enovel Wanda And The Whip, Part Two F.E. Campbell [Future Story Codes]

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Wanda And The Whip, Part Two ....(132k)    by F.E. Campbell

CHAPTER ONE

Two girls, exotic not belonging. One dark, the other tawny as a lion's mane. Both assured, about them the air of money. A rapport evident in the repeated communion of their eyes, they share amusement in their mission, and look about them with more than curiosity. The big sign reads: "Harmon's Heavy Hardware, Corp."

"Actually we're strictly wholesale," says the young man. "But you won't mind, will you!"

He would not mind if they asked him to move the entire warehouse three blocks. The effect of the two of them together is overpowering.

"We want some heavy chain. The ordinary hardwares don't have any."

He leads them to where the spools are set upon the shafts and drape their links loosely for easy choice. Tawny hair gasps as she beholds the array. She clutches dark hair by the arm. "Oh, darling, so many!"

The young man is intrigued. This is indeed a delightful interlude in Heavy Hardware. "Perhaps I can help." He suggests confidently. "What purpose are you using it for?"

"It's for me." Tawny hair gazes at him with maiden innocence. "Keeps me from running around, y'know."

He does not know, but he can go along with a joke. "Ah yes! You'll need padlocks too then."

"Just a few." Dark hair is fingering the links, testing their weight. "But we prefer to use those split links with the screw arrangement. Once I've tightened them with a spanner she can't get them undone. They look nicer than padlocks."

"Ah." He is unsure. These girls are actually buying. "We have them." He assures briskly. "But won't this heavy chain look odd on a girl... ? hardly decorative."

"She doesn't wear the chain." Dark hair says absently, her mind on her selections. "We're having special shackles made to her measure. We've just come from there. They'll lock with a key."

"They're really beautiful." Tawny sighs. "So you see, the chain is just to attach me to the rings."

He does not see, he gropes. "Rings?"

"The carpenter who is installing them said we could get them here. They hang from a shaft... they bolt." Dark eyes speaks with decision.

"You've come to the right place...." He voices dubiety. "Wouldn't be stringing me along, would you?"

Tawny hair's eyes are still innocent, but her voice faintly reproves. "How else can Connie keep me where she wants me!" She seems to consider him obtuse.

He defends his competence with sarcasm. "Why not handcuffs? We sell them."

"We'll take two pairs." Dark hair says as though making a mental tick against a list. "I'd been meaning to ask."

"Which do you like best, Tansey dear?" Connie Smeaton asks musingly. "This silvery finish or the grim looking iron?"

"That's chrome plated and the other's steel." The young man interjects.

"What about these lighter links for your collar, darling?"

Tansey Pepper considered. "I like the heavy one's best, Mistress, but I 'spose they'd be an awful weight on a girl's neck...."

The 'Mistress' hit the young man hard, but he rallied. "We do have aluminum. Mightn't it be better...?"

"Only for her neck." Connie Smeaton said firmly. "We'll take enough for that. The rest of her needs to feel the weight, it keeps her in a proper frame of mind."

"What lengths were you thinking of?"

"Give us fifty feet of each of those we like."

"Fifty feet!"

"Of course! There's more than one room, y'know. I want to be able to snap her secure wherever it's handy."

"The poor dear can't always be lugging a lot of chain around." Tansey explains helpfully. I'd gladly carry it, of course, but I don't always have my hands."

"Er... you don't?"

"Of course not, silly! Why d'you think we want the handcuffs! Besides a girl often gets her hands tied."

"She does! What for?"

"Well of course! And why not! I'm a girl, aren't I!"

It was too oblique for him. He fell back on the mundane. "This is going to run into quite a lot of money."

"I expect it will." Connie was unconcerned. She turned to the glowing Tansey. "Have we forgotten anything?"

"What about four handcuffs? They fit my ankles beautifully."

"Oh sure." The dark eyes seek the baffled male. "You getting all this listed?"

He writes his invoice. The boys are not going to believe it when he tells them! Before the final item is down, Connie Smeaton asks languidly: "Don't suppose you sell whips?"

"Well, hardly."

"Or canes, or riding crops?"

"You have to be kidding." He looks from one lovely face to the other. Both regard him with grave and innocent mein. "What d'you use 'em for?"

"For me, of course!" Tansey sweetly tries to penetrate his male density. "A girl does have to be whipped sometimes."

"Now I know you're kidding." He says with finality as he totes the final figure. "I'll get a dolly and wheel this stuff out to the car for you."

A remarkable experience! If it were not for the hundred dollar bills, the young man would still not believe... As the costly car moves away with its lovely passengers in the front and its grim burden in the back, the young man has the presence of mind to jot down the number of its license.

"That was really cruel." Tansey giggled.

"He's only a man... fair game." Connie Smeaton said with satisfaction. "We should do it more often. I'll handcuff you next time. Watch his face then."

"Mistress...." Tansey was hesitant. "Do you like having me free? It makes me feel... well, odd. You know: something wrong."

"I won't do it often, Sweet. Remember it's all very new. We're going to discover a lot of things. But it does pose problems and decisions for you, I like to watch your face and read your mind."

"I haven't even thought of escaping," Tansey protested. "I know. But you have felt a need to excuse yourself to others. It's just as though they know you ought to be chained up back at the house and a guilty feeling compels you to explain."

Tansey grinned ruefully. "That's just how I do feel. Phyllis Stafford never gave me any freedom at all. It became something I'd said good-bye to."

"Would your dear little conscience feel better if I offered you a slave privilege: a day around town with me knowing there'd be a penalty waiting when we got home, something horrendous?"

Tansey stroked the cheek and bit the ear of the girl beside her at the wheel. "I'd love that. I'd shiver all through the day... deliciously, of course."

"How about today?"

Tansey ran a hand over her mistress's knee and up a nylon thigh. "Mmmm!"

"Stop that! I'm driving. I asked you a question."

"You mean I should get whipped when we get home? Wouldn't really be fair, darling. You didn't give me a choice."

"Who said anything about fair! Or the whip! There's other ways of making you feel sorry for yourself."

Tansey made small pleased sounds and continued her explorations. "If I'm going to be punished anyway I may as well enjoy myself. Besides, you know you like it."

"O.K., monkey, you'll be sorry. By the way, there's a little matter of a bad slip you made with that baffled boy."

The slave girl wriggled. For a moment her hand was stilled. "I'd hoped you hadn't noticed." She admitted. "Calling you by name sort of popped out."

"It's punishable."

"Oh, I know! I want it to be. That's the only way I'll learn." The sly hand resumed operations.

"But yet, if I hadn't noticed you wouldn't have confessed?"

"Shouldn't I be able to win sometimes, darling?"

"I don't see why. From now on it's a rule. Confess or remind. I catch you out you're in trouble."

Tansey sighed and bit the ear again. "You're really cruel, isn't it gorgeous!"

"It won't be gorgeous if I run into a truck. What will I tell the judge?"

Tansey's voice was demure. "Driving under the influence, darling. Mine! Wouldn't it be lovely if we shared the same cell."

"I recognize the symptoms, you're longing to be beaten."

"It's your fault, mistress. You excite me. You're an erotic menace."

Connie Smeaton laughed. "Look who's talking. We're nearly home. I'll soon have you squealing."

They were children, glorying in each other in a delicious awareness. Connie Smeaton's theft of her slave from the preoccupied captivity of Phyllis Stafford was still sufficiently recent that they roamed together in an enchanted garden of discovery. Beneath the ardour of their eyes and the tender gayety of their repartee lay the implacability of steel and cord and chain. Between them always there would be the invisible division that marked one as slave and one as mistress, a demarcation vital to both. Sometimes they spoke of it in wonder, but never to dissect or analyse. For both it was fulfillment.

On entering The House Tansey changed. It was not intentional, she glowed in the submission that fell upon her like a mantle. Her eyes softened, her lips became more full, she made no motion without the pre-direction of the girl she adored, the girl whose captive she had become a few evenings since.

"Get me the switch, the long thin whalebone."

Tansey winced, it was a cruel thing that cut her terribly. But she did not demur. The House had placed it's mark on Connie too. She had donned authority. They played no roles, they did not act. Everything was foreordained. The line that separated them as it bound them together was almost tangible. She sped upon her errand, and presented the instrument of her punishment with a kiss on bended knee.

"You have clothes on, girl. You know better, and bring handcuffs."

"Again the slave girl fled, flitting through hall and up stair and through the great rooms like a ray of light, taking a youthful zest in motion soon to be denied. She knew the end of her liberty was close at hand. Standing once more before her mistress she was completely nude. She kissed the handcuffs, knelt and offered them.

"Put them on yourself."

Tansey pouted. It felt more exciting if her mistress prisoned her wrists. But she did as told, the second wrist was difficult but she always managed it. Carefully she clicked the metal snugly on her flesh, to wear them loosely was also punishable.

"You pouted."

The slave girl squirmed and grinned placatingly. "I'm sorry. It's because I like you to chain me."

"Today isn't for things you like. You've become too foxy. I may not even whip you." Connie felt her loins afire at sight of her naked possession so demurely kneeling on the rug, her cuffed hands resting on her sex. "Go ahead and pout at that."

Tansey pouted, deliberately, provocatively.

"You could be a very sorry little girl."

The slave shrugged. "I'm sure I will be, mistress. I'm absurd, I'm incorrigible. I don't even know why I do it: I just have to. She raised innocent eyes. "You do like me though."

"Altogether too much, and you know it. Downstairs, you outrageous bundle of sex. I've got something you're going to absolutely loathe."

Connie Smeaton stepped back, chuckling. Her slave girl's puzzled dismay was a delight. "I have had other slaves, darling." She explained. "Quite a lot, they come and go, I tire of them. I'll keep you for life, but I never felt that way with the others. They were fun for awhile, that's all. I think being a true slave must be a vocation, a calling, something in the psyche. You've got it."

"I'm just about to wish I hadn't, aren't I!"

"The girl I had this installed for was lazy and a bit inclined to weight. I read about it in old books about prisons in England. It did her a world of good. But, boy oh boy, how poor Masie did hate it!"

"I've read about it too." Tansey admitted. "Couldn't I be whipped instead?"

"No! You're being spoiled with whipping. It's a nice easy way out for you. You howl for ten minutes and it's done. Something like this is much more subtle and lasts so much longer."

"Oh darling! It's about as subtle as a sausage grinder."

"Don't knock it. I've got the brake on hard. It's not as simple as it looks."

Tansey looked. It was a sizable crank, the shaft of which disappeared into the stone of the wall. Her handcuffed wrists were padlocked to a ring in the handle. She knew what she was going to be made to do.

"You start out with one hundred strokes, darling." Connie informed.

"That many would kill a girl."

"Well, you don't have to have them. Every time you make a hundred turns you save yourself twenty lashes. Five hundred and you're home free."

The captive was uncertain, it might be a hoax. Her locked hands sought a proper hold on the handle of the mechanism of punishment, she found she could grasp it well enough. She pushed, then heaved, and effected a quarter turn to the accompaniment of a shrieking protest from the brake. She turned to protest the costiveness of her penalty, and discovered she could not now stand erect, her handcuffs and the handle were too far over. With an angry sustained effort she, completed one revolution and turned a flushed and imploring face to her laughing mistress "Oh, darling please, I can't!"

"You just have, sweetness. That turn will register. There's a meter affair in the next room. I can keep track."

They stood and looked, wanting to laugh. But, for Tansey, there was also a hint of tears; tears of vexation. She had expected a feminine punishment; this was for male felons. She looked down at her fastened hands, they were clenched in small fists of frustration. She could not take them from the stout handle of the solid crank she was going to have to turn... if she could! She was securely chained to it, no struggle or pull would do her any good, it had been constructed with that thought in mind. "Oh, darling...!" The exclamation spelt despair.

"Good thing you're naked, Tansey girl, you may sweat."

"Don't be horrible." Tansey stamped one bare foot and said, "Oouch!" She tugged at her handcuffs, "I'm going to hate this!"

"That's the idea, sweetheart." Connie frankly laughed at her slave's disgruntlement. "You thought you'd get a nice little whipping and then to bed."

Tansey contrived her most heartbroken expression. "That would be nicer for you too, darling. Can't we, please?"

"No we can't! I'm going to leave you now. You've got a lot to do. So you'd better get on with it. Remember now: Five hundred turns in exchange for a hundred with this delightful thing you got for me. I'll leave it here on the floor so you can see it as you work. It will be a wonderful -encouragement. Whenever you pause, just look at it and you'll find fresh vigor. And, by the way darling, I don't have to move you to use the whip. You're beautifully positioned for it the way you are. Doesn't matter where you have the crank, the exposure will be perfect."

"How long have I got for this... work?" Tansey pouted. She recognized defeat.

"That's not for a slave girl to know. I'd suggest you don't waste time. You're now up to six hundred turns and a hundred and twenty strokes. That beautiful pout of yours was expensive."

After the slamming of the door, Tansey's eyes brimmed. But they were tears of vexation at her own imprudence, she had sought to provoke a punishment that always left her aflame with desire. But Connie was clever and knew her well. She was being taught a lesson. She realized it would probably be one of many. She was humorously annoyed to recognize its validity, her natural impudence and love for the girl who held her captive would keep her wealed from neck to knees if left unchecked. Irritably she bent down so that her chained hands could flick away her tears.

And now her punishment! It hadn't seemed real, now it did! She was alone with the contraption to which she was handcuffed. The single turn had left her with the belief the task was beyond the power of a girl. She'd just stand, Connie could do what she liked about the awful sentence when she returned. True, it could be a hoax, but she was scared... Once again she gripped the handle and pushed.

The squeaking protest of the dry brake was a fitting accompaniment to her labour. It took several changes in position to obtain the leverage to complete another turn, first you pushed, then you heaved and pulled, there were no easy spots. By the time she had revolved the crank four times Tansey was panting. At the top of a turn she let her chained hands loose their grip and rest passive in the handcuffs.

With an emotion bordering on panic she reviewed her plight, what had once seemed laughable or a subject for a good pout now loomed frighteningly. She had made four turns for a total of five. If she put her mind to it she would now manage five more and, presumably, five after that. But six hundred! Her mind boggled and her courage quailed.

In a feverish anger, Tansey thrust and pulled. Refusing to recognize fatigue she brought her total score to twelve before she stood with heaving breasts and pounding heart, shamed by the metal grip that made her stand holding the object from which she feared defeat. She could not even comfortably lean against the wall, but must stand as though poised for her next endeavour. If handcuffs did not hurt so much she would have fought them in savage resentment.

The insidious thing was that she could not say turning the crank was impossible. Her concern lay with the amount of time she would be given and the limitations of her strength. She was not a weakling, but the crank would tax the strength of a husky man, and she was but a girl. In grim determination she fought down self pity and applied herself to her penalty, but exhaustion brought her to a halt at a total of nineteen. She had aimed for twenty, but enough was enough!

Tansey was certain now she could never reach her allotment. That meant the whip! The alarming thing was her certainty of Connie's sincerity in believing the task within her power to complete. Failure meant she must fall in her beloved's esteem as well as earn a punishment beyond bearing. She was certain twenty or thirty strokes with the cruel thing laying on the floor would be the limit of any girl's capacity to absorb. What happened then!

Throw herself on the mercy of her Mistress! Beg, plead, try and make her understand. Short of chaining a girl to the handle as she was chained there was no other way. Connie was not deliberately cruel, but her punishments often were. They were inflicted because of the Mistress's knowledge of the frailty of slaves and their need of a constant reminder of their condition. A needful sense of justice had to be maintained, punishments earned could not be forgiven without the whole structure of their relationship falling apart. Tansey tearfully comprehended the depth of her dilemma. Hopelessly she bent to her task, more slowly now to conserve her strength and find a rhythm. All she could do was try! t Tansey's completion of her first hundred should have been a victory. It would have been a minor one had it not been for the bitterness of knowing she had done no more than pay for her pout. She was panting and sweating from the hundred turns... If only she had guessed! She would have kept her pout neatly tucked away wherever it was that pouts were hidden. Beneath Connie's discerning eye pouts were a luxury a slave girl could ill afford! With the expediency a slave girl knows so well, Tansey thrust the crank handle to it's lowest point so that she could kneel on the stone and rest herself by leaning against her locked hands. It was a small comfort but all she had.

When Connie Smeaton returned, the slave girl had completed the, to her, astronomical total of three hundred and fifty revolutions. Tansey stood desolately in her handcuffs, sweating, panting and distressed. She knew she had performed a small miracle, but would her Mistress know!

Once again they stood and surveyed each other, the slave girl's lips trembling awaiting a clue from her Mistress whether to laugh or cry. Connie's face was enigmatic.

"Four hours, darling. Haven't done very well, have you! Here, I've brought you water, I expect you're thirsty."

Tansey drank avidly, but she still did not know. The water was incompatible with release. "I really tried, Mistress." She was a penitent little girl.

"But not hard enough!"

"It's worse than you think, Mistress. You couldn't do it either."

"Is that another pout?"

Tansey squirmed unhappily, she was on the wrong end of an argument. "I'm sorry, Mistress." She gave her eyes all the appeal she could muster. "I'm so tired. Honest, I tried."

Connie Smeaton allowed a faint smile to steal across her lips. "You must not be excused. So what do you think I should do with you?"

Tansey fluttered her captive shoulders. "If I can't be forgiven, I suppose you'll have to use that awful thing on me." Her forlorn gaze rested on the whip on the floor. "It works out at fifty I have to get, doesn't it!" She eyed her mistress wistfully. "Can't you possibly forgive me, darling?"

"No. And don't start earning more." The Mistress ran her fingers up and down the chained nakedness and, with cupped palm, tested the damp sex. "I think you have worked." She conceded thoughtfully. "I won't be too beastly, sweetheart, I love you too much. But you have to know you'll never get away with anything. Once a punishment starts it also finishes."

Tansey wanted to cry. Fifty after all her work! She looked again at the sliver of whalebone on the floor and shivered. She looked down at her handcuffed wrists, chafed and red from their straining as she worked. She tugged at them resentfully: they were going to compel her to stand, to stand and be whipped. She could struggle and twist all she liked, but they would hold her there completely available to the lash. "Give me more time, darling." She pleaded. "I'm awful tired, but I'll try hard, I promise."

"You're really scared of this one." Connie picked up the limber crop and flexed it back and forth. "I think it's beautiful, it'll mark the loveliest lines on you."

Tansey had nothing to say. Her woebegone features should have melted the hardest heart.

"Alright." Connie sounded as though a portentous decision had been reached. "I'll let you finish... unless you're too damn slow. But you need inspiration. I'll give you ten as an incentive."

"Thank you, Mistress." The slave supposed she should be grateful.

"You don't sound enthused."

"It hurts terribly, Mistress, and I'm tired. I'm sorry!"

"Stand or kneel or whatever you like, you can't hide the bits I want to get at. When it's over you'll thank me."

"Yes, Mistress."

The whip does strange things to a girl, when the first blow sliced across her shoulders Tansey wanted only to curl up in a ball of agony and seek the foetal sanctuary of the womb. Instinctively she thrust down on the crank until she could fall to her knees and bury her face in her chained hands. Prudently she crouched in such a way that her derriere maintained a curved exposure for her Mistress's attention, for the rest she sought only oblivion.

Perhaps she was too tired to scream, perhaps there is pain beyond what the lips can express! Tansey emitted sounds, she wept and sobbed, but she endured the ten strokes without disgrace. The handcuffs held her, nor did she try and break the pose she herself had chosen. The singing scorching withe marked her in widely spaced bars of crimson. At the end she did not rise or look up. In a clear but broken voice she said: "Thank you for whipping me, Mistress," then buried herself once again in the darkness of her hands. Connie kissed her gently on the nape of the bent neck, left the whip upon the floor and went away. She closed the door softly.

The whipped slave girl sobbed herself out. She dried her tears as best she could upon her pinioned hands. Wearily she heaved on the unforgiving crank so that she could stand. She supposed she had won a victory, or been shown mercy. She could not have stood fifty strokes, she was positive they were more than she could bear without injury or the loss of consciousness, or hysterics. But now she was confronted by the bitter completion of her labour. Little more than half way, how many hours must she toil... !

Tansey Pepper knew it inevitable that she ask herself if she would have delivered herself so willingly into slavery that day, now long past, when she had gone so blithely to Phyllis Stafford, had she known what lay in store. She had followed a lifelong compulsion that held a rainbow quality, a roseate amorphous dream without specifics. It had not included the thing she was doing now or the cruelty of the whip upon the floor, yet in honesty they were a part of it, of a reality beyond her first erotic fantasies. Phyllis Stafford had known this, Connie Smeaton knew it. This knowledge was the reason they were Mistress and she was slave.

As she heaved upon the crank, Tansey wondered dully if she would ever get beyond the fatal question of mistake. Had it been that! To suffer what she suffered now when she could have been free, her flesh unmarked by thong or steel or cord. To most, her choice would seem morbidly impossible, no choice at all, an aberration. But she had made it. From that it became easy to query if, given her freedom, she would take it gladly and not look back. Ruefully she knew the answer, she had made her choice again that day. Connie had given freedom, yet she had returned laughing to her chains. That her present punishment was bitter beyond her expectations was incidental. If her slavery was to be valid there would be many such paths as this for her to tread. One day she would stop thinking in the context of comparisons and would consider herself only as slave. She would welcome that day, it would he consummation. Her thoughts turned to her mistress, she smiled and used fresh strength upon the crank. Her new weals hurt as her exertions strained her skin.

When Tansey the slave girl counted out the final tally she knew fatigue beyond any previous experience. She could not count the hours, but she was sure they were many. She was hungry and tired and wet with sweat. She pushed down on the crank and, falling to her knees, wept in an overflow of thankfulness that her travail was done, her face buried in her hands, leaning her handcuffed wrists against the instrument of her punishment. When her Mistress came to set her free she found her captive fast asleep.

CHAPTER TWO - THE ISLAND

Wanda came to a full stop beneath the banyan tree and stared in consternation. "Phyllis darling! What on Earth have you done?"

Had she been able to, Phyllis Stafford would have offered a shrug of reassurance, or perhaps resignation. But she was too tightly tied, her hands above her head to a bough, her ankles separated and tied down to a couple of the myriad roots the banyan thoughtfully provided. Instead, she grinned ruefully and admitted: "I lost my temper."

"Now you'll be whipped. Oh, Phyl, I'm so sorry." Wanda looked distraught. "I've been down on the beach. What happened?"

"We just got to arguing and I forgot what I am. I do it all the time, so I suppose this will be good for me. I'm sure his Majesty thinks so."

"But, you poor dear, you hate it so. I know you do! I don't like being whipped under the banyan. It means Dick's angry and it's going to hurt. But, darling, you shouldn't be sarcastic. That 'His Majesty' bit, it's bound to get you into trouble."

"But the silly jerk's supposed to love me!"

"Well... does that have anything to do with it?" Wanda was always willing to examine new ideas. "Dick loves me, but he whips me all the time."

The naked woman, stripped and awaiting her punishment could not forbear a smile. Wanda's sense of values defeated her completely.

They were immutably her own, she might have come by them even had Dick not been there to teach. They were of The Island, its surf and sun and the innocent sexuality Wanda radiated into every nook and cranny. Phyllis Stafford often wondered if they were not closer to the basic truths of things than her own inhibitions and hostilities. Perhaps it was no more than right that she be whipped by the man who loved her: "Cruel to be kind...." The precept had echoed down the centuries. She sighed and lifted an amused eyebrow at Wanda's concern.

"Suppose he didn't love you, suppose it was someone else who didn't love you a bit: Would it hurt more?"

"Oh yes, of course it would! I'd hate it."

"What about when I first whipped you?"

"Oh, you're nice! Yours hurts 'bout the same as Dick." Wanda brightened. "Would you like me to ask Dick if I can give you this punishment?"

"I sure would." Phyllis said emphatically. "But I don't suppose he'll go for it. He's mad, I'm going to get it good."

"I've whipped you, darling, don't I hurt as much as Dick?"

"He is a man, y'know. They're stronger. And I'm older than you, he's sure to think I deserve it harder."

"You mean dear Dick doesn't whip me as hard as he could!" Wanda sounded cheated. "I expect you're right. Guess I've always known it. He's sweet. When I get my next punishment I'm going to ask him to make the strokes as hard as he does yours: it's only fair."

Again the quaint reasoning! The tied woman longed for her freedom, the child was too delicious! To have her stand this close and be unable to touch her was a punishment in itself. As though reading her thoughts, Wanda asked brightly: "Want me to eat you, darling? I'd love to, and he's tied your feet far enough apart."

The nude penitent flamed with desire, but she had learned painful lessons. "I'm scared, precious. If he caught us it would be awful. He'd punish us both horribly. You know he .doesn't like us to flaunt it at him. In lots of ways he's a prude."

"I don't mind being punished, darling, honest!" Wanda's compassion was always working overtime. "You look so sad tied like that. Besides, you're wet. I can see from here, you want me. It will pass some waiting time for you. When I'm tied and waiting to be whipped I get all shivery. Isn't it awful for you too?"

"Worse than that, but you know what will happen. Once you start on me I'll lose all will power, I'll just moan and moan and you'll go on and on until our lord and master arrives with his whip. We'll be caught red handed With me it would be red faced."

"I 'spose you're right," Wanda agreed wistfully. "Where's Dick?"

"He's right here, sweetness." The male voice startled them both. "What are you two wenches hatching up?"

"I want you to forgive the poor darling," Wanda demanded promptly.

"You know better than that," Dick said cheerfully. "You don't even know why she's being punished."

"Forgive her anyway." The nymphet insisted illogically. "No." He winked at the naked woman awaiting his whip. "Tell the child you're guilty, poppet."

The culprit, tied and nude, looked at the man who was her master with pride. Dick was so damn male, so completely oblivious to the rights and privileges of the female. As far as he was concerned they did not have any. He considered being female privilege enough. Beyond that he demanded only total obedience. He got it from Wanda both in worship and in love. He got it from her through a mixture of adoration and fear. When he picked her up and did as he pleased with her she knew what dependence and subservience to the male truly was. She adored his strength, yet longed to best him. "I'm guilty, darling," she told Wanda without visible regret.

"Can I whip her then?" The child's demand was exuberant.

"Not this time. I'm going to make her howl."

"She howls when I whip her," Wanda retorted.

"She loves it from you, she's scared of it with me. That's the difference, pet. Remember, this is a punishment."

"Can I untie her... afterwards?"

"No, you can't do that either! I know what the two of you would be up to. This time she's mine." Dick shook his head in mock concern at his shivering prisoner. "If you two girls keep on the way you're going you'll both have tongues nine inches long."

The captive flushed. She, too, had unexpected areas of prudery. Strange how hard it was to talk about something you loved!

"Alright, Dick dear, if you won't let me whip her, can I stay and watch you do it?" Wanda felt she was being undemanding.

"D'you want the little so and so to watch you whipped, darling?" Dick enquired blandly.

The query brought another sensitive flush. The girl to be whipped did not mind the darling child watching her punishment. But to speak of it so casually... ! "I'd love it." She said with reasonable truth. "If Wanda's here maybe I'll be ashamed to scream too much."

"Well, she can't!" Dick affirmed with decision. "I indulge the two of you entirely too much. You're both spoiled rotten." He turned to his youthful love. "Go and fetch the whip, Pet. After that you can amuse yourself elsewhere."

"Where you won't hear the noise I make," Phyllis amended.

Wanda did as she was told. She was never too disappointed about anything, something nice always happened anyway. She gave the sinister thong to Dick. "She doesn't deserve the Manta Tail, does she?" she inquired anxiously. "I didn't bring it."

"Not this time, love."

The vivid child flung her arms around the tied nudity, kissed Phyllis passionately, bestowed a quick salute and a bite to each strained and captive nipple, then flounced away into the trees. The space beneath the banyan tree was suddenly very quiet.

"She's adorable!" Phyllis's tribute was spontaneous.

"I can see you think so," said Dick dryly, eyeing his captive's wet sex.

"You don't have to keep talking about it," retorted the captive.

"I intend to do something about it, heart of my heart." Phyllis Stafford sighed. "I've been expecting that." She strained restlessly against her bonds, not caring that he watched. "Is that the reason you sent her away?"

"Good gosh no! The child's seen enough of that lovely slit mound of yours that watching it whipped isn't going to shock her. She can't wait to get at it."

"Any more than you can!"

"You do ask for it, darling, don't you! Are you bored?" The taut nakedness struggled again, the lovely breasts quivering. "You're a sadist, Dick, keeping me tied like this, waiting. I must have been here hours."

"Tired?"

"A little. Mostly scared."

"You hide it well. You're most satisfying to whip."

"Can't I have a bra', Dick, you know why."

"No bra'. You'll be deliciously aquiver all the time fearing I'll overlap."

"It could happen!" She pouted prettily at the man who was going to whip her. "I'm sort of fond of both of them."

"Not more than I am, beloved. You have beautiful breasts. When I whip them it will be with the proper instrument."

"Thank you, kind sir." She looked at him in maidenly appeal. "I suppose you wouldn't consider forgiving me? I'm sorry for what I said... I'll be terribly nice to you."

"You'll be terribly nice to me anyway." Dick chuckled heartlessly. "You know as well as I do that by the time I'm through whipping you you'll be in a dither of lust: and the only reason you're sorry is because you're going to get whipped for it."

"Oh alright. And for your information I'm in a dither of lust now."

He pretended to consider her admission. "I could assuage your female lubricity, but it's an awful chore to untie you and then tie you up again."

"Do you have to untie me?"

"You are quite shameless, woman!"

"Dick, darling, do you love me?"

"Indubitably."

"Kiss me then."

He kissed her for a long time. "I needed that," she said breathlessly. "I'm not feeling all that brave. And now, you big lug, get on with it. Whip me! If you don't I'm going to start to cry."

Dick Carnaby whipped his love. He did it with a measured competence that laid lash after lash upon her with a ringing crack as though each announced its delivery on the shrinking flesh. From the first blow, his captive knew the blows far harder than Wanda would have given. But it was not news, Dick had whipped her before, she had known what awaited her from the moment he had tied her wrists.

It was a lovemaking. Phyllis Stafford knew it as such far better than Dick. Dick Carnaby took a woman's love for granted, to him it was a part of her femaleness, one of her rewards for being female. He whipped the tied and naked girl with the intent purpose of moulding her to the pattern of his desire, and with the purely practical wish that the status quo of The Island remain undisturbed. Wanda adored and worshipped. Phyllis adored but clung instinctively to a separate identity. She called him Master, but often she forgot...

The girl under the lash knew anger, it was against the tumult of her own thoughts and emotions. Whilst one part of her was absorbed by pain, her mind was feverishly active, spurred by the blows that seared her flesh and marked her so that she would wear their brands for many days to come. Since coming to The Island her skin was never without the evidence of whippings old and new. She could never be unaware of the male dominance against which she had no weapon save guile, a weapon she mostly disdained to use and which Pick instantly detected when she did. Secure in his male strength and potency he dealt with her much as an indulgent parent corrects and guides a child. It infuriated her femininity whilst it inflamed her femaleness. Even now, whilst he whipped her, she desired him with a need that scorched her loins. She knew herself torn by an absurd need to seek escape without the wish to find it.

She was torn now by an old weakness and a new strength. She had always screamed, no matter what vivid determination possessed her when first she stood naked to be whipped it always weakened as blow after unrelenting blow cut and sliced her defenseless nudity. The awfulness of being bound, of having to be vulnerable and open, broke down her courage until pride seemed valueless and was cast away by the pealing cries of agony, or desolation, or anger that she used to ease the built up pressures of her pain.

But today was different! The naked woman striving against her bindings knew not why: perhaps the talk with Wanda: perhaps a knowledge of inevitability: perhaps some strange inverted resentment against her physical hunger for the man who held the whip and who used it with such methodical precision on the body she was willing to bestow. But from the amalgam of her pain invoked emotions there crystallized a conviction that today she would not grace his ears with screams. He could beat her into insensibility, but for once she would cheat him and assert the fact that Phyllis Stafford was still an entity, female but whole. Silly... ! Perhaps. She moaned... she would allow herself the moans...

"Joining the ranks of the silent martyrs, love?" Her Master's voice was outrageously unaware of her agonies of sacrifice to silence.

The whip had stopped! The sweating woman exhaled a great sigh of thankfulness. She had little hope her punishment had ended, but any respite helped. Phyllis wanted most of all to sag against her tied wrists and pantingly rest, but she exerted herself to respond to his raillery. If only she could get him to talk! Talking didn't hurt... !

"I hate screaming. Don't make fun of me."

"You women! An endless question mark. Don't know what you're doing yourselves half the time! Delightful though... I love whipping the rebellious bits into shape.

"You just love whipping... master."

The lash crossed her back and snapped over her ribs. Unexpected as it was, she bit her lip and remained mute, but she diffused the burn by a furious assault upon the cords that held her helpless. When she could control her voice she asked pitifully. "Did I deserve that, Master?"

"You know you did. Angry sarcasm... it's not allowed." Phyllis Stafford longed to slap the complacent ego. But she was its property. The thought caused her errant sex to flare anew. Anger prompted a wish to slap herself. Here the two of them were, preening their pride at the expense of her skin. Why must she be whipped before they made their love! She wanted it now. "Loose me and love me." She pleaded. It sounded like the title to a song.

"Later, pet. Abstinence builds character."

She could think of things, but the single chiding lash robbed her of the courage to say them. "You've whipped me a lot, Master. Please!"

Dick ignored the feminine plea as unworthy. 'Tin interested in why you're being stubborn. You want to scream, don't you?"

Did the self satisfied idiot have to turn her inside out to see why she ticked! She didn't know herself, so how could she tell him! "Must you always reduce me to a nothing, darling?"

"Give a woman an inch and she takes a mile. You couldn't be a nothing if you tried. I just have to keep whittling."

"Whittling's terribly painful, Master."

"What would you suggest?"

She twisted shamefully against the cords. She could suggest nothing. Within the context of their lives upon The Island all was well and as it should be, even to the point of placing her where she now stood. She would never make the admission, but she knew it as fact.

"Couldn't I just say I'm sorry?" It was a coy admission of defeat.

They both laughed at her ingenuousness. "A remark like that from you makes me a damn sight more randy than watching you flutter your tits," Dick admitted.

"I'm not fluttering them at you. It was because I hurt, I can't keep still. I'm not made of stone."

"What me to tie you tighter?"

"Oh no, Master, please! I'm tight enough now. You used the right word: flutter is all I can do... and not much of that."

"You should see yourself. Lascivious, that's the word. You wriggle like an Arabian Houri."

"I wouldn't if you didn't whip me!"

"In that case I shall never stop." His voice lost its banter. "Best we go on to the next stage. What say, darling?"

"Must we?"

"You know we must."

"It's between my legs now, isn't it!"

"There isn't any nicer place," said her Master as he struck. It became doubly important to her now that she accept the rest of her whipping in silence. She ceased to reason why, devoting all her concentration against the bitter enemy invading the supposedly inviolate recesses of her being. The leather thong was insidious and cunning in its cruelty, it cut and bit at her loins from above and from below, in slanting strokes that crossed a hip and flicked the lash upon her shaven lips. Her tethered legs stretched wide apart were an open invitation to what was being done to her. She could not move them, but in frantic pain she tugged and heaved and cared not what libidinous writhings her agony might weave.

"You have a lovely cunt to. whip, darling," Dick commented pleasantly without pause in his plying of the thong. "You must always shave. I like it."

"I can think of better things to do with it." She ground out between moans. Then added a humble: "... Master."

The whipping stopped. "So can I." Dick conceded huskily. "Your wanton concupiscence weakens my male resolve. I can feel your heat even at whip distance. I may tie you and carry on afterwards, but for now you are a free woman. Liberty earned by lust, that's it!" In avid haste he tore at her bindings.

They clasped each other in an intensity of need.

"But a girl has to have her tie, darling," Wanda expostulated gently.

"I'd have thought I'd been tied enough for one day."

"Oh, but that was for your punishment! That's quite different." Wanda wondered how long it was going to take darling Phyllis to learn the rules. She suspected darling Phyllis of often being deliberately obtuse.

"I know all about it," Phyllis said irritably. "Don't forget I made you mind your P's and Q's all that time in the apartment."

"Wasn't that gorgeous!" Wanda sighed. "That lovely room you made for me, you were terribly sweet."

"It's still there, Sweetheart. All you have to do is persuade His Nibs."

"Oh, don't call him that. You'll get whipped again. Aren't you happy, darling, our Island and everything?"

"I'm so damn happy I'm ashamed of myself. I suppose that's why I keep bitching the way I do. That outrageous male creature has got me almost as badly buffaloed as he has you."

"We aren't buffaloed, darling. Everything's gorgeous." Wanda's ecstasies were always ready to surface.

"I expect you're right, honeypot." The woman eyed the child with amused affection. "How long d'you suppose we'll be made to stand like this?"

"Just our usual time, silly." Wanda often felt quite maternal towards this lovely creature who sometimes seemed so lost in the new and strange existence she had found with she and Dick. She sensed and sympathized with the rearguard battle Phyllis Stafford must constantly fight against the tentacles of a world she had loved and abandoned, "Dick's being dreadfully sweet to us today, I expect it's because of your whipping. These trees are nice and small. My hands meet behind them easy, so I'm sure yours do too, and I adore handcuffs. They don't hurt if you don't pull." She offered with bright encouragement.

The child was incredible! It was impossible not to love her and to absorb some of her insatiable joy in mere existence.

That she diffused sexuality with an unconcerned lack of awareness made her intense femaleness doubly and trebly potent. Phyllis Stafford eyed her companion in captivity in wonder at her untiring adoration of life and of the man who had clicked the handcuffs on their wrists. She leaned her whipped back against her tree and fingered the shining steel about her wrists. Wanda was right: if a girl didn't struggle they didn't hurt. She relaxed. She was utterly helpless, but what of it! If Wanda thought it fun to have her hands locked behind a tree, so could she. "Why the briefs and bra', darling?" she asked in a casual effort to return to normalcy.

Wanda giggled. "They're so gorgeously indecent. I just have to put them on sometimes: makes me feel wicked." How sweet she was, how sane! The older girl looked down at her own striped and total nakedness and knew innocence. Her breasts and pubic hair could not compete in sensuality with Wanda's briefly covered sexual appendages. "You should always wear them," she encouraged. "Wicked's hardly the word for you with those on."

"Dick says they're naughty," Wanda pouted. "He'll let me wear them, but I think he'd rather I didn't. He gets a funny look in his eye... And I feel naughty myself, it's delicious!"

"Wear them once a week, honey. It'll keep Dick and me hungry."

"It's probably enough." The nymphet's eyes sparkled thoughtfully. "I don't know how you and all those other girls in New York could bear it. My nipples rub on my bra' and my panties tighten up on my cunt until I'm just about crazy for you, haven't you noticed?"

Phyllis had noticed and been glad. "Are you crazy now?" she asked demurely.

"Of course I am! Not. that there's anything we can do about it... Not until Dick takes our handcuffs off, anyway. Between wearing naughty clothes and watching you get whipped I'm so wet you should be able to see the stain. There's a lovely fire burning behind my bush."

"I can see the stain, it's got bigger since Dick chained us here. Either you wriggle too much or you like the look of me... What's this about watching me whipped! I thought Dick told you." Wanda gurgled happily. "Don't tell, darling, or I'll be standing right where you were, but I wiggled through the trees and peeped from behind a bush. I had a lovely view." Phyllis flushed. "I suppose you saw and heard everything... even the bit afterwards?"

"Oh sure! I thought you were sweet, and so brave. I'm sure it's good for Dick to know he can't always make us scream. I expect I always will, but you're wonderful!"

"Thanks! You enjoyed it all...?"

"You're thinking of what you did at the end. You're awfully silly to be so fussy about that. I think it's scrumptious, and I'm so glad you and Dick do it all the time, I'm sure it's good for you." she paused reflectively. "I'd ask Dick to push that thing of his into me, but I don't think he likes me to talk about it. I can gobble it for him, but that's all. I expect if he wanted to stick it in my slit he'd do it without me asking... I say, Phyl, is it because my cunt's too small?"

Phyllis laughed in delight. "Darling, your cunt is bigger than a lot of girls twice your size, it's a lovely cunt. No, that's not his reason. I think he just feels everything is perfect as it is."

Wanda stuck out her tongue in impudence. "Oh, O.K. I know! Little Wanda must be a good girl and not ask too many questions. Well, anyway, what you and I do is much more fun. I'm glad I'm not a man."

"Don't you envy them! All their lovely strength, and that great big thing they can stick into a girl whenever they feel like it?"

"Gosh no! Think of all the work they have to do. Looking after us girls, and where you come from they had to go to some rotten job every day. And that thing...." She giggled delightedly. "It must be a nuisance flopping around."

"No more than our breasts."

Wanda was horrified. "But our breasts are beautiful, darling! I love my breasts... and yours." Her giggle carried over to a fresh thought. "Our breasts don't flop at all, they're nice. But those men things... they look so silly. I'm glad Dick wears shorts."

"Well yes, they do look silly."

"You were going to say they feel nice when they're put inside a girl... I suppose they must, all those magazines I read in the apartment: the poor men had such an awful time finding a girl to stick them into! I felt sorry for them. Dick's so sensible."

Phyllis felt better. Wanda was a guaranteed delight. The child had never mentioned the fresh whip weals of which she herself was so conscious. The ones that had punished her sex must be in plain view from the other tree a few feet away, yet to Wanda they were commonplace. She wore her own with saucy pride as though flaunting the sin by which she had earned them, she would expect Phyllis to do the same.

"Would you like to live in the apartment again?" she asked idly.

Wanda glowed. "Of course I would, darling. That beautiful, beautiful room you made to keep me in, I loved it! You were terribly sweet about looking after my Tie and my Friday... When you first came here you didn't understand them a bit. It's wonderful the way Dick's helped you! New York's not as good as our Island, but I loved the way you looked after me." Her face momentarily clouded, "I wonder what's become of Tansey!"

"If I know my Connie Smeaton, Tansey's got enough chains on her to hold a horse. If I hadn't thought she'd be happy I'd have made Dick go after her."

"Made...!" Wanda was shocked.

"Well, it was New York, and it was my apartment! I expect if I'd bothered him enough he'd have done it. Here I'd be too scared." The older girl looked shrewdly at the younger. "Surely you've got wise to a bit of nagging. If a girl perseveres she can get a man to do almost anything."

"I expect that's exactly what our Fridays are for," Wanda declaimed with a tinge of reproof. "I don't think you should think of such things. If I were you I'd confess and ask Dick to be severe with you next Friday. That's what I always do when I get really bad thoughts. I don't mean jokes and such, but disobedience and not wanting the things he wants. Friday's a sort of punishment then, it helps me to stay nice."

Phyllis Stafford's sigh was one of pure admiration. How wonderful to be as Wanda was! Forever secure in the knowledge of being nice, of being right, of being loved. Could she ever match it! Could she... !

"I think I'll pass this coming Friday and just take what I have to," Phyllis said wryly. "Today should last me quite awhile if I'm careful about what I say to His Highness."

"There you go again!" Wanda scolded. "Dick's bound to overhear sometime if you keep on with those sarcasms. You'll get a really awful punishment. I'm sure he wouldn't like all those 'Nibs' and 'Highness' and 'Majesty' bits you come out with."

"You wouldn't tell on me, Sweetheart!"

"Noooo! But I ought to. You're really naughty."

"Naughty is hardly the word for it!" Dick sauntered into view. "May I introduce myself, I'm His Highness, His Nibs, His Majesty. Take your pick. Probably a few more kicking around I haven't overheard."

The naked woman handcuffed to the tree quailed. This time she was really scared. She knew for sure she'd already be running if her wrists were not handcuffed behind the trunk. She tugged frantically against their steel grip, then relaxed hopelessly. Nothing mattered now.

"Darling Dick, it was all my fault, I talk too much," Wanda pleaded.

"Didn't hear you use any of those pet names, love. 'Course there was the little matter of watching and listening... I'm ashamed of you."

"You mean you've been eavesdropping all the time we've been chained here!" Phyllis Stafford's indignation overcame her fear.

"Have to keep abreast of events, beloved."

"Don't call me beloved! It was a dirty rotten trick!" The chained and naked woman tore furiously at her fettered hands. "Oh damn you! If only I was free!"

"What would you do then, light of my life?" Dick's voice was deceptively casual.

"I don't know... I just don't know!" The delinquent looked desperately around as though in search of help.

"Don't punish her again, Dick. Please don't!" Wanda was trembling.

"Isn't it you I should be punishing, you little mischief."

"Yes, oh yes! It doesn't matter about me. I know I was bad. But poor Phyl', she's had enough."

"No girl has ever had enough." Dick looked from one to the other, enjoying their guilt.

"All right, gloat! It's a 'fair cop' isn't it! You should feel proud." Phyllis was burning all her boats and bridges. She glared at her insouciant Master. "And for Pete's sake don't ask me what punishment I would suggest!"

"I seem to have irritated you with that one."

"Well, wouldn't you be irritated! Knowing you were about to get the Hell beat out of you and asked such a damn fool question."

"Temper, temper! Come on then, what would you suggest?"

"Just beat the daylights out of me and be done with it."

"Don't tease her, Dick. The poor darling's scared of you." Wanda was becoming disturbed to the point where she, too, was tugging at the steel bands on her wrists.

Dick Carnaby lightly kissed his young love's nose. "So she should be, moppet," he said amiably. "And so should you." The two girls stood tensed against their trees, their hands tight fisted against the tug of metal. Both stared at the man who held them in thrall, Phyllis in anger, Wanda in sorrow. Slowly their tension dissolved, they shifted feet, twisted their arms within the cuffs, both anger and sorrow were replaced on the lovely faces by simple apprehension.

"Don't be too rough on us, darling," Wanda pleaded softly. It was less easy for the woman. She matched her eyes against his, and lost. Phyllis Stafford visibly slumped in defeat. "I'm sorry, Master," she said humbly and without hope.

To the naked woman whose loveliness bore the vivid wounds of her recent whipping, it was the nadir of all her emotional predicaments on The Island. Elsewhere, or in some other context, her facetious remarks would have earned her only laughter. But here there was the Code, the Island Code! Here a girl must not be allowed an inch or she would take a mile, here punishment was instant. Here The Master was the Alpha and Omega. A girl who, even flippantly, denigrated his omnipotence must be made to rue her words or act. The best she could hope for was to be whipped again. And poor Wanda! The darling child... she too would be made to scream... it was all too cruel.

Phyllis Stafford stood passive while her handcuffs were unlocked. Gone was the urge to run in the blind panic of her first guilt. Better to allow the Male to enjoy his dominance, if she fled he would only drag her back by the hair and punish her more. He was probably hoping she would run. Pitiably trying to salvage what she could, she dropped to her knees in front of him. "I have been foolish, Master. Please punish me," she asked dully. And to herself: 'How bloody humble can I get!' "Stay there," she was told curtly.

The woman watched as Wanda too was freed. But the child's reaction was different to her own. Wanda knew only sorrow that she had erred and fallen in the esteem of the man she adored. In her state of mind whatever punishment she received would be a solace. The child was most likely aching for the whip across her back. The kneeling penitent beheld the glowing child throw her arms around the neck of the man who would punish her and plead brokenly: "Oh Dick, I'm so sorry and so ashamed. You must whip me terribly... or something." She kissed the stern male face, then slid to her knees as Phyllis had done. "See, Dick dear, I mean it, I really do. I'm doing the same as darling Phyl'. We're both so sorry."

"You're sorry, Sweet. But darling Phyl' simply doesn't want any more stripes." He looked at the abject nakedness that once had been a New York Columnist. "Am I right, slave woman?"

"You are right, Master."

"Why the hell don't you get up and run!" His voice was harsh. "You could, it's what you want to do. Go on, I'll give you a good start."

"You'd only drag me back, Master."

"Is that so bad! At least you'd have exercise."

Phyllis fled. She knew not where she got the strength or the courage, but she leaped into the trees with an instinctive determination to assert her right to liberty. If and when he caught her would she be worse off than now! It might be a thoughtless compulsion, but she was in its grip. Her legs flashed, her feet pounded in a sudden ecstasy of motion, her hair flew wild in the wind of flight.

"Poor darling! You've frightened her," Wanda pouted. She did not enjoy punishment, but she did not fear it as did the fleeing woman.

"When were you whipped last, as a punishment?"

Wanda tried to remember. She twisted to survey any marks she still might bear. There were many but none recent. "I forget, darling. I expect I've got lots of skin ready. Do you want me to go to the Banyna, should I get the cords?"

"Not the Banyan. I'm not going to whip you. I'll use the cane. Go and get the worst one, and then stand between the posts."

Wanda sped upon her task. She was jubilant. 'Just the cane'! That meant only her bottom. It would hurt bitterly but was better than the whip. Dick was sweet, she deserved something much worse. She debated whether she should ask for something worse, but decided against it. Dick didn't like her to be bossy. Best leave well enough alone. She selected the cane she hated most, then went and placed her hands within the straps of the twin posts.

"Scared, Gorgeous?"

The gorgeous was Dick's way of telling her he loved her still. Wanda glowed, that was the thing that mattered, she did not care about the pain. It would come and go, she would behave shamelessly and scream, but that was incidental. She would have hugged and kissed him if one of her wrists hadn't already been strapped. She stood, happy and uncaring, while her other wrist was secured in the familiar leather. She had lost count of the times she had been strapped thus to the posts that were almost a furnishing of their home. "What about poor Phyl'?" she asked cautiously.

"Poor Phyl' can amuse herself for awhile," Dick said grimly. "She can't get away."

"Dick darling... Don't hurt her too much. She's not like me."

"You mean you like being hurt, Pet!"

"Oh Dick! You know I don't. I'm going to scream in a minute. That cane I've brought you is a beast! I'm trying to say that Phyl didn't grow up with us. Nothing's quite the same for her."

"Isn't it best we teach her then?"

"Oh yes... yes! But be a little kind to her. More than to me."

"You mean I'm not kind to you, poppet!"

"Oh Dick, you know I don't mean that. You spoil me. I mean that I know better... so it's all right that I be punished."

"What do you say to fifty?"

The heart of the nymphet almost stopped. She'd never had fifty with the cane. Dick must be really angry! She was sure she'd make a terrible fuss before the last stroke fell on her bruised flesh. "If you wish, darling." She fought hard to control her voice.

There was a great depth of emotion in Dick's chuckle. "That's my girl! Darling I love you. You're always too good to be true."

She basked in glory. She had won praise. Wanda did not care if it was fifty, or a hundred, or two hundred. Dick could do as he pleased with her, she could only love him.

"Twenty-five, sweetness."

She was bathed in relief. It would still be awful. But she would bear it. How wonderful if she could remain as mute as Phyl' had done! She would try. Wanda raised pursed lips to be kissed.

"You'll have to help," he told her. "To get good cut at your bottom you'll have to back up as far as you can and stick it out at me. Will you do that?"

"Of course I will, darling."

Wanda did as she was told. The request seemed to her quite sensible. She was between two posts, to cane her bottom to best advantage it would most certainly be practical for her to do as asked. She arched her back in a downward curve, knowing, with a wisdom of her own, that her behind was now thrust into a cruel prominence. She had already backed as far as her strapped wrists would permit. Awkwardly, she tried to look back over her shoulder and asked guilelessly: "Is that nice for you dear?"

Her answer was the first blow. The whirr had given her no warning. Upon impact she gasped and straightened up, tugging at her wrists. But instantly her wish to obey gained control and she posed herself for number two. Wanda would never, if she could help it, give her adored Dick cause for complaint.

The Master caned the young ripe bottom steadily and with determination. He worshipped' the punished girl, but she must learn. The Code must be maintained. He was secure in his knowledge of Wanda's compliance in this. He heard her gasps, her moans, her screams. He loved them all. In the caning of this pliant child they both found a fulfillment beyond the dreams of man. Wanda thrust and bent her bottom again and again in her utmost effort to invite the utmost contact with the cane.

"Don't unbuckle me, Dick. Let me stand awhile."

It was over. Wanda's derriere was scorched and aflame, she was sure she must be bleeding. The twenty-five slashes with the cane were the worst she had ever been given. She was proud. It was a milestone. But, oh, she hurt! To just stand, her wrists still strapped, was all she asked of life at that moment.

"O.K. Sweetness. Enjoy." Dick left her alone.

It felt so good that it was done! Wanda was well aware of her euphoria, she understood its origin. She did not need her hands, if she had them she would use them only for silly soothing motions that did not soothe. Strapped, she could rest quietly and absorb her pain and revel in the memory of each brand upon her flesh, revel that it was done: that she had been punished and survived. It was like the meeting of an old, old love. She been punished often and always had known ecstasy when she stood, panting and thankful, to await the calming of her pulse and the kiss by which Dick told her he still loved her and all was forgotten. She looked down at her poor pretty little briefs upon the ground where they had been cast aside. She wished-Dick had removed her bra' too. She must look silly wearing nothing but those tiny coverings on her breast. She smiled ruefully that she had asked to remain strapped to the poles. She could not now take off the bra' herself, she would have to wear it. Contentedly enough she arranged herself into one of her more comfortable poses and relaxed.

"Time to get supper, sweetness," Dick announced cheerfully as he tugged at the buckles and set her free.

This time, Wanda did not protest. In joyous motion she hugged the man she loved, and whispered: "Thank you, thank you, darling, I was a bad girl." Then stripped off her bra', picked up her panties and danced into the house, her scarlet and purple bottom a beacon of delight.

"What about poor Phyl'?" Wanda asked as she speared a scallop at their meal. Prudently she knelt rather than sit. "Aren't you going to go after her?"

"Why should I! She can't get away."

"She'll be hungry and lonely."

"Nothing to stop her coming home to supper."

"Oh, Dick darling, you know there is, you'll whip her."

"So what! I've just whipped you."

Wanda squirmed. They were back at square one. She wanted and believed in happiness, but there would be none while a frightened naked woman roamed their small demesne in loneliness. "Can I go and bring her back?" she asked hesitantly.

"What makes you think she'd come."

"Oh, I expect she would," Wanda said from some depth of female wisdom he could not fathom. "If you'd let me tell her she wasn't going to be punished too badly, it would help."

"No concessions, love. You know that. It wouldn't be kind to Phyl' to treat her like a kid... throw things out of balance: for her as well as us."

Wanda snickered. "I'll show her my bottom then. It will make her feel if I can walk around with that, so can she." She eyed her Master wistfully. "Can I tell her it's just the cane?"

"I haven't even said you can go."

"Dick, you're teasing. You'll say yes, won't you?"

He laughed at her eagerness. She never ceased to delight him. "You're doing exactly what Phyl' told you to do: twist me, nag. Can't you recognize the pattern?"

Wanda was aghast. Dick was right. She saw it clearly now. he had pointed it out. She looked at him in penitence, her hand to her mouth. "Darling... I never even thought... I'm awful. Should I be punished?"

The man enjoyed her dismay. "No, honeybunch, you won't be punished. You didn't do it consciously. But you'd better remember it. I'd like you to tell Phyllis about it too. It's about as good a justification for our 'Girl's Tie' and her 'Fridays' as we can get. She finds it tough sledding sometimes and needs all the help she can get."

"Dick, you're so clever. I'm so glad I've got you... Or is it that you've got me! Anyway, I'll behave. I won't go chasing after Phyl'. I'm sure you know best."

"Where's that breadfruit pudding, angel?" Her Master asked from the heights of Olympus.

It was a strange feeling. Alone and naked on a Tropic Island, the swift falling of darkness close at hand. The air was warm but Phyllis Stafford shivered. Her two companions were only a walk away, but once out of sight they had ceased to exist, she was isolated in a self sought solitude. Dick was a cunning bastard! He always managed to put her in untenable situations. Yet just the same, and she hated herself for the admission, she wished she was safe in bed with him, even though it meant the wearing of twice the number of whip marks she had harvested that afternoon.

So why had she run! Why fall into his trap! He'd be quietly' laughing now, thinking of her naked in the setting sun and of the turmoil in her mind. She remembered a shrewd observation on the futility of flight when all we did was take our baggage with us. It was true of her. She had carried from that other life a psyche cluttered with emotional debris that Dick waved airily into oblivion but which, for her, posed a more painful disposal. She had come to The Island in full awareness of the handicap, but uncaring. She had allowed Dick to possess her as he possessed Wanda. Mostly she had discovered an ardent and bucolic happiness. But she wished that when her clutter surfaced Dick would allow her to deal with it in her own way instead of whipping it back into its hiding place. She ached from the whipping he had just given her and trembled in anticipation of the beating that, sooner or later, she was bound to get again.

Phyllis sat desolately on a rock, still hot form the sun that was now close to disappearing below the ocean's rim, she enjoyed a South Sea Paradise but was desperately lonely. The Island, beautiful as it might be, meant nothing to her. She saw clearly that her life and interest was absorbed utterly by the man she must call Master, and by the laughing girl whose joy in life had spilled over into her own. She adored them both. Each owned a part of her.

Again she shivered. The swift tropic night had enveloped the Island. It was always warm, there was never a need for clothes, but a lifetime of wearing them is not easily forgotten. Dick allowed her to wear something most of the time as Wanda might do. But clothes were forbidden at 'Tie' time and on Fridays, or whenever punishment was in the air. Thus both girls were more often naked than clothed. It was not so much a matter of providing female curves for The Master's lustful eye, but more an arrangement of convenience into which she had slipped without self consciousness. New York was far away.

Phyllis could guess why she was not pursued. Her reactions were predictable. Dick would let her sweat it out. His motives might actually be kind: she would have a breather in which to sort out her initial panic at the punishment she must inevitably receive. It would make no difference if she roamed the Island alone for an hour or a week, the end would be the same. She would accept his authority and crawl gratefully into his bed. Brutally she examined herself. Her need for self assertion had best be curbed, it could spoil the idyllic existence she shared with those two for whom The Island was the whole of life. If she must challenge authority as a form of emotional expression, she would do well to look upon the act as a pleasant luxury to be used sparingly and to be paid for by instant retribution accepted with good grace and no loss of face. She shrugged and made a wry grimace. She was an immensely privileged slave, but still a slave. She had no hope whatever of escape, and anyway it was a desire that would only possess her in moments of temper or willfulness. She looked at the strange lights and shadows of the Pacific night and turned her back on them. Slowly in a half humourous annoyance with herself she began her penitential journey back to punishment and love. She wondered how much of the fire burning brightly in her loins she owed to either.

They accepted her as though she had never been away. Wanda proudly displayed her striated bottom and provided supper. Dick exchanged intent meetings of their eyes that sent the blood flaming to her cheeks. She ate hurriedly and with unexpected appetite.

"I'm not going to be silly, Master. Will you punish me this evening?"

"Best get it over, eh! It's close to bedtime."

"Thank you." She would keep it formal. "How would you like me to... arrange myself?"

"It's the cane, love. Same as Wanda."

She felt a small gratitude. But still, the cane was awful. "Between the posts, Master?"

"We should make it effective, lover. Bending over, I think."

Her blush deepened. It would hurt more, and shame... Bending over seemed natural for Wanda. But she was adult... ! "I'm not a bit sure I can keep still for it," she admitted honestly.

"You won't have to, darling. We'll use the rail."

"Phyllis knew she would like no part of it. She had never been victim to the rail, but from where she stood she could see it: a horse's hitching rail, but lower. She had been told by Wanda what it was for.

"Now, Master?"

"Yes. Get two pairs of handcuffs and come on over."

She obeyed. Standing beside the functional structure she felt supremely foolish. "I... I, bend over it, don't I?"

"Right! You'll find it's a nice height. You can touch your toes the other side."

The rail pressed against her sex, bending over it her bottom reared. She felt her breasts shift as she touched her toes. The rail itself was now deeply bedded within her being, she had become one with it. Dick knelt, the handcuffs clicked. One wrist to one ankle, it was very simple and wickedly effective, as usual she was helpless. She was also shamed, she was quite sure the ripe fig of her sex had followed the acute curve and was now protuberant below the cheeks of her bottom along with stray fronds of pubic hair. She would be fortunate if the cane or the crop did not lick at it as her bottom was striped. Her view was much curtailed, most of it was to the rear between her legs.

"Won't keep you bending too long, sweetheart, or your blush will get deeper and deeper," Dick assured her cheerfully. "Comfy?"

"Yes, Master." She supposed she was.

"Wanda got twenty-five."

"Thank you, Master." Her retreat had become a rout. "Can't space 'em out too long."

"As long as you think wise please, Master."

Phyllis cringed. Twenty-five was awful. But bent over... ! It was going to be pure hell! She had a sudden memory of something once read. "Master?"

"What is it, pet?"

She felt silly. "I read once... I hate to scream... Could I bite on something? I think it was a bit of rope."

His laugh approved. "Good idea, never thought of it. Have to leave you bending for a minute."

"I don't mind, Master." She found that she actually did not mind.

"You're sweet," Wanda exclaimed from somewhere out of sight. "If you find out you like it, I'll ask Dick if I can do it next time I get into trouble. It's a super notion."

"Are you going to stay and watch me get it?"

Wanda giggled. "If our Master will let me. You won't mind, will you?"

"Of course not, darling. I don't suppose I can get to look any more silly than I feel right now. Have you had this?"

"Oh, I've had everything," Wanda confessed airily. "And you don't look silly. You look simply gorgeous, good enough to eat." A pair of girlish legs came into view and passed to the back. An enraptured giggle erupted. "Darling, you should see yourself. Your lovely cunt's peeping back between your legs. Here... feel...!"

The naked woman positioned for her punishment gasped and tugged at her twin handcuffs as an impudent finger confirmed her worst suspicion of her rear exposure. Instinctively she tried to shift position to more modestly dispose her most secret spot. But she could make no move that helped. In fact... !

"You've made it even better," Wanda cooed. "Oh darling, you are beautiful. How does this feel?" A small hand cupped the errant sex and with much kneading motion eased it back into what its scarlet faced owner was certain must be an absolutely wanton display. "There, I've tugged some hair back too, it looks terribly sweet."

"Oh nooo! Please Wanda, tuck it all back as much out of sight as you can... the whole thing! Don't make me ashamed in front of Dick."

"No I won't." Wanda was mischievously delighted. "It looks scrumptious. I love it. You'll drive Dick bonkers. Ooops! Here he comes."

It was another excursion into the bizarre, a strange and rather frightening sensation. Dick had thoughtfully soaked the four inch length of heavy fiber before he thrust it gently between her teeth and back to stretch her willingly opened mouth. Phyllis bit down hard, she would dribble and her breath would force its way in and out, but there was a spiritual comfort, a feeling of not being totally defenseless. Her concern now would be that she not eject the gag under the impact of a blow or an agony induced gasp.

"Comfy, love?"

Phyllis nodded. It was her only significant motion left. Dismally she watched the two male feet walk back around the rail. Behind them the tip of the cane trailed upon the ground. It was about to start. Any moment now it would begin. The impossible, the incredible! The thing that could not possibly... ! But would.

The cane whined viciously.

The rope was a lifeline, a raft to cling to in an ocean of pain. As the blows criss-crossed the stretched skin of her bottom, she reared her head, then shook it in a violent negation of what was being done to her outthrust flesh, but her teeth were clamped tight upon the gag. Wet moans escaped, but even they were muffled and inhibited, saliva drooled. When some portion of the cane's cut bit her vulva the surge of agony she made was visible to those who watched.

To Phyllis Stafford her caning was a mixture of diverse visions and emotions. The bent over posture could be nothing but shaming. It took her back to being a delinquent child, it exposed her cruelly. It also doubled her pain. She longed to cry out and tell them, to ask to be allowed to stand so that her skin be not so stretched. But, having once achieved the gag, she was unwilling to jettison its reassuring presence between her teeth. She bit at it savagely as the cane sliced its way through the interminable twenty-five, through the resolutions of her courage and, she was quite sure, through her skin. There would be blood, there had to be... !

When it ended she had lost the count, adrift on a sea of blazing pain it took her a minute to realize the blows had stopped and might not start again. Seeking to eject the gagging rope she discovered she could not, her teeth had sunk so deeply into the hemp that her tongue lacked the leverage to pry it loose. She shook her head violently and managed a couple of "Ngnnn's." before firm masculine fingers gently took from her grateful mouth the object they had so recently put in. Recently! To Phyllis Stafford it seemed a thousand pain years back.

"Thank you for caning my bottom, Master." She curled up inside, but she managed to say it in a calm and level voice.

"A pleasure, darling. Any time...." She had a close-up view of the hands and the little key and the loosing of her handcuffs. She must have struggled more than she had realized, her wrists were red and indented. Cautiously she stood and smiled ruefully at her audience as she unashamedly explored the ridged tenderness of her caned cheeks. To her apprehensive fingertips it felt as though they were trying to soothe a flight of steps. The act of straightening up had eased the tension of her skin but sent fresh waves of fire across her bottom.

"A most excellent caning, my dear," Dick assured her heartily.

"Yes, Master. Thank you."

The Island night was never entirely dark. Each could gauge the emotion on the other's face. She was pleased to note on his some faint traces of concern. It had truly been a ruthless punishment on one female bottom at one time. Phyllis knew that, between her determination and the bit of rope, they had put on an impressive show. Wanda kissed the hurt mouth and flitted away. She was a tactful child. "And now I render unto Caesar...?"

"You really feel that way about it!" She had hurt him. "No, no, no!" Her vehemence surprised herself. She threw her arms about his neck and welded her nakedness so that her breasts were flattened against his bare chest. "Dick, I love you... don't hurt me any more. Tell me you love me."

"I love you altogether too much!" The fierceness of his admission and the hot demand of his lips flamed her desire to an intensity she had rarely known. Even as he carried her to the house they clung and clutched in a newly discovered ecstasy. When he tossed her nakedness on their bed she emitted a quite genuine "Ouch!".

"Bottom sore, honeybunch?"

"It's on fire. You must have cut etchings into it."

"Good! A woman should always be in pain when she's fucked."

During the hours and the writhings of love, Phyllis Stafford wondered if her Master would always whip her first! She would not complain...

CHAPTER THREE - TANSEY PEPPER

I love my Mistress terribly, even when she's cruel, and about half the time she is. I'm not allowed to call her by name and, little by little, I've stopped thinking of her as Connie Smeaton in my mind. She's my Mistress, far more my Mistress than Phyllis Stafford ever had time to be. Phyllis really kept me prisoner, I knew I'd never escape, but her heart was with darling Wanda and the man they called Dick. I never saw him, my Mistress stole me before he came back. I often wonder about them. Wanda was sweet, I miss her. My Mistress has told me the story of their Island and how the man took them back to it. It seems girls can't get rid of men. We try, but they're like weeds, they keep popping up again. And they're so strong so terribly strong! They walk into our lives and use us for awhile and go away. My Mistress hates them. I don't think I do, I sort of feel sorry for them. I'm so glad I'm a girl.

We had to try out that new heavy chain! It's wicked! I feel ethereal and sort of dryad like, it's so heavy. Just to be mean, my Mistress made me stand against the wall and locked my metal collar to a ring by only six links so I couldn't sit or kneel or walk away, I had to stand. I'll admit it was about all the weight I wanted on my neck, but have you ever had to stand like that all day! Try it sometime... !

That was sort of the main dish, but there were others. I'm absurdly obedient, sometimes I feel like kicking myself but I can't help it. I meekly held out my hands and watched my Mistress lock the metal bands on my wrists and join them with two feet of the new chain. I wondered why I had that much freedom, but I soon found out. She did the same for my ankles, and there I was! Nicely fixed, or foxed, or chained. All three, I guess. I got my usual good-bye kiss and my nipples pinched, and then I was left to stand against my wall and amuse myself as best I could.

This is always a special moment for a slave girl. Actually there's hardly a thing you can do, but you always assess your predicament. Even if you can only twitch an inch you make the twitch, it's a silly but comforting reassurance. I did it now. I had my hands and arms and my feet, but they weren't much good to me. I wasn't going anywhere. I twist my collar a bit to get it as comfortable as I could with about five pounds of metal hanging on it. I knew that later on I'd risk chafing my skin and make a full half turn with the band round my neck. That way it shifted the weight from front to back, but it meant facing the wall which isn't all that much of a view.

By that time I'd found out about the long chain joining my wrists. It wasn't there to hold my hands together, it was there to keep me bothered all day long. It weighed about a ton and I couldn't get rid of it. It was locked on my wrists so that only the key or a hacksaw was going to get it off. Inevitably it dragged down my hands so that the loop of massive chain hung from my wrists. It irked. I kept lifting my hands to see if there was a better way, but the only other way was simply to gather some of it in each hand and hold it to ease my wrists. I knew for sure that by night I was going to hate that chain. It wasn't so bad for my feet, most of it rested on the floor. Between Phyllis Stafford, Wanda and my Mistress I no longer even remember what it's like not to be wearing something a girl has fastened on me.

It's the same with being naked. But when the young man walked in I remembered quick enough. That chain on my wrists might weigh a ton but it didn't stop me raising my hands to cover my breasts or wondering if the loop of links fell low enough to hide my pubic hair. I think I'd have been ridiculous enough to turn myself to the wall if my Mistress hadn't been right behind him. She was grinning like a Cheshire cat, and he looked as thunderstruck as that day in the Warehouse.

"His name's Tad Cummings," my Mistress said brightly. "He says he doesn't believe you're true."

At that moment I wished I wasn't!

"You mean she lets you do this to her!" He sounded dazed.

"I don't have any choice," I said tartly, as though defending my honor.

"She's a slave girl," my Mistress explained the obvious.

He seemed a nice boy, just the way he had in the hardware, the kind its fun to tease. I could see my Mistress was teasing him, so I stopped feeling so bad about not having any clothes.

"I took your license number and tracked you down," he explained half shyly. "I couldn't stop thinking about you. Somehow I just had to."

"He just knocked on the door," said my Mistress.

"Don't the servants think it a bit odd?" He was still sorting it out.

"We don't have any, just a cleaner once a week. I enjoy her all to myself, she's mine," my Mistress explained complacently.

I took my hands away from my breasts: after all, I'm a big girl. Besides, the chain was dragging at my wrists. I could now feel pretty sure of complete coverage lower down.

"Slave girl...!" He examined the term with interest. "You mean... there's a place you can buy 'em!"

My Mistress and I adored that one, we both laughed. "You have to capture them," she told him.

"And keep them chained to a wall?" Tad was having a good look at my shackles and my breasts. I hoped he'd like me.

"Well, you can hardly have them running around loose." Her voice was patient, as though he was a small boy.

"She was running around loose the other day in the warehouse. You're putting me on."

I was wondering how my Mistress would get around that, but she was equal to it. "If she'd run away I'd have recaptured her sooner or later, and then she'd be terribly punished. She doesn't want that. Tansey's a good girl."

He didn't buy it, but why should he argue! "Punished!" He was full of exclamations.

"Don't you remember: we tried to buy a whip."

"She looks damn happy for a girl who gets whipped!"

"Turn round, darling, and show him your bottom."

I gave him my rear view. Instant obedience! I heard him gasp. There were some simply gorgeous marks on me. When I turned back I could see he was breathing faster.

"She likes it, doesn't she...." He was still busy trying to put a label on us. "I've read about it, but I never believed it." It's odd being a slave, you get talked about as though you're merchandise. I suppose, in a way, you are. If my Mistress wanted to sell me, I couldn't stop her. I don't dislike it. I'm reduced to a nothing on one hand, but made to feel like the most costly treasure on the other.

"Would you like to make me an offer for her? She comes high," my Mistress asked him nonchalantly as though she meant it.

"How much?" He was window shopping. I could easily tell what he would like to do with me. My nakedness was putting him in agony.

"One hundred thousand."

"Worth every cent!" The way he said it was a real tribute. I began to feel glad I didn't have clothes. "But you know damn well I don't have money like that."

"You'll have to kidnap your own then," my Mistress said gaily. "At least that way you can train her the way you want."

It was her last bit of gaiety.

"I do that quite often." He acknowledged in an absent sort of voice. "Never occurred to me to take one home."

Tad hadn't striven for effect, but our silence of disbelief told him he'd scored.

"Don't believe me, do you!" His boyish grin was as naive as ever. "Not the type! It's my greatest asset. Just a nice hard working young man, that's me. Both of you two have been feeling a bit superior and laughing up your sleeves."

It happened very quickly. He gathered my Mistress's hands as casually as picking up a jacket. I could see from his grip on her wrists he had power. He was, after all, a pretty well set up male. It was just the boyish grin and air of being one step behind that made him seem ineffectual and a good subject for a tease.

Imagine! I just had to stand and watch while my Mistress fought for both of us. And fight she did, like a tigress, even to the snarl. I could see she was furious, not only by the manhandling, but of being deceived by his innocent face. She fought the male and it was the same old story. Us girls can't fight men physically, they're too damn strong. There's some dirty kicks and things we're supposed to come up with at such times, but Tad gave no chance for tricks. He handled my darling with about the same ease that I'd have handled a four year old. In a few seconds she was face down on the floor with him kneeling all his weight on the small of her back. She couldn't do a thing except beat and thrust uselessly with her fists and kick with her feet, she couldn't even reach him.

The way he took his time was infuriating. Casually and leisurely in a way to tell us we were just girls. It was easy to tell he did have practice with us. He was savouring every moment and allowing my Mistress to exhaust herself trying to get out from under his crushing weight. When he thoughtfully removed his tie it was with the motion of previous experience.

The poor darling went crazy again when he, once more, gathered one of her hands and looped his tie round the wrist. But she was tired and at a hopeless disadvantage. When he reached for the other one there was little she could do. Having circled them both, Tad worked deftly and intently to cross and bind them at her back. He did a perfect job. I could see a man's tie was almost made for the purpose, he could pull it brutally tight without stopping the circulation. By the time he had knotted it I knew my Mistress could never, never get free. She was already revolting against the snug bands but could do no more than twist her fingers.

It was Tad, now, who wore the Cheshire cat smile as he rose to his feet and stood back. My Mistress glared back at him over one shoulder and, seeing no reason to go on laying there, scrambled up on her knees and then stood erect. I could see she was astonished at how having her hands tied that way made it so difficult. I already knew! Strangely, through the whole tussle no one had spoken. My Mistress would shun posturings and posing and declamations, she would wait for cues and opportunities. Her whole being would be tensed towards what would happen after Tad had fucked us both. We knew that would happen. It was implicit. But there was an afterwards... I wondered how he'd to it to me! Damned awkward unless he used the key.

"It's one of the easiest crimes to commit," he said conversationally. He looked around and found one of the benches I'm supposed to be tied to. Pulling it where he wanted he sat down, he had the air of being very much at home. "That's if you can call it a crime, never seemed that way to me. Just evens things up a bit," he mused.

My Mistress was standing awkwardly, pulling at her hands. It was the first time she had ever been tied. I could see it was having a profound effect. I remembered my own first time, it's devastating. She was looking longingly at the door, but Tad had thoughtfully closed it.

"What d'you mean, evens things up?" She asked the question as though stalling for time. She had not yet uttered a protest.

With the really hard work well looked after, Tad again became the ingenuous boy. "You bitches have it all your own way." He said pleasantly. "Us guys have to bust a gut to keep you happy and get a piece of your ass. Don't matter whether we marry you or just squire you around it keeps us flat broke and half the time you don't feel like it or you've got a headache."

"You mean we should just lay down and spread our legs whenever some passing goon feels like a piece of nookey?"

"Why not! Wouldn't hurt you. Can't wear out a good cunt."

From him, the four letter word was frightening. On this subject Tad was obviously a Crusader. I had a giggly picture of me on my back on one of the little bits of grass in Rockefeller Plaza obliging a passing citizen and of him saying thank you and wishing me good-day as he zipped up his flies. My Mistress and I kept quiet, we didn't want his challenge.

"I'm surprised more chaps don't do what I do." He wanted to talk, or boast.

"Fuck me and get out of here," my Mistress said disgustedly. "We don't want your Don Juan exploits.

"You're going to hear 'em anyway," he assured her complacently. "I like this set-up you have. Gives a hard worked rapist time to do justice to his job. As for the fuck: that comes later. And it won't be just you, it'll be both of you. Be a disgrace to my profession if I left that slave girl of yours un-pierced."

What a quaint expression! I was to be pierced! I consoled myself with the knowledge there was not a damn thing I could do about it, he could pierce me all he wanted. I have no wish to be pierced by a male, but I don't share my Mistress's phobia about it. Poor darling, she'd loathe every thrust. I looked at her now, she was living it in her mind, still twisting against his tie and wondering what to do with herself.

"You can't get your hands loose, Miss Smeaton," Tad said with mock deference. He pulled up another bench. "But you might as well sit down."

She was on the verge of angrily refusing. But it was less demeaning to sit than to stand, humble or proud, before him. My Mistress shrugged her shoulders and sat. We were both so damn helpless he must have felt like a pasha or a prince. He had us for sure!

"That wasn't an original line you came up with," he confided. "You know: the fuck me and get it over with bit. About half of 'em come up with it. It's a nice feminine way of saying they hate the sight of a man."

"Not a man, a rapist." My Mistress sounded bitter.

He chuckled. "There's no difference, Miss Smeaton. Believe me there isn't. It's just that only a few of us have the courage."

I was inclined to go along, but my Mistress wasn't. "What you mean is you don't have what it takes to turn a girl on so she's willing to offer it."

"Don't give me that shit! None of you bitches would offer it even if your cunt was wide open and winking."

"You don't seem to have had much of a love life," I said sympathetically.

"Shut up, Tansey!" my Mistress said it more sharply than her usual rebuke.

I shut up. It was safest. I listened instead. Tad's tone had become confidential again.

"You see how easy you two have been," he continued with his nice smile. "It's the same with all you girls who live alone. I just walk in and tie her up. It's a cinch."

"You mean none of them lay a charge against you!"

"How can they! They don't know me. I wear a hood. When I go I leave 'em tied to the bed by one ankle or one wrist so it takes 'em fifteen minutes to get loose and use the phone. I gag 'em the same way: by the time they get it off I'm damn near home." He grinned a nice comradely grin. "No need to gag you two. Scream all you want. In this house nobody's going to hear a sound."

It was a chilling thought. What were we going to scream about! I certainly wasn't going to scream all the time he was doing it to me. "Do any of them enjoy it?" I asked, forgetting my Mistress's injunction.

He perked up, interested. "The answer to that's time." He explained as though we were growing mushrooms. "If I take enough time and enough trouble, sure they enjoy. Depends on my mood and the sort of set-up they have. Rub a girl's tits and twat long enough and she'll start to moan. I'm a bit of an authority on how long it takes." He wrinkled his forehead in reflection. "It's funny, but I'm pretty sure being tied excites a girl: that and being naked. I always arrive with four lengths of rope. I spread eagle them on the bed real tight with their legs as wide open as possible. It scares the wits out of them at first, but when they get the idea you're not going to slit 'em open with a knife their vulnerability gets to them, especially if I do a little preliminary work on their snatch."

"It's a sad sordid story," my Mistress told him shortly. "It's not!" His eyes glowed. "There's nothing sad or sordid in that time when I have them tied and gagged and I stand at the foot of the bed looking up their spread legs and over their tits to where their eyes are wide open and wondering. It's cute, too, the way they tug and heave when I start to undress. Nothing sad there, Miss Smeaton. I know!"

"Why keep calling me, Miss Smeaton? Are you always that polite?"

"It's the contrast I aim for. The more polite I am the greater the social stigma you'll feel when I fuck you."

"O.K. Can I suffer my social stigma now? Let's get on with it." My Mistress sounded disgusted with the whole thing. "Well, there is a preliminary or two, Miss Smeaton."

"Oh sure! What must I do, ask for it?"

"That's a nice idea." Tad approved. "But what I had in mind was having you naked."

"I'd have thought tearing my panties off would have been an adequate stimulant." My Mistress was really pouring on the ice.

"It's a start. What I prefer is to have a girl strip herself while I watch. I usually carry an unloaded revolver for a persuader, it works wonders."

"Don't you have it with you now?"

"Didn't think I'd need it." He went to the door, reversed the key and locked it, then unexpectedly untied my Mistress's hands. "I don't need it. Go on, strip! You lovely bitch!"

"You must think I've lost my marbles. I'm not going to undress just to get you an erection, you silly twit."

Tad was unperturbed. "The door is locked, you can't get out." He said equably. "Your other choice is to fight. You'll have to fight, because while I'm stripping you by force I'll beat you at the same time so you won't be able to stand and suffer like a little heroine the way I think you're figuring." My poor Mistress flushed. He'd hit a nerve. Tad was quite clever, I could see he'd learned a lot about us girls. He had neatly contrived a dilemma in which, whatever your choice, you had to be wrong. She shrugged hopelessly and made the decision I'd have made. But not before she'd spit at him: "You're an absolute bastard, aren't you!"

"Thank you, Miss Smeaton. I simply know my girls." It was almost a smirk.

The poor darling undressed for him. She carefully did it in an absent minded sort of way as though she was going to bed so as to kill any erotic colouration it might have held for him. But my Mistress is a very beautiful girl, she couldn't rob him entirely. When she stood naked I could see he was deeply affected. I don't just mean the bulge in his pants but in his mind... all over. I sighed in adoration myself... she's lovely... and I see her naked a lot!

"You're quite special, Miss Smeaton, exquisite. You shouldn't waste yourself."

I'd have felt a quiver of pleasure. I'm just a girl. To have anyone, male or female, tell me I'm beautiful flights my fire. If it did it for my Mistress she hid it well. "I'm about to waste myself now," she said in a bored voice. "What do I do, lay on the floor?"

"I'd thought of something better."

I saw her tense. "You mean I bend over... What do you call it... dog fashion?"

"Nice of you to offer." There was a touch of sarcasm in his voice. "But I'm afraid I'm victim of a sort of mental fix. Habit, I expect. I want you tied."

The poor dear digested that one. "Do I have to tie myself too?" She demanded with a mixture of disgust and sarcasm.

He let it pass. "I've been looking at these benches. I'm not sure they weren't made for the purpose." He looked around. "I'm sure in a well equipped room like this there must be cord, maybe straps?"

She did not argue, but went to one of the big chests, took what he wanted and tossed it at his feet. Without prompting, she lay on her back on the bench that had served her as a seat. She looked at me and smiled wanly.

The benches are versatile. You can tie a naked girl on them in any way for any purpose. Tad appreciated their potential and took his time. First my Mistress's hands. They fell limply down each side. He corded them tight at wrist and elbow.

Far tighter than he need have done. Once more I detected the amazement on her face at the sensation and pain of being bound. This too, for her, was new. I cringed at sight of the way he tugged the cords into her flesh. She gasped and winced but said nothing.

Having made her helpless, his eye roved. He found what he sought in a few oblongs of plank that were for some purpose I did not know. They were only a foot or two long, just right for the bench. My Mistress flamed scarlet as he thrust a hand beneath the arch of her back, and raising her bottom off the bench slipped a couple of the bits of wood beneath. It didn't need any imagination to know what they were for. He backed up, assessing her posture, then repeated the process adding one more so that my darling was obliged to raise her knees to protect her sex.

Next he strapped her tummy round the waist and hard down. His bits of wood had lifted it but the leather band crushed her back upon her hard bed. Between that and the bits of wood I could see she was hurting. But even when he tied her ankles she said no word. It was as though she was daring him to do his worst.

He noosed each of my Mistress's ankles and drew them back and down on each side of the bench. Her knees went further and further apart and her lovely pubic bush thrust itself into greater and greater prominence overhanging and beyond the slabs beneath her seat. He tugged and tugged until she moaned with the pain, then knotted the tie. It seemed to me he had my Mistress as cruelly positioned for her rape as any girl could ever be. When he cupped her cunt in the palm of his hand she closed her eyes, thinking the time had come.

But for Tad this was a gala day. There was a quiet pleased smile on his face as he said to her. "I want the keys to Tansey's chains.

Her eyes snapped open. She could not move a muscle, but I knew she had inwardly tensed. Cautiously she made her voice languid. "What on earth for!"

"That's a silly question, Miss Smeaton. I want to fuck the girl. That's what for."

"Leave her alone. You've got me. That's enough. You can exhaust yourself inside me, you don't need her as well."

"Don't like your little lesbian slave girl fucked, eh!" he chortled. "But if I'm going to pierce you, it's only fair she gets her share too."

"Don't touch her! What do you want, money?"

"Where are the keys? Stop your nonsense."

"Go to the Devil!"

He was not displeased. It was all part of a lovely game. "Where do you keep your whip?" he asked pleasantly. "Find it yourself." She was bitter and scared.

Tad found it. I wanted to cry. Everything was going wrong, wrong, wrong! He ran it through curious fingers, eyeing the several targets my Mistress's tied nudity offered. "This was your idea."

He said slowly. "Honest, I wouldn't have thought of it if you hadn't made such a tirade over it. Can't say I get a kick out of it, but if you won't tell me where those keys are I'll simply whip you until you do."

"They hang on a hook inside the chest in the left corner over by the door." I told him flatly. There was no way I'd stand there and watch my Mistress whipped if I could stop it. "Tansey!" My Mistress's voice exploded in anger.

"I can't let him do it," I said as bravely as I could. "I can't let him whip you. I don't care about being fucked."

"You're a slave. You have no say in this!"

Tad had listened in amazement. He chuckled in delight. "Ladies, ladies! You're really letting me in on something. You lesbians are more jealous of each other than a newly married couple. It's one for my book. I'm learning all the time."

My darling Mistress gazed up at him in agony. She could not move, but everything she had was in her eyes. "Leave Tansey alone. I'll do anything or give you anything."

He only laughed. His answer was to go and get the keys. First my neck, that was all. I had to lay on my bench with all the heavy irons on wrist and ankle. Maybe he thought I'd fight. He pulled me way down so that my bottom had nothing to rest on. Then he strapped my waist. For a moment it felt nice to be free of all that weight on wrist and ankle. The strap made me helpless, but it still felt good until he corded my arms and hands the same way he'd done my Mistress. That left me where I could still wave my legs but so the edge of the bench bit into the top of my derriere. I guessed the rest. He snagged my ankles and put the rope through ceiling rings and pulled like blazes. My bottom left the bench and my legs spread out and up in each direction. By the time he finished his pulling I was willing to believe my cunt was wide open with the stretch. I don't think they ever are, but it sure feels as though they should be. I couldn't move. I hurt. But I could turn my head sideways to see my Mistress, and she could do the same. We exchanged rueful smiles of love.

"I'm sure you don't intend to respond," Tad suggested brightly to my love.

She refused to answer.

Tad went to work. One hand busy with her sex, the other joined his teeth on her nipples. Hopeless and helpless I watched. It took quite a long time, but finally he got what he wanted, she moaned.

"No response!" He mocked her.

"Damn you, it's not an honest one! I've got nerves and glands. If that's the sort of orgasm you want, go ahead."

He could not be disconcerted. In a way this was his profession.

He had probably seen just about every female reaction there was to see. When he turned to me I refused to play hard to get. What I said wasn't entirely true but sounded good. "Go ahead! Play with me. I love it!" I proclaimed mendaciously. I dared not look at my Mistress.

I don't think he intended me to climax, but I did. He had wanted to leave me on the brink as he had my darling. It was a damn funny sensation having an orgasm tied the way he had me tied. But I couldn't say I didn't explode properly, I did. More than I wanted to for him. By the time I was back in the world he had his clothes off and was busily fucking away at the naked girl tied to the other bench. My poor Mistress! My poor darling Mistress... !

I don't think much of watching other people have sex. If they love each other you shouldn't be looking. If they don't love each other it's horrible! With the weird situation my Mistress and I found ourselves in we struck a compromise. We closed our minds and eyes to everything else and just gazed at each other. Our eyes sought and found our love's and saw nothing we did not wish to see. We did the same when Tad moved on to me. When either of us climaxed the other closed her eyes. We shut the male thing out. He used our cunts and nipples but that was all.

Just the same, I'm afraid he enjoyed us immensely.

It went on all day: Tad, I mean! Our fucking was intermittent. In between plowing away at us he fortified himself by raids on the fridge and cups of coffee he took the time to perk. All we got was water. He called the in-between times 'Charging his batteries', and I was surprised how effectively he was able to do this. I guess there isn't any general rule about men in this particular way. Tad was quite something. If a girl just had to have a man, he'd be the one to get. He was a bit surprised himself, and told us frankly he attributed his prowess to the relaxed atmosphere: for him, that is! Our unusual pulchritude and the savagely erotic ways he had us tied. I could sort of understand this too.

But the tie part got bad! A girl can bear something like that for maybe an hour, after that it gets to her. I don't know how long it took for my Mistress and I to start pleading, but we got there. The way he had us stretched it was like slowly splitting up the middle and all our muscles and tendons everywhere howled for release. We tried to reason with him about how much better a girl could be if her legs weren't a mile apart. But he just grinned and ate my Mistress's food and explained his theory that girls gave a man a much better piece of ass (his own words, not mine!) if she was in pain. He even cheerfully informed us that actually we were enjoying our 'piercings' far beyond normal because we were hurting.

I'm scared to tell my Mistress, but I believe he's right!

So we just lay on our benches, tied tight, wracked and strained and pierced. Our overworked cunts sitting up and pleading for the attentions we didn't want. It was as though, tied the way Tad had us, the damn little traitors had a life of their own. They'd escaped from the haven of our soft thighs and were waving their pubic hair in the breeze to demand another 'piercing'... and another!

' The end was as humiliating as the beginning, but typically Tad. He left me tied tight-after all, I'm only a slave girl! But he set my darling free: all except her right wrist! But he tied that again and again with about a dozen knots down to the bench.

"Works out beautifully," he explained. "By the time you're free, I'll be home. Thanks for a wonderful day."

"You're not welcome!"

He sighed regretfully. "I can't take you home, the suite's too damn small. What I should do is stay here and keep you both the way you are. Offhand I don't see why it wouldn't work." He lit up his most ingratiating and infectious grin. "What d'you say, Miss Smeaton?"

"Drop dead!"

I could see my Mistress was dying to go to work on her tied wrist but didn't dare while he was watching. She looked up at him, puzzled. "What about the police, aren't you concerned?"

"Why should I be! You're not going to call 'em. Not to this house: dungeons, chains, whips and a real live slave girl! What a time the Tabloids would have with that little package."

He was right, of course. I could feel my Mistress seething. "You show up here again, I'll kill you!"

He nodded cheerfully as though she'd casually offered a return invite. "I probably will. You're pretty much of a sitting duck." His lips twisted sardonically. "In the meantime, do a little figuring. Make an honest assessment of what today has cost you. You and your precious little cunts! Actually neither of you will be a bit worse for wear tomorrow than you were yesterday. I haven't damaged any valuable merchandise at all. You had a bit of discomfort today. But, hell, I paid for that by screwing the ass off both of you! And don't give me any shit about not liking it. I counted nine orgasms for Tansey and five for you."

Unexpectedly he bent and kissed her. He easily held her one free hand so she couldn't slap. By the time she'd thought to kick he was over kissing me. I couldn't do a thing about it, I still could not move and I was hurting like blazes, but I kissed him back-hard! I hoped my Mistress hadn't noticed that either.

When Tad had gone, my pain seemed to double. I sure did want to be untied. In all my slavery I don't think I'd wanted anything more. I watched anxiously as my Mistress tore and bit at knot after knot and loop after loop. Tad had fixed her poor wrist but good! She cursed and muttered angrily, the whole time. I couldn't think of anything helpful to say, so kept quiet. I'm sure my eyes yearned. It seemed an awful long time, a good fifteen minutes. The first thing my darling did when she threw away the last cord was to hug and kiss me and mingle a few tears of thankfulness with mine. My heart swelled with love. I think that way down deep we'd both been terribly scared. Tad could have killed us if he'd been one of that sort. Her lips felt so good, so very, very good! For a minute or two I forgot to hurt.

My Mistress was nearly to the door before I gathered my w its enough to cry out: "Darling...!"

She turned, affecting surprise. "Yes?"

"I'm still tied, Mistress!"

She walked slowly back and stood beside my bench looking down reflectively at her slave girl. She was still naked, the scarlet wounds of the cords still vivid on her skin. "Why, so you are!" she exclaimed as though making a discovery. "You forgot to untie me."

"No I didn't, darling."

"But I'm in agony, I can't move!"

"That's right, sweetness. You're beautifully tied and you hurt dreadfully. Isn't that splendid!"

"Don't tease, darling! Please let me loose."

"I'm not teasing, Tansey my sweet. I'd just feel awful if I took off those lovely ropes your beloved Tad tied you so tightly with. I know how you must cherish them."

So that was it! My darling Mistress was jealous and angry with me! I looked at her askance knowing anything I said would be wrong. I hoped the tear that trickled down my cheek would speak for me.

It didn't! She kissed me and pinched a nipple in an absent- minded sort of way. "There's things to do, sweetness. I'll clean up after that bastard and make some coffee and food. I'll give you some, it's several hours 'till bedtime...

She waved a cheerful hand and went away and left me tied. The tears I shed then washed away neither my sin or my pain.

When I awoke the next morning I stretched luxuriously in our big lovely bed, I was still remembering that beastly bench. I looked sideways at my darling, she was still asleep. I pulled tentatively at my ankle: yes, it was still handcuffed to the bed! A second pair of handcuffs gleamed on my wrists-. Poor Tansey was in disgrace. It was being made very plain to me that I'd been a very bad girl, my Mistress was displeased.

To be that jealous, my Mistress must love me very much, so I do not mind. My extra hours on the bench are over and gone. I am chained in her bed and not beside it on the floor. We held each other very close before we went to sleep. I am happy. Tad was an incident, he is just an amusing memory. I have paid for my responsiveness to him... at least I think I have. But a faint uneasiness lingers: I may be whipped.

Breakfast is delightful, but it tells me I am not completely forgiven. I am still handcuffed, and with some sort of pixie humour my Mistress unlocked the cuff from our bed and snapped it round my other ankle so I cannot walk. I have to hop or shuffle along on my bottom. I did a bit of both to reach the breakfast table. I think she would like me to complain, but I don't. I am a little ashamed of myself.

"Tansey, you're as susceptible as a twelve year old, you little monkey!" My Mistress is pretending to be miffed.

I try and look sweetly repentant.

"If you go on looking like that I shall take you back to bed... after I've whipped you."

So I am to be whipped! It's no great surprise. I smile as though it's the best news ever and say my thank you.

The darling is determined to be stern. She is in a "Tansey must be taught a lesson" mood. I can almost feel the whip.

"Don't look so damn pleased, I'll make it hurt."

"It always hurts, Mistress."

"This'll hurt a damn sight worse than usual!"

I gaze at her in loving supplication. "Was I really that bad."

"Oh, Tansey girl, come off it! You know damn well you were. He only had to look at you to give you an orgasm. You hung on every word he said and offered sympathy. To cap it all you kiss the bastard as though you'd just got engaged to be married."

I squirm. It is mostly true. I squirm again and tell her I'm sorry.

"You're not sorry at all, you enjoyed every moment."

"The way I was chained I hardly had anything to say about it. After he started getting rough with us I only tried to make a virtue of necessity." I offer defensively.

"I'll see if I can't find something else for you to make a virtue of today." My Mistress is determined to have her pound of flesh.

I keep quiet. There are times when it is best for a slave girl to suffer in silence. The rest of breakfast is nice. It has been established I must be punished, so we now enjoy ourselves.

"You may as well go downstairs, darling."

We have just finished the dishes. It is a long way from the kitchen to where I must go to be punished. Sadly I look down at my handcuffed ankles.

"No use you looking like a dying sheep. I won't take 'em off."

I hop painfully towards something I know I won't enjoy.

I have primed up my courage to be whipped, so of course I am not whipped after all. I am taken to that horrible room with the crank. When I see it I am disorganized, I fall to my knees and try to clasp my Mistress's legs in appeal. But I am handcuffed, so I only manage to grab a couple of handfuls of her dress.

"Get up, Tansey. A girl your age making such a fuss!"

"I hoped you were going to whip me," I am almost whimpering.

"I know you were. That's why I'm not."

"Don't make me turn that beastly thing again!

Please...

"Oh, that's what bothers you! No, I've got a nice change."

Disconsolately I hop after her to the far wall. I can't make head nor tail out of what is there in the wall. It's a plank seat or step or something. It looks innocent, but so did the crank. The handcuffs are taken from my wrists.

"Keep your hands out, darling."

My wrists are now noosed with rope. It's heavy stuff and only a single band is used on each separately. After the knot is firm the rope trails away loosely. I deduce I am to be hung or stretched in some way. But why such rope! I have not seen it before.

Now I no longer have to walk the handcuffs are taken from my ankles. They leave lovely scarlet anklets in my skin. I stand with that silly feeling you have when being fitted for a dress.

"Up on the step, sweetness. Face the wall."

I obey. That bit's easy.

My Mistress stands on a stool to thread my rope through the ceiling ring. She knots it where I cannot reach. My arm is up and out. But not tight, it is almost loose. My other arm is fastened the same way. The effect is a bit like a bad girl made to stand in the corner at school. The view is poor.

"Comfy? You erotic menace."

"Yes Mistress." It's more or less true.

The darling takes away her stool, she stands at the end of the plank on which I perch. It is not long. She has her hand carelessly on a lever affair. I'm baffled.

"You won't like this, sweetness."

I am sure I won't! "I'm not supposed to." I remark brightly. "I feel a bitch doing this to you, but you do deserve it."

I have no chance to answer. My world has gone crazy, it is falling away from beneath my feet. My Mistress pushed her lever and the plank on which I stand is moving slowly down until I hang by my wrists. The single strand of rope hurts like fury. I flail my feet in all directions seeking support.

I find it! The last thing I expect happens. Another step is coming slowly down to take the place of the one I lost. Thankfully I climb aboard, my wrists proclaiming gratitude.

But I am not out of the woods, far from it! The second step is betraying me too. I tense my arms to take my weight when I behold a third step coming to take the place of number two. While my foot seeks this new refuge I realize what has been done to me. I am on a treadmill.

"Takes a bit of practice." My Mistress tells me cheerfully. "Bye for now."

I am frantic. To be alone with this nightmare is unthinkable. "Don't leave me, darling. Oh please don't go!" But she has gone, I am alone with my punishment.

In the distraction of my darling's exit my wrists are once more taking my punishment. Painfully I search and find and concentrate. I absolutely must come to grips with this relic of evil days long past. If I just hang by my wrists I won't have any wrists by the time I am released.

Gradually I get the knack. I have been placing both feet on the step as it revolves. The secret is to use only one, with the other poised in readiness for the step which will follow. I am climbing an endless flight of stairs on which I dare not stop.

It is a long while before I do any coherent thinking. I need every ounce of concentration to master what I must do. My poor feet are forever scrambling and when they fluff a step my wrists howl in agony. But after about ten minutes I have developed a technique and almost feel proud of myself. I step up, slide down, then step up again. It becomes a measured rhythm in which I am no longer caught by surprise. My pinioned wrists become my ace in the hole, I can use them as a brace without hurting them too much. If I slip and fall they catch me. Before long I am doing well for myself... step up-step up-step up... It is like the ticking of a clock.

It is when I am flushed with victory that I begin to glimpse defeat. I have learned how. Now I must do it! I am obliged to climb steps which have no end, they go on forever and I must go on too. I have been concerned for my wrists, but now my arms and shoulders begin to cry out their own protest against forever reaching for the sky and never finding it. In sudden panic I strive to climb more quickly to see if I can then bring my hands together or reach a knot. But it is impossible, my hands are widely separate and can touch nothing.

I have a strange vision of myself. I mount a stairway to the sun, my arms are thrown wide in greeting and appeal. Properly painted it could be beautiful. I would like to own it.

My first Mistress, Phyllis Stafford, told me of the hazard of panic for a slave girl who is being punished in some strange, or painful or interminable way that has her scared. She was right, if you open the door to panic, even just a crack, it will push its way in and possess you completely, you'd be in hysterics in no time. After about half an hour on that treadmill I could feel myself beginning to go overboard.

It's in the mind. Stepping away there with my hands tied above my head I wasn't suffering a fraction of the pain of being whipped. My wrists were not having near as bad a time as they get when I have to stand on my toes for a long while. But I couldn't repress the visions of me there stepping away in an hour, or five hours, or all day. Finally I'd get so tired I couldn't step any more. What then! Suppose my Mistress casually left me, thinking I'd be alright... and I wasn't! That's the way it goes! Suppose my Mistress had an accident and I ended up just hanging and hanging! Nonsense? Sure it's nonsense, but those steps had me going for sure.

My Mistress loved me. I clung to that and refused to look beyond. Doggedly I mounted the endless wheel, slow enough that I could cope, but without pause... merciless. My arms ached, I looked up at my roped wrists and knew them helpless. I was starting to sweat, as much from emotion as from work. Determinedly I closed my mind to fear. I would think only of the steps and how I could mount them with the least distress. I would think of myself and of my Mistress, that was all.

If a slave girl can reach a decision like that she has won more than half the battle. I found myself now able to automatically work away with my legs while I gently perspired with the steady grind and considered yesterday, today and tomorrow. I was being punished, I couldn't expect to enjoy it. But punishments end...

"You look quite delectable, darling."

I had not heard her come. I was flooded with gladness and almost missed a step. Without pause she thrust a hand between my busy thighs and cupped my sex. I almost leaped two steps.

"Oh, Mistress, please! If you do that I can't do this."

"Don't be silly, you love it. Besides, it's good training in control and coordination. Don't you pause, or I'll get the cane."

I must have wanted her terribly, I simply melted. That wise little hand drove away all the ghosts. Despite my activity it had no trouble maintaining its clutch on the centre of my being. I was soon entertaining thoughts of letting myself hang so she could do what she pleased. I now had two reasons to breathe hard.

"You smell gorgeous, sweetness."

I knew I did, a sort of self intoxication. "So would you if you had to do what I'm doing," I gasped.

"Want me to take my hand away?"

"Oh no!" It was the most heartfelt exclamation I'd ever made. After the scare of loneliness on that damn treadmill her hand was life.

"Not tired, are you? You've got all day, y'know."

I'm sure she felt me tense. "I can't last out." I told her as firmly as I could between moans. "You don't know how awful this is."

"I had a girl on it all day once. If she made it, you can."

"No, no!" My voice was a wail, not all from distress. "Please forgive me. I'm sorry I was bad. Please let me off this damn thing."

"Oh Tansey!" She sounded genuinely shocked. "You haven't been on it an hour."

"I don't care! It's awful. It scares me so I panic when you're not here."

The effect of my Mistress's hand coupled with the constant friction of my busy legs was driving me into the world where nothing else matters. I began to hear her words from far away.

"If I stay here with you, Tansey, I shall punish you constantly."

"I don't mind. Oh darling...!"

"I shall cane your bottom."

"Oh yes! Please...." I'd scarcely heard her.

"I think I'll chain your ankles. You'll make a lovely clinking."

"Yes, oh yes! Oh, oooh!"

Have you ever had an orgasm while you're busy climbing stairs! Try it sometime!

"Oh, Mistress, not again, not now! Please stop." Her hand was still there.

"Promise to stop complaining?"

"Yes, oh yes!"

The lovely hand fell away. Without wanting to return to it I was obliged to concentrate on my steps and what had just been said. Apprehensively I managed a sideways glance. My Mistress was there laughing at me. "You're too erotic for words." She assured me, shaking her head admonishingly. "I can hardly bear to watch."

"Can I have a rest, Mistress?"

"No. Only while I chain your ankles."

Chain my ankles! That was the last thing I needed. "But I won't be able to walk the treadmill if you chain me! Oh Mistress, you're joking?"

She wasn't joking. She pulled the lever, and for a moment I was so grateful for the cessation of motion that I didn't care about anything else. I stood there, damp and panting, even my wrists stopped hurting. I recognized it for one of those times so glorious it sticks in the mind. If only it would last! At about that juncture I became pretty sure it wouldn't. "I'm silly to ever take these off you, they belong."

When my ankle feels the cold metal I want to kick and plead. But I am afraid: there is also the cane! I don't want that too. So I stand silent and uncomplaining while my feet are fettered. The chain is long enough but I shall hate it. "Mistress? Was I that bad yesterday?"

"You were outrageous, quite wanton. You can be wanton with me, no one else. After you've had a day on here you may remember how to behave."

I am sure I will. But I would like to evade the day.

"Couldn't I be whipped instead of this?" I ask without much optimism.

"Not instead of, darling. Seems to me you've mentioned that twice, so I'd whip you later. I wouldn't want you to feel cheated."

"I should always keep quiet, shouldn't I!" I say morosely. "That's right, darling. You see, you are learning."

My Mistress pulls the lever, my education proceeds.

My Mistress is entranced. I am not. I am sure I look amusing and worried and punished. My chained feet work harder than ever and I can soon feel certain my ankles are going to be chafed. I suppose the clinking of the links could be called musical but there is also come clatter as the chain trails over the steps as they revolve. I am afraid the sideways glance I give her now is both reproachful and petulant.

"I can take them off, darling, and go away and leave you?" My heart constricts. Vehemently I exclaim: "No... oh no!" My chained feet adjust. So must I. I clatter and clink briskly.

"That's my girl! You look terribly sweet."

At least that's something! I wish I could see myself. "Tansey dear, I've got some lovely little spring clips that bite on a girl's nipples, they'd bother you beautifully. Would you like to wear them?"

"No thank you, Mistress." My cup already overflows. "They're quite delightful. They have little tinkly bells." Just what I need! "If you do anything else to me I'll cry." It isn't much of a threat, I know she loves my tears.

I am alone again. I suppose she has gone to get the little tinkly bells. I hope that's it, this phobia of solitude is still upon me. It has not yet occurred to me the clips may hurt. I don't want them anyway, but I'd sooner wear them than be alone. I step up and up, proud that I have now devised a technique by which the noises of my chain are reduced to a minimum. I think I said before: a girl adjusts to anything. A slave girl, I mean... ! Today I am being taught my status. "Think I can get your nipples harder, sweet?"

There she is, smiling sweetly. In her hand the little silver things I long to examine, but don't want.

"I don't know, Mistress. I can't touch them."

She touches them, very tenderly. But to do what she intends she has to pull the lever. For one more moment I have bliss. It is doubled by the play of fingers that know their task too well. But for sure, they have had enough practice. My breasts feel as though they will burst into flower at any minute.

"Mmmmm! I want to eat you, slave girl."

"Please eat me, Mistress."

She laughs in amusement at my ready plea. "Oh sure, all I have to do is let you loose. You don't like this punishment a bit, you crafty little wanton."

I watch. While it is being done to me I am fascinated. The little bells, they are not all that small, are exquisite. I shiver deliciously as I see the small jaws open to seek my flesh. My Mistress is absorbed and intent, her eyes are glowing. I quiver but I dare not move. I don't even want to...

I gasp and tug at my tied wrists. The silver clip has closed upon my nipple and possessed it. Compared with what I had expected the pain is devastating. My Mistress's fingers have withdrawn so that now I behold my belled breast in all its glory. The silver clip has tiny protuberances by which it is opened and closed, from them hangs the bell that will signal my every move. Involuntarily I shake my shoulders as much as my bound hands will allow, my breast flounces and tinkles musically. My Mistress laughs with pleasure.

"But it hurts!" I proclaim in surprised indignation.

"But of course!" My Mistress is enjoying every bit of this. "They're a punishment, sweetness. The bells are a feminine extra. Aren't you a lucky slave girl!"

I do not feel lucky. My nipple burns like fire. I recognize it as one of those pains that goes on and on. Admittedly I adore the bell, but I do not adore those little jaws biting steadily at my flesh like a small hungry animal. "Please... oh, please, take it off!" I gaze appealingly at the lovely eyes in penitent reproach.

My Mistress pays no attention whatsoever. Her hand rises with another pair of questing teeth. She does it slowly to watch me cringe. This time I cannot manage to keep still, I retreat my breast with its engorged and apprehensive nipple as far as I can. But this is not much of a protest, my tied wrists snub me and I cannot step back. I do not even earn a reprimand, but when the metal touches my nipple she gives me a crisp order. "Look at me."

I obey. I immediately want to make love, but my eyes are hurt, my lips petulant. I am angry at Tad who provoked me into these ordeals. I wish devoutly I had not been nice to him.

"Tell me you like your lovely bells, Tansey."

"I adore my bells, Mistress. They're gorgeous." It is true.

"Ask me for the second clip."

This is less easy but I know I must. I wince but manage: "Please clip my other nipple, Mistress."

I really flinch and tug at my tethered wrist, my head rears and I shake it in negation of the scald in the centre of my breast as my Mistress positions the teeth and lets them shut. My eyes fall back to my twin torments. If only they did not hurt so much I would wear them with gladness. Even hurting as they do I am aware of female pride. I note the way in which the bells hang free so they may make their silver sounds. I do a mental shrug. They are on me and I cannot take them off.

"Oh, Tansey girl, if only you could see yourself!" My Mistress pulls the lever.

For a moment I want to revolt, to hang, to kick, to refuse to play. But the treadmill owns me, I have fallen into its rhythm. My feet act on their own and do their shackled steps. I toss my head angrily that I have failed to touch my Mistress's heart, or at least her forgiveness. I take up my humiliating pilgrimage in weary resignation. If I'm not a good girl there is still the cane... !

I adore them! There is no hope for girls, we can be too easily seduced. My nipples complain bitterly but I tell them to be quiet and listen to their chimes. Now I am wishing the bells that hang from my breasts are larger to make more sound. Their tiny tinkle is intriguing and constant, to plod my humble way means every bit of me moves, there is nothing of poor Tansey Pepper that fails to flex or bend or strain so that my little silver ornaments will never be silent: not as long as I am on the treadmill.

I cannot always see my Mistress. I believe she is comfortably seated behind me with a book. I picture her looking up from time to time to smile and watch her slave girl work out her sentence. Sad experience tells me to keep quiet and not bombard her with the pleadings on my tongue. I am immensely grateful she is there. I do not want to be left alone. Not on this awful contraption! I clink and chime with chain and bells in what becomes a recognizable rhythm that goes on and on.

But I am only a girl, and I am human, I begin to tire. Not just in irritation or distaste but in the actual responses of my limbs. I believe I have been on the treadmill for hours and hours... perhaps I have, but I am never allowed to know time. Nor dare I voice my condition. I have to hope my fatigue proclaims itself upon my nakedness for the watching eyes to see. I look from side to side, to manage a proper look back over one shoulder takes a maneuver by which I may miss a step and fall. I don't want to, not while she watches. My skin is wet.

She will sit me out, test me, make me plead. How easy it is for her! I begin to wonder if she is even there, or has she slipped away! That one is fatal. I think of Lot's wife, I must look back even if it kills me. I wriggle and twist and hope my chained feet will do their job, but my toes catch in the chain and down I go. Oddly, it is not my wrists that complain the most as I hang there kicking, it is my breasts, they are stretched so taut that the bells stick out more than ever and seem to vibrate with the stress. My nipples feel as though someone is drilling holes in them. I want to cry.

"You weren't paying attention to your work." No sympathy at all!

"I let myself hang for a moment while I answered. "I'm so tired, Mistress. I'm sorry. I can't help it."

"Get on with your work." The darling is deliberately making her voice testy. I can tell.

My work! I can think of other things to call it. But I obediently scramble for a step and resume my punishment. I shake my head angrily to try and get rid of the tears. The music starts again. I am sure my Mistress is getting an immense enjoyment from me. "Your heart doesn't seem to be in it any more, Tansey."

"I'm tired out, darling."

"Nonsense! A fine strong girl like you-. What you need is incentive."

I know that whatever happens now won't be good. I begin to believe my Mistress honestly doesn't know how pooped I am. That other girl must have been an athlete! I am trying to frame something acceptable when the cane cuts me in two. No warning. Instant agony!

I yelp and I fall. I hadn't expected it-not like that. I flounder like a fish out of water, and I hurt. Oh how I hurt!

"You'll find it helpful, darling."

The hell of it is she's right. My feet leap to their task, my mind feverishly works on survival.

"Don't worry about slowing down, sweetness. I'm here with the cane."

No rest and no escape! I am sure my sigh was a fitting accompaniment to my metallic melodies.

"I'll tell you next time, Pet. Then you can take your stimulant without all that commotion." My Mistress sounded infinitely concerned for my welfare.

I now had a flaming bottom, bitten nipples and sore wrists. Inwardly I vowed never to make my Mistress jealous again. But I was still tired... Her mention of the word stimulant filled me with longing. "Could I have a stimulant in a glass, darling?"

"No."

That disposed of that. Time passed, taking with it my fortitude. I found myself closing my eyes and working out my labor in the dark.

"Stimulant time, sweetness, I'm ashamed of you."

Even when the cane wrapped itself around my straining bottom I kept on working. That cane hurts like fury, I found myself whimpering in a sort of self pity. I'd had enough.

"Stop that childishness. D'you want a couple more?"

"No mistress. Thank you."

I wished I could see her. I felt sure she was goading herself to be severe. I was getting scared again. The bitter slicing of my flesh enabled the cane to send adrenalin pumping through my veins so I was good for another mile or so. But it would dry up, I wasn't winning this battle at all.

Next time I got two strokes for tardiness. They hurt so much I dissolved in tears. My feet kept going but I was losing heart.

"This time, sweetheart, it's going to be three."

The lovely voice and the swift cut gave me no time to say a word. It didn't matter: what could I have said. While the cane was searing me I couldn't think. I moaned and yelped, and inevitably I lost my footing. This time I just hung by my wrists. I was too tired to care.

"Tansey darling, I'll just keep caning your lovely bottom until you go back to work."

I shook my head and made negative noises. My metal adornments were silent. I missed them.

The cane scorched and seared my poor seat, but I hadn't any more fight left. I just hung and screamed, I hadn't the energy to do that very loudly. Out of a misty hazy depth I heard two sounds that brought me back from unconsciousness: The pull the lever and my darling's voice, "Step up, it's over."

Even that wasn't easy, she had to help. I stood naked on my step, panting and sweat bedewed, while my Mistress tore at knots. When my arms fell limply to my sides she had to aid me to the floor. Tansey Pepper was in very poor shape even though my heart was thumping with joy. I hadn't much strength left in my arms, but what I had I used to cling with all my might while I kissed and kissed. I could not bear the thought of not touching. When my beloved grasped me too I sobbed in happiness.

"You don't hate me, Tansey dear?"

I kissed and clung harder.

"I've been a bitch to you."

"No... oh no!" My mouth was hungry for hers.

I hurt like blazes and didn't know why for a moment-I was that much adrift in emotion.

"Oh, darling, the clips!"

I did not dare remove them myself. She laughed into my eyes. "Suppose I make you wear them?"

I reached for her again, not caring. Hugging her would hurt but they'd have to put up with it. Laughingly she thrust me away. "I love the little darlings even if you don't. I'm not going to have 'em injured." She plucked them from me in a single motion that made me moan in agony and clutch my breasts instead of her. But that was momentary. This time it was she who took me in her arms first. Deliberately she drew me to her and wriggled against my punished nipples.

The pain was delicious.

Isn't it funny that pain can be nice! Nice pain, naughty pain, bad pain. Are those the divisions! I don't know, I felt them all. When my Mistress led me to our bed I clinked along the happiest girl in all the world.

"You stood it for seven hours, darling."

I nuzzled and felt proud.

"You can't have a bath 'till after. You smell gorgeous, musky and female. I should put you on there half of every day."

I was surprised she did not know how scrumptious she smelled herself. I had no time to tell her, I was too busy trying to follow her with my lips while she reached down, unfastened the chain from one of my ankles and locked the other one to the bed.

You wouldn't be much interested in what happened after that.

Would you!

CHAPTER FOUR - CONNIE SMEATON

I adore the child! She's not a child at all-except to me! She's the most exciting and erotic creature in the world. And I own her. I own every little nook and crevice of her being, even her mind. I always know what the darling's thinking, I have a pretty good notion she knows what I'm thinking too more than half the time. It's absurd! She's my slave girl, but I often wonder if I'm not hers. I couldn't envisage life without my Tansey. She's mine, mine, mine! But with her eyes, her lips, her tongue and her fingers she could so easily make me hers, hers, hers, that I have to be quite cruel and always keep her chained in some sort of emotional self defense.

Tansey loves it all.

She knows how ashamed I was of that day. I was shockingly mean. She knows why? I was jealous! Tansey's proud and glad, it makes her comforted and loved to know how much I hated to have that bastard, Tad touch her in that lousy time he gave the two of us. She was on that treadmill seven hours. If there'd been a crime she would certainly have expiated it. I was in agony the whole time she was stepping away with her chain and her bells making their cute noises. And her scared to beef for fear of what I'd do to her. I'd never been so hungry for her as I was then. When we woke in the morning her head was resting on my tummy, she was fast asleep, one foot out sideways, her chained ankle sticking over the side. We get into the damndest contortions, all nice.

I eased myself gently out from under. The poor kid was really flaked out, she did not wake. She scarcely stirred when I took the shackle from the bed and locked it on her other foot so that she was properly chained but Could go to the bathroom. To do it I had to drag her feet together, but she never knew a thing, just smiled in her sleep and snuggled into the blanket. It's cute the way she sleeps: if her hands are not on me she'll keep them together as though she's praying. I've kidded her about it but she says, probably correctly, that it comes from being handcuffed most of the time. She is like it now. I can't resist, I click the cuffs slowly on her chafed wrists tight, but not tight enough to wake her. Once more she smiles as though acknowledging what has been done to her, but her slumber has not been broken. I grab my clothes and tip-toe from the room.

We ate so little the day before, I make an enormous breakfast. We will have it in bed together. I have no plan for the day. Things will fall into place. My slave girl and I live in a Lotus Land all our own. I'd never appreciated being rich as much as I did now I had Tansey. My money meant I could be free and Tansey could be slave. It must be awful not to have a lot of money.

When I went back up with the tray she was sitting up brushing her hair, handcuffs bother Tansey hardly at all. She had bathed and done a bit of fixing, her eyes sparkled, she sniffed at the tray with an almost feline sensuousness. Our eyes met in love. We knew it for one of the good, good moments that could go on and on.

If only I'd known... !

We were lingering over the coffee after the meal when I heard the door-bell. It wasn't early and I didn't have much excuse for ignoring it, so being properly dressed I trotted on down and left the-darling sipping. But not before I'd locked her ankle to the bed again. Authority must be maintained.

It was two policemen. One youngish, one middle aged. They looked at me gravely. When I admitted to being Miss Constance Smeaton the older one handed me a folded paper.

"Search Warrant, Miss."

I looked at it stupidly and read the title and a lot of that nonsense they have on such things. Without being invited they stepped inside. I closed the door.

I'll spare you my indignation, my expostulations and their frightfully formal politeness. They were so damn polite it was frightening. I had a feeling they knew something I didn't. But they refused to answer a single question. They also refused to allow me to leave their presence as they went from room to room: said it was some sort of ordinance.

So you know what comes next. From her perch on the bed Tansey looked at them with the same expression as if I'd brought in a couple of kangaroos. The younger one said "Ah!" the older one did better. He went "Ah, ha!" They both seemed pleased.

"This confirms our information," said middle age.

"Get out of here. This is a lady's bedroom," Tansey snapped at them.

"Looks more like a lady's prison to me, maam." The younger man's voice is decisive.

"Don't be ridiculous!" I flamed.

"Go away," Tansey demanded. "Leave us alone." Belatedly she raised a sheet up to her neck, her handcuffs gleaming.

"I'm Sergeant Dobson, Maam," said middle age ponderously. "This is officer Lennox. I'm afraid you're under arrest. The charge is kidnapping. I must caution you that anything you say...

My mouth was wide open in disbelief as he read out his damn fool nonsense. Tansey's eyes were wide in anger and concern. But not half as wide as mine when Dobson produced the handcuffs.

"You're not going-to put those things on me!" I assured him vehemently. "Surely you know who I am!"

"Standard procedure, maam. Please lean against the wall."

For a moment I didn't get it. Then I remembered the cops and robbers shows. This was where I got frisked!

"Don't do it, darling!" Tansey was distraught.

"Please don't interfere, Miss." Lennox glared at her. "We'll soon be taking you home."

"I am home, you blithering idiot!"

They both ignored her. It was a good thing she was chained to the bed. I think she'd have tried to defend me physically. In the meantime Dobson and I were doing a battle with our eyes. "We can use force if you prefer, Maam." He made it sound very casual.

Looking back I'm sure I did everything wrong. It was me who was the blithering idiot. But at the time... Well, what would you have done! I turned and put my hands on the wall, my mind more concerned with the handcuffs than this precautionary clowning. I nearly slapped a face when my feet were kicked apart and back so I damn well had to rely on my hands to hold me up, and then keep still for the hard firm hands looking for a gun in places where I would be most unlikely to carry one.

O.K. So I'm a silly female! But I've got this thing about handcuffs. I adore snapping them on Tansey and I love to see the way she wears 'em. But I don't want them on me! It's a phobia I suppose. Or it could be I don't want to spoil my Mistress image. But, either way, I was curling up at the thought of them. Leaving my own house in handcuffs... holy cow!!!

It was then I understood the wall business. It's neat. Sergeant Dobson took one of my wrists round to my back. Knowing what was coming next I was going to thrust him away, but if I moved my other hand I fell flat on my face. While I was thinking of my next move he snapped a cuff on the wrist he had and then grabbed my other one and did the same for that. With him holding my wrists this way I did not fall, I actually needed his support. When I sheepishly got my feet together and stood up properly it was all over. I had been arrested, read my rights, and my hands were safely cuffed at the small of my back. I felt an absolute fool and blushed like fury-I didn't want Tansey to see me like this. I didn't want anybody...

"You can phone your lawyer from the Station House, Maam," said Sergeant Dobson affably. He turned to Lennox. "Don't forget the car, lad."

There I stood, twisting my wrists inside their steel circlets, not that I could twist them they were too tight, but trying. And there was Tansey: naked, handcuffed, her ankle chained to the bed. We were a sadly helpless pair, eyeing each other in hopeless surmise. I realized that Tansey was going to be a bit hard to explain. I remembered, too, that my family lawyer wasn't just the type to deal with this sort of contretemps. Chained and naked damsels! The poor old chap would have horse feathers.

"I am not kidnapped," Tansey stated firmly. "This is my home and I want to be left alone in it."

"You are under duress, Miss. Those handcuffs and that chain on your ankle aren't a mirage now, are they." The sergeant sounded infinitely bored.

"In that case please take then off." He was still bored.

It was a bad one. He wasn't so dumb. "I can't take them off right now." Tansey admitted miserably.

Lennox was back with a suitcase. He and Dobson began to undress. It was the beginning of the nightmare. Tansey and I just gawped.

They folded their uniforms neatly and donned trousers and turtleneck. The uniforms went into the case. When Tad Cummings walked in as though he owned my house, Lennox nodded to all present, picked up the suitcase and departed. "Get the deposit back on those uniforms." Dobson shouted after him.

I tore frantically at my handcuffs. I guess I went a bit crazy. They'd done it so easily. I'd let them take my house and my slave girl and me. I longed to kill and to weep, and I wanted my hands back. I wanted my hands more than any other thing on Earth! They stood and watched me struggle and hurt myself. They enjoyed it. Tansey was crying into her sheet, her chained hands covering her face as though she did not want to see my shame or our danger.

Tad pointed to me but looked at Dobson. "That one's yours. Leave the other one alone. O.K.?"

I didn't get it-not right then! "Sure! We made a deal." The spurious sergeant said heartily. He looked me up and down. "I'm not complaining a bit, kid. Rich bitch, you say."

"Bloody awful rich," Tad said cheerfully. "You can do her a world of good."

I couldn't tell what they were talking about, except it concerned me. Tad was the same insouciant young man, but with a difference. There was a purpose about him now. He was not feeling his way. He knew where he was going, so did Dobson.

"You can stay on the bed, sugar." Tad told Tansey briskly. "I'll come and fuck you once in awhile so you won't be bored. Maybe even let you in on the show. But don't be scared. You're a good kid, I like you."

I felt something cold touch my spine. If they didn't want Tansey then they wanted me. But what for! I looked at Dobson, he was grim and tough and beetle-browed. He fitted in somewhere. I wasn't anxious to find out where. He was looking at me now as though he was hungry.

"I think you've got virgin ground to work on," Tad told him as though making delivery of goods as specified. He turned his charm on me. "I think you'll be well satisfied, Miss Smeaton. Dobsons' right up your alley."

I don't suppose you've ever been handcuffed. But I've reached the conclusion it's something that should be done to everybody at least once. Behind your back! Try it. You'll be shocked to find yourself divorced from the human race: you're a package, a nothing! In front it's quite different, that way you feel mostly shame over the shining metal everyone can see clamped on your wrists. But behind your back! Whew! It's shattering. I think it's particularly bad for a girl. Men don't have anything anyone wants to put their hand on. But a girl has three attributes that damn near everyone seems to want to touch or grab, and they are all on her front, so if her hands are fastened behind her back she feels about fifty times naked even with clothes.

"Ever been whipped, kid?" Dobson inquired conversationally.

Tad laughed. "That one doles it out. Here's the one that takes it." He tugged Tansey's sheet away and yanked her over on her face. Dobson stood beside him and admired my handiwork. Tansey's newest stripes were really something to behold. There emanated from him a sort of reverence as his eyes feasted.

"Don't you dare touch her!" My slave girl's voice came muffled from within the bedclothes.

"Exquisite... absolutely exquisite." Dobson might have been seeing the Taj Mahal, Lake Louise and Helen of Troy all in one package. His appearance might be a bit rough, but I got the impression of education.

Tad winked at me. "Dobbie's a sadist, Miss Smeaton. He's been looking for a set-up like this all his life. When I told him about you two there was just no way he was going to let the opportunity go by. He's a nice chap. Respectable married man and all that stuff. You'll like him when he isn't hurting .you."

"Why does he have to hurt me?"

Tad shrugged. "Same reason you hurt Tansey, I suppose." He said indifferently. "Me, I'm strictly for tail. But I'm going to watch. Besides, he may need a bit of help if you cut up rough." He grinned companionably. "Nice thing about your place is everything's laid on. If I get a hard on watching Dobbie all I have to do is come up here and work it off in this cute little sugar you keep chained to your bed."

"It's not just my bed, it's hers too."

"Oh sure! But she's still the best fuck I've ever had. With a bit of help from Dobbie we may even get a bit of spring in your ass."

"You want to fuck mine too!" Dobson sounded curious.

"Only if you need an intermission," Tad assured him placatingly. "Like I said, she's all yours."

"Hell, I don't mind, kid. I'm not all that keen on screwing." Dobson declaimed magnanimously. "For my money a girl's got better possibilities than just to shove a prick in. What say we get started? You know the way?"

While I was debating whether to run, kick or scream,' Dobson grabbed my hair and gave my head a vigorous shake. It was such a horrible feeling all round that I lost all interest in anything except to obey. As I was pushed from our bedroom the last thing I saw of Tansey was a pair of wide frightened eyes and two small hands tugging vainly at the steel upon their wrists.

As a new experience it was memorable. The male hand in my hair, my futile twisting against the metal bands, the knowledge that my home, my slave girl and my freedom had been taken from me by two strange men, one of whom had an avowed intention to torture me. It was hard to digest all at once. As the familiar halls and passages and steps slid away I thought of Anne Boleyn and her journey to the headsman's block. At least she knew what was going to happen.

They both enjoyed me. I had the stage, I was the centre of attraction, I was the sex object. Their eyes scarcely left me, heavy lidded and searching, stripping me and going on to something worse. I loathed the idea of being naked in front of two of them, but I was certain I would be. When we reached the room where it was to happen, my room, I found myself seeing it for the first time.

"Going to just tear her clothes off?" Tad inquired pleasantly.

The rough hand in my hair fell away and clasped my dress. My reaction was involuntary. "Don't tear it! I'll take it off."

"Show us how, love." Dobson was amused.

I couldn't take it off. I couldn't do anything! "You'll have to free my hands," I said angrily, and with faint hope.

They actually did. While Dobson used his key Tad locked the door. "Called your bluff, sugar," he said cheerfully.

They stood and unblushingly watched me strip. I'm not that squeamish about being naked... but two of them!

"She's top quality," Tad affirmed to an enraptured Dobson.

"You're damn right!" Dobson agreed heartily as I set aside the last of the small garments I might never wear again. "Clasp your hands behind your neck, kid, and stick your tits out."

Tits! Men! Lechery! Ugh! I think if I could kill them all I would. I hated the word tits for a girl's nipples, it's the end. But I'd gone this far... ! My hands went behind my neck, my breasts thrust forward. At least I could be proud of what they were looking at. I've always believed a lesbian has a greater appreciation of the beauty of girls than men can ever have.

They ogled to their heart's content. I refused to meet their eyes, just stood and showed them everything I had. At least I could rob them of the shy and blushing maiden act. I can well see how a man would value a shrinking violet. 'Spose I would myself.

"Not a whip mark on her," Dobson assessed. "Look, kid, I asked you a question awhile back: you ever been whipped?"

"No."

"Good! Go fetch me one."

It was a confrontation. Having my hands back gave me the courage to make it so. "Why should I?" I demanded.

"Because I'll knock you around until you do. That reason enough?" Dobson asked me jovially.

"He'd enjoy doing it," Tad cautioned.

At that point I was still Constance Smeaton, every bit of me revolting against being reduced to a naked nothing. I had no weapons, so I tried reason. "Look, you've got me in a dither. Tell me what you want. Maybe I can play along."

It was a real big joke. They enjoyed it. When they'd stopped their stupid guffaws, Dobson brought out his handcuffs. "Here, we'll put these on, Honey. Stick your hands out in front."

Everything's comparative. In front was a reprieve compared to losing them behind my back. Almost gratefully I offered my wrists and watched him join them together.

"Go and get me a whip, girl."

It was a neat bit of psychology. I wondered if he knew and was trying it out on me. Without the handcuffs I'd have refused or quibbled, but chained nothing else but obedience seemed rational. I went and got him the long black sliver and a regular one with leather thong. I hated myself, but I did it. Even in front the handcuffs impeded me, they had a most potent influence. When I handed over the whips with my chained hands I was blushing. I thought of all the things I'd done to Tansey, but I was sure she had never reacted as I was doing. Was it proof that slave girl and Mistress are not cut from the same cloth!

"You expect to get whipped, don't you, kid?" Dobson was almost benign.

"Yes. I suppose so." I wasn't as bored as I may have sounded.

"You will. You will. But not right now."

I wondered miserably what beastliness it was going to be. "Sit in the middle of the floor please."

I sat on the floor, my chained hands over my hunched knees. He sure knew how to make a girl feel foolish. I watched as he tried out a pulleys and motors and had a good look around. When he pulled down a single rope and made a noose in the end I wondered if I was going to be hung. But I was safe on that score yet. Dobson snared my right ankle and pulled it tight. Dawn began to break. Unexpectedly he removed the handcuffs.

"Lot of work to this sort of thing." He winked at me in a half apology. "Well worth it though, wouldn't you say?"

"For you," I acknowledged bitterly.

"Won't be all loss, honey. You'll pick up a few tips to use on your little girl upstairs."

"I don't torture Tansey: that's what you're going to do to me."

"Just a noose on one ankle! C'mon kid, you're ungrateful." He flipped the switch and up went my foot. He used the slow range so everyone could get a good look at my shame, me included Perfect slow motion. I watched my foot go up in front of my eyes, my hand went palm down on the floor as a brace, but it was only moments until my stretched leg and thigh began to invite my behind to leave the floor and join them in the air. With my bottom up I went back on my elbows and then my shoulders. Finally all of me was suspended, the pulley whirred until my head was a foot above the floor, then the switch clicked and there I hung.

I won't ask you if you've ever hung like that: you haven't! Neither had I. I'd never even thought of such a thing. But it had no sooner happened to me than I realized what a simply marvellous idea it was from Dobson's point of view. If he wanted to hurt a girl, this was it!

First there was my ankle. There was a fire round it that went all the way up (in my case it was down) my leg, my thigh and sort of split me up the middle. I'd become two naked girls: one tied up by her foot, the other flapping around in space. I had one leg and two hands that I didn't know what to do with. My hair hung down to the floor so at least that was out of the way. I tried to reach the floor but couldn't. I tried to hoist myself up so the blood wouldn't rush to my head. I could manage a momentary doubling up that wasn't worth the pain, and that was that. I looked up at my free leg and wondered what was the least obscene thing I could do with it. I tried crossing it over to try and hide my hairy triangle. If I kept it up tight against my pinioned one it did half a job. I left it that way.

"If you leave me upside down I'll die," I said politely.

"Let your free leg hang, love. We want to see your cunt."

If all they wanted to do was look I was lucky. I let it fall, bent at the knee. My arms were just hanging limply, I couldn't find any use for them either.

"I'm going to whip your snatch, kid. Any last words?"

"Don't, please don't!" How futile it sounded.

I screamed wildly when he cut me between my legs. All the bits of me I hadn't known what to do with flew into frantic motion. I must have been an amazingly erotic sight but I didn't care. I kept on screaming and kicking and reaching, my body heaving and twisting against its tether that was my foot for as long as he whipped me. It was my cunt he was after and there was no way I could hide it. When I used the free leg as shield it went kicking off on its own when it was lashed, and then Dobson cut right in on his favourite target.

Alright! So I've been a bitch to Tansey, and I had it coming! Well... maybe. I just don't know.

I think Dobson would have happily whipped me like that all day. He must be one of those men who unconsciously hate anything female. He certainly had it in for the most female bit of me. But after awhile my face must have shown pink or red or scarlet and they let me down in a big hurry. I just lay on the floor moaning and rubbing the hurt place and feeling sorry for myself. They let me do this. I expect they enjoyed that too. I was a goldmine of entertainment. Every sadist should have one!

"Nice after effect," Dobson commented.

"I've got an erection like you wouldn't believe," Tad confessed. "I begin to see where the kicks are. I never realized...."

"Beats screwing a mile," Dobson repeated his conviction. "Fellow can have fun like this all day, there's no end...."

"Here, honey. Put this on."

I looked up, startled. Dobson was offering me the noose. When they saw the expression on my face they both exploded into more hilarity . "Hell, girl, it ain't execution time yet. We may end up hanging you, but that's a long way off. Never spoil the merchandise until its worn out. Don't put it round your neck. Pull it tight on your left wrist."

First one end of me, now the other! Natural enough I supposed dismally as I obeyed my torturer. I looked at the slender wrist with that blasted rope tight round it and felt a foretaste of the pain.

My ankle had been bad. But, except that I was right side up, this was three times as terrible. A girl's wrist and a girl's arm just don't have what it takes to support her weight the way her leg does. I was whimpering immediately my toes left the floor. When he instantly slashed the cane across my bottom I started to scream again. My free hand strained down to seek the wound and got itself a cut with the whip that sent it instinctively to my mouth for whatever strange comfort there is in such a motion, moaning inarticulately my lips assuaged the burn.

The principle was the same. Now I had two legs and one hand free, they helped me not at all. I had a feeling it might be in some way nicer for me had they been bound. It did become evident that this middle aged sadist who was whipping me eschewed the mundane. He ignored my back and bottom and bestowed his attention to my legs. He put down the cane after the one stroke, and now used the leather thong on me. In his way he was a bit of an artist, he'd thought things out.

A beautiful design: steady agony from my wrist and no matter how I kicked or raised my legs he could slash away at them without pause. If one leg covered something here it uncovered something there, mostly the tenderness of my thighs, but often a wild plunge would lay open my sex so that he could bring the leather up to bisect the core of my femaleness and elicit one of my fiercest peals of anguish.

There was no comfort in his indifference to my back and buttocks. No doubt he was saving them for later, or for tomorrow! I was frighteningly conscious that there was nothing to stop these bastards occupying my home and torturing Tansey and me for a week if they wanted to. Somehow I must keep awareness of their immunity from them. Even one day... ! These thoughts chaotically filtered through my consciousness as I screamed. I could not keep my legs still to be whipped. The stripes on them had a brutal beastly quality all their own, quite different from the cut on my bottom. Maybe it's mental. A girl's bottom is for caning, not her legs or the inside of her thighs. But however I contorted one thing was sure: any motion I made hurt my wrist that much more. If only I could hang limp, if only... !

"I expect you're a bit bored with this?" Dobson asked in mock anxiety.

I only gave him half screams and full moans in answer.

"You've got a hand there you're not using."

He saw me tense. Our eyes met in understanding. "Please don't," I begged. "Please don't hurt me any more."

"Just hold out your hand, Miss Smeaton, the way kids used to do in school."

I understood the 'Miss Smeaton', it would shame me more. An adult woman to hold out her hand to have it caned... It was unthinkable! Dobson was indeed master of his craft. "Please... please...!" It was all I could think to plead.

He picked up the cane. "I'll use this on your hips until you decide to hold your hand out." He told me quietly. "You'll find your hips are quite remarkably susceptible. Here's just a sample so you can judge."

He had chosen an odd word, but it was true enough. The wrap around cut over my left hip was on the bone and spent itself across one cheek of my derriere. I squealed and kicked, possessed by pain.

"Shall I continue, Miss Smeaton?"

He was so infernally polite. I guess my answer wasn't quick enough. My other hip got one now. Even while I was screaming I held out my hand.

I had expected the cane across my palm would be instant. But Dobson wasn't going to let me off that easy. He allowed my whimperings to subside so I could visually participate in this fresh event for which I was providing an inoffensive hand. "I want you to watch this, Miss Smeaton," he said cordially. "It will be a real experience for you."

"I'll try," I said humbly. "But I'm afraid I'll flinch: both my hand and my eyes. I'm not made of iron, y'know."

"We'd noticed that!" He commented as though assuring me on some vital point. "You are delightfully fluid. Should you have trouble in the ways you explain I will continue my attention to your hips until you have the matter well in hand." He smirked. "No pun, I assure you."

Damn him and his pun, the rotten bastard! I thought vehemently. He was playing with me, having fun, being ironically polite. I was trying hard to keep thinking of myself as a person, a girl. Not the way he saw me: a plaything that screamed and wriggled prettily. I didn't yet want to see myself as the fly the curious little boys were tearing the wings from. "I really will try." I assured him earnestly as though the two of us were engaged on some truly worth while project. I stuck out my hand again and tried to look at him and it with some sort of intelligent expression.

He started the tapping preliminary. He pushed it up and down and sideways and kept rapping away until he had me flinching. Having got me into a fine old dither he changed his mind, or pretended to.

"May have to delay this one," he said as though putting off the Declaration of Independence. "You're up a bit high and the angles are all wrong for a good clean cut." He gazed at me earnestly. "Wouldn't want to botch it."

"I don't even want it at all," I said honestly.

"Oh, we'll get to it, love. Time for everything." He winked confidingly.. "There's something else I've just thought of. Bend your leg back at the knee, will you."

I quailed. I'd never done such a thing to Tansey, I wouldn't! I'd only read about it. But I was hanging so awkwardly with everything out of shape... Maybe it might not be too unbearable! I bent my leg back and closed my eyes...

I'm not made for heroics. I fainted.

My first thought on regaining consciousness flat on the floor was a wish to go back into the darkness. I didn't want any part of Dobson's world. My second awareness was of the throbbing awfulness on my foot. How many times had the S.O.B. hit me while I was out! Surely one single stroke could not have produced what I was feeling. Could it! I knew it could. I closed my eyes again and listened.

"Going to hoist her up again?" Tad was inquiring.

"Not right now. Got to keep her off balance."

Tad sounded faintly awed. "Damn glad I told you about this. Hard to believe unless you see it. Still not sure it's for me, but you do have something... I mean, you touch something in a girl most of us never see, she's three times as female. Not so much feminine as woman. Makes you think. Suppose we treated all of 'em this way... Change the world... He was thinking aloud.

"Want to have a go at her?"

"Noooo, not yet. Maybe never. Caning her bottom might turn me on, but that hanging by a wrist... could hardly recognize her." There came a pause. "Say Dobbie, when you went after her cunt the way you did... think she gets the hots?"

"Put your hand on her slit. Five dollars says it's wet."

A girl just can't help it! Instinctively I grabbed my own sex, defending my... well, whatever you want to call it. This sent them into another spasm of thigh slapping hilarity, it was a fun filled day. Angrily I discovered Dobson was right, my hand was wet. I sat up and glared, the rope still on my ankle. "I can't stand any more. If you go on like this you'll kill me," I said tonelessly, believing every word.

"Honey, we've only just started," Dobson reproved. "Lots of intermissions," Tad pointed out cheerfully. "You can always faint again."

"You're a pair of ripe bastards," I told them from the bottom of my heart. "Do I get hurt more for being honest in what I say?"

"Not at the start, honey. I make allowances. Behavioral training comes later."

"I'll crawl now if it will help me any," I offered.

"You're doing fine now, Miss Smeaton," Tad enthused. "When Dobbie's through, you'll be quite likeable."

"Don't get to arguing," Dobbie warned. "Women twist us when we start that. Let's get on with it."

While Tad loosed my ankle and took a good firm grim on my hair, Dobson let down the trapeze bar and found the little strips of soft latigo. An admonitory shake of my hair warned me to obey the order: "Let's see your hands, love." When one of the strips was tight round each of my thumbs I knew what came next. Numbly I watched them tie one at each end of the bar. The motor whirred, but stopped when my hands were just above the level of my head. In other words, when I was once more helpless.

"If my cock gets any harder it's going to become brittle and break." Tad let go my hair and came back into view. He winked at me but spoke to his companion. "Dobbie, old friend, I'm going to have to go upstairs and get rid of a load in that sweet little trick chained to the bed."

"Go ahead, lad." Dobson oozed goodwill. "Nothing dramatic here for a few minutes. Give her a couple of pokes for me."

I curled up inside as I watched Tad go. My Tansey... ! My darling, lovely Tansey. I wondered if they knew how much they could hurt me through her!

"Wonderful to be young," Dobson commented as though I wasn't.

He stood quietly, sort of drinking me in. I knew the way I was fixed made me enticing to a male, I was well displayed. The bands below the knuckle of my thumbs reminded me this respite would be short. Since we were standing close, eye to eye, this seemed the time: "I'll do anything at all you want," I told him urgently.

"Of course, love. You've got no choice."

I bit my lip. He wasn't that obtuse. "I mean I'll love you. Let me loose and be nice to me and I'll make you happy." The shake of his head and his voice was both sadly regretful. "Miss Smeaton, you are already giving me the greatest happiness I can ever hope to know."

No way to turn! Tears welled in my eyes. Incongruously I fought to keep my voice as sympathetic as his. "Please let me give you money then. Let me buy my freedom. You know who I am, I'm rich. You have a family, you could use money." He nodded and smiled at some thought of his own. "We'll talk." He conceded. "But just a moment-" He walked over to the switch.

Desperately I looked up at my thumbs and the noose tight around each. Was this the end for them! Could they ever be the same... ! The bar jerked into motion, the bands tightened, I rose on to my toes and stretched and stretched. Pain lanced through my thumbs and up my arms. A moment later I was off the floor, the motor stopped. I was probably no more than an inch above where my questing toes might find support, but I might as well have been in the air ten feet high.

Hung by my thumbs! A legend, an ancient threat, something you read about but never happened. Instantly I discovered two things: A girl hanging by her thumbs does not struggle, it is unthinkable. And she knows, for sure, her thumbs are destroyed, lost to her forever. The pain comes third. It has its own quality and is indescribable. I whimpered in desolation.

"You are exquisite," Dobson commended in a hushed voice.

"I'm in agony."

"Of course! Now we can talk."

He drew a bench to where we could view each other and sat down. He had the air of a man who had everything well in hand. I wondered dully what my chances might be of fainting again. I suspected they were poor. I was scared to blink an eye for fear my thumbs tore loose from their sockets.

"You were speaking of money and my family," Dobson continued meditatively. "I have two children in school, one at college. I seem to provide well enough. No one goes without." He grinned up at me companionably. "While you hang so prettily I'll take the time to try and get you to understand that my enjoyment of you in your present state in no way changes the fact I am utterly ordinary. I lead an almost exemplary life. I'm a model citizen, my family love me, the neighbors think I'm a good guy. A lot of money might do us more harm than good. And, here's the kicker, I'm honest. I won't extort or blackmail you. Hanging the way you are you're giving me more than if you handed over your whole fortune.

Everything I could think to say was either bitter or trite, so I let curiosity pop the next question: "Do you do this often? How...?"

"I've never done it before in my life," said Mr. Dobson.

Shock! Shock! I was almost scared to talk but I had to. "But the penalties, the police! If you were found out. It would be the end for you."

"True, but it won't happen. You know that. As an aid to your understanding I will tell you that a week torturing you would be ample recompense for ten years in prison. It means that much to me." He thought quietly for a moment. "It's my real life, the other isn't. Since childhood I've dreamed the dream you are making come true. It sounds absurd, but I am immensely grateful. No comfort to you, I suppose. But it's true." His eyes roved over me with a great hunger. "The effect of suspension on your breasts and stomach is charming, quite charming..." he mused irreverently.

It was worse than a threat, far worse. I think he meant well, but what he was really telling me was there was no escape. I was caught up in something that would painfully and cruelly carry me around for awhile and then, hopefully, drop me. There was nothing I could do about it, nothing. It would be useless to try and tell him about the pain and how scared I was. He would see it as a small thing...

"You're asking me to suffer this for your sake. A sort of act of tolerance, of compassion...?"

His eyes lit up. "Yes! You've caught sight. I'd destroy my life. All I ask of you is a day or a week. Comparatively you've got far the best of it."

"You torture me. By force, making me your prisoner."

He made a diffident gesture. "It's the only way. There are a million Me's. Society recognizes none of us. Mostly we dream, a few act. If it hadn't of been for young Tad I might never have acted... Pure chance."

"Are you asking me to like what you're doing to me?" Another gesture. "I'm sure there's some eroticism in it for you, but no, you can't like it. In wanting you to understand it's part apology...." He gave me a grim glance. "I'm not going soft. Don't hope."

I had no hope. But even this strange communion was better than none... hanging by my tortured thumbs in silence. "Is the thing you want most of all to have a girl offer herself for your torture as an act of love?"

I saw him tense. "I've thought of that," he said slowly. "I have a notion it's a pretty little dream a lot of men have. But I'm not sure how it would work in actuality. If she loved you I don't think you could hurt her: not real hurt, just a bit of fun. If she didn't love you: I mean if it was spurious, it would fall flat." His eyes glowed. "It's a delectable thought."

"Want to try it?"

My offer failed to register. I repeated it. "I'm serious," I told him soberly. "I've nothing to lose."

"But you don't love!" He sounded pitiable, as bad as us girls.

"Don't ask for the moon." I didn't care what I promised or had to do. Just to get my feet back on the ground for a minute would be a victory. "Let me try. I might surprise you."

"You couldn't. It's asking too much. You're desperate."

"O.K.! So I'm desperate. But can't you understand! It's the old 'If you can't beat 'em, join 'em'. At least it's interesting. It gets me back in the act as a girl who's real and not a bit of flesh that screams entertainingly."

"I'd still make you scream."

"So what! I hate the way this is being done to me. Let me play too."

Mr. Dobson the middle-aged family man surveyed me with amused interest. "You're not ordinary," he conceded. "Hurt much, hanging like that?"

"It's pure hell! But note: I'm not asking to be freed."

"You can't do your act unless I do free you."

"You keep control of me. Free me when it pleases you. I can't go away."

"I had thought of something along these lines for you," Dobson admitted. "I mentioned it: a sort of training."

"Beating me into submission."

"Sort of. Find out how much you'd take."

"You can still do that. I know I'm going to be hurt either way. I can't escape a thing. I suppose all I'm looking for is identity."

"Plead. Be abject. I want to hear you." He was off on a tangent.

"Please stop hurting me, Mr. Dobson. I'll be a good girl." I sounded like a kid, but I could see he liked it. I followed through with something real. "The worst part of my punishment, Mr. Dobson, is that I'm scared silly you honestly don't know how bad the pain is. I'm afraid all you see is a naked girl erotically twisting and screaming at the end of a rope, you don't realize she's convinced she's going to die, or at least be injured for life. I still don't know...."

"Do it again. I liked that."

"Please, Mr. Dobson, let me loose. Please, please! I hurt so much...." I saw his eyes. He was entranced. "Mr. Dobson:. . ? Don't these lovely feelings welling up in your make you want to fuck me?"

He laughed it off. "Oh sure! But I'm not going to waste the sublimation." He grinned confidingly. "You've heard of the goose that laid the golden egg... and killing it! I won't." He looked at me searchingly. "You have to understand the aesthetic wonder I find in you when you're tied and whipped. You're the most beautiful thing alive. You're my golden egg. I won't spoil you."

He was far more human than I'd seen him as a sergeant of police. I tried again. "If it means that much, if you find such ecstasy in making me captive and giving me pain so I'll scream, won't it be habit forming? Can you go home again and be satisfied?"

"No. But remember, I wasn't satisfied before. Don't blow a fuse, Miss Smeaton, but I see no reason why you and I couldn't do this once a month."

I was ready to ask him if he was nuts, when I recalled my present predicament. He had me. Sarcasm and anger weren't going to get me anywhere. My thumbs screamed at me to be careful. I allowed my brow to wrinkle. "You'd better let me in on that one." I said in a lost voice. "Just why... and how?"

"It's easy." He was keenly watching me for reactions. "That chained little pretty upstairs can protest all she likes about being a happy prisoner, but I could cause you a lot of trouble and embarrassment over her. Buy my friendship. Give me heart's ease once a month."

Just like that! He meant it. In a way I could see his rationale. "You make your price so high," I told him hopelessly. "You don't want just to whip my bottom or something simply erotic like that. You want torture, the real thing. Suppose I wanted to play ball... ! You'd defeat me by the severity of what you do. I'll break down under it. I've fainted once today already."

"No reason for you to carry the entire load," he mused casually. "You've got a sweet little slave girl upstairs who's always chained and has to do what you tell her. Let her help out. I've got a suspicion her cunt would get a lot wetter over it than yours."

"No, not Tansey!"

"O.K. I prefer you. Have you noticed how formally using our surnames gives an extra kick, packs a potent wallop? Damn strange what's in the mind."

"I've noticed it." I agreed. "You've got the two of us on an erotic jag. We're living on sensations. But what about my offer! Please let me try it. If you like it, good. If you don't you can stop me, you can even punish me for a poor show. You've nothing to lose."

I'd given him a poser. I hung and hurt and looked at him with hope. He shook his head regretfully. "No. It would be false. I'm going to whip you into submission the way I said. That'll be for real."

"I can spoil it for you by submitting ahead of your commands."

"I'll whip you anyway. You'll grovel in the hopelessness of what you're up against. Now you answer me. What about the once a month?"

To me right then, with my thumbs on fire and my nakedness stretched to its limit, anything a month distant might as well have been in another world. "Supposing I said yes, what would I have to do? The pain, I mean, or the punishment or whatever you want to call it. I don't suppose you relish the word torture?"

"You're bargaining."

"Not really. Good Gosh! In this condition! No. I'm just hoping you'll deal in something I can do, something bearable or possible."

"O.K. girl, make me an offer."

"Tie me any way you like and fifty with a whip, spread over a day." I spit the words out as though I wanted to get rid of them.

"A hundred."

"Very well. Maybe I can stand it. But I want Tansey present, not Tad."

"Suits me. She'll be chained, of course."

"So we'll both be helpless!"

"You're helpless now. Why quibble."

Ridiculous, wasn't it! Out of this world! A pact with the' Devil. But remember what had happened to me. I was still hanging by my thumbs and had nothing but atrocity to look forward to. A hundred lashes with a whip a month hence was utterly abstract, I didn't care. Besides, in thirty days I'd find a way out.

"How long must I hang like this?" I implored dolefully. "As long as it pleases me, love." He was jovial again. "If you're bored I can whip you. You're nicely stretched for it."

I started to cry. I don't know why the tears chose that moment. A realization of hopelessness, I expect. There was just no way of escape, none. Dobson had me for sure. Thought of the whip curling round me the way I was came as a last straw. I blubbered like a kid.

"You are truly lovely when you weep." My enemy paid tribute.

I could not dry the tears. They trickled down my nakedness as they pleased. Dobson was absorbed by them. I remember hearing it said once: a maiden's tears were the salt of the Earth. Even in that I could not win. For this man any reaction wrung from my nude torture was pure delight. His golden egg! That about summed it up. I sobbed shamelessly. I was glad Tansey was not there to see. I felt a desperate need to break an impasse, to reach out and touch him, touch him any way at all. I tried shock.

"Please, Mr. Dobson, I'd like you to whip me."

I said it tenderly, looking deep into his eyes.

"Why?" He was suspicious.

"Girls need to be whipped, Mr. Dobson. It keeps us sensible, keeps us knowing we're just girls and not little golden goddesses on pedestals. I'm glad you're going to come and whip me every month. It will give me a perspective I've never had."

I was in a desperate state, not rational. I was sure I could make nothing worse than it already was. If only I could spark some sort of friendship, some rapport. The way he was watching me made me fear he could read my mind. Probably he could.

"I'd be grateful if you'd whip me now, Mr. Dobson. I think I need it. I've been silly. I feel silly now. A nice sensible whipping will do me good."

Talk about shots in the dark, acts of desperation, casting your bread upon the waters! Without a word he went to the switch. I stood in stupefied disbelief and watched him loose my thumbs. I wanted to howl when he peeled the leather strips off them, but I just stood passive. I was trembling in apprehension. What now! What had I let myself in for.

"You're too damn perfect, kid," Dobson said with decision.

"I'm not going to waste a single talent. The way you asked to be whipped has made me as horny as young Tad. You're too good to be true."

"You'd like me to lay down?" I asked demurely.

"Hell no! I told you about that. You said you wanted identity, you want to be part of the act. O.K. The stage is yours." He laughed wryly. "I can't promise that gift of yours won't throw me into such a dither of eroticism that I'll whip you to pieces, it may. On the other hand I've told you what beauty means for me...." I'm not Helen Hayes or Glenda Jackson, but I'd got myself a part and I'd have to play it good. If I fluffed it or made Dobson think I was making a fool of him I could imagine what would happen. Anything he meted cut as punishment had to be bloody awful. One thing was sure, I'd have to keep him interested, come up with the unexpected, nothing obvious. I put my hurt hands on his shoulders and kissed him softly and gently.

"Thank you, Mr. Dobson, for this chance you're giving me."

No slap, no scowl. Good! I made my smile as tender as had been my lips. "I'm not going to call you Master or Sir or any of those hackneyed titles. You are Mr. Dobson, the man who owns me. You're the Mr. Dobson the Judge, the Policeman, the Teacher. I must do as you tell me. I will, So I'll address you as Mr. Dobson in respect to all you are to me."

It was not until then I knelt and bowed my head. I don't think any man can resist having a girl do that.

"You're clever." His voice was husky.

I did a little bow effect and got to my feet as gracefully as I could manage with one of them throbbing like a steam engine.

"Thank you for these too." I held up my hands and admired my wealed thumbs. "I can't use them yet, they won't work. But aren't the purple marks lovely, like wedding rings."

My captor took my hands and examined the wounds, even bending my thumbs. He did it gently but I flinched. "They'll come round, love. Now carry on."

I stepped back, exploring my striped sex with eyes and fingertips. "The marks are lovely." I sparkled an infinite gratitude in his direction. "I'm so glad you gave them. Sorry if I made a fuss."

"You make the most cock raising fuss in the world." He laughed.

I twisted my nudity to look down at my slashed legs. Legs bruise terribly, I hardly ever whip Tansey's legs. Mine looked as though they'd been run over by heavy traffic. "I've never seen anything quite like them!" I admired. "It was difficult at the time, but now I'm glad."

"I could believe you meant it." Dobson paid tribute.

I stood straight enough to give him the full effect of my breasts. "I do want to please you. I want to do the things you want me to, Mr. Dobson. And I want you to punish me if I make mistakes." I looked at him brightly. "I do think punishing me is most important."

He nodded. He was giving me lots or rope.

"I'm afraid your kindness to me interrupted my last punishment. I'm sorry about that, Mr. Dobson, I really am. I never want to evade any punishment you think I should have. Would you please hang me up by my thumbs again now so that punishment for me can be completed?"

His indrawn breath was clearly audible. He did not speak but simply held out his hand. I put mine in it. For a moment I thought I sensed indecision as though he sought words or act by which to rob me of the outrageous initiative I had momentarily achieved. But his smile was quiet and all his own as he looped the dread small noose and drew it tight beneath the knuckle of my thumb so that it nestled in the groove of its previous constriction. Meekly I held out my other hand and watched it similarly made captive by the most slender bond by which a girl may be held. Now it was my turn for the indrawn breath. I added to it a cold shiver of apprehension, when my thumbs sustained my weight now for the second time they might hurt twice as much. And in my exuberance I had asked to be whipped... ! Maybe I was no whit worse off than before, but panic was placing it's cold hand upon my spine. To be hung by my thumbs and whipped as well... ! I must be crazy!

I could tell Dobson was intrigued and amused. He was going to make me place my pain where my mouth was, he'd make me sorry. Once more our eyes locked and quested as he put his finger on the switch. He was waiting for me to plead, whilst I was hoping against hope he would scare me then relent. We both managed silence as my hands went up and up on their familiar journey until a small involuntary moan of protest left my lips as my toes swung robbed of contact with the floor. My thumbs flamed and my poor stretched arms again assumed their burden. Dobson was imposing on me the most vulnerable helplessness I had ever known.

"That the way you like it, love?" He might have been speaking of the temperature.

"Yes. Thank you, Mr. Dobson. I can't reach the floor."

"Believe you mentioned the whip!"

"Yes, Mr. Dobson."

"Feeling a bit chicken about it now?"

"Yes, Mr. Dobson, terribly chicken."

It was his usual enigmatic sigh. "Probably thinking your thumbs are enough, eh?"

He was playing with me. But in such a game I might win points if only I said the right thing in the right way, he was human. "I would be grateful if you forgave me the whip, Mr. Dobson. But I must not ask: after all I did request it."

He was sitting on one of the benches now, quite unashamedly appraising my torture. His interest in my hung nakedness was both male and clinical. He would watch my reactions and judge the sincerity of whatever words or sounds I uttered. I would try and match his sang-froid without success. As an afterthought he rose and from behind me brought his hand up between my legs and cupped my sex. He clenched and kneaded a few times until he made me gasp, then returned to his seat. He looked at his wet palm, grinned at me as though we shared a secret, and observed cheerfully: "A real woman can't help it, can she!"

"I thought men preferred them wet?"

"Oh we do, love! Not that I'm using yours. But you're responding beautifully. Doesn't matter how he does it, a man takes pride in getting those secretions flowing. A girl with a wet snatch isn't bored."

"I'm so glad I please you. It's my only useful function at the moment."

"Sarcasm, honey?"

"No honestly! It's true. It's a strange sensation for a girl."

"Don't entirely dislike it, do you?"

How absurd to be bandying such comments! But they were real. Each of us spoke of my condition as it was. I spoke through a mist of pain, but I had a need of speech: a strange small comfort I could glean from the man for whom my agony was joy.

"I don't know," I moaned in self wonder. "I don't know...." I did not know! I knew Tansey's responses, but had never believed they were for me or that I was capable of them. But Dobson had known. He had looked at me and known. Perhaps, beneath the whip, all girls were wet between their legs. I wondered if it would be the same if it was Tansey who was whipping me, me the Mistress! I suddenly knew myself inescapably female. I looked, as though for confirmation, at the satisfied features of the man who had mastered me.

"You're learning something, love. When I looked at you I knew young Tad had given me the best of the two. Hurting pretty bad...?"

"Yes. I can't describe it." Even to me my voice sounded thin and wan.

"Could get really bad after a few hours."

I ignored the implication. "Are you going to whip me while I hang from my thumbs, Mr. Dobson?"

"Interesting position, love. Your thumbs won't like contortions."

How right he was! Yet to hang meekly motionless while t he thong cut me would be impossible. My quickening breath was evident to both of us. I returned his intent regard as bravely as I could.

Once more he did the unexpected, his motions lithe as he stepped to the switch. Relief flooded me like nectar as my toes and then my heels regained the floor. When the motor stopped I was able to stand flat footed, taut and without freedom, my noosed thumbs still captive above my head, but in comparative comfort.

"What was that you said about being whipped, honey?"

I took a deep breath and tried to remember: "I've been very silly, Mr. Dobson. I'd be grateful if you'd whip me now. A nice sensible whipping will do me good."

My abject little girl request affected him deeply, he glowed, exuding maleness. "That word, sensible, love: what you mean is for me to take it easy."

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Dobson. I'm sorry. I'm not all that brave."

"The sensible bit will be from my point of view, kid. You're not going to like it."

"Oh, I don't expect to like it, Mr. Dobson!"

"Good! The reason your feet are on the floor is so you can raise and stretch 'em. I want the odd lick up and under. I'll tell you when."

"I'd hoped it would be just my back and bottom, Mr. Dobson."

"I'm sure you did, lass. So just raise your right leg as high to the side as you can get it."

Obediently I did as bid, then screamed and fought my thumbs as the fire and the ice and the blade found my loins. The lash was as cruel as if I had never felt its bite before. My poor, poor thumbs! I would never be able to keep still... never.

Dobson whipped me slowly, carefully and I suppose, by his standards, humanely. At only one stroke in five was I required to raise my leg to invite the thong upon my sex. My back and my bottom took the brunt of it as I had requested. He switched to the cane for my bottom because it gave a more satisfying thunk and left a more cruel weal. I was ablaze with agony, but sensed between us an intimacy which had been absent at the beginning. Even though I was screaming steadily, I was not pleading. Dobson, by some code of his own, had found respect for the girl he was torturing for pleasure. What it was that I had found I could not name.

I did not count the strokes, they were many. When he had planted the last one upon my nakedness he resumed his seat and watched my sweating nudity fight its way back to where it could stand passively awaiting his pleasure. I remember quite a lot of sobbing moans I just couldn't bring to an end. They were a protest from all of me against an unkind fate. I sensed them echoing back through the centuries from all the naked girls who had writhed beneath the whips of men. Why, oh why, do men love to whip us! But who am I to ask: I adore to whip Tansey, my beautiful, wonderful, beloved Tansey!

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever known."

I looked at Dobson in strange gratitude and smiled.

"It's over, honey. Not because I want it over, but because you've earned it. I could whip you to death and not know any greater happiness than you've given me already. We'll keep something to look forward to, it's best."

His use of the plural held a touching simplicity. He was basking in his assurance of enjoying my nakedness once a month forever. He saw between us a complicity that I realized could easily infect me. With Dobson, male ownership of the female seemed the only possible relationship. I could see how plausibly a girl could yield to the compulsions of masculinity. Tansey would yield to me no matter what her penalties, why not me to him! I had no intention of such surrender, and yet to him and to others it would be no more than a normal response. I put all my joy into my eyes. "Thank you for whipping me, Mr. Dobson. And thank you for... for everything." The words I said next were not me at all, they popped out on their own. "Thank you for loving me a little...." He came and kissed me, at first with gentleness and then with passion. It touched me too, so that I knew sorrow when he abruptly turned and strode away as though in renunciation. At the door he briefly turned. "I'll tell Tad to free you." His voice was husky. A moment later he was gone, the door closed behind him. I knew with instinctive certainty that had he stayed and had he set me free we would have made physical love... A thing he would not allow himself to do. For what strange reason only he could know. So alright! I'll admit it. I'd wanted him to stay and set me free.

It was terribly lonely, a kind of loneliness new to me. I had never been a slave or a captive forced to be alone with themselves in helplessness, subject to another's will. My thumbs were still tied tight to the bar above my head. I looked up at them yearningly, but they held me as securely as iron shackles. I could wiggle my hands and hurt myself but that was all. It was infuriating. I am sure anyone would suppose a girl could surely get her two little thumbs loose from a pair of loops and knots. But let me tell you for sure a girl can't. With her thumbs tied the way mine were she's a fixture.

So I just stood, naked, hands above my head as though in surrender to an unseen assailant, the burns of the whip and the cane smoldering scaldingly on my skin from my ankles to my neck. Adding it all together I had been whipped terribly and cruelly. I have never whipped Tansey so severely or in such diverse ways at one time. The whip had scorched me everywhere except my breasts and the sole of one foot. I could look down and see some of my marks and wished ardently for a mirror by which to see the best of them, everything at my back must be an incredible sight. I yearned to look. Oh sure, I won't deny! I would look at them with pride. Why shouldn't I! It was me who had borne their pain.

Within the little span of time in which I stood thus my paramount emotion was a great thankfulness. It was over! Something awful had happened to Constance Smeaton, it had come and it had gone, and somewhere in between the awfulness had changed into an emotion for which I had no name. It seemed possible that Dobson and I had worked some mutation on each other. Each of us had beheld a vision of a thing previously hidden. I had no wish to repeat my travail but I was glad it had happened.

I- stood there in my captivity wishing to be free, yet contrarily happy that I was still bound. The bands biting into my thumbs had been placed there by another who had touched my life in a way I could never forget. As long as I bore them he was a presence in this room in which he had left me prisoner, a male presence, a thing I had vowed to hate... Yet he had bested and taken me and I was still his. No matter how I struggled I could not free myself. How angry I was! And yet how glad! I could have kicked myself for being so ridiculously feminine. It's no wonder men use us the way they do, we ask for it.

Guiltily my thoughts switched to darling Tansey. Dobson had divorced my mind from all else save my own torment and the turmoil of emotions engendered in my consciousness. Now, in this sanctuary of cessation I thought of my beloved at the mercy of that hated Tad, the gauche youth with his insatiable appetite for a girl's cunt. No doubt by now I would be safe from his attentions, he would have gorged himself to repletion on my darling's loveliness... I was glad I had not been able to be a witness to her ravishings. I was suddenly hungry for Tansey, hungry as only a girl can be. My sex was scorched and striated by the whip, and it was wet...

They came in abruptly. Dobson had closed the door on my prison room, but Tad threw it open and pushed Tansey ahead of him. I saw instantly she had been crying and that her wrists were handcuffed behind her back. She was as naked as I was and, even though her face lit up at sight of me she was terrified. Tad took in my predicament at a glance and grinned hugely. "The hen bird all trussed and ready for the oven!"

"Oh darling!" Tansey wailed. "He's crazy, insane... and you're tied!"

Sure I was tied, but good! At the sound of her voice my tummy tied itself into a knot of fear and my thumbs tugged uselessly at their bindings. My eyes Searched from one to the other and rested on Tad. "Please untie me. Mr. Dobson said you would." Even as I said the words I knew them useless.

"Sure I'll untie you, rich bitch. But not now. Maybe next week." His fatuous grin was working overtime.

"He wants to do Dobson's thing. You know... torture." Tansey was working her hands frantically against her bonds in a panicky expression of frustration.

"Pity to waste you both. I've a notion Dobson's on to a good thing. I might as well get in on it. You're a real cock teaser fixed the way you are, Miss Smeaton. How about a nice hot iron on one of your tits!"

I curled up inside. How easy it was for him! In its own way understandable. Tansey and I were sitting ducks, neither of us could raise a finger in defense. If only Dobson had freed me! If only... My eyes brimmed over at the injustice of it. "I've had enough." I wailed, "I'm covered ii? whip marks and I've fainted once already. Don't start on me again, and leave Tansey alone she mustn't be touched."

"He wants to whip me," Tansey said tonelessly. !

"Just for starts, kid. You must be tired of screwing, aren't you."

"Well, be a bit decent about it, can't you!" I pleaded. "Tell us what you want. Don't scare us to death."

"Since you've mentioned it I'd like to see you faint, sounds damned erotic. What did Dobbie do to you?"

"Just too much pain," I said wearily. I wasn't going to tell him about my foot.

Save for her handcuffs Tansey was free. She flitted over to me and kissed and kissed and nestled against my helplessness in a way that broke my heart. She was so lovely and so sweet, and now this... She turned on Tad fiercely. "Leave her alone. Can't you see how she's been hurt... tortured. If you have to try your rotten games, do 'em to me."

"Oh I will, honey." He might have been promising her a cookie.

"Look, Tad. There has to be some way: money, favours, submission... There must be something you want I can give. Make a deal with me, I can't bargain. But don't hurt us any more... please!"

"Why, Miss Smeaton, you haven't a thing I want more than gorgeous you and little lovebird here. No dice."

My heart plummeted. "What do we have to suffer then?" I asked glumly.

"You really want to know!" He sounded surprised.

"Yes. We have to know. If we just have to imagine some awful unknown atrocity you'll have a pair of hysterical screamers on your hands. Can't you understand how scared we are right now! That threat... about burning my nipple.

It's horrendous, unthinkable. You weren't serious, were you?"

"Actually I was." His tone was more serious than usual. "I'd like to burn you, be interesting to watch your face during the preparations. Maybe I'll forget about your nipple, I sort of like 'em both. But how's about me burning off your cunt hair?"

I shed tears like a broken hearted child. It was just too much! I could already feel the flame and the heat of his threat... or was it a promise! It was something that should never happen to a girl. Tad watched the salt drops fall with the same enjoyment Dobson had shown. I could find no words. What was there to say! He could kill me if he wanted, maybe he would.

Tansey was frantic. She lunged at him, kicking. "You can't! You can't! It's beastly, awful...!"

Tad handled her easily. A handful of her hair and she was defeated. He propelled her to the whipping post and cuffed her ankles together. I watched in desolation as he unlocked her wrists. With her ankles joined she could not fight. When he ordered her to place her hands within the straps upon each side of the post, and emphasized the order by a vicious yank at her hair, she perforce had to obey. With evident relish he tugged the straps and buckles so that the two slender wrists were immovably banded by the leather as though they were a part of the post itself. He then took the handcuffs from her feet. "I want to see you kick, love. Besides, you look real cute just the way you are."

She turned a tearful face to him. "Don't hurt my Mistress. Please let her go. Hurt me instead."

"Don't you worry, lovebird. You'll get all you want, and our lovely Miss Smeaton can watch you get it. I'll even burn your cunt hair off too. How's that!"

Tansey's eyes were incredulous. "After what... what you and I have done together... The place you've loved... you'd burn it!"

She reached him with that one! He did not respond, but asked pleasantly: "Which will it be, sweetheart, cane or whip?"

"You wouldn't use the cane all over me...?" She was aghast.

"How's about cane on your bum and whip for the rest?" He sounded sincerely solicitous as to her preference.

Tansey -was lost. She had liked him before and had earned my jealousy, now she was hurt, disappointed and scared. Her eyes reproached "Yes, do that. But don't touch my Mistress. Leave her alone."

He selected his cane. "Bottoms first, eh, sweetheart." Then slashed her savagely across the fullest curves she offered.

Tad and I watched, each in our own way engrossed or appalled. I saw my darling stricken by shock, her nakedness for a moment frozen by the pain, then from some compulsion within herself she relaxed as the crimson brand raised its weal upon her flesh. Her concession to the unbearable was to lean forward and bite desperately into the skin of her raised and pinioned arm. She held this mouthful of herself within her teeth as a gag and a solace, her nostrils flared. But that was all. My slave girl had begun her torment.

"Wonderful, isn't she!" Tad enthused.

He turned his attention to me. "Dobbie's right, y'know. There's something here I haven't known about. That whack on her bums given me another hard: didn't expect to get one for a week." He looked me up and down so that I shivered. "Could improve your view, Miss Smeaton." He walked jauntily to the switch.

So now I hung again, my thumbs screaming, all of me in utter despair, without hope, gasping in the new yet familiar anguish. "May as well lay one on you too, Miss Smeaton. Got to be fair about this Tad was tasting glory.

I absorbed his cut when it lapped across the work of my previous torturer. For Tansey's sake I managed not to scream. But I made one great mistake: writhing in revolt against the unbearable I lifted and kicked one leg again and again.

Tad saw it instantly. I suppose the bruise on the sole of my foot must have been pretty bad. "Lift your other foot, Miss Smeaton. He rapped my ankle demandingly with his cane.

Miserably I obeyed. I was for it now!

"Just one, eh," Tad mused. "Must hurt a girl pretty bad down there. That's when you fainted, wasn't it!"

I did not answer, but he knew.

"Something for you to look forward to while you watch me whip our little lovebird," he promised sprightly.

I watched him cane the once pink buttocks of the girl he called lovebird. The flesh of my beloved, my gorgeous darling Tansey, the flesh that was mine. She soon screamed, sometimes terribly. Each pealing cry of anguish a wound upon my heart. I loved her. The single blow he had given me told his strength, his almost childish unawareness of mercy. He would hurt us to the full, unknowing and uncaring what he did. I quailed at the thought of all the things within his power to do to a pair of naked bound girls. His will was absolute.

I cannot describe the caning of a girl, I think it useless for anyone to try, there are no words for such a loneliness of pain when, for a little while that seems forever, her skin is beaten, scored and wealed as though the animosity of all the world had centered on her nakedness. A girl who has been whipped is changed, she has trodden ground where others have not been.

When Tad changed from cane to whip he struck me first to ensure my full participation in my darling's travail. The blow was so cruel it twisted me against my bound thumbs and drew from my lips a cry of which I was ashamed. He winked at me in our complicity of knowledge that he would bastinado my feet when he had satisfied his first lust upon the naked girl whose captive wrists were straining at the straps of the whipping post. I hung and watched. He had warned me not to close my eyes. I prayed for her to faint, but she did not, she bore it all.

When he was at last satisfied with the ridges of agony upon her skin he diverted his engaging smile to me. I won't pretend heroism, I was more frightened than I had ever been, and more helpless. What he wished to do to me he could. Tansey's tears and moans were a fitting accompaniment as he lowered my feet to the floor, bound my ankles tight together with a length of cord, then peeled the strictures from around my thumbs. With my feet tightly corded I could not fight when he handcuffed my wrists behind my back. I was a neat package for his pleasure.

"Got to do this properly, Miss Smeaton," he assured me as though I was as concerned as he with my imminent torture.

In that room of mine it wasn't difficult. His roving eye lit upon one of the benches. He positioned it so that Tansey would have a perfect view of the bastinadoing of her Mistress's feet, then found a rug which, in some perverse and belated chivalry, he spread to receive my nudity. He then picked me up and laid me face down with my knees bent up to place the length of my legs against the bench. Removing the cord from my ankles, he now bound them separately a little way apart, then did the same for the hollows below my knees. When he stood proudly back he had me fixed for sure. I lay with my breasts flattened against the rug, my hands lost in their handcuffs at my back, my feet and legs absolutely immovable so that the pathetic soles offered their surfaces in abject pleading for their agony to come. I was trembling, I wondered if it showed.

"You look real good like that, Miss Smeaton." Our amateur torturer told me with pride. "Can you wriggle a bit?"

"No. Do you want me to?" I asked bitterly.

"Of course! It's a form of expression, quite beautiful really"

"Don't do it to her, do it to me," Tansey sobbed.

"Got little lovebird well trained, Miss Smeaton. The way the little dear keeps asking for things I can't possibly refuse. You are both going to find walking a bit difficult tomorrow."

"I'll do anything, give you anything... ! Don't do this to us."

He laughed at my plea. "Don't be silly, Miss Smeaton. You know it's going to happen and there's nothing you can do or say to stop it. I want to see you faint. I'm not too sure about that fainting bit. Convince me. But if you playact you and little lovebird will be sorry."

"Please! No girl can bear it...."

"You can, Miss Smeaton. Be a nice well behaved girl and show us how you enjoy the bastinado. You can thank me afterwards."

The bastard! The rotten bastard!

He struck the same foot Dobson had punished. I discovered I could move in ways I had not thought possible. It was only a frantic wriggling, but that was what he wanted. I heard my voice screaming and babbling for him to stop. I heard Tansey's voice too, there was quite a lot of noise, all female.

Tad caned my other foot, a beautifully accurate slice from heel to toe. Wallowing in agony and providing him with acutely erotic twistings and heavings I came by a desolating awareness of the fact that no matter what strength I exerted or how great my pain I could not move my feet at all, they did not even quiver, so tightly were they tied. After each cut upon them my soles bravely offered themselves for further torture as though they liked it.

I had fainted before at the first stroke: why did I not faint now! Tad's blows were every bit as cruel as Dobson's. But my body was even more cruel in its refusal to give me unconsciousness. Two more blows fell with a methodical brutality that evoked spasms of revolt I could not control. I sensed blood upon my wrists as I tore at the snug metal that clasped them.

"Not hitting you hard enough, am I Miss Smeaton!" Tad observed thoughtfully through my moans. "Don't see any signs of fainting."

Neither did I! My being was a single blazing agony that had never been more sentiently alive. "Stop it! Stop it!" I chokingly demanded. "You'll destroy my feet. It's wrong... wrong! I can't manage a faint to order."

"Come, come, you're enjoying every stroke, Miss Smeaton, and you know it. The hated voice mocked. His hand came down between my parted legs and explored my sex. "See, you're all wet! You really are a beautiful girl. I doubt if a hundred strokes or so will keep you in bed more than a week.

"A hundred will kill me."

"You can always faint, Miss Smeaton. Here, let me help."

It was then I heard the sounds.

"You stupid young bastard!"

I came back from the world for which I longed. Struggling unwillingly into consciousness and pain I heard Dobson's voice. "You trying to kill the poor kid! You silly slob, you aiming to spoil the best deal a man ever had!" To me right then it sounded like the National Anthem after victory. I managed to raise my head enough to look back over one shoulder to where Tad stood, angry and red faced, before his accusing companion.

"Hell, Dobbie, why not? You started the torture thing."

"Look at that girl's feet! She won't walk for a week."

"Don't matter. She's got time and money to lay in bed."

"Get out of here!" Dobson's voice was a bellow.

With a gesture of disgust the younger man shrugged and left the room. Dobson, in his anger, seemed a giant. He looked down at me, expelling a huge sigh of pent fury. "I left some keys....." He explained. "Bloody good thing I did." He saw the gratitude in my eyes. Tansey's face and mine must have shown a radiance of thanks. "He won't come back," Dobson said. "I'll make damn sure of that." He looked at me levelly. "But can I come our deal still hold?"

"It holds," I told him fervently. "Forever if you want it. That young bastard would have killed us. We owe you our lives."

He shrugged. "Perhaps!" Looking down he said pensively: "That's an exquisite pose you're in."

"I don't feel exquisite."

Dobson looked at his watch. "I have to go. I'll admit I hate to, but I must. You're both too lovely to leave." He saw the unspoken question on my face and laughed. "Oh sure! I'll untie one of you I won't make that mistake again."

It was not me he chose to free, but Tansey. Her strapped wrists were the easiest to unbuckle. As he raised his hand to the post the darling said the words I had been searching for in gratitude. "I know the thing you love, Mr. Dobson. You've saved our lives. So please whip me now while I'm still fastened. I want to give you something and that's all I have. Whip me as much as you want, I won't mind... honest."

As in a daze, our rescuer freed her hands, clasped her naked shoulders and kissed her soundly. My slave girl threw her arms about his neck and kissed him back. I lay on my breasts unable to move, my feet aflame and throbbing like a pair of Tom-toms.

But I was not forgotten! Pleased by my helplessness, Dobson knelt. Lifting my shoulders his lips found mine raised to meet them. His kiss was life again, the end of something awful. In spite of the things he loved he was a knight in shining armour. Then, ambling towards the door, he shook his head in disbelief. "You're too good to be true." He affirmed reverently. "Both of you " Then he was gone.

Tansey was at my side, radiant, glowing. Her scarlet wounds glorious upon her skin, her eyes tender and alive. She kissed me everywhere her lips could reach, I lay content, but told her amusedly: "I could kiss a lot better if I was free."

"Darling Mistress." My slave girl sighed. "You'll have to let me do most of the kissing."

I got the message instantly, then confirmed it by looking up at the mischief in her eyes. "It isn't every day a poor slave girl has her Mistress in a fix like this." She pointed out reasonably, her lips pouting in pleasure.

I cared only that my darling was there and that she was free. But I did have authority to remember. "You'll get yourself punished," I warned.

"Oh of course, darling." Her eyes sparkled delight. "Where would you like to be caned?"

"Same place you'd like it," I told her. "You'll get two for one. Why not be satisfied with just having me tied?"

"You'd like to stay like that all day, Mistress?"

"You know I wouldn't. But I'm not anxious to be whipped either. Let me loose you little monkey."

Tansey pretended to consider, her lovely face wrinkled in concentration. "I don't thing I should." She mused aloud. "After all, it is the chance of a lifetime. Don't suppose it'll ever happen again."

"You're playing with fire, darling."

She chuckled with delight. "Lovely, isn't it! I've never whipped a Mistress. I've been thinking about the place. You know: where to cane you and where you'll get your revenge later on."

"It won't he revenge, you giggling minx. It will be a proper punishment."

"It does occur to me," my slave girl offered thoughtfully, "the bottom of my feet are about the only spots I have to spare. The rest of me's had a lot of attention."

In spite of myself, I tensed. She would never do it to me, not my darling Tansey! Yet mischief sometimes knew no bounds... ! Right then any mention of my feet had me in a dither. I cocked upwards an interrogative eye. It must have held apprehension too, for a moment later I was in her arms as she did her best to envelope me in a wave of affection and remorse. She was crying.

"I'm an absolute beast, Mistress!" she sobbed on the back of my shoulder. "I was teasing. But I want you to cane me for it, I shouldn't have teased you about that. It was wicked. I'll untie you." She scrambled back to the bench to which my knees and ankles were corded, then gasped in consternation. "Oh darling...!"

For a girl who was helpless I was doing a lot of looking back over one shoulder. From the corner of one eye I beheld my slave girl staring at her Mistress's upturned soles in wide eyed dismay. I suppose it's almost impossible for a girl who has never had her feet caned to realize how terrible a thing it is. She turned to me in compassion, "Oh Mistress, I didn't know! It's awful... I'll be ever so careful...

How strange, how wonderful, how frightening! If my feet had not been beaten I would have rolled over and leaped erect. But now, fingerly and cautiously, I brought my legs sideways to rest upon the floor and, while Tansey was hunting for the key to my handcuffs, managed to sit up on one hip and look at what Tad's cane had done to me.

Tansey's gasp had warned me, but not enough. The rotten swine needn't have injured me like this. He could have made me scream in lots of ways without shredding the soles of my feet: that's what it looked like. For a moment I could believe I'd never walk again. It was the blood... A girl doesn't expect blood! Dobson wouldn't have made me bleed. I'd never do it to Tansey. But Tad had done it to me. The bottom of my feet were two purple bruises with here and there a cut shedding its scarlet tribute to his skill. I felt like crying, but the happiness of release was still warm and good and to be savoured. I blinked back my tears and pushed out my hands for the key my slave girl had found.

You know what we did then! For some strange female reason my wounded feet made it better than it had ever been.

It was much later. Replete and happy we knelt upon our rug considering the adventure of my journey upstairs. Smiling her kitten full of cream smile, Tansey proffered the handcuffs. "I am a slave girl, Mistress, make me know it." Her wrists, too, were offered close together I clicked the gleaming steel bands tight upon them and heard her sigh of ecstasy. "In front of you for now." I told her in mock severity, "It's you who's going to have to do the chores."

I went upstairs on hands and knees, Tansey hovering, concerned and flinching. Half way up I bumped a punished foot, and in the agony heard myself mutter savagely: "Never again! We won't be here, we won't be here... I've had enough!"

Poor darling Tansey, she didn't know the thought within my mind.

I love her terribly.

CHAPTER FIVE - PHYLLIS STAFFORD

I've come to recognize it as a sort of love play: this feuding repartee Dick and I indulge in all the time. I think it means something, to me anyway. I seem to need to cling to some bit of pride even though it gets me whipped often enough. I'm ashamed of the whippings. Not because I've been a bad girl, but because the light one's don't bother me any more and the really bad ones always leave me with a wet thingummy. I'm getting to be as female as Wanda. That's about as female as a girl can get.

Even His Lordship's daily, 'Tie' doesn't get to me the way it did at first. Look at me now: My ankles are handcuffed together, but the chain passes under a heavy root of the Banyan tree beneath which I sit on the ground. What I call my 'Uniform' is draped over a rock. I have to be naked for my 'Tie'. As a tantalizing occupation by which to while away the hour or two or three in which I'll be captive like this, my hands are tied together in front of me with cord. It's a game really. I am permitted to try and get loose, and I am not punished if I succeed. But no girl ever gets loose once Dick's tied her. I've been biting and tugging for an hour and haven't even discovered where he's hidden the knot. So I do what Wanda does, rest. I lay on my back, let my bound hands fall where they may, and start to snooze.

It is then I hear the sounds.

Footsteps on the path up from the beach and a faint murmur of voices. Wanda is tied somewhere out of sight, and it is too early for release. I sense the sounds as feminine, and sit up startled. Something is wrong!

My nudity is clearly visible from the house. It is there the voices will inevitably head. I will see them and they will almost certainly see me, I cannot hide. I watch in curiosity for something that cannot happen, my heart thumps.

I do not believe my eyes. It's... it's... well, it's just too much! I have to be dreaming! The two of them examine the house and all our things around it, including the smoldering fire beneath the simmering pot. They peek inside the door and whistle. Then back out and survey the landscape, of which I am the most notable item. With glad cries of welcome they come bounding over to where I wish the Earth would open and swallow me up. Phyllis Stafford of the Syndicate, bound and naked beneath a Banyan tree! I mean... How would you feel!

"I don't believe it!" Connie Smeaton is ecstatic.

"Oh, Mistress!" Tansey giggles. She wears handcuffs. This helps.

"What the Hell are you doing here?" I demand ungraciously, wishing they had not caught me in the middle of my 'Tie'.

Connie is hurt. "Aren't you pleased to see us?" she asks sadly.

I am asking myself the same question. I am overjoyed to see them. But I am thinking of four females, all beautiful, and one male, very horny. I perk up. This might be interesting.

"Of course I am! It's just the shock," I tell her with convincing sincerity. "Here, untie my hands, will you. I can do the honours a bit better then."

"Are you sure we should?"

"My hands, yes. My feet, no. Even if your key fits, you mustn't unlock my ankles."

"I told you, Mistress. It's their daily "Tie'." Tansey trills as she kneels and goes to work on the cores round my wrists. It is easy to tell that her handcuffs bother her less than a pair of gloves.

"We want to come and visit," Connie Smeaton says brightly. "May we?"

I have to laugh at her naivete. For a moment I take my bound wrists away from Tansey and wave them demonstratively. "Do I look like the one to ask?"

They are intrigued. "You mean that male creature?" Connie asks with distaste. Tansey giggles and uses her teeth on a difficult strand.

"His name's Dick Carnaby," I tell her shortly. "If you stick around here he'll tie you up every day and whip you once a week. The really bad ones for misbehavior are apt to happen anytime. You'd be more comfortable at a Hilton Hotel somewhere."

"He can't overpower four strong girls," Connie protested. "He can, y'know. Besides, it's only two. I'm chained, and Wanda's out in the trees somewhere chained too. He'd handle you with one hand."

Connie fished in a pocket and produced the small, small key. "Here, let me free you. Most handcuffs are the same."

"Don't you dare!" I was really perturbed. "If Dick comes back and finds me walking around I'll get the Manta tail."

"I told you, Mistress." Tansey was enjoying her status as an experienced slave girl under the Carnaby influence. "The Manta tail's awful."

The cords fell away from my wrists. Tansey chafed the red skin with tender hands. She is a sweet girl and almost as erotic as Wanda. Connie had known a good thing when she had stolen her.

"Thanks, sweetheart," I said gratefully. "Give me a hand and I'll stand up."

That bit was easy. I stood, naked and feeling grubby. My ankles hurt where the metal bit at them from the tug of the root to which I was chained, but it was better than sprawling on the ground.

"You can slip this over your head, darling." Connie was helpfully offering me the slip of a dress she had found on the rock.

"I'd get the Manta tail for that too," I told her glumly. "A girl in her 'Tie' has to be naked. Tansey will tell you."

"You always kept me naked," Tansey giggled, she was in a euphoria of enjoyment. She looked back and forth. "Now I've got two Mistresses. Should I call you Phyllis or maybe number two Mistress?"

"You will call her Phyllis," Connie Smeaton said firmly. I could see she kept a sharp eye on her slave girl's social instincts. Suddenly a vast vista of endless entertainment opened up to view: Dick and the erotic Tansey! Dick and the man hating Connie Smeaton! I found myself more and more enthused over our visitors. Tansey would love it all, so would Wanda. But Connie... ! Oh boy!

"Darling Phyllis." Tansey obediently sighed my name, and in so doing caused my cunt to flame excitedly. "Will Dick want to whip us both immediately?"

"Stop it, you wanton little sexpot!" Connie stamped her foot. "I'll whip you now if you keep on in that vein."

"She loves me," Tansey said demurely, eyes sparkling into mine.

"No one is going to whip anybody." Connie affirmed as though she knew what she was talking about. "Or tie me up either. I might lend him Tansey for an afternoon, that's all." She paused hesitantly. "I'd hoped we could make quite a long visit."

Standing up was better, but I seemed more naked. I daren't move my feet for fear of falling. I felt ridiculous.

"One helluva long way from that syndicated column," Connie smirked as though reading my mind.

"Wait 'till Dick gets hold of you," I promised darkly.

"I don't fuck." Connie affirmed as though she'd passed a law..

"You will if he wants you, and you'll do the other thing too," I assured her blithely.

"That's nonsense. No man can get the best of four women."

"Count me out right at the start," I requested. "I can get a wet pussy over a lot of things, but not from that Manta tail, and that's what I'd get." I looked at her intimidatingly.

"We'd all get it."

"I'm ashamed of you." I could see she meant it. "Tansey, darling, go and find Wanda and set her free."

"Wanda won't raise a finger against Dick, she adores him," I warned as Tansey flitted off among the foliage.

"Damn good thing I came," Connie stated smugly. "Your spine needs a bit of stiffening. I hate to see a girl the way you've become. I'll be glad to deal with this Dick character."

"You'll never have a better chance, sweetheart," said a drawling male voice. "Would you like to deal with me now?" I suppose it's all wrong, but I could have chortled with joy. I sort of like Connie, but she sure is arrogant about men. I held out my untied hands to my amused lord. "Only my wrists, Master. My ankles are still cuffed."

"Good girl!" Dick approved. "No stripes this time."

"Oh, for Pete's sake...!" Connie was disgusted.

My Master casually gathered up her hands and tied them behind her back with the bit of cord Tansey had taken from me. She fought furiously but to no avail. I knew my Master could handle six like Connie with ease. I was glad I was on the right side of the law.

"Let me go, you lousy bastard!" Connie wailed. Then, quite absurdly, shouted: "Help!"

"Just do what he tells you," I counseled gently. "That way the punishment isn't too severe."

"Punishment!!!" I thought she would burst with the outrage of the word. "What the hell can this overgrown ape punish me for!"

"For being a girl," Dick told her suavely. "Around here girls take second place and do what they're told. And they don't call their Masters apes."

The heiress to the Smeaton millions tugged frantically at her tied wrists. At that moment the loss of her hands was her main concern. I knew how she felt. "You can't possibly get free once Dick's tied you." I tell her helpfully. "Best not to struggle. It only chafes your wrists."

Connie glared at me, I was a traitor. I knew how she felt about that too. She faced her new Master. "This whole thing's absurd."

"In a little while you will be stripped and whipped as an introduction to our Island," Dick told her kindly.

"You go plumb to...!" Connie went into another spasm of revolt against the cord. "I can't get loose!" she gasped wildly, looking back and forth at us as though for sympathy. "Here, you untie me." She backed up against my Master.

"You sure have a long way to go, honey," Dick chuckled. He reached round and pinched the nipple barely hidden by her bra'.

Connie squealed in outrage and kicked at my master on his shin. I was sure it hurt. While he went to get the Manta tail, Connie backed optimistically up to me. "Untie me," she hissed. "While the bastard's not looking."

"He'll only tie you again and whip us both," I said ineffectually, and not a bit Women's Lib'.

"Ooooh! I could slap you" Connie stamped her foot again. She was having a bad day.

"Why don't you run," I suggested. "At least you've got your feet."

But it was too late. "Which do you prefer," my Master asked our guest. "Shall I strip you and tear your clothes, or would you like me to untie your hands so you can disrobe yourself?"

"Neither," said our Connie firmly. "I refuse to strip for the satyrism of a man."

"How about stripping so it will get you remission of five with this-providing you do it nicely, of course." He held out the wicked Manta tail.

"I refuse to discuss such nonsense," Connie said haughtily. "How many strokes do you propose to give me?"

I could have laughed out loud. But after all...

Dick untied her hands. "You'll soon find out," he told her cheerfully. "Now, get those clothes off!"

She glared her outrage at both of us, but kicked off her shoes. "You want the tease act?" she demanded disdainfully. "I've never done it, but I suppose it pleases an oaf like you."

"That'll be five extra."

Connie gave him the look reserved for lesser plebians and skinned off her nylons. "I'd hardly call you a gentleman," she observed coldly as she jettisoned the dress.

"Good. Then I don't have to behave like one. And that's a damn poor tease show you're putting on."

Connie was down to panties and bra'. I could see she wasn't fussy about going any further. Suddenly she was back in her shoes and streaking for parts unknown. My heart bled for her.

Dick caught her in about a dozen giant leaps and dragged her back by her hair. I knew all about that hair hazard. Any girl who aims to tangle with a man had better get a crew cut. Connie's flailing fists and feet never had a chance to connect, and anyway she lost her shoes after about the second kick. Dick held her hair with one hand and tossed me a key with the other. "Unlock yourself, sweetheart. Little Miss Uppity here is trading places with you."

"I'm doing no such thing! Don't you dare...!" Little Miss Uppity was in a fine old tizzy, her small fists beating the air and only occasionally connecting with her captor's chest with about the impact of a toothpick on a big base drum. "You're not going to put those things on me!"

I had unlocked my ankles and was gratefully moving my legs again, the handcuffs, warm from my skin, dangling from one hand. Dick propelled our ungrateful guest to stand above the useful root and motioned to me to chain her ankles as mine had been. He had to be quite rough with Connie's hair before she decided to stand still so I could do it. When the last click of the steel bands had snugly captured her ankles we stepped back. I'm ashamed to admit I enjoyed what we saw.

She was furious, and I knew how she felt. Imagine! A girl just stands, she can't take even half a step. She's an exhibit in a cattle market. "Still a bit overdressed for this climate," Dick hinted.

, "Alright, you've got me!" Connie retorted hotly. "But I don't take off another thing. I refuse to play your silly games." She eyed the manta tail dubiously. "And you can put that museum exhibit back where it came from." Her voice lacked total conviction.

I found myself a bit disturbed on Connie's behalf. She'd come on what she intended as a visit and here she was chained, half naked and threatened with the most awful whip she'd ever seen. It wasn't hard to see myself in her shoes. After all, I'd been there. I felt I owed her a risk. "Please, Master, don't use the Manta tail on her. She is sort of a guest, y'know."

My Master gave me his full attention. "You prefer I use it on you?" he inquired with an iciness I knew assumed.

I knelt and bowed my head in submission. I'd learned this a good trick to play when the going got rough. It really touches a man's heart and only hurts a girl's knees.

Dick always has a trump card. He played one now. "Phyllis will remain kneeling as she is. I will whip her until you are naked and give me some rational explanation of your presence on this Island."

I curled up inside, but did not move. Connie made a frustrated gesture of disgust and tossed away her bra'. "You're a first class S.O.B." she commented bitterly. "My panties have to stay, you've chained my feet together."

"Tear them off."

It took a surprising amount of tugging, but she managed. It was then I realized she was covered in whip marks, faded but still visible. Bleakly she told her story. "It seemed a good idea to visit you, to get away from something horrible... I thought we'd be welcome." There were almost tears in this last testament.

"We?"

"I brought Tansey along. She's out looking for Wanda."

I could well imagine what Tansey and Wanda were up to! Those little squirrels would be having the time of their lives.

Poor Dick! Up to his neck in females. I could tell he was feeling sorry for the chained girl who stood facing him in her nakedness. I wondered if he'd be willing to lose face, or would he still whip her. She really didn't deserve to be punished. "How on Earth did you get here?"

"Chartered a boat. It's moored off your beach, waiting instructions." She looked at my Master pathetically. "After you've' done... well, whatever you think you have to do to me, Tansey and I will go back to it. We won't bother you... I didn't realize...."

"Neither you or this Tansey wench are going anywhere."

I saw her tense. She got the message. It shocked her as much as it surprised me. But, after all, why shouldn't he... ! "You mean you're going to...?" She looked down at her handcuffed ankles, "You're going to keep us prisoners?" She gave me a pitying look, "The way you've got Phyllis."

"I'm not a prisoner," I avowed inadequately.

"Phyllis is a slave girl," Dick said with relish. "With Phyl' and Wanda, you and Tansey, I'll have a stable of four. About right, I'd say."

"Flatter yourself, don't you!"

"And I'll keep you chained," he warned. "None of this ganging up when I'm not looking."

"I absolutely refuse."

"I'll whip you until you feel better about it. You will."

"You've forgotten the boat and the crew. They'll make you trouble."

"I'll just string this Tansey girl of yours up while you go and give them your dismissal. If you don't come back I'll first of all give her a good shave: hair, eyebrows, and the bush between her legs. After that things will start to get rough for her."

"You wouldn't!"

"Ask Phyllis."

Connie looked at me, distraught, "Would he?"

"He would!" I wasn't at all sure, but figured I'd better make it positive.

Poor Connie! She stood awkward and ashamed, the Island closing in on her. She was glancing resentfully back and forth between her handcuffed ankles and us. She looked so pathetic I could sense Dick relenting. He tossed me the Manta tail.

"You can put this back where it belongs, sweetheart. Bring me a bit of cord for you."

"Yes Master." I gave the new captive a reassuring grin. I thought she'd need it. Dick had crossed her wrists behind her back and was tying them again. I could tell she was cautiously choking back the things she would like to say.

By the time I returned she was safely tied and was wriggling her arms in the usual exploratory revolt. I didn't have to be told, I gave my Master the cord, turned my back and crossed my wrists. He tied them so tight I almost yelped.

"Haven't you got any guts at all!" Connie demanded of me. "And calling him Master...!"

I didn't try to explain, she'd learn! Her scornful eyes did shame me a bit when Dick unlocked one of her ankles and clasped the cuff on one of mine. There the two of us stood, going nowhere, unable to touch.

"Now, what about this Tansey character!" Dick demanded firmly.

"I told her, she's looking for Wanda."

"Hmmm! Wanda isn't that hard to find. If they're not back by now we can figure out what they're doing." He sounded grim, he'd guessed.

"They are old friends, remember Master," I offered hopefully.

"So are we," he retorted, grinning at my helplessness. "But just think of the things we get up to!" He eyed his two captive women with relish. "You two can stand there, or sit if you wish, while I go and round them up. With a genial wink for my benefit alone, he strode off into the bushes.

I'm fond of Connie, but I was not all that happy about our enforced proximity, I was a small child awaiting a reprimand. It came.

"I'd never have believed it of you, Phyl'." was her opening reproach.

I did the usual squirm against my tethered ankle. I wished Dick had chained us further apart. It's awkward when a girl's conscience can rub shoulders and fully intends to. "Wait 'till you know him," I tell her lamely.

"The damn thing's a foot long, I suppose." She sniffs. Connie has an eloquent sniff.

"It isn't just that," I protest. "You have to admit this Island's something special."

"It is, isn't it!" The sarcasm dripped gooily. "Two women who ought to know better, stripped naked, their hands tied behind their backs, their ankles handcuffed together under a bit of wood. I'll say it's special!"

I did some more squirming. I could see there was going to be a lot of it. "Honest, Connie, I'm sorry. I wish I could have warned you." I gave her my most penitent smile and a tentative kiss on her cheek. "I will try and talk Dick into letting you go."

She looked as though she might try and like me again if I was a good girl. "What's the chances?"

"Not all that good. He likes girls. He loves the things he does to us, and I don't just mean what you're thinking. He likes that too. I'm afraid I do." I turned on a bit of reproach. "You did sort of walk into this, y'know. He didn't invite you."

"The thing to do is get loose!" Connie brushed aside my childish quibbles. "Turn round so I can get at your hands." It seemed kindest to let her try, so I did my best with a back up job, with our ankles locked tight in the positions Dick had craftily placed us in it wasn't all that successful. "Dammit, Phyl', can't you get a bit closer?" she demanded testily as though I wasn't trying.

"No I can't!" I was a bit testy myself. "It's no use trying anyway. When Dick ties a girl she's tied."

"You're disgusting!" she sniffed vehemently. To prove her point she leaned so far back she fell over all the way and sat on the ground, squealing with pain from her metal bound ankle. "I think my ankle's broken," she proclaimed petulantly. "Can't you do something! Anything at all?"

"What would you suggest?" I asked wearily. "My ankle's locked there too, y'know."

"But we can't just stand...!"

"We most certainly can, darling. We probably will." I grinned down at her with all the pity I could muster. "After all, it's better than being whipped. You came awful close...." Poor Connie! I've said that before, I know. But I did feel sorry for the girl, all those millions and owning Tansey, and in a fix like this! She started to cry. I extended my free leg as close as I could get so she had something to lean and wipe her cheek on. "What a rotten mess I've made of things." She sobbed. "It's not just me, it's Tansey. That sun god of yours won't use that lousy fish tail thing on her, will he?"

"The Manta tail! No, not unless she offends him terribly." She sniffled quietly, pregnant with thought. "Phyl', look, this is important: He won't fuck her...?"

"He will if he wants to."

"He mustn't! Oh no... no! I couldn't bear it. She's mine."

"But, darling, you're his."

Connie wiped a bit more wet salt on my leg and looked up piteously. "Phyl', dear, what must I do! What can I do?"

"Nothing. Just be an obedient slave girl like me. I think Tansey will obey the rules, so you needn't worry too much about her."

"But you like it! You must be nuts, but you came of your own free will."

"So did you, love. In the end there's no difference. Look at the two of us now: do I seem privileged?"

Connie examined my naked helplessness as though seeking signs of preference. My sad state consoled her. "Will this Dick of yours let me keep Tansey... he won't separate us...?" she asked dolefully.

I thought of me and Wanda? somehow I couldn't see Connie Smeaton sneaking her slave girl off into the brush. I told her so, and of the penalties. She cried again and put my leg back into use.

"Are you going to sit on the ground or get up again?" Our shared handcuff was hurting me.

"My ankle hurts. I'm scared to move it."

"If you stand up we'll both stop hurting. Handcuffs are fine unless you fight them."

Connie grimaced and groaned but achieved the vertical. I wished I had my hands to comfort her. She needed it. Dick is a bit of a bastard at times. He'd be off somewhere chuckling about what he'd done to me. It was right there I realized he and the girls had been gone a long, long time.

Connie sensed my uneasiness. "If he had an accident we'd just stay like this and die," she opined morosely.

"Alright then, let's have another try with our hands." I'd come by a premonition.

About the only virtue of trying to get free is that it takes up a lot of time, something we had a lot of. By the time we were both complaining about our wrists hurting, an hour had passed and we were tied as tight as ever. But our shared grief made Connie like me a bit better. We were just about back to the regard we'd enjoyed in New York, when the unexpected sound brought our efforts to an end.

Somebody coughed.

There were three of them, all male, all with wide appreciative grins. For the first time in a long while I longed to cover my breasts and pubic hair.

"Thank God, you've come!" exclaimed Connie fervently. "Get us out of this mess, Fawcett, quick."

"Pleasure, maam." Fawcett scrutinized our plight. "Handcuff, eh!"

"Miss Stafford will tell you where to find a key." Connie was feeling a resurgence of authority.

I told them, but without relief. I wasn't a bit sure about Dick. Suddenly I wasn't a bit sure about anything. Fawcett was eyeing our vaginas with an almost clinical interest. "You get it, Plunkett." He directed. "I'd better look this over."

"Untie our hands, man," Connie demanded. "We're hurting."

Fawcett circled us. He fingered Dick's cords. "I bet you are." He conceded. "You're both tight and shipshape."

"You've had your look. Now untie us." Connie demanded with acerbity. She even turned sideways and stuck out her bound hands as far as they would go.

Connie's Captain eyed her crossed bound wrists with approval. "Not right now, maam. Pity to spoil a good piece o' work."

Right then I knew what we were in for.

"Mr. Carnaby won't mind," Connie affirmed absurdly. She fixed the third male with a steely eye: "Hawks, untie me. Now!"

I doubt if Hawks heard. He was absorbed with our pubic hair. I couldn't be sure he wasn't drooling.

"Go after Plunkett. Find some more rope, and stop gawping at her snatch."

Connie was not stupid. "Fawcett, what goes...?" The quiver in her voice was all too evident.

Fawcett examined his naked and helpless employer with relish. "Could say it's you that goes, maam... and the lady with you."

"Kidnapping?" Connie sounded breathless. It's a fearful word when you know it means you.

"Sooner call it trading," Fawcett suggested. "Trading's my line: not really a charter boat." Awkwardly he continued with the bad news. "You four girls will fetch one hell of a price."

"Ransom! Surely you know I'm the only one with any real money? What do you want?"

He had the grace to sound sheepish. "No ransom, maam, too much fuss and risk. Just a straight sale."

"What nonsense is that!" Connie was as aghast as I.

"Ain't nonsense, maam. All over the world flesh like yours comes high."

Our retorts were cut short by the return of the seamen. They still had their grins which focused instantly on my sex. They had also found handcuffs, keys, rope and, worst of all, a whip. Fortunately it was not the Manta tail.

The rope came first. It looped our necks and hung down to provide a leash. That detail attended to, Fawcett unlocked our ankles. "May as well go to the ship. No profit here." He was suddenly very much in charge. I doubted Connie would be called 'Maam' again.

Hawks took my leash, Plunkett grasped Connie's. He was holding the whip and gave us each an admonitory flick. "Any nonsense," he warned, "and I'll use it proper."

The shared look of consternation between Connie and I was cut short by a brutal yanking at our necks. We followed where we were led. It was about as humiliating as a girl can get. "Wait a minute, there's our clothes!" My fellow captive wailed.

"You won't need 'em, lady."

I was quite sure we wouldn't! "Haven't you seen a man around somewhere?" I asked miserably. Dick had to be somewhere.

There was an awkward silence. "Just one man, eh?" Fawcett observed. "May as well tell you now: The sharks got him. We grabbed the young'uns early on. Silly bugger comes dashing down the beach and swims after our rowboat. Makes it 'bout half way and then goes under. What else he expect in these waters!"

Oddly enough they all respected my tears. No one said anything else while we were led across the sand and thrust into the dingy. They thoughtfully tied our leashes to our seats. " 'Case you're thinkin' 'o suicide," Fawcett explained dryly. The oars were plied, and I watched Wanda's Island recede out of my life. I have never been more desolate. Connie managed to reach sideways and touch my arm. The sympathy was real and welcome. It was all I was going to get.

It was a rotten little tub. Its main feature seemed to be rust. One could hardly imagine it dealing in anything honest. I don't know a thing about boats, so all I can say is it had a bit of a superstructure and a mast. Wanda and Tansey were tied one on each side of it. The fourth member of the crew was sitting talking to them. Tansey looked scared, Wanda showed only bright eyed curiosity. She's a darling! Connie's leash and mine were tied to some nautical items I can't name, the crew departed. We were alone with the Captain.

"How much?" Connie tried again. "There just has to be a price."

"I told you, no dice."

"Send Miss Stafford for the money I'll provide. Let her take the girls. Keep me as hostage It's easy."

"We got all four of you now, lady. Think I'm nuts!" he leered roguishly. "There's four 'o us fellers, y'know. Can't really spare a gal'."

My heart thudded down, down, down. Dick's cords on my wrists seemed forever. The rope round my neck was my new insignia, and damned appropriate too! That's all we girls are: a nice bit of fluff to be fucked! A girl can't get away from that, it's her destiny. I wondered which of the four would get me. "What do you do, draw lots for us?" I asked bitterly.

"Pass you round, love. Good old Commie share and share alike rule. Four good men and true you've got ter look forward to."

Wanda giggled and wriggled against the ropes that held her to the mast. "You mean four men are going to put their things inside me?"

He got the inference. He looked at me, startled. "The kid's a virgin?"

I could not guess the best thing to admit, so I confessed the truth. "Hot damn!" Fawcett pondered. "The little trick is worth as much as the rest 'o you put together." He gave my darling a friendly grin. "You're a gold mine, honey. We'll lay off the excavating. Got ter keep the mode lode intact." He looked us all up and down with lingering enjoyment. "Imagine the other three 'o you can handle the four 'o us without no strain."

"A million dollars," said Connie decisively.

He was startled, then shook his head in regret. "Pains you as much as it does me, honey," he admitted somberly. "Bloody cops! They'd nab me somehow for sure."

"You're crazy to throw us away...."

"Ain't aimin' ter throw any 'o you away. There's a little matter of those marks on your pretty hides... Got me real interested."

"I don't suppose they'll affect our value."

"Was thinkin' more 'o a bit 'o fun," he admitted whimsically.

Once more my heart did a flip. Along with the fucking it seems equally inevitable that a girl gets whipped. Wanda took it for granted, so did Tansey. I was well along the same path. Poor Connie... !

"You mean you want to whip us?" Wanda asked helpfully. Our Captain sighed. He was glimpsing El Dorado. "Ain't no rush to get away from here," he confided. "Pleasant spot. Thought I'd set up some new ship's rules fer you to trip over. When you do you get the lash. Good old Cap'n Bligh style. Ten fer this, twenty, fer that. Tied ter the riggin' in front 'o the crew. Maybe I can get Ham ter rig up a drum fer a Nelson drum roll ter get us all in the spirit."

I nearly looked at Connie and said, "Here we go again!" But the less he knew the better. The whip stuff sounded familiar, but his idea about how we were going to get it was at least picturesque. Dick would have loved it.

"Could do a bit of keel hauling," Fawcett observed thoughtfully. "Probably a first. Never heard 'o a gal' being keel-hauled."

None of us said a word. What the hell was there for us to say! We were left alone safe and helpless to apprehensively watch a considerable activity. Captain Fawcett and his crew suddenly became men of purpose. Two men rowed ashore. On the ship there echoed the sound of hammers and the whine of drills. I was almost glad of an end to the boring suspense when I was selected to be the first to receive what Fawcett leeringly referred to as our 'New Uniforms'.

For me it was a secretly poignant moment when Dick's cords were peeled from my wrists. He had put them on me, he never would again. I wondered at Wanda's unconcern. Surely she knew... ! I was led by my leash to the centre of the deck for all to see. How those four males did enjoy a naked girl!

My 'Uniform' was cleverly enough conceived. Handcuffs had been severed from their links and replaced by an eighteen inch chain passing through a ring at the back of a belt padlocked round my tummy. When the familiar metal cuffs were snapped tight on my wrists I was quite helpless, but could get a bit of value from one hand if I jettisoned the other one behind my back. "Won't stop you layin' on yer rear, honey." Fawcett pointed out its merits.

So we were to be kept in chains! I wondered how much linkage I'd get for my feet. "Bit of a problem with a gal's legs." Fawcett explained as though we'd understand and sympathize. "First off we don't want you diving overboard and trying ter swim. Second, we want you to be able to spread your legs real wide. It's one of your first duties on this here chart I've drawn up. Third, we want you able to move around. You're part o' the crew now. Can't have you lazing about."

I was given a box to sit on. Ham and Plunkett heaved an anvil from somewhere and set it down before me. "Now this here little gadget is a regular inspiration for a gal' with your problems," Fawcett enthused. "Let's see how it looks on you."

The 'Little gadget' was a damn great chunk of iron beaten into an anklet. It came in two halves. When they put the first one on the anvil I could see it was heavy .-It sat there awaiting my ankle, which I obligingly rested inside it at their request. When the other half was put on top I was encircled by a smooth heavy band, so thick that the rivet holes needed no protuberance but were within the band itself. I watched unhappily while the rivets were inserted and beaten flat. It fit me well and, for sure, I'd never get rid of it. "No swimmin' ashore with that on your leg, honey." Our Captain exulted.

How right he was! When Ham was obliged to lift it and my foot from the anvil-I wondered if I would even walk. For a moment it felt impossible, it weighed a ton! A figure I later amended to about twenty pounds. Swimming was out, also running and kicking. Undoubtedly I was going to be a well behaved girl and do what I was told. I tried it out, hobbling and limping as though from injury. It's effect was exactly what Fawcett required.

I then retired to my new status as crew member of the inappropriately named 'Zephyr' and watched my female fellow captives receive their irons. Connie with loathing, Tansey with sweet resignation, Wanda with bright curiosity. The darling wasn't exactly enthused, but it was a new experience. Captain Fawcett then read us his book of rules.

The four men loved it, the four girls didn't. By the time he was through with his sexual do's and dont's we were blushing. Then when he got to the more everyday duties we were scared. They were so exacting we could hardly fail to realize a girl aboard the Zephyr would be lucky indeed if she got thrashed only once a day. The minimum penalty for anything was five strokes, and it went all the way up to fifty for a refusal to yield your body to any male who ordered you to open your legs.

It was inevitably Connie! Ham, intoxicated with power over a former autocrat, took her by the arm to lead her to some secluded spot, only to have her use her lone free foot to kick him in the testicles, an act she contrived with surprising agility and force. The other three men were delighted at the prospect of what must now take place. I have to admit to a shameful curiosity about it myself. But fifty lashes... !

Connie stood at bay, fists clenched tight against her chains, her stance awkward from the unaccustomed weight on one foot. I could see she was mentally computing chances of revolt. I saw, too, that moment when she abandoned herself to hopelessness. Her shoulders slumped, her hands fell slack within their metal bonds. She held her head high when she was led forward to trial.

Trial! What a parody! But how our captors loved its ritual! They did the whole bit, even allowing Tansey to be counsel for the defense. When Judge Fawcett pronounced the mandatory sentence it almost seemed a pity to bring the amusing farce to a close. Then it got grim.

They took off her handcuffs. She still couldn't dive over the side, the anklet would sink her. So she manfully walked to the appointed place where she was to be flogged. It was beneath a bit of rigging to which they lifted her hands and bound them there, neat and tight, and no doubt what they would call shipshape. Her arms were strained up, her lovely breasts proclaiming their presence. I looked at the small brave feminine hands above the cords, their fingers clenching and unclenching in a useless savouring of impotence, the strictures deep within the slender flesh. Constance Smeaton was to be flogged. She would not escape. They did not bother to tie her legs.

Ham, now recovered, came up with an old galvanized pail and a couple of heavy wooden spoons with which he practiced a trial tattoo.

It was a sound to make any waiting victim curl up and cringe. He took up position to one side. It was Plunkett who was given the honour of whipping the naked girl who had transgressed their code. I was glad to see that, whilst they had fetched all the whips from the Island, his choice was reasonably humane. But beneath a harsh male arm... ! I shuddered. Connie looked back over her shoulder with wide frightened eyes, then turned and gazed at the deckhouse wall. The tremors were plainly discernable on her left leg that bore no iron.

"We ain't using that there Manta Tail." The Captain explained in expansive benevolence. "Got nothin' agin' it. But it wears a gal' out too damn quick. A good floggin's supposed to last. Don't mind tossing a bucket o'water over a gal' once in a while if she's gettin' fifty. But with the tail she's a'goin' ter pass out 'bout every tenth swat. We'll think o'times ter use it," he added darkly.

He then bestowed his attention on the executioner and his palpitating victim. "Now look here, Plunkett, no going soft. You lace her good from knees up to neck. But leave her tits... ain't one of us don't figure on havin'a nip at 'em. And now, Miss Smeaton, would you say you was ready to receive your just desserts?"

This time it was her other shoulder over which she peered back. "I'm quite helpless, if that's what you mean."

"Not exactly, kid. You're learnin' a lesson, see! Seems like it ain't begun ter take hold."

"It won't!" The victim assured him with a hopeless conviction. You'll flog me insensible, and you can make me say anything you want. But you'll still be wrong in what you're doing."

"That's what they call moralizing, boys," Fawcett said with mock tolerance. "Better start laying it on, Plunkett boy. Gals understand a whip, makes sense to 'em. But let Ham have his go first."

. That blasted pail was a killer. Ham got the damndest roll out of it. I could see the tied nakedness tense and the lovely head come erect, waiting... Waiting for something that should never happen. Plunkett whirled into fierce flowing motion, the whip sang its song and cut its thong deep within the ivory of a girl's back. Constance Smeaton screamed most satisfyingly. Every male was erect with lust.

Connie was flogged with fifty lashes of a whip. That's about all that need be told. Since a man wielded it, the force of the blows were more than even girls like us had previously known. Twice she fell faint within her bonds, and twice she was revived with buckets of water tossed carelessly and with force against her nudity. After each deluge the leather cracked across her skin with added venom and continued to do so as long as the skin was wet. When they were done with her Connie could barely stand. We girls were not allowed to approach as she was freed and shackled. She was instantly given to Ham, who this time had no trouble in leading her away. She was dazed and weeping, here and there was blood. I wondered if Ham would be a lucky man and find her ardent in her agony.

I fell into the trap next. "Fetch me a gin and bitters." Fawcett demanded in a too kindly voice.

"You'll have to tell me where to find it." I'd no sooner said the words than I knew I was caught. It was too late to amend.

"Forget something, darling?" he asked genially.

"I forgot to address you as 'Sir'."

"Have you forgotten the penalty too?"

"No sir, it's ten with the cane on my bottom."

"Damn good! Hawks, see to it."

Off came my handcuffs. I was bent forward over a trestle, my hands were tied, pulled down then back and through my parted legs and tied to something I could not see. My bottom was cruelly reared, the trestle bar cut my middle, my hair hung to the floor. I was really in for it this time! No matter what cane they used it would be awful. The drum roll once more sang its song. This time it was Plunkett who used the spoons.

When the thudding blows were finished with my flesh and the rope was eased I flopped. No heroics, I had screamed myself out. I was sure neither my bottom or my sex would ever serve me again. They were flayed. At the first I only dimly comprehended the Captain's words.

"If you think a moment, honey, there was another little matter."

I could not think. I was only a burning anguish longing to die. I heard the words repeated, the tone still benign. I shook my head dazedly but not quickly enough. The cane sliced its scald across the width of my bent shoulders. I screamed and paid attention. But I could think of nothing.

"You said I'd 'Have' to tell you where the gin was, honey. A Captain don't have to tell his servin' wench nothin' if I remember right."- "I'm sorry, sir. Please forgive me. It's all so new...."

"It's the whip what does the forgin', love. You know that."

"Yes sir."

"Well, then, what's your punishment?"

"I'm afraid I don't know, sir."

He gave a portentous sigh at the ineptitude of slave girls and produced his Code. "Thoughtless disrespect, four with the cane on each hand." He read out with relish.

I broke down. I was tired and wounded. The time with Connie, then the news of Dick, the awful shellacking I'd just received, and now this! I knelt down in front of the bastard and burst into a spasm of sobs. "Please, sir, don't punish me any more." I begged in total abasement. I hated the knowledge that Wanda was watching with wide hurt eyes. To see me thus... ! I wept afresh in shame.

"T'aint a case o' forgivin', girlie," said Fawcett, flogging his role to death. "You earned yourself four cuts on each little hand, so you have to have 'em. Simple as that."

In a way he was right. Punishment is a simple uncomplicated thing. You err, you hurt. If anything at all is allowed to come in the way of punishment the whole thing falls apart. I looked at my hands and trembled. They'd be cut to shreds. This would not be a schoolroom caning of the hands of a delinquent girl child. I was a woman, and now a man would savagely slice each of my palms four times. I'd never manage to behave.

"Ready, love?" Hawks snickered the cane through the air for my edification.

I was about to mumble something when Wanda limped, iron footed, into the scene. "Please sir, don't cane her, cane me."

Everything was grist to Fawcett's mill. He beamed. "Why sure, kid, we'll cane you. But after she's had hers."

Wanda gave a small cry of impatience. "Oh don't be like that! So pompous and silly... and all those rules! Phooey on 'em. All you want is to hurt us girls and make us scream. It makes those things between your legs get stiff and hard so you can stick them inside us. Oh, I know! So hurt me instead of Phyl'. I scream beautifully. Honest I do."

Wanda is a phenomenon to anyone. She was to our Captain. He stood speechless and enraptured, unsure whether to bellow with rage or roar with laughter. "You really mean it, don't you!" He gasped in awe at such maiden innocence.

"Of course I mean it, silly! Darling Phyl's had an awful time, and I haven't been whipped really hard for quite awhile, maybe a week, so I won't go fainting on you right away."

He came up with his rotten chart. "Interfering with a punishment. The penalty is to receive the very same. , Satisfied, kid?"

"Oh fiddle on your old penalties and things. You just have to stop hurting Phyl. That's all that matters. I know I'll hate the things you'll do to me, but that can't be helped."

Out came the chart. "Insolence: Twenty with a whip." He cocked an enquiring eye as though inviting her to try for more.

"Oh alright! So I'll be half dead. How must I stand?"

"For the moment you stand aside, love. Go back to where you were. We deal with lover girl here first."

When Tansey limped into the fray my eyes brimmed with tears. These girls were incredibly sweet. The love of girls is not a thing to scorn. We are flesh of each other's flesh. We truly love. "Please, sir, be patient with us. We'll obey you in all that's possible. Try me, I'll do whatever you ask. But help us take our punishments... She looked up at him in total surrender. "We're... we're only girls."

It was another for his book. Tansey had a more worldly maturity than Wanda. He could not doubt the sincerity of either. I sighed, I had enjoyed,, a bit of rest, it was obvious what I must do. I stood up, stretched out my arm palm flat, and looked invitingly at Hawks.

He responded nobly. A moment later I was back on my knees nursing a wounded hand that could never, never be any use to me again. A throbbing awfulness pumped up and down my arm. I gasped and moaned without thought of the degradation of the sounds.

"Keep back, you two!" I heard Fawcett's injunction from afar. I crouched alone with my pain.

"Should we try for number two now, miss?" I could not tell if Hawk's quiet suggestion came from sarcasm or sympathy.

I knelt erect and blinked at my Judge and jury. "Please, sir, forgive me. I can't take any more."

"A state of mind, girl," Fawcett proclaimed cheerfully. When you've had your eight you'll wonder why you fussed."

I shook my head in denial. I was lost.

"But we will help you." His voice was immensely kind. "I'm catching on about you girls: you go in pairs, don't you. You'll take your eight like a good girl or the sweet trick you call Wanda gets sixteen, and I don't give a damn if she never uses her flippers again. How's that jar you?" His last words were venom.

Oh sure! I took my eight. I stumbled to my feet and held out my hand like a good girl, looking at no one, making my mind blank. The punishment took a bit of time because I was rolling on the ground through half of it. But thoughts of Wanda always got me back up. When the last blow devastated my hand Hawks locked my wrists back in their cuffs so I could not even nurse them. I just lay there awkwardly, sobbing, wondering if this was the moment where I got fucked. For sure I'd lay still and open wide. I was beat.

Vague sounds and commands compelled me to crawl away from centre stage to make way for the men's next act in a show that looked like being continuous. Ham and Connie were back, she bedraggled and damp, shamed before us all, he beaming and agog for the next feature. She and I huddled together, blending our tears. But in the end we watched... we watched...

"I have to be caned and then whipped, is that right?" Wanda asked matter-of-factly.

"Right as rain, love." Fawcett agreed with gusto. "Which will you have first?" He made it sound like father with a favourite daughter.

The darling's consideration was quite serious. "I can't tell," she confessed. "You hit a girl so hard I'm not sure how I'll manage, so I 'spose it's best if you just punish me in the order you gave." She looked at Fawcett cheerfully. "You do understand...?"

He looked as though he'd sooner take her to bed than whip her. But before he said a word she came up with a Wanda special that made even me gasp. She wriggled sexily as though embarrassed, then asked diffidently "You've had the caning on a girl's hands and the whip on the... well, on the rest at her back. I wondered if you wouldn't like a change?" She surveyed her audience in demure enquiry.

The silence was pregnant, it invited. "I thought you might like to whip my cunt?" Her outrageous suggestion sounded quite offhand.

The silence deepened, the stage was hers. Wanda's smile was ingenuous as she tried to be helpful. "If you've never whipped a girl's cunt you'll find it rather fun," she explained. "For you, of course, not for the girl. I'll be good and admit I'm scared of having my hands caned. They're quite small and I'm... I'm, well, frightened, I guess. But I have a nice cunt that's well padded for whipping, so if I could have my punishment there I'd be awfully grateful and I think you'd get a lot more enjoyment out of my pain. You can tie my legs up in the air, spread out of course. Anyway you like...."

"They'll remember this all the rest of their lives' I thought as I watched the awestruck male faces focused on a girl who knew no fear, for her heart was pure. Wanda glowed in their regard. I simply can't explain it: she glowed. About to be tortured she was radiant. Not because of the torture, but because of some strange alchemy by which she became one with those who gave her pain. She shared their ecstasy.

"It's a nice offer," Fawcett said, dazed.

"This I got to see," said Ham.

"Oh thank you so much." Breathed my darling. "How would you like me?"

They gave the matter the attention it deserved. In the end they settled for her own idea. Soon the lovely child rested.

with her shoulders on the deck and her feet and bottom well raised off it. The four letter item of which she was so innocently proud was shamefully exposed by sundered thighs widespread by ropes as taut as bow strings. Wanda's gorgeous pubic bush stood out like an oasis in a desert, a target impossible to miss. "I'll watch you whip my darling thing as long as I can bear it," she promised them ingenuously.

They had seen no reason to free her hands. She could only strain against the metal cuffs and the limit of the chain when the blows began to fall, her fists clenched, sometimes beating the floor with a rattle of links. It was not much. After the first few strokes her head tossed incessantly in motions I knew only too well.

It was Ham's privilege to wield the cane. It was as though he sought to split a girl asunder, starting at the very centre of her being he would achieve two perfect halves. He never missed. Indeed why should he! Never was a target so clearly defined and neatly framed. Each white thigh guided the slender enemy to the waiting lips. A bullseye was to divide them and enter the wet sanctuary they tried uselessly to guard. The tortured girl had taken these first invasions with a tremulous smile, now she moaned in small protesting cries against her agony. Somehow one sensed they cried against the pain only and not against the man who held the cane. Wanda had a pact with pain, she knew it well and dealt with it alone.

They did not carry my darling's anguish to a true excess. I suppose each of them valued the thing they hurt. When they freed her from the grotesque obscenity of the posture she joined Connie and me. Her smile was wan but filled with love. She put her head upon my lap and fell asleep. Ham looked at her with longing, but Wanda had paid her punishment. We were three naked girls who had been taught a lesson. I always hate to admit it but the power of a whip over a girl is total. We can withstand it such a little time before we scream.

Poor dear Tansey! She's so sweet. Now she was alone. I thought of the last aristocrat to be dragged from the tumbril by the guillotine. By Fawcett's Code she had transgressed by interceding on my behalf. Would he use the expedient to round out his subjugation of the four of us! She was far too beautiful to be whipped by men.

She had stood uncertainly alone, waiting. She did, now, a thing typical of her nature. She limped her weighted foot into the limelight and said with sweet humility. "I know you wish to punish me. Please don't search for a reason, your wish is enough. Tell me what I must bear and I will strive to help."

Everyone adored her. The men had to justify their cruelty by calling her crime insolence and sentencing her to twenty lashes with the whip. They did this like little boys playing a game. Then, having done decided it was a bit mundane. Wanda had started a trend. Tansey must be punished, but in strange and exotic ways.

We waited, tense. What parts of a girl had not been whipped! We knew, we knew all too well! So did Tansey, her cheeks were white, her fists clenched against her irons. Her breasts or the soles of her feet! The men would take their time getting there, but they would arrive.

They chose her feet. I suppose I'd have done the same. To destroy a girl's breasts is to destroy the girl. They laid her down upon her face and bound tight her ankles and her knees. Then two of them took canes and each of them chose an upturned sole and beat it as though it was an enemy. She screamed to warn them, but they heeded not. Soon she was unconscious and their fun was over. They felt cheated but conceded their mistake. "Helluva' lot lighter next time, mate." Hawks said regretfully. "Mustn't wear the little fillys out." He got water and sloshed it on the supine nudity.

Our prison for the night was an iron box. That's all it was. Probably a storage compartment. They jovially called it a 'Brig' and went to no end of trouble to 'Put us in irons': as though we weren't in irons already. But nothing would do but that chains were fastened to the wall or the metal plating of the floor and their other extremities locked upon us in devious ways. Connie drew a padlock on her ankle, Wanda's was round her waist. Tansey's padlock joined her fetters to the end of a chain. I got the worst, a beastly ring of links around my neck. Their chain had to ball between my breasts, it's weight down my back would have choked me. "But we couldn't escape." I protested. "Why this?"

"We're just plain mean, love." Plunkett said facetiously. "Besides, you look damn cute. You ought to see your faces!" They went away laughing. The clang of the metal door was a death knell.

We did not speak of Dick. We spoke of nothing save our hurts. They were the only reality left to us. All else was even more frightening to contemplate. A couple of blankets had been tossed at us. We nestled against our loves and tried to sleep. Strangely enough we did.

The Captain and the crew of the Zephyr must have been woman starved, or fantasy starved, or just plain opportunists. When we were herded up on deck in the morning we were still anchored off the Island and it was soon made evident that us girls were the order of the day, we were all they had on their minds. Their appetites were whetted. There was a feeling that today was the day.

They had brought along the length of chain. A ship is full of knobs and rings and rails and things, so we were soon anchored to this or that here and there around the centre of the deck. I had a feeling some sort of stage effect was still being sought. Having disposed us as a collection of Andromedas waiting for the Sea Monster, they went about their affairs and left us to stew awhile. We were about as sad a female quartet as you're likely to find, we were still hurting. When the Captain finally decided he had a bit of time for us he was almost welcome. Just standing chained to something is a bore.

"I'm damn glad we thought of this." He offered for openers.

He found a box where he could sit and see us all, the Zephyr was no Liner. Having made himself comfortable he had our full attention. "We want to make this an interesting day for you." He explained, "So the boys and me have thought up a few goodies. We want to start the show off with a bang, so we're having one of the main events right quick. It ain't that early in the day anyhow, 'bout right." He paused for effect, then asked casually: "Any o' you gals ever hear of kneel-hauling?"

"You have to be kidding!" I hope I sounded as incredulous as I felt.

"Used to be a lot of it, y'know. Good old standby." He observed thoughtfully.

"Thought you were going to sell us!" Connie flamed. "Aren't you depreciating your merchandise?"

"Simple enough idea." Fawcett continued, ignoring our interruptions. "We run a line under the hull so it makes a loop round the middle of the ship, then we tie one end to your feet and the other end to your hands and toss you overboard. 'Bought the time you get ready to swim we cross the deck and tug like hell so down you go, under the keel and up the other side. Ingenious, eh!"

"You wouldn't do that to a girl!" I actually believed he wouldn't.

"Don't see why not. It's a lot better than the old days when they were coated with barnacles. Paint we use now keeps old Betsy clean below the water line. You gals will slide down and over and under slick as a whistle."

"Do you really have to be this much of a bastard?" Connie asked wearily.

"You forgetting the book o' rules, honey?"

"I thought you had. What d'you need 'em for when you're going to torture us anyway... Sir?"

He was indeed king of his castle. Four naked girls chained awaiting his pleasure. Calling him 'Sir' with just the wrong inflection so that he'd be justified in thrashing them for it. "Well, anyway," he continued amiably, "as I was tellin' you before you earned yourselves a lickin', we pull you up the other side and on to the deck, then we carry you over and toss you in again. It's a real fun thing that can go on and for as long as you like."

"You mean for as for long as we're still alive." I said bitterly.

"Ah honey, you're still thinking of them olden days. You bin' readin' stuff. It was them there barnacles what made it bad. You'll go under like a breeze."

"But the sharks...!" Tansey ventured. She was scared.

"Adds a bit o' spice, sweetheart." Fawcett assured her expansively.

"I don't think you're a very nice man." Wanda admonished. "Couldn't you think up something a little kinder?"

"I'm keepin' them fer dessert, honey. Only problem I got is do we kneel-haul just one o' you or the whole quartet."

"Couldn't we be fucked instead?" Tansey asked plaintively.

Even in this extremity Connie kept an eye on her little pigeon. "Tansey! They'll split us enough without encouragement."

"Well, I just thought...." Tansey shuffled awkwardly and clanked her chain.

"Nice girl that." Fawcett observed approvingly. "Got the right idea. Don't worry about the fucking, ladies. Me and the lads will do you proud.

"You mean we don't have to be... what you were saying?" Tansey inquired optimistically.

"Your fuckin' comes after, love. You gals got to earn your screw."

"Well, if you absolutely must do this rotten thing, make it just one of us." I pleaded. "Make it me. I've done a bit of swimming."

"Not as much as me!" Wanda declared vehemently.

"That's what I like." Facett declared. "All willing to help out." He looked me in the eye. "Your offer accepted, gal'. You're the one. Summat about you I like. You got a lovely snatch and damn fine tits. Me and the boys will fuck you real good afterwards. Give yer summat ter look forrard to while you're scrapin' yer arse on the keel."

I took it as a complement. I think he meant it to be.

I tried to compose myself for death.

Our captors had a true sense and appreciation of theatre. Once more the drum, once more the lineup of a smirking crew. The girls stayed put, they had a good view from where they were chained. It was me from whom the chain was taken and the wrist cuffs unlocked. Except for the impeding metal band upon my ankle I stood naked and free.

"You aimin' ter do any fightin'?" Our Captain inquired anxiously. "Wot I mean: if the boys got to help fix you up they ain't no audience."

"Don't worry." I told him wearily. "I'll even help you get me ready for my drowning. What do you want me to do?"

Silly eh? But what would you have done! I could limp to the rail and slide overboard and drown because of the weight on my ankle, or I could fight and be subdued by ungentle male hands. Not much of a choice. So I stuck my hands out and watched Captain Fawcett tie them together. Then I looked down with a sort of polite interest while he did the same for my ankles. "Do you really have to do this?" I asked him hopelessly.

He didn't bother to answer, just pulled the cords extra tight. I stood there, shamed and frightened while he and his crew went about the job of running the line. It seemed a hell of a lot of trouble to go to in order to brutalize a girl and maybe kill her. I couldn't get rid of the fear they were playing with something they didn't understand, with my life as the stake. When, after a lot of fuss and bother, they tied one end of the rope over my bound wrists and the other end through my tied ankles. I had to exert everything, and I had to blank out thought. I was close to screaming hysterics. I remember, in this last moment, trying to smile at the three pairs of horrified female eyes that watched but could not help. Then I was picked up and lowered over the side.

I'd made a fix in my mond of what I must do to survive. But everything went cockeyed. The first shock was when I discovered I was going to make my journey beneath the keel head first. Free of the ship I was hanging upside down, all the tension was on the rope to my feet by which I was being allowed to get closer and closer to the water. Looking agonizedly down I could almost see the gaping jaws of sharks.

Suddenly the support was gone, I was in the water. Fortunately the metal on my ankle took that end of me straight down, there was certainly no swimming for any girl with that lump of iron attached, but it did enable me to inhale that last lungful of air that could save my life. I was so helpless and so scared that it was with actual gratitude I felt the tug of the rope at my wrists and knew I was not forgotten, I had started my underwater journey, or punishment, or whatever you want to call it.

I think a girl who could not swim might die. The impossible incongruity of the whole ordeal would disorganize her utterly. But right at the start I got an unexpected break from the weight on my foot, it took me down so that, with the pull on my tied hands, I remained more or less vertical. My greatest danger of injury would be when my bound hands and arms were pulled under and against the keel itself.

There was no time to think or to remember. The rope controlling me was being heaved with tug after tug. Down and down I went, but because of the other force of my anklet I was able to negotiate the hazard of the keel with a single thrust of my bound hands before the next tug from above dragged them forward towards the return journey up the other side.

I suppose the whole punishing horror didn't take a minute; the Zephyr wasn't that big a boat. It seemed an hour, but when my tether lifted my hands and then my head above water I discovered my store of air had seen me through with a bit to spare. My reappearance, still alive, evoked a hearty handclap from my watching enemies above.

They pulled me up and over the rail. I could do nothing to help. Their hands found all of me in the process, but hands were the last thing I cared about at that time. I wanted air and to be chained somewhere quietly out of the limelight. When they stood me up I shook my wet head like a soaked dog.

"See, honey, didn't bother you none at all." Fawcett sounded as relieved as I was myself.

"Not a scratch on her." Hawks added.

"Little bitch enjoyed it." Plunkett opined.

"Better toss her in again." Ham came up with. "we musta' done summat' wrong. Weren't no trick for her at all."

I explained nothing, let them figure it out for themselves.

Even though I had survived well enough, I wanted no more. I stood and shivered, but not from cold.

Even for a girl who is totally bare most of the time there remain degrees of nakedness. Exposure to the influences of The Island had largely made me oblivious of myself. I was an entity called Me, and no longer ninety-nine percent nipples, breasts and pubic hair. But there are times when this chaste shield dissolves. The entity called Me is thrust into a spotlight in which the avid eyes of all the world are focused on her nakedness. It happened now.

There I stood, soaking wet, hair lank, a puddle of water forming at my feet. My stance is uncertain, it is so easy to topple when your ankles are tied so tight they hurt. My crossed wrists were corded harshly, I found myself not knowing what to do with my hands. You know; like an adolescent boy. Wet snakelike ropes trailed from me across the deck and over into the sea. I was a living breathing part of a circlet encompassing the good ship Zephyr. The small audience of males around me were drinking in my condition with avid eyes. Absurdly I blushed, doubly and trebly starkly naked. Helpless.

"C'mon, kid, tell us what it's like." Fawcett encouraged. "Honest, we're interested. Ain't never done it afore."

"It's beastly, and frightening, and a girl could die." I said flatly.

"You ain't nowheres near dyin'." Plunkett accused.

I flashed him a look if disgust. "Is that what you wanted- for me to die?"

"Hell no, honey, that ain't what he means at all." The Captain placated. "But I got to admit you look pretty spry fer a gal' wot's been keelhauled. Must be the old Zephyr's a mite small and we're missin' them barnacles. Want to have a second try?"

What I did then is becoming a habit. It's sort of the final eloquence for a girl in bonds. I slid to my knees in front of him, my ropes trailing; my wet hair heavy on my shoulder. I supplicated with my joined hands. "No! Please no, not again... you're playing with my life. Please, Captain, punish me another way... the whip or something..

It sounded futile even to me. My plea was damned instantly by an exclamation from Hawks. "I just now figgered it out, boss." He said half sheepishly. "Takes all four o' us ter give the little bitch a proper haul. Sure two of us can pull the way we done already, but it takes the other two to hole a taut line so she ain't floppin' or swimmin' or lettin' that bit o' lead on her ankle take her on down so she don't get scraped."

There was a moment's ecstatic silence before Fawcett slapped his thigh and said: "Hot damn, lad, you're right and all. We bin suckered. He turned and leered at me in mock reproach, "And you weren't goin' ter say a word, were you sweetheart?"

I stumbled to my feet. Being on my knees wasn't going to help at all now. I felt like a little girl called out in front of the class. I stood sheepishly awaiting my sentence.

"We'll do it right this time, little lady." Fawcett gloated. "Over she goes, boys."

I got a brief and unwelcome reprieve from Ham. "Hold on, Cap'n. You goin' ter let the foxy bitch get away with that?"

My heart sank. Excuses to punish a girl were endless.

There were the usual pretences of deep consideration of so weighty a matter and the usual suggestions. Their final decision had a bit of logic about it; yesterday Tansey had fainted when they beat her feet, so how to gauge the strokes so that a girl would scream but not be lost to their pleasure in unconsciousness. What better opportunity to find out! I wasn't going to be doing much walking. I was an ideal subject.

Cluttered with rope as I was, they saved themselves trouble by just tying my already bound feet to a hatch, soles up. Me on my tummy, bound hands stretched out uselessly in front. "You can help us out on this, kid, by givin' us a few hints on 'bout how far to go." Fawcett suggested genially. "Won't believe all you say, o' course, but we will try to keep you interested in what's goin' on. Don't want none o' this fainting bit."

I wanted to cry, or howl, or die. I wanted none of what was about to happen to me, but I knew it would happen. The Captain was quite sincere in his interest as to how hard you have to whip a girl's feet for her to faint. A useful statistic for a practicing sadist. But to ask me to help? The whole thing was a phantasmagoria.

Since my feet were tight together, they worked one on each side so as to cross each sole each blow. A girl expects to get a number; five, ten, or whatever, but the caning of my feet had become, to them, an interesting project. "Not that you're gettin' off the keelhauling, love."

They began very lightly, rap, rap, rap, up and down the length of my foot and on my toes. It hurt. Not a lot, but enough. I think I winced worse than from a hard blow. Every time I jerked they snickered, they were enjoying me hugely. I found myself apprehensively looking back over my shoulder, but their pleased smirks and the suspense of seeing the cane rise and fall was more than I could take. I lowered my head to the deck and wondered how long it would be before I screamed.

I screamed a long, long time. Their enjoyment of this newly discovered torture was such they had no wish to relinquish it. They were probably fairly accurate in their judgement of my system's tolerance of pain: or rather of the tolerance of my feet alone, for a girl's feet react to the cane far differently than any other part of her. A girl's feet should never, never, be whipped. But they could not care less. They splatted their canes down on the innocent feet I could not move an inch and the agony flooded me. I even forgot the thing awaiting next.

But they hadn't! "Better lay off now, lads," Fawcett warned. "We want the lass to enjoy what we set out ter do. I got a notion she's had 'bout enough of this."

It was a beautiful understatement, but when the blows stopped I could have kissed him for it. When they loosed the rope that had held me for the caning I just lay there treasuring every brief moment of surcease they were willing to give me.

There were not many of them. I was lifted by shoulders and arms and set upon my feet. I instantly crumpled to the deck again.

"She likely won't walk all that good for a day or two," Fawcett conceded. "Best thing ter do is drop her over the rail and see if we can't make a better job of it this time."

I didn't protest. I'd reached that state where I just wanted to get it over with or to die. I think my face must have been quite blank when they heaved me. I wanted to see no eyes of either lust or sympathy.

It was very different this time. I was taut from the tension of the line at both ends. I could not struggle, I could not swim. I could only hang tight to my lungful of air and hope. I soon knew gratitude for the ocean slime on the rough iron plates against which I was now closely held in my passage to survival or to death. Now there were chafes and bruises and hurt. When I was dragged under the keel itself it took all my struggles and all my strength to avoid broken bones. I had to face the brutal steel to contrive the bend that might have broken my back. This time when I was hauled aboard I was in bad shape. I lay wet and panting and without interest.

They gave me a minute or two before Fawcett's thin sarcasm went to work again. "You done real good, kid. We're all grateful. Seems like we promised you a reward."

I hoped they did not see me tense. The bastards! Were they never satisfied! "It will be the poorest screw you ever had. I'm just a corpse. If that's what you want, go ahead and fuck me: the whole rotten lot of you." I didn't even raise my head.

They untied me and took away the miles of rope. I wondered if I was to be violated in front of the watching girls. It didn't bother me, I just wondered. I was sort of floating in space, my feet so on fire that a man's lust spent inside me was neither here or there. After awhile I went to sleep. No one touched me.

The men of the Zephyr were either merciful or bored.

It was afternoon when I woke. Sleep is wonderful, I felt better. The sun had dried me and the pool in which I had slept. I sat up, bemused and not looking forward to much. It was a minute before I realized I was not tied, I was a free girl. I digested the knowledge and looked at the iron on my ankle. No girl with that thing riveted on her would ever be free. It was clever. I could flop over the rail and drown, it was my only choice. The keelhauling had told me for sure I couldn't swim.

Ham ambled into view. "Where are the girls?" I demanded.

"They're up front, lady. Cap'n says you're free to roam. Real proud o' you, he is. Visit 'em when you feel like it." He went his way.

Visit them! I wondered what I'd see when I did. But I no longer wanted to just lay there, I'd have to make a reluctant return to life. I put the sole of one foot to the ground, and knew I had a problem. I squirmed my way to the rail and used it to hoist myself erect and to lean on for those first awful moments as my feet screamed their protest. Then, in a pitifully hobbled fashion, I began my search, whimpering at the pain and the injustice of the whole rotten business. Here and there I thought of Dick... it wasn't possible... beyond acceptance.

It was immensely ingenious and, I had to admit, decorative. A bit like those bizarre notions they think up to give impact in a magazine I don't know the nautical terms for the bits and pieces of a ship, but there's a spar effect that sticks out front, a bowsprit or something: It has to do with sail, and the good old Zephyr used sail as well as its motors, saves money, I suppose. Anyway it sticks out pertly in front above the water and my three companions in captivity were seated on it.

There was the usual audience, totally engrossed in what they saw, their faces rapt in anticipation of something I did not immediately comprehend. When Fawcett heard my approach he beckoned me forward and grinned a conspirator's grin as though I was entitled to share his amusement. Slowly I grasped the reason for the men's tense expectancy.

The naked girls sat astride, but the spar was a massive bit of timber so there would be no pain from that. Each girl's hands were tied in front, the end of the rope being then attached round the wood on which they sat, with enough slack to give them a foot or so of a tether. There were no other bonds save their anklets, I noticed they had to lean to one side to offset the weight of the metal. It didn't seem exactly the way a girl would want to spend the afternoon, but on the other hand I could not see signs of suffering.

"Plunkett thought this one up," Fawcett confided. "Neat, eh. First one to fall gets thirty licks, the second gets twenty, the third wins a prize of only a token five. Seems fair to me. He looked at me as though for confirmation. "Safe enough. If they go sideways they just hang by their wrists below, feet won't be in the water. 'Course they do get to hang that way the rest o' the afternoon. Got to give the little dears a bit of incentive to stay put."

There still seemed something missing. Why should they fall? There was little swell, the Zephyr was almost motionless. With their hands tied in front they could get a bit of help that way. "How long have they been sitting there?" I asked, and then added a belated, "Sir?"

" 'Bout fifteen minutes. Took a bit o' time ter get 'em fixed. You caught on yet?"

Connie and Wanda sat looking out to sea, but Tansey, no doubt for a bit of variety, faced the ship and the watching eyes. When I saw the tension of her hands against the spar it finally dawned. The spar itself and the girls who sat on it had been greased, vaseline or some such substance, just enough to coat that part of their loins in contact with the surface of the wood. Their hands and the area their hands could reach had been liberally anointed, even the rope of their tether. Those three girls were on about as precarious a perch as a girl could find.

"Who you bettin' on?" Fawcett inquired affably. Wanda was almost a sure thing, but I did not tell him so. "I haven't anything to wager," I pointed out.

He considered. "No, I suppose you haven't," he conceded. But I do like a little bet. How's this: You lose, you get ten. You win, you get to wear clothes for a whole day."

I suppose you could see in his choice of rewards some significance; the value to a woman of covering her nakedness. It must have loomed large in his estimation of the sacred attention we bestowed upon ourselves. But with me he was way behind. Most of the time I quite honestly did not care if men saw my cunt or any other part of me. I told him so.

He shrugged without rancour. "You got the right idea, honey. You're a damn sensible gal'. Ain't really anxious to part with you. But I got to consider the boys. If I keep you, then they'd want to keep one apiece o' the others. The poor old Zephyr 'ud never make another dollar with all four of you aboard permanent... nice idea though." He looked at me hungrily. "Dammit I sure don't want to sell you."

"Don't do it then."

"You mean you'd prefer to be kept chained in my cabin!" He was obviously flattered.

"You don't even need to chain me. This thing on my ankle keeps me from going over the side. Where else is there for me to go!"

"I leave you loose around the ship the boys would be into you all the time.

"Who are you going to sell me to?" I asked puzzled. "I mean, where and what sort of a man? It's not a brothel, is it?" He laughed at my evident concern. "There's men anywhere in the world who will buy a girl if she's the right one at the right price. Sometimes price don't even matter Wherever oil is being sold a girl can fetch anything. I figure me and the boys are going to retire handsomely on what we'll collect for the lot of you."

"Even battered and wounded?" I asked bitterly. "I can't even walk."

"You will. And we'll spruce you all up nice in the week afore the sale."

"I'd sooner stay chained with you."

It hit him. The hell of it was I was speaking truth. He'd treated me cruelly, but he was better than the fates I was envisioning if I was sold somewhere in Indonesia or Arabia. I could almost believe there was a bit of moisture in his eyes from the idea that I could actually choose him against the unknown. I pushed the advantage. "What do these gooks want girls for? To screw or to torture?"

He squirmed at that one too. "The screwing's a matter of course." He shrugged. "They'll want to hurt you, mostly the whip. They like to see you writhe and scream, but it's also their idea o' the proper way to treat a gal': the keep her in her place thing. They'd make you toe the line."

"Keep all four of us." I searched deep into his eyes. "Please... sir."

"You're a bit of a Jezebel." He laughed. Now drop it! To give you an idea of why you'd better give up this notion of stayin' aboard I'll tell you straight, we ain ter get 'bout two million for the four of you. 'Gains that kind o' money you ain't got a hope." He turned his attention back to the sporting event out front. I had to be content with the thought that maybe I'd planted a seed.

Connie was the first to go. I suppose her attention wandered and the ankle weight caught her unawares. She slithered sideways with a yelp of dismay and one wildly kicking leg. Her tether slipped with her round the spar and held her neatly suspended while she swayed and struggled impotently against this new torture, and don't kid yourself hanging by a girl's wrists isn't torture! I've tried it...

Poor Connie! I don't suppose she'd have got much comfort to know she looked beautiful hanging there against the blue of the sky and the water. She came close to being a figurehead. When she realized the inevitability of the spot she was in she stopped struggling, let her head fall forward, and settled down to suffer and to contemplate the thirty lashes she had earned herself. One down, two to go.

"Care to join 'em?" Fawcett inquired diffidently.

"If you'd enjoy seeing me there," I said with equal indifference.

Animation sprang back across his face. "The hell of it is there's something about you," he admitted grudgingly. "Something female and erotic that gets to a man. Fucking you isn't enough. You're too good for that. You're made for cords and chains and whips... Sure, I'd like to see you sitting there! You'd look bloody lovely."

I'd keep trying to bother him, make him want me. I'd nothing to lose. In sweet submission I held out my hands and crossed my wrists. "These have to be tied first, don't they?"

He tied me, a bit dazed and breathing heavily. Then my sex and seat were heavily anointed with the vaseline. The boys helped him put me in place. "Welcome to the club, Mistress," Tansey said in sweet sorrow.

I soon discovered that the anklet was a blessing and a curse. It pulled me one way but it also enabled me to lean the other with the effect of a counterbalance. In the end it would defeat me, I'd forget for a moment or get tired, or maybe just give up caring. I did consider going over right away and having done with it. But sight of Connie's punished wrists, into which the cords had already bedded deep, and the fact that I was sitting in relative comfort, made me play the game the way the men had set it up. I wished they had set me facing the sea. But I sat facing them so that I could see their leers and they could enjoy the sight of my frantic fingers trying to grip something they could not hold.

Tansey went next. I almost had the feeling she simply decided to join her Mistress as a measure of loyalty owed. Tansey was a darling. And to think I'd once owned her... ! Tansey was altogether too high quality for these men, or for any man. My heart ached for all four of us. We were owned. Neat packages of female flesh, ready to be used. Instant girl... !

Wanda had been doing enough peeping over her shoulder to keep abreast of developments. She's as supple as an eel, so managed to turn and wink. "Let's both of us go over together right now," she whispered for my ear alone. "It puts an end to it."

I doubted that there would ever be an end to anything aboard the Zephyr, but there was the hope that by the time we'd been whipped the boys might call it a day. "O.K." I whispered back. "Now!"

We howled and kicked in what I hoped was a convincing evidence of surprised dismay. It was not entirely simulated. It was a damn rotten feeling, falling like that, and coming to a stop with the jerk of the tether against my tied wrists made me quite sure there had to be a bit of blood somewhere on my cord.

And there I was hanging! Try it sometime if you want to know how helpless is helpless and how naked is naked. Try it sometime if you want to feel entirely cunt. Cunt available and vulnerable to interested snakes, mice, lewd eyes and men's rough hands. Their male organs, of course, are an eternal hazard all the time to a girl in any position. Remember, we have three places where they can shove the damn thing into us.

There was no comment from up on deck. The crew competently went about the task of retrieving Connie for her punishment. She whimpered a bit while she was hauled around like freight. I didn't blame her. Thirty lashes is a lot, especially the way these men laid it on a girl. The poor kid hadn't much to look forward to.

We who still hung above the water could not witness Connie's punishment, but we got the dialogue and the sounds. It was enough.

"Just her back, Cap'n?"

"Let's give her a few across them lovely boobs."

"Make her hold her foot up for the cane. That really gets to 'em."

"Nah! Her cunt's just the place. We ought to string her arse up."

"Bloodthirsty lot, ain't you!" Fawcett's voice sounded amused. "String the wench up ter the riggin' well spread out. The gal's got thirty comin'. You can giver her ten apiece, each your own way. I'll just watch and make sure you don't injure the poor bitch. How's that for fair."

There came sounds of approval, and a few yelps from Connie as she was strung the way they wanted her. For a girl on the Zephyr everything hurts. You can bet on it. Then there came the sound of the whip on Connie's flesh, and the screams. The screams lasted a long time. We three, swaying on our tethers, looked at each other in dumb misery. Now Connie, next us!

Tansey was next. She left us with a wry grin of reassurance. The same sounds and the same ribaldry came to Wanda and I. The darling lifted one foot and used it to caress me with. She seemed quite unperturbed by the plight we were in. I think a little of her insouciance rubbed off on me.

When Tansey's last scream had died away there was an argument. How did the two of us get punished and when! It ended with a decision to retire for beer and to leave us hang. A sort of 'serve 'em right' sentiment. They were probably faintly suspicious about our double dive.

So there we were! Probably for hours. I was damn sure that by the time I was hauled back aboard I'd be longing for the whip as an end to this. But Wanda's big toe was comforting, she is a delicious little demon. I doubted that I had enough elasticity in my bones to return the pleasure. Wanda's so damn sweet...

"We aren't going to like this much, darling," she said sagely. "I can't get loose. I don't suppose you can either."

It was the first time we had been alone together since the disaster. She saw the question in my eyes. "I don't believe that about Dick," she told me seriously. "You've been mourning, I can tell. Darling, stop. Dick can't possibly be dead. He'd never let a shark get him. He knows too much about them. 'Sides, he can swim as good as I can." She grinned at me with love.

"Where is he then?" I asked without belief.

She actually giggled. "Stop worrying. I don't where he is, but that lot up there don't know either. He'll fix 'em! You see!"

I didn't believe, but I felt oddly comforted. Wanda is magic. In that lovely slip, of a girl is all the power of the world. Her innocence and her faith in Dick and The Island make her unassailable. Her attitude to pain is mostly curiosity. Her radiation of unconscious sex is almost alarming. It would be a miracle if the Captain and his crew could long cherish her virginity. But two million dollars... !

"Even if he is still alive, what can he do against four of them!" I commented unhappily.

"Don't be a gloom," Wanda admonished. "Honest darling, I'd whip you if I could, just for lack of faith. You ought to know better. We are going to get out of this. Keep that in your mind. What's worrying me is what poor darling Dick is going to do with all these girls. I've never minded you sharing him with me. But Connie and darling Tansey, good gosh... !

"I wish they were our only worry."

'They are, darling. You just wait. I expect they'll hurt us when they haul us up and maybe again tomorrow and the day after and whatever. But we can stand a bit of pain. It's going to be gorgeous when it's over."

That's vintage Wanda. I adore the child. "I'm hurting right now," I said morosely.

"Just think of it as a 'Tie', darling. It's rotten but not all that bad."

We suffered in silence for awhile until Tansey's voice came from over the rail. "Is it very awful, darlings?"

There the two of them were, peering down at us. Neither were tied. The Captain had complete faith in his anklets.

"We've both been whipped," Tansey said brightly. "It's nice to think it's over." She shared the same amazing optimism as Wanda. Maybe it's a built in compensating mechanism of slave girls, they have to have something like that.

"Can you see what the bastards did to me," Connie asked savagely.

We could see. Her breasts were striped with livid bars of purple. She turned and stuck her foot back through the rail. It, too, was bruised and angry. When she came around again the crossing lines of scarlet over her sex told their own tale of woe. The boys had used Connie in the ways they chose.

"They all fucked me before they went for their beer," Tansey told us thoughtfully. "Men sure do enjoy doing that with us. I always feel sorry for them. Those poor silly things between their legs...."

"You feel altogether too damn sorry for them!" Connie said darkly. "I suppose it wasn't your fault, but remember I'm watching. I think you like it."

Tansey giggled. "Well, remember what that old Chinaman said."

"I'll remember everything, you sexy kitten," Connie assured her. "If we ever do get out of this jackpot you're going to have a very sore tail."

"Did I hear the word tail?" said a male voice.

"Haven't you had enough of that?" Connie sounded disgusted.

Four male figures pushed the girls aside. "We've thought of the real thing for you two," Plunkett assured us heartily. "You must be tired of hanging like that."

"We are, but I'm sure what you've got in store will be worse," Wanda told him cheerfully.

It doesn't take four men long to handle two girls. We were soon on deck and having our hands untied. It felt good. But not for long.

"Cross 'em at your back, kiddies," Fawcett ordered benignly.

We did as we were told. They tied us tight. Just our crossed wrists, that was all.

"Ought ter let the poor kids sit awhile, eh," suggested Hawkes.

"We owe it to 'em," Ham opined.

"They got to get a bit o' rest sometime," Plunkett contributed.

"With a view and all. Bloody lucky if you ask me."

Beautiful in its simplicity! We were lifted and deposited astride the Zephyr's rail, facing each other about six feet apart. While one man steadied us the other tied our feet tight together to one of the lower rods. When they stepped back, satisfied, both Wanda and I cried out in horror. "Not on this! Oh no... The bar's too small, it'll cut us in two."

"You already got a gash down there, honey," said a nonchalant voice.

The Zephyr's rail wasn't the way they are on a liner. It was good enough to stop a man going overboard in a high sea and that was all. The top bar on which Wanda and I had been planted was metal about an inch in diameter. Sitting astride on it was too damn awful to even think about. But there we were! High and dry and helpless. Our ankles had been tied down rather than up, so we didn't get any help from them. Our assets between our legs were taking the whole shot. "You're making a mistake." I told them seriously with the last of my sang froid. "This is going to kill us or injure us in ways you won't like." I knew I'd soon be screaming.

"You sure do take on, honey," Fawcett admonished. "Ain't killed you yet, have we?"

"Please, don't leave us like this. We were supposed to be whipped."

"We can whip you later if you want," he said offhandedly. "Just sit and enjoy the view. Come on lads." They trailed away, winking and pinching our bottoms as they passed.

"They're really ashamed of themselves," Wanda mused sadly. "Treating us like this. That's why they didn't stay. Oh darling! I don't think I can stand this...." An absurd pun in my mind suggested that if we couldn't stand it we most certainly could sit it. We'd have to. My wrists and ankles were so tight together I didn't even bother to struggle. I just sat while the bar burrowed deeper and deeper into the very centre of my femaleness.

I caught Wanda's eyes, she smiled. But soon the tears were heavy on our cheeks, and after them came the shaming sounds I cannot write or reproduce. They are sounds that should never be wrung from maiden lips. Now and then a member of the crew passed by. They used us as they wished. A tweaked nipple, a pinched sex. We were there for their delectation, it was our function. That we were in agony seemed incidental. After all, we were only girls!

That night in the brig with the others the men left our hands tied behind our backs. Tansey and Connie fed us, but they had been warned to leave us tied. We made sure they heeded the warning, it's punishment was dire. There were a lot of tears in the darkness for all of us.

In the morning we were left in that lousey little metal box, chained and tied and disgusted. We were given the hated pail and then fed. About the time we were resigned to a day in there a hand came through the door and grabbed the closest arm. It happened to be Wanda's, she disappeared. A little while later it was Tansey, then Connie, and after what seemed quite a long wait, it was me.

I stood on the deck, blinking in the sun, but thankful to be back in air and light. My hands were still tied. I hurt in a beastly way up in my crotch and down on the soles of my feet. I could walk, but I didn't much want to. I looked around. There was no sign of any girls. I was held by Ham and Plunkett.

"We don't want to whip you all the time," said Ham.

"Expect you're tired of the cane too," from Plunkett.

They had a bit of wood about two feet long. It had a rope trailing. They untied my hands and re-bound my wrists at each end, using strips of canvas. It wasn't hard to guess I was going to hang, and hang for a long time or they wouldn't be so damn considerate. They connected with a hanging line from above and in less time than it takes to tell I was kicking from the trapeze affair while I hung from outstretched arms.

It's bad enough when a girl's feet are just off the floor. But something strange happens as she gets higher and higher. She gets more and more scared. Actually it shouldn't hurt more, but it seems to. The Zephyr boasted a mast and a cross arm, maybe it wasn't all that high. But it felt as though I was headed for the clouds. I looked up to see how much further, and then I saw the girls.

They were already there. Connie on the other end of the yard-arm that would have to support me, and Tansey and Wanda hanging against the mast itself, their backs to it, their arms stretched wide by a bar as was my own and Connie's too. Up and up I went until I was level with them. The deck looked an awful way down. I saw Plunkett snub the rope that held me aloft, and wondered miserably about it coming loose. I'd really hit the deck with an awful thud.

"The dirty sons of bitches," said Connie.

"I'm scared of heights," Tansey wailed.

" 'Tisn't really worse than yesterday," Wanda consoled bravely.

It was bad. Worse than hanging from the spar. The Zephyr's motion, small as it might be, was magnified for us up at this height. We swayed a bit. It was absurdly frightening. In rough water it would have been worse than the pendulum in a clock. It's damn funny how the mind works. When I looked at my partner on the cross arm I couldn't but think how very lovely she was hanging there like that. I wondered if I looked nice too. Ridiculous!

We were not very happy. With our wrists bound with canvas like that it didn't hurt nearly as bad as a lot of other things. But being way up was just plain scary. I couldn't forget the possibility of something breaking and seeing my mangled body down there on the deck. That rope looked awful thin. Once when I was selling myself on letting my head fall sideways against my arm and closing my eyes the whole damn thing broke loose and I was falling... I screamed and came awake just in time to get pulled up with a jerk that just about broke my shoulders and pulled my arms out of their sockets. Looking down I saw the upturned faces and heard the laughter. The boys had been having their little joke. It scared me so bad I peed, but the breeze drifted it away instead of having it fall on them as I'd have liked. I made a better effort with the same result. I was defenseless! Same thing happened to Connie. But the two kids against the mast were more firmly fixed.

I suppose it was midday when we were lowered. That was a rotten feeling too. It was especially rotten when they snubbed our ropes so our toes just barely touched the deck. It was deliberately tantalizing, a tease, a bit of psychological torture. I again had that feeling of being newly naked. They held water to our lips. We drank avidly. They heaved on the ropes and up we went again. A bit of wind was at work, so now we swayed back and forth for the rest of the time until sundown. And then the brig and those absurd chains...

They were still in a fun mood the next day. The Zephyr was still at anchor. Us girls were still the prime interest. They'd thought up a real honey... It was bloody childish. One of us had to walk the plank. Shades of Bluebeard and Henry Morgan... !

"Always wanted to make a girl do that," Fawcett told us cheerfully.

"We can't!" I reminded. "We'll drown right away with this metal on our ankles. Not even a sporting chance."

"Well, I ain't takin' them anklets off," the Captain said decisively. With them things on you're the best behaved bunch o' gals I ever seen. So alright, you sink. What do we do then!" He looked at us expectantly as though expecting us to come up with an answer.

"Read the funeral service," Connie suggested bitterly.

"Hell no, gal'. We got four good men and true. When you drop one of 'em goes in after you. As a reward for the rescue he gets you all to himself for the balance of the day. He can fuck you or whip you or both to his heart's content. You'll be real grateful... after all, he did save your life."

"Aw nuts!" said Connie. "You bastards-" The whip cut short whatever she might have said. Ham used it on her determinedly. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry!" she gasped. "I'll try and remember... She rolled on the deck, the whip cutting at her everywhere. Ham gave her seven before Fawcett put a hand on his arm.

"Got a bit o'... what d'you call it, subtlety to this one," Fawcett went on proudly. "On your way out to the end o' the plank you gals can blink your eyes at the guy you'd prefer to rescue and fuck you." He chuckled sardonically. "Bound to be one o' us you hate less than the other. But if you don't show no preference then it's up to the boys. First one grabs you gets you." He paused portentously. "Just in case one of you jumps and none o' the boys takes a fancy to your tail, I'll do the honours. That way all four o' you can be sure of a heroic rescue."

"Heroic my ass!" I said with bitter disgust.

Ham lashed me twice. "Say you're sorry." What does a girl do! You tell me! All I did was say I was sorry in the humblest voice I could manage. I felt lousy.

All four of us got our wrists tied then. The usual thing. Hands back, wrists crossed. I did it automatically. I'd go down like a ball of lead anyway... what did I need hands for!

"Any of you want to volunteer?"

We were the mutest quartet ever heard.

Fawcett pointed to Wanda. She was smiling broadly. I'm sure she regarded the whole thing as great fun. The water to her was a second home. She probably thought she could survive the anklet and the bound hands. For all I know she might have done. I've told you about Wanda...

She stepped forward brightly. "Cap'n, ain't you forgot?" Hawkes interrupted. "This here gal's got that damn maidenhead."

"Aw shit!" The Captain obviously had forgotten. He looked around at his crew. "Can't one o' you just take it out on the kid's hide?"

No one volunteered. They were a horny lot. Woman starved.

Fawcett was annoyed. "Well, the kid's gotta' go over with the rest of 'em. Gotta' be fair." He seemed lost.

"If you'll untie my hands I'll take a chance," Wanda offered.

"Hell no!" The Captain was taking no such risk. Not with merchandise worth what Wanda was. "I'll grab you myself." He frowned around the circle of faces. "May have to make two trips." He complained accusingly.

We girls stood, hands tied, and watched the preparations with the plank. It seemed very long and very adequate. There was the usual noise and ego effort that attends any male endeavour. But it wasn't long before the blasted length of timber stretched its length over the side. It was quite incredibly sinister.

"Isn't it lovely!" said Wanda.

Everyone stood breathless while she limped her way to the base. She looked around in pleasurable anticipation. "Is there some proper way? I mean, if there is you'll have to tell me."

Incredible, gorgeous, lovable, unbelievable Wanda!

"Far as I know they alius' did it more or less according to how they felt." Fawcett was obviously trying to remember things he'd read. "Seems to me most o' 'em had to be prodded with a sword."

"Do you want to prod me with a sword? I'm sure you want to do this right."

I could have kissed the little darling. Not the faintest trace of sarcasm.

"Ain't got no sword." For a moment Fawcett seemed genuinely concerned over this omission.

"Is the prodding important?" my darling inquired seriously. "I can see it might be. I'm quite willing to walk out and jump, but it wouldn't be quite right, would it?"

"That there gal's one in a million," said Plunkett. "I don't really believe what I'm hearin'."

"I do think a thing like this ought to be done properly." Wanda looked from one to the other of them as though they were failing to measure up to her expectations.

"Well, you are a bit unusual, kid," Fawcett apologized. "Didn't really figure any o' you gals would walk that there plank without a bit o' prompting."

Wanda gave it a bit of thought. The darling was really involved, enjoying every moment. It was a wonderful game. Oh, how I envied her! "I could put on an act." She looked earnestly around. "That's if you don't mind, of course. I don't want to spoil anything. You can prod me along with anything you like, and I'll really stick my heels in." She looked at her audience pensively. "I suppose you could sort of whip me into the water...

"She's too good to be true," breathed Plunkett.

"Pure gold." Was Fawcett's contribution.

"The little darlin' really means it," worshipped Hawkes.

"I'd sure like to fuck her," said Ham.

Wanda made it plain she considered them lacking in initiative. "I'm going now," she told them firmly. "Good bye. I do hope one of you rescues me... She walked steadily along the length of the plank and jumped.

Seven heads reached the rail instantly. We watched, breathless as, she fought for life. With some otter-like motion of her own she managed to swim for shore. But visibly and inexorably the metal on her ankles exhausted and defeated her. With an oath, Fawcett threw aside shoes and trousers and dived.

"Oh darlings...!" Wanda looked at us all in dismay. "We can't swim with this on our foot. I thought maybe we could. Don't try... not ever." She was close to tears. She turned to the astounded Fawcett and asked innocently. "Would you like to whip me now? Thank you for saving me." I found the order in which she placed the two remarks interesting.

Poor Connie! They know she's going to make a fuss, so she's sure fire. They pushed her forward.

"Ever walked the plank, miss?"

"How 'bout givin' me the eye?"

"Even if a guy saved her life she wouldn't give a decent fuck."

"More spring in that there plank than there is in her arse."

"You mean I gotta' do it again!" A disgusted voice from Fawcett.

"At least she's good to whip, she beefs so much it's a real pleasure."

"Maybe she'll give one of us the eye."

I was interested myself. Would the intractable Connie Smeaton invite one of these able seamen to ravish her in return for saving her life.

They used force to take her to the plank.

"If you think I'm goin' to walk out there and jump off, you've got holes in your head," she told them with finality.

Ham got the whip. After the fourth lash she stepped out at least a foot.

"See, she's started," Ham exulted. "Just a few more swats."

Poor Connie flinched and yelped under several more welt making slashes. She took another tentative step, looking back over her shoulder for a compassion that was not there.

"You do that beautifully darling." The wet Wanda praised in genuine supposition as though she was witnessing a girl's cooperative act.

Connie turned about and came back on deck. They whipped her steadily until, almost in a daze of pain, she walked the length of the plank and fell into the water. I am sure she believed she was going to her death. The whip can do that to a girl Fawcett again did the honours. Connie sank like a chunk of iron, so he had to hurry. "Now I got two o' 'em on my hands." He complained when he was once more on deck with his shivering damsel. Bloody un-enterprising lot you are...

"Would you like me to volunteer now?" I asked demurely. I had glimpsed an amusing possibility.

No one objected, so I limped to the starting gate. I knew some sort of act was desired, so I looked back and said: "I refuse to go a step further."

This got me couple of lashes from Ham's whip but honour satisfied, I felt able to go out a bit further. "If you think I'm going to walk this damn plank you've got holes in your heads." I told them then.

This time poor Ham had to come out on the plank to whip me. But he did. Pure dedication to duty, no doubt. While the lash curled round my nakedness I let my eyes seek out the Captain and, locking on to his astonished gaze, gave him the full treatment. Fucks and love and lashes, I said to him in that intimate communion before I turned and walked the rest of the way to where there was no where else to go. Then, in full view of all, I flickered a message of pure adoration at the poor bastard and I jumped.

That blasted anklet! I went down-and down. None of my swimming skills availed me a thing. I was simply a naked girl destined for death. It was a bad, bad time... After all, why should any of them bother with me! They knew I didn't want to fuck...

The arm that circled me was the best thing I'd ever felt. If it whipped me later, well, good luck to it. Fawcett was saving my life. No matter how much of a bastard a man may be, a girl is grateful. I was. Oh terribly... ! It is not a good thing to die when you are young.

Back on deck there was a bit of a contretemps. "Bloody unenterprising lot." Fawcett adjudged disgustedly. "That makes three of 'em."

"But only one gave you the eye, Cap'n." They jeered. "You can handle her. Whip the asses of the other pair."

Tansey was left. The poor girl was feeling her position. She reached the same conclusion I had reached: she smiled at Fawcett.

"No," he said firmly.

"Tansey walked out on to the plank, the fingers of her bound hands twinkling at her back in derision. She turned and gave poor Fawcett the same treatment I had given. At that moment I knew all women are whores. It's our natural calling.

"Please whip me along," she enticed. "We have to make it authentic."

Ham whipped her. Hawkes whipped her, Plunkett whipped her savagely. Tansey said: "Thank you very much." And walked two more steps. She then stopped, looked back over one shoulder and sighed. Please Captain.

She sank like a stone, of course, and Fawcett pulled her out. A coldness had grown between him and his crew. Each felt aggrieved.

"Would you like to fuck me now?" Tansey asked innocently.

I could have whipped her myself! She was just too much! Poor Fawcett, he now had three girls on his hands and the day was still young. His crew looked at him, cheated.

He looked this way and that: a man at bay. "Dammit." He growled. "I've been hornswoggled. These little tricks know too much." He looked about him in a vague dismay. "Blast it all!" he ejaculated angrily, "take the lot of them and whip 'em until they learn respect. I'm fed up to the teeth." He turned and strode off to his cabin.

I wished he had not gone. I was scared. The boys leered. Three frustrated males, and we had chosen none of them! What hope of pity...

"What shall we do with them?"

"They've got the wind up. See it in their faces."

"I'm tired of the whip. What about a hot iron?"

"Let's lengthen one's slit. A few inches extra each end. Easy done."

"They haven't sucked our cocks."

The fantasies of the male! Those poor sad incomplete creatures who only came alive when there was the body of a girl to rape or to destroy. How a girl might pity their inadequacies! But they were stronger than we with their bulging muscles Damn them, damn them, damn them!!!

I tugged frantically at my bound wrists. We were their chattels, why kid ourselves!

"Ever sucked a cock?" Plunkett asked me.

"Yes." I made it as indifferent as I could.

"Then suck mine!"

I did what I was told. A slave girl does y'know. I made him jerk and spasm and I took it all and swallowed it That's important. It must be swallowed and licked clean. It does something for their holy maleness, a benison from their slave. How the male loves that! He seeks it constantly. His ego is a fragile growth that needs our sustenance. Never doubt that in the end we win. But it is a Pyrrhic victory.

They played with us. Three ugly little boys: their playthings four naked girls with bound hands safely behind our backs so we were helpless, our faintest flicker of revolt instantly punished with the whip. We collected stripes lavishly until we became utterly docile and obedient, alert to the order that would shame us more and amuse them most. We were ardently thankful when the Captain reappeared to end their sport. His mood was dour.

"Plunkett and you, Hawkes. Row ashore and get some fresh fruit and stuff and a keg o' water."

He stood while they departed on their errand. They had enjoyed a pretty good session with us. I could almost believe they needed the change. We watched the boat make its laborious way towards the Island, the Island on which none of us girls would set foot again. I blinked back tears, and did not dare look at Wanda.

"Ham! Fix these damn girls up some way so they won't get into trouble." Captain Fawcett looked us over without enthusiasm and returned to the deckhouse. I expect he was tired.

Ham took his responsibility seriously. He took so long to consider its implementation, I began to fear he'd take the easy way out and toss us all into that metal hot box of a brig. The whip in his hand made it quite certain we'd walk in there like four little lambs if he told us to. When he scouted around and came up with several lengths of rope it was actually a relief. He made us sit facing the rail, two each side of the deck. He set my left ankle against one of the vertical stanchions and tied it there, tight. The rope circling the metal bar and my foot and then being cinched between. It hurt, I couldn't move it, and there was no way I could reach it with my bound hands. It left me sitting on the edge of the deck looking out to sea. Not all that comfortable, but better than the brig. He tied the other girls the same. I was about eight feet from Connie, Wanda and Tansey the same across the deck.

The youngest member of the crew spent his next few hours with his chores and a great deal of passing attention to his captives. The things he did to us, or made us do, were either obscene or painful. We endured. In between his loving care we made ourselves as comfortable as we could, which wasn't much, and we talked. It seemed a very long time before the Captain showed up again. When he did he voiced a concern we had not considered.

"What's happened to them damn fools and the boat!"

Us girls couldn't have cared less. They were probably asleep under a tree.

"If them assholes don't show up pretty quick we'll miss the tide."

Connie and I exchanged glances. It was our first inkling that we were on our way to our final slavery. I looked dismally at my ankle tied painfully to the rail, I tried to twist my wrists... It was all hopeless. We'd never be given a chance to escape or even to commit suicide. It was getting dusk. I tried to lay over on my side and go to sleep, but everything hurt...

Sleep was out anyway. Fawcett raged over the absence of half the ship's company. He was uneasy, a malaise that finally touched us all except Ham who happily continued his ministrations to the four naked female bodies entrusted to his care. I noticed he timed these pleasures to coincide with the Captain's absence elsewhere. It was while he was busily engaged biting Connie's nipples that Dick Carnaby climbed over the rail, picked him up bodily, and tossed him overboard. Hearing Ham's howl of anguish as he sailed through the air, the Captain came storming back upon the deck. Dick picked him up, too, and threw him after his last crew member.

Dick Carnaby stood, triumphant, hands on hips, and laughed in genuine amusement at his four naked possessions. Our feminine reactions were heartfelt and diverse.

"Thank God!" said Connie fervently.

I simply burst into tears... pure joy!

"See, I told you...!" Wanda was ecstatically jubilant. "Isn't he gorgeous!" Tansey breathed.

"Fine lot, you are," Dick observed cheerfully. "Getting yourselves all tied up. Ought to be ashamed..."

CHAPTER SIX - NARRATIVE

The Island slept peacefully beneath its sun. The scene around the house, its small clearing and the banyan tree, was one of domestic bliss. Polygamous in its structure, yet possessing its own felicity. Wanda was happily absorbed with the remains of breakfast, Phyllis flitted back and forth from the fire to the house, Dick smoked his pipe, his amused gaze flickering from one to the other of his harem. All four of the girls now wore the brief Island slip originally created for Wanda. Two of them were free of all restraint, but the hands of both Connie Smeaton and her slave girl, Tansey, remained bound behind their backs. Their ankles, too, still bore the metal weights proclaiming their stay aboard The Zephyr. Tansey surveyed her small world, bright eyed and content. The woman who owned her sat uncompromising in her captivity.

"Got all four of 'em locked in the brig," Dick mused pensively. "Bit of a problem though. Can't leave 'em there forever."

"I suppose if you open the door they'll jump you," Tansey ventured.

"Got their ankles chained," Dick grinned. Did think of getting the engines started, heading the old tub out to sea, unlocking the brig door and rowing their only boat back to shore. They'd make out somehow.

"Why don't you?" Connie demanded tartly.

"Because that boat's your ticket back home."

Wanda sat down and winked at Tansey. Phyllis Stafford sat down but winked at no one. A silence fell.

"You don't suppose Tansey and I are getting on that boat again...?" Connie Smeaton's voice was uncertain.

"Well... Fawcett and his boys will sell you down the line somewhere. But, who knows, you might draw some old buffer with cash and a limp dick who just wants a bit of loving! Be a lot easier than me...

"You are quite preposterous!"

"So is Fawcett."

An impasse faced the group around the fire. Glances were exchanged. Tansey and Wanda exchanged more winks. The three more adult members of the circle each resolved to place a firm hand on this blossoming rapport between the two girls.

"May I point out that our hands are still tied and that we are still adorned with this absurd scrap iron on our ankles," Connie's voice was icy.

"That's exactly what I mean!" Dick agreed as though meeting a welcome perception. "You wouldn't like it here."

Connie fluttered impotent shoulders. "We might like it if you treated us in a civilized fashion. Do you realize our hands have been tied like this for about two days... and nights."

"Been properly cared for though... eh."

Connie sniffed. "I don't wish to be fed like an infant and looked after... and... and...."

"Exactly!"

"We love doing it for you, darling," Wanda assured her brightly.

Connie blushed. Tansey giggled.

"Poor Connie does have a problem, darling," Phyllis interposed. "You ought to be a little kind...

Dick surveyed the eldest of his two slave girls somberly.

"Would you like to spend a little time under the banyan tree, sweetheart?"

It was Phyllis Stafford's turn to blush. "I... I'm... I'm sorry! Please no, Master. I'll behave."

"Positively nauseating!" Connie's voice held infinite 'loathing.

"The good old Zephyr is the place for a girl with spirit," Dick concurred.

"Please, why must we be tied?"

"Sort of separates the residents from the guests."

"What you're saying is, we're not welcome on your Island?"

In a whirlwind of concern Wanda knelt and threw her arms about the pinioned shoulders. "Oh, Connie, it's not that at all! We love to have you. It's just that if you stay on the Island you have to be sensible and do things properly. Like Phyl' and me."

The captive sighed, there was no coping with Wanda. Instead, she turned her attention to the infuriating male. "You lucky S.O.B.! To have a child like this!"

"Got two of 'em," Dick said complacently.

"Oh her!" Connie scowled at the unoffending Phyllis contemptuously. "You've whipped all the spirit out of her. I suppose that's what you're going to do to me. If you'll untie Tansey and I we'll both kneel and call you Master. Will that help?"

"Not the way you'd go about it."

"Alright then! Put us back aboard that damn boat. At least Fawcett untied our hands sometimes!"

Tansey was bereft. She wriggled to her knees, her bound hands tugging at their cords, her frightened eyes seeking Dick's. "Master... please! She doesn't mean it. She doesn't want to be put back on the Zephyr. Neither do I. Please let us stay. I'll behave perfectly, I promise. I expect you'll punish me for saying this, but if only you'd be kinder to my Mistress I think she might do... the things you want." The words poured out in a torrent. At the end of them Tansey was flushed and female, her captive hands knotted into small white fists.

"Tansey!" Connie's exclamation was outraged.

Tansey the slave girl twisted awkwardly. "Well, someone...." - It was Dick who broke the contretemps. He rose to his feet. "I'm going to start the Zephyr on its way." His voice became decisive. "We don't have much choice." He sauntered thoughtfully towards the beach.

The four girls shared another emotion charged silence. When Connie Smeaton felt certain Dick was well away, her voice became urgent: "Come on! Now's your chance. Untie us."

The silence deepened unhappily.

"Come on, damn you! He can't fight four of us if we're all free. Now's the time to put an end to His Majesty's reign." It was Tansey who finally spoke. "I don't think they want to, Mistress. I think they're happy."

Connie snorted. "Phyllis... ! You're not going to tell me!" Phyllis Stafford wriggled a toe in the soil. She took a deep breath. "I have to tell you, Connie. What Wanda and I have here is good. It's terribly good...."

"So you refuse to untie us!"

"But we mustn't! Don't you see...!" Wanda was disturbed. "It would be wrong. If Dick wants you tied...."

"The four of us could best him. Please Phyllis?"

Phyllis Stafford shook her head sadly. "Even in that you're wrong, Connie. He'd handle the four of us as easily as he did those men. We'd all end up being punished, probably quite terribly. Try and understand. He'd have to punish us... to maintain the Codes. If we're all to live on this Island we need him as the Authority."

"I think you like being whipped," Connie said disgustedly in defeat. "I know Wanda does...." Phyllis grinned ruefully. "The whip's strange. It depends on who's using it. You ought to know that: you and Tansey...." Before Connie could speak the angry words upon her tongue, Wanda came and, with a solicitous hand beneath a captive arm, encouraged the older girl to her feet. "Come along, darling," she coaxed. "Let's take a walk."

Connie Smeaton's face was a study. But, hesitantly, she looked down at the metal band upon her ankle. "How can I!" she rejoined petulantly. "With this damn thing on my foot. You know it weighs a ton."

Wanda said nothing. Her magic had no need of words. She ran her tongue lightly up Connie's naked arm, then bent and took an unresisting nipple between her teeth. In amused incredulity, Tansey and Phyllis watched the two of them move slowly into the trees. Connie limping, but coping with Fawcett's impediment as though it no longer mattered.

Tansey giggled happily. "Wanda's a darling!" she breathed fervently. She twisted her shoulders and arms against the cords about her wrists. It was not a gesture of revolt, but of acceptance. "I can't help my Mistress when I'm tied." She looked up at the smiling older girl. "It seems all upside down when my Mistress is tied too. She's not supposed to be, just me."

Phyllis chuckled at the naivete. "It happened to me, y'know. It's not easy." She ran her fingers affectionately through the hair of her bound companion. "You're something precious yourself, Tansey."

With a pure poetry of motion the tied slave girl undulated to her feet. Mischievously she repeated Wanda's exploration with her lips. Phyllis shivered as a moist tongue travelled across her naked skin and came to rest upon her nipple. When wise and knowing teeth bit delicately upon the bud of flesh she possessed herself firmly of a pinioned arm and led her glowing captive to the house.

The four girls waited for their Master on the beach. They watched the Zephyr come to life and make its way towards the horizon. When the small boat, propelled by Dick's powerful thrusts with the oars, rode in with the surf, Wanda and Phyllis waded out and dragged it up upon the sand.

Dick Carnaby surveyed his maidens with approval. If he noticed change he did not speak of it. He untied the two pairs of captive wrists. "You can help carry this gear up to the house." he ordered casually. "I took their guns, their knives and some tools. Oh... and some bits of rope and chain... along with the stuff they stole."

It was a united effort. The girls whose ankles bore the weight of metal kept pace with the others who slowed their steps. When their burdens were safely stowed, the threatening hiatus was demolished by Wanda's cheerful exclamation. "It's time for our Tie, darlings. I almost forgot." As though by prearrangement with her Master, she stood between the twin posts and fitted her wrists within the waiting straps.

Dick Carnaby affected nonchalance. He was curious, but carefully avoided all feminine eyes.

With a matter of factness that equalled Wanda's own, Phyllis Stafford went to the small palm and embraced its trunk. She waited to be tied. She had remembered...

Poor Tansey! One side a Mistress, on the other a Master. Not daring to seek guidance from either she went to one of Wanda's twin posts and embraced it as Phyllis did her palm.

Connie Smeaton stood alone. No one looked at her. No one spoke. Her eyes followed her slave girl Tansey, in them was both a great loneliness and a great hunger. As though hypnotized by her love for the vibrant girl who had just made her own decision, Connie walked slowly to the opposite post and clasped it as had her slave. She set her cheek against the wood and closed her eyes...

Dick Carnaby's face came alive with satisfaction. Decisively he went to the house and returned with his needs, metal that gleamed. With swift and practiced fingers be buckled tight the leather straps that would hold Wanda secure for the duration of her Tie. She winked saucily, then looked straight ahead.

Phyllis came next. She held out her wrists beyond the trunk and watched the bright metal cuffs circle and bite tight. She smiled in complete surrender beneath the intent gaze of the man whose captive she would now forever be. Then she, too, looked into a horizon of her own.

Tansey's slender wrists were as eager as her face. She was a happy slave, surrounded by love. The handcuffs clicked away her freedom. She smiled in gratitude.

Dick had left Connie until the last. It was both an acceptance and a mark of trust. She kept her eyes closed as she was chained. She trembled. She had crossed a Rubicon. Her Master placed upon his newest slave no burden of speech or touch. He was content. It was Wanda who voiced the near omission. "Why, darlings!" she cooed happily. "I've just remembered: it's Friday. We've got to get our "Girl's penalty".

Connie tensed, but gave no other sign. Tansey emanated waves of sexuality. Phyllis Stafford's grin was infinitely knowing.

"Why, so it is!" Dick Carnaby affected astonishment. "How the weeks do fly! I'll pop into the house and get the... instrument. But first-" Casually, he went from one to the other of the palpitating girls, taking from each the Island slip that was their only covering. When he turned and sauntered to the house, four naked girls tensed against their bonds. Four pairs of anxious female eyes sought his return to see what it might be he carried in his hand.

"Isn't it exciting!" Wanda exclaimed blissfully.

THE END
Wanda And The Whip, Part Two ....(132k)    by F.E. Campbell




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