Monique Hutton knew immediately that she was in trouble. As soon as she snapped into reality from the utter blackness that was the Temporal Displacement Period, TDP for short, and the usual tingling of all the nerves in her body faded away, she knew that she was in big trouble. Bright sunlight was the first thing she saw, tight constrictions upon her body was the first thing she felt. It took only a second to realize that she was somehow restrained and could not move. In the second after that, she realized that she was completely naked and sea breezes were caressing the soft skin of her breasts.
When a Time Jumper awakens, it is a sudden thing, not a gradual awaken as from sleep. There is a sudden snap and you're not laying in the reclining chair in the Time Chamber anymore, you're suspended in utter, total blackness with no body, no sounds, no feelings, and a frightening sense of timelessness. It is as if you're suddenly a mind with no body or universe to house it. Then, after what always seems an eternity, Snap! and you're in someone else's body, somewhere else in time.
Monique opened her eyes slowly and took in more of her surroundings. At the same time she explored the condition of her body by feel. She was, indeed, naked and the soft sea breezes were tickling her skin, teasing it and feeling rather cool where the hot sun was shining directly on her. She could feel some kind of ropes cutting into her arms and legs and concluded that she was immobile, tied tightly with ropes to something solid, and, at least until she could explore her condition more, apparently helpless.
As her eyes grew used to the bright sunlight, she saw that she was standing on a wooden deck. Before her was a wooden railing dotted at regular intervals with ancient black iron cannons. That, combined with the creaking of rigging, the salt tang in the air, the slight swaying motion of the deck under her and the object she was tied to, and the distance blue/green line of the horizon, told her that she was on board a sailing ship. The colorful pirate standing to one side was a big hint, too.
As she slowly turned her head, the pirate came into better view. He was a darkly handsome man, with long black hair, a big mustache, and vaguely French features. His dress was something right out of an Errol Flynn movie, faded purple waist coat, doublets, buckled shoes, a wide brimmed hat with a feather flourish. The clothes were none too clean and as he approached there was a hint of rum upon his breath.
"Does m'lady feel like reconsidering her position?" he asked gallantly. "The sun is indeed hot this afternoon. I fear your skin may become quite burned."
Monique was wondering what this girl's reply would be when something else wrong struck her like a physical blow. There was no other personality in this body with her!
For a few seconds, while Monique tried to come to grips with this new and very freighting development, the pirate gazed into her eyes. Then he let that gaze lower to include her naked and bound figure with obvious enjoyment on his face. "Well, perhaps later," he muttered and strolled away.
Monique closed her eyes. There was no question about it, there was no other person in that body with her. But there should have been. Time Jumping required that there be another person present. It was always that way. The TDT back at UCSA searched back in time and found a host that was a close match to your mental patterns and personality, and in the time period and place defined for that Jump. Then you Jumped and merged with that person. The Jumper didn't displace the host, he or she sort of coincided with the host, like a passenger going along for the ride. The Jumper could see everything the host could, hear what the host could hear, could feel all that the host's body was feeling, and even shared the emotions of the host as that person lived their lives. But the Jumper could not influence the host, could not cause the host to do a single thing different from what they had done as defined by history. The host didn't even know the Jumper was there. The Jumper was just along for the ride.
That's how it should have been. But everything was wrong on this Jump. First off, Monique should have landed during the American Civil War, at a time and place where she could attend Lincoln's Gettysburg Address. She would have gathered notes on that famous speech to be compared with those granted history by people who had lived in that time period.
But this was not the Civil War. This looked more like a couple hundred years earlier and not even on land. Only during the earliest Jumps had the Jumpers missed the mark, and then only by a few hours or miles. She could not remember anyone missing as much as this.
And there was the lack of host personality. That was unheard of. The host was always present and never knew that there was a Jumper looking over his or her shoulder. In theory there had to be a host personality present. Without a host, how could the body function? The Jumper was only an observer, Monique told herself. The host did all the moving, talking, etc.
Then a terrible feeling came over Monique. Slowly she willed her eyes to open. They did. It was a shock to a woman used to riding along, not in control enough to even make the host blink. Then she lowered her head to gaze down. The head obeyed and the eyes beheld a pair of rather large and very nicely shaped breasts. There was rope tightly pressing into the top of her breasts, three pieces of it. The breasts were creamy white and the ropes a dirty white.
She closed her eyes and tried to adjust to the shock. She was actually in control of this body! That was impossible! No one had ever been able to make a host do the slightest action different from what they had already done in the past. In that respect, the past was an unalterable, fixed record that could not be changed. Jumpers only went back to observe, to learn about history, never to try to change it.
A scientific portion of her brain marveled at the possibilities this presented, while a more emotional part was afraid. This was totally unexpected and impossible. But the real fear lurking in her mind was that she would not be able to return to her time.
Returning to the "present" had been a big worry during the early experiments. It was feared that the Jumper could be "stuck" in the host, unable to detach. It took a great deal of courage for that first Jumper, Gary Moran, to actually stand in the TDT and go where no man had gone before. But he did return, Monique told herself in an attempt to provide some comfort. When the time limit is up, the TDT will automatically pull her back from the past, she told herself firmly. It always had and it always will. All she had to do was wait the six hours programmed into the computer and she would be back. And would she have a story to tell the other scientists and a lot of old theories would fall because of this!
A sound in front of her made Monique open her eyes. A crewman dressed in ragged britches and a torn shirt sloughed by, carrying a bucket but obviously staring at the naked girl tied to the mast. He didn't seem to be too familiar with the benefits of daily bathing, to judge from the odor. Monique closed her eyes again.
Okay, she told herself, you're in this body and you control it. She wondered if the host was back in her body in the control room. Hope the host takes good care of my body, she prayed. But there were more important things than wondering about something happening four or five hundred years in the future. There was the fact that she was naked, tied to a mast, and apparently expected to reconsider her position on something. Normally Monique would have followed the little drama with interest but a detachment. But now she was in this drama and it felt very real to her. The sun was indeed hot where it struck her naked flesh, but even more painful than that was the tightness of the ropes holding her prisoner. She could feel the post she was tied to and it seemed to be only a few inches in diameter, certainly not any kind of main mast. Perhaps it wasn't even a mast at all but some kind of pole placed there just to tie girls to.
She explored with her fingers to find that her wrists were tightly corded together, palms facing each other. There were no loose ropes at all and no knots she could find. She realized that the largest portion of pain was coming from her elbows which had been cruelly pulled together and knotted in tight ropes. There was also rope wrapped around her chest, above and below her breasts. Her legs felt like they were tied together but she could move them a little and it didn't feel like they were also lashed to the post. The ropes did cut into the flesh of her legs above the knees but she couldn't see them. All in all, she was one well-tied up girl and certainly not going away where.
It was a strange feeling for Monique to be so completely helpless. She had never been completely and thoroughly tied up in her whole life. There had been a few times when she was in her early teens but those times had not been anywhere as tight or complete as this. Whoever had bound her to that post had done a good job.
As she thought about her situation, she was aware of the activity going on around her. There were apparently dozens of crewmen and many of them found reason to pass by the naked and bound girl. She could hear them, smell most of them, and sometimes see their leers and grins. It reminded her of little boys pressing their noses against the window of a toy store, gazing with longing at the goodies within. But since no one made the slightest move to touch her, she assumed that this naked captive was off limits. What bothered her even more than strange men leering at her nakedness was the hatred she could see in some of their eyes. She could sense that most of them would like to do more than just make love to her.
She tried to ease her discomfort but could do nothing about the tight ropes, the hot sun, or the enforced standing on bare feet. Only fractions of an inch were allowed her where she was lashed to the post. A little more where her bound legs could shift a little to the sides or forward, but still not much. She quickly gave up hope of working herself free from the ropes, they were simply too tight and too well knotted.
Every Time Jumper thought about being stuck in a host body. That was a normal fear when you realize how much they were living the lives of the host. Monique was coming to emotionally accept that this was really happening to her, but she still held hope that at the end of the six hours the TDT computer would pull her back. It had to.
She wondered about the woman's body that she had jumped into. It appeared to be young, and certainly full figured to judge by the breasts she could see pushed outward by the ropes above them. She felt like she had a slender body with a flat tummy and long legs. Some blonde hair drifted in front of her face from time to time, pushed around by the breeze. It felt as if her hair extended far below the shoulder level. All in all, it seemed as if she had inherited a good body, although the face remained to be seen. From the looks on the crewmen's faces, she was not unpleasant to look upon.
But why was this girl naked and lashed to a mast? If these were indeed pirates, and they didn't look like regular sailors, then perhaps she was captured booty, a treasure to be shown off before the crew. And perhaps to be enjoyed by the crew ... ? Monique wished she could remember more about the practices of pirates. That hadn't been an area she studied but it wasn't hard to figure that a boat load of horny sailors, at sea for months on end, might just be interested in a well-built young wench. Very interested.
But that didn't explain why the one dressed in purple silk had asked her if she were ready to reconsider. Reconsider what? Giving permission for the crew to use her? Not hardly. There was something else involved here and she didn't know what.
After a few hours passed and her mouth grew dry and her limbs hurt and her skin burned, Monique Hutton was ready to reconsider anything if it meant she would be freed from this post.
"Is m'lady ready to change her mind?" The voice surprised Monique. She lifted her head and opened her eyes to find the purple silk pirate standing before her. She assumed he was the captain since he seemed to do no work and was better dressed than the rest.
"I'm willing to talk about it," she said, hoping that she could draw some more information out of this guy. "If you would untie me and let me get a drink of water."
The pirate laughed. Just like in all the grade B pirate movies, it was a diabolical and sinister bass chuckled that sneered at her naivete. "You'll stay right where you be," he continued after his amusement died down, "until you agree to write that letter. My crew doesn't seem to mind the way you've prettied up our deck. Dare say they'd like to get their hands on a wench like you, a lady of class and all. Far cry from the whores down in Porta Prince." He stepped closer until rum blasted her in the face. "And more than a few of them would like to see the skin lashed off your back, m'lady. They don't like what your father did to their crew mates back in Jamestown, they don't. Some of them what saw their lovers swinging at the end of hemp would like to do the same to you."
Lovers? Pirates didn't carry women on their ships, did they, asked Monique of herself. Then it dawned on her. Long sea voyages and a lot of men closed up in close quarters made for gay lovers, she thought. The old navies were famous for that.
"So, what will it be, m'lady? You write the letter to your father or do you stay here, lashed to this pole, until you rot?"
"I ... I guess I'll have to write that letter," Monique said with what she hoped was the proper amount of resignation. It was hard to remember that she was not an uninvolved observer. "I can't write with my hands tied like this," she hinted.
The captain gazed at her for a minute then motioned for someone off to the side to come forward. "I would have thought that the daughter of so famous a man would have held out longer," he said with obvious disappointment. "There were other punishments we could have tried if a day lashed to a pole didn't change your mind. More's the pity."
Monique felt fingers working on the ropes binding her to the pole. "Perhaps the daughter of such a famous man is not stupid," she said.
That gained her only a raised eyebrow. The ropes fell away from her chest but those on her arms had to be peeled off, so indented were they into her flesh. Monique cried in real pain as the last ropes came off and her arms came forward. Her shoulders hurt terribly and she could not use her arms, so numb were they. So much did the pain occupy her mind that she forgot her legs were still bound together, and when she started to take a step forward she fell to the deck. One of the crewmen untied the knots as she sat there, enduring the pain of returning circulation. There were deep, red marks in her arms and across her chest from the ropes, and she had to wonder how long had she been tied there before jumping in. She felt like it had been quite a time.
The captain and a crewman helped her to her feet and then to the captain's cabin. Walking was not easy but Monique could feel her limbs returning to normal with each passing minute. The hands holding her arms to aid her were not holding on tightly and she wondered for a second if she could break free and leap over the rail. But from her position she had not seen anything but ocean, and when she glanced at the other side of the ship she could see only more water. Leaping into the ocean would gain her nothing and might well cost her a lot. Besides, if they only wanted her to write a letter, she could certainly do that.
"Address it to your father," said the captain after Monique had been seated at a table and given a goose feather pen, a pot of lumpy ink apparently made from lampblack, and a sheet of coarse paper.
Monique hesitated. How could she get this man to tell her the name of her father? She could think of nothing that might do the trick, so she wrote "Dearest Father," on the paper and hoped that would do.
"As I told m'lady before, all you have to do is inform his Lordship that his daughter is being held for ransom. And it will cost him a pretty farthing to get her back." The captain laughed. "Now write."
Monique began. "I am being held captive by pirates," she wrote. "Please pay whatever they ask." That seemed short and to the point. "They threaten to torture me if you don't," she added for good measure. Being cruelly bound naked in the hot sun was surely torture to anyone.
But then she ran into a problem. What to sign the letter. All this man had called her was "m'lady", a title not a name. How could she ask him what her own name was? With the captain and a couple of the crew looking on, she signed the letter, "Your loving daughter."
The captain took the paper and stared at it hard. "Odds Bodkin!" he cried. "What are you trying to do to us! Torture you! Are you trying to get us all hanged!" He waved the paper in front of her face. "Why do you write so funny? Is this some kind of secret message? You make your letter all wrong. And why is there no names? Are you trying to mock me?"
He was mad and it didn't take a genius to tell that. "I'll write it again," she said. "Tell me the exact words you want and I'll write it out as you say."
For a few terrible, long seconds he stared at her, anger in his eyes and the page crumpled in his hand. Finally he straightened up and let the paper fall to the floor. "I should have known his daughter would not give in so easily. Well, m'lady, you've gotten yourself off the pole with your little trick, but you'll not pull that again on me. George, take her out and string her up to the yardarm." He paused while Monique swallowed hard, fearful that his command would mean she was to be hung by the neck until dead. Wasn't that what they meant when they said "hang them from the highest yardarm?"
"By her feet," he concluded grandly. Leering crewmen grabbed her and dragged her from the ill smelling cabin. She was tossed face down on a pile of ropes on the main deck, and her arms roughly pulled behind her. She could feel the coarse hemp rope scratching her breasts as smaller rope bound her wrists crossed behind her. At the same time someone was binding her ankles together. With many a laugh and crude remark, the two crewmen assigned to the task let go of her, and one of them took a rope in his hand and quickly climbed up a rope latticework to the nearest cross beam. He passed the rope over that and then scooted back down. They took that rope and began hauling on it. Monique felt her feel pulled up and suddenly her legs were higher than her chest. A couple seconds later her shoulders were lifted off the pile of big ropes and she was swinging back and forth as she rose higher and higher.
Monique had to swallow down her fear. It was scary being hoisted high over the deck while hanging upside down. It seemed like a very long distance to the deck when her feet nearly touched the yardarm and the crewmen knotted off the rope. It was probably no more than thirty feet but it made Monique very much afraid as she twisted and swayed in the afternoon breeze.
She could see crewmen looking up at her and hear their crude comments about upside down whores and the high and mighty being high but not so mighty. The captain's purple stood out among the plainer colors of the crew and she pleaded with her eyes to that man. She did not know what she could say that would make him end this torture. She had already tried and failed miserably.
"Let her hang an hour or so, mate," she heard him tell someone. "Then bring her in to my cabin and we'll see if she's more cooperative."
An hour is not a long time. Unless, of course, you happen to be naked, hanging upside down, and in the hands of blood-thirsty pirates. Then it's a long time. Monique moaned each time the wind twisted her body around and as the pain in her ankles increased. Her body was young and could take the rough treatment but it was not pleasant. She tried to pass the time by observing and trying to plan what she would do when she was taken down. She deliberately twisted so she could see in all directions, but only empty sea met her gaze. Jumping overboard was not going to get her anywhere.
by the time she was lowered to the deck and the ropes taken from her hands, Monique Hutton was ready to promise anything and do anything to keep them from torturing her more. She calculated that she had been in this body only a couple of hours and had four to go before the computer would bring her back to her own time. All she had to do was hold out until them.
They led her into the captain's cabin with her hands still bound behind her back. She tossed back her long blonde hair and stared at him in a way she hoped would look very submissive. He seemed to expect her to make the first move so she did.
"Captain," she began, "could we talk alone?" The captain must have been thinking the same thing because he grinned from ear to ear and ordered the crew out of his cabin. "Well, m'lady, what is it you have to say to me in private?"
Monique, hating herself for what she was about to do, stepped up to him, swaying her hips in what she hoped was a seductive manner. "Captain, it's driving me crazy being naked in front of all those men." She spoke in as husky a voice as she could manage. It sounded comical to her but the captain seemed to accept it.
"Driving you crazy? Strange words but I believe I catch your drift. Perhaps it's been a long time since you've had a real man ram his shaft up your tunnel."
"A very long time," she breathed, almost choking on the words. She pressed her breasts against the front of his shirt and tried to ignore the bad breath.
The captain, not a man to waste words or time, tossed his captive wench on the bed and removed his clothes in such haste that he tore some of them. As Monique lay on the unkempt bed, her bound hands under her, she hoped this was worth the sacrifice. While she had been hanging there, she had considered the possibilities. There seemed to be only two; either she refused to cooperate and would be tortured more, or she would try to cooperate and fail to produce the proper letter. They might even come to the conclusion that she was not the daughter of a famous and wealthy man, and heaven only knew what would happen to her then. Then a third possibility occurred to her. If she could stale for time, she only had to wait three hours or so and the TDT would pull her out of this crazy world. But what would make a pirate forget about the ransom note? What would make any man forget about anything? Sex! As much as she hated doing it, she was going to have to use the womanly charms of this host body to make the captain more interested in other things.
Her fear that he might be queer like some of the crew was put to rest when the last of his clothes disappeared into a pile at the end of his bed and his rigid rod proclaimed his interest. Monique tried to smile as she did the most incredible thing this conservative, scholarly prude had ever done-she spread her legs in invitation.
This is no way for a respectable Ph.D. to act, she said to herself. But it might save my life. Or at last save me from more pirate torture.
The captain mounted his bunk between the open thighs and began what can only be described as a cruelly perform and rather uneducated screwing of a maiden. He smelled terrible and grunted like an animal as he pumped away. Monique could feel the body she inhabited respond to the rough sexual invasion but before she could really get going the captain had shot his load and was withdrawing from enemy territory.
Well, Monique told herself, that had been good for all of five minute's delay. She was not an overly experienced woman but at least the few men she had gone to bed with had taken their time with the sex act and most had tried to make sure she enjoyed it. This pirate was an animal.
When she opened her eyes it was to find the captain with his clothes on, or most of them, standing there with his hand upon the shoulder of a big, dirty crewman in torn cream colored pants. "Michael Flynn," he said loudly, "it has been said that you had the biggest dong in all the King's navy."
"Right you are, Captain. Before I became a pirate, that is."
"Well, Flynn, me boy, let's drag that thing out and see what it can do to tame a bitch of royal blood."
Michael Flynn may not have had the largest penis in the whole of the Royal Navy, but he certainly had whoever was in first place worried. The thing he released from his pants was monstrous and Monique gaped when she saw it. Then she gasped as the idea hit home that she was about to be impaled on a thing obviously far too large for any girl to take. She began crawling backwards until the wall stopped her.
She protested but it did no good. The pirate, cheered on by as many crewmen as could fit into the cabin, mounted the bed and dragged Monique back to the middle where there awaited a mission impossible. She protested that it would kill her and Michael, with a fine Irish brogue, agreed that it might well do just that. But it would certainly be a fine way to go, all things being considered. Then she yelled as it was pushed into her love tunnel. But Michael was surprisingly easy on her and even teased her clit with his fingers until this borrowed body was responding with a heat of its own. When he had her juices flowing, he pressed home his advantage. Monique moaned loudly and could not believe that she was not being torn in half. Actually, it felt pretty good, but she did not admit that aloud. For the audience she cried that she was being killed and begged for mercy. Michael informed her with more than a hint of Irish humor that he was showing as much mercy as any girl could every hope for, then he began pumping away.
To say that Monique was turned on by the performance and the size of his equipment would be an understatement. This normally quiet female scientist who considered sex something mildly interesting but mostly boring, was excited like she had never been before. She told herself it was only this borrowed body reacting, not her, but that meant little for she was feeling the sensations and emotions exactly as if it were her own body. She moaned, she cried out, she wrapped her legs around his hips and squeezed as hard as she could. With incredible timing, the big Irishman brought this captive female to a climax just as he was shooting his wad inside her. For Monique it was like nothing she had ever felt before. Skyrockets exploded in her brain, her body felt on fire, and she was someplace not on this earth. Flashing lights filled her vision and every nerve in her body tingled. It was incredible.
Much later she drifted back to reality to find that she was still laying on the captain's bunk, she was still naked, and her hands were still bound behind her back. Dimly she could make out the captain sitting at his table working on some charts or something by candle light. She tried not to move but there was a demand she could not ignore.
"Captain," she began, "I have to take a pee."
"Take a pea?"
"Go to the bathroom."
"Bathroom. We have no baths on board." She worked her way up to her feet and stood there with legs crossed.
"Oh, m'lady has to take a piss," he said brightly. "George!" When George came in, he was ordered to take the wench to the railing and hold her over the edge so she could piss on the sharks.
And that is exactly what happened. Monique would have had it otherwise but when you have to go, you have to go. She didn't know if there were sharks down below or not, but she sat on a plank with a circular hole cut in it and did what she had to do. The plank was set out over the edge of the deck and looked a permanent part of the ship. She suspected that this was the "bathroom" on this ship. In a way it made sense. Better to discard waste over the side than anything else she could think of.
Back in his cabin, she feared that the captain would begin again about the writing of that ransom note. But he didn't. Instead he seemed put out by her perform with the big Irishman.
"You made more noise with him than you did with me, m'lady," he accused. Monique didn't know what to say so she remained silent. Fact is the Irishman had done a hell of a lot better job and deserved more noise. Hell, Monique thought he deserved applause! The captain sniffed. "Well, I guess not all men can be endowed with prongs that belong on a bull." He sniffed again.
Monique went and sat on the bed. She wanted his mind as far as possible away from the quill and ink and paper on his table. "You were excellent, Captain," she lied. "A girl could hardly ask for more." She almost gagged on that one. "But not all men can be so big." Monique smiled. She made a mental note to date more Irishmen when she got back to her own time.
"Well ... Be it as ye say, m'lady. But seems to me that we might not want to be ransoming you to your father now. Sort of spoiled the merchandise, we did, so to speak. If he finds out what we did to you, he won't rest until he tracks us down, every one of us. And he won't hang us by the necks until dead, so he won't." Monique didn't like the way this conversation was going. "So what to do with you, m'lady?"
Monique was thinking furiously. But all that came up was make him want to keep her around. And what good was a woman on board a pirate ship? They probably already had a cook. Besides, Monique could never cook very well anyway. She sighed and offered the only thing she could. "Maybe we could sleep on it? You might have an idea in the morning." She smiled and slid over on the bed suggestively.
The captain brightened. This was something he understood. And Monique had the feeling that he wouldn't be calling in any well-built sailors again.
The lovemaking was the same as before. The captain obviously didn't care what the woman felt, content to use her as a receptacle for his sperm and nothing else. But this time she managed to extent the efforts out a bit and when he finally finished with an extra loud grunt, he was tired enough to lay down beside her and fall asleep. Maybe the rum she could smell on him and in the tankard on the table had something to do with it.
Monique arranged herself as best she could on the bed, and tried to figure what to do next. Her legs were free, only her hands were bound, so she could get up and leave the cabin. But there would be crewmen on the deck, even in the middle of the night. She could sometimes hear them walking the wooden decks and calling to each other. She might be able to hide for a while but what good would that do her? It would be better to wait right there for the snap that would signal her return to a normal, descent world.
On that subject, she frowned. It was night but she had no way of telling what time it was. The best she could guess was that she should snap any moment, for surely six hours had passed since she popped into this host. She was planning what she would tell old Dr Pritchard when she drifted off to sleep.
The next thing she knew she was the captain was crawling over her to get out of his bunk, sunlight was streaming into the room, and she was still in this host. Certainly more than six hours had come and gone, and still she was a prison both in this body and at the hands of these pirates. She wanted to cry.
The captain had his way with his captive maid, but she was so disappointed, scared and confused that her body could hardly respond and it was a most unpleasant experience. It seemed to be unpleasant for the captain, too, for he cursed her for making it difficult for his rod to get in, then cursed all women for being whores. When he was finished, he grumpily called in a couple of crewmen and informed them that they could take this whore down to the crews quarters and let everyone have at her. She wasn't much of a screw, he added.
Monique had been close to tears but that was the last straw. She exploded to her feet and charged the surprised captain. "You bastard!" she hollered as she kicked upward with all her strength. The bare foot may not have been as effective as a booted one, but where she kicked him was a very soft, sensitive place. The air rushed out of his lungs and he doubled over onto the floor, groaning as he went down.
For a long time no one moved. The captain lay on the deck, biting his lip and moaning. The crewmen stood by, unsure what to do. And Monique stood there, surprised as the captain by what she had done. And more than a little afraid of what would be done to her now.
The captain eventually managed to get to his feet with the help of some crew. His face was pale and he had trouble speaking. "Get his whore ... out of my sight," he sputtered. "Take her ... Take her on deck. Keelhaul her!" The last words were spoken extra loudly and brought a gasp from the crew present.
"But, Captain, you said the men could have her," one man offered.
"Take the whore out and keelhaul her," he repeated. "Keelhaul her a dozen times. A hundred times!"
As the crew hauled Monique out of the cabin and into the morning sunlight, she tried to remember what keelhauling was. She vaguely remembered the term, but not what it meant.
Her ankles were tied together and a long length of thick rope tied around those. For a minute it seemed that she would be hung upside down again but they cut the ropes off her wrists. Then her hands were brought around in front of her and tied together. Another long rope was tied to them. She tried to imagine what ways they could tie her with these ropes but failed to come up with anything that sounded right. The sailors then picked her up and carried her to the front of the ship. There the rope from her ankles was passed under the big spar sticking out in front of the ship and taken on the other side by several crewmen. She was lifted to the rail and lowered over the side. The rope to her ankles was pulled and she found herself being dragged along the rough wooden side until she was directly under the prow. Her wrists were above her head, and she was held in place by the rope from them and from her ankles.
It was then she remembered what keelhauling was and started to scream and struggle. Keelhauling meant to be hauled along the keel. The ropes were loosened and she sank towards the water. Keelhauling, she remembered, meant that the victim would be tied to ropes on each side of the ship and dragged under the ship from nose to stern, underwater all the way, and bouncing along the bottom of the ship. She remembered that to be keelhauled was usually a equivalent to a death sentence. If a person could hold their breath all the way under the ship, there was still the barnacles that attached themselves to the hull. Those were razor sharp and could slice a body to ribbons as it was dragged over them unless plenty of slack was allowed in the ropes so the victim could pass below the bottom of the boat. And if a victim survived the barnacles and didn't drown, there was always the sharks. Sharks were attracted to blood in the water. If the first keelhauling didn't kill her, the captain had ordered that it be repeated, undoubtedly until she failed to survive one.
She cut off her scream and tried to suck in air as she was dropped to the water. The men holding her ropes had obviously thought it easier on her to let her sink into the water as much as she could before dragging her the length of the boat. In theory she might be able to avoid the barnacles and come up at the other end. But it took a long time for the sailors to pass the ropes down along each side of the ship, probably far longer than anyone could hold their breath.
Monique hit the cold water with a shock and almost lost the air she was trying to hold in. After that all was a jumbled mixture of cold, pain and being tumbled about under water. She bumped hard into the bottom of the ship but could not control her motions at all. The ropes binding her wrists and ankle took away any chance of swimming. Just when her lungs were burning and she was certain she could no longer hold on, she was pulled from the water. Sputtering and coughing, she was hauled up on the deck at the stern of the ship, all the way past the big windows there. She lay on the deck, soaked, coughing, and cut in a dozen places.
"Captain, she's been punished," said one crewman, obviously hoping that this would be enough. After all, this good looking wench had been promised to the men and they wanted her.
"Again," said the captain between clenched teeth as he stood there, supported by two crew mate and with one hand holding his crotch. "Keelhaul her again."
They carried Monique back to the bow and fixed her up for a second go under the ship. By then she had gotten back her breath and was pleading the she would do anything if they would only stop this. She promised to write ransom notes, to be a great screw for every man in the crew, and even to cook for them. But so great was their fear of the captain, not a man moved to stop her keelhauling, nor to say a word in her defense. They let go the lines and dropped the naked girl into the sea. There were triangular fins slicing through the water as she disappeared under the ship.
All was dark and cold as she began again the hellish trip under the ship. Someplace along the keel she felt sharp pains but didn't know what they came from. Then some more and she wanted to scream.
Suddenly there was a familiar snap and all was black and silent and non-existence. An emotion of happiness flooded over Monique as she realized that she had finally been pulled out of that pirate hell by the TDT computer.
Another snap and she was back in light and air and the real universe.
But something was wrong. This was not the control room. There were no technicians and scientist around her. And the familiar feel of breeze on bare skin greeted her. And she felt tight ropes around her arms and legs.
Dr Monique Hutton wanted to cry.
"She's Jumped again," said Dr Pritchard. "But not back here." He ran a wrinkled hand through thin white hair. "She's gone someplace else. Can you get a fix, Howard?"
"TDT said that it didn't Jump her. The time fix keeps changing. There, it's dampening down. The reading is ... is ... 1722. Yes, that's what it's stopped on. The place is somewhere in Wyoming. That's the best we can get now."
Dr Cockard closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Still no idea why she didn't Jump to the proper place and time originally?"
"No, sir. The Jump just didn't go right. We've run full diagnostics on the computer and on the TDT equipment. Everything checks out normal."
"So she just spent nineteen hours in 1512 then Jumped to 1722. And we have no idea why." The senior scientist of the project sighed and looked at the padded chair where Dr Monique Hutton's body still sat, an unanimated, empty hull awaiting the return of its owner. He sighed again. "I wonder what she was doing in 1512."
CHAPTER TWO - Water and Leather Torture
Monique expected to look down to find her body covered with cuts from the barnacles under that pirate ship. But the body she saw was not cut up. And it was definitely not the same body she had inhabited just a few seconds ago. Or was it hundreds of years ago?
This body was well tanned, slender but muscular. The breasts were not as full sized as her last set, but young and pert and went quite well with the slender figure. But this new body did shared some things with her prior one. This one was just as naked. And it was also tightly bound. She could feel her arms bound behind her, the elbows together but not hurting as much as the same bondage did in her prior host. This girl was more slender and apparently it was less stress on her arms and shoulders to have the elbows lashed together. Still it was uncomfortable and made her well aware of her restraints.
There was also some restrictions around her slender waist and arms, having the effect of pinning her arms to her body. She could barely see the rope around her waist but it looked the same color as a length of cord that was looped around her neck and curving off to the side. That appeared to be a leather strip about half an inch wide.
Okay, she told herself, you're tied with leather strips. Great! Now where are you?
It was the mountains, rather high mountains to judge from the pine trees. The air was clear and clean, a far cry from the salty tang she had been breathing on that pirate ship. She was standing in the shade of a tree on the side of a mountain. There were no houses or other signs of human habitation, only raw nature all around as she turned to see behind her, she found that the thong around her neck was tied to the tree. The knots were just above her head, where her hands could never reach, nor could her teeth. She would have to stay next to this tree until whoever had tied her there returned.
It would have been nice to be able to sit down but the tether did not allow that. So she stood and waited and thought. What the hell was happening to the project? Here was a second Jump where she should have returned to the project control chamber. But instead she found herself in another host, totally in control, and with no sign of the host personality. It made no sense at all. And was impossible from everything she knew of Quantum/Time Dynamics.
At least, she thought, it was fortunate that she Jumped when she did. She was pretty sure that she wasn't going to survive that second keelhauling. And if she did, that pissed off captain would undoubted have ordered another. He meant to avenge the pain in his balls with her death.
Or was it just good fortune? Had something about the keelhauling made her Jump? There was a whole new set of rules now and she didn't understand any of them.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of another human. He had come up very quietly and was almost upon her before she became aware of his presence. When she did see him, she almost laughed. It was an Indian, complete with buckskin pants, moccasins, bow and arrow, a feather in his headband, and a knife in a fringed sheath at his waist. Monique stared at him as he untied the tether.
"We must hurry," he hissed. "They are not far behind." Monique followed when he tugged on the leash. They moved down the mountain side, hurrying along in a jog that covered the rough terrain easily. Monique was surprised to find that the body she now inhabited could run and leap over rocks with as ease equal to the man who held her leash. And she was glad to find that her feet were clad in buckskin moccasins. Running in bare feet would have been rough, especially since there was no trail.
This Indian looked strong and the idea of resisting him never entered Monique's mind. Whoever they were running from and for whatever reason would have to wait. Conversation would have been difficult as they ran along.
Then a thought hit Monique. She had assumed that the body she now occupied was well tanned. But perhaps what she mistook for a tan was really the natural color of the skin. When black hair bounce in front of her eyes, she was sure of her new identity. She was also an Indian! A maiden, to be sure, but a native American the same as the man who ran lightly over the rough ground before her. She filed that fact away and continued to concentrate on not falling.
Running over rough terrain was hard enough but it was especially difficult with her arms bound behind her back. Yet his obvious hurry made her not wish to protest.
Fortunately she did not fall and they reached a stream at the base of the mountain fifteen minutes later. It surprised Monique that she could run that hard for that long for she had never been much into jogging. But she had to remind herself that this was someone else's body, not hers. It was a superbly conditioned body.
The Indian male dropped down to cup water in his hands and drank deeply. After he had satisfied his thirst, he again cupped water held it up for her to drink, which she did gratefully. He repeated the offer of water a couple more times until she shook her head. Then they moved into the water and turned downstream. For a long time they walked on the rocks and in the stream itself, and she wondered why. Then she remembered that they were being followed, possibly even by other Indians, and this was to hide their tracks. Moccasin prints in bare earth would be like a large, flashing sign for other Indians to follow. This way they left no prints to follow.
Eventually the male left the stream at a place where rocks allowed them to get considerably away from the water before having to put their feet on bare earth. Then he started off on that jog again, leading the naked and bound captive deeper into the pine forest.
When they stopped, even the male was breathing hard. And Monique was panting, her side hurt, and she was very tired of running with arms bound behind her. The run had been long and hard, taxing even a body used to a hard physical life.
Her captor squinted in the direction of the sun, back the way they had come, and then all around. He untied the thong from her neck, for which she was grateful, that cord had chaffed her skin during the long run. But he then crossed her ankles and lashed them together with the thong. He jerked the thong tight and knotted it several times. Monique got the impression that there was no way he was going to allow her to escape. And that he knew what he was doing when it came to keeping a female captive. Then he took off into the trees.
Monique looked at the crossed and bound ankles and sighed. A little experimentation demonstrated that there was no way she could reach the thong around her ankles to untie it. And she was already convinced that she could never untie her arms from the way they were bound. Her next test demonstrated the wisdom of binding her ankles crossed. She found that she could not stand up. If her ankles had been tied side by side, perhaps she could have worked her way up to her feet and hopped away. But with them crossed, she couldn't even stand up.
Time passed and the shadows grew very long before he returned. It gave Monique time to think. Not that it did her much good. The first thing that surprised her was how this new body was able to endure having her arms bound behind her with the elbows lashed together. Such bondage had been painful for her in the prior host, something that made even a couple hours an agony. But in this new body the arms were uncomfortable but acceptable. She wondered if the Indian brave knew she could take such bondage easily. He had shown no sign of worrying about her comfort.
For that matter, why was she a captive? And why had she Jumped into two different women who were captives? In both cases she snapped into a girl who was naked and bound. A pattern? If so, they why? What did it mean? She could come up with no answers.
It was almost impossible to guess the year she had Jumped into, except that it was not likely to be in the twentieth century. Indians simply did not dress like that any more unless they're playing a part in a movie. Much more likely she was in an earlier period of American history, 1700's or something like that. But she wasn't sure. She could be off by hundreds of years. Indians did, after all, live in America for thousands of years before the coming of the white men and a lot of trouble for the natives.
When her brave came back, he was carrying a bunch of berries in a piece of buckskin. He put that down on the ground next to Monique, inspected her bondage, and, satisfied that she was still helpless, sat down beside her. One by one, he popped the berries into her mouth and she ate them hungrily. They had a tart taste but apparently she hadn't eaten in a while and they tasted very good. He must have eaten already for he fed the entire batch to her. When he was finished, he untied her ankles and allowed her to stretch her legs, keeping a close eye on her as if he feared she would try to run at any second.
"Would you please untie my arms," she ventured. "They hurt."
"Do not mock me, Running Fawn. I cannot not trust you. I have stolen you from the Black Creek people but you are not yet my wife. You will stay tied."
That seemed to be his final word on the subject. Monique tried again, "It will be uncomfortable for me to sleep with my arms so tied."
"That is what you said last night," he said. But then he grinned. "It is well known among the Black Creek people that you can be bound with your elbows together for many days at a time. They say that once some young brave, while playing at capturing maidens, caught you in the forest and tied you with your elbows together. And they tied your feet to your hands and left you there. For three days you stayed bound that way until they found you. And your arms were as good as always afterward. Is that not a true story?"
Monique didn't know what to say. Was it a true story? "Stories grow with each telling," she offered meekly. "It was only one day."
"You have been tied since sundown yesterday. It is sundown now. I see your fingers still move. And if you are hurting, that is good. It will remind you that you are now the property of Brave Wolf."
Monique bowed her head, hoping that was the properly submissive thing to do. She remembered that some American Indian tribes engaged in the capturing of maidens from each other. It was a way of improving the gene pool, although the Indians didn't think of it that way. They only knew that they wanted fresh girls and kidnapping them was one way to do it. This brave had obviously kidnapped her. Undoubtedly it was her enraged family who followed. She thought of angry brothers, a vivid father, and perhaps some pissed off uncles thrown in, all trying to catch the man who would kidnap their own. She wasn't sure whether she wanted them to rescue her or not. But at least that would mean a removal of these rawhide strips from her arms.
As Brave Wolf led her deeper into the forest in the twilight, she wondered if keeping your captive maiden naked was a part of the tribal rules for such things. Or maybe Brave Wolf just liked to look at her naked. From what she could see, she possessed a fine body, trim, fit and slender but with nice breasts to attract a man.
He led her to a place he had obviously prepared during the time he had left her alone. It was well hidden between trees and a large boulder. There was a bed of leaves on the ground and he motioned for her to sit there. He then tied her leash thong to her neck and ran the other end to a tree a couple feet away where he tied it quite tightly. Apparently he didn't want her wandering away during the night. Then he came back and sat down beside her. It was almost dark now, many stars could be seen in the patches of sky visible through the trees.
"I have captured you," he began, "and by the rules of my people you are now mine. You will be my wife. You will tend my teepee. You will have my children."
Monique didn't know what to say. Should she protest? She had no idea how this Running Fawn had taken to being kidnapped. Brave Wolf was not a bad looking guy, if you liked the hard body type. Perhaps Running Fawn had even welcomed the capture. But then why the bonds? Formalities? Ancient custom? Pretty tight thongs for formalities.
The next part wasn't too unexpected. As with any husband, he intended to exercise his privilege and screw his wife. She saw in the fading light his intent when he pulled down his buckskin pants. It was rigid and pointed right at her.
There was an old saying Monique had heard when in high school to the effect that when rape was inevitable, relax and enjoy it. She didn't feel like enjoying it right then but it certainly seem inevitable. She was naked, her arms were totally useless behind her, and she was tethered to a tree. This man would have his way with her and there was nothing she could do about it.
He was gentle in his own way but also in a hurry. She got the impression that this was something he had been looking forward to for a long time. Monique found herself pushed back and her legs spread wide. She tried to get comfortable on her bound arms but there really wasn't any way to do that. Fortunately his entrance into her sex distracted her from worrying about the discomfort in her arms. His tool was nothing compared to the giant Irishman on the pirate ship, but it was satisfactory. And certainly better than the quickie of the captain. Apparently Running Fawn had been wanting this as much as he, for her body instantly responded. With a gasp she realized that her tunnel was already juicy and ready to receive his invasion. And that invasion felt pretty good. As she began panting and getting into the mood of the moment, a part of her brain wondered how much her response was simply this borrowed body and how much was really her. In a couple minutes it didn't matter and she was no longer worried about anything but the wonderful burning in her loins. Brave Wolf might not be a skilled lover but he was considerate and certainly enthusiastic. The lovemaking lasted a long time.
Monique awoke in the middle of the night. She was in the arms of her Indian brave and glad of his body pressed against hers for the night was not very warm. She looked up to see a millions stars blazing in patches, far more than she had ever seen before. And she wondered vaguely when the TDT might snap her out of this host. Any second? Or never? She drifted back into sleep with a snug, comfortable feeling. Even the tight leather thongs around her arms felt good, much as did the strong arms of Brave Wolf around her.
She awoke to find Brave Wolf gone and her ankles crossed and bound as before. She hoped he would soon return with breakfast for she was rather hungry. A handful of berries was not much of a meal. When he did return, he had some more berries plus a couple large, dead squirrels. He fed her the berries, then skinned the squirrels and offered her piece of the meat raw. At first she refused, much to his puzzlement, but hunger and seeing him eating the meat overcame her reluctance. She swallowed down a few pieces without chewing.
They broke camp, what there was of it, and began another day's travel. Brave Wolf made no move to untie her arms, even when she politely asked him to do so. She even promised that she would be good and not run away. He laughed and told her that a newly captured squaw had to be kept tied at all times lest she run back to her tribe. Monique wondered just how long it would be before she was trusted enough to be free of thongs.
They traveled most of the day without incident, stopping near midday to eat of some more berries. Monique concluded it must be late spring or early summer for so many berry bushes to be producing. During one break in the jogging, she considered rubbing her breasts against her captor to get him interested in sex again. After having sex a few times, most men were inc-lined to feel more kindly towards a woman. Perhaps even enough to untie her arms which ached considerably by now. It had worked with the pirate captain. Well, sort of. But when she tired it, he playfully slapped her bottom and told her that was for later. Perhaps he considered it a ploy to delay them and allow her relatives to catch up. But whatever his reason for not wanting to play around, the slap across her bare bottom had been quite hard and left her cheek stinging for a while. She was sure there was a red hand print showing on her rear.
The trouble came in the late afternoon. They had come to a fair sized river with swiftly flowing water. He turned and moved up river, the two of them walking along the large boulders. Eventually he came to the place he was looking for, a place where the river widened and slowed. The crossing was slow because they had to make sure of their footing on the slippery rocks and the strong current. The water was generally only a couple feet deep but occasionally there were deeper pools. They were almost across to the other side when Monique slipped on a rock and fell towards the water. Brave Wolf had his hand on her arm to help her but she slipped out of that and fell in a pool. She bumped against the other side of the pool and Brave Wolf had to help her out. Monique was gasping as he carried her to the dry shore. The water was apparently snow run off and was icy cold, quite a shock to her sunwarmed body.
Monique would have liked to rest but Brave Wolf hurried her to her feet and away from the open shore of the river. Apparently he didn't wish to be out in the open where they could be seen.
As the water dried off her skin, Monique noticed that the leather thongs began to bother her more. Not that she was happy with them. Just since she had Jumped into this host, she had been bound for around twenty-four hours and from what he said, the whole night before that. Her arms ached. But now that ache seemed to be increasing. Finally it occurred to her that leather, having been drenched with water, was now drying out. And when leather dries, it shrinks. Those already tight bonds were growing tighter, cutting deeper into her skin and hurting a lot more.
"Brave Wolf! Please! The leather is shrinking and hurting me. Please take them off. I'll be good."
"Quiet, squaw," he hissed. But his attention was not on the naked, suffering squaw next to him, it was on the forest around them. Perhaps he had heard something but Monique did not. All she could hear was the breeze in the pines and distant calls of birds. And the mild roar of the river not far off to their left. Eventually he jerked on her leash and she had no choice but to follow behind him. Her arms were hurting terribly, almost enough to make her want to cry but she dared not say a word, not after seeing the look in his eyes.
A couple minutes later they reached a small clearing where Brave Wolf stopped. Again he looked around, listening carefully. Monique suppressed a moan and hoped that the leather would soon stop tightening. She wondered if it would stay at this incredible degree of tightness or loosen after it was fully dry. She suspected it would stay the way it was. That was the kind of luck she was having.
Brave Wolf apparently heard nothing. He turned his attention to his captive maiden, noticing the way water drops clung to the nipples and glistened in the sunlight. And the pained expression on her face. He roughly turned her around and examined the way the leather thongs cut into her flesh. She could not see it, but her forearms and hands had turned a darker color. She was aware, however, of having lost feeling in her hands.
Maybe the water dripping off this beautiful Indian maiden was sensual. Or, more likely, it was the way those tight leather thongs made her both helpless and in pain. Whatever the reason, he suddenly grabbed both breasts and roughly kneaded them. Monique gasped but felt her-this body-respond. Horny little vixen, she muttered to herself as the heat quickly expanded in her loins. A man touches her and she's ready to go, hot to trot. But there was no denying the feeling. She was intensely excited and ready. Had she the use of her hands, she undoubtedly would have pulled down this brave's pants to get at the thing she wanted inside her.
As it was, she didn't have much to wait before he removed the pants himself, with some difficulty for the leather they were made of was still damp. He picked up the naked maiden and lowered her onto this shaft. She wrapped her legs around his hips and whined in pleasure. Brave Wolf backed her up to a tree and pressed her bound arms against the trunk to give him more impact with each thrust into her. With surprising speed, Monique reached an intense orgasm and was gasping aloud while her body shivered all over. This was far better than any sex she had ever had, at least as Monique Hutton, Ph.D.. Maybe this was normal for an Indian maiden. Lucky girl!
Just as Brave Wolf was about to shot his load, there was a whoop from the trees and he froze in mid-thrust. With what had to be Indian curse, he lowered Monique to her feet and grabbed his pants. But he barely had time to pull them on before half a dozen Indians burst into the clearing, brandishing bows and knives and yelling. Brave Wolf instantly saw that there were too many to fight and did the only reasonable thing. He picked up Running Fawn and ran.
Fear can spur a man on to incredible physical feats. Since these enraged relatives had obvious evidence that he had defiled their sister (or whatever), he expected no mercy from them. Carrying Monique in his arms, he ran like the wind over the rough ground, around tress, and leaping fallen logs like a deer. She could feel his still erect penis banging against her bottom as he leaped across the uneven ground. He was actually outdistancing his pursuers when he came to the river again.
At this part the bank was twenty feet above the river at the inside of a bend. He was trapped. He did the only action open to him. He leaped.
Monique screamed as they fell through the air. The impact with the icy water separated her from Brave Wolfs arms and she felt herself go completely underwater. At this point the river narrowed down and ran very fast. She felt herself being swept along, bumping into rocks and trying desperately to keep her head above the surface. She was fairly successful in keeping air in her lungs but could do nothing about her predicament with her arms still tightly bound behind her. She could only kick and try to stay upright.
She had no idea how long she was swept along by the rapid current. She hoped that very soon the river would widen out and become more shallow for the cold of the snow runoff was sapping her strength and turning her numb all over.
Monique never heard the roar of the waterfall. The first inkling she had of onrushing disaster was when she was suddenly thrown into the air. She fell fifty feet into the pounding water and rock-filled pool below, a scream caught in her throat. When she hit all went black.
"She's Jumped again," said Howard from his console. "Again? Where to this time?" Dr Pritchard said. He was showing the strain of having stayed in the lab every since Monique Hutton's Jump went wrong.
"Computer's trying to get a fix. Ahhhh ... There. 1888. But she's not in this country anymore. The computer says she somewhere in Germany."
"Germany? 1888?" Dr Wagner ran a hand through his gray hair. "1512. 1722. 1888. A pattern? Each Jump brings her closer to our time, perhaps? Good. Maybe a few more Jumps and she will be back. That is good. At least I hope she's enjoying the time she spends in each period."
The Director of the project sighed and leaned against his console for support. "Perhaps I will take some rest. Howard, call me if anything happens."
"I will, doctor. And Research is working on theories about what is happening. Maybe they'll come up with something."
Dr Pritchard was already going out the door.
CHAPTER THREE - In the Castle of the Mad Baron
Monique snapped out of blackness. For several long seconds she held perfectly still as she took in her surrounding. Then she cursed under her breath.
She was, as she had been during the last two Jumps, naked and bound. She was kneeling on a bear skin rug before a crackling fire in a rather large fireplace made of stone. Her hands were bound behind her back with the wrists crossed. Her ankles were tied and under her as she sat on them. Glancing down, she saw that this time she was again large breasted, the firmness and smooth skin indicating that she was young. It was not hard to see her doubled up legs and breasts for her head was bowed downward. Long brown hair trailed down to frame her breasts. Her nipples, she noted, were erect and she was breathing hard.
Anxious to gain some knowledge of what was going on, she slowly lifted her head to look around. Suddenly there was a crack and a tiny fire exploded on her right hip.
"I told you to keep your head bowed," came a male voice from behind her. Quickly she lowered her head.
For a while she sat there, trying to hear anything that would give her clues. But there was only the crackling of the fire. From the corner of her vision she could see stone floor where the bear skin rug ended. Monique longed to reach the spot on her hip where something had stuck her and soothe the soreness with her fingers, but dared not. Somebody behind her did not want her moving, and her experiences with captivity on the pirate ship and in the hands of Indians made her leery of any situation like this.
The rug and it's naked captive was close enough to the fire for her to feel it's warmth on the flesh of her front side. The backside of her body was slightly chilled, as if the fire were the only source of warmth in the room and cold air entered the room from somewhere. There was also the smell of rain in the cool air that drifted by her.
At least the delay gave her time to collect her wits. Obviously it was another incorrect Jump. She was in a new host body, in control of it, and without any other personality present. She was also naked and bound. What kind of a pattern was that? She was a scientist, she sought patterns because they revealed the underlying principles behind any set of data. But here it was hard to see any reason behind the pattern. Why should she be Jumping into females who were captives every time?
The TDT computer sought out physical and personality characteristics in a host that were a close match to the Jumper. That was part of what made Time Jumping possible. There was a kind of resonance between the Jumper and the host. But Monique Hutton could see little in common between herself and the three hosts she had Jumped into. True, she didn't know much about this one, but she hardly considered herself a noble lady or an Indian maiden. What could the TDT computer be doing? Or was her Jumping even being controlled by the computer? She should have returned after six hours on the first one, but she didn't. And the second one has lasted over twenty-four hours. If it wasn't the TDT computer controlling her jumping, then what was?
Thoughts of the super computer controlling the project left her mind as she heard sounds behind her much like someone rising out of a leather seat. Then there was a footstep on the stone floor behind her, and she braced herself but did not look up.
"It is good to see you being submissive," said the male voice. The words were English but the accent was Germanic. "You fought quite a bit when they first brought you here. You even kicked one of my men. He was walking funny for quite a while. You have much to learn."
There was a pause as if the voice expected a reply. Monique said nothing. Finally the voice continued. "You do know why you're here, don't you? And why I have had your clothes taken away from you? And why you are bound with ropes and will stay bound?"
No, thought Monique, I have no idea. Please tell me. But she said nothing aloud.
"I should have never allowed my son to attend a university in England, but I did. I could not foresee that he would fall in love with an English girl. Or that this English girl would break his heart. He was just a young and foolish boy." There was more than a hint of bitterness in the voice now. "He didn't know the wicked ways of women. When you utterly rejected him, he could not take it. He took his own life. The note he left was pitiful, the ramblings of a love-sick boy who thought the world had just ended. But I expect you know all that. Perhaps it was even your plan from the start, perhaps not. But it happened." There was a pause. "And now I will extract a measure of revenge for what you have done to my son. And to me."
Monique swallowed hard. This man sounded like he planned something terrible for her. Actually for her host, but it mattered little since she was this body now, just as surely as if she had been born in it.
"I made sure that no one knows you are here," he continued. "This castle is remote. It is as old as our family. And it has dungeons." He let the words sink in. Monique was considering if telling the truth might save her. If he believed it. Most likely not. The lack of electric lighting suggested that she had jumped into a time not too close to hers. Time travelers would not be believed.
"I am sorry about your son," she said quietly. "I'm sure you are." His words were almost hissed. There was no mistaking the hatred in them. "I'm sure you regret what has happened very much. But," he paused and she heard a swishing sound followed by a sharp explosion of pain in her right hip. "But it will not alter your fate. You will pay for the pain you have caused me and my family. You will suffer because of your thoughtless, reckless playing with a young man's heart. Oh, you will suffer."
Monique looked up to see a man standing over her, riding crop in his hand. He was not unhandsome but the hatred twisted his appearance into something truly evil. For a long time he stood there looking down at her as she looked up at him. What could she tell him so that he would understand that she was not the same person who had caused his son's death? Nothing!
"Roll on your side," he finally said, tapping her side with the whip. Monique complied, discovering as she did that her legs were stiff, perhaps from kneeling there on that rug a long time. The man reached down and untied the ropes around her ankles. "On your feet," he commanded in a tone that allowed for no resistance. Monique again complied, not knowing what else to do. He took one bare are in a firm grip, picked up a candle holder with half a dozen lit candles, and led her from the room, his boots clicking on the stone floor, her bare feet making no sound.
It was indeed a castle, a maze of stone hallways, huge rooms with tremendous fireplaces, and tapestries depicting hunting scenes hanging everywhere. Monique noted that it was raining outside when she passed some windows. And the place did have a dungeon, exactly as the man had said. He led the naked girl, who was shivering at the coolness of the air, down a winding staircase, pausing only to unlock a massive wooden door at the bottom of the stairs. Inside was something right out of a grade B horror movie; a large stone room filled with torture instruments. As Monique stepped inside, she immediately noticed a wooden rack before her, the wood dark with age, the chains and iron shackles rusty. The platform on which the victim was stretched out was made of numerous wooden ridges, each like a small, sharp wedge. Just laying on that thing would be uncomfortable, especially if the unfortunate were naked-as she was.
Looking around with considerable anxiety, Monique saw a pillory, a set of stocks, an iron chair with shackles attached to the arms and legs, and a small iron cage hanging from ceiling. All looked like it was ancient, but also like it was functional. Dust things off a bit, oil some of the hinges, and you'd have an operational torture chamber; damp, dark, moldy and very scary. Monique swallowed hard and wished she could scream for the TDT computer to Jump her immediately.
Her captor stood there, looking around the room, one hand still gripping her bare arm, and a satanic grin on his face. "All of this was used centuries ago by the family von Snyder," he boasted. "Many enemies learned of pain and agony within these walls. There is history here."
There's madness here, thought Monique. "See that iron chair? You would be locked into it. Then a fire is started underneath the seat. As the metal seat grows hotter, you flesh will begin to burn. You would soon be screaming for mercy, just as many have before you. Effective, no?"
Monique remained silent. She was too afraid to speak.
"There are cells down that way," von Snyder continued. "Small, smelly, dank cells where hundreds of people have awaited their painful fate. Some, they say, were innocents. The Inquisition did make some mistakes." He laughed. "There was a tendency to grab innocent young girls and torture them until they confessed. It really didn't matter what they confessed to, all that was important was the torture. Don't you agree?"
Monique stared at him with wide eyes and realized that this man was mad. Perhaps his son's suicide had pushed him over the edge, perhaps he had already been there, just looking for a reason to explore his insanity.
"I will make your stay here last a long time," he said. "A very long time. Any you will suffer every day of it. Just as I suffer every day for my son." His voice was quiet now, and that made it even more sinister.
For a while von Snyder looked at her, searching for heaven only knows what in her eyes. Then he turned suddenly and almost dragged her over to the stocks. There was a place for the victim to sit down, a wooden board on edge, and a place for the feet to be locked in a wooden yoke. He sat her down on the edge of wood and pulled up the yoke. Her feet went within the circles of and he closed the top of the yoke then cursed in German. The holes were larger than Monique's ankles, undoubtedly made for a male victim, not a woman. She would have been able to slide her feet out, perhaps requiring a bit of effort, but the holes were certainly not snug. He lifted the yoke, took her feet out of the holes, then slammed down the yoke. He locked it even though her ankles were not imprisoned within. Then he took from his pocket the rope that he had removed from her feet and used it to lash her ankles together and to the top board.
It may not have been the way the stocks were intended for use but it was effective. Monique was forced to sit on the edge of the board with her feet stretched out in front of her and tied solidly in place. Her crossed and bound wrists would stay behind her and were prevented from reaching the ropes about her ankles.
"Tomorrow I will begin your daily torment," he said seriously. "And every day after that you will suffer more. The skin of your body will be whipped until you are covered with marks. You will be burned until you scream for mercy. Your limbs will be broken then allowed to heal unset only to be broken again."
His words evoked nasty visions in Monique, making her shudder.
"And I won't forget that you are a woman, and it was that woman's body that brought my son to his shame. You will be tortured in ways that only a woman can be tortured."
"Will that bring your son back?" she asked before she thought.
He sneered. "No, but that is not my intent. I wish only that you suffer. And continue to suffer every day of your life. Just as I am."
Suddenly he was gone, taking with him the candle holder and her light.
It was dark. It was cold. And it was uncomfortable to be sitting with bare ass on the edge of a wooden board. Monique knew that the discomfort from the wooden edge she had to place all her weight on would grow and grow. How bad it would get, she had no idea but it was meant to be an instrument of torture and she suspected that it would function to that end very well.
She searched with her fingers, trying to reach the knots or find loose ropes. The ropes were not loose and the knots were where she could just barely touch them with fingernails but do nothing about them. In anger she shook her body, tugging and twisting at the ropes. Then she tugged and pulled at the ropes holding her ankles to the stocks. All that did was hurt her ankles. It was frustrating and terrible to be so confined and helpless. And being in an absolutely black, damp dungeon didn't help, either.
For a long time Monique tried to work at the ropes, but succeeded only in chaffing her ankles and exhausting herself. Those ropes were going to hold her for a long time.
Finally she settled down and tried to make some sense of what was happening to her. The fact that she was in the hands of a madman was obvious. That he planned to cause her considerable pain was also obvious-painfully obvious. But why? Why had she Jumped again into the body of a woman who was a captive? Of the three wrong Jumps, this was the only one in which the host had apparently done something to deserve her captivity, if you considered jilting a young man a crime. The others had been totally innocent victims. What pattern was there? The idea stuck her that she was being punished by some higher power. Endlessly Jumping her into the bodies of woman about to be tortured would certainly be punishment. But why? She couldn't remember doing anyone harm, at least not enough to deserve this. Had the computer screwed up? But Dr Pritchard and Howard and others were monitoring the Jump. They couldn't see what was going on with the host, but the computer could tell them the place and time of the Jump and some other information. They surely knew that the first Jump had gone wrong and that there had been two more since then. Multiple Jumps hadn't ever been tried before, it was considered too unknown and potentially dangerous. They had to know that something was wrong. They had to. And they had to be working on getting her back, they just had to.
As the long hours of the night dragged on, Monique found herself nodding off occasionally, but it was hard to get any sleep in her condition. Morning brought von Snyder back to find a naked girl looking haggard.
"Do you know what these are?" he asked casually, holding up a couple of metal circles with screws along the outside and sharp points on the inside. "I found them hidden away down here when I was exploring the place as a teenager. It was years later that I ran across a description of what they were and how they were used on female prisoners." He stepped forward until he was standing behind Monique.
"Could I please have a drink of water?" she asked. "This ring goes around the breast," he continued as if she had never uttered a word. "And the screws are tightened down until the points embed themselves in the flesh of the breast. Sort of like a collar for the breast." He placed the ring around her right breast. She tried to pull back but his body was behind her and there was nothing she could do. He tightened down first one then another of the screws and Monique could feel the sharp metal points pressing against the soft flesh of her breast. He tightened down until all the points were hard against the skin but none penetrating.
Monique was surprised to see that the nipple of that breast was rigid. From fear? von Snyder let go of the ring and it stayed in place.
"There is a thumbscrew that I'll bet could be used to crush a nipple. All I would have to do is fit the end of your breast into it and screw it down. It was used to crush the bones in fingers and thumbs. I'm sure it would do a good job of crushing a nipple. Probably quite painfully, wouldn't you think?"
Monique wanted to cry. There was no reasoning with a madman.
"Well, first I'll show you how these spikes tighten down." He did as he said he would, tightening each screw a turn before going on to the next. The breast ballooned as the sharp spikes pushed into its base. Then one turn drove the metal spike beyond the flesh's ability to resist and a drop of blood appeared along side the slender point.
"Please don't do this to me," begged Monique. Von Snyder ignored her and continued to tighten screws until all the spikes were buried in her flesh and she was crying. "Oh, please!" she begged. "That hurts so! Please stop it."
"It is suppose to hurt," he said matter-of-factly. Then he fitted the other ring around her left breast and began tightening down its screws. Monique pleaded and tried to pull away but could do nothing against the ropes holding her and his strength. In a few minutes both breasts were circled by metal spikes and trickled of blood crept down her front. Von Snyder seemed pleased with his handiwork. Suddenly he turned and left the room, this time leaving the candle holder.
Monique gazed at her tortured breasts and whined with pain. In all fairness, if she were to examine this objectively, she would have admitted that the pain wasn't too severe. But the idea of her breasts being pierced by spikes was emotionally more painful than physically. And the talk about crushing her nipples in an iron screw had shaken her deeply.
An hour later von Snyder returned, this time with his riding crop and a fresh supply of candles to replace those that had burned down. Monique's tears were dried in streaks upon her face, as had the blood from the tiny punctures around her breasts. He untied her feet and ordered her to stand up. It was difficult for her leg muscles had stiffened up during the cold night. And each movement of her body shifted those metal rings around her breasts, making the thin spikes hurt even more. But she stood.
"Bend over," came the next order. Monique moaned as the shifting weight made her breasts burn. She stopped when her head was about the level of her hips. The position made her bottom stick out and she didn't like that.
As expected, von Snyder walked around behind her where he could easily target her soft bottom for his riding crop. Unseen by Monique, there was a red mark across the cheeks where she had rested her weight on the board all night. He enjoyed seeing that. But it wasn't the redness he wanted, so he lashed out with the riding crop to smack solidly against one cheek. Monique cried out and jumped forward, almost falling into the stocks. Almost immediately a second stroke impacted against the other cheek. This time she did fall down, missing the stocks but bruising her side against the stone floor.
"Get up," he said simply. Crying from both the pain in her bottom and breasts, Monique complied, awkwardly because of bound wrists and those painful devices on her breasts. "Please don't do this to me. I don't deserve it. I never hurt your son."
"Liar. Bend over." Monique whined and sucked in breath. How many strokes would he plant on her bottom? How much pain could she take? This was different from the torture the pirates had put her through. Hanging by her ankles and being tied tightly to that pole had been one thing, this was different. And Brave Wolf had kept her prisoner but otherwise treated her well. This was something else.
She bent over and braced herself. Fire exploded in her bottom but she managed to keep her balance. But jerking of her body had made the agony in both breasts flare anew. Again the crop struck and again she cried out in pain.
The whipping continued until each cheek of her bottom had received twenty strokes and was covered with red marks and blazed with fiery pain. Monique was crying but had stopped begging for mercy. There was and would be none.
It had been terrible, the whipping of her bare bottom with the riding crop. And it had been terrible the way those spikes dug into her breasts with every jerk of her body. Fresh rivulets of blood crept along her chest. But that was not to be the total sum of her morning torture session. After turning her bottom multicolored, primarily red and black and blue, he dragged her over to the rack and forced her to sit on it's serrated edges while he bound her ankles to a wooden bar at the bottom, then attached a rope to that already around her wrists and tied that to the windlass at the top. When he cranked the ancient and groaning handle, the windlass slowly pulled in the rope, and Monique found her arms being pulled out behind her. He stopped only when her arms were at a considerable angle to die body which was leaning backward.
"This is one of the uses of the rack," he informed as if on lecture. "In this position the body isn't stretched, but incredible stress is put on the shoulders. If I pull some more, your shoulders will eventually dislocate. That is painful."
Monique had never had a dislocated shoulder but had heard that it was painful. She had no wish to find out first hand.
"Of course just sitting there is painful, especially on a bottom sensitized by the riding crop," he continued. Monique agreed silently. "So just leaving you like this would be a form of torture." He paused as if waiting for a reply. None came. "But it is not enough." He cranked the handle another notch, evoking a squeal of pain from the naked captive. He inspected the metal rings around the base of her breasts, noting the fresh blood and the way that this new position forced the rings into the large breasts. He seemed delighted at the suffering thus created.
Returning to the handle, he turned it another notch. Monique gasped, and finally broke her silence. "This is terrible! Please don't. You're hurting an innocent woman."
Von Snyder just sniffed in disdain and pulled another notch. Monique cried out. The terrible strain was clearly visible in the knotted muscles of her shoulders and arms, and on her face.
"I wonder how much more it will take to pull your arms right out of the shoulder socket? It's quite painful. I had that happen on time when I was much younger and playing soccer. The couch got the shoulder relocated right away but the pain was quite severe. Of course, I won't allow your joints to go back into place. That is one of the beauties of doing it this way, the victim is held in place and cannot get the joints back into place. The pain just goes on and on and on." He seemed wickedly happy with that thought. "Perhaps on the next notch...?"
"I am not who you think I am," Monique pleaded. "I'm a time traveler who just happen to Jump into this body last night when it was kneeling on that rug. This is just a host body, I'm not the one who did anything to your son. I don't even know her name."
"Carolyn Michelle Smyth," he said simply, "It is your name and I do not for one moment believe your story. You cannot have gone crazy so fast. I am left with the belief that you are trying to trick me." He suddenly jerked the handled. The torture device groaned and emitted a loud click as the ratchet fell into the next notch. Monique was whining with the pain. The ropes around her wrists were cutting deeply into the flesh because they had been tied crossed and this pulling of both arms straight backwards was tightening the ropes. Her shoulders hurt from the strain of this awkward position. The lesser pains in her bottom, breasts and ankles went unnoticed.
And she was wondering the same thing herself, when would the shoulders pop out of joint? And was it really his intent to do that? Sharp spikes sticking in her breasts strongly suggested that he was capable of such acts and worse.
In desperation and out of fear that at any second serious physical damage was to befall her, Monique mentally screamed a command to the TDT computer to Jump her immediately. Nothing happened. The pain continued, the suffering continued, the danger did not leave. Monique was crying.
Von Snyder gently touched one of the tears on her cheek, an odd expression in his eyes. "How touching," he mused. "The girl sheds tears." Then he grabbed on erect nipple between forefinger and thumb and squeezed hard. Monique cried out with the new pain. "And she will shed many more tears."
He eased the pressure on the tormented nipple but lightly toyed with the other fearerect nipple. He seemed fascinated by her body's reaction to the pain. "One would almost assume that you were sexually excited," he commented, just before shoving a strong finger down between her legs where it rudely invaded her private place. "As I thought, your juices are flowing. All this sexually excites you, doesn't it?"
Monique didn't know what to say. She would have doubted that this kind of treatment could sexually excite a woman but there were the rigid nipples and the moistness of her pussy as evidence. She did, when she could separate it from the numerous pains, feel some kind of sexual arousal, a smoldering with her loins that could, under proper conditions, burst into flame. She did not understand that reaction and felt betrayed by this body.
Then, for one brief moment, she had the hopeful thought that perhaps this would cause him to perform sex with her, and that would release his pent-up emotions. Which, in turn, might just end this torture session. It was an ancient weapon that women used, giving of their bodies to manipulate the males of the species. But it worked. She had tried it on the pirate captain. Perhaps it would work here. She certainly had nothing to loose. Being raped would be minor compared to what he was doing to her body and threatening to do.
Besides, if he thought that she was being turned on my this treatment, he might stop it. After all, he wanted to hurt her, not make her feel good.
"Are you man enough to do something about it?" she asked in a voice that trembled.
For a second von Snyder seemed frozen. Perhaps that was the last thing he had expected out of her mouth. Then a evil sneer crossed his lips. "You are incredible, Miss Smyth. You are in obvious pain and yet you either joke or are seriously sexually aroused and want sex. Incredible!"
Monique tried to smile at him but wasn't sure if the expression on her face was anything close to a smile. Actually, just being raped would be a wonderful alternative to what was happening. And she had been raped by pirates and Indians several times in the last couple days, what would one more be? Besides, she reminded herself, this wasn't her body so it wasn't like SHE was being raped. She was just along for the ride, she argued to herself.
Von Snyder looked along her stretched out body, the tip of his tongue licking his lips like a school boy standing before the candy store. Monique could see that this was a fine looking body, with long shapely legs and quite large but firm breasts. She didn't know what the face looked like, but this body was enough to tempt most any man.
Suddenly he pulled a lever and the rack released it's tension on her body. Monique sighed as he helped her regain her sitting position. He untied the ropes from the rack to her wrists but left the wrists bound together. He untied the ropes around her ankles and shifted her feet around so she was sitting on the edge of the rack, her tortured bottom still on the sharp edges. Then he gently helped her to her feet.
Monique was almost crying with gratitude that the worst of the pain was at an end. And that the threat of shoulder dislocation was, at least for now, at an end. She was about to thank him when he turned her around and pushed her forward so the top part of her body lay down upon the rack. It was sudden and Monique had no time to resist. She found her breasts being pushed into the sharp edges but the worst was the shifting of those sharp spike that were each half an inch or so into her soft flesh. As her breasts were squashed by her weight, the spikes dug in deeper. She screamed, not, perhaps, a full-throated bellow, but a high-pitched cross between a gasp and a scream. It was a protest to this unreasonable pain.
With a booted foot, he kicked her feet apart so as to spread her legs. Before the naked girl had come to grips with the shock of her breasts against the torture device, her sex was being invaded from behind by a shaft obviously ready for the task, and with a hard-driving passion that totally betrayed the German's earlier calculated calmness. She felt his body slam against her sore bottom with each thrust. But each thrust also shoved her hips into the edge of the rack and her breasts harder into the rough surface they rested upon. Each thrust brought a fresh burst of fiery pain. Her bound wrists twisted and tugged against the ropes in an instinctive struggle against her helplessness. The German grabbed both sides of her hips with his hands and proceeded to pound away inside and against her body.
This was a form of sex that Monique Hutton, Ph.D., had never experienced. All her sex had been of a rather tame variety compared to what had happened to her in the last couple days. This sex was rough, painful, barbaric in its crudeness, and not what she would wish on her worst enemy. It was also incredibly exciting and she felt her host body responding rapidly with in increasing fire unmistakably sexual.
Her climax came shortly before his. It was an explosion of a magnitude she had never experienced or even thought possible. Her whole body was on fire, burning brightly as waves of pure pleasure mixed with sharp pains washed over her. It was incredible and for a while she stopped thinking, surrendering her mind to this incredible feeling.
When she came back to reality, it was to find that she was still bent over the rack, von Snyder was no longer pumping away inside her, and there was something trickling down the inside of one leg. With a moan she lifted her body up, almost staggering as she came to a standing position. There were several smeared spots of fresh blood where her breasts had been cruelly abused against the rack. Her arms and shoulders still ached from the contortion she had endured. Her bottom was sore, her wrists hurt, and her breasts felt terrible. She was still naked, still bound, and still in the hands of a madman. Other than that, she was fine.
Von Snyder had allowed her a meal around dinner time. After her rape, Monique had been taken to a cell and locked inside. Her wrists were left bound behind her but she didn't care. Those metal rings with the sharp spikes sticking into her breast were removed, causing a fresh trickle of blood from some of the wounds. Part of her mind told her that those were really minor wounds, they would heal without scars. But it had still been a terrible torture that left a strong impression in her mind. A woman can be very terrified of harm being done to her breasts. Much the same way that a man is terrified of something happening to his penis.
The cell was cold and Monique huddled herself into a ball in the corner. There was no bed, not even a bench, only stone walls and iron bars.
Her meal had been simple and placed on a flat plate so she could eat and lick it up with her mouth and tongue without the aid of hands. A bowl of water accompanied it and was gratefully sucked up by the girl being treated worst than a dog.
As she lay there in a miserable bundle, she reflected upon the age-old mystery of women's power over men. She had been naked, bound to a rack, being tortured, and totally helpless. Yet she had managed to end the torture, get herself off the rack and into the relative comfort of this cell, and perhaps made this man think differently of her. She had always heard that once a man has had sex with a woman, he is under her power. It was a theory she had never put into practice, but which she hoped was valid.
He came to her cell later in the night. Through the stone walls, Monique had heard thunder and felt slight increases in the thin draft of air that played upon her naked skin. He stood before her cell, looking in with a stem countenance, hands upon hips and feet planted well apart.
"There is a torture that my great grandfather is said to have favored," he said casually.
Oh, shit, Monique told herself. It starts up again. "You tricked me with your body earlier. That will not happen again."
"Didn't it feel good?" she ventured, hoping to steer his thoughts in positive directions.
He grunted and she took that as a yes. "You are a man," she said submissively. "Very much a man."
Von Snyder shook his head. "This torture," he continued, "was used on both men and women. It is simple but effective. I will show you."
With her hands still bound behind her, Monique was no match for this much larger male. She meekly followed where the strong hand on her bare arm led.
Not far from the main dungeon torture chamber was a smaller room, containing only a small iron cage and a window that was a doorway into thin air. The bottom was level with the floor. There was an overhead wooden beam that stuck out the window. A chain from the top of the cage ran up to the end of that beam. It wasn't hard for Monique to figure out that a person placed in that cage could easily be swung out of the window to hang half a dozen feet from the edge of the castle.
He opened the door invitingly. With a sigh Monique sat on the edge of the cage and swung her feet inside. She had to double her legs up to fit inside. When the door shut and was padlocked, she found the cage only a little bit larger than her body. Von Snyder pushed the cage across the stone floor until it balanced at the end of the low window. Monique glanced down and shuddered. The castle had been built on the edge of a cliff. The drop below her was must have been four hundred feet if an inch. It ended in a river surrounded by ragged rocks. Large rain drops began pelting the cage and splashing cold water on her body. Lightning crashed not far away, a totally evil and appropriate accompaniment to the surroundings and what was happening to her.
With a shove, Monique was out the window and swinging in mid-air. The rain fell harder and soon she was totally soaked by the cold water. A wind rocked her cage back and forth, sometimes spinning it around. The world was dark save for the candle-lit window not far away. She could see von Snyder standing in the window, even see the sneer on his face as he enjoyed her shivering nakedness and the fear in her eyes. Lightning lit up both his face and hers as they stared at each other, the torturer and the victim, across a chasm of empty air. She began to ask, "How long?" but her question was lost in a crash of thunder. Then the fading candlelight told her that he was descending the stairs, leaving her alone for what could easily be the entire night. Monique moaned at the thought. He must have been pissed off at having given in to her feminine charms and was taking it out on her this way. So much for the theory that a man was always under the power of a woman once they had sex.
The lightning flashed more frequently and the thunder became louder as the storm approached the castle. Monique shivered and wondered about the wisdom of being out in an iron cage during the thunderstorm. But she had little to say in the matter. She could only hope that the castle had lightning rods to attract away any danger to her.
A dozen close flashes lit the sky, outlining the castle and revealing the distant rocks and winding river. Monique sucked in her breath at the display of nature's power. It was most impressive.
Then it happened. In a tiny part of a second she saw the huge, ragged spear of blinding light dart down and strike above her head. At the same time she felt a massive electrical shock race through her body. For half a second that seemed an eternity she was frozen as blue sparks and smaller lightning bolts danced around her cage and the chain supporting it. Then there was a small explosion above her and she felt the bottom fall out of the world. As the cage started to plummet downward, the electrical discharges ceased, leaving her in darkness. She screamed as she fell towards the rocks and water below.
"She's jumped again."
"Where to this time?" replied Dr Pritchard. 'The figures are settling down. Looks like mid seventh century. Somewhere in Mexico."
"That's so far back. We've never tried anything that far back. What could she be doing back then. That was before the European invasion of Mexico. Centuries before Columbus, even."
CHAPTER FOUR - Sacrifice
She snapped out of the nothingness of time travel and into the real world. For a second she kept her eyes closed, trying to orientate herself. She could feel a gentle breeze across her naked body and head voices around, neither of which could possibly come from being back in the TDT. With a sigh she opened her eyes to see what type of host she had Jumped into this time.
She was standing on huge carved stone blocks under a bright and hot sun. The air around her was sticky with humidity and smelled a little strange. As her eyes focused, she could see a pool of water about thirty feet below where she stood, a circular pool into which deeps she could see a little before shadow prevented her from seeing the bottom. But she could tell it was deep. Nearby, on some more stone blocks that were a part of the circular edge of the pool, she could see other people standing around, people totally unlike anything she might have been prepared for. They were all dark skinned natives with the pronounced features she had seen in many archeological textbooks. The costumes confirmed her first assumption. Strange as it might have sounded, she was sure she was watching a Mayan ceremony while standing amid the jungles of southern Mexico.
So surprised was she at the fantastic attire of those on the platform next to hers that it was a while before she realized that she was once again naked and bound up. Or nearly naked. She looked down to find a crude form of loin cloth covering her pubic patch and held up by a string around her waist. Not much covering but it afforded a tiny bit of modesty. Her arms were bound behind her, a little movement told her. The wrists were crossed and the elbows linked together but not touching. The ropes felt solid, very much like the leather straps that had bound her when she was with Brave Eagle.
To either side of her stood more males looking like they had just stepped out of drawings in Archeological Digest magazine. They wore short skirts that covered much more than her tiny loin cloth, roughly made sandals and fancy headdresses decorated with colorful feathers. She started to turn around to see what was behind her but was stopped by a hand on her arm. "You will watch," a harsh voice told her.
On the other platform a dozen yards away, there was a large party of men with fancier costumes than those next to her. A couple had incredibly large and ornate headdresses. They seemed to be the ones conducting the ceremony. Then Monique saw the main attraction of the ceremony. It was a young maiden, probably a teenager, who was dressed and bound as she was. The girl kept looking around her with fear-widened eyes. Two strong men stood at either side of her, holding onto her arms lest she bolt from the scene.
And Monique was pretty sure she know what the young girl had to fear. This looked very much like one of the sacred pools where sacrifices were made to the Mayan gods, human sacrifices most often, although gold and jewelry had also been found at the bottoms of such pools, among the bones of hundreds of human sacrifices, mostly young females. She recalled some debate about the source of those sacrificial maidens, whether they were captured from other tribes, or taken from the general population. She remembered that each day a human sacrifice was made at one of the main temples as the sun rose, just to please it and assure that it would rise again that day. Those sacrifices were almost always captured males from tribes they were at war with.
Or was she getting the Aztec mixed up with the Mayan? Anyway, she was definitely in the middle of a jungle and these Mayan were getting ready to sacrifice again to their deities.
The young girl was looking at a stone table right at the water's edge with much fear in her eyes. At a gesture from one of the priests, her loincloth was torn away, but the girl didn't seem to notice that, or it wasn't really important to her that she was now naked. Only that stone table with the groves cut into it's surface held her attention.
Another gesture and the two guards lifted the captive over the table, or altar as it should be called. The girl struggled, but was no match for two strong men, especially with her arms bound behind her. They placed her on the altar, on her back. Other guards or priests or whatever they were tied leather strips to her ankles and then pulled them down on either side of the altar, spreading her legs wide apart. The leather was tied to protrusions on the stone which were grooved on the bottom to accomplish just that task. Another leather strip was looped around her neck and tied down to a protrusion below her head. In a few seconds, the girl was effectively held down on bound arms, in a very vulnerable position.
The most elaborately dressed of all the priests, with a full head mask and towering headdress, apparently an old man to judge from the skinny legs and shuffle when he walked, approached the naked girl. When he reached the altar, an aide offered him a knife resting on a pillow of bright parrot feathers. The knife was of black obsidian, carved to a razor sharp edge with a wooden handle attached. He took the knife in both hands and lifted it above his head and aimed directly at the struggling girl's chest. Monique could vaguely hear muttered incantations as the old man held the knife posed to plunge down into the girl's chest. The girl seemed speechless as her wide eyes stared at the black death hovering over her.
Monique watched, fascinated in a terrible way, as a scene out of ancient history unfolded before her. She had been trained as an observer of history and that part of her noted details as if she were planning to write up a report later. Another part of her was repulsed by the barbaric act itself, not wanting to watch.
The old man must have reached the end of his ritual for he uttered several words in a louder voice, which were repeated by all those present. Then the knife descended....
Monique closed her eyes but could not close her ears to the scream that echoed around the circular walls of the pool. The girl screamed several times, the last one fading off with a gurgle into silence. Monique hear some more chanting then a small splash. When she opened her eyes, the stone altar was empty save for some red stain on one side. She did not want to look down into the pool. One day, she knew, archaeologists would come upon that pool and find the bones of that maiden buried in the mud at the bottom.
"It was a good sacrifice," said a voice next to her. "She screamed very loudly."
Monique looked at the man who had spoken. He was tall, almost half a head above all those around him. "You look with disbelief," he continued, noting the look in her eyes. "A loud scream is best, how else will the gods hear it? When your time comes tomorrow, I hope you will scream very loud to please the gods that they might grant us victory.''
"I'm sure I'll scream very loud," muttered Monique, a sinking feeling entering the pit of her stomach at the realization that she was one of the captive maidens, scheduled to be sacrificed then thrown into the pool.
"That is good," said the man, ignoring the sarcasm. "Now come, I have to take you back to the Showing Place."
Monique walked where the hand on her arm directed. A path led down a small incline and into the trees and bushes of a rather thick jungle. A hundred feet into the jungle and she lost sight off the pool stone blocks. A few hundred feet more and they came upon the temple. She wasn't sure if it really was a temple or what, but it was made of large stone blocks, stacked upon each other to make a slender pyramid with a staircase of very steep, very large stone steps leading up to a small covered area at the top. Not far away she could see other stone buildings of different sizes and shapes.
Dozens of people walked between the buildings, some carrying woven baskets of fruits and other things, others just going from one place to another. Most of the women were bare breasted, wearing the short skirts like the men did. Many of the men were carrying spears and wooden axes set with obsidian points. She got the impression most of the men were of a military class.
She was led to that tall pyramid. As they approached it, she could see that there was a small courtyard area next to the foot of the staircase. A low wall of stones surrounded a wooden pole set into the ground. It was to that pole that the two guards/priests took her. While one held her, the other began untying the leather strips from her arms. A few of the people stopped their tasks to watch as this happened.
Her freedom was very short-lived. As the last strip came off her wrists, the other man pushed her back against the pole and her arms were pulled together behind it. The wrists were crossed and immediately bound again.
"Why am I being tied to this pole?" she asked. The tall man looked at her with puzzlement. "This is the Showing Place. You will be shown here for all to see tomorrow's sacrifice. Under the sky," he waved a hand upward, "the gods will see that you are very fair and worthy, a sacrifice to please them."
"I'm to stay here until tomorrow?" she asked. "Of course. It is proper that the people see that we have a good sacrifice for the gods."
Monique looked down at her breasts and noted that they were a good pair, young and firm and a little larger than most she saw around her. "Could I have some water?" she asked. She was sweating from the short walk in the hot sun and the very humid air. The other guard held up a fired clay pot and poured the water into her mouth. She gulped as fast as she could but most of the water ran down her chest and wet her loincloth.
With the hands tightly bound behind the post, Monique would have been helpless enough but the guards also bound her ankles by linking them behind the post with more rawhide. With her ankles on either side of the post and slightly behind her, Monique found herself leaning forward, not too uncomfortably but awkwardly. The smaller guard left, his task finished. The taller one stayed for a while, looking into her eyes. Then his gaze lowered to the wet breasts with frank admiration. Finally he pushed aside her loincloth and viewed her pubic patch with interest. There was nothing she could do to stop him.
Then he grunted and left, leaving Monique wondering what that was all about. There were plenty of bare breasts around, these men should be used to the sight of them.
Well, let him look, thought Monique. I can't do anything about it, anyway.
The afternoon was long. The sun was hot and Monique could feel herself sweating but the air was so humid that the sweat did little to cool her. Many walked by, some apparently out of their way just to look at the star of tomorrow's show. But none, even the obviously more interested males, dared put a foot inside the low wall surrounding the "Showing Place."
Monique considered talking to the people but didn't know what to say. Pleas and begging would get her nowhere, she was sure. This was a culture totally run by the priest class and no one would fool around with their official sacrifice. She could expect no help from any of the population, including every man, woman and child.
With a sigh, Monique resigned herself to having to wait out the rest of that day and an entire night tied to that post while hundreds of strangers gazed upon her like a prize hog at the country fair. Then she would be taken to that pool and ... Well, that part was too horrible to think about. She sarcastically hoped that their gods would be happy with the way she screamed. And that the next Jump would be quick in coming.
As evening finally brought some relief from the burning sun, the tall man came again and gave her water. Then he offered her some dry, flat corn tortillas. She ate hungrily and drank again when he help the pot up to her lips. This one was a little more careful about spilling water over her breasts. In fact, after that task was over, he cupped one breast in a hand as if weighing it. He let go a second later but Monique had the impression that he was thinking very hard about something. And that he admired her fine breasts. They were larger and of better shape than any she had seen paraded before her that day. Perhaps she was of a different people where big breasts were more common. It would make sense that they would use captives for their sacrifices.
As the darkness descended, she could see some torches burning here and there, but for the most part the temple she was bound before was dark. The torches seemed to be only carried by people making their way around on some business or another. A little later a man came by and placed two torches in the ground on either side of her, then left. A few minutes the reason became obvious. One of those fancy feathered priests, along with his assistants, came up to her. While an assistant held aside her loincloth, he brought his hand up between her legs and rudely probed her sex with a finger. Monique gasped at the shock of being so rudely treated. A second later the priest withdrew his hand and turned to the dozen or so with him to pronounce that the sacrifice was indeed a virgin and a fitting sacrifice for the gods. Then they left.
All of which puzzled Monique because she knew from the ease with which the finger had slide up inside her that this host body was no virgin. Politics, she decided. Apparently the sacrifice had to be a virgin for the gods to be pleased. But surely the gods would know if the girl given them was a virgin or not, and that suggested that the priest class cared more for what the people thought they were doing than that the gods thought.
Not that it would do her any good. Even if she denounced them the next day, loudly proclaiming to all within ear-shot that she was no virgin, she was sure she would be ignored. The priest said that she was a virgin and who would argue with him?
Monique did discover that the Mayan jungle nights were filled with visitors, mostly not the human kind. There were hundreds of flying insects, all of which seemed to enjoy feasting on human flesh. She wondered how the Mayan put up with them. Most were tiny but she could feel them crawling on her skin and their tiny bites. Late in the night, perhaps around midnight, Monique found the bugs lessened enough so that she could doze off. Occasionally a guard had walked by with a torch, but no one else came to visit. It was awkward resting in her bondage, until she found that she could lower herself to her knees. The rawhide strips connecting her ankles became slack as her feet came together behind the post. Her hands were still bound behind it but she found it much easier to lean back against the post while on her knees. She vaguely wondered if she would be able to get back to her feet when she grew tired of kneeling on the dirt, but dismissed that worry. She was tired and eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.
Sometime late in the night, long after the torches on either side of her had burned out, and just after the passage of a guard on his rounds, a silent figure approached Monique's pole from behind. She awoke to find a hand covering her mouth to silence any outcry. "Be silent," whispered a voice in her ear. She felt a knife cutting the thongs at her ankles, then the hand came away from her mouth and she felt the rawhide at her wrists being unknotted. "Don't turn around," warned the voice as soon as her hands feel free. "If you run to the east, you might be able to make it to the old Temple of the Moon. Hide there. I will come tomorrow night."
"Who are you?" she asked back in a whisper. "Just say a friend. I cannot let you see me or hear my name as the priests, should they capture you, might torture it out of you. But I love you and will have your body. It is the most perfect body I have ever seen on a woman and my rod longs for it."
Thank heaven for stupid male lust, thought Monique. The strong male hands suddenly were gathering her arms together behind her back. "What...!" she began but a hiss warned her to keep quite. The wrists were again joined crossed and bound with the same rawhide that had just come off them.
"Why?" she whispered. "I wish you to wait for me in the Temple of the Moon. If you are free then you may try to make it back to your people. But with your hands bound behind you, you will not try such a long trip. You will go to the Temple and wait for me there. Besides...." the voice continued as a hand cupped one breast from behind, "it will be pleasant to find you naked and with your hands bound behind you when I come for you." The hands squeezed her breasts so hard that she almost cried out. There was a real passion behind the fingers that kneaded her flesh and teased her nipple.
"Don't you worry about taking away a sacrifice meant for your gods?"
"The priests will substitute another virgin as soon as they find you gone. No one will say any word against the priests, least they become the next sacrifice themselves.
As she stood there with this man kneading her breasts, she could feel his manhood raising to the occasion and pressing against her bare bottom. Boy, this guy has the hots for me, she told herself. She would have been happier if he had not tied her hands behind her again, but at least she wasn't still tied to that pole awaiting sacrifice the next day.
"Go," he told her. "Straight towards the rising moon. The old temple is never used. It will be dark but you will find it if you follow that path. Hide inside. I will find you tomorrow night." He gave her breasts one last squeeze then pushed her towards the unseen path and was gone.
Monique headed the way he had pushed her, hoping that she would find the path he meant in the dark. But she was a city girl and not as used to finding her way around in the dark as natives who lived without electric lights.
She hoped the trail she found was the right one. The going was very hard because she had to feel her way with her feet. By swinging her foot from side to side, she could feel where the bushes had been cleared off to make the path.
AH went well for about fifteen minutes. Monique was making progress, rather slow progress but something, nevertheless, when she noticed a slight glow ahead of her. A while later she realized that the glow was the moon coming up and shining down between the tree tops. In dim and diffused moonlight, she had much less trouble following the path.
All might have gone well and she might have found the Temple of the Moon where she could await her lover-to-be. She was pretty sure it was the tall one and ever so grateful that he had gotten the hots for her. She wanted to Jump out of this barbaric culture but having her heart ripped out of her breast by a stone knife was not a prospect she wished to experience. And a life with the tall one sounded a better deal. But a growl behind her spoiled everything.
It was a very low growl, but certainly not one that had issued from a human throat. Suddenly Monique remembered that these jungles were filled with jaguars, big kitty cats with very sharp fangs and claws. Fear took over and Monique ran ahead, trying to see the trail but more anxious to avoid what was behind her.
She might have outrun the jaguar, or whatever it was, had the path she raced along led to the Temple of the Moon. But in the dark she had missed the path he intended for her and gone down the wrong one. She didn't realize her mistake until she suddenly burst into a clearing and found herself running full speed on stone blocks. She only realized that she was on the platform from which she had watched the ceremony when she found herself falling through the air, the moonlit surface of the pool coming up at her rapidly.
The water was cold and as Monique twisted in mid-air she came down headfirst. She was only aware for a brief second of the water covering her, then there was darkness.
Monique snapped back to reality and the first thought in her head was how stupid she'd been in the prior Jump to run right off the edge of a cliff into a sacrificial pool. Some escape!
The second thought that popped into her head was how would she be tied this time. Patterns are patterns, you know. She sucked in a deep breath and opened her eyes. At first she was worried that something seriously wrong had happen for she could see nothing but darkness. But it was unlike the darkness of a Jump. That was a nothingness, a totally empty void. This darkness was hardly empty. She could feel ropes about her limbs and some kind of padding against her back and her chest. And something filling her mouth. But before she could begin to make sense of things, the door to her little prison opened and she was temporarily blinded by right.
"So, my little dear, you see what the trunk can do?" The voice had a French accent and might have been speaking French for all she knew. It was apparent that she could speak and understand the native language of the host body she was inhabiting-but it sounded like English to her.
The vision becoming clearer before her was of a small man dressed in perfectly correct formal dinning wear. Perfectly correct if you were somewhere in the 1920's. Beyond the man was a room done in wallpaper and furniture that fitted in with that period. And Monique immediately noticed a round window: a porthole. So she was on a ship again. At least it was not a pirate ship.
The little man was helping her get up from a kneeling position. Awkwardly, as it were, because of the ropes binding her and the fact that she was apparently almost a foot taller and some pounds heavier than he. But he managed to get her to her feet where she balanced on shoes with high heels. Before her, almost as if he had set her deliberately where she could see herself, was a full-length mirror. Monique studied herself, trying to make sense of this new scenario.
She was a tall girl, about twenty or so, long dark hair, blue eyes, and a full figure. Her arms were bound behind her with the elbows together and quite tightly. Her legs were bound at the ankles and again above the knees, which must have been somewhat uncomfortable when she was kneeling.
There was some kind of material wrapped around her head between her chin and nose, forming a gag. A little exploration told her that a wad of cloth filled her mouth, there was some kind of tape across her lips, and the material over that was soft leather, tightly applied to keep everything under it from coming off or out. It was effective, for she found that she could not push the gag out.
She was dressed most strangely. There was a pair of high heel boots which laced up the front and went all the way to mid thigh. And there was a corset, a tightly laced rigid garment that pulled her waist into an hour-glass figure but extended only from just above her hips to just below her breasts. No support for the breasts was offered by the corset, but none was needed. Those were large, youthfully firm breasts that stood out quite proudly.
And that was all. The breasts were bare, her hips bare and her pubic patch plainly visible.
Behind her, there was a steamer trunk on the floor, laying on end with it's top swung open. She could see that it had only padding inside. It was obvious that the padding had been added so that it would fill most of the empty space when she was kneeling in position and the top closed. There were a few holes drilled in the top, and Monique guessed that she would be able to breath, but not easily.
The little Frenchman seemed quite delighted with himself for some reason. "So, you see how it holds your body, no? Everything was made to your measurements. It will be most comfortable, no?"
Monique wanted to ask him why he should want a trunk that fitted her and held her prisoner but could not.
"Did you try to scream, as I asked you to, yes?" he continued. "I did not hear a thing, so perfectly does it do its job. It is so perfect, this trunk-prison of ours, my dear. As perfect as you are."
He left off praising his trunk and began to kiss Monique's hand, working up her arm, and then over until he was planting kisses upon the sides of her left breast. It did not seem strange to him to have to bend over so he could kiss a hand that was tightly bound behind its owner. Monique almost wanted to giggle when his mustache tickled her nipple. This little man was almost comical with his praise for both her and the trunk-prison, as he called it. And that was a good name. Monique didn't know if she had tried to scream, apparently under his orders to do so to test the trunk-prison, or not but she was sure that she would be unable to move once back in there. The ropes were quite tight and combined with the leather padding, made her quite helpless.
"I must go and confirm my reservation for dinner," he said. "I will allow you the run of the cabin while I am gone. After an hour in the trunk-prison, perhaps you would like to stretch your legs. And such lovely legs they are, too." He looked to the trunk and back to the bound and nearly naked girl. "Perhaps it would be best if tonight you began your practice at being in the trunk-prison all night. After all, it will be necessary for you to do it every night when we reach America." Monique frowned at that suggest that she was going to have to spend the entire night in that thing. And every night? What the hell did he mean by that?
"Perhaps I can arrange to sit at the table with Captain Smith again," he said casually. Then suddenly he was by the door and out it before Monique could have a chance to protest.
Monique looked at herself in the mirror again. Perhaps she was French, this girl could well be. She was very pretty and did, indeed, have nice legs. But that didn't explain why this Frenchman had made her a trunk-prison and why she would have to learn to spent the entire night in it. Or who this man was, for that matter.
He had addressed her like she was a close friend ... or perhaps a lover? Was this trunk-prison just a toy in the game of two kinky lovers? Somehow she didn't think so. But she could conceive of no rational explanation for the trunk-prison that sat there with open top as if inviting her within.
Monique ventured a hop towards the porthole and almost fell on her bottom. Those high heel boots would take a little getting used to. The heels were very high. Carefully exploring the bondage on her ankles, she concluded that the ropes held her ankles too tightly to allow her to shuffle, so she took tiny hops, fighting for her balance after each one.
The view from the porthole told her little beyond that it was night outside, the stars were shining down brightly and not a trace of fog in sight. And that she was on some reasonably large ship for it was quite solid feeling beneath her feet.
She hopped over to the bed and sat down. Then she began to explore the ropes in more detail. They were about the thickness of cotton clothesline and quite firmly tied on. She could find no knots with her fingers and concluded that the knots were probably tied up at her elbows where there was no hope of fingers ever reaching. Once again, she had to marvel at how having her elbows bound together behind her made a girl's breasts stand out so wonderfully. And this girl certainly had a set to stand out. Monique turned this way and that, looking at them from all sides. No wonder the Frenchman wanted to kiss them any man would!
Not knowing how long the Frenchman would be gone, Monique rose to her feet and hopped over to a dressing table to explore for some means of freeing herself from these ropes. There was a tiny pair of scissors on the table, and nothing else that might help her. Awkwardly she turned around and fumbled for those scissors with her fingers. After a few tries, she managed to pick them up and was considering the best way to attack the ropes about her wrists when the door opened and the Frenchman came in.
He looked at Monique and at the scissors in her hand, posed as they were just about to snap at the ropes around her wrists. He made "tisk, tisk" sounds and walked over to take them out of her hand. "I know you have said you do not wish to learn to spend each night in the trunk-prison, but we have discussed this and it is necessary. I am most saddened that you would try to removed the ropes I so carefully put upon you, dear."
He tossed a dinner menu on the bed, but it slipped off the edge and came to rest on the floor. He put his hands on her bare arms to point her towards the trunk-prison and began pushing her in that direction. "I know it is early in the evening, but you had an early dinner and perhaps it is best we get started. You may consider the extra few hours you'll spend in the trunk-prison as punishment for so foolishly trying to take off the so lovely ropes that you know you must wear."
Monique didn't go along with his suggestion and his prodding towards the trunk-prison, so he simply took one of her nipples between two well-manicured fingernails and applied enough pressure to make Monique reconsider. She whined with the pain but hopped along as her nipple was pulled towards the trunk-prison. He pulled down and she was forced her knees. It surprised her how much pain this little man could create with just two fingers. Well, she told herself as she allowed him to guide her into the trunk, worse has been done to me before this.
He pushed her backwards until her arms rested in an indentation in the padding. Then he closed the top until only a couple inches remained open. Through that he checked that all parts of her were fitting as they should. "I am sorry, my dear, but you do understand. No matter how unpleasant, you must learn how to sleep in the trunk-prison. And all the others things I will teach you before we reach our destination. It is much better that I teach you than the alternative."
What alternative? Monique wondered. But suddenly wonderment at her treatment was vanished from her mind as she saw the dinner menu laying on the floor. Suddenly she began whining loudly through her nose and struggling wildly against the ropes. But the top was already pressing against her body and quickly it was shut. She could hear the hasps closing and locking on the outside. She tried crying out but the gag and the soundproofing of the trunk-prison were as effective as he had told her. Only the tiniest sounds came out.
"I am sorry, my sweetest," he said sincerely. "Never have I seen you so nearly panicking, my sweet. But then, never have you begun so long a time in the trunk-prison, is that not true? But it is for the best. I will be going to dinner now," he added. "I might be quite late, please don't wait up for me." Then he chuckled at his joke.
He backed off and observed his trunk-prison creation in action. There was only the slightest tremble now and then when the captive within jerked against her restraints. He noted that she must really be trying to throw herself around inside to make the heavy trunk move even that tiny amount. And how really very little sound escaped. He made a mental note to see if he could improve the gag to eliminate even that little bit of evidence that the trunk contained a live, very helpless girl.
Then, with a smile, the Frenchman picked up the menu, tucked it under his arm, and opened the door to go to dinner. He turned off the lights and locked the cabin door firmly behind him. Then, as he strolled casually down the hallway within the huge ship, he opened the menu to study what he might have that night. He smiled again as he thought of his captive in total darkness and utter helplessness back in the cabin. Perhaps he would leave her in there for twenty-four hours instead of merely overnight. Would be a good lesson for the young thing, and proper training for her, as well.
With a contented sigh, he turned back to the menu. The same menu that had USS Titanic boldly embossed on it's front cover.
"She's Jumped again," said Howard. "The computer is trying to get a fix on the date and place."
Dr Pritchard looked up from his console and sighed. It was obvious that she was not back in the displacement chamber. The body laying there was still lifeless.
After a minute the figures came in. "1298," Howard finally said. "Somewhere in China."
"1298," muttered Dr Pritchard. He ran his hand through the thinning gray hair. "That's pretty far back." He rose slowly and covered the few steps to Howard's console to look at the readouts himself. "Does the theory group in Research have any ideas?"
"Dr Barnard says that it may have something to do with affiliation between the Jumper's personality and host's. He suggests a revision of the whole Time Displacement Theory to give more emphasis on the mental aspects of the Jumper."
Dr Pritchard frowned. "Perhaps...."
"And Dr Williams thinks the Jumper has more control over the Jumps than the TDT."
There was no reply. That had always been the unknown in this great experiment-the human mind. They had always known that it was a part of the equation. But how important a part?
CHAPTER FIVE - Chinese Water Torture
Monique held her breath for a few seconds then slowly opened her eyes. But it took a few seconds to make sense of what she saw. There were bright colors and odd patterns in the room and on the people around her. Finally things clicked into place and she realized that the men and women around her were dressed in very fancy and ornate oriental costumes. The room was done up like a Hollywood movie set of some Chinese emperor's place. Reds and golds were the predominate colors in the walls and ceiling, but the people around her wore a riot of colors and patterns. All had Chinese features. She glanced down to confirm what she had suspected from the first instant she was naked! And she wore shackles on her wrists, slender gold bands around each wrist connected by a thin gold chain that allowed her about a foot of separation for her hands. She sighed.
Suddenly appearing naked before a crowd of strangers should shake up more women, but Monique had gone through so much in the last few days that it did little to disturb her. What bothered her more was the fact that the pattern had repeated itself. She was again a naked captive. Of who she had no idea but it wasn't hard to figure that she wasn't in Kansas anymore.
She looked around and found that she was standing on a wooden floor in the middle of a very large room. There were dozens of people around her, mostly standing around and looking at her. In front of her was a raised platform on which a very ornate golden throne rested. The throne was currently empty. Turning her head to the left she found that she was not alone. Next to her was another naked girl, also shackled in gold. This girl had Japanese features, was very pretty and had a wonderful figure with surprisingly large breasts. She would have be considered a beauty in any circles.
Noting that the Japanese girl also had golden shackles on her ankles, Monique looked down at her own feet to find that they were joined by golden chain but with enough links so she should have no trouble walking.
Hearing the tinkle of chains behind her, Monique turned to look and found two other naked girls standing there, both also looked Japanese, and both shackled in the same manner. They, also, were very beautiful women.
Monique took a deep breath and wondered what was happening to her now. At least this form of captivity was better than the last three. These shackles were hardly restrictive and far more comfortable than most of what she had gone through the last few Jumps. That she was standing naked before an audience bothered her much less than it should have. Perhaps it helped that she was not the only one so displayed, or she was just getting used to outrageous things happening to her.
Everyone seemed to be waiting for something to happen, and that gave Monique time to collect her wits. It then suddenly hit her that there was a pattern in her Jumps as well as her destinations. Each time she had Jumped out had been with the death of the host! The first time had been while she was being keelhauled under that pirate ship. The second host, the Indian maiden, had gone over a waterfall. And the third time, just seconds ago to her, had happened as a cage with her naked and bound body in it had just been crashing into a river after a fall over a high cliff. They had all involved water but she was sure the real factor was the fact that the host was dying.
Okay, she told herself, now I have a pattern. But why? It didn't fit into any theory of time Jumping she had ever heard. It was the TDT computer that should have been pulling her out of the host, and then only to return to the Jump chamber. She couldn't recall reading any reports of Jumpers who had their host body die while they were in it. But then there had also been no report of a Jump going into the wrong host at the wrong place and wrong time. It just didn't make sense.
A gong sounded someplace and the room around her instantly ceased all idle chatter. An old man near a door utter something in a sing-song voice and stepped aside. There came in four very large and mean looking soldiers holding swords straight up and before them. They walked to stand at either side of the throne. Then a boy walked in. He was dressed in robes that were heavy with gold trim on emerald green. His hands were lost in the huge folds of the sleeves and his face was expressionless. He solemnly walked to the throne and sat down, looking a bit ridiculous in the chair that would have dwarfed a full gown man.
Instantly the court proceedings continued. Several of the costumed bit players were brought forward and apparently introduced to the emperor. Monique could understand none of the language and wondered about that. She had no language problems in the first three Jumps. The pirates could have been English, but Brave Wolf should have not spoken English. And her third captor had been definitely Germany. Of course, he could have speaking English because Miss Smyth had been English. But the Indian ... ?
She doubted that those two Indians had been speaking English. Then it dawn on her that she had probably inherit the native language when she took over the host. To the Indian she had been speaking and understanding his language. It only seemed to her as if it were English because she understood it so well.
Which suggested that she was not Chinese in this Jump. She tried whispering hello to herself but it only sounded like hello.
The proceedings continued. And continued, and continued. All through it the boy on the throne sat there without changing the stern expression on his face. He didn't seem angry, just stern. When about half the audience had been introduced and a number of them submitted their petitions when it became the turn of the naked and chained women. Some kind of invitation was uttered and the guards behind them pushed them. Suddenly the girl next to her was hurrying forward and Monique had to rush to keep up. Before the throne the girl dropped to her knees and bent forward until her face was on the floor, breasts pressed against her knees, and arms stretched out on the floor. Monique stared at the girl in disbelief. Then there came a hissed voice from behind her. "Bow down or they will separate your head from your shoulders." Remembering the guards with those huge swords behind them, it suddenly seemed a good idea to prostrate herself. She lowered herself to her knees then bowed her body down until her forehead was pressed against the floor.
For a while there was silence. Monique held the head down position of submission, not daring to raise up. The thought did occur to her during this long period of inactivity that perhaps it would be best if she did get her head separated from her shoulders. It was fairly obvious that one way to Jump out of this host was to die. Three times out of three sounded like a pattern. But there was that nagging doubt that maybe the forth time would disprove the pattern and she might really die. Besides, she just couldn't bring herself to stand up and dare the razor sharp swords. It's just to much to ask any human to calmly ask for death. And just maybe there was some other way to Jump back home.
So she bowed, pressing her breasts into her knees and her forehead to the floor. Eventually there was a barked command she did not understand but she did see the girl next to her rising up so she followed suit. The girl stood at attention, hands casually down in front of her with no attempt to hide any of her feminine charms. Monique copied the position, hoping it was the right thing to do.
The boy in the emerald robe slowly got up from the throne and, with as much dignity and pomp as any adult, walked to the naked women and slowly circled them, inspecting what was offered. But not an emotion showed on his youthful face and Monique had trouble figuring out what he was doing.
Back in front of the four naked women, the boy seemed to be pondering them quite seriously. Then he pointed to the girl behind Monique and spoke a few words in Chinese. Monique dared a glance behind her only to see the Japanese girl react with surprise when two of the guards grabbed her arms and literally dragged her away.
No one in the room seemed the least concerned about one naked woman being dragged off to who knows what fate. Or maybe the knew very well what that fate was. Monique wished she knew.
The boy pondered sagely for another minute then pointed to the other girl behind Monique. The words this time seemed different but the results was the same, the naked woman was hauled away by guards to some unknown destiny.
Again he pondered. Monique got the feeling he would have stroked his beard if he had one. Suddenly he pointed a finger that swept from Monique to the girl next to her and uttered some more meaningless words. More guards appeared and Monique felt her arm being grabbed. She tried to keep up with the guards and, fortunately, that was not too hard for the links joining her ankles were enough. She was taken a long way down a corridor. The few people they passed simply stepped aside and did not seem concerned about what was going on.
The room they were led to was a two stories down and had no windows. Monique wasn't sure if it was even above ground. But she was sure of one thing-it was an oriental version of a dungeon. The pillory in one corner was unmistakable. The assortment of whips and ropes and chains hanging from pegs on the walls was pretty unmistakable, too. There was a post in another corner and a wooden table in the middle. The table was shinning black with gold flowers painted on the sides. There were several wooden handles placed around the table just below the top. Had Monique been more familiar with such things, she would have recognized a bondage table, a surface designed to hold a prisoner tied down in any number of ways. The handles were actually cleats for the securing of ropes that would hold down the victim. While her guards led her to the post, the others took their prisoner to the table.
Monique was occupied with what was being done to her and didn't notice until later what had been done to the other girl. First the golden shackles came off. Tiny keys provided easy removal of them. But there was no time to enjoy the freedom. Monique was shoved back first against the post and her arms grabbed and pulled behind it. The guards were none too gentle and Monique got the impression they didn't care for her at all. So much for oriental chivalry. Her wrists were pulled together and rope wrapped around them quite tightly. When that was knotted, another rope was looped around her elbows and the man behind her tried his hardest to make her elbows come together. But the post was just a little too big and the elbows just couldn't quite touch. Not that the guard didn't try to make them. Monique cried out a couple times at the pain caused by the ropes digging into the flesh of her arms. More wrappings and some cinching down and knotting, and her elbows were quite tightly bound with only an inch between them. Had she been bigger or the post smaller, the elbows would have touched and perhaps then not have hurt so much.
More rope was wrapped around her middle and the post, also quite tightly. Instinct wanted Monique to protest and let them know that they were really hurting her, but another instinct said it would be useless and possibly harmful. She would just have to endure.
A minute later Monique found out why they had lashed her middle so tightly to the post. One guard picked up her ankle and looped a rope about it. Then he took that rope to a wooden handle on the wall, passed it through the hole, and pulled. Monique found her leg being stretched out almost straight to the side. It was very uncomfortable. But it got worse when the guard did the same with her other leg. She felt her weight slide down just a bit until it was held by those ropes around her middle. She moaned and wondered about the wisdom of remaining silent. Perhaps they didn't now this was hurting her so. But one look into their eyes and she was certain they knew and desired for her to hurt. Her legs were not only tied parallel to the floor, but also spread as widely as her body would allow them to go. The guards checked all the knots and, apparently satisfied, left the room.
Monique bit her lip to keep from hollering at them to come back. It was a terribly uncomfortable position, one that she prayed would not last too long. Any length of time like that and she would be crying out, probably screaming.
It was then that she saw what they had done to the other girl. It was not pretty. First her arms had been bound behind her back, the elbows tight together. Then they had bound her legs together at the ankles and above the knees. She was then placed on the table on her bound arms and ropes were used across her body to lash her down. Then her legs had been bent back across her body and lashed down. The unfortunate girl was staring at her own knees in what had to be a very uncomfortable position. Monique noted that the ropes were really digging into her flesh, telling a story of male strength used to punish a helpless female.
"Does that hurt?" she asked. The girl on the table turned her head towards the post. She seemed to be trying to keep back tears. "Yes, it hurts. It is suppose to hurt."
"Why do they want to hurt us?" Monique asked. "Are you stupid?" came the reply. "We are Nippon. They are Chinese. When they captured our boat, what else can we expect? The men were all killed. Those women too old or too ugly to please the Chinese sons of rats were put to the sword. You know that, you stood on the shore with me and watched. We will be raped and used and tortured. If we die, we will be lucky."
There was real bitterness in her voice. But resignation as well. The girl bound on the table wiggled her hips, perhaps in an attempt to shift some of the weight off her arms. Then she continued, "Nippon have long raided the Chinese coast. It is like war but not like war. The Chinese are at war with the Manchus to the north, they do not have the men for a war with Nippon now. But sometimes they capture our boats." She sighed loudly. "We should have been safely in the home of my grandfather in Sapporo. Damn that storm that blew us all the way to China!"
Monique was able to get a picture of what was happening. She vaguely remembered that the Japanese and Chinese had fought for centuries. The name Manchu rang a bell. The Manchus were Mongolians who warred with the Chinese during the last of the Ming Dynasty. At the same time a rebellion began in the south of China and peasants were marching on Peking. The Ming emperor stuck a bargain with the Manchus so they would come down and protect Peking from the revolting peasants. The only problem was that the Manchus refused to leave and that was the start of the Manchu Dynasty in China. She guessed that would place her near the end of the 1500's.
"Then that boy was the Ming Emperor?"
"No, silly. He was the crown Prince, the Emperor's eldest son. One day he will be Emperor, damn his louse-ridden body."
"Then why was all those people bowing to him and listening to his pronouncements?"
"He handles some of the duties of office. Training to one day be Emperor. May he suffer a thousand poxes."
"And he was the one to decide our fate?" Monique shivered at the thought of a boy determining her future in this host.
"He did."
"And...." Monique wanted to know what was going to happen to those other two girls who were dragged out first, as well as what would happen to them.
The other girl sighed again. "I know a few words of Chinese," she said sadly. "We are all declared enemies and will be put to death. Tamara will be tom apart. Maka will be...." She sniffed sadly before continuing. "Maka will be used by the Imperial Guard until she dies from it."
"Dies from it? You mean she is going to be raped by the guards. But a girl can survive rape."
"There are thousands of Imperial Guards."
"Oh."
"And we will be tortured but kept alive."
"For how long?"
"How many days in a lifetime?" Monique swallowed. Would these people really torture two innocent girls for their entire lives just because they came from a country not popular here? Then she remembered some of atrocities committed in her own time. But to be condemned to a lifetime of pain at the whim of some boy!
"Perhaps we will be lucky and die soon," said the other prisoner with a sigh "They are quite rough on female prisoners. We may die soon. But I doubt it," she sighed again. "They are also experts who can make a prisoner live a long time in agony."
"Perhaps," muttered Monique, not sure what she should say.
They waited, having little else to do. Hours stretched out. The positions they were bound in became more and more painful with each passing minute. Monique felt as if her legs were being pulled out of their sockets. Most all the muscles in her legs and hips were screaming in fiery agony at the strain. And the ropes around her middle were making it hard to breath, to say nothing of the discomfort of having your middle squeezed to half its normal size.
The other girl, who's name of Hanna, wasn't having a much better time of it. She could not roll to either side and had to endure all of her weight on her bound arms. From what Monique could see of the girl's hands beneath her bottom, the fingers were dark purple. The combination of tight ropes on the elbows and the girl's weight on those poor arms would have created circulation problems for any girl.
They talked sometimes, it helped to get their minds off the pain. But Monique was careful not to talk too much. Often enough her comments gained her a funny look from Hanna. Apparently they were close friends and it was hard for her to say the right things, speaking from ignorance as she was.
As the light coming in the small, high windows faded into evening, Hanna began moaning. Monique was ready to join her, the burning ache in her hips and thighs was terrible. And she realized that sometime during the afternoon she had lost feeling in her hands. The extra tight ropes on her elbows were doing their job.
Sometime around the point where Monique was ready to begin screaming, the guards returned. Freedom, thought Monique, hopefully. But the guards made no move towards the two naked and helpless women. Instead they fanned out to line two of the walls, three guards each. Then the boy prince walked in, still wearing his poker face but in little less fancy and probably lighter weight robes. These were scarlet with gold trim.
First he looked over Hanna as she lay on terribly punished arms. He noted the way her breasts were squashed by the legs lashed down against her. Then he walked around to the end of the table and enjoyed the view of her available pussy and asshole. These he stared at for a long two minutes. Then he turned to Monique and inspected her contorted body, carefully noting the way her sexual parts were wide open and available.
Monique considered trying to smile, perhaps it might help. But that would be too much effort while she was hurting so much. And she didn't think it would help.
His inspection completed, the prince turned to one of the guards and uttered something Monique did not understand. Hanna must have gotten the drift because she gasped and whined a little. The guard smiled and the others seemed to brighten up. Handing his weapon to the next man, the guard spoken to began removing his uniform.
"Is he going to ... You know?" Monique asked. "The prince said that since he had the largest dong in the Elite Guard, he should be the first to try it in Nippon pussy. May it rot and fall off."
Monique gasped herself when the dong in question was revealed. It was indeed huge, a monster among dongs, truly the stuff legends are made of. And it was ready to sample the female flesh so available and helpless.
There was little foreplay, just the insertion of a finger to make sure that the love tunnel was juicy enough, then the positioning of the huge weapon at the entrance to her most private place. Monique had never thought about it but a girl tied on her back with her legs folded back over her really did have her sex available even through her legs were closed. Fascinated, Monique watched as the massive instrument was positioned then slowly pushed in. She told herself that she should turn her head, but something held her eyes riveted on the scene before her.
The shaft actually fit, although not without a little effort and a lot of gasping and moaning and whining on the part of Hanna. Monique knew that a female vagina expanded to fit the penis that was being inserted, but surely this vagina was being stretched to its limit and perhaps beyond. And it went in so far! Monique could not believe as the tied down female body accepted the huge rod, swallowing it inch by inch. Hanna had to be a lot bigger inside than it would appear from the outside. She wasn't that large a woman, just about average.
With a cry from the captive girl, the rod reached its limits, filling her with more than any girl should have to take. The guard pressed his hips against her bottom and she cried out again. But it was a strange sort of cry, not really pain, but certainly not pleasure. Maybe sort of half way between, thought Monique. Then he began pumping, slowly at first but faster as the vagina lubricated more. Soon he was thrusting with real gusto, his face contorted into a grimace as he worked hard at his task. Hanna's face also contorted into what looked like anguish.
Then suddenly the guard uttered something that brought laughter from his commdes. He grinned stupidly and increased his pumping. Suddenly he was jamming it hard as deeply as he could, and it was obvious from his face and the animal sounds he was making that he was shooting his load into her.
Hanna later told Monique that the guard had told his friends to see if his cum came out of her mouth, so far into her was he. Monique agreed that it wasn't really funny, even if the guards did laugh a lot.
He withdrew to the sound of a cry from Hanna, again hard to tell if it was of pain or lust. Monique was pretty sure that Hanna had not gotten an orgasm out of the rape, and that was later confirmed. A woman just doesn't work up to one as fast as a man.
For a while the guards and the prince just stood around, silence by the performance they had witnessed. Then the prince turned to Monique and said something. The guards were instantly alert and eager. Several spoke words and it didn't take a translator to tell Monique that her turn was now and these were volunteers.
One was picked and as he removed his uniform Monique reminded herself of that old adage, if rape is inevitable, relax and enjoy it. Only that was much easier to say than to do. This host body may have been a prostitute and had hundreds of men for all she knew, but the mind was still her and she didn't want to be violated by a strange man, especially not for a boy who had condemned her to a lifetime of torture only a few hours before. Besides, her legs and hips were still on fire and ached terribly, and she doubted that there would be enough lubrication for the act to be performed.
Just as the guard, who was not as large as his commde but was still enough to make Monique's eyes widen, positioned himself before her, there was a word from the prince. The guard respectfully backed off. As if it were of little importance, and as if he had all the time in the world, the prince walked up to Monique then bend down to position his head under her pussy. For a while he just looked up. Then one hand came up and a finger played with the opening to her love tunnel.
The prince, his curiosity satisfied, backed off and motioned for the guard to continue with the rape of a captive female. With his knees slightly bent, the man held his penis so it was directly under Monique's wide spread legs. She could just feel it's end pressing lightly against her lips. The man parted them with his fingers and the shaft pushed half an inch in, enough to begin opening the sheath. Monique whined and braced herself.
But even with her ready for the invasion of her private place, it still came as a shock for the man did not slowly introduce his weapon into her sheath as the other had. With a cry, he rammed it upwards with the strength in his legs and impaled the bound woman with one mighty shove. A second later Monique's scream echoed in the small room, evoking another laugh from the assembled males, and even a smile to the lips of the watching prince.
The guard grabbed her waist with both hands and began pumping away like a wild animal, grunting and moaning and sometime giggling. Monique almost bit her lip then stopped fighting it and let out with a cry of distress. The attack on her sex was rough and hurt. What should have been an act of pleasure between a man and a woman became a punishment for the female, a punishment that brought no pleasure for her. His climax was sudden and incredibly fast. Her body had just begun to secrete juices for the act when it was over. The man was gone and Monique was left hanging in her ropes and whining with both pain and a strange disappointment.
When Monique opened her eyes, the room was empty again. She wanted to cry but the tears would not come. She felt violated, much more than she had been with even the pirates, or Brave Wolf. She felt somehow unclean and could even remember the bad breath exhaled into her face during the rape. This wasn't her first rape but it was the worst. Vaguely she wondered how many others she would have to endure before she Jumped back to where she belonged.
It was almost totally dark in the room and Monique wondered if they were going to leave her hanging on that post all night. Somehow it wouldn't surprise her, these people had little respect for a woman or her body. It might just please the boy prince to think of her being left in this horrible bondage and pain all night. Perhaps he would sleep better tonight knowing that somewhere in the castle naked woman were suffering because of his command. The little bugger might not be old enough to screw a girl, thought Monique, but he sure screwed us.
Then she remembered Hanna and strained to see if the other girl was still on the table. She was, the shape unmistakable in the very dim light. "Hanna? Hanna?" Monique whispered.
She got only a moan for response. "Hanna? Hold on. They can't torture us every minute of every day and night." She tried to speak encouragingly but it was had with the burning muscles in her thighs and hips. She could not feel her arms or hands at all and was faced with the prospect of a very long night ahead.
"You are foolish. That is exactly what the prince commanded. He is very mad at we Nippon. Our ships have been hurting their ships and seacoast towns for too long." Hanna sighed. "Nippon and China have been enemies for as long as anyone can remember," she continued. "Too many Chinese women have been taken by our countrymen.
And they are not treated with kindness, you know. Men being the filthy vermin that they are."
Monique didn't know but could imagine. Bastards came in all colors and races. Every country had men who would enjoy hurting women.
"If you hoped we would be taken to a cell and left alone, you are wrong. The Prince ordered that we are to be tortured at all times."
"This is not good," replied Monique. What she wanted to say was much stronger.
They talked for a while but there was little to say. Neither of them could make the tiniest progress towards escaping from their bondage. And they could offer little comfort to each other. Monique felt herself near screaming from the agony in her hips and legs, the ache was horrible. And the ropes cutting into her middle were making her body hurt and feel funny. She feared that the pressure was doing harm to her internal organs.
It was dark in their little dungeon. Only the tiniest hints of light came in the windows, mostly from torches carried by people outside. Monique faded in and out of sleep, most of the time in a dream-like mist of pain. It was the worst night of her life, and, considering what had been happening to her over the last few days, that was saying something.
In the morning they untied both girls and let them collapse into pitiful heaps on the wooden floor. Neither girl could move her arms or use her hands for a long time. Hanna's hands and forearms had been a terrible purple when her body was taken off the table, and Monique feared that there was permanent damage in them. She also feared for her own hands because all through the night she had been unable to feel them. But they returned slowly to live, accompanied by an intense feeling of burning and pins and needles. She cried at this strange but welcome pain.
When she could wiggle her fingers, a bowl of rice was thrust into her hands. She ate eagerly with her ringers, suddenly aware of how hungry she was. The bowl was small and quickly gone but she dared not ask for more.
Hanna, she noted, had more trouble with her circulation and cried out much more as the nerves awoke. Monique's heart went out to the poor girl. Eventually there was enough feeling and control for Hanna to hold a bowl and she finished her breakfast in a minute.
Monique put her bowl down and looked up at three stone-faced guards. Now what? she asked herself.
Now was more bondage. Incredible, considering that they had just suffered through many agonizing hours of incredibly tight ropes. But they were both lifted to their feet, turned around, and their arms bound behind their backs. It would have been nice to report that the wrists were crossed and the bondage comfortable. But it was not. When the prince orders continuous torture, the girls are tortured. Their wrists were bound and then the elbows secured tightly together. Monique found that there was less strain than before and realized that her elbows actually went together easily. Before there had been a post between her arms.
With both girls bound, the guards led them from the room with strong hands on bare arms. The first stop was another room, much larger, but still a dungeon. Or a torture room, Monique told herself, would be a better description. It held only one device and one victim. There were four posts at the top of which were four iron rings. A Japanese girl was spread-eagle between the post, ropes from her wrists and ankles going through the rings then down to large baskets. Since the girl was suspended in midair between the tops of the posts, Monique knew that there was considerable weight in each of those baskets. Beside each basket was a pile of rocks, some as small as fists, some as large as bowling balls.
Monique was pretty sure the girl was one of those who had been standing behind her the day before. She was still naked and obviously in a lot of pain. The muscles of her arms and legs showed the stress and the ropes cut into them cruelly. The girl's eyes were closed and a fine layer of sweat covered her body even though it was not hot in the room.
Then Monique remembered what Hanna had said, Tamara will be torn apart, and suddenly she realized that this girl had been bound like that ever since she was taken away the day before. As she watched a guard walked around the stretched girl and added a small rock to each basket. Then he went back to his position by the door. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Monique realized that the weights were being added slowly, perhaps only a tiny bit every hour. Slowly, over the course of a couple days or more, the strain on this girl's limbs would increase until eventually ... Eventually she would be torn apart. The scientific part of Monique's mind told her that first the joints would dislocate, the bones coming out of the sockets. Then the tendons would tear. Eventually the muscles would tear. It would be very slow and a constantly increasing pain. The girl's body was already taunt between the posts.
"How ... How long?" she whispered to Hanna. "These guards don't mind if we talk," Hanna replied. "I have heard of girls lasting five days. A man sometimes longer."
Monique didn't know what to say. Hanna continued, "If they are merciful, this is done in the main courtyard by four horses. They horses pull in the four directions of the winds. Then it is all over in minutes. I have heard that this is a favorite of the Emperor's and he often has the courtyard filled with people to watch. Then he has a hundred enemy torn apart while all watch. They say that the woman are the favorites because they scream much more."
Monique was saved from having to reply or hear any more horror stories by the guards moving them on.
The walk was a long one and ended in a large room that held many blankets laid out along the floor, each with a small box next to it by the wall, obviously a military barracks. The wall at the end of the room slid open to reveal a dirt courtyard where a small table had been placed between two posts. Maka, the forth of the Japanese captives, was bound on her back on the table. Her arms were under her body as Hanna's had been, elbows tightly together and all her weight on them. Ropes crisscrossed her body and held her quite firmly to the table. But it was a small table and her legs would have hung over the edge had they not been lashed to the two posts. Her legs were straight upright and spread wide in an obscene V, the ankles lashed tightly to the posts. Her bottom was slightly protruding over the edge of the table.
As Monique watched a line of men marched into the courtyard and-lined up along one wall. The head of the line was directly before the obscenely available captive. He quickly opened enough of his uniform to allow his penis to be brought out. Then he stepped forward and began his ravishment of Maka.
As Monique and Hanna were brought closer, they saw that there was an incredible amount of white gel covering the table legs, Maka's pussy, and the ground. Then Monique remembered what Hanna had said and almost gagged. Maka was to be screwed to death by the Imperial Guard. And there were several thousand of them.
Maka may not have been conscious, her eyes were closed and she gave no response when the solider entered her. He pumped and grunted and, after a few minutes, shot his wad into her. Then he pulled out and allowed the next man to take his place.
Monique felt like gagging. It had been bad enough when she was raped the night before. But that had been by only one man. What was happening to this woman was far worse. And it had been going on since the previous day. A perverse part of her mind wondered how long it would take for a girl to be screwed to death. Or was it even possible?
Monique and Hanna were then taken to the place where they would be tortured for the day.
It was a tiny room at the end of a long corridor several floors below ground level. There was one tiny window up high on the wall and it opened only to a shaft where dim light entered from someplace above. The room was hardly big enough to hold both guards and two naked, bound females. There were four iron rings in the walls, each at the height of a man's head. Hanna was taken to one wall and Monique to the opposite. A rope was tied to the ropes already on her wrists and then passed through the ring. While one guard pushed her head down, the other pulled on the rope until Monique's arms were high above her, forcing her to bend over until her head was about the level of her pussy. The rope was tied off and the guards did the same with Hanna. Then they left.
Monique turned her head and saw that Hanna was bound exactly as she was. Since her legs were not bound, she found that she could move a little from side to side, even to the point of resting a shoulder against the stone wall. But she could not straighten up, nor could she bring her arms down. Already the shoulders were complaining at the stress. And she knew it would grow far worse as time went by.
"Hanna, are your fine?" Monique asked. "I am fine," came the reply, followed a second later by, "be happy with how it feels now."
"Be happy?"
"In a few hours you will feel like screaming."
Hanna's simple statement sent a shiver down Monique's spine.
After an hour Monique began to understand. Her shoulders and arms ached. There was no way to get comfortable, no position that hurt much less than the others. It was looking like it would be a long day.
After two hours Monique wanted to cry. After three hours she did cry but the tears dried up soon. They were mostly of frustration at the helplessness. Her muscles in shoulders were burning and her hands were going numb.
Although the room was tiny, the female prisoners were unable to touch each other. They could have touched feet, but the arms were far too tightly pulled up. If both girls turned their rear ends away from the walls, their bottoms almost touched.
Monique was resting against the wall with her eyes closed when she felt the touch on her thigh. Looking down, she saw Hanna's foot lightly stroking her thigh. It felt good, a comforting touch from a fellow suffer.
"Come closer," whispered Hanna, a strange light in her eyes.
Monique looked at the outstretched leg of the girl with her and at the way she was pulling against the ropes on her arms to make that touching possible. And she understood. She shifted her position and moved her hips as far away from the wall as she could. She spread her legs as much as she could and pushed her hips forward. Hanna's foot came between her legs and touched her sex. With incredible gentleness and surprising effectiveness, her foot began massaging and stroking Monique's pussy.
It was not logical, it was not neat, it was not what Monique would have wished. But it did feel good and about then that was all that counted. Skillfully, Hanna stroked and soon Monique felt herself squeezing her legs together, trapping Hanna's foot and pressing it against her pussy. She shuddered with a surprisingly satisfactory orgasm and felt against the wall to recover. After she did, she returned the favor for Hanna. Thus passed a long day.
On the third day, Hanna and Monique were shown a screaming Tamara, shoulders dislocated by the increasing weight and all her joints in agony. For half an hour they were forced to stand there, naked and tightly bound themselves, to watch the girl suffer. She screamed nearly all that time. When she wasn't screaming, she was moaning loudly.
The next day they were not taken to her room and no more was spoken of Tamara.
On the fifth day of torture, one of the guards laughingly told Hanna that Maka was still alive, and that she was still being screwed by the guards. Only they were on the second turn for some, the unfortunate girl having gone through all of them once already. The guard laughed and said the Japanese girl was very lucky to have so many fine Chinese rods giving her pleasure. Actually, the term he used was elephant's trunks, not penises, but Monique got the idea.
After that they heard nothing more about Maka. Their own torture settled down into a routine. They would be released from some terrible bondage in the morning, allowed a small bowl of rice, and a few minutes freedom. Generally they spent it allowing their circulation to restore itself. Then they were fixed up for the day. There are a million ways that a girl can be bound up so that she is in pain, and their captors knew them all. They were hung by their wrists all day, then hung upside down by their ankles for the entire night. Neither girl could walk the next morning but that didn't stop their captors from forcing them to march out to a dirt area where they were tied to posts and left in the sun all day.
Each evening they would be freed and given another meal. Every other day they were given a bath by buckets of cold water being thrown on them.
Sometimes the prince would look in on them. He seemed to enjoy seeing how they were suffering. But mostly only their jailers and torturers witnessed their suffering.
Monique began to fear that her wrists would never recover, the skin was so chaffed and raw from constant ropes around them. She spent every night and much of the days in between trying to force herself to Jump. She didn't even care if it would be another bad Jump, she just wanted to get out of this constant torture. But she didn't Jump and each morning and evening brought a new torture.
On the eight day her chance came. Both she and Hanna had been taken to a room that had iron rings in the ceiling, about a dozen of them. They were then strung up by their thumbs, their toes inches off the floor and leather straps used to secure their thumbs. The pain was terrible and Monique wondered how she could endure the day without her thumbs falling off. At first she tried to struggle but quickly stopped when she realized how much that increased the pain in her thumbs.
The guard had left them alone and all the girls had to look forward to was eight hours of pain. After a while Hanna lifted her foot and caressed Monique's thigh. Monique was afraid of what it might do to her thumbs but she wanted the touch of a friend and a sexual climax would certainly help pass the time. This was the third time they had been tied so that it was possible and would make the tenth time they had done it. All day is a long time and a girl can easily work herself up to a second or third orgasm. Especially when it was a way to leave this world of pain, even if only for a few minutes.
Monique spread her legs a bit to allow Hanna's foot clearance. It was a very good feeling and soon Monique was ignoring the pain in her thumbs and shooting down her arms to concentrate on the wonderful fire in her loins. She was not aware of it, but she began thrusting her hips against the foot trying to help her find pleasure, and that made her whole body jerk and sway. Like the legendary straw breaking the camel's back, that was all necessary for the iron ring to loosen. With a creak, it lowered an inch. Monique felt the jerk and looked up with half closed eyes. Then they widened. The ring was noticeably loose, moving a tiny bit each time she swayed. Monique smiled and began thrusting her hips hard, ignoring the pain. Just as her pussy was exploding into orgasm, the ring let go and ripped out with a small shower of mortar. Monique felt to the floor where she curled up into a ball and finished her orgasm.
Slowly she unfolded as soon as she could. The sound had attracted no unwanted attention and they were still alone. Hanna's eyes were wide with excitement as she watched her friend get to her feet. The thumbs were not functioning too well but the torture had only gone an hour or so and they came back to life in a reasonable amount of time. She managed to work the straps off with her teeth and for the first time in ages stood there completely free of restraints and not under the gaze of a guard.
Immediately she turned to the problem of freeing Hanna. There was a stool in one corner of the room, the guards had used it when they bound the girl's thumbs to the rings. Monique fetched it and soon Hanna was dropping to the floor.
With racing hearts, both girls left the room and slowly made their way down the corridor. If the past was any indication, they would normally be left alone for most of the day, a visit from the prince being the only occasional diversion. And he usually came in the afternoons so they probably had a few hours before anyone would discover they were not where they should be.
They had discussed the possibility of escape, more to pass the time rather than as a real possibility, and had come to the conclusion that their only chance was to get out of the castle as fast as they could. The castle was like a small city, very big inside but also surrounded by tall walls making it something of a fortress. There were only a couple of main doors. If they couldn't get out before their disappearance was discovered, the whole place could be sealed off and searched until they were found. But the main entrances were well guarded and two naked girls of a different nationality had no chance of getting out.
Keeping away from the more used corridors was not easy but they covered a lot of distance before running into trouble. Near a stairway they heard voice coming towards them. Suddenly there was voices behind them as well and both girl clutched each other in fear. If they were caught in an escape attempt, the tortures might become more serious. So far they had been designed to be painful but not do serious damage. Being torn apart like Tamara or screwed to death like Maka was a real possibility. Up the stairs was the only way they could go and they hurried upward on bare feet.
The stairs ended on the roof. Monique went to the edge and looked over, only to find at least a fifty foot drop into a moat filled with dirty water. She was just turning back when she was grabbed from behind by strong hands. She began crying in rage and frustration as her arms were roughly pulled behind her and bound with ropes. It was all so unfair.
The boy prince was his usual emotionless self as he sat in judgment over the two naked prisoners. They were back in the throne room again although this time there were only a handful of people in attendance. Both she and Hanna had been bound specially tight for this audience with the prince, their arms behind them, the elbows together, but with a lot of very tightly wrapped rope encircling their bodies. The ropes above and below the breasts, and around the tummy were as tight as the guards could make them and severely cut into the flesh of the two girls. Monique could hardly breath, so tightly were the ropes crushing her chest. Their mouths had been gagged with iron bars much like a horse's bit. Only no rider would ever have pulled the straps so tightly on his horse as these were on the girls. The bits cruelly pulled at the corners of their mouths and prevented them from bringing their teeth together. They were uncomfortable, to say the least.
There was some talking, none of which Monique could understand, and a little debate. One side seemed to want one thing done with these two prisoners who dared to try an escape, the other side wanted something else. But Monique could not tell what those two options were. And she didn't like the pale look on Hanna's face as she listened to their fate being discussed. Apparently neither fate was very attractive.
The debate was cut short by the prince who simply stood up from the throne, and uttered one word. All parties instantly were silent. He looked around, a boy apparently enjoying his power over adults, then turned to the two of them. He pointed at them and pronounced his decision. Instantly guards grabbed their arms and hurried them from the royal presence.
The ropes tight about their bodies were not removed. Nor were the bit gags. Instead more ropes were tightly applied to their legs, the strands cutting in deeply. Monique longed to be able to speak that she might asked Hanna what was said back in the throne room. But the gags were left in place. Both girls were then dumped into the back of a wagon. While the horses were being harnessed to the front, the girls were having their ankles bound to their wrists in a severe hogtie. Then they were ignored while the wagon and some guards were prepared. Apparently they were to be escorted by two guards within the wagon and at least two more on horseback. Provisions were stacked in the front of the wagon. After an hour or so their journey began, a journey to a fate unknown to Monique.
Traveling by wooden wagon without springs is always a rough ride. But when you're naked, very tightly bound hand and foot and laying on the wooden floor of that wagon, it is much worse. Every little bump and jolt was felt by both girls, making it a most painful journey. The bit gags were never taken out of their mouths but Hanna managed to utter sounds that could be understood as words after much effort. It took several hours to convey a few sentences but Monique finally understood what their fate was to be. It made her shiver with fear.
The prince, in his wisdom, had seen that the girls were trying to escape to get back to their country. He, therefore, would help them. They were to be taken to the ocean and there set adrift on a small raft. Certainly the gods would see that they drifted back to the place where they came from.
There were also orders about how the girls were to be treated, basically that they were not to be untied or ungagged for a second. And they were to be lashed extremely tightly to the raft so they wouldn't fall, off into the sea.
That night the wagon changed drivers at some small town and continued all through the night. The next morning saw new drivers and horsemen but not change for the suffering women in the wagon. They were not offered food nor was the hogtie loosened for a second.
Monique found herself drifting off into a troubled sleep. The constant creak of the wagon and plodding of the horses became a background drone. She still had trouble breathing and woke many times with from dreams that she was buried alive. Her hands had gone to numb the first night and her feet the second. All was aches and pains, and the only thing that kept her from going insane was the thought that if she were to die on the ocean, she would probably Jump. Every time before the Jump had been associated with dying and water. It was almost as if the prince was helping her. But she could have been happier if he had just ordered them thrown into the moat. That would have saved them these incredibly long hours of suffering.
Monique wasn't sure how long they rode in the wagon. All she could do was roll on her side or back onto her stomach. And either of those moves took a great deal of effort and hurt terribly. Hanna had taken to moaning quite a bit and Monique understood how she felt. Even her teeth hurt and her jaw ached. It was hard to keep her mouth moist with the jaw forced open by that bit.
But all good things come to an end, and finally their journey ended. They both opened their eyes when the wagon stopped and they heard the unmistakable sound of surf. There was a lot of talk, probably instructions from their guards to someone else, then they were being picked up. The ropes were not loosened, not even the one joining the ankles and wrists. Like a piece of baggage, they were picked up by that rope and carried along a wooden dock to a small ship riding slowly up and down on the tide. They were carried aboard and dumped on the deck none too tenderly. The ship was cast off and the sail unfurled to catch a weak morning breeze.
Monique was weak from lack of food and the rough treatment of the last week. It seemed impossible to her that it had not been a lifetime since she Jumped into this host. Under the influence of suffering, each minute of each hour had crawled by until the days seemed endless. She only wished for it to end.
The ship sailed for a few hours then the sail was furled and the boat allowed to drift. The crew had been busy building the rafts they had been ordered to create for these two females who had incurred the wrath of the Emperor's son. Each raft was only six feet long and about four feet wide. Each was made of wood. They would float, but Monique doubted if they would be very high out of the water. She had watched as a carpenter had cut holes in the sides of the rafts, and knew what they were for. Hanna had said that they would be tied to the rafts. The holes were for the ropes to pass through.
Finally everything was finished and the crew hurried to get this over with and back to whatever it was they normally did. Probably preying on Japanese shipping and poor, innocent girls. Monique was lifted up and place on her raft first, set down on her stomach, actually almost dropped in place by a crew that had been instructed to be cruel to these girls. Then came more ropes. The raft had less than a foot clearance on each side so the ropes easily lashed her body down. She noted the great care they took to make sure that she could not move the slightest. She sighed. She had been tied in this hogtie for so long that she honestly was beginning to feel that she had never known any other condition. She watched as Hanna was lifted to her raft and bound to it. She would have liked to say something to Hanna but the bit gag made speech so very hard that she didn't try.
Their launching was anti-climatic. Without fanfare they were dragged to the edge and pushed into the water. The drop was about six feet and each raft hit the water with a loud plop and a splash that sent water dancing over the naked captive. The water was cold.
Monique gasped as the water washed over her head but was able to breath after sputtering out what had entered her mouth. The raft did indeed float, but as she had thought with only an inch between the dark green water and the surface on which she was lashed.
Slowly her raft drifted away from the ship. For a while she could see some of the crew looking from the rail, perhaps with longing in their eyes. They would certainly have enjoyed using these two prisoners as all women were meant to be used, but Imperial order was a good reason to push aside normal lusts. The sail was lowered and the ship moved away a little faster. It wasn't too long before it was only a small shape rapidly getting smaller.
From the surface of the ocean, Monique couldn't see much. The raft rose and fell with the swells, but the breeze was very small and the water relatively calm. Monique had sailed a little and knew how rough the sea could become when the wind picked up. Unable to move at all, she had no control over the movement of her tiny boat and it was only after an hour or more than chance currents turned her around enough so that she could see Hanna. Her friend was only a dozen yards away, also turned so she could see Monique. She lifted her head the tiny bit allowed by the tight ropes and grunted a greeting. Monique didn't know what to make of it but decided it was simply Hanna's way of telling her that she was still alive.
And perhaps there was hope. Monique didn't remember the geography of the area very well, but wasn't the China coast on the Sea of Japan? And that was a sea that was bordered on the east side by Japan. Perhaps they would really drift all the way to Japan. Wouldn't that be a big joke on the prince! But then she remembered something about there being strong currents throughout the Sea of Japan. It was more likely that they would be pushed along the coasts without ever reaching land.
Without guards for the first time in ages, Monique began trying to work at her ropes. But her struggles were only mild shifting of muscles a little this way or that, nothing that would really test the ropes. And her fingers would be no help, she hadn't been able to make them work for a long time. She shook her head in frustration-that was all she could move.
As the sun crawled across the sky, the breeze picked up and turned into a wind. By mid afternoon the water had turned rough and the two little rafts were pitching and twirling about. Saltwater washed over the edges and wet down the two naked females, sometimes getting in their mouths and eyes. They drifted apart until Monique could no longer see Hanna. When the waves began to show some white foam on the tops, Monique knew that she wouldn't survive the afternoon. The tiny raft was unstable to begin with and the increasing waves threatened to tip it over. Once it flipped over, it would be the end. She would drown.
One part of her wanted it to happen, to get it over with. She wanted very badly to believe that she would Jump. But another part fought to survive and that part wanted desperately for the raft to remain upright.
In the end the waves became too much for the raft. As if obeying Imperial orders, they finally flipped over one and then the other tiny raft. In the darkness and cold of sea water, Monique felt the split second of tingle that told her a Jump was beginning.
"She's Jumped again," said a tired Howard. The dark lines under his eyes told of how many hours he had remained at his console, hoping to be able to help when Monique Jumped.
Dr. Pritchard looked over Howard's shoulder as the readouts stabilized. "1958," he muttered. "The closest yet."
CHAPTER SIX - Hunter and Hunted
Monique sucked in air and slowly opened her eyes, afraid of what she would see. With a great disappointment, she did not see the familiar TDT chamber. She sighed. Another bad Jump.
It was almost anti-climatic when she looked down to find that she was naked and her body was tied up with ropes. What else did I expect? she told herself sarcastically. Then she set about trying to find out as much as she could about this Jump.
The place looked like a pretty much normal den in some larger home. There were leather covered couches, coffee table, rich wood panel on all walls, a desk in one corner, bookcases, and a fireplace dominating one wall. It was night time outside and she couldn't see anything save darkness through the windows. What was different was the numerous hunting trophies that-lined every open space on the walls. There were boars and several species ofantelope, some of which looked to Monique's uneducated eye as being from Africa. There was even a tiger's head staring at her with its fierce, glassy eyes.
Monique tested her bondage by tugging with her arms and legs, and quickly found out that she was well bound to the chair, and that it was no fragile antique but a stout heavy wooden one. Her arms were tied behind the back of the chair, the ropes tight, elbows together, and some of the ropes pulling her wrists downward. Her legs were together, tied above the knees and at the ankles, her feet being pulled back and under the chair so that her toes could barely touch the carpet. It was a rather tight piece of bondage but not too uncomfortable for her. From what she could see of her breasts and legs, she was again a woman with a good body, the skin tone indicating that she was young and healthy. From her experience at being bound (which was growing far too vast for her taste), she felt that this girl had a slender build but not skinny. The hair she could see hanging down around her head when she shook it was blonde and long. She was gagged with some kind of rubber wad that tasted terrible but did an effective job of forcing her jaw open and silencing her.
She was alone for which she was grateful. It gave her a chance to collect her thoughts. And to enjoy the relative comfort of simply being bound to a chair. To her, as a Time Jumper, she had just finished several days of incredibly tight rope bondage and suffering ending with her drowning in the ocean when her raft overturned. That kind of experience can be rough on a girl.
It was perhaps an hour before anyone came into the den. The man was in his fifties, gray-haired and not bad looking. He was smoking a pipe and paused to look over Monique with obvious approval. She returned his gaze with boldness and wished she could talk.
The man ignored her eyes, seeming to take more interest in her limbs. "No fat, looks like good muscle tone," he muttered. "Looks like you keep in shape. So much the better."
Then he turned to the desk and put his pipe down. "I suppose I should bring you up to date," he said, actually addressing her for the first time. "You were kidnapped and brought here for the express purpose of providing game for me." He paused as if expecting her to reply. "I am a hunter of some degree of expertise," he continued, waving at the trophies on the wall. "I have hunted game all over the world." Monique gulped as she realized what kind of game she was. "And although those animals were often cunning, they lacked the one quality that makes for a superior hunt. And do you know what that is?"
"The ability to shot back?" Monique asked silently. "Intelligence. That is what all these creatures lacked. They knew to hide or attack, but that was all. Years ago the challenge left ordinary hunting. I craved something more, something to add life to the hunt. Then one day I was talking to a friend who happened to be a policeman and he related how he had actually felt the thrill of the hunt when tracking down a criminal and shooting him. Since I have all the money a man could ever spend, it wasn't too hard to indulge myself. This hunting lodge is remote, surrounded by woods, and a hundred miles from the nearest road. The only way in is to fly and land on my lake. I own hundreds of square miles out there. I can hunt to my heart's content."
He paused and looked at his pipe. It had gone out. "But I don't hunt deer or even moose. I hunt humans." He said it with a grin. Monique hoped he was kidding, that this was all a big joke. But the ropes on her were real and the naked condition of her body suggested that it was no joke. Once again she was but a pawn in someone else's game.
"I'm sure you can guess what comes next. I found that hunting beautiful young girls is much more exciting than males. I have a man in the States who keeps me supplied. It's no problem. Tomorrow morning you will be released outside the back door. You will have a one hour head start. Then I come hunting ... Tell me, miss, are you a fast runner?"
Monique shook her head. She didn't know but no use giving away any information.
"That body certainly seems to be in good condition. I suspect you play tennis, bicycle or job, something that keeps you youthful and firm. I'm sure you'll fairly fly through the woods. That's one way of trying to escape, you know. You try to outrun me. But are you sure of making a straight line through the woods? If you get lost and turn around, you could come curving right back here. Or trip on a rock and break your leg. And how do you know which way to run? If you were a girl scout, you might know which way is north and all that. But which way is civilization? You could be running away from help."
He lit the pipe and puffed on it to get the tobacco going. "That's part of the thrill, you know. The possibility that the game might get away. And if you survived the north woods, and made it to somewhere, then you might make things hard for me. But that's the chance I'll just have to take, won't I?" He laughed. Monique didn't feel like joining him. She had a sinking feeling that the odds would be rigged in his favor. He really couldn't afford to allow any of his "game" to have a real chance of escape. She was sure that none of the girls who were kidnapped for his hunt ever escaped.
He checked over the rope on her limbs, noting all the knots, checking all the ropes for looseness. "The usual good job," he muttered. The aroma from his pipe was vaguely cherry flavored and not at all unpleasant. "You'll stay secure for the night. I'll see you in the morning." Suddenly he was walking out of the room, switching off the lights behind him.
Monique sat in the darkness and felt like crying. Once again she was helpless, once again she was in a serious situation, a life or death situation, with nothing she could do herself. The ropes robbed her of all power to effect her fate. The Great White Hunter had not even allowed her the chance to speak out in her own defense. And, even stranger, he didn't seem interested in using her sexually. Most strange for a normal appearing man. He might have thirty years older than she but a man doesn't loose interest in a naked, sexy young girl that young. She would rather he was interested in her sexually. It might have given her a hold over him. But it would certainly have been preferable over being hunted to death.
Then the thought hit her that this might be the shortest and least unpleasant of all her Jumps. If he shot her tomorrow morning, she would Jump. And any Jump might be the one back home. But she knew that she would not just stand there and let him shoot. Even if it were fast, who could stand still while a rifle was pointed at them, knowing that in a second a bullet would tear into her flesh? She doubted that she could. She would run, she would try her best to escape. And who knows? Perhaps she would succeed!
Rest didn't come easy. The morning's hunt sat uneasily upon her mind and a growling stomach told her that nutritious meals weren't included for "game." The ropes were tight and she was not comfortable, but compared to what she had endured in China and other places, this was mild. Finally she did drift off, awakening suddenly when the lights snapped on. The pink dawn visible through the window told her that it was early. The hunting garb and rifle on her host told her that the hunt was about to begin. He drew out a wickedly huge hunting knife and sliced off the ropes holding her ankles to her wrists. Then he gently cut those ropes around her legs, being careful not to touch the razor sharp knife to her skin. He even helped her to her feet, her unsteady legs not quite willing to take her full weight at first. When she could stand and walk, he picked up the rifle and motioned for her to proceed him through the door.
The hunting lodge was larger than most houses but all the rooms she could see were empty of human habitation. They were apparently alone. They reached a kitchen where he unbuckled the gag from her mouth, having to pull a bit to get the large rubber wad out from between her teeth. Her jaw ached and her first words were hardly understandable, "Please ... Please untie my arms. They have been hurting all night."
"The arms stay bound," he said simply. "And please, don't do this. It's murder. You'll get caught."
"It's not murder. You have your chance. You could evade me and escape. You could even turn and attack me someplace out there. There are sticks and rocks and many places where a trap could be set."
"With my arms bound behind me?"
"Well, I didn't say it would be easy," he grinned warmly.
"Look, you're a nice looking guy, why don't we go to the bedroom and I'll show you what a girl like me can do?"
He sighed. "I know what a girl like you can do. I've had many, many young girls in my life. Some were paid for, some thought they loved me, some were just getting their own satisfaction and any man would have sufficed. You're beautiful and that is a fine body you have. But I won't have sex with you."
Monique frowned and dared to ask, "Why not?"
"None of your business." He was still smiling but she could sense the tension under that smile.
"Did a woman hurt you?" she ventured. If she could get him talking, perhaps she could find some more acceptable outlet for his anger towards women.
The change was sudden. From a smile to an animal snarl was but the blink of an eye. "Hurt me! Hurt me! She blew my nuts off with a shotgun, that's what she did! Did a woman hurt me, you ask! Shit!"
Monique was shocked into silence. No wonder he hated women. And all this sportsman-like hunting nonsense was just that, nonsense. He had one BIG hate of women!
The smile was back on his face as quickly as it had left. "I have some food for you. It's beef stew, quite good actually. Same thing I had last night, warmed up." He picked up a plate from the counter and placed it on a table. The stew did look good and smelled better.
"I have no hands to eat with."
"You have a mouth." Monique sighed. She pulled out a chair with her bare foot and sat down. She wasn't sure how long it had been since this host had eaten, but she was hungry and that stew smelled awfully good. She ate with her mouth, not worrying about how messy her lips and chin became. In a gesture totally unlike the blood-thirsty killer he apparently was, the hunter gathered her long blonde hair behind her neck and placed a rubber band around it to keep it out of her way while she ate.
Monique cleaned the bowl. Then he sat down a glass of water with a straw and she finished that, too.
"Are you sure I can't offer something to make you not go through with this?" she offered in a calm, reasonable voice.
"There's nothing I can think of." Monique swallowed hard before the next offer. "I can understand your hating women," she began. "I don't blame you. But would you consider whipping me?"
He frowned and she took that as a good sign. "You could tie me up anyway you wished and whip my bottom with a belt until it's all black and blue. It will hurt, I can tell you. And you could torture me in other ways. You could cause me a lot of pain and I couldn't stop you."
He was frowning. She pressed her point, "You could pretend that I'm the woman who hurt you. You could hurt me again and again."
It wasn't that she really wanted to be tortured again, it was that she didn't want to be at the business end of that hunting rifle. No one wants to be shot to death. Survival instinct made her fight to stay alive. Besides she knew by now that most men really would enjoy torturing a beautiful young woman if they had the chance.
"Why do you ask to be tortured?" he asked. "It's better than being killed outright, isn't it?" He didn't answer her. Instead he picked up his rifle and stroked the barrel and stock lovingly. Monique continued trying to make it sound more interesting to him. "I was once tortured by being stretched on a rack," she told him. He looked up at her. "It's true. It was in Germany," she told him, conveniently not mentioning that it was also before he was born. "This guy was mad at me for something I did to his son so he tied me to this rack and stretched me until I could hear my tendons popping. I can tell you it hurt."
She couldn't read the expression on his face. "There are a lot of other things you could do to me." She was trying to sound sexy and keep the fear out of her voice. "You could hang me by my wrists from a tree outside. You could lash me to a post and ... And ... And attach clothespins on my nipples. That hurts a lot." She couldn't believe that she was actually asking for all this. "You could hogtie me and leave me all night like that. I would suffer for hours on end."
It seemed like her urging was beginning to have the desired effect for he looked as if he were in deep thought. But then Monique made a mistake. "You could see her face in mine every time you hit me."
Suddenly he slung the rifle over his shoulder and opened the door behind him. "I've already see her hurt," he said grimly. "It took her several hours to die." He jerked her out of her seat with one strong hand and pushed her towards the door. "Go. You have one hour head start. Then I come and track you. When I find you, I'll shoot you." He slammed the door behind her.
The first thing that Monique noticed was that it was cold outside. The sun still hadn't quite lifted above the horizon and the sky was lovely shades of pink and soft oranges. A few of the more hardy stars were still visible but fading fast. Monique sucked in a breath and started out on what might be a very short hike.
There was a path behind the house and she followed it, quickly becoming lost in the dense pine trees, but hurrying along as fast as her bare feet would take her. The pin needles hurt when an occasional one would stick into her foot, but she ignored that pain and concentrating on putting as much mileage between herself and the man who wanted to kill her. All the while her mind was racing, considering possibilities and rejecting them almost as fast as they popped up. The main objection to any idea of defending herself was the tightly bound arms behind her back. Without hands, a girl could not even chuck a rock at him. It was very frustrating for the naked girl dashing through the trees.
Finally she had to pause and try to catch her breath. She stood there, bend forward, legs wide apart, and panting. He had been right, this host's body was in good shape and Monique had run far longer than she could ever have in her real body. And therein lie her only hope. This nameless hunter was many years her senior, and there could be no way that he could match the speed or endurance. All she had to do was outrun him. Eventually she would run into someone. Well, so long as she didn't travel north. He had said his hunting lodge was in the "north woods". That could mean Canada or perhaps part of the northern US. Either way, so long as she traveled south she would run into something sooner or later.
Monique stood erect and searched for the sun through the thick trees. Finding it, she turned to her right and told herself that was south. Then she started out in that direction despite the fact that the path continued eastward. There were doubts in her mind. Surely the path led somewhere. A road? More likely a lake or something no useful to her. She stuck with south.
The day lengthened and grew warmer. Not knowing what time of year it was, she could not tell if the coolness of the air was due to a northern location or the season. At least it was warm enough so she wouldn't freeze. Several times she stumbled and fell, cursing as she struggled to regain her feet. It was not easy going and she had to follow a twisty path through the trees, often taking detours around rock piles and dense areas. There seemed to be a general upward slope to the land but she couldn't be too sure because of local ups and downs. Along about early afternoon she paused for the tenth time and wondered how far she had come. It was strange to be standing in the middle of a forest of pine trees, naked and bound. Not that the bondage itself was bothering her much, she had gotten pretty used to that over the last few weeks. But it made her so helpless to affect her fate, and that bothered her more than the physical discomfort. A gray squirrel watching her from a tree trunk chided her with a few well chosen remarks then scurried off up the tree. Monique wished she had his freedom and began walking again.
She heard the river long before she reached it. In the quiet of the forest there were only animal sounds to accompany her. When she stopped to rest, she listened carefully but could hear no pursuit. She hoped that meant there was none. The river sound was welcome for she was very thirsty. Hungry, too, but that would have to wait until she found someone who would free her arms. She certainly could not find food for herself in the woods and with no hands.
It was a good sized river, flowing rapidly and bouncing along among the rocks and boulders of its bed. Monique gratefully sank to her knees on a flat rock and bent to drink of the icy cold water. It was good. Finally satisfied, she turned over and sat down on the sun-warmed rock to survey her surroundings. There was only the river and forest and rocks. Remembering her visit with Brave Wolf, she turned to follow the river, glad that the rocks would not leave footprints. She had the nagging doubt that a good hunter would be able to follow her path through the forest. Perhaps there were places where a footprint would show in the dirt. Perhaps disturbed pine needles would tell of her passage. But she was pretty sure that no one could follow a trail over bare rocks. Besides, the smooth rocks were more comfort on her bare feet than pine needles.
It was then reality interrupted into her world. Suddenly a small explosion splatter her leg with tiny but biting pieces of rock and lead. A fraction of a second later came the sound of a rifle shot. Startled, Monique did what instinct told her to do, she ran. The relative safety of the trees seemed miles away as she leaped from boulder to boulder. A second shot boomed across the river but she never saw where it hit. Then she was diving into the woods. She quickly came to a panting halt behind a big tree. One instinct drove her to race away into the woods, another said that to rush forward carelessly might be disastrous. The tree did have gaps between them and she didn't want to present a good target. If she knew where he was firing from, perhaps she could head in the directly opposite direction.
No more shots came. Monique waited. Dare she risk a peek? Finally the suspense could be taken no longer and she edged around the big tree and peered between the branches. At first she saw nothing. Then there was a tiny flash from the other side of the river and a second later a branch above her head exploded and snapped in half. She felt tiny slivers of wood against her shoulder. Then she heard the sound of the shoot.
She hide behind her tree again and tried to calm down her beating heart. It's no fun to have high powered rifle bullets trying to kill you. She was about to take off when she heard the holler.
"Hey! I'm disappointed!" came the male voice faintly over the rushing waters.
What the hell was he disappointed about, Monique thought. That he missed?
"You made it too easy!" came the reply. "When I found where you turned off the trail, I figured you were heading south. And south will take you to the river. So I drove down here. And simply waited."
Monique felt like a fool. She should never have run in a straight line.
"When you got to the river, I figured you'd follow it downstream. That would be logical."
Monique hadn't gotten that far in her thinking, but what he said did sound logical. Too bad she wouldn't be able to try it now.
"You've got about five minutes while I cross the river," he shouted again. "Then the hunt is on again." He sounded happy.
Monique started off into the woods, trying to keep her tree between him and her. She quickly found herself having to duck and dodge in among the dense trees and underbrush. And she was sure she was leaving a trail he could easily follow. Apparently he had no trouble finding where she had left the path to turn south. With mind racing as fast as her feet, Monique headed away from the river. For a few seconds the wild idea danced in her frantic mind that perhaps she should hide behind a tree. Then when he came by, she should trip him, then kick him repeatedly in the head until he was unconscious. But as much as she would like to do that, it did seem a little ridiculous that a slender, young girl with her arms bound behind her back would be able to disable a large armed man.
She did the only thing she could do, she headed back the way she had come.
The long afternoon wore on and the frightened girl had to take longer and longer rests until she was merely walking back through the pines. Hunger became a constant companion, as did the pain in her arms and shoulders, not to mention the soreness of her bare feet. Rocks and pine needles do not make a soft carpet for bare feet.
And where was the hunter? Was he behind her, following the trail she was leaving? Or had he gone back to his jeep or whatever he drove and returned to the hunting lodge? Or gone somewhere else? Should she turn east or west, or even back to the river? He had outwitted her the first time and nearly gotten her by the river. But how could she outwit him this time? She had no idea how he was thinking. She could only assume that he had a fair idea how she was thinking and would plan to be one jump ahead of her. So it was important that she not do whatever it was she would normally do because that was what he was expecting.
All that logic told her was to ignore her first impulse and do something else. But it still didn't tell her what to do.
Suddenly there was a change and it took her a moment to realize what it was. It was the trail, probably the same one she had traveled down this morning. From the slope she had a feeling that the hunting lodge was to the left. But what awaited to the right? Or should she even follow a path? That is what a city girl who was tired of a rough hike would do. So the hunter would assume that. Therefore he would be waiting on the trail. Or would he? Perhaps he would assume that she would not do the expected? It was very confusing to Monique. She might have a great mind for physics and Time Theory, but she was certainly not used to trying to out-think psychopathic killers.
Finally she turned to the left and followed the trail. He might be back at the lodge but night was coming on and the lodge had shelter and food. She suspected that a naked and bound girl would not last too long at night. The early morning air had been chilly enough.
She saw the roof line first and it alerted her to the lodge so she turned off the path and circled to the left, trees providing cover. Beside the lodge she saw a jeep and knew he was back there. Or nearby, waiting for her.
Suddenly the door opened and he came out, still carrying a rifle. He stood by the jeep, slowly turning around. Monique's heart stopped as his gaze passed her hiding place. She was only a couple dozen yards from the jeep, an easy shot for a man with a rifle. But he didn't see her. For a while he stood there, frowning. Then he smiled and left down the path Monique had so recently vacated.
Perhaps he was going to set a trap for Monique on the trail. But she had been lucky enough to make it to the lodge before he could set up his trap. For a moment she considered trying to start the jeep and driving off down the dirt road she could see on the other side of the lodge. But it was a stupid idea and she dropped it.
Waiting a full five minutes was hard but she wanted to make sure he had a chance to get a little ways down the path. Then she came out of hiding and approached the jeep. The first thing she tried was the door to the lodge. Locked! Then she tried the door to a garage. Also locked. Damn that man! Locking the doors like he didn't trust her, or something. She returned to the jeep and looked inside. There was nothing except for a small box and a few tools in the back, but no knives or other sharp edges. Monique backed up to it and opened the wooden lid. When she turned around to see what she had uncovered, she was surprised to find four sticks of dynamite, some fuse and a couple blasting caps. A weapon, of course, but how could she use it with bound arms? If she could have thrown a stick, she would have found matches somewhere and gone hunting him. It would have been most satisfying to see him blown sky high.
Then the idea hit her. Quickly she rushed around to the front of the jeep. The two large handles were hard to turn with arms bound behind her but she managed. Raising the hood was even harder but she managed to shoulder it up and brace it open. Very happy that she had done some work on automobile engines with her father when she was small, she set about disconnecting one spark plug wire from the plug. It was messy work and hard with bound hands but not impossible. Soon she had a wire sitting there. Fetching a stick of dynamite and a cap, she laid them on the fender. The cap went into the stick, no problem. But the spark plug wire had a rubber shield around the end. She had to work that rubber back and off to expose the metal connector. Then she had to force it into the dynamite and the cap so there was solid contact. Finally she stood back, admiring her work. When the engine was started a large electrical charge would shoot down the spark plug wire and set off the dynamite. Couldn't fail. Monique returned to the jeep and brought the rest of the dynamite sticks. Those she put next to the first on top of the engine block. Might as well make it a big explosion.
She hurried to replace the hood and tighten it down. And then to close the dynamite box. Hoping everything was exactly as it had been so he would see nothing unusual, she returned into the forest to find a good hiding place. Sooner or later he would come back. Sooner or later he would start up his jeep to go somewhere. And then....
Then the thought occurred to her that perhaps she could speed things up a bit. Leaving off her search for a hiding place, she returned to the start of the path. Then she deliberately walked right up to the front of the lodge. She walked to the door, making sure that she didn't go near the jeep, then to the garage, making sure that there were clear footprints where ever she could. Then she turned off towards the road. A ways down the road she turned off into the woods and doubled back to the lodge. Then she settled down to watch.
It was growing towards evening and Monique was beginning to feel like her plans were for ought. If he returned after dark, he would not see the footprints carefully laid out for him. And he might well not feel the need to drive his jeep anywhere. The prospect of a long, cold night made her shiver. Already the sun had disappeared and the light was fading fast.
Then he came back, rifle held casually in the hollow of one arm but where he could easily swing it out, his grim face watching the woods on either side of the trail with hawk eyes. Monique froze. She wanted to shout to him to see the footprints. She wanted him to think she was running down the road.
But he passed by the first prints in the dirt and went to the lodge door instead. He unlocked the door and went inside. Monique wanted to scream. The big hunter had missed a trail as obvious as she could make it. She was startled when a flood light snapped to life, filling the area of the jeep with light. The hunter reappeared, still carrying the rifle. He stood just outside the door, making a careful scan of the surroundings. Monique was sure he was wondering where she could be. It almost seem that he was seeking some scent, some sound that would tell him where his game was. Suddenly he stiffened. Then he slowly lowered himself to the ground. He had seen the footprints!
Monique held her breath as he followed them back to the trail. Then back to the house. Then towards the road. He was reading the tracks just as she had wanted him to. Now would he just jump into his jeep and race off after her?
For a long time he stood at the road, looking off into the darkness of the forest. He knew where that road went and how long it was. He knew whether she could possibly get anywhere during the night. Perhaps he was considering a good night's sleep and then taking up the chase again in the morning. Monique hoped not.
Suddenly he turned and went rapidly to the jeep where he tossed in his rifle. Then he went into the house and came out with a couple of flashlights, locking the door behind him. The flashlight went into the back, next to the dynamite box. He took out keys and sat in the drivers seat.
"Goodbye, bastard," whispered Monique. The explosion was everything Monique had hoped it would be and a lot more. A whole lot more. She was instantly blinded by the flash then knocked backwards by the shock wave. When she came to, it was a long time later. She was laying on her bound arms in a stunned condition. There was a dancing reddish light that she realized was the lodge burning merrily. Slowly getting to her feet, Monique was happy to find no broken bones. But she did have a cut across her thigh but the blood had dried. She also had a terrible headache and trouble hearing.
"Too damned much dynamite!" she told herself. "Next time I kill a crazed hunter, I'll use only two sticks. Or get a lot farther away."
For a long time she watched the burning building, feeling satisfaction with her work. It was only later that she realized the destroyed building as also the only source of food and shelter for her.
The jeep was not in one piece any longer. Parts of it were scattered all over the yard, the largest piece being an engine block sitting on end a dozen feet away from where it had been.
Monique tried the garage again but the door was still locked and there were no windows. Then she sat down near the lodge and tried to figure out a plan. She was warm from the flames but they would eventually die down. By morning there would be only a pile of smoldering ashes.. Her arms were aching terribly but there was still nothing she could do about that. Those ropes were still holding her prisoner and defying her. She could think of nothing short of trying to burn the ropes off that would gain her freedom.
Suddenly she heard gunshots and had the immediate urge to dash off into the woods. Halfway to the nearest trees, she realized that it was only ammunition going off in the fire. But exploding bullets could still kill you so she walked to where the garage shielded her from the main building. The exploding bullets continued for quite a few minutes.
Eventually the explosions died down, leaving the naked and bound woman in somewhat less danger. A minute later she idly noted that the roof of the garage had caught fire from the sparks. Let it burn, she sighed. Damn thing ain't no use to me. She had backed away from the lodge because the heat from the fire was getting to be too much. The garage or shed or whatever it was would make a much smaller fire and that was fine with her. She stood before the garage, turning first her front then her back to be warmed by the dancing flames. The air was growing colder and she welcomed the heat.
Beyond the circle of orange light from the fire, the forest was dark and forbidding. She would stay with the lodge, she decided. In the morning perhaps someone would come to investigate the fire. Then she would be rescued. That was a happy thought. Hopefully they would have food with them, she wished.
Had the naked and bound girl taken the trouble to think about possibilities, it might have occurred to her that those sticks of dynamite in the jeep had to come from somewhere. And that it was possible more dynamite would be stored in the garage rather than the main house for safety reasons. A whole lot more dynamite. She had her back turned to the garage when the wooden box and its remaining thirty-two sticks of dynamite exploded. She never knew what hit her.
"She's Jumped again," said a weary Howard. "I'll get you the coordinates as soon as the computer readouts settle down."
Dr Pritchard shook his head. It was obvious that the errant Dr. Hutton had not returned. Somewhere in the past she was now in a new host, in a new location, and in a new time. The old man stroked his forehead wearily. Would Monique every come back? It was possible that she could go on Jumping forever. But what would happen with her body which was still on what they called the Jump Seat? They had taken care of it but dared not move it to the hospital in case the computer managed to Jump her back here. So they had set up everything needed to keep her alive right there in the TDT.
There was a tug on his sleeve and Dr Pritchard turned. It was Dr. Wordsworth of the R&D team. "There's an idea that Goldblum has," he began. "He feels that the Jumper is much in control than the computer. In his opinion, the Jumper is directing the location and time for each Jump."
"But why wouldn't she come back home? Surely she doesn't want to go on Jumping all through time. Even is she's having an exciting and wonderful time, she should want to come home sooner or later."
"Goldblum says that it is the subconscious that controls the Jumps. We always assumed that the Jumper went to the time and place set into the computer because we had programmed it that way. But Goldblum says that the Jumpers have always gone where they did because their subconscious believed they would and made it so. If the Jumper's subconscious wanted to go somewhere else, it would."
For a few long seconds Dr Pritchard frowned. "What do the others think about this theory?" he finally asked.
"They think it's as valid as any other. At least it explains why a Jump could go wrong if the computer isn't the one controlling the Jump."
"But why doesn't she come back?"
"We don't know. But there is a test of this theory...."
They began discussing details. Meantime in a distant place and long ago....
CHAPTER SEVEN - A Little Less Than a Thousand and One Nights
Monique was vaguely aware of the Jump tingle racing along her nerves and the empty feeling of nothingness. But there had been something before that, something vague but intense. She was confused. She had been standing before a warm fire and suddenly she had Jumped again.
She opened her eyes and looked around, fully expecting to find herself naked and bound up tightly with ropes, the usual pattern of these Jumps. To her surprise, she saw instead that she was clothed and only lightly shackled. True, the clothing was little more than some than some wisps of very transparent material that covered her loins and draped casually across one breast, but it was clothing. And the shackles were more ornamental than real. Or so was her first thought. The slender silver bands about her wrists and ankles were like fine jewelry, not prisoner's attire. Same for the tiny links of the chains joining her wrists and ankles, they appeared more as heavy jewelry rather than stout, secure restrictions. But when she pulled her wrists apart she quickly found that they were functional. She could not break the chains nor could she ever hope to work the snug bands off her wrists. With a sigh, she turned her attention to her surroundings, thankful, at least, that she was not tightly bound with painful ropes.
Yet another surprise greeted her. This was not the deck of a pirate ship, nor the stone walls of a medieval castle. It was a room of luxury, of silk wall hangings, of pillows scattered around the floor, of two braziers burning away in to corners of the room, and thick, soft carpet beneath her. Slowly she rose to her feet, admiring the rich materials round her and the soft pastel patterns of flowers and trees and peacocks. From somewhere distant came the soft tinkling of flutes and bells and running water. As she headed towards an open arch, she caught sight of herself in a polished metal mirror and stopped to see what kind of hostess she had this Jump.
The girl that looked back at her was lovely, a vision of jet black hair cascading down around her shoulders and dark, mysterious eyes. The figure was slender and the breasts pointed, the legs long. She turned around and noted how gracefully this body moved and how the silver shackles did look like jewelry, complimenting the loose silk garments even as they complimented her youthful figure.
As she passed through the arched doorway, she realized what this all looked like to her: a harem from the pages of Arabian Nights. The musical tinkling of water came from a fountain in a courtyard. From twice her height water danced down the sides of circular bowls set in a spiral pattern. Four walls surrounded the courtyard, two with arched passages, one only a window. Greenery and delicate flowers made the courtyard a cool and peaceful place. Overhead a vivid display of purples and reds showed that the sun had just departed from the sky and stars were emerging from their daytime sleep.
All was peaceful and beautiful, a wonderful change from the torture chambers of a Chinese emperor or the dungeons of a mad German baron. Monique breathed deeply of the Jasmine scented air and relaxed for the first time in a long, long time. At least no one here would be whipping her or trying to kill her.
Just them another girl dressed much as she was walked slowly by the window, weeping nearly silent tears, with her arms hugging herself as much as allowed by the thin shackles. The young girl looked up, saw Monique, and paused. "The Master ... He whipped me," she said haltingly. Then she turned to show a fresh batch of whip marks crisscrossing the skin of her back and bottom. "Again," she added, and Monique did indeed note that there were faded marks under these fresh ones.
The whipped girl quickly turned and was gone. Well, so much for the humane treatment of girls around here. She wondered if her back held fading whip marks but had no real desire to return to the room with the mirror.
To a faint background of flutes and drums and cymbals singing a strange, haunting melody, Monique turned to find herself almost bumping into a man. With a slight gasp she backed way from the man who stood there watching her with an amused grin on his face. Since he was apparently not ready to say anything himself, she took the time to study him. His features were dark, perhaps Arabic but with strong hints of European blood. He was certainly handsome by most any girl's standards-sort of a tall, dark stranger. He appeared to be somewhere in his thirties, with a weathered look about his face of someone who spends a fair amount of time out in the sun. He was at least six inches taller than Monique, or rather Monique's host body, and didn't appear to be skinny in those white pants and semi-robe type shirt, also of white. It set off his dark skin well, Monique thought.
"What is with my little Nighthawk? Since I tamed you, you have not lifted your eyes to stare so boldly into mine ... Perhaps there returns some of the spirit you showed when you first came here and we named you Nighthawk because you tired to scratch my eyes out with your talons.'' His voice was strong.
"A thousand pardons, Master," said Monique in what she hoped was the proper words. She also lowered her eyes to his feet. Breaking eye contact was a sign of submission in most cultures.
"You were looking at Danila," he stated. "She misbehaved and was whipped. It is of no consequence," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. Then he grinned again. "And slavegirls should be whipped now and then just to remind them who and what they are. Do you not agree?"
"Yes, Master." Go to hell, Master, was what she wanted to say but she was not that stupid.
Her master laughed. "Perhaps I should change your name to Mouse. Suits you better now than Nighthawk. No doubt you remember those nights staked out on the sand dunes and those many whippings down in the punishment room. I nearly had you buried to the neck in the sands and left to die when you scratched my face." He touched his cheek. "But no scar was left and you have proven to be a most submissive slavegirl. I think I will call for you to be brought to my bed tonight," he added graciously.
"I would be honored, Master," purred Monique, hating herself inside for having to say it.
For a minute this man was silent. "I almost miss the rebellious little slavegirl I bought and trained. It was fun punishing you. Now you rarely do anything to deserve punishment. You are boring."
"Shall I slap your face, Master, so you will have reason to whip me?" asked Monique, trying to hold back the sarcasm and hoping that she wasn't going too far.
"I can have you whipped for no reason," he said reasonably. "For no reason, as you well know. Perhaps I will."
Monique held her words back. "Well, it matters not much. I will call for you tonight. It has been a while since I used that lovely body of yours. So many wives, so little time," he sighed.
Then he was gone, leaving Monique standing in the middle of the garden and feeling relived. She was sure he spoke the truth when he said that he could have her whipped for no reason. Apparently she was a slavegirl in a harem, and the sooner she got to thinking like a harem girl, the better. Be submissive and fit in with the rest of the girls, she told herself. And wasn't there usually a senior wife who really ran the harem? She tried to remember but harems weren't something she studied at the university.
Apparently it was after dinner for she did not feel hungry. Wishing to see more of her new home, and her subconscious was nagging that perhaps she should consider Jumping as her new way of life, she wandered through the door on the left. It was another room much like the one she had awakened in, but a little larger. At the other end was another archway. Monique walked to it and through. There was a short corridor with several more open doors and one closed with heavy fabric at the end. Curious about this place, she went to the closed door and pulled back the curtain.
The shock almost made her fall backwards, for standing there was the biggest, ugliest man she had ever seen. He was black and not at all like some of the handsome black men Monique had known. This one looked like his face had gone through a meat grinder-before he had taken up a career in boxing where his face was the opponent's favorite target. He was bare to the waist and Monique could see numerous scars crisscrossing his chest and back, as well as his face. This man had seen some rough times somewhere. Monique noted as he glared at her with a fierce frown that his hand rested on the hilt of a massive, curved sword hanging from his belt. She doubted that she would have been able to even lift the weapon, let alone swing it.
"Nataka's a pussy cat, isn't he?" came a feminine voice from behind her. She turned to see another girl dressed as she was in some flimsy cloth and delicate silver chains. The newcomer smiled sweetly and walked up to Nataka. "He growls real good but he's really soft on all us girls. Aren't you, sweetie pie?" She patted his ample bottom, showing no fear at all.
Nataka actually growled but made no move to stop the harem slavegirl. She stepped back and closed the curtain. "He's a darlings but he does have orders to not let any of us leave the harem. Of course, his main duty is to keep men out of here." She was walking back towards one of the rooms and Monique followed.
"Isn't that like setting a fox to guard the hens?" she asked.
"Fox? Oh, you mean Nataka! Silly girl, don't you know that he couldn't do anything with one of us even if he was allowed to? He is no longer a man."
It took Monique a few seconds to realize that referred to the ancient practice of castrating the male guards of a harem to make sure that they were not tempted to sample the Sheik's private stock. Poor guy, thought Monique. Not that he would be attractive to a woman anyway, but still....
There was, indeed, a head wife. Or senior slavegirl, or whatever. She couldn't have been more then ten years Monique's senior-Monique's host body's senior that is-but she was definitely in command. As she hustled in, Monique noted that her chains were a little longer, allowing her more freedom of movement, in fact, hardly hampering her at all. She quickly informed Monique that she was to be taken to the Master's bed chamber for the night. "Lucky girl," said the siavegirl who had patted Nataka's bottom. The head slave offered no such congratulations-in fact, she seemed on the cool side to Monique. There was no love lost here, apparently.
But Monique didn't have much time to feel honored. Her hair was worked on by a black siavegirl who Monique guessed was not really one of the wives even through she wore chains. Maybe every female around here wore chains, wife, slave or serving girl. But, since the girl was quite pretty and had a very respectable figure, she guessed that the Master might well bed down the serving slavegirls, too. It was that kind of male-dominated society. Men had all the rights, women none.
The Master's bedroom was huge. He could have had his horse stabled there and still have room for several more beds. Several swords decorated the walls, marking it as a man's room. The Master was no where in sight, so Monique went over to the bed and tested it, Soft but the covers were not the smooth silk she had seen in the harem chambers. After all she had been through, including several rapes and a couple of cases of throwing herself at men, the idea of having sex with a strange man held much less fear and repulsion than it would have only a few weeks before. And the Master here wasn't a bad looking man. Rather nice, in fact. Monique felt a little warmth in her loins as visions of her owner tossing her on the bed and then ravishing her body with masterfully, powerful thrusts of his manhood in her sheath. Which made her wonder about the chains on her ankles. They allowed her to walk but were a little short when it came to spreading her legs for sex. Maybe he liked it doggie style, she thought and almost giggled at that image.
When her owner came in, she found out why did didn't care about the chains on her feet. First he tore away the flimsy garments with utter disregard for their value. "Nighthawk, you are as beautiful as the day I bought you." He divested himself of clothing. "Come here and pay homage to my manhood as a good slavegirl should." His manhood was already pretty much at attention, so she simply knelt down and took it carefully in both hands. For a while she stroked it, teased it lightly with her fingertips. It seemed to like that but its owner wanted much more than a little fondling. "I'm waiting," he growled. Monique sighed as she brought her lips close enough to take enlarged member between them. Men, she thought, why can't they use a girl the way a girl's suppose to be used? Her pleasant visions of a fine and proper screwing were fading. He'd probably come in her mouth and then go to sleep.
Still Monique did the best she could, having not too much experience with this task before she began these bad Jumps. She just hadn't been that kind of girl, you know. But untrained as they were, her mouth and tongue were effective and his phallus was soon rock hard and ready. Suddenly he withdrew, reached down and picked Monique up to throw her on the bed. Oh,-boy, she thought-here it comes!
But he turned her over on her stomach and spread her legs as wide as the chain allowed them. Then he picked up her hips, shoved a pillow under them so that her ass was sticking up in the air. Taking a glob of something from a jar on the floor by the bed, the Master of this house anointed his phallus and then drove it solidly into Monique's unsuspecting and unready asshole.
She let out with a scream and began beating the bed with her chained hands. She tried to wiggle her bottom away from the painful invasion but he held her hips firmly and all she could do was give voice to her pain and humiliation. Ignoring her protests and squeals of discomfort, he pumped away with vigor, using her rear as if it were no different from her vagina.
Fortunately it was over quickly. Monique could feel his hot juices shooting inside her. Had it not been so unexpected and uncomfortable, it might have been a new erotic experience for her. And it was exciting in a way. But it was over before her body could have a chance to respond. Pulling her off the bed, he pushed her to her knees on the floor and made her suck his phallus clean. Monique wanted to gag but dared not. She kept telling herself to be submissive and obedient-it was the way to survive.
With the repulsive task of cleaning her owner finished, she was left on the floor while he stretched out on the bed. With a yawn, he told her to stay there on the floor by the bed because he would want to do it again in the morning. Monique wanted to cry but obediently curled up on a carpet and listened as he began snoring.
She considered trying to escape but rejected the idea when she remember the kind of guards on this harem. She didn't want to run into that Nataka in the dark, eunuch or no. With a sigh she made herself as comfortable as possible and slowly drifted into sleep.
The awaken was rude and noise and very confusing. There were people shouting and strong hands grabbing her arms to jerk her to her feet. At first she thought that she had Jumped again, but blinking her eyes, she realized that she was still in the sheik's bed chamber. But all was not the same. The sheik lay on the bed in a pool of his own blood, a wicked, curved dagger sticking from his breast. Several men were standing around in the early morning light, holding flaming torches and glaring at her. It was then she realized that there was blood on the knife handle and blood on her hands.
The trial was over quickly. She was dragged before an older man with a ragged white beard and tossed at his feet.
A few sentences described how she was found at the foot of her Master's bed, blood on her hands. When she started to proclaim innocence, she was slapped hard enough to make her vision fade for a second and her head ring. The old man glared at her and uttered a few words. The guards' carried her from the room.
The silver shackles were cut from her wrists and ankles-apparently they had been welded on-and her arms bound behind her in the all too familiar elbows-touching, ropes extra tight method. Then a rope was looped around her neck and jerked so she had to follow.
They headed into the rising sun, across sand still cold from the night, and away from what civilization there was in a desolate land. Monique tried to protest but every time she spoke, the rope around her neck was jerked. Four guards with drawn swords formed her escort, along with the head wife or chief slavegirl or whatever that woman was. From the way this rival was smiling, Monique was certain she had something to do with the whole rotten setup. She could see why this woman would want to pin the guilt upon Monique, but why would she want to kill the sheik in the first place? Perhaps there was some palace politics going on that she could not understand.
The sun was well risen when they stopped, already the sands were becoming warm. Soon they would be hot, as would the very air they breathed. This was the desert, barren, dry and very lonely. It was an area of low, sweeping sand dunes and little else. The chief guard mounted the nearest sand dune and looked around. Satisfied with whatever he saw, he came back down and directed the guards to dig in the sand. Monique had little doubt what the hole was going to be for. She considered running but there was little a naked girl could do with her arms tightly bound behind her back and a noose around her neck.
When the hole was deep enough, they sat Monique down on the sand and tied her legs together, at the knees and ankles. Then they forced her into the hole, which, being only three or four feet deep, would not be enough for her to stand in. So they made her kneel and squat back on her heels, and held her that way while the sand was shoveled back into the hole. Perhaps they had done this before, but whatever the reason, when they were finished the sand came to Monique's chin but no further. Apparently she was not to be buried alive, only partly.
The guards made sure the sand was tamped down before picking up their tools and leaving. The older woman stayed behind for a few moments to gloat. "You may struggle all you want, you will find the sands hold you. The days are hot and the nights cold. As you dry out, you will cry out for help, beg and plead for a drop of water. If you do not die right away, you will maybe go mad from the thirst. It is a most unpleasant way to die," she said with satisfaction.
"Tell me," asked Monique, "did you kill the Master?" The woman's face twisted into a cruel mask of pure evil. Then suddenly she was all sweetness. "All are sure that you did it. Are you not the one who scratched the Master when first he bought you? Are you not the one who was found with his blood on your hands?"
"You didn't answer my question." The woman went on as if Monique had not spoken. "There are animals out here. Scorpions. Ants. Foxes. Perhaps you will not die of thirst." She looked pleased at the prospects. Then she turned to go, but paused to leave Monique with one last thought. "You will be lucky if the winds blow and cover you up. These dunes shift so easily when the winds blow." She looked towards the distant mountains. "But I feel no wind coming."
Then she was gone, leaving Monique cursing under her breath. The imprisoned girl noted carefully the direction the guards had taken. If she could work herself free of the sand and ropes, she wanted to know which way civilization lay. Then she began work on the sand.
She should have known that it would be useless. People who live in the desert know the sand dunes well. The also know that a girl buried up to her neck cannot fight the weight of sand pressing down upon her body. Perhaps if her arms were not totally useless behind her, she might have had a chance to work a hand upward. But all she could down shake her head, no other motion was possible.
After an hour, Monique began to notice the strange contrast of hot, burning sun upon her face, and the cool sands pressing against her body. The sun's heat move down into the sands only very slowly, all below the tops of her breasts was cool. By mid-afternoon, she felt as if her brains were frying. She had to keep her eyes closed against the fierce brightness. They had buried her so that her face was to the west and the worst of the afternoon sun was directly upon her. If they had turned her so that the sun set behind her, her long hair would have protected her head. But they hadn't and she was sure it was a deliberate cruelty.
During the long hours of that first day, Monique had plenty of time to ponder upon what had happened to her, especially her departure from the hunting lodge existence. It represented a major change in the pattern. Each time before she was aware of impending death. And each time before it had been by water. But something had happened at that lodge, something to make her Jump. All she could remember was the feeling that something violent and swift had happened. Eventually the possibility of something in the garage exploding occurred to her and she accepted it as the only possible explanation.
Which meant, she realized, that she did not have to die by water in order to Jump. It was small comfort to a girl about to die of thirst in the middle of the desert, but at least she felt some comfort in the idea that she would Jump as soon as she died. She wondered how much suffering it would be to die of thirst.
She spent the evening and part of the night thinking about Time Theory. She was one of the few people who really understand the complex theories that made Time Jumping possible. And she had additional information, information that those back at the Institute probably didn't know. She didn't even know if they were aware of her Jumping. Perhaps they even thought her dead. If not. they would certainly be trying to get her back. Apparently they could not.
She fell asleep considering different aspects of Time Theory and possibilities. When she awoke it was to a different world.
"She's Jumped again."
"That was a short one," Dr Pritchard observed. "She was there only a little more than a day. Well, where is she now?"
"It's settling down. Ah....Amazing! 1985! That's the closest she's been."
"Perhaps that's good. Perhaps not. Research come up with anything new?"
"The current line of thinking is that the Jumper is the one controlling the Jump. The computer only goes along with it. Mark and Barbara have done some short term tests that suggest that's the right theory. Of course, no one's going to try it with a human, they used a rat. They showed a hungry rat some food then waited an hour. Then they Jumped him, setting the controls for nearly zero time displacement. But the rat Jumped back one hour and to where he had seen the food. Seems like the rat controlled the Jump. But the second time they did it, the rat disappeared."
"Disappeared?"
"Yeah. Gone. The computer didn't have any fix on it at all."
"Very strange."
"That's what Research said."
CHAPTER EIGHT - Lucky Girl
Monique woke up slowly. As consciousness filtered back from troubled and highly erotic dreams of being tied up and screwed on a sand dune by a giant sheik who laughed at her, she expected to open her eyes to find herself still buried in the sand. She wondered if she would last out the second day.
Then she opened her eyes and knew something had happened. There was no sand dunes. A morning sun shinning upon her face had apparently been the reason she awoke, yet she was not out under the desert sun, but in a large and somewhat masculine bedroom. She was laying upon a water bed, she could feel the water move under her as she turned her head. Besides the window, the walls were natural wood. A pair of men's pants hung from a peg in front of her. That much registered before she explored her condition.
She was tied up, as she fully expected to be. Some patterns in this whole crazy business were consistent. She was naked as she could tell from the friction of the crisp, clean sheets when she moved slightly to test how she was bound. Her hands were crossed and tied behind her back, firmly but not overly tight. Her ankles were tied together.
But that was all. She wore no gag, the ropes were rather comfortable-at least compared to some of her adventures. She felt as if she had just spend a restful night, at least the body did. Her mind had been troubled by the prospect of a lingering death in that desert semi-grave. But apparently it was not to be.
She stretched and turned her head around to find herself alone in the bed. It was king-sized and the sheets next to her looked as if someone had slept there. Looking around, she found no one in the entire room, so she slide her way to the edge then swung her legs out from under the sheets and over the edge. There was a metallic clinking sound. Looking down, she found a chain locked around her ankle and trailing off to the floor. The chain links were small but she was sure far beyond her power to break. The padlock was also not too large but sufficient to keep her prisoner until she got the key or a hacksaw. Lifting herself up to a sitting position, she planted her feet on the floor and followed the chain with her eyes until it ended at a metal ring screwed into the bottom corner of the massive wooden frame of the water bed. Another padlock assured that she would not be taking it off.
But there were more than enough links to allow her some exploration of her new surroundings, so she rose to her feet and began a slow shuffling of bound ankles to move her away from the water bed. It might have been slow but she felt it was better than trying to hop and perhaps falling down.
There was a bathroom not far away and she made for it. Just inside the door the chained tightened and she had to halt. But it was far enough into the room for her to see herself in the mirror over the sinks. One eyebrow rose. This was one fine looking body, no mistake about that. She guessed the age at no more than twenty-two. The hair was long, silky black strands that hung down in front to half cover one breast. But the other was totally exposed in all it's glory. The last time she had seen a pair like that, they had been on the Playmate of the Year. The long, shapely legs complimented the fine top part. And the face was something off the cover of a high fashion magazine; dark, sultry eyes; full, red lips.
Boy, would I have loved to have this body all my life, she whispered. With this body and my brains, I could have gone far.
Her admiration of the host body was interrupted by the arrival of a male dressed only in a pair of underwear. What a hunk! was the only thought that had time to flash cross her mind before he swept her up into his arms and kissed her very warmly. After the surprise faded some, she found herself kissing back. It felt terribly good to be held in those strong male arms and kissed with in intensity that spoke of love. Rarely had the prim and proper Dr Monique Hutton every been kissed like that. In the middle of the kiss one strong male hand cupped a full breast and gently squeezed. She responded by pressing her body against his with real feeling.
"Time you got up, sleepyhead," he said.
"Why get out of bed when I can't do anything anyway," she whispered back. "As you can see, I'm all tied up." There was no accusation in her voice, if anything a playful tone. She sensed only love from this man and wanted very badly to return it.
"True," he commented as he picked her up. "But you know the rules. You never, never are allowed to be free of restraints." He accented his remarks by tossing her on the bed. "Never, ever."
In addition to being no more that she expected from all the prior Jumps, Monique found this statement oddly reassuring as it sent a tingle along her spine. The idea of this handsome man keeping her forever restrained was not unpleasant. Not at all.
He followed her to the bed, but only after tossing off his underwear. Before she could catch her breath, his mouth and tongue was teasing her left breast, toying with the nipple, sucking on it gently. Monique closed her eyes and sucked in air. That felt good! Vaguely she wondered why it felt so good to be tied up, so exciting and wonderful. Then she abandoned herself to the tingling sensations that were racing into her body from that breast. When he hand cupped her pussy, she sighed aloud and arched her body up to help him.
The ankles were untied but the chain remained locked about her ankle and the ropes remained around her wrists. She didn't mind. In fact, she would have felt deprived somehow if he had taken them off. It just seemed proper that she was bound up. And the lovemaking! That was something else. This man was not the size of that Irish sailor in her first Jump, but he was adequate to thrill any girl to the core. And he used his weapon skillfully and with vigor. With his strong arms around her body and his hairy chest pressing against her bosom, Monique experienced an orgasm far better than any she had every felt before.
Later, when she had a chance to think about it, she realized that each host body she had Jumped into reacted to sex and felt it differently, sometimes strongly, sometimes weakly. But this one was wonderful and that climax was incredible.
While it was happening, Monique had no time to think, only to feel. And it felt wonderful. Held in place by her lover and his ropes, she could do nothing to stop his continued thrusts deep into her Quickly she rode up to another climax. And then another until she could hardly tell when one ended and one began. Or perhaps were really was no ending and beginning. She only knew she was floating on something wonderful and she never wanted it to end.
After ages she floated back down to earth to find her lover gone again and the smell of cooking bacon drifting into the bedroom. Realizing she was hungry, she got out of the bed and followed the smell to the kitchen. Only in the hallway did she realize that the chain had been taken from her ankle. Her wrists were still crossed and bound behind her but she didn't care about that.
In addition to dishes set out on the table, there were two pairs of handcuffs laying beside the silverware. Her man was dressed now, casual slacks and a short sleeved shirt, both in shades of blue, and a wonderful smelling breakfast was just being finished. But before setting the disk before her, he locked Monique's ankles together with one pair of handcuffs. Then he untied her wrists, pulled them around to the front of her, and locked them with the other pair. Monique did not protest. It not only seemed nature, she was far too mellow from some great sex to care about much of anything.
They ate and talked about minor things, Monique being careful about anything that would reveal her ignorance of their relationship, and this world in general. The only concern she felt came at the end of the meal when the man turned to her and said, "You're acting strangely this morning, Deidra. You're ... Well, just different. I would swear you acted like that was the first time we ever made love. And usually you pout when I refuse your request to be untied for breakfast. Now you're acting like you enjoy the handcuffs."
"I enjoy anything with you," she said in what she hoped would be would be a good answer. At least it was truthful. "And maybe I'm coming to love your ropes and handcuffs on me," she added.
He only smiled, warmly and sincerely. Monique could feel the real love this man felt for this host. When he turned his back to put the dishes in the dishwasher, she felt a little pang that she had taken this Deidra, whoever she was, away from a man who loved her so. But the pang died away rapidly when she remembered the joy he had given her. That was something so wonderful that she wanted it all for herself, all other women could go to hell.
After breakfast, he allowed her a warm, foamy bath. The handcuffs stayed on, of course, but she had no trouble because of them. Only the tiny silver chains of the harem has limited her less. After she had fixed her hair and applied some perfume, she went in search of the man. It bothered her a little that she didn't know his name, but perhaps he would make love to her again. She hoped so, even though the last time had been only a couple hours before.
He was in the front room, placing a golf bag by the front door. "I'm going golfing with Ted," he informed. It was not a question, and Monique felt only disappointment they he was not going to throw her upon the bed again. "There are three cards on the coffee table. Pick one."
Monique saw three white cards laying on the table. She picked up the one on the right end of the line and presented it to him. "Oh, you're not going to like this one," he commented with a smile. "The Chair."
Not know what "The Chair" was, Monique didn't know if she should be happy or sad. "Couldn't you just leave me like this? I'm chained up with these handcuffs. And I'll be right here, ready to greet you when you get back."
He laughed. "You know the rules. You don't argue about any position I decide to fix you in. Not ever. For that you get an additional two hours when I get back."
Monique knew when to shut up. Being naked and with handcuffed hands and feet make a girl feel very submissive. "Yes, Master," she uttered, only to realize immediately that perhaps it was a mistake. The Deidra might not call this man "Master."
But he accepted her submission in stride and ordered her to come with him. The Chair was just that, a solid looking metal chair bolted to the floor in a room so small that it was basically a closet. Monique sat in the chair without being told to. Being left for a while tied to a chair didn't seem so very terrible-not when it was this man who did the binding and who was going to be the one to untie her.
He unlocked her ankles and began binding them with rope. His hands skillfully applied the cords, neatly and firmly, and with cinch ropes to hold down all that went before. The knots were tight and there were several of them. When her ankles and knees were bound quite snugly, he unlocked her wrists. She did not resist when he gathered together her arms behind the back of the chair. The cords going on her arms were done with the same care and precision as those applied to her legs. The wrists were bound with palms facing. Then the elbows. Together. Tight. Very tight.
As he tied a rope from her wrists down and under the chair to her ankles, he commented, "I'm surprised. You usually complain whenever I tie your elbows together. We both know that you can stay bound like that for days, but you always make like it's a terrible thing I'm doing."
"Maybe I'm learning to like it." He laughed. "But you know what happens when a siavegirl gets to liking what is suppose to be her punishment ... ? The punishment just naturally has to become worse. Otherwise it wouldn't be punishment."
Monique didn't say anything. It was with mixed feelings that she accepted his comments and their promise of rougher treatment. Part of her logical mind told her to fear and avoid. But part told her anything this man did to her would be quite all right. That voice spoke in a husky whisper and seemed to come from deep inside her.
"I am your slavegirl, Master." His only reply was to tug the rope between her ankles and wrists until her feet were completely off the floor and hanging from her arms. There was considerable strain on her arms and shoulders, but not pain. Not yet. He took another length of rope and made a loop around her waist and arms. As he wrapped that rope tightly, she realized that it had the effect of locking the back of the chair between her arms and body, making her a prisoner of the chair for sure.
When he finished the last knots, she was quite professionally tied and completely helpless. It was tight, secure and not very comfortable for the naked woman. Having had plenty of experience over the last couple weeks, Monique was surprised how much difference it made because these ropes went on by his hand. Damn, she wished she knew his name. But there was a real difference. As these ropes went on, they evoked a thrill within her, much like the touch of his fingers upon her breast or the firm contact of his lips against hers. Just being tied up by this man was more sensual and erotic and exciting than full lovemaking had been from most of the men in Monique's life. She felt herself breathing hard and could see those large nipples standing out rigid from the twin mounds pushed out so magnificently by the binding of her elbows behind her.
Then suddenly he was standing before her, tossing up and catching a rubber ball with a strap through it. Monique gulped. "You won't even let me talk to myself?" she asked. But she opened her mouth wide as he brought the ball gag up to her lips. She felt it push down her tongue and wedge itself between her jaws. The strap was buckled tightly behind her head. It was quite surprising that this act of taking away her ability to talk would be so exciting to Monique. If she could speak, she would have begged him to touch her body, to take her to bed, to do something about this fire burning in her loins.
But she could not speak. Yet she knew inside that he knew. Perhaps he read it in her eyes, or perhaps in the flush and erect nipples of her body. Maybe some hormones gave off a smell, but she was sure he knew just how excited she was becoming. But would he do something about it?
Masterfully, he took both breasts in his hands and kneaded them gently, evoking moans of pleasure from the captive female. He teased the nipples with his fingertips. He made her feel very good, but wanting more. Then there was no more. He released the impassioned breasts and backed out of the tiny room. He blew her a kiss as he closed the door.
Monique whined in protest and frustration. She shook her body and pulled as hard as she could against the ropes. But it was useless. Still she continued to whine and struggle against the ropes as the only means of expressing the beautiful frustration she felt inside.
Later, a couple hours later, she was still tightly bound to that chair, and still almost as horny and frustrated as she had been when his hands drifted away from her flesh, she wondered why being treated like this was such a wonderful feeling when this man did it, but torture when most of those many others had done it to her. She had no answers, only four close walls, a metal chair and the ropes holding her prisoner.
There were windows up high on two of the walls. They admitted light and fresh air but she could not see out of them. Having no watch or clock, Monique could only guess at the passage of time, wishing it would speed along and bring the return of her lover. She sincerely hoped that his knowing she was back here, naked and tightly bound, and horny as hell, would play upon his mind. It might put his golf game off, but it might also make him anxious to return home and sample the pleasures of his captive woman.
Suddenly the door was opened and he was standing here. She whined through the gag and strained forward. She could feel the fire in her sex flare up. Oh, please, she pleaded with her eyes, touch me! Love me! Screw me until my brains explode!
He gave her a fatherly kiss on the forehead and reminded her that she had earned an extra two hours. Now that he was back, the clock had started on that "punishment" time. She whined loudly in protest. As he was closing the door again, she was shaking all over in anger and frustration.
But she spent the next two hours on "The Chair." And when he came to untie her, she loved him even more than before. It made little difference that he left her arms bound together behind, the elbows still tightly lashed together. Or that the gag was still strapped tightly in her mouth. The only important fact was that he carried her in his strong arms back to the water bed to toss her upon the sheets and then mounted the bed to make use of her fantastic female body. It was a wonderful coupling and lasted a long time.
The next day was much like the first, save that it was a Monday. After their morning lovemaking and a good breakfast, Monique was shown three cards face down on a table. She had to pick one, and on that card was written the form of restraint she was to be placed in before her man went off to his office. Strangely enough, she still didn't know his name even through they had been together for quite a while and mated several glorious times. She was very happy and didn't mind at all when the card dictated that she spend the day in the stocks. She didn't even care that he could have been "stacking" the cards against her by simply putting all terrible, punishing positions on them. Whatever he wanted, she wanted.
The rather large and sunny house they lived in was perched on the side of a hill over looking a forested valley. There were signs of a few other houses among the trees but none within any kind of clear view. The house possessed a wide and very private backyard surrounded by greenery and ultimately a high fence. There was also a lovely swimming pool with a rock waterfall. At night the pool and surrounding landscape was lit up by colored flood lights, giving the whole scene an exotic quality.
And the yard possessed a some restraining devices hidden among the trees and bushes, as Monique found out the second day. She was led from the house wearing only handcuffs on her wrists, and taken a short distance into the mini-forest where she found a set of solid wood stocks awaiting her. There was the usual thick plank set into posts which in turn were set into cement. The bottom plank displayed holes for ankles and a smaller set for wrists between those. The top plank was hinged and had the corresponding half circles. Behind this arrangement was another plank, this one set on edge and smooth. Monique was invited to sit on that edge of the smooth plank and put her ankles into the larger holes of the stocks. The yoke came down and a large padlock was clicked shut upon its hasp. She found that her ankles were quite snug within their holes, almost as if they had been made specifically for her size ankle. Perhaps they were.
Shifting her weight, Monique found that sitting on the edge of a plank, even if it was almost two inches thick, was just not comfortable. And her hands, still in handcuffs behind her back, could do nothing to ease her discomfort. The distance between the seat and the stocks was just right so her legs were straight out and parallel to the ground. All in all, it was a very secure way to keep a girl, and not too uncomfortable.
The man give her an intense kiss that told how much he wished he could stay and play with her rather than have to go off to the business jungles of the city not too far distant. She replied with her lips and tongue, wishing the same thing. But it was not to be. He patted her breast and departed, leaving Monique naked, locked in stocks and mostly unhappy because she wouldn't feel the touch of this man again until that evening. She sighed and settled down to endure what should be a boring day but not too hard on her.
It was a strange relationship between these two, she pondered. She was obviously keep in constant restraints of some kind. The night before she had slept with her wrists crossed and bound behind her back. But she had slept comfortably and found in the morning that this man possessed a constant appetite for sex. Based on the time she had spent with him so far, it was morning, noon, and night, roughly in that order. And if he missed his nooner today, she guessed that he would throw in another in the middle of the night just to balance things out and keep up the three a day average. Not that Monique was complaining. This host body was apparently the equal to its man, with a healthy and constant desire for his touch, his phallus within her vagina, and even for the tight ropes and chains he placed upon her. Monique had a lot of experience at being bound up by now, and this was the most wonderful, most exciting experience all them all. For the first time since beginning this adventure, she felt no desire to return to her present and the sterile environment of the Institute.
It puzzled her that she, a woman who had never really fallen in love with anyone or anything thing except physics and Time Theory, should fall so easily and quickly in love with a man she didn't really know. A puzzle it might have been, but she chose not to worry about it, only to enjoy it to its fullest.
by mid-morning she realized that it was not to be a boring day, it was to be a tormented day. The hard wood beneath her bottom was growing more and more uncomfortable, and she could find no way to shift her weight that didn't hurt. Her legs wished to bend, not at all liking the horizontal and wide spread position they were forced into. Only her arms were relatively happy and unbothered. They simply hung behind her while she occasionally played with the handcuffs out of boredom. They were snug upon her wrists and offered no means of removing them.
by mid-afternoon she was downright in pain and wishing very devoutly for time to speed by and bring her the return of her lover.
For a while she wondered about their relationship. Obviously it made both parties happy. And it didn't no harm that the woman was in constant restraints. Indeed, she and the man seemed happier than most any couple she had every met. It was like an endless honeymoon for the young couple. She had to wonder how this host had gotten into such a strange relationship, but didn't really care.
And for a while her thoughts turned to the last couple of Jumps. She had become convinced that the garage of the hunting lodge had blown up and that is what Jumped her into the world of Arabian Nights. But what had Jumped her from there to here? Had she died during the night? There seemed to be no reason why that should have happened. She had only been buried in the sand for one day, perhaps ten or twelve hours, certainly not enough to dehydrate and die, even in that hot desert. Why had she Jumped? It puzzled her.
When the man, who she thought of as her husband even though neither wore wedding rings, came through the bushes, she was delighted to see him and made no pretense otherwise. She twisted her body around to present the handcuffs and begged him to unlock them so she could lift her bottom off the wood. Then she pleaded, in a giggly, happy way, for him to release her ankles from their wooden prison. She hinted that delights and wonderful things would happen as soon as she was freed from this terrible device. They were both smiling as she made these promises, for they both knew they was true.
T should leave you here a couple more hours for such impertinence. But we have a party to go to, and Helen's parties are such fun that I don't want to miss a minute." He unlocked the yoke and lifted it so she could remove her feet. Then he helped her up from the wooden torment she had been sitting on for the day. There was a broad band of redness across the bottom where she had shifted around, uselessly seeking comfort. He patted that redness and Monique happily walked with him to the house, her handcuffed hands not even mentioned.
Dinner was, as all the meals, prepared by the man and excellent. He seemed to enjoy cooking while Monique stood in the kitchen watching and enjoying the glances cast at her nudity and handcuffed wrists. This man never seemed to tire of looking at his naked captive, nor in admiring her restraints, be they rope or steel.
After a fine dinner of Chicken with a white sauce she could not name but found delicious, she was allowed a bath and the handcuffs changed from back to front so she could perform feminine miracles upon her long and full head of hair.
"Never saw you fix your hair that way before," he commented as she entered the bedroom where he was dressing in casual clothes. "But it looks nice." He kissed her and then motioned to the bed where a selection of ropes and other restrictions was laid out.
Monique walked to the bed and wondered if she was going to the party after all. He seemed to be saying that she was going to be tied up, which would mean she was not going. But then why did he tell her to make herself pretty, if not for the party?
With his usual attention to keeping her confined at all times, handcuffs were locked upon her ankles before the handcuffs came off the wrists. With the first wrapping of rope, Monique knew how she would be tied. The palms being placed facing each other behind her automatically meant that her elbows would next be joined, and they were. The rope was cotton clothesline and it went on pretty tightly. Monique did not complain but wondered how long he would be at that party while she sat back here and endured tight ropes.
. After the arms were finished, he stuffed a golf ball in her mouth and told her to keep her lips closed over it. Then he placed some flesh colored tape crisscross over her mouth, sealing it completely. Monique wondered about this gag. She was pretty sure that when he left she could be able to push the ball out. That tape just wasn't strong enough to prevent it.
Smiling, he took some lipstick and drew a pair of lips on the tape. Looking in the mirror, Monique wanted to laugh, they were so much like a young child's drawing. He seemed amused by his efforts, too. "Well, it doesn't have to stand up to close scrutiny, just look half way real from a distance."
Monique puzzled at his words as he went to a closet and selected a coat for her. Despite it being a warm summer evening, he put the coat over her shoulders and buttoned it up the front. The bottom of the coat came to mid-thigh but the rest of her legs were exposed. Unlocking the handcuffs from her ankles, he helped her put on a pair of black leather high heels. As she tottered on the thin stiletto heels, Monique guessed that they must be four inches at least. Having never worn heels higher than about two and a half inches, she had some trouble getting used to walking on these. The shinning black leather footwear made her foot arch until she felt like she was walking on tip-toes. But as she caught a vision of herself in the large mirror, she loved what they did to the muscles of her legs. Even wearing a coat that covered her nudity, she still looked incredibly sexy.
As he helped her into the car in the garage, Monique could only wonder what kind of party this was they were going to. But among the puzzlement and wonder was a healthy dose of-tingling excitement. What, indeed, was she heading into?
The party was at a private house not far. Many expensive cars were parked in the large circular driveway before the house, perhaps a dozen. Monique was helped from the car and noted how much clacking noise her high heels made on the stone driveway and marble steps leading to the mansion-sized home.
They were greeted at the door by a woman wearing a black leather, one-piece jumpsuit sporting a riding crop at the waist. She also wore high heels and a partial mask that covered only the eyes. Those eyes were bright and happy as they rested upon the new couple. "Mark! And Deidra! How good to see you two!" The woman was in her thirties somewhere and had a full figure, or at least it would appear from the bulges and curves of the leather suit. "And what a nice coat, dearie! A bit modest for you, isn't it, Deidra?"
Monique nodded shyly. She was sure that the coat would not be around much longer to ensure her modesty. And, sure enough, Mark unbuttoned the coat and dramatically whisked it away to reveal both the nudity and bondage of his wife. "I thought that ropes and high heels would be enough clothing for one of your parties, Helen. Wouldn't want Deidra to feel overdressed, would we?"
"Heaven forbid, no, dear," she agreed. Monique felt herself blushing at the frank and openly sexual regard of this woman dressed in black leather. "Lovely, as always, dearie. You'll be admired by all present. But, Mark, isn't that gag a little light for the bondage?"
"Just a traveling gag, dear Helen. You know, in case someone looks inside the car. Here," he said as he peeled up a corner of the tape and ripped it off. "Spit out the ball. Good girl. Now for a more effective gag." He pulled a rubber ball gag from his pocket and brought it up to her mouth. Obediently Monique opened her mouth wide to accept the gag. It was the same one she had worn while sitting in "The Chair" the first day of this Jump. It was, indeed, more effective at prevent speech and not being pushed out than the tape and golf ball. Monique was sure that she would not be asked to make casual conversation at this party. Which was fine with her, she still didn't know much about this host. Only just now did she learn the name of the man who was probably her husband.
"Come on in, most of the people are already here. You'll love what Dan has done to Roberta."
What Dan had done to Roberta should not have happen to any girl. In a large lounge overlooking the pool area, a girl was standing on tip-toes in the middle of the room. She was dressed in only a tiny pair of black panties that made her look sexier than full nudity would have, a pair of high heels and a bunch of ropes. The ropes were holding her arms crossed high up on her back and wrapped around her chest, outlining the nice breasts and holding her arms from being pulled down. But what was interested was the shoes she wore. They were medium high heels, only about two and a half inches, nothing near the towers Monique wore. But Roberta was forced to stand on her toes because someone had put a spike in the heel of each shoe, point upward and resting against her heel. It didn't take Monique long to realized that this girl could not allow her weight to come down or that spike would cause a lot of pain in her heel. She looked rather strained, as if she had been forced to stand on her toes for a long time.
Monique didn't like the way Mark was studying those terrible shoes. She feared that there would be a pair in her future. But that fear, while real, was not intense. She would not like to have to wear anything like that, but she trusted and loved Mark and knew that he would push her to her limits but not beyond. Or not much beyond, she cautioned herself. Still, she knew that if he presented her with a pair of high heels like that, she would obediently don them and walk around as long as he wished.
While thinking about how long that might be, she noticed that the shoes were the type with an ankle strap. This girl would not be taking them off by herself. What ingenious and diabolical devices, Monique told herself.
They walked around, Mark greeting the people present, showing off Deidra's wonderful body and tight ropes, and observing some of the other women present. And there were others. In fact, when Monique had a chance to count, she found that there were twelve females present but only ten men. Either some men were elsewhere, or some had brought more than one woman. She later found out that some of the men present "owned" more than one slavegirl.
All of the women were wearing some form of restraint, even if only a pair of handcuffs. Monique saw a lovely harem girl costume on a girl who also wore shiny silver handcuffs on wrists behind her back and on her ankles. Monique wondered if she would have a chance to tell the girl what real harem costumes looked like.
Another girl was completely naked and her arms bound the same as Monique's. She also wore black high heels and, except for being a little shorter and less full-figured, could have passed for Deidra's sister. Both had long hair of the same color and eyes the same shade of green. Standing next to each other, they made a fine display of feminine breasts for all to admire.
Other girls were relatively free and in some degree of dress. Monique noted at all the girls present were as young as their hostess or younger. The men varied in age but the girls, or slavegirls as seemed more appropriate to call them, were all youthful, beautiful, and with fine figures. There was champagne but no one seemed interested in getting high. There was food laid out on a table, fine meats and fruits to tempt anyone. Soft music came from hidden speakers to help provide atmosphere for the evenings activities. And there were activities! Monique came to the conclusion that this was a meeting of a group of people who not only loved bondage but were experts on its application to the female figure. At different times she saw every girl present bound in different positions, sometimes just so one of the men could explain a fine point about keeping knots out of the reach of fingers.
And none of the girls seemed to mind a bit, even when the ropes were applied extremely tight or they were forced to perform nearly impossible tasks while bound up. Monique found herself hung upside down by her ankles for fifteen or twenty minutes while a few men observed what Mark meant about the way elbows touching behind the back and hanging upside down made the breasts stick out in a very exciting manner.
One time she saw one of the girls freed from her bondage only to be ordered to place another girl into a tight hogtie. Apparently her "owner" was proud of her ability to tie other girls extremely tightly with total disregard for the comfort of the bindee. And, although some of the girls occasionally bound up or toyed with or tormented another girl, Monique never saw even the slightest hint of any man present being submissive. This was a gathering of dominant males, no question about that.
And Monique found herself quite proud of how the male eyes devoured her figure, enjoyed her helplessness, and sought out her no matter where or how she was bound. She was as good as any of the beauties present, and better than most. It pleased her no end to think that she was the most beautiful and sexiest woman present in a group that were all winners. This was a far cry from the flat-chested, plain Ph.D. who seldom dated, leading one of those lives of "quiet desperation."
Monique enjoyed herself. It was exciting to be shown off before a group of people, to watched their admiring eyes, even to be touched by strangers when she could do nothing to stop them. Later in the evening, when another bound girl was "forced" to perform a sexual act upon Monique as she lay on her bound arms on a bed, for the enjoyment a four men who stood around watching, Monique became so much a part of the scene that she twisted around on the bed until her mouth reached the warm pussy of the girl exciting her. There then followed a lesbian show that much pleased the men watching, but the two girls withering on the bed much more.
Monique gathered from bits of conversation that these parties were held at least once a month at different people's homes and usually well attended. She was happy to hear that.
by the time her coat was being buttoned back over Monique's nudity, she was exhausted, satiated, half unaware of her surrounds, and very happy. No man has screwed her but the variety of sexual acts going on more than made up for that. She had reached several orgasms, two at the tongue of another girl, one from a huge dildo being skillfully used by their hostess, Helen, and once from a vibrator that seemed to be tuned to her wavelength.
She didn't even mind when the golf ball was reinserted into her mouth and the tape stuck over her mouth. She would have driven all the way home with her tongue sticking out if Mark had so ordered.
As Monique drifted off to sleep, she was warmly remembering events of the evening and looking forward to life with Mark. Sometime during the night she Jumped again.
For three days Monique lived a life of bliss. She was constantly restrained by chains, ropes or handcuffs and loved every minute of it. She was mostly always naked, save on those rare occasions when Mark took her out. They made love at least twice a day, both seeming to possess an endless desire for physical passion. For the first time in her life, Monique Hutton was truly in love and happier than she had ever been.
And how, you ask, did Mark manage to keep her in restraints while taking her to a restaurant, as well you might? It was simplicity itself. Monique dressed in a lovely dinner gown of electric blue with matching high heels and matching stole. She was then secured with a small but effective pair of thumb cuffs locked tightly behind the knuckle of her thumbs. They were small, precision devices of flat black color. By holding her hands with the stole draped over them, the thumb cuffs were totally out of sight. They walked right into a rather fancy restaurant, were shown to a dark, private booth and seated without anyone knowing that this beautiful woman was unable to separate her hands more than a few inches. In the dark of their booth, Mark gently took away her stole. Monique found that she could easily hide her shackles by placing her hands in her lap. And when the food was served, she was forced to eat with two hands but that was certainly not impossible. The dark color of the thumb cuffs made them very hard to see in the dim and romantic light of the booth. Mark enjoyed her nervousness at being so out in public and restrained. He even cut her meat when that task proved difficult for a girl with joined thumbs. Handcuffs would have been less of a problem but Monique found the thumb cuffs an interesting challenge.
On the drive home, regular handcuffs were added around her ankles, and another pair around her wrists along with the thumb cuffs so she would feel more helpless. She did. The effect was pronounced. They had barely gotten inside the door when she turned upon her husband, placed her arms around his head and kissed him with such passion as to leave no doubt what she wanted, all the while rubbing her hungry body against his. She was rewarded by being carried to the bedroom, the lovely dress nearly ripped off, and being given her first screwing ever while wearing thumb cuffs.
Afterwards, Mark punished her for being so demanding of her "Master"-the first time he used that word-by binding her arms behind her back with the elbows together. She had to sleep that way even through it hurt her arms and shoulders. Fortunately she had found that this host body could remain bound with elbows touching indefinitely, but it was not comfortable. Mark apparently knew full well that he was causing her pain but also that there would be no danger of damage from lack of circulation. She cuddled her naked body up against his and went gratefully to sleep, satisfied both from a very good orgasm, and from the knowledge that she was loved and possessed by this wonderful man.
In the early dawn light, Monique awoke with a burning need in her loins, and attacked his manhood with her mouth until the desired results were achieved. She was rewarded with a rousing screwing that drove both of them to new heights of passion and pleasure.
The next day, perhaps in recognition of her having endured the entire night with bound elbows, she was chained for the day in a relatively comfortably manner. Her hands were secured behind her back, but in handcuffs only snug upon her wrists. Her ankles were joined by a pair of leg irons that allowed her short steps and a certain amount of freedom. Such light restraints would have been terribly comfortable for her to spend the day in, but Mark mischievously added a little something to make her remember that she was, indeed, a captive slavegirl of this man. He placed a leather collar around her neck, buckled it snugly, then padlocked on a chain to the metal ring in front. The other end of that chain was padlocked to the middle of her leg irons chain. That would not have hampered the naked woman much save for the fact that the chain was only about three feet long. She could walk around the house but she would do it bent over with her head somewhere near the level of her tummy. She giggled and told him he was a bastard for leaving her in such an awkward position. He smiled back and promised punishment that night for calling him a name.
They were a very happy couple. That night, after an hour of being tickled mercilessly while in a tight hogtie and with Mark's firm penis deep in her mouth, Monique fell asleep next to Mark, wrists bound behind her back and ankles tied together, the normal condition for slumber. Sometime during the night she Jumped again.
"She's Jumped again," came the weary response to changing numbers on the computer display. "Somewhere in the western US, about 1866. Have more accurate figures for you in a minute."
Dr Pritchard sighed. Were they to watched helplessly as she Jumped all over time and space, never to return to the Institute?
The computer operator looked up from his console to ask, "What's the latest theory from Research?"
"They're certain now that she's controlling the Jumps. A couple of them think that it might even be her subconscious mind calling the shots. But no one's come up with a good way to stop it."
"June 18, 1868," said the operator. "And the location is Pritchett, Colorado."
"What could she be doing there?" ask Dr Pritchard absently. No one in the control room bothered to answer.
CHAPTER NINE - Nice Day for a Hanging
Monique was vaguely aware of the Jump tingle in her body then she was rudely awaken by something heavy falling on her, driving the air from her lungs. As she gasped for breath, she tasted dirt and had to turn her head sideways to get some air in. What she saw was bright sunlight, a flat stretch of dirt, and some trees, perhaps oaks. Someone was sitting on her back as she lay stomach down, and that someone was busy binding her hands together with cruel tightness.
"Lordy...! We got her now!" came a male voice from above her, accented with a Southern twang. "Jethro, lookie here! We got that gal what shot our brother."
Suddenly the weight was off her and she was able to suck in much needed air. Gasping and coughing dust out, she felt herself being lifted to her feet by rough hands. When she blinked back the tears in her eyes, she saw that she was now the captive of three rough looking men dressed in gray pants and faded black shirts with the appearance of having once, a long time ago, been uniforms of some kind. They were unshaven, dirty and smelled as if completely unfamiliar with the beneficial effects of bathing.
The tall one coming up on her spoke next, "You done good, James. That's her all right." He was grinning but Monique couldn't see any humor in the man. "You're going to get yours now, missy, for shooting our baby brother like you done."
"I have done nothing," she said defensively, not that she expected to be believed.
"Hell!" swore the second man coming up. Then he spit on the ground. "You plugged Daniel right in the gut. Took him darn near an hour to die, so it did. And we's promised him to get the gal what done that to him."
"If I did as you say, I'm sure he had it coming." It wasn't a very good thing to say but Monique was still in shock from the rude awakening and pissed off at having Jumped right out of a life she had no desire to Jump out of. "Whoa!" cried the tall one. "Now, I reckon that maybe Daniel might have been taking a bit of liberty, .you being a gambling lady and all. But that ain't no cause to go and shoot him! Any you gonna pay for that. For sure."
There didn't seem to be any reasoning with these rustic hillbillies so Monique shut up. A dim hope burned in the back of her mind that if she Jumped from this host, she might-just might-go back to Mark. Not that she had repeated any of the Jumps yet.
The hands behind her were busy looping rope around her elbows and drawing them close together. It hurt quite a bit and Monique cried out, "Stop it! That hurts!"
"Oh, little missy don't like being roped up like a calf. Well, you's lucky we ain't gonna string you up right here and now. Ma says that we ought to bring you back to her so she can see you hang for what you did to her favorite son."
As he jerked the ropes cinching down her elbows, a button popped off her blouse and Monique noticed for the first time that a good part of her garment was torn away, leaving one breast pretty much exposed.
"Hey, James, lookie at that! Ain't that a nice boob? Hey, Jethro, couldn't we like rip off the rest of her shirt? It's half gone already...."
"Yeah," muttered Jethro, obviously the oldest and leader of this ragged band. "Guess it won't hurt none. Make her suffer some more. Guess we'll teach this gambling lady to not take our money at cheatin' poker games and then shoot our kinfolk."
Quickly three pairs of hands were working at getting the remains of her blouse off her. These were strong farm boys and Monique knew better than to resist. They were just as likely to slap her around as not. Under the blouse was a white slip like thing and that was torn off to expose her breasts to the sunlight and gaze of her captors. Without asking permission, James took the band of her skirt and tugged it down off her hips. Then the petticoat and soon she was standing there wearing only a pair of high button up boots and some rope holding on fragments of her former clothing.
The three brothers stood there staring at her like it was the first girl they had ever seen naked. "Jesus, look at that! Ain't never seen a furry patch like that one there. And them boobs ... Ain't they preddy?"
For a long time they just looked, perhaps uncertain as what to do next. "Gosh, no wonder Daniel tried to get her into the barn! That's about the preddiest lookin' gal I ever seed."
Finally Jethro took command. "Get her on that horse. We got to get her back to Ma. There's gonna be a hanging and that's for sure."
James lifted Monique with ease and nearly threw her over the saddle of a horse brought up by the third man, the one she didn't know the name of yet. The breath was almost knocked out of her again as her stomach hit the saddle. She felt her wrists being lashed to the saddle horn and then her ankles tied together. A rope was run from her ankles under the horse and up to her neck where it was looped and knotted. She wouldn't strangle but every time her legs bounced they would jerk on the rope to her neck.
The little band set out over rolling grasslands filled with clumps of oaks here and there. Apparently this host body normally stayed out of the sun because Monique could feel the white skin burning under the hot sun. She was sure she would have a sunburn on the backs of her legs and her bottom before the day was out.
From the conversation she heard she was able to picture together a hard ride for revenge made by these three brothers when a gambler's woman (her) shunned the advances of a fourth brother. Apparently she shunned him with a 44, the bullet passing completely through his body. The brothers seemed amazed at how long it had taken their kin to die, probably from bleeding to death.
The woman, whose name they didn't seem to know, apparently took off right after the shooting, taking Daniel's horse to make her get away. It took the better part of a day for them to run her down but they did and were proud of themselves. Now they were taking her back so their mother could witness rough frontier justice dispensed at the end of a rope.
Bouncing along over the saddle of a horse is not comfortable if you're sitting down, but much worse if you're laying on your stomach with your arms tightly bound behind you. From what she could see, this hostess' body was the plumpest of all she had inhabited. The act of binding her elbows tight together had caused her a lot of pain and that pain was getting worse with each mile they traveled. Her big breasts were squashed against the side of the saddle which was not very comfortable, either.
After a couple hours, she finally could take no more.
With tears of pain in her eyes, she called out and begged the boys to take the ropes off her elbows. "Leave me tied the rest of the way, I can't escape," she pleaded. "But take those ropes off my elbows, they're killing me."
They brothers laughed at her and promised that if she didn't shut up, they would break the horses into a trot and that she'd not like that. Monique bit back her sobs of pain. She did not want to find out what a trot would do to her body.
The sun was setting when they finally came to a halt. From her awkward position over the saddle, Monique could see nothing but low mountains, grass and trees.
"Reckon this is as good a place as any," said Jethro. "We make camp. Tomorrow's good enough. This gal's not going anywhere."
They left her over the saddle as they gathered some firewood, a few stones for seats and to form the campfire, then unloaded the horses. Her horse was last and she was dumped roughly on the ground. At least it was easier on her to have her body straight instead of being bent over a saddle.
They ignored the nearly naked girl laying there, softly moaning, as they fixed some beans and coffee. That, plus hard tack, was their dinner. They offered none to Monique. After dinner, they all took blankets off their saddles and spread them out around the campfire. Each placed his saddle at the end of a blanket, and that seemed to be the total preparations for the night. Except, of course, for their naked captive.
"What's you reckon we ought to do with her?" asked the third man.
"Well, she ain't going to get far if we just leave her like that, Billy. Don't figure she could wiggle very far during the night," replied Jethro.
"Couldn't we like do something special with her?" asked James, his eyes glowing in the firelight. "Ain't like anyone cares or nothin'."
"He's got a point. She's gonna get hung tomorrow anyways. Maybe we could have a little fun with her tonight."
Jethro stroked his chin as he considered the requests of his brothers. "Well," he finally uttered, "like you say, ain't like she's gonna be around much longer. Maybe us plowing her field would be like a favor to her. Sort of like the condemned man eating a hearty last meal!"
Immediately Monique was set upon, three pairs of hands lifting her over to the nearest blanket, where she was dumped. Her ankles were untied and she was twisted over on to her back, the pressure of her weight on those tightly bound arms making her gasp aloud. "Oh, please! Don't do this to me. Haven't you hurt me enough? Oh, please!"
The brothers didn't feel like arguing with her so a dirty rag was stuffed into her mouth and tied in place with a strip of rawhide. Then her legs were spread apart and the first of her captors knelt between them to position his ramrod at the entrance to her love tunnel.
They weren't kind, they weren't gentle. And they obviously didn't give a damn for this woman they were mistreating. All the while, Monique couldn't but help compare this rough and crude lovemaking with the gentle, long-lasting and wonderfully dominant lovemaking of Mark. She cried constantly as they repeatedly raped her.
When finally none were interested in her any longer, they zipped up their flies and got ready for sleep.
"Ain't we gonna fix her up some way so she don't run away?" asked Billy. "Look, her legs ain't tied."
"Would have been hard to ram her if they were," joked James and they all laughed at that one.
"Billy, since you notice it, you fix her up for the night. And make sure she's here in the morning." With that Jethro turned over and pulled his blanket over himself.
Billy picked up the rope that had been taken off her ankles and toyed with it as he studies her naked body in the fading firelight. Finally he tossed the rope over by a tree and, grabbing her hair with one hand and a breast with the other, forced her to her feet. Jerking her hair, he pushed her over to the tree then made her sit down on the ground with her legs around the slender trunk. Then he crossed and lashed her ankles together very tightly.
"Oh, please don't leave me like this," she whispered. "I'm hurting so much."
"Shit, gal, I could make it worse," he threatened. "How'd you like to hang upside down all night?" He laughed at that idea, perhaps envisioning it. Monique was silent. "Good sense, gal. Now you keep quiet. You wake us up and I promise I'll hang you up by your feet and whip the skin off you with a rawhide strap. Ma ain't gonna care ifen we bring you back sort of marked up."
He left the naked girl sobbing softly to herself. Monique rested her head against the tree and tried to keep her sobs quiet. She had long since lost all feeling in her hands and that numbness had spread up to her shoulders. But the worst part was the feeling of being soiled by repeated rape.
As the campfire faded into darkness, she whimpered to herself and prayed for a Jump.
After a few hours sleep still would not come to relieve her suffering. Her mind was a jumble of agony and flashes of memories of Mark and those wonderful times. It was most strange to her logical mind that harsh bondage applied by a loving hand could be so wonderful while basically the same treatment from an uncaring or cruel hand was torment. Deep in the night, with only a million brilliant stars as company, Monique realized that she had seen this story before. Once, when she was much younger, she had seen a western movie in which the heroine had killed a man who tried to rape her and then was chased by his brothers. She had gone to bed that night wondering wtTat would have happened if she had been that girl and those vengeful brothers had caught her. She had gone to sleep with images of an adolescence fantasy involving her being tied up and ravished by strange men in her mind.
Then she realized that many of these Jumps could be related to adolescent fantasies. The harem girl in Arabia, the captive noblewoman in the hands of pirates, and the captive Indian maiden being whisked away by a strong, handsome brave-all were fantasies she had at one time or another.
As she lay there, exhausted by her ordeal, the idea danced into her mind that perhaps she was controlling these Jumps. A lot of things would fit into place, she told herself, if that were only true. Fantasies lurking around in my subconscious were coming true because the Time Jump Computer was reading her subconscious and finding a close match somewhere in time and space. But why so many harsh lives? Why was she always bound up and naked and being tortured?
Because you've always felt the need to be punished, she told herself. Deep down, where childhood impressions still lurk and the mind doesn't always make sense. Monique's degree was in physics so she couldn't be sure, but it seemed to make sense.
But, she added as she grew sleepier, that would mean that I could Jump back to the Institute any time I wanted. Too exhausted to feel elation, she did recognize the tingling of her nerves just before the universe disappeared into nothingness. Just before that she was muttering to herself, "There's no place like home, there's no place like home...."
CHAPTER TEN - Return
"My god," uttered Dr Pritchard. "She's back." The two operators stood up and gazed in awe as Dr Hutton moved her head to look at them. For a few long seconds no one said anything then the woman in the Jump seat began to softly cry.
"Research came up with pretty much the same conclusions," Dr Pritchard said. "Your subconscious was controlling the Jumps. And that was the case for every Jump the Institute's every made. Only they all went where they were suppose to because the Jumper thought that he or she would. Your subconscious must have been stronger than your expectations."
Monique sat up a little straighter in the hospital bed. "Then a lot of theories will have to be revised."
Dr Pritchard laughed. "The whole field's been turned upside down. You should see Research scrambling around to come up with new formulations for the phenomena. And a lot of thinking will have to be done before anyone Jumps again. It's not just sending back an observer anymore, it's something much more."
"You can say that again. Jumping into lives that match your deepest subconscious thoughts can be dangerous."
"I'm sure. And I'm looking forward to seeing your report on what lives you did Jump into. We have the records of where and when, but we have no idea what you were doing in those lives. Having fun?"
"I wouldn't say that." Monique shook her head. "Some of them were rough."
"Well, don't worry about that now. Get some rest tonight and tomorrow you can begin working on your report. A lot of people will be interested in it."
Dr Pritchard patted her hand and left her alone in the private hospital room. Monique immediately got on the phone and called three researchers she knew well. After conferring with these experts, she requested a terminal link to the main computer and ran dozens of calculations on a theory that she had. As the final numbers scrolled up the screen, she knew what she had to do.
Late that night, she snuck out of the hospital and made her way to the Time Chamber of the Institute, using one of the staff cars and making a detour to her house on the way. There was only a guard on duty and no one in the chamber itself because all Jumping had been ordered discontinued until further notice. She powered up the computer and gave it orders to power up the Time Displacement Transport. She keyed in several important subroutines then set the computer obeying her preset orders. Carefully she wired the leads from a small package she had picked up from her garage to some circuits of the TDT.
Finally finished she looked around to make sure she had forgotten nothing. One display screen showed the countdown ticking away seconds and she knew she had better get in place. The Jump seat had a familiar feel against her body as she eased into it. She positioned her head comfortably between the probes on either side of the headrest and waited with a mixture of fear and anticipation. The computer screen silently displayed a number growing smaller ... 9 ... 8 ... 7 ... 6 ... 5 ... Dr Monique Hutton closed her eyes and held her breath. She concentrated her thoughts as she never had in her life. There was a tingle and then nothing.
"I called you as soon as security notified me," said Howard hurried as Dr Pritchard rushed into the room. The smell of explosives and burnt plastic and rubber was strong in the air. The Time Chamber was in ruins, all computer consoles dark and some firefighters cleaning up.
"My god, what happened?" the elderly doctor asked. "Security says someone put a bomb, dynamite actually, in the chamber and wired it to some of the circuits. When the computer activated those circuits it went off."
Dr Pritchard shook his head as he surveyed the ruins of millions of dollars and years of research.
"That's not all. The computer monitoring power consumption in the lab recorded that some one started up the TDT, it Jumped five minutes later, and then ran in standby mode for an hour until the explosion. Beyond that, of course, we can't tell where the Jump went to or when. The computer that recorded that is destroyed. And there's more...."
Howard gently sat Dr Pritchard down in a chair and continued. "Security guard reported that Dr. Hutton checked in just before the power was used. She never checked out and the firefighters said there was a body in the seat. Apparently she set the TDT to make a Jump shortly before it was destroyed."
Dr Pritchard's eyes were wide with puzzlement. "Why ... ? What...?"
Howard continued, "Maybe she wanted to go back to one of those hosts she Jumped into before. Maybe she wanted to go someplace she's never been. Who knows? Did Dr Hutton have any family? Should we contact someone. You knew her best."
"She had no family. No husband." He ran his hand through his gray hair. "For sixty-four years her studies and this project were her family," he sighed. "She would have had to retire at the end of the year. Institute regulations, you know."
"I guess there's a lot we'll never know about this," muttered Howard. "After this, I don't think anyone will be Jumping again."
The knots were tight, the ropes were tight, and the gag was extra tight in her mouth. Monique strained from her sitting position in the chair to try to see the clock on the bookshelf. It was not easy and required that she twist her head painfully against the rope holding it pulled back. But it was very important that she see the time. Very important.
She was naked. She was tightly bound up with clothesline to the point of immobility and to a metal chair that she could not budge. Her arms were bound behind the chair's back, elbows together, wrists tied down to the ankles under the chair and held tightly that way by the weight of her legs which were completely off the floor. The legs themselves had been tightly bound together before being tucked under the chair. Before her head had been pulled back, she watched as ropes were wrapped tightly around her knees, both above and below them. It made her feel deliciously helpless to watch such care being taken with her binding.
Even the very tight ropes that had been bound between her legs were wonderful. Her vagina lips had been spread so the ropes would press directiy upon and squeeze her clit. And they had been tied so tightly that they seemed to disappear into her flesh.
The ball gag was huge, filled her mouth, and made her jaw ache. It was held in place by a harness of straps and buckles. And there was a rope tied to the ring at the top of the harness, a rope going back and down to her elbows. That rope had been pulled tight, tied off, and then pulled tight again later after her body had gotten used to the extreme bondage is was in. He had been able to pull her head back and down another inch with that second tightening. Monique was forced into a position with her head looking straight up at the ceiling, a very strained position that brought suffering with it. But she didn't mind. All her thoughts were on the clock she could barely see out of the corner of her vision.
Monique had Jumped where she wanted to. Her first sight was Mark's smiling face and the first words she heard were him telling her that she had been a bad girl and was going to have to spent a few hours tied in a chair while he rushed back to the office to sign some documents that need to be done right away. He didn't understand why Deidra began crying with joy at his announcements, or why she hugged him and kissed him and told him that he could tie her as tightly as he wished for as long as he wished.
He had done that. Perhaps her statements had prompted him into making it a tighter bondage than she would have received without them, but Monique didn't care. The ropes were cruelly tight, the gag very unpleasant, and the position a real pain, but she was happy and wanted to cry for joy as his skilled and strong hands applied each loving loop of rope to her body.
Mark had left her, a little vague in his promise of when to return, but she didn't care. He could return whenever his masterful heart desired. She would gladly remain in tight ropes the rest of her life if only it was with him.
Alone in the house, she tested the ropes and found them quite secure. Then she fell to worrying. The joy of having Jumped right were she wanted to be had overpowered her.
Now, alone and with time to think, she worried about the second part of her theory. What would happen when the dynamite went off in the TDT? According to her theory and calculations, when her body died back there, she would stay in this host body. But that was only theory. What would happen when the hour was up and the subroutine in the computer triggered the explosive?
She knew that every second she spent in the past was exactly echoed in the TDT where her body lay. That meant that when one hour passed in this year with Mark, one hour would pass in the year of the Institute. And there would be a very big explosion. She was glad that her father had stored some dynamite left over from his days on the farm.
She strained to see the clock. The minute hand crept towards the 4. She looked at a clock as soon as she could when she Jump into this time, and she was pretty sure that twenty minutes after the hour would mark the end of sixty minutes in both times. It hurt her neck to twist to one side but she had to see the clock. About two minutes to go. She allowed her head to turn back to ease the strain. When she looked again only half a minute had passed.
Then she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror behind the clock. It was beautiful! A young, healthy female body of such magnificent curves and hollows in torturously tight bondage, a complete captive unable to move, talk or escape. She wanted to cry at the sight of her straining muscles and gorgeous breasts. The minute hand crawled towards the number 4.
Would she feel anything when it happened? It had been a hard choice, but the only logical one. Her physical body could not stay at the Institute. That was clear. Its death in that time was required to release her spirit to live in this host. Only it would no longer be a host body, it would be hers, totally and completely.
The minute hand just touched the 4. Any second now.
Monique turned her head back to the upright position and sucked in a deep breath. Then she began fighting the ropes, jerking her body anyway that she could, and trying with every ounce of strength in her to free her body of it's bonds. She knew that this might be her last few seconds of consciousness and she could think of no better way to "go out" than struggling against the ropes put on her by the man she loved. She threw all she had into the fight, twisting, tugging and frantically searching with fingers for knots. She knew she wasn't really moving much, but the effort was what was important. Suddenly a fire burst in her loins and she realized that she was experiencing an orgasm she hadn't even know she was heading towards. Perhaps she had been so intent on the clock that the warning signs of sexual excitement hadn't registered. But whatever the reason, she exploded into white hot flames followed by waves of pleasure washing over her.
When she floated down from places no man can ever go, she was covered with sweat, exhausted and still completely helpless. Slowly turning her head she saw that the minute hand now pointed to the 8, definitely more than an hour since she had Jumped. She whined into the gag, an expression of pure joy. Then she began weeping, unable to contain the pure happiness inside, it came out as tears and sobs. Life was wonderful. And she figured she had another forty or fifty years of it coming, all to be spent with Mark, all to be spent in this wonderful body.
As the spark of passion flared up again in her loins and she felt herself squeezing her thighs together, Monique found herself content with the idea that she might well be spending every minute of that time in restraints. She prayed that those restraints would all be as tight as these!
Afterword
I want to take a moment to thank my good friend John Savage for both the idea for this story and his help with some of the technical aspects. I have toyed with time travel before but never as the main theme for a novel.
John assures me that time travel such as described here is not possible. But I prefer to believe anything is possible for those who believe.
As for Dr Monique Hutton, I apologize to her for letting her subconscious get her into all kinds of trouble. But I hope she will forgive me, considering that I also gave her another whole life of happiness with a kind but firm Master. What woman could ask for anything more?
