraptured at what she saw.
Susan hung by her wrists. They were joined and tethered to the ceiling. She must long since have ceased to struggle, for her strained slenderness was without motion. Her head had fallen forward against one raised arm. She appeared to be asleep. With or without conscious intent the Colonel had created beauty. Suddenly, by the magic of telepathy she became aware of watching eyes. Swaying her helplessness she turned and was irradiated with joy.
"Think we could treat Melynda as a guest this evening?" Lady Crowther suggested. "Special occasion, don't you think?"
"Of course, of course!" The Colonel would have agreed to anything. He eyed the handcuffed girl with immense benevolence. "I had hoped, of course...?"
Melynda laughed delightedly. She was absurdly flattered. She knew she would have been piqued had he failed to rise to the occasion. "You'd like to use that lovely cane on me, wouldn't you!" She turned to her Mistress: "May he, please? I don't mind."
Lady Crowther chuckled at her host. "You're incorrigible, you old rogue. But I suppose I'm as bad. It's this creature here. She's a menace. I should keep her locked up in a box. She has the most shockingly erotic effect on everyone. If she passes dogs in the street they start to copulate. She keeps my mares in heat at all times, and those old biddies down at the school are the worst of the lot. Can't tell me Rigby doesn't get wet pants every time she canes her. They'd keep her there for life if they could. Of course you can cane her bottom, dear man. For this evening it's all hers to do what she wants with."
"Splendid woman!" The Colonel glowed. He beamed at the erotic female who was slightly flushed and breathing quickly. "My dear, I'm going to keep you as a sort of gourmet delight, something to be savored. I'll use my ration with the cane later on. Give us both something to look forward to. I say! I am pleased, y'know! Susan! Drinks for all."
There could be no doubt that Susan was thankful not to be hanging by the cords whose red indentations were still visible on her wrists. Her ankle fetters tinkled happily as she sped back and forth upon her duties. It was obvious that, in spite of her predicament upon their arrival, a warm rapport did indeed exist between herself and the man who owned her. Appreciative eyes soon twinkled at brimming glasses, one of which she was graciously given permission to sip as she knelt beside her master's chair.
"Hear you've been kidnapped, m'dear?" said the Colonel for openers.
Melynda considered herself the most kidnapped damsel in England. Thus was not certain which of her current abductions he referred to. It did not matter. "I'm afraid I get kidnapped quite a lot," she admitted apologetically.
"Jolly bad form!" the Colonel pronounced ambiguously. He took a deep sip and considered an errant thought. "Ought to have slave markets, y'know. Save everyone a lot of bother. A girl 'ud know where she stood. Those Confederate fellows in America had the right idea."
All present considered the entrancing prospect. The Colonel's eye brightened. "I say, Amelia old girl, let's send over to the school for a fresh filly."
A pregnant silence greeted his thought. It was broken by Lady Crowther. "We've got the two nicest fillies right here, you old lecher. What d'you want with another?"
"Entertainment!" ejaculated Colonel Leverett. "That's it, a bit of fun and games for the dear girls as well as us. Said yourself it's Melynda's evening."
"She's offered to let you cane her bottom. What more entertainment do you want than that?"
The Colonel was unperturbed. "Mustn't be too hard on the dear child... reunion and all that. Won't take too long. Something supplementary might add a bit of spice. There's that young one who's in for shoplifting at Marks & Spencer's... shows a bit of enterprise."
The phone call brought results. In no more than the space of one more potable an honored but frightened girl in a school tunic was ushered into the room. Susan and Melynda exchanged amused glances of relief. Each had expected to be soundly caned to enliven the Colonel's evening. They eyed the newcomer with commiseration. She was a sweetly pretty cockney child of sixteen.
"A drink for our guest, Susan dear girl," the Colonel bellowed. He would have bestowed a Scotch and soda on a kangaroo had one appeared. For him it opened all doors. Perhaps he was wiser than he knew. He kicked a padded hassock to the center of the rug. "Come along, child, and let's have a look at you."
His latest guest took center stage with obvious reluctance. "Me name's Lucy, sir. Matron says I got to be punished, like. I'll be'ave right proper, I will, sir."
"Of course you will, m'dear," the Colonel was expansive. "Now tuck this away and you'll feel better."
The quaking Lucy, obviously appalled by this redundant authority, eyed the drink that Susan proffered on bended knee. She eyed the chained ankles, she eyed Melynda's handcuffs. Her gaze returned to the brimming glass. "Ain't never 'ad one of these 'ere, sir. Ain't sure I oughta. What 'ud the Matron say, like?"
"She'd drink it herself! Come, pour it down and have another. Don't want to get caned on an empty stomach, do you?" he inquired benevolently.
Lucy took a couple of sips, then two more. Her bright eyes absorbed the room. "What you goin' ter cane me for, sir? I ain't done nothing. You sure there ain't no mistake?"
"No mistake, child. Just a sound caning on general principles."
Lucy was apologetic. "I don't think I got none of them there, sir."
"Of course you haven't," the Colonel agreed heartily. "Couldn't have turned out better."
The cockney girl finished her drink with a grimace. "Don't want no more of that, sir."
"Give her gin this time," the Colonel directed. "Pity to waste good Scotch." He beamed at the girl on the hassock. "Been caned much lately?" It was obvious their conversational latitudes were limited.
"You're scaring her to death," Lady Crowther snapped. "Here, Melynda, help the kid off with her tunic. She's overdressed."
Lucy bridled. "Wot! Me be naked like them! No bloody fear!" She drank deeply of the gin and tonic in shock reaction.
"Well, you can't sit there in front of us like that," the Colonel pointed out. "Hardly decent, what!"
Lucy dismissed his obscure ethic. "Lady at the Salvation Army tole me, 'Don't you ever take yer clothes off.' That's what she said. 'Er 'usban', 'e tole me too. Just want to see your cunt. That's the truth, it is."
"Take that thing off anyway," Lady Crowther said flatly.
Melynda helped. But the two enormous drinks were the most potent aid. A naked Lucy proved to be an elfin sprite with a most whippable round bottom. She instantly covered her pubic hair with one hand and a single small cone of a breast with the other.
"Two down and one to go!" the Colonel guffawed.
"Let me put these on you, dear," Melynda said gently, and locked handcuffs on the slim wrists.
The freshly naked girl looked at the shining steel in amazement. Once more she sought to cover her sex. But to do so entailed the abandonment of one breast. She tugged at the handcuffs as though astonished that they joined her hands. Susan thoughtfully ended her dilemma by placing a replenished glass within their grasp.
It was cruelly and beautifully erotic. The drinks had rid Lucy of the Salvation Army's inhibitions. She sat wide-eyed. A nymph with a drink. The handcuffs gleaming on her wrists were as much a part of her as the silky hair on head and pubes. The Colonel ended the charming cameo by handing his cane to Susan. "You can open the proceedings, dear girl." He probably found Lucy's Cockney probity embarrassing to cope with.
"I'm going to cane you now, love," Susan broke the news to the bright-eyed child as she relieved her of the empty glass.
"I can't 'old me 'ands out, not with these 'ere on." Lucy held up her fettered hands in triumph.
"It isn't your hands, dear. It's your bottom."
The linked small hands flew to protect the rounded cheeks. But were foiled. Two surprised eyes looked up at the girl who held the cane. "You mean I'm s'posed to bend over, like?"
"Good stuff in the girl!" the Colonel approved.
Susan set aside the hassock. She positioned the trembling child and bent her over until the captive fingers touched the floor. She was so young, so pliant and so lovely! Susan's heart went out to her, yet within her loins a small fire glowed. It seemed probable that the victim had little concept of the pain she was about to endure. There would be no telling how she would behave. It seemed a good idea to make the first stroke severe while the bottom on which it would splat was still passive and quiescent. Susan delivered a hard shrewd lash.
Lucy delivered a surprise. The blow slipped her to her knees. But she rose instantly, turned a red face, and accused indignantly: "That 'urt like 'ell!" Her cuffed hands sought to explore her wound. No scream. No moan.
"Bend over again, dear, please."
Lucy's offended features roved the room. "You mean you're goin' ter 'it me agin!"
"Yes, dear. Over nicely now. Like you did before."
"Ain't sure you got any right ter do this," Lucy mumbled as she resumed position. "Might easy 'urt a girl." Susan sliced her expertly enough to evoke a surprised yelp. The caned girl straightened up. "See! I tole yer. It does 'urt. Somethin' 'orrible." She seemed gratified that her point had been proven. "I ain't bending over for no more of them!" It was evident the child was under an impression she was a participant in an esoteric adult antic.
Melynda sensed an impending contretemps. She felt sorry for Lucy. But did not find her and her reactions amusing. She had no wish to see the elfin face bathed in tears. She gave the Colonel her nicest smile. "Wouldn't you like to cane me now?" she asked bewitchingly.
It was as though she had offered wine after water. Her vividness put poor Lucy in eclipse. He rose to his feet and to the challenge. He smiled as upon a goddess. Lucy was led aside, her face a mask of bafflement. Melynda took her place and touched her toes, and wished only that she possessed the Cockney child's immunity to pain. She smiled up demurely at the man who would give her agony. The Colonel took a deep breath and swung...
* * *
It was so easy to fall back into their love and their need. Melynda the slave girl and the Lady Amelia Crowther fulfilled each other. The huge house and the park were their world. Sometimes the Colonel and Susan came and joined the games. But they were content.
One day Melynda was tethered and led behind a horse as she had been led long ago. She did not mind. This time she would be safe in the stocks. They had been fitted with new impregnable locks and reinforced with steel. If it pleased her Mistress that she sit in them, Melynda did not mind. She wished her hands were not cuffed behind her back. But she knew from old experience that they made the prisonment of her ankles doubly potent. Almost eagerly she sat upon the bench and positioned her feet. There came a wicked thrill as the bar was lowered and the padlocks snapped.
"I haven't the heart... " Lady Crowther kissed her slave and changed the cuffed hands from back to front. "There, darling. You can slap at the gnats." She kissed the avid lips again and rode away. "Might be back by dark... " The words drifted back over the hoof beats.
Back by dark! Melynda chuckled. More probably before tea. But then, slave girls never knew, did they! They weren't supposed to. Sometimes her Mistress asserted her authority. The slave sighed contentedly and kissed the handcuffs that were now no punishment. She settled her prisoned person to wait.
How fortunate she was! To be so loved. The captive girl wished she could be slave to all who had desired her. Their faces flitted by in memory. She had given up trying to analyze herself. She no longer doubted that she was not as most other girls. Who of them would find joy in her present condition! Yet she found joy, an infinite happiness. She was by nature and design a slave girl. It was her role. She would not deny it. Why should she! She had found glory.
The snapping of the twig tensed her alert. She turned, angry at her broken reverie.
It was Horace Wilberforce.
Her whole being rose in revolt. Why, oh why, had he come back to torment her. She had been happy. He was going to take away her happiness. He would place a bomb in the middle of her glorious sensuous world and shatter it to nothingness.
He moved round to stand before her. Enough time had passed since their last meeting that both were now vividly conscious of her nakedness. A nakedness emphasized by her parted legs. She allowed her cuffed hands to fall as low as they would go. It was all she could cover. It would have to do.
He looked just the same. Still in need of someone to look after him. She noticed the missing button on his cuff. "Go away, Willie," she said wearily. "Please go away."
"No."
"Why did you come?" As if she did not know! "To get you."
"Oh Willie... " She forgot modesty and buried her face in her joined hands. Her words were muffled. "It's too late. Far, far too late. Be kind. Leave me alone."
"It's never too late for us."
"But it is! I belong to someone. You can never understand."
"You belong to me." He held up two keys. Melynda recognized them.
"Where did you get those?" Her eyes flared anxiety.
"It's alright. She's quite safe. I didn't burgle them. She gave them to me."
"She wouldn't!" Melynda said it with finality.
He looked at her gravely. "Lady Crowther is a very kind woman. She is giving us one more chance. I think she loves you more than she loves anything or anyone. But it was she who phoned and told me to be here today. She gave me these keys half an hour ago."
The wood had never been so silent. After the first stricken look at the bits of metal Mr. Wilberforce held, and the realization of all they implied, Melynda once more buried her face in her hands. Neither moved. Neither spoke. Horace Wilberforce waited. He knew the decisions were not his. When the captive girl once more sought his eyes her voice was tired and strained.
"Leave me alone, Willie. It's too late."
"It's never too late." So trite. Just like Willie.
"I won't go with you, Willie," she implored him with her eyes. "It's not just us. It's also her. She's as much of the picture as you or I. Maybe more so."
"You exaggerate your involvement with Lady Crowther." He was groping for the right words and appropriate comparisons. "You have to remember Mrs. Prentice. You loved her. When I last saw you together it seemed for life. When I walked away from 'Green Elms' that day I did not expect to see you again. But when I heard... when I knew you were here I had to consider these female involvements of yours... "
"Go on. Say it. I'm a lesbian who flits from lip to lip!"
"I won't say it. I don't care what you are. I love you. I think you're only a lesbian because you've been compelled."
"Willie, oh Willie, you still miss the point. I'm not only a lesbian. I'm a slave. That day I walked into your life I didn't know I was either. It was lovely giggly fun. But in all that's happened since I've come to realize that without someone like Lady Marcia or Amelia to whip me and keep me chained... or lock me in these stocks the way I am now, I'm lost. Honest! If they all cast me aside a totally free girl I think I'd go to pieces. I wouldn't want freedom. It's something psychic. Remember that chap who said 'Give me liberty or give me death'! Well, I'm the other way round."
"But you'd never be alone. I'd be there." Horace was still grappling with the feminine psyche.
"Oh Willie. Dear, dear Willie. You wouldn't whip me or be cruel to me or keep me always chained. You'd only make me a slave girl on Saturday afternoon for fun and to take a few pictures. I can twist you round my little finger. Maybe not at this moment. You're not doing anything I want at this moment. But mostly... "
"You're not a rotten masochist," Mr. Wilberforce said stubbornly.
"That's what makes it so hopeless. I don't like being whipped. Mostly I hate it. I scream and carry on something awful. If I grit my teeth for fun I can put on an act the way I did that day with Lord Ripping. But no, I'm not a masochist. I suppose I have to be whipped the way a child is whipped. To make 'em behave and make me know when I'm well off. Amelia might whip me this evening. I'd hate it. But I'd be terribly happy afterward. Don't even try to understand."
"I'll whip you, darling. If it means so much."
She moaned and made a gesture of despair with her chained hands. "You see, Willie, it's no good... " For answer, Mr. Wilberforce took the larger key and unlocked the padlock.
"Leave it alone!" Melynda flashed.
He paid no heed, but loosed the hasp and raised the bar. Melynda made no move, but sat as though still prisoned.
"I love her, Willie. Why must you make me say it!"
"I know you do," he said gently. "She told me all about it."
He offered her his hand. She turned from it angrily. "I couldn't stop you unlocking the padlock. But I don't have to get up. She put me here. I'll stay until she comes to fetch me."
"She locked you in these things so that I would have a chance to say a few words before you flounced off and refused to listen."
"Well, lock me back in them then! You'll have a captive audience."
He stood and looked at her with longing. She was so beautiful! His Melynda.
"Why make me hurt you." She looked up at him appealingly. "Willie, try and understand this: I am happy. These last weeks have been the happiest of my life. I can't change that."
Mr. Wilberforce did not reply. Instead he, again, offered his hand. "You looked delightful when they were locked. Looks a bit silly now."
Angrily she scrambled to her feet. At least her bottom was grateful! He offered her the smaller key. But she thrust it away. "No. I'm always handcuffed. I won't take them off. I won't let you."
He accepted her dictum. He understood it.
"Well, there's no use standing here and nattering at each other," Melynda decided. "I can't make you disappear. We might as well walk back to the house." She longed for her Mistress. With her she would be safe.
He did not demur. They walked side by side, mostly in silence, back towards Melynda's sanctuary.
But Melynda could not keep the silence. Somehow she must make Mr. Wilberforce understand. "Willie," she pleaded, "I'll be brutal about me. I'm a pervert. I'm a deviant. I'm a lesbian, all those awful lovely names. Actually I'm just me. But we have to put labels on things so I'll use the words they use for anyone who's different. I'm different! I suppose I always was. I'm sure that's the reason I answered your ad. Then it was just a wonderful lark. Honestly I'd no idea where it could lead. I fell in love with you. If that damn fool policeman hadn't found me tied to that tree our whole lives would have been different: at least I think they would."
"You are still in love with me."
"Alright. Yes. It's possible to love two people." Horace Wilberforce looked starkly at what he saw. The trouble was, he reflected, that he understood all too well the emotional captivity of this girl he loved. Had it not been for his own psychic compulsions neither of them would have stood where they now were. Melynda had made few isolated decisions. Her progression to her present condition had about it much of inevitability. Her life and being had placed her in this lovely place with the woman who was now her Mistress with the surety of predestination. Had he now any selfish right to be demanding? What kindness would he do anyone to wrest her away from a happiness such as few ever know? Lady Crowther had summoned him, perhaps from kindness, perhaps from conscience, to impose one final test upon her captive. The test had been made. Mr. Wilberforce felt only desolation. He was a nice young man.
They were approaching the stables now. Melynda had caught a distant glimpse of her Mistress pacing her steed across the grass. It seemed probable she would soon join them. What must be done had best be done now. Stopping, she stood on tiptoe and kissed Mr. Wilberforce gently on the lips. It was a farewell. He clutched at her. But she pushed him away, though left her hands upon him as she spoke.
"We could talk for hours, Willie, but we wouldn't get any further than we are now. Knowing you understand helps. You understand because you are one of us." She grinned. "Sounds like a secret society, doesn't it!" She gazed up into his eyes solemnly. "We have talked about love. It's why you are here. Oh Willie! I don't know how to say this. It sounds so damn uppity. But there's something else too. I love you. I love my Mistress. If I was married to you I would not leave you. I am more than married to her. I will not leave her. I won't hurt her like that. I don't want to-that's the obligation part. But there is something between us: love, yes. But something else... I don't know what to call it. But it's strong. Terribly, terribly strong. Much stronger than I am."
She buried her face against his jacket and wept. A distant, but approaching, tattoo of hoof beats impinged upon their desolation. They turned and walked to meet the woman on the horse. Melynda was dabbing at her cheeks with Mr. Wilberforce's handkerchief. She wryly reflected that she seemed to use other people's handkerchiefs a great deal.
Lady Crowther was riding at a hard gallop. She waved to them and spurred her horse at the paddock gate. Horse and rider rose in an effortless motion of infinite grace. Melynda's heart quickened at the power and the beauty and the skill. The watchers never knew the snagged hoof upon the bar. They saw only the wildly striving limbs and bodies which momentum threw into grotesque shapes and sickening impacts. Even before their flying feet took them to the spot they knew that Amelia, Lady Crowther, was dead.
* * *
It was an English day. The air soft and warm as a caress. But the sky a formless grey as though it, too, was in mourning. It had rained in the night so that there was a wetness and freshness upon the land. The scent of growth and fecund soil touched the senses to a quickened awareness of life and its renewal.
The man and the girl lingered at the grave after others had gone. Colonel Leverett had given them a hesitant and lingering glance as though he, too, wished to share their vigil, before he turned and walked spiritlessly to the waiting cars. It was all over. A funeral had been solemnized.
Melynda was numb. She had been frantic and inconsolable. She had raved and wept. But that had passed as all things pass. She had done the things she had to do. "Willie" had been there. They had talked little. There was no need. Each knew the other's thoughts. There had been much to do, for into Melynda's hands the dead woman had placed all that she had and that she was. The beneficiary of a strange love would not come to fully realize, perhaps for many days, that she was now the sole owner and Mistress of all the wealth and all the beauty of the place in which she had been a slave. Lady Crowther had kept her word. For Melynda it was all too much in too little time.
No matter the grief or the desolation, one can not stand at a graveside forever. There were obligations. Social niceties to be observed. The Colonel had taken over much. But Melynda must be there. The two of them turned and followed the others who had mourned.
Each of them was bereft. This was a day outside the world. Yesterday was gone. The morrow's dawn was not yet. Each knew their separate loneliness. But, as the rain had given life to the soil they trod, so youth would return life to them. A life that had only paused. It had not died. Melynda hastily shuffled in her bag and thrust a package into her companion's pocket. He felt the outline of the handcuffs and the key. She said, simply: "Tomorrow."
They joined hands. Mr. Wilberforce and Melynda walked toward the gates.
