The clientele of "Ye Olde Tea Potte" might well be politely obviously to my using only one hand, but I was very certain every eye and every awareness was forming its own opinions as to why I held the other hand beneath the table, well hidden by the table cloth. I hoped they were enjoying the mystery, I was not! I was hot and bothered. I was also furiously angry and just a little scared.
"A cute trick, I picked it up in town the other day," said Reggie Tufton confidentially. "Here, let me show you."
I'd known the amiable idiot half my life, so why not! I allowed him to possess my left hand and the first thing I knew it was firmly handcuffed out of sight to the table and most certainly lost to me.
Reggie Tufton does this sort of thing all the time, we're accustomed to him and it's actually rather fun. Playing along, I asked, still without alarm, "Well, when do you produce the white rabbit?"
"She'll be along almost any time, dear girl," Reggie assured me earnestly. "The thing is not to panic. Look upon this experience as just one more of my amusing little pleasantries."
"Well, isn't it!"
"Well, not exactly, Angela, dear girl. Quite soon someone will arrive who will explain the whole thing to you."
Everyone loves Reggie Tufton. He couldn't possibly leave me with my hand cuffed under the table so I was still curious as to why he had fastened my hand under the table. The joke might not be on me but on someone else yet to appear. Testily I complained, "I'm sure this will all be very funny but right now that steel thing you've got round my wrist is tight enough to hurt. I think you'd best unlock it."
As I watched Reggie's retreating back I realized I could add my utterance to other "last words." I watched him pay the bill and depart from Ye Olde Tea Potte while I sat stricken with irritation and a touch of apprehension. Damn it, I was handcuffed to an immobile object in a public place. Anything I did was likely to result in a shocking disgrace. Feverishly in an effort to maintain a simulation of normalcy, I sipped my tea and nibbled a watercress sandwich while bitterly reflecting that I might consider myself lucky to have one hand by which to allay suspension of my true condition. What I was thinking of Reggie Tufton should have burned his ears.
Using only my hand and forearm I turned and twisted and tugged at the beastly thing locking my wrist down there out of sight. I thought of trapped wild things out in the forest and knew there was no way I was going to get out of that metal band which bit at me as though alive. I couldn't be too vigorous in the effort because of the clink of links and metal cuff. I longed to kneel and examine it but was not yet ready for that predicament. I did my best to appear the calm and composed Miss Angela Maberly the tea shop knew only as a patron not as a possible convict chained to one of their tables. I was reconciling myself to sitting thus until closing time, sipping tea and nibbling watercress sandwiches, when the white rabbit showed up on time.
It was really a white rabbit. It was the honorable Mrs. Mable Wycherly, a lady of uncertain age but most definitely in with the right people. I had known Mable Wycherly just as long as I had known Reggie. She wasted no words but, beaming a happy smile, held up a tiny key the sight of which made my heart leap in thankfulness.
"Reggie gave me this in the parking lot," she confided. "He really is an idiot, isn't he, but such a darling boy. I'll sit as close to you as I decently can and get this little matter dealt with as quietly as possible."
I was so happy I would have agreed to anything. And, anyway, Mable Wycherly is very good company. When she told me to look the other way while she searched for the imprisoned hand, I did so without the thought of anything happening. Reggie had had his little joke and now I would have an extra cup of tea with Mable before we went our separate ways. Good gosh, looking back at it now I have to wonder how innocent a girl can be!
The honorable Mable Wycherly was working in the dark, that small key might not find its hole too easily. When she asked me to reach my right arm down there also, I obeyed without second thought. There reached my ears two of those clicking noises with which Reggie had first acquainted me with the handcuffs. In stupid non-comprehension I knew myself more imprisoned that before. The tiny key had worked its magic on Reggie's but only on that cuff attached to the table. And that one was now on my other wrist, leaving me with shackled wrists under the table. I straighten erect, thrusting my joined hands hard into my lap out of sight. I glared at Mable who was now placing Reggie's tiny key in her handbag. I realized that she had been very adept at the under table work, for more so than one would expect from a society matron. Busily she rearranged her chair, beamed upon me with uttermost affection, then tossed a silken scarf across the table. "It will cover them nicely, darling. If you're careful no one will notice a thing. Please don't be angry, the game still isn't over."
"It's over as far as I'm concerned. Mable, take these horrible things off my wrists."
"Not in the restaurant, dear. Just be patient."
"But everyone will see!"
"Not if you use that scarf cleverly, dear as I'm sure you will. I'm afraid you're stuck with Reggie's little joke. Try not to hate us."
Mable Wycherly is thirty-eight. Against my twenty-six she was almost maternal. She had the ability to be either girlfriend or maternal aunt at will. In the second roll she could get away with murder. I heaved a heavy sigh of discontent and fumbled with her scarf. What the hell else could I do!
Cobblestone Mews are frightfully posh. They haven't seen a horse in ages but the cobblestones are real, a thing with the very rich. I visited the honorable Mable Wycherly often enough. It was the Town Residence, her ancestral home being Cranston Manor back from Lyme Regis in the country of Dorset. Cranston Manor and it Great Park were gorgeous relics of the age of privilege, as yet unspoiled. Cobblestone Mews tried hard to be a graceful replica of their eminence, it was often referred to as a back street of obsolete nobility.
At any rate, Mable took me there while my mind was furiously debating ways I could escape her handcuffs without attracting undesirable attention. By the time her door closed at my back my hands were still joined and I had reached no acceptable conclusion as to what I could do about it. I stood in the familiar halls and felt foolish. "You'd like to get them off, dear?"
"Yes, please." I was being cautiously polite.
"This way, dear." Mable led me to the lounge and produced her tiny, magic key. A few moments later I was standing, more mystified than ever, with my right wrist handcuffed to a convenient ring in the wall. Any advantage I might have had during the process was lost in disbelief this could happen. I rattled the handcuff and ring in futile irritation to demand, "This has gone far enough, Mable. Unlock this beastly thing and we can still be friends. If this is one of Reggie's jokes, you can tell him I refuse to play."
"It isn't one of Reggie's jokes, dear."
It took a moment to register. I then found myself, back to the wall, my imprisoned hand helpless at my side, glaring angrily at a woman who had always been my friend. "Tell me about it," I said disgustedly. "Perhaps I ought to know?"
"I collect girls, dear. I've collected you."
"That's nonsense. Oh, Mable, please be sensible. Having my hand like this is awful."
Mable came close, tilted my chin and kissed me hard upon the lips, hard and long enough to leave me panting. I could back no further nor leave my tether so stood in watchful waiting while Mable's hands reached for the fastening of my dress. I didn't realize her intent until she had me with one shoulder and one arm completely bare. Startled, I used my free hand to repair what she had done, my voice trembling, "You can't undress me, Mable. For goodness sakes, we don't have to be indecent! Anyway, you can't removed all my clothes with my hand fastened."
"Poor little pigeon!"
The honorable Mable Wycherly could not have used words more apt. That's exactly how I felt, a wild bird about to get it's wing clipped. This was a Mable Wycherly I had not previously met. I could not think if a thing to say that would not sound trite. I stood still and disgustedly felt myself trembling.
"I've all ready for you darling. Let me show you some of the lovely things I've bought for you."
I began to sense something beyond a joke as I watched her bring the box and place its contents in plain view. I could recognize the whip. It was not a long whip but I was quite sure it could hurt quite bitterly. There was a thing I took for a cork remover, at least that's what it looked like. And there was the collar and with it a chain. A collar is not a thing to fear and I stood hypnotized while the honorable Mable Wycherly stood to clasp the lovely bejeweled band around my neck. There was a deadly click and, when I raised my free hand to find any lock or joint to tell me it was not there permanently. There was then the chain. It was not a heavy chain but heavy enough that neither I nor six other girls could conceivably break it. It joined my collar with a padlock and then another padlock secured it to the ring in the wall. "Isn't it lovely," Mable enthused. "Here, let me unfasten you wrist." It was very clever and the cleverness was frightening. I stood there completely free except for the collar upon my neck. It leashed me to the wall as a dog is leashed to its kennel. What came next was no surprise. "Take you clothes off, Angela, darling. There's not a thing to stop you now. Isn't that a lovely arrangement?"
"Mable, you're being an absolute bitch. This has gone all together too far. I don't know what you and Reggie have got hashed up for me but I absolutely refuse to play. Set me free from this medieval claptrap, it's not too late to stay friends."
"Take you clothes off, Angela." It was a deadly repetition. Fascinated, I watched Mable pick up the limber length of the short whip, a riding crop, and flex it suggestively between her hands. "This little darling hurts horribly, dear. Wouldn't it be a lot better to undress?" I had not melodramatic feeling of Mable being an enemy, she had instead become a force, a force I could not understand. Doing a quick assessment, I wondered if I could grab the crop as it slashed at me, and perhaps grab Mable, too. But, chained to the wall as I was, I would be terribly handicapped, and, in any case, felt no assurance in my ability to overcome this scion of the nobility and extract the key to my collar from where ever she had it hidden. As though reading my thoughts, Mable produced the little metal object, held it for my inspection, before placing it on the sideboard, far from my reach. Now, if I did succeed in gaining the upper hand, it would be only a stalemate. Unless I released my grip on her she could not release me. I had never felt so foxed.
As thought giving me time to make up my mind, Mable now picked up the other object in the box. "The bracelet fits around your wrist, dear, it's actually a single handcuff but on a solid stem on the grip which I hold. If I turn it, I can make you do anything I wish. If I turn it too far, it will break your wrist. They invented it in Mexico to make prisoner's behave themselves."
"Mable, this is insane! I don't believe it's happening, you were my friend!"
"I'll still be your friend, darling, once you've adjusted to your new life. Reggie will be your friend, too."
"How can you talk of friendship when you're holding a whip in one hand and a torture instrument in the other. Mable, be sensible!" The riding crop bit through the air to slice my legs below the dress. A right and a left to inflict on me the most awful pain I'd ever known. I found myself hopping like a stork and reaching my free hand down to assure myself my legs had not been severed at the calf. Pain formed my words, "Mable, that hurt something awful! I can't stand it. Put that riding crop away."
"That's right, darling, no girl can stand still for very much of this." Mable's tone was almost placating. "What you have to understand now is that I can stand away from you and whip you to my heart's content. Sure, you're wearing a dress, but you're legs and arms are bare and the thin stuff over your shoulders isn't much protection. If you refuse to be sensible I'll simply start whipping you and you can undress whenever you feel like it."
"But that's barbarous! It's... it's cruel!"
"Only because you make it so, darling. Why not be civilized and remove your clothes? Is it that big a deal in front of a woman?" Slowly my hand reached for the fastening of the dress. It wasn't me doing this, it was someone else, someone else I'd never met, a girl terribly afraid. I got it down off my shoulders to reveal my bra before stopping to say, flatly, "I can't. I could strip for you in a bedroom or a powder room or some such place. But not here, chained to a wall, for some reason I don't even know about. Mable, please...!"
I had unwisely bared my shoulders and most of my breasts before speaking. The riding crop bit at me savagely and wickedly and there was no ways I could turn to shield my bare skin. This time it was four strokes and I was in such a dither of agony and confusion I lost no time in divesting myself of every bit of clothing I wore. I kicked off my shoes and did not stop to argue about my panties. Since Mable was having a good look at my breasts, she might just as well have a good look at my pubic hair. I discarded thought of using the wall to try to hide parts of me. What was the use? I defiantly stood there facing this woman who I had always liked. I was panting, choking in pain and embarrassment. But agony did not prevent my, "Here I am, have a good look! Do you want me to spread my legs?"
"That would be nice, dear, please do."
I spread my legs, then used my free hand to clutch the chain by which I was forced to stand for this undesired inspection. In some other context this act of baring my body for her pleasure might have been meaningless and without a blush but now I longed to die.
The honorable Mable Wycherly put down the wrist-breaking device but slipped the loop of the crop over one wrist before coming close. "I want to kiss you, Angela," she said very simply. "Don't be silly, I've always loved you."
Her lips were hot and moist. In pain and despair, and much in need of comfort, I flung my arms around her shoulders and kissed back hungrily. In a minute I was fiercely rubbing my naked breasts against hers. I was a frightened little girl who needed mother's reassurance. Not that Mable was by any means maternal, but she was very, very female and in spite of the pain and shame it felt good to clutch at her in my nakedness. Her arms went around me, too, so I could feel the riding crop dangling loosely at my back. Our hands were groping as were our lips and we stood thus, thrusting hotly, and panting mouth to mouth for a long time. Despite the burn of the crop marks on my skin I felt better.
When Mable stepped back, I, unthinkingly, followed but only to have the chain snap my collar and neck back as though in silent admonition. I accepted the silent snub without a word and stepped back to relieve the tension on my throat, awaiting the next move in the most bizarre game I had ever played.
"It's not all bad, is it, Angela?"
"
"No." I tried to sound ungracious but failed.
"If you don't insist on fighting, I'll be very kind to you, dear."
"Mable, I don't understand any of this. Something's happening, let me in on it."
"I've taken possession of you. dear, that's all." Mable made it sound like buying a new dress. "I'll never give you a chance to get loose, so you can forget freedom. I'll do whatever is necessary to look after your private affairs while you are my prisoner."
She allowed her words to hang heavy on my consciousness. "But that could be a long, long time, darling. I play for keeps."
She could get away with it! The honorable Mable Wycherly could extract Miss Angela Maberly from the stream of life and divert me for her own enjoyment. I assured myself I would never let this planned enslavement succeed. Somewhere she would make a slip and I would get the best of her. I wondered if then I would have her arrested for kidnapping or simply extract some sort of humility she would hate to deliver. But for now Mable owned me, every little bit of me.
"You're mind's busy, isn't it, darling? Those lovely crop marks on your skin are still hurting, aren't they?" Mable's voice oozed concern. "I'd feel an absolute bitch over what I'm doing with you if I didn't desire you so much. It just takes a little time for you to understand. Don't leap to hasty judgments, Angela, my pet."
I didn't leap to anything, I couldn't. The sharp snug of the chain on my neck told me clearly the omega limits of my protest. I stood there glaring at this creature that held me prisoner while she snapped that Mexican wrist thing on my wrist and unlocked the padlock from my collar. The collar stayed and I suspected it would stay for quite a while. She then gave me a brief demonstration of Mexican cruelty to captives. It was just as well she did or I might have invited a broken wrist. Instead she simply exerted sideways pressure from the handle. I emitted a squeal and fell instantly to my knees. The damned thing had sharp edges and I instantly divined how little pressure it would take to break my wrist. The honorable Mable then turned the beastly thing in the opposite direction and I followed like an obedient puppy dog. There was no fighting it, the Mexican bracelet was frightening! Next there came an upward tug and I followed it to stand erect, shame faced, my wrist extended meekly. I was panting.
"Get the message, darling?"
"Yes. Please don't twist it again, Mable. Please... I won't give you cause." Thus I was led to Mable's bedroom. I'd been there before and supposed there was nothing new to see. But previously I had failed to note the rings. There were rings all over the place. With a second pair of handcuffs the honorable Mable Wycherly attached me to one of them and then removed the Mexican horror. I stood, secured my a single wrist, infuriating in its easy dominance.
"I'll freshen up, darling, and change my dress." Mable's easy tone left me unsure. This still could be one of Reggie Tufton's more elaborate jokes -- what he referred to as "pleasantries."
I stood, tense and vibrating, awaiting answers to questions I would not ask. It was a feminine intimacy with Mable doing the things all females do when there's a mirror around. She also changed her dress. She then picked up her handbag, kissed me, and departed. I stood naked in a suddenly empty room.
It took me a minute to realize she wasn't coming back. But I heard the front door open and close to tell me I now had my chance. A bracelet on one wrist surely could not prevail against a girl's strength, determination, and ingenuity. I tugged forcefully at my single bond but only hurt my wrist. I tugged harder. Nothing happened! I was only slightly dismayed, telling myself I should not expect my chain to break that easily. I bend down to examine it, I had never seen a handcuff before, certainly not up close. But what I saw was not reassuring, so far as my right hand was concerned, it was held fast. The chrome of the cuff laughed at me to say, that as far as it was concerned, I could stand there forever.
I remembered reading about bobby pins and handcuffs. But I didn't have any. I didn't have anything! There was a small table far beyond my reach and on it a number of items, one of which might be the key to my release. But the rug was heavy and could not be tugged. I had no sheet or even a dress with which to do some fly fishing to drag something in my direction. I had nothing! It took me no more than fifteen minutes to realize I would stand as I was until Mable choose to release me. I was as much her prisoner as if chained in the darkest dungeons. I swore and the silence absorbed my oaths like a sponge. I rattled my manacle and leaned back against the wall.
I held on to Reggie Tufton as a drowning person clutches at anything. This had to be a joke! This standing naked and unable to leave the wall was no doubt part of one of this "pleasantries." Probably he and Mable were laughing over my shame and frustration before she came back to set me free. It was the only comfort I had. As time passed I believed it less and less.
I expect a real convict girl locked in a real cell because of a real crime goes through all the emotions that kept me quivering like a leaf. The first of these was fear. Chained nakedness was not an easy thing to adjust to. The next thing was the loss of freedom and will. I was a nothing, just a pretty parcel of naked girl, checked against the wall as one might check luggage at a railway station. There was also the still smarting marks of that riding crop upon my skin. I wasn't sure of those, they might have been a necessary part of a charade, if indeed this was only that. Or they may have been the beginning of something else. Mixed up with all this was the memory of Mable's hot lips and the thrust of our bellies and loins... ! Surely that meant something. . . . Or did it!
I then considered my nakedness. Mable and I had not discussed it. I could only assume she wanted me naked to make me more submissive and easier to handle. Surely she could use her riding crop on me to far greater effect that if I was clothed. I realized this nakedness did strange things to me, like accenting my helplessness, but also adding the color of sexuality to everything done to me thus far. I could easily discern this sexual arousal remaining a part of whatever Mable did with me or to me. My loins flared at that single word, of what she might "do" to me. It left me with one more quiver to cope with.
I still refused to believe Mable's story about keeping me prisoner for a protracted length of time. Her possession of me had already gone beyond the bounds of one of Reggie's "pleasantries, " I had to suppose the Reggie or Mable had decided to go a step farther this time in whatever excitement they got out of scaring a girl to death. I couldn't see beyond that but, uncomfortably, I realized Mable might easily keep me for a week or so and there seemed little I could do about it. Disgustedly I looked at the bed which might as well have been in the wilds of Africa for all the good it did me. It was out of reach. Grudgingly I slithered to the rug, it would be less tiring than standing but it wasn't all that good because I had to hold my cuffed hand at a level above my head. It was simply the best I could do and my first glimpse at the compromises a captive girl had to make.
Mable took her time. It was dark before she returned and I'd been sort of nodding with my head against my raised arm. I'd twisted and tugged at it until my wrist was chaffed. Common sense told me I could not withdraw it through that metal but instinct said otherwise, instinct told me I had to try. Logic aside, I still found it hard to believe a shiny little handcuff could keep me against the wall to await Mable's pleasure. Had she bound and gagged me it would have made more sense and I would have accepted it more easily.
"The bathroom and something to eat, that's what you're wanting, isn't it, darling?" Mable was as bright and brisk as ever.
"I want to go home -- and that was horrible, leaving me here alone all that time. Mable, please let me go!"
I watched my ankles chained together by what Mable described as "leg irons." They looked like handcuffs but were larger. When the handcuff joining me to the wall ring was unlocked it was immediately relocked about my other wrist. I could move around but there was no way I could escape. Mable could control me with disgusting ease and she now had the riding crop hanging from a belt around her waist.
I tried not to look at it.
"A sensible girl, behaving much better now," Mable approved. "I expect you've had time to think. And handcuffs really do give a girl something to think about, don't they?" l refused to play. I simply said, "Mable, I want to go home, please free me. This farce is getting worse instead of better."
"Go on into the bathroom, dear, and don't do anything silly." About the only silly thing I could do in the bathroom, which incidentally was a Arabian Nights decorated room, was to break the window. I could probably have done it with one of the array of bottles and then screamed my head off through the broken glass. But I did not break the window, I was still trying to believe myself the victim of a joke in poor taste. My chains made a frightful clatter as I bathed and the leg irons prevented me from stepping in and out properly, I had to do a sort of twisting in and out while sitting down. When I walked back into Mable's bedroom, the damned chain snubbed every step I took. If I tried to hurry, I tripped and fell.
"You'll get used to them, darling," Mable assured. "They look so lovely on you. And so do the handcuffs. Come along, let's eat. I've brought back something from the delicatessen."
I now had to adapt myself to the graces of the dinning table with joined hands, where one reached out and the other followed. It was like doing everything twice. I was aware of Mable watching me and enjoying every fumble I made. I had to ask myself why I was not in raging hysterics, but remembered I had known the Honorable Mable most of my life and I'd been a guest in her house often enough. Take away the metal on my wrists and ankles and give me a dress and the scene would have been entirely normal. I ate and drank and listened.
"First off, I want you to understand I don't the least bit mind using a whip on you, darling." Mable speared an olive. "As a matter of fact, I rather enjoy whipping a girl. Whips and crops make the most gorgeous sound as they impact. It's sort of a cross between and thunk and a snap, there really isn't a word to describe it. If you weren't hurting so much at the time, you could listen and give me your opinion."
"Something for me to look forward to, I'm sure."
"I don't mind a few sarcasms, darling, but don't over do it. I'll make a few allowances because this is all new to you, but don't push your luck."
"Mable, I'm not interested in anything except being freed from these horrible things you've locked on my and getting back my clothes." My words were ignored.
"I'll keep you hear at Cobblestone Mews, darling, until I've got you really docile and obedient. I realize now, under those lovely breasts of yours, you're seething with resentment. And a determination to escape. You're also probably wondering what you'll tell the police." She smiled affectionately. "Forget it dear, and don't fret yourself about freedom."
The Honorable Mable held every advantage, I held none! It was easy for her to guess my every thought, she had only to put herself in my place to know what I would be thinking and feeling. I made my voice as stiff as starch and as cold as ice, "I hope you're enjoying yourself."
"After you're well trained dear, I'll take you down to Cranston. You've visited there often enough so I won't tell you about it. But there are a few things you haven't seen. Dungeons for instance. And there's a beautifully equipped torture chamber I call the playroom."
"You're being ridiculous, Mable. Torture chamber, my foot! I've never heard such nonsense."
I suppose one of the nice things about owning a captive girl is that you don't have to pay any attention to what she says. Mable ignored me.
"One of the good things about having you at Cranston," she went on, "is, my pet, there is so much more to do with you there. From now on you'll exist for my amusement. And, what with the old part of the castle, and the Park, you can imagine the possibilities. Here at the Mews we are sort of limited to the rings around the wall. My, you did chaff your wrist, didn't you."
She had me curious but if I asked questions that would seem as if I were weakening. Frigidly I retorted, "I suppose there's a pillory and a whipping post and a set of stocks," before remembering I had seen exactly those things on one of my visits. We spoke of them laughingly as relics of an ancient age but a memory lingered of holes for wrists and neck and ankles far smaller than was generally the case. Now I knew why! "Don't answer," I said hastily, "I'd rather not know."
"They're a bit old hat," Mable said easily. "But I'll lock you in them sometime just so you'll know what it's like." She almost giggled. "There's so much for a girl to learn at Cranston."
"Thanks, I've learned too much already. When do I go home?" Mable sipped an expensive vintage most people could not afford. "You'll stop talking about going home, the phase soon passed. I suppose you realize I will extract a tribute from you when I take you to bed?"
"You've gone to a hell of a lot of trouble just for that," I said testily. "Couldn't you have asked me sensibly in a civilized way instead of all this nonsense? I used to be fond of you."
"You're still fond of me, darling, even when I whip you really hard you'll still be fond of me. You won't think so at the time, but that's the way it is."
I shivered. Mable with a whip hanging from her belt and me naked! I'd had four cuts from the damned thing already but I realized they probably weren't anywhere near as hard as she could make them. Crossly, I asked, "Are you expecting to whip me into submission. Nibbling your puss isn't the end of the world, y'know, especially with a girl you've been fond of. All these irons and things aren't the least bit necessary."
Mable smiled a maternal smile. "Oh, I know all that, darling. I was just testing. I rather hoped you'd be angry and refuse. That way I'd have an excuse to whip you into obedience. But never mind, well have a lovely time anyway."
The way Mable said it, I could almost feel my skin being sliced as she used that riding crop on me. I cringed at the thought and protested, "Oh, Mable, you don't have to keep talking about the whip. And you don't have to keep wearing it where I can see it. I'll be sensible enough not to give you excused not to use it on me."
"But, darling!" Mable sounded shocked. "I love whipping you. If you refuse to give me an excuse, I'll invent one. You may as well make up your mind to an occasional whipping, it's one of the things you'll have to get used to. I know you'll hate it but you won't die and it won't do you the least bit of harm." She giggled, "It's probably good for your circulation."
I sniffed and left it at that. I could feel the invisible web of the Honorable Mable Wycherly closing in on me.
"You can do the dishes, darling, it's the maid's night out. Her name's Jessie and every time you ask her to help you escape, she'll report it to me and you'll be punished. Try to remember."
I did the dishes, mantled in shame and a blush I could not control.
I wondered if Reggie knew what Mable was doing to me. I took my short, hobbled steps with abundant caution and carried the trey in a dither of apprehension. Mable contented herself with watching and caustic comment. "Take shorter steps, darling, you're not going anywhere." Or the one about, "You'll bend over and touch you toes for five, darling, every time you break a dish. Let's call it our incentive program."
I survived the ordeal without a single stripe. I knew Mable was disappointed but I had a horror of that riding crop and concentrated every effort to stepping within the tolerance of my chain. One thing was for sure, chaffed ankles.
It appeared I was to share the bed of the Honorable Mable Wycherly.
I walked beside her in mute acceptance but not silently. The chain between my feet worked busily, singing its song of triumph over the maiden who wore it. Mable's remark was typical, "Isn't that the loveliest sound, dear. You'll be hearing a lot of it."
Naked, the Honorable Mable was a voluptuous dish. Making sure it was in clear view of my sight, she hung the riding crop from one of the posts of the four-poster and gave me the sweetest smile. "Just in case, darling, a mistress never knows her luck."
I suppose that was how she saw herself, my mistress. I was not prepared to argue her that conceit. Already padlocked somewhere out of sight was a longer chain than that which had chained me to the wall. When it was padlocked on my collar, I was about as much a prisoner as a girl could ever be. Darling Mable lay upon her back, spread her legs wide apart to reveal the plumpest and most perfumed of pussies. "You know what to do, darling, get with it."
I looked down at the plump labia my lips must lave and my tongue probe. Its scent wafted to make my nostrils flare in female response to potent flesh. Positioning my near helplessness between the hungry thighs I sought my task, resting my chained hands upon the hot belly above my buried face. I nibbled greedily as though it were a privilege. That was the beginning.
CHAPTER TWO - I LEARN
My captivity at Cobblestone Mews was pure delight--for Mable, but not for me. For me it was an endless boredom interspersed with vivid shames and humiliation. There was also the whip and the riding crop. The Honorable Mable used both upon me with exquisite happiness, a happiness I did not share. The shocks Cobblestone Mews inflicted upon me were cleverly spaced wide apart to keep me always unaware but in vivid apprehension. For the most part I was simply moved from ring to ring where I sat or stood in dull despair to await the next chapter in the story which Mable wore .and I endured. After the first week I no longer kidded myself that this was one of Reggie's "pleasantries." The Honorable Mable was going to steal a part, if not all, of my life and all she wanted me for was a plaything in bed, a handy package of naked girl kept well secured in convenient places for her amusement.
It was inevitable I revolt. In assessing my chances I reached the conclusion my best bet would be one of those occasions where I was totally free except for the leg irons. Mable was pretty well convinced that the leg irons and her riding crop would keep me in line and defeat any fight I might put up. But the leg irons gave me a tantalizing and misleading sense of freedom. My first opportunity when she ironed me in that fashion to take me to dinner. I pounced on her like a hungry lion.
Darling Mable was caught unawares, I had my forearm thrust against her throat and a firm grip on one of her hands which I twisted up behind her back. For the first ten seconds I was doing fine and wondering if I would have to knock her senseless to find the key. But Mable rallied her forces and stamped hard on my foot with the spiked heel of her shoes, first one then the other. The agony was so great it made me loose my hold and enabled Mable to bring into play some of those karate tricks she had often hinted about. A minute later I was flat on my face on the rug with Mable's knee pressing hard against my spine and one of my own hands twisted up my back as I had tried to twist hers. Along with this was the truly terrible pain where her heels had found my feet.
I was positive bones were broken and I was suddenly sobbing in bitter defeat on Mable's carpet.
"Had enough, darling?"
"Yes... Oh, yes! Oh, Mable, stop doing that to my ami... Please stop. And I think you've broken my feet."
"Put your other hand behind your back, darling."
The familiar bit of the handcuff announced my defeat and surrender, I was hurting so bad there was no fight left in me. Mable locked one of my wrists tight and then dragged me to the wall where it was clicked to one of the rings forever waiting. She backed up to survey with satisfaction the saddest and sorriest of captive girls as I used my one free hand to tenderly explore the broken skin and awful agony of my feet. I had remained leg-ironed throughout the battle.
Mable wasted few words but those she used were potent. "You've earned this, darling. You're welcome to scream all you like."
It was the whip, not the crop. I was crotched against the wall, one hand manacled above my head, my feet joined, but otherwise in relative freedom. Mable slashed away at me as though she was beating the dust from a carpet. She cared not where she struck, but seemed to prefer my more intimate portions to the conventional back and bottom. After a series of frightening cuts between my thighs, across my belly, and across my breasts, I knelt and thrust my nakedness hard against the wall to present only those portions of myself best able to bear the whip. Someone said that a girl's body and back were well designed by nature for the rod and thong. I won't dispute it, all I knew was that I wanted to put my breasts and pussy into such safety as my single bond permitted. Quite unconcerned, Mable lashed away at what I offered with tremendous gusto while I screamed and screamed and screamed and tried to bury my face in the one hand left to me. After an eternity of pain, my one time friend stopped whipping me to stand, panting hard, and ask, "Had enough, darling? I'd love to give you more."
"I've had enough." I spoke the words in a pitiful sob.
"Are you going to jump me again, darling?"
"No. Not ever!" I meant it.
I could imagine how pitiful I looked, kneeling there naked and chained to the wall. I just couldn't stop the heaving sobs fighting at my breasts. I was a remorseful little girl who was by no means sure her punishment was over. I was promising myself inwardly that I would never try such a trick again. Quite suddenly the impossible happened. With surprising strength, Mable positioned me over an ottoman she dragged up for the purpose and, leaving my hand cuffed to the wall, spread my legs wide apart and buried her face between my thighs. Shock made me silent. In a few seconds I would not have moved even if I could. The pent up floods of frustration and urgency swept me into orgasm after orgasm beneath the skillful mouth of a woman all too wise. When I had screamed my last climax the ottoman was thrust away and I was embraced in loving arms and kissed and kissed. I kissed back hard, my one free arm reaching to clasp a woman's body, suddenly dear to me. Mable wept, too, and our tears mingled on our cheeks. After an eternity all too short I found myself alone still with one wrists manacled to the wall. My feet throbbed cruelly. They were not broken.
It had been the most vivid tumult of emotions I had ever felt up to that time in my life, I had been whipped and loved in the strangest union of emotions imaginable. I crotched there, a naked, well whipped girl, and pondered the unanswerable facts of a new existence. I was no longer Miss Angela Maberly, I was Mable's slave. At that moment I wanted only to obey.
It did not last, of course. Nothing lasts the way we think it will. We endlessly delude ourselves. At the moment of Mable's leaving me, it was certain I would never again feel anger or know loneliness when she chained me as pleased, or in those brief, fierce moments when I was whipped. I promised myself I would stop dreaming and embrace my captive state with whatever gratitude I could muster. I would keep Mable's love for me alive.
Euphoria lasted a day or two in which I nursed hurt feet and wealed skin. Both made me hot between my thighs in a way I would never have dreamed. Girls are strange creatures and I was learning fast. I wondered if Mable had ever been whipped, I cherished beautiful fantasies of her nakedness tightly secured while I marked it with a thong which sliced the air and cut at her in vicious joy. But that's all it was, a dream. By the third day I was once more alert to possibilities with escape an ever present purpose in my mind.
We did not mention my dereliction or its rewards. The Honorable Mable had always spoken to me in terms of endearment, giving me no excuse to think other than that she loved me fondly. I knew, sheepishly, that if only she would stop my imprisonment and punishments, I would fall in her arms most gladly. It would have been nice if the story had ended right there but it did not. Darling Mable now kept me for days and days with my wrists chained to the ring in the wall or a ring in the floor. There was even one in the kitchen. She knew as well as I the awful frustration of being held by so small a bond yet have no key. The metal circlet was always tight and frequently inspected to make sure of its dominance of my flesh. Mable took the leg irons from my feet as thought to emphasis the frustration of the single steel band which denied me freedom. I was unquestionably learning my lessons.
Mable never felt urgency about me. She had me safe and could play her little games with me at leisure. The first of them came about ten days after my abortive attempt at escape. I was sitting in my familiar pose against the wall with my shackled wrist above my head, quietly dreaming, when someone entered. I supposed it to be Mable and was slow in opening my eyes and raising them. But when I did so I absurdly sprang erect and covered my pussy with my free hand in a silly, coy gesture left over from childhood. The woman regarding me with an enraptured gaze was not Mable.
It was Rosalie Morton.
"Hello," said Rosalie. "Mable has told me all about you. Isn't it wonderful!"
"Help me get out of here, Rosalie!" The words burst from me like a bomb. "I've been kept prisoner. I've been prisoner here in chains for simply ages. Gosh, am I glad to see you!"
"Darling, what are you trying to cover up? I've seen one of those things you're so shy about, I've got one myself. Please don't stand like that, you look silly. Cover one of your breasts if you have to cover something."
I knew right then I'd get no help form Rosalie. She'd been briefed on my condition and, anyway, she was a close friend of Mable's. But I had to try. "Please tell the police, Rosalie. I've been kidnapped." I rattled my handcuff. "Look, I'm never free of this. Mable keeps me chained all the time. Rosalie, please help me."
"I'd love to, my dear, but Mable made me promise before she sent me up to have a look at you. You're not really being hurt, are you?"
"Of course I am! Look at the marks on my wrists and ankles and the whip marks, they're all over me. How would you like to be whipped every few days?"
"I wouldn't But on you those lovely marks are gorgeous."
I let my one free hand fall limp at my side, if she wanted to look, let her. A single hand is not much help in covering a naked girl. Once again I thought of turning my back, but that would be coy and silly and Rosalie would probably get an extra laugh out of it. As though in defiance I thrust my breasts and widened the separation of my legs, making a virtue of necessity. Dully, I asked, "What's Mable going to do with me?"
"Keep you as a pet. I wish I had you."
"Rosalie, you can't be serious? You can't possibly be party to keeping me a prisoner here? Look, all I need for freedom is one tiny little key. "
"But I don't have it, darling. For all the help I can give, you just might as well be locked up in the Tower of London. Look, I don't want to hear any more about letting you loose. If you stop bothering me about it, I won't tell Mable and then you won't get punished."
"It's not me that bothering you, it's your conscious."
"Well, maybe you're right, but I'm not going to spoil Mable's fun. Besides I think you're getting a kick out of this that you don't realize. You're frightfully erotic that way, y'know."
Rosalie came close and we kissed. I was so damned lonely and scared I would have kissed an elephant. And Rosalie is a very beautiful girl. She picked up my captive hand and examined the handcuffed wrists with absorption, finding keen interest in the shinning steel around my wrist and the twin circlets. "I can see what you mean about the tiny key and freedom," she admitted, "This single link around your wrist must frustrate you to death. It would give me the heebie jeebies."
"If you were half a friend, Rosalie, you could have me free by this evening. Please...?"
"I told you not to ask me again," Rosalie reprimanded me sharply. "I'll now have to tell Mable. If I were you, darling, I'd make the best of things. You're probably having the most erotic experience of any girl in the country. I almost envy you... But not quite!"
"If you'll promise to get me free, Rosalie, I'll get down between your legs and do that thing you once asked me to and I refused. I'll do it now, gladly."
"Mable really has you trained, darling." Rosalie was entranced. "But don't you see, dear, all I have to do is borrow that lovely riding crop from Mable and you'll do anything I want anyway without strings attached?"
"Drop dead! I think you're a beast. You're not the least bit what I thought you were." My breasts were heaving and I was really angry.
Rosalie kissed me and, laughing, went away to leave me once more alone and wishing I hadn't asked the things I had. I knew what was going to happen now, and the thought of standing as I was now while Mable's whip cut at me brought tears to my eyes. It was all so damned unfair... !
Mable made me wait and stew in apprehension a long time before making an appearance. Neither of us spoke but stood standing and staring and tremendously aware of each other. Finally she spoke, "You expect to be whipped, don't you darling?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll disappoint you." She dangled a pair of shining handcuffs for me to admire. "These will give you a longer time for repentance, darling. Hold out your hand."
I did, hating my docility. I watched the cuff circle my wrist and click its way to a snug, tight fit. "You're going to love this," Mable assured me cheerfully as she grabbed my opposite ankles and dragged it up to be locked to my wrist. This left me standing on one leg like a stork and feeling hatefully disorganized.
Mable backed away, assessing her work. I assessed it, too, and hated it. To ease the bit of steel I grasped my ankle with the hand to which it was cuffed. "You're being terribly unkind," I said but left it at that.
"Would you sooner I whipped you?"
"Noooo... I suppose not. But thanks just the same."
"You're welcome, darling."
We both laughed, mine was a trifle hysterical.
"You'll come to hate it after a while," Mable assured me. "But I don't want to be forever whipping you, I have to think of something. "
"You're not leaving me to stand like this all day, are you? Mable, please don't."
"You can still sit down the way you usually do, dear. Slide down to the rug and you can go to sleep."
"But it's all so awkward and untidy and... and... It's simply horrible."
Mable laughed at my dolor. "That's the female talking. You're instinctively scared someone you know will come in and see you hot and bothered and frustrated. I have to run now, darling. Enjoy!"
Mable left me standing, clutching my right ankle with my left hand, to which it was securely locked. I felt awkward and idiotic so slid cautiously down to the rug. It was not much better. It wasn't so bad for my hand, which hadn't any place to go anyway, but my right knee complained bitterly of the imposition. I could make things easier for it by leaning forward and extending an arm. But whatever I did was a case of robbing Peter to pay Paul. Darling Mable had left me beautifully foxed.
Can you visualize it? My right hand chained to a ring above my head, my left hand chained to my right ankle. Handcuffs have only a single link so they don't give all that much movement. The only part of me left free was my left leg which didn't seem to know what to do. I didn't know what to do with it, either. It stuck out as though in lonely isolation as though I was an amputee. I wondered if I could drag myself back up to stand on it but I didn't bother. I would have wept and cried like a baby if I'd had a hand to dry my tears. But this way I would have to contort myself something awful and just said to hell with the whole thing. I sat there, an irritated and angry package of female arms and legs which could no longer dispose themselves as nature intended. Mable was clever!
I sat and glowered at the opposite wall. I played with the steel circlet on my ankle, it was tight and resisted motion. I didn't have an extra hand with which to play with the bands around my wrists but they were tight, too. I was a mad and sorry little girl who had failed to mind her Ps and Qs. I swore fervently at no one and nothing.
Mable obviously thought she had designed a masterpiece. She allowed me the freedom of the bathroom before she went to bed. I got to the bathroom and back to my ring in a stupid, bent over posture which made me blush. When I was safely locked back on the wall, the honorable Mable simply said, "Goodnight, darling, pleasant dreams." And buried herself in the bed which, for this night at least, I no longer shared. In the dark I really did shed tears but they did not matter, there was no one to see. Mable kept me within the stricture of two pairs of handcuffs for a couple of days. By the time that ordeal was through I was wishing fervently she had whipped me in the first place and gotten it over with. A whip maybe wicked but it's quick. By the second day I hated that damned handcuff so bad... ! But that's the way it was.
Rosalie had been bad but she was only a beginning. There came the day when Mable padlocked the chain back to my collar and took the handcuff from my ring and wrist to join it to my other wrist behind my back. She had not done this to me before, and having both my hands in back was degree of helplessness quite new. Its intent became obviously when she bandaged my eyes to put me in the dark. I could not reach the bandage, I couldn't reach anything. I simply stood, a naked girl against the wall, waiting for something to happen.
I was certain I would not like whatever it was Mable was about to do to me, but I was so damned sick of simply sitting in utter, helpless boredom, that I actually welcomed the new adventure or punishment or whatever it would be. I stood expectantly, knowing the chain and collar and ME made a pretty picture while I tugged and twisted against the handcuffs which held my wrists in unfamiliar union behind my back. It's shocking to think of, but after a girl's been a prisoner for so long, she welcomes almost anything.
The way darling Mable had me fixed left only my ears. I had to stand where I was, I couldn't see a thing and there was no one to talk to. Instead I listened but, in a circumstance like this your ears are likely to let you hear what you think you'll hear, ft takes a very definite sound or voice to penetrate the darkness and make sense. Again and again I could swear I heard movement or the rustle of a dress. But when I stood tense and alert, cocking both ears, if such a thing is possible, there was only silence. It got eerie after a while and I knew the blindfold could be a form of punishment. But I hadn't done anything and Mable hadn't said she was punishing me. Imagine my dither! I struggled and twisted to get my locked hands up to pull down the blindfold but never quite made it. Like I said I was foxed but good.
Everything ends. I was suddenly aware of very definite sounds. Mable was moving around the room and I could follow her motions by the sounds she made. By the time her steps turned in my direction, I was trembling with curiosity. When she whisked away the blindfold, ! blinked in the sudden light and beheld that which sent my heart, first plummeting, and then to a frantic hammering. Around the room were most of the female acquaintances I had ever known.
I wanted to die. I longed for the earth to open and swallow me up. I considered turning my face to the wall but rejected it for the same reasons as before. It took every ounce of will power I possessed to simply stand facing them and do nothing silly. Holly cow, was it ever awful!
Their excited chatter broke the silence while Mable stood silently to one side while her exhibit, namely me, got all the attention. There were a hundred exclamations but I only remember a few of them.
"Isn't she simply darling!"
"And so gorgeously helpless...!"
"And those beautiful whip marks! Oh, Mable, I did envy you so much."
There were plenty more, but who cares. My stark exposure was so total I simply returned their stares and asked frigidly, "Has any of you the decency to let me loose?"
No one had that much decency. I caught a warning glance from Mable and dared not try again. But the guests, most of whom I had thought of as friends, clustered around me to admire, to finger and to probe.
I was no longer a girl or one of the bunch, I was a gorgeously erotic exhibit designed for their entertainment. Alter the initial impact we all adjourned to the lounge, Mable proudly carrying my chain tether and pridefully padlocking it to another ring when we got there. The room didn't matter much, what did matter was ME.
The etchings on my mind are vivid as I locked glances with girl after girl and woman after woman. These people had been my friends, the group forming my social life. Now they beheld me naked and chained as a slavegirl in a Roman market. But the pity and sympathy I had a right to expect was not there. For these females I was pure delight, a delicious innovation, an erotic break in the monotony for matron and maiden alike. I was all together to good to waste. I'm quite sure that if any felt sympathy or pity, they quenched the emotion by telling themselves I was enjoying this exposure as much as they. If ever a girl knew defeat, I knew it then!
But we were sisters under our clothes and the novelty soon faded as the group's attention turned to tea and Mable's food. True, there was always a pair of eyes surveying me from somewhere but they turned as soon as I returned their gaze steadily. Even their disregard was an affront as wave after wave of shame washed me in a tide of humiliation. But the tide receded as did the waves until my flesh ceased to bum beneath the stare of curious eyes as I surrendered to the nakedness from which I was never released any more than I was released from the chain. Mable's party was a great success.
When the honorable Mable and I were once more alone, I stared at her happy features to demand, "So, okay, I asked for help, what's my punishment?"
"What would you suggest, darling?"
"Oh, Mable, don't play around with me. You know how I must be feeling. Let's get it over with."
"You're all hot and bothered," Mable chucked. "It shows what a guilty conscious will do for a girl. How about ten with the cane on your nice, round little butt?"
My heart leaped. It was a bargain! But all I said was a meek "thank you" and inquired as to how she would like me to turn.
It could have been worse.
* * *
Time is potent. Its passage told me all too clearly the truth of Mable's promises. I was a prisoner, perhaps forever. Freedom became a pretty dream, it dwelt in the past not the future. I was ashamed to find myself occasionally being meekly obedient. But the shame of these surrenders gave my bottom a chance to heal and be once more a virgin for the cane. I spent my days chained to this ring or that, and my nights leashed beside her on her bed. 'The outrageous which marked a fresh beginning was artfully exploded upon me during a quiet afternoon in which ! was quietly dozing and hoping Mable wouldn't be too long in taking me to dinner. I looked up at an unexpected sound and there he was, the full six feet of him. Mr. Jeffery Dillon was regarding Miss Angela Maberly with intent interest. I didn't know him from Adam, I found out his name later. For that awful moment he was the just a terrible male man having a good look at my breasts and pubic hair. For some reason I scrabbled to my feet, my single free hand covering one breasts while I retorted, "Go away! You're not suppose to see me like this, you're in the wrong room."
"No, he's not." Mable said, making a sudden appearance. "His name's Jeff Dillon and I've sold you to him for the afternoon. I would suggest you mind your manners."
The honorable Mable didn't stay long enough for me to protest or say a word but my male visitor pointedly closed the door behind her then stepped forward a few paces to get a look at what I suppose was his new possession. His new possession was ME. I cringed like a schoolgirl beneath his amused gaze. "I'm not going to eat you." he assured easily. "I suggest you relax and enjoy."
"You mean you're going to...?" I couldn't say the awful word nor name the act.
"Of course! I paid a big price for you and you are highly recommended." His smile was charming, almost disarming. "Don't tell me I'm your first?"
I didn't want to tell him anything. "You can forget about it, can't you see my hand is chained to the wall?"
I protest was short. Mable had told him about the chain and padlock and I was very soon tethered by my collar and my captive wrist released. To do these things he had to stand very close and I got the scent of his masculinity. It struck me in wave after wave. I suppose I'd been starved of a man for so long his presence was doubly potent. When he held my bare shoulders and kissed me hard I knew I was bombarding him with whatever scents nature had provided me. He stepped away to leave me panting. I now had two free hands and used them to cover both my breasts while bestowing on him the trapped animal stare which by now came naturally to me.
"Please don't do it to me," I pleaded. "Do the other things if you feel you have to but not that."
Jeffery laughed. "Other things? What other things?"
"Caning my bottom or whipping my back or chaining me in some disgusting pose." I knew myself blushing intensely while my hands forgot my breasts and flew to the collar around my neck, the single tether still holding me.
"Do men to those things to you?"
"No. But Mable does. Look, Mr. Dillon, Mable has kidnapped me and she's keeping me a prisoner here the way you see. Please help me escape. But don't tell her I said that.
"She told me you'd ask, and she told me she would punish you for asking. I gather there's some sort of code...?" Concerned, he added, "You're all tensed up. Would you like me to ring for tea?"
"I'm not allowed tea. Mable says it will make me fat."
"I've already arranged for it." He pressed the bell.
We stood and stared. I felt ten times more ashamed because he was so damned handsome in a nice tweedy sort of way girls always associate with security and good behavior. But he had announced his intention to ravish, and had prepared me for the act. My mind was groping with this, trying to make it seem possible and real when Jessie arrived with the tea. She wheeled the trolley in, winkled at me broadly, as left us to our own devices. I'd never made any time with Jessie, she was definitely Mable's girl.
"Perhaps you'd pour, it's the lady's prerogative." The man who would soon violate my sex thrust the trolley within my reach, provided a chair for me and one for himself, and sat down expectantly as if this were a every day occurrence. Mechanically I poured. Mechanically I drank and ate. And, because I had no choice, I listened to the omnipotent male.
"You mustn't be angry with Mable, she's a sweet girl. I've known her a long time."
"Why don't you thrust your intercourse into her then, instead of me? I'm sure she'd accommodate you."
I almost threw my tea in his smiling face when he replied, "Mable asked me to do it to you as a favor. She said the only other man she could think of was Reggie Tufton. Cheer up, I'm not that hard to take. "
"You can't have an ounce of chivalry or you'd set me free of these chains. Why won't you?"
"Because you and the chains belong to Mable. I can't tamper with her property."
"It's the chains which make me belong to Mable," I said savagely. "I don't really belong to her at all. It's just the handcuffs and collar that keep me here."
"We're arguing," Jeff said sharply. "I dislike arguing. Has anyone complimented you upon your breasts, they are magnificent."
"My breasts are my own affair." I made my voice as icy as I could.
"And you have the loveliest forest of pubic hair. Pity I'm not a collector... "
"Don't you dare!" Absurdly my hand flew to protect my secret place. I hastily returned it to view then tartly asked, "I hope you're enjoying your tea while ogling a naked girl who wishes she'd met you when she was properly clothed."
"Of course, I'm enjoying you, and I take what you said as a compliment. By the way, this whipping business, would you like me to do it before or after our little time together?"
"No I wouldn't!"
"Well, I only asked." He chuckled. "I have heard there are some girls who really get a charge out of their bottoms being caned. No harm in asking."
When Jeffery Dillon rolled away the tea trolley and replaced our chairs where they belonged, I stood against the wall, shivering and quivering in an emotion for which I have no name. I watched Jeffery remove his clothes, abstaining from the Victorian exclamation, "It's too huge, I can't possibly take all of that!"
If I died, I died! At least it would be beneath the handsomest male creature I had ever met. I couldn't think of a thing to say, protests seemed absurd. Mable had delivered me to this man and that was about the sum total of it. I held onto my chain tether to keep it from clinking as I shivered.
Jeff picked me up and laid me on the rug. The chain permitted this. He seemed terribly in command but I shuttered to think of how many times he had done this with other fluttering maidens. I hated to think of him as a stud but that was probably the way Mable saw him. I closed my eyes and was surprised to discover my arms still around his neck from the process of picking me up and lowering me to the floor. I let them stay there.
I was teased but not tom. His hands and fingers were infinitely gently. After my feminine imprisonment, they told me in a flash of hot desire, of being decidedly heterosexual. If I had eaten of the forbidden fruit it had been only under the force of Mable's whip with a lot of loneliness thrown in. When Jeff Dillon finally entered me with the full immensity of his maleness, I forgot everything except entry into that rainbow hued nirvana only glimpsed by the most successful of lovers. I gloried in lust!
It was a long aftermath. Even had I been free I would not have left that place. Mable's chain, padlocked to my collar, had hindered us not at all. When finally the male withdrew from me and resumed its clothes, I was content to lay as a chained prisoner upon the rug. I didn't want to get up, I didn't want to do anything except dream. Later I might be ashamed of myself, but not right then! When it became evident The Male had no intention of using a whip on me I knew only unbounded happiness and said, anxiously, "This isn't just one time, is it? You will come back?"
He kissed me. "Of course I'll some back. You're special."
It was more than a promise.
Jeff raised me to my feet, handcuffed my wrists as he had found them, unlocked the padlock to my collar. I was back at square one. He kissed me again and went away. I stood there, dazed, wondering if what he had done to me could be properly called rape. I decided it should not. And, anyway, he'd paid for it, hadn't he!
The following day Mable took me to Cranston.
CHAPTER THREE - MEDIEVAL MAIDEN
I'd been to Cranston as Mable's guest before but not as a prisoner. I was most definitely a prisoner now. The honorable Mable gave me to understand that this was in the way of a promotion. Cobblestone Mews had exerted its influence long enough and I was ready for other things. It seemed unlikely I would enjoy any of them. My first absence of pleasure came from the journey down. I did not sit with Mable in the front seat but made the trip securely trussed with about forty yards of rope in the boot of the car. It was my first experience with being bound with other than chain. So in hopeful excitement I spend the two dark and uncomfortable hours trying to free myself of this new bondage only to find it more cruel than the handcuffs or the chain. With them it didn't hurt if I didn't struggle, but now roped tight, every bit of me hurt constantly. My wrists were crossed and tied behind my back and from them a wicked cord was drawn between my legs and up between my pussy to join a belt of cord around my tummy. It was easy to tell that Mable had done this sort of thing often. She and Jessie lifted me like a sack of potatoes and dumped me in with the spare tire with a thud. The slam of the lid had a terrible finality.
Along with my two hour battle with the cords I shed quite a lot of tears. I was quite positive my transfer to Cranston was something to do with Jeff Dillon. Quite likely Mable would never allow me to see him again. I had to be crazy. I had stood shivering with fright with the prospect of him raping me and now I was shedding tears over maybe never seeing him again. The whole thing was one more bit of Mable's total possession of me.
I was soon convenience that Mable had tied me the way I was not so much to keep me helpless but to impose a new kind of authority.
I would have been safe enough back there if she had just bound my wrists behind my back and tied my ankles. But that was only the beginning. I pussy was tied, my breasts were tied as though they had a life of their own and could walk away. She had also tied my elbows, not hard together but close enough to make them a continual nag. It was also quite hard to breathe and I was quite sure that no blood was flowing beneath the cords. I was a quite sad prisoner when the car finally stopped. The lid of my small prison was suddenly flung open and I found myself blinking at the cheerful countenance of Reggie Tufton.
Our greetings were terse and to the point.
"You look simply ripping," Reggie exclaimed happily. "Those marvelous ropes! Mable should keep you tied like this all the time."
"Aren't you ashamed of what you've done to me?" I demanded bitterly. "It was all your fault. Please untie me." I put every bit of feeling I could into the next few words. "Reggie, dear, please give me freedom. Get me out of these ropes. Pleaseeeeee!"
"Don't take on so, dear girl, you look ravishing. Those breasts...!" He sighed in ecstasy. "And the way Mable has the rope right inside your pussy... ! Isn't Mable wonderful!"
Any remarks I was about to make about Mable were cut short by the lady herself.
"Lift the poor girl out of there, Reggie," she instructed as though he were a servant. "You can carry her up to the green room where we'll have cocktails while she watches. Don't you dare untie a single knot."
Reggie is strong, he's not half the idiot he pretends to be, but it's a role he likes to play. I expect it gives him a lot of latitude a more sober type would not have. He plucked me from the open trunk and carried me a long distance to the green room where he dumped me on a couch. I wanted to cry about the ropes, they were hurting so much. When I told the two of them about the pain of my bindings, Mable cheerfully retorted, "That's just the way they should be, darling, I wouldn't have them any other way. And be a good girl, you're in Cranston now. If you can keep your pretty little mouth from complaining for a while, I may let you have a cocktail."
As usual I was foxed. It was gorgeous to be out of the trunk but hateful to be still bound tight. I also wanted a cocktail in the worst way so I kept quiet while I watched the honorable Mable and the darling Reggie sip their cocktails and chat merrily away about certain features of my anatomy of which they approved.
Reggie choose to be vulgar. "Will she have a cut cunt, Mable? I mean, that rope you've got inside there...!"
"They're indestructible," Mable said tersely. "Goodness knows, you should be aware of that."
"Well, I always feel sorry for the little darlings -- I mean the little pussy, not the girl. They seem to have such a bad time one way or the other. But I suspect you're right, I've never noticed any change one way or the other after anything."
They were doing it deliberately. Mable was playing the bitch to Reggie's bastard. I hurt too much to struggle any more but, if I did, I knew they'd enjoy it. Hovering above all of us was my inner most query as to what Mable would do with me at Cranston. Rings around the walls might seem trivial here I got my cocktail. Reggie raised and cradled me and held the glass to my lips. I found the attention absurdly comforting. I gulped the potent stuff and asked for another, a request which unexpectedly was granted. I felt better but was more than ever aware of the cut of cords. "I'll demean and humble myself in any way you wish if only you'll untie me," I offered dismally. "I don't suppose you've any idea how much I'm hurting?"
"Take her Jo one of the guest rooms, Reggie. " Mable sounded bored. "If she wants to be difficult, you can tie her out spread-eagle on the bed. " She chuckled. "In fact, why not tie her that way anyhow. Every girl should be violated at way at least once."
Reggie picked me up and carried me away, a victor with the spoils. I could have struggled but Reggie had been a friend and might be again. Dismally I inquired, "Does Mable really mean what she just said? Is that what you're going to do to me?"
"It's not the end of the world, poppet. Cheer up, you may enjoy. I'm suppose to be rather good at it."
I had a vivid but fleeting memory of Jeffery Dillon and admitted to myself that I wished it was he who bore me in his arms. "Is this your reward? I mean your thirty pieces of silver for playing Judas and betraying me?" I asked bitterly. "Don't you hate yourself?" He did not answer.
The scene of my ravishment was a pleasant, bright and cheerful room.
I had seen it before but had never imagined it being put to it's present use. Reggie tossed me on the bed with deliberate unconcern and went to work untying knots. When I was freed of cords up to the top of my thighs, he spread my legs apart and tied my ankles to each of the bottom corners of the bed. As usual, I was to be given no freedom between fastenings. When he untied my hands he was decent enough to give me a minute to message my sore and indented wrists before tethering them in the same way as my ankles to spread and expose me in an absolutely obscene "X."
I had been a prisoner long enough to grasp at whatever pleasure or comfort came my way. I was about to be violated, raped and ravished. But for the moment the spread-eagle, which was not too tight, was a glorious comfort after the way Mable had trussed me. Reggie removed his clothes and sat beside me to play reflectively with my nipples and my indecently exposed vulva. He had a nice touch, his fingertips invoking instant response, imparting a promise soon to be kept. He grinned down at me cheerfully, "Hate me Angela?"
I stirred against the ropes and had to think a minute before answering, "No, I suppose not. It's happened to other girls, hasn't it, so why should I complain?" After a pause I added, "And thank you for the loveplay. I needed that."
Reggie knew the arts of foreplay all too well and soon had me in suspense, reflecting ruefully on the competence and virtue of the two men chosen thus far by Mable to reduce me to the level of a whore. Reggie would not pay in cash but he had certainly performed a service in delivering me into bondage. When he lowered himself into me and I closed my eyes and stopped worrying about anything. When Reggie finished his Judas role and I in yielding tribute to my captors, we finally came to the end of a successful coupling. Reggie was right: he was good! I wondered idly if I now got chained in the gloom of one of the Cranston dungeons. But while chatting about nothing important, Reggie untied my hands and bid me sit up so he could cross them behind my back and tie them tight again. It was evident I was never to know the faintest chance of freedom. When I was free, except for bound hands, Reggie and I both did something silly. He leaned down and bit one of my nipples so cruelly that I screamed and lunged to sink my teeth in his shoulder and bit for all I was worth. We came apart, both dismayed. Reggie stood beside the bed, fingering the wound I had placed upon his flesh then looking in surprise at his fingers touched with blood. My heart plummeted, I would be trouble now for sure. But all Reggie did was apply a clean handkerchief to his wound and remark, "Well, girl, let's hope you don't have rabies."
Mable was not in evidence. Reggie suggested he show me around before tea, slyly suggesting there might be delights in Cranston not generally perceived by visitors. "What, walk around the house and park naked like this!" I exclaimed, blushing. "The servants... "
"All well trained and well paid and fully accustomed to naked young woman with their hands tied behind their backs," Reggie assured me. "You won't even get a single raised eyebrow, just a smile."
It's the damndest sensation for a girl to walk naked through familiar scenes where she had previously been clothed. Cranston's huge stairway and vast hall had a thousand eyes, all focused on my twice ravished puss. And upon my out-trust breasts, one still throbbing from Reggie's bite. I expected the dungeons for sure but Reggie led me out into Cranston's great park. I don't know how many acres there is but it is huge enough to encompass woodlands, glades, a couple of small lakes, a few quaint ruins and a great deal of grasslands. It is very beautiful, a place where fairies dance by moonlight and one may almost hear the pipes of Pan. I wasn't a bit sure I had anything to be grateful for but the sunlight worked its magic as did the place itself, I obediently walked beside the man who had been made a temporary gift of myself, the man who had tied my hands so I didn't have much to say about anything.
"The Honorable Mable tells me you're interested in the stocks and the pillory," Reggie stated. "We may as well take those in first of all, they're out beyond the woods in beautiful isolation."
"But Reggie, I've seen them on a previous visit."
"You're going to see them again, my pet. Don't quibble."
I was less concerned with our present mission than with a separate disquiet. "Are you going to tell Mable about my biting you?" I asked anxiously.
"Yes, of course, the dear girl has asked me to report all such incidents. She'll punish you but I'll put in a plea for leniency, after all, I did bite your tit."
"Reggie, if you don't tell her, she'll never know. Please...?"
"She'll see the scar, poppet."
I was about to deny his assertion when I realized Mable possibly utilized Reggie's virility as well impose it on me. The wound from my teeth would thus stare her in the face. My heart sank and I allowed the subject to drop. I'd hear about it soon enough.
The ancient machinery of punishment was still where I had seen it last but now I saw the ground around each of the beastly things was well trod and the things themselves somehow bore the appearance of recent use. There was still a mystery about Cranston I did not know.
"Where does Mable get the girls to put in these horrible things?" I demanded. "It's more than casual guests having fun, isn't it?"
"Mable is never short of girls," Reggie informed me earnestly. "She's got a stable of them. Keeps them all in a huge cage." He chuckled delightedly. "You'll probably be added to the collection when your novelty wears off. After that you'll just get taken from the cage when she's in the mood for you. But you'll never be certain whether you're going to be loved or lashed. Adds a touch of spice, don't you think?"
"Reggie, you're teasing me."
"No. Scout's honor. I'd take you to have a look but I think it's a privilege Mable reserves for herself and you'll get your belly full when you're in the cage with them yourself. But never mind that stuff. Come along and I'll show you where she makes you walk the plank."
It was a sweet little lake, marred only by a slender jetty out into the water and beyond that the sinister plank itself. "Mable has had the lake dredged down to where there is a considerable depth where the girl is forced to jump, you can't see the bottom. The unfortunate maiden's hands are tied the way yours are now. But it doesn't matter whether she can swim or not, she gets to jump off the end anyway." Reggie produced his evil chuckle once again. "The hell of it is she's been heavily primed with stories about what she's going to find down there. Mable insists there's a couple of piranhas and an Amazonian shark. I'm not sure of the truth of it but I'm not sticking my foot in to find out. I know if I were a girl, I'd waste no time getting back to shore."
"But if she can't swim...?"
"They don't tell her before hand, but if she's going to drown they haul her out with a boat hook or go in after her. Mable loves parties and I've known her persuasive enough to get the girls to draw lots on a voluntary basis to see which of them will do the fatal jump to provide a thrill for the rest. It's a favorite turn."
I shuttered, gazing down at the dark water, suddenly sinister. I was glad when Reggie took my arm. The next exhibit was a short, heavy bench with rings to denote its purpose. Beyond its end and at either side were posts. They, too, were equipped with rings. Even without Reggie's explanation, I could imagine myself bound down to the bench, legs wide spread to each of the waiting posts, thus exposing my most secret place in an obscenity not in keeping with the lovely park.
"Don't worry, you'll be tied down there to await the attentions of a satyr," Reggie assured me. "There's a neat little trick to this thing. The girl spends the night, tied as you can imagine, then one of the big dogs is let loose from the kennel and it's pretty much a hit or miss whether he finds you or not. The park is a big place and he may simply go to sleep or rove around. But if he does happen to catch your scent and come to pay his respects you can guess what might happen. One girl admitted to twenty-six orgasms before she was freed in the morning."
"That's horrible!"
"But a fact of life, dear girl. Let us hope you never have to spend the night on that bench."
The scattered ruins I had previously admired turned out to be artfully created simulations designed to house any maiden who might offend Mable's majesty. One provided entry to the darkest and most dismal of dungeons while the second provided the same half way up a tower. A barred window enabled the chained maiden to peer out upon freedom. Both were cruel!
"The dear girl doesn't use them often," Reggie admitted apologetically. "But they're always here if she decides to use them. As you can imagine, Mable's girls are very well behaved."
The loveliness of the park was soiled by what I had seen. On our way back to the house I asked Reggie bluntly, "I guess I never really knew Mable. Is she a sadist? What does holding all these girls prisoner do for her?"
"Power, dear girl. I think that's all there is. Mable has all the money in the world and this is the way she gets the biggest kicks."
"But she has no right to hold any girl prisoner, to take her away from life!"
"She does it anyway."
"But the police... ! She could go to prison forever for all these kidnappings."
"Are you in any position to go to the police with a complaint?" Reggie asked dryly. "Forget it. It won't happen."
I thought of the slavegirl who had prolonged her life a thousand and one nights by telling the Caliph who owned her a fresh story every night. It would behoove me to emulate her performance with Mable. Reggie had given me a graphic picture of what awaited me should I fail to please. In Cobblestone Mews we had played a pretty game of keeping me a prisoner, an imprisonment I did not truly believe, but Cranston was for real. Here was subjection and obedience plus. Once again I shivered. Instinctively I pleaded, "Reggie, do you really want to sentence me to all these horrible things? You could set me free this instant if you wanted to. Untie my hands and give me some clothes and this nightmare will be all over. Mable must be out of her mind. Reggie, please don't condemn me to Cranston."
"Sorry, old girl, there's reasons." Reggie enfolded me in his arms and kissed me gently in a brotherly sort of way. "I've shown you some bad things but there no reason why you should ever suffer them. If you work at pleasing Mable, she won't be cruel." His embrace continued a long time before he muttered, "Forgive me."
* * *
Mable played with me. It must be wonderful to hold such power over a girl. We both knew she was going to punish me but she never said a word. Sometimes I caught a look in her eye, but that was all. Her bedroom had the familiar rings and I was handcuffed to them as at Cobblestone Mews. That night I shared her bed, chained as I had always been and pressed into the same service as before. I tried very hard to please. In the exhaustion before sleep she whispered, "Two punishments tomorrow, darling. Reggie's wound and asking his help to escape. You can dream of what I'll do to you." I slept well and did not dream but found no comfort in either fact, knowing them only as evidence of Mable's possession of my will.
After breakfast my hands were fastened behind my back with the familiar handcuffs. I was led to a bare, small room, in the center of which was a pedestal about thirty inches high. On the top was a strap and buckle.
"Up with little Tootsie," Mable said mockingly.
By this time I obeyed almost everything. Unhappily I placed my ankle within the strap and watched Mable buckle it very tight indeed. "You may be tempted to lay on your back with your foot in the air," Mable warned, "but I wouldn't try it if I were you, it will hurt, it might even do damage. Your best bet, dear, is to stand on one foot and quietly suffer. But if you are silly enough to get on the floor, you'll earn yourself a real punishment that you won't like. Keep that in mind."
Mable clasped me ardently in her arms to plant a warm, affectionate kiss. "This one you're in now is for biting Reggie's shoulder. For asking his aid in escaping will be a bit more common, let's say ten with the cane on your pretty little rump. We can do it with you standing the way you are, but that will come later, it will give you something to think about. And something to look forward to. Pleasant standing, darling."
It was beastly, the worst to date. The first little while was faintly bearable while I wiggled my toes and fingers to determine the possibility of escape and debated the wisdom of sliding forward to rest my foot. Mable might not show up for hours and I just as well could avoid the stress of the way I was. But, on the other hand, she might show up in thirty minutes and there was no way I could get back on my one leg in a hurry. Darling Mable was running true to form, leaving me both foxed and frustrated. Thinking about laying down would be the worst of my punishment. I wouldn't like the strokes across my bottom when I got them but they were still a long way off and there was no use thinking about them now. I stood, emulating a stork and hating every moment.
My enforced immobilities are a time to dream, I did so now. I had to be angry with Reggie for his betrayal. But I suppose if it hadn't been him Mable would have gotten someone else. Or quite probably tricked me into a visit and put something in my tea. I almost giggled at the thought of waking up to see my handcuffed wrist and wondering how it got like that. I dismissed Reggie, he was Mable's boy. I then thought about Jeff Dillon but there wasn't much to think about except to hope he would rescue me and whisk me off to life happily ever after Jeff Dillon was any girl's Prince Charming. It was about now I realized how precarious my posture was. It was by no means impossible to tall over and hurt myself. About the only good thing about it was the tightly strapped ankle I could rely on for some support. When I returned to reflections it was to think of the girl captives Reggie had told me about. He might, of course, be stringing me along but Mable had betrayed in conversation her treatment of other girls before she possessed me. It was not a bit implausible that within this huge old building there was a huge cage within which a number of naked girl languished in captivity. Reggie had mentioned the figure of nine and assured me they were always kept handcuffed, being taken from the cage only when the Honorable Mable wanted a bit of fun. It would be a boring, terrible life. What I had to do was keep Mable sufficiently fond of me that I'd never get put in the cage. But that was expecting a lot. It did occur to me that what I was suffering now was a damned sight worse than being in a cage with a bunch of girls. Whatever happened to me, I wasn't going to win.
Dreams and reflections wear out, mine did. Inside a couple of hours my only thought was of release, my dearest wish to have someone unstrap my ankle and let me put it on the ground. But no one came near, I was left alone with my weariness and pain, to feel Sorry for myself as one hour slid into another I had been strapped to that damned pedestal for hours and hours before a male voice startled me into attention.
"Hello, Angela, it's nice to see you again."
It was the voice of Jeffery Dillon.
I exclaimed a quite involuntary, "Oh, damned!" then added apologetically, "Oh, Jeff, I don't want you to see me like this." I looked back at him over a bare shoulder and commenced my blushing.
"You look perfectly charming, Angela." He came around to where I was easily accessible and took me in his arms as though I belonged to him all my life. We kissed and kissed before he casually informed, "Mable has sold you to me for the afternoon again. I hope you don't mind?"
I wanted Jeff Dillon so bad I was forced to resort to the ancient feminine subterfuge of reserve. I had to try to show some evidence of not wanting to be ravished and a proper distaste of being ravished for cash. This last one was rather easy. I couldn't throw myself into his arms, not standing as I was on one legs and with my own hands tied behind my back, and perhaps that was just as well. But I was on fire with desire to cause my loins to beat and pound demandingly in a manner I was certain he could sense and I didn't even want to hide what he saw in my eyes. It was not until them that noticed he carried a cane "It's not just cash this time, sweetheart. Mable insists I cane your bottom " Jeff pronounced the outrage as though speaking of a walk in the park. "Ten strokes is routine, isn't it? You're expecting them?"
"Not from you! Oh, Jeff... "
"I promise not to cane you harder than Mable would."
I picked up a message. I tried to turn or twist but could manage neither so stared him straight in the face. "You want to, don't you? You'll enjoy caning me?"
"Most men would enjoy caning a girl's bottom if they got the chance, I just happen to be lucky." We stood and stared. I did not even ask him to unstrap my ankle. When he came very close and cupped my pussy in a strong, large male hand, I said nothing but continued my steady stare, holding it as long as I could until he had me gasping. "That's a lovely handful I've got Angela, you're gorgeous."
I couldn't do anything, not a thing. There really wasn't much I wanted to do except get unstrapped but I didn't ask because I was pretty sure Mable had told him to leave it strapped until he was finished caning me I was in a suitable position for caning, hell, I was in a suitable position for anything Jeff Dillon wanted to do to me. I was certainly available and wondered how much he had paid for the privilege. Mable was a bitch for not letting him have me for free.
Jeff Dillon stood back a pace and was running the length of the cane back and forth between his hands and flexing it suggestively. "You won't admit it, dear girl, but you're looking forward to having me whip your bottom. Right?"
He was right. I hadn't realize it but I was quivering in erotic anticipation. First the cane to burn and scold, and then that huge thing of his I0 take me out among the stars. But I made my voice grudging, "It will be different, I've never been whipped by a man It's a frightfully erotic realization to know I'm going to be."
"Sensible girl! Most would have said no. Let's both admit we're going to enjoy this. I'm as much a bastard as your a randy bitch."
"As you wish." I tried to make my voice casual without success. "Go ahead, cane me. I'm nicely fastened."
Jeff Dillon caned my bottom. It was like nothing I had ever known, my first experience of physical pain from a man. But it was far more than that, I knew I loved Jeff Dillon but dared not tell him so for he was not yet ready for this female emotion. Because I loved him I bore each stroke of the cane in pure ecstasy, feeling in each the phallus thrust of a woman's chosen male. I was utterly enraptured and enchanted as the wicked thing cut at first one then the other cheek. I heard Jeff's voice intoning the count as I raised my handcuffed hands as high as possible to avoid the cane and give him full access to my curves. I had no wish for it to stop but found myself listening to his count as to an unkind fate robbing me of orgasmic joy. I heard the impact of the cane upon my flesh as though it bit at someone else. My loins were enveloped in a blazing fire of pain in which I found only ecstasy. If this was nuts then I was nuts for sure!
Jeff put away the cane and came to where he could run his fingertips lightly over the weals it had left on my bottom. He did it cleverly with just the right touch to make me gasp and moan. Unashamed I pleaded, "Unstrap my foot and let me get into position for you."
"That urgent, love?"
"Yes, that urgent. Jeff... " I almost "darling" but stopped in time, "you're driving me insane. Jeff, I want you so bad."
He unstrapped my ankle then held me steady as I lowered it to the floor. I was getting ecstasy upon ecstasy and could have cared less when Jeff told me of Mable's order that my hands must stay ironed throughout. It would have been nice to have had my hands but it was far nicer to have Jeff's. They were busy upon me now to drive me to the outrageous act of posturing myself upon the floor with my legs wide open and my roasted rump upon the rug.
"You had a climax while I was caning you," Jeff chuckled. "You wouldn't be a nymphomaniac, would you?"
"With you, yes!"
"Damn it, girl, I think you'd like ten more."
"Yes! Oh, yes... ! Pleaseeeeeee." Shamelessly I turned over and presented my whipped bottom outrageously for the cane. I was more deeply engulfed in lust than ever in my life.
Jeff gently turned me back over and spread my legs apart as I had had them. "Silly girl," he admonished. "That's not you talking at all, it's your glands. So, okay, let's put you out of your misery."
I watched him strip and observed with pride my effect upon his giant erection. When it slowly entered me, I knew I must have this man at whatever cost. Or he should have me. But after that point I lost all track of everything as I circled the planets and the sun.
"If appears you had a successful afternoon," said Mable with some acerbity. "Jeff tells me you orgasmed at least four times."
"Yes," I said simply. "Thank you very much."
"I've a good mind to strap your ankle up there again and give your bottom another ten," Mable said, obviously jealous. "I had no idea you were such a hot little mink. You can bum your fire a little brighter on me when we go to bed."
"Yes, Mable, darling, I'll try real hard."
"Which do you prefer, Angela, me or men?"
"I only prefer Jeffery Dillon, not anyone else."
"So, if I don't sell you to him again, we'll be okay?"
"Oh, no!" I twisted my bound shoulders against the handcuffs on my wrists, suddenly distraught. "Please don't do that, Mable darling. Please let me see him again. I promise I'll be faithful to you. I'll love you terribly."
"Huh? I think you've got it back, sweetheart. That man has got into to you in more ways that one. I know how it is, men are the very devil in making us worship that damned rod they hold over us all our lives.
I really have a good mind to whip you again. Think it would cure you?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Twenty strokes, would that do it?"
"I don't know! Oh, Mable, please don't make a big thing of it. I'll be faithful to you forever if you'll just let Jeff Dillon see me sometimes." We stood there, females. One jealous, one ridiculously in love. Mable's voice was decisive. "I think it's time you and I took a little walk, darling. Come alone and don't make a fuss."
A nice thing for a girl about having her hands fastened is she doesn't argue. Without a word I allowed myself to be led from the room to something I was sure I would not like. But Mable was miffed with me and I was anxious to regain lost ground in her affections. I would have serviced her right then if she'd demanded it. She led me downstairs and my heart beat harder with each step. Downstairs at Cranston doesn't mean any good for anyone. I mean the real "downstairs," the one below the level of the ground. Mable admonished me sharply, "Stop trembling, Angela. Don't be ridiculous." It was pretty much the way Reggie said. A truly vast chamber into which daylight filtered through barred windows high on the wall. It contained a cage made of iron bars heavy enough to hold tigers and lions. It was a huge cage, probably the biggest ever made, in it were nine naked girls. Each was handcuffed and wore her irons as through they were a part of her being and had been locked upon her wrists since birth. Their postures and attitudes were those of boredom. They surveyed me with interest.
"These little darlings have all entertained me at one time or another," Mable informed me. "Whenever one of my girls becomes a bore or difficult to cope with, she comes down here and goes inside the cage. The only time she comes out after that is whenever I feel like punishing her or having her make love to me. Angela, darling, watch your step."
I did some more shivering. Cranston was providing no end of shivers for me and I surveyed the prisoners with more than a passing interest. All were beautiful, all were young. I could easily envision myself in there. Mable interrupted my unhappy thoughts by saying. "It's not all boredom like you think. I provide a bit of spice everyday and sometimes several times a day. Angela, count them, tell me how many." I counted and came up with the obvious, "There's nine."
From somewhere Mable had picked up a small box and ordered me to count the marbles contained within. I did so, there were eight. "I'm going to throw these in through the bars now," she told me mischievously. "There's one marble short, and the girl who doesn't have one after the scramble comes out and gets punished. Isn't this fun!" I didn't think it was fun at all but dared not say so. I watched Mable toss the box of marbles through the bars. There was an instant scramble, a girl who failed to fight for her marble was likely to be in trouble. The handcuffed girls didn't exactly fight each other for possession but were rather competitive. It was cruel to pit one against the other but that was the name of the game. The looser was a slender, dark-haired maiden who's heart had not been in the shoving and striving of the chase. The remaining eight girls withdrew from her in sympathy as she shrugged in disgust and walked towards the barred door of the cage.
These girls were trained and conditioned beyond my own limited experience. I stood with my hands behind my back and watched breathlessly as Mable demonstrated for my benefit. "You're too much of a lady, Sybil, you don't fight hard enough," she told the raven haired girl gently. "Now I'm going to cane your bottom."
"Yes, of course." Sybil's acceptance of an unearned punishment was mechanical. "How do you want me Mistress." It was the first time the title of "Mistress" had been sprung on me. I wondered if, from now on, that's what I'd be calling Mable. But that was a minor speculation to what I now beheld. Sybil turned and clutched the bars with her joined hands while Mable snapped handcuffs on her ankles. One cuff was unlocked from one wrist, passed around behind a bar, and locked back on again. Sybil had never been given a chance to fight or run, it was all very neat and tidy. Sybil looked back over a bare shoulder to implore, "Please, Mistress, not as hard as last time."
"You'll fight harder in the future, dear girl?"
"Yes, I promise." Sybil's voice became urgent. "I don't want to loose again, I hate being whipped."
I realized that beneath Sybil's passive acceptance there seethed a volcano of revolt. Sybil hated the whole thing but somewhere along the line had been trained and conditioned to meek acceptance. Bitterly I realized I was half way there myself.
There was little the girl to be punished could do except face her companions beyond the bars, all of them tense and expectantly watching, and stand upon handcuffed feet to await whatever Mable choose to dish out. Poor Sybil was shifting constantly in nervous apprehension of approaching pain. But there was little result other than to cause her handcuffs to clink and chatter. Sybil was foxed!
I recognized the cane, I too was welted by it. Mable flexed it enjoyably, calculating distance. It sang it's evil song as it sliced the air to implant a solid thwack squarely across both the female curves Sybil could not shield. The helpless girl gasped and thrust her forehead hard against the bars and her chained hands. She tried to kick but did no more than tug at the steel bonds on her ankles. In the space of less than a minute, Sybil had composed herself once more and was waiting in tense misery for number two.
I curled up inside as Mable changed position and cut number two hard across a single cheek. I noticed she avoided the hip bone which always mean a wound. Both Sybil and her mistress were experts in their roles. Number two evoked a small, pathetic sound from Sybil's lips along with uncontrolled weaving of her hips. But once more and with the least delay, she held still and presented her bottom as best she could for number three.
The atmosphere was electric. The caged girls were like statues in their tense absorption with their companion's pain. Two pairs of handcuffs prevented Sybil being demonstrative but Mable was totally relaxed and enjoying herself immensely. I could glimpse the heady intoxication of power. This one woman held ten of us enthralled. All of us were helpless and would be kept helpless always. A tiny handcuff key and the larger metal one for the cage gave her dominion over all, a dominion none of us dared challenge. In the caning of Sybil we all beheld the purpose of our existence in Cranston. Someone told me that the Honorable Mable maintained a collection of pets for punishment. She did this with vivid enjoyment and without conscious and the steel bands locked upon our wrists compelled obedience. I watched number three whistle through the air to etch its scarlet brand across the second cheek. Mable was ambidextrous.
I felt sure the eight girls stood in the cage regarded me as a passive bitch without courage, perhaps even one of Mable's accomplices who just happen to be presently arrived. But what could I do! I didn't even have hands, they were safely locked behind my back, my feet were bare, and you can't kick effectively with bare feet. I knew for sure that if I interfered I would join Sybil against the bars and get whatever it was she would received. The eight prisoners would have to think whatever they wished, there was nothing I could do about it.
Number four was-deliberately inside the crease between thigh and rump to extract a choked cry from the chained girl and a frantic clatter from her fastened feet as they beat a restricted tattoo upon the floor. Undoubtedly Sybil would try harder when the marbles rolled again.
Absurdly in my mind I paraphrased John Done's famous admonishment:
"Ask not for whom the small balls roll,
"They roll for thee."
CHAPTER FOUR - CRANSTON'S CAPTIVE
From the beginning of the Honorable Mable's possession of me, I had been kept in a constant dither of uncertainty, unable to believe in life imprisonment, certain always of an opportunity of escape which never came. Even my rapturous rape by Jeff Dillon had failed to even promise release. It was the same at Cranston. I kept assuring myself I was not one of Mable's "girls." None of them had been a former intimate or confident as I had been with my new mistress, none had entered captivity by means of a wrist cuffed beneath a tea shop table. But perhaps all nine of the poor creatures in the cage had thus consoled themselves, perhaps I, too, would become one of them! But Mable, in her own subtle ways, convinced me otherwise. I was special. I was an old friend who had simply been converted to captivity but who remained an old friend nonetheless. It was all confusing.
Running as a threat through my life at Cranston was Mable's affection. Since that first breathless time after punishing me, the hot hunger of our lips had never ceased their magic. Sure, I know I was lonely and always a little scared, and Mable's reassurances were vital to my wellbeing, but I now went to her bed and my collar and chain with an eagerness of which I was partly ashamed but in which I also gloried as making my captivity worth while. True, when she caned or whipped me I did not find the glory I had found with Jeffery Dillon, but I did not tell her that. I saw Jeffery Dillon in much the same way I looked back upon freedom, neither would be mine again.
The high stone wall around the great park and its iron barred gate which controlled entry and exit made it possible for Mable to give me a good deal of freedom if she so desired. It became her habit to often handcuff my wrists behind my back and turn me loose. I could roam as I pleased but could not actually do anything. A stern assurance of painful punishment always brought me meekly back to attend the woman who owned my life. I was often permitted to visit the cage and the nine other lives it contained.
They viewed me with suspicion, suspecting the cuffs behind my back as false trim to make me seem as they themselves. But none of us had an axe to grind so they finally accepted me but fervently told me of their own days of grace and favor and laughed with bitter certainty when they explained it was only a matter of time before I joined them behind the bars. I knew this could be true.
The nine young lives were not as dismal as I had first supposed. Along with her handcuffs, each girl also wore a lovely metal collar on her neck and they showed me a long chain discarded in the cage and told me how each morning they were locked to it, four feet apart, and taken to a concrete washroom where they were hosed down by a female jailer I had not yet met. There and there throughout the week the same method was used to exercise them inside the park. The nine naked girls, evenly spaced and locked to the lengthy chain, were compelled to walk, run and trot until exhausted. Mable was usually in attendance as well as the woman jailer or guard. There was no shirking, the whips made certain of that. They remained handcuffed so there was little reason to fight. It was all well conceived and held no flaws. Sometimes one of their number was freed from the chain and she was compelled to walk the plank while her companions watched. None drowned, none were bitten by creatures in the water but none were sure some kind of vicious fish was not there. In any case, to dive into deep water with a metal collar on your neck and your wrists handcuffed was serious enough. Sometimes a girl had to be rescued from drowning. The Honorable Mable called it, "keeping her little darlings amused."
When Mable failed to attach me to something solid and left me to roam, I more and more found myself peering through the bars to talk in a loneliness only prisoners know. One day Mable followed me down stairs to tell me, acidly, that if I enjoyed the place so much, I might as well be inside. She unlocked the door. I hesitated, then shrugged in certain knowledge of defeat if I tried anything, and stepped across the awful threshold. For all I knew I might never emerge again except with my neck padlocked to the long chain. There is not much use describing the girls, we were all Playboy Centerfolds. Mable chose only the choicest merchandise. I found myself intrigued by Irma who admitted to having been behind those bars for nine years. She had been sixteen when the Honorable Mable contrived her capture. She had enjoyed a happy year of bliss with a mistress she came to adore and who's whips and canes she came to endure with pride. I shared her heartbreak as she told me of being replaced and thrown into the cage. At first she had been its only occupant until Mable tired of her successor and mischievously handcuffed the two of them together, wrist to wrist, and locked the lovely collars on their throats. Any hostility between the two had died under the enforced bondage of chains and attention of whips. They were soon lovers and remained so now. Irma pointed out each girl and gave her number in succession by which Mable had tired of them. Quite seriously she said, "When she puts you in her permanently, you'll be number ten."
Irma was a dish. At twenty five and under the stimulus of constant exercise plus good food, her figure was superb. One had to wonder why Mable had looked elsewhere when she possessed such a prize. But Irma laughed and said it was just a case of the more you have the more you want. And Mable's hunger for girlflesh knew no bounds. Everything Irma told me made me feel shockingly insecure.
My imprisonment in the cage lasted only until night. I suppose Mable didn't want to sleep alone and still had the hots for me. I walked out the open door with alacrity and a great thankfulness, and half way up the stairs, out of sight of the barred prison, I sank to my knees and clutched at Mable as best I could to sob out a mixture of relief and gratitude while her hand played with my hair. When she raised me erect we kissed for a long time before retiring to the more serious part of my service in the bedroom. It had been an illuminating day.
Mable was endlessly inventive, amusing herself almost entirely with her girls and going into town only when business or social affairs demanded. At such times the captives of the cage were looked after by their jailer and I was attached to a wall here or there and looked after by the servants. I hated her absences, they were unbearably dull. Sometimes Mable injected a touch of spice of color to such a day. This was how I got to know Rhoda better than I would have done even in the cage. Rhoda was extracted from behind the bars early one morning, brought to the bedroom where I was handcuffed to a ring, and there we were joined in the strangest of unions. Leg irons from her right ankle to my left, handcuffs similarly upon our wrists, right to left, so that we each had one free hand and arm, and finally a three foot length of chain joining our collars. Laughingly, Mable told us to go out into the park and have a pleasant day in the park. As an extra to worry about, she added that she would be home early enough to make one of us walk the plank. She departed laughing.
Rhoda and I had to learn to walk. It was difficult to take this coupling seriously and right at the start we agreed not to even mention the walking of the plank, Mable might be kidding us. So we shuffled and clinked our way down stairs and out of the house. The servants who witnessed our shackled progress simply grinned, they had seen it before. By the time we reached the first stretch of grass land we were fairly adept as we made our slow and cautious progress towards the trees. When Rhoda stopped and sat on the grass, I had to do the same. I had no choice! But we had a day of chained idleness ahead of us. So if Rhoda wanted to sit on the grass, I was content to do the same.
"Mable's kept me prisoner over four years," Rhoda said reflectively. "Are you still having silly notions of freedom?"
"We must never think they're silly, we have to cling to them," I vowed stoutly. "If I ever see the faintest chance of escape... "
"You never will, Mable will always have you foxed with a bit of metal. Whoever invented handcuffs and leg irons made this whole thing possible. If she had to tie us with rope, one of us would have been free long before now. It only takes one girl to escape and the Honorable Mable would be up in front of a judge in no time. "
"If you escaped would you go to the police?" I asked gently.
"No, I don't suppose I would. I thought about it. I think I'd simply wallow in freedom and write Mable a letter. If she didn't set the other girls free, then would be the time to call the cops. Silly state of mine, isn't it?" Rhoda reached and rattle one after the other of our three tethers. "Being locked in these all the time has driven freedom from my mind. The only way we might get freedom is through one of the men she sells us to. There's been quite a few of them over the years."
"Do you know Jeffery Dillon?"
"No, he must be a new one." She laughed bitterly. "I've known the rest of them and each one got me whipped. If Mable sold me to another one tomorrow, I'd still try and I'd still be whipped, it's a chance each one of us has to take. We dare not let it slip."
We both let out a sigh, playing with our chains like a couple of kids. In the evening Mable was going to give one of us a bad time. I shivered a little but Mable was a fact of life, neither of us hated her the way we felt we should. With a trace of humor we told each other of the manner of our initial kidnapping.
"Mable doesn't always hire the job out to professional," Rhoda confided sadly. "I was an absolute little idiot to fall for her play, but it was so damned authentic. She got a uniform and showed up at my place with a warrant for my arrest. She acted so kindly and patiently about my protests that I almost felt I had a friend. But she insisted that I had to go with her to the station house where I could do all the protesting I wished and would have the privilege of a phone call to anyone I wished. Apologetically she explained that I would have to be handcuffed."
Rhoda met my eyes sheepishly. "Seems silly, doesn't it? We were them all the time now but when she broke the bad news, I was horrified. I had only seen the beastly things in pictures and movies and the idea of having them locked on my wrists, even by a minion of the law, was almost more than I could take. But there she was in her lovely uniform and with that official piece of paper and a sympathetic smile. So I turned around and put my hands behind my back and that was the end of me. When she got me in the front seat of her car, while I was still in a daze about the whole thing, she handcuffed my ankles together. She had me good and drove away with me to Cobblestone Mews where it took me a month to be quite sure the whole thing was happening. Gosh, she whipped me a lot to make me mind!"
I wasn't much cheered by her story, it told me where I was going. That damned cage seemed more and more an inevitable part of my future. I could imagine how the sort of break like Rhoda was on with me at the moment would be terribly welcome to a girl behind the bars even thought it carried penalties. The Honorable Mable had things beautifully contrived.
"You've seen the pillory and the stocks," Rhoda continued morosely. "Mable played the damndest trick on me with them. She locked me in the pillory early one morning and told me I could look forward to a pleasant day of solitude -- a pleasant day, my foot! That damned pillory is only bearable for the first hour, after than it's pure hell." She sniffed disdainfully at the memory. "About midday a rough looking character in his late thirties came ambling along as though he were a country yokel out for a stroll. When he caught sight of me, he stopped dead in his tracks and exclaimed, 'Well, I'll be damned!' Then he came up close, absolutely bug-eyed, and asked how the devil how I'd gotten into a fix like that. I made my usual plea for release. He examined the metal fixings and the padlock and said he would like to help but didn't have a key or any tools."
Rhoda smiled and offered my a wry smile. "I should have got a hint but I didn't. Instead I pleaded for him to go and get some tools or keys or something. Without intending to be funny, I even said that I would wait. That son of a bitch chuckled and said that he was willing to bet that I would. Then he said that it would take a while and asked if I would mind if he had a look around in the meantime.
"The rotten bastard took his look around, which was also a feel around. Every bit of me got well looked at and well felt up. The bastard brought me half way to an orgasm back were I couldn't see but where his hand had found its way up between my legs. I remember being very British and saying 'Would you mind!' and other ridiculous things. He paid no attention and went right ahead. By the time he finished his examination I was hot with shame and my neck and wrists were chaffed where I had instinctively struggled against the pillory's grip. Finally he stood, happily gazing at me, while I offered him everything under the sun and, finally, as a last resort, myself. But he explained he already had me so that was not much of a bargaining point. He then unzipped and went around and used me the way you can imagine. He quickly cured me of kicking by pinching my nipples and promising worse if I didn't spread my legs and keep still. I'd never felt so damn helpless in my life."
Rhoda grinned at what she saw in retrospect. "When I mentioned going to the police I could see that there was no way he was going to do that. Quite probably they were already looking for him. But I thought I had struck a responsive cord when I explained that no doubt he would be using me as he wished throughout the afternoon and the very least he could do in return was to smash that damned padlock with a couple rocks. I said that surely he couldn't refuse that. I never knew what his answer might have been because at that moment Mable came into view. She was carrying a cane and a whip and wearing her warmest smile. Right then I knew I was really in for it."
"You mean Mable set the whole thing up to trap you?"
"Sure. The fellow was just one more of her paying guests, although I've never been sure she gets any money for any of us. She might very well give us away free for the hell of it. I think she talks about selling us just to make us more ashamed. If somebody pays money for our bodies, we become whores. Anyway, they discussed my attempts to bribe him, both expressing horror that any girl could possibly wish to escape from Mable's pillory. They made it sound an indecent suggestion. And my heart took a drop when Mable handed the whip to that character and flexed the cane between her hands in a gesture I well recognized. "
'Do you agree the naughty girl ought to be punished,' Mable asked sweetly. 'Damn right!' said the man who might have rescued me. 'Want me to work on her back?'
"
'If you please, Mr. Simons. Mable made it sound sweetly gracious. 'The little darling must be taught a lesson.'
"You going to cane her arse?' Mr. Simons inquired.
"
'Yes, of course. Rhoda has a delightful bottom for caning and it is so beautifully postured as she stand there. Would you like us to impact the poor darling alternatively or would you prefer we do one area at a time?'
"
'I think I'd prefer to have a good steady go at the girl's back,' Mr. Simons admitted earnestly. 'Doing it the other way would be a bit ritualistic and give her a bit of time to catch her breath. Every girl needs a good thrashing, I'll give her one.'
"
'We must not injure the poor darling, Mr. Simons, but I'm sure you've whipped girls before.'
"Damned right, I have. Watch this.'
"I couldn't watch anything," Rhoda moaned with a shiver to rattle our chains. "It was awful to just have to stand there and not see a thing behind. It was Mable who would get the view, all I could do was feel and the feeling started right there. Without warning, Mr. Simons whip sliced across my bent shoulders, then around my waist, and after that in a rapid series of blows from my neck to my bottom. Mr. Simons left my bottom untouched in a sporting gesture to Mable's efforts still to come. He wasn't too clever with his damned whip and sometimes it curled around and nipped one of my breasts. I yelled and yelled and twisted in a way I'm sure both found vastly entertaining. It was so terrible to be unable to see the rest of my body beyond my hands. It was like my head and hands were cut off and separate from the rest. To say that it was agony would be an understatement. I screamed and screamed in the only venting of my pain possible. I was sure it was hours and hours before Mable gently suggested, 'Perhaps that's enough for the poor dear's back, Mr. Simons. You've really done well.'
"
'My pleasure, really,' said Mr. Simons, breathing heavily.
"The Honorable Mable then walked around front to ask, 'Are you ready for the cane, Rhoda dear? Your darling bottom hasn't a mark on it.'
"I'm ashamed of the way I pleaded and abased myself. After what the man had done it didn't seem possible Mable would even wish to do any more but Mable obviously did and would. Well, anyway, I got her sweetest smile and an assurance that I could go ahead and scream all I liked and neither of them would mind. She then disappeared from view. I tied myself up in knots of fear inside and waited for the burning impact which, when it came, sent me into a repeat performance of what Mable called, 'Delightful.' I lost count of the number of strokes but it was bad, bad, bad!
"I remember thinking, at sometime during the pain, that I supposed Mable would leave me in the pillory all the rest of the day, no matter how bad I was hurting or how much I needed rest. But the Honorable Mable had a surprise. She took me from the pillory while I was still in too much of a dither of pain and shock to protest or try to run, handcuffed me in front, gave me the whip and cane to carry, and announced grandly that we would all three of us now go and have Tea. With a scolding back and burning bottom, I accompanied my tormentor's backs to the house and was actually treated as an honored guest while one of the maids served tea and I dabbed at my eyes and cheeks with Mr. Simons handkerchief. I was not allowed silence but was compelled to join in to the general conversation while we sipped and nibbled. I felt ashamed and idiotic but, boy, did I ever talk! It was almost as bad a punishment as being whipped. I was so damned thankful when she put me back in the cage...!"
As though seeking to walk away from the past, Rhoda and I clinked and clattered our way as cheerfully as possible to the great wall surrounding Cranston. Standing, a pair of naked and chained maidens, we were dwarfed by the size of it, but walked along it for almost a mile before Rhoda said she had done the whole trip long ago and it was all the same. The only point of the whole trip was to reassure us of the impossibility of escape. We were never stand on the other side of this massive stone fence. We sighed in unison and then went to look at one of the whipping posts with which the pretty woodlands were supplied.
"Mable brings a girl out for what she thinks is a lovely walk in the park," Rhoda confided. "But she leads the poor kid to one of the whipping posts and hooks the handcuffs to it while explaining that she will be whipped later in the day but not right now. She will have a lovely time to enjoy the fresh air and think. It's typically Mable."
Rhoda and I walked our tethered way to all of them. There were four. On each, at an appropriate height above a girl's head, was a ring and padlock awaiting the slender wrists and the handcuff joining them. They weren't exactly showplaces or of very much interest but we had time to kill and got rid of the day with missions such as this until we saw Mable walking towards us across the grass. She carried a picnic basket and threw us both into the usual uncertainty by announcing a picnic on the grass. We ate and drank thankfully but were doubtful for Mable gives nothing. With the last sandwich gone Mable said brightly, "And now for one of you to walk the plank, I'm so looking forward to it and I hope you are, too. It's a wonderful experience. What say we toss a coin?"
Rhoda and I simply shrugged while Mable produced a penny, told me I was heads and Rhoda tails. She flipped the coin and it came up heads. I felt the familiar knot form inside my tummy. In a fine, businesslike manner, Mable unlocked the leg-iron cuff from Rhoda's ankle and snapped it on mine so both my ankles were now circled in steel and I was now hobbled. Next our handcuff was unlocked from my wrist and locked back on Rhoda's free hand to fastening both her arms behind her back. Mable had brought a second pair of cuffs for me and these also were locked upon my hands behind my back. The chain was taken from our collars and had no further use and was handed to a partly liberated Rhoda to carry.
"Come alone, darlings." Mable looked at me expectantly and told me to lead the way to where the plank was waiting.
I longed to scream or run or fight but, instead, did the thing I wanted to least of all, I walked with snubbed steps towards a frightening punishment I had not earned. The handcuffed Rhoda and the mischievous Mable walked at my side in slow motion to match my fighting with the leg irons. Perhaps it was as well my feet were locked in them for when we came in sight of the lake and the sinister little jetty and that horrible plank I would have run and earned myself some more punishments. As it was, I walked, noisily, to the beginning of the jetty then stopped.
"Go along, darling, all the way out," Mable demanded.
I turned to face her, suddenly frightened out of my wits. "Look, Mable, you've got a metal collar around my neck, my hands are chained behind my back, and my feet are chained together. If I go off the end of this plank, I'll drown."
"No you won't, dear. You'll be surprised at your own ingenuity in getting back to shore. Remember the piranhas!"
I-couldn't escape and was forced to examine the spot I was in. I could swim well enough but wasn't sure I could make my way back to dry land. For all I knew my chains and collar would sink me down into what depth I did not know. Mable, as usual, had brought a whip, one of the wicked ones. As she flicked it thoughtfully, I took a tentative step out over the water then another. Mable followed me along the jetty, giving me playful small cuts with the thong whenever I hesitated. Soon I was on the plank itself, feeling it shiver beneath my weight until I was at the end and could step no further except out into space. I looked down. The water seemed bottomless and I could be pretty certain it was at least twenty feet, certainly deep enough for a chained girl to drown. I turned in desperation, ignoring the whip. "Please, Mable, don't make me, I'm frightened. I'll drown, I know I will."
As usual Mable had a surprise up her sleeve. While Rhoda and I watched in astonishment, she dragged into view something previously hidden in the grass. It was a sort of metal mat which, with a good deal of effort, she contrived to drag out to the jetty then push out upon the plank on which I stood. When she was there I could see that it was indeed a mat but one composed of the wickedest of spikes which were really small knifes pointed up to threaten bare feet. When Mable had it properly fastened it represented a barrier between me and solid ground, a barrier perhaps six feet long. I received her usual smile.
"We're going to leave you now, darling. You can make up your mind any time you wish. When you do this and reach the shore, you'll be free to come back to Cranston. We'll just leave you here and I'll not bother to come back and check on you. It's so easy for you to do what you're so scared about. You just jump and make like a seal and first thing you know you'll be back on the grass and walking home. " She gazed down at the beastly, waiting spikes. "I wouldn't try and walk on these, Angela dear, they're terribly sharp and they'll cut you little feet to pieces, especially since they're already hobbled. Goodbye, darling, and don't stand there too long."
I watched them leave, I didn't really believe this was really happening. There was about it a deadly simplicity. I looked down at the depths beneath me then at the spikes. My mind leaped ahead to the coming night and I wondered if I could stand there until morning or would I loose my balance and hit the water in a disorganized splash. I had nothing to look forward to, nothing!
I wondered if Mable was playing a pretty psychological trick. She probably knew whether a girl, chained as I was chained, could survive a plunge into the lake and a desperate attempt to swim to shore. She would also know what other girls before me had done in a similar predicament. Perhaps none had jumped but had stood there shivering through the night to await an inevitable whipping in the morning. If a girl drowned, there would be none to mourn. I thrust the thought away, Mable wasn't that evil. Perhaps there was still one more trick she had not played. I stood there, chained and naked, at the end of the plank and felt the first coolness of the evening to rise from the water to touch my flesh with a clammy hand. Down below the piranha might be waiting hopefully.
"Seems I dropped in at a fortuitous moment. Mable said I'd find you here." The voice of Jeffery Dillon shattered everything.
I turned from the lake and there he was, smiling at me from the jetty. Cheerfully he said, "Hello, Angela, you do get into some pickles, don't you?" He held up a couple of keys. "I purchased these at a great price. What do you say we use them?"
I was certain it was a reprieve from death or something horrible like that. Choking with relieve I watched Jeffery unfasten and drag away the grid with it's spikes. I followed fast behind, I couldn't get off that plank quite fast enough. It was lucky I did not trip on my chain and go in the water anyway. On the jetty Jeffery embraced me with warm arms and kissed my hair while I sniffed his scent, his maleness, and wept and sobbed out both relief and gratitude. Right then I would have done anything Jeff asked of me. I might even have walked on those knifes with bare feet. It was one of the most glorious moments of my life, sullied only by the possibility of Mable having contrived the entire scene.
In between my sobs, I got in my usual pitch, "Jeff, please, take me away from Cranston, take me far away, oh please, take me!"
He did not answer, simply clutched me a little harder, then picked me up and carried me to the deep grass where he laid me down and unlocked the leg irons from my ankles and the handcuffs from my wrists. I was utterly and totally free but gave no thought to flight. Instead I put my arms around Jeff's neck when, after he had stripped, he lowered himself upon me and I felt the first searching thrusts of his wondrous weapon. The lake was sudden benign and the evening proving only warm summer air. I clutched Jeff tight with arms and legs and entered upon the most wondrous journey in the world.
It was ten o'clock before Jeff decided we should go back to Cranston. "I didn't buy you for the whole night," he said regretfully. "I'd best deliver you."
I held out my wrists to be cuffed but Jeff slapped them away, laughing, "You are a good little girl, aren't you? So beautifully obedient."
"I have to be. If I'm not I'm whipped."
"Ah, well, enjoy you freedom. I'm not going to chain you. I'll deliver you to the Honorable Mable just as you are."
"Won't you free me? Won't you take me home with you? Jeff, I want you to so bad!"
He patted my bottom and kissed my lips. We walked briskly, the night air suddenly cold upon my skin. I adored the man beside me but he would not set me free. I wondered why but, after all, I was only a slavegirl he had bought for pleasure, there was no reason why he should love me as well. But a girl always hopes. I hoped most ardently.
Mable was waiting for us with coffee and sandwiches, it was all beautifully social and heavy with good will except for Mable startled exclamation, "Damn it, Jeffery, the girl's absolutely free! You haven't locked a thing back on."
Jeff allowed the tangle of chain and metal to fall upon the couch and with it the keys. "Angela needs a change," he said easily. "The little bit of freedom she's just enjoyed has done her good. I'm not going to chain her, you can if you wish."
Automatically I offered my hands to Mable for the cuffs. But she unexpectedly she did a repeat of what that happened to me previously, she laughed away my submission and said, "Not for now, girl. Enjoy your freedom while Jeff is with us. I'll chain you before he leaves. Since you're so beautifully free you can serve the coffee and the sandwiches."
I was as close to being in a seventh heaven as a girl is likely to get inside Cranston. The coffee was gorgeous and the sandwiches delicious. After he'd wolfed a couple Jeffery said bluntly, "Mable, I want to buy Angela from you. I don't mean rent her the way I've been doing, I want to buy her for keeps."
"Sorry, Jeff, I never sell one of my girls. You ought to know that."
"If you keep on the way you're going, Mable, you won't have room for them all. You'll have to sell one sometime." Jeff tone was bantering yet deadly serious. "Sell me Angela. Mable, I mean it."
"The girl's in love with you, Jeff," Mable said offhandedly, "I expect you're smitten with her, too. But I won't sell her, there's something indecent about the idea of selling one of my girls. That's the way I feel."
"One hundred thousand pounds?"
My heart jumped at that sum but Mable laughed it off. "Don't be silly, Jeff, you know I don't need money. Your wealth doesn't impress me a bit. I simply admire you for getting it."
"I could use force and walk out with Angela right now."
"Yes, I suppose you could. But you won't, it wouldn't be sporting. And there's just the possibility my servants could overpower you."
"How would you like to wear handcuffs and a gag while I take Angela home!"
They laughed, as though declaring a truce, recognizing each other's strength and weakness. With a sincerity to touch my heart, Mable explained, "Jeff, I don't suppose you understand but I love Angela, too. I love her a lot. I haven't put her in the cage with the others, or haven't you noticed. I keep her close. Angela is my number one girl."
"So you leave her on the end of a plank to jump off and drown?"
"Don't be silly, Jeff, the girl wouldn't have drowned. I've made tests, they flounder and splash a lot but they always make it safe to shore. I know what I'm doing."
"Just the same it's damned rude, and with night coming on." He chuckled then added, "Mable, you really are a bitch."
"Of course I am, Jeff, Cranston would be dull as ditch water if I wasn't. You know damned well everything I do adds a bit of spice to my girl's lives. Angela would be feeling on top of the world right now if she weren't love sick over you and wanting to be taken home by you. If you insist on coming and upsetting my girls with your fatal charm, you'll be prohibited from Cranston."
Except for the serious undercurrent of Jeffery Dillon's wish to purchase me, the evening was pleasantly social, three people who got along together and understood each words perfectly. When Jeff was about to leave Mable turned to me and said, "Angela, come her and hold out your hands."
The handcuffs almost felt good on my wrists even though Mable had clicked them a notch too tight. I had been handcuffed so long that the brief freedom from then had left be feeling ridiculously guilty, as though I were playing hooky from school. Everybody kissed everybody and Jeffery Dillon left, but his hand pressuring my bare arm and a look in his eye as it met mine told me I had at last found the knight in shinning armor who would cut my chains, but who would wait to do so within the tolerance of a British code which bound both he and the Honorable Mable. I could not tell how he would contrive my release but was sure it would happen. My heart sang as we said a final farewell and I fluttered my chained hands at him.
CHAPTER FIVE - THE HONORABLE MABLE
Sure, I'm a bitch! Not a bitch, but a benevolent bitch the way Jeffery sees me. Society would never approve my cage full of girls, but what society doesn't know won't hurt them. As far as the girls go I ease conscious by thinking that they wouldn't have had all that wonderful a life if I'd never have kidnapped them. They would have married some idiot who would have knocked them up and they would have spent the rest of their life knee-deep in diapers. At least I've given them a bit of drama and, when I let them have a man, he's always the very best. Seems to me there's worse fates for a girl than being in my cage.
I could feel the let down in dear Angela the moment Jeffery left. Love is a damned nuisance so I countered her fading euphoria by marching her up to our room, cuffing her ankles, taking the handcuffs from her wrists but telling her to keep them crossed behind her back while I tied them with twine. Angela was getting all together too accustomed to handcuffs and the twine would make a nasty break to the handcuff habit. She would be glad to go back to them when I decided it was time. Meantime the darling stood obediently quiet with her hands behind her as I cinched the twine unkindly tight into her skin. I adore tying a girl, any part of her. To see the ropes indent and the flesh rise up on either side is pure joy as is their hopeless motions against restraint when they are fastened. I don't profess to explain this emotion in me, this adoration of bound beauty. You can explain it any way you like.
What matters is I've got the girls and the hands of each is safe in bondage. I'd like to think others could understand how glorious this power is and how pussy-wetting it becomes for mine pretty prisoners. I could tell it was affecting Angela that way now. Anyway, I crossed and criss-crossed the lovely twine and then made the poor darling struggle to get free so as to take up the slack. I then completed the bindings and knotted the neat package where her fingers could not reach. Darling Angela would hate that twine by morning. She would also have forgotten Jeffery Dillon.
I padlocked the waiting chain to her collar and the two of us went to bed. Angela performed beautifully. If Jeffery Dillon had not used her so recently, I would have returned the favor. In the night I heard her crying, a soft, damp sobbing so as not to wake me. Poor, sweet thing! A girl's tears are the salt of her slavery. I could not be sure if they were because of the twine or because of Jeffery Dillon. It did not matter.
In the morning we both lied to say we'd had a lovely night's sleep. A trifle pale in the cheeks, Angela asked if I would mind untying her hands. Yes, I said, I did mind and she had better have her bath with them tied like that. She was trained enough to not protest, but went dutifully to the bath I ran and which we both shared. The only way a bound girl is going to have a bath is if someone does it for her and this is a service I enjoy doing for her. I always soap her pussy to make great fluffy piles of suds and bring her half way to orgasm before moving on to all her other nice bits and pieces. I linger on her breasts, of course, they are superb. When she was dry I asked if she would behave herself if I cut the twine. Her assurance was so ferment I had no qualms. I even gave the sweetheart a little while to rub the indentations before I clicked the handcuffs back on her wrists. She adores her handcuffs, I know she does. I know better than she knows herself.
During breakfast Angela told me how much she enjoyed being chained to Rhoda out in the park. Shyly she asked if Rhoda couldn't be set free after serving all these years. I pretended not to hear but, purposefully, changed the subject to ask what Angela thought Jeffery Dillon would do with her and to her if I accepted his hundred thousand. She blushed and stammered to say they would make a lot of love and she'd be with him and go with him everywhere and always. "In other words you'd be his pretty little slavegirl," I said acidly.
"Oh, no!" she exclaimed, pitting my innocence. "He wouldn't tie me or chain me or put me in a cage. He wouldn't have to, he's so strong."
I sighed. Young girls are ridiculous. They don't start to grow up until they're around thirty! Patiently I broke the bad news. "Angela, don't hate me for telling you this, but Jeff Dillon loves to pain a girl's bottom as much as I do. He's done it enough while I stood and watched. If I ask him to, he'll cane you back, too."
"I don't believe it!"
"He also loves to tie girls up," I continued. "And there's rooms in his house you wouldn't believe. If he purchased you, you'd be tied or chained in those rooms all the time."
"Mable, don't be silly! Why, walking back here last night he wouldn't even handcuff me, he wanted me free. It was so wonderful!"
"Part of his courtship, love. Don't lei it fool you. Not that that doesn't make him the finest lay a girl could ever have, you would at least have that on the credit side of your being his prisoner."
Poor darling, it was very much like watching a hooked fish struggling at the end of the line. Angela didn't want to believe a single word but instinct was telling her and I expect she was adding two and two together to find the answer. It was then I got my bright idea.
"Look, Angela, I'm not saying Jeff Dillon isn't the nicest of men, he is, but I'm also telling you the truth about the things he will do to you. What he's done to you thus far is a sort of appetizer. Are you sure you'll like having your hands tied by him any more than you liked me using that twine on your wrists last night?"
, "He'd never do it! But, yes, I would!"
"Would you feel me a bit more kindly if I give you the chance to find out, darling?"
"Oh, would you! Oh, Mable darling, I'd be so grateful... " That's how it started.
I could kick myself.
But anyway, I phoned Jeff Dillon that morning. Probably I wanted to see him again myself. I'm a woman. Sometimes I'm as crazy as my girls.
"Thirty day's free trial," I suggested to his astonished ears. "After thirty days the three of us together will decide if you give me the hundred thousand or if dear little Angela comes back to get the thrashing I will surely give her. What do you say?"
"You've got yourself a deal."
We arranged it for that afternoon. I didn't want a love sick maiden falling all over me with love and gratitude so I locked the poor dear's wrists to a ring in the wall before breaking the glad tidings and leaving her alone with ecstasy. I was also feeling ashamed with myself for what I was letting her in for. But then I remembered how good it was going to be when she came tearfully back into my arms. It would be worth the thirty days and she would be a lot more tractable. I was pleased with myself.
The Jeffery Dillons of this world are always on time. His first words were, "Look here, Mable, you're not having me on?"
I assured him of sincerity. I also pounded home an undeniable truth. "Jeff, darling, this girl is absolutely innocent as far as you're concerned. You're a idiot to mess around with her because there'll be nothing but shattered dreams and broken hearts -- hers. The first time you whip her you'll find a trauma in her mind concerning you. She hasn't the faintest idea what you do to girls."
"I do the same as you. Is that so bad?" His smile engulfed me like a warm tide. "You've conditioned the dear girl, I'll simply carry on where you left off. There won't be any trauma, we love each other."
"Horse feathers! You know what I think about this love business."
"Sure, I know. You and I couldn't hack it out together. I'd have to beat the daylights out of you every day." He gave me his pixie grin. "Not that that might do any harm. Perhaps it's you who should be coming on a thirty day trial. I'd make a new woman of you."
I was about to tell him to drop dead when I realized there were extraordinary sensations going up and down my spine. I had mental visions of Jeffery Dillon stringing me up, stripping me naked, and thrashing me until I promised to be a good girl -- his idea of a good girl, that is! The damn fantasy was beginning to take hold of me before I tossed it out.
"No man does those things to me," I told him firmly. "But, seriously, what are you going to do with Angela? She deserves better than the usual treatment."
"I'll treat her as my girl. Inside the thirty days I'll marry her and write you a check. How's that?"
I took him up to where darling Angela was chaffing at her handcuff.
Mostly she has gotten over this silly trying to get loose, but I could make allowances for her today. With Jeffery Dillon's immense cock in prospect any girl could be excused for chaffing a wrist.
"There's still time to call this whole thing off. When Jeff canes you bottom it won't hurt any less than when I do it. Why not tell him to go home and forget the whole thing?" It was not the right approach. Probably there wasn't any right approach. My starry-eyed darling looked at her hero in pure adoration and probably didn't hear a thing I said. But she did finally turn my way to breath ardently, "Oh, thank you, Mable, thank you for giving me my freedom!"
Well, what the hell! A woman can only do so much, and after all I'd started this fool thing myself. I handed Jeffery Dillon the key and said briefly, "She's all yours."
It is amusing to watch two people in love, they are so silly. Jeffery immediately unlocked his darling's handcuffs and they embraced as though they had only a minute to live. The little vixen even thrust her crotch hard against his leg as she was kissed and hugged in a manner I found almost nauseating. Before the desire to cane her ass came, I asked, acidly, "Do you want to tie her up, Jeff, or are you going to take her as is?"
Jeff handed me back the handcuff key and the cuffs themselves. "I won't be needing these. Angela's going to enjoy her freedom all the way home."
"Until you get her there," I retorted, "but what then?"
"I don't care what then!" Angela affirmed vehemently. She faced me and I could tell she felt sorry for a silly woman who didn't understand about love. "If Jeff wants to tie me up or chain me or put me in a cage, he's welcome to do it. I hope he does everything to me and I'll love every minute of it. Oh, Mable, if only you could understand! " I understood all too well. I'm only ten or twelve years older than Angela and I haven't forgotten the tricks our glands play with a girl. But I admit I softened under the kisses they both gave to me. I wished them goodbye and added, darkly. I'd be seeing Angela in thirty days. They drove away leaving me holding the empty handcuffs and the key. Annoyed with myself I went downstairs.
The cage is wonderful. It provides a cure for all ills. I was annoyed about Angela so everyone of the nine anxious female faces peering at me through the bars was Angela as far as I was concerned. I pressed the buzzer to summons Wilma then unlocked the door of the cage and beckoned the first bit of handcuffed nudity handy. I always adore the fear with which they answer such a summons. They don't know what I'm going to do with them, they could be walking into love or lashes.
I wasn't feeling all that inventive so I motioned my first choice to face die bars and clutch one of them above her head in a jester all too familiar. The poor darling shrugged and obeyed, knowing now what lay in store.
I had no need to fasten her ankles, they were far too well trained. I snapped the padlock on her cuffs and there she was, all ready for me to vent my spleen and pretend it was Angela I was being mean to.
When dealing with all nine, it's best to have Wilma around. She's strong and the little darlings are scared of her. In orderly fashion she beckons one after another from the cage and I treat each girl alike. It wasn't long before we had nine trembling maidens facing the bars of their now empty cage and trembling in anticipation of what they would now get. It's wonderful the way Wilma and I trained them, only two or three of them made tearful pleadings about their innocence and the usual, "Please not too hard, not too hard. .!" I patted them maternally on the bottom then let each protesting bottom have it full force with the crop. Their tears flowed like wine. After that they had the message and didn't utter a word.
With the girls all safely padlocked Wilma returned to whatever she was doing, leaving me alone with the nine quaking maidens who, for me at that moment, were all Angela. I debated whether to start with the first girl on the left and work my way along the line but discarded that approach. I walked up and down the line, striking as the mood took me or the bottom invited. The darlings don't really mean to but they often protrude their little rumps in an unintentional invitation I can't not refuse. This approach has the advantage of spacing the strokes out so they don't scream too much. If I cut her skin in passing one realized it will be a little while before I'm back for another stroke so she is apt to moan and groan over her burning buns but not resort to a full-throated yell. I am sure deal Angela would have been flattered had she been aware of having nine separate bottoms standing in for her own.
One of the handcuffed girls has always been a challenge to me. It's not that Della is either untrained or unbroken. She is docile and obedient enough but in some fashion all her own which I find hard to describe she contrives to remain her own girl rather than mine. I often discern flickers of pride and revolt when she looks at me even though I cannot fault her words. She stands there now, her forehead pressed against a bar and, without uttering a single word, contrives the impression of wanting to get this whole silly thing over as quickly as possible. She does not look back in a scared fashion over her bare shoulder but waits impassively for what she knows she'll get. I stand behind her in an effort to break down this passive resistance. I want her to plead, to declare love, or even tell me I'm a sadistic bitch. Della knows I want this and keeps a stubborn silence. Thoughtfully I delivered a really wicked slash with the crop across one of the cheeks of her extended bottom and then break the thread of my performance by delivering a second stroke across its twin. But it is the bar that gets her response, not I. Della presses hard against it and, as though to rob me of convenience, thrusts her loins hard at it lower down. The effect is to flatten what should be protruding and waiting for my crop. Without a word I reach between her legs, grab her cunt, and pull her back into position. I then further bend my own rules by delivering a full swinging swish across both buns. I have been deliberately cruel but Della neither speaks nor moves. It is as though she absorbs the pain as easily as she drinks a glass of water. I know she awaits number four but I refuse the challenge. I will deal with Della in other ways. I won't give her the minor victory of martyrdom. I move on down the line.
The girl had been instructed to protrude their backsides for the crop, never to flatten them against the bars in evasion which, admittedly, does make them less accessible. I am confronted by the glorious curves of young asses, I am rewarded by anxious glances and shifting feet. As I splat my weapon across the flesh of each well-padlocked girl, the vision of Angela fades and each superb nakedness is once again the darling I once loved. It is not that I do not love them now, I simply love them less.
The exercise is good for me, so I discard my clothes to sweat in comfort and swing my crop in total freedom. But, without announcement, I now supplement the crop with the whip I carry in my other hand. Each darling expects her bottom to be strip should I pause behind her. It disorganizes them delightfully if I vary their punishment by a slash up the length of their back with the whip instead.
But, in spite of their knowledge of what I now hold, their backs remain delightfully arched and the perfection of nine pert bottoms regales my eyes. I am a lucky woman.
Wilma returns, and one by one we unlock the padlocks and escort the still handcuffed maidens, some in tears, back inside the huge cage which is there only home. It is delightful and pussy-wetting to watch their effort to ease the burning weals with cuffed hands which never quite reach the desired target. To cuff a girl's wrists in front is a merciful bond, bestowing much freedom, but it has limitations, neither hand can span a burning butt.
Della remains. My other captives withdraw from her area. She is still handcuffed to a bar and probably views the others with envy. Her own travail is not yet done and I wonder if she regards the insolence she carries in her eyes. The poor darling may be fighting back in her own way but I will teach her which of us is mistress. She finally looks at me and the pleading finally comes, prompted by the knowledge that she has been singled out.
"Please, Mistress, please no more. I've had enough."
Della's tone was flat and colorless, a routine plea for mercy. I find myself lacking inspiration and so tell her she will stand as she is while her burning bottom cools and I think up something appropriate for her intransigence. If the sweetheart still cherishes insolence, she hides it well. The girl crowd around to talk to her while I go in search of Wilma.
Wilma suggests whipping the soles of Della's feet but the poor darling doesn't deserve this. I have always felt the sweet little soles of my girls should be kept in reserve for the very worst behavior. There are some of the nine who have never had their soles whipped at all! I negate the notion. We consider placing dear Della upon the horse with her feet stretched well to either side and the full cutting edge hard within her crotch. But this, too, is unkind and I like to keep such extremes for more urgent sins. We consider the stocks, the pillory and the plank. Della has walked the plank a couple of times already and handles the ordeal remarkably well. It is through her efforts while chained in deep water I have learned the comforting fact that a girl so punished will not drown. I decide to let her spend the night chained to a tree in the park amid the eerie noises of the night, the rustling of small rodents and the cry of owls. A night thus spent has always had a beneficial effect on any girl I have thus tied. But the poor dear can wait a while were she is to await my return. The suspense will do her good. How glorious it is to be a mistress!
I decide upon the Gwendoline tie. There are many ways to tie a girl to a tree, some possess the illusion of the possibility of freedom, but the total immobility inherited from the immortal heroin will extract a toll as the night progresses and the fears breed within the dark. I give dear Della permission to chat as we make our way to where she will spend the night. She knows enough to not beg for mercy.
"Thank you for tying me to a tree, Mistress. I expected worse."
"You may wish you had received the whip before morning brings release," I assured her cheerfully. "You're going to get the full treatment, darling, including the cunt-cutter between your legs."
"Thank you, Mistress, it hurts terribly."
Della is clever. She contrives to sound pleased. "I know why you're tying my like this. I really will try and stop looking rebellious."
"Let us hope, darling, tonight effects a cure."
"Yes, Mistress, thank you."
Well, we had that little lot sorted out and got ourselves half way back to the time when she had been my number one girl. Remembering Angela's absence, I was inspired to order Della to pick up where she had left off years before. She was handcuffed and leg-ironed but neither of those would hinder her from giving me the service to which a mistress is entitled. She feel upon her knees and fed hungrily until I was making the same sound she had made when whipped. Della was always highly skilled. I'm sure she had kept her skills alive by constant practice on her eight companions. For a moment I considered retracing our steps and chaining her in my bed but that would be a victory for her. When she had cleaned my puss and wiped her lips, we continued on in steadfast purpose to the waiting tree.
Della backed against the bark and stood in silence with raised arms while I bound her middle with a belt of rope. Band after band I wound around the soft flesh and hard wood to positively plaster the dear girl against the oak. That done, I could remove the leg irons and handcuffs, I had her secured.
The Gwendoline tie is hard work for any mistress who wishes to use it. Its totality and artistry demand care and exertion to insure the proper indentation of rope within the skin. I pulled and tugged, looped and tied, while Della took the opportunity to assure me of undying devotion and a willingness to share my bed if only I would return her to favor. She told me it was a dream each girl cherished in their hearts without expectation of it actually happening. As I toiled, I considered the wisdom of instituting a policy whereby I extracted an occasional girl from behind the bars to wear the chain and collar with me in my bed. It would be a charitable act but would conflict with the amours of my current favorite. I decided to give it thought.
Soon darling Della was exquisitely entwined in a web of lovely rope. No part of her nakedness was ignored, cords bit and held her everywhere, flattening and holding her tummy, protruding her breasts as they swelled under the clutch of ropes. Her wrists I crossed behind the trunk and bound them tight. I do believe it is so good for a girl to be sometimes rendered helpless by rope instead of the heartlessness of steel. As the poor darling struggled through the night she will know her enemy, the cords, area gift from me to her. Behind the tree and out of sight, I drew the already positioned cunt cords viciously tight, then knelt before the lovely nakedness to part the tender lips and position the two thin strictures within the hot, moist sheath, returning to the rear to give the final tugs and make the knots secure. When I once more faced the tight-bound girl, she eyed me levelly, knowing I was aware of her pain, and said a dutiful, "Thank you, Mistress," with a sufficient fervor to make me wish it might be sincere. I found those two cords which vanished within the pubic area utterly devastating to my peace of mind. They would devastate Della, too, before the night was done. I kissed her nipples, her eyes, and her lips before I turned and left her to the night.
It was a glorious summer night. My dalliance with Della and my walk across the grass erased my irritation with Jeff and Angela and whatever it was they might be doing. But the euphoria engendered by the just completed binding of a naked girl turned to hot eroticism as I strolled. I remembered my empty bed and so stopped off to open the cage and beckoned the first lovely head that raised to peer at me. Celie scrambled through the open as though reading the intent in my eyes. She had been well whipped and was lusting for my crotch. I grasped her handcuffed arm and led her to the padlock and the chain and told her to resume the duties she had supposed lost forever. Angela was not the only apple in the tree.
Celie must have learned a lot behind the bars downstairs, her performance was far better than I remembered, and she behaved herself remarkably well during the night, not rattling her chain once to wake me up. In the morning I had a tearful maiden on my hands. Having returned to what she supposed was my good graces, Celie had no wish to leave. She implored me to keep her and give her one more chance to prove herself to the mistress who once adored her. The damn girl touched my heart so I sent her to the bathroom then chained her to the bed again while I sorted things out. I now had two girls outside the cage and it was time I started putting them back. But as far as Della was concerned, I decided to let her get her full of punishment. The sun had been up quite a while but I had had breakfast with Wilma, acquainting her with events before deciding to go and free the captive of the tree. By now I was sure Della would be humbled. I walked blissfully across the grass and into the woods. When I reached the tree Della was not there! Just a pile of rope and a couple of wet cords. I stood surveying them in shocked horror and disbelief. Della could not have freed herself, she just couldn't have!
But if she were free, I knew one thing for sure. Della would call the cops!
CHAPTER SIX - NOBILITY IN IRONS
There are some things too bloody awful to comprehend. I stood like a dummy, my mind racing over possibilities. Della was gone and I didn't know where so it was useless for me to start out in pursuit. Someone had untied her and taken her away, that was sure. The question was answered almost immediately by a suave male voice.
"If one of your girls is good, I figured two would be better."
Jeffery Dillon had walked silently from a clump of bushes and was laughing openly at my dismay. "Come back with me and I'll show you the way I've got the two pretty little dears foxed. I can offer you coffee or a drink."
"What I want is Della," I said belligerently. "What the hell do you think you're playing at!"
"I don't live all that far off, you know. Figured you'd have a least one girl somewhere out in the park. And the walls no problem when you have a ladder. If you want this Della back, you can come and get her."
I had a feeling I'd lost control of things somewhere along the way. But Celie was safely chained and Wilma knew my errand. And I was curious about what game Jeffery Dillon was playing. I wanted to refuse but Jeff has a way with him. I overlooked his trespass, it might be amusing to see what he had done with two of my girls. Primarily I was damned thankful to know that Della had not reached the police.
I walked with him to his car.
I reserved judgment during the drive. I've known for a long while that if Jeff Dillon asked me to marry him, I'd do it at a shot. I wasn't going to blow my top and alienate his friendship over either Della or Angela. If he had thought up something amusing for the two dears I was interested in taking a peek before morning coffee and escorting Della back home. I wouldn't even have an excuse to punish the poor dear, she'd been as much a victim of Dillon's charm as I. I settled back into the seat and talked about the new Curate at the Vicarage He had Angela fixed up as a sort of little French maid. There wasn't much to her custom but it covered her pubic hair and did not interfere with the leg irons on her feet or the handcuffs on her wrists. She kissed me warmly and proceeded to serve the coffee while her new master choose the big arm chair and beamed on us both.
"Might as well make them work for a living," he said cheerfully. "I'm glad you taught them to walk in irons, she hasn't dropped a thing. The way she's behaving, she'll never be whipped again."
It was damned cozy and I do like coffee! Angela already knew about the cream and sugar. I drank the first cup gratefully and asked for more. I accepted the second cup and placed it on the side of the sofa on which I sat. I was about to make some bright remark when it happened. The lights went out!
The return to consciousness was with the feeling that I hadn't been away all that long. Angela was standing there in the near-nudity of her cute costume and looking politely anxious. The dear girl had lost both handcuffs and leg irons I soon knew why, they were locked on me! What was more to the point was they were locked upon a naked ME! I wasn't wearing a stitch, not even my shoes.
"We thought this was a nice way of doing it," said Angela. "Angela, this in insane. Where's Jeff?"
"He's taking Della back to Cranston and explaining to Wilma that you'll be somewhat delayed. You can phone her later."
"But my clothes! You little demon, Jeff mustn't see me like this. Give my back my things."
"He's already had a look, he undressed you."
I sort of froze. It was like being in quicksand which had just about reached my neck. I clinked my chains and demanded, "Who's responsible for this?'
"Jeffery did that too," Angela giggled. "I'm only his slavegirl, you know, I don't make decision."
This girl talk might have gone on some time without getting me anywhere. I stood up and kicked at my chained ankles then sat down again. It was the most frustrating and humiliating moment of my life. I sat down again.
"Angela," I said, "you simply must give my back my clothes. If this is some sort of joke, it's gone far enough."
"Like that time you had Reggie handcuff me to the tea shop table?"
"Damn it, girl. I've given you to Jeffery Dillon, what more do you want?"
Whatever it was Angela wanted was cut short by the breezy arrival of Jeffery Dillon. With my handcuffed hands I picked up the only pillow on the couch which wasn't quite big enough to cover both breasts or my pubic patch. I was nervous but not short of something to say. "Jeffery, this is an outrage!"
"Yes, isn't it!" he agreed pleasantly. "There are more to follow."
I got the message. My being naked and the way in which Angela now snatched away my pillow told me this was nothing casual. From their interested stares I gathered I'd be lucky if I want back to Cranston by evening with nothing worse than being sore and sorry. Good gosh, you can't trust anyone these days!
"We're going to give you some warm hospitality," said Jeff. I could guess that that word "warm" referred to.
Darling Angela added her piece, "Don't be angry with us, darling, we just think you ought to sample the other side of the coin for a change."
I fixed her with a mean stare. "I suppose you realize the punishment you're building up for yourself," I suggested firmly. "When I get you back you won't be able to sit down for a month and you'll lay sideways on the bed for even longer."
"But I'm not going back. I'm ever so happy here. Thank you for selling me, Mable."
I could see I'd bitten the biscuit so far as instilling either fear or sympathy. I realized I've got a nice body for my age, but sitting naked on the couch, loaded down with handcuffs and leg irons, I just had to be a figure of fun. a mature woman reduced to the ridiculous. My bottom was tingling with anticipation.
"Perhaps we should introduce you to the cage," Jeff suggested. "Come along, Mable. And you, Angela, stand by with the riding crop. Your former mistress may need touching up a bit."
They were both loving my discomfort. Damn it, why shouldn't they!
A naked woman to do what they liked with. I knew I had abundant breasts and a generous Venus mound. My bottom was tight and firm and I could guess what was going to happen to it. To get me up off the couch, dear little Angela gave me several "touchings up." Unhappily I followed Jeff downstairs.
Walking when you're leg-ironed is the very devil, I snubbed my ankles with every step and for the first time in my life I didn't know what to do with my hands. They were held in front of me and whatever I did with them seemed redundant and absurd. I'd never supposed handcuffs had this effect on a girl. I'd always assumed they generated humility and a feeling of a lower status. With me they were simply an awkward embarrassment as I held them over a bare naval, ignoring the temptation to bend forward and have them cover my puss.
"I don't believe it!" I said, staring. "Don't tell me, Jeff, you had this constructed overnight for me?"
"Actually, no, Mable dear. It's had a few inmates over the years so you need not fee! out of place inside. Come along, in you go." It was a cage, not a bit like mine at Cranston but more like a big bird cage standing in the middle of an otherwise bare room. It was not a cage to hold any dignity for its occupant. It was simply silly and trivial but its bars would have held a tiger. Jeff Dillon held open the door invitingly. I reluctantly clinked and clanked my way toward it under the stimulus of Angela's "touching up." That crop of hers on my bottom hurt like hell and I was almost glad to step inside the protection of the bars. The door clanged and I looked out at lost freedom and a pair of grinning faces. Boy, if my nine girls could have seen me now!
"Solitude is good for the soul," Jeff said unctuously.
"It will be nice for you to have time to think about us whipping your bottom. And maybe your back, too," Angela added in her sweetest voice. I watched them go. Boy, I thought, if I ever get my hands on that little witch, she'll rue this day!
Disgustedly I assessed my prison. It was circular and about six feet across, enough room for me to lay on the floor if they kept me all night.
But I suspected I would be in it only long enough to learn what it was like to live behind bars. I wondered if they expected a change of heart on my part, like a vow to never cage a girl again. But it wouldn't be that easy, I was sure. I simply stood there, holding on to the bars like every idiot who gets behind them, and wondering if Jeff found my nakedness attractive. I'd hoped he would mention my breasts but he didn't say a word. And, while he examined my forest of pubic hair, he hadn't commented. I was more miffed by these omissions than I expected to be when they got around to caning my rear end.
I'm not dumb. I wasn't born yesterday, and I was doing some figuring. It just wasn't possible for Jeff and Angela to keep me prisoner here for any length of time. I could rely on Wilma raising the roof and there was others beside Wilma. But they could keep me for a day without any problems. And a lot can happen in one day. Uneasily I considered what those things could be and there was quite a list of them. I knew neither of them hated me but I also suspected they figured I needed taking down a peg or two. My bottom was now tingling full time and I rattled the bars of that damned cage and its door in a furious wish to be the hell out of there. Boy, what I would have given to be back at Cranston right then!
They came back after an hour or so, obviously expecting a tirade of beefs and maybe some pathetic pleadings for mercy. How the hell would I know?
"We are now ready to whip you, Mable," Jeffery told me as though promising tea.
"We hope a good whipping will do you a lot of good, darling," little love-bird added her two cents worth and I could have kicked her ass.
"And we've got the nicest way to fasten you," Jeff added.
There wasn't much I could do. Remember I was handcuffed and leg- ironed. If I would have fought, I would have looked sillier than I did. I followed meekly, hoping their hearts would be touched.
Their hearts were not touched. I got a couple more licks with the crop to assure me of earnest intentions and then I got a look at the way I would be fastened when whipped. It was a bench at the far end of which was a pair of stocks raising about three feet. There were holes for wrists. My handcuffs were removed and I was urged to thrust my tummy against the bench and hold out my hands to the waiting stocks.
To the tune of forceful complaints on my part, I did as I was told. The upper half of the yoke clamped down hard on my wrists and was locked before my eyes so I could see just how helpless I was.
"We won't fasten you any more, Mable dear, you can kick all you like."
"It will be just like old times with us girls," darling Angela added archly. "You're bottom and back are beautifully vulnerable."
"Ah, shit!" I'd seen this coming from the start but that didn't make me any happier now that it was here. I was free from my toes to my wrists but my wrists were fixed for sure, and spaced apart they prevented me from getting around to either side of the bench over which I was forced to lean. I hated to think of how my rump stuck up. I could look around and get a glimpse of half of it and that was enough to make me blush with shame and quiver with suspense.
"We'll both have a go at you, Mable," Jeff assured me earnestly. "Maybe a total of twenty strokes split between Angela and myself. Does that strike you as fair?"
"Drop dead!" I told him. I was so damned mad... !
With my experience I should have know how bad a whip hurt. But, honest, I hadn't the faintest clue. With the first awful slice across the cheeks I could not move for a second then went absolutely berserk with agony. I kicked and jerked and tugged at my poor imprisoned wrists in frantic alert. I was quite sure I could not possibly survive twenty strokes such as that. I mentioned this as forcefully as I could. "Twenty of those will kill me. You'd best let me loose and allow me to go home. " No one heard a word. The blasted riding crop splatted itself across my bottom a second time and once more I went through all the motions, this time adding a few yelps and moans to emphasis dissatisfaction with what was being done to me. No one seemed to hear.
After I had received five of these stinging terrors my bottom was positively on fire. It was then darling Angela chose to thrust her little hand up into my crotch and get it damned good and wet on what she found there. She kneed vigorously and even inserted a finger where it would do most good. About the time I was heaving a sigh of relieve she withdrew. The next moment I got the unkindest cut of all, a slicing splat which I was positive must have caused my bottom to split open like a ripe melon. When I implored them to stanch the flow of blood their answer was casual, "Sorry, love, there isn't any. Just some lovely marks." It was the unkindest cut of all.
I got my twenty. Ten across my bottom, ten slicing my back. Spacing them in groups of five strokes, dear Angela fingered my sex, always stopping at a point of tantalization which left me furiously frustrated. But this heightening of my sexual excitement was always cured by the next infliction of pain. I suppose I've whipped girls this hard but right then I couldn't believe it. When they announced the completion of that phase of my "correction" I managed a satiric, "Thank you very much. Can I go home now?"
I could not go home. It appeared this was a sort of prelim before the main performance. I pointed out there could be nothing else worse than what they had just done to me but they just chuckled and told me to wait and see. My heart sank, sinking was about all they poor thing had done all day.
"We're now going to sit you on the horse, darling," said Angela.
"A painful perch," said Jeffery.
"I can't possibly endure it," I said briefly, "I'll die."
It was nothing more than the edge of a lousy plank, it didn't even have the simulation of a horse like mine back at Cranston did. The two of them had no trouble handling me so it wasn't long before I sat astride the beastly thing with my hands cuffed behind my back and raised up to force me forward on my crotch and my bound ankles tractioned out to either side so I was doing the splits like a belly dancer except I would be more likely to get splinters instead of applause. I couldn't move. The pain was so bloody awful you wouldn't believe it. When I started to tell them, they turned and went away. This time there was no way Angela could get her hand where it would do any good. I started to moan as soon as they were gone. I think it was the Spanish Inquisition that invented the horse. I devoutly wished their Grand Inquisitor sat upon it instead of me. I was quite certain I was being sliced into two halves, beginning with that sad little slit. I was certain the plank burrowing upwards in a steady, relentless drive to divide and conquer. Alone and helpless in the room, I emitted all sorts and cries and sounds to express my dolor. I vowed that if I ever got back to Cranston I would destroy the horse I had, no girl should ever sit on it again.
Angela had the decency and compassion to drop by once or twice during the hour or two I sat upon that blasted plank. Quite likely she was just reassuring herself I was still alive and not split up the middle. Since she could not touch that part of me that mattered most, she did the next best thing by playing with my nipples. It helped a lot while she was doing it but it got me aroused to the point where she ceased. Apparently a girl upon the horse is not allowed orgasm. Probably I would have done the same. What bitches we are without even knowing!
She said, "I do love you, Mable. I'm sure you don't think so now but this will pass. There's only a few other things you'll have to put up with. I know I'm not suppose to tell you but that's the way Jeff has it planned."
I watched her go. "A few other things!" My tummy did somersaults simply thinking of what they could be. As far as I was concerned I'd suffered enough. I'd paid my debt. But evidently my captor did not think so. I avowed that Jeffery Dillon would never enter the hollowed halls of Cranston again.
I can see now how wicked it is to intersperse a punishment with small pleasant, social functions. I don't know how many hours I was on the horse, probably one, but when dear Jeffery and darling Angela took me from the slicing seat they damn near had to carry me to the lounge where they were careful to offer me the softest seat. I must have looked a sight and felt worse but I was so damned glad to be off that bloody horse I was prepared to love everybody and do anything. Angela, still in her cute little French Maid outfit, served coffee and sandwiches and both she and Jeff made a great fuss of me.
"The worse is over," said Jeffery.
"Just a few little things left for you, darling," said Angela.
I nearly choked on my tea as the two of them blandly discussed my immediate future. They seemed in favor of suspending me by my hands for a quiet hour or two of contemplation of my life. But Angela suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, Jeff, we're forgetting the very thing that matters! Shouldn't we cane the soles of her feet?"
You can imagine my feelings. I considered a quick dash for the door but rejected it. But the way my poor little pussy felt made it doubtful I could run effectively. But I did have a gorgeous mental vision of what I'd do to Angela when I got her back. There are quite a few different ways you can tie a girl if you intend to whip the bottom of her feet, I was considering them when Jeffery said, "That's really a bit much. I'm not sure dear Mable deserves anything that severe. What do you say we bend her backwards over a rail?"
Angela said she was sure I'd absolutely love being bend backwards then added for my benefit, "Mable dear, don't listen to our chatter. I expect we sound like a couple of kids compared to your experience."
I added one more item to Angela's tally. When I got my hands on her again, she'd have quite a bill to pay. But my immediately concern was to save my own skin. Abjectly, I promised, "If you'll stop torturing me now I'll agree to whatever terms you lay down. I've had enough. "
"I think perhaps the rack... " said Jeff gently as though I hadn't spoken.
"What a lovely idea! But not stretched too tight, of course." said Angela brightly.
They had me scared. Me, the Honorable Mable Wycherly! And they succeeded in planting in my mind a question as to whether I had always been kind to my nine darlings in the cage. Under a sudden impulse I could not control I made a dive for the door but Jeff scooped me up with effortless ease and held me in his arms while darling Angela contrived to put handcuffs on my wrists behind my back to prevent me beating my fists upon Jeffery Dillon's grinning features. We made a cute procession going back down stairs.
I didn't see any rack. I didn't believe they had one. But the rail was there, all right, hardly noticeable unless you were primed to look for a rail. Behind it was a small frame, the use of which I could easily divine. Jeff set me on my feet against the rail, thrusting all his weight against me as he held my arms to enable sweet little Angela to remove my handcuffs and place my wrists a couple of feet apart within the waiting half circles of the waiting frame and then snap the yoke tight upon them.
I knew I wasn't going to like this, but I also was tremendously conscious of Jeffery Dillon. I smelt him and knew he was picking up my scent, too. He was deliberately frictioning my nipples against his jacket and trusting up his knee up inside my thighs. That produced an effect utterly devastating to my peace of mind. We were face to face, very close. I could only hope Angela didn't hear my whisper, "Jeffery, take me to bed. Stop this nonsense. I love you."
"And we both love you, too, darling."
I could have murdered Angela for the bright, chirpy note she used to make that assurance. Jeffery patted my bottom as though in appreciation of my suggestion. He's marvelous in bed and I could sure have used an intermission. And I would have given him so much happiness that he might have let me off this fool punishment thing. But he stepped back at approve my taught, stressed nakedness in which everything I had was proclaiming itself for his approval. I had never know my breasts and pussy in such extreme display.
"What about her feet?" inquired Angela.
I had thought I was already fixed enough. It was an absolutely beastly posture with my arms wretched back, my head totally without support, and that horrible rail digging hard into the small of my back. Even with my feet free I would do little to relieve the pain and my poor wrists, snug within their wooden confinement, were already screaming in protest. But whatever relief my feet may have provided was taken from me now by Angela looping each ankle and pulling it back to the frame just enough to add to the tension on my torso and preventing me from moving my legs even the slightest.
"This will kill me," I informed them with firm conviction. "Let me loose."
They did not let me loose. They spent a little time pinching my taut nipples, testing the flattening effect upon my breasts, then patting and teasing my wide open and displayed pussy. They didn't keep it up long enough to do me any good. They went away.
I was sure my spine would break under the strain. I was in a constant, agonizing about where to hold my head. If I allowed it to droop fully backward I got red in the face and my neck muscles ached like fury. But, if I held it up to where I could view my breasts, the red was replaced by the white of suffering. I was beautifully and wonderfully foxed. I tried to kick but Angela's ropes were a reproof on each foot. They were like her small hands adding to my torment. I wondered what I had ever done to my nine girls to deserve this.
I toyed with a beautiful fantasy of Angela being bound as I was bound while Jeff and I went up to his bed and I used ever trick in the book to give him pleasure. Damn Jeffery Dillon, he's so damned Male! And also very rich! The two of us would make a match the county would approve of, and our names and pictures would be in all the papers. Instead of that, here I was in his home in a situation I wouldn't wish on a dog, wondering if my backbone would last out whatever time I was sentenced to. No one had mentioned time, for all I knew it could be the rest of the day. I wept.
It was Angela would came first, divested of her little maids uniform and as naked as I usually kept her myself. Her whisper was urgent, a little guilty but a little loving, too. "Jeff doesn't know I'm here, darling. I'm terrible sorry about the things we're doing to you and I know you'll punish me terribly if you ever can. But I felt I just had to come and give you this."
The gift she brought was her wicked little hand. It had no trouble finding my pussy at the same moment as her lips found my nipple. She they proceeded to most skillfully take me into that hot and erotic land most females deny but all desire. In moments she had me moaning and uttering the little cries of delight and desire by which a girl tells her ravisher of her joy. Angela was my ravisher, have no doubt of that! The little so and so had me coming in no time flat and the resultant orgasm, in the posture I was forced in, tore me to pieces. I was crying in agony at my loss when her hand found me down below once more and her lips sought my second nipples. My second explosion was as devastating as the first and Angela was long gone before I was back into this world. Once more I was alone with agony.
I don't know how long they left me there, it doesn't matter now. But this time it was Jeffery who came and set me free. He had to hold me tight afterwards or I would have fallen. But being in his arms almost made the thing worth while. Once more I asked him to take me to bed, but when he refused and, instead, handcuffed my wrists behind my back, I wasn't too disappointed. I hadn't expected anything and that was exactly what I got! I also had not expected to be lead through the passages, cautioned to silence, and allowed to peep at the room which held the cage. Inside it was dear Angela, naked and handcuffed, and amusing herself by testing each bar and each portion of the door and the lock to see if she could get out. I was allowed only a brief glimpse of Angela and she was unaware of that. My next shock was to be escorted to Jeff s car and being allowed to sit beside him as he drove me back to Cranston. On the back seat was a small bundle of my clothes.
Wilma intercepted us on our way downstairs. Dear, faithful Wilma was commandeered to escort us the rest of the way and open the door of the big cage, inside which nine bright pairs of youthful eyes gazed at me in disbelief. The door slammed shut behind my back and I stood there naked and helpless, my hands behind my back whereas theirs were cuffed in front. The Honorable Mable Wycherly had been reduced and shamed below the level of her slaves.
I learned later that Jeff had kept poor Wilma in conversation for a full thirty minutes before leaving. That was close to being the worst thirty minutes of my life. I half expected to be tom apart, the Honorable Mable delivered to the lions in their den, each one a female feline with claws. I couldn't think of a thing to say but simply stood there, as naked as they themselves and awaited my fate.
But it wasn't like that. The poor darlings actually felt sorry for me, examining my wounds and whip marks and trying to get the handcuffs off my wrists. They made me feel so terribly ashamed, an absolute bitch, as they wiped my tears with gentle fingers and listened while I blurted out the shaming details of my day. Not one of them said it served me right.
I was so touched by their compassion I almost promised them freedom but realized in time that at least one of them would be certain to go to the police and that would be the end of me. And possibly of Jeffery Dillon. I racked my brains to think of something nice I could do for them. But all they wanted was their freedom which was something I dared not give. I was so damned thankful when Wilma came back down and opened the door for me, I immediately gave Wilma a raise in salary.
When my hands were freed and I was sipping the gorgeous coffee Wilma had brewed I realized things weren't all that bad. I was back where I started except that there was one item of unfinished business.
Angela!
CHAPTER SEVEN - ANGELA'S ANGUISH
It's wonderful what being in love does to a girl. When darling Mable sort of loaned me to Jeff, I was sort of in a delirious dream and supposing we'd spend the whole thirty days in bed with perhaps a few brief trips out to dine. I'll admit it was a bit of a surprise when I learned of his fondness for B&D and his expectation that I would share this fondness. He explained it to me afterwards that people like him and the Honorable Mable had been born with the desire and had been lucky enough to make it a way of life. As he put it, there was all that ecstasy kicking around simply waiting to be enjoyed, so why not enjoy it! I didn't argue, I wanted to be well ahead of him and said demurely, "Would you like my hands in front of in back?"
Jeff kissed me, played with me enough so I got excited, then, just to be perverse, did not lock my hands either in front nor in back. Instead he took me to a room, strapped my wrists into leather cuffs, suspended me with my toes about three inches off the floor. "Every married man should do this right after the marriage as a test of loyalty," said Jeff.
I didn't enjoy it one bit. Suspension is a shocking strain on a girl and you feel so terribly over-exposed. But Jeffery kissed me some more and played with my nipples and called me his darling little Angela over and over until I was in a dither of rainbows from which I woke up to find myself alone and hanging quietly.
When Jeff let my feet back on the floor and told me this was only an initial test, I was astonished to leant that I had been hanging for only an hour. It had seemed like half a day, at least. He then picked me up with the wrist cuffs still strapped to my wrists and carried my back upstairs for a drink and to discuss plans about Mable. I listened in a sort of giggling delight, while he told me of his plan to bring her down a couple of notched and shame her before her girls. He said she was altogether too uppity and I agreed with him. I was still remembering Cranston and the marks of Mable's whip upon my skin.
Neither of us saw it as punishment. We named what we did to Mable as "shaming the poor, dear girl." I had to admit we did exactly that. Thinking back to her sitting on the horse or bent backward over that rail, I do feel terribly ashamed of myself -- not of Jeff, Jeff is The Master. But in some strange way I sort of loved Mable and I knew she had a tremendous affection for me. I was very glad I wouldn't be going back to Cranston. If I did, there would be a terrible list of misdeeds Mable would take out on my hide. I felt it was so wonderful belonging to Jeff. I also felt that it would go on forever.
I had supposed Jeff wouldn't know about me going back to Mable and giving the poor dear a couple orgasms while she was on that rail. But he knew, all right, this house is full of servants. He later told me of this knowledge and asked is six with the cane on my bottom would be a proper punishment. I said yes, I suppose to would. I bent over and touched my toes and thought how convenient it was not to wear clothes. I just waited for the pain to start. Jeffery gave me six really sting cuts across both cheeks and I had the damndest time to stay still to get them all. If I hadn't been so in love with him, I couldn't have done it.
When I stood up and was rubbing my rump, Jeff chose that moment to tell me of Prince Hadji El Kabar.
I had heard of him. He was one of the oil sheiks who roam the world and tell everyone what to do and how much to pay for a barrel of oil. I'd seen his picture, he was utterly charming even if he did have a harem back home with goodness knows how many girls. Looking at him or hearing him talk on the telly made any girl think that surely there would be room for one more.
It transpired that Hadji El Kabar did business with Jeffery Dillon and would be coming for lunch the following day. With forthright honesty, Jeff told me I would play hostess and afterwards would be expected to entertain the Prince in such ways as would give him pleasure.
"You don't mean take him up to bed!" I exclaimed in dismay. "You wouldn't... " Jeffery explained. According to the way you looked at it my role would be far simpler than taking the Prince to bed. It seemed the Prince shared the same delights that motivated the Honorable Mable and my new Master Jeffery. Prince Hadji traveled everywhere accompanied by an ornate case in which, snuggled in puffed up satin, was the wickedest riding crop any girl might feel upon her skin. The program called of it to be use on me!
"But I thought you loved me!" I said, aghast.
"I do, my pet, but that has nothing to do with a spot of business." Jeff gazed at me earnestly. "I've sure you've no objection to an extra million or two from time to time, darling."
Well, when he put it like that... !
We went up to bed and I forgot all about the Honorable Mable and Prince Hadji El Kabar. I forgot about everything except my limbs were free and I was in the arms of the most competent lover in the world.
Prince Hadji was everything the Telly had promised. Had he dealt only with women and oil, he would have been the richest man in the world. I'm afraid it wasn't much you felt he was in love with you but rather a terrible intensification of feeling female and horny. I was ashamed of myself all through lunch but was thankful I wasn't a man with an erection to betray my excitement. But my nipples did their best, pointing at the Prince like gun muzzles. He seemed to find it natural I should wear no clothes.
When we had given the usual small talk the once over, I tried to get one jump ahead by saying, "My Master tells me you wish to whip my bottom," then added in certain confusion, "your Highness." His dark eyes devoured me. His words were soft and full of promise. "It would give me infinite delight, dear child."
I decided not to let up and added, "And that you have the most wonderful riding crop in a really gorgeous carrying case?"
"Indeed I do! It was made my the finest craftsman in the world. You will be proud to wear its weals."
Well, that seemed to be that. We understood each other. I suddenly lost interest in desert. Almost simpering, I inquired, "May I ask how many young women you have use it on?"
Prince Hadji gave this question the thought it deserved. "There are my wives," he suggested dubiously as though starting a tally. "I also have a number of children, among them teenage girls who frequently require correction. But in the wider circle of pure pleasure, as opposed to domestic duty, I can recall the wives of no less than seven ambassadors, a multitude of feminine dependents of sundry diplomats. And there was one concubine of a Texan oil man who wanted a cut in the price." Prince Hadji smiled the memory. "The poor girl's work proved in vein." Hadji smiled apologetically. "There were also a multitude of secretaries and ladies of the night employed for my pleasure. I'm afraid I've lost count. Being in the oil business opens many doors."
He might be boasting but I didn't think so. Jeff was quietly grinning and keeping silent to allow me to dig my own grave with a too-busy tongue. "And this lovely cane, you Highness, is it not worn out by now?"
The Prince smiled at my naivety. "Fear not, Angela," he admonished in a voice to heat my loins. "It is of exquisite workmanship and will outlast a thousand maiden rumps." He smiled upon me in what I suppose had to be pure adoration. "You must remember, Angela my dear, there are many delightful parts of any girl, parts that will show the lovely scarlet weals beside those twin rounds on which she sits. It would be a pleasure to crop those exquisite breasts you are pointing at me across the table."
I sat tensed in shock. There had been a happy repartee about this affair so far, I didn't want to talk about whipping my breasts or have anyone else talk about it, either. I got another shock when Jeff gently interposed, "We would both be honored if you would introduce Angela's breasts to an ancient and revered tradition, Your Highness." Jeff's eyes sparkled at me. "Wouldn't me, Angela?"
I wanted to scream and run. Instead I demurely whispered, "Yes, of course. I would be delighted."
Gosh, I really must have been in love!
The real killer-diller with people like Prince Hadji and my master is that, having consigned you to pure terror, they then proceed to talk about the most mundane affairs and insist on including you so you have to say something bright and sparkling about the American Secretary of State's visit to Finland while your bottom is positively cringing at the thought of what is about to happen to it. I've never been positive whether they do this on purpose, well aware of it's devastating effects on the girl. Having exhausted the ordinary, they then switched as was the case right now. "I suppose you spend long periods of immobility while bound or semi-immobility while chained in your dungeon, my dear?" the Prince asked me with sort of a fatherly tone. He appeared gravely shocked when I told him I'd left all that behind with the Honorable Mable and expected greater latitudes from now on. Prince Hadji El Kabar look reprovingly at his business companion and host to admonish, with an almost British inflection, "My dear chap! You mustn't let the little darling twist you like this. A bit of freedom's all very well for contrast but she should spend most of her time well chained or bound."
I could see I had put my master in a spot so I chimed in helpfully, "But, Your Highness, my feet are leg-ironed now. We can send for handcuffs should you so desire?"
"She's having a holiday," Jeffery quickly added. "All whip and no play makes Jane a dull girl," he added, striving for a lighter tone.
"This Honorable Mable, I don't think I've met her?" the Prince observed thoughtfully. "Might she be induced to lend her bottom to my crop?" He smiled at both of us in sincere friendship. "I have found the British nobility prone to having their bottoms whipped I forgot to mentioned previously a couple of duchesses, a countess and several lesser titles I've had the honor of marking. They are not ideal subjects, they are disposed towards stoic heroism under the rod. It is rather like flogging one of the horses some of them resemble."
By way of changing the subject, Jeff inquired if the Prince had ever taken an English girl back home to the desert and placed her in his harem for a change of tempo and seeing how the other half lived.
"It is something I have considered," Prince Hadji conceded. "Would you consider lending my Angela for perhaps a month?"
"I'd much prefer introducing you to the Honorable Mable and see if you could prevail upon her."
"I would return her faithfully on the due date."
"I have no doubt of that. Your Highness, but I think Angela's a bit young and unsophisticated." Poor Jeff was trying hard.
"I would order her lightly whipped each day," our noble guest continued suavely, eyeing me a bit too possessively. "In my country a man does not flog his own women. We employ a man and a woman who combine this service with other duties around the palace. Mostly they use the old Roman flagellum, a beautifully supple strap. It impacts resoundingly and leaves most satisfying marks. We use the bastinado for severe infidelities."
I was aware of heaving breasts. The conversation was all too personal for my taste and any torturer of old might have picked up little hints from Prince Hadji El Kabar. I was almost to that mood they try to get you into where you just want to get whipped and have it over with because you just can't bear the suspense any longer But I kept quiet while the Prince toyed with his desert and discoursed upon the merits of whipping a girl between her legs. I wished I was in the oil business, I would have changed the subject.
The Prince had done business with Jeffery Dillon before and was familiar with the house. Before leading us to the room of his choice, he went to his Rolls Royce to return with a long, lean case he handled with great care. I guessed its contents and followed the men folk down the stairs, my hobbled steps clinking and rattling to reassure them of my social status.
It was a thing of great beauty. I was allowed to handle to assure myself of its potential for pain. It was lean and shining with a bejeweled handle, showing no signs of its many impacts upon noble and not so noble flesh. Already imbued with the Spirit of the East, I kissed the beastly thing before handing it back to the man who would slice me with it. I looked at my master, hopeful of reprieve, but got only a knowing smile. Jeffery Dillon was hot after the couple of million which apparently depended upon the quality of my bottom. Trying hard to keep the quavers from my voice, I asked politely if I should bend over and touch my toes.
I was laughed to scorn. It was patiently explained that Eastern punishments could not be endured by mere slips of girls unless she were securely fastened. Prince Hadji expressed doubt I would manage more than two strokes if my limbs were free He smiled at me with purest love to demand, "You won't mind if you're securely bound, will you, my dear?"
I told him that I wouldn't mind. I was beginning to think it might be just as well anyway. I didn't want him chasing me around the room if the pain was like they suggested. I turned my attention to the object on which I was to be fastened. I hadn't seen it before, I wished I did not see it now. One of the maid servants was summoned to attend my binding since Eastern protocol forbid any noble male to thus demean himself. The girl looked at me with pity to say, "Come along, dearie. I'll soon have you fixed good and tight. When I'm through with you, you won't even be able to wiggle."
She kept her promise Whoever designed that bench could not have loved girls. It had a sort of low step I had to kneel on before laying the rest of myself flat upon the raised bench. My ankles and the hollows of my knees were instantly strapped very tight indeed and then a gentle hand thrust me down and down until my breasts were flat upon the wood and then another strap circled my waist and was cinched down as though I was a horse. This had the instant effect of rearing my bottom into undue prominence, I could guess what for! Next I was told to extend my hands and arms along each side to the very limit, at which point my wrists were firmly strapped and then my elbows. The damned girl was absolutely right! I couldn't wiggled. I was delivered, shockingly naked, to the instrument the Prince was plying between his hands. His eyes were brilliant with desire. The serving wench was sent away to leave me alone with fear and a certainty of agony.
Prince Hadji was versatile. Or perhaps it was the bench that gave him scope. He first cut my bottom in two with a sharp, swift, unexpected blow. But his next stroke bisected it lengthwise to enter its clef made accessible by my wide-spread knees so tightly strapped. He then, with a fearfully casual air, seared the flank of each cheek, one after the other to have me in a paroxysm of pain and fear. I fought that damned bench and those cursed straps as thought they were a personal enemy, which I suppose the indeed were. I might as well have saved my strength, I moved nothing, my bottom was still there, invitingly protruding in a mute pleading for punishment I did not deserve. Prince Hadji cut me ten times with his Pride of the East before saying he had no wish to hurt me in this preliminary round. I gathered my scorched, sliced bottom was no more than his way of getting my attention. With Prince Hadji there would always be more to come.
The serving maid arrived with double whiskeys for the men but nothing for me. I seemed to be forgotten as they found chairs and discussed their lousy oil arrangements. My bottom burned as though they had set a fire there. It was about at that point when I remembered my breasts.
There was a neat device for that. too. It was a short, low cross. I was told to kneel with my back against it and one leg to either side. There then came the brutal strap around my middle to clamp my burning ass hard to the upright which would hold me fast in what was still to come. My knees were hurting from the start. All my weight was on them and they were in no way bound. The separation compelled by the post revealed my pussy in all its glory, and there was nothing I could do about it. One after the other the serving wench positioned my arms against the cross, strapping them at both wrist and elbow. As a final indignity there was a strap around my throat. It was not tight enough to injure but it was there. Then, having gotten me nicely vulnerable, they had it fixed so the cross bent back far enough to take my face out of range but expose my breasts in a demanding innocence. Boy, did they ever have me!
I looked up into Prince Hadji's eyes, they seemed to burn away at my nipples. He had not changed his weapon, my breasts were to be whipped with the same instrument as my bottom. I moaned in pure fear.
"Do not be distressed, dear girl. This is an art form in which I am unusually proficient."
Prince Hadji was right. It was a relief to discover my breasts would not be cut by full, sweeping blows of his arm. Instead, their contours would be explored by flicking cuts and snapping impacts, awful enough but without the horror of mutilation. To make it worse I had to watch each blow as he measured it. I could not move.
Here, too, I was pleasantly surprised. Perhaps Prince Hadji was as concerned about the oil deal as was my master, maybe he had no wish to offend by being more cruel to a slavegirl than need be. After ten cuts upon each of my breasts he announced himself as satisfied, thanked both myself and my master with grave courtesy, and replaced his wicked wand, unmarked by blood, within its plush case. I had never heaved a deeper sigh of thankfulness in my life.
Double whiskeys were provided while they surveyed and commented upon my breasts and the marks thereon. I was thankful to have breasts left.
I stayed, strapped tight upon the little cross, and listened to the jargon of big business. By now I realized I would have been much better off to have stayed with Mable, I was not in the same league with Jeffery Dillon and his friends. But I realized the Prince was perhaps an interruption in the normal routine of my master's house. Tonight he would take me to his bed and our love would once more flourish. But in this, too, I was wrong. I remained strapped to the cross until dinner and then, properly leg-ironed and handcuffed, took my place as hostess at the dinner table opposite Jeffery Dillon. Our guests interests had now changed from his riding crop to settle upon the means by which I would be secured for the night. I would cheerfully have murdered the smiling, handsome son of a bitch, if I'd had the chance, but once more I found myself agreeing to the penalties imposed by chains and ropes in certain places upon a certain girl. There was never any doubt who the girl would be!
"I favor binding a naked maiden to a post or pillar through the night," the Prince said reflectively. "There is something very personal about such bondage for a girl, each rope is the finger of her master upon her flesh. I do hope you agree?"
"Of course, but I'd thought of giving the poor kid a bit of a break tonight. She's new at that y'know."
"There is also the matter of chains," said Prince Hadji as though Jeff had not spoken. "Chains are particularly potent for the maiden who knows her master holds the key. She will remain thus constrained in her dungeon awaiting his pleasure. She will not be freed by any serving girl or major domo. I really do feel you should confine Angela in one of this constrictions through the night."
Damn him! It was almost an order! What has the son of a bitch got against me? He had whipped me and his eyes were now constantly on my seared breasts across the table. I was hurting and wanting to cry and longing most earnestly for my master's arms. I didn't care about the leg irons and handcuffs. I'd got used to them long ago with Mable. But, now, with this Prince from the East, such confinement seemed childish playthings allowing me all together too much freedom. I could understand him thinking this, I had become extremely adept at the dinning table with my handcuffed hands. I could do almost anything and this was not the way the Prince thought it ought to be. Moanfully I said farewell to a night of love.
The Prince chose a marble pillar in the hall. It would shame be before the servants and he and Jeff could pause to admire while moving from room to room. They bound me thus in early evening, there being no point to having an unsophisticated girl share their talk. I think the serving maid was a bit impatient with this addition to her normal duties which caused her to tug each strand more tightly in irritation so the ropes indented my flesh from ankle to neck and the beastly addition of the "crotch cutter" was not forgotten. It was useless in the binding for helplessness but it kept a girl well aware of higher authority and punitive intent. She carefully opened my lips, inserted the two thin cords and tugged them tight. I hoped I'd have the pleasure of doing the same for her some day but that was just dreaming.
Finished with her task, she patted my cheek, told me I would have to learn to be a good little girl, and then went about her duties. Plastered to the pillar, I could only hope my master or the Prince would have a change of heart and one of them let me loose later on to go to bed. I could well imagine Prince Hadji would take it for granted he was the one for whom I would spread my legs. But I realized this was only wishful thinking, I just did not want to stand bound as I was through the hours of the night. It was still early evening.
The servants did not normally have many reasons for traffic in the great hall, but they now found excuses enough for them to come and give me a good once-over while on their way to some nebulous task. I did not ask any of them to free me and none offered. It was easy to figure my plight was being compared to other punishments they had witnessed in the past. They bore me no ill will, in fact quite the opposite, but the fact of my being bound to the post removed me from normal society. I was viewed as an exhibit in a museum. After an eternity of hoping for my master or the Prince I slumped within the tight binding and knew I was on my own until morning. I thought of the Honorable Mable and thought ashamed of the gleeful manner in which I had seconded Jeffery Dillon's efforts. Putting her on that awful horse was bad enough but then to thrust her into her own cage, naked and helpless at the mercy of her nine prisoners would hurt her worst of all. I realized she would now be back to normal but would have a tally safely hidden awaiting the moment she got her hands on me again. I assured myself the return to Cranston would never take place but knew a nagging unease about my new condition. I could blame this semi-torture of the pillar and the night upon Prince Hadji. But Prince Hadji would probably leave tomorrow and I would be alone with the man I loved. I just could not believe Jeffery Dillon would be truly mean to me or inflict punishments as in the case of Mable or as I was right now. Surely his interest in bondage would be limited to the pretty little cage downstairs and a pair of handcuffs. These I could handle, my pulse quickened at the thought of them. But the nagging disquiet continued. I scarcely knew Jeffery Dillon. I'd fallen head over heels in love with him in the same way as I now suspected every woman did. I wondered if the Honorable Mable was quietly chuckling about the discoveries awaiting me in this house. The first had been Prince Hadji, what might be next!
Somewhere in the middle of the night I had a dream. I had been sleeping fitfully and with sudden awakenings in a sort of mild nightmare imposed by rope and cord. But now I drowsily recognized the shadowy figure striding purposefully towards me in the gloom as Prince Hadji. In his hand he held a thin knife blade. He placed his finger on my lips to consul silence then slipped the sharp blade under the ropes. In a few seconds I was free of rope from ankle to neck. His arm supported me or I would have fallen. Every bit of me seemed asleep and I was fuzzily uncertain if this was truly happening. Holding my with one arm he used his other hand to click my wrists in handcuffs behind my back. He then picked me up bodily, carried me to the door, which he unlocked with ease, set me on my feet on the cold stone of the front steps. He kissed me gently and went back inside. I heard the click of the latch and thud of a bolt. I stood there shivering in the darkness, more certain than ever this must be a dream.
It was no dream. At the bottom of the steps a car was waiting, another Rolls Royce which spoke of Hadji even though he was no longer there. A man ran lightly up the steps to pick me up and carry me to the car.
I was thrust inside the back door to be enveloped in a wave of heavy perfume and the scent of female. I was in the presence of a darkly handsome woman who, without a word, thrust something rubbery between my teeth and strapped it tight behind my neck. I could do nothing to stop her, the handcuffs were tight upon my wrists. The motor started, almost without sound, and the costly auto whispered its way down the paved driveway to the road. It was a neat and simple kidnapping of a naive young woman. By the time it was entirely to late I started to struggle.
The back seat of the Rolls Royce is huge. I ended up on its floor as the results of my wigglings and twistings against the tight steel bands I should have known I could not defeat. Beside me the dark-eyed woman had watched my performance with amused contempt, making no effort to hinder nor help. But she know leaned over and, grasping me beneath the armpits, hoisted me back up on the seat. Her voice was foreign but one I could not place.
"Be quiet, little pigeon, you will soon be in your gilded cage and the envy of a royal household. You are very lucky."
I could not utter a word, the gag was bitter in my mouth and its buckle brutal behind my neck. I refused to make the possible muffled sounds of protest, she could take them for granted. I sat, still twisting at the handcuffs, and glowered.
"You are upset, little one, and this I understand." Her voice was without hostility. "You are being used outrageously but you must remember that to most you are a simple package of nicely arranged female parts. You have no other purpose. I suggest you sit still, we do not have far to go."
Well, that set me in my place! Package of female parts, indeed! I aimed a kick at some of her own female parts but she neatly blocked it. She was amazingly strong and had my ankles trussed in no time flat. Once more she arranged me on the seat and in the same emotionless voice advised, "You should not fight, little one, you cannot win. I have tied your ankles tight enough to hurt so that will give you something to think about. If you continue to struggle I will bind your elbows." I made no further declaration of war but sat still to moodily consider how crafty the Prince had been. In the morning Jeffery Dillon would wake up to discover his captive flown. The sliced rope would give no clue, the locked door would be a mystery. Hadji would no doubt sleep late and come down apologizing for a night of deep sleep. Hadji would be as surprised as Jeffery. They would search the house and then discuss my disappearance over breakfast. Then if Jeffery had suspicions, he would keep them to himself. In the meantime I would disappear. I stole a glance at my companion and was rewarded with information.
"I am the first wife of Prince Hadji El Kabar. I have enough little strumpets around the palace without you. He will have forgotten you by tomorrow. I suppose it was he who put the marks on your bottom?"
"Yes. Look, please don't sell me into another slavery, let me go." As through the Rolls had heard my plea, it turned off the main road into a country lane. Where a dirt trace, no doubt used by farmers, crossed the car gently stopped. Hadji number one wife opened the door.
deftly untied my ankles and thrust me out into the cool night air. I was about to plead not to be cast adrift like this when the Princess' words cut me short.
"Follow the trace to the left and it will let you to Cranston. To the right, with a few twists and turns you may have to ask about, you will find my husband. I would advise you not to take that path." The door slammed shut and the Rolls quietly purred its way back to the main road.
It's suppose to be a familiar nightmare to us all, being naked in a public place. But in the child light of early dawn I saw no human being but was suddenly confronted by a dreadful dilemma. Which way should I go? It was not until them I realized my hands were handcuffed behind my back. I wondered if the Princess had forgotten them on purpose.
I wanted no more of Prince Hadji and his treasures in the ornate case. On the other hand. I wanted Jeffery Dillon very much indeed. But to return to the Prince's ideas of discipline was a step I could not take. He would at least have my feet whipped on the bottoms, if not cut off entirely. I shuttered.
I could retrace my steps back to the main road, there would soon be traffic. But I had been a prisoner so long I feared the treatment I might get from passing motorists. The best I could hope for would be to be taken to the police who would not believe a word I said and would probably consign me to a mental institution for observation. I shuttered again. Which ever road I took, I would run the constant risk of rape. A naked, handcuffed girl would be a tremendous lure for many men.
I had been saving the Honorable Mable until last. I would get a warm welcome there in a gorgeously feminine atmosphere. But I now had to bitterly regret the part I had played in Mable's bitter day in Jeffery's house. She had spoken of a tally and I could well believe it was waiting for me. But any way you took it, Mable would be pleased to see me and might, by now, have forgotten some of her anger. I turned my bare footed steps towards Cranston.
It was not a quiet stroll, it was an honest-to-goodness hike. I cursed the handcuffs, never ceasing to tug and twist at they bite. It was bad enough to be naked and adrift in someone's pasture, but to be also helpless! I stepped out briskly.
Sun light would bring eyes, my skin felt hot and shamed at the prospect. I ran into the first pair early than expected. He was a tweedy farmer taking an early morning ride to survey his fields. We came face to face unexpectedly around an hedge. I longed to turn and flee into the bushes but I needed help.
"Could you direct me to a country house named Cranston?" I inquired politely.
"Oh-h-h-h, aye, I can for sure. 'Tis over that hill ahead." He paused, burning my exposed flesh with his eyes. "Them hands o' yours. Handcuffed if I'm not mistaken?" He laughed. "You'll no be wanting the cops, lass?"
Whatever I said would be wrong. I contented myself with an honest request, "Please help me get to Cranston. Please...?"
"Help, is it! Well, if it's help your wanting... " He dismounted and ambled to my side and before I realized his intent, I was on my back on the grass with him kicking my feet wide apart and entering my with a weapon I did not get to see but could most decidedly feel. Laying on my cuffed arms there was little I could do except endure the strange combination of pain from the handcuffs and pleasure from the farmer's unwelcome attentions. I'd been raped enough to no longer see it as the end of the world. I avoided angering my rapist since he was the only human help I appeared likely to get. After a half hour of rural dalliance, he hoisted me behind him on his horse and headed up the path. I'd never felt more insecure, more abused, or more naked in all my captivities. I couldn't even hold on to him for safety. But he looked after that with a rope around my middle which joined me to him in tight security. I wondered if this was the sort of thing Sir Galahad and Lancelot used to do.
He was right. Once over the hill I could glimpse Cranston far ahead. My rescuer and ravisher took my half the distance before telling me gruffly that I had to make my way the rest. He gallantly lifted me off the horse and then, yes, you guessed it, ravished me again. A chap like that might not have too much romance in his life, probably he saw me as a gift from Legend. Discussed with everything I resumed my march.
I longed for a bath and feminine hands and loving arms. If I got horribly punished, well, perhaps I would deserve it and would try not to yell too loudly. I just did not have the courage to seek out the police, I know I should have done that but, compared with any other course, Cranston looked better. It was a haven I knew about and in which I had been Mable's number one girl. I shuttered to think were I would be on her list now. Ravished and forlorn, I found my way to the huge gate in the stone wall and rang the bell with my teeth. I was looking fearfully up and down the road for a police patrol which would take every decision from my hands and probably put me in a straight jacket. The gate clicked up to admit me to captivity. My heart pounding painfully, I sat out to walk the final, awful mile.
The Honorable Mable Wycherly toyed with the handcuffs lovely. They were beautifully expensive as was befitting the Prince who's property I had almost become. They had returned with me to Cranston as a souvenir of my brief captivity with Jeffery Dillon. I'm sure Mable looked on them as spoils of war. At the moment they were not in use on me. Being redundant to my present situation. I was suspended from leather wristlets on spread arms high over my head. The Honorable Mable was in great form.
"How lovely to have you back in the fold, darling. I've chosen your current position as a suitable prelude in which you will be uncomfortable enough to listen to what I have to say. You are uncomfortable?"
"Yes, Mable. I'm uncomfortable."
"For the duration of your punishments, as I check them off my tally sheet, you will address me as Mistress. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Mistress."
This might well be the prelude to worse things to come, but it was bad enough in itself. Only the tips of my toes could find the floor while most of me hung suspended by my poor wrists. Meekly I inquired, "Couldn't we sit down somewhere, Mable, while you tell me all the awful things you've got in store? I really would pay attention."
"I am already sitting down," said Mable with satisfaction. "You are the way you are because I intend to open your punishment by using a cane or perhaps a crop on your pretty little bottom. I can see it's been attended to but there is always room for more." Unhappily my mind flittered back to that moment when, ejected from the car, I had a choice of going left or right. I had chosen the left with the results that I had been twice raped by a man who's name I did not even know, and was now hanging naked to have my bottom cropped and goodness knows what else. I was my own fault, I could have gone the other way, at least I would have had Jeffery. But I sort of suspected I would get what I was now getting either way. I thought longingly of the nice, civilized police station where they might have been give me a nice hot cup of tea before transferring me to the lunatic asylum. It was not my day.
"Cropping your bottom is just a prelim to help you remember the things you said when you and Jeffery Dillon had me on that terrible horse thing. My cunt still has nightmares thinking of it."
A tear stole down her cheek. It was a real one, nothing feigned. Brokenly I said, "Yes, I know Mable, I was a little bitch. But please don't hurt me too bad. I've been hurt an awful lot lately. Haven't you noticed the whip marks on my breasts?"
"Yes, they're exquisite. I'm sure you deserved every one. You can tell me more about that punishment another time. Look, you're not going to start crying, are you?"
"I can't help it," I sobbed despairingly. "I do everything wrong. I could have gone to the police but I came here instead. Mable, darling, couldn't you love me just a little? Sort of delay my punishment until I'm feeling better?"
For answer Mable picked up the crop and gave me four terrible, swift strokes across my shockingly vulnerable derriere. "Does that answer your question, darling? I've never heard such an outrageous request by any slavegirl. Delay your punishment indeed! You should be ashamed."
I was indeed ashamed. Deep inside I knew I had come back to Cranston deliberately to be punished, it was some deep seated guilt impulse I can't explain. But I was ashamed of the way I'd treated Mable while Jeffery Dillon gave her what he called her "come uppance." I had been her number one girl but allowed Jeff to do whatever he wanted to her without any protest from me. If the four strokes that were scolding my rump right now were any indication, I was going to be a sorry little girl indeed. Pathetically I said, "Mable, darling, I really do love you. Punish me all you want but I'll still love you, truly I will."
I had struck the right note. Or perhaps Mable's heart had not been in it from the start. I was suddenly encircled by a whirlwind of arms and a sudden, final sign of forgiveness. My dangling legs were thrust apart and Mable proceeded to do to me that female service she so often asked of me. I suppose when words are not enough it becomes the obviously thing. She arranged my naked feet to suit her purpose and took me on a journey to the stars. When it was done I hung there limply in exhaustion, carrying of nothing except having a mistress who still loved me even after I had been a very naughty girl. The police station would never have been this good!
For a long time Mable remained upon her knees between my legs, her face buried in my fur. Neither of us wanted the spell to break. If my wrists hurt and my shoulders screamed, well, that was just too bad. But eventually Mable sort of staggered erect to say, "I really can't be this spineless, darling, I have to do something to you." As though walking in her sleep she found the crop and. in swift sequence, cut my bottom again and again until I screamed. Honor satisfied, she lowered my feet to the floor. I was the happiest girl in the world.
In an absent-minded sort of way, Mable put the lovely handcuffs back on my wrists. I scarcely noticed. In the same preoccupation I was led downstairs, the cage door opened and I was thrust inside. It locked with a solid thud behind my back. I gazed upon nine curiously pairs of eyes then turned at the girl who had put me here. But Mable had gone. Mechanically, I turned back to say, "Hello, everybody. I've just had my bottom cropped. And yesterday a man whipped my breasts... Just in case you're curious."
They took me in their arms until I had sobbed out the whole ridiculous story. Why shouldn't they believe, I, too, were handcuffs!
In slumber, the nine girls, who with my addition were ten, slept in a careless abandon to nudity, heads cushioning to female softness while their own bellies and breasts offered haven to another. The clink of handcuffs was constant through the night but no one heard or cared. We belonged to the cage and did our best within its iron bars.
Mable must have slept poorly beside a padlock and chain which held no female throat. She quietly opened the cage door and beckoned. I carefully disengaged myself from the tangle of feminine nudity and stepped hopefully beyond the bars. Safe upstairs she whisper, "You little witch. I couldn't sleep decently without you. You're a menace to my peace of mind. What the devil must I do with you?"
"Give me the punishment I deserve," I said without thinking. "But don't stop loving me. If you had left me in the cage with the other, I would have died."
I was almost dragged up stairs. The padlock and chain on my collar felt good, they told me I belonged. In the morning we were still serious, burdened by unfinished business. Mable voiced it, "What you said last night, about the punishments. You didn't mean that?"
"Yes, I did. You sent me away with Jeffery Dillon and I thought I was in heaven. But I found myself with two men, the second man, this Prince whatever he may be, frightens me. You've seen the marks of his whip on my breasts. When I was released and had a choice I came right back here because I knew I'd be treated with love." I managed a strangled little laugh. "If I've earned a punishment, and I suspect I have, then punish me. So long as we love each other afterwards, that's all that matters."
Mable came around the table and kissed me. We kissed a long time. When she resumed her seat, most of the tension was gone. Laughingly she told me, "There's only one punishment I'll give you in return for what you gave me. I'm sure I don't have to tell you what it is." Mable was right. I knew. She would seat me on "the horse." Thinking back at the way I'd behaved, I knew I deserved it. I shared her laughter to say, "Thank you, Mistress, I'll try to be well behaved. I'm looking forward to it."
"You're outrageous. Maybe I'll do it to you today and get it over with. Then we'll be back where we started. I can't figure Jeffery Dillon and this Prince whats-his-name but we don't have to bother. They're not part of Cranston. I blame myself for lending you to Jeff. Men aren't like us, they're driven by the damndest impulses. But I'm disappointed, he seemed like a nice guy."
We both delighted in Prince Hadji's handcuffs. They clasped my wrists lovingly as though someone had taken measurements just for me. It was as though someone had wrapped a round bronze bar around each of my wrists, they were that snug and that perfect, joined by a bronze link. It had taken Mable quite a while to find a key to fit but she has quite a collection and now had me safe at someone else's expense. I had enjoyed breakfast without being conscious of linked hands. When we had finished coffee, Mable changed the lovely bronze from front to back. I could guess why and without demur followed my mistress to my punishment. I was suddenly trembling.
"You're contesting this, are you darling?" Mable asked as she briskly strapped anklets on my feet while I gazed unhappily at Cranston's version of the "horse."
"You are going to cooperate, aren't you, or do I have to call Wilma?"
"I'll be a good girl," I said without enthusiasm. "I don't suppose you prefer to whip me?"
"No, dear, this is the most appropriate. Up you go. I'll raise your arms up a bit to steady you and we'll have you fixed in no time fiat."
Mable was as good as her word. I endured those truly awful moments while you lower yourself upon the wicked edge and work hard to keep your balance while darling Mable dashed from side to side tugging at ropes to my ankles. It was soon done. I sat grotesquely with my legs doing a ballet dancer's split which was an appropriate word when you consider. My pussy and crotch were screaming and would go on screaming for a long, long time. Mable made a few adjustments to increase my discomfort, kissed me warmly, and said that she'd be dropping in from time to time. I managed to keep quiet while she was with me but after the door closed I started to moan. Then I clenched my teeth against the pain and promised myself not to scream. It was all very routine and as it should be. I was utterly helpless.
Sitting naked with your pussy planted on a hard edge and unable to move might very well induce hallucinations and hysteria. I felt myself in some sort of wrap in time and place when the door opened and the person who entered was not Mable but Prince Hadji. In his eyes I read instant approval of my plight. Enjoyably he suggested, "This woman you have chosen does not treat you well, little pigeon. Or do you enjoy this sundering of your crotch. I didn't care about the how or why or even who he was, I had but one thing to say, "Get me off this thing! Oh, please get me off...!"
He did exactly that. I'll admit he took his time, but while he worked he talked. "My enterprising wife prevented my removal of you from Mr. Dillon's care the other night. I now correct the error. My wife will be dealt with and I will carry you back to my palace in triumph. Is that not romantic?"
I didn't bother asking him why he had to have me when he could have gotten all the girls there were, I am too well aware how absurd men can be about one girl. What I did demand was, "How did you get in here and what have you done with Mable?"
At that moment Mable joined us, each of her arms firmly held by an athletic looking female along the lines of Wilma. She was pink of face and in disarray, obviously having done some struggling. She stopped now to glare at the intruder. Prince Hadji neatly forestalled her volley of complaint by delivering a prepared speech of his own.
"My men are in possession of your home. Madam. Nothing and no one will be injured or damaged. A matron is now being instructed on the continuing of your prisoners in the cage while you are absent. Your absence will be temporary, I cannot make the same promise about dear little Angela."
"You absolute asshole, you must be nuts!"
"I had not originally intended to remove you from this house," the Prince continued, "but watching your excellent performance and hearing you protest makes me believe I will derive great pleasure from laying both crop and cane upon your solidly exquisite rump. A mature woman provides an admirable target for instruments of punishment." His voice became deliberately sarcastic, "I hope you approve?"
"I'll have your guts for garters!" Mable aimed a vicious kick at male legs. "And what's more, I'll have the whole lot of you in prison for the rest of your lives. You can't do this sort of thing in England!"
"It is already done, dear lady. All is going according to plan." He nodded briefly to his men and added a command, "Strip her!" then "Bind them both."
Prince Hadji had thoughtfully left my hands bound behind my back, I could do nothing. But Mable's charms became more and more furiously active as them became increasingly bare. The Prince watch with almost clinical interest as she fought his two retainers, and when she finally stood, gasping and panting and glowering, wrists and elbows tight tied behind her back, he paid due tribute. "Marvelous performance, Madam, no female should enter slavery without a fight. My I congratulate you on you superb stature? Your figure is ideally portioned for what I have in mind."
Prince Hadji was dressed for summer in no more than a white silk shirt and matching slacks. But he had about him that air of gold satin with a bejeweled scimitar hanging at his side. Mable tried to wither with a glance of pure outrage coupled with shock. But her anger flowed over him like water. Hadji El Kabar was impervious to feminine scorn.
"You son of a bitch!" she spat at him viciously. "You're going to be damned sorry for this. You must be out of your mind."
"Welcome to my possession. You will amuse me for a week or two before I return you to this house. I will teach you not to call Hadji El Kabar the son of a dog. May I compliment you on your breasts and belly, they do you credit."
By then the men had tied my elbows as they had Mable's. They tied me tight enough to be hurting and I knew she would be hurting, too. I prudently refrained from compliant, but Mable did not. "You rotten bastard, untie me, these ropes hurt like hell. This is a bare faced kidnap." She turned to me, "Don't just stand there, Angela, say something!"
I said nothing! The Prince motioned and the Honorable Mable and I were picked up and carried to a waiting car. There was not a servant in sight. Prince Hadji had dealt with things most competently. In the back seat of the Rolls, Mable's left ankle was handcuffed to my right. We were beautifully foxed, all we could do was flounder around but our elbows hurt too much for that, so we sat in glum silence and wondered what our fate would be. The Honorable Mable got in a last word, "This is all your fault, Angela. The man was be stark raving mad!"
Around England are many relics of war. The old abandoned airfields are typical. Sagging wooden sheds and crumbling tarmac. But the one closest to Cranston sported the silver beauty of a private twin engine jet. Prince Hadji explained why the car stopped when only half way to the plane, "We will enact a small charade. The Honorable Mable and you, Angela, will perform the March of the Slaves. My men will be behind you with a whip."
Our ankles were freed, we were pulled out of the car to stand shivering on the runway, looking at the symbol of great wealth. It was a thing of beauty, sporting twin engines mounted aside the tail. It looked like it belonged to a small airline, not a single man. Quickly I gazed around, but these abandoned airfields are desolation, there was no one in sight. Mable ran turn to form, "If you think I'm going to walk into that damned airplane, you've got holes in your head," she declared forcibly.
' I'm going to walk in the opposite direction and none of you are going to stop me."
The whip sang as I expected to land across Mable's butt. She leaped and yelped and took a deep breath to prepare for further protests. But the second stroke hit her squarely across the lovely whiteness of her bare back and, after a squeal of outrage and a helpless twisting against the ropes, she snorted in defiance but stepped out towards the waiting plane. I followed at a discrete distance. As I passed Hadji El Kabar we both smiled at the weaving bottom of Mable in her unwilling march info slavery. I could see what a kick he got out of having a couple of English girls thus humbled and walking into enslavement. As I followed, I realized the power of this man that he could mark up an English noblewoman and none could stop him.
Mable entered the plane without a backward glance, but I stopped, suddenly over come by a realization that this might be my last look at England. I was not seeing the desolation of the airfield or the rotten buildings, but rather the deep green and the spreading trees. A terrible homesickness clutched at me. making me tarry long enough to earn a snapping cut across my hips from the ever-ready whip. I winced, I sighed and resumed my steps and entered the plane in sure and certain knowledge of passing a point of no return.
CHAPTER EIGHT - SLAVES OF EL KABAR
It wasn't that small a plane. Its interior was like a palace. Seats and divans were anchored in an irregular pattern. The servants had retired either to pilot the plane or occupy a rear compartment. It pleased his Royal Highness to personally dispose of his captives as pleased his fancy. He did it with caution to avoid the kick from a bare foot which Mable was saving for the right opportunity. He sat her in a wide seat and spread her feet to each side to bind them wide apart, he then unfastened her hands and arms to handcuff only her left wrist to a waiting ring at the far corner of the back. The Honorable Mable immediately clasp her free hand over her exposed sex and declaimed, "I demand instant release. No matter where you take us you will not escape the law."
Prince Hadji appeared not to have heard. He now busied himself with me and used the lovely handcuffs, still on my wrists, to attach my left hand in the same manner as with Mable. I found myself blushing at the wide separation of my thighs and the exposure of what a girl most wishes to hide. He tickled it playfully as he rose to his feet to say, "If you care to look out of the window, you will see the last of England."
I did not look. My bound feet and chained hand were far more potent at that moment than a quick glance out of a porthole. I was shamingly aware that the comfortably armchair the Prince now occupied gave him a perfect and unobstructed view of both his captives. I did not follow the Honorable Mable's example with my free hand, I simply sat and blushed at the exposure.
"If you do not remove your hand from your sexual orifice. Madam, I will have you whipped," the Prince suggested kindly. "No woman covers any part of herself in my presence. Is that understood?"
I said an automatic, "Yes." But Mable was still Mable. "I shall cover myself," she said, "as I see fit, you ridiculous, comic opera creature. Whatever else you may or may not be, you are certainly no gentleman. A gentleman would never expose a woman so shamelessly. I demand some sort of covering for what you're looking at."
"Madam, what you are demanding is the whip. It will be applied upon you instantly unless you care to apologize for that insult." The Honorable Mable evidently felt vulnerable, I know I did. Stiffly, she pronounced, "Very well then, I express regret at having called you... what ever it was." She sniffed, still wanting to be rude. "Perhaps now you will be kind enough to inform us of your plans?"
Poor, dear, Mable, she was clutching at dignity at as a frayed coat. I had none to clutch at. If the Prince wished to look at my puss, I wasn't going to say a word. That one stroke I'd had hurt bad enough, I wanted no more. Shamed and humiliated and very much a captive, my thoughts drifted to Jeffery Dillon. I would have liked to ask the Prince about him but did not dare. I was sure the story about Jeff had not yet been told. I could not reconcile the man I had loved with he who had blandly watched while Prince Hadji whipped my breasts. There was something wrong somewhere, something that did not balance out.
"You will note that each of you have one free hand. There will be refreshments and I do not want you more uncomfortable that need be."
"You taking us to Siberia?" Mable demanded offensively.
"Alas, no, Madam, but I am sure they would know how to deal with you there." He shrugged apologetically. "I fear I am altogether too kind."
"In a pig's eye!"
Hadji caught my eye and flickered one of his own. It was nice to know he liked me. Maybe after the tortures he had planned for me, he would love me, too. On matters of enslavement I was far ahead of the Honorable Mable who seemed bent on self-destruction. Hadji's tone was patient, "I'm considering a period for you, chained and naked in a public place, perhaps in a cage or attached to a post of sorts."
"You can't do it, you'd have the United Nations around your neck in no time."
"You also might be bound and buried in the sand with only your head above ground level," Hadji mused. "There would, of course, be ants and other small irritants."
"You're talking like a monster just to frighten me. I don't believe a word!"
"A public whipping always attracts a good audience in the smaller communities. You would be the center of attraction."
In contemplation of these delights the Honorable Mable's free hand had risen to her throat and her eyes were bright. I knew she was frightened and was desperately fighting panic. I felt like asking the Prince to lay off the gory details, but who was I to do that! Quite probably I'd get a few gory details myself. I was positive the Prince had the power to do everything he promised. His performance thus far had been convincing. He had evidently a power in the world which lesser authorities could not contest, especially over a couple of silly females who had probably asked for what they were getting. Dismally I recalled those news reports in the tabloids of maidens who went to North Africa on various missions but rarely came back. There really wasn't much difference. But I need not have worried about the Prince and Mable. he had her pegged.
"Perhaps a martini, Madam? Do you prefer it dry or sweet?"
Mable now had something to do with her free hand beyond covering her private parts. She almost gulped the first offering and instantly said thank you to another. I sipped mine more cautiously. Throughout everything he did the Princes' eye was attentive towards our pussies. I've heard that there are men who have a thing for girl's nipples, his Highness interests were lower down. My feet were bound so far apart I could believe them in separate countries.
The martinis worked their magic to the point where Mable inquired, "You were saying your interest in me was limited to a week or two?" She kept her tone offhand.
"My interest in you is not that fickle, Madam. But you are, in some measure, a public figure. I have, therefore, informed your staff and that admirable woman, Wilma, to expect you back before the hue and cry begin. There is no such problem with our dear little Angela."
"You are holding me prisoner for the purpose of using me carnally?"
"Only you could put that question is just that way, my dear lady." The Prince beamed above his glass. "It is possible I may thus honor you. My prime purpose is to whip your bottom."
I could see the Honorable Mable swallowing hard, not the cocktail but pride. There is something extremely flattering about rape. To find it treated so casually was a hard blow indeed. Poor Mable gave the impression that when she was raped there would be a fanfare of trumpets. The Prince had a sense of humor and I could well imagine him making her wish come true. But dear Mable contented herself with emptying the glass and saying, "You are being deliberately offensive in these references to my... Well, to where I sit down. May I have another cocktail please?"
Prince Hadji cheerfully supplied her want but slyly suggested, "You are bolstering your courage in preparation for the thud and slap of cane and strap upon your rump, Madam? I commend your wisdom."
I knew how Mable felt, she was probably beginning to realized she could never win with Prince Hadji, simply because he made the rules as he went along. There was nothing sporting about it but it was a graphic illustration of the way us girls are often at the mercy of the male. Just thinking about it caused a small fire to start up within my loins, a fire which I am sorry to say I was unable to quench. I wondered about Mable, she had the appearance of a woman who's fire was burning bright. But that may, of course, have been due to the martinis!
I tried to shift to easy the stress on my wide spread legs. It was surprising how much of a strain it was to have them that far apart for so long. Mable was shifting as best she could all the time and the Prince did no more than smile approvingly at my own abortive effort. Our legs were wide apart to stay, a fact which sparked a wicked thought in his Highness' mind. "In the cause of charity, I could have the two of you exhibited in a public place, making a small charge for the privilege of viewing what I see now for free. I am sure you would have no objection for some worthy cause?"
It was a question to which you could answer neither yes nor no. I managed a smile and Mable met the situation with a hardy sniff for a thought so crass.
"I understand men do indulge in such obscene fantasies," she conceded. "I would appreciate it if you did not do so at my expense."
"You are a positive treasure," exclaimed the Prince. "I will personally whip you upon arrival. Let us call it a humanizing process." I longed to say "shut up, Mable, keep quiet!" I could see the words forming on her lips but I was too late. In a tone she might have used to speak to a tradesman, she declared disdainfully, "Why wait, you have me at your mercy!"
My heart sank, Mable had done it again. Both us girls watched the Prince seek and find a slender length of limber cane.
"An excellent thought, Madam, hold out your hand."
My heart took another tumble and Mable flushed scarlet. The Prince had shrewdly divined her taste for punishment associated with children. It was easy to see her free hand had become an embarrassment, there was no where to put it except to hold it out to be cut with the cane. It was a dilemma. Mable met it with her usual blooper, "Please don't be ridiculous, my good man. Your suggestion is absurd."
Prince Hadji El Kabar struck the Honorable Mable a sharp, swift blow with the cane across her left breast. The results was dramatic. Mable clutched her wounded curve with her single hand while she tom and strained at her bindings in feverish expression of dismay. She also provided one more squeal of outrage before gazing up at the handsome man who had thus punished her, eyes wide and close to tears, her mouth open to ejaculate the deepest of British disapproval. But there it stopped. Whatever she might have said was lost forever in an abject gulp of surrender. Ceasing the crucial moment, the Prince suggested pleasantly, "Your breasts or the palm of your hand, Madam, it is for you to choose."
The Honorable Mable held out her hand.
It was cruel. I wondered if I would hate Hadji when my own time came, I had no illusions of mercy. But this son of the desert exuded such charm I was not sure if even Mable felt hate for his smiling eyes and soft tongue. At the moment she was absurdly occupied by striving to comfort her burning palm beneath her left armpit, foiled by a handcuffed hand, she thrust it instead beneath her thigh. I don't know if there is anything a girl can do to comfort a caned hand but to thrust it within a cleft of oneself seems a natural instinct, an instinct Mable was not allowed to pander to for long.
"Once more, Madam."
I winched and cringed right along with this lovely woman who had made me prisoner and who was now a prisoner herself. I knew how these things hurt but Mable was in a new world of discovery. Reluctantly she withdrew her injured member, stiffened the wounded palm and thrust it out for number two. When it cut her smartly, she yelped in agony, thrust her whipped hand beneath her outspread thigh and gazed up pleadingly at the man who held the cane.
"Please," she begged, "I'm sorry. Please don't hit me again. I don't know what I'm doing or saying. Oh, Please-e-e-e-e-e! You don't know how it hurts."
"You malign me, Madam, I have caned enough girls to know very well how much it hurts. You will extend your arm once more."
Mable did not move. I knew with certainty she was wondering if his use of the word "once" meant she would be struck only once more. But she dared not ask and nor did I. For all we knew Hadji might demand that hand a dozen times or until poor Mable no longer had the self-control to stick it out to be slashed again with the cane. I know her thoughts matched mine and Hadji read us both. A tear trickled down Mable's cheek as she once more offered her palm for punishment. This time she screamed as the cane cut, thrusting her wound instantly beneath tender flesh and bending forward to tug at her handcuff in the only effort she could make to alleviate the pain of punishment. The cut across her breasts proclaimed itself in pink.
"Thank you. Madam. You did well. Such fortitude demands another drink."
The Honorable Mable unashamedly wept like a school girl whipped before the class. She sacrificed her hurt hand to deal with tears, then used it to clasp the stem of the glass the Prince had so thoughtfully offered. All of us realized his curiosity as to how the caned hand might cope with such a task. Mable raised it to her lips, perhaps in need or more likely to get rid of as much of it as she could before she lost her numbed grip and dropped what she must hold. Slowly and deliberately Prince Hadji took the glass from fingers without control, refilled it and offered it again.
"You must hold it, Madam. If you spill so much as a drop you will take your punishment again."
I wanted to lash out with complaint but I had already been whipped by the royal hand and wanted to hold on to my present natural status.
Mable's fingers just had to be numb and scorched with agony. She would be lucky indeed to evade another punishment. I watched in horrible suspense.
Mable repeated the process of getting rid of half the weight instantly. If she went on gulping martinis like that she would soon be drunk. As through from another world, she managed, "Thank you, I expect I can manage."
She managed and no one was more thankful than I when the glass was taken from her injured fingers and set aside. Mable did not return her hand to its resting place beneath her thigh but instead held it out for Prince Hadji's inspection. "I expect you'd like to examine your work. Your Highness," she sated icily. "I have never been caned like this before and therefore cannot make comparisons."
There had been a stilted quality about our conversation thus far, it came from tension and fear and apprehension. But with Mable's caning done and with the comforting glow of martinis deep within all three of us managed to unbend and talk like human beings. Prince Hadji told us something of his kingdom and how I would be kept prisoner by his daughters, I gathered there were a lot of them, and Mable would be kept captive to his wives. She would obey them and be punished by them if she did not. It seemed too overly domestic to be true.
I looked at the lovely bronze circlet on my captive wrist and wondered if there would be others like it where I was being taken.
* * *
Laliah was a born giggler, to her everything was uproariously hilarious unless it was actually hurting. She had singled me out right from the start as a fellow suffer sharing a humorous distress. The shackles joining her ankles were heavy enough to command respect but beautiful enough to also demand envious attention. It was understood among the girls that Laliah had a nice taste in irons since she was so often rendered helpless or partly helpless by being forced to wear them. The irons into which my ankles, too, were locked were identical with hers. It formed a bond.
It was understood among the girls that I was a recent acquisition, quite probably destined for the harem. Laliah had once run away with one of the male staff but was swiftly caught and now wore iron upon her feet and welts upon her back and bottom in recognition of her enterprise. The English of all the daughters of Prince Hadji and thus Laliah had no difficulty communicating.
"He was such a lovely young man," she mourned. "It's a shame they cut his head off, he was really marvelous between a girl's legs. Have you have a man between your legs, Angela? They tell us we mustn't have one until we're married," she giggled. "Until then I have to wear these irons."
I forget their names, there were seven of them including two pairs of twins. All were happy and eagerly awaiting marriage for which, by their country's own standards, there were abundantly ripe. In the meantime they studied the Koran and English Literature. They led shockingly open sexual lives but only among themselves or with servants. Any deviation towards the male, as in the case of Laliah, was ruthlessly and cruelly punished. I was a relief for their boredom and gained much status by my admission of having been frequently possessed by The Male. Maiden sighs of envy told me how lucky I had been. At the caprice of their father, Prince Hadji, these girls were frequently thrashed, not because they had sinned but to deter sinning. They were always thrashed by their father, the Prince, and each girl deplored the trouble she thus caused the holy, holy male. I had my own opinion of these thrashings of maiden flesh but kept a wise silence, awaiting my call to the royal bed chamber.
It was slow in coming, I could imagine why. Prince Hadji had the Honorable Mable for a week or two but he had me for life. It made sense he would deal with her first. I was not allowed communication with Hadji's wives or with Mable. But I had been witness, not doubt as an object lesson, to the whipping she had been promised on arrival. Poor, dear Mable hadn't really believed it but she was almost immediately hung up by her wrists and her poor bottom cruelly caned with a more severe length of yellow wickedness than had been used on her hand. When her twin cheeks were bright scarlet she was graduated to the whip, and by the time it was through with her back her white and lovely flesh was a crisscross of multi-colored lines. Shackles were then locked upon her ankles and she was carried from my ken. I heard of her now only through the gossip of harem grapevine.
"She's been hung up all day by her wrists, stark naked." Giggle, giggle.
"Daddy has her standing in the pillory. She gets whipped every hour on the hour. I'm glad it's not me." Giggle, giggle.
Poor Mable's trials seemed to evoke no other emotion than hilarity. "She's been taken back to the village and she's chained by her neck to the post in the center of the square. Every one can look at her and there's no plumbing provided. I'll bet she hates it."
They were not cruel but had suffered those things themselves and had emerged with the ebullience of youth. Their father was holy and beyond criticism. When he chose one of them to whip it was, as they saw it, a mark of favor and they bore the marks with gratitude. It was all cockeyed and upside down.
I was kept naked. But, at the moment, Laliah was the only other nude. She was still considered to be enduring punishment. The other girls were variously attired all the way from wisps of gossamer up through bikinis to smart cocktail dresses on occasion. Mostly they wore variations of the western bathing attire as a concession to western mores and to make their delightful persons easier and more available to the whip or cane. All this was understood and accepted but was explained to me because I had been brought from far away and didn't know any better. If I hadn't been older and wanting to live my own life I would have found the Prince's daughters a lot of fun.
All were beautiful, real houris. I wondered if my new owner used them as bait in business deals as Jeffery Dillon had used me. I could imagine a portly product of Texas falling an easy prey to their temptations. But I was half scared myself of being traded off for a few oil wells. At this moment I was a very mixed up little girl.
My confusion was not the least bit help by the news, shared by every girl but me, that their father would whip me that afternoon. I would be secured where ail could watch and wasn't I the luckiest of girls! I suspected the Prince had chosen this method of imparting the bad news in order that I could feel the full exposure to his daughter's attitudes. For all I knew they were the attitudes of his whole damned country. I was certain the whipping would hurt and I wouldn't enjoy it the least bit. I figured he was only doing it as a measure of his authority on the new girl. lie wouldn't want his little darlings to think I was a bit odd or out of favor. There wasn't a damn thing I could do about it except to pretend to be a pleased as they actually were.
It was not going to be easy. In the status of Prince Hadji's daughter I was expected to do as they did on such occasions. Deadly serious but accompanied by giggles from Laliah, they made me learn the lines I must recite when kneeling before the Master of my fate before my punishment. It would be expected, I had best not forget! The girls were concerned about this because my education was their responsibility and I never really did believe they liked being whipped the way they let on. I got more and more jittery as each hour sped by and wished no one had told me until the last moment.
When his Highness showed up for the ceremony, he was attired as befitting his position. He was holding a whip with an exquisitely bejeweled haft. I prayed it was not a wicked as it looked. Prince Hadji kissed my fondly, his hands and fingers lingering on my breasts but not going down lower to my sex, no doubt in consideration of his daughter's presence. That over, the girls took me and explained I must now be chained. I had expected a whipping post or triangle or some such contraption but I was disappointed. A chain was run from the center of my leg irons up to join my collar. My wrists were handcuffed and locked to the center of this chain to hold them at the level of my waist. That was all there was but it was explained that I would be expected to stand still while I was whipped. I must not fall to the floor. But it was also explained that if, as a novice, I wiggled my body under the strips or did actually fall to the floor under the pain I would be forgiven but the stripping of my skin would continue on regardless of the position I contrived. Tender voices whispered it would be best for me if I stood and offered the soft flesh of my back and bottom because they would bear the pain the best of all. Once more I didn't seem to have much to say about anything. I felt silly with my hands held the way they were but I expect I was intended to feel silly, it was part of the punishment. It was now I had to kneel and say my thanks.
But first there were a few moments when Hadji and I stood face to face, his dark eyes roving up and down my nakedness, approving the irons by which I was secured. Gently he said, "You are the most beautiful of girls. I adore you. You may now kneel."
I knelt and managed to remember what to say. It seemed only fitting that I should mouth these words at this time and this place. Kneeling there I was, for the moment, close to the male sex beneath the gorgeous trappings of Hadji's clothes. I wondered if that was how kneeling started with the girl lowering her lips to the level of a rampant male weapon. One way or another women certainly spent a lot of time upon their knees. I said the carefully rehearsed words and made they sound as beautiful as they were. The whole affair was actually almost sexless, a girl being punished to please her master had little cause to think lascivious thoughts or make herself concupiscent lure. I stood away to the place indicated and stood still to await the thong. It was a rotten way to stand, given my choice I would have clasp my hands behind my neck and tried to keep them there while I was kissed by the lash. But now the lash would cut my arms as well as my back while my hands were locked by the lovely bronze in a stupid position at my waist. If I moved, the chain from collar to my feet rattled angrily, my fists were clenched.
With the first stroke I knew I could not possibly stand still. It was not that this was more awful than other whips but no girl can stand still beneath any whip for any number of strokes. I clenched my teeth and held tight for the first four but then my hips weaved and my shoulders hunched as my back bent beneath the cuts for which I was expected to show gratitude. Men sure do expect a lot from those girls they have honored with their choice. In the distance I heard Laliah giggling and at my back the deep, strong breathing of the man using a whip upon his daughter's nakedness. Like I said, I was a very mixed up girl.
When a girl is whipped she sort of goes through stages. At first she knows she cannot possibly endure her full sentence, she will die. When that is over and she realizes the element of shock and adjust to it, she realizes there is just an outside chance she might hold on and acquit herself with honor. This phase is followed by a mixture of exhaustion and impatience with yourself for the noise and motions you now make. You are terribly shamed but you do not care. All you care about is the pain, and the pain goes on and on. When you know you are going to die for sure, the whole thing stops. While you pants in a sweat bedewed thankfulness you condemn yourself for failure to counter the lash and laugh at its strips on your skin. You know the sounds you made will be remembered and you are certain the motions of your nakedness engendered lust within the male. Nothing is good about being whipped, absolutely nothing.
"Just a short try out for you today, Angela, my dear." The words came to me from outer space, I did not believe them. "You will kneel again before me and express your thanks."
It did not seem possible he would demand this, too. I heard the hiss of in drawn breath from all his daughters as they prayed I would not fluff my lines. I said them with fervor. Why not. I'd been whipped and it was done. At least I had not groveled on the floor. I expect my words of thanks held real gratitude.
I felt the scold of weals and the scorch of strips as my feet shuffled their hobbled progress to where I must stand to be viewed. I could cover nothing of myself, my clenched fists telling their own story at the level of my navel. Standing in total shame I was kissed by Prince Hadji and assured I was indeed his daughter and he was proud of me. When he went away, his real daughters clustered around to give me comfort and tell me I must stand the way I was for at least an hour It was an ancient custom. Each girl palmed my pussy in a cupped hand and assured me the resultant evidence of juices did me credit. They whispered that sometimes a girl was bone dry and would require much instruction and stimulus before she was whipped again. In their lexicon frigidity did not exist.
The eldest of the daughters, her name was Aysha, was only fifteen but considered ripe for marriage. She was presently in disfavor, having rejected the husband chosen by Prince Hadji. As a result I was privileged to witness Hebanon justice provided for delinquent daughters. Every afternoon, promptly at two pm, a servant appeared with a roll of bandages, without any obvious distress, Aysha removed her clothes, she was a bikini girl, and offered her wrists to be bound. The first time I saw this I watched in startled fascination. Bandages are for wounds, but in this case were used to make a prolonged suspension of the young woman possible without injure. When Aysha's wrists were tight bound with many circles of the soft cloth, she was hoisted up in a suspension where even her toes could not touch the rug. She stayed like that until five. We could talk with her but must not touch. Her calm acceptance of this punishment day after day left me with a scary feeling -- suppose it was me! But all her sisters regarded it as normal and a sign of mercy from their father that he punished Aysha this slowly in order that she might change her mind and marry the middle aged male with a pot belly he had chosen for her husband. When I spoke with her about it, she simply laugh and said her father would tire of it before she. And one day soon she planned to run away with one of the dark eyed young men who's job brought him frequently to the palace. They would need to be careful for if they were caught their punishment would be dire. I had troubles of my own and did not allow Aysha's daily punishment to intrude much upon my mind. The poor girl was rarely suspended in the same place two days running and it was disconcerting to roam the garden or halls and be suddenly confronted by an exquisite nude hanging by her wrists.
Since Prince Hadji had many wives he naturally had many children. The group who were, in a sense, my jailers was composed of thirteen, fourteen and fifteen year old girls, by Western standard mature for their ages. I was older than they and treated with respect, my fate uncertain. If I became one of their father's wives, I would hold a measure of authority and could have them whipped at will. So much in Hebanon depended upon the whip, it was almost medieval.
The Prince, in one of our brief contacts when he was punishing a daughter, had apologized for his lack of attention but explained that his energies were absorbed by the Honorable Mable who, since she must soon return to England, was being given constant discipline to provide what the Prince described as "A wider view of things." This noble pursuit seemed to occupy most of his spare time.
On one of Prince Hadji's rare visits to the magnificently beautiful prison in which he kept his daughters and myself, he singled me out. Had he been carrying his ornate briefcase I think I would have died rather than take another whipping. But his hands held nothing but a small loop of rope. Taking me aside he explained, almost apologetically, "My daughters will think I do not love you, dear child, if I give no you attention. It is fitting I give you some earnest act by which to prove affection. You understand?"
"You mean you're going to whip me?"
"My dear girl, do not harp so much upon the whip. I have whipped you twice in recent memory and, for the time being, will whip you no more. There are other things to do with beautiful girls."
"How's Mable? What are you doing to her?"
"Your darling Mable is suffering a most interesting series of mild tortures, penitences would be a much better term. She sends you her love."
"Then what are you going to do to me?"
"Ah, that's the fatal question! Come with me, my dear, I will soon show you."
It was as though they were connected by radar. Prince Hadji's daughters, my make-believe sisters, crowded around us at a respectable distance, chattering in their native tongue. They obviously knew something I did not.
The builder of both palace and garden had been given free reign with the resultant profusion of flamboyant but sometimes beautiful statues, carvings and quite often an unrecognizable but cleverly craved chunk of stone or marble. We came to a stop in front of an example of the latter, an exquisitely carved little thing about four feet high. I had seen it often before but attached no importance to its shape or form. It took on significance now by the addition of ankle shackles on either side close above the base.
"Is it not much lovelier than Cranston or my friend Jeffery Dillon could provide?" There was genuine pride in his voice as he beheld dawning comprehension on my face. The bloody thing was nothing more than a variation of my old enemy, the "horse. " I said so bluntly.
"A distant relative only," said Prince Charming without a blush. "You will observe the area on which you sit is of marble and pleasantly rounded with good intentions."
The girls were twittering like a bird cage. For them it was a lovely game, a diversion from the boredom of being the daughter of a rich man. They picked me up bodily and sat me squarely on the part designed like a saddle, holding me firm while Laliah, giggling constantly, crossed my wrists behind my back and bound them. While she was intent with her knots two of the other nymphets laughing clasp the shackles on my ankles tightly. My bound hands were then pulled down and tied somewhere in back to compel me to sit erect. Everyone then backed away to view the new girl's reaction to an ancient punishment. I sat there, feeling foolish and horribly exposed and waited for the pain I knew would come.
The Prince kissed me on my lips and pinched my nipples as thought making love, then walked back to the palace. He had seen it all before. But no matter how many times they may have seen it, it was still an occasion for the girls. One of their number was suffering without cause other than the royal caprice. They must envy her, this singling out for special attention and favor since she was obviously their father's favorite. It was an honor I could have done without.
"It doesn't hurt much at first, Angela dear, but it soon starts and gets worse all the time," one of the teenage darlings informed me.
"We've all sat up there sometime."
No doubt they had. But their immature loveliness weighed less than I, their pussies less developed, less of a Venus mound to take the stress. I was not going to enter into a discussion of how lucky I was, it was a discussion I could never win. Instead, I tried to gage the measure of this, my latest disaster. It was very simple, all my weight was on my crotch because my feet could touch nothing and find support nowhere. The shackles on my ankles gave me a loose sense of freedom but I could raise my feet scarcely at all and only as my seat allowed. The function of those shackles was to compel me to sit and sit and sit! My bound hands were tied down to a ring below my ass. This meant I could go neither forward or back but was neatly captive to the tiny, beautifully carved mount on which I sat. The rounded marble was certainly kindlier to my flesh than a plank's edge but was already beginning to burrow into my secret place. Soon it would be my worst enemy, overshadowing all others.
"We can't play with you pussy, darling, you're sitting on it. Angela, darling, would you like us to tease your nipples? Two of us can do it at the same time."
I declined the nipple offer, not wishing to be hot and bothered on top of all these other emotions. So far as my pussy went, I wasn't a bit sure I would still have one at the end of this ordeal. Despite my rejection of their kind offer a couple of the girls appointed themselves to arrange my hair and to apply their mouths to my nipples. There wasn't much I wanted to do beyond gain what paltry pleasure this half measure would compel. I longed for their efforts lower down but knew that was denied. I sat as immobile as the marble itself. Looking at the horizon I did not see while the busy lips took into that lovely land only females know. They were delighted with my orgasm and promised to keep count of how many times they could evoke others. It wasn't really the way I wanted to spend my day but it might act as a painkiller against the hard marble. At least I was not going to be bored. I said nothing but smiled back at all the eager young faces standing around my punished nakedness. Two more pairs of eager lips were working on me and I surrendered to the inevitable. It did not occur to anyone, not even me, that they could turn me loose. I wondered if we would all be additionally punished for this side trip into the erotic but contented myself with the thought that if it had been forbidden they wouldn't be doing it. Soon I was moaning and squealing in strange conflict between my feminine sensibility and the thing on which I sat.
"Isn't she gorgeous! Look at the way her face alters when she starts to come."
"Daddy's so kind to all of us, he let's us have so much fun."
If that was the way they felt about it, could I feel less!
But after an hour or two and my umpteenth orgasm my glands, or whatever governs these matters, rebelled and I pleaded for a stop. Pleaded for an end to love. Reluctantly they withdrew their lips and the nymphet fingers of my sisters ceased to tease my flesh. By this time the cold marble on which I sat had become scorching fire as it burrowed deeper into my crotch and into my being. I wished I had called a halt to my sister's eroticism before now. Sexuality exhausted leaves a girl doubly vulnerable to pain. It was a bitter torment to sit as I sat then in total innocence and looking amusingly attracting while the pain others could not see devoured my loins and caused me to twist in futile agony against my corded wrists and shackled ankles. It was about now his Highness chose to come and visit me again. I expect he had it timed!
"You are in pain, beloved girl?"
"Yes, Master."
"It is as it should be. You do understand?" His eyes were bright in his own understanding of something which missed me all together.
In dull misery I pleaded, "Please take me off this thing, please Hadji... "
"You call me Master."
"I'm am sorry, Master. Forgive me. I beg of you, take me down, untie me."
Hadji's smile continued, his voice soothing and compassionate. "Those puppets of mine have exhausted your endurance before its time. I should have them whipped."
"They deem it an honor to be whipped by you, Master, it would do no good."
"There are many things besides the whip, dear girl, as you are discovering now. They can be made to regret their actions."
"Please don't punish them, they meant well. I love them all."
"But you are suffering?"
"Am I not intended to suffer?" I said in a sudden flare up of spirit.
"You chose this punishment for me, it is to you I beg for it to end." Prince Hadji went away. I watched him leave in utter desolation. My sisters had discretely withdrawn and I was alone upon my instrument of torture. I bowed my head and moaned constantly. There was none to hear.
My punishment passed. It had been totally without significance, an incident in a slavegirl's life and a mild diversion for her master For several hours my shackled feet walked cautiously, most conscious of my crotch. That, too, passed and I rejoined the majority who daily watched the binding of Aysha's wrists and the frantic searching by her toes for the floor they could not reach. It was a strange sort of normalcy into which the Honorable Mable was once more thrust into my life.
"The bastard's going to send me home, he dare not keep me longer. I'll bet there's a fine how-to-do at Cranston already."
Darling Mable managed the words without a gasp but my heart went out to her as she lay upon the floor, hands and elbows bound behind her back, and her feet raised and spread far, far apart. Within the softness of her thighs where recent whip marks, her sex was swollen and inflamed, she had been whipped in the unmentionable way no girl should ever be. I had been prepared for the interview. I was naked, as always, my wrists and elbows tied in the same way as poor, dear Mable's. The leg irons which had become a part of me snubbed my steps I stood and gazed down in desolation at the woman I had come to love. Awkwardly and painfully I contrived to kneel and bend down to kiss her lips and kiss and kiss again. We were sisters in distress and far from home!
"Darling, this is my farewell, I'm being sent home tomorrow." Mable's voice was not exactly joyful. "He says he's going to keep you here. Oh, darling, what are we going to do!"
"There's nothing we can do," I told her soberly. "Look at the way I'm fastened now, I'm as helpless as you. Hadji is simply doing what he promised."
"The Son of a Bitch!" Mable tried to roll over and shift her bound feet but was successful in neither. "I'll raise a stink back home all right, but no one will do a damn thing about his royal Highness. The police will pooh-pooh the whole thing and the government will evade the issue. I know about these things."
My heart was filled with pity for this woman, so cruelly used. But in his own way, Price Hadji was doing the honorable thing, whipping her wickedly but sending her home on time. Returning me had never been a part of any promise he had made. I said so but added, "Mable, darling, you've been whipped terribly and down there where it hurts the worse. Is it over, is it really over?"
"What woman in this place can ever answer that question?" Mable's voice was a verbal shrug or resignation. "His Royal Highness says it's over for me but he's going to send you in to get a dose of what I've just gotten, and here you are! Oh, darling... " I had to admit I shrank in horror at the prospect. Mable's poor, dear pussy was a sight to see. Looking at it, I could feel the limber cane splatting on my wet lips and within the soft places between my thighs. It is a terrible punishment for a girl, a punishment none of us deserve. Vehemently I exclaimed, "Go to a doctor the minute you get home! Get these awful weals photographed. With evidence like that surely you can get someone to do something Hadji El Kabar. Surely his rotten little kingdom isn't all that important."
"It is, darling, it has oil."
I longed to cry to the hill tops the infamy of what had been done to Mable and which might be done recurrently to me, perhaps for the rest of my life. It was a moment in which consciousness of slavery became terribly real. I was a nothing, a nothing owned by a man! Whatever I was about to say was cut short by the entry of two of the familiar male faces, there was a curt demand, "You say goodbye."
"We have said goodbye," Mable declared. Then, to me, "I'll get Jeff Dillon and I'll use every penny I've got... " I did not hear the rest of her statement, I was picked up bodily and carried from the pain-filled room. The last I saw of the Honorable Mable was a look of pain-filled yearning.
It appeared to be a busy day in Hadji's palace. I was not immediately returned to my sister prisoners, I was taken to a small lounge, more like a waiting room, to behold something utterly out of place and out of context with my own condition. I was begin tested with one more shock. She was about my own age and of my own race. There the resemblance ended. She was dressed smartly for the better part of town and the best kind of people. She was sitting, pink faced, on a chair which had obviously been place against the wall for her special use.
Her right hand was raised slightly above the level of her head and handcuffed to one of the ever present iron rings with which this place was well supplied. Other than that she was free. I knew the feeling! When I had been stood upon my shackled feet and my jailers had departed, laughing over some joke of their own, she exclaimed, "Oh, thank goodness, you're English aren't you!" She said it as though being English cured everything.
I admitted to being English but pointed out it was not doing me much good. This girl was so utterly out of place in this room and Hadji's palace that I simply had to ask. "What the devil are you doing here? You don't belong?"
She gave me a little shrug and sat down. "Well, it's the money you know. I suppose that's why you're here." She surveyed my rope and chain outfit and added, "I don't really believe this, I just don't!"
"Money? What money?"
"Didn't you borrow a lot of money and now you can't pay it back?" She did her little shrug all over again. "That's the way it is with me, I've been so foolish!"
"I don't owe anyone a penny," I affirmed stoutly.
"You're damned lucky then. But if you don't owe any money may I ask what the devil you're doing all chained up and tied up in this terrible place?"
"I was kidnapped. I suppose that's what happened with you. If this money you're telling me about is for ransom, you can forget it. That guy who snapped that handcuff on your wrist has all the money he can ever use."
"But I thought... " She stared at me blankly.
We sorted it out. From starting at cross purposes we came to understand how each of us got where she was. The knowledge left me more amused than it did her. We introduced ourselves. "I feel so terribly guilty," Nora confided, obviously ashamed of what she must confess. "I'm married and I borrowed all this money without my husband's knowledge." She giggled awkwardly. "I'm afraid I do a bit of gambling and I'm not very lucky. I owe the concern I borrowed from five thousand pounds. I think Prince Hadji owns the business." Her gaze implored sympathy. "After I'd been making excuses for about a month, I was told I could come her and pay off the whole bit by submitting to being whipped. " She rattled the handcuff on her right wrist in an awkward embarrassment. "I must have been insane when I said that I willing to do this."
I am ashamed to say I had forgotten poor Mable in the discovery of this new girl. I was trying hard to suppress a chuckle at this fresh evidence of Prince Hadji's enterprise. I found it hard to think of him as a money lender but obviously his influence brought this young woman to where she now sat, handcuffed to his wall. I, myself, was enduring pain from my bound elbows and couldn't do a thing to help. Dazed by the whole affair, I blurted out, "Are you telling me you can write off a debt of five thousands pounds by coming here and offering yourself to be whipped?"
"Why, yes." Nora looked surprised. "I sort of got the impression it was done all the time. That there was some one here who enjoyed it so much that they would pay all that money. Are you certain that didn't happen to you?"
I showed Nora such whip marks as I still bore. It was like someone asking for my ID. I suppose the poor girl's next question of obvious enough. "Does it hurt terribly?"
"Worse than you would ever believe," I said thoughtlessly, then added hastily, "But after the first shock you realize you're not going to die. If it wasn't for the handcuff on your wrist I'd tell you to go back home."
"Oh, I couldn't! It would upset him terribly when I explain about all that money and where it's gone. If you've never been married you'll never know."
I let it pass. I'd never had five thousand pounds in my entire life. Nora probably belonged to the moneyed class. I wondered if I'd offer my skin to the whip for such a sum! Bitterly I retorted, "I get whipped all the time here and I don't owe anyone anything. Maybe you're lucky you're getting a profit out of it."
"You don't have any clothes on, Angela! You're naked as well as being all fastened up. I don't understand!" Nora spoke as though just noticing my lack of clothes.
"None of this will make much sense to you," I told her wearily. "But I've been turned into a slave. I've got no rights, privileges or freedoms. I spend my days with a group of girls who are all pretty much in the same boat. I'd kept naked because that's the most convenient way to have me for punishment. And I'm tied up tight like this so I can't help any of you girls. I've just been speaking to one who was terrible whipped. Nora, I'm afraid you'll be whipped in the nude and whipped terribly. I expect they intend to make an example of you and that's probably the reason they've place me here like this. You're suppose to take a good look and realize what's waiting."
"But no one but my husband, Richmond, has ever seen me naked. No one!"
"They're going to now. All sorts of people will have a good look at you and watch you while you're being whipped. When you whipping is done they'll leave you bound for people to come and make rude remarks about your figure and the way you're sweating." I paused, realizing what a bitch I must sound. "It's best you know what you've let yourself in for."
Nora stared at me in blank horror then suddenly gave all her attention to the handcuffed wrist, tugging and pulling at it in an effort verging on panic. She stopped as suddenly as she began. "I can't get loose, can I? There's just no way a girl can get her hand out of this thing. Oh, Angela, I'm scared."
Poor girl! She seemed almost childlike in her innocence. She would not be innocent for long. I was already upset about darling Mable, and now there was this silly young woman who had got herself into a jackpot and was going to pay a painful price to get out of it.
"You can't get out of the handcuff," I told her in anger with myself and the world. "You're lucky you don't have a rope cutting your arms in two at the elbows."
The captive of the cuff was instantly contrite. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm in such a dither about this whole thing. If you'll come over close, I'll see if I can untie you with my free hand."
I was tempted but well trained. I told the poor girl some more facts of life and was getting her attention about the time Prince Hadji walked in on us. With him was one of those anonymous women I saw around the palace and who had obviously already been instructed. She went to poor Nora, unlocked the cuff from her wrist, guided her a few feet along the wall to where a metal collar and short chain hung waiting. When it was snapped fast around Nora's bewildered neck, the serving woman departed silently as when she came. Prince Hadji now took the floor.
"Isn't Mrs. Crosby charming?" He included me in his smile. "Don't you admire her taste in clothes. She's very smartly attired."
I said, yes, she was indeed very smart.
"But don't you think she should remove her clothes, Angela? Mrs. Crosby has agreed to be whipped. Please tell her how I despise clothes on a young woman on such occasions."
"I think you'd better undress, Nora," I said simply.
"But I can't! Richmond would never... "
"This Richmond? He is your husband?" Hadji asked with kindly interest. "Would you like me to call him on the phone and discuss that five thousand pounds?"
"No! Oh, no, you mustn't!" Poor Nora was feverishly fingering the metal circlet on her neck. When she tried to step away the chain snubbed her instantly. "I never said a thing about being chained like this or taking off my clothes." With commendable courage she stared angrily at Prince Hadji. "I'm sure there's been a mistake somewhere... "
"Yes, Mrs. Crosby, you made it."
"I really do think you should undress, Nora," I told her nervously. "It's something we all have to do. A girl soon gets used to being naked."
"I wouldn't! I couldn't! I won't!" The poor dear was now more concerned with her collar and chain than either of her audience. She seemed to think that if she could get it off, she would be home free.
Prince Hadji's voice was like a whiplash, "Take your clothes off, woman, and stop dithering."
Nora's eyes fixed on my breasts, out thrust from the binding on my arms. From there her gaze traveled, as though seeking some sort of confirmation, down to my pubic hair. Her voice was numb with agony. "But then I'd be like you! If I undress this man, and everyone else, will be able to see my... my... things!" She shifted her appeal to the Prince. "I agreed to be whipped, Sir, you can whip me with my clothes on!"
The words flowed back and forth until Nora came to a confrontation with herself and the sudden certainty that she was going to do the very last thing she wished. We've all had these moments at one time or another and hers was now! Tentatively her hand went to the fastening of her dress.
Nora Crosby stripped without any of the hesitations I expected. Her only pause was when, having kicked off her shoes, she hooked her thumbs in the elastic of her panties and stopped to glare at Prince Hadji as though to tell him he was no gentleman to be watching a lady disrobe in this fashion. She then thrust hard down and was forced to finish the job by kicking her panties off her legs because the chain and collar prevented her from bending down that far. It was an undignified strip but it was also total, leaving the girl who had performed task pinkfaced from the intolerance of her collar. Instinctively her hands covered her breasts then fell away to hang listlessly at her sides in response to Hadji's barked command, "Get those hands away from yourself!"
Mrs. Nora Crosby was naked and ready for the whip.
I had been feeling foolish and out of place, not even knowing why I was present but the serving woman not reappeared, unlocked Nora's collar leaving the poor girl standing free but uncertain what to do with herself. My elbows were now untied and my lovely bronze handcuffs transferred from back to front. I was handed a long length of rope.
"Angela, you can put a rope around Nora's neck and lead her back among my daughters. She will be whipped there in the court yard." Hadji's voice was decisive.
"But she's free and I'm handcuffed and leg-ironed!" It was the first thing I could think of to say.
"If she gives you trouble, Angela, all you have to do is say the words 'five thousand pounds' and she'll come to heel quickly."
I did as I was told. Standing breast to breast as I looped Nora's neck, I could pick up her woman scent and fear smell. I doubted if I was giving off scents at that moment, I was still sort of numb. But our eyes exchanged smiles of female understand. When I had led her down the passage and we were alone, she whisper, "Don't worry, Angela, I won't give you any trouble. I hate this but lead me where we have to go."
I had done the whole thing without noticing I was handcuffed. The girls crowded around but I didn't have to explain a thing, gossip had been there ahead of me.
"You must take her to the whipping post," they chanted. "We all have to watch. Isn't she beautiful!"
The whipping post is daunting, a monolithic testament to the pain of girls. Nora tried not to look at it while I made awkward introductions. I was feeling foolish holding the tether in joined hands until Aysha took it from me and tied its end to the post itself to leave Nora exposed mostly shamefully. She could have untied the knots and fled but I suppose she knew it would be useless to try, so stood there like a chained dog while we clustered around with comfort.
"It will soon be over, dear, they don't whip you all day."
"Daddy never whips us very hard, maybe he won't whip very hard, either."
"Don't look so frightened, you're only going to get whipped and have that thing done to you that Daddy has done to all the girls except us, then they'll take you home."
I was not sure there was any reassurance in these well-intended bits of information, but they were better than just standing there and doing nothing. I suddenly realized all my make-believe sisters were wearing at least some trifle of clothing whereas I was naked as Nora there against the post. Soon Nora would be whipped and gone and I would be alone in this strange nakedness. Mable would be gone, too. I shivered.
There are several ways a girl can be fastened to the post for punishment. Her breasts can be thrust against the post hard and her body tight bound from heel to neck, her hands the same. In this way she cannot move but stands and endures. The disadvantage of this to those who do the punishing is that the ropes often absorb the impact of the blow instead of girlflesh. Another way is to make the maiden embrace the post and tie or chain her hands on the other side. She, too, stands and endures but is capable of a great deal of motion which the audience finds interesting. Another method is to tie her hand together and raise them high above her head. In this way, also, her breasts make contact but she is able to struggle in evasive action to provide enjoyment for everyone but herself. The simplest and most deadly tie was now performed on Mrs. Nora Crosby. The Prince had made no appearance but a handful of servants from the palace were busily preparing for the show. I now observed the four rings deeply embedded in the wood. They were separated as in the four corners of a square. Using cord instead of rope to insure as many strands as the rings would accommodate they bound Nora's wrists and then again, half way up her forearms, to each side of the solid post. I watched the cords bite as each was looped and circled and drawn firmly tight. When the task was done I understood its purpose. The four corners would prevent Nora from clasping the post for support, she could not effectively bend her arm and must therefore strand at arm's length to face the vertical horror which had too often absorbed the screams and puny struggled of naked girls. Nora was simply one more of a long line of innocent maidens who had lost their fight against this solid wooden post.
When everyone stepped away and the girl to be whipped stood alone, anus out thrust, she first of all tentatively struggled and tested the fixture by which she was held helpless. I saw her fingers spread wide then clench tight into rebellious fists. Saw, too, her attempts to bend her arms and find a friend in the wicked post itself. All were denied, the lash, when it came, would have free access to every part of her and be able to curve around and across breast and belly. This binding was the cruelest of all.
Looking apprehensively back over a bare shoulder, Nora's eyes met mine and tried to smile. She saw my concern and felt guilty for being its cause. I wondered how much she might regret that five thousand pounds and the bargain she had made. I wondered if, given the opportunity again, she would gladly withdraw and return to her husband with her terrible confession and the debt unpaid. I might never know the answers to any of these thoughts. Prince Hadji El Kabar was striding towards us from the palace. He held a whip.
Every eye was on the single thong. It was no girl killer, for even though she may have sinned, a girl remains a valuable item. The quality of Mrs. Crosby's punishment would depend on the hand and skill of the man who whipped her and the number of strokes she would receive. The poor dear knew nothing of these things but her eyes widened in horror at the princely approach. It happened very quickly, Prince Hadji El Kabar bowed a courtly greeting to the woman who could not pay her debts. Then he said simply, "We now commence."
Hadji had immense skill. During the first strokes I suspected he might simply be seeking out the most vulnerable and private places of a woman who might be more devastated by shame and pride than by pain. He flicked within an armpit or struck suddenly upward between parted legs. Each hips received a snapping impact while the curves of the female bottom remained untouched. Another blow struck the soft belly its owner could neither hide or shield. The obvious places were left alone while the hissing thong amused itself upon and within those portions of Mrs. Nora Crosby which none but her husband had beheld until today.
I doubt if Nora found mercy in any of these preludes of the pain to come. I could tell she was in that awful first shock in which a girl never believes this is really true, it must be happening to someone else. The agony she feels is simply a nightmare from which she can not wake. For the normally chastely clad Mrs. Nora Crosby this intrusion upon her most private places with a whistling leather thong would be far worse than the emotions most of us girls suffer in our awful initial introduction to the whip. I wondered how unaware her husband would be at this moment! He would be unlikely to mind the baby, I doubted there was a baby, Nora's figure was flawless. She leapt and kicked like a wild mare as her punishment snickered up within her thighs.
We were all breathless. The sisters, who were often whipped in the name of love, found this approach to an ancient punishment unusually diverting. No doubt each was wondering if Daddy would whip her in this fashion next time she were fastened to this grim post. They respected the whip but did not fear it.
When Mrs. Nora Crosby looked back in gasping agony to plead, "I can't stand it! Stop! Oh, please, you must stop!" I could see they considered it bad form and a trifle vulgar. When the virgin back received its first full-armed blow of the lash, its owner went berserk, tearing at her wrist binding and at the post, kicking and lunging until pain and exhaustion caused her to stand panting, breasts heaving, her loveliness subdued by the pain and shock. This time it was not her back but her bottom, a resounding, smacking swat across both cheeks from which she leapt like a pony and jerked wildly in disbelief.
"This isn't what they said it would be," she pleaded. "This isn't what it's suppose to be. Oh, please, please stop!"
It did not stop, it went on and on but with a slowly measured rhythm between each slash until Nora's strength began to fail and she hung more and more on her already overtaxed wrists. When her knees promised to buckled, she was dowsed with a pail of icy water and then another until she once more stood to await another stroke. If I had not been leg-ironed I would have crept away while no one watch but the chain between my legs laughed at me and made me stay there until the end.
* * *
The whipping of Mrs. Nora Crosby was a minuscule incident in the even tenor of the palace of Hadji El Kabar. Hadji had quite obviously enjoyed marking the virgin whiteness of a suburban wife. I could not call him a sadist but his pleasures were cruel as his kindnesses were fierce. After it was all over I came by a terrible suspicion that everyone, including Nora Crosby, had forgotten she would be obliged to return to the loving arms of her husband, so terrible whipped marked, back and front, that he must demand an explanation. Poor girl, I suppose she was fluffy-headed but nonetheless sweet. She had played a losing game from the beginning.
Whoever had laid out the palace grounds and garden had dotted the whole thing with bits of marble and granite which often seemed shapeless but which, upon close inspection, proved designed for the discomfort of a girl. The simplest of these was a short stone pillar within which was firmly clamped the end of a ten foot chain and a utilitarian iron collar to fit a female neck. Without reason I was taken then one day and the iron collar padlocked on my neck. Except for the leg irons, which had become a part of me, that was all. I could move around and do as I pleased within a ten foot radius. There wasn't much to do.
The girls came to visit, in groups or one at a time. All assured me my union with chain and stone would not be brief. Girls thus singled out and left to the whims of the weather, the sun and wind and the cool of night, were reputed to gain virtue from this communion with nature. It was a communion I could have done without but saw their point. Sitting out there, playing with my chain, I could feel the earth turn and could feel myself a part with the elements. When it rained, I got wet. It was there, leaning back against my pillar in a warm and pleasant afternoon, and playing with my chain as I might with a rosary, that Jeffery Dillon walked back into my life.
I had been dreaming, impossible, wonderful dreams of freedom, when a male voice I recognized all too well woke me.
"Is this all you've got to do with your time, girl, sleeping in the sun?"
I jumped to my feet, and there he was in all his smiling good will and British tailoring. I could have sworn I even got a sniff of his cologne. He was getting a fine frontal view of me and was enjoying it to the full. I greeting wasn't the nicest, "You'd be asleep, too, if you'd been chained her as long as I have."
"I expect you're right," Jeffery agreed. "How'd you like me to rape you?"
"Go away!" I said as firmly as I could, even though it was the last thing I wanted. "You know what you can do with your rape."
"You're right, sweetheart, I do know." He began to undress. "I'm a lucky man. It's not ever rapist who finds his innocent victim chained to a pillar, all ready for him."
I had my arms and legs so put up a damn good fight, if I do say so myself. But Jeff handled me as he might have a child. I was soon on by back on the ground, trying to beat him with my fist. But it wasn't long before my struggles turned into all those sounds and motions which tell a man he's doing a pretty good job. I was furious with myself for being so easily conquered but I think the fury added to our pleasure. When it was over and we had both returned to this world, I said bitterly, "You needn't feel proud of yourself, it not a bit fair, you're all together too strong."
"That's right, darling. How about now?"
"Don't be silly, you've just finished doing it to me."
"What's that got to do with it? I'm all ready."
I could see he was. He was very ready indeed. The knowledge that his huge weapon would soon be inside me had its usual effect of robbing me of strength and will. I got it again and won't pretend it wasn't truly wonderful. This time, when I recovered from my gasps and moans, I asked hopefully, "You wouldn't happen to have a key to this collar around my neck, would you?"
"We'll get around to that later. Poppet."
I was laying on my back, fingering the collar in question and looking up at my rapist. I was about as compliant a piece of female as a man could ever hope to own. My voice sounded tired as I said, "Jeff, I've been chained to this pillar for days and days, it seems forever. Surely you can get this iron band off my neck?"
"I could strike a hard bargain, couldn't I?"
"I suppose so. But what have I got you couldn't take any time you wish. I wouldn't fight you again."
"I was thinking more in terms of you doing me a service."
"You want me to service you!" I knew myself totally abject. "All right, I'll do it. Any special way you want to be?"
I was half way to my feet when Jeffery's laughter stopped me cold. "You little idiot, that's not what I mean at all. We'll get around to that some other time, too. For now I want a quite different kind of service."
"I'm chained and naked, what the hell have I got to offer you?"
Jeffery's eyes were glowing. "First off, let me tell you how beautiful you are standing there with your chain and your chunk of stone. Any photographer would drool at the perfect composition."
"Thank you. I would prefer to be elsewhere."
"A nice dungeon with more chains, perhaps?" He was being mischievous, dangling the carrot, watching for reactions.
I said exactly what was in my heart, "Oh, Jeff, don't be unkind. Don't tease, take me back to England with you. I'm sure you could fix it."
"I'd treat you just as hard there as Hadji does here. You'd be like one of Mable's girls, kept in a cage and constantly punished."
I knew there was something at the back of this. Jeff was amusing himself with my distress but there was something on his mind. Whatever it was, I knew perfectly well Jeff was probably my only hope of ever getting back to where I belonged. But where did I belong! I wasn't sure of that either. Baffled, I told him, "I don't care. I'll do or be anything you want just so long as you'll take me away from this place and back to England. If you've got a lousy dungeon, then put me in it. If that amuses you."
Jeffery Dillon was once more immense. We both became aware of his wonder weapon at the same time. Without a word I lay down on my back and spread my legs and raised my knees. If I could earn my freedom this way, I would.
I won't pretend I didn't love it, I did! It was becoming a habit and I couldn't help but think how wonderful it would be if I was Mrs. Jeffery Dillon and we did this all the time without the extras of dungeons, ropes and chains and assorted hardware. But I'd just conceded those points, so what more did he want?
Jeffery squatted between my legs, gazing down at me with approval. I picked up the vibrations of a troubled mind. "Sweetheart, you're marvelous," he said thoughtfully. "I don't want you to hate me but his Nibs has come up with a real zinger. If there wasn't so much hanging on it, I could kick his ass."
My heart fell. Hadji's "real zingers" were always painful. He already possessed me, so what more did he want!
"Is he going to trade me for a few more barrels of oil?" I asked unhappily.
"Not you -- Mable."
I stared, Jeff stared back. My exclamation was involuntary, "But Mable's back in England. Hadji was cruel to her for the couple of weeks he promised but then he sent her home." I had a sudden, terrible thought. "He did send her home, didn't he?"
"Oh, sure, she's safe back at Cranston. She's probably working off her bad time here on those poor kids in the cage. I bet they all get a roasted ass."
"Hadji surely doesn't imagine she'll come here again."
"That's were you come in. We want you to persuade her."
We shared sighs of exasperation, Jeff's was for Prince Hadji, mine was for me. As far as I was concerned there was no problem. "Just unlock this damned collar, take me back to where ever you're staying and take me back to England. Put me in the deepest, safest dungeon and load me with heavy chains. Then get on the phone to Prince Hadji and tell him what he can do with his damned fool notions." I was breathing heavily.
"I'm afraid it's not that easy... "
"Oh, sure, I know!" I retorted angrily. "There's a big oil deal with the fate of nations hanging in the balance. Mable's bottom is the price of world salvation. You ought to grow up."
Jeffery sighed. "Bit of a shock, I know. " He sighed again and gazed down at me. "We both believe you could do it and I wish you would. "
"But he can't kidnap Mable, she's a person of consequence. With girls like me it's easy. But if the Honorable Mable disappears there's going to be quite a fuss."
"That's all been cleared with the highest authorities. They figure it's in a good cause and will look the other way. This sort of thing is arranged, you know, government heads are flexible, you know." I was suddenly scared. If the Honorable Mable could be thus easily written off, there was certainly no hope for me. I didn't like the way Jeff was evading the question of unlocking my collar, it was on my neck as firmly as before he came. Stalling for time, I asked, "But why Mable, she isn't a bit like the girls here?"
"That's the point, sweetheart, seems like Mable's mature splendor has really gotten under Hadji's hide. He can't stop thinking about her and the sound his whip and strap and all those other things made when he used them on her bottom. Seems like he never bothered with a mature white woman before and Mable was a bit of a revelation. He admitted to a touch of boredom with anything under thirty."
"I suppose that's why I've been chained to this pillar for the last week."
Jeffery Dillon gestured hopelessly. His problem was the oil. Girls were secondary. When he got up to leave he told me I could think about it overnight, he would be back tomorrow. Devastated, I said, "You mean to leave me here on this chain? You won't unlock me? Jeff, please take me away from here... " I watched him walk away. When he was out of sigh, I wept. I also cursed Hadji and all his works but the collar remained tight upon my throat and the chain rattle mockingly when I moved. Dismally I sat and pondered.
First off, I hadn't been told how I was expected to lure Mable back to this strange country. I would probably have to lie and tell her I was being terrible tortured every day until she came. But suppose they gave me freedom to return to Cranston in the belief I could talk her into it on the basis of saving Britain and perhaps the United States, too, from some sort of disaster. I could easily see the bottom line: what did one girl or one woman matter against a stake so huge. It was positively frightening. I remember the history books and reading of how princesses time and time again had been bartered for the safety of a kingdom. It was help, to be a female!
But I was female for sure and knew I wanted Jeff Dillon more than anything else in the word. These silly power plays were not for me. What I wanted was to be picked up and taken back to where I had been before that wife of Hadji's had picked me up on that cold night in the dark. Everything happening since had been nonsensical melodrama such as you might read in the cheaper paperbacks. But there was something escaping my attention, whichever way I turned, including Jeff Dillon, I was going to remain a prisoner, a girl who's captivity resulted only from the desire of others, both male and a female, to impose restraints and mark my skin. I had just offered myself on these terms to Jeff and got only a noncommittal reply. It wasn't much of a prospect. I was still dabbing at tears when night came and I went to sleep.
The following morning was bad. There I was collared and chained to a chunk of rock and there was not a thing I could do except eat my fruit and drink my water. I wasn't even sure if there was pity in the girl's eyes as she served me. I was seeing ghosts.
When Jeffery Dillon came along towards noon he wasted only enough time to make me breathless with hugs and kisses before unlocking my padlock to allow my collar and chain to fall clattering to the ground beside the post. Laughingly he held up the bronze handcuffs, "Remember these?" They felt good on my wrists, I know it's silly but they did. I didn't walk quietly beside him back to the palace but had to hop, skip and jump to vent my joy. Jeff viewed my capers with a tolerant eye and refused to answer questions.
Aysha was naked, her wrists had been crossed and bound and then fastened to the collar at the back of her neck to leave her body totally exposed. She was hanging upside down in suspension front her ankles. A man servant, who had obviously waiting for our arrival, now proceeded to slash at her bottom with a riding crop. I was just in time to see the first blow and observe the scarlet response on Aysha's skin. The man servant looked at Jeff and I smilingly and paused.
"Hadji was certain you would need persuasion, sweetheart." Jeff's voice was apologetic. "He wants me to tell you this girl will be whipped, first her bottom with the riding crop then her back with a read whip, until you decide to say yes to his request."
I caught Aysha's upside down imploring eyes. This was for real! As thought to emphasis the fact the servant let loose one of the wickedest cuts I've ever seen, implanted a couple of inches above number one. Aysha went quite berserk, twisting and jerking and doubling up towards her bound feet. It was like seeing a beautiful hooked fish struggling for its life when held up for display. He lovely hair brushed the floor when she relaxed, panting and exhausted and knowing she would be struck again. I couldn't stand it. Without thinking I proclaimed, for all to hear, "I'll do it! I'll do what I'm told, but get Aysha down, get her back on the floor. Don't whip her again."
Poor Aysha. I don't suppose she knew what any of this was about. But when she was freed her expressions of gratitude smothered me for quite a while until she was led away and Jeff took my back out into the quiet of the garden.
"Hadji won't take no for an answer. You've just agreed, sweetheart, but I know you're going to change your mind. That girl is available here all the time. That girl is a dubious daughter of his, he considers her expendable, so you know what will happen to her unless you obey perfectly. You leave on the plane this afternoon."
My emotions were in wild disarray. I heard my voice saying, "All right. I've said I'll do it, but Mable will simply laugh at me. If I'm not careful she'll play one of her tricks and I'll find myself back there, chained to her bed. What happens then?"
Jeff shrugged. "I don't know. The way I see it it is up to you to produce results. For Pete's sake, don't let yourself be made prisoner again. She isn't that much of a menace, is she?"
"Yes. In a fight she would get the best of me."
"Then don't fight. Use your wits. Play the national anthem and get her loyalties well churned up. Tell her the spot you're in and about this girl, Aysha, you're so worked up about. Hadji had you figured on that one, didn't he?"
There was instant lose and gain. I lose the bronze circlet on my wrists and I gained some very expensive clothes. I was glad Jeff put the handcuffs in his pocket but I felt stuffy and uncomfortable in the clothes. If I had to give an opinion, I would say naked is best!
We set out for the airport in good time. Jeff had his doubts about me and was determined to see me all the way to the plane itself. I didn't mind a bit, he was the handsomest man in the place and I got a lot of looks, some for my expensive clothes. I looked at the ticket, realizing it was a sort of passport to heaven. Earnestly I implored, "Jeff, darling, come with me. If you'll come back to England right now, I'll do anything and everything you want and for always. Please, please... " It was a this point we both saw the Honorable Mable Wycherlv. Mable was one of those disembarking from the plane I was about to board. She caught sight of us at the same time and looked as startled as we were. Her demand was uncompromising, "Where the devil are you going, you adorable nuisance. I have the damndest time keeping up with you."
After I had been solidly kissed, all I could think to say was to tell Jeff he had better break the news, I was absolutely lost.
Mable digested it all rapidly, Mable is never at a lost about anything. Almost instantly she pressed a ring of keys into my hand and then took a strangely etched ring from one finger and gave me that, too. "The keys are for Cranston. Show Wilma this ring and she'll know you're in charge. I'll follow you home when I've dealt with this Hadji S.O B. " I was kissed, farewells were said, I was pushed to the check-in counter, and then up the ramp to the waiting plane. I was never so bewildered in my life. I sat through the first hours of the journey a jumble of speculation. I was out of my depth. Only one thing was left upon the credit side and I fingered it often as we flew. It was the ring of keys which gave me entry to Cranston. It was considerably later that I noticed my purse was heavier than it should be. Checking I found the bronze handcuffs in there.
* * *
It had been a dull day in Mable's cage. The girls made fun of me as I constantly clutched the bars as I looked longingly for help I really knew could not be coming. They were all very kind and called me simply, "Number Ten." I found it hard to believe I was really in the cage with my wrist handcuffed with my own bronze bracelets. I couldn't stop thinking back to my blithe entry into Cranston, my taking Wilma into a private place, and my breaking the news. Without asking a question, Wilma struck me a couple of really numbing blows, and while I was still under got me down on the floor, knelt on my back and tied my hands brutally tight. She then sat me in a chair and said, without a trace of effort, "There you are young lady, now we can talk."
It was delightfully simple and absolutely foolproof. To upset to bother saying anything, I simply listened. "I've taken over Cranston," Wilma said. Her statement was a good prelude by any standard. "I've had enough of taking orders. I've had enough of being poor. I've had a bellyful of this whole set-up. You know what I'm going to do?"
I denied knowledge. "It's simply, you pretty little sweetheart, I'm going to put you in the cage with the rest and I'm going to sell the whole damned bunch of you to the highest bidder. I've got contacts and you shouldn't have to stay in the cage too long before some rich son of a bitch takes you away for a spot of you-know-what. When the mistress comes home, she'll find an empty coop. I'm not really robbing her. You and those girl didn't cost her a penny."
"You can't do it! Mable thinks the world of you. Wilma, you simply can't!"
"I love the Honorable Mable, too," Wilma assured me. "All I'm doing is balancing the accounts. She's got too much money and I don't have enough. You and the other nine ought to fix that. Don't fret, sweetheart, it's all in a good cause... ME!"
I put up a battle, I really did. But Wilma was twice as strong as I and a wizard with all those holds and grips and things. I was soon stark naked and with my own bronze circles back on my wrists. Bitterly I conjectured that I would quite likely be buried with them safely locked on my unresponsive hands. Hell, why not!
It wasn't any more trouble for Wilma to put me in the cage. She did this by gripping one of my ears very firmly and bringing me to my knees any time I showed signs of struggling. I did indeed consider struggling when it came time to step over the threshold to join the nine maidens already prisoners in the cage. But Wilma was in control. Since the girls already knew me, their retorts were obvious.
"We knew you'd end up here sometime, darling."
"Aren't those gorgeous handcuffs. I wished they'd put something like that on me."
"They'll whip you real hard the first few days then sort of forget you. We're forgotten."
I expect it was a good thing Wilma put me in the cage. Alone in a cell I would have gone crazy. But I now joined my nine fellow prisoners in a sort of delicious sarcasm about everything. We were ten girls who knew we weren't going anyplace at all. When I told them of Wilma's plan to sell the whole bunch of us, they shrugged it off in disbelief. Looking back I think they had come to love their cage.
My first hint of Wilma's special attention came when it was time for the daily hosing down. There was plenty of room on the chain for me, there was no lack of iron collars or padlocks. But I was the end of the line and on our return to the cage I was detached and left outside the steel door when it clanged shut.
"I wouldn't want you to feel lonely," said Wilma as she took my arm. My being handcuffed put the odds sufficiently in favor of Wilma that I simply obeyed what I was told. The end result found me standing, still handcuffed, but with my hands high over my head, that was all. It was very simple. I knew I was going to be whipped.
"Now you can tell me about this nonsense in that silly place where the Honorable Mable has gone." Wilma held her whip lovingly and looked my nudity up and down in a way that made me wish I was back in Hadji's palace.
"Come on, is there anything that makes more sense that the nonsense the Mistress told me before she left?" A flick of the whip across my belly accented the question.
"You won't believe it, I don't believe it either," I told her soberly.
"But please don't punish me because it sounds crazy or because I don't know the end of it." I decided on a gamble. "Look, Wilma, please don't sell me until Jeffery Dillon comes back. You'll get more for me from him than from anyone else."
I got a short laugh over that. I then blurted out what there was to tell, it wasn't much. I could see Wilma was disappointed although intrigued of the possibility of her former mistress being in the clutches of the wicked sheik, getting her bottom well lashed every day. But I couldn't promise her that, I couldn't promise her anything. I expect is was as much in exasperation over this as she now began to whip me with her usual expertise. It wasn't all that hard, I'd had worse. But she paid special attention to all of those parts of me where a girl should never be whipped at all. She soon had be sobbing and pleading for mercy. As thought bored by an unprofitable subject, she returned me to the cage.
For me the hours and days of my imprisonment dragged horridly. I wondered how the nine girls managed to stay so cheerful. Perhaps it had something to do with their uninhibited carnality. I allowed to use me as they pleased, complaining about nothing. We laughed about our handcuffs, they inhibited nothing within the cage. It was the cage itself me must defeat if we were to ever be free. Wilma whipped me every day, quite without anger but with the feeling I had quite a lot of catching up to do. The others got whipped according to her mood. One evening she told us gleefully that tomorrow the buyers would start to come. She had made the contacts and made the arrangements. The business of selling ten girls into what was almost certainly a life of prostitution would begin in early morning. It was hard for any of us to sleep that night.
We girls, locked away downstairs, heard nothing of the invasion. The first we knew of it was a sight so incredible we scarce believed our eyes. Two men marched in holding Wilma by the arms which they had already bound tight behind her back at wrist and elbow. Wilma was as naked as the rest of us, disclosing quite a nice figure for her age. The poor woman was also leg-ironed and, worst of all, gagged. The gag sealed and filled her mouth utterly and was strapped and buckled at the back of her neck and also padlocked to defeat any aid we might have given. She was breathing heavily and gazed upon us in blank despair. I could guess what had happened, her contacts had back fired and taken from Wilma the juicy plumbs she had intended to market. She was now among the merchandise. I had reached the point where I didn't care much any more.
A third man came, obviously in charge. He entered the cage, looked us over approvingly but without enthusiasm, his main function was to display a whip. I recognized it as one of the Honorable Mable's. We were now marshaled in two lines like soldiers and briefed as to our fate.
"We have taken over." He was a suave black man of impressive build. "Today we sell you all. The sale will be by auction and you will be expected to obey." His eyes rolled back and forth, showing their whites, and his smile was brilliant with white teeth. Each of us felt cataloged. "Any of you who want to make a fuss or play hard to get? I will use this on you personally." He held up the whip in such a way we all shuttered. "There is no need for any of you to be hurt, just do as you are told." He gazed in disdain around the cage. "I'd take a guess most of you will be better off after you've been sold." He turned on his heel, the door clanged shut and we ten girls were alone but with the addition of Wilma who's plight we dared not aid.
Poor Wilma! How indeed were the mighty fallen. She made such sounds and motions as to indicate her conviction that we could have at least undone her hands and arms. We could have but we were frightened. We told her so quite simply and added, for good measure, that she had brought this whole thing on herself. If she had been loyal to Mable, this whole thing wouldn't have happen.
It was one hell of a time for us, waiting, listening, tensed up for anything to happen. It was not long before it actually did.
I don't know why I was chosen to be number one, it does not matter. I was dragged out of the cage and my handcuffs examined with a view of changing them from front to back but the bronze bracelets defeated them and I guess they decided to sell me as I was. I got some more cautioning about behaving myself and was then provided with a white sheet and told it would be stripped from me at the moment mostly likely to promote bids. I simply did not care.
They had chosen the great hall. Not a servant was in sight and I supposed they were safely locked away for the day. I was surprised they had not stripped Jessie the maid and tossed her in with the rest of us. But what I was most interested in was the make-shift platform I was to stand on and display my charms and the small group of men who would take us home with them after paying a great deal of money. They were deliberately anonymous, probably nervous and ashamed. But our captors, who were on slippery ground themselves, wanted the whole affair completed as soon as possible. I was pushed up on to the platform, and bids were invited for my person. The first was for one hundred pounds and it drew murmurs of contempt. But it got things started and my value to these strangers rapidly advanced. It was the damndest sensation. I have to admit it was a thrill to know the value of girls, particularly myself. There were no dramatics, the bids were mostly done with the raising of a hand as the price advanced from its paltry beginnings up to five, ten and then twenty thousand pounds. At twenty thousand there was a pause, and this was the chosen moment for whisking away my white sheet to disclose my nakedness. I had been warned about posture and how I would be expected to place my hands behind my neck and to be sure at all times to thrust out my breast and taunt my tummy. I did these things because I had no wish to be whipped. But I'll admit I got a kick out of it. Nakedness no longer bothered me, and the thought of my effect upon those absurd men gazing at me in deep attention left me with a sense of power and the knowledge that a beautiful girl, no matter how harshly bound or chained, was always on top of the whole silly business. It made me feel good, it would have to any woman who is really a woman.
I'm a beauty, I know it! The first bid after disclosure of my charms was for one hundred thousand pounds. At this rate, the girls downstairs would net them better than a million pounds. The first thing I knew I was up to one hundred and fifty thousand.
I couldn't help but pay attention to these men who wished to own me. There was one bushy-bearded character who had not yet made a bid, but his eyes brightly assessed my breasts and belly. His gaze was of such intensity as to prompt me to mischievously point in his direction as though my breasts and nipples were a cannon about to fire and then made such undulations with my nudity as to accelerate his lustful pulse. It was then the incredible happened, my bushy bearded client accorded me the most graceful of courtly bows before tugging the beard from his chin and putting a whistle to his lips and emitting a shrill blast.
It was Prince Hadji El Kabar.
CHAPTER NINE - MABLE'S MASTER
I love Angela. I suppose that's the only decent excuse I have for acting like an idiot. I'd been so damned glad to get out of that bastard Hadji's clutches that I fled back to Cranston like a scared rabbit. Everything happening to Angela and me in Hadji's palace had fixed in my mind a conviction the poor darling was his captive for life. I couldn't see any way of setting her free. But I no sooner got back to the familiar surrounding of Cranston than my conscious started in to nag and I asked myself again and again why I should allow myself to be robbed of this darling girl. My nine beauties in the cage were a poor substitute. I whipped them until they all had smarting rumps and felt guilty about that too and got no electric charge out of that. After a few days I couldn't stand it any more.
I've got money and influence, I used both on a few oil men I happen to know and on one or two members of the government. I'd never before pulled rank but did so now without shame. But life fools us all. I'll never forget the shock and anticlimax of running straight into darling Angela and the S.O.B. of a Jeffery Dillon.
I had to do quick thinking. Dillon and I pushed Angela on to the plane and I stayed behind on my one-woman crusade. Dillon, who really is a perfect gentleman, gave me a run down until I realized my mission was not abortive. Angela had been sent to England to fetch me back to this country full of sand dunes but had not been given her freedom by Arabic standards, she still belonged to Prince Hadji at least as far as Prince Hadji was concerned. That was what I must put an end to. Jeffery Dillon told me bluntly I was nuts, but admitted frankly he stood to gain enormously by delivering me back into Hadji's hands. Like I said, I had to be crazy! I let him do it.
* * *
I'm back at square one. I could kick myself if I could kick anything but I can't. I've been stripped naked and handcuffed with another set of those lovely bronze bracelets Angela has worn for ages. They are above my head and well secured so I stand, feet tied apart to rings in the floor, and shamelessly exposed. I've been informed that Prince Hadji El Kabar will honor me by whipping me later in the day. Meanwhile I stand.
Hadji has whipped me before so it isn't new but it will still be awful and unbearable and outrageous. I will also make an idiot out of myself by screaming and struggling. I promise myself that I won't do either but that is a promise that won't last long.
After I had been collared and chained to Hadji's bed last night, with the handcuffs behind my back so I couldn't claw his smiling face, I took the opportunity to name a number of titles that knew where I was and knew my purpose and would expect my safe return to England. I want on to add that they also expected the enslavement of Angela to cease. But this smiling son of the desert simply kissed me hard, lay me flat on my back and chained hands, and proceeded to do... well, you know what. He does this so well I soon forgot Angela and my impressive list of friends which appeared to not have impressed Hadji at all. The son of a bitch I'd come to lecture and conform Rogered me to a fare-thee-well. I spent half the night among stars and marvelously hued rainbows. I'm a woman and this really cheeses me off.
When I awoke up in the morning Hadji had gone. Having my hands chained behind my back is really for the birds. I wanted to feel my pussy and see if it was still there but there was no way I could reach. But it felt happy so I had to presume it was in good order and not worn out. I sat there chained to the bed awaiting the convenience of Hadji's servants who finally came and bathed and fed and watered me before bringing me here and fixing me the way I am. I was then solemnly informed his royal highness would get around to whipping me later in the day. In the meantime I could just stand the way I was and consider myself a lucky girl for such personal attention from so elevated a person. I wanted to scream, I still want to scream.
Having my hands chained above my head and my legs spread just enough to be vulgar is actually damned clever. It reduces a girl to absolutely nothing except some lovely virgin skin to slash away at as if you were beating a carpet. It also gives a girl a hell of a lot to think about. On top of this there is the recurrent effect of disbelief in what is happening. Rational thought said that I should be able to walk away from this but all I can do is quiver a bit and weave my bottom around.
There's something going on I don't know about. I can sense it with Jeffery Dillon and even with that asshole Hadji. There's a look in Hadji's eye I'm not sure of. And he may have refused to respond to my confrontation just to play for time instead of being high and mighty and mean to a silly woman who's going to get her ass whipped. I feel something of a pawn in a chess game of which I don't know the rules. After a few centuries in which the servants come to examine my pussy and breasts and even to stroke my bottom, his royal highness actually deigns to honor me with his presence. I was so damned tired of standing that way I was almost glad to see him and get it over with. But I also have to try.
"The British and US governments won't like what you intend to do to me," I said holding to control. "I think we ought to talk."
The S.O.B. didn't answer. Instead he circled around and around me and felt me up. He's got lovely strong, brown, lean hands which didn't have to fell my pussy quite so much. Then he moved on to the rounds of my bottom which he fingered. Naturally my breasts came next. I knew the first two portions of myself were going to be whipped for sure but I asked him straight out about my breasts. "Look, Hadji, pay attention. I don't want my breasts whipped. If you do whip them you'll prove yourself a barbarian to the whole world. Believe me, you don't whip the breasts of the Honorable Mable Wycherly without the whole world knowing. The News of the World will give you top billing for sure."
He still wasn't talking. This time he kissed my lips and I have to admit that any girl who's been kissed by Prince Hadji El Kabar knows she's been kissed. It's the same in bed -- but never mind that!
"Worried about your little pigeon?" he inquired pleasantly. "I sent her back to England to persuade you to visit me again. But you came of your own free will." He flashes me his pussy-perking smile. "I suppose I've got the job of being obliged to repossess her. Or do you think she'll come back of her own accord?"
"She's crazy if she does."
"But you came, Madam."
"Yes. Craziest thing I've ever done in my life. I almost deserve what you intend to do to me."
"You thought the great names would preserve your pretty skin?"
"They should, if you've got any sense."
His nibs stood back to measure a distance. Nervously I looked over one shoulder then turned away from what I saw. As usual, the pain was terrible. I knew I would die. A snapping impact across both cheeks of my bottom made me sure I was cut to the bone. But Hadji varied proceedings by rubbing the wound vigorously with affectionate hands. I was astonished there was no blood. He rubbed enough to double the agony but then gradually the agony ceased. It was replaced by the most exquisite glow which transferred itself to start a fire within my loins. Having gotten me comfortably out of both apprehension and agony, he struck me again. Prince Hadji El Kabar was teaching his rebellious slavegirl a lesson.
Hadji whipped me with an intent purpose of his own. First the awful shock and impact of the whip upon my skin followed by the tenderness of fingers spelling love, fingers well versed in feminine response. Beneath them I lost all will and ceased to be anything but a securely chained woman in a Master's hand. Alternatively he took me to the heights of eroticism only then to plunge me into the depths of agony. I have little memory of my cries and struggles but I'm sure they gave him pleasure.
I must have made the perfect picture of a well whipped woman, wealed, sweating and gasping to catch up with myself as Prince Hadji calmly disposed himself upon a chair which provided a full frontal view of whatever I had to offer. I was utterly bewildered in contradictory emotions. Hadji's skill in marking my skin had been match only by his skill in turning me into ten times the woman I had ever been. I lost track of the climaxes he evoked but never in my life had I been so introduced into alternate agony and ecstasy. I was ashamed of myself because I knew, had he asked if he should start in on me again, I would have said a shamed-faced yes. Maybe he hadn't whipped me all that hard but I certainly felt like he did.
When our eyes met I made the simply query, "What are you going to do with me, Hadji?"
"Barter you for oil, what else! But I must whip you several times before you are taken from my house. You are an excellent subject for the cane, the whip, the crop." I knew he was frankly laughing at my disarray. "You may now register complaint."
Everything rehearsed departed from my mind, along with weariness and idle speculation. All I wanted Hadji to do right then was take me to bed. I told him this frankly even though I knew shame in the telling. He nodded as though with an infinite wisdom and told me I would receive the joy of his immense sexual powers at a time of his own choosing. He then came out with the killer-diller I had been waiting for.
"I want you to phone Angela and instruct her to return." He laughed at my sudden tensing. "She is not as good to whip as you but has a slavegirl quality I find intriguing. She is exquisite in the diversity of ways by which she is subjugated to my will." He was watching me intently. "Should she hesitate you must assure her you are being terribly tortured and will continue to be tortured daily until she yields. She will be back within the week."
"Then what of me?'
"The deal of Jeffery Dillon and myself will then be complete. You will be taken in chains to your new and final home."
"But Cranston... ! I can't just... "
"Your heirs will inherit."
I shivered. Everything held a terrible finality. I knew I would make the phone call to Angela, I'd be too scared not to. But the Prince would be right there, I'd have no change for messages or warnings." Returning to the present I asked, timidly, "Can not you let me down now? I've been whipped, there's no need to keep me like this any longer."
Without a word Hadji disengaged himself from the chain, picked up the whip, and gave me a couple of the most awful strokes across the center of my back. By the time I'd recovered he was back in the chair and surveying my condition with an amused and infuriating smile that made me long to beat my fits against his insolent face.
"I'm sorry," I said humbly. "I get the message."
Hadji kept me standing the rest of the day. I got so bored and tired I longed for his return to whip me once again. But he was clever, he did not come. In the evening servants released me and again attended my needs as though I were an expensive mare. I ended up once more collared and chained to Hadji's bed but this time with my wrists handcuffed in front. I had received a promotion! In the night, when I was being incredibly ravished, I made up my mind to ask Hadji to forget about Angela and just keep me for his own. I said goodbye to Cranston, I would sign it over to Angela and Hadji could whip me every day for the rest of my life. Stupid, childish, female... ? Well, you don't know Hadji!
My euphoria lasted through the bathing, the feeding, and the watering. In the presence and under the control of servants the illusion of being a well-groomed mare reassured itself. I hadn't much expectation of Hadji listening to anything I said. He would simply whip me again with that amused tolerance which simply curled me up and set my fire to flaming. It was then he choose to ask if I would prefer to be whipped again or sit on the horse. I said I would prefer to be whipped, my heart pounding in exhalation. I knelt before him with bowed head and chained hands submissively covering my pubic forest. He laughed at my submission and told me I would sit upon the horse.
Hadji is a demon, a woman has no hope with him at all. He will whip me and torture me to where all hope is gone but then suddenly bring me back into the beautiful world by the magic of his fingertips and phallus. A girl has no hope against him, she cannot win.
Poor, darling, Angela had been upon my horse that awful day when Hadji had possessed us both. I had put her there and was gaining erotic satisfactions from her suffering. It was now my turn.
Anyone can have a horse, it is nothing but a plank set on edge in any configuration you'd like. This "horse" of Hadji's was about what a girl could expect. The motif was baroque in its perfect simulation of equine justice to the delinquent female. Set squarely upon the wicked edge, legs wide spread and taunt in traction, handcuffed wrists drawn high behind my back, I sat where others had sat throughout centuries of use of this beastly instrument of torture. All my weight was on my pussy, I could not move. Certain of mortal injury, I heard my master's voice.
"I will not tell you of the hours, Madam. You will suffer and hope that someday I will set you free, a bit like your Christian Hell, is it not?" Hadji kissed me hard and pinched my nipples harder before he left.
It is terrible to be upon the horse and alone. It is terrible anyway but when you are abandoned and must suffer in solitude, fear is added to your sentence. Supposing they forget you! Suppose you are forgotten and sit here on and on. Suppose the servants have seated you incorrectly and this burning agony within your crotch destroys your sex. The fears build and feed upon themselves thus adding to the torment of the planks edge upon which I sit. I am firmly place there and can't move, my legs tractioned out from side to side bestow a belly dancer's split I cannot contest. My role is to suffer. I scream for help, for mercy, and scream again. No one hears. I sit.
After goodness knows how long I come by the conviction my sex is totally destroyed. A man and I will never function together again. It is not long after that I came to the certainty of death. My loins are telling me this agony cannot possibly go on. I'm at the point when suddenly the door bursts open and Prince Hadji stride towards me with a gleaming knife. The knife is not for me, he slashes at my bonds and picks me up as I fall sideways from my painful perch and, as though I weigh nothing, carries me to his office. There he utters a single word, "Telephone."
I forget the scorching burn between my thighs when I hear Jessie's voice and listen in disgust and growing fear to the story of Wilma's treachery and of Wilma' plans for my nine darlings and dear Angela. Jessie is frightened that she, too, may be tossed into the cage with the rest. She is a pretty little trick and well worth a man's attention. But she promises to stay at Cranston until I come. She pleas for me to hurry.
The news replaces my concern about my sex. Hadji had changed my bracelets to the front so I could use the phone. That also enables me to explore myself and I am surprised to discover that I may still be of value to men. My pretty puss is swollen and hurts but that is all. I turn to Hadji who has been listening on an extension. I am frantic. "Hadji, let me go, you must! I can't let this happen."
Hadji thoughtfully tightens my bronze handcuffs another notch to make them snug. I scarcely notice. Prince Hadji El Kabar now kisses me most tenderly and sets his fingertips to exploring once more while he ponders. He is swift to decision. "I will go myself," he says. "No man steals Angela and lives."
"Take me. You must take me, Hadji." My heart was in the plea.
"No. You are a bundle of emotion, much better left within a cage."
"I must go, I simply must! Hadji, if you'll take me I promise to do or say anything you wish. I'll be your slave. Please?"
"You already are!"
I was distraught. I belonged at Cranston with my darling girls. I'd soon put pay to Wilma's little caper. Her disloyalty was a shock. But Hadji would do anything he wanted with my property while I languished in a cage, chained to a wall, worrying myself stiff the whole time. But once more I was kissed and my bare bottom affectionately patted.
"I will loan you to Jeffery Dillon for the period of my absence," Hadji said quietly. "I don't know what he'll do with you but I'm sure you won't be bored."
My mind in conflict, I let myself be picked up, the severed ropes still trailing from my ankle and carried out into the sunlight and the gardens. Immediately I saw the small stone pillar with its chain and collar. I knew what I was in for. But I stood obediently while the collar was locked upon my neck. I pleaded in the direst of distress until Hadji kissed me goodbye.
"Jeff Dillon will come for you at his own convenience, my dear. In the meantime enjoy the sunlight and the freedom of this chain. Your beloved Angela spent many days chained her so suffer it with reverence." Hadji strode back to the palace.
It shows my state of mind that I instinctively leaped after him and nearly broke my neck as the chain snubbed me and toppled me back.
I felt the collar upon my throat, it was solid iron and the padlock was heavy with its chain. In frantic haste I tested the strength of my new bond and its radius, having a mental picture of Angela doing the same thing in days now past. At the end of my struggled I sat unhappily down and leaned back against the pillar, no doubt as Angela had sat thus. Disgustedly I went to work upon the rope binding on my ankles. When that was done, there was nothing, nothing at all.
Jeffery Dillon came in late afternoon. I love the handsome bastard but I've never been sure of his feeling towards me. He masks so much of what he is and what he thinks in amusing repartee. If I ever needed him to love me, I did so now.
"My goodness, Mable, you do get yourself into some pickles. " He surveyed my chained limitations. "Damned attractive, though. I'm not sure I shouldn't leave you here."
"Jeff, don't tease. This is serious. I absolutely must get back to England. I suppose Hadji told you?"
"Oh, he's already on his way. You don't have a thing to worry about. I think he plans to bring your nine little darlings and Angela back with him. This place is full of girls, a few more won't make much difference."
He laughed at my anxious face. "Then, if he ever lets you loose, you can go back to Cranston without a care in the world. That lovely cage will be empty but there's nothing to prevent you from filling it again. Stop worrying."
I stood breathlessly still while the padlock was unlocked from my neck. I promised that, yes, I would be a good girl and not fight or run. In any case my hands were still locked in bronze bracelets. "Am I allowed to ask where you're taking me?" I inquired coldly.
"We'll stay in the palace. There's guest rooms aplenty and his highness won't be gone that long."
"I'll be tortured daily, I suppose?"
"Mable, you really are a pain in the ass. Sure, I'll have you tortured every day if that will take your mind off your troubles." He grinned at me sideways. "All I intended to do with you was try out a number of interesting restrains. You should view them clinically, they could be useful to you at Cranston."
I stopped quite still, facing him. "Jeff, we've been good friends. I've never done you wrong. Give me freedom."
"Sorry, love, matter honor, you know. Look, without joking, are you sure you won't prefer to go back on that collar and chain." It's infuriating the way men always win! I should have fought or ran but Jeff could have subdued me with one hand. I sighed, hoping Jeff's "restraints" would be kinder than Hadji's horse. It was too late to change my mind but the though of the collar and chain I just left behind seemed strangely attractive to a woman who had to spend an indefinite amount of time watching and waiting and hoping. I said nothing. We resumed our walk towards the palace and my prison.
Jeff and I have known each other for a long time. He's always been my idea of the ideal man. I'd given him plenty of hints but he'd never paid attention. Back that first time he'd seen Angela I told her that he'd paid to enjoy her pretty little puss but it was a lie. I'd given her to him to please him. Now that he held me as his prisoner I'd have every chance to try again. Inevitably I ended up collared and chained to his four-poster in one of the bedrooms and that night, after the glorious first time, when we were laying in a delightful afterglow, I came right out with it. "Jeff, why won't you marry me? Let's go back to Cranston as Mr. and Mrs. Jeffery Dillon. I can donate my darling girls to Hadji as a reverse wedding gift."
"Sorry, pet, I'm not the marrying kind. Turned my back on it long ago because any wife of mine would be a constant target for kidnappers. I lead an irregular sort of life, she'd never be safe."
"I'll take the risk."
Jeff laughed and made love to me again. He's marvelous! A girl would have a hard time choosing between him and Hadji. Not that they're the same, they're different but both leave a girl feeling that it could never be this good again. But it always is. After I recovered this second time I ventured, "Jeff, about getting married... "
"You want to be gagged, my pet, you're going about it the right way."
I shut up. Never nag a man, it's the surest way to loose him. Craftily striving for credits, I demurely suggested, "Jeff, darling, take these chains off me. This collar on my neck and these handcuffs on my wrists aren't doing a particle of good.! haven't the faintest intention of running away from you. Trust me."
"Sorry, love. Made a promise to Hadji. You stay restrained." Men can always wiggle out of an awkward question. Us girls are suppose to be clever about that but we don't have a thing on Jeffery Dillon. The only way a girl is going to get him to the alter is handcuffed and leg-ironed but even then there would be the problem of getting him to say yes. But its a lovely thought.
Anyway, by the time we had gasped and moaned our way through number three I so much belonged to him I no longer tried to bargain or persuade. All I wanted of Jeffery Dillon was to be near him even if this meant being collared and chained as I was right then. In fact, the collar felt good around my neck, it was of him!
With morning my anxieties returned: Cranston, Angela, Hadji, and now the uncertainty of Jeffery Dillon.
"Look, sweetheart," he said, "I promised Hadji I'd never let you run free, he doesn't trust you. I'd give you freedom to look after your morning affairs but you'll have to wear these."
These were beautiful silvery leg irons. He locked them on my ankles then relieved me of the handcuffs. I tripped off to the bathroom without falling on my face. Later I was guided to where my new master was breakfasting in state. It was a buffet affair like the classic English country houses. In fact, like mine when I entertain. It would have fed six instead of two and I wondered if the servants hovered to consume what we did not. I clinked my way to the offered seat, I was kissed, a hand explored my pussy, it was surprisingly intact and was sorry when the hand departed to break bread.
'Td like to spend the day with you, sweetheart, show you around a bit but I'm into a lot of things over here and I'm wondering what to do with you."
"Take these shackles off my feet and let me go."
"Oh, sure, sure. Buy you a plane ticket and put you on board. That isn't going to happen."
Getting free of Hadji's house was not going to be easy. Grumpily I suggested, "Well, stuff me in a cage then. You and your busy, busy, busy. You're just playing games."
"That's what you think, sweetheart."
"Look, Jeff, you're a rich man. I'm a rich woman. Marry me and take my back to Cranston and we'll have the most wonderful life ever!"
"With a cage full of slavegirls in the basement?"
"Hadji's probably got them in a cage of his own my now. I'll donate them to him as a gesture of good will." I sniffed in disgust. "Not that he's done anything to earn my good will."
Jeff took my by the arm and led me from the house. He soon became impatient with my snubbed steps so picked me up and carried my which was very nice. All the time I was being carried I pointed out all the advantages of making me Mrs. Jeffery Dillon. But it wasn't a long walk and I instantly realized my day was going to be decidedly public. Somebody must have made the damned thing overnight. A couple of stout little posts joined by a heavy plank set at the upper ends. When I saw the half circles I got my first clue. The other two half circles were in a separate board sitting nearby. The workman had forgotten his hammer.
"Deliberately crude," Jeff explained as he sat me down beside the little structure and forced me to my knees. Without waiting to be told I put my wrists, one in each of the waiting slots, and told him, "I wouldn't do this for anyone but you."
The second board was now fitted on top to complete a wooden circle around my wrists. It was damned snug, someone must have taken measurements. Jeff picked up the hammer and said, "This isn't my idea, love, Hadji left a couple of hints."
I was kneeling erect, my arms thrust straight out to accommodate the captivity of my wrists. Jeff now fished for some nails out of a waiting can, fitted them in holes already drilled, and with the hammer began to pound them home. He went up and down the line, producing the most horrible sounds, a sort of sprang-g-g-g which made me shiver far worse than being locked in irons or bound with rope. There was something hostile in the sounds that hammer got out of those nails, sort of telling me my hands would be welded within the wood to stay. But it was a simple sort of contraption that wasn't hurting so I did not complain, confining my remarks to the advantages of us getting married and joining two huge estates to make something truly impressive. I don't think Jeff heard a word. When he had pounded the last nail home, he kissed me and said he was sorry he had to run. It was difficult as all get out for me to twist a bit to watch him go. I than gave my full attention to my plight.
You can call it the pillory principle but this one was sneaky. It was the exact height to make me kneel fully erect. The wood circling my wrists was thick enough to prohibit motion. I could not sit back on my heels or stand, I simply had to kneel the way I was and look down my arms to where they disappeared into the wood. I could wiggle my fingers all I liked but that didn't do me any good. I realized the worst part of this punishment was the kneeling, it was okay so far but just wait a while... ! I said a serious " Damn! " then moved my knees around as much as I could to test for comfort. There wasn't any!
I guess the word had been passed around, I began to get visitors. At first the servants, then a few soldiers, then quite a lot of children. But no one willing or able to speak English. I could easily guess they were making vulgar remarks about my private parts but there wasn't much use in making a fuss. I did the only thing I could, I knelt with my arms out-thrust before me. I tried to test the solidity but to do that I had to tax my wrists and hurt them. It wasn't worth while. I could see it was built like a bridge and would hold an elephant. I couldn't understand the idea of nailing me tight like this instead of other, more conventional ways of making me helpless. I suspect it was just an additional humiliation, a tease, something to make me feel certain I could get free if I only did the right thing. My audience approved my twistings and efforts to turn, providing faint approval whenever I failed. After a while I simply knelt there with bowed head as if in prayer.
I could see the whole damned picture plain as could be. I was a punished girl, kneeling here in the courtyard while Prince Hadji diverted to himself my estate, my money and my girls. I hoped he'd pick up Wilma, too, and fix her someway like this for me to see. I supposed he would make Angela his number one girl or maybe trade her off to Jeff Dillon or some other tycoon for some business advantage. Poor, darling Angela! I felt a bitch now for having kidnapped her in the first place and let her in for all this. Ruefully I realized it was a sort of justice in the fix I was in right now. I was paying for those nine girls in the cage and for Angela, too. I knew both Hadji and Jeff quietly considered I was getting no more than my just deserts. I suppose they would eventually set me free when bored with whatever there was about me that amused them now. They would probably sell me to a brothel, not daring to set me free because of the stink I'd raise. Oh, shit!
By mid afternoon my kneels were screaming and I was so tired I could have screamed along with them. Frustration had driven me to fighting the wood in which my wrists were held but all that got me was some chaffed skin. It was about then I got my most interesting visitor. I saw him coming in the distance. He evidently had the run of the place and that was probably because he was some sort of religious type in the clothes and chunks of material they wear around their head -- I don't know the names they use for these things here. He was old, a bit tattered, heavily bearded and stood gazing at me with the brightest eyes I've ever seen.
I said, "How to you do? Would you be good enough to get me free of this thing?"
"You are a whore."
It was a bad start and I wondered if he got the right woman. But I wanted to be polite. "Well, not really. What I am is mostly a prisoner. If you'll help me get loose, I'll give you money." I don't think he heard me. His conversation was in a rut.
"A whore. A scarlet woman. A temptation to the devout. I would have you whipped in a public place."
"I'm afraid I've already had that. Can't you see the marks?"
"After the whipping, the brothel, it is where you belong."
His conversation was not inspiring. While I tried to think of some suitable response, he turned abruptly on his heel and walked back the way he came, leaving me with an uneasy feeling as thought I had just made another enemy. I told Jeff about it that night while I was chained to his bed.
"Oh, one of those." He laughed as though visualizing my visitor. "They're a cult but they're powerful in this country. They sort of expropriate woman such as he was talking about and do with them exactly what they said. No one here seems to have the nerve to say no to them. But don't worry, love, so long as you belong to Prince Hadji or me they won't touch you. But if you should happen to escape, I wouldn't go wandering around the streets."
"Fat chance I've got of wandering around any streets here. Oh, Jeff, what's going to become of me?"
"Any brothel would welcome you."
"You're just being beastly, Jeff. Be honest now, what's ahead of me?"
"I don't know, poppet. If Hadji brings your nine maidens back here with them he might loose interest in you enough to quote me a good price."
"Jeff, would you!"
"Yes, I suppose I might. Just in the name of charity."
That was all I could get out of him, he would make no other promises. If he bought me, he would simply turn me loose in England, not take me back to his place. I felt like about two cents. Piqued, I asked, "You're not going to put me in that beastly contraption again tomorrow, are you? I've never spent such a beastly day."
"You have a nice, easy disposition, sweetheart. Hadji's other recommendation was suspension."
"Thank you, never mind! Sorry I spoke."
We then did a repeat of the night before and I'm so damned ashamed of myself for loving every minute. I don't see why the silly asshole won't marry me -- Oh, shit!
Next morning, right from the start, I knew Jeffery Dillon had something up his sleeve. His eyes were glinting his quiet little smile as if he saw a picture I did not. We had a most civilized breakfast except that I was naked and my ankles leg-ironed. The bronze handcuffs appeared after the meal, locking my wrists behind my back, but at the same time the leg irons were taken from my feet. These constant changes make me feel like merchandise constantly being returned for exchange. We then went out into the sunlight and I will say the sunlight if a hell of improvement from a palace full of all sorts of rooms in which there are all sorts of ways to make a girl uncomfortable. And that's putting it mildly!
They still use donkeys in that country so I saw nothing unusual in one being tethered in the courtyard. As we approached the animal, I told Jeff crossly, "I've seen donkeys before, you don't need to show it to me."
"This one is different, darling," Jeff told me with that glint in his eyes shinning more than ever. "You're simply going to love this dear little ass."
It really is dispiriting to a girl to have an owner who is so blasted strong. Jeff picked me up and, even though I did a bit of kicking, set me on the back of the little animal. There was a band cinched around and beneath its withers and Jeff lost no time in strapping my ankles to it so I couldn't get off or fall off. But I suddenly realized there was something wrong.
"I'm wrong-way around, Jeff! I'm facing the back...!"
"That's right, sweetheart. You can view the world over a donkey's tail. It will be a new experience."
I felt like sharing a laugh with this man who I loved but who refused to love me. My predicament was absurd enough to warrant a good laugh. I felt horribly out of place on its back and facing the wrong way around. As well as being naked and tremendously vulnerable with my hands locked behind my back. It wasn't long before Jeffery said a jaunty, "Well, that's that, sweetheart. See you this evening."
Then I realized why he'd been smiling all this time. My first retort was a bit predicable, "Jeff, you can't leave me like this! Jeff, this is too damned much!"
"What are you complaining about now?"
"Well, I thought you were taking me for a ride or something silly like that. I didn't realize you were going to leave me on the back of a donkey for everybody to see and laugh at."
"Not painful, is it?"
"Wel-I-I-I... I suppose it isn't. Oh, Jeff, don't leave me like this... Please-e-e-e-e-e! "
"Sorry, love, this was at the bottom of Hadji's list. Seems too innocent to pull on you, but I'm glad you're enjoying."
"I'm not enjoying! Oh, Jeff, don't be a beast. Everyone's going to come and make vulgar remarks about the way I'm sitting. And what happens if the donkey decides to take a walk?"
"You won't understand the vulgar remarks, they'll be in a language you don't speak. And as for the donkey going for a walk, he can't, he's tethered."
"He'll do... You know what, and then there'll be that awful smell."
"I could take you back indoors and suspend you by your wrists, sweetheart, just say the word."
I shuttered, longing to cry. There it was again, this male dominance in superior strength. Sure, Jeff Dillon can pluck me from were I sat and within a few minutes have me hanging up, naked and scared of being whipped and with my toes well above the floor. I knew what that one was like so all I did was sniff and say, "I think you're mean."
Jeff kissed my belly. It was simply the handiest place with me up on the damned donkey. I watched him all the way back to the palace, without hope because I'd already realized there was no possible way I was going to get myself free. I was fixed but good! I got the usual visitors who did the usual things and said the usual things. But I was a bit above their level and stared out over their heads, ignoring their presence, I knew they'd been forbidden to touch. But I got another visitor I wasn't so sure about. He was almost a spitting image of the old buffer the day before. Those old bastards all look the same after about the age of a hundred and ten. He assured me I was a whore and would receive just punishments, reciting a few of them in great detail to positively curl me up inside. Jeff had told me the name of that damned cult but I'd forgotten it already. My main wish is that they'd stick their own red-hot pokers up their own... Well, you know what! When he finally left he left me trembling.
The donkey of Prince Hadji's kingdom seemed to be forever eating but forever thin, the one I was bound upon was no exception. It wasn't too long before I realized there wasn't all that much difference between the "horse" in the basement of the palace and what I sat on now. I do have to admit my little donkey was padded better than beastly plank stuck on edge for a girl's pussy. But my donkey was lean enough and bumpy backed enough to get me thinking how I'd manage the day.
I couldn't do a thing with my legs but I will admit that if I pushed down hard enough it did relieve the stress of my weight on the ass' backbone enough to help. A girl who is owned by someone like Prince Hadji or Jeff Dillon has to take advantage of every little break. At five o'clock when I was released, I made a few tentative steps then asked Jeff to carry me the rest of the way. My poor pussy, I don't know how it manages to come up smiling every time.
When I was safely chained beside him in his bed I played an old record. "My hands are locked behind my back and they don't need to be. Then you don't need this collar and chain on my neck. Don't you know by now I wouldn't run away from you if I could. Can't you forget your promise to Hadji just once, I promise I won't move from this bed except to go to the bathroom. Please-e-e-e-e...!"
"Sorry, love, no dice. But turn around, I'll change your hands from back to front. Don't say I never gave you anything."
It was an example of how a girl can sometimes do herself a bit of good by complaining. It was lovely with my hands hand in front but bloody awful when their were locked behind. I tested the tolerance even further. "Darling, if you'll take this collar off my neck, I'll work so hard to please you, honest I will."
"I could get the same assurance by whipping your pretty little ass. Forget it."
Well, at least I'd tried. Jeff's erection was now at a most pleasing state and I wasn't about to argue for the next hour or so. It's wonderful when girl's owner if that potent, it saves her so much trouble. Just like now, all I had to do was put my locked hands behind my head and spread myself wide open. Oh, jeepers, he was glorious... !
I adore the palace breakfasts, so much ritual, such marvelous service. The servants never raised an eyebrow at my nudity and fettered feet. Jeff kept me leg-ironed throughout the meal and thus I could have my hands. I gestured at him now and spoke with my mouthful of toast. "Jeff, darling, not the donkey again today."
"I thought you liked the little fellow."
"I do, but not to sit on. His backbone came close to cutting me in two."
"Didn't notice any ill effects last night. You seemed in great form, sweetheart."
"Have it your way. What do I suffer today?"
Jeff pretended to consider, his quiet smile spelling mischief. "The most beneficial thing for you is humiliation. You've been Lady Vere de Vere all your life, you need bringing down a peg or two."
I sniffed. I knew I'd best not argue. "But haven't I earned a day's rest. Couldn't we have a little vacation, you and I? You could show me around and take me somewhere nice for dinner."
"You're dreaming."
I knew damned well I was dreaming. But when Prince is being mean to you just because he likes the shape of your breasts, a girl has to explore every advantage. If it had been just Jeff, I would have got that day's vacation for sure.
This time Jeff carried me around behind the palace where the working classes do their work. My dear little donkey was there, harnessed to a beat-up old cart. He was munching and viewed me without much interest. When Jeff suddenly stood me erect, I said, crossly, "I saw enough of the donkey yesterday, we don't need to stop."
"You're going to see a lot more of him today, my pet. That's the garbage wagon and you're going to be attached." He signaled a servant and bent down to remove my leg irons. I was furious.
There are times when a girl just doesn't think. With the irons gone from my ankles I took a wild leap and ran as hard as I could towards what I hoped was freedom. A couple of servants appeared from no where and sort of collected me, scooping up and carried me back to a smiling Jeffery Dillon. He assured me I wouldn't need exercise, I'd be getting plenty. He then told me to fit my wrists into a couple of half circles at the top of the wagon's tail gate. I glared at him but did as I was told. There was no way I was going to do any escaping.
Humiliation was indeed the word for it. A grinning servant binding my wrists to the back of a garbage pick up. I wanted to scream and beat my fists at smiling faces. But I was loosing my wrists to the cord the man servant was busy tightening and tugging to make sure a girl named Mable did as she was told. It's awful to watch a man tie your wrists like that, you can see every turn and twist and follow every tug. The slots were two feet apart and, as though fascinated, I watched this binding of my hands to the back of a vehicle the purpose of which was proclaimed by its smell. Like I said, humiliation was the key word for Mable.
He gave me the usual parting kiss. He had to lean over my bare bound arm to do it and I wished most ardently I could refrain from kissing back. But I can't! Jeff Dillon is just too damned much for any girl. If the son of a bitch had asked me to, I likely would have walked behind the garbage cart all day without a single rope binding me just to please him. I watched departing back with the same dolor as the last two days. No one was in a hurry. I suspected garbage pickup in this country was as lazy an affair as everything else. I stood there naked for servants to leer at, pretending I didn't notice but actually on fire with shame.
I wouldn't have minded a tree or stake or post so much but a lousy garbage cart... ! I tugged at my wrists but only hurt them, they were there to stay. And, like a good little girl, I would follow where they led.
The driver was a bony young bundle of mischief who possessed enough English to assure me he would attend to me carnally later in the day. He also waved a homemade whip and assured me I would feel its bite if I was not well behaved. The least offensive answer I could manage was an insincere, "Thank you." My spirits were at a low, low ebb.
We did a me Tarzan, you Jane routine before the cart jolted into motion. His name was Japhet. It was a beastly day. I walked, I stood still. Either way I got tired. I was jeered at, I was discussed. Japhet seemed immensely proud of me and the attention I evoked. He assured me earnestly he had not previously had a white woman bound to the end of his cart. I gathered that, had he not been scared of retribution, he would have rented me out to interested parties along the routine. I sensed I was never far from being gang-banged by a bunch of the boys whose nightshirt garments all needed laundering. As Japhet slowly filled his cart, the stench became an affliction I could not escape. I got a full blast of the offal and refuse all the time. Prince Hadji would be laughing at my wrinkled up nose and ineffectual tugs to free my hands. A final humiliation came when, heavily loaded, we reached the garbage dump. Japhet, by some miracle of his own, removed the tail gate to which I was securely bound and let me hang on to it while the donkey backed the cart into position and the load was dumped. The tailgate was heavy enough to compel me to kneel and balance it with me tied wrists. The tail gate, with me attached, was then replaced and fastened once again before we departed for another load.
At noon I was given a drink of water while Japhet filled himself in a sleazy tavern and the donkey ate from a nose bag carried for his lunch. Apparently naked women bound to the tails of carts had no need for lunch.
The afternoon was like the morning but with one exception. Japhet drove his cart and me down a rutted lane heavily overgrown with foliage. Drew it to a halt and announced proudly that my time had come. He didn't announce it quite like that but the end result was the same. My heart beat high because I didn't see how he could achieve his purpose without untying me, and if I was untied, I could strike him with any object handy. There were a few tempting rocks handy. Then I'd be home free, only having to find an British consulate. Boy, what a lovely dream that was!
Grinning his widest grin, Japhet inserted himself between my bound arms. He had divested himself of his single garment to show me a stiff rod of which he was justifiably proud. He now grasped my bottom cheeks and lifted me from the ground. All these damned men were surprisingly strong and I couldn't do a thing to stop him. Having gotten me to a sufficient elevation, he lowered me onto my fate and proceeded to give me what he described as "real good jig-a-jig." I had heard about this method but never really believed it practical. Japhet proved it was. Once more in my mind's eye I could see Prince Hadji El Kabar laughing his head off. When I'd been jiggered to a fair-thee-well, we resumed our collection of garbage.
This was a humiliation plus.
CHAPTER TEN - POOR ANGELA
With the blast of Hadji's whistle all hell broke loose. Half the supposed clients turned out to be Hadji's men. They made short work of the auctioneers. The real and very startled clients were herded out the front door and bid farewell. His Highness then came to me, lifted me from the platform, had a minion lock leg irons on my ankles, and then said, "Beloved child, I could not let this happen."
Within thirty minutes his Highness, Prince Hadji El Kabar, had complete control of Castle Cranston. He held a meeting with the staff, briefed them on their new duties, raised their wages ten percent, and assured them of job security. His interests and mine were actually downstairs.
Hadji had seen Mable's nine barred beauties before. He kept squeezing my bare arm to assure me I was something special. I'll admit at this point I was glad to be a strong man's "something special." There are times when a man's firm fingers on her arm are appreciated. The girls were looking scared, alarmed by the disposal of their guards by Hadji's men, but the most scared of the lot was Wilma, still gagged and bound and obviously not one of the group. She caught Hadji's eye instantly. In type casting Wilma could have been a stand-in for Mable. Both had that maturity much valued by the Prince. Jessie had been promoted to Wilma's former authority and now, at Hadji's command, unlocked the cage door. Hadji beckoned imperiously and Wilma stepped forward to meet her new master. Hadji gave her short shift. "You betrayed you trust woman?"
"Well, if that's the way you want to put it." Wilma was already smelling doom.
"Can you give me a good reason why you should not be whipped?"
"I'll be a good servant to you, I could be useful."
"I'll sure you will be. You will not receive the reward of treachery." Hadji motioned to a couple of his men.
The nine girls, as though by instinct, arranged themselves in a circle around the cage but within the confinement of its bars. Wilma had already lost her gag, the ropes on her arms were now sliced away and they were hoisted high enough so her wrists could be bound above our heads. Released, she hung suspended and I knew how her wrists must feel. Wilma was no longer a slip of a girl, she was a woman who weighted more than any of the nine who watched. Hadji still held my arm. I could feel the quickening of his pulse as his chosen servant found the whip and took position behind Wilma's nude body. Her gag had been removed to permit the interrogation, it was now tightly strapped back in place. Her eyes implored but found no sympathy from any corner.
I hated Wilma's whipping, feeling each blow myself. She became a heaving, twisting bundle of breasts, legs and ass. The whipmaster was expert and produced the most horrible snaps, cracks and other sounds of impact to make each girl curl up inside. With a man like Hadji a girl could not be sure she would not be chosen next. I watched the nine, they were fascinated but frightened. I suppose that about described me, too.
There were times when Wilma simply gave up and hung limp as the leather thudded on her flesh or snapped wickedly within the private places she could not hide. Then, under the impetus of unendurable pain, she would start her struggled all over again, raising and lowering herself in a futile hope of evading the thong. She could not scream but there were sounds from the pent-up agony behind the gag. He eyes were frantic and forever fixed upon the man who held my arm, as though hoping the prince might relent in the presence of such anguish and call a halt. Soon Wilma was sweat soaked and etched in scarlet. Her skin was very white and marked most vividly. I heard Hadji's nostrils flare, his breath quickening and his grip on my arm become harder. I dared not say a word, I simply watched and hoped it would soon end. Wilma may have been a bitch but I wouldn't wish this on anyone.
The delinquent woman, hanging there from the apex of the cage, got her full deserts. No nuance was over looked. With no need of instruction, the whipper cut neatly at each swelling curve of breast, belly and thigh. I could well guess that her agony was the greater for the imposition of the gag, it helps to be able to scream. Who would know better than I? When Wilma was lowered to the floor and her punishment over, Hadji did a surprising thing. He gathered the quaking, sweating, and utterly submissive woman in his arms and carried her from the cage and the dungeon. The servant closed the locked the cage door and Jessie blew me a kiss. The big cage now held ten girls. We were alone.
I became the center of attention. Nine agitated young woman clustered around to impose their assorted scents and perfumes to my nostrils. I suppose I gave them mine in return. It had been an intensely erotic and emotion to which our secretions responded lavishly. I brought them up to date on what had happened in the great hall and the possibilities of what might happen now. Their reactions were diverse.
"We might have been better off to have been sold."
"Will he take us back where he came from and put us in a dungeon with Mable?"
"Is whipping girls this man's only enjoyment?"
"How does he treat you, darling, when he gets you alone?"
I did my best but right there I knew nothing more of the situation than they. I was concerned about my own fate. The best I could hope for would be to be taken back to Hadji's country and painfully whipped before being taken back to my little stone column. I thought longingly of Jeffery Dillon.
We milled about in our cage and did the usual things. All the nine were secured with were handcuffs but I had the additional leg irons which clanked and clinked whenever I walked. It was not too long before Jessie reappeared and beckoned me to the bars. "He's taken Wilma to bed!" she imparted breathlessly. "I would have thought he would have taken you. What's he done with Mable?"
"I briefed Jessie, too, and tried to explain Prince Hadji's little weakness for the curves of mature woman. It wasn't that either Wilma or Mable were middle aged but they were separated from the rest of us by enough years to acquire a voluptuousness all their own. The news about Wilma gave me something to think about. But I wasted no time in asking Jessie to unlock the door and let all of us go.
"I can't, Angela, he took away the key," she mourned.
"You could come with us," I offered. "We'll look after you. See if you can't steal the key." I was surprised Jessie wasn't in the cage with us. Take away her clothes and she would have fitted in fine and made number eleven. But I suppose Hadji needed someone who knew her way around and admired and feared his magnificence to obey. After Jessie was gone there was nothing we could do but sit and wait, the bars of the cage looked thicker and heavier than ever.
I will have to admit to disappointment in my might. After us inmates of the cage had been fed and watered, I had expected to be singled out for the chain and collar on the big four-poster but nothing happened. Jessie did whisper to me that his Highness was still entertaining himself with whatever charms he perceived in Wilma. He was evidently smitten and I could vividly imagine her spread out on her whipped back and bottom to receive and unending proof of Prince Hadji's immense virility. Damn it! To have to envy Wilma was a humiliation for a girl. But I kept my own console. Even Hadji could not spread his virility far enough to encompass all ten of us in the cage. The question was what would he do with all of us? I could see another auction in our future. A future in bondage loomed for us all. I slept with the girls in the usual pile of breasts and buttocks where I felt strangely at home.
The nine inmates of the cage had long ago adjusted to loss of freedom and handcuffed wrists. They could now make jokes about their plight and speculate about lost lives and loves. The main drama of their day was the hosing down which was the only bath they usually got and to which they were led, their necks collared to the long chain. I hadn't realized there was room for me too but there was. I was the last in line as Hadji's men, under Jessie's supervision, made certain we were clean. I need hardly tell you no part of our persons was ignored by the icy jet of water. When they discovered the leg irons hindered the spreading of my legs, they took them from me, which goes to prove there are compensations to all things. I spread my legs obediently and was brutally hosed in my private places. Some girls manage to stand still for this but I couldn't. When we had toweled each other dry we were led, not back to the cage, but to the great hall where we were lined up in front of the platform, not yet dismantled, to be briefed upon our fate. With a man on guard at each end of the long chain, there was not much we could do but stand still and hope.
It was the strangest feeling to be linked to my neighbor by our necks. Each of us continually felt the tethering chains as if to assure ourselves we were truly helpless. It was amusing to note that when Prince Hadji El Kabar mounted the platform, every female hand rose to cover a breast before the owner blushed and let it fall limply.
Prince Hadji looked us up and down. It must be wonderful to have power like that and own naked girls who had to do whatever you told them. I wondered what had become of Wilma, she wasn't padlocked on the chain. Hadji was enjoying the whole thing, especially keeping us in suspense. But he finally got around to explaining we were all his property and if we didn't want what we had witnessed Wilma get we would be very good girls indeed. Darling Hadji admitted he was still uncertain what to do with us, a sort of "never had so many been owned by so few. " He admitted to a difficult decision between keeping us in the big cage here at Cranston and taking us back to his palace. I felt the long chain tense as he mentioned the latter. The poor darling girls were sick to death of the cage and their handcuffs and would welcome some north African sunlight. He blandly went on to explain how each of us would receive a mild whipping to induce a proper state of mind towards our new owner. A modicum of respect he believed could be achieved by no other means than by rod or whip. He told us hurriedly not to be alarmed, none of us would be hurt. Another tremor passed through the chain told me the girls weren't too sure about his statement. I looked down at my bronze bracelets and wondered if I would ever be free again. I wanted to cry.
Hadji painted a glowing picture of how fortunate a girl was to be a slave in his country, specially if her master happened to be Prince Hadji El Kabar. He would torment us tenderly and, whenever a suitable offer was made for anyone of us, he would graciously accept it (if it were big enough) and allow them to proceed on to a new and wonderful lush life in the Middle East. Then he thoughtfully added that any girl who failed to find favor with anyone could always be disposed of to a brothel, of which it appeared he owned several. By now our chain was positively humming with vibrations.
Hadji intoned a hope we would all be happy in our new condition. He then motioned to the two guards.
I could guess what was coming. The long chain was stretched between two pillars in the great hall and fastened uncomfortably tight. We had to stand erect with our chins up and our handcuffs, now replaced, where ever we felt like holding our hands while being whipped. Prince Hadji went up and down the line, slashing joyously at female rumps or backs as might please his fancy. When he had whipped his way to me our eyes met briefly but in his I saw no freedom. I turned my head away while I received my pain. I hate watching myself whipped. Hadji gave me a most merciful cut across both cheeks of my bottom before moving back to girl number one. In its way it is both merciful and bloody awful to be whipped like that. You had to wait in suspense as you turn came closer and closer with each impact. On the other hand, you do have a long pause between stroke in which recover and feel your weals. Today Hadji was either very merciful or couldn't spare the time. All each girl received was five strokes. Since each girl, including me, was used to the whip there were no hysterics and no fainting. Ten girls now had smarting bottoms, that was all!
As we were marshaled, still padlocked and collared on the long chain. I will admit to pique. I had expected recognition and perhaps a special status. Something had changed and gone all wrong and I didn't know what. I now wished devoutly I had made good my escape when I got off the plane and not bothered with Cranston at all. But that was past and I was now crammed into the waiting van along with the other nine. We had to sit on each other and our chains kept getting in the way but we were soon sitting in the gloom to a destination we could guess.
I adore girls. I longed to make love to each of the nine poor darlings before it was too late. If we were sold, it would certainly be to a male purchaser and thereafter there might be no girl in our life at all. I think the others felt the same, there was a lot of kissing and other endearments only barely possible in the clutch of chain and collar and handcuff. When the door opened at the abandoned air base and I saw Hadji's shinning jet I knew I was about to loose my homeland again. So was the others but from them came a chattering excitement in something new after their cage. We were marshaled in military fashion to a single file, it was actually a slavegirl line, and then led with the ever present threat of a whip to the waiting door of Hadji's huge jet. It looked very familiar inside and I obediently sat where directed and told the girl beside me not to worry because everything would be all right, I had been this way before. The poor girl looked at me in positive awe.
Not of us were whipped during the journey. I had supposed Hadji would pass the hours by giving us another burning bottom. But Hadji was not to be seen. If he were on the plane he must be in the private compartment. This led me to a disbelieving wonderment about Wilma. Wilma had not been on the chain and Wilma was not in view now. Was it possible she was closeted with the Prince! It didn't seem possible because, by our standards, Wilma no way rated along with any one of us. She was not a feminine package worthy of a prince. But she was not in sight, nor was Hadji. It left me wondering.
All journeys end. This one did. We were all irritable from inaction and our chains, after you've worn an iron collar long enough it begins to chaff and give you dark hints of worse to come. But on arrival, we were again marshaled into a similar van and had a similarly uncomfortable journey to the palace. Even there we were not unlocked, it appeared there was a function we must attend. It the palace grounds I knew so well, but which were strange and wonderful to the others, we were again lined in single file and marched towards a naked woman who knelt to face a small wooden structure into which her hands and wrists were firmly held. It was, of course, the Honorable Mable, who else! She greeted me with a wan, shamed smile and nodded at her fastened arms which I now saw were ingeniously captured between two pieces of heavy wood nailed together as though they were never intended to part again. We were instructed to march slowly before her kneeling placed and, on drawing level, to pause and give greeting. I could imagine how the poor darling would shrivel up inside from a humiliation such as this. I said my "Hello, Mable" and then moved up a pace or two to position the girl chained next. She said her "Hello, Mistress" and the two of us moved on. Thus it went until ten girls had passed the former mistress of Cranston Castle who knelt in shameful nakedness and must endure the looks in the eyes of nine maiden's she once held in thrall. The padlocks were then unlocked and the chain fell to the ground. I then did not know the fate of the nine but I was escorted to my awaiting pillar far out on the grass and there, collared and chained as once before, I was left to compound my own furious speculations as to what was happening elsewhere. I tugged at the chain in anguish before relapsing into remembered helplessness and sitting down to lean by back against the stone.
Hadji kept me there two whole days and night but had the decency not to leave me in chained isolation. He actually allowed the nine to visit me, two at a time and accompanied by a pair of hard-nosed guards. For the privilege of this diversion, each girl was obliged to have her hands locked behind her back and wear leg irons. But I'll be damned if they didn't envy me! They said how nice it must be out there among the trees and grass and sunlight. Whereas they had been gathered into a vast stone chamber and there collared and chained to the wall on both sides far enough apart so as to preclude sexual pleasures. If they stretched hard at their chains, they could just touch hands. Hadji was laughing up his sleeve.
The girls and I hadn't much to talk about because we didn't know our fate. They hadn't seen Wilma nor had I. So we talked as best we could and wondered about the fate of our beloved mistress, Mable. None of them were mad at her, just sorry. But we were never left along for lone. The guards soon tired and hurried them along back to the waiting stone chamber and their collars. The poor girls must have thought themselves in a rut, they envied me my relative freedom.
But my entertainment took another form, a typically Hadji pleasantry. Each day an ancient gentlemen the local nightshirt came and explained he had to give me ten strokes with a whip and would I please assume what ever position I wanted. I got the impression they figured I was being treated with extreme gentleness. Having experienced this before I lay flat face down upon the grass and buried my face within my chained hands while they beat at me with monotonous precision and sometimes made me scream. A whip upon a girl's naked skin can be terrible!
This happened to me both days, my whipping by the same man each time who tried to convey an impression of utter boredom. I was grateful he didn't not violate me as well.
On the morning of the third day it actually happened. I was forever looking towards the palace in hopes of either release or an interesting visitor when I saw a fully dressed woman positively leaping in my direction The clothes fooled me. It was not until she got really close I recognized the Honorable Mable. She was panting but radiant. Whatever had happened to her since we were last together must have been happily beneficial, I'd never seen her look better. It was not until she threw her arms around me in a great bear hug and kissed me avidly, that she proclaimed, "Darling, the most wonderful thing, you'll never believe!" I realized then that she was unhampered by any trace of chain or rope or strap. The Honorable Mable was free!
When our delight in each other cooled, I asked, I fear with a trace of bitterness, "You going some place, darling?"
"Of course not, who'd want to leave this gorgeous place? Oh, darling, you won't believe this but Jeffery Dillon and I are going to be married. " She must have caught the shadows crossing my face because she asked, "You aren't jealous, are you? Please don't be jealous!"
I said I wasn't jealous and managed to make myself believe it. I suddenly had a sense of things happening, things which would surely not leave me here, chained and collared to this stone. Hopefully anticipating I held out my locked hand to ask, "Can you unlock these bracelets, darling?"
"No. I don't have the key. But I do have the key to your collar, you're going back with me."
After that announcement it was all pure joy. We loved and reveled on the green grass until I thought to ask, "But will Hadji release you and what's he doing with Wilma?"
"That's what's so wonderful, darling," Mable said. "Hadji's fallen head over heels in love with Wilma and the poor girl's going to be whipped everyday for the rest of her life. It seems she and I have somewhat similar figures...!"
I absorbed more shock to ask timidly, "Do I fit in anywhere in all of this?"
"Darling, of course you do!" I was once more kissed and hugged. Mable did all the work because it's difficult to hug when your hands are chained together. "Darling Jeffery wants you and I want you, too. Hadji is so damned happy with Wilma he's renounced all claims in return for me leaving my nine darlings with him to be sold when profitable." She sniffed disdainfully. "He can trade them for his silly old oil instead of kidnapping you and me... "
"But, Mable, if you want me and Jeff wants me... "
"Darling, don't look so puzzled, it's very simple. We take you back to Cranston with us and share you! We'll love you to bits! And you'll have to do everything we tell you. Gosh, we're lucky!"
I could see Mable was lucky, and maybe Jeff, but I wasn't sure about myself. To get time to think I asked, "You really mean Hadji's let you go because he's got Wilma? Just let you go free?"
"Well, there is one small condition." Mable's face clouded only slightly. "I have to have this terrible whipping. He says he will be terribly severe with me which means it will be bloody awful." She sighed as though utterly content. "That's all there is, darling. Jeffery takes us both back to Cranston and I'll have a sort seat on the plane but thereafter we'll make you the happiest girl alive, I promise."
"When are you getting married?"
"Tomorrow, right after I've been whipped. It is a bit cruel but it tickles Hadji's sense of humor and we want to keep him happy. Jeff agrees to my getting this whipping but says it's the last time he'll sacrifice me to Hadji's ambitions, the same applies to you. Darling, we're home free."
I was still handcuffed, but walking back over the grass with Mable I became infected with her joy and realized I no longer need think of escape or yearn for lost freedom, that was over! But I still retained a doubt. "But, Mable darling, this whipping you have to get, are you sure it's wise? If it's for the last time, I'll bet he'll really lay it on."
"I'll take the chance. It will be easier when I think of Jeff and me standing up before the minister soon afterwards."
"Can I be your bride's maid?"
"That's already arranged, darling. But I did forget to tell you, Hadji's going to whip you, too. And for the same reasons. But he's promised it won't be nearly as severe as mine. I think he feels he owes you that. " I didn't mind at all. I must be crazy!
Mable and I were locked in a cage that night heavily ironed at neck, ankle, wrist and waist. We had to suppose it was Hadji's farewell. We could not even be kind to each other, the chains would not permit. Once more I envisioned Hadji's laughing face, but probably the sleep did us good, what awaited us in the new day set us both to trembling. We were to be whipped in the same room and were taken there when released from the cage and chains. We were free and unfettered, an augury of things to come. There was already an occupant of the painful room. It was darling Wilma, hung up by her thumbs and awaiting the whip we would all of us soon feel. By the time I'd been suspended by my wrists half an hour and Hadji finally showed up, I simply wanted to be whipped and get it over. Jeff wasn't there. This was Hadji's last hurrah. We were all his. We looked at the whip but did not plead. Wilma was gagged so she would not talk to us or plead with her master. Without primarily nonsense Hadji went to work on us and whipped me until I screamed and screamed. Finally, after an eternity, I was abandoned and he turned all his attentions to poor Mable. She was less vocal than I but after a while screamed out her own anguish and distress. The poor darling was pretty far gone when he finally halted. But he was right there with the brandy bottle and even I got a good shot of it. As her feet hit the floor, Mable perked, she could see daylight ahead. Wilma looked at us with a longing all her own.
It was unanimously decided I would be a handcuffed bride's maid so I wore my bronze handcuffs down the aisle and throughout the entire ceremony. The minister must have been briefed for he didn't bat an eye during the ceremony even when asked for the ring to be affixed upon Mable's finger he saw that she, too, was handcuffed in bronze. It left me wondering what it would be like to be Mrs. Jeffery Dillon. I guess now I'll never know.
Hadji had sprung for a really marvelous wedding breakfast with all nine of Mable's former darlings in attendance. We ate and drank and loved each other until it was time to go. Mable and I relinquished the bronze loveliness from our wrists and saw them safely packed away. The farewells were touching and brought a few tears and a lot of kisses. During the plane ride home I was in a dither of dreams and I think Mable was too. Jeffery Dillon simply wore his complacent smile. Damn it, he owned us both! Why wouldn't he be happy!
Cranston greeted us like a warm blanket on a cold night. With its beloved mistress back and in full charge and minus any restraints of any kind, the whole place seemed to vibrate and glow with good will. The only one uncertain about the whole thing was me. Mable had the most glorious of men but I didn't have a man at all. As though to foster uneasy I went downstairs to the big cage which was now entirely empty but full of memories. Looking through its bars I shivered and had a vision of myself chained and alone and locked within. Quickly I fled back upstairs.
Bed time brought me something else to mourn, no collar, no chain, no man beside me in bed. But I was allotted the loveliest bedroom and after I undressed was visited by Mable who was still bubbling over and once more lit my fire. She said, "You won't mind, will you," as she locked the bronze circles back upon my wrists. Then she laid me down and made me very happy in a girl-girl union I had not expected. When I returned from rainbow land, my ankles were leg-ironed. But I didn't mind and went happily to sleep all alone.
The next morning no one seemed to want to unlock my hands or feet or give me clothes. Both Jeff and Mable kept telling me how wonderful it all was and how happy I would be. I was still bemused and bewildered enough to agree with them. The bronze bracelets and leg irons were nothing new. I asked them about the big cage down stairs but was told it would remain empty unless I entered of my own will for brief visits. This was all a month ago and I suppose I really am very happy.
