The weathered post staked solidly in the sand, and the girl attached to it, formed a single silhouetted against the backdrop of sun and sand in the seclusion of the tiny rock encircled beach. None knew better than Jane Dickson the nature of this solitude in which she was bound fast to a chunk of timber her most strenuous struggles failed to move an inch. The post held her a solid grip that was utterly infuriating. The girl who was an immobile captive to the world had already chafed her wrists in a ceaseless twisting and tugging at the handcuffs encircling them behind the post. As though considering her dangerous, the group had taken the additional precaution of a good, heavy chain cinched above her hips, the padlock of which fastened not only the link around her middle but also the handcuff to insure her immobility. Jane Dickson was a prisoner to a post upon a tiny Ionian island, too sterile for settlement and too small for tourists. If the group had intended for her to die forgotten and without hope of rescue they could not have found a better place.
The struggle had been short, swift and unexpected. In it Jane had lost both shoes and sustained a torn summer dress, from which her left breast now coyly sought the sunlight above the Aegean Sea. The bared breast would be an embarrassment whenever she would be rescued, if that ever happened! Jane had given up trying to wiggle it back beneath the fabric of her dress. Except for an occasional angry jerk, she had also given up her battle with her bonds, there was simply no way she could free herself or relieve the necessity of standing against the unyielding wood who's captive she had been for longer than she cared to guess. Jane's first concern, back when she had first supposed herself the victim of a joke in bad taste, he been the tide. She remembered stories of women thus bound to helplessly wait a tide which eventually engulfed them. But this surf had behaved itself so far, appearing on the ebb and receding rather than approaching her bare feet in the hot sand. Her other concern of The Group itself, and why they had done this to her, and when, if ever, they would return to set her free. She had known herself an unpopular member of a Tour Group she had joined with some misgivings. But there had been those among them with whom she had found friendship, for them to treat her thus had been an outrage by any standard. She had frankly loathed their rock and promiscuous sex, but surely that did not warrant her being left chained upon a lonely beach to die. They couldn't do that to her, they couldn't possibly... !
Cutting at her handcuffed wrists, Jane Dickson had reassured herself for the first hour that, absurd as The Group might be, they would not descend or aspire to so horrible as act. But the comments as she was made secure had not reassured.
"The tide will wash her away, no one will know."
"Make sure she's locked tight, we don't want her getting loose."
"Why don't we strip her naked. Do the prissy little bitch good and serve her right."
Sardonically each had kissed her before they left. Jane could not evade that salute of unfriendly lips. If she evaded them too vigorously with motions of her head, they simply leaned lower and kissed her breast which also meant biting her nipple, sometimes very hard indeed! Bitterly the helpless girl recalled their laughter as they piled back into the launch and roared out of sight.
Trying to wiggled out of the chains and handcuffs occupied her for the first hour, after that the thought of fighting for her life against an incoming tide was uppermost in her mind. There had been a period of panic in which she had gone berserk to tug at chains and fling herself as best she could from side to side and to thrust back against the post itself in hopes of finding it unstable. But the post held, as did the handcuffs and chain, seeming to laugh at her feeble female efforts. After a couple of hours, Jane Dickson knew herself an abandoned captive who could never be free unless some other person rescued her. But as the hours passed, rescue seemed less and less probable and the placid sea more and more her enemy in the certainty the tide must turn to take her for its own.
It might have been the fifth hour when Jane Dickson beheld her first sign of life, a tiny dot upon the far horizon. The dot become larger and larger until it became all too evident her beach was its objective. When she could no longer doubt its approach she knew fresh panic. The boat and those in it, whoever they might be, were more likely to be enemies than friends. Jane knew her chances no better than fifty-fifty of kindly treatment when she was so obviously fastened helplessly for the benefit of passersby. She would be much like the maidens of older days who, when locked in the village stocks, were the recipient of both garbage and insult but never rescue. Her hours against the post had done little to engender optimism. Jane made one final assault upon the chains and then relapsed into defeat. Whatever happened would happen and there was nothing she could do about it!
It was a cut and dried situation, swift, sure and deadly. Three men with a purpose, and that purpose was unquestionably the girl bound to the stake. They had no need of speech, they acted with intent, plowing their footsteps up the gentle rise to the post, standing only a moment to admire, then taking delivery of a girl who might as well have been a package cast ashore by the tide. Jane's effort to communicate went unrewarded.
"I'm so glad to see you. Please unfasten these things I'm held by."
There was a leader. He spoke in Greek, which Jane did not understand. Sparing her only a brief assessment before going to the rear and using keys. A moment later the one-time captive to the post stood free to rub chafed wrists and look uncertainly at her rescuers.
"I'm terribly grateful," she said brightly. "But how did you know I was here?"
None answered. Instead, two of the men grasp her elbows and half carried her to the boat. When she protested that she could just as well walk, they laughed and shook her like they might have done a puppy dog, presumably to emphasis a new helplessness Jane could not ignore. Jane's assertion that she could find her own way home fell on deaf ears as she was hoisted upon the sleek, expensive craft. The leader's terse command in English was obviously as much directed at her as to his men. "Strip her!"
For moments the tiny deck was a mass of arms and legs as Jane dived for the rail. Then two men held her arms while the third, slowly and carefully, stripped her bare. Fighting male arms and the palpitations of her own heart, Jane realized her garments had been well preserved, perhaps for future use? When she was stark naked she and her captor surveyed each other with divergent emotions, he in carnal curiosity, Jane in an indignation which knew no bounds.
"You son of a bitch! You got no right... "
The slap on her cheek was not hard but served to spell out her helplessness. A moment later as she was pushed backward to the launch's tiny mast, her hands were thrust behind that post and tightly handcuffed. The naked girl strained against steel bitten wrists to demand, "So, okay, you've kidnapped me. Why? And what happens next?" There was no answer. Once more Jane Dickson was a object of male disregard. Here three captors busied themselves with getting the launch under way and heading it back from whence it came. But this time it carried a prize, a naked girl now held as firmly by the slender mast as she had been by the heavy timber buried in the sand. Helpless to protect or cover herself, Jane longed to scream or beat her fists against passive male faces which knew everything she did not.
When they were well under way the leader vouchsafed her attention previously. "You may as well stop that struggling, Miss Dickson, you can not get loose." He held up a tiny key. "At least not while I hold this. I take it this is your first time naked?"
He was foreign but his English near to perfect. Bitterly she stated her case. "Of course it's the first time and I hate it! I suppose you've got a reason for kidnapping me but it wouldn't have hurt to leave me clothed and leave me free of these damned handcuffs."
"First thing you'd do, if I unlocked you, would be to jump overboard. Right?"
She hated his being right but knew he spoke no more than truth. Defensively, she retorted, "Well, all right, but you don't have to have me fastened to this damned mast. If you'd just handcuff my hands behind me, you'd have me safe."
"Hell, there's all sorts of girls can swim just as well handcuffed as free. You're just fine the way you are."
Jane did not tell him she was one of those girls. His lack of curiosity about her was infuriating but she had not yet been brutalized, it gave her courage. Solemnly, she asked, "Are you selling me somewhere? Do I get put in a brothel? Or am I for you personal enjoyment?" Truthfully she added, "If you've ideas of ransom, forget it, my folks don't have a dime."
"Your merits should tell you why you've been kidnapped, Miss Dickson."
"So I've got a nice body, but so have a million other girls. Why me?"
He laughed confidingly as if they both knew the answer then went below. The chained and naked girl was once more prey to her own thoughts and speculations. For the two men who operated the launch, she might as well not have existed. The Ionian sun smiled benignly upon the speeding craft.
* * *
It sat, immaculately sleek, upon the timeless Sea, its gleaming white and shinning brass, undoubtedly a "Ship" or perhaps a "yacht" if its owner had that much money. It was a ship designed for pleasure and the maiden handcuffed to the mast of the approaching launch had an uneasy conviction she was to have a part in whatever pleasure it contained. The launch approached the waiting gangplank with the same assurance it had pointed itself towards she and the stake upon the sand.
Jane was released, her hands now locked in front, and propelled up upon the scrubbed and polished decks above. No one was visible and she was given no chance to question, but was instantly propelled to a companionway and a few minutes later became the sole occupant of the ship's brig, her hands handcuffed and her feet similarly joined by a second pair of cuffs produced as if by magic. "Someone will come and talk to you said the semi-kindly voice of the semi-kindly male. Don't bother to try and get out of here, you can't."
All about her was metal. One wall of the brig was the hull itself, its slope contained a hard bench upon which the captive girl presumably sat or slept. The metallic clank of the closing door was spine-crinkling. Jane had not need to test to know it would not open to her hand. She was a prisoner. Ruefully she recalled fictional situations in which females had been locked in the "brig," always appropriately "ironed. " -She looked down at the handcuffs on wrists and ankles and presumed the term "ironed" was correct. She sat down on the bench and looked over her steel box then buried her face in her hands and wept in a bewilderment of confusion.
Overwrought nerves induced sleep from which she was abruptly awakened by the clanging of the door and a suave voice saying, "Hullo, Miss Dickson, I'm Sir Richard Mallory. I think we have met before."
Jane's heart jumped with hope. She looked up at the tall, military man who was looking at her with an assessing eye. Her mind fled back to their previous meeting and halted in consternation. But surely... Surely he would not...
"Ah, I see you do remember." The masculine tones were loaded with unction. "Not every day a Peer of the Realm gets his face slapped by a teacher from Los Angeles." The suave manner had become mocking.
"You're not a Peer of the Realm," the chained captive said scornfully. "I'm not sure what you are but you certainly deserved that slap. Look, be a good guy and let me loose."
"Never!"
They managed to share a grin over his dramatic use of the denial. It was good, old-time drama. Jane held out her joined hands invitingly. "I expect you have the key?"
"Indeed I do, but not with me. In any case I would hesitate to spoil such a nice arrangement of irons as now hold you pretty hands and feet. Get accustomed to those handcuffs, dear, you'll wear them often."
"But it's so silly. I'm only a girl, I can't possibly escape. Please unchain me."
Sir Richard mused, "You're Los Angeles. I'm from Massachusetts, myself, and you have no idea how a Boston accent helps in getting away with this British title. I'd had not idea how powerful the British nobility was until I joined it." He snickered as though at pleasant memories before dropping the bombshell. "Would you feel fifty lashes upon your skin about right, my dear?" he asked in the kindliest of tones.
The captive girl tensed, hands raised protectively to cover firm breasts, face flushed in disbelief. "You can't possibly mean that," she said levelly. "All I did was slap your face and goodness knows, you asked for it."
"Just as you have asked for fifty strokes with the whip, my dear." The silence between them, heavy and pregnant with unspoken thought. She knew she really hadn't needed to slap him. It was merely one of her sudden bursts of feminine anger and this man would certainly not have her whipped, she was positive he would not decent to such a barbaric act. In a little while he would set her free and place her ashore somewhere so they could both go home to bed. Jane did not speak but neither did Sir Richard. His approving gaze moved from breast to breast, to pubic hair and taunt tummy. Miss Jane Dickson felt more frightened than ever in her life.
"It will happen tomorrow, in front of the assembled crew, my dear. I wish to give you time to think about it and how you could have escaped the lash had you apologized or had you kept your little hand to yourself. You do understand?"
Jane understood, and knew herself condemned. The situation was bizarre and impossible but it was happening, it was real. She had only to look into Sir Richard's eyes to know how real it was. Desperately she said, "But you can't do this, it's not civilized. This kind of thing is just not done. You're not going to tell me you take this ship around the world getting even for slights of fancied insults?"
"Yes, I do."
They once more stared in silence, savoring the possibility that yesterday could not have happened. Dully Jane asked, "Who was it in the group? Who was it worked with you to make me helpless?"
"It does not matter. I will not reveal his or her name." Sir Richard laughed quietly. "In fact, I got the impression the entire group was glad to consign you to my care."
As though nothing mattered any more, Jane exclaimed, "So, all right, they sold me down the river, and tomorrow you're going to whip me or have me whipped. But what then? What the hell can you do with me then?"
"You will join the delightful company of the young women I keep aboard this yacht. All of them insulted me at some time in the past and all are paying for that indiscretion. I've had a couple of them for almost three years. You'll meet them all."
It was incredible, if true. But the ironed girl had no trouble to believe, if he could do it to her, he could do it to a hundred. She could well believe how satisfying it would be to any man to avenge any female slight by making her captive and subject to the lash. No one would ever find her here. She was utterly lost.
"Marking your pretty skin is only one of many disciplines," Sir Richard said helpfully. "Just let your pretty little mind rove. It's all there, waiting for you. It's as endless an agony for you as my besmirched honor was for me."
"You're trying to frighten me, I can't believe you're that cruel."
"You will, rest assured you will." His smile was purely benign. "And now I'll leave you to enjoy this steel prison made especially for you."
Jane recognized the dramatics as artificially intentional, simply a savoring of her situation, a watering at the mouth. But she gazed down at her ironed limbs and knew only helplessness. The possibility of it all being a bad joke diminished rapidly, this was for real. How easy it had been for the group to consign her to this ridiculous ship and equally ridiculous owner. But Sir Richard Mallory was unquestionably a handsome man and not that old. It had been his still youthful vigor which had prompted him to the question which had led to the slap from an indignant female hand. Miss Jane Dickson reflected bitterly that her role in life seemed to be "square" to all who's company she sought. Now she was chained in a ship's brig. Tomorrow she would be whipped. It was all too bizarre to be believed.
The opening of any door in any jail evokes hope. Jane's heart leapt to see a girl of little more than her own age walk through the narrow door which was instantly and clangingly locked behind her back. The newcomer was as naked as herself and both hands and arms were tightly and cruelly tied behind her naked back. Only her feet were free, but what did it matter, neither of them could escape!
Forthrightly the young woman said, "You name is Jane Dickson. You can call me Petulance, I'm not suppose to be called anything else. Welcome aboard." There came a short and bitter laugh. "Sorry I can't shake hands, how about we kiss?"
The kiss was surprisingly comforting. The lips of Petulance were warm and generous and spoke of feminine delight. Their owner laughed as she exclaimed, "Yes, I'm here for the same reason as you. I've been here a couple of years while this damned ship goes all around the globe. If you want my credentials, look at this." She turned a lovely naked back to enable the horrified Jane to see the faded whip marks of more than one such punishment. "He'll mark yours like this. But don't worry, a girl lives. She doesn't think she will but she does. Girls are ideally designed for a man like Richard Mallory. Mind if I sit down?"
"But you poor thing, those ropes, they must be hurting! Here, let me undo them. I'm sure I can."
"You probably could sweetheart but this is a special little deal he loves to play on us. If I allow you to untie me, I get a fresh flogging. Goodness knows what he'd do to you. So we'll both be good little girls and leave me as I am. At least having my elbows tied this tight sticks my breasts out in front. It's a nice effect and we do have to be grateful for small mercies."
"You... You're beautiful." Jane gazed at the two firm protrusions almost in awe, wondering if her own would be as beautiful if her arms were similarly bound. She asked, "Yes, you're beautiful, but it must hurt terribly. Isn't there any time when a girl is free?"
"No, why should there be! He doesn't keep us heavily chained or bound when we're far out to sea. No girl is going to leap over the rail when we're a hundred miles from shore. But there's always handcuffs or a leg iron or bound hands or something." Petulance saw the consternation on Jane's face and hastily added, "But we don't get his attention every day, there's quite a few of us girls and dear Richard has only got so much virility and so much venom. Spreading it over the bunch of us makes it halfway bearable." There came one more bitter laugh. "And, when he takes you to bed, he almost persuades you the whole thing's worth while. He's an absolute demon between a girl's legs, you adore him utterly until the morning."
Jane looked at her companion askance, scarce believing the incredible story of male dominance and female slavery. Emboldened by the presence of a fellow captive, she vowed with unusual vigor, "I'll never give in to him, I won't! I won't be his submissive little slavegirl no matter how much he beats the hell out of me. Who the hell does he think he is?"
"How do you expect to be a little heroine, darling? Look at yourself, you can't even slap a face."
It was true. The quiet, well-meant words printed themselves on Jane's mind. There swept over her that terrible despair that comes from knowing events you cannot change and past deeds you cannot undo. If she were free she would slap Richard Mallory's face again. But she was not free and might never be free again. Petulance had not said so in exact words but Jane Dickson understood she would pay for that impulsive blow upon a male cheek a hundred fold. She shivered and asked, "How do we sleep in this horrible hole?"
"We wedge ourselves side by side, darling, it can be done. But look, in case you're that way, we'd best not seek pleasure in each other. Darling Richard punishes girl fun horribly, he doesn't approve of it. And no matter how private two girls think they are, he always knows. Jane, I know it's not easy, but the best thing you can do is be a good little girl. It won't save you from everything but it will save you from a lot of painful extras -- darling Richard really let's himself go on those 'extras'! Try to avoid them."
They slept surprisingly, breasts against breasts, legs intertwined. In the companionship thus gained, Jane discerned an intent to kindness. Petulance helped retain sanity and judgment. The truth was worse than fiction but Petulance had survived and retrained a sense of humor even in her suffering. Jane tried hard not to think of tomorrow and the whip.
They awoke to girl-smell heavy in the close confines of the brig. Jane was refreshed but Petulance's bound arms brought a gasp of dismay and sympathy. The cord binding was sunk deep into the girl flesh, veins were purple and Petulance's breathing was labored under the strictures they were forbidden to touch. Jane was about to tear at the knots anyway when the brig door opened to reveal another captive maiden. This one was free in all ways except her feet in all ways except her feet which were heavily ironed to accent the rest of her nakedness. She clattered over the deck to say, "Hello, my name's Imogene and I'm permitted to untie poor Petulance so don't you dare touch her."
Jane watched in fascinated horror as strand after strand of cord was pulled from its groove within the punished skin to reveal scarlet wounds which would take days to heal. When her hands and arms were completely free, they fell, limb and nerveless while their owner placed her head on Jane's shoulder and wept in pain and thankfulness. Imogene, a bright and cheerful nineteen year old, watched the scene as though it were completely normal. Brightly she said to the still handcuffed Jane, "You're the new girl. I know about you. You're going to be whipped today but don't feel bad about that, it happens to all of us. In fact, it happens all the time."
Jane absorbed the bland statement in partial disbelief, a disbelief heightened by Imogene's next remark. "You're free to leave the brig, darling. You're free to wander around the ship. In fact, I'll give you the grand tour if you like."
"But I'm handcuffed! My feet as well as my hands... I can't possibly walk."
"Well, no one expects you to walk naturally like that, Imogene reproved. "But you can hop and if you want speed you'll be surprised how you can scoot along on all fours."
"But I can't possibly. I'm helpless!"
Imogene shrugged. "Suit yourself, honey, you can hope out of her in two shakes of a cat's tail. But if you like this place, I can lock you back in here when Petulance and I leave. Never cared much for the brig, myself."
Jane affirmed her own distaste for the grim, small prison of steel and rivets by taking a tentative hope. Her ankles absorbed pain as they strove against the iron bands but it was no more than she could bear. She took a second hop and then a third and was suddenly, unexpectedly in the corridor. She coped with the stairs by Imogene's suggestion of alternating hands and feet in upward thrusts until finally she was out in the sunlight of the deck.
"This is mean," she said to her companions. "I'm almost helpless, and everyone's going to laugh at me crawling around the way I've just been doing."
"Aboard this ship handcuffs aren't something to laugh at," Imogene said pertly. "Look, I have to take Petulance to his Majesty. Richard wants to see the wounds in her flesh while they're still vivid. Sir Richard Mallory has a Thing about rope burns. Come along if you want."
Jane watched their slow walk, accommodating their steps to Imogene's leg irons, to which their wearer paid little attention. On impulse she hopped swiftly to the rail to gaze down at the speeding surge of water as Sir Richard Mallory's yacht sliced the unknown depths to an unknown destination. The handcuffed girl shuddered. To leap would be simple suicide and she was not yet ready to die. Fearful of loosing her guides, she turned away from the rail and resumed her hop, skip and jump motions to catch up.
Petulance laughed, "Looks easy doesn't it? One jump and it's all over. Look at me know. I'm completely free. But I don't have the courage to jump over that rail to whatever I'd find below. All the girls talk about it but no one ever does it. Sir Richard is terribly clever about it. He calls it 'driving us to the rail' whenever he inflicts a really bloody awful punishment. But he never goes overboard and neither do we. Live with it, Jane darling, you'll have to."
It was a hard and painful progress but in keeping pace with her companions, Jane discovered herself in the lap of an exquisite luxury. No costs had been spared in fitting out this strange floating prison for kidnapped girls. Everything was gorgeous and remarkable and costly. Arriving at the fatal door, she stood erect with her companions, flushed and panting.
Sir Richard was as expensive as his yacht, sleek and powerful even in casual dress. The shirt probably cost two hundred dollars and the pants four. Along with being a kidnapper, a sailor, and goodness knows what else, Sir Richard appeared to be a man of business. His large desk was replete with electronic clutter which hummed and blinked in red and green as if assuring the man of further millions accruing to his accounts. At sight of the three girls he flipped switches enough produce silence and to send the blinking light to sleep. From a serious preoccupation he changed now to a pensive good will. He came around the desk to turn Petulance this way and that in admiration of the weals she would wear in her flesh because he had so decreed.
"You mark delightfully, my dear. This set, this time, are exquisite."
"Thank you, sir." Petulance's respect was perfect.
"Show them to the girls, maybe they'll be interested." Sir Richard patted Petulance's bottom in a fatherly way before dismissing the two girl to leave Miss Jane Dickson and himself alone. He waved a generous arm. "Sit down, my dear, or squat on the floor or whatever you want. No formality on this occasion, my dear."
Jane picked the least comfortable of the chairs and sat on it awkwardly to show her handcuffed wrists and ankles to full disadvantage. "Am I suppose to call you'Sir'?"
"It might be best. If you use my name, you companions in captivity will assume you've become my favorite. Sir Richard chuckled in amusement. "Are you realizing your position into my private harem?" Jane felt his power, not a brutal force but similar to the sleek ship who's engine's thrust sliced the oceans with such ease. With this man's power there would be no need for brutality. He was reputed to control an empire. She sneered inwardly. No doubt the two sets of handcuffs locked upon her limbs were for her own good to prevent her from doing something foolish. She remembered her brief glimpse over the rail.
Had her hands and feet been free, would she have jumped? She did not know. Frightening when you look down and see yourself sinking to whatever monster awaits below.
Sir Richard's voice was mocking but he had read her thoughts. "This yacht is better than any prison, the ocean's of the world work for me to keep you captive. They are no mere brick walls to offer hope." Jane shivered at this tone. She said, "We both know why I'm here and who you are. I can't truly believe any of it but I expect I will. What sort of fate have you planned for me? What happens to my life?"
"A good line," he conceded with a grin. "You and your life are synonymous. I use both as the mood pleases me. You can expect to be well punished, I want you more humble than you are."
"Because of a slapped cheek?"
"Because of a slapped cheek. What better motive? Every girl on this ship remembers something she has said or done."
"That makes you the world's supreme egotist," Jane said bitterly. "It's not you who uses girl like playthings, it's your money. I'd have had more respect for you if you'd have kidnapped me with your own hands instead of paying others to deliver me as a neat, helpless bundle. I should be scared out of my wits but I'm not. Perhaps Imogene and Petulance, they're so damned sweet. Perhaps it's because you're so damned civilized and his yacht of yours such a showpiece. Are you really serious about whipping me sometime today?"
"Of course. You'll feel a lot better afterwards, believe me you will."
"I'll more likely be laying on your deck, sobbing my eyes out. I can't imagine a man like you having a girl like me whipped unless you intend to kill me and have me tossed overboard. It's... It's... Well, no one whips girl now a days, it simply isn't done."
He waved her protests aside. "I expect you're hungry and desire a bath," he said apologetically. "I'll have one of the girls provide both for you. Petulance, if you like?"
"That would be nice."
It happened as if my magic, two naked girls sharing the same bath and for the same reasons. Jane and Petulance soaked and lathed each other almost happily. Envying her companion's nonchalance as compared to her own trepidation, Jane wondered at Petulance's seeming disregard of the terrible bondage ordeal she had suffered all night. Would that she too could take such punishments as this. Jane shrugged away the dark thoughts to revel in gentle hands and gentle lips, sitting passively to be made more beautiful by cosmetic arts and skillful fingers, and then being escorted down to breakfast. Throughout it ail the handcuffs shone brilliantly on her wrists and ankles in a relentless emphasis.
When the meal was over Petulance absented herself for a few minutes to return with a tiny key. "Your feet are being given back to you," she told her bewildered charge. "But your hands will have to go in back. Hold still."
A click and a cuff fell free. Limp arms were gathered by firm but gentle hands and the cuff resumed its warm nesting place on Jane's wrist but this time behind her back. This was helplessness as before, the same helplessness she had known when fastened to the stake. But the metal on her feel was set aside and, for the first time in many hours, she was able to take a full stride without snubbing her ankles or falling. She was almost happy at the new condition. Twisting her wrists experimentally behind her back, the new meekly walked beside her guide.
"His majesty had a love affair with dear Imogene when he first captured her," Petulance informed briskly. "So now this ship bares her name. Its become the 'Imogene.' She was tremendously flattered and basked in glory for at least a week. But it didn't last and I doubt it saved her a single stroke or a single hour of the chains, but she still is sort of proud of having the ship named after her even though his majesty spreads his affections all over the place and not solely on her. The crew is exclusively male, you'll run into them here and there, and they'll watch you whipped later. But they're not allowed to touch unless his majesty gets really browned off with one of us, in which case we sort of get thrown to the lions. We're given to the crew for the night and we damned well have to make the best of it. When this happens, we're usually fixed the way you are now with our hands behind our backs so we can't slap faces. The boys get a big charge of us trying to kick them were it hurts. We hardly ever connect but it does add something to their enjoyment."
Jane Dickson counted seventeen girls, all naked, all seemingly resigned to their condition. Some were reconciled to their lot to the point of laughter. Most assured her that she should not worry about being whipped. Most bore marked backs and bottoms in various stages of healing. No skin was virgin. Evidently Sir Richard liked his lash.
There were girls in cages, there were girls attached by neck, wrist or ankle to the floor, to the wall, or even to a piece of heavy furniture. There were also as free as Petulance but they assured Jane they might as easily be heavily chained before nightfall. The Imogene was unpredictable in the trails and tribulations of its captives. Eventually the handcuffed new recruit to "The Imogene" was led to the main deck whereon a congregation of girls and crew were mingling without embarrassment but with an obvious purpose.
"I'm afraid they're waiting for you," said Petulance gently.
Miss Jane Dickson was suddenly ten times naked, the sole occupant of a terrible solitude. Petulance had slipped away to leave her where all could see and there began now an orderly shuffling of sexes and servants into place. From where he had been casually chatting to await the arrival of the star performer, Sir Richard Mallory now took possession of the proceedings, standing before the handcuffed girl and reading from a scroll.
It appeared that one Miss Jane Dickson had grievously erred at sometime in the past. She would now pay for her sin and by her pain be both purified and improved. She was sentenced to twenty strokes with a mild whip and would receive her lashes forthwith.
It did not occur to Jane to flee or to protest. She could have done both but remained rooted to the deck in pure disbelief that this was happening. It was pure Hollywood and she almost expected to see cameras. But there were no cameras and there were no extras. Everyone was present because of the will of Sir Richard Mallory and all of them were to watch Miss Jane Dickson receive her whipping. The whole scene was beautifully ordered and well conceived. Two seaman took her by the bare arms and led her to the mast, her hands were raised and bound tight to waiting rings and that was all. Jane stood, her nipples frictioning against the well stained wood, her arms raised high, her nakedness frighteningly available to Sir Richard's wish.
The naked Jane Dickson was not stretched. She stood erect with the ability to kick should she so desire. She had, cleverly, been afforded sufficient freedom to enable a good performance should the waiting thong hurt beyond endurance. She could also look back across a bare, raised arm to the preparations now underway.
It was a girl who held the whip, one of the maidens she had met but a short time previously. Jane learned later that lots had been drawn to see which of the captives whipped the new girl. It was the luck of the draw by which this stalwart and well-muscled maiden had been picked. Her eyes met those of the girl she was to whip in a female communion which spoke everything and said nothing except to agree they were damsels in a similar distress and to make the most of it. When the whipper turned her back Jane saw that she, too, had, not too long ago, been terribly whipped herself. But it did not occur to the girl bound to the mast to expect mercy, she knew this girl would hurt her every bit as much as one of the men had he been given the task. Sir Richard had even provided a ritualistic roll of drums to herald the first lash and the drums now rolled their beat across the deck. Miss Jane Dickson pressed her breasts and forehead hard against the wood.
CHAPTER TWO - THE MAST
One may speculate as to how whipping came into universal favor through the ages as a medium of punishment. Long through history it is evident that battle and the rigors of sustain existence inflicted constant impact on resentful flesh. But these welts and bruises were either implicit in fighting the foe or to be expected in the rough, tough daily struggle for survive in the forest and cave. It should have been a historical occasion when the first man struck the first blow deliberately upon a female back as an expression of disapproval, then stood and felt his manhood swell and become hard and erect as the welt rewarded him with pink then red then purple. No doubt he tried a second and a third to make sure that each produced the same results. No statue was raised to this man's memory nor to a maiden's anguish Both have passed unheralded into the shadows of time. But the institution then put into effect lived on after them to spawn a manifold list of instruments and of the manner of a girl's binding as they were used upon her skin. The whip, like the weal, was elemental to the Saga of Our Race.
Something of this arcane speculation flashed through Jane Dickson's mind before the first blow cut her skin. She knew this scene only the latest of a multitude the centuries had seen. As the thong cut her smartly across bare shoulders, she knew, as all the other girls had known, there had never been pain like this and she must do what she could to acquaint the watching eyes and muscled arm of the impossibility of continuance.
This awfulness must stop and stop right now!
' Now any more, oh, please, not any more!" she flung back from dry lips over her bare shoulder. "I can't stand it, I simply can't. It's just too much!"
No one laughed, no one said a word. In horror Jane realized her words were one with the beating drums and the reading of the sentence. Her plaint was implicit to the scene. Number two lapped her from hip to hip, making her surge against the mast and kick vainly with a free foot. When stroke number three had its way with her, she screamed.
It was not until the fifth and sixth strokes had driven Jane wild in a frantic revolt against her bounds that she came to realize that she was, without volition, thrusting her sex hard against the wood and spreading her legs wide in an instinctive seeking for fleshly comfort. Sir Richard dealt with this unseemly female weakness as he dealt with all things on the Imogene.
"Back away from that post, girl. Spread your legs."
It did not occur to Jane to disobey. She would disobey nothing which would need bring her travail to its end. Unthinkingly she unglued her nudity from the mast and stepped back as far as her bound wrists would permit. She spread her legs. The next blow was as hard and cruel, shattering her control to evoke scream after scream, some in outraged anger at this violation of her sex. Agonized, she thrust her sex once more at the post but made no motion by which criticism could earn her a second opening of her legs. Sir Richard said no more. The thong's bit cut at her skin in a steady cadence. Miss Jane Dickson was unaware of tears she mingled with her moans. She was in a realm of her own, a realm only the whipped can every know.
The blows stopped at ten. Sir Richard patted Jane's cheek and told her she was doing well. The girl with the whip took the opportunity to come forward and whisper, "I'm terribly sorry, but you know how it is!"
It would seem Miss Jane Dickson was among friends, they wished her well even while inflicting pain. Jane felt like a small, naughty girl who's parent had been driven to the use of an instrument of pain to correct. She wanted to assure someone that she would not be bad again. But she had not done anything wrong, committed no sin. She was simply a sacrifice to Imogene caprice. Reflecting bitterly, Jane knew she was being whipped because she was a girl.
Drinks were served by two captive girls delegated to a tiny apron and tray. They flitted nakedly and busily among all ranks, and one took the time to hold a brimming glass to punished lips. Jane drank thirstily and managed a polite, "Thank you." It was all beautifully civilized and pure nightmare. When the whipping started once again, Jane hysterically and most audibly affirmed, "I can't stand this! I can't stand any more! Please stop whipping me, please stop... "
By the time Jane realized none would heed her plea the thirteenth stroke had impacted smartly on her skin. After that nothing seemed to matter. The pain was a constant blaze of fire the bound girl could not stop. The blows scorched and seared from knee to neck. Toward the end Jane Dickson went berserk, flinging herself from side to side, kicking in wild abandon at nothing. And for that exercise was awarded one more stroke. Naturally it was given between her legs, where else!
Before leaving, the girl who had held the whip came close to kiss and to whisper, "It was only mild, that's all it was, honey, honest!" Sir Richard's admonition was equally brief before he departed. "Reflect upon blessedness, dear girl. I give you time for that." Miss Jane Dickson was quiet suddenly alone.
It was bitter gall to stand against the mast while others left. Had Jane committed a sin she might have understood authority's wisdom in giving her time to repent. Hatefully she recalled the blow upon the male cheek and knew now in bitter shame she would lack the courage to strike again. The sentence of Sir Richard Mallory upon a headstrong girl was thus ennobled and made valid. Jane could not deny the learning of a lesson, and stood against the mast in a seething welter of shame against herself and unwilling recognition of the efficacy of her noble captor's punishments. That is, if Sir Richard was a Peer of the Realm, a fact she doubted. And in the doubting found fresh shame.
"The hour you have spent thus bound, dear girl, has been for the searching of your soul." Sir Richard's voice was, as always, suave. "I trust you have found benefit?"
"Yes. The single word was listless.
"It is, of course, principally beneficial as an emphasis upon your strips."
"Thank you. I'm sure I'll be a model prisoner."
"You still have spirit!"
"No, I haven't. I'm scared to death and if I say something human, it's because I feel that way." Jane blinked back tears. "I'll be servile enough to ask you not to punish me anymore. At least not today." The man and the girl stood in silent mediation. Jane longing to be untied yet coyly opening one eye to peek in curiosity at the male presence. She was also coping with disbelief at the aftermath of being whipped. It was no way as devastating as she had dreamed. Now it was over, there was a degree of pride in survival. As usual, Sir Richard's quietly reflective tone was devastating. "I could marry you Jane, you are most definitely wife material. I am glad."
Unsure if she had heard right, the whipped girl muttered, "Marry me! You must be crazy."
"I have seventeen of you girls." Sir Richard's reflective tone was uninterrupted by Jane's exclamation. "I expect there will be others. And I had determined long ago that in the end I would select the one in whom I found most joy and make her my wife. The rest I will sell into situations where they can cause no trouble."
Despite herself, Jane was intrigued. This was fairy tale stuff. It might be nonsense but it was colorful nonsense and she shrewdly suspected she was being told these facts for a purpose. With greater assurance than before she said, "I'd make you a lousy wife. Please set me free. I promise I'll go home and forget this whole thing."
"I am a multi-millionaire, as I'm sure you know. Marriage to me would be a privilege. Most girls see it as that. So I tell each one of you what I have just told you. You are in the running for a prize, a prize of rubies, not be but my possessions. Believe it or not you would be a lucky girl to be Mrs. Richard Mallory."
"Not Lady Jane?" The query was mocking.
"You are indeed overburdened with spirit, sweetheart. Yes, I can make you Lady Jane. Whether I do so or not will depend upon our relationship in times to come. In fact, this dependence will begin when I untie your hands and carry you to my bed. I don't suppose you have ever previously been ravished while laying upon your whipped back?"
"No, I haven't. I think its a beastly idea. Do you have to!"
He tilted her chin with finger to place her mouth where it could be kissed. His lips were unexpectedly warm and tender but the naked girl, still in pain and tender, warned herself to suppress feminine response. With a man like Sir Richard it would be easy to become a simpering little idiot of a girl with hot loins. Jane maintained a haughty silence as her wrists were unbound from the rings and her arms allowed to fall. It was very much in keeping with The Imogene to be picked up and carried to the master's den. She made no show or revolt, knowing its uselessness. What would happen now would happen because she had no power to stop it. Recalling the admonition of Confucius, she lay passively in strong arms as she was carried towards her first rape, a rape she was quiet sure would prove of superb quality.
"Every been raped before?" Sir Richard inquired conversationally.
"No.-" The owner of girls laughed at this one's reluctant responses. Going down steps and through passageways, he mused, "I'm not sure how we should label this one. You're not struggling. I've always assumed it was the struggle which defined rape. Am I right?"
"You should know better than I. I presume I'm number seventeen on your list, aren't I?"
"Hmmmm... Well, in a way. But some of the seventeen met me more than half way. Some of the little darlings made me the most startling offers if I were to send them home to mother or make them Mrs. Mallory."
It was everything Jane had expected or been promised. The bedroom was luxurious. The large four poster bed, which Jane suspected was used for purposes other than sleep, was massive with a personality all its own. Jane's nakedness frictioned against the coverlet and made her instantly aflame with lust, exactly the opposite of what she had expected. When the muscular male mounted the pain of whipped back and bottom took on a fresh deliciousness she had never before known. After a long time of being played with, a huge, unseen erection impaled her with a cautious exploration. Miss Jane Dickson was in the hands of a master!
It could be said that copulation or ravishment or rape or whatever other word is chosen, turns out to be all things to all girls. For each it has a new dimension, especially if it is forced entry as Jane chose to see it now. Strangely there was little force needed, she was already wet.
It was a total surrender, a total victor. It was the first and the last, the beginning and the end! Despite intend to close her mind and squeeze tight her loins, Jane Dickson did neither. She was possessed by a more virile hulk of maleness than ever in her life. It played with her as an angler plays a big fish. She was taken to the heights and to the deeps and to all that lay between. By the time she was, wetly, relinquished to the bed, there was no fight left. She would have unhesitatingly done whatever Sir Richard Mallory demanded. But he demanded nothing, sitting quietly beside his naked conquest and playing with her nipples to bring them to his own desire. Before Jane Dickson fell asleep, he mounted her again and the endless conquest went on and on and on...
One of the great delights of being a woman but which few girls every fully achieve is the endless orgasm and the constellations of stars for which there is no night but only a brilliance of endless sensation. Jane Dickson knew herself managed, contrived, aroused by a consummate skill she had never previously known. But the she did not care. She cared for nothing but to be in the male arms which made her feel like a baby. But at the same time to be Aphrodite, Helen of Troy, and Hollywood's latest nudity. She was all these girls and she was also the eternal Eve. She knew herself a most fortunate young woman. But when carried naked to the brig and chained therein with heavy, ugly chains in that small steel cage, she wept bitterly for a paradise lost. But even her wounded back could not deny her the peace of sleep.
Waking in the morning was a bemused grouping for orientation, the rearranging of heavy links of chain and adjusting of limits of movement they imposed. Jane Dickson thought wryly of how doubly naked she would feel without the metal bounds. The links of metal were implicit to being a prisoner or feminine passenger on the Imogene. She knew herself a prisoner, but cared only for a return to the bed on which she had been taught lessons the night before, lessons as potent as the whip!
Jane looked hungrily at the steel door and wondered what its opening would bring her. On the Imogene, kindness and cruelty alternated to keep a girl off balance and bemused. She also looked with infinite distaste upon the shackles locked firmly upon her nakedness. There was no need of them, and this knowledge made the wearing of the steel doubly onerous. Within the daunting steel of the brig the heavy links and steel bands were a redundancy. The unkind circlets clutched her tightly at wrist and ankle and, for a final insult, her neck, trailing their span of links to the heavily riveted rings upon the wall. She supposed they should be called the Hull.
The captive girl stood and tested the limits of her bounds. They would not allow her even to reach the door. She knew them as purely punitive and wondered of the strange contrast of a man who could be infinitely kind and loving in bed and yet, less than an hour later, consign her to this.
Jane's thoughts dwelt constantly upon escape. The beckoning of freedom overshadowed all else, even her whipped back which could now be lived with in a tolerable tenderness. But if the other girls had failed to escape what hope had she? She countered such negative thinking by supposing they had become accustomed to their lot and failed to take opportunities when they arouse. Ashamed, she considered her adventure in the bed of the master of the ship, such attentions could become habit forming. She thrust such thoughts aside, it was absurd.
* * *
The door opened to disclose the sunlight of early morning and the broad, knowing grin of a male member of the crew she had not previously dealt with. With feminine intuition, Jane knew instantly his purpose.
"Got you foxed, eh?" The newcomer eyed the irons by which his prey was secured, then turned to the opposite wall to where the keys had been hung upon a nail the prisoner could never reach. "My name's Norie," he said jauntily. "You and me's is going to have ourselves a time."
Jane would later curse herself for not screaming but everything happened too fast. To be freed of chains was a benefit too great to deny. The captive girl sat, alert and apprehensive, while the key was turned in the locks to allow the weight of metal to fall. Norie was a man of action, within moments his victim was handcuffed, her mouth stuffed with rag, and her nudity pressed hard down upon the floor. Norie was sufficiently excited to cause his rape of Jane Dickson to be brief. Jane's struggles had ceased after the first thrust by which time she knew herself lost to this man's intentions. Norie had thrust her cuffed hands above her head and gruffly told her to leave them there or she would be sorry.
What happened then was pure horror. Norie picked up the object of his lust and carried her to the rail where there was a lift jacket ready, roughly tugging it down over her head and arms and drawing its tapes tight, he casually tossed Miss Jane Dickson overboard into the sea. Without bothering to watch or observe, he returned immediately to the brig where he hung the keys upon the nail and arranged the irons carefully upon the metal bench. He went out and closed the door. The sun shone brightly as though in approval of his deed. Grinning, Norie returned to his bunk and seemed fast asleep when his companions awoke to the new day. Norie was pleased with himself, he had accomplished the most satisfactory of rapes and disposed of the evidence without trace. If he wondered what had prompted him to use the life belt, he gave it little thought. Imogene would be a far, far distance if and when the girl was rescued.
If she ever was.
CHAPTER THREE - THE NEW CAPTIVITY
Probably the most terrible moment in human conscious befell Jane Dickson now. Treading water and tugging at the rag in her mouth, she watched the Imogene slice the Mediterranean, moving constantly away from her. Soon it would be no more than a speck upon the horizon. There was little doubt in Jane's mind she was condemned to die.
The instinct to survive was strong in all living things, Jane was no exception. Once the shock had passed, she arranged her mind to cope with possibilities. As she watched Norie's gag float away she busily completed fastening the life belt on as best she could with shackled hands, her feet pedaling to keep her head as high above water as she could. She could only speculate as to the man's purpose in granting her this belt, without which she would soon tire. Sooner than might be normal since her wrists were joined by steel handcuffs, making treading water more difficult. But, conceding the possibly of luck, the red life belt could save her life.
Jane deemed it useless to swim. She had no idea were the Imogene had been when she had been thrown over its rail. Her best course would be to stay afloat by whatever means she could. Stay afloat and pray. But the immensity of the Sea and her own puny helplessness was sterile ground for courage. From time to time she gave attention to the handcuffs, hoping the sea water would lubricate sufficiently for her to wiggle loose from them but they had been clicked far too tight upon her wrists.
For a moment the amusing thought occurred to her that, should she be rescued by decent, law-abiding people, the handcuffs would condemn her as a criminal. But on the other hand, if she were to fall into the hands of less savory types, they would simply consider her a neat package, ready for rape.
The tiny object, foreign to the sea, came into view early afternoon. She could see it only when on the upper rise of a swell. But there was no doubt it was a boat, a small boat driven by a motor, the sound of which did reach her now and then. Jane shouted but the sound was lost. But whenever the boat came back into view she raised her shackled hands as high as possible and realized how unlikely they would be seen.
But they had been seen. Or perhaps instinct on the part of the pilot had guided the small craft in Jane's direction. It took a long, long time, but when strong male arms encircled her and lifted her to safety it was an improbable dream come true. Jane scarcely look at her rescuer but clung to him as she would have embraced dry land, her tears of thankfulness mingled with the salt drops on the masculine chest as a hearty voice said, "Well, I'll be damned, a mermaid!
* * *
Plumpy Plumton had once been a chubby child and had thus acquired the name which no longer fitted him other than as a mark of amiability. He was now a tow headed giant who adored fishing and saw the other sex as a hazard to be coped with as best one could. Admittedly the prize the ocean had placed within his arms was pleasantly warm and curvy. It's trust touched his heart. Amused and curious, he grasped the upper arms of the weeping girl and held her at arm's length, feeling the same pleasure in this new possession as in the capture of a rare marine species.
"You're safe but I know how you feel," he said kindly. "Here, let me find you something to dry those tears."
Jane accepted the clean piece of cloth and dabbed at wet cheeks but almost instantly returned to male arms. "Oh, please hold me. I'm still frightened but I expect it will go away."
Plumpy understood instantly. Holding his mermaid very close and very protectively in strong male arms. He would ask no questions, this lovely creature from the waves would tell her story soon enough. It took many minutes but Jane finally began her explanation.
"I'm sorry about not having any clothes, that's the way I was when I was thrown overboard."
Plumpy allowed it to pass, he was certain there would be more. In the meantime this damsel in distress became more pleasant to hold.
"And I'm terribly sorry about being handcuffed." Jane added doubtfully. "I'm not a criminal or anything."
"I'm sure you're not." Plumpy patted her bottom reassuringly and ran open palms up and down the bareness of her back. "Take it easy, sweetheart, we're headed for home, the land is just becoming visible. But this bit about being tossed overboard, who the devil would do a thing like that to a girl like you?"
"He was one of the crew, I don't even know his name. But he had just raped me, I expect he wanted to get rid of the evidence. Please hold on to me a little longer, I'm still frightened of that terrible water and all those monsters waiting for me to sink. And the sharks wondering if they should bite my legs off."
Plumpy continued to hold her and to pat accessible areas in a fine, brotherly way which did Jane a world of good. "You don't have to tell me you story now," he said gently. "Just rest and feel safe, you're very, very safe with me, one hell of a lot safer than on the Imogene." The girl he held tensed. "How did you know it was the Imogene?"
"I didn't tell you the name, did I? Never mind that either. But tell me something, have you been whipped?"
"It happened yesterday. Can you feel marks?"
Plumpy turned his mermaid around to examine the evidence the Imogene had planted on her skin. It was unmistakable. He turned her around and was more protective than before. "Someone is going to pay for those marks, sweetheart," he said. "Don't ever doubt it." Jane was beginning to feel less a creature of the deep, and much more a girl. The male hands exploring her curves were without carnal intent but she felt compelled to offer the only gift she had.
"You saved my life, I suppose you realize that. And you dragged me out of the most awful fear I've ever known. I'd be crazy not to feel grateful. You can do anything you wish to me."
Jane's surrender was greeted with a tightening of arms and a lingering kiss on her forehead. It went no further and she remembered her father had kissed her like that. It was a way of telling her she was safe and much loved. When Plumpy placed her on a seat cushion and sat opposite to survey his prize, she ventured again, "I'm terrible sorry about these handcuffs. Are you sure you don't think they mean something sinister?"
"I don't have a key or a sliver of steel I could use to get them off. Do you mind wearing them until we can get them off at home?" Jane didn't mind. Wearing the steel was the least of her concerns. She tugged at the fastenings of the life belt, which she felt was detracting from both her breasts and the tiny waist of which she was so proud. Plumpy reached the fastenings she could not and a moment later she was completely bare in a small boat with a man she had never previously seen. She felt sure she should be embarrassed but she was not.
"On board the Imogene they keep all the girls naked. All we get to wear is leg irons and handcuffs and other restraints." She gazed at him wonderingly. "I don't suppose you believe any of this?"
"On the contrary, I could tell you a thing or two about the Imogene," Plumpy said matter-of-factly. "It's a subject we can leave alone for now. What I'm interested in is you."
Naked, and with Plumpy admiring the breasts and pubic patch she could not cover, Jane spilled out her story in a torrent of indignation as she told of her betrayal by the Group, and her captivity against the stake.
"I was handcuffed then for hours and hours and I got used to them. I'm been fastened some way ever since. Would you happen to have something I could cover myself with?"
"I've got a flag. It's Old Glory, if that's any good to you?"
"Oh, never mind. You and everyone else has been staring at me naked for the last two days anyway. That's the land, isn't it, that smudge on the horizon? It seems awful small."
"The island of Thessalon, loaded with historical memories and not much else. I've got what they call a villa there. You're really exactly what I need to look after it." Plumpy chuckled. "Remember Shakespeare: 'There is a destiny shapes our ends, rough hew them as we will.' You and I may enjoy Thessalon together."
The maiden rescued from the sea glowed. Thessalon! It would be a magic island she could explore with this good-natured giant who had not yet touched her in a sexual way. Jane hoped Thessalon would hold a thousand antiquities they could explore together. Beyond that she refused to look."
CHAPTER FOUR - THE MAGIC ISLAND
For Jane Dickson time ceased when she stepped from the beached boat to the wet sand to behold the house of yellow stone, mellowed with age and almost a part of the sun-baked rock itself. It was a kindly sun. Plumpy carried her across the threshold to place her feet on the cool floor. From that point on the captive of the Imogene entered a magic land in which time stood still.
They ate sparsely, the sun sustaining them, enriching male and female skin with newly minted gold. It was the simplest of lives, spent mostly on the beach and in the surf. Jane refused to swim out into the depths, her memory of the open sea was still too vivid. In this place she was all too willing to believe that out there in the Deep a Kraken still lurked for unaware maidens.
They talked a lot, piecing together this joining of their lives. Plumpy showed unusual interest in the Imogene and those who sailed her, especially Sir Richard Mallory. He milked Jane dry of all she knew of the ship of girl then let the subject drop to tell her of his love affair with Thessalon and its refreshment of his soul. It was not until close to the end of the second day that Jane exclaimed, quite absurdly, "I've got no clothes on!"
"So I noticed."
"Why didn't you say something? I must look terrible!"
"You look gorgeous, you're the beauty of the island, my mermaid from the sea."
"Do you realize I'm still handcuffed?"
"Sure I do, it's a nice effect. Don't let's spoil it. So far as clothes go, help yourself to mine. I'm sure you can adapt a shirt."
"Sorry, pet, don't have a key."
"You're teasing. I know you don't have a key but you've got tools and things and you are a man. Men know everything about mechanics and things."
"Don't worry, honey, my education was neglected in that area. How about we go hunt clams, not right now but latter?"
Jane allowed the subject to drop and discussed instead the cooking of clams. She had sensed an undercurrent in Plumpy she was not sure she understood. But the handcuffs had become so much a part of her it was easy to forget them in the enchantment of fresh discoveries about the island and themselves. Plumpy had not made love to her on the night of her rescue but thereafter made her an elemental child of the sun and the sand and the surf. It was too wonderful to understand or question or even talk about. It filled them both with a deep content to last them through each day until one more fulfillment in the night, or a dozen or a hundred. Jane was never quite sure.
But feminine curiosity was now loose and on the following day returned to the fore. "Plumpy, why won't you get these handcuffs off me? I'm sure you could."
"Because I like them on. I'm selfish."
"But why?"
Plumpy's boyish grin was frank. "It's a Thing I've got. All my life I've adored seeing girls handcuffed or chained or tied up with anything handy. It does something for girls, I can't tell you why or how and that doesn't matter. It's like lovely clothes." "You mean, sort of like the way men prefer girls to fluff their hair in certain ways? But, Plumpy, what if we have visitors? Even if I'm wearing one of your shirts -- and don't you realize I can't even get into a shirt with my hands joined this way?"
"That's right, sweetheart, someone's bound to show up some time and I'm interested to see how you'll cope."
"I still think you're teasing. What you really want is to have me helpless and in your power. Plumpy, don't you realize, as long as I'm handcuffed like this you sort of own me. Isn't that were the thrill is?"
"Sure I own you. I hauled you up out of the sea, pretty much like fishing really. I'm damned grateful to that bastard who tossed you over the rail."
"Disgusting, utterly disgusting!" The strident female voice caused Plumpy and his mermaid to sit erect and stare. Miss Amity Stipend was a vigorous sixty, a born spinster, naturally designed for protest. She belonged to most "movements" and was president of many. She gazed upon the finest array of bare human skin Thessalon had to offer. Her verdict was firm. "You are well aware nude bathing is not permitted on this island. There is a degenerate heaven for such things on an island designed for that purpose." Amity Stipend stood upon a small rock and pointed an accusing parasol. "You are contravening the law. I shall report this matter to the authorities."
"Drop dead," Plumpy suggested cheerfully.
Jane was about to add that she was well covered but remembered in time she most certainly was not. Desperately and guiltily she tugged down the jersey to cover what had been the focus of Miss Stipend's indignation. All she could think to say was, "Leave us alone. Go away."
"And what is more, I saw what you were doing with your hands. I've never done such a thing in my life and I fail... "
"But you have never had a chance," Plumpy suggested pleasantly. "If a man put his hand on you, I'll bet it would fall off, his hand, I mean, not the other thing."
Miss Stipend appeared to swell as from internal combustion. Jane giggled at the thought of a small explosion and a shattered parasol. The Virgo was obviously groping for words with which to crush this carnal couple who, after all were partial attired even if inadequately by Stipend standards.
"You will hear more of this," she stated firmly then wheeled about and left the scene.
The serpent may have left but the peace of Eden was shattered. Jane clutched her rescuer's arm to demand, "Can she do anything? Can she really? And did she notice my handcuffs?"
"She noticed them all right, but they baffled her. She'll probably accuse me of white slavery. Damn such old biddies. We weren't showing enough skin to matter."
"I'm afraid I was Plumpy, she could see my pubic bush."
"So what? I suppose the old trout has got one of those herself unless she's ashamed of it and shaves it off."
Jane was more sensitive to feminine animosity than Plumpy. "That woman's going to make trouble for us, I can tell. Oh, Plumpy, what shall we do!"
Plumpy picked her up and carried her to the shade of a nearby tree. He then lifted the jersey hem to disclose the offending small forest of curls. He massaged the twin lips and plump mount thoughtfully. "I don't know," he confessed. "She may just get fogged off. Or maybe old Pappadou will have to do something. Just leave everything to me, I'll handle it."
Jane was sure he would handle it and the thought was comforting. Plumpy was so big and so comforting that one could not imagine Miss Amity Strident prevailing against him. No doubt what Miss stipend needed most was the serious attentions of a man like Plumpy. But since she was unlikely to ever receive them, she had Jane's limited sympathy. Beginning to breath rapidly, Jane admonished, "I suppose you know what you're doing."
"Yes, and I'm going to do more of it. Simply close your eyes and relax."
Jane did and she was told and her handcuffed wrists reached up to embrace a man she knew she loved.
The Law of Thessalon arrived at eleven am the following morning. It wearily pushed a bike up the rocky path and, sweating profusely, accepted a goodly shot of ouzo with ice. Plumpy had couched her and it was Jane who offered the drink with prettily feminine chained hands. Mr. Pappadou, with obvious regret, announced, "I will have to make a report. The woman is a she-cat, it would be a pleasure to rape her."
Mr. Pappadou had addressed his remarks to Plumpy and the handcuffed girl realized there was an understanding between the two of them she did not understand. Her only role was to refill Mr. Pappadou's rapidly empty glass, for which she received a cursory, official smile and was then again ignored. "It appears she had connections. She belongs to the society which regulates nude bathing on our beaches. If she had her way, there would not be any at all," Mr. Pappadou said mournfully. "I cannot understand why North Americans do not fuck such women and put them in their place. I am sure Miss Stipend has never been fucked." He turned an inquiring eyebrow towards the grinning Plumpy. "Perhaps you might... "
"Not with a ten foot pole!"
"In that case I fear I must arrest the young lady... I forget the name."
"Who! Me!?" Jane demanded indignantly. "What on earth have I done? All she saw was-a bit of my pubic hair."
"Like hell you will!" Plumpy said with firm decision. "No one's arresting Jane, she belongs to me."
"She has perhaps the papers...?" Mr. Pappadou asked hopefully. "Not a damn thing, she was bare as they come when I fished her out of the sea." Plumpy's tone maintained its authority. "Tell that Stipend woman that if she wishes to donate a dress, we'll get Jane better covered in public."
Mr. Pappadou sighed and produced forms, then played his trump, "And the handcuffs? Perhaps you will explain...?"
"That's right, the handcuffs. She had them on, Pappadou, so I suppose you couldn't say she was bare naked." Plumpy laughed to the official's dubiety and added, "Look, old chap, I'm sure you've got a spare key, would you mind?"
Mr. Pappadou had a spare key which he surrendered with the same doubting air. Jane massaged pink wrists gratefully and watched Plumpy put the key in the small pocket of his shorts. Plumpy's influence with Mr. Pappadou was beyond her comprehension but she inquired of the busy official, "My wrists are free now, Mr. Pappadou, would you like to put your own handcuffs on them now?"
The uniformed minion of the Law on Thessalon waved the suggestion away with the air of a man burning bridges in all directions. "I make the report, it is enough. This is what you call 'much mountain from a little mole hill.'" He turned to Plumpy. "If you will please to sign here... "
Plumpy signed with a flourish. Puzzled, Jane saw he shake the official hand and warmly assure the owner he would do the same for him should he opportunity arise. Mr. Pappadou dejectedly returned to his bicycle and left.
"Well, that looks after that. Let's go have another cup of coffee." Plumpy dismissed the incident with an airy wave. "Damned good thing you were in my company, sweetheart. There's the cutest little police station down in the village with the cutest little cage where they keep naughty girls while the wait for the weekly ship. It's all very out of this world."
"There's something between you two, you know each other," Jane accused.
"In an odd sort of way, yes. Pappadou trusts me."
"And you kept his handcuff key... Don't think I didn't notice."
"It will come in handy, my pet, and he'll have another one back at the station. And that reminds me... " He dangled the Imogene handcuffs from mocking fingers. "Hold out your hands, sweetness."
Jane had all the answers, they included "drop dead" and "I never want to see those things again," but, to her own surprise, she offered Plumpy her recently freed hands and watched the handcuffs once more clicked around her wrists. Plumpy took care to get them at precisely the same tension as before.
His voice was pleasant, "There, that's better. I'll bet you felt naked without them."
Jane looked at the shinning steel which had become so much a part of her. Truly bemused, she asked, "I don't know why I did that, I must be crazy. Look, Plumpy, you know everything, tell me why I gave you my wrists."
"It's because you love me," Plumpy said modestly. "You know I admire them on you, and you want to please me. And, be honest, you missed them, didn't you?"
It was one of those moments when a girl wants to stamp her foot and make sounds of frustration. Instead, Jane Dickson laughed, "So, okay, I'm your captive again. What are you going to do with me?"
"Keep you captive and available and very safe," Plumpy said gently as he enfolded her in his arms.
Jane was aware of answers floating around but did not match them with questions. Contentedly she fell back into the arms of Thessalon and refused to look beyond. Undoubtedly there was more to Plumpy than she knew, Mr. Pappadou's respect had been all too obvious. But the answer to that could wait. Miss Jane Dickson had found something ail too wonderful and was not about to let go.
The Greek sun was a benediction. The surf was a playground in which the handcuffed girl was tossed around like a ball in play. Plumpy and Jane reverted to their Eden as if Miss Stipend had never existed, and Jane had even tossed away her short jersey in defiance of the woman's memory, giving herself nakedly and wholeheartedly to Plumpy and whatever Plumpy chose to do. Their love making became increasingly expert, varied and intense. The handcuffs were taken entirely for granted, Jane wore them happily unconcerned. If her blonde giant wanted her handcuffed, well, that's the way she would be until Plumpy used the key. It was more than a week before the sleeping serpent reared its head.
It was a lazy day, the two of them were drowsily reclining in the shade of their favorite rock at the beach when Plumpy sat upright and exclaimed, "What the hell is that I see!"
"It's a girl coming this way and I don't think she has any clothes on," Jane giggled. "But what the hell is she doing here?"
"Does it matter, darling?"
Jane saw a naked girl as the least of their troubles. "Let's at least see who she is and what she wants."
But it was Jane who got the shock. As the approaching girl left the headland around which she had appeared and continued towards them, it was not long before she exclaimed, "That's Petulance! I'm sure it's Petulance! How on earth... "
Plumpy and his handcuffed mermaid had not long to wait before the naked intruder was close enough to laugh at their expressions. "We felt sure you'd be on Thessalon somewhere, Jane. I'm so glad I found you. Introduce me to Hercules."
Jane was aware of two things, an unusual attention in the man who held her close and an altogether too casual air about the woman who held their attention. "How on earth did you get here, Petulance?" she demanded, guilty at the lack of warmth in her greeting.
Petulance laughed delightedly. "Ships that pass in the night, and all that sort of stuff. I suppose I could tell you I fell overboard but I won't. We picked up rumors about you on this island, so here I am. How the devil did you manage to swim this far or was Hercules waiting for you in a boat?"
"His name is not Hercules and I didn't swim. I was tossed overboard by one of Imogene's crew. He raped me first and then got rid of me like a pail of garbage. Plumpy saved my life."
The three of them used the casual words of civilized greetings to explore what each knew to be an anomaly, at the end of it Petulance was surprisingly frank. "I'm suppose to take you back to the Imogene with me, darling. I notice you're still wearing their handcuffs." She raised mischievous eyes to Plumpy's frown. "Would you mind too much?"
"Jane's going no where. She's mine."
"My, my, I do envy you two. Nothing as idyllic as this ever happened to me." Petulance's lovely eyes flickered from one to the other of her unwilling hosts then rested on Jane's. "Sir Richard wants me to tell you that unless you do return with me every girl on the ship will be whipped every day until you return. The poor darlings won't love you much if you delay."
"That's nonsense, I don't believe a word of it."
"It's probably true," said Plumpy seriously and unexpectedly. "It sounds like Sir Richard Mallory and his precious Imogene. It's best to take the bastard at his word."
It was like a blow to Jane. "But, Petulance, you're free, you don't need to go back to the Imogene any more than I do. Isn't this what you've been wanting for so long, what you've prayed for? Petulance, don't you understand, you're free!"
Their nude visitor shrugged. "Darling, I know this sounds crazy but I've been free in my own way for a long time. I'm happy aboard the Imogene and so are half the other girls. There's sixteen of us aboard ship and if you freed the whole bunch, eight of us would walk right back. None of us ever had it so good."
"That's crazy!"
"No it isn't. It's no crazier than you wearing those handcuffs. I'll bet you wouldn't take them off if you had the key."
Jane blushed at the shrewd guess. "Well, anyway, I'm not going back to that awful ship and that awful man and that bloody awful brig. If you go back, Petulance, you're crazy. Stay here with us, Plumpy will help you in anyway you need."
Petulance gazed upon what she thought of as "lovebirds" in resignation. They would never understand and she knew all too well her own position open to question. Girls did not escape the Imogene and blissfully walk right back into it's grasp. As though making the best of a bad job, she inquired, "Well, darling, you must do what you think best. I've told you what will happen to the other girls. But I can't prove it. And I realize Richard may not carry it through beyond the first few days, he can't whip every girl every day forever. Look, would you mind if I stayed with you for a day or two to sort of get re-oriented?" Plumpy's voice was sharp, "Of course you can. But don't you need to return to the ship? I suppose one of its boats is waiting for you or coming during the night?"
"If I don't go back with Jane, I'd best not go back at all," Petulance admitted unhappily. "I'm afraid my assignment was to bring her back or else." She laughed almost bitterly. "I may be forced into freedom whether I want it or not."
In bed that night, in the time for confidence between male and female, Jane asked of the man who held her in his arms, "There's something I don't know, isn't there Plumpy? You've got a connection in Sir Richard and the Imogene, haven't you? Petulance hasn't surprised you in the least, has she? Tell me."
"Sweetheart, I'm with The Agency. I won't tell you its name." Plumpy kissed her nipples, her lips, her eyes. "I'm on an assignment and that assignment is the Imogene. We've known about the Imogene a long while and we intend to know a lot more. It isn't just captive girls, although goodness knows there's enough of them, but our strange nobleman has got other fingers in other pies. That's all I can tell you, sweetheart, you'll have to trust me." He thrust his thigh hard up between her legs and wiggled it playfully. "That's how I fixed the Pappadou affair but that silly bitch of a woman has spread the word around and that's how the Imogene got wind of you. Could be in our favor, though, it's made them come to us. If our beautiful visitor hadn't been so beautifully naked, I'd been suspicious."
"But she been honest with us," Jane protested. "And I like her, and she was kind to me, and I can sort of understand what she says about the girls. If you don't mind being whipped occasionally, the Imogene offers a plush, lush life they'd never otherwise find."
"Take your word for it, honeybunch. Now get those pretty legs apart, I've just thought of something... "
It was as if night brushed away fears and doubts and suspicions. The three of them breakfasted in chipper good feelings, never mentioning the Imogene or Petulance's errand. Jane was positive the magic island would exert its influence on the girl who scorned its freedom. After the dishes, they would go to the beach and let the Greek sun convert them into "Eaters of the Lotus."
It was not until the two girls had finished up the sink that Plumpy suddenly stood very still then slowly crumpled to the floor to lay inert in an untidy sprawl. With a cry of dismay Jane was about to sink to her knees beside him when her hair was harshly grasped and jerked to trust her also to the floor where the knee of a surprisingly strong Petulance pressed against her back while rope encircled her elbows and drew them tight together behind her back. The rope was thin, little more than cord, and hurt brutally. Gasping and mute, understanding everything, Jane fought for her freedom as for her life but the handcuffs defeated her and in a very few minutes she lay upon the floor as helpless as her drugged Hercules, her handcuffs discarded in favor of thin cord about her wrists. Her elbows were then tightened even more cruelly and a rope tether placed upon her neck. Miss Jane Dickson would return to the Imogene, helpless and in disgrace.
"I drugged your boyfriend's coffee." The voice of Petulance was cheerful as ever. "I had the stuff well hidden, I'm sure you can guess where." As she laughed at her captive's last abortive heave, "You've had it, sweetheart, might as well resign yourself if you don't want me jerking at this noose around your neck. Don't worry about your Plumpy, he'll be fine in a few hours."
"But, Petulance, you don't understand!"
"Yes, I do, love, and I know you're thinking me a bitch. But I'm not really. I'm just taking you back to a life in which you'll be a hell of a lot better off than your boy from the CIA or FBI or whatever Agency writes his paycheck. Are you going to come quietly or am I going to have to hurt you?"
Jane was close to tears. Plumpy looked so innocent and helpless there upon the floor and she could do nothing to help him. She could do nothing to help herself, a girl without arms or hands and with a noose of rope around her neck can help no one. Bitter as the thought might be, she knew she would go where ever Petulance chose to lead.
"I'd never have dreamed you would have done a thing like this, Petulance, you're ruining my life -- and yours, too. Please let me go."
"It's for your own good, dear."
Petulance tugged sharply at the captive neck. "Come along, it's not too Tar to walk."
Jane moaned inwardly, her mind active in search of hope but beyond the knowledge Plumpy would soon be aware, there was no hope anywhere. The dejected prisoner knew she could not escape from the cruel, thin cords Petulance had used. As though in derision, or perhaps as simple convenience, Sir Richard's minion had relocked both handcuffs upon one of Jane's wrists above the cords. Stating a case but without expectation of benefit, Jane complained, "I suppose you know these beastly cords you've tied me with are cutting me in two, they're absolutely cruel."
"Yes, dear, I know. But I'll keep you tied like that only for as long as I must. I'll get you into something more comfortable the first chance."
"How long will that be?"
"Don't be impatience, darling, I could make you a lot more uncomfortable and I could have used a gag. But it's a lot nicer this way, we can talk as we walk."
So civilized! So loving! But each tug of the tether took Jane farther from her heart's desire. In sudden apprehension she asked, "Will that awful man punish me? It wasn't my fault I was tossed overboard, but I suppose he'll never believe that? You're not sure about it, are you Petulance?"
"We'll let darling Richard be the judge about that. He's very good about such things. If you can prove your point it will save you the most awful whipping, that's the least you could expect for an escape."
Fear clutched the captive heart, it was all so cruel and unkind and unjust. She had been innocent throughout but had already been whipped once, ironed in the brig, and now seemed likely to suffer worse. Miserably she supposed Sir Richard's prowess in bed was the reason behind his dominion over most of the other girls. She had felt its power herself but that was before she belonged to Plumpy. And that was one more worry -- what would Plumpy think of her when he found her gone? Jane Dickson's world had been swept from beneath her feet by a naked maiden she might have bested in a fair fight. It was typical of Sir Richard to send a girl to do his work.
Petulance had been right, the walk was short, only around the headland to a small cove she and Plumpy rarely visited. There was the waiting boat and the waiting man. Jane saw with relief it was not he who had thrown her over the rail. That man, wanting to kill her then, might wish to kill her now. And, since no one seemed to believe a word she said, he might well get a way with it. As it was, he accepted her as a package from Petulance's hands, lifted her into the small craft, tethered the leash to keep her from leaping overboard, then pushed the boat out into rollers and started the motor.
"Made a good job of it, didn't you, Petulance my dear," he said sardonically as he viewed their tethered prisoner. "Damn it good, you do a right good tie!"
It was not until the small craft was well out to sea that Petulance keep her promise. She took the thin cord from the hurt elbows and used the handcuffs once more behind the back of the captive girl. But, as a deterrent to escape attempts, she replaced the elbows cord with heavier rope which would not cut the tender skin. Jane did not struggled, it would have been foolish to make a fuss against the combined strength of Petulance and the sailor. Anyway the change of bondage was done so skillfully, piece by piece, that no protest or action was possible. Despite her disagreement with Petulance's loyalty to her master, she was still fond of the girl who had been kind to her on that first night and who, even while making her captive, had shown nothing but affection. With bitter humor when the fresh bindings were secure, she inquired, "Would you mind if I cried awhile now? I don't seem to have much else to look forward to."
"You ought to hogtie the little trick," the seaman suggested sagely. "Never trust a girl, Petulance, they'll fox you every time."
"I'm leaving Jane exactly as she is. Jane's a friend of mine, we're not enemies. If she goes overboard, it's you who'll have to dive in after her. But I promise she won't do that. You won't, will you dear?" Jane sniffed dismally. "I don't have courage, I wish I did." Suddenly all three were chuckling. Jane had crossed the boundary of despair into semi-hysteria. Between bouts of chuckles she ejaculated, "All right, go ahead and laugh at me. I can't help it if I look silly with my elbows tied and handcuffs on and a leash around my neck.
I feel silly. I wish you'll toss me into the sea, this time I'd simply drown."
They laughed away her dolor, the seaman turned away to his steering, and Petulance took the opportunity to playfully excite the nipples of her captive girl. But when Jane's breathing became heavy and her eyes filled with reproach, she lend over and kissed the captive lips. Thereafter they looked expectantly out to sea.
It was not land they sought. The sleek shape of the Imogene appeared out of nowhere to sparkle expensively as an intrusion in Neptune's realm. It was a thing of great beauty, one of the costliest of its kind in the entire world. Jane's heart sank even further as the two vessels drew closer. Once on board Sir Richard's shinning splendor, she was lost, she would never see Plumpy again. If they all refused to believe her story, this captivity would be dire indeed, and she had already said goodbye to freedom. She was looking at the sleek lines of the Imogene but what she saw in her mind's eye was the sprawled and crumpled figure of the giant man she loved.
Miss Jane Dickson could almost feel Sir Richard Malory's whip.
CHAPTER FIVE - THE CORDED CAPTIVE
It made the truant captive remember the time she had been whipped on this same spot. The girls, variously confined or free, were drawn up on one side and on the other was the male crew, staring with male appreciation at Sir Richard's harem. Sir Richard, himself, was once more the central figure. Jane was still bound as in the small boat by which she had been delivered but in addition, her feet had been legironed to preclude any suicidal tendencies that might lead to a leap over the side. The clipped British voice, which was not British at all, addressed the crew.
"This young lady accuses one of you of attempted murder and rape. It would save time and trouble if that man stepped forward now." None moved. The guilty man was there but showed no interest in what was taking place. Having waited long enough, Sir Richard turned to the bound girl to demand, "Point him out, Jane."
"I can't point him out with my arms tied."
"Don't quibble, girl, describe him and tell his place in line."
"The brown jersey, second from left."
Three people knew the confrontation spelt a life. One may never know what desperate reasoning led the guilty man to draw and aim the gun. But Sir Richard was twice as fast. There was a crack of cordite and Jane's rapist fell to the deck. The Master motioned with his smoking weapon and the moment later the man's shipmates had tossed him over the rail in the same manner as he had tossed Jane. It was over!
It was a familiar scene, to stand before the Master's desk and bear his scrutiny. Jane was told she was delinquent, her bounds had been removed except for the handcuffs joining her hands behind her back. For some reason of its own, the Imogene had left them there. She was stammering in still bemused wonder. "But how did you know? How could you tell which one of us spoke truth?"
"I can't." Sir Richard's voice was almost flippant. "But I never liked the guy and I'll glad to be rid of him. Thanks for giving me an excuse."
"Then I'm still part suspect, not exonerated at all?"
Sir Richard sighed. "Look at it from my point of view, sweetheart," he said patiently. "You disappear. We search the Imogene. You've vanished into thin air. So, okay, you went over the rail. You insist on telling us the rapist handcuffed you and gave you a life belt. But just the same, you could not have survived without help. You would have sooner or later gone under without someone waiting in a boat."
"That's not true!" Jane was once more feeling desperate in this fresh disbelief. "I was in the water for hours and hours and through I was going to die but I'm a good swimmer and that helped. Along with the life belt. Why won't you believe me?"
"A handcuffed girl stays afloat for hours and hours and hours. It's damned unlikely, Jane." Sir Richard's tone was regretfully kind.
"But I'll telling you the truth! Would you take my word against one of those men you had lined up or do you believe them?"
"I'm dealing in possibilities, dear girl." Sir Richard's tone remained reflectively kind. "Perhaps you'd explain why your rescuer was a member of the CIA?"
"I can't explain it. I simply don't know! But don't you see, you're not giving me the benefit of any doubts at all. It's as if you want to find me guilty. And you don't show the least bit of concern about my being raped. Please give me a break."
Sir Richard came around his desk to tenderly kiss rebellious lips. "I want to give you a break," he said with seeming sincerity. "But you have to give me one. too. The odds are stacked against your story. Surely you understand?"
"So, okay. I'm a liar!" Jane exclaimed savagely. "So where do we go from here?"
"To a ritual whipping, somewhat worse than your last."
"Very well, I'm to be whipped for something I did not do, what happens them?"
"Perhaps you should wear leg irons the same as dear little Imogene. They are marvelously stabilizing for a girl."
Tears won their fight against restraining eyelids. Jane could not dry them so let them fall upon her cheeks and down to her breasts. Brokenly she exclaimed, "You've found me guilty, you've given me no benefit of any doubt, why don't you kill me and be done with it? If the sin I've committed is that shocking, I don't deserve to live. Oh, damn! this whole thing is insane!"
Sir Richard dried her eyes and dabbed at her cheeks. "I'm reserving judgment," he said slowly and earnestly. "I can't be sure about a story so outrageously full of fallacies, it could be true. I'm going to make inquiries, and in the meantime you are a relatively free girl. You have the run of the ship, at least to the extent that a legironed girl can. Does that make you feel better?"
Strangely, it was the gentle fingers and the white handkerchief which made the spirits of the weeping girl rise. She sensed that soon she would be taken to Sir Richard's bed. Guilty or innocent would make no difference to this man's privilege with her body, she belonged to Sir Richard. She thought of Plumpy. It seemed inevitable to her life that she should always belong to someone. She made no demur when she was picked up bodily and carried to Sir Richard's bed. No girl could withstand nor counter this man's intense virility. Jane knew it best to ride with the tide and in the morning to walk free. Even if this freedom was to last but a couple of days and be accompanied by the drag of heavy links and iron bands upon her ankles. It was better than anything else she could expect. Jane could not guess at the presence of a second serpent coiled and awaiting to strike.
* * *
"Here tell you're a fine piece of ass." Mike Chivers said conversationally. "That poor bastard what Sir Richard shot told me about you, said you were the best. I got a proposition."
The two of them were at the end of a corridor. There was no way out except an open door to a small cabin containing nothing but a cot. Jane had used her partial freedom to explore the Imogene, it had brought her to this. Inwardly she cursed all homy seaman and demanded, "Get out of my way. I know what you want. It's no dice. Let me by."
"Look, honeybunch. I'm not asking all that much. You come to me everyday in this cabin and do whatever I want. If you don't. I'll go to Sir Richard with a story that would curl his hair. Shit, gal, I'll give you a good lay."
Jane did not take him seriously, perhaps every seaman on the ship propositioned the girls this way, it was probably just one of those things. Although frightened, her voice was firm, "Touch me and I go straight to Sir Richard."
"Can't run can you, not with them chains on your pretty ankles. You ain't in no position to be picky."
"No, I can't run. But I'm going to start screaming unless you step aside."
Jane's feminine threat was more potent than she thought. Mike Chivers stood aside, almost respectfully. But as she clinked and rattled her way past his leering face, he said flatly, "You've got a couple of hours to change your mind. After that you'll wish you had."
Jane kept her own consul, moving among the other captive girls to ask discreet questions but disclose nothing. But after a couple of hours the tension grew too great to bear. She sought an interview with the Master.
Sir Richard Mallory greeted her with a raised eyebrow. "I was just going to send for you, Jane. I've had a visitor."
"Whatever he told you isn't true. What was it?"
"You've offered him your body in return for striking off your leg irons."
"But you can't possibly believe that!"
"Along with the other evidence I have no choice. You're a resourceful young woman."
"I'm not! It's all lies, every bit of it. He didn't promise to take off my leg irons but he wanted me carnally every day. I simply refused."
"Why didn't you come and tell me?"
"I have, I'm here!"
"Two hours late... Yes, you're here. Jane, you're a problem and I don't like problems. Think I can cure you of escapism?"
"It's so beastly unfair. That grinning gorilla gets off scot free while I get punished," Jane complained, almost breathless with fear and fury. "I don't see how you can possibly believe him and not me."
Sir Richard mused thoughtfully while admiring Jane's heaving breasts. His voice came dreamily. "Centuries ago they had an institution called 'Trial by Ordeal.' How'd it be we give it a try?"
Jane was distraught, staring at the cool, fine features of this man. "You're going to do horrible things to me, I know you are!"
"The first of them will be a effort to get at the truth, young lady." Confessions under torture don't mean a thing," Jane flung at him, "regardless of offense. I'd say anything to get the torture to stop. It's almost childish."
"You won't be tortured, dear girl, and I'll add a little innovation of my own to make it interesting for both of us." Sir Richard kissed her lips and took her hand. "Come along, sweetheart, you have a date with destiny."
It happened quickly, a series of short, swift acts and commands, grinning faces, some in disbelief, and the shocked faces of sixteen naked girls, lined up to witness the punishment of one. There was much skillful play with rope. At the end of it all. Miss Jane Dickson hung suspended from the farthest point of the polished spar which was the bowsprit of the Imogene, protruding its pointing finger from the prow.
It was pure terror. In fear of the ocean, Jane gazed up to where her crossed, bound hands were tethered to the varnished wood. Below her was the sea and the monsters waiting for her flesh. It seemed impossible she could hang thus any length of time without some portion of her simple bondage giving way to plummet her to death. Her feet were still legironed, no doubt to insure she sank more swiftly. The naked girl had never been more helpless, she swung and bobbed with the motion of the vessel. Jane felt positive she had seen the grey shadow of sharks beneath the surface over which her chained feet hovered at no great distance from the waves. She moaned in pure terror but could not keep her eyes from observing what was still to come.
Zoe was the youngest of the girls, a pixie sprite it pleased to possess. Zoe was petite but exquisitely proportioned. But the suspension of her youthful nakedness a few feet from Jane's own nudity taunted the young breasts and concave tummy. Her patch of thick, furry pubic hair joined Jane's in the sunlight. Their eyes met in mutual horror but they were too conscious of watching eyes from the ship's rail to speak a word. The same thought doubt occupied each mind: would the spar break under their combined weight! Would crossed, bound wrists be enough to save them from the depths below!
Sir Richard's voice was clipped and casual, "You have only to shout, Jane, and ask for me. You can end this affair any time you are ready to confess."
One by one the watching eyes grew bored and left the delinquents to their fate. The crewmen went first and then, more slowly, the naked girls who knew they could so easily share the same predicament. It took half an hour for the last of them to go. In that same thirty minutes, Zoe and Jane gained confidence in their bounds to become more preoccupied with the pain of cords, wrenched shoulders, and the sight of grey shadows swirling beneath the surface of an ocean which should have been lovely but was not.
From time to time both girls could not forebear to raise their legs as though fearful of a leaping snap. Neither girl knew if sharks did actually leap above the surface to seek their prey. But they were there, waiting and watching and well away of two helpless nudities which must surely soon fall to their waiting jaws.
Disjointedly, with gasps and exclamations, the two girl explained what there was to tell but it was an hour before Zoe timidly said, "Jane, why don't you confess, tell him what he wants. I'm so frightened. I've never been so frightened in my life."
It had come! In the youngster's plaintive voice was the same doubt of innocence as with Sir Richard Mallory. Jane knew herself condemned on every hand. Wearily her eyes searched the horizon in forlorn hope but Plumpy and his little boat was nowhere to be seen. She suspected the two of them would simply hang as they were indefinitely until a shark, the weather, or nature's caprice changed their condition. Finally the cruelty of logic could no longer be ignored. Jane called and said the fateful words.
* * *
The Imogene loafed its casual course upon an azure Sea. An observer would have needed to get very close indeed to behold the figure of the naked girl so cruelly bound to the polished wood of the ship's rail. For most it would have been a precarious perch, but not for the punished maiden who lay upon her back, her hands and arms drawn down and firmly corded below, her feet, from which the leg irons were now departed, treated in the same way and adjusted to provide the most obscene protrusion of her pubic bush. Jane's belly was belted below her stressed breasts in a cruel cinch which might hold her safe through the direst storm but was in itself a painful penalty. The naked maiden who had made false confession knew herself as helpless as she had ever been and knew, also, that release was long distant. Jane's bound nakedness was an amusing diversion for those who passed. The other naked girls played with her according to their mood, playfully or painfully, they had been a carte blanche. The male crew were free to work their will with her. The normal rule against touching or abusing had been lifted. Any carnal male with the courage to mount the wide open thighs and helpless loins was free to do so. It might well be the strangest rape the world had ever seen.
Jane mostly closed her eyes against the sun's glare. Sight mattered little when she could do nothing to prevail against the hands which bestowed pleasure or pain as they saw fit. She bore both with what courage she possessed, breaking into small cries and gaspings only when the fingers became too cruel. But most of the captive girls were kind, their fingers bestowing pleasure and carnal comfort. Night would bring the quintessence of Sir Richard's discipline.
Sir Richard delayed his visit several hours to give Jane's bindings time to bite and dig into her flesh for maximum effect. She could not move while he stood beside her and looked gravely down as though vicariously sharing her travail. All he said was, "Would you call this punishment, beloved girl?"
"Yes. This is punishment," she answered listlessly.
That had been all. There had been no need of other words, those words had already been said. Sir Richard went back to his stateroom to leave his roped captive to her memories.
Rescued from suspension, Jane had stood before the make-believe nobleman in the hot sun upon the Imogene's deck, her nakedness still drenched in salt spray, her wrists still crossed and tightly bound by ropes that were wet. In the basement of confession she felt utterly shamed and forever soiled. At the end of what they had had to say to each other she had looked Sir Richard in the eye and boldly said, "You'll never really know whether I have spoken truth or lie." They had stared hard and searchingly before Sir Richard turned away his gaze. It was Jane Dickson's only victory.
The night was sliver beneath Aegean stars. The girl bound to the rail was now abandoned by her fellow captives. But as the ship stilled in sleep, became menace to the fate she had dreaded throughout the day. It had been well explained, nothing left to her imagination, her open body was free and available to any male until morning.
There was nothing furtive about this raping of a girl would could not resist. Throughout the night the men came in groups of two or three to observe and to take their turn at laying their weight against her lashed down body. Quite early in the proceedings, Jane's feet had been freed to allow the insertion of a well folded tarp beneath her hips. Experiment and discussion decided the manner in which her ankles were retied, all any man needed now in his enjoyment of her sex was courage, but this they had aplenty. Cradled between their victim's raised knees and with a life rope held by chuckling observers, there was little danger to those entering the open crotch. Male genitals became active and inventive as they demonstrated their own specific techniques without complaint from the maiden into whom they made the thrusts. Jane knew protests would serve nothing so kept as quiet as her own arousal would permit. It was not the first time, it would not be the last. The thought longingly of Plumpy.
It was a bizarre series of couplings. Jane could add or subtract nothing but a hostile silence accented by female sounds which shamed her bitterly. There was no sleep for the bound and naked girl, the men possessing her in slow and lazy rotation through the night. She lost count of the times she was raped and of the men who impaled her one by one in their own way. None were impotent, each drenched her with their sperm to leave her wondering about those ancient tales of maiden's fucked to death, but no matter how many times each man returned to soil her loveliness, Miss Jane Dickson knew with bitter certainty she would be alive and not insane when the stars yielded the sky to the morning and the kindly sun.
"I trust my men acquitted themselves to your satisfaction?" Sir Richard stood beside the still bound girl to gaze upon her and the sea below. "Judging by the past boasting, I would believe them potent."
Jane Dickson looked up at her master in weariness and pain. "What do you want me to say?" she asked bitterly. "I've been ravished a hundred times, am I suppose to say thank you?"
"I would make it a hundred and one but I am one who leads, not one who follows." He smiled his benign smile. "I suggest you sleep as much as possible through the day, you nights are strenuous."
The bound girl looked up with wide-eyed alarm. "You mean you're keeping me like this, you're not going to untie me now?"
"I see no reason to untie you, everyone approves your condition and you have an excellent view of both the boat and the sea. Is it not better than the brig?"
"Not it's not! There's no one to violate me in the brig. And can't you realize the agony I'm in? I'm twisted and bent and bound until I'm either in agony or have lost all feeling. You can't possibly leave me like this another day and night!"
"Tell me why I can't?"
Jane did not reply, the question was rhetorical and frightening. In lieu of words, a tear spilled from her eye and made its classic journey across her cheek. Politely as ever. Sir Richard used his handkerchief but the tight bound girl upon the rail had a plentiful supply which she shed in a flood of defiance and despair. When Jane Dickson's tears ceased to flow and the noble handkerchief was returned, Sir Richard, gently and without comment, proceeded to loose the knots which secured his seventeenth slavegirl to the rail. As the last ropes fell away, she clutched at him in desperate fear of a ocean she had come to hate and the battle she had waged with it, a battle none believed.
Gratefully she allowed male arms to hold her erect, to smooth her hair, and to pat her back and bottom gently as she moaned her pain of returning circulation. With normalcy, Jane had but a single thought. "May I bathe?"
"You may have two hours of freedom, do what you like with it. Join the girls at breakfast if you wish. At the end of that time I want you standing before my desk. Understand?"
"I understand, and... Thank you."
Petulance helped her bathe. Petulance attended to the captive's hair. She was guiltily contrite. "I had not idea he intended this for you, darling." She held Jane tight and kissed her. "He's giving you what he calls 'The Series.' It's a collection of punishments very few girl get. We're forced to watch, of course, but that's all. Oh, darling, I'm so sorry, so terribly sorry!"' "If last night was punishment number one, what are the rest of them?"
"I don't know, he varies them from girl to girl. And, anyway, it's best you don't know for sure. Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you.
"As to Zoe, we've just got the dear child back to normal after the damnedest set of hysterics. Now she's blaming herself because she thinks you confessed just to save her skin."
When the girls were through with their sympathy and Jane was through with them, she turned her solitary steps towards the place of execution which Sir Richard called his office. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to be standing, naked and helpless, before his desk and before his sardonic gaze. It was a very adult adaptation of the schoolgirl sent to the principal to beg for mercy. Jane said nothing.
The stocks must have been dragged from a storeroom and hastily planted on the desk. Jane recognized them instantly with a thrill of additional distaste at the distance between the two holes awaiting her feet. The bench on which she would be compelled to sit while her outstretched legs would be attached to the wood was wide and had been placed lengthwise so that, while seated at one end, she could lay back at the same height as her feet. If she took this punishment at face value she could lay back and catch up on her sleep while her sex was blatantly open to any who cared to look. She supposed that, as punishments went, it was almost humane.
This time she was attended by girls who placed her carefully and apologized for the stocks. "It's sort of like doing the splits in ballet," Petulance explained. "And if you get tired of sitting, you can lay back. But there is no possible way you can get free. I'm terribly sorry, darling."
Dejectedly the girl suffering "The Series" placed her ankles within the desired slots but only with wigglings and stretchings that left her shamed by a fresh exposure. She watched the big padlock click to rob her of freedom and to hold her forever if need be. The girls patted and kissed her and said goodbye. Petulance said not to worry, everyone had seen one of those things before, it was nothing new on board the Imogene.
Jane was desperately in need of sleep and she could lay back and rest but not with the comfort it appeared it would be at first. Her imprisoned feet were so widely spread apart as to create a nagging discomfort hard to ignore. Laying back on her hard couch made it worse. But that's the way it was! She spend much time in hopeless search for comfort before sleep came.
Sir Richard's visit was no more than to be expected. The girl in the stocks came awake to see him standing where he could get the best possible view of her exposed femaleness. Instinctively her hand went down to her crotch but she pulled it back in an angry refuse to be coy. He had chosen this punishment for her and if he wanted to look at her sex he could damned well look. Jane was quite sure that as she slept a good many had passed by and gaze at and perhaps admire that part of her so admired by men and most women, too. Dutifully she said, "Thank you for letting me sleep, I needed it badly."
The master nodded. His voice was still sardonic, "You've been admired by everyone who's passed this way. I'd like to compliment you, myself, its as pretty a little slit as I've seen." He chuckled in amusement. "Do you fertilize your pubic patch? It's as lush a growth as I have ever beheld. I'll have to remember to have it shaved off you sometime, would make a wonderful punishment."
Miss Jane Dickson sat before the master of the Imogene, her legs wide spread, her sex in blatant and obscene view, her breasts proclaiming themselves no longer ashamed of their own magnificence. Propping herself up with free arms to face the man to whom she owed her punishments, she said, "I'm glad you like what you've done to me." And then after a short pause, "I suppose there's no use asking for forgiveness?"
"None, dear girl, you have far to go." He turned and strode away.
The imprisoned girl lay back and want to sleep.
It was Petulance who brought the news that Jane must serve her sentence fasting, save for breakfast. She brought water and fruit juices but that was all. She brought also a great deal of tenderness and self reproach which did much to restore Miss Jane Dickson's self esteem. The two of them hugged and kissed, oblivious to watching eyes. Petulance even playfully patted the totally revealed pussy to which the stocks were merciless.
"Darling, don't take this too much to heart. Today isn't bad and there'll be other days like this. I'll help all I can."
"But what about this awful whipping or flogging or whatever it is I have to have?"
Petulance shrugged and waved the flogging away, her fingers busy on rigid nipples which their owner had not herself touched for fear of further punishments. "He may forget it," Petulance said hopefully. "Whipping a girl is sort of old hat. It's been done so many times and it's pretty much the same; the same sounds and the same screams and the same marks on the girl's skin. There's a chance his Majesty may get bored with the whole thing and do something else to you instead. For a swimmer like you even being keel hauled is better than being flogged. At least when it's over, it's over."
Jane was grateful for free hands with which to cup Petulance's lovely face to plant kiss after kiss on lovely lips. There were times when it was so very, very good to be a girl. At least Jane would not mind Petulance looking at her as she now was, Petulance could look all she liked. Softly she whispered, "Can we? Do we dare?"
"No we don't." Petulance patted a willing breast. "You'd be punished more and I'd be whipped. Be patience. I'll find a place and time."
Jane slept on until late evening. Not until then did she fully realize she was fastened as she was until the next day, perhaps even longer. It was not as arduous nor as painful as being bound to the rail but she was still and sore from the confinement and could find no way to ease the demanding spread upon her legs. Dourly, she realized that was her punishment and she would have to put up with it. This time she did not go back to sleep but watched the night claim the blue of the sea to replace it with the sliver of the stars. She thought of the previous night and shuddered with the memory. Surely Sir Richard would not toss her to the wolves again!
It was not the wolves! Instead it was sixteen naked girls. Even those of them who had been suffering punishments had been freed for the occasion. To Jane's startled eyes all seemed bubbling with enthusiasm. Petulance's voice was soothing, "I'm so sorry, darling, I didn't want to tell you but, in a way, we're getting what we want. You know what you have to do, don't you?"
"But sixteen girls... I can't possibly!"
"I'm afraid you have to, darling. If you make a fuss they'll use force. They've been granted a pair of handcuffs and once they put them on you, there's not much you can do. Try and enjoy yourself."
It was so feminine and so sweet Jane could not demur. Soft hands pressed her down flat upon her back and most instantly she was overcome by the pungency of the female in heat odor, pubic lips found hers and pressed down hard. The pinioned girl had no sooner started to employ both lips and tongue when she became aware she was, herself, being worked on in her most tender place. The busy lips and active tongue of a girl she could not see became potent and evoked responses from her helpless body. Other fingers teased her breasts. With a moan of urgent hunger, Miss Jane Dickson ate hungrily.
It might be possible to give the captives of the Imogene sixteen orgasms, Jane simply did not know. But she dared not think of sixteen mouths and tongues as busily employed upon her sex as was now taking place. Whoever the girl was, she was undoubtedly starved for female contact, lapping and sucking hungrily to arouse in the helpless girl an excitation she could not deny. Her orgasm was applauded with hand clapping and soft lips.
"We've been given your body for the night, darling," Petulance whispered softly. "What was forbidden is now free for all. Darling, do your best and make the most of it." There came an embarrassed little laugh. "That's what I'm going to do."
It was very wonderful, very terrible. An orgasm signified nothing except another pair of hungry lips and probing tongue. Doubtless the piquancy of the girl in the stocks was a tremendous stimulation to female lust. Pussy after pussy was planted squarely upon the captive mouth while gentle but firm young hand held down the captive arms for fear they interfere with the rites of Lesbos. The imprisoned girls of the Imogene had never been permitted such uninhibited carnality since their capture. When Jane's mouth tired she was given fresh fruit juice and urged on to greater efforts. Strong young hands held her wrists and mischievous young fingers pinched her nipples in warning. It was not long before she surrendered utterly, having no more thoughts of evasion but only to lap hungrily with tongue and lips as each fresh sex was planted over her mouth. As though in reward, her own lower lips became target for questing mouths and probing tongues to bring her to climax after climax in moaning ecstasies as she, in turn, granted orgasms to those naked bodies above her. The night of girls wore on as the Imogene sailed serenely upon a luminescent sea. One by one the daughters of Sappho departed to seek slumber until only Petulance was left to lay, man-like, upon the naked and sweat drenched loveliness of the girl she had recaptured for her Master.
They were done with lust but not with love, they bit and nibbled and murmured endearments beneath the stars. Petulance played gentle with two breasts and two nipples as though she had never before beheld such wonder. Her hand went down to cup the throbbing, swollen lips of Jane's sex. If Jane wondered whether what had passed was intended for punishment or pleasure, she did not voice the thought. Beneath the weight, the sweat-dewed flesh of the girl who now possessed her she was content. Their scents were strong, conveying to each the message of maiden loins aroused and secreting in a feverish expectation. But soon they slept and did not awake until morning brought a grinning seaman to remind them were and what they were. Laughing, Petulance sped away to join her fellow captives. Jane looked down ruefully at her wide-spread legs in the vice-like grip of the wooden stocks. She tested, but they would not move. Resigned, she lay back and went to sleep.
It was Imogene who was granted the privilege of freeing the prisoner of the stocks. It was her task to bathe and to feed and to make beautiful the spread, stretched girl who had sustained orgasm after orgasm through the night. They laughed together as Jane stiffly and almost painfully joined the slender legs so long sundered and apart. Imogene's feet were still hobbled by the leg irons she must forever wear. The effect upon the two girls was a musical clinking and rattle as they walked hand in hand slowly to the beginning of another day. It did not occur to Jane that she Was free and without bonds of any kind. But, on the Imogene, no girl was ever truly free, the Imogene was like a mother, sustaining her flock and punishing those who erred. Tended by Imogene's loving hands and ardent lips, the girl sentenced to "The Series" refused to allow her mind to dwell on what came next.
"I shall find you flesh distasteful for a while," Sir Richard remarked pleasantly to the girl standing in docile submission before his desk. "You have been defiled by girls, something I abhor. You understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Who tied your hands like that?"
"The man you sent to bring me here, sir." Jane looked down at her crossed wrists and the cords already indenting them, the knots well hidden. "They're very tight, they hurt."
"Good! I like the effect. Makes a pleasant change from handcuffs. Today you'll walk the plank."
Cold fear returned. The words had been casual but Jane sensed their deadly intent, this man was not joking. Falteringly, she stammered, "You mean... You're going to kill me? Send me overboard to drown?"
"Actually, no. I'm just using the plank as an amusing innovation to an ancient punishment. They'll work well together, you'll see."
Jane's mind was alive with the great shapes she had seen below the surface during her ordeal before Plumpy had picked her up. She walked beside her master, his firm grip upon her bare arm as though she might indeed seek suicide, his tone urbane, "You'll be roped to insure your return. But if you use your swimming skill as best you can, you'll find it's not that much of an ordeal."
"Why do it to me then?"
"My, my, you sound as though you're seeking a challenge. I'm doing it because it amuses me. I'll be curious to see how it affects you."
Sir Richard could not forgo his ritual. Sixteen uneasy young women were already nakedly lined up to witness this next chapter in Jane's "Series" and to know it could just as easily happen to them. Two or three seamen stood around, waiting to help. But what truly caught the eye of the sentenced girl was the sturdy plank thrust out from the deck, its far end wickedly above the water. Jane knew herself trembling.
Two men sprang into action. One knotted a rope around Jane's already bound wrists. The other bound her slender ankles and attached a similar rope which snaked across the desk to disappear over the rail and presumably into the sea. The other, holding her hands, was played out in loops of slack to find the water below the plank. Suddenly Jane was lifted and positioned for punishment far enough away from the deck to enable her to look down at blue water. The engines of the Imogene were silent, she stood becalmed upon a placid sea.
"You hop along to the end and then jump off," Sir Richard said helpfully. "Nothing to it."
The bound and helpless girl stared at her master levelly in angry reproach. Jane could not believe this was happening. She had read of it in books but dismissed it as a relic of centuries long past. It seemed incredible it could have ever happened at all, that men could have been so cruel. She was not at all sure she was not going to her death, the trailing ropes might be no more than props in a fatal play. She took a short hop then stood swaying upon the unstable surface she must tread. Once more she gazed back at the watching girls and at Sir Richard's sardonic grin. He was obviously enjoying himself but no one else was smiling. She could well imagine the seamen considered it a waste of a good girl.
As if it were someone else, she heard her own voice saying, "I can't, I can't, just can't. Not bound like this, I'll drown."
One of the men advanced a pole, it's pointed end encouraging her to move a little further along the wooden plank. The naked girl made a hop, and then another, but the pole followed relentlessly until she cried aloud in anguish and leaped into a dive, her bound hands pointing.
The tight tied girl might have tread water and remained afloat but there came an instant tug upon her feet and Jane realized her best hope was to dive beneath the keel and try to swim faster than someone was pulling on her tether. There were enough barnacles upon the Imogene's hull to inflict wounds if she supinely allowed herself to be dragged from side to side across its underwater surface. She swam as she had never swam before and prayed her lung-full of air would last her to the other side.
The principle of the "keel-haul" was the two ropes designed to drag the victim beneath the hull in one direction and then, using the opposite rope, drag him or her back again over the same cruel path. Young, vigorous, and without fatigue, Jane partly defeated the initial haul. Gasping on the other side of the ship, she was rudely flipped upside down by the guiding rope which now took full possession of her person, it was the rope attached to her feet and she was drawn up the ship's side onto the deck, feet foremost, head downward, rope trailing loosely from her bound hands.
"Bravo, I knew you could do it!" Sir Richard praised. He turned to his apprehensive harem to demand, "Let's give the little girl a hand. " The response was instant and enthusiastic, there was no doubt which side the girls were on. But throughout the commotion. Jane was concerned with catching her breath and her fear of being an unattractive spectacle whose drenched hair and skin must surely repel either sex.
"And, now my dear, you did that so well...!" Sir Richard's invitation was as the knell of doom.
It was cruel! It was too, too cruel! Jane had not seen the second plank upon the opposite side but she saw it now. She also saw the waiting seaman with the waiting pole. Disbelieving her eyes, she cried out, "No! No, no, no! You can't make me do that again. You mustn't. I simply can't. If I couldn't swim I'd drown."
"But you can swim, my dear. Now, if you please...?"
This time they did not even lift her to the plank, her course was guided by the boat hook. As in a nightmare, she made the fateful and painful hops until she was forced once more to make her fateful dive. This time the tether was on her hands and she was forced to swim and tread with all her skill to keep ahead of the tug on the line which would render her hands useless for any other purpose than to be cruelly dragged across the rough hull. This second time was worse than the first. It was her hands they would tug on with their rope and she was already tired, her nerves overwrought, and she was sure she could see the lurking shapes below. Her lungs were bursting and she slowed enough to be grateful for the steady tug upon roped hands which lifted her from the water up to the deck. As she stood there, dripping and drenched, she knew it impossible to pass the ordeal again.
There was no applause, the naked line was silent, the crewmen's faces gave no sign. Sir Richard simply stood and admired his handiwork. For the moment, Jane cared for nothing but to catch her breath and still the beating of her heart. She stood, wet face buried in wet hands for almost a minute before Sir Richard said the impossible. "Third time lucky. Do your hops, sweetheart."
"I can't."
"You must."
In awed silence there was only the sobbing gasps of Jane's breathing until there came Sir Richard's cheerful voice. "Give her a prod, Williams, can't have her weeping over the deck all day."
It was a brutal thrust, actually piercing her skin. The hurt girl gave a wail of desperation before falling to her knees and doing what she could with bound hands to clasp her master's legs, the principle result of which was to wet the cloth. She moaned, "There's sharks down there, I saw them."
"They won't hurt you, they're not that kind. On your feet now."
"Do what you like with me, I'm not going to do that again. You don't know how awful... "
There was no time to finish the sentence. With a gleeful laugh at his own strength. Sir Richard picked up the bound and weeping beauty at his feet. With almost effortless motion he tossed Miss Jane Dickson over the rail and back into the water, smiling at the trailing ropes and her belated jackknife dive, her bounds hands pointing entry to the Deep.
The sharks were waiting but the splash of her awkward dive sent them fleeing. Long after Jane would concede the fear gave her the strength and resolution she needed to make the awful journey once again.
The hull was familiar now, and even through her feet were bound she could use them for such thrusts as might save her skin from abrasion. Ropes on wrists and ankles had become shrunken and caused pain but that was nothing compared to her fear. Once more she was drawn, upside down, to where her Nemesis stood waiting. Jane did not stand, she fell upon the deck, spewing water and sobbing out her heart. No one said a word.
There had been nothing erotic in the keel hauling of a girl. Sir Richard frankly admitted this deficiency and spoke of its punishment contrasted to what a girl expected. Even when whipped her juices flowed and she suffered quivers and shivers of anticipation before the event and thankfulness after the ordeal was over. It was the same with most things. But Jane's journeys back and forth beneath the keel of the Imogene would remain in her memory forever and forever, rivaling the hours and hours in the ocean before Plumpy had lifted her into his boat. Perhaps to balance the books Jane's punishment for the rest of the day was more normal. She was to be bound tight to the mast.
It was no ordinary binding, the job had been delegated to a couple of girls who had obviously done it before and developed a technique. They felt for their subject but implored her to be pliant and not to fight. Jane was willing to comply, she was far too tired and scared to be a rebel. The hands that pressed her nakedness back against the varnished oak were the same as lovers in the night.
"We have to make it hurt, darling, terribly sorry."
"You're so sweet, standing like that. The ropes are going to make you look ever so pretty."
"It doesn't matter," Jane assured them listlessly. "Do what you like with me. After what I went through this morning almost anything ought to feel good."
They did what they liked with her, taking care and pride in the pain caused and where the ropes went. In different circumstances their coy comments might have been cute.
"A single cord over each shoulder, darling, cinch her shoulders well back, that always hurts."
"Is it safe to tie her neck, do you think? I hate having my neck tied but it sure looks good."
"Leave her breasts absolutely free, dear. Ropes above or below or crisscross between but not a single rope to change the curves. Jane, dear, you've got the most gorgeous breasts!"
It was like being expensively fitted for a most formal occasion. As rope and cord bit and burrowed into her skin, Jane Dickson longed to see herself in a mirror. She felt sure she would hate the whole thing in a couple of hours but while these two girls were busy with her breasts and belly and crotch, she admitted to herself that secretions and the excitation was accelerating her pulse and being her back. Wryly, she supposed every punishment would have its compensations.
The two girls passed rope around and around until they had a belt of a dozen strands of rope side by side across Jane's middle. They then cinched by a single strand between her flesh and the mast which bit hard at the dozen loops and compressed them in the effect of corseting their victim. Jane was aware of rising breasts from the pressure below and also a rising excitement within. Her hands had not yet been tied and their freedom made her curious but she was now well-trained and asked no questions.
There was much debate about the binding of what the girls chose to call her "Cat." There was a good deal of backing away to judge and to assess. There was also a lament. "We absolutely have to have a couple of thin cords right inside you down there, Jane darling. If we don't we'll end up getting it in ourselves. I mean in our own pussies. We haven't tied your legs or feet yet because we haven't figured out how far to put them apart. We left a short double rope hanging down from the belt in front, it seems a bit unoriginal that's the way we'll have to go."
They made Jane spread her legs wide for their convenience and one knelt to spread wide the lips of the cunt about to be punished while the other dragged hard on cord, drew it through and deep into the wet and expectant sheath, and then up behind between the cheeks of a bottom already hard pressed against the mast. When they were finished, Jane knew it would provide her with a steady, nagging pain throughout the day but not enough to justify complaint. She suspected other parts would hurt her worse.
The ardent pair decided that having dealt with the matter of Jane's crotch they would bind Jane's feet, knees and thighs tight together on the theory that her pussy had been well enough exposed the night before. Their first act was to seal the twin bindings within her sex by roping her thighs hard and tight together at their junction with her loins, then her knees, then her ankles, not just the conventional bands neatly encircling her limbs but a web of cleverly woven strands imposing their will from heel to crotch in much the same manner as they had already framed her breasts in a crisscross of rigid ropes drawn cruelly tight. Everything they had done so far had the effect of protruding Jane's breasts and enlarging them beyond the norm. Jane was annoyed with her nipples, they stood out like beacons.
"What about her hands, darling. I'm a bit tired of tying them behind her back,, so of over done. Can't we think of something else?"
"Tie them in front, silly girl. Cross her wrists, bind them tight, then lift them up above her head and tie them back to the mast. She'll look divine."
It was done with loving care. Jane would have preferred her hands bound somewhere behind her back. But if that had been done her elbows would probably have been bound, too. This way at least her elbows might evade punishment. She was sure she would look very pretty tied in the suggested way, and equally sure she would come to regret this new binding as the hours passed. When the girl had perfected her hands to their pleasure the effect was to raise them and at the same time drag them back to where they were firmly fixed to the polished upright pole which now held her as rigidly vertical as herself. Looking down, her breasts seemed enormous.
The girls decided against a roped neck, more on the grounds of safety than mercy. Her head and fingers and toes were the only parts of herself Jane could move, even fractionally.
"We'll let you toss your head, darling, a girl needs some sort of expression, don't you think?"
Each girl pinched an hard and eager nipple before them went away.
Any punished maiden aboard the Imogene, unless chained in the brig, could be pretty sure of company in her travail. Her fellow captives and the crew would all probably pass by to assess her pain with wise and knowing eyes. But none would dare offer easement. It was thus with Jane Dickson now. Everyone came to view and sympathize and state frankly that they were glad it was her and not them who stood thus against the mast. After a couple of hours Jane was hurting badly enough to bring familiar tears and a familiar voice.
"Well, well, crying again!"
The bound girl wasted no words but pleaded urgently, "Please, Sir, be kind to me, let me loose."
Sir Richard affected astonishment. "Would you pass that before me again?"
"You heard me. I asked you to set me free, to please forgive me." Wanly, she added, "At least for today -- please...!"
"You want me to ruin a masterpiece! You're absolute perfection."
"I don't care, I'm hurting so damn bad."
"Perhaps a counter irritant?" His tone was kindly. "Might I suggest clips on your nipples or a few strokes with a whip? Both tend to divert the mind."
"Oh, all right, make fun of me." Jane was past caring. "Do what you like with me. I'm past worrying any more after the things you've done to me today. Haven't you the tiniest bit of chivalry?"
"I've often wondered about that myself," Richard admitted. "I'd always supposed that taking you girls to bed the way I do looked after that. I thought I was being kind to you last night in letting the girls loose to work their wicked ways upon you. Didn't you enjoy it? Aren't you the least bit grateful?"
"Yes. I suppose so. I'm sorry," Jane said abjectly. "Am I allowed to ask how long I have to stand like this?"
"How about midnight?"
"I'll be dead."
"No you won't, just a bit stiff."
They managed to share a grin in this repartee. Jane felt better. She hated to think of her suffering as purely mental to be thus easily relieved by a few bantering words, but in the same vein she mournfully inquired, "Couldn't we split the difference?"
They decided she would be released at supper time. When Sir Richard left her to her pain she wondered which of them had scored a victory.
On the following day it seemed as if Sir Richard was trying to make amends for the keel hauling. He had taken Jane to bed with him after her time against the mast, and then on the following day, had devised a punishment while not actually cruel was wickedly taxing to any girl of spirit. Naked, she must have her wrists handcuffed behind her back and stand in his office in a corner of the room facing the wall. She must not turn around, she must not speak. It was a child's punishment made deadly for an adult by the endless succession of hours. It left Jane uncertain as to whether this was part of "The Series" or some sort of male caprice. Her master had been unusually loving and affectionate in their bed and had aroused her to a point where she knew he would always have his way with her. But she soon discovered that staring at a wall six inches from her eyes, standing still in nude humility, hands joined behind her back for all to see, was not a punishment to be laughed at. Throughout the day there was a constant coming and going and she was the subject of much comment which she must endure in silence and dared not turn. By evening she was almost distraught. Yet it was a psychological punishment and had not hurt at all. When she asked the other girls about it, she discovered it had not previously been used. None had endured it. The fact left her wondering. She wondered even further when she was taken to the master's bed again that night.
Their second day of what Jane came to think of "mercy" bestowed upon the puzzled girl a strangely limited freedom accompanied by an equally limited pain. Simply, her wrists were joined behind her back with cord, bound tight but not tight enough to impede circulation, and her elbows joined together by a strap, a broad strap which drew them tight and buckled in a way she could not touch. She could back up to a mirror to observe the manner of her binding but this appeased only her curiosity, it did nothing for her pain. Thus handicapped she was allowed the freedom of the ship and her needs were administered to by the other girls who had all at one time or another suffered the same distress. The elbows strap and its stress upon her shoulders and breasts became less and less tolerable until finally she went to The Master to demand release. It was refused. She was told she was a lucky girl and should be grateful for the bounds imposed lest she encounter worse. Jane could imagine the truth of this, and there bore her travail in uncomplaining silence after that. That night she spent with arms outstretched, each wrist bound to a lower bedpost of the master's bed and watched in silence his lovemaking with his chosen girl. Both ignored her. She was forbidden to speak. She wept but no one saw her tears. In the morning, "The Series" resumed its normal course.
It was a room Jane had not previously seen. She supposed she should think of it as a cabin but it did not matter. It seemed as if she would not be alone in her punishment of the day, two naked girls were already were uncomfortably installed to keep her company. Their punishment was simple and ingenious. Their wrists were bound and they were suspended from two pulleys by the same rope, their feet originally well off the ground. But one girl weighed more than the other, not from fat but from simple stature, inevitably she raised the other girl aloft so that she could stand flat footed on the rug while her less fortunately companion hung helplessly from corded wrists. The only way the larger girl could equalize this unfair penalty was to jump and to stretch and thus enable her companion to gain a brief respite with feet upon the floor. Any lessening of charity by the larger girl made certain the other would hang helpless above the floor, searching toes unable to reach the rug. It was questionable which girl suffered the most.
Jane's escorts were the same two girls who had bound her to the mast. They were still apologetic but still determined to obey their orders. When their interest turned from the hanging girls to what awaited the victim of "The Series," their captive gasped in dismay and said, "That's ridiculous! That's one of those horse things they used centuries ago. If you put me on that, it's straight torture!"
"But it's nicer than being keel hauled, darling... Isn't it?"
"They can't be compared. I don't deserve either. Please do something else to me." Jane's eyes were wide in appeal."
"You know we can't, dear. You know we have to do the same as you." They petted and caressed and kissed. "There's a few things about this one that's different from what you've read. You'll see."
Any male would have found the room an erotic enticement of breasts and pubs, bellies and bottoms. Where ever the eye roamed it was met by female parts and feminine curves. The suspended girls provided an a constantly animated display of their charms, the two guards were as naked as the rest, and Jane had often wondered if she would ever wear clothes again. She looked at the skeletal frame awaiting her flesh. There was little of a "horse" about it except for that wicked plank's edge on which her crotch must rest. She beheld one of Sir Richard's innovations immediately, it was a massive rubber phallus, a hinged dildo to penetrate her sheath and fill her belly, bestowing sensations she could only guess at. There were ropes and pulleys, rings and cords, there were also leather anklets which were now busily being strapped above each of her feet. Each had a ring, and Jane could guess its use.
"We have to hoist you up, darling, so we can let you down gently on that lovely thing waiting for you. Isn't it darling?"
"It's horrible! Do you have to use something so immense? Are you sure it won't injure me?" It was another of those cases where Jane, at a later time, would wonder why she did not fight and struggle, kick and bit. You are forever seeing pictures of arrested in which they passively went where they were led even thought it was to their doom, none fighting, none hammering at their guards, none of them using their handcuffs as a weapon to slash a hostile face. It was the same now. She thought of attacking the two charming young women who's job it was to-torture her but the thought was as absurd as the torture itself. All three of them were victims of the system, a system from which they could not escape. Those two girls had given her love, she could offer them no less.
Grinning a wry grin she offered her hands for their cords. "Am I allowed to scream?" she asked acidly.
"Afraid not, darling, we have to gag you. But it's nicer to be gagged, you don't make noises you're ashamed of afterwards. And we've got you the nicest gag."
Still passive, the naked girl being prepared for punishment watched her tethered hands rise above her eyes to begin the most ignominious hoist of her life. She rose steadily, stretched, taught and apprehensive until her thighs were grasped by her mentors. There was a good deal of giggling she did not share. The two girls on the pulleys stood motionless in stark fascination to watch. Suddenly the greased nozzle, the blunt and ugly snout, was nuzzling at her lower lips to find a ready entry which lubrication made almost welcome. The fingers of the two female amateur tortures were busy in an anxious determination to effect a painless penetration of Miss Jane Dickson's womb. They were highly skilled, Jane realized they had done this job before.
"Don't struggle, darling, just let us guide as you skin lower, darling. Everything's going splendidly." The motor somewhere above lowered the tether by which Jane was held for impalement. There was a strange comfort in the steady play of hands upon her loins. There was also a steady penetration within her flesh as the monstrous simulation of a male genital sought refuge within a girl's hot belly as if it possessed life. Inch by inch, Jane sank lower as the dildo rose. Soon, she realized, crossing a point of no return. If everything stopped, she could not raise herself enough to rise above blunt male snout and fling her thigh over it to freedom. The dildo possessed her. By the time her crotch was solidly planted upon the waiting edge, her venus mound was flattened and compressed against her weight to pay homage against the thrusting prong.
Jane was gasping in disbelief in what was being done to her, at this outrageous obscenity in which she had no voice.
Her bondage upon the instrument of torture continued. Her hands were untied then retied again in a curious innovation. One single strand of thin rope, little more than a heavy cord, was circled, cinched and knotted around her slender wrists. It looked a puny bond but short of gnawing it through, Jane saw little hope of freedom from it. She wished the two girls, who she now thought of as "The Twins," were not so cute in their comments.
"In front instead of in back, darling. So much nicer."
"And just one little itty bitty strand dear. Maybe you can break it after we're gone."
Once more Jane's hands were drawn by a tether above her head. Their rise did not stop until they were well beyond the reach of her teeth, not lost to her entirely but tied far too high for any practical value. Jane began to glimpse what lay in store.
"Hope on tight up above, darling, not we're going to look after your tooties."
Jane clutched the tether from above, to ease her weight from her punished puss and to avoid the single strand of cord from cutting her wrist. This was by no means the conventional "horse." In the midst of her torture, she watched in curiosity as the twins each took one of her feet to snap upon her anklet's rings a short rope tether from the floor. There was no stretch, no ugly exposure, but her feet were lost to her nevertheless. The tethers robbed her thighs of any ability to ease her stress. It was an arrangement Jane thought of only as untidy. It's cruelty could be taken for granted.
"I wish you could see yourself, Jane, you look so sweet."
"And so bothered," contributed the other.
"Can you really feel that thing up inside you?"
"Of course I can. Oh, please don't leave me like this."
The twins walked around and around the "horsed" girl, their eyes critical of their own work. Jane's heart sank at a fresh pronouncement.
"Her hands aren't high enough. Raise them just a little."
The unwilling woman cried out in instant concern, "Oh no, please don't stretch me, please don't cut my wrists."
"Don't worry, darling, we're doing this very slowly, we're not going to hurt you." The twin grinned. "At least you're not going to be injured. It's bound to hurt a bit, anything dear Richard thinks up for us girls is bound to hurt."
"But I was well behaved! I didn't do a thing! This is so unfair... "
"Darling, everything's unfair. The Imogene is unfair. Betty and me, we've got it good. But we're still prisoners and we still get whipped every so often." The laugh was bitter. "And don't think we haven't sat where you are now."
"I know, I'm sorry, we're all in the same fix." Jane's anger made her daring. "What we ought to do, sometime when we're all free, is revolt and take over the ship. Or all go overboard when we're close to land. Why don't we!"
"Darling, don't let anyone hear you say a thing like that, you'll be sitting on this horse forever. We've all thought of that, but there's no way we can get free of the Imogene."
Jane was less interested in theoretical possibilities than the personal pain now taking possession of her in successive waves. It was as if the dildo in the plank was alive and sending hostile shocks throughout her being.
"I'm not going to be able to stand this for long," she muttered from dry lips. "There isn't anything else, is there?"
"We'd like you to struggle to get loose, darling."
"But you know I can't! What's the use, it will only hurt more?"
"But we have to see if you're properly fixed. If you struggle, we'll be able to pick up any slack."
Jane struggled briefly, gasping in the resultant pain. "There, I hope you're satisfied."
The twins were satisfied but not yet finished. "There's her little toes," said one of them cheerfully. "We almost forgot."
It was one thing to watch in apprehension and distaste. Each twin produced a metal and neatly closed it's jaws on one of the tethered girl's tiny toes. The tethered beauty gasped in anguish. "Take them off, oh take them off! They're awful, they're terrible!"
"You have to wear them, dear, so don't make a fuss. We may be into trouble if we don't put clips on your nipples, but that's a bit much considering the time you have to bear this position. You toes can bear it much better."
Sir Richard's Mallory's additions to ancient tortures were well conceived. Jane discovered she had a great deal of freedom. She could kick and wiggle feet and legs, hands and arms. She was still uncertain of the dildo within and what sensations it might produce. So far pain was countering erotic sensation but that might not last! She could actually ease her painful seat to relieve her squashed puss if she took all the strain upon her corded wrists. But this was an agony she would have to ration or the cure would be worse than the disease. The thin cord thigh tied was a bitter reminder of "The Master." She realized she was fastened to produced to produce a continual frustration of hope. Every bit of her could strive for a freedom it could not obtain. Easement of one agony simply produced another some where else. It was like the two girls fighting the two pulleys in a battle they could never win. Both of them were still watching her in terrible fascination to a point where they had ceased all effort to aid each other and the smaller of the two hung in full suspension while the other had her feet firmly on the floor. But they would fight their own battle while Jane could do nothing to help them except exchange pale smiles of sympathy. "I'm afraid it's gag time, darling, don't be mad at us."
Jane tried to shrug but was defeated by raised arms. Dejectedly she gave in, "Well, if it's something you have to do... "
It was almost a bit. Two rings joined at the width of a girl's mouth by a flat steel plate loosely anchored for adjustment. From the rings were straps. Jane passively opened her mouth and bit down on the metal she must harbor while the whole device was buckled at the back of her neck. It was simple and effective but tugged her lips back distressingly. She tried to speak but could not say a word.
Next she watched the other girls receive their gags, which were simply a wet wad of cloth thrust into reluctant mouths and taped down over tightly clenched lips. The tape band was brightly silver and broad to achieve its effect with a single strip. No one of the three girls would make an effective sound. The twins kissed Jane with ardent assurances of affection and repeated exclamations of, "We know how it feels." Then they went away to leave three naked beauties in various stages of anguish and frustration. Punishment reigned.
The attrition was slow and very cruel. Sir Richard's designs for punishment were ingenious. Nothing happened with dramatic suddenness but each punishment became steady more acute. Within half an hour the see-saw girls had given up the unequal battle and the lesser of the two was obviously resigned to hanging by her wrist while the larger girl stood guiltily upon the floor. She could not even stand upon her toes, it was not enough.
Jane was almost glad to be deprived of speech. What could they have said except platitudes interspersed with moans? Her gag was objectionable principally because of its imposition within her cheeks and teeth. Had she been able to speak, she would have complained about it being for a horse and not a girl but she bore the steel bit in silence and shook her head against the rings only a little -- whatever she did hurt!
Girls punished originally upon the horse in ancient times suffered but one focal point of misery, a most central core of anguish. With Sir Richard's adaptations Jane was positive it was much worse. Her pussy cried constantly for release. Her clutching fingers upon the tether above her head were able to give less and less relief as they and the rope became slippy with sweat. The wrists were real killer in this new punishment. Sometimes their owner abandoned all restraint and cruelly punished them by making them lift her crotch from the cruelty of its perch. The relief did not last long but the pain of cut wrists remained constant. Jane remembered a saying about being "foxed." She was foxed for sure! But there was another concern the maidens of long ago had not suffered. Jane was constantly aware of the huge dildo within her sheath and its blunt nosed intrusion into higher, unnamed, portions of her. The monster was hinged upon the plank to enable her to bend forward or back but not sideways. It would never release her, she was far too impaled, but the degree in which her sex responded to its presence varied with her motions. Unhappily she realized the inevitability of eventual orgasm and the futility of fighting it. Orgasm would give her a brief flashing moment of joy before returning her to the pain and horror of her dungeon. She had no hope of release, none whatever.
Jane was thankful the dildo did not hurt. She had expected pain but there only sexual excitation. True, it was at odds with all the rest she was forced to bear, but there was relief in the knowledge. No doubt Sir Richard somewhere quietly smiled! In a sort of revolving acknowledgment of tribulations, the bedeviled girl dwelt upon something that was by no means the least of the travail. It was the metal clips mischievously biting her two small toes. They were unexpectedly painful, their clutch amounting most to pure agony. They were in full sight upon each toe and there was nothing she could do to free herself of the hateful things. She wished the twins had forgotten them.
The twins forgot nothing. After what seemed a very long while they brought her a drink. Just water, her libido must not be enhanced by alcohol while she do penitence. They explained about the clips upon her toes and listened attentively to her description to how terribly they hurt and how grateful she would be for their removal. They then produced two more similar clips which they carefully fixed upon that portion of her armpits most exposed. Then they gagged her once more and went their way, leaving the new clips more intimately and personally cruel than those upon her toes. With the resignation of all true prisoners, Jane contented herself with being thankful her nipples were, as yet, inviolate. She lifted herself by corded wrists and moaned into her gag. It was an hour later when Plumpy Plumpton walked in and cut her bonds.
CHAPTER SIX - BRIEF ECSTASY
Thessalon basked in sunlight while the lovers found the shade of their favorite rock. Their night had been vivid with the acts of love, Jane was not agog with questions.
"But Plumpy, darling, why didn't you tell me you were with the US government?"
"You guessed, no use making a big thing of it."
"And you were after the Imogene all the time, that's you're reason for being on Thessalon?"
"Of course, I thought I told you. Sir Richard was quite a boy. We wanted to catch him with his pants down. We did!"
"Was it just the girl?" .
"The girls were just the least of Sir Richard's troubles. They've all been send home or placed in good hands. My hands are considered beneficial."
"They're the only hands I want darling. Did you get a good look at what that awful man was doing to me?"
"Yes. Called the 'horse,' isn't it? I'm damned glad it didn't do your pussy any harm."
"Plumpy, is that all I am, just a pussy?"
"Well, not exactly. You do have other virtues. Like asking questions...?"
"What else was it with Sir Richard, besides girls?"
"Diamonds, drugs, some damned shady international financial transactions, you name it, he was into everything."
"Now he'll go to prison?"
"Hell, no!" Plumpy said disgustedly. "When you deal in billions you don't go to jail. You get your knuckles rapped and loss a lot of your ill-gotten gains. You are also fingerprinted and put on record. But that's all. Little Richard will be back on the same stand in a week or two."
"Will he try and get me back? Will he come after me?"
Plumpy laughed at her concern. "Darling, you have to remember you're only one of seventeen. Each one of you is bait to catch him in a misdemeanor. Don't worry," Plumpy assured her. "But we did find among his papers letters to indicate he had been negotiating for the sale of several of the girls, you were one of them. The prices were too huge to believe in."
"How much did he want for me?" Jane inquired with feminine curiosity.
"I won't tell you, you'd get a swollen head. But it was more than a million. How 'bout that!"
Officialdom had relinquished the lovers to return, in Plumpy's little boat, to Thessalon the day before. Plumpy was granted a month's vacation and Jane provided with a new passport. Contented with the girl in his arms, Plumpy inquired casually, "When do you want to marry me?"
Jane pretended to consider. "I think next week or maybe the week after." She thought some more. "A girl has to consider this very carefully. And it won't hurt you to wait considering the way you ravish me every day and every night."
"Okay by me. But if we do it on Thessalon, you'll have to be satisfied with Greek Orthodox, I doubt if there's a Baptist on the place. But anyway it's legal and all that." Plumpy laughed a small and mocking laugh. "You girls love to make it legal, get us guys by the balls. Or should I say, by the parchment! You do realize I'll be a terribly cruel husband?"
"I want you to beat me daily, Plumpy. If you don't I'll revert to being a woman's libber."
"Request granted."
Their raillery was non-stop. They adored each other and found an endless refreshment in Jane's accounts of her travails upon the Imogene, hugging each other in the shared knowledge of an agony now pasted and mutual assurances enforced by the US government that it would never recur. Their love making reached fresh heights of incandescence.
Happily the lovers build their castles in the clouds. They built and furnished their dream home in California until Jane was forced to exclaim, "Plumpy, I don't have a dime. Have you got any money?"
"Enough;"
"Plumpy, I'm not handcuffed." The statement was as a sudden revelation to the girl who uttered it. Jane suddenly remembered the bond which had meant so much to them before and which, despite her recent bondage, suddenly held an actual need, a psychic demand, she was compelled to voice. "You don't want me free like this... Do you?" Plumpy had the grace to look shame faced as he withdrew the shinning circlets joined by their single link. He looked at them as though in surprise but Jane was forthright. She held out her hand. "Come along, don't be shy about it, handcuff me right now!"
Each had the good sense not to realization. Handcuffs belonged on Jane as some women wore jewels. It was that simple. Thessalon embraced them as they snuggled close together against their rock by the beautiful sea. The Greek island was utterly theirs and Jane was naked and in love. There was no yesterday and no tomorrow.
But a handcuffed girl carries disabilities. She must be explained and the joining of her hands made rationale. There were functions she could not perform and so they must be done for her. Jane protested how little they impeded everything she did, and finally they came to a confrontation about keeping her thus constrained.
"There's more to it than just an erotic thrill out of seeing me handcuffed," Jane avowed wisely. "If you like my hands chained then you'd also like to see my feet in leg irons. Be honest, darling, you would, wouldn't you?"
"Yes."
"So, okay, I'm going to marry you and I'd best know what it is that makes you happy. I told you about the twins tying me to the mast on the Imogene. Would that give you pleasure?"
"I'm afraid so, sweetheart."
"Well, don't look so damn guilty about it, I think it could be fun.
I mean, it would be so different with you and me."
"You're an absolute sweetheart and I'm a bit of a bastard," Plumpy said soberly, "But I kid you not, that's the way it is."
The enchanted maiden was in full stride, exploring every crevasse of what would be her life. She refused to share Plumpy sober mien. "So, okay, you've been beautifully honest about it, darling. I'll be handcuffed, I'll be chained, I'll be tied up." She allowed a short pause and then abruptly asked, "What about whipping me?"
"Damn it, girl, do you have to go so far so fast!"
"Yes, I do. If we don't understand each other now we may never manage it later on. This island is the perfect place for confessions. I'll bet an thousand years ago all sorts of girls had all kinds of things done to them here in the sun."
"Well, all right then, you may as well get the works. Sure, I'd adore whipping you. You're the most whippable creature I've ever seen." Plumpy allowed a pause before adding, sheepishly, "But I've never whipped a girl in my life, I wouldn't know how to go about it."
"I'll show you."
"Then, if I did it you'd hate me."
"I wouldn't, I wouldn't, I wouldn't! I'd love every stroke so long as it was yours. Plumpy, grow up. I'll bet all sorts of wives get whipped by their husbands. But you and me will have to find a very private place for what we do." Jane grinned. "Or for the things you do to me. Is it a deal?"
It was a deal.
At Jane's insistence they chose the following day. "Darling, we have to start sometime!" she contended with feminine wisdom. "Whip me today then once a week on the same day thereafter, it's simple!"
"I don't have a whip."
"Oh, come, I'm sure you can make one. And anyway there's the straps on your luggage. They'll do to start with and I'll bet they make the loveliest sounds" And so it was. That afternoon they sought a suitable tree by which the handcuffs could encircle a slender trunk and a random length of rope cinch the tiny, willing waist hard against the bark. Jane was as ready as she would ever be. She had already explained to a doubtful male that a marriage was not the least bit essential to this enterprise. All her husband-to-be had to do was get the proper feel of the leather strap, fortunately heavy, and use it to redden the rump of his bride-to-be. To Jane it seemed all so simple and she stood against the tree, handcuffed and in the most erotic excitation of her life. She looked back over a shoulder to plead, "Darling, before you start whipping me, please kiss my lips, I'll want you terribly before we're done."
Jane was soundly kissed. She sensed herself in immediate danger of being freed and the two of them gigglingly described as ravished. She knew Plumpy, while eager, was also nervous. Plumpy was a nice young man and even though his heart's desire might be to use the strap across his loved one's lower cheeks, it would take all the will power he possessed to strike the first blow. Jane reflected how quaint it was because she loved Plumpy she most earnestly desired the strips he would soon put upon her flesh. She would feel and suffer the agony but it would be threaded through and through with love. This was her joyous affirmation of devotion.
"How about putting whipping off until tomorrow, sweetheart," Plumpy inquired, attempting to sound casual.
"Plumpy, if you don't strap my bottom right now and strap it hard, I'll never speak to you again," she sniffed then added, "I can't do it for you. Get going!"
Plumpy got going with a vigor that surprised himself and that nude captive of the tree. He plunged into his erotic fulfillment in the manner of a man diving into icy water. There was no hesitation, no wasted motions. With the manner of an expert, he cracked his strap squarely across the curved temptation of his loved one's rump, not once but three times in quick succession. His darling, squirming in unexpected pain, knew the blows to be an affirmation of intent to last her a life time. Controlling the natural responses to pain, she looked back over her shoulder to sweetly declare, "Darling, they were wonderful and didn't they make the most beautiful sounds?"
She turned back to press her forehead against the tree to await number four.
Even if Plumpy had not made his own admission of amateur status, she would have guessed him a beginner in the punishment of girls. He laid the strap across the twin cheeks Jane could not move again and again in resounding thwacks which excited both of them and stripped away male shyness, replacing it with fierce joy. At number ten he stopped, both of them were panting.
"I won't pretend that didn't hurt," Jane admitted. "That's a beautiful strap, it's a pity to waste it on luggage."
"Jane, I feel an absolute bastard. But I'll admit I loved it. Want some more?"
"Of course, darling. But could we settle for five?"
"Got to you, eh? I must be doing something right. I still feel a bastard in telling you those ten strokes were the most intense living I've ever done."
"Silly boy to wait so long... "
The final five were slowly delivered as if Plumpy was sparingly spending a treasure. Jane's fists were tight clenched in the handcuffs as she thrust her nudity hard against the tree. There might come other times when she might cry aloud but that was not now. This was the ultimate giving of her life, it must not be solid by screams. She clenched her teeth and counted each resounding crack until the end. Plumpy had whipped her bottom, it was a milestone for them both.
In moments a male hand grasped Jane's hair and drew her head back so she might be kissed with an intense passion telling its own story. Male fingers sought the knots at her waist.
"But you mustn't untie me, darling. A girl is always left tied for an hour after she's been whipped. It gives her time to repent."
"Piss on that! I've got a hard-on like you wouldn't believe."
Jane made no further objection, she was well aware of her soaking sex and the fierce fire burning in her loins. It would also be pleasant to message her strapped bottom which burnt like fury to leave her also with the wish to back against a mirror to assess Plumpy's work. But when the handcuffs had been unlocked to free her from the tree, then relocked once more to join her hands in front, Jane Dickson was picked up by a laughing giant and carried tenderly to bed. She made no complaint.
The education of Plumpy Plumpton in the binding and discipline of a girl was soon complete. He was an avid student and found it necessary to practice the theories his instructress laughingly outlines. It was not long before his confidence outstripped his darling's courage to return her to the fears and erotic apprehensions that were a part of their game. To herself Jane confessed thankfulness she would be whipped only once a week.
Long starved of heart's desire, Plumpy reveled in the lush wonderfulness of Jane Dickson's love and the pleasure she derived in pleasing him. Plumpy became inventive in the bondage he imposed and ingenious in the diversity of ways to use their only pair of handcuffs. He took delight in keeping his beloved uncertain as to what would happen next or the duration of it when it actually became real. Jane was bound hand and foot upon the beach, trussed to trees, spread wide open upon their bed, or in a return to simplicity, have her wrists crossed and tied behind her back. To test her loved one's competence with cord, Jane often struggled furiously and long but she never got free of Plumpy's knots or Plumpy's handcuffs, not even once!
Alone in their hideaway Jane was always naked and Plumpy wore only shorts. But once a week they dressed decorously to suit the climate to go shopping in the village across the island. Totally used to tourists, the Greeks were without curiosity. They came and went without comment and only Constable Pappadou saluted as they passed. Their needs were simple, most of their food came from the sea.
Both knew the idyll could not last. They often discussed abandoning ambition and cash and becoming the lotus-eaters of Thessalon. But they were young and vigorous and unwilling to be penniless. They would return to domesticity and the USA or where ever else Plumpy's duties ordered. As if to enjoy it to the fullest, they feasted upon the binding of maiden feet and hands and the weekly whipping of a maiden bottom. Plumpy became more and more inclined to leave his loved one longer and longer in her bondage of cord and cuff. It was inevitable the two of them came upon a mutual excitation in leaving her tightly bound upon the day they normally went to the village. But this time Plumpy would go to the village alone while leaving his darling tightly tied in whatever helplessness pleased his fancy. The enjoyed the discussion as to how Jane would spend her lonely captivity, and it was finally decided she would be bound to the tree in the garden of their house. It was not much of a tree, there were few trees on Thessalon and they would hardly make a forest, but it would most certainly hold a naked girl and provide her with some shade during her erotic solitude.
Following Jane's detailed description of the manner in which the twins had bound her to the mast, he did his best to reduce her to the same condition. He then kissed her very hard and very long, then hurried away as if fearful of freeing her and carrying her to bed. Watching him go, Jane was again aware of a sensuous fear of the unknown and of a thrill up and down her spine when she compared herself to a maiden of ancient times awaiting the arrival of the Knight in Shinning Armor.
In Thessalon pervasive heat she quietly dozed within the safe embrace of rope.
The voices were muted by distance but were enough to awaken the maiden bound to the tree. They were male, their volume changed as they moved in and around Plumpy's house. The tree to which Jane was bound was at a sufficient distance from the domicile to engender hope she might not be seen. In her present condition she wanted no visitors. She cursed the luck which had brought them on the worst possible day. Plumpy had done a very professional job of binding her and there was no hope of freedom or wiggling out of view. She kept very still and tried to savor the sensations of a delicious situation. The two men were obviously not thieves or marauders. They probably wanted Plumpy on business and were on the edge of leaving without finding him.
But it was inevitable she be seen. There was an exclamation of surprise and a pointing arm. Two well-dressed men walked to where Miss Jane Dickson stood fast against her tree. Upon their arrival, her heart sank -- one of them was the leader of the trio who had previously kidnapped her for the Imogene. She had never seen the other who now asked, "Is this the girl?" It was an educated voice.
Jane's previous acquaintance laughed. "That's her, all right, I can tell her anywhere by her cunt. Damned neat little job, eh?"
The newcomer was assessing her with shrewd, knowing eyes. Piteously Jane exclaimed, "You shouldn't be looking at me when I'm naked like this. Please go away."
"Why are you bound?"
"It's a game they play," the Imogene crewman volunteered. "She was handcuffed last time I picked her up. Damned silly game but I got a belly full of it on Mallory's ship. Is she worth taking?"
"She is priceless," the tone was almost reverent. It now became quaintly formal. "You may think of me as Ahamad. You will remember Andy from before."
"Thank you. But if you want Mr. Plumpton, why don't you wait in the house, he'll be back quite soon. And why don't you stop staring at me?"
"We do not wish to see Mr. Plumpton."
"Well, in that case, I don't think you should embarrass me any longer.
Please leave."
"Let us stop sparring, Miss Dickson. You know perfectly well we are here to obtain possession of your person. My superior had concluded the purchase of you from Sir Richard Mallory. Your sale to El Carib is as legal as these transactions ever are. Please understand, you do not belong to Mr. Plumpton. Ours is a prior claim."
He turned to Andy, "Secure her."
Jane's defeat was as bitter as her anguish. These two men could do as they pleased with her. Andy became busy at his task. He had a handcuff key to loose a single cuff then, when he had cut through most of Plumpy's rope, he trust her forward to cuff both of her hands behind her back. He took the precaution of saving enough rope for a leash around her neck and another length, the purpose of which she could only guess. Freed from the tree, her neck was roughly jerked to demonstrate male dominance and female helplessness as Ahamad cautioned, "You are well able to walk to our boat. Please do not give trouble. We have no wish to hurt you."
Jane stepped away from the tree, its trunk still warm from her flesh, it was like leaving the only friend she had. In frustration she pleaded, "Please don't take me away, please don't kidnap me. You're not being a bit clever in taking me like this. Mr. Plumpton is a powerful man with influence. Please be sensible and go away and leave me here."
They seemed not to have heard a single word. Ahamad was of the East and she was but a female. Andy could not have cared less. In the bitterest impotency of her life, the naked girl take a second step and then as third. Soon she was being lead like a dog down the pathway to her beloved beach and the boat waiting upon the sand. There was no sign of others, Thessalon was running true to form.
In the boat her feet were firmly bound and she was hogtied as on the previous occasion. The motor started and the captive felt the boat slice the waves, taking her from everything she loved. Unconsciously she whimpered in despair. Ahamad sat himself squarely in her view. Considering what he was doing, his speech and manner were absurdly formal and correct.
"You are now the property of my Master, El Carib, by right of purchase. There are many names for girls who are thus taken. For the moment call yourself a captive. You are indeed a prisoner. El Carib desires you for reasons of his own. You will be well treated unless you give trouble. Should you decide to be difficult, your bondage and your punishments will be dire. Take my advice and be an obedient young woman."
Jane was struggling mentally as well as physically against her abduction. "But what does this El Carib of yours want me for? To put me in a harem? To punish me? Or is there some thing he'll make me do?"
Ahamad chuckled at her questions. "Attractive options, are they not! But, no, it is not for me to say. El Carib will inform you himself. I'm afraid you'll be disappointed if you expect to be delivered into the hands of a savage."
"Civilized men do not kidnap girls."
"Quite so. I have already explained. You have been purchased."
They had run into a conversational impasse. But the roped girl refused to suffer in silence. "Do you have to keep me bound this brutally?" she demanded in as reasonable tone as she could muster. "You stole Mr. Plumpton's handcuffs, surely they would be enough?"
"It is better as you are, the time will not be long. By the way, and I offer this in all friendliness, I suggest you be less demanding in your speech. You are entering a land in which a woman is not dominant. Aggressive females are flogged until they see the light. You would do well to save yourself this pain. An Arab flogging is not to be taken lightly."
"Oh, all right, and thank you. I'm sure you're being kind." Jane's mind was now feverishly working towards the task of survival. "How am I to address you? That's always the first lesson, isn't it?"
"You will address all men as 'Master.' Where you are going that token of respect is as common for a girl as saying 'Mister' in the United States." Ahamad laughed, "Or perhaps it might rank along with 'Sir.'" For several minutes Jane contented herself by struggling against handcuffed wrists to reach and perhaps free a knot of the hogtie she loathed. It was a profitless exercise for even success would get her nowhere. The watching men would immediately retie the knot and probably tighter than before. But it occupied her and frustrated rebelliousness, it kept her feeling a person instead of a trusted up parcel of female parts. She blinked back the tears.
"You fight the ropes to maintain your self-esteem," Ahamad said evenly. "I will not command you to stop. It is good for you to expend your energy. After a while you will become more passive."
Jane stopped struggling to eye Ahamad indignantly. "You don't leave a girl anything, do you?" she said bitterly. "You have us figured, you make us dance to your tune by bits of handcuffs and whip. I would have thought you would get a lot more from us by allowing a woman to be a woman."
Ahamad was delighted. "You are thinking in terms of the United Slates," he said. "American men describe American women as harridans, barracudas, or as bitches, which is simply female dogs. You will find in the place to which you go a far wiser and more satisfying communion between the sexes. Even in our country women have been known to influence the thinking of a man."
"How many times did the poor girl get whipped before she managed that!"
Ahamad shook his head in mock sorrow. "You are bitter indeed, Miss Dickson. I fear your skin will be much stripped and the soles of your feet extremely tender. " He exhaled deeply in genuine concern. "I cannot hope to convert you in this boat. The airs and graces with which you young women adorn yourselves are curable by only one means, the whip. It is regrettable. I wish you well."
The bound and naked girl sensed pity and hurried to make amends. "No, really, I didn't mean to sound bitchy. I'm just so damned scared, that's all. Look, Ahamad, if there's things you want to tell me, I'll listen. I'll stop struggling against these knots. I can't get them undone anyway."
The boat sped on to deliver a maiden into slavery. From time to time Andy turned to admire the breasts of the captive girl so neatly tressed. Ahamad appeared to have exhausted his advice. Ruefully Jane realized he had told her all that was pertinent to her condition. She was to be a harem girl, an Odalesque, perhaps a whore, most certainly a prisoner subject to another's will. Her future looked bleak.
Her only course was to do as she was told. The cutting ropes now giving her pain told her clearly the hopelessness of her new captivity. She would do what she must and at the same time keep alert for any possibility of escape. She felt positive Plumpy would discover her sooner or later. But in the mean time it would be silly to get a cut back or beaten buttocks, or perhaps some more cruel punishments as per the Imogene and its owner. Her thoughts about Sir Richard were strangely mixed. His punishments had been oddly impersonal, each with a touch of some small element of humor. He had been kind to her in bed, all his words affectionate. She could not recall a harsh or ugly expression from his lips. She wondered idly if, had she remained his prisoner, and if she had completed "The Series," if he might not have eventually married her! But perhaps Sir Richard was an experienced satyr who planted this alluring road to riches in the mind of every maiden who bore his bonds. She would never now, Sir Richard was far away.
"El Carib is, among other things, a slave trader, a dealer in girls." Ahamad's unhurried words penetrated his captive's thoughts. "Should you fail to find favor in his eyes, you would probably be sold to someone who found you more appealing. You would probably be placed in a cage with other girls who all had backs well marked as yours would soon be, there to await an auction. I tell you this so you understand you are not the focus or sole concern of my master's. It might be several days before he even comes to see you." There came a chuckle. "I recall the story of the Persian monarch who purchased a renown beauty at great cost and then found, to his disgust, her breath was foul. He had her beheaded immediately. But I am sure this fate will not be yours. Take heart, for all we know your future may be bright and devoid of stripped skin. Should you be sold you may be purchased by a prince."
The impersonality of her position was far from flattering. Jane realized she was merchandise which El Carib was now taking delivery of. Ahamad was probably bored with the whole thing. But she was positive Andy would violate her at the first opportunity. She could only hope that one did not occur or that the property of El Carib might be off limits to those who served his cause. She sighed unhappily to declare, "I really do wish you'd untie me. There's several things I can see that you could pass the handcuffs around and I'd be as safe as in a prison. Am I being punished?"
"No. Conditioned."
Jane stirred distressfully within her bonds. All of them hurt and she longed for freedom. Her unconscious revolt against rope and steel struck an unexpected cord of sympathy. Ahamad bend forward and untied the strands joining feet and hands, then untied Jane's feet completely but only after taking the precaution of binding one of her ankles to a brace. She was as helpless as before but infinitely more comfortable. She said a sincere thank you then added, "I think you're a nice man.
I don't understand why you don't find some other way to make a living."
"We do as Allah wills," Ahamad said sincerely.
There seemed nothing more to say.
CHAPTER SEVEN - THE CORDS OF CARIB
It was strange, the only tangible reminder of the life and love she had lost was a pair of handcuffs clamped upon her wrists but for which Jane was grateful. The handcuffs kept her wrists together as she clutched two bars to peer into an unrewarding vista of corridor and concrete. She had been locked in the cell two days and was beginning to wonder why El Carib purchased her in the first place. She was attended by a grinning girl who spoke no English save for a very few words Jane did not want to hear. She had expected to be hurled, bond and naked, at the feet of the all mighty feet of El Carib as she had read of slavegirls thrown to their masters. But there had been nothing dramatic. Only a phone call loud enough for her to hear both sides. Ahamad had announced their safe arrival and that the purchased girl was handcuffed and would not run away. El Carib expressed gratification but hurriedly ordered his henchmen to "put the damn girl somewhere safe and keep those handcuffs on." It was most deflating. Jane looked back at the Imogene with longing, the concrete and steel of her barred cell was soul-destroying in its isolation. She would have preferred a harem if El Carib had such a thing. Perhaps it was a softening up process, little better than the solitary confinement of modern prisons -- three meals and three contacts with another human a day and nothing else. They spoke to her but in words she did not understand. The handcuffs on her wrists were her only link to sanity and hope. The handcuffs she so lovely caressed had had many owners. Perhaps they now belonged to El Carib.
The executive office was as dull as the executive's cell. Office sounds came through a door, the electronic sounds that linked the business world together. El Carib and the place wherein he sat was austerity itself. His clothes were costly as was the slab of mahogany before which Jane was forced to stand. The chairs were massive, there were some bookcases...
"Welcome to Themma, Miss Dickson." The African voice was none committal, the African face blank. "We are a small state, famous mainly for the evasion of income tax. We also have oil. You have heard my name?"
"Only from the man who kidnapped me, I am not well versed in international affairs. Could I be covered? I should not be standing naked before you."
"You will not be covered. I am getting my first glimpse of a costly purchase. I suppose you know what I paid for you?"
"I don't. But someone told me the sum was huge. I can't imagine I'm worth it."
"You are worth it. I never buy anything that I cannot sell for more than I paid. I suppose you have lurid dreams from the Arabian Nights?"
"Well... Yes." Jane smiled apologetically. "But I'm learning nothing is ever the way a girl expects. Could I have these handcuffs removed, please?"
"No, you may not. They are the simplest of bonds and trouble you not at all. In case you are wondering, I am a native of Jhedra, an adjoining state. I expect you would like to learn something of your future?"
"If you please. I suppose there's no use asking for freedom or telling you I am almost certain to be tracked down?"
El Carib waved the trivialities aside. Everything about this interview was reminding Jane of something that had happened before, perhaps many times. Perhaps it was something happening many times around the world right now, a rich man dictating the lives of others. That was the name of the game. The whole thing would have seemed more reasonable had El Carib been dressed like some of the delegates to the UN or the OPEC oil conferences. El Carib's voice now held a tinge of humor. "You will not enter my harem. You will not be sold upon the slave block. You will not be ravished by the infidel. But I do have to ask if you have to be whipped into submission, to ask if you know the meaning of obedience without the necessity of a stripped back?"
There it was, this was it, the lurking reality to evoke her screams. But Jane's voice was even. "I know of no good reason why you would have me whipped. I have been whipped and know what it is like. I will avoid it if I can."
A thin, wise smile, a nod of approval. "Sir Richard has trained you well. There is no profit in a girl's cut skin. " El Carib chuckled at some personal thought. "Other, of course, than a tightening of male loins. The whip is potent. I want you to marry a man of my selection."
It was Arabian Nights after all, a modem version, crazy after all. Jane stood naked and handcuffed and utterly disgusted with her faith. But she was still surviving. "I won't ask many questions. You'll do with me as you please."
El Carib sighed in genuine relief. "You're better than I had hoped. Miss Dickson. But, just so we understand each other, you should know you will be cruelly punished should you play me false. Known this, you cannot leave Themma without my permission. If I cast you into the street, fully clothed and with money in your purse, none would aid you in your escape. You are my property. In Themma there are none who tamper with the girls of El Carib."
"All right, I belong to you, I can't possibly escape." Jane spoke the words tonelessly. But her voice became vivid in demand. "But, please, don't put me back in that horrid little cell."
"Of course not, I thought you understood." The voice of El Carib was warm. "Tonight you sleep with me."
* * *
The contrast between the prison cell and the hotel Mirbel was heady stuff for a girl who had for a long time known only nakedness and bondage. But splendor and wealth covered Jane like a protective cloak until she began to understand that to belong to El Carib could be a privilege indeed.
His name was Dabby Phew. It was most decidedly a Name in certain circles around the world. Like El Carib and Sir Richard Mallory, Dabby Phew had not age, no nation, no loyalty. His vast wealth created his domicile and it moved uncertainly around the world, from Themma to London, from Paris to New York. Airlines fattened on his enterprise. Dabby Phew's only concession to humanity was an adoration of woman. He had gone through no less than seven wives, sending each upon her way enriched because of his thankfulness to be rid of them to make way for the next. At the moment he was unencumbered.
Freedom! Clothed, money in her purse and a taxi at her command. It was exciting and beyond her belief. But Miss Jane Dickson had but a single thought -- somehow she must get in touch with Plumpy and tell him where she was. He had given her his code number in Washington and the clerk accepted her collect message without the quiver of an eyebrow. It seemed all too easy. By way of spreading her bets, Jane sought one more method of communication, the obvious ones might not be safe. The grasped the arm of a passing bellhop. "Will you take a message to the American Consul for me?"
His shrew eyes assessed her, sensing distress. His retort was instant as if he had made the offer many times. "Sure I take. You no give me money, you show me your tits."
Jane choked back both outrage and amusement. "Where?"
A quickly scribbled note, a discreet storeroom with mops and brooms, and a Miss Jane Dickson, who had been naked for so long, blushing as she dragged down an expensive gown to disclose her breasts to a carnal teenager who might not even keep his part of the bargain. But each went his way, both seeming well satisfied. What was the exposure of a pair of breasts compared to freedom?
The cocktail party and Jane's introduction to Dabby Phew was neatly, cleverly and expensively contrived. Even to the point of him seeking her out rather than having her led to him. Dabby Phew was not the kind of El Carib or Sir Richard. He probably looked a lot younger than he was, clean cut, animated, with a twinkle in his eye. His greeting was, "You're a damned good looking girl, Miss Dickson! Mind if I call you Jane? You can call me Dab."
He grinned, "I'm not what you expected, am I?" Dabby Phew took Miss Jane Dickson's arm and led her from the big room, the chatter and the noise, the multitude of varied complexions. There was a music room and they were alone.
There was a frank boyishness about the man which prompted Jane to go overboard. "You seem to know about me -- look, I can't call you Dab right at the start. Do you mind if I call you Mr. Phew, for the first few minutes at least?"
"You're bursting with something to tell me, Jane. Go ahead." This man might know too much or betray her confidence but Jane was so utterly alone in this strange land she grasped at him in desperation. "I've been kidnapped. I've been brought over here from Greece. I'm doing this because I'm scared to death. Please help me escape, please...!"
There was not explosion, no dismay, only a quick grin and a reassuring pat. "El Carib up to his old tricks! I believe you were once property of Sir Richard Mallory." Phew's disclosure was startling, demanding a quick reconsidering of her approach. Jane heard herself stammering, "How... How... How did you know?"
Dabby Phew laughed at Jane's innocent bewilderment. "Knowledge is power and power is money, dear. I make it a purpose to acquire the first, the other follows. Dear old El Carib purchased you from Sir Richard Mallory not too long ago. I gather he had a bit of trouble over delivery. He has now instructed you to do what you must in order to marry me then sell me out to him behind my back. How's that for espionage?"
Jane could believe herself the victim of a practical joke devised between these two but she sensed deadly intent and this laughing man was by no means as shallow as he seemed. She responded, "Yes, you seem to know it all. Now, will you please help me to escape?" Phew was regarding her intently, his tone serious, "First things first, dear child. What would be done to you if I report your plea for aid?"
"I'll suspect I'd be horrible whipped. Even if you don't want to help me then at least don't get me punished. I'm just an American girl who wants to go home."
There happened then something totally unexpected in this strange land of Themma. Dabby Phew said quietly, "I too am American, Miss Dickson." He then took her in his arms in a manner purely paternal. Her bottom was not even patted nor her lips kissed. It was as though Phew was offering her refuge. The tears of relief came quickly and wet his dinner jacket and smudged her cheeks but there was no reproof, just the gentle communion of this new contact.
After quite a long time the man who was holding her asked very simply, "Jane, may I ask your hand in marriage?"
They laughed about it afterwards over a shared cocktail. She noticed how none intruded upon this man and he observed the manner in which she held her glass, always with two hands closely joined.
"Kept you handcuffed, did he? I'll bet you wore them exquisitely."
"Was I right in not trying to escape, physically I mean?"
"Didn't you make contact or speak with anyone?"
Jane could laugh at the incident now but the blush easily returned. "Well, there was a bellhop. He promised to take a note to the Consulate. His price was for me to show him my breasts. He took me to a private place. Does this disgust you?"
"A case of needs must when the devil drives, eh?" Dabby was unperturbed. "I doubt if that note will reach its destination but I'll make inquiries for you." He surveyed her laughingly over the brim of a glass. "So we get married, Jane, and become number eight. Then you feed El Carib all the material I provide. He'll love it for the first few weeks. Is this a deal?"
"It's a deal. Honest, you've made me feel so good. I won't give you the least bit of trouble when you're ready to divorce me. Simply send me back to the good old USA. You will do that, won't you?"
"Yes, that's a deal, too." He glanced at her shrewdly. "You've been through a lot, haven't you? You make quick decisions."
"No quicker than yours. Don't you realize you're buying a pig in a poke?"
Dabby Phew nodded, his eyes still assessing her. He went to the door and locked it, then turned to demand, "You're right, I'm getting careless. Take off your clothes, Jane."
Once she would have fought, become hysterical, sought escape. But now, and with amusement, Jane Dickson reviewed her captivities and saw only logic in Dabby Phew's demand. But, as with the bellhop, if her nakedness would buy freedom, she would be insane to be a prude! Grinning back at her husband to be, she stripped herself completely naked, clasped her hands behind her back and then slowly turned around before walking the length of the room a couple of times to bring her to where she knelt before the standing man to inquire mischievously, "Is this how you want me, on my knees, Dab? I've been well trained." Phew raised her to her feet and kissed her gently. "You could be number eight and the last I'll need," he said with reflective seriousness. "There's a quality about you... Put your clothes back on, we'll save the rest of it."
The two of them returned to the main room to mingle with a sparkling crowd in which, for Jane, there was not a single familiar face.
It would have been nice if El Carib had been less busy and more human, but Jane contented herself with the knowledge she would soon be rid of him. She supposed the news she had for him would be well taken but he gave little sign that he was pleased, making in evident instead that he had expected Dabby Phew to fall head over heels in love with marriage inevitable to follow. Jane told him every thing he should know, including her removed of clothes for Phew's inspection. But her honest account brought only the thinnest of smiles. As though waiting only this very moment, El Carib tossed a piece of paper across the desk for her inspection.
It was the cable she had sent to Washington.
Jane stood transfixed, her heart thudding painfully, her mind a chaos of fear. The power of El Carib was greater than she had dreamed. In silence she looked back squarely at the waiting man and wondered what her punishment would be.
"Nothing to say?"
"What can I say? Do you want me to confess I wrote it?"
"Your face is your confession, Miss Dickson. El Carib drew a deeper breath as though in readiness for a pronouncement. "You have earned a punishment and it is easy to punish you. What I have to consider is your value to me with Dabby Phew. I must punish you enough to impress upon you the course you must follow. I will tolerate no deviations. I had hoped you would be sensible, more sensible than to try an elementary trick than this piece of paper."
"I'm guilty only of a very human wish," Jane said slowly, keeping her gaze levelly upon the man who would punish her. "I am simply trying to survive. If there is a way I can avoid this punishment, I will do what I must."
The thin lipped smile of El Carib became even thinner. "There is no way."
Jane shrugged hopelessly. Whether she was naked or clothed, bound or free, she was forever enthralled. At the will of those who owned her she could suddenly be transformed from an adult to a delinquent child. Tonelessly she asked, "What are you going to do to me? I implore your mercy."
"You will be severely whipped." El Carib grunted. "I have not patience with the sadist notions of Sir Richard Mallory. He's welcome to his quaint refinements. As far as I'm concern, there is no better way to point a girl in the direction she is to go than a good whip. I hope you agree, Miss Dickson?"
"Not really, but what I agree to matters very little anymore, does it?" Jane played her only card. "Mr. Phew has seen me naked, will he appreciate the marks you are about to put on me?"
El Carib managed a mirthless smile. "He may value them. Whip marks are the most erotic clothing a girl can wear. A well-whipped girl holds magic."
"Is it not a poor way for us to start what amounts to a business association?"
El Carib waved her comment aside to consult his watch. "We have time today. We have no need to prolong your suffering beyond an hour. I will summons the woman who will whip you." He pressed a button on his desk.
It was so damned impersonal! Without hate, without love, Jane would be whipped as if she were just a bundle at a store. The distraught girl realized it was not an act of vengeance as conditioning. El Carib had expected her to show some weakness he could exploit. Like most who punished girls, he would find some justification for the act. her pathetic cablegram was perfect. Jane could think of a dozen things to say or to plead, but she knew it would be useless. The nature of Islamic honor and Islamic punishment was understood and could not therefore be forgiven without loss of face -- even if El Carib wished to forgive, which obviously he did not.
The woman was perhaps thirty-five or six, swarthy and dark-eyed, her features and manner displaying contempt for a white girl in a dark land, a girl who lacked the sense to obey. Without a word she grasped Jane's still covered arm and led her from El Carib's office. "You very silly girl," she said harshly. "You come with me, I teach you lesson."
The last thing Jane wanted was to be taught lessons of any kind, all she wanted was to go back to the USA. But that dream was fading fast in the realities of Themma. Even Dabby Phew was fading fast and would probably have interfered if he could. The Islamic male was master in his own house and Jane knew herself a slave who had sadly erred.
"You take of clothes. Is best not fight."
Evidently El Carib did not maintain a dungeon or a torture chamber. The cell in which Jane had spent two days was the only evidence he could keep people against their will. This was a bare but well-lit room furnished only with a chair and a bench and a rope hanging from the ceiling and obviously operated from an unseen electric pulley. Jane's doubts about stripping were countered by a simple announcement. "You no take off clothes. You no do what I want. I call two men. They treat you very rough. And then they fuck you."
Jane thought it best to obey. Jane started to undress.
"Is nice shape. I whip you well," the female servant assured earnestly. "You now please hold out your hands."
It sounded like the fifth grade but there was no cane or willow switch, instead there was a length of cord with which her wrists were encircled and cinched after being crossed before her eyes. Jane watched the binding of her own hands as if memorizing the pattern of wrappings and knots for a later escape. But she knew there would be no escape. This female had no doubt bound many maidens and knew her job. The crisscross and placement of the final knot told Jane she could forget her hands. What came next was scarce to be believed, it was something from fiction or a nightmare but had its own grotesque beauty and purpose. First the now naked girl was collared, a simply metal band to circle her neck. It clicked shut around her neck and had a keyhole for later removal. In the back of it was a ring. Jane's bound hands were lifted up and back across her head then down to be corded tightly to the circle of metal waiting. Her hands and arms were lost to her, her body was totally and nakedly exposed.
"You now lay on floor." The voice was without emotion. A busy woman doing her job. "You lay still. You no ask questions."
It was terse and concise. Jane had never before be punished with such simplicity.
Laying on her back, Jane's view was mainly of the ceiling. If she wanted to look further she had to half sit up and this she did long enough to behold a wooden bar and two leather straps wide spread on it before she was told to lay back down. Jane relapsed. The next time she saw her feet they were strapped tight to each end of the solid bar and were raising gently up into her view. Unfortunately they did not stop but continued on up towards the distant ceiling. In horror, Jane watched them and felt their lift, first raising her bottom from the floor, then her back, then her shoulders. She could do nothing! In a couple of minutes, Miss Jane Dickson was swinging free of the floor, her hands tugging at the collar and her hair falling down to make the only contact with the floor. Miss Jane Dickson was suspended upside down.
"You make a pretty picture, Missy."
Jane, panic-stricken, sought orientation to discover the owner of the voice. Nothing was right or where it should be. There was little pain, only stress. She found herself with an upside down view of the man who had ordered her punished. El Carib was drinking in her predicament with appreciative eyes.
"I detest the conventional, Miss Dickson. You will be whipped in a manner you have never been whipped before." He actually chuckled. "When a girl is whipped in my house, she will remember it always. You are exquisitely available to the thong."
Her terrible availability to the lash was the thought uppermost in her mind. She forgot El Carib and all else. In the whole world there was only her upside down nakedness, fully revealed in every detail, and the figure of the woman who was now fingering a tapering, snakelike length of a thong, just long enough to encompass the back or bottom of a girl. Before the first stroke cut the air, Jane moaned, "Oh, please don't. Please, oh, pleaseeeeee!"
Jane Dickson was totally without orientation. Her elbows framed her face as she slowly revolved by the bar on her feet. El Carib and the woman of El Carib came and went in a distorted vision Jane could not control. Even the pain, when it came, seemed to be not her pain but the pain of someone else in some strange way transformed to tell her that upside down hurt every bit as much as right side up. Quite soon she learned it could hurt much more.
"You do not whip her cunt," said El Carib to the woman with the whip. "It will soon be used and must not receive injury. You may whip to either of side."
So matter of fact! So casual! Miss Jane Dickson was making no pretense of bravery. If she wanted to scream she did. If they thought her decadent, they were welcome. When the whip whined its wickedness within the cleft of her open legs to impact upon the base of her thighs, she scream lustily and flung her suspended loveliness from side to side in a total abandonment to agony. Briefly she thought of Dabby Phew. Then, with equal brevity, of Plumpy Plumpton. But they were as in a dream and far away. Reality was here with this woman so easily and professionally whipping her nakedness and with the man who watched. The sad, bare room had probably witnessed this scene a hundred times. But for Jane this was the first and if the thong cut at her too long she was certain she would die.
"It is best not to whip her breasts," said El Carib thoughtfully. "She is costly merchandise and will have need of them."
Two parts of Miss Jane Dickson to be left alone! But only two, the rest of her was well and truly delivered to the whip. It cut and snapped at her everywhere but most lovingly of all at the cleft within her widespread legs. The Venus mound might not be touched but the soft, moist thighs almost pleaded for the impacts beneath which the swollen flesh took on a multitude of hues to match the wailing cries and sharp squeals of outrage. From somewhere she gained the strength and courage to exclaim, "You shouldn't whip me there. No girl should be whipped there! Oh, please, please... "
Jane's whipping continued as if she had kept silent. El Carib would touch a part of her he considered neglected and the following stroke would correct the omission. Jane could not keep her hands from their continual battle with the collar around her neck. It was a terrible way for a girl to be tied, reducing her to only a body and those female parts so terribly exposed by this bondage. Sometimes, in her agony, she could jackknife herself in an upward bend She had not reason for it, it was just part of her mindless struggles and contortions. She remembered reading that someone suspended upside down must eventually die. But she was vividly alive and cruelly responsive to pain. Brokenly, between her cries, she affirmed, "I'm going to do what you want. Everything's going your way. Please don't whip me any more."
El Carib was a master of surprise. The whipping stopped by a wave from his hand. Jane's suspended nakedness was lowered to the floor and the bar taken from her feet. She lay, eyes closed, but with her lips giving thanks for the cessation of a punishment which could have been worse but which was certainly severe. She lay sobbing and anguished until the realization came of being alone.
Awkwardly and doubtfully Jane sat erect. Every move she made reminded her of the whip. And, since none had bothered to untie her hands, she was still helpless, her face framed by her arms. The door was open as though El Carib and his woman had done with her and left her to her own devices. The whipped girl sat a long lime, gathering her senses, and struggling enough to assure herself she could not free her hands. It was a wicked exposure which she loathed and inflicted a degrees of helplessness remarkable for so little cord. And the collar chafed her neck and she longed to be rid of the whole thing. Since none came to her, perhaps she could seek someone to give this simply aid. She managed her feet and went to the open door.
Her head thrusting back against bound hands, Jane traversed a passage and then another. The doors she passed were closed and she could not open them: She had no sense of being in an empty house, it was simply no one was around this part of it. When she reached the main hallway, the front door was wide open to the sunlight.
Jane sensed a trap. If she followed any girl's natural instinct and took flight, they would be waiting for her and she would be horribly punished for a second time. But, on the other hand, if they wanted her to do this they would have freed her hands. As inviting as the open door was, it would take a lot of courage for a girl naked, whip-marked, and with hands tight tied to essay such a bit for freedom. The house of El Carib might well be a heaven of safety to what awaited her on the streets. But, so far as El Carib was concerned, his whip had taught her the opposite of his intent. The ordeal had been so intense and so recent it dominated Jane's thinking. Suddenly, in a frenzied need for flight against everything El Carib stood for. Miss Jane Dickson rushed forward and on out into the big garden, then the gate, then the road. She fled along Themma's dusty residential road and was prudent enough not to go to houses nearby for aid nor seek it from any dark-skinned people she passed. Let them think what they would, it would make a good story for them to tell when they got home. But what Jane Dickson needed most was a white face. Her feet flashed and also must cope with the hazard of bound hands which probably made her look ridiculous. Jane had ceased worrying about nakedness long ago. She turned and twisted to make her passage as devious as possible and was perhaps half a mile away when the reached a moderately civilized piece of pavement. There was suddenly the almost silent whisper of an engine at her back and a cheerful voice offering, "May I offer you a lift, Miss Dickson?"
Jane stopped dead, panting and flushed and now shocked by the use of her name. It was an open sports car and the man driving it was viewing her with a good-natured concern, a concern she shared.
CHAPTER EIGHT - ROPED RETURN
For the hundredth time that day Jane tried to rearrange herself for comfort but, in what Sir Richard called one of his "fun things," there was no comfort to be had. His "fun thing" was very simple, Jane's right hand was tied well above her head and her left was tied very tight to the ankle of her right foot. She was not stretched or pained but was compelled to stand on one foot. If the tether above her had drawn her tight and strained her body, the whole thing would have been torture. But, as it was, it would pass as severe discomfort. Jane was naked, as usual, and, as usual, she could not get free. She was blatantly on view to any who found interest in her nudity and the pixie like manner in which she was bound. But now, in the heat of the afternoon, few were about and the fastened girl had little to do but reflect bitterly on her new captivity. It was a bitter reflection for it held accusations that she could have done this or that. But she hadn't done that or this. But at its beginning she had been only too happy to hop into the expensive car to which he was cheerfully opening the door. Like all his kind, he seemed to know everything.
"So Carib is using you on Dabby Phew," he commented. "You're right in there with all the billionaires. Lucky for me you weren't aboard the Imogene when they seized her and sent all my girls home. I would have lost you."
Jane did not follow the meaning of what he had said. She countered with, "Please untie my hands, I promise I won't run away."
"Those whip marks are fresh, someone's done a number on you."
"It was El Carib. I tried to escape earlier today and what you're looking at is what I got for it. Please untie me, I feel so silly."
"You know I won't, you look entirely charming as you are," Sir Richard said offhandedly. "It's not by chance I happen to be around when you happen to be running a way. I bribed a servant to leave all the doors open. Poor old El Carib, I feel a bit of a bastard the way I treat the guy. Oh, and by the way, I'm not returning you to him. A man as careless of his possessions deserves to lose them. I hope you're pleased."
"The last time you had me, I was being tortured on that horse thing when I was rescued. Now you won't even untie my hands." She glared at his finely chiseled features in indignation, no longer caring. "I'm grateful for this rescue from El Carib but why can't you just send me home. I've never done anything to deserve this succession of enslavements."
"Don't despair, Jane dear girl. I've got a little place her in Themma where I'll keep you safe until I can get you back to the USA -- with me, of course. I'm not letting you go free."
The tied girl with her hands above her head stirred restlessly in anger, while reviewing the succession of imprisonments by which she was becoming to think of enslavement as her natural state. Slaves in ancient Rome must have felt the same way. But there was no reason why she should. She looked up at the neat bands of rope around her wrists and cursed Sir Richard and his ways. But he was better then El Carib. She had felt a bit of warmth for Dabby Phew but to be number eight in the series was no great honor. Still, he had been kind, she would remember him for that. Now she longed only for release from an unearned punishment which was lasting all too long.
Jane felt neglected and abandoned. Since he had recaptured her, Sir Richard Mallory had been preoccupied with other affairs. Like so many others, he used Themma as a legal blind to cover other activities. She gathered their stay would be short. But he was not being truly kind to her. He took he to his bed each night and she slept there with one ankle changed to an anchor bolt in tile floor. During each day it pleased him to impose a modest punishment such as she suffered now. In a fine, large gesture he had swept away and forgiven her the unfulfilled portion of "The Series." What she was forced to endure now was by no means as drastic as "The Series" but was drastic enough. Jane longed with all her heart and soul to be able to lower her arm and put her other foot on the floor. It was a modest ambition but Sir Richard's roped denied.
Jane was about to resume her listless mental wanderings when there was a sound. She did not bother to look back but came erect with an exclamation of shock when she found Petulance surveying her with what was quite clearly amusement. But then impulsively took the captive's head in free hands to plant kiss after kiss on captive lips. "Oh, darling, darling," she exclaimed, "you're never out of trouble. I was sent away on an errand but now I'm back and I was sent down by his majesty to make sure your ropes are tight. Isn't he something!"
"Oh, Petulance, I don't know how you got here but please untie me, I'm so damned sick of this."
"Sorry, love, you know I can't. After the big to-do on the Imogene I went home for a short vacation. Then I rejoined our master because I couldn't find anything better to do. He's not unkind to me the way he is to you. And by his quaint standards that means he doesn't love me as much as you. But he likes to have me around and the guy does something for me. I don't think I could leave him if I tried. Here, let me check your knots and make sure you're safely fixed. Aren't I a bitch!"
Jane felt better, even when feminine fingers were at work on the rope by which she was bound. Petulance was sweet no matter how you looked at her. And even though she might not be a slave, she enacted the role to perfection to become a companion damsel to share Jane's distress. There was always the chance that some day Sir Richard might forget to bind Petulance with a promise or a vow and she would be free to loose the ropes or chains and send Jane on her way. The tied up girl stood in ecstasy as fond fingers found her breasts and explored her pubic hair. It had been so long since a girl had done this it seemed too good to be true.
That night, laying on her whipped back on Sir Richard's bed. her ankle safely chained to prevent escape, Jane asked in the aftermath of lovemaking, "Petulance visited me today to make sure I was tightly tied. She loves you, she's the one you ought to marry."
"Petulance is an absolute Trojan," Sir Richard affirmed. "You're right, I owe her something beyond an occasional whipping. But give me time, I don't marry easily. Did you enjoy your day?"
"How could I? That's a horrible way to tie a girl. Please go easy on me tomorrow."
"I'll tell you what. How would it be to have your hands tied behind your back and you can watch darling Petulance receive her first whipping in a long time. I've been far to easy on the girl. You can give her moral support."
"Don't be horrible. It's cruel the way you thrust these questions and decisions at a girl. I'd never ask you to whip Petulance instead of me. Sorry I spoke."
There was something inevitable about Sir Richard, even his jests came true. In the morning Jane's hands were crossed behind her back and firmly bound. Right then she knew what was going to happen and bitterly accused herself of thinking of no way out of a punishment Petulance did not deserve. She was allowed to walk around thus tied until Sir Richard was ready for what he would no doubt describe as "The Ceremony." When she was called to the place where it would happen, Petulance stood between two posts in a perfect "X," arms spread wide, legs spread far apart. She looked like an exquisite butterfly, cruelly impaled. But her greeting was cheerful, "Hello, darling, come to see the show? Darling Richard tells me I'm going to squirm and squeal like crazy. I expect I will, he's always right."
Punishment, punishment, punishment! An endless series of punishments stretched back into the past and the future of Jane Dickson's life. She was tired of them, tired of the male egos by which they were generated, and resentful against the male power to inflict. Just because a man was stronger than she and could do anything he wanted to her, scenes like this had become a part of her life. She wished she had Petulance's cheerfulness and apparent joy for such things but she did not. When the woman who tended them and who would whip poor Petulance informed the Sir Richard had been called away on business, it seemed par for the course. They were just a pair of naked girls, what did they matter?
The laughing woman who now held both girls in her power produced not a whip, but a limber length of strap which Jane recognized as a copy of the ancient Roman Flagellum. "It's what I use today," she informed proudly. "Makes much fine noise."
"And hurts like hell," Petulance added without bitterness. "Oh, Noonah, do you have to!"
"I asked Master. He say yes for sure. It no break skin or make for blood, just lovely sounds and plenty pain."
Noonah was the master of this situation. Jane sat dejectedly twisting at the hands bound behind her back. Hers would be a frustrating role to simply stand helplessly by while Petulance suffered. She exclaimed, "Noonah-, you shouldn't use that awful strap on a girl's back. Please don't."
"You don't know nothin,"' Noonah retorted as she bent and flexed the flagellum lovingly in her hands. "If you want I tie you face to face, tit to tit, and twat to twat, and I beat you both with this nice leather." She looked at Jane searchingly. "Maybe you like that?"
It as always hopeless! Bound as the two white girl now were they possessed no vestige of authority. Noonah or anyone else could do as they pleased with them. The prescribed whipping would follow its course regardless of anything they said, there was a terrible inevitability about the bound up nakedness and the dark-skinned woman with the strap. Jane winched as the dark arm flashed and the flagellum impacted with a fine sounding crack across the twin lower cheeks of a girl who had done nothing to deserve it. As the leather fell away, the skin whitened, then quickly turned pink and then red. The imprint of the flagellum was perfectly defined in exquisite detail. If only Noonah could have left the punishment at that one stroke, she would have achieved a masterpiece of beauty. But, unaware of esthetics, the dark arm flashed again and this time the flagellum left its imprint on a virgin back. Through both these initial strokes Petulance contrived not to scream. She made sounds that have no name and she twisted and fought violently against the cords by which she was bound. Her frame shook and trembled in violent reaction, reaction to the leather, but that was all. It took the forth stroke to drag the first scream from her trembling lips.
"Nice leather is very good for girls," Noonah offered cheerfully. "Makes lovely marks."
Jane recognized an artistry in this punishment she was forced to watch. The flagellum never twisted itself in flight over overlapped its goal.
It struck Petulance's unmarked, unblemished skin with precision and the sound it made seemed a cry of joy at the impact with maiden flesh. Petulance had ceased to speak but had surrendered herself to that wonderful world in which a punished girl deals with her pain as best she can and emits animal sounds she would later be shamed to remember. Petulance twisted and tugged endlessly as the strap sang its song upon her skin.
"Is nice, kind whipping I give today," Noonah informed with satisfaction. "I no be unkind. But I whip in nice secret places. See, like this."
It was a sharp smacking impact within Petulance's left armpit which her binding cruelly exposed. Noonah changed position and planted the next stroke neatly within the same hollow on the right side. Each armpit received five reasonably modest strokes as a demonstration of the versatility of whipping as a punishment. The blows left Petulance with scarlet flags flaring beneath each raised arm. Her body glistened with anguish.
Jane recognized she was suppose to feel honored that Noonah should demonstrate for her the small cruelties she had learned in the punishment of girls. Noonah's own hand now lovingly smoothed the tender skin within each tractioned thigh. Petulance stiffened and moaned, realizing what was in store. But this digital exploration of her flesh, right up from her knee to intrude within her crotch, was as lovingly performed as were those initial motions of the palm when a bent over bottom was about to be spanked.
"I mustn't strike her lips in there," Noonah mediated aloud. "The Master does not approve of whipped cunts, unless the girl she been real bad. Now I show."
Petulance bore it well, no doubt not for the first time. These were not all out blows with the full sweep of a strong arm but were short, snapping impacts beneath which the young soft flesh trembled and turned pink. Noonah had whipped to her satisfaction the first of Petulance's thighs and had changed position to give full attention to the virgin skin on the other side when a male voice intruded into the scene.
"Well, I'll be damned. This is the way you girls spend your time when a man's not around? You should be ashamed of yourselves."
It was Plumpy Plumpton.
* * *
From the beginning Plumpy Plumpton had been pure magic for Jane. His rescues of her person and their lovemaking on Thessalon had been breathtaking tales from the Arabian Nights. That Plumpy should now have an extension of his leave and should casually mention a immense bequest from an affection uncle seemed entirely in keeping. Jane Dickson accept her deliverance from bondage and Plumpy's cheerful replace of chains and rope as no more than part of a picture in which she was too happy to every believe. It was as if Plumpy was one of the god from nearby Olympus who walked among men. In his own way Plumpy captured Jane Dickson every bit as firmly as had done Sir Richard Mallory or El Carib.
On there way back from Themma, they had purchased a sizable crate full of what Plumpy laughingly called "odds and ends" to take with them on their return to Eden.
They had left Petulance behind with deep regrets. But the whipped beauty refused to leave her master. Her feelings for her master were as strong as Jane's for her Plumpy. Plumpy did not regard the things he did with and to Jane as implying slavery, captivity or imprisonment. He failed to understand how Petulance could toss freedom to the winds, especially in view of the vivid marks of Sir Richard's flagellum on her skin. The frightened maid servant who's activities he had interrupted in Sir Richard's house had offered and even implored, to join Jane in what she saw as a new and more benevolent enslavement. Surprisingly, the woman had stripped naked and leaned against the wall, her legs spread wide, and invited Plumpy to punish her for the cruelty she had inflicted on Petulance. But Plumpy wanted only his Jane and the left behind two sad and sorrowful females with which Sir Richard would undoubtedly console himself.
Thessalon would be timeless, it enfolded them as once before in the warmth of its sun, sand and the waiting yellow stone of their house. The lovers spend a lot of time in their first days of return while Plumpy hammered and drilled and chiseled to the delight and wonder of the naked and handcuffed girl who watched him work. Never had a maiden been more aware of being the beneficiary of the adoration of a man. Everything Plumpy did was designed to hold her helpless in a hundred different ways. That sent shivers of delight up and down her willingly captive spine.
There was one particular project they had talked of before. The story of Andromeda was so attuned to the ancient island and the ageless sea around them, it had been an entrancing prospect. They had giggled about it, and discussed it, and saw it primarily as the bringing to life of a legend. Using Jane, the old, old story of a maiden in distress, and the brave, strong man who delivered her from the dragon.
It demanded more labor of Plumpy. They had long since chosen the immense, flat rock facing the azure sea on which Jane must stand in all the glory of her nakedness. But there was no electric current that far from the house and it became needful for the gallant male to pound and chisel away to provide the two holes into which he would drive the metal rods and rings. When the work was done the and two shackles hung waiting from the short chains, Jane confessed to shivers along her spine and to goose-pimples on her skin. But she was thrilled to the core and wild horses would not have dragged her from her purpose. They sat a day for her ritual to give her time for the obvious apprehension which the original Andromeda must have felt. They did things right!
On the morning chosen for Jane's deliverance to the sea monster, they walked to where she would be chained by her love. She had no need to strip for she was always naked. But as she positioned herself to look up to either side to where her wrists would be manacled, she grinned at Plumpy Plumpton and said tremblingly, "Darling, I guess this is it."
With a grace to tear Plumpy's heart she raised her arms.
It was swiftly done. The main work had gone before. Plumpy reached up to snap a manacle closed upon his loved one's left wrist. Then, at a distance of thirty inches, he clasped the shackle tight beneath her willing right hand. Miss Jane Dickson was now stoutly chained to a massive rock on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea. At high tide, the waves would be lapping at her feet. But now the sands called them to play. Then had played yesterday and would play tomorrow, but most certainly not today. Experimentally, Jane tugged and twisted at the shackles holding each of her hands above her head, her judgment almost instant, "Oh, Plumpy, I can't ever get loose from these!" She paused to look fearfully out to sea. "But what if there really is a Kraken out there, waiting for me? And if there's no Kraken's any more, then something else? Oh, Plumpy, this is gorgeous!!"
They had thought it out and would take no risks. The essence of this replay was for the chained, naked girl to be left utterly alone to await the monster's emergence from the sea, probably at high tide. But they were aware of hazards and Plumpy was to hide himself somewhere out of sight to endure the frustrating vigil to insure the safety of the girl he loved. Jane would not know exactly where he was. To all intents and purposes, she would not know where he was and would savor the spine-tingling imaginings of that girl long ago.
Before he left, Plumpy asked, "Sure you can't get loose, darling?"
"A hundred horses couldn't drag me loose," she assured him. "Oh, Plumpy, this is the real thing!"
"Sure you're not going to get hysterical when I'm out of sight?"
"Don't be silly! Of course I won't."
Plumpy kissed her and went away.
Jane took a deep breath. It had just occurred to her that she would probably get very tired standing there with her hands over her head as if surrendering to an unseen enemy. But at the moment her hot blood was racing fast, her heart thudding as she looked around at her solitude. She was as isolated as if on another planet and out there was the sea, the sea from which a monster might arise.
Jane Dickson was, at her worse, a very beautiful girl. At her best she would rank among the leading beauties of the world. Against the ancient rock to which she was chained, her beauty stood out to inspire an artist, or the chivalry of a man. After the captive's first sigh and realization that this was "IT," she shifted to find what comfort there might be and to lean back against the sun-warmed rock which held her prisoner. She did a slow scan from left to right to confirm her isolation. Plumpy had vanished and, as by mutual consent, she had no idea where he might be. Once more there was a devastating thrill in knowing that without his unseen presence, her plight would be terrible indeed.
There were no Krakens and the whales and sharks and the dreaded giant squid could never reach her even at high tide. Jane admitted to herself she would be frighten silly when the water actually lapped her toes. But they had checked the charts. But another thrill took possession of her, almost a panic, when she realized the Plumpy had not told her how long she would be compelled to stand there, shackled to her rock.
The sun was warm. Jane's body was already golden from that warm sun. She was sure the sensible thing to do would be to let her arms hang limply in their bonds and allow herself to fall into a revelry of retrospect. She tried but the visions did not come, her hands, in an independence of their own, worked tirelessly against the metal bands around her wrists. Despite herself, Jane constantly and hopefully looked for some evidence of Plumpy. He had taken a telescope and would be watching her through it, and this knowledge was not conducive to quiet relaxation. Any girl chained and naked against a rock must inevitably wish to look her best when she knows she is observed. Jane had very little to tidy or rearrange, but her chains gave her ample latitude for a variety of postures which she tried out, one by one, in a search for perfection. But there was one thing she could not do, she could not turn around and she could not reach down to cover her sex. She wondered why the wish was there. It was nothing more than a silly carry-over of another time. She shrugged it off. After all there was nothing of normalcy in what she and Plumpy were doing. Resigned to wakefulness, she sardonically awaited the arrival of the dragon.
The hours drifted slowly. From time to time Jane allowed herself to wonder if Plumpy wasn't over doing this a bit, enough was enough. But she had given him carte blanche and so shrugged off the irritation as no more than her due. She had wanted to play the role of Andromeda every bit as much as Plumpy wanted her to. In the context of the Play, it was a great success. The real Andromeda, of course, had the edge, she had known for sure there was a real monster out there. Jane lacked that conviction.
Contrariwise, it was not from the blue sea that menace came instead, Jane was startled into wakefulness by the sound of footsteps, not out on the sand but from some where behind the rock to which she was chained. Someone was approaching from the direction of their home, and for certain it was not Plumpy. Jane cringed back against the rock and preyed it would not be Miss Amity Stipend.
It was not Miss Stipend, it was a young woman attired in smart beach dress, complete with handbag, who wandered into view, looking left and right uncertainly and then advancing far enough to see the chained maiden of the rock. Their exclamations were in unison.
"Oh, there you are, darling, I thought I'd never find you."
Jane gasped the single name, "Petulance!"
The laughing newcomer took a mock alarm in looking around as for an enemy. "Darling, am I in danger? Am I likely to be standing there beside you any moment?"
"Don't be silly, Plumpy did this to me, we're playing out the legend."
"Oh, the legend of Andromeda. But, darling, what are you doing for a dragon! I'm not a very good substitute for the Kraken, although I'm quite willing to eat you, but I'll just bet Plumpy's watching through a telescope."
The two girls kissed. Jane was ardently hugged and found it an unusually pleasant sensation to be in the arms of a girl she loved but to have no arms herself. Instead she intertwined Petulance's sun-tanned legs with one of her own.
"Oh, Petulance, I'm so glad it's you. But I don't understand...?"
"It's the same old story, darling. His majesty has sent me to retrieve you. It's sort of like throwing a ball for a dog, I have to go and bring it back. I've even got lovely new handcuffs and a pair of thumbcuffs, too, in my bag." Petulance tittered. "But how the devil do I undo those shackles on your wrists. Darling, anyone stealing you would have to take the rock along, too."
Jane was delighted at getting some mileage out of her legendary captivity. Mockingly she exclaimed, "I'm helpless. I'm all yours, you can do what you like with me. I'm the easiest capture you'll ever make."
"Well, it might be if it were not for this large mass of muscle I see approaching. I was right, he had a telescope."
The girls embraced again when Jane was given back her arms. No male could possibly view Petulance with disfavor, but Plumpy managed to convey his wish she had not invaded Eden. Petulance picked up his vibrations. "Yes, I know, I'm a nuisance. You've got the girl you want so you don't need me. But I suspect I need you, not to get into bed with, but just because you're a man who gets things done. Would you mind?"
They went back to the house, the monster forgotten. In the face of Petulance's animated good spirits, Plumpy began to melt. He was a one-woman man but Petulance was a dish and peeked his curiosity. He asked a few questions and awaited the true import to make its own disclosure.
"Darling Richard is really burned up about your escape. And he's made at me and Noonah, too. Seems I don't earn any credits for being well tied up so I couldn't twitch and well whipped to boot. After you left, Noonah really went to town on me. But his majesty seems to think I should have been able to verbally convince you to give up freedom. Sometimes I think the man's nuts!"
"Why don't you leave him?" Plumpy demanded bluntly. "That's a good question. Do you know what he did over being in a huff at your escape, the big brute had me whipped all over again. Then he had another servant whip Noonah and chained the two of us in a rotten little cell for the night. Next day I got this assignment." To Jane the answer was obvious. Sir Richard was a remarkable man and wonderful in bed but there are limits to what any girl can give... Or take! Without thinking twice she invited, "But Petulance, darling, you mustn't go back again, you mustn't keep giving yourself the way you have in the past. Why don't you stay here with us?" She pretended not to see Plumpy's warning glance.
Petulance sighed and seemed to visibly relax. "Could I? Oh, darling, would you really let me? I'm so damned tired."
"I can get you a ticket to where ever you came from in the USA." Plumpy's tone was not the warmest. "I can make sure you're well looked after."
"You're an absolute jewel of a man," Petulance breathed charmingly. "Would you mind if I took my clothes off, I feel so silly with Jane the way she is and me like this...?"
Petulance did not wait for a reply, she was once again animated and vivid and altogether to be desired. Plumpy and his slavegirl watched the flinging aside of clothes until their owner laughed delightedly, "Ah, that's better! That's going to be my main trouble in getting back to normal, I can't possibly wear clothes."
They found delight in her. She was one hundred percent female and willing to turn her satirical humor upon herself. She did so now. "I won't mince any words about darling Richard, I'll always be in love with him. But he wears a girl out with all these antics and all he demands of her. You can see my skin. I've been whipped to a fee-thee-well. And I never did a thing. Richard was just mad and took it out on me." She sighed and looked from one to the other of her hosts. "Look, if you're really going to help me, you'll have to treat me as a damned fool girl who doesn't know how to look after herself. That's what I am. If you don't keep me chained or tied some way, I'm going to get thinking of his majesty and go galloping back to him. Then he'll know for sure where Jane is and we'll all start back at square one. He'll probably leave very few bits of me left to whip."
Petulance was altogether appealing to resist. Even Plumpy surrendered and offered a pair of handcuffs as a sign of good will. But it appeared handcuffs were not to be enough. "Oh, Plumpy darling, that's so sweet of you, but I could walk off anytime if I were just handcuffed. You'll have to stop me from walking. Do you have a set of leg irons like Sir Richard used to keep on the Imogene?"
The magic crate, with it's cornucopia of Richard's, was once more raided and came up trumps. Jane was conscious of a twinge of jealous when the heavy bands and equally heavy links were clasp upon the ankles of a beautiful Petulance who should have been thankful to be done with such. Petulance walked up and down with the newly snubbed steps of a convict and announced herself satisfied. With the leg irons safely locked upon her ankles, she would be a visitor who had come to stay.
But when Jane and Plumpy awoke the next morning Petulance had vanished.
CHAPTER NINE - ENSLAVEMENT BY REQUEST
Petulance had gone a surprisingly long way down the path towards the village before they found her. She had contrived to cover her nakedness and was carrying her handbag. She was, in fact, much as when she had arrived the day before, expect that her ankles were heavily legironed and had prevented her completing her journey. When she heard their voices she paused in her hobbled flight to sink down in her weariness, cover her face with her hands, and burst into tears.
"You see what I'm like!" she wailed unhappily. "I'm not to be trusted, I'm ridiculous. Don't ever trust me."
"But, darling, why?" Jane was concerned and Plumpy was reserving judgment. "What on earth have you walked all this way with your feet shackled. You must have been going all night."
"I'm a psychopathic case, you've read about them." The girl with the chained feet sniffed unhappily. "I'm the same as the wife who gets beaten up every day but goes back for more. After you had gone to bed I got to thinking about dear Richard and here's the result. I'm terrible sorry. I deserve to be beaten."
Plumpy unlocked the leg irons. His manner was very much "I told you so." He forgot Jane's absorption with himself in judging Petulance's dedication to Sir Richard Mallory. But Jane was female and aware of the weaknesses of girls. With surprising authority she demanded, "Unlock her handcuffs, Plumpy, take the poor darling back home."
For the weeping Petulance her journey back to benevolent captivity was far swifter than her flight. She allowed herself to be led back along the path she had so painfully traversed and if Plumpy's grasp upon her arm was harder than need be, she did not complain. Petulance was in a masochistic welter of accusation and much torn between hatred and love for the one-time owner of the Imogene. All the way back to the house she contented herself with sniffles and sighs. Immediately back, she flung away her clothes as if they were anathema to demand, "I wish you'd whip me. I don't know what else will get me out this damned fool state of mind."
"Not a bad idea," Plumpy agreed, dourly.
"Of course we won't whip you darling." Jane's assurance was firm. "I know just how you feel. All the time I was away from Plumpy I felt just like that. Sir Richard is a charmer, no one can blame you."
"But he's worn me out." Petulance cried. "But I know he's out there waiting for me to come back and to bring you back, too. Oh, Jane, I feel such a spineless idiot."
"Well, anyway we can certainly fix you up so you'll never get away again," Jane offered cheerfully, "but is that enough. You trouble is in your mind, isn't it?"
"Oh, sure, a mental problem. I've got the female disease, I'm in love. But I'm in love with an absolute bastard of a man. Just imagine me coming here with the idea of me dragging you back to him in chains! That's what he wanted. It's what he still wants, he's got the hots for you, Jane, don't every doubt it. Look, you two darlings, there's only one cure for this state of mind and that's to inflict another distress to counter what ails me. I wasn't fooling when I asked you to whip me. At least while you're whipping I'll be thinking of the whip and not of Richard. Maybe the effect will last a while. But anyway you absolutely must keep me tied or chain some way so I can't go trotting off to my Master."
The disturbed girl looked up at them wide-eyed, "Pleaseeeee... "
"Damn good idea," said Plumpy with male decision. "I'm not going to whip you, you feminine idiot. But Jane certainly can and I'm going to tell her to."
The feminine idiot sniffed gratefully and said a pale, weak, "Thank you, Plumpy," as if receiving a gift of great price. Jane was about to break out in a tirade of accusation against her master. She felt only sympathy for Petulance, knowing how she felt and the compulsions on her.
"Don't be a brute, Plumpy," she admonished severely. "The poor darling doesn't know what she's saying. Look, let's all have breakfast, then we'll feel better and can talk about this rationally. Come along."
They came, suddenly hungry, and Petulance dived into the preparations of the meal, quite obviously in need of using the freedom of her limbs. Mostly they ate and drank in silence until Plumpy, still dour and uncompromising, asserted, "You can twist Jane around your little finger, but you can't twist me. I think you had a damned good idea. What you need first of all is a good thrashing to knock some sense into your pretty head. Then you'll have to make up your mind. Either you'll want to be our prisoner or you'll want to go back and get another thrashing from your wonderful Sir Richard." He looked across the table severely and demandingly, "So, okay, which is it going to be? If you decide to stay here, I'll whip you until you howl." He turned his harsh look upon a suddenly quaking Jane, "And I'm not a bit sure I shouldn't whip you, too. I'm not a damned bit sure you're not also in love with that damned ridiculous imposture. Sir Richard, as Petulance. Make up your minds!"
At that moment Jane adored him more than she had ever done. His masculinity and gorgeous decision made her utterly his. Petulance had been stupid and was likely to continue to be stupid, so maybe the male decision to whip her into common sense might not be a bad idea. In a swift return to her normal adoration of her giant master, she said humbly, "All right, Plumpy, us girls won't say a word. Whip Petulance, and I think maybe you should maybe whip me, too. Don't ever let me get out of line, don't ever let me be assertive or take sides against you. Darling, you're the boss!"
In as positive avalanche of self-negation, Petulance tossed into the ring her own vow, "She's right, you know Plumpy, darling Jane has got it all figured out. We, both of us, should get whipped and this will get all three of us off to a fresh start." She gazed at The Master soulfully. "But please don't send me away, keep me here a prisoner. It's easy done with a bit of chain and a padlock, or maybe just handcuffs if their attached to something." She gave The Master the full benefit of her wide-eyed feminine appeal, "Pleaseeee...?"
It might be unkind to say Plumpy was feeling his oats, but his sudden flood of feminine obedience and compliance to his will was heady stuff. Before his own resolution could dissolve, he locked the two girls ankle to ankle with the shackles and told them to do the dishes and clear the table before they both got the whipping of their lives. He got the distinct impression neither maiden was too unhappy with his dictates.
Jane was ecstatic. Plumpy was always so absolutely right. She did not care whether he or Petulance whipped her but she was quite certain that after it was all over she would be taken to his bed and greatly loved with all the skill her master possessed. She wondered about Petulance. Would Petulance get ravished in the same way? And would she be first or simply afterwards. Jane began to wish Petulance was somewhere else. But, in that case, of course none of this would be happening. It was terribly complicated. She hoped Plumpy would whip her real hard so she screamed and begged forgiveness for a sin called Love.
Plumpy had long since insured the presence of rings at convenient distances. In the ancient yellow house he had made his home there was ring for every purpose a girl might desire or might, conversely, fear. It seemed appropriate to punish Petulance first, so Petulance was stripped, her wrists neatly and painstakingly bound at each end of a hardwood bar and then every particle of Petulance raised from the floor until her seeking toes could find no piece of floor. She was suspended, totally nude, ready for the whip. When the handle of the wicked thong was offered to Jane she pleaded.
"Plumpy, don't make me, I simply can't."
"If I do it, she'll get whipped a lot harder," Plumpy promised. "You'll be a lot kinder if you do it yourself. I'll be watching but I'll let you cheat a little. I know how you girls are."
"Please, darling, I want you to," came the unexpected voice broke in on Jane's dilemma. "Plumpy's right, you know, you won't whip me half as hard as he would. Please, darling, I want you to."
Jane knew herself lost. She would be both executioner and the condemned, she would whip and be whipped. How strange were these convolutions of her love! She took the whip from Plumpy's hand and said no more.
Petulance was by no means passive, suspension was a punishment in itself and she was fully suspended with all the attendant pains and agonies. When she spoke she did so gaspingly as her bare breasts rose and fell in agitation.
Grasping at any excuse for delay, Jane demanded, "Plumpy, you don't have to have her hung up like that. Please lower her feet to the floor so she can stand properly."
"You're pushing you luck, sweetheart."
"Well, if it means that much to you, Plumpy, leave me the way I am. Jane's just trying to be kind."
Plumpy did not reply but he allowed the lovely nakedness to sink the necessary inches to place the soles of her feet solidly upon the rug. The rest of her remained stretched but with the option of easing the stress upon her wrists by rising up on her toes. It was definitely better than suspension but carried frustrations of its own. Plumpy was well aware he would have to watch these two girls or he would find himself being "managed" and lose the initiative. He understood Petulance's need to be whipped but also realized he was doing something at her will and not his own. He also knew that if Jane should prove too kind and softhearted in her application of the whip upon Petulance's behind, he would have to take the whip himself and use it with the proper vigor. He was attracted to Petulance as with any petty girl but devoutly wished she had not invaded their island paradise. He was now resigned to her presence and had decided the best would be to keep her well chained somewhere out of sight to enable he and his beloved Jane to resume their idyllic communion.
Petulance's, "Thank you, Plumpy," was most sincere. She tested this new but very limited freedom which still exposed her cruelly to the whip. Looking around a raised, bare arm she implored, "Darling, do start whipping me. Let's get it over with, do it properly. Don't dither and don't be too softhearted. And don't worry if I scream, I always scream when I'm whipped."
It was as though Petulance wished to disprove her own statement. She did not scream. Jane, fully conscious of Plumpy's watching eyes, marked the lovely skin more vividly than she had intended. She cut and cut again to cause the scarlet lines to flower across the exposed back of the girl she loved. In wonder, she heard no sound or protest. Petulance was coping with her pain by the convolutions of tensing her naked beauty and kicking with the legs Plumpy had not bothered to tie. She kicked without aim or purpose other than to vent the swift, sure agonies she had asked for. As the vivid red line after line appeared on her skin, her breasts heaved more and more as she gasped instinctively beneath each blow. But Petulance did not scream, it was as if she had made a vow with herself to bear this lashing in stoic, icy silence. Even when the protective instinct prompted her to raise by her bound wrists and thus suspend herself to flail her feet, she managed to contain her scream.
Jane was both proud and guilty of her ability to whip this lovely girl. No one else could possibly understand, but since the three of them knew the reasons, it did not matter. But after she had etched the twelfth stroke squarely across the round bottom to lap one hip, she dropped the whip and clasp the sweating agony of Petulance's slenderness in loving arms to kiss and be kissed, entirely forgetting the watching male. The two girls frictioned their breasts, their bellies and the female mounds within their crotch. Soon Jane was glistening with Petulance's sweat as though she, herself, had taken the whip. Gradually she broke the union of hot lips, and pleaded, "Plumpy, she's had enough. Please don't tell me to whip her any more."
The giant, good-natured male did not answer but watched his two women in their impassioned communion of the flesh. They were very beautiful and Plumpy momentarily toyed with the idea of keeping Petulance a permanent prisoner as a foil for Jane. But what was the use when they all knew this holiday must end with his return to Washington. He supposed he would marry Jane and they would settle to the roving life permitted by the Agency. It seemed impossible! His voice brought to an end the fervid frictioning of female skin and hard, huge nipples.
"You will continue to whip Petulance, Jane. Don't you dare stop. First thing now, make her separate her legs and then you use the whip well up between." He allowed a brief pause for the two of them to absorb the shock of his command before adding, "Do it!"
Jane backed away and picked up the whip as she had been told. In her ear there echoed Petulance's urgent whisper before their parting, "You must, you must! Don't spoil it now by getting him angry."
It was as if Jane whipped herself, feeling the agony of each upward stroke into the most female cleft of a girl's nakedness When the stroke entered and impacted within the special place the tip of it lapped up to snap its final message upon a female belly taut in expectation of its kiss. At the end of ten such strokes she pleaded, "Plumpy, please let me go back to whipping her somewhere else Pleaseeeee...?"
"You can stop altogether now," Plumpy said unexpectedly and in a tone cheerful in reassurance. "I think what you've done just about fills the bill. But if Petulance wants you to carry on, go right ahead... "
"I think I've had enough for now," Petulance offered in a pale, uncertain voice. Then she added a reassurance of her own, "If this doesn't make me sensible, you can always whip me again. Thank you both very much for whipping me now."
The moment was almost too beautiful to bear. Once again the bound slenderness was clasped and kissed. Even Plumpy imposed his own salute to courage by kissing first the pouting lips and then a single pouting nipple. Before he touched the button to lower the raised, bound arms, the tears Petulance had failed to shed while being whipped came now in floods. And, again, unexpectedly it was Plumpy who gathered her to himself and gently patted the whipped back and even the wealed bottom to make its owner winch and press damp cheeks harder against his chest. About the time Jane was feeling he was overdoing his act, he trust Petulance from him and return full attention to she who had held the whip.
"That's enough whipping for today. You don't still have that fool idea about me whipping you, do you pet?"
Jane did not want to be whipped. Her whole being was still tingling from her vicarious sharing of Petulance's pain. Even though it might be Petulance who flailed her flesh, her enthusiasm for the nobility of sharing had sadly waned. Plumpy was always so wonderfully right, and he had guessed the change in her feelings. But, on the other hand, Jane had a feminine sensitivity to feeling and was positive she would fall in esteem of these two people she so deeply loved if she allowed herself to be so easily talked out of a punishment which only a little time back had seemed so logical and much to be desired. Before she could weaken further she said, stoutly, "No, I made a deal and I'll stick to it. One of you has to whip me. Don't try and talk me out of it." They surveyed Jane like parents with a problem child. Petulance was still dabbing at wet cheeks when she was not tenderly feeling her wealed bottom. It was Plumpy who spoke. "All right, love, if that's the way you want it. It's Petulance who will have to whip you, of course, I won't." He turned to the girl already whipped, "You will whip Jane, won't you?"
"I suppose I have to," Petulance conceded in a voice still wan and pale. She fixed the determined Jane with a hopeful eye. "I wish you'd say you didn't want to be whipped. I'm sure Plumpy wouldn't mind and I'm damned sure I wouldn't mind. I want to whip you about as much as I want to be whipped again myself, right now. Darling, nobody's twisting your arm."
"Yes, they are and they're twisting it in the wrong direction," Jane said decisively. "Stop quibbling. Whip me." She contrived laughter. "If you whip me the way I whipped you, we'll be a perfect match."
"Well, Jane, you're not going to be whipped her the same as Petulance," Plumpy affirmed with equal decision. "Enough is enough and you'll get your whipping somewhere else. Let's go have coffee and decide where and how you'll get it."
Capriciously Plumpy ordered Petulance to cross her wrists behind her back, then tied them tight with unkind cord and strict severity. It was therefore Jane who made the coffee and carried it to their favorite tree in the garden of the house. She and Plumpy took turns holding the steaming cup to the willing lips of the whipped girl who's skin was becoming marked more and more vividly in the sun. It was Petulance who now affirmed, "This is all my fault, everything's my fault. I should have gone back to darling Richard and told him I couldn't find Jane. I expect he would punish me but that would be the end of that. Until next time. I'm afraid with Richard there's always a next time. He never forgets something he desires." She gazed at Plumpy. "Why haven't you ironed my feet again? Tied wrists won't stop me."
"No, but those marks on your skin sure will." Plumpy said. "Those whip marks are an admission you found us. They'll keep you here much more firmly than leg irons."
"No they won't!" Petulance was once more firm. "I wouldn't go back to him now if you paid me but tomorrow will probably be different. You absolutely mustn't trust me, not ever. Promise?"
"Oh, all right." Plumpy was the lordly male, pandering to feminine absurdities. "You wait until this evening, young lady, I'll chain you up like you wouldn't believe."
"Don't pay any attention to him," Jane advised, giving her master a sharp glance. "We'll look after you."
"But from now on, you'll be a prisoner and not a guest," Plumpy warned.
Petulance was not disposed to argue. She was now feeling a comforting warmth from the weals which only a short time past had been hurting her cruelly. This was the happy aftermath to punishment and a pair of hands tied tight behind her back was a small price to pay for sharing this island fantasy. Petulance refused to think of the future, refused to wonder if she ever could or would return to Sir Richard. When the Thessalon holiday was over, she supposed she would drift back to the USA with this darling pair and resume her life where Sir Richard had interrupted it by kidnapping her to make her one of his harem aboard the Imogene. She shook away the past and gratefully sipped the coffee held to her lips. She supposed she was a very lucky girl but wished she felt happier about her fortune.
It was Plumpy who had the inspiration. He said, "I've thought of the ideal place to fix you to be whipped, Jane my sweet. How about the Andromeda Rock. It's still there and so are the shackles. If the monster's watching from some place way out there, he'll probably get a hard-on."
"Don't be vulgar," Jane giggled. "I think it's an absolutely super idea. We might as well get some value out of those shackles after all the work you put getting them solidly fixed. When does the big event take place?"
"How about right after you wash these cups and saucers?"
The thrill was back again the and the hot loins with their demand for pain and pleasure. Jane washed and dried the three cups in an absolute dither of lust. She had forgotten all about Petulance and everything previously said. All she was aware of was the knowledge that soon she would be whipped and be forced to stand nakedly as blow after blow cut at the skin in the same way as she had cut at Petulance. With that overwhelming desire all else was blotted from her mind.
The three of them chatted away happily in their short journey to what Jane had come to name "The Place of Execution." It was a very beautiful place, the sun lighting and glinting from the placid Sea, the murmur of waves upon the sand, the sand itself warm against bare feet. Once again there was the flash of fire within her belly as Jane beheld the hanging shackles that would soon hold her wrists prisoner.
"Andromeda never had it this good," said Plumpy affectionately. "How you feeling, love, scared?"
The flashes of internal fire were constant now as Jane faced the rock and lifted, first one hand and then the other, to receive the tight clasp of metal bands and the restraint of links. She was about to laugh and say she was the wrong way around but suddenly realized this was not true. She was not to be whipped upon her front but upon her back. It was then she noticed something else as she laughed back above a raised arm -- they had forgotten the whip.
"No, we didn't forget it, darling," Plumpy assured here. "We're not going to use it on you for quite a while yet. You didn't finish your time against he rock, but you're going to now. If you see any monsters, just shout, it's barely possible we might here you." He pulled her hair back to bend and kiss her lips, then took Petulance by one bare arm and led her back towards the house. The chained sacrifice to the Sea and whatever it might hold stood in her chains and watched the man she loved walk away with a hand clutching a beautiful naked girl who had no choice but to accompany him to where ever he was going. Neither turned to look for a final look or a final wave of a loving hand. They stepped out as if with firm purpose and positive intent. Soon they had rounded the rock and were lost to sight. Jane stamped her foot and tugged at chained wrists in an admission this was not the way she had planned it. She had planned to be the center of attraction and the brave little martyr accepting the markings of the whip. To be abandoned thus in a vacuum while her beloved giant took a beautiful naked girl to some private place where, no doubt, they would happily amuse themselves while she was forced to stand and wait for something to happen -- that was a bit too much. Hopefully their early return would save her but Jane knew this improbable.
The prisoner of the rock felt betrayed. She had anticipated a short, sharp whipping followed by loving hands and loving lips as it had been with Petulance. She had not thought of jealousy but did so now. The green-eyed monster was far more real and far more alarming then the sudden appearance of a real monster from the waves. True, Petulance's hands were bound behind her back but could be easily untied should Plumpy desire to use her for the inevitable act. But Jane's concern was heightened by realization of how conveniently a girl could be ravished with her hand thus bound, you simply put your forearm beneath the small of your back and let nature take its course. Plumpy had done exactly that to her a number of times. Besides a man of Plumpy's strength could easily lift the naked Petulance, arms bound behind her and all, and lower her upon his upward thrusting rod, an effort she was sure Petulance would be happy to aid in. The image of that form of sexual intercourse danced before Jane's mind and she could almost hear the grunts and moans of pleasure. But this was crazy, it had to be crazy! Plumpy would most likely tie Petulance in some convenient manner to hinder her from straying and go read a book. Jane felt she should be ashamed of herself and undoubted deserved the whipping she would get for thinking evil thoughts of those she loved.
But the mind is a fertile field for panic, and to be helplessly shackled to a rock was doubly perturbing. It was then Jane became aware of the unkindest cut of all. She was chained so she had no choice but to stare at the rock a few inches from her face. It would not have hurt them to have granted her a view while she awaited their convenience or more correctly waited out what she now saw as part of her punishment. It was not a continuation of that former time which had been interrupted by Petulance's arrival. They were just being mean and did not need to leave her like this at all. Jane's disturbed mind pictured Plumpy and Petulance having the time of their lives while she stood naked, shackled, and nothing else in view but the Andromeda Rock. She knew it would not be long before she began looking apprehensively over raised arms for the unlikely coming of a monster from the deep or the more probable sight of an approaching boat. Either one would be disastrous.
Jane knew perfectly well that to scream would be a waste of effort in spite of Plumpy cheerful assurance of help. She knew herself helpless, naked, and totally isolated from the world. The rock owned her. It's bulk was constantly before her eyes very much as was the wall for a delinquent child standing in the corner. That she had invited this punishment and accepted it in complete good will in no way lessened her frustration with her present plight. No one had said a word about chaining her to the rock and just leaving her there. It wasn't fair!
Jane Dickson whiled away the first half hour of this new captivity by playing with the shackles that held her arms above her head. She deplored their captivity while at the same time admiring the snugness of the fit of the shinning metal bands which would keep her where she stood for as long as Plumpy willed. Sulkily, she now felt certain Petulance would be persuading their Master to leave her chained thus all through the night while they enjoyed a pleasant romp on the bed. This, too, was fantasy, but it did nothing to ease her mind or the stress of holding her arms above her head. It was a situation in which a girl longed to beat her fists against some surface and stamp her feet. But it would be unwise to beat her fists against the Andromeda Rock or to pound her feet against the sand which might hold stones. Jane did as all prisoners do sooner or later, she sat her frustrations aside, leaned her head against a shackled arm and tried to sleep. The Grecian sun aided her efforts as she surrendered to a pleasant dreaminess, uncaring of anything except the certainty that Plumpy would return sooner or later. She dozed intermittently, awaking only when her knees buckled to cast her weight upon her wrists. She felt certain she had got rid of an hour or two of this irritating punishment and was about to close her eyes again for another hour or two of snooze.
It was then she heard footsteps.
* * *
Miss Amity Stipend had smarted under her first defeat but, refreshed by meditation and consultation with her superior on the adjoining island, she returned to the fray more determined than ever to rid Thessalon of those who ruined its solitude by being happy and in love. Miss Stipend had never been either and found these emotions difficult to understand. Undoubtedly they came from Satin himself.
Beholding the shackled prisoner of the Andromeda Rock she emitted an exclamation of delight and exchanged the considerable weight of the bag she carried from one hand to the other, her voice was the cry of a crusader sighting its prey. "They were in the house but refused to answer my knock," she informed in triumph. "But I was certain I would find something disgraceful on the beach. There is something about beaches that affects the young -- but never mind that. You appear to be incorrigible and I have brought with me what I consider necessary to cleanse you of Sin. I hope you are prepared for judgment."
The captive of the rock groaned. Miss Stipend was exactly what she did not need. At their previous meeting she had had he protection of Plumpy but now she was terribly alone. Realization was instant, she was totally at the mercy of this absurd spinster who probably needed the attentions of a rough and primitive male. Wearily she said what she had said before, "Please go away, this is no affair of your. I am here because I want to be here. Just leave us alone."
Miss Stipend sniffed disdainfully. "If you are here by your own wish it makes your situation more reprehensible. I am aware that your male consort has acquired a second female to appease his carnal appetite. They are in the house now, no doubt chuckling about my having walked away in seeming defeat. They did not see me take the other path which brought me here.
"I have decided to begin by thrashing you."
Jane Dickson cringed. It was bad news on top of a mind already overloaded with apprehension. And it was so damned unfair! Along with all else she felt uncertain of this vitriolic spinster's knowledge of pain and how to inflict it. Jane Dickson had a flashing vision of herself hanging unconscious in her chains, her back bleeding, her screams unheard and unheeded.
"You're English, aren't you? And I thought the English always played fair," she accused anxiously. "If you whip me while I'm like this, you're taking a mean and unfair advantage of my helplessness. You ought to be ashamed."
Miss Stipend laid upon the sand the carpet bag she had carried and from which protruded two ends of what was obviously birch strips. She picked up one strip and, with intense satisfaction, swished it dramatically to cut the air and produce a whine. "Yes, I am English. And I have here an English birch such as was used on harlots and trollops upon Tripend Hill a century or two ago. It was a punishment which should never have been discontinued. I will use it now to bring you back into the fold or repentance and the renouncement of lust. I trust you understand?"
Jane understood all too well. Never had she felt naked or more securely shackled. She knew herself at the mercy of one of these unbalanced creatures so often seen upon television espousing the cause of birds and animals but only rarely championing the cause of mankind. Miss Stipend was most definitely for any cause which could not reject her harsh benevolence. Miss Jane Dickson was obviously made to order for her purpose, Miss Stipend almost licked her lips.
Miss Jane Dickson was painfully of having nothing going in her favor. Even to speak to this creature meant striving to look rearward over a bare arm while at the same time presenting an equally bare back and bottom who was thoughtfully playing with a wicked looking birch which had obviously been steeped in substances to prolong its effectiveness and insure its maximum deliverance of pain. Jane shifted uneasily, knowing her only weapon of defense was her tongue.
"But you're prejudging me. You condemn me without a trial. And that awful thing you're holding shouldn't be used on a girl, it was discontinued over a century ago. Look, Miss Stipend, I haven't done a single thing that's wrong."
"You have passively submitted yourself to that bondage which holds you now." The spinster's voice was jubilant. "I am quite sure the other young woman back in the house with that dreadful young man is, in some way, equally secured. For you information, I have done some research in the matter of this confinement of girls. It appears there is an underground movement around the world which is the described by those who commercialize it as 'B&D.' I understand this means 'Bondage and Discipline.' It is most appropriate. You are in bondage and I will provide the discipline. You will be a better young woman as a result. Never fear that I will not in some way contrive to inflict retribution and bring about repentance upon that other maiden who follows you deplorably path. I will now explore your nakedness."
"What on earth for?"
The shackled maiden was instantly alert. To be whipped was one thing. To be fingered and mauled was something again. Jane's retort was instinctive, "Keep away from me. I don't want to be touched. There's nothing to be explored. Don't you know what a girl is? Didn't you ever look in a mirror when you were young?"
"I would never have indulged such an indecency. Now hold still while I feel your breasts. The examination is entirely clinical and will form a part of the paper which I am preparing for The Society. If you are without guilt, you have nothing to fear."
Jane knew she had the birch to be afraid of but Miss Stipend had placed it back in her bag to free both of her bony hands. Jane stood still because she had no choice and because, while Miss Stipend was thus engaged, the birch was delayed. It was not until Miss Stipend had placed a firm clutch upon each of her breasts and their rigid nipples that the captive girl picked up what she had previously missed. Miss Stipend was emitting an unmistakable odor of sexuality aroused. In some girls it was pure perfume but with this unhappy spinster it was as sour as' her nature itself.
"My, my, how beautifully firm they are! And the nipples so erect! They would show well above the proper corset. Have you ever worn a corset, my dear?"
Jane tried hard not to breath too deeply of Miss Stipend's scent. She said, no, she had never considered the wearing of a corset.
"You have almost no waist, my dear. You have a remarkable figure which, if properly gowned and controlled, would gain you entry into the highest circles. You are wasting yourself with this young man upon this tiny island. And now, if you will allow me... " Jane supposed she could kick back and perhaps strike a bony shin. But retribution would be instant and she had nothing to lose by Miss Stipend's right hand tracing a pathway upon her skin towards her thighs. When the spinster's fingers furrowed her pubic hair Jane became aware of the accelerated breathing of their owner and of her own quickening pulse. When the spinster grip firmly encompassed her youthful venus mound, Jane managed to say, "Do you call this sort of thing decent? I associate it only with what you call the lower classes."
"You smell divine, dear child. Please don't complain, this is proving most interesting. The paper I intend to read at the next meeting will create a furor. Do your nipples always respond like this?"
"Yes." The response was grudging.
"You are really a most charming child, it is a pity you have fallen upon evil ways. Is my clutch upon your vulva creating carnal response, my dear?"
Jane saw the "my dear" and the "dear child" as a definite improvement in relations. Perhaps by being a sweet and obedient little girl and correctly answering all questions, she might avoid the birch. At least she could try. Bravely she lied, "Your hands are really wonderful, Miss Stipend, you are making me so happy."
If Miss Stipend's female odor had been strong before, it was doubly strong now. True it was somewhat modified by a heavy infusion of moth balls, but Jane took it in stride and ventured, "Wouldn't it be nice if you could free my wrist, Miss Stipend? I would do whatever you want and be ever so obedient. I'm sorry I'm so helpless the way I am."
"It does not matter, dear," said Miss Stipend soothingly. "There is only your anal passage left for me to enter. Then I will be free to administer a truly magnificent thrashing to leave you a better and wiser girl. I'm really very pleased with your responses, my hand became extremely wet from your sex, and now your anal passage appears well lubricated. You appear a healthy girl, well able to take severe punishment. You do understand what I'm saying, I hope?"
Jane Dickson understood all too well. It was quite possible the indignities and humiliations she was now suffering might form the nucleus for some academic thesis to be read before a gathering of old trouts similar to this woman who now held her. Jane swallowed pride to say, with deep humility, "Of course I understand. Miss Stipend. I am so glad to have been of help to you."
In spite of female odors, Jane was now convinced of the spinster's sincerity in exploring something denied in her youth. Wanly she asked, "I think you've examined me marvelously and you've made me respond in all the ways you've read about. But please, let me ask for mercy. Please don't use that birch upon my naked skin."
"Of course I will use it, dear child, don't be silly. I will deny you nothing."
"Perhaps not too hard. Miss Stipend...?"
"As hard as I deem deserved. In your case it will be very hard indeed. You have been very deeply into Sin and contaminated by the Male. It is my intention expunge his malign influence."
"But wouldn't you rather explore me a little more," Jane asked hopefully. "I think my nipples can grow harder and bigger than they are. And in my lips below I'm pretty sure I can get a lot wetter."
"I am well satisfied, dear child. Part of my work is now completed. We now move on to the more important phase by which you will be saved from Satin. You are positive you cannot free yourself?"
"Yes, I am positive." Jane wanted to cry but knew that she would soon scream instead. Miss Stipend was an irresistible Force and was likely to work her will on Jane's nudity regardless of humility and obedience. Miserably the shackled girl wondered if this absurd woman had read too much of B&D and taken it to heart. If she was to experiment with this birching of a girl, Jane knew herself in for a bad, bad time. She longed for Plumpy with all her heart. If only he would appear now to rescue her, she would never speak of Petulance again.
"We may as well get on with this little matter." Miss Stipend's voice had taken on a fresh, vibrant tone. "I must say, I am looking forward to what, for me, is a new experience. That, at the same time, I induce you to repentance is something for which we can both be deeply thankful. Prepare yourself for pain and should you wish time for a short prayer, I shall be happy to grant it."
Jane said nothing. She stood, passive in her chains, but dared to take a brief scared look back over her shoulder to behold the formidable spinster playing lovingly with the birch and judging distance with a shrewd eye. With a sob of total frustration, the girl about to be whipped turned her face to the rock.
The birch was a new and demeaning pain. It lacked the sure, swift cut of the thong or the scolding bum of the strap. It had, however, a cruelty all its own The wands from which it had been made had not been peeled but still possessed the rough, knotty surface of a switch recently cut from the tree. Jane gasped as it swished across her naked shoulders with a brutal sound of impact to excoriate the virgin skin and leave small bruises and here and there a spot of blood. Jane stood trembling in shock, her fists clenched against the metal bands. She tried to equate the birch with any other instrument by which she had been whipped but it was in a class all by itself, its limberness cunningly enhanced by modern skills. This time it swept across both cheeks of her bottom to make her yelp in both anger and anguish, and to kick vainly with a foot she could not use.
"Most excellent implement." Miss Stipend almost gloated. "It marks you wonderfully and the little spots of blood are a mere nothing considering your crime."
As the forth stroke burned its fiery way across her back Jane screamed. She could think of nothing else to do. She could not reason with this absurd woman nor protest innocence for she was certainly guilty of the sins in Miss Stipend's mind. Screaming the only thing left and Jane gave it everything she had. It was such a shrill and heartbroken peal of anguish that even Miss Stipend was impress and, for the moment, suspended her birching of Jane's nakedness.
"Come now, Miss Dickson, surely there is no need for such a noise. If you had any pride you would accept this punishment in silence."
Jane screamed again and then once more. She was finding these vocal expressions of agony satisfying, and if they annoyed Miss Stipend, so much the better. Dolefully, she realized screams were all she had.
"Since you insist upon these terrible sounds I will lay on the birch more severely. I am surprised at you, Miss Dickson, I really am. Prepare yourself for more vigorous strokes."
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
It was Plumpy's voice and Plumpy sounded mad. Jane's whole being flooded with thankfulness as she backed from the rough surface of the Andromeda Rock against which she had flattened herself in useless flight from the birch.
She could not turn, but peeked back joyously beneath a raised arm. Plumpy was standing belligerent and as massive as the rock itself, glowering in menace at a flustered Miss Stipend who stood flushed and uncertain and holding the incriminating birch. Petulance stood behind her .master, obviously enjoying Miss Stipend's disarray. She turned to her shackled fellow prisoner and gave a broad wink. Petulance's hands were still tied behind her back.
"How dare you interfere, Sir. Please go away. You are interfering with the course of Justice." Miss Stipend was breathing hard but prepared to fight to the last. Plumpy did not go away. He grasped the birch from angry female hands, put it in the bag and handed the bag to its owner. "It's you who are going to leave. Miss Stipend," he said easily. "I should put you where Jane is now and give you the thrashing of your life. It would probably do you good. If you bother us again, I will be sorely tempted."
Miss Stipend snorted angrily, her flush deepened and she exuded hostility in waves. The sad, frustrated spinster looked from one to another of the three pairs of eyes which return her gaze without affection or sympathy. She snorted once again, stamped her foot in vexation, and headed for the path back to the village.
"You haven't heard the last of me," she spat at Plumpy as she passed his massive height. "Further action will be taken."
They watched her go, a serpent expelled from Eden. But she had shadowed the sun and tainted the air. Jane was certain she could still smell moth balls and acid sweat. But she was soon too busy being kissed by her master and kissed by a Petulance who had no hands. When the endearments were exhausted, Jane asked timidly, "Aren't you going to unlock me? I'm tired of standing with my hands up in the air."
"Of course not!" Plumpy feigned surprise. "Seems to me you had asked to be punished and this was just the preliminary, the main event is still to come."
"Oh, Plumpy, don't be mean!" Petulance was sending out waves of sympathy to the shackled Jane. "Don't you see she's been whipped already with the horrid birch thing. And I'll bet that woman frightened her to death. She's had enough, please let her loose." Plumpy turned, deliberately slowly, "How would you like to stand where Jane is through the dark tonight, my pretty?"
"I wouldn't. No girl would. And anyway it's got nothing to do with letting Jane loose."
"It has everything to do with it. If you don't keep those pretty lips under control I'll put a gag in them while I give Jane what she asked for, a damned good whipping." Plumpy paused as if having given a speech. "How does that grab you?"
Petulance look daggers at her master but shrugged herself into silence. She watched him run assessing fingers up and down the birched back of the girl she loved. "Looks bad," he said, "but its superficial. If it weren't for the little bruises that fool birch thing left, it wouldn't hurt at all."
"But isn't there a lot of blood?" Jane inquired anxiously. "Miss Stipend said there was and it sort of feels... "
"Just a spot here and there, love. I'll wipe it away, it doesn't amount to anything and certainly won't hinder your getting what you asked for."
"I wish you wouldn't harp on my asking to be whipped," Jane protested. "I wish I'd kept quiet about it. And don't think I don't know what you're doing. You're tying to salve your conscious. If you actually are going to whip me, you don't want to feel guilty about it."
"Nice bit of analysis, honeybunch. Now we'll get on to the real thing. Petulance and I were coming to whip you when we heard your screams. See I've brought it along."
Jane had indeed seen the snake-like object but had hoped Plumpy carried it only for effect. She sniffed disdainfully only to retort, "Very well, since I have nothing to say about it, you might as well get on with it. I'll try not to scream."
"Would you like to be gagged, sweetheart?"
"You know what you can do with your gag, Plumpy," Plumpy knew! He wadded the rag to fill Jane's mouth then bound it tight with a strip of cord. She could make some sounds but nothing equal her efforts with the departed spinster. But she did stamp a bare foot in the same vexation as had Miss Stipend when she left. Jane had also had all types of sarcastic and cutting things to say but could not utter a word. Once more she looked back in apprehension to observe Plumpy run the wicked thong through ideal fingers in preparation for the first stroke across the already marked skin of his beloved.
But this was different. Jane did not know if it was better or worse than the birch or how severely the lash was stroked across her skin. All she knew was the sudden burst of flame in her belly and the sudden burst of sexual desire beyond bearing. She surrendered eagerly to the flowering orgasm as Plumpy's whip snapped and slapped across the twist rounds of her derriere. Against this glorious incandescence of being whipped by the man she loved the thong was powerless. As Jane delivered herself utterly to the glory of such divergent sensations she remembered a single picture in her mind's eye.
The hands of Petulance were still tied behind her back.
CHAPTER TEN - PETULANCE
They were tremendously kind. Jane and I were jealous of each other but that couldn't be helped with such a gorgeous hunk of man such as Plumpy constantly in view. Jane was his girl and we both knew it, but whether I liked it or not I was very much a part of the trio. Plumpy loved and punished us both with as much impartiality as any male could contrive against our feminine caprice. Sometimes I felt a real bitch for intruding into the Eden they had made for themselves on Thessalon. It was that way I felt when Jane was whipped.
I'm not sure I can explain Jane wanted to be whipped, except that in her place I would have asked the same thing. She felt she owed it to me. And, because she and Plumpy loved each other, the greatest agony she would suffer from the punishment was a raging fire in her belly, feeding upon her desire for the man who whipped her flesh. I guess this is all a bit nuts but, standing and watching as Plumpy told me to, I felt pretty much the same sensations. It was only a little while since Plumpy had whipped me and my fire was still burning bright inside my sex. If no one had watched, I would have played with myself to find relief. But how could I with my hands tied tight behind my back!
Plumpy is so shockingly potent! After we had shackled darling Jane to the Andromeda Rock he led me back to the house, laid my on the ground beneath the tree in the garden, then, with my wrists hurting and a forearm twisted behind my back, had ravished me in the beautiful way only he knows how. While he was doing it to me I had no thought of poor Jane, or of guilt, or of anything except worship for the man who was thrusting into me with such force, but after it was over, after a long, long while, the guilt crept back and I knew I should leave these two along and go my way. My trouble was I would have gone straight back to darling Richard.
Sir Richard Mallory and Plumpy Plumpton were miles apart, different animals all together. But darling Richard had me so much enthralled, I knew I'd go back to him in spite of the terrible punishments I was sure he would inflict because of my failed mission. I could see myself getting another awful whipping or being fastened within one of those shocking contrivances Richard thinks up for the discomfort of his girls. I wondered if he was trying to get any of the others back the way he was trying to get Jane. Plumpy was being sweet about keeping me restrained. But his heart wasn't really in it because he couldn't understand why on earth I'd want to run away, and certainly not back to darling Richard! As I watched Plumpy whipped his gagged and shackled sweetheart, I realized he was already being slack about looking after me. Sure, my hands were tied behind my back with rope, but that was all! I could run as well now as I ever could. Plumpy should have locked leg irons on my ankles but he hadn't bothered. That's the way Plumpy is, he's a real honey of a guy. I didn't try it, not with Plumpy so close, and anyway, I was sort of rooted to the spot by the sight of poor, dear Jane being whipped. I don't know if its right or wrong but the sight of a naked girl being whipped makes me hot and wet and trembling with desire. Jane gets affected the same way, perhaps all girls do. I don't need to tell you the effect it has on men!
The three of us walked back to the house together, pensive, our minds seething with our own thoughts. Jane was completely free and used her hands constantly to feel such of her weals as she could reach. Her eyes were glowing and I knew she was immensely content. My hands stayed tied behind my back and I sort of trailed along, but I do remember seeing the empty, open shackles hanging on their short chains and thought how sad they looked and how lonely they would be without a girl to clutch.
The rest of the afternoon we sunbathed, the two of them prettily entangled, me a little way distant and still with my feet free of irons.
I didn't bother anymore, I knew Plumpy didn't want me chained just as I knew Jane did because she wanted to keep me with them. She knew what being Sir Richard's slavegirl was like better than Plumpy. Sir Richard had given her a real bad time aboard the Imogene. That evening I lost the cords around my wrist so the three of us could enjoy a festive dinner without anyone having to feed someone else. After the coffee they told me I could do the dishes while they made love again. Not a word was said about me being free. I, trying to be sly and clever, said not a word either. But I lived to realize it one of the great mistakes of my life.
I'll admit it was nice having my hands back. But I was forced to have a battle with myself all the way through the dishes. I could dress, take money, and run. This time they would not catch me. But I knew damned well were I'd run and that's where the battle came about. I kept telling myself I'd be crazy to go back to darling Richard but I knew that's was exactly what I would do. It was as if he were putting his finger across the miles to call me back to him. To come to grips with myself and realize how lucky I was to be with Plumpy and Jane, I walked slowly back down the path towards the beach and around the Andromeda Rock to where the shackles still hung lonely in the fading light. Inspiration was instant and impulsive, if I stood as Jane had stood with those lovely metal circlets tight upon my wrists, it would keep me from worrying about what to do next and might give Plumpy a clue as to my urgent need to be restrained if I were to stay on Thessalon and then return home with them. It seemed a wonderful idea even though I knew I was suffering some of the same masochistic guilt which had led Jane to being whipped. It would serve me right to stand against the Andromeda Rock all night. If Plumpy and Jane missed me and went in search, they would look towards the village and not come this way. I was also curious to know what it would be like to wait all alone for the monster from the Deep. Without further ado I positioned myself to face the ocean and clasped the shackles tight upon my wrists.
I had to be nuts!
Thessalon is so beautiful, its Sea has moods and night does no more than absorb some of the heat from the sun of the day. After my first panic when I knew I'd done something I'd be sorry for, I settled back with my hands above my head and allowed the beauty of the approaching night to give me the peace I needed. My first struggled had proven I'd firmly fixed myself and would stand there until someone came to let me loose. It would probably be morning before Jane and Plumpy followed the false leads and then came looking for me here. I'd really done a job on myself!
Andromeda, Jane, and now me! Three naked maidens who had stood thus to await a fate from which only a story book hero could rescue them. It was a real, honest-to-goodness thrill, especially since I couldn't touch myself, I couldn't play with my tits or my moist, warm spot down below. I tried to work up a bit of heat by rubbing my thighs but it didn't work. I suppose nature had to look after us or girls would be climaxing all over the place. Eventually I made myself as comfortable as possible, which wasn't really all that comfortable at all, and gazed out over the silvery sea into the night. It was tremendously romantic and I even got a few chuckles out of thinking of Plumpy and Jane looking for me in the village. This mood lasted me an hour or two before I heard the sound of the motor.
The little launch had sort of crept up on me out of the silver shadows. It was quite close before I could see it. It drove hard up onto the sand and disgorged its total crew of two men to whom I was clearly visible in the starlight. Boy, if I'd been able to run I would have done it then!
I could not run. I could only wait for inevitable rape. Whoever this pair might be they certainly wouldn't pass me by. Instinctively I thrust my bottom and back hard against the harsh rock in a futile effort to shrink from The Male.
"Well, I'll be damned, Rankin, this wouldn't happen to be what we're looking for, would it?"
"If it is her, Sam, they we'd best look out for a trap. Finding the damned girl this easy don't seem natural. Let's take a gander."
They took their gander with me shivering in fright. My polite, "Good evening, please help me" totally ignored. Rankin picked up my left foot to examine it with aid of a flashlight. "It's her, all right, she's got the little birthmark." He briefly examined the shackles by which I was held. "Hop back to the boat, Sammy, and get the crowbar. Make it fast, there's something wrong here."
Ranking and I stood looking at each other, or more correctly I looked at him and he looked at my breasts and pubic patch. Suddenly I knew!
"Sir Richard Mallory sent you, didn't he?" I accused. "Look, tell him I'm not on the island. Please go away and leave me the way I am."
"No way, sweetheart." Ranking looked around defensively. "You're a trap, aren't you? Someone guessed or knew we'd come and they set you up in them chains." He produced a revolver. "Don't let no heroic boyfriends get themselves hurt on your account. I'll kill if I must." Ranking knelt and bound my ankles together with thin, cruel cord, paying no heed to my complaint of it being too tight. By the time he was done and I was helplessly bound, Sammy returned with the metal bar which made short work of Plumpy's shackles, dragging them from their rock to hang uselessly from my wrists. Ranking turned me around as if I were a doll and with the same thin cord tied my elbows tight together. He didn't bother with my wrists, he didn't need to. The thin strands deep in the flesh of my arms told me that even with relatively free hands I had lost ability to fight or to struggle. The cords hurt brutally and even breathing made them cut all the more.
"Sticks your tits out nice, don't it?" Sammy leered. Then he picked me up bodily and half ran across the sand to the little boat which would sever me from the two I loved. Ranking ran beside us, carrying the crowbar, to make me wonder fleetingly what Plumpy and Jane would deduce from the disappearance of me and the sight of the two gaping holes where his Andromeda chains used to be.
The cords hurt too much to struggle. I suppose that was the idea of using them. They turned me into a nice, obedient little package which Sammy tossed into the little boat before helping Rankin with his heaving and grunting efforts to push the little craft back into the water. The motor started and I was on my way back to a fresh captivity.
Ranking laid me face down and sat on my legs while he went to work on my chains with a ring of keys and some small slivers of metal. I couldn't see much but after quite a while one of my wristlets fell with a clatter to the floor. The other soon followed. Needlessly he then tied my wrists with another length of the same cord. I knew what I was in for, I did not complain. He then picked me up and sat me with my bound arms back against the seat so he could talk to me. I beat him to it.
"What's Sir Richard going to do to me?" I asked anxiously. The punishment I knew I'd get being my first concern.
"You musta hurt his all mighty feelings real bad, sweetheart," Rankin suggested coarsely, ignoring my question. "He's got something real cute figured for you. No way you'll get away with just a whipped ass." My heart sank. I suppose I'd been hoping for a bitter-sweet punishment and then a reconciliation in darling Richard's bed, the way it had always been before. But this time it was going to be different. "Okay, what's the bad news," I demanded with more courage than I felt.
"Ever hear of Celestine's Place?"
My heart got another jolt. Rankin had practically answered my question. But a girl can always hope. "I suppose its a whore house?"
"A damned expensive one where a man can buy anything he wants. Mostly its a piece of tail but its all there waiting. After what you've been used to you won't enjoy it."
"You mean Richard would do that to me because of one little failure! "
"Sure, why not! He'd break a man for less. Like I said, you must have got to him some way." Rankin let me have an amused grin and a chuckle. "Don't you worry, sweetheart, the girls at Celestine's Place average fifteen tricks a day and make a hell of a lot of money." He chuckled again as if at a memory. "But it's Celestine who gets the dough. The girl perform for the love of it or so they won't get their little asses whipped. It's quite a place."
I had something to think about for sure. Celestine's Place didn't belong with what I knew of darling Richard. In fact, I suppose a collection of soiled and submissive whores would only revolt him. But you never knew with a men. Picturing me with who had always been immaculate might give him an erection just as well as seeing me hanging by my thumbs. Being a girl is really for the birds! A man can get an erections out of almost anything we do or say or suffer whereas we get an orgasm only out of friction or love. From what I'd heard about joints like Celestine's, I could figure from now on every climax I had would be friction induced. Sardonically I recalled a statement that a girl's pussy never wore out.
"Don't take it too hard, kiddo." Rankin advised with a trace of kindness. "I understand they kick the good girls out after about ten years with a nice chunk of cash. The ones who didn't perform too good sort of disappear. There's houses across the water specializing in rejects. I wouldn't advise getting into one."
In the little time we had been together Rankin had amused himself playing with my tits. I don't know why our nipples so attract me. Damn it, they got a pair themselves! I hadn't bucked or weaved against the cords because I knew damned well he could handle me and I'd get my tits played with anyway. On the spur of the moment I said, "Do you find me attractive, do you like me?"
"Of course, who wouldn't!"
"Then kidnap me yourself. I'd sooner belong to one man than a hundred. I promise to obey."
"Lovely idea, kid, but we'd both be dead in a week, me real quick, you'd die more slowly. Sorry, kid."
"Is Sir Richard really that powerful?"
"Sure is. Did you know he got him back the Imogene? He's in more solid with everyone than ever. You must have been nuts to mix with him. You've sampled his bed and I'll bet it's a damned sight better than what you're going to."
We sat a while in silence until I ventured the prisoner's complaint, "Be a friend and untie my elbows. They hurt like crazy and with my hands and feet bound I'll surely helpless enough."
"No way, honey bunch, forget it."
That was that. But I sort of saw his point. A girl going to Celestine's might prefer to flop herself over into the Mediterranean if she could manage it. But having my elbows tied robbed me of initiate in a way you wouldn't understand. It hurt me to move or to breath let along do a swan dive over the gunwale. Morosely I said, "You keep on playing with my nipples like that I'll have an orgasm and I'd look damned silly the way I'm fixed."
"Go ahead, I don't mind and this does help to pass the time. I'd screw you if I didn't have to untie your feet, that's too damned much trouble."
"Get, thanks for the compliment! I'd sooner you had intercourse with me than to get me all hot and bothered like you're doing."
A minute later my feet were free. Rankin arranged me uncomfortably on bound arms and spread my legs far and wide. He was extremely virile and under different circumstances I'd have given him good marks. His performance was almost matched by Sammy who traded places with Rankin after he had completed his act. I'd hoped they would forget to tie me back up but that was just a dream. When they were both satisfied with me they twisted the cord back around my ankles tighter than before, making me yelp while they tugged the knots.
"Got ahead of the crowd," Rankin said with satisfaction. "You're free today, honey, but tomorrow it would cost Sammy and me a big price to get in where we've just been. Thanks a million."
In strange compassion they let me sleep.
* * *
She was a woman called, "Ma'am." I was instructed to address her thus and everyone else did the same. If she had superiors, I never saw them. She lolled comfortable in an office swivel chair and, upon delivery, I had been forced to my knees for her attentions. She was a good looking creature of goodness knows what origins. Her voice was sardonically amused as is the case with all who hold power over others. I had made up my mind to strike a tone of moderation.
"I promise I'll obey you, Ma'am, I won't give you any trouble. But could I please have my elbows untied?"
"That's right, honeybunch, you won't give me any trouble. Let's see now. You're the girl who is called Petulance and you'll be ten years older before you get out of here." She chuckled, "You may not want to be then. As to your elbows, they stay tied. You don't give the orders, I do."
It was not the best of starts, if a girl ever knew herself in for a bad time, I knew it then. I could almost see the steel beneath the velvet glove of "Ma'am's" cheerfulness. I listened intently.
"You'll be fucked about fifteen times a day, honey. What's a few stick ups more or less. You'll have your own cubicle, you'll be expected to make it as attractive as possible. You'll be nice to every client even though you hate his guts. If any of them want to do special things with you, we'll unlock your collar."
"My collar?"
"Sure, honey, we keep you chained. We don't you worrying about what to do or where to go, you'll never have a choice. Soon as I get you started, you'll learn along the way."
Ma'am's hand on my arm was firm but not unkind. I was to learn later she regarded all her girls with a tolerant affection, that is so long as they gave her no trouble. We traversed passages and finally came to the one that counted. One side of it was a concrete wall, the other seemed an unending stretch of bars fronting cubicles in which were girls, all naked, all chained by their necks, all indifferent to our passage. At the other end of the corridor was a blank wall and a closed door. I was to learn it was through that door the customer's came to pay their cash and take their pleasure. If they did not already know a girl, they could examine and pick. At the first unoccupied cell, Ma'am fumbled with keys and opened a barred door and ushered me into what could be my home for a long, long time. As if attending to some trifle of my attire, she snapped a metal collar around my neck but reassured, "The chain's long enough to give you the run of the cell, honey, but it won't let you go no further. Remember that. " She chuckled, "Could easy get a broken neck."
I longed to plead once more about my elbows but I was scared. Ma'am forestalled my plea by cutting the cords by which I was bound, elbows and wrists. The cords on my ankles had been taken from me at the start. It felt so damned good, even against the hurt of the strands being peeled from my bruised flesh, I wanted to hug her. Instead Ma'am hugged me in a maternal benevolence she confirmed by saying, "Don't think I don't know what it's like, sweetheart. That elbow tie is a real bitch. Don't need it no more, you're ready for business."
I looked at the single bed, attractively feminine, my gaze trailing above it to the wall from which hung an expensive looking cane, narrow and long and full of venom, and a two thonged whip which trailed its short length beside. Ma'am followed my disturbed regard.
"Them's not for you to use, honey, them's for your client's. Every client can use them if you don't come across. We give them discretion. But if you run up against one who just wants to whip you for the hell of it, you'd best scream as loud as you can. The girls will take it up and we'll soon have someone on the spot as soon as we can. Whipping you for fun costs extra."
I stood as I was for quite a while after Ma'am had gone, my only view the empty passage beyond the barred door. The side walls were concrete, not doubt to assure the client's privacy. I was not sure if the knowledge of a girl being on each side of me just beyond the concrete would be any comfort. Presumably if one of us screamed, it would echo down the empty passage, that was all. I felt at my collar and its chain to reassure myself I could never get free of it. I ruefully rubbed the wounds the cords had left at elbow, wrist and ankle. In sudden desolation I threw myself upon the sweetly feminine bed and gave way to the flood of tears I'd been holding back. I was one of Celestine's girl!
Strictly speaking none of us were whores. We were kidnapped girls who were forced to spread our legs apart or else! I suppose every time we were visited and penetrated we could call out rape. But rape, when repetitious, looses its impact. We were girls who were quite simply well and truly fucked. Our tears were for our lost freedoms rather than for the violation of our sex.
If there was a Dispatcher, I was quickly indebted to him or her for my first customer. In my mind I had debated both revolt and submission but maybe I'm naturally submissive, it was the roll I choice. He was middle aged, tubby, balding, and as nervous as myself. The poor man was pathetic and I longed to comfort him but was unsure if a meeting of the minds was permissible along with the union of male and female genitals. He anxiously inquired, "I fuck you please?"
Holding I disposed myself prettily upon the bed, coiling up loose links on the bed beside my throat, and opening my knees and arms in what is probably the oldest gesture in the world. I sort of picked up the fact my paying guest was surprised and pleased by his own potency. He penetrated me with ease and came to a rapid climax before I'd even gotten excited. I felt terrible sorry for the man, it seemed so little for so much. He kissed my nipple, almost in reverence, before he left, tucked a piece of paper currency within my hand and departed, vowing to return. Shortly after his departure. Ma'am made her appearance to relieve me of the paper currency and assure me I had done a satisfactory job. I didn't really value the praise but was glad to know that I would not be whipped. The standards and ethics of whoredom were still new to me. I did a short and noise circuit of my cell before laying once more upon my bed. At the rate of fifteen a day, I would not be long alone.
Number two was a stripling boy, obviously from wealthy parents. He was brash and assured. I suppose cocky was the right word for him. When I reclined back on the bed and spread myself open, he spared but a brief glance for the delights I offered and said with decision. "No, I no do it that way. You kneel, you use your mouth."
I was glad it was not my first time. To perform this act for the first time with a total stranger would be hard to handle but I obediently knelt and took his rod from within his pants and embraced it with my lips as though it was the one thing I adored. The boy had not caught sight of the whips yet, I hoped he never would. Lustily I plied both lips and tongue.
Men are all different in this ancient Act. My client was by no means without experience. He was immensely rigid and possessed extraordinary control. By the time he had worked himself to a gasping climax and I had swallowed his sperm as he clasped my ears and thrust himself halfway down my throat, my tongue and jaws were exhausted and thankful for the cessation of the effort. I must have been successful for, upon parting, he assured me of an early return at which time he would whip me very hard indeed and at extra cost -- the poor kid probably thought I got the money.
After the boy had gone I continued to sit on the side of the bed and play idly with my chain. My conscious was condemning me for my failure to fight and for this placid acceptance of this sexual slavery beyond an girl's wildest imaginings. But common sense reassured me, telling me of the uselessness of resistance, telling me to look up at the cane and the whip waiting for me to step over the line. I was a sad little girl but knew I would continue to be an obedient whore. Purely and simply because, what the hell else could I do!
My fingers on my collar told me I had no choice, the links of its chain mocking me and the barred door solidly locked. Dear little Petulance had had the course!
The hell of it was I had to seem happy for each client. My number six man, well on into the evening, professed dissatisfaction with my attitude. The hell of it was that, by his standards, I was cheating him out of his fun. So he made me lay face down on the bed, took the whip down off the wall, and let me have one truly terrible slice from my chink bone on up as far as the lash would go. I don't every remember anything more agonizing than that single stroke. I was getting ready to scream at number two when he hung the whip back up and affable inquired if I was prepared to smile. I sat up thankfully and assured him as fervently as I could of my very best efforts and gave him a sample before going back to square one and opening my legs. Everything at Celestine's Place was exactly as advertised.
That stroke of the whip told me clearly I was on the right track. To survive, all I had to do was be intensely physical and affectionate with each client. In short, I would learn to be a professional, competent little whore and earn my masters a lot of money. And I would do this because I did not wish to be whipped to pieces.
As far as I could tell, Celestine's Place held about thirty girls, all like me. We were taken to meals in batches of fifteen and discouraged from escape attempt by a quaint means. As each of us stepped from our opened door, our collar chain was taken from the wall but instantly attached to a longer chain to make us a part of coffle, simply a long line of naked girls attached by their necks by a single chain. There was a dinning hall and we sat down to eat on a hard bench in the same order as we walked in. There wasn't much we could do so all of us ate the surprisingly good food and there then marshaled up against a concrete wall in an immense washroom and then hosed down with cold water by a wardress who enjoyed her work. We were given only a short time to dry ourselves with the rough towels provided before being taken by reverse process back to our cells and then tethered to the wall.
I remember standing and watching, almost in disbelief, and the second group of girls shuffled and clinked their way passed by iron bars. It was immensely efficient.
Breakfast was handled in the same way but with the deviation of Me. I was unlocked from the chain and taken to a room where a girl who spoke no English gave me a surprisingly competent facial and hairdo. She also painted my nipples a shinning black. I was then returned to my cell. Quite soon thereafter I had my first client.
It was Sir Richard Mallory.
I'm ashamed of myself for the way I acted, but I was so damned thankful to see him I was half out of my mind. Immediately the barred door was unlocked and he came in as though Celestine's Place was the Ritz, I flung myself at his feet and grabbed hold of him as if I were drowning. I remember repeating over and over, "Richard, oh, Richard!" as I wetted his immaculate trousers with my tears. We must have made a pretty tableau with him standing and me clutching in desperate gratitude before he raised me up, dried my eyes and cheeks, and then sat himself on my bed while I stood before him, naked save for my collar and chain.
"Where's that girl I sent you for?" were his first words of greeting. I sniffed and sobbed out my story, feeling damp and silly and inadequate with each word. At the end of it I implored, "Oh, Richard, darling, take me away from here real quick, we can talk somewhere else."
"We can talk here. And don't call me Richard, address me as 'Sir.'" I didn't get it at first. I was in such a dither of longing to get out of that cell and lose my chain that I answered Richard's questions mechanically and thought not of the consequence. At the end he said forcibly, "You had a dozen opportunities to grab Jane and you failed them all. You let me down. Don't tell me you were not intending to go back to the USA with them?"
I kept silent. It was the silence of guilt and we both knew it. In a strange mix of emotions I stammered, "Please, Sir, take me away and punish me Punish me the way you used to do. I love you terribly."
"Well, that's that."
Darling Richard's voice sounded weary, as though I had given him some fresh disappointment. He got up, held my shoulders while he kissed my forehead, his voice was sarcastic and bitter, "Well, Petulance, hope you enjoy Celestine's Place. I may drop by, say in about five years.. " He cocked a sardonic eye and went away.
I'm only a girl so I flung myself once more upon the bed and wept away my sorry and my life. The tears, which eventually stopped, made and awful mess of the make-up job so I watched my face and tied it up in the little steel mirror screwed into the wall. I couldn't believe what had happened, I couldn't believe Darling Richard didn't want me any more. I thought of a dozen reasons why he treated me like this, but none were satisfying. I saw myself here at Celestine's Place as the days became weeks, then months, and then an infinity of years... I was a whore.
A few minutes later my first client of the day opened the other door. This one was different. He ignored my smile, my painfully artificial smile, and ordered, "Hands behind your back and turn around."
I could swear I recognized the cord and its bitter bite into my flesh. Next was a blindfold, closely bandaging my eyes, then my elbows. When I was put back on the bed for my ankles to be bound I recognized the familiar packaging for shipment. Probably I was being sold to another brothel or being taken somewhere to be tortured for the amusement of some client. Either way, I was thrown back over a male shoulder and carried a long, long way until my nostrils told of familiar automotive scents as I was dumped in the trunk of a car and the lid slammed down. The collar had been taken from my neck so I had the feeling Celestine's was through with me. The car started and I was on my way, a pretty, helpless feminine plaything of Fate. It was just one more demonstration of how helpless and available girls are. Men do as they please with us simply because we're not strong enough to break their chains or cords or, better still, their arms!
Trussed like a turkey in the trunk of the car I was not sure whether to be glad or sorry of this new adventure. If hurting meant anything, I should be sorry. The cords hurt like crazy and I didn't even try to get free. After a while I began to get the feeling the whole thing had happened before.
The end of the car was simply the beginning of the boat. I couldn't see a damned thing as I was carried a long way across the shoulders of a man who must have been strong to bear my weight that easily. When I was dumped, I remembered that position of once before. When the motor started and I heard the motions of two men, I could make a shrewd guess about what boat I was in.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked, as of an old friend.
My answer was a wad of wet cloth packed into my mouth. Whoever was doing it had thoughtfully dunked it in the sea to reduce its bulk.
I tasted the salt along with the dredges of defeat. Blind and dumb, I lay still and very quiet. Like I said, it's hell to be a girl.
My nipples were fingered, a dead giveaway. The speeding boat took about the right amount of time to get where I figured it was going. What puzzled me most was why we were going there. When the prow beached itself on the sand, it became what I thought of as the reenactment of the Andromeda scene. I was hastily lifted out onto the sand, my ankles untied, and was ravished long and hard by both my captors.
I wished they would have spoken, but evidently they wished to cherish the illusion I would not know who they were. Wet with their sweat, as well as my own, I was dragged erect and marched forcible across a strip of sand. We suddenly stopped and there came then the close tell-tale sound of a heavy hammer on metal. When the thudding ceased someone sliced my cords to free my arms, my hands were immediately lifted to be shackled in the way I so well remembered. The horrible rag was taken from my mouth and tossed away. I heard the sound or retreating feet then the launch, then the sound of the motor. Even with the tight blindfold I knew exactly where I was.
It took me a surprisingly amount of time to wiggled and twist against the rock to dislodge the bandage covering my eyes, my hands could not quite reach it. So I had to content myself with rubbing it against the rock until it finally came loose. When it fell away, I found myself exactly where I expected. I found myself as Andromeda chained to the Andromeda Rock upon the lovely island of Thessalon. I was alone.
My first thought was ridiculous, simply that darling Richard had forgiven me, returned me more or less intact, and was content to let bygones be bygones. At Celestine's Place I had been violated eleven times but had not been whipped either by the house or dear Richard. That one awful stroke the client had given me was still tender but was over and one with and in the past. With a faint smile I realized the ravishment count was really thirteen, not eleven. One had to count the most recent two from the crewmen of the launch. And thirteen is an unlucky number.
I looked across the sand and over the lovely blue sea. Then I looked up at my shackled wrists and knew they were as firmly fastened now as when Plumpy had first pounded the iron in place. Quite suddenly I was afraid. Supposing Plumpy and Jane had gone away? Or even if they were back at the house. They would not know I was chained her in naked helplessness. I wondered if this was the answer for dear Richard's kindness in returning me to Thessalon. Perhaps he had his own knowledge of me standing shackled thus until I died! It was a gruesome thought but fully worthy of his macabre sense of humor. He had made me a whore and had now returned my spoiled nakedness to Thessalon to die. I shuddered.
The day had been well along when dear Richard's men had chained my wrists and left me to my fate. I stood there and watched the loveliness of a Thessalon afternoon fade into the Thessalon night. In the fix I was in I was in no mood for artistic appreciation. But the glorious sunset and the coming of the stars was a wonder I could not ignore. By full nighttime I was still standing against the Andromeda Rock and resigned to spending the entire night thus, no one was likely to rescue me until the morning, if then, if ever!
By morning I would have been grateful even for the sea monster.
I would have welcomed the Kraken with a whore's smile and a false greeting. He could then have eaten me at his leisure. But it didn't happen that way. I had tried to sleep but a girl can't go to sleep standing up.
I kept falling into slumber but my knees kept buckling and causing me to hurt my wrists against my shackles and bring me back to wakefulness. It was one of the rottenest nights I ever remembered. I died a thousand deaths, each one of them only in my mind. Morning and sunlight brought a stupid euphoria. Surely someone would come to the beach today, even it was only Miss Stipend. I would have welcomed Miss Stipend gladly and that shows the state of mind I had reached. I longed for Plumpy and Jane with an infinite longing. It was maybe eight or nine AM when I heard a furious thudding of male feet on the run.
Plumpy was so wrapped up in his own concerns that he did not see me as he leaped down to the water's edge to examine the marks left by the boat and its two man crew. Maybe he saw my footprints in the sand for he turned suddenly and there I was, a naked Andromeda, chained and looking to him as her Perseus. As though in disbelief in what he saw, he walked slowly towards me. When he came close enough I said, "Hello, Plumpy, boy am I glad to see you!" I could see there was something wrong.
Plumpy looked at me woodenly as if I were an intrusion upon a train of thought. I saw an ugly bruise above one eye. His voice was broken and urgent. "It's Jane... Jane isn't on the island! They've taken her away."
* * *
By the time Plumpy had got me loose and we had walked together back to the house, he was back to normal and obviously thankful of a companion. I was thankful it was me. I told him my story as briefly as I could and he told me his which was briefer still. The kidnappers, and it might have been only a single man, had stolen into the house in the night, had sandbagged Plumpy while he was still asleep and had stolen Jane away. Since waking this morning he had frantically searched the house and the island and his coming to the beach was his last, final hope. I told him how grateful I was but didn't offer my body. Even though it was all I had, Jane was my friend. I told him what we needed most of all was sleep.
Plumpy was real cute. When I woke up I was handcuffed and he was once more the man in command of things. I didn't mind a bit.
In fact I asked him why he didn't put the leg irons on, too. It was an omission he speedily corrected. I now belonged to him.
Our cute little interlude did not last. The absence of Jane hung over us. Plumpy was bereft arid frustrated by his inability to reach out and touch darling Richard. The authorities would not act against this "nobleman" again without good cause and proof of misconduct. They would not impound the Imogene again simply because we asked them to. This bothered Plumpy to death but I knew the answer from the start.
"Dear Richard is testing me," I told my fuming giant. "He sent me back here and chained me to the rock so you would find me. He'll be well aware I know what to do. He wants me humbled and demeaned and very, very obedient. I'll surrender to him and he'll let Jane come back to you."
"Like hell you will, he'll keep you both."
"I'll phone him from the mainland and get a promise. No promise, no deal. If darling Richard makes a promise, he keeps it."
"Or send you back to that damned whore house."
"Look, Plumpy, we have to take chances. You had to keep me chained to keep me from going back to darling Richard all the time I was here so this is no big deal. I terribly sorry after such a short time but would you mind unchaining me."
Plumpy was obviously relieved but kept looking at me guiltily. But I pointed out to him how his Agency often swapped one for one, and that was all we were doing now."
"He'll beat the daylights out of you!" he objected.
"He'd do that no matter how I returned to him. Celestine's Place must have been only a lesson as to what I'd get if I didn't shape up. Come along, Plumpy dear, and let's find ourselves a phone."
* * *
I wasn't by any means as cocksure as I tried to sound. I was nagged by the fact of darling Richard sending me to the whore house and then virtually giving me back my freedom. I could only see it as a test. I remembered that nicely framed little motto you often see on kitchen walls: "If you love it, let it go. If it comes back to you, it is yours. If it doesn't, it never was."
I shrugged. No girl had a more uncertain future right then. But I couldn't be too sure about darling Richard and if I could get Plumpy and Jane back together and free from interference, it would all be worthwhile.
The Imogene glistened in the sun the way I remembered. It was still in the harbor where it had been impounded and then released. Darling Richard had been easy to reach by phone and his terms were running over and over through my mind like a peal of bells. "I want humility and obedience out of you, understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Forget the 'Sir.' What I'm going to do to you will hurt the more if you simply call me Richard."
"I know I'll be punished, may I ask how?"
"No, you may not. You'll take what I chose to give. Jane will be pleased to see you. I've got her hanging by her thumbs."
I almost called him a rotten son of a bitch but clenched my teeth instead. I wasn't even sure he was telling me the truth. I could picture he and Jane sitting there, sipping cocktails in the lounge. He'll have her naked and her feet chained but that would be all. I had extracted darling Richard's promise so now I kissed Plumpy goodbye and climbed the ramp to the Imogene's deck while he waited below in his little boat to take delivery of his beloved. Gosh, how ridiculous can people get!
Darling Richard was an immaculate and politely attentive as ever. He's one of those who never change. He kissed me in a brotherly sort of way before grasping not my arm but my hand to lead me to actually did have poor, dear Jane hanging by her thumbs, her loveliness hanging limply by the bound thumbs at each end of a bar. Her big toes were two inches from the floor. She was far gone in pain but came vividly alive at sight of me. Richard lowered her, we fervently embraced, then he attacked one tied thumb while I untied the other. A few minutes later we had a fully dressed and bewildered Jane on the deck, kissing me goodbye before flitting down the gangway to her waiting love. It was only then Sir Richard grasped my arm.
I wanted Richard so bad I almost pleaded to be taken to bed before my punishments began. I but I knew I could not give orders, request or even suggestions. So I allowed myself to be led back to the room where Jane had been hanging.
"How will this do for a start," his voice was curt.
"Whatever you wish, Richard."
I swear he was within an inch of gathering me into his arms right then and reinstating me as his mistress. But Richard has this Thing about Codes and discipline. He could always take me to bed and so had nothing to loose by starting the punishments I had to pay before getting to Me. His commands were never brutal, they were simply firm and meant to be obeyed. "Strip."
I stripped. It was little more than routine. "Kneel." I obeyed, kneel well apart in the approved fashion. Boy, was I anxious to please! "Speak your vows."
I felt myself blushing. The vows of enslavement had always made me blush, but I swallowed hard and began my shameful recitation.
"I am yours. Master, to do with as you will. I will obey you utterly in all things and gladly surrender my body for your use. Punish me, Master, if I fail to please."
"Good!" He looked down at me, half smiling. "Sad little girl, eh?"
"Have I anything to look forward to?"
"Sure you have. I don't want you morbid. I'm not going to kill you and you won't go back to Celestine's Place unless you attitude warrants."
"If I say thank you, you'll believe I'm being sarcastic." I twisted uncomfortably. "But I'm terrible grateful you still want me. I thought you wanted Jane but you let her go."
"That fellow she's taken up with can cause me trouble. I can always pick Jane up whenever he's got other things to think about. You seem to have done your duty with everyone, Petulance. Ready for your pain now?"
"Yes, Master."
"Start you off easy. You can pick up where Jane left off."
There wasn't much I could say so I kept silent and followed commands like a wooden soldier. His. "Get up and hold out your Hands," needed no comment. It was the beginning!
A girl cannot bind her own thumbs so I stood passively as darling Richard tied mine to each end of the bar by which I would be suspended. I wondered how long Jane had spent like that and how long I would forced to do the same. But again I did not speak. In a strange, masochistic wish to please, and after my feet had been raised from the floor to cause my thumbs to scream and my shoulders moan, I said a quiet and gentle, "Thank you, Master."
My punishment had begun.
CHAPTER ELEVEN - PAIN
The first thing Plumpy did when Jane stepped down into the little boat was to clasp her wrists tight in the lovely black handcuffs. Worn in front they became simply delightful bracelets. That they were joined by a single link robbed nothing from their allure. Upon reaching The House he added the heavy shinning leg irons to her ankles.
"Back to square one," he said cheerfully and took her in his arms.
"But, darling, I'm not really safe, someone could pick me up and carry me," Jane pouted.
"So, okay, you want a chain around your middle and padlocked to the wall?" They laughed the thought away. It was so good to be back on Thessalon and to pay the game by which their love was so enlarged. For practical reasons they discarded the idea of a chain around Jane's tummy and decided to dispense with the beloved leg irons so she could run if necessary. They compromised by changing the black handcuffs from her front to behind her back. This left her breasts and pubes delightfully available to Plumpy's moods. To give Jane exercise in her new bondage, they took a short walk, more of a pilgrimage, to the Andromeda Rock and the hanging shackles, now open and waiting for the next maiden to take her chance with the Kraken. They stared, remembering. Jane rubbed her cheek against her loved one's shoulder and giggled, "Darling, before be have to go back home, chain me to this rock just once more. Three hours will do. I can dream away the time with memories. And get hot down where I can't touch. Please?"
"You're incorrigible, but, okay. In fact, it's rather a sweet idea." Plumpy was seeing visions of his own.
They made their love in the little house upon the golden isle. But in the morning each knew some of Thessalon's magic had been dispersed by the guilt they both felt about Petulance, Miss Stipend, and the threat of kidnappings. They knew they were only four days from leaving for the USA.
The largest of the hovering clouds concerned Petulance. Petulance had been decidedly de trop when on the island but now she had delivered herself to buy Jane's freedom. The laughing girl had taken on the aura of saintliness. Petulance's "darling Richard" might take her to his bed or to his torture chamber, quite probably both. While they were happy, she would be in pain. Bothering by this though, Jane suggested Plumpy should whip her a little each day as sort of a sympathy suffering she would bear. Plumpy laughed the idea to scorn but offered as substitute an ordeal following his own inclinations. He would bind his beloved uncomfortably tight while he went to work upon his boat. It would be fun.
They had to consider the heat of the sun so it was inevitable Jane's immobility should be beneath their garden tree. Plumpy bound his beloved with care and precision and only enough cruelty to tell her who was boss. By the time he was done with ankles, wrists, knees, and elbows his darling was panting and obviously desirous of his attention. He chided her severely, expounding upon the virtues of self-denial, then jackknifed her and bound her fast. All Jane could contribute was, "Oh, Plumpy!"
She said it often as the thin ropes tightened into her flesh, inhibiting this motion and that, until she knew herself powerless to move. Then, as if adding a final indignity, he looped her neck and tether her loosely to the tree. "I don't trust hogties," he assured her gravely: "If you get out of it and rest of the ropes will hold you and this nice little noose will prevent you from crawling away to hide. I don't want to come back and find you gone." He grinned his amiable grin. "Never trust a girl."
Left alone, the hogtied maiden knew herself wet below her pubic-hair, raging with desire for male attention, and firmly within the erotic excitation which, for her, was very much a part of being bound. She took a deep breath and told her libido to lay down and forget it. After a tentative wiggled she decided not to bother with trying to get loose, she was sure she couldn't and, anyway, Plumpy would be back. He would not leave her thus severely tied for more than a couple of hours. All the time he worked on his boat he would be thinking of her, bound and helpless and totally dependent upon his love. And all that time Jane would feel his hands upon her nakedness and count herself lucky they had found each other.
There "is an inevitability about some things that makes them doubly irritating when they occur. Miss Stipend, accompanied by two grinning men, fell into this category. Without thought Jane exclaimed, "Go away! If you don't, I'll scream!"
Jane did not scream. Miss Stipend had come well prepared. The gag was instant and cruelly effective. Its tight buckling at the back of Jane's neck told her that she was at the will of others. Plumpy might have heard a scream, now she was silent. The two men picked her up and carried her away, her neck tether trailing where it had been untied from the tree. Miss Stipend walked sternly beside the naked burden with much the air of a Roman general returning from the wars with a treasure beyond price.
Looking down, she admonished, "You will not escape your just deserts, my dear. I am taking you where such girls are understood and can be properly dealt with. I suggest you resign yourself to penitence."
The only thing Jane resigned herself to was helplessness and the increasing cut of cord as she was turned this way and that in the process of being carried some distance to a waiting jeep, to be dumped within its carrier space like a bag of potatoes. No sympathetic fingers freed her of anything. She was Miss Stipend's prisoner and was being carried to some ridiculous punishment or some fresh slavery. After a while she was blindfolded and spent the rest of the time, a quite considerable time, in mute darkness. By the time the first of her cords were cut away, Jane was ready to cry with the pain of them and with a vexation such as she had never known. She assured herself she needed Miss Stipend like a hole in the head.
* * *
Without any of the pretense of a true court of law, the dozen or so women contrived to inject a courtroom atmosphere. They sat on benches while Miss Stipend occupied the space behind a podium. Jane was carried to the center of the floor to face accusing eyes, all curious and absorbed, while Plumpy's careful bindings were cut away to leave only her crossed wrists tied behind her back. The pain of the cords were gone and she was grateful, but with them were gone the Halcyon days and nights with the man she loved. There was no love here. Looking at her inquisitors she saw only hostility and an enjoyment of her shame. They ran in age from twenty-five to forty-five. Some were attractive, but most were copies of Miss Stipend, who now brought the gathering to order and proceeded to read, from a typewritten piece of paper, a list of accusations that would have done justice to the witch hunts of years past in Salem. Archaic terms such as trollop and jade slipped easily from Miss Stipend's lips until Jane, relieved of blindfold and gag, burst out indignity, "This is nonsense. You're breaking the law, you can't keep me prisoner like this. And all that stuff you're reading is pure shit!"
"The prisoner will remain silent until spoken to." Miss Stipend's dictate would have done justice to Torquemoto's. "You will have a chance to defend yourself as you answer to your peers."
They were dried up spinsters, probably no longer dry but secreting avidly at the sight of the naked and helpless young woman who stood before them for judgment. They treated Miss Stipend with immense respect, and only the two or three younger woman had any hint of humanity in the eyes of the bound maiden who longed to hide her pubic hair. Jane had never before felt so naked!
Hands were raised and their owner's recognized by a condescending nod from the woman behind the podium. Jane was thankful for this follow of the rules of order. At least she had only one accuser to cope with at a time. She considered turning and walking from the room, the door was open, but what was the use, she would be apprehended and shamed by further thongs. The questions were heavily tinged with sex.
"Have you had carnal knowledge of a man not you husband, Miss Dickson?"
"J don't have a husband and, yes, I've been fucked by several men and raped by several more."
The courtroom, including Miss Stipend, was shocked and excited. They exchanged comments and Jane had no doubt she would be condemned as a brand to be plucked from the burning and subjected to disagreeable punishment she tried not to think about. Another hand was raised and Miss Stipend gave another grateful nod.
"We understand that you are addicted to a lustful game called bondage in which you and your lovers tie each other us with rope and presumably gain sexual excitement."
"It's not like that at all! But, okay, sure I get tied up. And we've also got a pair of handcuffs. It's fun. What's wrong with it?"
Shock -waves were like the beating of a drum. Features that were austere were now flushed and animated by this glimpse of something hereto suspected but unknown. Jane Dickson wished Plumpy Plumpton would walk in and whip every sterile bottom in the place. She twisted against bound wrists but, observing the pleasure this gave her audience, quickly ceased and stood to view her lecherous accusers with disgust and loathing.
"There is the matter of the whip. Miss Dickson. We understand you gain sexual gratification when lashed by your lovers."
"Sure, why not! Try it, you might like it."
The gathering boiled over in pure pleasure. They had not had so much enjoyment ever before, and were grateful to Miss Amity Stipend behind her podium.
"Miss Dickson, we understand you and your familiars engage in make believe kidnappings by which you excuse the disgusting activities already described."
"What are you beefing about? You've already kidnapped me now. What else do you call this! Sure, I've been kidnapped but there was nothing phony about it. That's when I got raped. I expect you can get sexual gratification out of me telling you I was also whipped while I had no clothes on. How's that grab you!"
It grabbed. All present were breathing heavily. Jane could swear she smelt the hot female scents of lust.
"We understand you and your male companion do some kidnapping yourselves. You recently kept shackled and helpless a young woman who's name we do not know. Presumably she escaped or you let her go"
"What! Petulance! You have to be crazy!"
"I suppose you realize grave suspicion falls upon you in the matter of this young woman's disappearance. The matter will be turned over to the authorities themselves after we have brought you to a state of repentance for your outrageous carnality."
"Oh, drop dead! This is just like being nuts."
The naked prisoner stared from one to the other of her accusers. If pity was present, it was not detectable. The younger women were bright eyed and curious, not yet affected by the Stipend acidy. But there was no hope in them, none!
"The prisoner will face the bench for sentencing." Miss Stipend's voice was triumphant. It was obvious Jane's punishments were predetermined as was her guilt. The spinster read, in a fine, official drone, a list of penitences which left the girl who would suffer them aghast. When this was done, two of the younger women were assigned as wardresses or jailers to attend the prisoner and "keep her properly restrained."
"You wicked, wicked girl," said one by way of introduction.
The other contented herself with "Naughty, naughty! You're so lucky Miss Stipend found you in time to bring you to a proper penitence through pain."
It began at once. Miss Jane Dickson was informed the Society owned a small estate whereon she could be properly dealt with without interference. Her first punishment awaiting, a fat ended stump, half buried in the ground, to form a truncated column upon which Jane was compelled to stand. Her ankles were once more tightly tied and knotted to a metal ring already waiting. She would have to stand there and be subject to the observation of all until fatigue made her fall and injure herself or these insane people let her down. Miss Stipend stood upon a box to use a brush and a small container of red paint, carefully forming the letters across Jane's chest above the swell of her breasts. It was a single word, "Harlot," written in red on her naked body.
"Tomorrow you will be whipped, my dear. You will stand as you are for today."
Jane realized she was in the power of a group of unofficial "do-gooders." Oddballs with money and nothing better to occupy their time. By appointing themselves arbiters of propriety, they could combine Piety with lascivious satisfactions. The bound girl upon the stump realized she was made to order, ideally designed to provide the Society with what it needed most. She doubted they would dare to lay hands upon the average girl. But the chains of Andromeda had made her an obvious target. She silently cursed the ill fortunate that had brought this upon her at such a time. Soon Plumpy would be compelled to leave. What would happen to her then? Dolefully she realized the word blazoned across her breast was read and true to these women, it justified anything they wished to do to her. Sad, too, was the realization that a century or two ago this outrage would have had official sanction and instead of a handful of observers there would have been a milling crowd waiting to see the punishment of this wicked woman. Most of them would be permitted or even encouraged to throw things at a fallen woman. But Jane's reactions was simply, "Oh, shit!"
The bound girl could not get free. It was a simple but cleverly designed punishment. Jane had no doubt she would stand thus, proclaiming her crime to all, for whatever time Miss Stipend wished. The Society members came and went, obviously reluctant to waste any of this precious opportunity to observe naked sin in the flesh. Some brought lawn chairs and frankly sat down to enjoy the dolor and shame of a girl who had done no one any harm.
For the standing nude, bound upon her tiny platform before the avid eyes of a dozen women, the time passed slowly, but finally Jane was compelled to ask a passing female for a drink of water. The simply request sparked discussion but it was finally decided piety would not be diminished by so simply an indulgence. It was the youngest of the girls who held the glass to the prisoner's dry lips while whispering urgently, "Sybil and I are going to help you escape tomorrow night. We'd do it tonight but we want to watch you being whipped tomorrow. It must be wonderful to see a girl like you really and truly flogged."
Before Jane's bitterness could overflow the girl left. Jane's fury began to diminish when she realized she now held a faint hope of getting away from these absurd creatures. She could feel only bitterness that the two girls concerned wanted to see her whipped far more than any consideration of mercy. But a prisoner bound as tightly as she was bound had to clutch at straws and had to be content with anything. The promised whipping filled her with anxiety. But, in the knowledge of the possibility of release, she supposed she could bear it as she had all the other whippings since she had been kidnapped that first time. Jane stood as the hours passed and the scarlet letters on her breast proclaimed her shame.
The Society had made amply provision for their prisoner's sleeping accommodations. A large cage, fabricated in a distance time for an unknown purpose had been brought in, cleaned up, and most solidly anchored in the garden of their mansion. In this birdcage domicile of heavy iron, Jane was to spend the night but not in comfort! Her hands had never been untied from the very first and were still tightly bound with Plumpy's cord behind her back. She was fed and attended to but neither pleading nor tears could get her hands untied. As if that was not enough to keep her status always in her mind, a massive chain had been purchased to be safely locked tight around Jane's middle with an impressive padlock who's twin secured the other end of the ten foot length to an equally massive iron post which was part of the cage itself but the purpose of which none seemed to know. Jane's protests that it was all silly and unnecessary and that she couldn't possibly get out of the cage even if she were not tied fell upon deaf ears until she realized such bondage was part of her punishment.
She could stand erect and move freely within the circumference of bars but Jane soon realized the main purpose of the cage and placing her within it was to place her on view. The painted "Harlot" had been left above her breasts where repeated efforts to reach it with bound hands and rub it off had failed. For the caged girl the stream of curious visitors seemed a repetition of the absurd Court in which she had been sentenced. Awed whispers inquired about her physical usage by the Male. Men were spoken of in capital letters and descriptions of their various methods of impaling the female sex were in constant demand. Jane was firmly given to understand the inquiries were clinical but she knew better.
One female was forthright. "This whipping business, what do you get out of it?"
"Only pain. That is unless you love the one who whips you."
"That's nonsense! The Society intends to have you properly whipped tomorrow as part of your penitence. What sensations do you expect from that?"
"Bitter, awful pain. You wouldn't have me whipped if you'd been whipped yourself and knew what it was like."
"I will take that as insolence and report it as such to Miss Stipend."
"Go ahead! If whipping is so wonderful, why don't you whip Miss Stipend or one of the others, you don't need me?"
"That also is insolence. You are a fortunately young woman to have been brought here for penitence -- we've not caught you a moment too soon."
She could not win. She remembered the police admonition that anything the culprit said would be used against her. She was getting glimpses of not only the ceremonial whipping the following day, but of other bizarre and shaming inflictions she was designed to bear. Along with the cage, they had also resurrected and ancient "horse." She was informed she would spend the day upon it and would be much edified thereby. The agony upon her sexuality seemed incidental and unworthy of comment. She was given to understand that girls undergoing penitence were expected to undergo its pains and agonies in silence. The spinsters also licked their lips over a thumbscrew, a chastity belt incorporating spikes for her flesh, and a number of other delightful diversions which the girl receiving them would not long forget. Jane bolstered her courage by the thought of the promised freedom. If that promise was not made good, she would be a sorry girl indeed.
In the morning the prisoner was bathed and attended to, not only to by the younger girl but by the addition of a stem-faced female guard. This precluded whispered conferences or requests for assurances of the promised freedom. The girl to be whipped was forced to sit quietly while her beauty was embellished by cosmetic arts. It was explained as more desirable for a maiden to be flogged while looking her best than as an untidy exhibit. She got the impression the lash would cut at her with pride. At last the captive hands were freed. Any inclination Jane might have had to flee was inhibited by the presence of at least six Society members anxious to grab her if she so much as sneezed. She was given a little time to message chafed skin before wristlets were firmly strapped where the cord had previously been. She was then ceremoniously draped in a white sheet from neck to knees and led to where two rope hung from the stout branch of a massive tree. At the end of each rope were hooks.
Jane hated it, hated the insincerity of a collection of spinsters who simply envied her the attentions of a man. Ancient laws enabled them to call this Sin and to punish her horribly for doing no more than love. Under different circumstances she could have felt sorry for them but now she viewed them only with hate as loathsome harpies anxious to sear her flesh with marks she might bear for weeks. After the whip, who's agonies they could not comprehend, she would still be at the beginning of a series of minor tortures to keep spinster loins constantly inflamed. It was a cornucopia of lust in the name of purity. If, by some magic, Jane could have had these women stripped and flogged, she would have done so instantly, believing it would do some good. She was raised upon a box, the hooks inserted within the rings of her wristlets, the box was removed to leave Jane teetering upon her toes, her wrists once more hurting, her shoulders wracked. In a last frantic appeal to Miss Stipend, she put her whole being into the words, "Please don't whip me, please don't whip me. It won't do any good and I don't think you have the slightest idea how terribly it hurts. If you haven't done this before you'll probably whip me into unconscious and harm me. I beg of you, have mercy."
No one heard, no one heeded. The younger girls who had been her guards tittered and nudged each other in delight. The smell of spinsters, largely moth balls, pervaded the soft, warm Greek air as if in defiance of Greek sympathy of the stretched out nudity they were soon to whip. With a flourish. Miss Stipend flung aside the concealing sheet to reveal her in all her beautify. The women formed two lines, one on each side of the suspended captive. Miss Stipend held the whip, she was the executioner. But first she read from a typewritten script the justifications for the act about to be performed. When she announced a sentence of fifty strokes, Jane screamed aloud of the impossibility of surviving such a horrible punishment. Twenty would have been awful but fifty was death. No girl could survive fifty strokes upon her bare back, it simply wasn't possible!
The first strokes sent Jane into contortions, lifting herself from her tenuous contact with the soil by tortured wrists to enable a wild kicking out with feet still free as though to kick away the pain. But being whipped imposes stress enough without simulations of chinning a bar. Quite soon she allowed her feet to rest as best they could and coped with anguish by an incessant motion of her tethered nudity. But before the tenth stroke had snapped across her skin, Jane Dickson was aware of a miracle. The blows were cruel, they hurt, but were nowhere near as cruel as expected. Miss Stipend must possess experience and was playing to the gallery with a superb skill to leave her victim intact while giving the impression of flogging her to death. Gaspingly, Jane wondered why but soon realized that even these humane impacts upon her flesh would reduce her to a totally surrendered will and conviction as well as a battered and pained body. Fifty strokes was still fifty strokes and not to be taken lightly.
"Widen your legs apart, dear. I must whip you up inside." Miss Stipend's command was vibrant with affection. At that moment she loved her victim dearly as she bestowed upon the Society and herself the greatest thrill of their lives, a carnal carnival without guilt. Miss Stipend took a fresh stance and swung with gusto.
Widening her feet apart lost Jane contact with the ground. Miss Stipend-did not care but swung with renewed vigor and a pious admonish, "Naughty, naughty little pussy! I know she's up there within your crotch, dear. She deserves to be whipped along with all your other enticing and fleshly allurements. This is for her... And this one, too!"
Jane went into a frenzy of twisting and contortions within the semifreedom her bondage granted her. The blows had been far more cruel than any others she had yet received. No doubt Miss Stipend shrewdly observed an approaching end to tolerance and said with approval, "You may stop kicking, dear, just stand as before and I will continue you whipping as before. I hope you realize I am being moderate."
"Oh, yes, yes! Thank you."
"You're pussy did have to be whipped, you know. They are such tiresome little treasures and need constant reprimand. If it wasn't for that sweet little slit you have down there, you wouldn't have to suffer this."
The whip cut and snapped more on tender skin to leave Jane wondering how she was to endure the shocking total of fifty.
But endure it she did! The final stroke left her wet and glistening with painsweat, panting and caring about nothing other than the cessation of Miss Stipend's blows. Jane closed her eyes and slumped within her bonds to await the scorching easement of her pain and return to a normalcy offering nothing. Almost reverently, and with eyes wide in wonder or shock, the members of the society admired their gasping nude captive with admiration tinged with envy. They then resumed the same indolent enjoyment of their prisoner as on the previous day.
Jane had been whipped often enough to recognize her body's adaptation to its punishment. She gasped, moaned and panted her way through the various cycles back to where she stood and returned the curious gaze of those who watched. The tethers to her wrists had been lowered a couple of inches to enable her to stand without being stretched and in pain. Flat-footed, she surveyed her world and looked up at the neat, broad wristlets tightly buckled where she had not hope of touching them. It was such a beautiful way to restrain a girl and she was exposed to display every feminine physical feature she possessed. Wryly she reflected upon her nakedness and the manner in which she had come to accept it as a natural condition of her life. She realized that being constantly bound and intermittently punished made nakedness mandatory. Neither Plumpy nor Miss Stipend could be bothered with constantly dressing or undressing her. Longingly she thought of Petulance, there was some girls who should never wear clothes.
As the pain of her whipping slowly ebbed, Jane, shifting from foot to foot in a futile effort to aid raised arms, sought out the two girls who had promised rescue. They were there but refused to do more than smile. She wished they could give spoken reassurance but that was denied, another woman was delegated to raise the water to her lips. This one said sharply, "Don't try that soulful look on my, young lady, you got exactly what you deserve and there's plenty more waiting."
The Society presumably saw the end of Jane's whipping as the beginning of her day. A couple of them brought solvent and carefully erased the painted sign above her breast. Presumably her harlot tendencies were removed by the whip and she was now promoted to a fresh new sin. When their work was done, she stood there bearing a fresh stigma for all to see. One word, but quite enough. It read, "PERVERT."
Jane hated the new scarlet word with a passion. It was truly a dirty word and seemed inappropriate to anything she had done. These women would call Plumpy a pervert for things he had done, and if they knew about Sir Richard Mallory would undoubtedly label him the same. Instinctively she made what motions her bonds allowed as if to shake the offending accusation from her breasts. But it was as indelible as the one before, bearing it Jane felt the first true flush of shame.
The day wore on, with the whipped maiden striving endlessly for a comfort denied by the wristlets and the tethers from above. Jane accepted the stream of sarcasm and verbal abuse from the observers as they drew close to view the markings left by the whip upon her skin. Miss Jane Dickson was very much an exhibit to be enjoyed. But one by one the members disappeared to leave her solitary in the garden with but a single thought in her mind, the hope of help in a promised escape.
Cautiously Jane kept optimism from her features as she was returned to the cage for the night. The members had playfully taken the huge chain but replaced it with lighter links on ankle, wrist and neck. As Jane watched or heard the clicking of the five padlocks by which these chains would hold her safe, she hoped her would-be rescuers had access to the keys. The ends of these metal tethers were padlocked to various portions of the cage so as to promote a constant clink and clash of chain whenever she moved. Jane said nothing, she was thankful her hand had not again been bound behind her back. Slavery was strange indeed when a girl was grateful for being fastened as she was now. Knowing she might have need for all her strength after dark, she arranged her chains as best she could and lay down to sleep. It had been an exhausting day and slumber claimed her almost instantly.
It was bright sunlight when she woke. She was still in the cage and still chained with five chains and five locks. She was positive none had approached her during the night. Tears of hopelessness and anger welled against this, the unkindest cut of all. Probably the two girl were laughing and probably the others were laughing, too. It was probably the two youngest girls would share their cruel. Miss Jane Dickson wept until the women came once more.
Jane was marched directly to the ancient pillory and heavy stocks she had previously observed along with all the other goodies the Society had on their grounds, for those who broke their code, or more correctly, for those they envied. Jane was wondering what it would be like to spend a day with her neck and wrists locked in one of these terrible devices when she realized they were already occupied. He heart thudded in dismay as she recognized the two bowed heads and four hands as belonging to the young women who had shown her sympathy. No word was said but she was marched to stand before the shamed females who were stripped as naked as herself and were ashamed to meet her eyes. She was marched around the entire circumference of two punished girls to observe the scarlet of caned bottoms, and the stress of bare legs who's owners were on the other side of the heavy yokes. Jane kept silent and knew the girls feared speech.
Miss Stipend summed it up, "We heard them plotting escape. Such naughty, naughty girls. We are ashamed of them! But we love them and will cleanse their sin. You could join them for the day but the pillory is only made for two girls so they must stand along in shameful nakedness. They will be further whipped."
"Couldn't I be locked in the stocks," Jane asked impulsively. "Surely that a terrible enough way for a girl to spend the day?"
The brash request found unexpected favor. "Sitting in the stocks is not as innocent as you might expect, dear child," Miss Stipend admonished as Jane was led to the massive oak and sat on the heavy wooden bench which had probably accommodated a few hundred maiden bottoms before her own. Obediently she spread her legs and placed her ankles within the half circles provided. The space provided seemed shockingly small and she winched as the yoke was lowered upon them to complete the two circles to make her as much a prisoner as within massive stone walls. A huge padlock was adjusted and snapped shut to make her doubly secure, or perhaps to discourage the mercy of other hands!
"Please cross your wrists behind you back, dear," said Miss Stipend kindly.
"But you don't need to tie my hands, I can't possibly get out of this thing." She gazed at her jailers as if giving them good advise. "With my feet locked the way they are, there's absolutely no need to tie my hands."
"Yes here is, dear. After a while you will understand. Remember, dear child, you are being punished."
Sulkily, Jane crossed her wrists as ordered. She shrugged. What did it matter about her hands! There was probably little need of hands sitting immobile in stocks, except perhaps to slap at flies. She deemed the other two girls to be in far more desperate plight. Now she winched anew as the thin cord bit into her flesh as it circled and tugged tight. All the motions and the sharp pain was familiar to the girl upon the bench. When it was done she tested this fresh restraint and knew she could never free herself from it. Everything was in good order upon the estate of Miss Amity Stipend!
"We're terribly sorry we miffed it, darling."
"We know what a disappointment is must be to you. We're not all that happy ourselves. My name's Prue, that short for Prudence, and this is Sybil." Prue actually giggled. "We think it was those names that made us join the Society. We're not really a pair of old spinsters like the rest, you know." Prue actually giggled.
Jane's heart went out to these innocents. She could blame them for nothing. She did, in fact, own them gratitude for what they suffered on her behalf of her. Not that the news was anything but bad for all three. Striving for a comforting tone, she asked, "Is if awful standing in those stocks? It looks utterly miserable."
With the locking of Prue and Sybil in the pillory they had become human, contemporaries of Jane, speaking Jane's language. They were also feeling as sorry for themselves as was she. "It's a real bitch," said Sybil.
"And it's going to get worse all the time," added Prue. "Oh, damn! And they're going to whip us again!"
"They I'm sort of lucky in this contraption I'm fixed in," Jane ventured.
"Well, not as lucky as you think, darling. After you've sat there for a while your bottom gets numb. And when you go to ease it a bit you can't because your hands are tied behind your back. You'll see what I mean as the day goes on."
Jane experimented. Her only easement for her bottom's distress was to lean first to one side and then the other in a rocking motion which didn't do much good. She now understood Miss Stipend's willingness to let her have the stocks for the day. Abruptly she asked, "What can we do about escape? You haven't given up the idea, have you?"
"We'll never manage it now," Prue said reflectively. "We won't any of us escape unless someone else helps us. Sybil and I have been reduced to the same status as you, we have to be punished and kept chained up for the dear, darling spinsters to bill and coo over us like a pair of birds in a cage. Sorry, darling, we've had the course." Jane looked at the two bent heads and the four limp hands and understood. The Society had all three of them and would never let them go, until perhaps they kidnapped or enticed others to take their place. Seeing Sybil and Prue in the pillory and the whip marks on their skin, Jane knew the Society as never before. She also understood Miss Stipend. Miss Stipend adored girls and making them scream and plead for mercy. Miss Stipend's concept of justice was all the more fearful because about half her intentions were genuine and sincere. Miss Stipend was mixed up, she needed a man.
"What these old bitches need is a man," Prue affirmed as though reading Jane's thoughts. "They all need some good, hard thrusts where they've never had good, hard thrusts in their whole lives. They also need a touch of the whip to being them out of their comma of sanctity. "
"I say, darling, if you see anyone coming up behind us, let us know," asked Sybil. "They're going to whip us any how but if they overheard the things we're saying now they'd take our hides."
"We can't see a damned thing out back. It's the funniest sensation. If someone grabbed my between the legs I'd climb the wall -- if I could. It's really strange."
It was the strangest of sensations. Jane followed the lovely contours of her bare legs from her forest to where they disappeared into the massive oak broads. She could wiggled her feet on the other side of the oak to reassure herself that they were there but they could not be seen. With a thrill of horror she realized that immobility and the exposure of her innocent soles could be but a prelude for the Arab punishment of the Bastinado. She shuddered. It would be impossible bizarre to sit upon the bench and watch the soles of her feet whipped until she lost consciousness from the agony. She shook her head angrily to negate such pessimism. The spinsters might have little mercy but they would surely not go to lengths such as that!
"What other punishments have we got to suffer before they let us go?" she asked unhappily."
"Hell, darling, they may never let us go!" said Prue. "But they're not all that inventive about punishments -- look at this pillory and stocks, nothing new about them. Mostly they'll punish with different kinds of canes and whips. They'll search out all the places on our bodies that hurt the most and that's where we'll get it. Let's hope they don't notice the soles of your feet, they're sort of sticking out and pleading for attention."
"What I'm scared of is they'll catch sight of our three tongues and three pairs of lips," said Sybil, shifting uncomfortably. "They're mostly innocent but I don't think Miss Stipend is. Jeepers! Just imagine all twelve of them lined up and us on our knees shuffling from one to the other." She sighed then chuckled, "Would that be what they call 'lip service'! Me mustn't let on or give a clue, I'd hate to have to service any of them. Oh, wow, I can almost taste the moth balls."
It was undeniably nice to have company in your suffering. Jane would have preferred Plumpy but that was wishful thinking. Anyway, Plumpy would never be fixed in a pillory for which a crew of old spinster held the key. What retribution he would vent if he came to find his darling in these stocks and whip-marked.
"You poor dears," Miss Stipend's voice broke in upon the trio's wishful thinking. She had approached with little sound and was followed by her faithful disciples. Their eyes were shinning and it was easy to see why, Miss Stipend carried a cane and a whip. The captive's tummies did flip-flops in dismay.
The assembly disposed of themselves around the pillory but were careful to leave the prisoner in the stocks an unobstructed view. Prue and Sybil were careful not to say anything, they were resigned to what was about to be done to them. But Miss Stipend was unwilling to let the occasion pass without comment. "The canes for your bottoms, the whip for your backs, my dears," she announced with feeling. "We must not be lax and allow you to forget your transgression. We will make certain pain anoint the path for your return to virtue."
The sad occupants of the pillory emitted a weak, "Thank you," no doubt because of some earlier instruction. Jane knew how they must feel in their helplessness and exposure, the two young bottoms couldn't be postured better for the cane Miss Stipend held. Prue and Sybil tight clenched their fists and waited tensely for the first slash they could not see coming.
The president of the Society used the cane, first upon Prue's rounded contours and then on Sybil's waiting cheeks. Jane winched with each snap of impact. When the cane cut into either of the helpless rumps, it did so with a sound she could not describe, there was no word for it. The prisoners were soon weaving their bottoms from side to side in acknowledgment of Miss Stipend's efforts. Sometimes they kicked against the wood in useless fury. Mostly they shifted only slightly as each stroke planted its scarlet on their skin, their hands constantly opened and closed as if seeking to draw courage from the air. The pillory held them tight without a tremor.
It was by no means flogging, five strokes on each bottoms, five on each back. But, if repeated through the day, would amount to a considerable tally. Jane, watching anxiously, suddenly realized that attention was now focused on herself.
Miss Stipend held now only the thin cane. She was panting and flushed from effort and excitement. "You look very sweet, dear," she said sweetly. "You do feel penitent, I hope?"
Jane bit back every word she wished to say and substituted, "Yes, I feel penitent." She supposed it not that far from truth.
The eager spinster leaned her cane against the stocks and, with seeming sincerity, began to message the young pink feet held by the wood, playfully patting the exposed soles, and unbend enough to indulge in the ticking of the toes. "Are your little feet cold, dear?"
Jane tried hard not to respond but she was only human and the members of the Society were much pleased by her efforts to repossess her feet from the attention of Stipend fingers. "Oh, please don't do that!," she begged. "No, my feet aren't the least bit cold, they're warm. Please don't tickle me like that, it's driving me crazy."
"Of course, dear, I do understand. And it's such a mean advantage when you are helpless. You are helpless, aren't you?"
"I'm helpless. I can hardly move. Please don't hurt me."
"Pain is the ladder by which me mount to destiny," Miss Stipend intoned solemnly. "Have these dear little feet ever been caned?" Jane's worse fear was realized. It was as if Miss Stipend read her thoughts. She sat up, tugging furiously at bound wrists. "Of course not!" she declared urgently. "It would be too cruel to even think about. I don't think a girl could stand the pain, she'd faint."
"Perhaps we should experiment, dear child?" Miss Stipend's voice was falsely coaxing. "I am sure you'd benefit from the infliction."
"Don't, oh, please don't. I can't possibly bear such awful pain. Besides you'll injure my feet."
"I used the word mild, dear. That's all it will be, just a few gentle strokes on each little sole so our members can witness the experiment and you can evaluate a fresh punishment."
It was a terrible thing for a girl to have to watch her feet being whipped. She had to watch each movement of Miss Stipend as she positioned herself and swished the cane to impact upon one of the bodies most sensitive parts. Miss Jane Dickson stared in mute fascination at a cruelty she could not yet comprehend.
It was horror in slow motion. True, Miss Stipend was not caning with vigor but the short, sharp strokes evoked scream after scream from the pinioned girl. Five on each foot for a total of ten Jane would knew she would remember all her life. She knew also that Miss Stipend, perhaps unknowingly, had achieved her purpose. Beneath the awfulness of the beating of her soles, she was prepared to be penitent about anything and everything. Even after the tenth stroke had cut her tenderness she continued to gasp and moan as her feet throbbed and throbbed without end. It was truly a terrible punishment.
"I feel we have made a discovery," Miss Stipend said. "If naughty little Jane responds so well, we may consider this a penalty to be applied in any stubborn case." She turned to the sobbing girl. "May we be assured of your complete penitence, my dear?"
"Yes_, oh yes! If you won't whip me feet any more I'll promise to do anything you say. Oh, please... "
It had been a pleasant interlude for all except the three delinquents. Miss Stipend now assigned them to a day long contemplation of purity, her platitudes and cliches were sanctimonious to a degree that made Jane want to kick this spinster somewhere where it would hurt. But all three prisoners keep their heads bowed as in shame and bearing the scorch of their punishments as best they could. Soon they were alone.
There was no comfort and nothing to look forward to, not even certain if they would be whipped again that day. Jane sat dismally with hurting feet, slumped forward against hurting cords on her wrists, her legs indecently spread to accommodate the stocks that held her prisoner. Sometimes she slept for brief periods. In early afternoon it happened!
Discomfort had jolted Jane into awareness and to once more look around in hopeless resignation. Prue and Sybil were too into sleepiness and discomfort to extend greetings. Jane was on the verge of closing her eyes and bowing her head once more when and unusual flurry of activity at the big house attracted her attention. The spinsters were apparently receiving a guest and were fluttering a central figure in obvious excitement. It took Jane a bemused minute to recognized the visitor as male but only seconds to recall his name.
It was Sir Richard Mallory.
CHAPTER TWELVE - THE INEVITABLE CAPTIVE
The slavegirl whose feet were firmly imprisoned in the stocks and the man who first kidnapped her long ago stared at each other. Both showed surprised. The two occupants of the pillory had come wide awake and were watching this drama with shinning eyes. Sir Richard Mallory was a handsome man.
"You have a gift for getting yourself in trouble, my dear." Sir Richard's voice was bland, contradicted by the light in his eyes. "Are you going to ask me nicely to get your release?"
So traumatic had been the cane upon her feet and the seemingly endless punishment the spinsters were planning for her that Jane knew nothing other than relief and great gladness for Sir Richard's presence. She gasped, "Yes, oh yes! Oh, Richard, get me out of this terrible thing, take me away."
"Such is my intention, my beloved. I hope this has taught you of worse places than the Imogene?"
Jane's response was frantic, "These women are insane, they're a bunch of dried up sadists. A few hours ago they whipped my feet."
"Then, I may take it you are pleased to see me?"
"Of course I am. Oh, Richard, get my feet out of this beastly thing. Untie my hands. While you're at it, you might do something for these poor girl in that pillory over there."
"I am not Amnesty International, dear child. I came for you."
"But, Richard, they have been so sweet to me, they tried to help me escape, that's why they're in that pillory. You absolutely must help them."
Sir Richard chuckled and walked over to the pillory where his fingers explored four breasts and patted two bottoms. When he returned he said, with a trace of regret, "Delightful girls, I'm sure, but not up to my requirements. They would not be happy on the Imogene."
"But they don't have to go to the Imogene! You could just effect their release and let them go."
"I never let girls go, my pet, you should know that as well as anyone."
They stared again in silence. A slow awareness was penetrating Jane's mind as they gazed into each other's eyes. She thought of Plumpy and felt disloyal by the manner in which caned feet had subdued her. Miss Jane Dickson wanted OUT! In sudden alarm she questioned, "What are you going to do to me?"
"That's a silly question, my dear girl, you know damned well what I'll do with you. You'll pick up were you left off."
"But Petulance gave herself for me, you accepted the trade."
Sir Richard smiled. He was enjoying this play with words and his realization of the degree with which this beloved girl was subdued by a collection of middle aged spinsters. "That exchange was several days ago, beloved girl, I consider it of the past, over and done with. I don't recall anything being said about your being inviolate for the rest of your life. I've captured you once again. How many times is it, I forget?"
Jane, even though her wrists were still painfully bound and her ankles still painfully clamped within the oak could feel only euphoria. Sir Richard would take her away from these clucking hens and whatever happened then would happen. She was in no position to bargain. Sir Richard's ability to take her from this place was proof of her total enslavement and that she could be passed from hand to hand as others wished without a word to say in the matter. She refused to think of a life-time sentence aboard the Imogene. All things might happen, not the least of them might be Plumpy Plumpton. Reluctantly she realized that Sir Richard had loved her more often than he had whipped her skin. It was such a jumble she refused to try to mentally cope.
The tea party was obviously a success. If the Society disapproved of men, there was no sign of it now. Sardonically Jane felt quite certain Sir Richard could take any one of them to his bed and receive only thanks for the gift of his phallus. They clustered around him now, forgetting their prisoners, and concerned only with this magnificent male figure who had deigned to visit them. They would part with Jane gladly and console themselves with Prue and Sybil. All was for the best in this most wonderful of worlds.
It was decided Jane's hands should remain tied as they were. She was a lascivious young woman, not to be trusted. When the yoke was lifted from her ankles, she could have wept for joy. In a fine, grand gesture Sir Richard took her arm, helped lift her and walked her to the car. To the spinster's delight he bypassed the trunk and allowed Jane to sit beside him on the front seat. Her ankles were painfully bound as a parting gift from Miss Amity Stipend. They drove a way in a clatter of mutual good will interspersed with reminders of the need to whip Jane's bottom at regular periods. Joy reigned supreme except for the two whipped youngsters in the pillory.
Uncaring of punishments, Jane allowed her euphoria to take her beyond the bounds of prudence. "It wouldn't have hurt you to get Prue and Sybil out of that horrid place, too," she accused.
"I don't owe it to them." Sir Richard chuckled. "I'll give the police a call. They can drop by and pick them up and send them home." Another chuckled at the mental picture. "It should give the old spinsters a real shock. Holly Cow, I'll smell of moth balls for a month!" Jane took heart for another approach. "Okay, and thank you. Now what about me? You don't need me and Petulance as well."
"Are you casting dispersions upon my potency, dear one?"
"You know that isn't it at all. But surely you don't need to keep two girls prisoner all their lives. Petulance adores you, you ought to feel lucky possessing her."
"And you don't?"
"Oh, Richard, don't push me!" Jane complained in distress. "You're such a handsome chuck of male no girl could possibly ignore you. If you take us to bed, we're flattered you did. It's just as silly as those old biddies we left behind."
"But I adore you both." Sir Richard gave her a sideways grin. "How would it be you and Petulance alternate. One night sharing my bed, the next well chained in the brig? Makes a wonderful contrast for any girl."
"I think you're being silly. I know you can do what you just said but it wouldn't be half as nice as your marrying Petulance and treating her in a half civilized manner. Why don't you marry Petulance?"
"But what would I do with you!?"
"Send me back to Plumpy, do something nice for a change."
"Everything I do is nice. You should be grateful for what I'm doing right now. How would you like to go back and sit in those stocks?"
"So, okay, I'm indebted to you, I admit it. There's no way I want to go back. But when I get back to the Imogene are you going to give me one of those awful whippings you use to welcome back the naughty runaway girl?"
"Of course, why not!"
"I was whipped horribly yesterday, haven't you noticed the marks?"
"We'll allow you whipping to remain on hold several days to give you marks a chance to fade. Really, I think I'm being lenient. You deserve to be whipped for the ridiculous way you keep allowing yourself to be kidnapped. I don't have time to be chasing you and your kidnappers all around the Mediterranean."
"All right, I've said I'm grateful. If you were really and truly setting me free. I'd love you to bits. Isn't there any way...?"
"I suppose you could marry me." Sir Richard dropped his bomb with a careless hand. "How would you like to be a Countess?"
"You really don't have a title at all and I've never thought of marrying Italian."
"Countess is the feminine equivalent of my title, you ridiculous female. I'm actually English although everyone thinks I was born in Iowa for some stupid reason."
"No!" Jane's voice and attempt at sarcasm was none too firm. Sir Richard Mallory's disregard washed over his naked and firmly bound companion like water on the sand. He continued as though without interruption. "There's an ancestral castle that goes with the title, haven't used it much but it's still there. You'd probably enjoy it, its got the most wonderful dungeons and hundreds of pounds of chains all for recalcitrant wives. Don't suppose I'd have to use them on you too often."
"Not if you whipped me regularly."
They turned to face each other in a sudden, new rapport. Without wanting to Jane shared Sir Richard's laughter. It was all to sudden and unbelievable. But the cords upon her wrists and ankles warned her to take whatever this man said seriously. She said, "I think you're having me on. Can't you realize we don't even know each other?
"I'll keep you tied tight to the mast until you feel we're better acquainted. Damn it, girl, I'm trying hard to please!"
Jane could almost believe him. She remembered those other times when he had made love to her and she had believed him utterly then. She shifted against the cut of the cords. She was a sadly baffled young woman. Uncertainly, she said, "How do you expect me to believe anything in this awful jumble. And you spring it on me just after rescuing me from those awful spinsters and their whippings. And, by the way, I suppose this castle of yours had a torture chamber already equipped to make me wish I'd said no instead of yes?"
"Of course it has, dear heart, what else?" Sir Richard steered the car into a quiet bypass and brought it to a stop. Without hesitation he reached for his pocket knife and swiftly severed the cords from his captive's wrists and ankles. He then threw open the car door invitingly. "There you are, sweetheart, run if you want to."
Jane knew she should feel joy but only irritation came. This man was always a jump ahead of her, forever springing surprises she could not cope with. It was glorious to be free of cords and rope but her joy in this new freedom was tempered by suspicion. "Oh, Richard, why do you do these things to me! I'm so damned grateful for being untied, it's the most marvelous feeling but I can't possibly take advantage of it. I'm in a foreign land and I can't possibly go walking down the highway stark naked and without identification. As though to deliberately to provoke she added, "Tie me up again and let's be sensible."
"Whatever you say, sweetheart."
Jane bit her lip in annoyance as Sir Richard turned her around and crossed and tied her wrists again. He even went to the bother of tying her ankles. "Feel better now, my pet?"
She refused to answer, merely sniffing disdainfully and pursing her lips. It really did not matter whether she was bound or not, she was going where Sir Richard wanted her to go. But that glorious few minutes of freedom followed by bondage again had been a tactical victory for the man behind the wheel. Sir Richard was not slow to follow it up. "Nice bit of sign writing they've done above your tits. I think I'll leave it there."
"No, Richard, don't! I hate the beastly word."
"Suits you to a tee. My pretty little pervert. Sounds cute. I like it. Those old biddies hit closer than they knew."
"It's them who are perverts, not us. Richard, do take it off first chance we get. It shames me horribly."
Sir Richard was enjoying himself. "Don't see why?" he said jauntily. "When ever I roger you I can look down and be reminded I'm turning a trick with a sweet little pervert. Adds a touch of spice, wouldn't you say?"
"Have it your own way. Look, Richard, about this marriage business, you're not serious?"
"Of course I am. Will this be the first marriage in history in which the bride was dragged to the altar in chains? I like the idea, be as awkward as you want it to be."
A thousand women would envy her but all Jane could think of was her beloved Plumpy and the sacrifice made by a girl named Petulance. "You know I'm in love with Plumpy. Would you want a girl not in love with you? And then there's Petulance. You know how she feels about you. If you're so gung ho about marrying one of your slaves, you should marry her."
Sir Richard draped a robe around his captive's naked shoulders as they traveled increasingly busy street. "Petulance will be your lady-in-waiting," he said carelessly. "Call her your slavegirl if you wish, do with her as you wish." He chuckled as if at a mental vision. "I can imagine some of the things you two will get on to. You should both feel damned lucky. I could have turned a pretty penny by shipping you off to Celestine's Place." Sir Richard Mallory turned an almost savage scowl. "Damn you impertinence! Look, Jane, I love you. Will you marry me?"
"No, it wouldn't be sensible, I love someone else."
"You girls and your nobility!!" Sir Richard scoffed. "Look, sweetheart. Petulance has got something to tell you when we get back to the ship. In the meantime the matter's closed."
He trod heavily on the gas.
Miss Jane Dickson was forced to concede the potency of wealth. In a crowded harbor there as a private parking place, a private wharf, a private launch. They crossed them all without an eyebrow being raised because of a bound and naked girl being carried to a lifetime captivity. With an equal sense of possession she was carried up the gangway to the deck of a beautiful Imogene, shined and polished. The cords on Jane's ankles were slashed away as she was set upright. It was then the incredible procession.
First there was the real and laughing Imogene, the girl who's feet must be permanently legironed lest she flee. Jane was kissed and patted and her scarlet wording commented on, almost with envy. One by one they came, handcuffed, bound or chained in a variety of restraints, the whole sixteen girls of the Imogene. They had obviously been coached for, after the warmth of the reunion, they calmly returned from whence they came. All except Petulance. Petulance was missing.
"You hand maidens, my dear," Sir Richard announced. "It was a bit of a chore to pick them up again but, if cash didn't get them, chloroform did. They seemed mostly glad to be back. You'll only have to whip a few of them."
"Richard, I don't believe you!" Jane could manage only laughter and a fresh joy in the warmth of welcome.
"It was nice of you to arrange that for me, Richard," she conceded in sincerity. "Where are you hiding Petulance?"
The brig was just as she remembered it, rivets and heavy metal. Jane's hands had been untied but were now handcuffed in front, an almost indecent degree of freedom. Petulance was the same. They managed a tangled embraced of joined hands when the door had clanged shut and locked to leave them alone. The captive girls fed on each other's lips and frictioned breasts to breast and belly to belly for a long time before untangling to sit themselves on the bench. Petulance said very simply, "I know everything dear Richard's said to you. I know you'll end up marrying him even though you have to be bound for the ceremony. Darling, I know this won't make sense to you. I adore Richard. But I don't think I could be happier as his wife. I don't want marriage. All I want is for darling Richard to go on being the same with me like it's been since I was first kidnapped. Can you understand?"
"But half the time he's been cruel to you!"
"Well, yes, I suppose so. But I loved the whole thing, I'm loving it still. If he didn't whip me and all those other things, like handcuffing me in the brig right now, I wouldn't love you half as much. He says I'm to be your hand maiden, let's leave it at that."
They left it at that. Jane was wise enough not to harp upon a condition either could change. They would be prisoners on the Imogene for the rest of their lives, bound or chained or gagged as it might please their master. There would be thousands of girls who would envy her. Jane's own pulse quickened at the thought. Behind the Imogene there loomed the beckoning shadow of the Mallory ancestral home and the weighty title of Countess. In wry amusement Jane wondered what it would be like to be a Countess yet to send the night heavily ironed in the family dungeon. But Petulance, too. There would always be Petulance.
The voice of Petulance now changed. "Darling, I have to tell you something. Richard won't do it, he's dumped the job on me." The eyes of Petulance were soft and her hands gentle as she clasp those of her fellow prisoner. "Your Plumpy is dead. The press reports claimed him the victim of an American 'hit man.' I guess he must have trod on a lot of toes in his career. Oh, Jane...!"
The lenience of simple handcuffs was now explained. There was also a box of kleenex, and unusual item for the brig. There was much clink of steel as Petulance soothed and tended who's passionate grief was tinged with disbelief. When the first agonies had passed and Jane was sitting beside the girl she loved, she voiced her thought, "Was it Sir Richard? I mean, did he hire the...?"
"No he didn't. You can read the reports later and you'll understand." The fingers of Petulance were gentle on Jane's skin. "And something else you should understand; Richard doesn't do things like that. He's a real bastard in some ways but he doesn't hire one man to kill another. I didn't realize it when he first captured me but he actually is a nobleman. They have a thing called noblesse oblige. That's our Richard. When it actually matters, he's a gentleman."
For the first time since making it's acquaintance, both girls were grateful for the brig. It was marvelously private and offered what they needed. Their bloods heated up until Petulance whispered, "Jane, darling, are you wanting what I want?"
"Of course I want it, I want it terrible. I was thinking we could save it until later but now, with what you've told me... Oh, Petulance, hold me tight."
"Why don't we do it now, Jane dear, there's nothing to wait for." They did it now. Unfolding gracefully to weld into a union. The handcuffs impeded not. Within the damp, soft places of Petulance, Miss Jane Dickson found release and a new contentment. Above deck was a man who might have them whipped for what they now enjoyed. She did not care.
