Upon the rich austerity of David Murchinson's polished mahogany the silver chrome of the handcuffs was a shining incongruity against the reticence of Corporate good taste. Corey Gibson eyed them with disdain. She was more concerned with what Murchinson was saying.
"On the face of it I should simply shut up, keep quiet. I should allow Planet Oil Corporation to slide down the drain and your father with it. But I don't want that." He sighed heavily. "This old family friend role isn't all it's cracked up to be. I'm going to give you two alternatives and advise against both. I suppose that means I'm telling you something I think you ought to know."
She laughed at his sobriety. "David, do cheer up! Please! Are those absurd things on the table for a reason?" She nodded at the handcuffs. "Is one of us going to jail?"
"His name is Assef Aslam." Murchinson gravely ignored her question. "He comes close to being one of the most powerful private citizens in the world."
Corey Gibson wrinkled her nose. "I've met him... at functions. He stands still and allows a lot of worried looking men to talk."
"On two occasions you were pointedly rude to him."
"Well, someone had to be... all that brown nosing! Besides, the way he looked at me...!" Corey Gibson sniffed with all the assurance of great wealth. "I've been optically undressed often enough, but that brother of the Sphinx takes off a girl's skin along with the clothes."
"Hmmmmmm. No doubt it was those two expressions of your disapproval that made a fix in his mind. He wants you bad." Murchinson grinned. "I've seen you rude a few times. You do it with a flair."
"I'm said to be a bitch. Probably I am."
"Never to me."
"David, you're sweet - and you want to sell me into slavery."
"No, I don't!"
"No, I don't think you do. But that's what Aslam's proposition amounts to. Next time I shall be very rude indeed."
"Corey girl... " Murchinson held up a deprecatory hand. "Let's look at it cold. Next week the Planet Oil Corporation becomes a dry hole. Your father will be worse than broke; there's income tax suits pending. Assef Aslam will save it at a price. The price is you."
"I followed you that far. Does this mid-Eastern jackal want to marry me?"
"No. It's just as you said. Some form of slavery. Those handcuffs are his. He invites you to put them on your wrists and go down to the floor one of his companies rents in this building."
"David, it's too bizarre! Chains... "
"Exactly. But consider him! No one knows his nationality. He is self made. He has never married. He carries a big, big chip on his shoulder about something... The Establishment probably, and I expect colour is in there somewhere. You epitomize something he envies. You have also hurt his pride. I fully believe his intent is to give you a thoroughly bad time. You also represent a hostage; a useful pledge of The Planet Corporation's good behaviour."
"What did the old Kings call them? A 'whipping boy', wasn't it? So I'd be his whipping girl! Dammit, David, the bastard probably actually would whip me." Corey Gibson's indignation overflowed. "Can I go down and throw those handcuffs in his face?"
"Possibly you could. But I don't advise it."
"David, you've something up your sleeve, you old so-and-so. What is it?"
"It's a last hope." The Vice President of Planet admitted dourly. "But I never underrate the power of a woman. Go and talk to him! Keep an open mind! See if you can touch a nerve!"
"And spread my legs! No thanks."
"I didn't say that, Corey. Talk! Sometimes words work magic."
"Before or after he whips me?"
"I know how you feel." Murchinson made a gesture of defeat. "Probably I'm a silly old man. The whole thing's an outrage. But in business we explore loopholes - " Corey rose and patted a dejected male shoulder. Her voice still held laughter. "Father and Planet won't go broke. I just don't believe... ! I'm going to take those things on the table, and next time I come face to face... ! You know what I'll do - " David Murchinson silently watched one of the world's most beautiful women scoop Aslam's handcuffs and drop them in her bag. He accepted her light kiss on his forehead, then echoed her unworried good-bye. Long after she had gone she sat in contemplation of catastrophe.
Corey Gibson herself was pressing buttons. The elevator should not have stopped where it had. It should respond to the controls but it did not. When its gate unexpectedly slid open she exited in anger.
"Reid Hunter! Well, how nice... "
"Corey!" His smile was always attractive. "You picked the wrong elevator. Happy chance. Spare me fifteen minutes for a drink?"
"Why not." Corey allowed herself to be possessed. Reid was nice. He was one of the casual ones who admired but did not push.
Doors. The indefinable smell of money. Another office like Murchinson's but far less austere. A bar. The chairs were for lounging. Corey picked one and watched the mixing of her cocktail. When it was done they clinked glasses to Reid Hunter's toast.
"To beautiful females. Specifically you."
"I didn't know your office was in the Planet Building?"
"It isn't." He gestured apologetically. "I'm afraid I'm borrowing it. Really lush, eh."
"Mmmmmmm, Mmmmmmm! What's his name?"
"I think you're about to meet him, Corey. I hear sounds in the outer office. Ah yes!
She should have known! Corey Gibson was furious with herself for not guessing. It had been far too slick... ! She turned upon her bogus host. "Reid, d'you get paid for this? It's a damn lousy trick."
"Friendship, Corey. Just helping out - "
"You're not helping me. Damn you!"
"This is the time to hurl the handcuffs, Miss Gibson." Assef Aslam was politely entertained.
She was on her feet, gulping the last of her drink. Flushed with anger she was on her way to the door when Hunter's bland voice halted her steps. "The conversation upstairs, Corey - I'm afraid the room was bugged."
"You bastards!" Corey Gibson looked from one to the other in disgust. "In that case you know my sentiments I need not repeat them. Good-bye." Chin high, she headed for the door.
"I fear, Miss Gibson, you'll find it won't open." Aslam informed apologetically.
"In that case you can unlock it. Oh and take these too." Breasts heaving, she threw the handcuffs at Aslam's feet. "You know what you can do with them."
There was no answer. Just a waiting silence. Impatiently she strode to the door and grasped the knob. It would not yield. An angry rattle and tug achieved nothing.
"I did mention it was closed." The dry voice was only slightly mocking.
Corey Gibson was not yet afraid. The full weight of the Planet Corporation was solidly around her. Reid Hunter was a decent sort who, just at this moment, was being a bit of a bastard, but that was all. Assef Aslam was to ridiculous to consider; a composite out of melodrama. The situation was best ended. Coldly she conceded: "I presume the door means you have something to say to me. Let's have it."
"You already have it, Miss Gibson. David Murchinson was reasonably explicit."
Corey glared at Reid Hunter. "What do you get out of this?"
"I'm an intermediary, that's all."
"Wouldn't Judas goat be more accurate?"
Hunter waved a deprecating hand. "For this small deception, yes perhaps. Corey, you are not easy to proposition. Without that locked door you wouldn't stay long enough to get a message." He grinned a comradely grin. "What are you, Corey? The most beautiful, the best dressed, the richest, the most eligible... ? You're high in the top ten. It makes you hard to reach."
"So you kidnap me?"
"Yes. Somehow. I want to make you understand what's happening. To grasp an extraordinary power that's fallen into your hands."
Corey Gibson sneered. "Barter my body?"
"Yes."
The single word caught her attention. Reid was trying to give her a message. It was not like him to be so blunt. Corey's pulse quickened when he sauntered to the door. Having turned a key, he faced her squarely. His tone unusually sober. "It's not just your father, or Planet, or me, Corey. What you and Mr. Aslam decide will affect several thousand people." He nodded, shrugged and was gone. The click of the lock was clearly audible.
"A nice young man doing a difficult job." Assef Aslam commented affably. "May I offer you another drink?"
From a welter of emotions Corey chose dignity. "Very well." She agreed without enthusiasm. "Probably by the time you've said your say I'll need it."
The drink was strong. Sipping it, Corey Gibson assessed her host. Aslam had a quality, a presence. But what she was seeing was not the real man. She would have preferred him less polite. "Before I give you a refusal you'd best be more specific." She said bluntly.
He picked the handcuffs from the floor and dropped them in her lap. "It would please me very much if you would wear these." His voice held a note of yearning Corey could not place. "It would set a tone. While you have them on your wrists I will give you their key."
"Nonsense!" She tossed the shining things back at him. "Wear them yourself!"
"You are dealing in yesterday." He said gently. "My problem is to make you aware of this moment. You have been kidnapped."
"Someone mentioned that." Corey said frostily. "When I've finished this drink you will unlock the door. If you refuse I'll make a loud and unladylike fuss."
"No one will hear."
He was infuriatingly sure of himself. "You are contemplating violence?" She inquired icily.
"Two possibilities." Aslam said warmly. "You accept the handcuffs. You accompany to my private plane - and I do assure you we will not be seen, and you go unquestioningly where I take you. The second is simple. I summon aid and we give you a hypodermic injection. When you wake it is all over."
"Hell, why the talking? Call your help and give me the needle!"
"I prefer the other way. I want a whole girl who is totally aware."
"You're dreaming. Besides, you're forgetting my father."
"Your father will be very easy to deal with while I hold you."
"What you're looking for is an erotic kick out of having me abase myself; be a sacrificial virgin?"
"That's your way to profit, Miss Gibson. With the needle you're nothing more than a kidnapped hostage."
For the first time she felt the chill of fear. For the first time she gave Assef Aslam her full attention. "I can't take this seriously." She pointed out reasonable. "Surely you understand -?"
There was a force in Aslam. The same extrusion of power she had sometimes noticed in her father. His features were good; his colour scarcely discernable. He might be forty-five. In previous meetings she had seen him through the eyes of the media. This was different. Assef Aslam was a handsome intelligent cosmopolitan. The voice he was using was not his own. He was leashing his tone in patience.
"Forgive me. I am enjoying you." His smile quenched her protest. "If I stood in your shoes I could not possibly believe in what is going to happen... " He waved a deprecating arm. "I want this done my way. To help you understand I am going to change places with one of my secretaries. Her name is Audrey Cotswold. She is English. She is educated. What she tells you is all true. Here - catch!"
The clutch was instinctive. Corey held the handcuffs with distaste. But this time curiosity won. She examined them. They featured in enough movies... ! They seemed functional - and unfeminine! Indolently, she tossed them on a chair. Then looked up in shock.
Audrey Cotswold was naked.
There is freemasonry in beauty. Beautiful women recognize it. They can assess. Corey Gibson conceded Miss Audrey Cotswold a high score: It was a relief that this poised and amused Britisher dropped no aitch or broadened an 'A'. Hers was a voice which belonged.
"Those things bother you?" A bare arm indicated the shining metal, then swung to proffer a friendly hand. "My name's Audrey. I'm a slave."
The grip of fingers and the smile was warm. They modified shock but did not erase it. Corey kept her voice even: "Handcuffs and a naked girl! Am I being conditioned?"
"Of course." The admission was engagingly frank. "I have only a little while to tell you a great deal."
"I don't want to hear."
"Why should you? But I'll read the lines anyway." The nude secretary retrieved the despised handcuffs, and with an insouciant grin fitted them on her own wrists with a fastidious concern for perfection. Having clicked them most definitely snug she held them up to examine the effect as though they were diamond bracelets. "They look much better on than off." She observed carelessly. "Oh, by the way, you don't mind me being naked, I hope? I'm nearly always naked. Slaves don't wear many clothes."
"Couldn't you at least be decent?"
"I am decent." The grin was confiding. "I'm decent by my owner's standards, and that's what counts."
"I'd take it as a tremendous favour if you'd open a door and allow me to go."
"That's how I felt the first time." Again the comradely grin. "It's so damn hard for a girl to adjust to in half an hour. I say, would you mind... ? I mean, taking your clothes off?"
"I mind and I won't."
"Yes... I know." The cheerful voice turned nostalgic. "I've played this scene myself. I just couldn't believe any of it until the bruiser came in. By the time he'd bruised me here and there they certainly had my full attention."
"Call him in!"
"Miss Gibson, you're bluffing. Here, watch... " The man who entered could have been a gym instructor. A pleasant athletic type who smiled winningly and picked up a heavy arm chair with one outstretched hand. His query was polite. "Is there something I can do for you, Miss Gibson?"
"Thanks, Bill. Now run along! But not too far." Audrey nodded a friendly dismissal.
Corey could not slow her accelerated pulse. A picture was emerging. "That was cheaply obvious." She complained resentfully.
"It was also kind. You're lucky, Miss Gibson, that Assef has a mental thing about you. He wants you humiliated from the word go. He will take you any way you compel him to. Force is so easy and so trite. He wants you to walk into slavery with your head in the air and without illusions. His concept of your kidnapping is uniquely civilised."
Corey began to glimpse the enmity of time. Yet she could comprehend the logic of Aslam sequestering her in a space of minutes. Her disappearance would be slick and unobtrusive. But to cope with her kidnapping she had first to believe in it. She was surprised to find herself weighing a preference and inclined towards being manhandled rather than accept the chagrin of handcuffs and following where she might be led. Audrey Cotswold was a smiling enigma. The girl wore both nakedness and handcuffs gracefully. Her linked hands contrived the same fluidity of motion as if free. Never once did they seek to cover breasts or pubic hair. Determined to end an impasse, she demanded coldly. "Help me a little. Tell me what you plan... for me?"
"You will become a slave, subject to both use and discipline."
"You don't appear to have suffered either?"
Audrey twinkled mischievously. "To be immaculate is a state of mind. To service a man with your sex, or to have him whip your bare skin need change nothing unless the girl wills it so."
Corey Gibson sniffed. "Can I have another drink? And as for what you've just said, it's a bit of specious nonsense."
"No, it's not. The first couple of times I met a fate worse than death and got myself whipped because I made such a fuss about it I went all the way to the bottom of the pit. But then I had the chance to look in a full length mirror." The chained hands offered the filled glass; the lovely eyes smiled in an invitation to trust. "I was actually shocked to discover I looked the same as I always had. If I smiled I was right back on square one. Sure, I got whipmarks, but they wouldn't be permanent." Audrey giggled. "I remember doing a lot of pulling and twisting to get a good look at my vulva. The damn thing looked quite pleased with itself. I felt a fool."
"O.K. So I get raped and whipped! What else?"
Audrey shrugged. "What's it matter? You'll be a man's property. He'll use you as he wishes. Look at me! I'm used all the time, and I still get whipped when I throw a tantrum."
Corey Gibson took a stiff pull at her glass. "You're having me on. Dammit'. Audrey, you're happy! You're loving this!"
"Sort of. I'm loving you too. D'you like girls, Miss Gibson?"
"Not at this moment. Audrey, please! Let me out of here! I'll make you rich."
"You can't! Remember? Daddy's broke. And anyway. I'm a faithful slave who doesn't want to collect any more whipmarks than she has to."
"You can't tell me you couldn't walk out into the street."
"I can do that, alright. But I don't want the consequences. And please don't ask me about those consequences. You'll pick 'em up as you go along. One more drink?"
"You mean I'll be more amenable when drunk?"
"Of course."
Corey took the refill and looked the naked English girl straight in the eye as she drank it. Defiantly, she avowed: "That won't take me over the brink, and it's the last."
Audrey Cotswold nodded brightly and took the empty glass. "I put something in that one."
"To knock me out?"
"Heavens no! That would spoil things." The naked girl giggled. "I've never tried the stuff. If it does half of what it's supposed to you'll be a happy girl - and lucky!"
Corey Gibson found herself laughing at the absurdity of things. The girl was nice; she would make love adorably. "You've got the loveliest breasts, Audrey." She said warmly. "And the bushiest bush... "
"They are nice, aren't they! I like them too." Audrey Cotswold glowed with pride. "But I bet yours... Mmmmmmm!"
It was remarkable how a handcuffed girl could be so deft. Corey looked down interestedly at the bright metal and the hands it joined. She had supposed that once someone was handcuffed that was the end for them. But Audrey's fingers were free in feminine wisdom about zippers and clips and where to look... ! It was amusing how the expensive creations fell in small cascades to the floor at her feet. It was not until linked hands touched and caressed her breasts that Corey Gibson realised the clothes were her own, and that she was naked.
"Now there's two of us." Corey refused to giggle or be coy. To remove her hands from the temptation to cover something she put them behind her back. "Am I a nice nude?" She enquired hopefully.
"You're as close to perfection as us girls come." Audrey stood back, making a sober and honest evaluation of something lovely. "I don't know what Aslam's done to deserve us both. You are just slightly breathtaking, Miss Corey Gibson."
Corey glowed. It was strange to be naked in a business office and not feel naked at all. She was exploring Audrey Cotswold's left nipple when something was pressed into her hand. Her exclamation was one of pleased surprise. "Audrey, it's a key; a tiny little key?"
"I can do it myself." Miss Cotswold admitted. "But it's so much easier if you do it."
It was fun. Two naked girls sharing chuckles as an erratic key sought an equally erratic keyhole. "Seems like you turn it the wrong way, dear, not too hard." The English girl turned her locked wrists to Miss Corey Gibson's best advantage.
Miss Corey Gibson herself was utterly absorbed. She was imbued with an exiting sense of kinship with this nude beauty whose handcuffs she was fumblingly striving to unlock. The task was no more remarkable than helping with tight gloves or a recalcitrant bra. Corey felt real pride as the first cuff opened and fell away from the slender wrist it had snugly held.
"There! Aren't I clever -?"
Before the daughter of the Planet Corporation could say or do more, she was enveloped by two bare fervid arms. The loose cuff dangled at her back and beat a small rhythm on her skin as she was hugged and hugged again.
"I've wanted to do that since I first saw you." Audrey sighed. "Let's rub breasts and nipples!"
When the frictioning of vibrant flesh began to take Miss Corey Gibson into a roseate world of heavy perfumed breathing she was thrust gently from the communion of four hard scarlet buds. This time the handcuffs were pendent from a single wrist.
"One more, Corey - " In shared delight the two naked girls watched the probing key and the slowly opened cuff. "They aren't ugly at all, Audrey. I can see that now. They looked expensively right on you." In a pleasant glow, Corey looked down to watch her companion catch the freed chrome and playfully clasp it once again upon a feminine wrist. That the wrist felt like her own was a matter of hilarity. Laughingly, she informed: "I think that's me you've locked it on."
"You!" Audrey Cotswold cocked a surprised eye. "Surely I -?" Just turn a minute, dear, and we'll see... " It was absurd. It was sweet. It was fun. Corey felt she was one up. To prove it she turned.
"Golly, Miss Gibson, I think you're right. Just hold still!"
"Please call me Corey. I don't want to be a Miss Gibson to you."
"You're so sweet." A series of clicks made a metallic punctuation. "There! All fixed. You can turn back - "
"Are you sure, Audrey?" Corey turned slowly to face her smiling mentor; her arms busily exploring something odd behind her back; her features puzzled. "I think you've done it wrong again."
"No, Love, just as it should be."
Corey wished she could stop giggling. "It's not, y'know. Now you've got both my wrists...?"
"That's right, dear. You were so terribly slow."
Miss Corey Gibson was hazily aware of something out of focus; something not as it should be. She worked her newly imprisoned hands against the metal circlets snugly round her wrists. In sudden relief, she exclaimed: "I know what's wrong. You've handcuffed me behind my back. Girls wear handcuffs in front, just as you did."
Audrey kissed a rampant nipple. "There's no law about it, dear. I prefer you like you are. You look entrancingly innocent... and you can't stop me doing this." Wicked fingers rose to vulnerable breasts.
"I don't want to stop you."
"And I can do what I like with this little treasure down here." Audrey's hand found the warm moist slit between the heated thighs.
"That's nice. Don't keep stopping - "
"See what I mean about handcuffs?"
"I do now. They're absolutely... Mmmmmmm!"
"You're quite helpless, y'know."
"Yes." Captive hands tugged and squirmed to make sure. "Isn't this fun?"
"I expect it's time to go."
"Oh yes... " Corey tried hard to remember. "There was some sort of hurry about me going somewhere." She looked down admiringly at her own nudity. "Seems like I'm all ready."
It was all erotically exiting. Corey realised the drinks had produced exactly the right degree of euphoria, and it seemed only proper to share Audrey's nakedness. For some strange reason it was equally in keeping to lose her hands. It was thrilling to tug at the metal bands from which there was no escape. They made her seem so much a part of this English girl she had come to trust. She would have to be a good girl and do what Audrey said. There was a lingering memory about becoming a slave... The idea was hilarious. When Audrey's lips found hers and lingered long, and then upon the softness of her eyes... It was all pure bliss. It took Corey a deliciously sleepy minute to realise she was alone.
"You are more beautiful than I hoped," said Assef Aslam.
It took Miss Corey Gibson several moments to adjust. She felt a need to clutch at bits of herself which appeared to have gone astray and were hovering just beyond reach. It were those segments out there which were feeling guilt, anger, outrage, shocked modesty. She herself felt only an intrigued curiosity pleasantly spiced with sex. "Hello, Mr. Aslam." She said brightly. "You're a lot better looking than I thought you were too."
"Thank you. You are... comfortable?"
"Oh yes. I'm naked. Hadn't you noticed-?"
"I'm glad you mentioned it." Aslam said dryly. "And your arms...?"
Corey wanted him to share the giggle. "They're handcuffed - behind my back. Audrey did it."
"Charming, isn't she? Please turn!"
The male interest flattered. Corey wanted to share everything. Without thought of exposure, she stepped up to the dark deep eyes, turned her back and flapped her hands. "You see!" She exclaimed with a strange triumph. "I can't possibly get loose. I've tried."
Aslam tested her locked bonds so pertly presented for his attention. "You are right." He said gravely. "They are snug. You can never free yourself. You may resume your position."
Stepping away, it seemed to Corey only polite to relieve her host of embarrassment. "I don't mind you seeing me naked, Mr. Aslam," she said with na�ve innocence. "And please go on giving special attention to my pubic hair and breasts. I'll stand at attention and spread my legs a bit... " Assef Aslam sighed. He accepted this cornucopia of riches in silent reverence. His eyes drank deep.
"Audrey mentioned slavery, Mr. Aslam. Should I kneel, or something?"
"Yes, kneel! Back on your heels, head bowed."
She was sure she was very beautiful. She heard his indrawn breath and felt an ecstasy of power in being female. Head bowed in submission she knew a strange triumph. Her hands had ceased to work against their bonds. "Am I supposed to call you 'Master' now?" She asked without moving."
"I prefer the title of 'Sir'. It has its own spontaneous subservience. More humiliating. Don't you agree?"
The naked girl savoured it and found him right. "It is more humiliating to me, Sir." She agreed without resentment. For good measure, Corey blandly asked. "Do you wish to have intercourse with me now?"
"You find the prospect agreeable?"
"Yes, Sir! Your slave is honoured."
"Isn't that a hackneyed line, Miss Gibson?"
"I thought so too, Sir." The humbled nudity wriggled shyly. "But I'm afraid they're going to pop up if you want me totally obedient." In a burst of candour, she added. "Audrey's told me about being whipped. I don't want to be whipped."
"Do you know what it means to service a man, Miss Gibson?"
"Only because I've read about it, Sir."
"Service me! Kneeling."
It was like being a child again, to walk on her knees. Corey wished Mr. Aslam would share her laughter as she worked at coping with his zipper. It was such fun having no hands, like an old parlour game. It took her lips, her teeth and her tongue... ! Even at that he had to help a little.
"I am please, Miss Gibson. Even discounting the position -!"
Miss Gibson diluted shock at the sudden emergence of her new owner's male organ by looking up, dewy eyed, and suggesting shyly: "Why don't you call me Corey, Mr. Aslam? I don't want you to call me Miss Gibson any more." She grinned ruefully. "I think Miss Gibson's disappeared."
Assef nodded; his hands stroking her hair. "Yes, Miss Gibson has gone."
"So why not give me a new name?" Her eyes sparkled. "Give me a slave name appropriate to wherever it is you're taking me?"
"It shall be as you wish. And now -?"
"Yes, Sir. Do I take it all in my mouth at once? I suck it, don't I? And some other things I read...?"
"Just follow the book," said Assef Aslam kindly.
Miss Corey Gibson was still savouring the salty taste of semen when the cape was clasped at her neck. It was light and reached below her pubic hair. No now would see her handcuffs. She kicked her feet back in her own discarded shoes and was ready for her journey. There were waves of disapproval and frantic warnings from those disassociated portions of herself in space but she tolerantly dismissed their naivete in amusement at their absurd concern. With Assef's hand upon her captive arm, and a femininely complacent smile upon her lips, she walked through a now open door into a new life.
The private elevator was privacy deluxe. A foolish girl seeking escape or help would have found neither. In the underground garage they passed a man alone and a single couple. None vouchsafed a second glance. The waiting limousine and its impassive driver absorbed them absorbed them both in hushed discretion. Settling with Mr. Aslam into the back seat, Corey wriggled deliciously back against her fastened arms. As at a sudden discovery, she exclaimed. "I'm kidnapped! I'm a kidnapped heiress." Her eyes twinkled at her companion. "Gosh, this sure is exciting."
Wealth paved their way to the private jet. Abstractedly, the kidnapped girl realised how little the cape was needed. There was never a chance for that other girl who just might have wanted to run. In the plane it was Audrey Cotswold who took away the cape and shoes.
"Happy, Corey?"
"Oh yes!" The affirmative was breathless.
"You don't hate me?"
"Audrey, I love you...?"
"Sit down, Darling, there's a belt - " The belt went round her waist. Tight! There was a visible padlock which snapped with an emphatic click. "Lean forward, dear. I'm going to change your cuffs."
It was fun to see her hands again. Everything was fun. Corey glowed at her English friend as her wrists were joined above her lap. Considering the belt, she was now more helpless than she had ever been. It was a truly extraordinary game she was privileged to play. In the spirit of the game she tugged at her padlock.
Audrey held up two keys. "Amuse yourself, dear! That's what I used to do."
"It's a lovely feeling." Corey was fingering the belt; the lock; she held up her linked hands and admired her bracelets. "It's warm and secure... " She tittered happily. "And there's no way I can get loose. I say, Audrey, am I drunk?"
"Just enough to be happy."
"Can I have another drink? I want so much to stay like this."
"Oh, you'll stay like that, my naked beauty!" Audrey teased. "I've sat there myself, and a girl just simply doesn't get up. And yes, I'll give you another drink."
It was lovely to hold up the glass in both her prisoned hands. Corey admired the translucence of whatever it was she was drinking. "This is better than first class," she said thoughtfully. "Have you got this one doctored too?"
"Just a little. Damn remarkable stuff, eh?"
"I know I'm drugged, Audrey." The captive shook her head as though lost for words. Her eyes were soft. "I want to say something corny and sincere. It isn't much. Just 'Thank you'. I know what you've done for me. You've made the impossible possible."
"I wish I'd had some in my time. It's ruddy miraculous."
"And the things Mr. Aslam and I got up to... ! Wow! And I don't feel a bit different. In fact, I feel nicer. Just like you said."
"You're a lot nicer, dear." Audrey's lips were soft.
Corey leant back and went to sleep.
CHAPTER TWO - COLLAR AND CHAIN
Corey Gibson wept. Her tears welled from every emotion save love. "The dirty bastards! The dirty bastards...!" She reiterated the epithet over and over again beneath her breath. "They didn't need to tie me like this. They didn't need -!" Painfully, she rolled over on the bare boards of the narrow bunk. But nothing helped. Nothing! The pain from her bound elbows was a steady torment.
The waking up had been bad enough. She was stiff from sleeping on the unyielding wood. The discomfort left her ill disposed in her effort to recall. She saw pictures she was unwilling to believe. Impossible outrageous visions of herself doing and saying things to which the daughter of Clifford Gibson would never stoop. She wished them nightmares but they were not. Pushing herself from the boards she discovered she was naked, and that she was free.
Her nakedness could not be ignored. It was stark and total. She had been naked in the visions. Sitting up and absorbing her absence of covering she discovered also a flaw. There was an uncomfortable weight on her neck, and a trailing chain... ! Her fingers explored a metal collar and the considerable length of links attaching her to a ringbolt in the stone wall. It was a debasing way to be constrained, like a dog! She remembered something about being shamed.
The drink or the drug had left her hazy. It was a couple of minutes before her prison came into focus. It was a square cell. Three walls of stone, one of bars, a barred window high and out of reach. The barred door was a part of the wall which left Corey's nakedness free to examine by any interested passer by who cared to peer through the bars. Beyond the bars was a view of a sizeable courtyard, a lot of sand or dust and a couple of discouraged trees. The air was warm and owed nothing to artificial heat.
There had been a plane... and a journey, and a promise of far away! This was the foreign place. Corey guessed North Africa or the Middle East. But what did it matter? What mattered was her condition. Groggily, she got slowly to her feet and went to the bars, glad to clutch them for support. Behind her the chain from her neck trailed obligingly, hindering nothing, save that now she was erect; its penal load dragged more heavily on her throat. Holding tight from bar to bar the nude prisoner edged sideways to the door and was sardonically flattered to find she was valued to the extent of three padlocks; top, bottom and centre. The door was very solid indeed. Shaking it, she became aware of her tether as motion brought it into contact with her skin. In fury she saw it would permit her to traverse her cell as though untrammeled by such indignity. The collar round her neck was therefore punitive; a punishment, a reminder of whatever it was she had become.
Escape! The word would hammer constantly. She viewed it now. On the face of it, escape was hopeless. A chained neck plus three padlocks made a mockery... but still! Bribery with promised cash or the barter of her body was probably her only weapon. Corey Gibson returned to sit on the bench and to remember bitterly the plush offices of the Planet Corporation's office complex.
The man was in his thirties; possibly Egyptian, probably her jailor. His soiled uniform was nondescript, signifying little. His mien and stature were unimpressive. But he was male! Hatefully, Corey Gibson's hands covered her breasts. Her visitor smiled understandingly and turned his attention to her pubic hair. In an angry gesture, Corey gathered her tether and dragged it to the far wall. Leaning against the stone she offered her visitor nothing but her back and bottom.
"It's very nice." The approval was warm. "You stay like that all day?"
In a cell like this she could never win. But her responses had become instinctive from her lost status. "Go away! Leave me alone!"
"I do that, you starve."
She was hungry. Her mouth was dry from the drug. "Push something through the bars!" It was the bitterness of Miss Corey Gibson that spawned the order.
"I wish to see your cunt. Turn it round! Put hands behind back! Then you get food."
She was an animal in a zoo. To be looked or laughed at or viewed with lust. The hateful cell quadrupled her nudity. "Send Mr. Aslam!" She demanded courtly.
"He no come. You do not ask."
Corey sighed in defeat. She could not face the wall all day like a naughty girl in school. Presumably others had seen her nakedness; this oaf might as well have a look too. She turned round and walked half way to the bars. "Very well." She said coldly. "Look at me all you like. I'll even put my hands behind my back. But please bring some water!"
He was pleased. After scorching her with the longest leer she had ever known he produced keys. It was whilst he was unlocking the door Corey gathered up the slack of her chain.
"You be good white girl I feed you nice, maybe some wine - " The nude prisoner flung her chain around his neck and heaved. The plate and the carafe skittered across the floor. His hands reached for her; he was choking. Corey Gibson heaved again.
She might have won. Surprise had given her an advantage. But she was seized from behind and thrown sprawling. She gazed up fearfully at two dark and resentful visages, one of which was rubbing a tender neck.
"You bitch. We teach lesson."
One went for the rope. The other stood guard. She did not move.
"You stand. We tie."
"Drop dead!"
They handled her with expert ease. The weight of knees on her spine pinned her face down on the floor. They tied her wrists with care. Then roped her elbows so that her forearms were welded as one. They went away, laughing. The sound of the door and its locks was for Corey Gibson a knell of doom.
Weeping, she stayed where they left her; hurt and shamed and without hope. Her breasts thrust against the stone floor without love. She guessed her nipples inverted; they too would sense despair. But after a space of minutes she struggled to her feet and went to the bench. There was no thought in her mind save that her elbows were hurting; scorched by their bindings, tugging back her shoulders and her breasts. She tried to wriggle her arms and hands but could not. They were tied tight. She was helpless. The collar round her neck became a greater mockery than before.
It was then her experiments began. Surely she could roll or lay in some manner to ease the nagging pain. It was as though her elbows had become enemies, determined to subdue. She thought, longingly, of the handcuffs of hazy memory. It was when she finally desisted that she wept once more.
After awhile she stood again and paced the floor. It was an act of defiance against her tether and the ropes on her arms. Pain was her only companion in the solitary cell. Corey Gibson used it in resentful fury against all that had happened. Driven by the masochism of anger, the daughter of the Planet Corporation lowered herself to the floor and painfully gathered to her lips the spilt food and water her guards had not bothered to remove. She recognized it as the most debasing act of her life.
It was close to evening before her jailor came again. He did not immediately open the door but stood surveying her through the bars; his grin amused; his eyes genuinely curious. Corey forgot her nakedness and her strained breasts. Most of her consciousness was concerned with pain. She asked herself again and again what she would offer or be compelled to give, to get rid of the ropes upon her arms. They were now a part of her, deep in her flesh, a persistent scorching misery. She faced him without shame and said a non-committal hello.
"You be good girl now?"
She fluttered her wracked shoulders in helplessness. "I can't be anything else, can I?"
"What you give me if I untie?"
"If you'll enable me to escape I can make you a rich man."
He shrugged in scorn. "No talk that stuff. Is silly."
"I haven't any money. I haven't nothing - not here."
"You got good cunt."
There it was! Out in the open. Fastidious as she had once been, Corey Gibson knew herself unwilling to face death or injury to preserve her virtue. If the slit between her legs was a weapon she would use it ruthlessly. "I'd be nod good," she said reasonably. "I hurt too much, and with my arms tied like this I can't lay down properly."
"You lay down. You spread legs wide open. If arms hurt more, that good."
"You want to shame me, don't you?"
"Right!" He glowed approvingly at her perception. "You lay on arms. You spread the legs. Achmed comes in and fucks."
So this was Aslam's revenge! She was to be made humble by the rampant cocks of every fellaheen up the Nile! The bound girl wondered if he was listening beyond the bars where she could not see. Temporizing, she asked. "I'm helpless. You can rape me easily. I can't do a thing to stop you."
"Is better you willing. Is nice you spread legs." Achmed's grin was avidly anticipatory.
Did this oaf know he was being as psychological in her subjection as his master? Or was it that all men secretly desired the willing submission of the open legs? Was the blatant offering of her bare loins some tribute to their potency? Corey did not know. But looking her jailor in the eye, she said. "Untie my arms please. I will then do as you wish."
"You do now. Like you are."
"How do I know you'll untie me after?"
"You trust Achmed. You want I untie now, then tie again after good fuck?"
Corey sighed. Achmed held all the cards. Awkwardly, she lowered her nakedness to the floor, gasping at the pain from her bond arms. Without protest, she spread her legs as far as they would go. In caustic bitterness she supposed a humorist might liken the sound of the three padlocks to her wedding bells.
When the ancient act had moaned itself to consummation he did not help her rise, but stepped away and watched her painful struggle from the floor. When she reached her knees he ordered. "Now you clean with mouth!"
Corey Gibson was not surprised. This too would be part of the ancient rite. She took the glistening member in her mouth and dealt with it as competently as she know how.
"You enjoy?"
"Yes, Achmed, I enjoyed." She was bitterly ashamed of the truth of her admission.
"Achmed enjoy too. You give good fuck. See, I tell! Is better with hurting arms."
She could not hate him. As her captor's fingers tugged at knots she could almost feel gratitude and a faint warmth that he was actually keeping his word. Corey gasped and cringed in the agony of the peeling of her bonds. When the ropes from elbows and wrists were tossed aside she uttered a heartfelt: "Thank you... Oh, thank you, Achmed!" Then in surprise and shock: "My arms... ! They don't work...?"
He laughed at this tribute to his binding of her limbs, and good naturedly massaged her bruised flesh with knowledgeable hands. Corey stood in joyous agony, wallowing in the unexpected kindness.
"You make me tie you again, girl?"
"No, I'll behave. I promise."
"I tie anyway. But not now."
"But why, Achmed, I can't escape - and I've promised?"
"Is for punish. You not ask."
Corey did not ask. She ate her supper hungrily. Achmed stayed and watched, then remained for an hour to share a bottle of unexpected wine. Corey sensed in him a loneliness she might exploit. Wistfully, she asked: "Is this collar and chain locked on my neck to punish me too?"
"Right!" The exclamation accorded her good marks.
"Am I in a prison?"
He examined the word studiously. "Ah, prison! Place for many bad girls... ? No, is not prison."
"It looks like a prison."
"Right! But is most private."
"Does it belong to Mr. Aslam?"
"You ask too much, you be whipped."
He would answer no more. Exhausted, she slept on the boards.
The plumbing was simple. A pail of water. Another pail with a broken cover. With breakfast came a bowl and a towel. Both were taken away an hour later. The daughter of vast wealth learned to squat above the empty receptacle in full view of any interested party. She wondered if Assef Aslam had a hidden spyhole through which to view her shame.
"Now I tie for rest of day." Achmed held the rope as for a gift.
Corey did not demur. She needed this man as a friend. Guided by a prompting hand, she thrust her breasts against the bars and looked out across the courtyard. Achmed raised her arm to shoulder level and tied its wrist to a bar, then the other. Miss Corey Gibson stood with arms stretched wide. But not in pain. She was simply tied to the bars of her cell and left alone. The links from her collar trickled down her back. After awhile she would be very tired.
It was not long before the men began to dig. One with a bar, one with a shovel. They were not too distant into the courtyard, and from time to time turned her way and laughed. Corey was surprised and relieved that they did not come and paw her nakedness in its open invitation. She would have had to stand and endure. She could not back away from the bars more than a few inches. It was not until they planted the post solidly in the ground that she knew fear. After the two of them had tamped and pounded and gone away, the seven foot timber stood starkly in its punitive promise of pain.
She was going to be whipped! The references had not been casual or to tease. The additional refinement of compelling her to watch the implanting of a whipping post for her special benefit was in keeping with the rest. No doubt there would be a considerable period of suspense before she was taken out and bound to the implacable object now awaiting her nudity. Corey wondered vividly how she would behave. Suppose she screamed... ! She winced at the mere thought.
But the post was not for her! Before long, Corey watched a small procession walk sedately to the newly erected facility. Three men and a woman. The woman might be thirty. She was expostulating vehemently with her companions, but did not drag her steps. All of them spoke a language, Corey did not understand. It was an argument of questions and answers; a concerned exchange of views that stopped short of becoming physical. The tied girl watched in amazement through her bars as the woman, with a gesture of disgust, stripped herself of covering. Naked, she thrust herself against the post and embraced it with bare arms as though it had become a familiar exercise. Corey Gibson gasped in shock.
The woman was as white as she herself.
One man had rope. He crossed the passive wrists and bound them tight. Another had a hammer and a huge nail. Between them they thrust the tied hands high until their owner stood upon her toes. The nail was inserted beneath her bonds and hammered half its length into the wood. They stood back. Their work was done. The third man held the whip.
Corey Gibson knew guilt. Her tied wrists prevented her turning away. But she could close her eyes. She did not have to watch.
She watched.
Fascinated. Repelled. Curious to assess a punishment of which she knew nothing, but which would almost certainly be inflicted on herself before too long. Was it bearable? By watching, could she gain a comforting reassurance... ?
She beheld the lash make its arc. She heard it splat upon bare flesh. The woman flinched and looked back pitifully. That was all. At the fourth stroke the victim screamed and fought the post. Corey supposed a woman would always try to keep silent and would always fail. The victim's bare legs raised and kicked pathetically. The witnesses exchanged experienced comments. The whip drew back and flashed again. Corey winced at its impact and the feminine scream. She winced fifteen more times before the three men took their whip and went away. The bound woman embracing the post remained standing on her toes. She could move but little. Her legs continued their testimony of anguish. Soon they too were still.
To the naked girl tied to the bars the scene had been in profile. Corey could not properly see the whipped back or striped buttocks. There were marks where the lash had curled beneath a raised arm; angry red welts distance could not hide. But she reluctantly concluded she had not witnessed a true flogging. She could see no blood. The woman had not fainted through all her twenty strokes. The whip, therefore, was not lethal. What she had seen was probably normal for this place. Undramatically routine. Miss Corey Gibson shuddered.
The whipped woman eventually became aware of an audience. She turned her head and looked at Corey but found nothing remarkable in what she saw. Perhaps naked white girls tied to the bars of their cell was commonplace. The distance between them was far enough to inhibit speech. The day passed slowly. The whipped delinquent remained embracing the post with her tied arms. Corey clutched her bars. That was all.
"Why was that woman whipped, Achmed?"
"She foolish woman. She very rude."
"Who to?"
"You ask questions or you be rude, you go to post too."
Corey sighed. Her conversational gambits seemed limited. She smiled winningly at her jailor. "Tell me, Achmed. Was that a cruel whipping she got or just a light one?"
"Was light. Her master very kind."
"Was it the sort of whipping I'd get?"
"If not too bad." Achmed grinned. "You nosey. You want I whip you? Achmed like whip girls."
"No thank you. It's just - well, I've never been a prisoner like this before. I don't know... about anything."
"Is nice for you." Achmed beamed approvingly. "I teach."
"Do I really have to be tied up every day, Achmed? Or do you do that to me for fun?"
"You look very pretty when you tied up. Achmed enjoy."
"Yes, I know I look pretty. But does someone order you to do that to me?"
"You want I fetch whip?"
Corey abandoned her probing. Achmed could be prodded only so far. She was by no means sure he would use the whip on her. But the post in the courtyard was a warning. As things stood he was, in his own fashion, kind and amiable. But why not? He used her as he pleased. She was totally obedient, a model prisoner. Common sense told her it was best to be pliant and await her chances. Her fall from the immaculate had been so great that she rejected middle class scruples about her body. If her breasts and vagina were weapons she would use them. After Achmed had loosed her from the bars, tended her needs and left her chained alone for the night, Miss Corey Gibson sat nakedly on her wooden bunk and ruefully reviewed her second rape. Rape was not the right word. But all the other terms she could think of seemed equally inadequate.
"You like me fuck you before I go?" A beaming smile.
"Whatever you want, Achmed. I'm naked and there's a chain on my neck. I sort of belong to you, don't I?"
"Not what Achmed ask. Ask if you want good fuck?"
The pound of flesh again! Aslam's trick. In this strange prison a girl was expected to ask politely for her rapes and say thank you after. But the metal collar fastened round her neck was a constant counsel to prudence. There was also another factor which her own honesty forbid her to ignore. She was lonely. All day she had stood tied to the bars. When her jailor had come to free her at the end of day she had been glad. It was good to speak again. Achmed's conversation might be limited but it was amusing and good natured. Worse still was a final admission of defeat. Achmed was a skillful lover. After the initial shock of social denigration she had enjoyed his piercing of her sheath. In the end her moans had been the most ardent of the two. Without Achmed the cell, the bars, the chain and the collar on her neck would have been doubly defeating. Miss Corey Gibson, daughter of the Planet Corporation, made a frank admission.
"You fuck beautifully, Achmed. Please fuck me again!"
"Much more better."
"But are you certain Mr. Aslam won't mind? I thought I'd been kidnapped for his special enjoyment?"
"You forget Mr. Aslam. Achmed tie you every day and fuck you every day. You most lucky girl."
"I suppose I am. Are you going to tie me again tomorrow, Achmed?"
"Of course!" Achmed smiled away so stupid a question. "Girls much best with no clothes and pretty tie."
"What position would you like me in, Achmed? A girl can be fucked so many ways."
"Achmed know all ways. You bend and touch floor. You spread very wide the feet. Achmed fuck pretty ass."
Miss Corey Gibson supposed there was no end to what a kidnapped girl might learn. With a sense of high discovery, she bent forward and placed the fingers on the stone.
"Much wider the legs!"
She had forgotten her legs. She could understand their importance in the buggery of a girl. She spread them far apart. The chain from her collar looped down mockingly. One of the ten most beautiful women in the world awaited sodomy by a socially unacceptable male.
Corey Gibson came to understand captive compensations. The small comparisons by which her days and nights were made to yield perspective. She consoled herself with the comfort it was better to be tied than whipped. When she was untied, and until she was tied again, there were blissful hours in which she could use her limbs as she wished. Her collar and chain were no more than the warning finger of authority. They irked but prevented nothing. After solitary confinement in bondage her nights and the small communion with Achmed were something to look forward to. It was absurd. But she was intelligent enough to see things as they were and to husband her strength and her courage.
In the morning she could not forbear to ask. "How long will I be imprisoned in this cell, Achmed?"
All she got was a chuckle: "You be glad you here. Much worse outside."
"But why? What's worse out there?"
"Much hurt. People give you pain. You see post...?"
Corey Gibson saw the post. It stood like a nemesis, as though waiting for her alone. With simulated goodwill, she said cheerfully. "Oh alright. Don't tell me! Now, how would you like me to stand?"
"Very kind tie. You sit."
But first, the heiress of Planet stood to have her wrists crossed and tied behind her back. It was done with the air of a minor prelude to a major symphony. She was then guided to the bars.
"You sit on the floor. Push feet outside!"
With tied hands it was awkward, but she was developing a technique.
"No. Not both through same. Two bars between."
Corey shrugged. Obviously her pubic hair must be blatant. She extracted a foot and inserted it to display her loins more shamefully.
"Is better. I push, you wriggle."
She was almost as close to the bars as yesterday, but not quite. The two between her thighs prevented actual contact.
"Very simple. You look pretty."
Achmed freed the long chain from her collar and replaced it with a short length, which, with its padlock, rested beneath Corey's chin. The other end of it was now padlocked to a crosspiece in the bars. She could bent her head forward to touch the iron but she could not bent back.
"Very nice. Not tire."
"But, Achmed, I will tire, terribly. My legs all spread... and I can't move anything that matters."
"Achmed enjoy. You damn well like."
She supposed that summed it up. She belonged to men now. They would do as they pleased with her. Woefully, she remembered Audrey Cotswold's explanation of ownership. Undoubtedly she was owned. As a reminder of beneficence, Achmed chided: "You no smile, Achmed tie elbows real tight."
Miss Corey Gibson smiled.
It was not a good day. It belied Achmed's optimism of "Very nice." It was demeaning and frustrating to have her feet and legs protruding out beyond control. She could move them, but not withdraw. Any motion to back up was at the expense of her neck. After one vigorous attempt to improve her plight she desisted. Another struggle with her bound wrists was equally fruitless. She would have to sit out the cramped and shaming hours until Achmed chose to come.
She saw the two small boys as implicit to her exposure. No doubt Achmed had sent them. They regarded her with big brown eyes and discussed her merits in their own tongue. Then they tickled her feet. Corey hated them with a passion. Try as she would she could not control the spasmodic jerks and winces their fingertips evoked. She wished her ankles were tied fast, to relieve her of involuntary motion and rob them of the delight they found in her futile efforts of evasion. They did as they pleased with her extruded limbs. She could deny them nothing. When her struggles hampered their efforts one held her ankles while the other inflicted their mild torture. It took a demeaning hour before the reflexes of the bound girl dulled enough to spoil their fun. They then turned their attention to her breasts and hairy thatch. Grubby fingers made what the captive suspected as virgin explorations of a woman's nipples, breasts and vulva. She was sitting on enough on the latter to deny to deny them total freedom with her sex. Frustrated but happy, they went away to leave her nursing the pain of their pinchings and probings. So far, her day had not been dull. She thought longingly of New York.
The pair of little girls was worse. They came armed with whippy little cuttings from a tree; slender withes that could not injure but would hurt. They listened to their victim's pleadings as to any other curiosity. Corey could not tell if they understood a word she said. Once more she was discussed, this time with female wisdom. Then they whipped the soles of her feet.
It was as though the bars separated the woman from her limbs. Corey's legs fought a lonely and losing battle against the female urchins. They kicked and writhed but could never evade the small scorching cuts delivered with intent venom. If Corey Gibson denied them her soles they moved up to the inside of her thighs. They knew where to hurt. They knew where to evoke feminine response. The girl within the cell could gain no relief by motions of her body. She had to sit. The chain from her collar controlled her implacably. It was as though she watched someone else punished yet bore their pain. When they tired of her they left Corey with smarting thighs, inflamed and red, and tingling soles she could not see.
That evening Achmed admired her innocent wounds and coupled with her twice in vigorous ardour before padlocking the long chain back upon her collar and leaving her to the dark.
The following day brought change. In response to Corey's spuriously cheerful query: "Well, how are you going to tie me today, Achmed?", her jailor produced a wide and portentous grin and one single length of rope. "You have very happy day." He promised genially.
The turning of her back and the crossing of her wrists was now an automatic reflex. Achmed's cords deftly robbed the naked girl of arms and hands. She stood, in passive obedience, to be tied. But, within, she was a turmoil of apprehensions. When a black bandage was bound across her eyes, swathe after swathe to rob her of all sight, she cried out in desolation. "Please, Achmed, don't... Oh, don't put me in the dark! It's horrible. I-I-Oh, please...!"
"Is nice change."
"But I hate it - Oh, Achmed!"
"You want gag too?"
"No, I don't! Oh, damn!"
Corey felt the padlock from her collar and heard the chain fall. Then a handcuff was snapped on her right wrist above the rope.
"We go for walk. I lead."
"Achmed, I'm frightened. Please let me see!"
"Is best not see. Trust Achmed."
Upon her bare skin and within her lungs the air was different from the cell. Corey walked blindly where she was led. Perhaps in this change there might be hope. She wondered how many eyes beheld her shame. Soon there came sound and voices and then, again, the confined atmosphere of walls. She was thrust sideways against stone; her tied wrists were raised behind her back, but not enough to hurt; she heard the clicks of a cuff. Then, surprisingly her wrists were freed. Achmed's pleased chuckle announced arrival.
"You got hand. You take off bandage." His steps receded.
Corey Gibson remembered the games of childhood. She would now take off the blindfold and be greeted by hilarity. But, strangely, now she was loath to part with it for fear of what she would see. The cuff on her wrist had been tightened before he left. Its mate was attached to hold her captive where she stood. It would be foolish to remain blind... ! Fumbling with her free left hand, she tugged at the knots behind her neck.
It was a sizable square room, flooded with light from high barred windows. Corey discovered her handcuff was clipped to an iron ring set into the stone of the wall against which she stood. Except for the one loosely prisoned wrist she was free to move. Across from her, against the opposite wall, two other girls stood as she was standing. They were young, they were pretty, they were clothed in jeans and shirt, they were lightly coloured. She sensed they had stood thus before.
They gazed at her white nudity with only a perfunctory curiosity. When she spoke, they only shrugged and exchanged a few words between themselves in a defeating dialect. Their apathy was unaffected by a new arrival, marched in by a pair of lithe negresses who cuffed her to a ring and departed without a word as though glad to dispose of a nuisance. The newcomer tested her handcuff, found it secure on her wrist, then leaned back against the wall with the same air of having walked a familiar path. But, seeing her, Corey gasped in joy.
The girl was white.
Corey was agog with curiosity. "Do you speak English?"
"I should, I'm from Wisconsin." The voice held little warmth.
"My name's Corey. I've just been kidnapped."
"Good for you! Were you a whore before they picked you up?"
"Good heavens no!"
"You are now. Welcome to the club."
"But I don't know anything about anything." Corey wailed. "I've been locked in a cell. I don't even know what country I'm in."
The girl from Wisconsin evinced a faint interest. "We're somewhere in the Sudan. I don't know just where. Doesn't matter much, we can't escape. I've been here eighteen months."
"What do you mean about... whores?"
The voice became a bitter sneer. "Ever heard of Abdul Nour?"
"The guerrilla? Of course! He's always in trouble with someone. The Press calls him 'The Desert Despot'."
"That's who you belong to now. The bastard has an army. I think his troops have more standing cocks than artillery. We're here to service 'em. They don't get paid much and we're for free."
Another arrival made a diversion. A dark beauty who accepted her handcuff without concern. She grinned and winked at all present, then leant back and closed her eyes.
"My name's Josie." The white girl continued. "I expect we'll see each other around. What did you to make 'em mad?"
"I haven't done a thing. Like I told you -!" Corey tensed in dismay. "What is this room - all us girls - handcuffed?"
"Hell, don't you know that either?" Josie was amused. "We're all here to be punished."
"All of us! What on Earth for -?"
"To keep us in line." Josie shook her head in commiseration. "You sure a new! Anytime a girl fails to please a soldier he can complain and she's brought down here and punished. Punishment day comes once a week. They keep a tally. I expect they'll bring a few more poor little whores down as they get through the soldier they're with right now. When they've got us all standing round the wall they start the show."
"But how many girls -?"
" 'Bout twenty. Half of 'em will likely show up here. It's hard to go seven days without hurting some bastard's feelings. I'm here because I bit a guy's cock... I got so mad the way he rammed it down my throat."
Nine girls! All resigned. None fought. They accepted their handcuff and awaited their penalty. The big stone chamber took on the air of a dentist's waiting room. But lassitude vanished when the negresses carried in the bench. Each girl tensed against her linkage to the ring.
It was the same as with the whipping post. Corey Gibson knew she could not close her eyes. The whole scene was beyond credulity; the passivity of the girls was an affront. Surely they should fight! In some way protest their femininity! Unhappily, the new recruit realised they were only being sensible, just as she was sensible with Achmed. This was a land, where girls were property. She watched, breathless.
Josie was first. She made no fuss. When the head harness and the phallus was made ready she smiled in sardonic recognition and opened her mouth for the ugly male thing to be thrust deep inside. When all the buckles were tight there would be no expelling it. She was effectively gagged. The sinister straps compressing her features were oddly erotic. Catching Corey's eyes, she winked. When her handcuff was unlocked she calmly stripped naked. Without prompting, she walked to the bench and lay upon it on her back.
The bench was versatile. Corey watched, cringing yet enthralled. At the back of Josie's head a rod rose, at its top a hook. Next, the two wardresses briskly strapped her down. Arms down each side, legs spread, belly cinched tight. Then they produced the glass jar... !
Josie knew instantly. Corey, incredulously, guessed. In full view of the strapped down delinquent each negress held the receptacle between her legs. When their bladders were empty the jar was nearly full. Josie eyed the yellow fluid bleakly as the stopper was screwed in place; from it trailed a rubber tube... ! When the jar was hung on the waiting hook the loose end of the tube was inserted into the base of the phallus within Josie's moth. A tap was turned. Her eyes widened. She swallowed. Convulsively, she swallowed again... !
"When you drunk our piss we stop whipping."
The English was unexpectedly clear. Each negro girl now had a short whip. Standing on each side of the punished girl they began methodically to whip her breasts, one to each of the taut globes. Josie visible writhed; her head tossing wildly. But she was helpless. Her punishment had begun.
Corey understood. The punishment fitted Josie's crime. The leaking phallus in her mouth was exacting a frightful price for her moment of temper. The whips were not cutting the skin of her breasts, but they would hurt in a beastly horrible way no girl would want on two of the most secret places of her being. Josie gulped and gulped in an agonized race against the splatting thongs beating their measured tattoo upon her flesh. After what seemed to Corey Gibson far too long a time, the hateful bottle was empty. The whippers stopped. Josie's breasts bore scarlet testimony of her penance. When she was freed she was too shamed to meet an eye. Downcast, she pulled on her clothes, said her 'thank you' to those who had whipped her and walked slowly from the room.
"You bite a cock, you see what you get." The dark inquisitor smiled benignly at the handcuffed girls. "Never no shortage of pee."
Execution on number two was swift. Taken from the wall, her handcuffs were snapped behind her back. She was laid on the floor; her feet spread and raised to two pulleys high above. When her bottom lost contact with the floor suspension stopped. Dark hands explored the sundered loins, the soft thighs, the plump and pouting vulva so cruelly exposed. Dark heads nodded approval. The bench was pushed aside. On the floor, the clothing the victim had stripped from herself before being tied helpless made a small pathetic pile, infinitely feminine, infinitely pathetic.
Using the same whips, the mahogany mistresses intently whipped her innocent cunt, the loins, the inside thighs. The punished nakedness writhed amazingly but could turn no part of herself to where a whip could not find her flesh. The swish and slap became a steady rhythm. The punished female skin glowed pink, red, scarlet. The girl moaned piteously but did not scream.
Corey understood what she was privileged to witness. This was simple punishment for a misdemeanour. It was not torture. It designed no injury. The girls were valuable; they must not be harmed. But their lesson was severe. When number two was freed, much of her scorched flesh was hidden between her legs. Strangely, she kissed each of her punishers, thanked them sweetly, dressed without haste and went her way. Corey was ashamed of a pulsing heat between her own thighs. Surely... surely... she could not be finding pleasure!
It was all insane. These girls were made of sterner stuff than she. The cuffed audience watched intently but without visible fear. They evaluated each punishment and the receipt thereof. They were connoisseurs. Awaiting their turn they enjoyed the show. Corey wondered if they too suffered the throb within their sex. She suspected they did. It was one more lesson... !
Number three, with an innocent lack of affectation, engaged her punishers in conversation while she undressed. The operation was unhurried, the verbal exchange pleasantly animated. Corey wished she spoke the language. She suddenly sensed that these girls were all in the same boat. The girls with the whips might themselves be whipped next week. There was a happy camaraderie between them. Some sterner authority must have conditioned them to the rules which they now accepted without resentment. They had violated a code. Now they were punished. It was simple.
Yet the punishments were shrewd. The one that took place now left Corey Gibson aquiver with conflicting emotions. One of the whippers tossed aside her whip and stripped naked. She was a superb mahogany statue. Abdul Nour's troops should consider themselves fortunate. Any Las Vegas line would welcome these luscious bits of femininity. Corey wondered where they had been kidnapped.
The stripped girl stood erect, hands clasped behind her neck, legs wide apart. She was smiling. The one to be punished knelt within the arched thighs and clasped them lovingly while her wrists were joined by the handcuffs to ensure that her loving grip could not be withdrawn. Her seeking mouth raised and nuzzled black pubic hair. Her tongue slid forth like a serpent seeking the sundered slit. A sigh of dark emotion rippled round the room.
"I whip her back until she makes Amrah climax." A new and more wicked whip was in a dark hand. The statement had been made for Corey's benefit alone. She nodded understanding. Dark eyes smiled. "Amrah fight climax long, long time."
It was exquisitely female. A man might have devised it but it was a punishment for girls. Corey flinched in horror at thought of herself kneeling there with urgent tongue while a whip laced her back. How could a girl possibly apply her energies thus under such awful pain?
The tongue had been busy within Amrah's sheath for several moments before the first lash spilt crimson across its owners shoulders. The dark head thrust more vehemently into the pubic patch; hands strained at metal cuffs. The second lash was delivered after such an interval as to tell Corey this punishment was not beyond consummation. Amrah's breasts thrust forward joyously; her full lips were moist in heart. The naked girl who bore the strokes thrust herself into female loins with concentrated determination. The whipper changed sides and struck again. The body of the handcuffed nudity swayed and shivered, but the busy mouth did not relax. Amrah's smile had become fixed on infinity her mouth was slack.
Corey counted seventeen strokes before the dam of Amrah's control burst asunder. Throughout the explosive orgasm the innocent tongue thrust and probed assiduously until the cessation of repeated agony told its task was done. The kneeling girl slumped; her forehead now pressed against the moist heat where her tongue had plied its trade. When her handcuffs were removed she kissed the pubic patch before her face; she kissed the whip that had wealed her back; she kissed the hand that held it. Her 'thank you' was passionate. Again, Corey was astounded. The girl was in the grip of sexual excitation. Even whipped as she was, her loins were pulsing. Corey was coming to understand the primitive vulnerability of girls. Almost with love, she watched the slender nudity don its clothes and retire to resume its assuagement of the lusts of men. Caustically, she realised the girl could scarcely wait for the rampant thrusts.
Number four undressed casually. Pulled the bench back into the centre of the floor, then mounted and knelt on one end, waiting. Two smiling girls raised stanchions, inserted boards, the nude delinquent leant down until she was on hands and knees. One more board spanned her waist and was thrust down on its fellow below. The girl was captive by a set of stocks which held down her slender middle and forced her to remain as she was. The locked boards divided her. She could look back but would see nothing of that portion of herself which was to be punished. The bench was indeed versatile. It provided a bar to lock across kneehollows, and clamps for slender ankles. Number four had become a well protruded bottom. Corey pictured herself like this. It would be too humiliating for words.
The informant was again helpful. "Fatalla just plain bad girl. Fatalla gets little ass whipped."
It would be awful to have your bottom stuck out like that where it was invisible to its owner and to know it was to receive cut after cut of whips also out of sight. Corey watched in empathy as Fatalla supported the top half of herself on rigid hands and arms and looked back apprehensively at the blank wall of boards beyond which her bottom awaited its fate. She was still looking when the first blow fell. She yelped in shock and turned to face ahead.
Amrah and her companion whipped from each side. The whips might not be lethal, but the girl who received their stripes was hard pressed not to scream. Corey saw the sweat droplets form on the young forehead and beneath armpits to trickle down the helpless arms which bore no bond but were captive to their owner's need to sustain her weight. From time to time one or the other reached back, but they could not find the bruised flesh they sought. Defeated, they returned to their tiring task.
The fleshly impacts were almost without pause. The bare bottom tried hard to weave, to sway, to find any surcease at all. But it was captive to the thrust of boards. It flinched, it quivered as the scarlet grid was latticed on its skin. But that was all. It was perfectly postured for its possessor's punishment. Fatalla's moans mounted and progressed to small cries of dark distress. When she screamed, Corey Gibson climaxed into orgasm. Shocked and ashamed, she was thankful no one was looking. All eyes were on the tableau upon the bench.
Corey had lost count of the strokes bedding themselves into the pathetically helpless posterior. It seemed their number did not matter. The whippers and the whipped tallied the punishment be other means. It ended suddenly to leave the room in a hushed silence, broken only by Fatalla's sobs. The whipped girl had screamed several times. But had borne her punishment with stoic fortitude. Corey felt blushingly certain she would disgrace herself when her own time came. She suspected she was being left to last. Sometimes she tugged at the cuff upon her wrist. It seemed impossible so trifling a bond could hold her captive to await such pain. But hold her it did. She could believe in truth that, from this place, no girl could ever escape.
Punishment day followed its course. Amrah and her colleague dealt briskly with delinquent bottoms, breasts, backs, pudendums and soft thighs. No two punishments were alike. No two responses from punished flesh were similar. Corey Gibson twisted against her handcuff and cringingly and apprehensively awaited her own turn. When the last punished maiden had dressed and gone, she found herself confronted by tow pairs of laughing dark eyes.
"Soon we whip your pussy."
"And her boobs and bottom."
They laughed delightedly. Then provided another surprise. "I have been very bad." Amrah informed coyly. "Talifa now punish me." Grinning impishly, she arranged her nakedness upon the bench.
Arms down each side, wrists strapped, tummy cinched tight! Amrah was enjoying Corey's incredulity. "When girl is bad she must be punished. Is no use to make fuss." She smiled in deep wisdom. "When pain comes and girl tied tight is proper time for fuss."
Talifa roped passive ankles, raised them and pulled them back over the tight tummy, over the taut breasts, back and back to tie them down to each corner beside their owner's head so that Amrah was looking up at her own pubic hair. Her bottom reared invitingly and thrust into view the dark lips of a plump pudendum from between soft thighs now equally accessible. "Now I be caned with nice thin cane," she explained proudly. "It hurt much on bottom, sometimes it hit poor cunt."
Amrah did not scream. But she suffered. Corey could not doubt the anguish; it was written plainly upon the dusky features from which it slowly erased the smile. There were moans and gasps and sad strangled sounds as the whippy cane bit shrewdly where it hurt the most. Sometimes it was set aside to allow Talifa to smite the archly pouting lips of her colleague's errant cunt. The short thongs beat down wetly into the female cleft so that the strapped and tied mahogany beauty tested the quality of her bonds with frantic thrusts and surgings which left all of her exactly as it was. Amrah was being most competently punished.
When she was loosed from the bench Amrah sobbed in overtaxed emotion. The two dark girls clutched each other in a spasmodic embrace, seeking and giving forgiveness. The bare arms clung until the sobbing slowly died. Then, as though by preconceived decision, the two of them advanced upon the naked white girl chained to the ring in the wall.
Corey felt like a child, a kitten, like any helpless creature handled and directed by superior strength. Muting useless protest, she obeyed the directive of a hand in her hair. She sank to her knees, her right arm reaching up, held by its handcuff, ensuring docility, inhibiting nothing. When Amrah straddled her helplessness to thrust her pungent sex against expectant lips it was no more than the white captive had expected from the start.
Guilt! A wicked excitation! Outrageous tumescence! The fervidly demanding perfume of girl! For Corey it was one more of the revelations of her sex. Amrah was luscious, heart's ease. Her soft wet thighs and hairy lips swollen by the whip regaled the white captive's mouth and tongue and nostrils with a nectar wholly feminine. Needful of penetration, the kneeling girl used her one free hand to reach and clasp a beaten buttock and draw closer the scorching slit within which her tongue was searching avidly. Beneath her fingers were the hot red weals left by the cane on Amrah's female flesh. All else was forgotten.
Corey was not punished. It was as though someone conspired to her confusion. When the laughing dark skinned girls had kissed her lovingly and departed she stood alone against the wall and played idly with the handcuff that held her there. She wondered what it was going to be like to be a whore.
Achmed came in late afternoon. His smirk was wise. "You much enjoy. Girls tell me you good with tongue."
She was shamed that he knew. But said no word as her cuff was unlocked from its ring and she was led by one wrist from the room. The blindfold lay crumpled on the floor behind them. She hoped it forgotten.
The place was huge; a complex of buildings. Some of stern utility, some of ancient luxury. She saw little as she was hurried back to her cell. But she did discover it one of a dozen in a single line. All similar to her own. The first was empty, but what she beheld in the second stopped her in her tracks; her eyes widened in shock. But her cuffed wrist was ruthlessly yanked; in pain she stumbled on beside her jailor. Achmed was in a hurry. He relieved her of the handcuff, locked the chain and padlock back on her collar, then fucked her with a savage intensity which matched her own erotic arousal of the day. Refusing to answer questions, he left and locked the door, leaving the naked ravished girl still panting on the floor; one hand toying with the chain from her collar; her mind busy with a vision.
As Achmed had dragged her past the second cell she had focused on a scene still vivid in her mind. It was of a naked girl tied against the bars as she had once been. A girl who gazed out wistfully at a freedom denied. A Girl whose neck bore a collar and chain as did her own.
The girl was Audrey Cotswold.
CHAPTER THREE - BANDIT AND SLAVERY
Abdul Nour did himself well. Between the military forays and the receipt of Russian largesse he lived in a small degree of splendour. Any political loyalties he might cherish came second to material benefit. His very private office was a case in point. It was lush! To Miss Corey Gibson it was nostalgically reminiscent of the Planet Corporation's luxury back home.
Corey was alone. The office was waiting, but not for her. She was in it but most certainly not of it. She was a discordant note; an anomaly. She supposed someone had a sense of humour. As usual, she hurt.
Miss Corey Gibson was naked. She was suspended by her bound wrists; a taut strained arm rigid beside each cheek. To emphasise her nude femaleness her crotch had been opened wide and thrust into blatancy by the expedient of roping her ankles far off to each side and slightly in advance so that her lower half was a foot closer to the desk than her top. -she could quiver in rippling spasms of effort but could not change position. It was as though her cunt and pubic hair awaited an interview with someone behind the desk while the rest of her watched.
The ring in the ceiling from which she hung, and the stanchions off to each side to which her feet were tethered could scarcely have been installed for her special benefit. Abdul Nour evidently preferred his females at a disadvantage when interviewed. No doubt the long wait in the vacant luxury and the incongruity of their own condition compared to what they saw around was conducive to a softening up of feminine fortitude. Corey cringed in misery at thought of a man seated and regarding her across the polished surface of the desk.
Abdul Nour did not match his office. Probably he rarely used it. He was not as modern; he was not as polished; he was not as clean. He belonged in the desert and wore the clothes for it. He was of no great stature but exuded the unnamed force all such men have. His English was perfect.
"Miss Corey Gibson!" His bow was brief before he took his seat. "I am Abdul Nour. This is my headquarters; the home base of our Cause. It is called Amphala. You are my prisoner." His tone was briskly genial. "May I complement you on a magnificent growth of pubic hair?"
The suspended daughter of the Planet Corporation knew herself one vast blush. She would not plead, but waited in silence.
"You were kidnapped by Assef Aslam. My men relieved him of you and brought you here. I bid you welcome." He pressed a button on the desk.
A servant girl, a tray, two drinks. A glass was held to captive lips. Corey drank avidly. Her host raised his in a toast. "To the two finest breasts I Have ever seen...!"
Her blush could blush no more. Without hope, she pleaded: "Could my feet be allowed on the floor please?"
"Don't be a silly girl," said Abdul Nour.
"Then... please... Why am I here?"
"You are a useful property."
Corey Gibson hated the stress of her bondage. How could any girl maintain a rational conversation when nakedly spread and obscenely bound?
"Why are you imprisoning Audrey Cotswold?"
"She is useful property too."
"You mean you're going to make us... whores?"
"Not immediately, Miss Gibson. Try not to dramatize! Oh, by the way, I'm Harrow and Oxford in case you're wondering."
"Didn't they teach you better than to hang naked girls on the end of a rope?"
The frozen silence told Corey of error. She had said more than a slave girl should. Her pulse quickened. It quickened more when Abdul Nour rose, took the slender cane from a drawer, and eyed her open loins. In stunned stupefaction at her own stupidity Miss Corey Gibson absorbed the four cuts between her sundered thighs in a reasonable silence. She could not control the wild jerking at her tethers. Her host viewed this evidence of pain with satisfaction.
"You were saying - ? Miss Gibson?" His interest was polite.
"I should have kept quite. I'm sorry."
"Do I detect a slight bitterness?"
"Can you blame me?"
This time it was a single stroke, viciously aimed, delivered on her sex with force. Corey screamed. Gasping and sobbing she made amends: "Forgive me! I was wrong and foolish. Please forgive me!" She made her voice girlishly contrite.
"Ah, a better tone." He laid the cane on the desk and resumed his chair. "I have granted you a number of demonstrations of the effect of whip and cane on female skin. I hoped you would vicariously benefit. I was wrong. You need a proper whipping neck to knees."
"Please... please no!" Corey sought the proper words. "I'll be obedient. I promise I'll be obedient. You don't have to whip me." In desolation, she added: "I'll watch my tongue. I won't be impudent."
"Hmmmmmm." Abdul Nour was faintly please. "Then you recognize the whip as essential to the female rationale?"
Her sex scorching, her thighs aflame, Miss Corey Gibson ate crow: "Yes. Girls need to be whipped. Without the whip we are silly creatures. I was silly and rude. I'm sorry."
The guerrilla leader smiled. "I take your assertion with a grain of salt, Miss Gibson. But you read your lines well. I suppose you have guessed how much I, and others, enjoy the humiliation of a white heiress?"
"Yes."
"Hmmmm, that one was honest. I understand Aslam intended to mortify your pride. It's a worthy project which I'll carry forward myself."
"Thank you."
"Well, well! You give good measure, Miss Gibson."
Corey looked him in the eye. She was weary; her hurts were bitter, her exposure a constant shame. What she said had the ring of honesty. "Since the first chain I have known there was no escape. I'm determined to do what I must to avoid punishment. It's silly to lose my freedom and be constantly whipped as well. I accept the fact of my enslavement. I will do whatever a slave girl must to avoid penalties."
He nodded, assessing her wracked nakedness. "If you were not tied would you lay and open your legs for me?"
Corey tensed, surprised. "If you wanted me... ! But surely you know, Achmed takes me every evening? Would you want me... after?"
Abdul Nour was delightedly amused. "You are one of Achmed's perquisites of office, Miss Gibson. Do you feel he has robbed you of something?"
"I've been so damn lonely and frightened I've enjoyed it." Corey exploded into honesty.
"Could you not enjoy it with me?"
"Yes, I suppose -." She was blushing again. "It's just that... at home... men don't want to follow another."
"For fear they might catch something?"
Their eyes met. Corey could not help herself. She laughed with him at the picture evoked: "Forgive me!" She pleaded, grinning ruefully. "I'm lost... I'm so damn lost."
"But you would obey me, even in that?"
"Yes, of course. I've supposed it the first requisite of obedience in a girl." She twinkled at him. "I'm told the thing between our legs doesn't easily wear out."
"Miss Gibson, you begin to show a quality."
"Thank you." Her blush matched a stammer. "But if... I mean, if I do what... what those other girls do. If I have to be a... a sort of a whore for the pleasure of your soldiers... I'd try and be good at it. I honestly would. But then... ? Would you want me sexually then?"
He studied her intently. "That's important to you, isn't it?"
"Yes." She twisted against the ropes. "I'm not sure why."
"North American mores, that's all. It once affected marriageability. The principle of soiled merchandise." Abdul Nour gazed, pointedly at her sex, her breasts, her navel... then her face. "I would want you after a thousand men," he said simply.
"Then you will give me to your men?" Her heart was thudding.
"No, I will not, not yet." Again the intense scrutiny. "Either you are unusually intelligent or your time in the cell has worked miracles."
"I am glad I please you." Corey's wits were working hard. "Am I permitted to ask a favour?"
"Not if it's relative to your being untied."
"No. I realise you want me like this. But could Audrey Cotswold and I be chained in the same cell?"
"You are lesbians?"
"No. But, tied up all day, and then the night... It's so lonely."
"Suppose I had you chained to opposite walls; a short chain?"
"If that pleased you - yes."
"Half a loaf better than no bread?"
Corey flung her head aside. "Is that not the axiom of slaves?"
"I will consider the idea. Miss Cotswold has her uses. I am fortunate in collecting both of you. Would you care to marry me?"
Shock! Outrage! Hastily quenched derision! Corey fell back on a clich�: "You must be joking?"
"I am not acceptable?"
"I did not say that. But I have to ask: Why marry me when you possess me utterly now?"
"Marriage gives me more of you than a whipped vulva."
Corey shook her head distractedly. "I just don't understand. The way I'm tied... like this. It's not the way a girl gets proposed to."
"You are privileged. You have a proposal anyway."
Abdul Nour saw the anguish in his captive's eyes. It was easy to read her thoughts. "May I explain a plan?" He asked gently. "It is not a foolish plan."
"Yes, of course." Corey omitted that she had no choice.
"I take you to Cairo, to the best hotel, the finest wardrobe. You announce our marriage to the Press. You grant interviews. It is all of your own free will; your love for a man and his Cause."
Corey glimpsed logic. "Yes." She said slowly. "Go on!"
"The thing a guerrilla needs most is respectability, recognition, money. I hold Assef Aslam. You can give me what he can not."
"But I could go to the police! I could fly back home -!" The obvious burst from Corey's lips without caution.
"Could you? Are you sure?" Abdul Nour was smiling at her animation. "You have forgotten Audrey Cotswold. I hold her as security for your good behaviour. For a minor disobedience on your part she will be whipped. For a major defection she will die unpleasantly."
It was neat and tidy. Corey could pick no flaws. "Please untie me!" She begged. "I can't think properly like this."
Abdul Nour whipped her four more strokes.
He went away.
Miss Corey Gibson hung suspended and alone. She hurt, hurt, hurt! In utter bafflement she wept.
It was Corey's worst day. Her wrists screamed protest; her stretched legs implored release. She longed for covering, even a handkerchief over her pubic hair! But she hung in shame before the great man's desk... It was hours before Achmed came.
"You have nice day?"
"Oh Achmed... Ohhhhh, oh noooooo."
"Cell feel good after. Nice chain."
It was different. This time her hands were tied behind her back. It did not occur to Corey to complain. Her mouth was stuffed with a rag; a bandage was wound several times across her lips and tied behind her head. She could utter no word, nor could she scream. A rope to her collar was her tether as Achmed led her from luxury back to prison.
It was a different post. It was placed where she could not see it from her cell. Audrey Cotswold was bound to it with considerable skill and an eye to aesthetics. She was gagged as Corey was gagged. The two girls exchanged anguished stares.
"I do real good job of tie," said Achmed complacently.
He had indeed. Corey recognized its merit. Audrey could not move. She was clamped tight against the post by ropes above and below her naked breasts. By her neck. Her waist was doubly cinched; her hands were tied at the back as were her elbows. Her knees also bore the tight, tight bands... Below them, Corey could not see. The tied girl's feet were buried by a pile of tinder dry bits of wood, twigs, branches, paper and assorted inflammables.
"Is not nice way for girl to die." Achmed insinuated.
The gags were a refinement of cruelty. The need of the girls to speak blazed from their wide and anguished eyes. Corey was choking with the urgency to tell Achmed this must not happen; that this lovely girl must not die by fire; that she herself would do anything... anything demanded... that she must be taken to Abdul Nouri... ! But she could utter no word. She turned to her grinning jailor and shook her head again and again.
"Our Leader want you be very good girl." Achmed explained blandly.
Corey nodded and nodded again. What more could she do? Nonchalantly, Achmed struck a match. Looking straight at her, he dropped the small flame on the outer fringe of kindling.
It flared instantly. Corey screamed against her gag and tore free of her leash. In frantic disregard of pain she stamped her bare feet up and own on the eager birth of conflagration.
"Is lucky girl." Achmed observed complacently. "You love her very much." He looked down at the blackened and scattered twigs and at her feet. "Is hurting?"
Corey shook her head. It had been too swift for injury. It was not until she had been led to her cell and the gag taken from her mouth that she was able to seek motives.
"Achmed, she's not really going to be burned... ? She isn't! Is she?"
"Not if you very good girl."
She sighed in relief. The girl bound to the stake was not a trick; she was a demonstration of intent; a warning. Abdul Nour was serious in his fantastic plan. In one of the swift analyses with which she was constantly confronted, Corey ruefully supposed she would be better off as his wife than as his army's whore. "Are you going to untie Audrey?" She asked hopefully. "It's too cruel for her to stay tied like that - not knowing?"
"Give good scare. Very frightened of burn. She be very good girl too when let loose."
"Achmed, please untie her now. Oh please! And what's going to happen to her - afterwards?"
"She make good whore. When you naughty girl she get whipped. You run away she get burned." Achmed disposed of such trivialities with a wave of the hand and a benevolent smile. "Now you give Achmed fine fuck."
Miss Corey Gibson folded her nudity to the floor. Wryly, she supposed she was no worse off today than yesterday. Laughing, she pointed out an omission: "Achmed, my hands! You've forgotten my hands. They're still handcuffed behind my back."
"No forget. Is good that way."
What did it matter? Obediently, the daughter of vast wealth arched her back upon her manacled wrists and spread her legs.
Alone, sitting on her bench before seeking sleep, Corey Gibson reflected on the nature of girls. Girls were property. Girls had to do what they were told. Scarcely more than a century of social usage had rubbed off on them its patina of equality. But it was easily erased. A few days as the captive of men had brought her to where she was; grateful for the emotional release of being fucked by her jailor every evening; thankful when she was not bound with rope; finding a strange pride in being desired by the male, even as a whore. Escape no longer bothered her. Girls did not escape! It was as simple as that.
Corey was amused by the sudden realisation that Achmed had gone away and forgotten her handcuffs. Even more significantly she had forgotten them herself. A girl must indeed be both physically and spiritually enslaved when such an acceptance of chains was carelessly automatic. She made her familiar tug against the steel bands. They were tight as ever. She would not escape them. She shrugged away the loss of her arms in resigned indifference. She was still sitting on the boards when Achmed returned with Audrey Cotswold.
Corey did not believe Achmed cruel. What he did now must be under the spur or urgency, orders or a preoccupation of his own. It was done swiftly in silence. Her own exclamations died unborn against the gag he thrust into her mouth and buckled behind her neck. Audrey was already gagged and twisting her arms fretfully against the handcuffs at her back. Her collar was instantly tethered by chain and padlocked to the opposite wall. Corey's own chain was unlocked, gathered to half its length, then locked again. Two startled girls stared at the bars as the door slammed shut behind their departing jailor.
It was frustrating to the point of tears. Confirming instant suspicion, each chained girl stepped out to touch, to make contact with beloved flesh. Their tethers snubbed their necks within a yard of union. They stood, so close, helpless, defeated, denied, and gazed at each other pathetically. They made strangled sounds against their most efficient gags; they motioned despairingly with heads compressed by straps Convinced of the denial of their need of each other they returned to their respective walls. Audrey sat on the floor, Corey on her bench. Both were equally hard on female bottoms.
They slept. Both girls had become inured to chains, their metal collars and an unsympathetic surface on which to lay. It was the deepest dark of night when Amrah opened the barred door and unlocked the padlocks at their necks. Without pause, she used the shorter chain to join their collars four feet apart. Padlocks clicked again. Hurriedly, she pushed them from the cell to the waiting figure of a naked girl. It was Josie. Josie's plight was a duplicate of their own. She grinned a mute greeting. But gag and handcuffs permitted no more. In seconds she was collared and linked to Audrey's neck. Where one went, so would the others.
"We get away." Amrah's whisper was both urgent and demanding. "You better trust Amrah or we get caught." She emphasised her demand by a firm tug on the leash she had prudently fastened to Corey's slave neck iron. Dazed, the three helpless girls followed where they were led.
Should she have struggled, kicked, resisted this nocturnal rescue? Perhaps! But Achmed had left the two of them sufficiently helpless to enable Amrah to handle them with ease. There had been little choice. And suppose Amrah was a friend! Suppose she was leading them to freedom! The method of her doing so was not illogical. Three dubious and argumentative girls would have been far more difficult than the three gagged nudities now slipping so silently into the night. They were a package Amrah could control. She herself would be fleeing her enslavement as an unpaid whore. But the keys! Where had Amrah got the keys by which to take them from their prison? Corey rejected the stress of speculation as she strove to appease the pressure on her neck. If they were being led to freedom by this unorthodox handling, so be it! Freedom, by any means, was vital. Nothing else mattered.
Eight padding bare feet, the clink of chain. Whispers of sound in the desert night. Amrah led them along the great wall to the door. When it closed behind them the sound spoke of no return. Beyond them now was limitless space, but in the foreground the dark shadow of a truck.
Two men in desert garb. Then the incredible! Amrah passed to them keys, like coins in payment understood. She broke a string from her bare waist and gave them the handcuffs it had borne. She turned her back to present them with her wrists. She looked back across her shoulder with a wide grin as the cuffs clicked to make her captive too. Corey's leash was padlocked to Amrah's collar so that now it was four naked girls who stood in line to await the convenience of men. One by one they were lifted into the truck by strong male hands. The tailgate was raised and fastened; the engine whispered into life. Corey looked back at the rapidly diminishing immensity of Amphala, a place she had known only as a prison cell. Somewhere within the walls the brigand who intended to take her to wife would be fast asleep.
It was a miserable ride of snubbed necks and tangled female flesh. Amrah was the only one with speech but she used it little. The others could ask no question. "Now we get sold in slave market." She informed her companions with an immense and beaming complacency. "Rich man buy. We have fine life. Much better than whore to army." She giggled happily. "They want you too or won't take me. Now we all set." The innocently na�ve admission explained much. Now, Amrahs proud satisfaction with an astute deal added more. "Men buy our keys. In Amphala they pay much money in bribes to make us free. We lucky girls."
Corey supposed it depended on the way a girl looked at it.
Conversation languished. The truck rumbled and jolted. It was hard to find comfort. She suspected that girls chained together by their collars might easily become irritated with each other. There was a constant snubbing and jerking and the tossing of angry heads. The four prisoners did the best they could by sitting on the bed of the truck and leaning against one unstable side. Three jaws ached from gags; four sets of handcuffs irked eight slender wrists. "Is nice long ride to safe place." Amrah informed brightly.
Corey would have liked to kick her.
It was indeed a long ride. It took them into dawn and a country of scattered bush and trees. It took them to a tent and five more girls. Lovely girls in varying shades of coffee, and linked as they were linked. With the truck in view they were marshalled into a waiting line, sullenly curious, enticingly nude. Two sets of chain were joined to make a slave coffle of nine girls. One end of it was padlocked to a tree. Gags were taken from three grateful mouths. Handcuffs were unlocked from thankful wrists. The collars and linking chain would deny escape.
Three men in quiet discussion. The passing of money. One of the trio returned to the truck and drove off in the way they had come. The remaining two turned their attention to their chained merchandise.
Corey was fingering the metal circlet on her neck. It was heavy with chain. Even with her limbs free she had never felt more helpless. But her main concern was the man. They were rangy masculine types, one bearded, one clean shave. They wore the desert haik. Unhurriedly, they took inventory.
Strangely, no girl spoke. They were prodded and positioned but maintained the silence of resignation. The finality of their enslavement and the obvious intent of their condition left nothing to say. They had been captured into slavery and would be sold. There were no protests. The girls were frightened. Their new owners had steely eyes and a no nonsense approach to their abasement of nine girls. They commented to each other in the desert dialect, pointing out salient features on each slave. There was not other communion.
Corey was made to stand with her hands clasped behind her neck. Their satisfaction with her body was all too evident. She was costly merchandise. Grim lipped, she endured the fingerings and probings. Her fortitude was shattered by a mid-western voice.
"Some sort of an heiress, aren't you?"
A Yankee slave trader! Why not, they did everything else. Sudden hope wilted under the sardonic gaze. Her response was forestalled by Audrey's angry outburst.
"You idiot! She's Corey Gibson - The Planet Corporation. Neither she or I belong on this damn chain. You can get ransom for us. Tomorrow you could be rich and us on the way home."
An amused and interested regard swung upon the girl's heaving breasts. The voice was tolerant. "Shut your trap, kid!"
"But, I tell you -!"
"You don't tell us nothing we don't ask! You want that little ass of yours whipped?"
Audrey Cotswold subsided into hurt silence. The sardonic eyes returned to Corey. "M'name's Seth Burdett, and I asked you a question."
"Yes, I'm Corey Gibson."
A rapid exchange in Arabic. Burdett nodded at her and winked. Attention turned to the next in line. Corey felt piqued. She exchanged a cocked eyebrow. But what could they do? They were helpless.
It was Seth Burdett who gave them their set of rules. Like recruits in boot camp they stood attentively in line. His mention of a whip had earned respect. "We march at night, sleep by day. We'll cross country where a truck won't go. That means there's no one chasing us." He grinned up and down the naked line. "Don't any of you girls aim to be rescued or escape. That ain't goin' to happen. Any of you want to give trouble she gets her back sliced good with a whip. Any questions?"
A long silence was terminated by a pale feminine voice. "Are we slaves... Mr. Burdett?"
"Thought that went without saying, kid. In case you don't know, that way you're chained's called a slave coffle." He guffawed. "Keeps you in line."
"Are we going to be sold?"
"Of course. And let me tell you, you're damned expensive stuff."
Corey took her chance. "Will you arrange ransom for Audrey and me, Mr. Burdett?"
"Too much hassle, Miss Gibson. Sorry."
"The sum could be huge."
"Miss Gibson, when you stand up on that auction block you're going to be shocked out of your socks by the price some guy's going to pay for you. We're taking you to where the money is."
The chain seemed heavier. Their value as merchandise made them doubly captive. Corey tried another approach. "Please, must we be chained? We can't run away in this wilderness. You could control us without all this hardware on our necks."
"You're dreaming, kid. We take these little coffee coloured cuties off the coffle, They'd melt into that brush like they weren't even there." He guffawed again. "You probably wouldn't be far behind, but your white ass would be easier to follow."
"It's so demeaning. We keep tugging at each other."
Burdett remained indulgent. "Hell, girl, that coffle is about the most humane way we can handle the nine of you. You want to tell me a better way?"
She could not! It was infuriating to think of their condition as desirable or convenient, but for the life of her she could think of nothing else. To be linked wrist to wrist would be far more inhibiting. To be bound with rope would be painful in the walk ahead.
Burdett laughed at her chagrin. "Mustafa here wants we should give you white girls a damn good whipping right at the start; just so's you know where you're at and don't ask fool questions." He winked sardonically. "But with you two I can figure the adjustments you're having to make - don't suppose it's all that easy and seems to me you're doing O.K. So I'm good natured. But don't crowd you luck!"
"You don't have to sell us into slavery."
Burdett sighed. Casually, he walked to a bush and cut a withe. Corey watched, shivering, while he trimmed it down to an instrument of punishment. "I'm sorry." She said nervously. "I'll shut up and keep quiet."
He did not answer. When the supple wand was to his liking, he said pleasantly. "Hold you hand out, Miss Corey Gibson!"
She put both hands behind her back in shocked mortification. "You can't!" She exclaimed incredulously. "You wouldn't...?"
"Why?" There was a wealth of caustic in the one word.
"Because... I'm an adult woman!"
"So...?"
They stared at each other in confrontation. Lamely, Corey sought defence. "I don't want my hands whipped. I've already told you I'll behave."
"Hold your hand out, way out!"
"But that's for children! It's - it's humiliating!"
"The way I hit ain't for kids, Corey."
"But even so -!"
"It'll hurt enough you don't have to feel short changed."
"But it's so unnecessary!"
"That's what you think." The steel of his eyes sought hers. "It's necessary alright. Using your hands makes it simple. If I have to unlock you from the coffle and tie you to a tree you'll get a flogging."
Corey was annoyed with herself for finding logic in what he said. But to be punished like that in front of eight girls... ! She had no faith in her ability to carry off such a punishment with panache. She would probably disgrace herself. She eyed the limber horror with distaste. "Please give me another chance?" She begged humbly.
Seth Burdett held up a key. "Want me to unlock you?"
Miss Corey Gibson held out her hand.
Even as a child, neither her hands nor any other part of her had been corporally corrected. To the daughter of the Planet Corporation such personal punishments had been abstract; figments of fiction. But there was nothing abstract about what was now taking place. The act, the intent, the witnesses were etching themselves upon her consciousness with indelible force. The line of chained girls was straining for a better view of her shame; Audrey Cotswold's eyes were wide in commiseration. Amrah contemplated the pulsing tableau with a grin of approval. This was something she understood; a sure and certain guide to feminine behaviour. But it was her own outstretched hand on which Corey most intently focused. The hand which was a part of her was about to be whipped; it had become a medium by which she was to receive agony. Delinquent eyes rose to lock with the grey amusement of her new co-owner. Seth Burdett was studying her hard, enjoying every moment, curious about a girl named Corey Gibson.
It was a flash of motion. Swift, positive, deadly. The peeled with cut Corey's taut palm with scorching venom. For a moment she only stood in shock. Then, as her hurt hand send its message of fire to every crevice of her being, she moaned in a desolation of pain and clapped her injured flesh beneath a comforting armpit. Her instinctive effort to bend double was thwarted by the chain to the neck on either side.
Seth Burdett contemplated his work with satisfaction. His eyes followed every curve and twist of the enslaved girl as she sought to allay agony. His voice was mockingly helpful. "That doesn't do any good, y'know. It hurts the same wherever you hold it."
"It does so!" She flung her agony at him between gasps.
"Try another one. Hold it out again!"
Corey stiffened, horrified, her response desolate. "I can't... I can't possibly. It hurts too much."
"Try!"
"It's impossible. You've no right to do any of these things to any of us."
"Hold out your hand, Miss Corey Gibson!"
She sensed the steel in his command. The weight of chain on her neck dictated obedience. There was no escape. Bleakly, she raised her head, her demand incredulous: " The same hand...?"
"Yes. And don't tuck it back under that arm again!"
"I can't! I'm sorry... I just can't do it."
"You will either do it or each girl in the coffle gets one for you. It's not the best way to make friends."
Corey Gibson longed to stamp her foot in fury at the complacent Male. He had her! Owned her! Every girl on the long chain was his and would have to do his bidding. They were slaves. Girls kidnapped from their former lives by a Male and diverted to Male use. Aware of eight pairs of female eyes upon her anxiously, she held out her already wounded hand.
It was an explosion of the unbearable, the fiery cut, the screaming nerves, and then the throbbing horror of compelling her whipped hand to hang loosely at her side as though in unconcern. Corey's anguished eyes sought Seth Burdett's pity.
"You see, you do have it in you."
Did she detect faint admiration? Perhaps! Brokenly, she gasped: "I can't let you hurt the others... You mustn't...!"
"S'right, love." The Aussie drawl approved. "That's why you're going to hold out your other one."
Corey looked at him askance. "I - I - Oh, please! How many?"
"You don't ask. Hold it out!"
Corey held out her left hand. It was the same over again. Two cuts, numbing her fingers, throbbing with fearful pulsations of pain as she allowed her arms to hang limp. Suddenly Burdett was gone. The whipped girl buried her face in her agonized hands and wept bitterly. Her feminine companions on the chain pretended not to see. Audrey's sympathetic hand, tender on a bent shoulder, was the only human solace the coffle would permit.
The nine girls slept in a chained line throughout the day. There was much snubbing and jerking of collared necks until they learned to huddle close to utilise the slack between chained necks. After they had been fed at evening they were subjected to one more slave indignity. Their right wrist was locked in a communal shackle.
It was the coffle principle; the same as their neck. The same length of chain, and at the same intervals a metal wristlet, padlocked. If the wristlet was tight, they must not complain. Audrey received one stroke on each hand for her initial reaction: "But this is so unnecessary! The chains on our necks stop us escaping."
"And another on your right hand stops you being awkward, love. C'mon stick it out! It doesn't hurt."
"But why make it more difficult for us to march the way you want us to... all fastened together?"
It was then Seth Burdett used his peeled strip once more. Audrey Cotswold held out their hands for them in resigned misery. While she was still twisting with their pain, Seth inquired affably: "Think that will help you watch your tongue?"
"Yes, it will. I'm sorry. Here's my hand."
The English beauty watched the metal circle her wrist, watched the padlock snap it tightly secure. For a moment she held up her new ornament to view, but it was snatched away by the chain's need to accommodate the next in line. She shared a resigned shrug and rueful grin with Corey. They were learning their lessons.
There were four donkeys. Two for the men, two for gear. The slave girls walked in single file, conscious always of Mustafa with a whip and of each other. With practise they learned a rhythm for their shackled arm and a cautious maintenance of slack chain between their collars. The white girls made the rueful admission that if nine naked slaves must traverse a wilderness their coffle was a most efficient instrument by which to keep them controlled. The chains irked but actually inhibited nothing except escape. With the addition of the fetter on their wrist escape was doubly impossible.
The path was faint but it was there. Corey wondered how many other naked girls had trudged the single track to maintain its identity. It snaked its way through thickets and rock that would defeat a jeep. They were nine lost girls, trekking each night farther and farther from their homes or previous owners. Pursuit seemed improbable. Rescue or recapture would not even release them from their chains. With each step Corey knew herself more implacably enslaved. Each morning when it came time to sleep through the sunlight hours Amrah and her counterpart at the other end of the chain were released to do the chores. When their tasks were done they passively presented their neck mad wrist to be locked back into the coffle. Corey wondered, if given the chance, she would be equally amenable. Amrah summed it up.
"No sense get whip. Where a girl run in this place?"
"Why do they keep us chained then?" Corey asked irritably.
"Girls very foolish. 'Specially white girls. White girl always make fuss and get herself whipped. Best when chained."
African logic! Corey recognized it as a prison without bars for attractive females. She never tired of examining the metal band round her right wrist and the padlock which kept it there. It beautifully symbolised a girl's status in this Male dominion. She thought back to the girl friends of her former life. Woefully, she longed for some of them to be locked with her on the chain. Hate it as she might she was seeing it as a dimension of femaleness she could never otherwise have known. Apathetically, she asked: "But, Amrah, don't you want to be free?"
The lead slave girl sniffed disdainfully. "Girls ain't never free. Much best we be bought by rich man."
"Who'll probably whip you every day!"
"Mebbee he whip me. But I make nice for him in bed. Amrah like that too. He buy me presents."
"And chain you up every night."
"O.K., so he chain Amrah. Is not so bad." Amrah held up her shackled wrist and giggled. "Is nice bracelet. Pretty lock."
Corey envied her.
There was Seth Burdett. To Corey Gibson he was very much a presence in a way, his partner Mustafa was not. Mustafa spelt bad temper and a whip but Burdett was hope; a small tenuous hope because he was white and because his sardonic regard held hunger for her nakedness. He had whipped her hands but he had liked her. She was sure he liked her. Corey Gibson was pragmatist enough to know she would give him her body willingly for the key to her chains. That he could take her body easily at any time without her consent did not diminish the feminine wisdom by which she knew the power of affection or the gentleness of female fingers and female lips upon a love starved man. Seth was rough and he was tough but he desired her. Risking the whip, she tested him.
"Mr. Burdett, why can't we be covered?"
He cocked an enquiring eye at her pubic hair. "Can you tell me, Miss Gibson, why you should be?"
"Even slaves have clothes. And being always naked... it's so messy."
"You're not messy. We find a bit of water to dunk you in every day, don't we?"
"I didn't mean that." Corey swept her gaze up and down the line of chained femininity. "But look at us - all breasts and pubic hairs and hips... We're... too much!"
"Can't have too much of a good thing, love. And we're careful not to get you sunburned."
"You mean you like looking at naked girls?"
"Yes. Especially when they're chained and well behaved."
Corey swallowed anger. "Couldn't you at least cover our sex?" She looked him squarely in the eye. "Put our pubic hair out of sight?"
He grinned at her earnestness. "Tell you what I could do since it bothers you that bad. I'll shave it off?"
She fell back on hauteur. "I'm sorry I asked. I should have known - "
"Known what?"
"That I'm only a slave." Corey swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. "I'm trying hard to be a good one but it isn't easy. Being naked all the time is one of the most difficult things." Her tone placated. "I won't be a nuisance about it. I honestly don't want to be whipped."
Seth laughed at her dolour. "You can't be a nuisance, love, not chained the way you are. But you do have a gift for petulance. It will likely earn you a few stripes here and there on the trek."
Petulant! Like a disappointed child! Angry at herself and at Burdett Corey held out her hand, retorting in stiff resentment: "My apologies, Mr. Burdett. Perhaps you'd like to cut my fingers up with a few strokes?"
He pushed down the proffered arm. "In my own time," he said soberly. Before he turned away he chucked her under a sulky chin, and laughed at her obvious chagrin. "And remember this, young lady, from now on you address me as 'Master'. Understand?"
"Yes, Master." She made the title drip venom.
"You're really asking for it, y'know." Audrey cautioned after their co-owner had departed. "You sure you're not in love with the son-of-a-bitch?"
Obeying the tug of their chain they lay down to sleep.
It was late afternoon close to the end of their sleeping time when the turning of the keys wakened Corey from the last of sleep. Dazed, she allowed Burdett to raise her to her feet and lead her out into the trees. Her heart beat painfully at sight of the whip and cord he carried in his other hand. Out of sight and earshot of the camp, he positioned her, standing, whilst he sat upon a fallen tree. Toying with the whip, he examined her heaving breasts and allowed a silence to lengthen until the naked slave girl could bear it no longer. "Do you realise I'm not fastened... or anything?" She asked coldly.
"S'right. Now's your chance."
Corey sniffed disdainfully. "You know damn well I'm too frightened."
"You forgetting something?"
"I'm too frightened... Master!"
"That's better. Feel nice to be out of the coffle?"
Miss Corey Gibson was loath to admit how good it actually did feel. Without sight of the whip she would have been ecstatic. As it was she managed a polite. "Yes... Thank you!" Then asked, plaintively: "Would you mind if I just moved a bit? I promise I won't run."
"Go ahead!"
Corey did not care how silly she might look. She rubbed her wrist; she massaged her neck. She walked gleefully in a small circle. She was free, free, free! "I really am grateful." She admitted ingenuously, then hurriedly added: "... Master."
"You do learn." He sounded pleased. "But d'you remember what I said happened to a girl if she got herself unlocked from the coffle?"
Corey remembered. Once more her heart began to pound. She longed for clothes, for a weapon, for help. Unhappily, she confronted fear. "Yes, I remember, Master. The girl gets flogged." She looked at the whip and then at him. "You're going to flog me, aren't you?"
"S'right."
"What have I done?"
"Nothing." He laughed at her chagrin. "Look on it as medicinal."
"That's unfair."
"Get used to it, Miss Gibson. Whoever buys you will probably have his servants whip you regularly. There's nothing fair about slavery and being a pretty girl."
It was useless to argue. In pulse leaping curiosity, Corey erased the tremors from her quiet acceptance. "Very well. So I get whipped! Is there some way you want me to position myself?"
"Damn cool about it, aren't you? What goes, bravado?"
"Yes." She wiped tears of self pity from her eyes. "I've never been whipped the way you want to whip me. I'm scared to death."
"Good! It won't hurt you to wait a minute. What d'you know about Assef Aslam?"
Corey looked at her owner with a glimmering of hope. "He's a prisoner of Abdul Nour's the way Audrey and I were."
"Abdul screw you?"
"No. But he was going to."
"He'll be hoping mad." Seth chuckled. "He can console himself with making a good deal on Aslam's ransom."
She clutched at a straw. "If he does, you could make a good deal on Audrey and me. There'd be millions...?"
"Huh, maybe." His glance was sharp. "Look, Corey, I like you. I'll whip you and I'll sell you into slavery but I like you. I'm going to pass the word around where and how you were sold. If Aslam or your Dad want you bad enough maybe something will come of it." He looked at her quizzically. "What the hell d'you want Aslam to ransom you for? The way I heard it he was going to whip the ass off you."
Corey sniffed unhappily. "Well, he wouldn't have put me in a chain gang and made me walk naked across half a continent. You've done that, and now you're going to whip me as well." She shrugged disdainfully. "And then you're going to sell me to some rich Arab for his harem. That's not much of a future for a girl, is it?"
"Hell, if I pass on the info' like I've promised, you could be back in the USA inside six months. Your ass won't get skinned in that time... and the other thing don't wear out."
"Alright, I'm grateful." Corey eyed her owner dubiously. "I honestly will be grateful if you'll do that for me - and I believe you will." She sought expression. "It's just that... that... Oh, dammit' I just don't want to be a slave, and be whipped, and chained, and have my body ravished... Master."
"Understood, love. But none of it's lethal. If I tell you to position yourself and to ask me to screw you, would you obey?"
"Yes, I would obey. I've already been broken in, y'know. My jailor in Amphala fucked me every evening. He tied my hands behind my back for it; said it was better that way." Defiantly, she added: "I hope you approve my use of the word 'fuck'... Master?"
"Do things right, don't you?" Burdett sardonically approved. "O.K. Start the act!"
With her limbs totally free it was doubly shaming. Corey suspected he was well aware of the fact. Without pause to think or shrink, she positioned herself nakedly upon the ground, spread wider her legs, bent up her knees, looked up between them and demurely asked: "Please fuck you slave girl, Master." Impulsively she crossed her unbound wrists beneath the small of her back to invitingly arch her loins.
Achmed's trick was habit forming.
"I'm the victim of protocol." Seth Burdett admitted languorously from beside her on the ground. "You were damn good. Good enough I'd let you off the whipping. But I can't put you back on the coffle with unmarked skin. Sorry 'bout that, love."
Corey did not care. For the moment she was in that blissful content which ignores tomorrow. Seth Burdett had given her happiness. As a lover he was highly skilled. For sunburst after sunburst he had made her forget her slavery. She was grateful. In silent but tactile eloquence her fingers caressed his skin.
"Wish I could afford to keep you for myself." Seth admitted pensively. "But there's Mustafa's half share in you, and I don't know where in hell I could put you to keep you safe."
"What, no cage?" Corey would happily prolong the idyll.
"It's not just a case of keeping you from escaping, love." Seth pondered slowly. "But I'd have too damn many people chasing us. There's your dad, there's Aslam and there's Abdul Nour. D'you realise you're the most wanted woman in the world?"
"On that coffle I'd never guess."
"Hell, it's true. Me and Mustafa will be damn lucky to get you safely sold before one of 'em comes galloping over the hill."
"Fat lot of good that'll do me, chained in some old coot's seraglio and safely out of sight."
"I'll make certain you're never out of sight."
Corey raised herself on an elbow and gazed serenely down at her Master. "Don't sell me! Keep me! You can make a deal with Mustafa. Trade him two girls for me! Every girl you've got on that chain's a beauty. They'll fetch just as big a price as me."
Seth nodded. "That part I can do. It's the hiding afterwards I don't want. It wouldn't be good for you. I'd have to keep you tied or chained in some dismal little hole - I wouldn't dare let you be seen by anyone."
"Master... Seth?" In her present mood the slave girl was greatly daring. "You don't need to tie or chain me at all. I'll come with you willingly. I'll be an obedient slave... " Seeing his disbelief, she became vehement. "Can't you understand how much I'd prefer you to some ancient Arab with a hundred oil wells and twenty wives?"
"Damn flattering, love. But you'll have to trust my judgment. I know what we'd be up against, you don't Drop it!"
Corey mourned in silence. Something good had seemed so close. Whether Seth was being prudent or perverse she could not tell. For her the result was going to be the same. In bitter disappointment she reproached: "So now you have to whip me?"
"'Fraid so."
"Well, don't shed tears! Leave them to me! I'm bound to be whipped sooner or later by someone. This is crazy, but I'd just as soon it was done to me now... and by you. Then I'll know what it's like."
"You won't enjoy it, love. I'll have to lace you hard to leave you with the right marks."
"Of course I won't enjoy it. But it's a case of standing up to the dragon and getting rid of him. This whipping business has been bugging me long enough."
"You're too good to be true, love."
"I'm not. Can you gag me some way, so the others won't hear me scream?"
"Mmmmmm, if you want."
"I want it terribly. I don't want to go back to the chain looking ashamed of myself."
They lay together in silence, busy with their thoughts. It was Corey who, in the end, insisted. "Do it to me please! I can't stand the suspense."
"Do what, love?"
"Whip me." Corey pinched him playfully. "You only asked that to hear me say it again. You like hearing me ask to be whipped?"
" 'Fraid do. It's the horniest request I ever heard from a girl."
"We're both damn honest about it... Master."
Seth Burdett sat up and surveyed the naked girl at his side with enigmatic eyes. Idly, he played with her nipples, enjoying the response she did not try to hide. Quietly, he mocked: "You hate calling me that, don't you?"
"Yes. But I can make myself get used to it. Since I have to be whipped and locked back on the coffle I think it's best I use it. It puts us both in our place." She smiled up at him. "I've asked you nicely to whip me, but the way we're doing I think you're going to fuck me again instead? Do I have to beg?"
"It's a nice idea." He shook his head irritably. "But you're right. We've been out here long enough. Mustafa and I respect each other and don't impose. The poor chap thinks you need a whipping in the worst way. He thinks you're haughty."
"I am. You can whip it out of me. How do we go about this?"
"Simple, love. I just hang you up by your wrists. C'mon. Over under the tree."
Miss Corey Gibson, one of the world's loveliest and most wealthy women, considered the absurdity of what she was doing; reflected on the outrageous requests she had made; pondered her intense sensual pleasure in what a Slave Trader had done to her. Back on the coffle she would feel ashamed, but not now! She knew not from whence her euphoria stemmed, but it possessed her utterly. She was heatedly and sexually aroused to the point where she longed to be whipped by this immensely masculine creature who had set her passions aflame in a way Achmed had failed to do. Achmed's ravishings had given her comfort, but Seth Burdett's had fired her loins into a demanding female lust to feel the cut of his lash upon her flesh in an endless prolongation of orgasm. It was a naked slave girl who walked to the tree and smiled back over a bare shoulder.
"If I was young and foolish I'd be talking about love right now." Seth was tugging the heavy the heavy cord testingly between muscular hands.
Corey was femininely wise. She raised her forearms and watched her wrists tied with band after band of the soft ligature. "It's going to hurt." Seth counseled. "But with enough rope to take the strain... " Corey watched her hands rise, up before her face and beyond. Her wrists were crossed and tightly bound. She was sure her owner knew what he was doing with his slave. She gasped under the pressure of Seth's male strength. Her heels left the soil. When the pressure stopped she was on her toes. In the manner of a spectator she watched him snub the rope far from search. "Gosh, I'm... I'm all... sort of available, aren't I?" She said dazedly out of a maze of erotic sensation.
Seth Burdett ran his hands lovingly up and down her taut flanks, patted her taut tummy, her quivering buttocks. His query was tender.
"Excited, Corey girl?"
"Intensely. Oh Seth, I don't understand -!"
"You don't have to, love. What I'm wondering about is that gag."
Corey giggled. "I'm not wearing anything, so I can't help. Use anything. I won't mind."
He was still naked from their coupling. He selected the obvious; Corey's heart leaping at sight of his choice. "Any last words, love?"
"No, Master. Just whip me properly the way you'd do it to any other girl!"
Corey had guessed she would get the crotch of his shorts. She opened her mouth wide to receive his male scent and taste. He pushed until her cheeks bulged, then folded the residue into a neat patch which he bound across her lips with rope. Their eyes met and conceded the propriety of what was being done.
"I won't cut you, Corey."
She nodded, relieved.
"And I'll miss your breasts."
This time her nod was even more emphatic. The suspended girl had never felt more naked. This was the most utter bareness slavery had imposed. The pain in her wrists told her how exquisitely she was exposed to her owner's whip. She quivered, she trembled. She tried to speak but was mute. She had stepped beyond the point of no return. Soon her curiosity would be appeased.
Corey burst into orgasm instantly. The cut of the thong across her shoulders triggered the pent up force generated by erotic banter. She kicked, she lunged, she gasped and moaned into her owner's shorts, her wrists screamed... ! She was aware of nothing.
The slave trader watched, amazed. He had whipped many girls. The job was implicit to his calling. But he had never whipped a girl like this. He saw the scarlet weal form and rise on the virgin skin. Carefully he took aim to create its twin.
She felt the pain. Orgasm could not protect her forever. Corey knew she should scream in agony, but did no more than flail her legs and thrust her cheek hard against one raised bare arm. A fiery burn was etching itself across her back, but all she could think of was to hope it left a satisfying mark for the other girls to see. The third stroke found her more sentient to its cut. In shock at a new dimension of agony she lifted herself by her bound wrists, contorting to proclaim her hurt, to tell her owner not to hit so hard. She had forgotten her gag and wondered why she could not hear her voice.
There came a pause. Hot breath was on her neck; a male hand was between her thighs. She was ashamed that it would become wet from her secretions. Corey Gibson shook her head in a futile effort to rid her mouth of the hampering flavour of male. In compensation she spread wide her thighs. It hurt her wrists more but she did not care.
"Anesthesia, Corey." Seth's whisper was close to her ear. "I'm going to whip you good. But nod if this helps."
The nude and suspended girl nodded vigorously, delivering herself to the wise fingers and their oblivion of sensation. It seemed a little while before the whip sang again... But this time it was better. No less hard, but across the twin curves of her buttocks. A girl's bottom was the proper place for her to be whipped. She comforted herself with this assurance as the pain spread. Corey let her feet do as they pleased. Seth would be amused by their gyrations.
"Three more, slave girl, before you have to open wide and ask me to whip up inside your crotch."
It was not possible. It could not be! What girl had ever been whipped there... in that place? Corey absorbed three brands of agony while she thought of what was required of her. Then, as she opened wide the softness of her thighs, she laughed into the gag that denied the whipper the pleasure of her voice. The thong sped up into the inviting cleft, splattered across her wet vulva, and bit viciously at her belly. Miss Corey Gibson amazed herself by the violence of her writhings. Even her taut breasts... !
"Dammit' girl, you're beautiful!" Seth's voice was reverent. "Here's recess."
Corey's thighs leaped apart. She moaned in gratitude. When the next whipstroke etched a circle of scarlet round her waist she climaxed once again. The slave trader whipped her with twenty strokes; each clearly defined as proof of punishment. Corey's back and bottom became a grid of puffed scarlet lines. He was content. Thoughtfully, he drew her sweat bedewed and panting nakedness against his thrusting flesh and impaled her as she hung suspended from the tree. Her legs encircled him as would a pair of loving arms. They clung and clung long after their loins had given and received.
When she was lowered from the branch Corey protested against the untying of her wrists. "Leave them tied, Master! Lead me back in style! Are my marks vivid on my skin?"
"More scarlet than an oil painting, love."
"Good! It's crazy but I'm proud."
"And so you should be!" Seth took the rope from her wrist bindings and tugged. He was dressed again, even to his shorts. His slave girl followed in sweet docility.
Corey's head was high.
CHAPTER FOUR - THE TREK TO MARKET
"I've been whipped, so I know what it's like." Audrey Cotswold's one free hand reached awkwardly to trace its fingers softly across Corey's ridged back. "You poor darling, the bastard really let you have it."
"He's not a poor bastard. He's nice."
"That mean, he fuck you good." It was Amrah's wisdom from the other side. "You sure get whipped pretty. You most lucky girl."
Back on the coffle! Chained at neck and wrist. Her wounded skin the only evidence of being, for a little while, free of its weight of metal.
Corey Gibson soaked up commiseration gratefully and wished herself back hanging from the tree. She could not help it, that's the way it was. "He only did what he thought was right." She explained lamely. "Don't try and understand! I'm back here on the coffle with you, that's what counts."
"I helped put you here, Corey. I'll never forgive myself." The English girl's self condemnation was infinitely forlorn. "It doesn't matter so much about me. I was a slave anyway. I expect this is my just desserts."
"Don't fret, Darling. I'm alright."
"She better than alright." Amrah opined. "She been fucked and whipped and loved. Amrah knows."
It was nice to be chained once more to girls. Corey knew she would long for something that was now past and done. But Audrey and Amrah were known quantities. When she had stood to have her neck and wrist once more chained there had been an element of coming home. It had been Mustafa who had, approvingly, examined her back and bottom and returned her securely to stock.
"Assef will get us out of this, Corey. I know he will." Audrey's assurance was vehement. "We'll have a bad time first - this trek isn't exactly fun. But he'll find us... and there's your dad... "
"You not ever get free. You two wear chain always. Have fine life. Get whip. Good food. Plenty fuck." Amrah sighed happily at the end of the chain and reproved their discontent. "You not know when well off."
Talking was not encouraged. Too many whispers or too long a converse was likely to bring Mustafa and his whip. If it was in sleeping time the guilty girls were already flat on the ground and had only to turn on their tummies to present their bare back for the stripe or two it might please him to inflict. They could then cry themselves to sleep. At night, as they trudged steadily along the tiny path behind Seth Burdett's donkey it was not easy to talk at all. They hissed their whispers sparingly. The double chain defeated everything except their plodding feet.
Corey told the English girl of Set's promise. She herself found hope in it. As her toughening feet traversed the miles she lived over and over again her painful but ecstatic hour with the most masculine male she had ever known. Seth Burdett was a force. Corey felt guilty of a girlish teenage excitement in the knowledge of his ownership. She belonged to him by the right of conquest. He could do as he pleased with her. Perhaps it was a silly romantic fantasy born of the coffle, but she wished he would take her for his own. The sensible part of Miss Corey Gibson clearly saw the handicaps in such an enslavement, but the passion in her loins swept them aside. As he rode at the head of the cavalcade his broad back was in constant view. But when they camped he paid her scant attention, and that usually to reprimand. But at such times their eyes would lock in a communion all their own which the slave girl found deeply satisfying. But, if it held a message, it was one she could not decipher. As the days passed Corey's whip weals healed and faded in a manner she and Audrey found miraculous.
None of the nine salves was a virgin. Thus they could be used by their temporary owners without loss of marketability. Mustafa possessed one or the other of them daily, working his way through the coffle from back to front as though keeping the three white girls for dessert with an impatient Amrah as the liqueur. When he unlocked them, each girl reacted in her own way. They returned from their sojourn in the trees with skins variously marked. For Mustafa, the whip was an essential part of dalliance. When he came to Josie she yielded herself without complaint. After her enforced whoredom at Amphala he was just another wog.
Audrey was different. She had been a slave a long time, but never to such as this redolent bristly lecher of the trade. Mustafa had early detected her distaste and cherished it. For him, the English girl would have a flavour all her own; a spicy combination of the patina of wealth and power plus her membership in a race whose empire had so recently crumbled before his eyes. To humble the pride of such a girl was obviously the duty of any burnoose bandit. Surveying his naked prey he opened his conversational gambit.
"You are white English sow."
"Yes, Master."
Audrey Cotswold had played the game before, and was determined to minimise her losses. But her previous conquerors had possessed finesse. She was quakingly unsure of her ability to cope with Mustafa. Hoping for the best, she embraced humility. "I'm an obedient slave, Master."
"Yet your eyes sneer at me?"
"I will make them smile for you, Master."
"You have the English cunning."
"If I had it, Master, it would be powerless against your chain."
"And when I unlock you?"
"I will follow you into the trees and do your bidding."
Mustafa was piqued. Compliance was insipid. He suspected guile. "Kneel!" He flung the order as a challenge.
Audrey twisted in frustration. "I cannot, Master, I am chained."
"On your knees!"
Girls on either side moved close, donating slack chain. Without enthusiasm, Audrey sank to her knees, chains taut to her neck, her right arm awkwardly fettered. Her avowal lacked warmth. "I kneel, Master. I am yours."
"Take out my cock! Service it!"
The coffle was hushed. Corey's anxious scan for Seth found him not. No doubt he was rendering unto Caesar... ! He would not infringe on Mustafa's perquisite. She longed to protest, but had neither the conviction nor the courage. She tugged at Amrah to yield all the slack chain possible for the kneeling girl.
Audrey was stricken. This was it! If not one goad then another. Piteously, she quavered: "Please, Master, not in front of the girls... Not here."
"You have a free hand. Use it!"
Slowly, in total abnegation, Audrey Cotswold's left hand fumbled. It was rewarded by the springing into being of a rampant and ugly penis, the odour of which caused her to gag, and was strong enough for Corey to inhale with disgust. The kneeling girl looked at the obscene object in loathing as she accepted defeat. "I can't... ! I'm sorry, I just can't do it!"
Mustafa was pleased. He had gauged the white girl's reaction to perfection. His next command gave no clue. "Replace it!"
It was difficult. Corey watched but dared not help. After thrustings and tugs the Arabian weapon was returned to its odorous home by the fingers of a bereft English maiden who was wondering how severe her flogging would now be. But Mustafa possessed an unsuspected subtlety. He had whipped many girls. Bruised flesh was commonplace. The English girl would be made to pay her penitence in different coin. Rummaging in his gear, he produced an object every girl recognized. It was a short stumpy dildo and a strap. Mustafa spit lavishly upon its chunky head and handed it to the first girl on the chain.
None were na�ve. Receiving the increasingly lubricated phallus, each girl spread her loins and manipulated the massive horror within her sheath until she was totally impaled. Having donated her secretions to the rest, Corey passed it on. Even Josie complied. For a girl on the coffle there was no escape from anything. She handed it back to Mustafa who held it before the stricken eyes of the kneeling girl.
"On your feet!"
Audrey obeyed. She saw nothing but the thing prepared for her shame. She looked at Mustafa in silent appeal but found no pity, only a command. Dejectedly, she opened her mouth.
Corey shared it all. It was as though she was tasting the secretions of eight girls, choking against the monster thing, not too long but cruelly wide within her mouth. She watched Mustafa finger Audrey's lips into place and adjust the straps across the full cheeks and over silken hair to buckle tighter, and more tight, at the nape of a bowed neck.
The turning of a padlock key. The fall of a shackle from a female wrist. The brusque command: "Turn!" Audrey's hands placed palm to palm; their wrists bound tight with cord, and then the camelhide strips round soft elbows to draw them tight until flesh met flesh and was knotted there to stay. Corey cringed at the sight of the intended skin, the wracked shoulders and the extended breasts. This was punishment!
But Mustafa was not done!
With intent purpose, the slave trader gathered the recent droppings of one of the donkeys. It was moist and still warm from its expulsion from the bowel. Carefully, he rubbed the odure well into the bound nakedness from which he had found offence. Audrey braced herself for the anointing. She was helpless. She looked up and away as the wet and smelly waste was massaged into her breasts and within her thighs. From the excreta of an ass Mustafa achieved quality with a hated race. Next time the girl would accept the cock with the hunger of wisdom.
Audrey would have preferred the whip. She had braced and prepared herself for a flogging. But now this...! She conceded Mustafa's ingenuity. She was being most adequately and potently punished. An exquisite blend of pain and shame. Bitterly, she now wished she had taken Mustafa's stinking maleness within her lips. She could have been done with it in minutes. But now...! Her distended jaws, the taste of female sex, the bite of straps...! She had made a poor bargain. With the odour of manure heavy upon herself and her neighbours she tried to join them in sleep. But bound elbows are an unkind infliction on a girl. It was not easy.
Dusk brought her no reprieve beyond water. When the phallus was taken from her mouth to enable her to drink she did so gratefully. But the humble pleadings ready on her tongue died unborn under the returning thrust of the hated symbol of the Male. Her heart sank as it was strapped tight. She was given no food. Her elbows were a torment but she could not complain. All night she walked her captive way between the female necks and wrists whose chain she shared upon her collar. When they camped in daylight she was faint from hunger and exhaustion, her arms afire, her open jaws an agony. Her only relief was from the stench of manure. It had fallen away from her skin and dissipated itself under the rigours of the march.
It was Seth Burdett who brought her punishment to its end. He examined her condition with his usual sardonic amusement and passed an exchange of comments in Mustafa's own dialect. He must have said the right thing; the Arab partner nodded and laughed and surveyed his punished property with a forgiving eye.
"How'd you like to get rid of that cock in your mouth, love?"
The question was redundant. Audrey nodded joyously. When the strap was loosened the condition of her mouth made her fervid thanks hard to enunciate. Seth gave her water, watching with interest while she drank.
"Don't need your arms untied, do you?"
Her spirits sank. How utterly she was at the mercy of the Male! Her heart was in her fervent plea: "Oh, please, please, untie me!"
He chuckled at her response to his tease. Then peeled away the cords and the strips of hide. She moaned and was shocked by the deep purple wounds within her skin. She massaged them gratefully while he stood by.
"Would you obey my partner now, love?"
"Yes, I will obey. Must I kneel now?"
Both traders laughed delightedly at the ready words Audrey had known she must utter. They had made their point. The slave was humbled. The chained female admitted the superiority of the Male. It was all they asked. In a great thankfulness the punished slave held out her right wrist for its shackle and padlock. With the snap of its prisoning she was back to normal, a slave girl on her way to be auctioned. The loving touch of Corey's hand completed her felicity.
The trek continued. They were not the only users of the path. But there was no help for the nine girls. The fellow travelers regarded them and their chain with an indulgent eye, passed a friendly word with Mustafa and went their way. Their lack of interest in breasts and pubes told all too plainly she was in a land where female nakedness was not remarkable. When a woman was among those who passed, Corey detected no sympathy in their knowing eyes. Clothed or naked, a girl was the property of The Male.
There were incidents. The rear girl who shared the chores with Amrah saw herself as privileged with a status above the rest. With a naive confidence in her undoubted charms she offered her person to the partners in return for absolution from the chain and release on reaching their destination. When her offer met laughter and the explanation that what she sought to barter had not been hers for some considerable time, she wept and at the first opportunity ran fleetly into the trees. Dragged back by an amused Mustafa, she screamed, she fought, she bit. In the chagrin of wounded pride she abandoned all docility.
Both men enjoyed the occasion and made the most of it. The delinquent maiden was made to stand facing her sisters in captivity. Her hands were tied behind her back. She was adjured not to move. By this time she was too frightened to do aught but obey. Using her as an example of a naughty girl, Mustafa delivered a lecture in voluble volleys of his native tongue illustrated by a pointing finger. When he was done, Seth Burdett carried on in English. He cocked a sardonic eye at his chained stock-in-trade, and pinpointed the obvious: "Fact is, girls, you ain't got nothing to sell. You just plain ain't got nothing at all. You don't belong to yourselves any more." He paused for effect. "What you got to understand 'bout this running-away-business is that there's more to it than just taking a powder. What you're doing is stealing. You're stealing a perfectly good girl from her owner. It doesn't make no difference that the girl happens to be you." He guffawed cheerfully. "You ain't no different from any other slave. When you do a bunk you're guilty of theft. In these parts such a theft ain't a bit popular. It gets stepped on... hard!" He winked and let it go at that.
Then the construction. A simple pedestal driven in the ground. A short crosspiece. Two stakes. Nine watching girls began to comprehend the fate of one. When a pair of phallus were strapped in place little doubt remained. Amrah was chosen to grease, to insert, and to guide. She accepted her responsibility with obvious delight.
The slim loveliness kicked wildly as she was lifted and held above her impending impalement. The runaway's slender beauty was powerless in the hands of the male giants who held her bound arms. Amrah's head ducked back and forth while her fingers busily ensured the safety of costly merchandise. Her expert pronouncement throbbed with pride.
"Is now in. Is much safe to lower."
The failing legs became still. Instinctively, they opened wide. For the moment the unhappy delinquent was as anxious to avoid torn membranes as were her owners. All four participants shared concern for a successful adjustment. Seth and Mustafa lowered their petrified prize slowly and with infinite care upon her punishment. The girl herself was wide eyed and stiff with apprehension. Amrah was busy with rope on captive ankles. Obviously she had done this job before. When she and the men stepped away, a sad but shapely feminine figure sat astride the crossbar, impaled deeply within both orifices of her loins, her feet roped out to either side by taut tethers to the stakes. Her weight rested on her indented crotch. Hands bound behind her back left her helpless to sit and hurt, hurt, hurt. Any motion would increase her pain. She sat very still and quietly wept.
Corey was given the honour of being the replacement to help Amrah with the chores. It was Seth Burdett who unlocked her chains. Reading his unspoken thought as he turned the key to her collar, she wrinkled her nose at him and said, flatly: "No. I refuse to run. I'm not going to sit on that damn thing to amuse Mustafa."
"It hurts a bit too, love."
"It's a rotten way to treat a girl. Why don't you whip her and be done with it?"
"Saving that for you, Corey."
Seth had led her away from the coffle. Out of earshot, Corey asked: "Mustafa didn't take me after Audrey, he took Amrah?"
" 'sright, love. Gentleman's agreement."
"That means I belong to you, Seth?" She could not keep the excitement from her voice.
He twinkled down at her. "In a manner of speaking - and drop the Seth, I'm your Master."
Corey twinkled back. "Why don't you take me every day, Master?"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, I would! More than anything."
"And a whipping along with it?"
"Yes, that too!"
He smiled at her vehemence. Seth Burdett supposed himself half in love with Corey. But he was a Slaver, and it was all too easy to fall for some pitiful maiden on a coffle. They looked so damn sweet and helpless in their chains it was easy to become romantic. In a slave girl's anxiety for freedom he was always a prime target for wide beseeching eyes. Laughing, he shook his head. "Protocol, Miss Gibson. Bad for morale."
"Damn morale! I want you to want me. You do want me, I know you do."
"Hell, yes! But you don't notice Mustafa taking one girl only. It's our code. It works."
"If I do something unforgivable you'll have to whip me. You can take me out in the trees like last time... ? Master, please...!"
Seth placed an admonitory finger on pouting lips. "You're bored with the coffle, love."
"Of course I'm tired of it. We must have walked over half Africa." Corey Gibson looked up at her Master defiantly. "I want to be your slave girl. I'll pay whatever the price is."
He could not forbear to tease. "How about sitting out there like that girl's doing?"
Corey's pause was momentary. From it, her voice sprang eagerly: "Yes! Of course! Is that a deal?"
Seth Burdett patted her bottom and pushed her toward the fire.
"You come help gather wood - 'bout time!" Amrah greeted indignantly.
"See what I mean?" The slave trader laughed as he left them to their chores.
"You two want to fuck so bad it hurts." Amrah complained wisely. "Wish it was me."
It was good to bee free of restraints. Chores might demean, but Corey revelled in the unhindered movement of her limbs and neck. She was pleasantly excited about Seth Burdett. She knew herself wanton but refused to compare herself today to the girl she once had been. From time to time she spared a commiserating glance for the impaled runaway, asking herself if she would truly change places with the girl for a price! If Seth Burdett was the price she would do so gladly. Miss Corey Gibson was irritated by such self abnegation... But there it was!
In the sleeptime of the following day Corey was awakened by a knowledge of something wrong. She lay tense, listening, but heard nothing. The girls had made their own code. None would start up or attempt to rise so that the chain attaching her to the others would spring taut. They needed their sleep, and could achieve it only by a constant consideration for those to whom they were linked. Corey twisted cautiously.
She was free!
It was not a dream. Her slight motion caused her collar to fall open, as did the shackle on her wrist. In shock she pushed herself up to rest on one hip and look down stupidly at the metal circlets that no longer held her captive. She surveyed the coffle. The girls were all asleep, their chain neat between collared necks, their shackled hands resting carelessly above their heads. They were perfectly adjusted to the coffle, and slept peacefully.
Strangely, she felt no exhilaration. Instead, she was conscious of fear. Mustafa might be trying to trap her into delinquency justifying some hateful punishment. But he seemed deep in slumber, his back turned upon his female inventory. Of Seth she could not be sure. If he was watching her from one sardonic eye he gave no sign. Cautiously, she got to her feet. The eight shackled beauties looked pitiful in their nakedness. Without keys she could not aid them. Silently, she stepped away from where the soil was still warm from her flesh, and tip-toed to the centre of the camp.
The free, but naked, Miss Corey Gibson had never felt at such a loss. In this eerie freedom she was a pale ghost without purpose. Whatever she did seemed likely to land her in some terrifying restriction. To steal a donkey seemed the most practical course. But she had never handled one, there would be noise. Besides, she knew not which direction she should take. She was restricted to the path. To leave it for the tangled wilderness would be folly. Naked! Unarmed! Unskilled! Corey Gibson had never been so lonely. She saw herself alone on a sterile planet for which there were no maps.
Suddenly, the coffle beckoned enticingly. In its slavery lay the only comfort or safety of which she could be sure. Corey wished she had clasped the metal bands back upon herself and clicked their locks. Was it possible to do so now without discovery? Was it?
In swift decision she sped to where her Master slept. Deliberately she slid down and snuggled close, a bare arm across his shoulders. Without surprise, she heard his chuckle. "Congratulations, love. You've made your point." Lazily, he turned and gathered her close, her head gratefully buried against his cheek. Corey Gibson had never been so happy.
The town of Ben Sirah lay between desert and scrub, an ancient ghost of a place progress had ignored. For Slavers it was ideal. If the powers above knew its function they closed a blind eye. No matter how enlightened an official might be, it was comforting to know where a slave girl could still be purchased. It was one of Africa's surviving institutions of which most men, black or white or in between, secretly approved. From its auction block the wealthy of the world had gathered to itself some of the most desirable female flesh extant.
As the current consignment of feminine pulchritude from the stable of Mustafa and Burdett clinked its coffle through empty moonlit streets and shuffled its female feet in sand still warm from daylight sun, Corey Gibson could believe herself transported back a thousand years. No sign of modernity was to be seen. For her and those like her it offered no hope. For slave girls it would be a place of sadness and last good-byes. As they filed through its central square the sight of stocks and whipping posts, stark and empty in the pale light, was far from welcome. Conscious of the metal she bore upon her nudity, she wondered how many other white girls had marched as she marched now!
"Soon we all be fucked real good," whispered Amrah ecstatically. "This fine place to be sold. Much best." Her stride was confident.
It may have been a warehouse. Or perhaps it had known no other function than the housing of slaves. A huge square place of stone and thatch, its roof supported by pillars. Within each quarter of its dimension there was a cage of metal bars and sandy floor, large enough to tell of a considerable trade in times past. Ventilation was adequate from unglazed apertures high in the stone. The whole place spelt slavery with a capital 'S'. Corey shivered.
They were well received by the Management. The partners were treated with much respect. The nine naked girls were examined with voluble approval. Help was provided in their placement within a chosen cage. Amrah was first in line. Freed from the coffle, her wrists were crossed behind her back and tied with a strip of supple hide. An authoritative hand thrust her within the confines of the bars. Corey was next. The tying of her hands at the small of her back was competent. She would not get loose. In dismal distaste for what was happening she joined Amrah in the cage. Soon all nine girls stood nakedly with hands bound behind their backs and surveyed their new home. The door clanged shut with a ceremony of locks. The omnipotent Males departed. Unhappily, Corey gazed through the bars at her Master's disappearing back.
Life within the Slave Cage was simple. The girls agreed they preferred the coffle but made the best of what they could not change. Their new confinement allowed them all to talk in an intimacy the coffle had never permitted. Two troughs against the bars provided food and water. They had to kneel to eat or to drink from the communal containers set a couple of feet above the sand for their convenience. Their bound hands were lost to them. Amrah blandly explained away the imposition.
"Hands tie so we know we slaves. No hands, no trouble. Is no use try untie."
She was probably right. Certainly no amount of twisting and striving untied a knot. Back to back, questing fingers were still defeated. The hide had been wet and its knots doubly sutured. No doubt it was much cheaper than handcuffs and imposed a more personal discipline. After the first day the girls no longer bothered. Amrah was appointed to tend their needs. Her hands were untied but her feet were shackled. She clinked about her new duties with considerable elan. She saw it as a promotion. The chain joining her ankles bothered her not at all, for her it was a visible symbol of authority.
"You be polite or Amrah pinch your tits." She warned amiably. "You girls can't do nothing the way you's tied. But Amrah do what she like." She kicked her leg irons to make them swirl. "These here don't bother me none."
They were not alone. The far cage held four female captives, another imprisoned two. One single girl was chained to the stone wall by her collar. She sat in apathetic boredom, awaiting a fate on which Amrah was soon informed.
"She been sold. But owner busy. He pick up later." She tittered. "He be pay her room and board."
Corey missed Burdett. His masculinity was a needed foil for the redundancy of breasts, pubic triangles and unruly hair. The cage reeked of female. Some of the captives paired and unashamedly made love. Their bound hands were a handicap they managed to overcome, they had plenty of time. Boredom engulfed them as did the cage. The three white girls discussed the feminine relief their tongues could bestow. But the case defeated them. It was worse than being in public. They were specimens in a zoo to be peered at between bars. Corey shrank from a vision of Seth Burdett walking in to find her with her face buried between Audrey's thighs.
Ennui ended on the fourth day. They were shepherded through a narrow doorway into a second chamber much like the first. It held no cages, but the auction block stood, starkly obvious, facing a few rows of chains which were no doubt a modern concession to the wealth of those who would bid. In contrast to the place they had left they now were surrounded by luxury. The walls were draped with rugs; the block itself was shrouded in black velvet. Against the far wall stood a bar. Seth Burdett did the honours.
"This is where you'll be sold." His eye roved the line of breasts. The girls stood expectantly, their hands and arms still secured behind their backs. "Now, just so's there's no fuck-ups on the Great Day. I'll give you the drill."
Amrah stood proudly forward. She had been briefed.
"You'll wear a strip of white, and we want it pretty on you." He gave them his sardonic grin. "Believe it or not, some men pay more for a cunt they can't see than for one they can."
It was like the stewardess on a airline demonstrating the oxygen mask. Amrah mounted the platform, her chains almost silent on the plush, and proceeded to work a feminine miracle upon her loveliness with a swathe of virgin white, potent against the black on which she stood. She was loving every moment.
"You won't be tied. No way!" Seth continued amiably. "So you'll have no trouble with that bit of cloth. Now watch! When the time comes...!"
Each girl watched breathlessly. Mentally, they stood as Amrah stood, but above a sea of male faces. They sighed in unison as the girl on the block deftly loosed a knot and stripped herself nude. Arms outstretched, she held the white drape for several moments, cascading from her fingers. Then let it fall. Corey envied her sangfroid. Amrah was a showgirl, and in spite of her pragmatic speech and actions, displayed one of the most exquisite figures for which a man might yearn.
"You girls sell yourselves." Burdett's tone hardened. "So get this straight. You fight. You sulk. You make yourself ugly, and we'll pull you from that block so quick it will curl your hair. You'll go back to the other room and by the time we're finished with you you'll wish you'd behaved." He smiled cheerfully. "Or maybe we'll use you as the preliminary at the next auction. A bit of discipline, nicely presented, whets the boy's appetites."
They cringed. Each of them uncertain of her Thespian skill. Their eyes widened as Amrah was joined on the pedestal by a muscular male with the inevitable whip. It was a short whip for close range. He was grinning broadly at his proudly eager subject.
It was well done. The white girls exchanged glances of admiration as Amrah demonstrated what NOT to do when being auctioned. She pouted, she sulked. She drooped and sagged, she turned her back, or covered her breasts with shielding hands. She crossed her legs and held them tightly shut. In desperate panic, she fell to her knees and embraced the legs of the smiling auctioneer in a frantic but mute appeal. He thrashed her bowed shoulders with his whip in blow after viciously reprimanding blow until she sobbed in anguish and slowly resumed her required pose as a girl only too anxious to be sold. If the audience had possessed their hands they would have clapped. The whip was simulated. Its scarlet lines were dye.
"It gives you an idea." Burdett explained blandly. "But I'll give you a tip. There's those chaps who'll buy you just to have a girl around to whip. It's them that buys the fighters and the sulks...!" For a moment he focused on the white slaves before continuing. "You'll find yourself looking down at a lot of fellers, most of 'em ordinary decent chaps, and you'll want to tell 'em you've been kidnapped and won't they please help and call the cops... " He paused for effect. "Don't do it! It's the one thing you just don't do!!"
Soberly, they filed back to their cage.
It became a busy time for Amrah. She washed them, she did their hair; she laved them with heavy and cloying perfumes. She gave them good advice. "You see a man you like, you smile at him special. Maybe he buy you." For good measure she added a bit of bitter wisdom: "Ain't always the big guys have big cocks. Sometimes is little men. Is hard to tell... " In the morning, in a final grooming, their lips were painted red, their hands were freed, they were given their single swathe of white. The first male face Corey saw on entering the auction room was that of Reid Hunter.
CHAPTER FIVE - HARLOT
For a girl whose body is about to be sold from it, the auction Block can be the loneliest place in the world. On it, she stands between her vanished past and a frightening future. If slavery was not real to her before, it is real now!
Amrah was the first.
The three white girls stood, under guard, to one side as the auction got under way. Their free hands clutched their scrap of covering; their faces were discreetly veiled. Corey supposed they had been segregated for a purpose, probably to pique male interest. It had been tacitly understood between all nine girls that they constituted the piece de resistance of the coffle. It was a doubtful honour.
Amrah was knocked down to a nondescript character in a business suit for two hundred and forty thousand American dollars. She had worked hard for the partners and given of her best upon the block. When she stood to have her hands bound behind her back for safe delivery she smiled at Corey in glowing confidence of a bright future. The American girl wryly hoped her purchaser was well endowed.
The veiled girls exchanged startled glances. Amrah's price seemed a lot of money. It made the whole operation in which they were helplessly enmeshed plausible. But it was frightening. Such huge sums paid for a girl meant she could surely kiss good-bye to any hope of freedom. For such a one it would be iron bars and shackled feet forever.
The other five dusky beauties went to the block and did what they must. Burdett's instruction had been a practical guide. They sold for sums of money that spelt big business. Only two of them wept as they were bound and delivered. Josie came next.
The atmosphere changed. An electric current touched all present. White flesh on black velvet! It was potent. Amphala was robbed Josie of inhibitions, she flaunted her nakedness with skill, and was purchased by a desert cloaked Arab for more than seven hundred thousand dollars. None present seemed surprised.
Audrey and Corey were shivering. But it was not their turn. The Management was well aware of the value of intermissions and delay. There was also a free show! Whilst drinks were dispensed a space of floor was cleared. To it was brought a naked and terrified cafe-au-lait maiden who, a minute later, hung suspended by her wrists, her toes a foot above the floor.
It was a leisurely affair, as between gentlemen. There was no hurry. The frightened girl hung, kicking and twisting in distress, while drinks were sipped and her physical attributes discussed. After awhile the auctioneer read out her crimes. At the previous auction she had rebelled... She had broken all the rules... ! Her punishing would make a pleasant interlude before the main event.
The auctioneer whipped her. He did so with skill and with finesse. No nuance of eroticism was ignored. His arm was heavy but controlled; there would be no cut skin on costly merchandise. After the defenceless damsel had screamed a few times under his lash, he thoughtfully gagged her that the ears of men who mattered be not offended. The gag was neat and cruel and very, very effective. After it was strapped tight it was her body alone whose writhings became the more eloquent for silence.
Corey writhed inwardly. If she had thought of rebellion she would discard it now. To hang naked to be whipped before male eyes... ! It was more that she would risk for doubtful benefit. She watched, in a compelling fascination, as the girl was made to open her legs for the thong, to raise a foot that its sole be beaten, and to twist correctly for her breasts to invite their stripes. The suspended slave was petrified with fear. She had disobeyed before, she would not err again! The whip etched its lattice work of scarlet upon her skin, but stopped short of imposing one blow upon another. She had been well punished but was still contorting vigorously in silence when the last stroke fell.
They bid on her as she was. Wide eyed and gagged, she hung suspended from her tether, passive and limp, her head bowed as she turned slowly in short circles to bestow upon her prospective purchasers as total an exposure of her nakedness as might have been contrived.
Corey was puzzled and uneasy. The bidding for this whipped girl was so frantic and determined that a single thought became obvious. Why not whip them all? If whipped skin so aroused possessive lust it was surprising it was not more frequently employed... ! And she and Audrey still remained to be sold... !
The sum for which the whipped girl was finally sold sent a stir of excitement round the room. She was lowered and led away by the same tether from which she had hung. Her purchaser generously returned her gag. For the moment it was most unlikely she would scream.
Audrey Cotswold fetched one million six hundred thousand in U.S. currency. During the bidding her features became serene, almost scornful. She was purchased by Reid Hunter. As she was bound and led away by a servant her eyes found Corey's in triumph. She had been ransomed.
In mounting the steps to the block, Corey Gibson found a strange peace. She was a pawn in this game men played for a prize of girls. She was helpless to influence her fate. Desperately, her gaze scanned the room for sight of Seth Burdett. He was not there. In resignation, she focused on Reid Hunter. He smiled and winked. Corey's heart raced. If Reid Hunter was bidding sums like this he must be acting for Assef Aslam... ! Purchased by Aslam she would still be slave! It was a strange and defeating circle for a girl to make. Bitterly, she recognized that no matter who purchased her she could not win. Audrey would now return to her privileged status. But her own enslavement would pick up where it had left off on Aslam's hijacked plane.
It was not until the bidding approached the first million that she spied Abdul Nour. It was the moment when Corey must expose herself and stand nude for final appraisals. She copied Amrah, and it was while she initially stood with widespread arms and dropped the strip of white that her challenging survey of avid male faces picked him out. The Guerrilla Leader sat unobtrusively among the rest, regarding her loveliness with lewd appreciation. He also winked. From him it was obscene.
Corey Gibson on the slave block presumed she did well and obeyed all the rules. Bidding for her person was a steadily progression, frightening in its implications of slavery and the loss of freedom. From one million it progressed to two. The bids were scattered, they were not yet a duel. The American girl stood as erect and proud as she deemed wise. Those closest to the block examined her pudendum and pubic hair in zestful appetite. The back seats tended to concentrate upon her breasts. One man was evidently a navel addict, he stared at hers in concentrated attention throughout the period of her sale. From time to time Abdul Nour raised a finger to top a bid. But the bid came back, higher and higher. For the sum of three million one hundred thousand dollars the daughter of the Planet Corporation was sold to the enigmatic grin of Reid Hunter. As his servant bound her hands behind her back, Corey Gibson supposed she should feel a flood of gratitude and relief. But she did not. Looking for Abdul Nour among the crowd she found him gone. Her purchaser, too, was absent.
So was Seth Burdett.
Naked and bound, Miss Corey Gibson was led to her new slavery by a hand grasping her hair. The hand was far from kind.
It was not the Beverly Hilton. But it was pleasant and the best Ben Sirah could offer. There was an exciting fragrance of coffee. For the time being the large airy room and balcony was a piece of America. Assef Aslam's money could accomplish anything anywhere.
"If we seem a bit awkward it's because of the clothes." Audrey giggled. "It's been so long."
"Being naked on the coffle was so terribly convenient for us all." Corey added mischievously. "You've no idea."
For a moment Reid Hunter looked embarrassed. "Well, I suppose I do have an idea... " He broke off awkwardly and laughed with them. Then surveyed his expensively clad duo with immense approval. "I believe that trek through the wilderness must have done you good. Those figures of yours... ! Wow!"
"You had a damn good look at 'em." Corey snapped.
"Expect me to close my eyes?" He chuckled. "They treat you right here - let you see what you're buying. I damn near bid on that girl they whipped. But I doubt if Assef would go for her on the expense sheet."
"You mean, seeing that poor kid flogged did something for you?" Corey was piqued. "You ought to be ashamed!"
"Oh, I am! On the other hand it made me horny as hell."
Audrey was amused. "You mean that if they'd strung us up like that and whipped us the same way you'd have loved every stroke?"
"I wouldn't have voted for it, sweetheart. But if it had just happened... ! Holy cow, it would have driven me up the wall. I'd have had to buy a girl just to find relief."
"Reid, that's horrible."
"Well, maybe. But that's why they all bid like crazy - they couldn't wait to get to the nearest whorehouse."
"You are also disgusting."
He was unperturbed. "You girls care to make a man happy?"
"I'll get into bed with you." Audrey conceded unblushingly. "But I'm damned if I'll let you whip me so you can get a hard-on first."
Reid Hunter sighed mockingly. "You girls! No gratitude. How about you, Corey Gibson?"
The demand was sudden enough to catch her unawares. Corey was still unsure... ! "Have I any say in the matter?" She asked doubtfully.
"Don't notice any manacles on you, sweetheart."
"Maybe not. Sometimes they don't show."
"Mind you, if you two girls have got so used to being chained...?" His grin became beneficent. "I can easily arrange some handcuffs."
"Oh, drop dead, Reid." Audrey laughed. "If you really go for that I'm sure Assef would pay for a girl. You could keep her chained to your bed:"
"Why not, Reid? You've done enough of his dirty work." Corey was still piqued from her first betrayal.
"Come, come, Corey! If it wasn't for me and Assef you'd now be bracing a harem."
"If it wasn't for you I'd never have left New York. Remember what I called you: Judas goat, that's what you did to me."
"Don't fret, Darling." Audrey patted a quivering shoulder. "Assef would have got you one way or another. Don't blame Reid."
"Well... I suppose -" Audrey spoke directly to the man. "The poor Darling's still uncertain where she's at. I know where I'm at. But is she slave or free?"
Reid Hunter waved the demand aside. "Let's have lunch!" He suggested. "And a drink or two. There's one or two things... " It was glorious to be free. Corey could not deny exaltation. Even if Aslam claimed her it would be better than this savage place. She and Audrey Cotswold had bathed and chosen clothes in a frenzy of feminine happiness.
"I told you, Corey." The English girl admonished. "They were bound to find us. All it's amounted to is a bad time in the cell and on the coffle. Now we're home free."
"Am I?"
"Honestly, I don't know." Audrey admitted reluctantly. "You look free to me... " She paused reflectively. "But I suppose if Assef's given orders... ! It's his plane out there on the sand - don't suppose you want to run off in the trees?"
"I would rather than be a slave again."
"But, Darling, you'd be picked up by someone... You'd end up on the block again. Or worse... ! That's the hell of it; there's worse things than being a slave girl. Dammit', look at me!"
"You're his number one. I'll be for whipping."
Audrey kissed her tenderly. "I love you, Corey Gibson. Leave things with me and Reid. We'll make out someway. In his way he's not a bad guy."
Corey had responded. They had made love with a joyous abandon. Perhaps she really was free... perhaps... ! Now, looking across the table at her insouciant host, it was hard to believe she was still a slave to anyone. She was listening attentively.
"I think you've forgotten poor old Assef had to be bailed out." Reid was reminding them. "I had the job. It cost too huge a sum to mention. As of right now Aslam's gunning for Abdul Nour. One day he'll nail the silly bastard." He shrugged at them apologetically. "Actually it was a damn good thing those traders snaffled you away from Amphala. You were Abdul's ace in the hole. Losing you weakened his hand."
"Can you get in touch with those two men... ? Or one of them?" Corey asked with feigned indifference.
"She's in love with a great masculine hulk named Seth Burdett." Audrey informed amusedly. "You'll have to forgive the poor child, it's her glands... "
"Probably retired to the Riviera or Brazil." Reid sighed.
"That coffle fetched a mint." He eyed Corey in mock concern. "If you're suffering, dear girl, I'll be happy to service you."
"You shouldn't take a chance, Reid." Corey told him with equal frankness. "I've been screwed all over half of Africa, thanks to you. Maybe you'd catch something."
They let it go at that. Reid continued. "That left us at square one, except for Assef's girl Friday and his latest slave who were somewhere in a wilderness on a long chain. We made enquiries... "
"And waited until we got to where handy to pick up." Audrey contributed tartly.
"Well, neither of us was Stanley or Livingstone, y'know! And the local constabulary couldn't have cared less." Reid shook an admonishing finger. "Like I said, you girls... ! I'm not a bit sure that hike on the coffle wasn't the best thing in the world for you both - "
"It got Corey nicely screwed a couple of times and I lost five pounds."
"Don't keep harping in the irrelevant." Reid's rebuke was paternal. "I'm trying hard to bring you both up to date." He turned to Corey. "Your Dad's O.K. He and Assef have struck a deal. I'll admit that Aslam's possession of your delightful body was a factor in negotiations, but what's a hundred million or so between these tycoon types? The Planet Corp' has survived its crisis and your Dad isn't on welfare."
"I'm grateful. Where am I?"
"In a town called Ben Sirah. I'm not sure just where it is myself. You've having dinner with me and Audrey."
"You know damn well what I mean."
"Corey, let it drop!" Audrey pleaded.
"Don't you think I'd love to!" Corey retorted. "Give me a bit of hope of freedom and I will."
They kept silent.
"O.K., you've said it better than words. I'm some sort of prisoner?"
"Assef wants you."
"Am I expected to go willingly to my dungeon?"
"Well, if you don't, the only ones to be embarrassed is me and Audrey."
"What about me? I suppose the hired help will tie me up and dump me in the plane. I'll wake up in Aslam's New York oubliette?"
"He hasn't got one of those. I'd thought that if the worst came to the worst you might like Audrey to... sort of... restrain?"
"You mean tie me or chain me?"
"Couldn't you just enjoy your dinner?" Reid was annoyed.
"Could you?"
"Hold it!" Audrey laughed at their acerbity. "Look, Reid, leave her to me. If Corey escapes I'll let you whip me the way you want. But she won't... ! You've just got her riled... "
"She keeps harping -"
"So would you if you thought you were a prisoner for life and were going to get whipped every day."
"It's not that bad -"
"Are you sure?"
Reid Hunter waved a despairing hand. "I'm not sure. I'm not into this stuff." He focused on Audrey Cotswold. "You'd know better than anyone -"
"Alright, so I know!" Audrey had the bit in her teeth. "Aslam had me whipped day after day when he first had me. I was kidnapped and rebellious as hell. It all seemed so damn unfair. I was never free of chain or rope or straps or wire... He used everything... ! He was the overlord, coming to view the aesthetic picture after his help had done their work on me." She made a moue of deprecation. "It took me a hell of a long time to realise it was me who was out of line. I was female and subject to these things. I'd never known that before. Once I caught sight of reality he didn't have to whip me any more - except for his own pleasure, of course. He still does that."
"He broke you, Audrey." Corey was bitter.
The English girl shrugged. "If you want to see it that way. But if you analyse it Assef simply made me understand my sex and his in relation to each other. I've been happy with him."
"Except when he whips you for fun?" Corey demanded.
"Dammit, Corey, Seth Burdett whipped you -!"
They looked at each other askance. Corey knew guilt. These people were her friends. Audrey loved her. "I'm... I'm sorry." She stammered contritely. "I'll forget it for now. Do what you must later on. Let's have a lovely dinner. I think I'd like to get a little drunk."
That's what they did.
"Reid's position isn't easy." Audrey said reflectively as the two girls undressed for bed. "He's been more involved with Aslam than anyone knew. They like each other. If Aslam desires you, Reid doesn't see it as any different from him wanting to buy a block of Standard Oil."
"Gee, thanks!"
"Well, that's the way of it. Corey Darling, haven't you got the message yet? Men do what they like with us girls. We can make a fuss to keep up appearances but it doesn't change a thing. We end up getting whipped or fucked or traded. We're a part of their possessions like the grand piano."
"Unless we fight -!"
"Don't be silly. We can't fight men and win. But if you enjoy getting yourself whipped, go ahead."
Corey stripped away panties and bra. It felt good to be naked again. Naked was natural. She longed for Seth Burdett.
"Darling, your whip marks have faded wonderfully, they're almost gone." Audrey tenderly fingered the satin skin of the girl who had shared her chain on the coffle. "Gosh, you're beautiful!"
"So are you."
"Aslam wouldn't be bothered with us if we weren't. Any girl who's beautiful is lucky. Let's make love. Look, I'm naked too!"
They made love. They adored each other. Drunk with affection and alcohol, Corey remembered something. "Weren't we supposed...?"
"You mean about making sure you didn't escape -?" Audrey was herself besotted. "D'you really want me -?"
"I expect you should." Corey was absurdly solemn. "I'm not to be trusted, am I? I mean, it's so easy to run away - " Audrey giggled. "To find Seth Burdett and get yourself fucked? Y'know, Corey, you're absolutely wanton. Let's make love again?"
They made love again.
"Feel better now?" It was a long time later. Audrey sounded amused. "Dammit', you sexpot, you're a full time job."
"I feel wonderful. Think we could do that all night?"
"Corey, you're a disgrace to heterosexual relations... and I have to get some sleep."
The two girls giggled steadily in their search. A pair of handcuffs was belatedly sighted where Reid Hunter had thoughtfully placed them on the bedside table. They sparked debate.
"In front? They're harmless in front. Just a sort of insignia?" Corey wheedled.
"But they don't stop you going places."
"No, I suppose not." Corey grappled with what was obviously a major decision involving more than herself. "How about behind my back?" She giggled. "I'd feel awfully silly walking through the brush with no hands."
"Mmmmmm, but you could still walk. I expect you could run?"
"Gosh, I'd no idea things were this difficult." Corey wrinkled her brow in thought. "How about handcuffing me to you? I mean your wrist to my wrist?"
"Too much like that damn coffle, Darling."
"Huh, I suppose so. How 'bout my wrist to the bed someplace?"
Corey possessed a slander ankle. They compromised by handcuffing it to the bedrail. Giggling, they fell asleep.
It was hours later in the dark when the gunshots brought them back to fear. Audrey was out of bed in seconds; she dragged on clothes and dashed through the door. From somewhere she had produced a revolver. Dazed and fearful, Corey Gibson watched her go. It was all too swift, too much a reversion to what she had wanted to forget. Apprehensively, Corey slid from beneath the covers and headed for her clothes. It took her an appreciable time to understand why she was suddenly flat on the floor with one foot oddly trapped. It was then she remembered the handcuff.
It held her prisoner.
Corey Gibson was frightened. She was also angry. She struggled back on the bed and surveyed the metal band round her left ankle in a fury of frustration. To think she had allowed a few drinks and giggles to place herself in this predicament... ! But Audrey was fun; it has been a laughing romp between two girls; that was all. Or was that all? Corey Gibson found it all too easy to look into her future and see nothing but a handcuff, a chain, a rope, and the threat of being whipped. She kicked fretfully at her bond, deliberately making it hurt.
But the sounds were still there, and Audrey had not returned. In frantic hope, Corey lifted the pillow still warm from Audrey's head. But there was no key. Panting but methodically she stretched her nudity to the limits the handcuff would permit. Her questing fingers found nothing of any help. If the handcuff key was in the room it had to be on the dresser, and for her to reach the dresser she would have to move the bed. Standing on her free right foot, she began to tug and heave...
It was then the sounds became louder. There was one more shot, and another. Heavy footsteps thudded their way upstairs...
Everything was the same except Corey herself. Previously, when she had hung suspended before Abdul Nour's desk it had been by both wrists, her legs spread wide to present the guerrilla with an excellent view of her vulva. Now, she hung by one wrist only, the other was handcuffed behind her back to its opposite ankle dragged up awkwardly from a bent knee. It was a hateful posture. It hurt. She was close to tears.
It was all too unkind. Audrey had vanished. Abdul had found her cuffed to the bed like a neat package awaiting delivery. Smugly he had freed her ankle and clipped both her wrists behind her back. Dragged to the waiting plane, she had beheld with horror the sprawled dead figure of Reid Hunter. There had been two other motionless bundles...
That was all! So simple to alter lives and rob a girl of freedom! Now, Miss Corey Gibson awaited her interview with Abdul Nour. If she was about to be offered employment she could guess what it would be.
"I trust you are comfortable, Miss Gibson?"
The Guerrilla Leader loved the suavity which so ill matched the rest of him. With hostile eye, the suspended heiress watched him take the chair behind the desk. "You know I'm not." Corey said flatly. "If you want to talk I'd be grateful to be untied."
"I'm sure you would."
"At least allow my foot down on the floor?"
"No."
"This is a sort of torture. I'll be gasping all the time."
"Good!"
"But please... ? I want to talk to you sensibly. Don't make me hang here like a puppet on a string. You can torture me afterwards... if that's what you've stolen me for."
He clapped gently. "Well said, my dear. I have your full attention. I have found these strained postures most helpful in interviewing young ladies of a certain social status. Without the help of the rope they have a tendency to quibble."
The suspended Corey longed to tell him to 'Stow it' or 'Dry up' or better still: 'Drop dead!'. Instead, she said bleakly: "I hurt too much to quibble. Please... where's Audrey?"
"I'd like to know that myself. Miss Cotswold escaped my men. We are still searching."
Corey resigned herself to the misery of the rope. The Desert eyes were drinking in her strained nudity with avid pleasure. But Audrey was good news. Audrey would not abandon her. Unhappily, she asked: "What are you going to do with me now?"
"Subject you to imprisonment and mild tortures designed to humble the proud white maiden."
"I'd have thought you and that damn coffle made me humble enough."
"Interspersed, of course, by sojourns in my army brothel."
So that was it! The thing she feared most. Corey wanted to moan in desolation. Instead, she offered: "You can still get a huge ransom for me?"
"Perhaps later, after I have relished your humilities. In a few months it may amuse me to accept a few million to return you to the U.S. with a belly full of my soldier's sperm."
The penalty of being female! No matter where a girl turned, it would be there waiting. Thrusting away a hateful vision, Corey asked: "Weren't we going to get married, or something?"
Abdul Nour was engrossed in contemplation of the well exposed sex of the girl suspended for his pleasure. Corey's raised leg cuffed to her wrist enabled an examination of her pubic lips at an unusual angle. She could not thwart the scorch of his regard. The regret in his voice was spurious. "I'm afraid I can no longer offer you the honour, my dear. I have lost Miss Cotswold as a hostage. I have sold Mr. Aslam back to his business. I understand he has dealt favourably with your father's crisis. If I now let you loose in Cairo you will promptly go home."
She could have wept. Everything went wrong. She would be someone's prisoner forever. Desperately, she pleaded: "Look, there's such a thing as a word of honour, a parole if you like. I'll give you mine. Send me to Cairo. I'll do what you want me to there. I'll fill the Press with the romance of Abdul Nour, and I'll come back here with me as your legal wife. Please...?"
She had captured his attention indeed. "Why would you do that?" He asked suspiciously.
"To escape the brothel."
"So!" He was now amused. He was also impressed. "There are girls in that brothel who have been fucked a thousand times... That's only three times a day for a year. They and their cunts are no different from the day I placed them there. Why be so concerned about that small slit between your legs?"
"You know why."
"The fastidious white mores! But seriously, Miss Gibson, supposing I grant your wish, how can you know I won't put you in the brothel anyway?"
"I just don't think you would. Oh, please let me down off this beastly rope!"
He found his cane and cut the upturned sole of her cuffed foot with it five times. When Corey's sounds of agony diminished, he said calmly: "You easily forget your manners. You would make a man a poor wife." He left her suspended; her raised foot a blaze of pain.
It was absurd to see Achmed as an old friend. But after hanging by one wrist in front of Abdul's empty desk for enough hours to seem an eternity Corey would have welcomed anyone willing to lower her foot to the floor. Released, she sat on the rug and blissfully rubbed her wounds. "Thanks, Achmed. Nice to see you again." Resentfully, she asked herself what the hell else she could have said to him.
Achmed patted her hair. "You nice girl. You pretty prisoner. Achmed make sure you never no more escape. Every evening we fuck."
"Thank you."
With the air of having seen it on the movies, Achmed cuffed her right hand to his left for their short journey to the familiar cell. The collar and chain was waiting. "I'll stand still, while you lock it on my neck." Corey volunteered brightly. "You're nice to me, I'll be nice for you."
The closing of the metal circlet round her neck brought memories of her former imprisonment. But, far more vividly, it returned her to the coffle and to Seth. She yearned for him with a terrible hunger. No doubt he supposed her safely sold and cared for. He would not have stayed overnight in Ben Sirah so would know nothing of Abdul Nour's raid. She blinked back tears.
"Poor Miss Gibson sad she be chained again?"
"It's not much fun wearing a collar and chain, Achmed."
"You think you like brothel better?" He enquired solicitously. "Wear collar and chain there too so no run. But nice long chain."
So Achmed knew that too! Corey Gibson pictured herself servicing soldiers with a chain trailing from its metal band upon her neck. Girls were nothings here, just pets and prisoners. "When am I going to be sent to the brothel, Achmed?"
"You no ask questions."
"Sorry, I'd forgotten. D'you want to fuck me now, Achmed?"
"In one minute. Have not finish chain."
She might have known! She was an escapee. A subject enticing rescue. Unhappily, she watched Achmed's embarrassment. "Don't feel bad about chaining me some more, Achmed. It's orders, isn't it?"
"Is orders. Both hands, both feet. All locks different." He dangled an impressive ring of keys.
The chain was impressive too. Links were everywhere. To hold one naked girl it was ridiculous. But Corey did not laugh. Fortunately, most of it dragged on the floor. She could bear the weight of the rest of it.
"Am most sorry... so much chain... "
"Oh, go ahead! Don't mind me! Here's my wrist."
"You much kind girl."
She watched the band circle her wrist, watched the padlock snap. The weight was surprising. She proffered her other hand. It was becoming a shockingly natural thing to do. When all her limbs had been banded and chained she caught her jailor's apologetic eye. They both laughed. Achmed immediately saw the bright side. "Can still fuck. Chain not stop open legs."
Afterwards and alone, Corey wept.
Preparing for sleep, she was compelled to drag up and arrange what seemed like fifty pounds of chain.
"I will visit you often." Achmed's woebegone apology was shattering. "Is permitted. But perhaps you no longer need?"
"Of course you must come, Achmed. You're my friend." In the light of morning it was hard to be cordial after the news. Corey was possessed by one big question mark. "What did I do to offend him?"
"Achmed not sure. But is much troubles for him. Maybe he take out mad on you." Achmed knew himself the bearer of bad tidings. "Brothel not so bad. Much fuck. Some girl enjoy."
"Why doesn't he whip me, or something like that - One of those beastly tying-up things he's so fond of?"
"You like?"
"No, I suppose I don't."
"Brothel best. Is just chain on neck. Plenty lay down." Achmed was searching for silver linings. "You get good whip. Talifa now top girl. She whip each one new.
"What on Earth for? If we haven't done anything bad!" No prospects were having any silver linings for Corey Gibson.
"Is show she boss. Is make well behave."
It would be rationalised. Corey was sure of that. Whatever was done to her would be coloured by Amphala's own logic. Glumly she looked at the mass of chain still securing her to the wall of her cell. "Won't I have to wear all this hardware?" She asked listlessly.
"No one tell Achmed." Her jailor beamed. "How 'bout one chain one wrist?"
"I don't want to be chained at all. Can't you ask Abdul Nour?"
"Is gone. Big fast hurry. Leave note."
"And the note said to put me in the brothel?"
"Right! So that what Achmed must do." He shrugged another apology. "Note also says you be flogged every time you try bribe or escape. Use much bad whip."
Miss Corey Gibson shivered. In premeditation, and under the guidance of this amiable Sudanese, she was about to enter a brothel and become a whore without pay. Talifa's welcome would be to whip her nakedness... probably severely. She would have no say about any of it. She had become a female facility with an orifice between her legs into which weary soldiers would thrust their hard penis and pump their semen in pursuit of a dream that was not there. It was all unreal. If Abdul Nour was killed in battle, his possessions would revert to the next bandit in line. For her there would be no hope. Bitterly, she wondered what a whore thought about after ten years of guerrilla penetration. Once more she thought longingly of Seth Burdett - but Seth was gone.
"Alright, Achmed. I won't offer you a couple of million. I don't want to be flogged."
"That same as offer." Achmed retorted shrewdly. "But this time Achmed no flog pretty back. Now we go."
Corey sat on her bunk and watched the padlocks fall away. But there was no freedom there. She felt numb, unable to comprehend the full enormity of what she was about to enter. A whore! When her hands were freed they rose to the band of metal round her neck. "Must I wear the collar, Achmed?"
"I take away chain. Collar stay." He held up handcuffs. "Talifa expect you be fixed proper. I sorry."
"It doesn't matter, Achmed. Where do you want my hands?"
"Talifa do what she like. Achmed lock in front."
There was something appealing about Achmed. Gratefully, Corey extended her wrists. What a plight she had come to that she gave thanks for hands cuffed above her pubic hair instead of at her back? Bitterly, she suggested: "Click 'em tight, Achmed! I wouldn't want Talifa to think we cheated."
Achmed clicked them tight.
Talifa took delivery of her new girl with an obvious delight in her own importance. It was not every Matron of a bordello whose stable included a girl of Corey Gibson's social status. When she passed the word around among the troops there would be tips for the favourable disposition of the socialite's person. She made a cautious mental note to keep the number of the novice's penetrations down to not more than a dozen a day. It sometimes took a new girl a little time... !
Corey watched Achmed's departing back in dolour. He had a male compassion Talifa would not share. Girls were cruel to girls. She remembered the punishment room on her previous incarceration.
"I make you very pretty. But first I whip." Talifa said conversationally. "You going to be good girl?"
"My father will pay you a million dollars for me, Talifa."
"That being bad girl. I whip you harder for trying bribe. Bribe not permitted. You come now to room." In an inconsistent impulse of affection Talifa kissed her new girl warmly. "I think you very nice. We get along fine after whip."
"But, Talifa, why must I be whipped? I'm behaving as well as I know how."
Corey had always wondered about prisoners walking to their execution or meekly into a cell. Why didn't they fight? Why be passive and compliant when you were seething with fear, injustice, anger? Why? Surely they should make a physical protest after words had failed! But she wryly censured herself. She could kick and scream and bite. The handcuffs would not stop that. But she was being abjectly obedient as she followed this caf� au lait female into pain and the defilement of her sex. But it was one of those things. She was in the grip of a tide she could not stem. Bitterly, she understood the logic of cuffs and collar. They robbed a girl of will.
Every ring in the place held a handcuff, its other half tight on the wrist of a curious girl. A new girl was always welcome. It spread the workload and the stripes. The smiles were welcoming.
"Talifa has help." The head girl indicated another like herself. "Take place of Amrah. Make you be good. Her name Raynee."
More suspension. The two girls did not lift Corey's feet from the floor, but the stretch of lifted arms made the handcuffs bite. "Is not for long, just while we whip your nice back." Talifa explained with thoughtful solicitude. "Is good we whip you like this. You be using pretty cunt, so is best not to hurt." It was as though she was being looked after by loving friends.
The pain was beastly. Corey Gibson hated every stroke. Her loins were not heated as they had been with Seth. With him, each lash had sent an erotic fire coursing through her veins. But this was cold. She was convinced it was useless, serving no purpose other than to make her humble. Talifa and Raynee cut the whip with zest, exclaiming over each red line, planning the next. After a few strokes she gave up trying to be quiet, after a few screams she pleaded to be gagged.
"We don't mind you make noise and kick feet." Talifa consoled.
"But I'm so ashamed of the noise - it just hurt so damn bad."
They gagged her with a mouthful of rag and a strip to bind it between her teeth. The fingers were loving as with a pet who gave pleasure. To the girl who could not now scream, the blows when they resumed seemed doubly severe.
"Lovely back looks very pretty." The two whippers were in no hurry. They traced weals with exploring fingers, discussing possibilities and speaking of other girls and their behaviour under the lash. Their reassurance sounded sincere. "We not whip lovely breasts. Soldiers like breasts very much."
Corey had lost count of the times the thong had cut at her skin. She had forgotten to ask how many blows she must receive. But what did it matter? What did anything matter now? She looked up the columns of her bare arms to the shining chrome by which she was held helpless for this undeserved punishment. The metal bands were deep in her wrists, compelling her toes to lift her to their limit. She was grateful her toes were still on the floor. But the pain was sickening... Perhaps this was done to a new girl so that the impaling thrusts of a penis would seem of small consequence by comparison. Around the wall her chained sisterhood watched her agony in varying reaction, remembering their own.
"If girls not polite to good soldiers they get whip often." Talifa explained helpfully. "If too much complaint on service we whip her cunt. Is swell and very tender for prick."
It was all well thought out. The moral was obedience. Corey bit hard on her gag as a lash flickered hatefully into her armpit. Why, oh why couldn't they whip a girl's bottom and leave it at that? Must these whipping girls always seek her most tender recesses? She hoped they would not tell her to spread her legs.
Satisfied with their work, they released her arms. Then watched, laughing as she awkwardly plucked at her gag with joined hands. In a great relief at the cessation of the strokes Corey grinned with them. Handcuffs stopped very little but made most things difficult. A handcuffed girl must be forever reaching and stretching and twisting.
Corey thought of it as: 'The room where it would happen'. It was a large spacious stone chamber in which rugs, drapes and huge cushions struck a note of luxury and cheerfulness against ringbolt and chain. By the time she was led there the rest of Abdul Nour's conscripted harlots had been returned to their collar and chain. Once more they bestowed on her striped nudity their interested attention.
In exchange for the loss of her handcuffs Corey got her personal chain and padlock. It attached her collar to the big ringbolt in the wall by a generous span of links. It was comfortable but implacable confinement that would in no way interfere with any man's enjoyment of her person. Talifa proudly pointed out the amenities.
"Sleep and fuck on nice thick rugs, must never try and cover anything. No blanket. Most comfort! Now you walk."
It was actually possible! But Corey's collar snubbed her neck just short of the neighbouring ringbolt to either side. From one snub to another were about five paces. She could walk the same distance toward the centre aisle. Approving the demonstration, Talifa then proffered a container of small red pills. "One every night." Her grin was lewd.
Corey blushed and put the feminine object in the small cabinet provided for each girl, along with brush and comb and a few other female trifles. At least, the sperm Abdul Nour had promised her would be rendered sterile. But all these small things designed for her wellbeing only intensified awareness of her new condition. Whores were valuable and should be cared for.
"If man not want other girls watch him fuck you, is nice curtain."
Corey blushed again. No privacy even for that! Wryly, she watched Talifa emulate a hospital nurse in the tugging of a drape around a rail to provide a shrouded gloom in which she could give and receive the vulgarities of sex alone with the client who did not have to pay. "But isn't there a... room... somewhere?"
Talifa giggled. "Is no time. Often all girls being jiggered at once. Curtain plenty good. Some don't want."
It was becoming frightening real. In minor panic, Corey blurted: "Talifa, I've never done this! I don't know...!"
"You been fucked." Talifa accused reasonably.
"Well, yes... but this -!"
"Is no difference. Don't be silly girl."
"Isn't there some sort of... greeting? Something that's expected of me? I don't want to be punished just because I don't know."
Talifa laughed at such innocence. "You pretend you love. Plenty touch, plenty kiss... unzip!"
"Do I have to do anything he wants?"
"Course you do, silly! Unless it injure. Then you shout."
The youthful Matron grinned at such naivete. "Some like to whip you. Just al little bit... first. It make them very hard. You pretend you like." Remembering a vital service, Talifa added: "You always suck cock at start. It clean it off nice for you."
Watching Talifa depart, Miss Corey Gibson realised she had received her terms of reference and was now in business.
The other girls admired Corey's weals and exhibited their own. In the boredom of living chained to a wall, their visits to the punishment room and its pain made a dramatic interlude. They donated unsolicited advice.
"Please man good. Then no punish."
"Don't argue! Raynee and Talifa get mad and whip."
"Is O.K. we play with tongue. Raynee and Talifa make us do for them."
"Is early now. Soldiers start come later."
The girl on either side advanced the length of their chain and kissed her. It was a spontaneous demonstration of sisterhood in the oldest profession and made Corey want to cry.
On her first day Corey serviced eleven men, on her second it was twelve. She did not earn the whip. One of the men gave her a chocolate bar. At night Raynee gave her a douche. Servants carried a tub from ring to ring and washed each girl with vigour. It was reasonably hygienic and methodical. Examining herself and her vagina every night, Corey was puzzled to know if she had really changed at all.
CHAPTER SIX - THE INEVITABLE SLAVE
The girls in the bordello of Abdul Nour lived on their chain. More than any single thing it was their life, immutable and omnipresent. In this chamber of slated lusts it was different from the cell. Corey could never be entirely unaware of her iron collar and its weight of links. Like the rest, she was forever fingering it as she might have fingered a Rosary. The men fingered it too. She was surprised at the delight they found in this metallic evidence of a girl sequestered helplessly for their refreshment. Her padlock was tested and commented on until she began to find an absurd pride in wearing it.
The Guerrilla's need of what the girls provided was spasmodic. A day of incessant thrusting at their loins and lips might be followed by others in which they played hostess to only one or two heroes at a time. As the weary warriors fingered breasts and nipples and pubic hair they imparted bits of gossip. From it, Corey learned of the absence of Abdul Nour on a mission spoken of in whispers. She suspected her relegation to harlotry resulted from a lack of time in which to practice upon her body and limbs those mild tortures he had promised.
And there was Achmed! His visit made her feel like a patient in a hospital; she was so glad to see a friend. She serviced his hunger with all the finesse at her command. Like most trades, whoredom had its own small skills. She was picking them up fast.
"You learn jij-a-jij real good." He was proud of her.
"Thank you, Achmed. Do you think I'll ever get out of here?"
"You don't like nice chain and collar?"
"It's O.K. I meant, have you heard anything about me being sent back to America?"
"No one ever send girl like you away." He sounded shocked.
"I expect you're right." She shrugged the subject into the oblivion it deserved. "Have they recaptured Audrey Cotswold yet?"
"No search any more. Is gone. Very bad." He gestured forcefully. "If ever find her she get whip much hard."
It was a pleasant visit. Miss Corey Gibson told Achmed to come again soon.
The girls all envied her the prestigious connection.
She had become accustomed to the vagaries of male concupiscence. Talifa had been right. Some wanted to whip her breasts or vulva lightly with a small light whip provided by the house on request. Corey had learned to control her reactions while she disposed her body for their pleasure and gritted her teeth. The marks they placed upon her skin with this pleasantry faded rapidly but inspired superb erections over which she was expected to enthuse.
There were also the 'Tie-uppers'. They had their own notions but several had caught on to Achmed's trick... with hands tied behind her back to arch and raise her loins, a girl delivered a superior joy. When one of the nondescript valiants of The Cause made this want known, Corey provided him with a length of The House rope, kept under a cushion for this purpose, and crossed her wrists behind her back for them to be bound. All these oddities had become a bit of a bore like the husband who wanted chili con carne for supper every night. The gag was a surprise and came as something extra. He had brought it with him, a modern facility filling her mouth with rubber and buckling harshly behind her neck. Corey was as mute as she had ever been. When he pulled away the curtain behind which he had rendered her helpless she realised instantly the depth of his deception. Every girl visible was similarly captive. As other curtains were folded away one by one they revealed other strictured maidens tugging at bound hands and shaking frustrated heads at tight gags. When Corey looked toward the door and beheld Raynee and Talifa in the same plight her heart plummeted. If this was rescue it was not the kind she wanted.
The men looked like all others. They sported no Leader. But they had been drilled. A huge bolt cutter made short work of the padlocks but left the collar locked on each small throat. In the collar was a ring. Through the ring was threaded a new half inch sisal rope. Counting Raynee and Talifa, there were twenty girls. One by one their collars were threaded so that none was independent of the rest. It was not a coffle. There were no knots in the rope; it could slide back and forth. But, nonetheless, the twenty were inexorably joined. One man stood on a chair and answered the question their gags forbid.
"We are moving from Amphala. Our Leader is doing battle. You will be taken to a new home. Resistance will earn you a flogging. You are gagged to keep you quiet; we have no time for cackling pullets."
It sounded reasonable.
The truck ride was one of those dreams where you've been there before. To Corey Gibson it was poignantly reminiscent of that other jolting journey that had led her to the trek to Ben Sirah. This would simply move her to another brothel. It did not matter. She began to discern a pattern. Slaves were driftwood on a stream, used and passed around as their Masters wished. Looking at her mute and bound companions she guessed their thoughts the same. She wished her wrists had not been tied so tight.
Everything ends. After hours of jolting the truck stopped and ejected its tired, naked, and helpless cargo. The first face Corey beheld was that of Mustafa. He was counting out money to the driver of the truck. There was a cordial shaking of hands in farewell, the truck grunted away in an empty return. The second man remained with Mustafa, no other males were visible. The considerable force who had carried out the successful coupe in Abdul Nour's bagnio had remained at Amphala. The naked American girl dismally surveyed the scene. It was all too familiar, even the same four donkeys. She was back at square one.
Once more, Miss Corey Gibson suffered the bitter frustration of being female in a land of slavery. There were twenty girls, strong and young and vigorous. But they were controlled with ease by two men. They would never be given a chance of escape; they would be used; they would be punished. Inexorably, they would be taken to where a single man wanted them to go. And there was nothing any of them could do about it... nothing! She tugged at her tied wrists in feminine vexation. If Mustafa knew she was there he gave no sign. But he did indulge in a brief communique.
"You all be slaves." His fierce eye swept them like a lash. "Abdul Nour is big fool, he soon be killed. You not his. You mine." He looked from one to the other of them, contriving somehow to Miss Corey Gibson. "Is no escape. You try escape you be whipped... punished. Best you be good girls. We walk by day, sleep at night. No one chase us, no one care."
Ruefully, Corey Gibson reflected on Mustafa's unconscious truth. No one cared. To those who might care about her she must have vanished utterly without hint or clue. Reid Hunter's death would have put a seal on her disappearance. Her father would be baffled. Assef Aslam had probably written her off as an expensive jinx. Audrey was gone, Seth Burdett was no more. She was alone, a white slave girl on her way to be sold a second time. It was hard no to wince at sight of the two chains. They stretched their considerable length out on the sand in a parallel promise of prisoned wrists and necks. With economy and convenience they would render captive and helpless twenty lithe strong females who would accept their padlocks because they had no choice.
In a continuation of a planned project, the roped girls were marshalled into line by the brandishing of an unnecessary whip so that number one now stood between the far end of the span of links; the rest were prodded into place with a chain on each side. With prudent caution they were coffled one at a time, hands untied, the right wrist shackled, a link padlocked to a collar. Even after the removal of her gag the girl remained obediently mute. She knew her place. Mustafa and his helper moved on down the line. Reaching Corey, the slaver met her eyes for the first time. As he clicked the padlock shut on her collar his words were terse: "Forget him, he is gone. You will not be rescued." Sneering at her evident dismay, he promised: "I will make sure you are well fucked and well whipped."
To Miss Corey Gibson there seemed nothing more to say.
The American girl felt an American irritation with her fellow captives. Most of them felt they had taken a step up in the world. A whore was few prospects, but a girl naked on an auction block is faced with infinite promise. If she was lucky enough to be purchased by a wealthy man who was not a sadist... ! They beamed happily at a mental vista of good food, beautiful clothes, and a man who might not beat them too often. Talifa and Raynee were as optimistic as the rest. But it was Talifa who first felt Mustafa's whip.
Camping at the end of the first day it was Talifa and Corey who were freed to do the chores. Corey braced herself for a bad time, but Talifa was indignant on the score of protocol.
"Talifa top girl, she not do such work. You choose another."
Mustafa viewed this insubordination with the same surprise he would have accorded a conversational camel. But his reprimand was gentle. "You be good girl. You go now help white girl work. She know how. She been on coffle before."
In the false security of a lost authority, Talifa stood her ground. "Me number one girl, same Raynee. Others for fuck and work. Me only for sell."
Corey watched the inevitable. She no longer found horror in these incidents. Talifa should have had more sense. She herself would not now dare quibble in such independence. But she shivered in sympathy as the rebel was suspended upside down by her ankles from a tree, her hair falling to the sand, her arms reaching ineffectually at nothing. Talifa's fine black bush proclaimed her widely sundered loins. Even before the first blow fell she voiced a change of heart: "I sorry, I sorry... ! Please not to whip. I be very good girl... ! I be very - " It was the end of verbal negations. The whip sliced between stretched thighs in a manner to make Corey Gibson shrink. The upended girl uttered the first of many shrieks, her free arms flailing uselessly against an enemy she could not touch. She was perfectly postured for the lash. It worked up and down her thighs and across the separated cheeks of her bottom and the satin loveliness of her unmarked back. Half way through, Mustafa capitalized on the occasion. With one pensive hand gently massaging Talifa's scarlet and swollen cunt, he suavely admonished. "You disobey, you argue with Mustafa, then you hang like this." Paternally, he patted the well lubricated vulva beneath his hand and resumed his task. The former number one girl screamed steadily until released. She then sped, with a new and ardent conviction, to help Corey with the fire. The coffle sighed in sympathy.
The coffle carried its chains well. After the scented sloth of the bordello they found a zest in motion and the fresh air. Corey found it pleasanter to march in daylight instead of stumble in the dark. She looked often at her shackled wrist, or fingered the metal on her throat in incredulity that, by them, her whole existence was dictated and changed. Against the iron links education and intelligence served naught. The padlock mocked them all. When, twice a day, it was unlocked at chore time she dared not disobey but returned to it as to a stern and waiting authority. Each night two girls were chosen to service The Male. They were taken from the coffle and returned to it in much the same manner as a book from a public library. When it came Corey's turn she was taken into the trees by Selim, Mustafa's new man. Before she could ask why she found no favour with his Master, the Master himself arrived to ensure her proper subjection to the male. They tied her hands behind her back and made her kneel. She writhed inwardly in the prospect of beastliness. But Abdul Nour's brothel had taught her lessons in survival. Miss Corey Gibson was prepared to be as humble as they wished. It began verbally.
"What are you?"
"I am a whore, Master."
"What kind?"
"I am a white whore, Master. I am also your slave."
"Do you expect to be punished?"
"Yes, Master. All whores should be punished."
"What service have you given the men of Abdul Nour?"
"I have spread my legs for them to fuck me. I have sucked their cocks. I was kept chained by my neck for their pleasure. I was an obedient girl and did what I was told."
"That excuses you?"
"No, Master. I know I will be punished. Thank you for enslaving me. I did not wish to be a whore."
"There is the matter of your price at the auction." The slaver's voice had become thoughtful. "I wish it to be high."
"Of course, Master. I will make myself beautiful and display my nakedness seductively. Did I not behave well for your profit before?"
"Hmmmmm, yes you did well." Mustafa was still savouring an intent. "But whores are soiled. They do not fetch top price."
"I will tell no one, Master. Need the buyers know that all of us have been well fucked, Master? We are all young. It does not show."
"Ah, yes, that is true." The Slaver was pleased but still probing for profit. "Suppose we give them a small entertainment?" He glinted sardonically. "The pure white maiden shrinking from defilement by the wog, cringing from the exposure of her cunt...?"
"Yes, Master. It would excite them profitably."
"You could then be whipped into a sweet and willing submission on the block...?"
"You are clever, Master. Is such an honour indeed mine?"
Mustafa eyed her suspiciously. "You seem overly willing, girl?"
"I have been much fucked and much punished, Master. It has made me a sensible girl. Why should I not aid you in profit?"
He smiled grimly. "You hope I will not whip you now?"
Corey was thinking hard with desperate precision. She felt she was doing well; she was pleasing a hard Master. These verbal abnegations did not really matter. If she could survive a hundred impalements what were a few demeaning words! "No girl wants the whip, Master. But if it pleases you to whip me I will not complain. I am a slave."
"You are a crafty slave."
"Yes, Master. You know from whence I came. I never knew the whip or nakedness until short weeks ago. I had been fucked only by chosen men I had desired." Corey twisted to flutter her bound hands. "But I am now a slave. I know I can never escape your chain. I have learned many lessons. I will do what I must to earn myself few stripes. If you stoop to fuck me I will be honoured."
She had done it well. Mustafa was impressed. "A girl such as you can be made into merchandise beyond the price of gold." He spoke slowly, seeking her eyes. "If it be told you are most highly skilled in the arts of the Hetaera you might entice Solomon himself. Are you thus skilled?"
"I do not think so, Master."
"Perhaps a touch of the whip?"
"It would teach me only obedience, Master. It cannot grant me the skills of an ancient craft."
"Did Abdul Nour demand so little of his whores?"
"He never used me. I cannot tell you why. He preferred to give me to his jailor or his soldiers. They were my tutors."
"Well, surely they must have...?"
"No, Master. To them I was a cunt, two lips and a tongue."
"Humph... you are more than that." Mustafa pondered his way into decision. "We will give you a drill."
"A test, Master?"
"Suck Selim's cock!"
Corey knew it for more than a brutal and demeaning command. This trader in the flesh of girls had an idea which, if she could promote it, might take her into liberty from the coffle, perhaps to liberty itself. A bidder at the auction who perceived her as a Houri and would pay for her a Houri's price would be a man of immense wealth. He would have sensibilities above the animal lust for which most slave girls were bought and sold. She shuffled on her knees to rest between Selim's spread legs. Her bound hands could help her not at all. Instead, she rubbed her cheek against the hard erection within the slaver's pants and murmured sweetly every endearment she could remember or device. Then, searching with her teeth, she found the zipper, bit it and tugged it down. The male organ that leaped out against her face was no more horrific than any other. Wryly, she conceded thanks to Abdul Nour's bordello, and absorbed Selim's offering between her lips.
After she had reduced her subject to gasps and moans, Mustafa paid her the greatest tribute possible. He untied her hands. Gratefully, she used them to promote her cause. Chained back on the coffle in the dark, Corey Gibson went to sleep with a glimmer of hope for company. She refused to think disgustedly of what she had done. She refused to think of it at all. She had become a warrior and had fought her first fight. Somehow the chain irked less.
Marching in the sunlight, her right arm swinging with the chain to which her wrist was shackled, Corey Gibson sensed the cadence of unison and the rhythm of a mood. The neck chain rarely jerked her collar. They were going to be sold, and for the majority this was a destiny much to be desired. She felt no strangeness in being the only white girl in the coffle. All the youthful breasts and triangles were simply female, chained together they mattered little. Abdul Nour had thrust them into the sisterhood of whores, and whoredom is a tight Guild in which skin colour was a matter of chance. Corey stepped blithely with the rest but her mind was busy with a surmise. That evening Mustafa alone took her into the trees. He was a man disinclined to share good fortune.
"The whip is a part of man's desire, Corey Gibson. Plead with me to whip you!"
The naked American slave girl no longer deluded herself that it was better to be whipped than to have a man's phallus thrust within the recesses of her sheath. She would have preferred the latter. Unless it was wielded by a man you loved the whip just plain hurt. Whips hurt a nude girl abominably. She sighed and entered the fray.
"Beloved Master, your slave girl is possessed by pride. I beg you to whip it from me." She looked up at the stern Arab features in girlish adoration. "I beg the boon of being hung by my wrists in nakedness to receive your stripes."
Mustafa was pleased. "You wish a gag, girl?"
"Only if you wish me mute, Master. Otherwise I will scream so you may know my gratitude."
There was no gag. Mustafa tied her hands and raised them to a bough. Miss Corey Gibson stood naked and alone in an African wasteland and waited to be whipped; a whipping she had requested with all the sincerity she could muster. The Master who owned her body whipped it with keen appreciation but an eye to preserving its saleability. Half way through the ordeal Corey stopped screaming long enough to enunciate clearly: "Thank you, Master, you whip me beautifully." Mustafa climaxed into his dirty robe, but after the briefest pause continued to stripe the taut white skin.
Corey's weals were not severe but laying on the ground there was a tenderness. She bore it with a quiet smile as she arranged herself within her chains to sleep. Winning was painful but she scented victory. It was the following day it happened.
It was midday. The girls were marching in the swinging cadence which they themselves had evolved. Each girl's thoughts were busy far away. None but Corey beheld the shadow. She looked apprehensively at her Master, but Mustafa on his donkey was as lost in reverie as were his slaves. A quick glance to the rear showed Selim equally somnolent. By the time she had turned back to confirm her suspicion Mustafa had seen the shadow too. Seth Burdett stood motionless and menacing on the low eminence of a rock. He had allowed the coffle and its owners to approach to a confrontation he himself had staged. The Arab slave trader's motions were instinctive and swift. But the sighting of his rifle was too late. Burdett's bullet plucked him from the donkey's back and slid him neatly to the ground. The coffle halted in dismay, its cadence lost. At the rear Selim sat on his diminutive steed in an open mouthed astonishment that rapidly changed to a broad grin.
The girls were frightened, all except Corey. Her spirits soared, her heart beat high. Joyfully, she heard her own voice in urgent command: "It's all right. He's a friend. You won't be hurt." Seeing their wide eyed apprehension, she added: "He'll be kind to us, he'll be kind-!"
"You be good girls or I whip." Selim admonished cheerfully. "We now are meeting nice gentleman. You most lucky."
The shadow advanced into the sunlight.
It was the same Australian saunter, lithe power in every step. It was the same sardonic Australian grin. Seth Burdett took his time. A quick glance at the dead man, a leisured survey of twenty naked girls, a cheerful recognition of the man on the donkey.
"Greetings, Selim."
"Greetings effendi. That good quick shot."
They were evidently old friends. Corey Gibson was piqued that the masculine scan of its new possessions had failed to focus on her white skin, but she watched breathlessly as the two males talked earnestly in Selim's own tongue. She sensed instant rapport, the orderly progression of a plan. The coffle was told to sit and rest while Mustafa was stripped and buried. When the march resumed it was with Burdett riding ahead as Mustafa had done. The girls had become pleasantly excited, their cadence returned full swing. Still chained in the coffle, Corey Gibson had constantly before her vision the broad shouldered maleness of her Australian Master. But Seth Burdett had said no word; the white slave girl was ignored. Irritably she kept pace with her giggling companions.
It was Selim who freed Talifa and herself for the evening chores. Corey observed her Master cock a surprised eye, but he said no word. She was hurt by his seeming obliviousness to her existence. He had filled her thoughts since Ben Sirah, quite evidently she had not filled his. Yet she was only a slave on a coffle of girls, and there might be forces and undercurrents of which she was unaware. In their previous times together he had pledged her nothing; all the avowals had been her own. Chagrined, she threw a load of wood beside the fire and demanded: "What's the matter, Seth? Why don't you speak to me?"
He spared her his usual lazy amusement. "You sure you got the right address, love?"
Corey stamped an expressive foot. "Alright then! Please, Master, what's the matter?"
"Nothing. Couldn't be better."
"But you keep me chained! You don't speak?"
"You ain't chained now. Did you expect me to go down the coffle shaking hands?"
"You're being deliberately unkind."
"You're being deliberately foolish. Get me a cup of water."
Seth Burdett's grin was infuriating. Corey, the slave, threw the water in his face. Naked and enraged, she hurled the cup at his feet. "And you know what you can do with that!" Breasts heaving, she faced him defiantly.
Carelessly, he beckoned an entranced but horrified Talifa. "Take this silly bitch over there on the grass and tie her while we eat. Selim can free you another girl to help."
Shame and humiliation mantled Corey's cheeks scarlet as she walked the few paces to the spot indicated. Evidently she was beneath the attention of men. Even her punishment was delegated to a girl.
"You foolish slave! Why you be so silly?" Talifa was intrigued. "You got hot cunt for big man. Talifa easy tell."
Corey sniffed. She had nothing to say. Pouting petulantly, she crossed her wrists behind her back. It was a familiar gesture almost automatic. She winced but did not complain as Talifa tied them tight.
"Talifa not tie pretty elbows unless she told. But now you lay down."
Miserably the delinquent slave obeyed. It looked like being a sad suppertime. She winced again as her ankles were deftly roped. When the rope was taken on up to join her wrists she tensed and objected: "Oh, Talifa, you don't have to hog-tie me. Please don't tie me like that!"
"Why not? It keep you nice and quiet."
"Because it hurts, that's why. He just said tie me up. He didn't tell you to hurt me."
"You don't struggle it don't hurt. Keep still."
Corey sniffed again. She was far more angry with herself than with the girl who was binding her, or with the man who had given the order. She had asked for this. It served her right. She gasped as the tensioning rope drew her feet and hands together to bow her back. It was a beastly way for a girl to be tied. She hated it.
With Talifa gone, Corey tried to relax. She could not get loose, and she was too close to observant eyes to struggle. She wanted to cry, but the eyes would see that too. Angrily she blinked back her tears and settled herself down to endure her punishment. The less she moved the less she hurt. She watched the mealtime preparation, feeling abandoned, lonely and misused. She made a bitter resolution that if she ever got back on the coffle she would stay there and keep her mouth shut. Sulkily, she ate the few scraps Talifa's fingers poked into her mouth when the meal was done. The evening was well advanced, and Corey was stiff and cramped and sore when Seth Burdett picked her up and carried her into the trees.
"Damned impatient, weren't you, love?"
"It wouldn't have hurt you to look at me."
He dumped her on the ground. "Look, girl, if you want to pout and be sulky you can stay here like that for the night. I'll go back to camp."
"Noooooooooo!" Corey struggled wildly against Talifa's knots. "Please, Master... P-L-E-A-S-E!!!"
"Try an apology."
Careless of whether she was right or wrong, Corey Gibson embraced humility with abandon. "I'm sorry, Master. I really am sorry. I do apologise for not knowing my place. I forgot I was a slave."
"Hmmmmm, a bit stilted."
"I'm in love with you, you big oaf. Don't you know that?" The declaration sprung out of her, uncontrolled.
"You'll be whipped for the big oaf bit." Seth said dispassionately. "And if a slave loves her Master it doesn't mean she's privileged. You're one girl on a coffle. I can't single you out for extra rations."
"You don't have to keep me on that damn chain."
"Why?"
"Because... " She sniffed unhappily. "Oh, never mind!"
Slowly he untied Talifa's knots. "I warned you before." He said broodingly. "I'm a slave trader. In a way, you've a better chance of freedom than I have. We don't mix."
"We could if you'd try."
He turned her about as though she was a kitten and bound her hands again in front.
"You're going to whip me?"
"Yes."
It was a matter of fact statement, leaving her nothing to say. She had no wish to plead. She was not even sure about the whipping. Perhaps she needed it. In sulky silence she allowed herself to be suspended to stand on her toes. Undoubtedly, from a man's standpoint, it was the most practical posture for his purpose. To begin with, it scared the girl half to death by its blatant exposure of her body.
"Mustafa had a go at you already, I see."
"Yes." She could be as monosyllabic as he.
Seth Burdett chuckled. "But not half hard enough. You're uppity as hell. You need a lesson."
"I'm sure you'll give me one. Please watch out for my breasts!"
This time he laughed delightedly and patted her bottom. "That sounded just like M'lady giving the butler his instructions for dinner."
"I don't feel like M'lady. I feel like a frightened little girl. For goodness sake whip me and be done with it before I pee my pants."
"You haven't got any pants."
"That makes it worse."
He reached down and cupped his hand between her thighs, kneading her soft moist mound. Corey held still on her tether, refusing to be coy. Her Master clutched a full hand of her a couple of times and examined the result.
"Hmmmmm, you sure aren't in the mood."
"Would you be, tied hogtie for a couple of hours?"
"Lady Vere-de-Vere again! You damn girls -!" Pensively, he frictioned her nipples between fingers and thumbs until she yelped.
"You're under no obligation to arouse me sexually before you whip me." She said tartly. "I expect to scream either way."
"More humane if you're horny, love."
Stretched from her raised and tethered arms, Corey Gibson stood in petulant silence under the ministrations of the man she must call Master. She tried to hate him and could not. She tried to suppress her responses to the play of his hands and fingers but she could not do that either. She closed her eyes and surrendered to defeat. Being feminine, she strove for the last word: "I hope you're proud of what you're doing to me."
It was a strange whipping, a contest of the minds rather than the flesh. Corey refused to scream. She did not understand her ability to keep silent but it was there, springing from some deep emotional need within her psyche to touch this man when she possessed no other weapons. She jerked and writhed and kicked under the lashes by which he cut at her defenceless nudity, but she made no sound beyond the involuntary gasps of shock as each blow impacted to sear her skin.
Seth Burdett was an artist with captive girls. He had whipped many. No coffle was without its recalcitrant maidens who, as far as he had been able to determine, could respond to no other guidance than a thrashing. Their ability to relate to any other form of persuasion was just not there. Often they fetched the highest price when stripped upon the block. Probably it was because of their whipmarks which, in the end, they became inordinately proud to bear. He did not rank Corey Gibson as belonging to this group. In his own sardonic way, he saw her as something of an experiment. She responded to cruelty and kindness most entertainingly. She had a piquancy... !
When the blows stopped and the knowing hands and fingers resumed their delicious tactile torment, Corey knew herself once more delivered to a welter of sensations she could not control. She now had no wish to control them. She was too utterly defenceless to render any kind of resistance valid. She tried hard to stand still, to keep her eyes disdainfully closed, to keep silent. But only her eyes obeyed. Within their make believe oblivion she continued on with much the same sounds and motions as when the whip was striping her flesh. She assured herself that if she could have controlled them she would have done so, but she could not. She sensed his pleasure in all she did, but her furious retorts were washed away in a flood of surging sexuality. When he resumed her whipping the strokes had become an acute quintessence of glory.
"Feel better now, love?"
Seth Burdett did not sound too concerned. It was a minute or two since he had ceased whipping the naked girl who adored him. He had not released her; she still stood stretched and vulnerable and with closed eyes. She had no real wish to open them, and from their darkness heard her own voice saying something she did not wish to say.
"Yes, Master. Thank you."
"Acts as a tonic for a girl, wouldn't you say? Sets her straight."
"Yes, Master."
"We've got a little talking to do, and you'll stand there like that while we do it. Any complaints?"
"No, Master."
"But first you deserve a damn good fuck. Remember last time?"
She had never forgotten the most unorthodox coupling she had ever imagined. She was suddenly aflame with desire. But, instead, said miserably: "You mustn't. You know about me - don't you?"
"What's there to know, love?"
"About Amphala - when Abdul Nour took me back there... ? He's got a brothel for his men. He chained me in it with the other girls; the ones you've captured on the coffle with me." Corey opened her eyes and gave her latest owner her frankest stare. "He made me a whore. Unpaid, but still a whore. Since you made love to me I've been raped a hundred times."
"Oh that!" He laughed at her seriousness. "You're just a silly kid in lots of ways. I think a coffle's the proper place for you. Come here."
She could not come here or do anything else except the one thing he desired. When Seth's strength enveloped her she proceeded to do it with every outrageous sound and motion she possessed or her tether would allow.
"Well, that's two things looked after." Burdett seated himself comfortably and regarded his panting slave's sweat bedewed nudity with affection. "I suppose you're curious, eh?"
"Yes, Master."
"That's better. Proper respect, no demands, no questions, I've got you back to about where we were when we left off last time. I'm still going to sell you, y'know."
In simple sincerity, Corey said: "I wish you wouldn't. I wish you'd keep me. I'm not talking about marrying me or anything like that. Keep me as a slave. I'd be good for you."
Seth Burdett sighed. "You're a treasure. But where would I keep you? I don't have a home."
"Keep me on the coffle. I wouldn't mind. It's a healthy life." Amusedly she plucked at a term she had once employed elsewhere. "I could be your Judas Goat - show the others how to behave?"
"Alright." Seth waved a tolerant hand. "But here's the way it is. I've got no money. That bastard Abdul cleaned out Ben Sirah to the last penny, including our take from the auction. I just managed to get out of the damn place with my life. Mustafa had made a deal with the son-of-a-bitch. A fine old double cross on me. Made me feel like a bloody innocent. Abdul knew the time and the place and the take. Wouldn't be surprised he screwed Mustafa out of his cut; they're a pair of twisters. Could be the reason for Mustafa snaffling Abdul's whorehouse."
Corey pondered. Nothing was ever the way you thought it was. She wished she had the courage to ask him to let her arms down a few inches. Instead, she enquired hopefully: "What happened to Audrey Cotswold?"
"Your sidekick on the coffle?" He shrugged disgustedly. "What the hell happened to anyone that night? The place was a shambles."
"Might she have escaped to - civilization?"
"Damn unlikely, love. Probably got herself picked up." He chuckled. "Be a joke if we found her in one of the slave cages when we get there."
"You're going to sell me in the same place?"
"Yes."
They surveyed each other in the gloom. One of the world's richest girls, naked, trussed up to the bough of a tree, her beauty livid with whip marks. And a man... ! The strongest man she had ever known. Seth Burdett the Slave Trader. Corey remembered another term. "An odd couple."
"You still won't allow me to be ransomed?"
"Hell, girl, I can't! By African standards you're still the property, the slave, of Assef Aslam. By U.S. standards you belong to your father. There's two accumulations of wealth that could make mincemeat of me. I'm a known trader in girls. There's a price on my head. But I'll add to my promise: Once you're sold and I've got the cash I'll tell 'em where you are." He grinned apologetically. "By that time your purchaser will have screwed you enough he'll be open to an offer."
"That's beastly."
"It's practical."
"My father won't hurt you if I don't want him to."
"But you can't make that promise about Aslam."
He was right. A throbbing heat in her loins drove Corey on: "I don't want to be sold. I want to stay with you."
"Stretch your legs open, love. You can raise one foot if you like."
"Did I sound that sulky I have to be punished?"
"You know damn well you did."
Corey Gibson lifted one leg out to the side to expose her crotch. She managed to take two whistling cuts between her thighs before lapsing into a contortion of agony. When she was again standing straight and stretched and trembling she paid her dues.
"I'm sorry, Master. I expect I'll learn." Desperately, she added: "Please marry me. That would settle everything."
He caressed her wealed skin tenderly. "You little idiot, d'you suppose I haven't thought of that? We might get away with it. But then where would I be? I'm no nine to five type."
Corey was breathless with pain and a new prospect. "We could come back here. After we'd waved the certificate around and everybody saw I was happy it would seem perfectly natural."
"What then?"
Corey flushed. "So, O.K., this is crazy. But I want you to put me back on the coffle. I like it. It's healthy and exhilarating. I get along with the other girls... and there's an... excitement." She twisted shyly against her tied hands. "You don't have to sell me. You'll always have a chain around somewhere. Keep me on it."
"That's the most damn fool thing I ever heard from a girl."
"Well... yes, I know. I'd run away screaming from it with anyone else. It's just you. When I'm locked tight on your coffle I'm yours. I'm safe."
Seth Burdett kissed his slave girl softly with a new tenderness. "You really mean that, don't you?"
"Of course I do!"
Silently, he untied her, led her back to camp, and padlocked her back in place among the other girls. Corey watched him seek his sleeping place. She was happy. No questions had been answered, but she had not been whipped for asking the last of them.
The girls delighted in her weals. Half viewed them dubiously as something that could happen to them. But the rest of them knew. Corey was much teased as having been chosen a favourite. She gathered that in this part of the world to be well whipped was to be well loved. It was whispered to her with many giggles that if a girl was not whipped, at least a little, on her wedding night she had chosen the wrong man. New York and Boston might never countenance such an erotic honesty, but Miss Corey Gibson in Africa was quite willing to believe.
She revelled in the coffle. She realised her happiness arose from the constant erotic arousal of her chains and from her heated fantasies of Seth Burdett. But there was something beyond these sexual sensations, something for which she had not yet found a name. She strode nakedly along the tiny path with a tremendous zest. Her feet had toughened, and she had never felt such tingling good health. She would have loved to run and leap and be a child again. But the chain restrained her in a reasonable decorum.
Her Master watched her amusedly from the corner of an eye. He had reverted to his policy of leaving her alone. She was not hurt. She knew his reasons. He was fighting his own battle to remain uninvolved. After her nightly chores she longed for him with an intensity almost painful so that she bestowed her sex as a gift upon the girls who shared her chain to either side. It took a good deal of wriggling and giggling to find the moist pungency they sought. She returned the favour, finding only pride in her circumvention of the chain on her neck and on her wrist. The reproving metal was simply one more zest in the scented lubricity of her newly found sexuality.
On the fourth night, her Master took her gain into the trees, and after he had whipped her cruelly and impaled her again and again as she hung with toes above the soil, he pinched her nipples and told her casually: "I've decided not to sell you after all."
CHAPTER SEVEN - AUDREY COTSWOLD
Audrey Cotswold had grabbed her pistol and dashed from the bedroom in a panic of protectiveness. Corey Gibson must not be harmed. Whoever the enemy, he had best be coped with downstairs. But she found only a shambles and the inert figure that had been Reid Hunter. Venturing through the open door, she was grasped in strong smelly arms and swung off her feet. Instinctively, she thrust the small gun back against the bulk of her captor and pulled the trigger. When the arms fell limp she leaped into the night in a blind panic at the approach of dark figures by which her gun was outnumbered. Hiding behind discarded oil drums, she cursed her thoughtlessness in leaving Corey chained to the bed. Miserably, she watched the swift sacking of the village by a considerable force. She saw Corey taken, and was helpless to intervene. When, suddenly, there was only emptiness and the roaring of trucks in the distance she knew she had but one hope: to find a civilised man or a civilised place. Ben Sirah appeared to offer neither. Forgetting the nakedness that had become natural for her, the favourite slave girl of Assef Aslam sped down the abandoned street.
Civilisation was closer than she supposed. The four policemen's uniforms were neat and clean; their berets businesslike. They carried rifles. It was obvious they had dressed in a hurry and were grateful for the absence of an enemy no more formidable than a naked girl. They eyed her gun with disapproval. Their greeting was not the one she wished to hear.
"You under arrest."
It was too absurd! Audrey explained their error and what was required of them. They listened, tolerant and unconcerned, to the babbling of a woman.
"Please to hand me gun."
With three rifles pointing at her breasts there seemed little else to do. Audrey parted with it reluctantly and felt doubly naked. The corporal extracted a yellow card and read from memory the classic warnings about anything she might say... Audrey listened in disbelief. It was pure opera Bouffe. "But you can't possibly arrest me." She protested. "There's bandits you need to chase, and besides, I haven't done anything. Look, have you got a phone?"
They had a convenient faculty of hearing nothing she said. The corporal intoned solemnly while his companions beamed with pride and lust. "For indecency. For exposing genitals in public place. For carrying gun without permit. For being female bandit - "
"Look here!" She expostulated. "This is nonsense. If you'll just phone... ? And who said I was a bandit?"
"You speak of bandits. We hear much shooting. You bandit girl."
"I'm not! They all left in trucks."
"Ah, so you get left behind! We capture."
"Please... ! Do I look like a bandit?"
"Good girls do not run naked. You very bad girl. Good girls do not carry guns. You go to prison."
The cold hand of realization clutched hard. These ineffectual members of the local constabulary were behaving correctly by their terms of reference. No doubt she was something of an anomaly in Ben Sirah. She could not hope to escape them. Surely, if she was taken before some intelligent authority it must bend a sympathetic ear! But the next polite request was like the knell of doom.
"Please to hold out hands!"
Audrey did the reverse. "You don't need to handcuff me. Please don't. I can't possibly get away."
"Resisting arrest." The corporal intoned.
Audrey held out her hands.
"Is now behind back after resist."
Resigned, she turned about and allowed her wrists to be encircled by familiar steel. The cuffs bit. Audrey Cotswold was helpless. Feeling ridiculous, she marched between them to whatever justice the law of Ben Sirah meted out to naked girls.
Being English, Audrey Cotswold recognized certain British features of the police station donated by British rule of years past. She could swear the two cells, actually big cages, had been fabricated in Sheffield and assembled in the big stone room in which they now stood. A massive padlock guarded each barred door. She was propelled within and the padlock proclaimed her safety with an impressive click. "Is hearing in morning." The corporal politely informed. She was left alone.
Her cage was less than ten feet square. It held a low bunk and thin mattress, but no blanket. There were two pails, one with a cover, the other nearly full of water. The little prison had no walls. She was completely exposed from every side. She had no more privacy than a canary. She wondered, woefully, whether the corporal had forgotten to take away her handcuffs or if bad girls in prison wore them full time. She sat on the bunk and reviewed the phantasmagoria of her day. In misery she lay upon her naked breasts and wept herself to sleep.
The prison tunic emphasized rather than hid her sex. But Audrey Cotswold was grateful. She supposed that her breasts, her nipples and her pubic hair seen through thin cotton were more respectable in Ben Sirah than being bare. She stood forlornly in the dock and faced her judge. Magistrate Mussuba, a large dark gentleman with spectacles, eyed her with the approval of pure lust. As for the corporal, the prisoner could believe in the happiest day of his life as he rolled her iniquities off his tongue with relish. To the previous list had now been added: murder, theft and kidnapping. All the crimes of Abdul Nour were coming to roost on her innocent shoulders.
The captive girl had lost her handcuffs only briefly. They were now once more safe on her wrists behind her back. After all, with such a list of crimes... !
"Mr. Mussuba is not speak English." The corporal informed. "I do the talk."
Audrey's heart sank. Desperately she fought her losing battle between the interested features on the bench and the polite corporal. There were a number of male spectators on the seats provided. She was getting the most democratic justice Ben Sirah could provide. She suspected it was very, very local and would avail her nothing. At the finish of it the corporal gave her the Magistrate's summation.
"All evidence not here. Mr. Mussuba think sentence may be you get good whipping in public Square and then twenty years in nice prison. Lady's prison very nice."
She looked at the smug features askance, tugging at the cuffs on her wrists in utter frustration. "But I haven't had a trial! I don't think he's a proper judge at all. It's all - all -!"
"Is remand for few days. We get you lawyer. We are doing things very right." The corporal paused for good effect. "If murder proved, you get flogged instead of whipped. Then sentenced to death. You may choose whether hang or behead. Is very modern here."
Taken back to her cell, Audrey pleaded: "Corporal, I don't have to be handcuffed in here, do I?"
"Is much best. Must wear two pairs."
To her fearful consternation, the absurd policeman produced a second set of shining chrome and fitted them on her arms above her elbows. Their clasp was demoralising, defeating her efforts to keep from panic. Wide eyed, she looked up at him. "Oh, please, this is awful. I'm only a girl... There's just no need -!"
"If make fuss can put third pair on little ankles?"
Audrey Cotswold said no more.
Mr. Syroid, barrister and solicitor, was not of Ben Sirah. He was an import. Sleek and sharp, a predator. His English was precise, he communicated. Enjoying her nipples, protuberant through the cotton, his first question set the tone: "Have you any money, Miss Cotswold?"
The doubly handcuffed girl told him her plight. "Get hold of Assef Aslam and there will be all the money you want." She assured him earnestly. "In the meantime, can you persuade them to take these handcuffs off me?"
He appeared not to have heard. His eyes removed her cotton tunic and approved what they saw. "You are a lovely girl, Miss Cotswold, but you have no money. Would you care to spend an hour with me in private, and without that silly dress?" He smirked. "It can be arranged."
"You mean this whole police thing is a farce?"
"Not as far as you are concerned. Without my help you will most assuredly be whipped and imprisoned. A common whore gets that if she had been tardy in her dues."
"And if I let you... use me... well, what then?"
"That's my retainer. I then try and get you acquitted. I try and contact your Mr. Aslam. I have heard of him."
Audrey was curious. "You're bargaining for my body." She said slowly. "But I'm absolutely helpless... " She turned for him to see the twin handcuffs on her arms. "Why don't you just take me now? I can't possibly stop you."
Mr. Syroid was shocked. "We are civilised here, Miss Cotswold. We negotiate. We do not use force." He sighed gently. "It's true the corporal is authorised to cane the buttocks of any prisoner who proves - difficult."
The iron hand in the velvet glove! They were shaking it in her face. Audrey did not like Mr. Syroid. Impetuously, she challenged. "Very well then, you may as well advise him to do that to me. I'm not going to spread my legs for you."
It was a bluff. But even when she was losing it Audrey stubbornly tested Ben Sirah's corruption. Mr. Syroid accompanied the constable who held her arm and led her to where it would be done. "You do not mind my watching the caning of your bottom, Miss Cotswold?"
"You'd watch anyway, even if I did."
It was hard to believe it would happen. Probably they were testing her resolution. Audrey marched with her head high in disdain. But the room was daunting, bare, stark, designed for punishment. It held a bench. Beside the bench stood the Corporal. His presence told her she had gone too far, but she kept a hostile silence while they unlocked her handcuffs. She hoped they could not see her trembling.
"Your tunic, Miss Cotswold?"
She discarded the cotton and stood proudly naked, staring at the wall. She dared not look at them.
"The bench if you please."
For a moment Audrey was puzzled by the unfamiliar shape of the thing on which she must be draped. But the waiting straps and buckles were more eloquent than words. She arranged her nudity for their convenience, bitterly shamed, bitterly hurt by betrayal, wanting to cry, she thrust wrists and ankles and her neck into their prepared slots and loops. "A charming young lady," said the corporal proudly. "Strap her down tightly, Constable!"
It was hateful and beastly, three men looking at every part of her body as she was made helpless, helpless on a contraption specially designed for female immobility. There were even orifices into which her breasts were thrust as she lay along the surface of the wood. Her arms were taken down on each side; the bench was narrow to allow this and to make it possible for her feet to be dragged beneath and to each side also. But not before her bottom had been reared across a round hard bolster. Straps tugged until Miss Audrey Cotswold was a naked 'U' turned on its side, her feet and hands remarkably close, her bottom proclaiming itself obscenely parted to cause a rearward thrust of her vulva and pubic hair. She gasped in disbelief when a strap crossed the small of her back and was cinched down and down. The last constriction doubled and tripled the exposure of her buttocks and her crotch. Hating it, Audrey recognized punitive intent. Her gluteal skin was as tightly stretched as a drum. She knew much of punishment. This one was going to hurt!
"Have you anything to say, Miss Cotswold?"
"Only that I've done nothing to deserve what you are about to do to me."
"You have been inclined to withhold favours."
"You mean, if I ask everybody to fuck me I don't get caned?"
"Miss Cotswold... please!" Mr. Syroid had a gift for sounding profoundly shocked. "No one said that."
"They inferred it. Very well, sorry to be a nuisance but if you'll forgive me this punishment or whatever you choose to call it I'll lay on the floor and invite you to fuck me."
"I am afraid it is now too late - " It was indeed! The strapped girl was sure the cane had cut her in two. The corporal had wielded it as though she was a horse. The pain burrowed deeper every moment. Gaspingly she pleaded. "No! Oh no! Oh, please... I can't stand it... Oh, not so hard! Please, I beg of you, I'll do what you want, fuck me, please fuck me...!"
"The lady appears to have had a change of heart," said Mr. Syroid softly. "I am sure she will negotiate."
"We must rob her of nothing," said the corporal with equal solicitude. "Constable, give four more, all hard."
It was a kind of hell Audrey went through, stroke by stroke. She did not believe she could survive the next, but she did. It splatted across her stretched flesh with an impact sufficient to bed it well within the resilience she was helpless to protect. She heard herself screaming. She did not care.
"A mere five," said the corporal. "We are most humane. But if you would enjoy five more...?"
"I'll do anything you want!"
"A most co-operative girl." Mr. Syroid's approval was heartfelt.
"We do want you to be quite sure?"
"No, thank you. I've had enough. I'll do whatever you wish. I'm sorry to have been a bother. Please fuck me!"
"She has a sweet temperament," said Mr. Syroid magnanimously. "She sounds most sincere."
"I will take her first," said the corporal with authority. "We can keep her on the bench all afternoon."
It could not be happening! Not like this! Many things had been done to Audrey Cotswold in her moulding as a perfect slave, but nothing such as was being done to her now. She had been pierced, impaled, violated often, but never when stretched and strapped into a posture so designed for her surrender from the rear. Twin orifices, they could take their choice. She wanted to turn and look but could not move her head. Her neck was neatly within the slot designed for it; a strap held it there securely. It did not impede her breathing but she could look at nothing except the floor. She wept intermittently through the hours of the afternoon as thrust after thrust entered the most secret places of her femaleness. She could watch her tears splash as they fell. All three exponents of the justice of Ben Sirah were extremely virile.
Audrey Cotswold knew herself doomed. They had a good thing going and would use her as they pleased. The uniforms meant nothing. The title of Magistrate meant nothing, Mr. Syroid was a rogue. In this place white female flesh was more valuable than the promise of cash; a promise which she realised was extremely tenuous. She sat on her seared bottom on her cot within the hateful small cell and watched the corporal fit the handcuffs on her ankles and click them tight. "What have I done to serve that?" She asked without hope. "You've already replaced the cuffs on my wrists and elbows."
"It makes a nice ensemble, Miss Cotswold." Mr. Syroid enthused. "Innocence in chains" or perhaps "The maiden all forlorn."
"Surely you would not begrudge us an aesthetic pleasure?"
"But it makes me so helpless! I can't do anything for myself. And there are things- "
"They can be dealt with on request. In the meantime you look very pretty."# Audrey had to believe him. Over the period of a couple of days there were enough male eyes peering at her through the bars to prompt the thought of him selling tickets. She was asked to show her wealed bottom and do pose... She did her best. She knew herself broken. She did not want to return to the bench.
Her day in Court was brief and highly illuminating. The Judge talked to the corporal and the Corporal spoke to her. Regardless of her shocking iniquities the Court was prepared to be most merciful. She would still be publicly whipped, but not imprisoned. "You are so young and so beautiful; it is a pity to lock you in a stone cell for twenty years." The Corporal explained. "You would come out so old... Even if your jailors fucked you it would not be nice... ! So you are fined one hundred thousand of your American dollars - and, of course, your public whipping."
"But I don't have a hundred thousand dollars, not here!"
"In that case it is the prison."
She sensed a hint. Mr. Syroid made it clear. "You have a means of obtaining it, Miss Cotswold."
"In Ben Sirah! How?"
"After you have been whipped you may instruct us to have you sold."
It dovetailed, no doubt planned. "You mean in that slave auction they have here?" She asked incredulously.
"Of course!"
"But surely it's illegal? Why don't you stop it? It's your duty to stop it!"
"The Slave Auction of Ben Sirah is known throughout the world." The Corporal intoned reprovingly. "It is everywhere approved. In this country it is not illegal at all. The State receives revenues... "
"But what happens to me? Where will I -?"
"We will arrange everything for you, Miss Cotswold." Mr. Syroid assured suavely.
"But I don't want to be whipped! Surely you don't have to have that done to me?"
"Is most needful we show action." The Corporal explained helpfully. "You are most criminal. You must visibly be seen to be punished or this Court loses face. You do understand...?"
She did indeed! "I understand I'm being railroaded." Audrey said bitterly. "But look, this whipping... It doesn't have to be in public? I don't want to be dragged out naked and whipped in public for everyone to gawp at!"
"How else can the public know...?"
Audrey Cotswold accepted defeat. She supposed it might turn out better than to be locked in some dismal hole for twenty years and be violated by all and sundry. She looked at her male inquisitors wanly: "When does it happen?"
"You will be whipped five days from now."
"Why not tomorrow and get it done?"
"We wish to fuck you often before you leave us." The Corporal explained ingenuously. "And besides, there is the advertising and the printing of the posters... " Audrey let herself be led back to the cage. She was in a daze of incredulity. She let her ankles be locked together without comment. Her wrists and arms had not been freed. Somehow her tunic had been lost along the way. She took the small red pill they gave her every night and spread her legs obediently for them throughout each day. With great ceremony they locked and unlocked her ankles each time she was pierced. As the Corporal had said: In Ben Sirah they did things right.
The crowd was surprising. But after all why not? A naked girl to be whipped in public did not happen every day. And the girl was white... ! Without illusions, Audrey mounted the steps of the platform and beheld the dangling rope... It was not for her neck but for her wrists. She was experienced enough to know she would survive. Each stroke upon her nakedness would be a step through agony, but eventually the steps would take her out the other side. She remembered other whippings. Hands still behind her back, she faced the blur of faces, naked for their delectation. She stood, woodenly, while she was prepared. Her hands and arms spread wide to the bar above her head, her ankles tied out to rings in the platform. She knew what that meant... she would be whipped between her legs. Well... it had all happened before, but never in public! She saw and felt the potency of being whipped in public. She had never been so naked, never so shamed. Those close to the platform were looking up into the cleft of her spread thighs at her Venus mound. Her breasts and nipples were for everyone... !
Audrey faced the multitude. The privileged sat in rows of chairs provided behind her back. They would be able to see the thong as it seared her skin. She had caught sight of the whip as she had been led to where she now stood. She wondered if any white girl had ever been so blatantly exhibited in Africa... ! Or so cruelly punished! With the first stroke of the lash she closed her eyes and, while she screamed, went back in memory to the whippings ordered for her flesh by Assef Aslam.
"You are a very brave girl," said the Corporal sincerely after the crowd had tired at the sight of her and the dignitaries had gone. "I am sorry I cannot part with the handcuffs."
Still on the platform, Audrey stood erect and let him do his will with her arms and wrists. She was in a maze of pain but also in a well of thankfulness that her whipping was done. With an eye to her forthcoming auction the law of Ben Sirah had stopped short of doing her skin real injury. She had been competently whipped. The crowd had been edified by her screams. The dignitaries sitting on the platform to watch the actual impact of the lash upon her skin had all gone home with gratifying erections.
Her wrists were being tied behind her back with cord. No doubt the police budget did not run to a gift of handcuffs. The Corporal noosed her neck for a tether and led her to the place she knew of old. There were cordial handshakes all around. Some papers were signed. The English girl was not accorded the sole use of a cage. Her neck was shackled to the wall; her chain was long... there were the pails! In the gloom of the big chamber, and all alone, she thought longingly of Corey. She fingered her weals in tender exploration of damage. She sat on the floor and leaned back against the wall. There wasn't much else she could do except to wonder how much money she would fetch, who would buy her, and how long she would have to wait. But she did not have to wait at all. The next day she had a visitor.
It was Reid Hunter.
"You're dead." She said flatly when he sauntered to her chain.
"Well, you're not." He surveyed her jauntily. "They whipped you, didn't they? The silly bastards! If we'd got word a day sooner...!"
"But, Reid, you were -?"
"No I wasn't. A lot of blood and a knock on the head. Lucky really, Abdul and his boys thought I was dead too. They didn't touch the jet, so I flew home. Then some asshole of a lawyer got in touch - "
"Mr. Syroid?"
"Right! Now I've got to buy you all over again. Fortunately Syroid didn't know your market value. I'm getting you cheap this time."
"Where's Assef?"
"New York. Waiting for you. I think he's decided to let Corey go rather than pay a few more millions. She's her dad's affair from now on. Where is she?"
"I don't know. Abdul took her. Oh, Reid, I'm so damn thankful you're here! I've been whipped and screwed -!"
"So I see." He raised her to her feet, her chain trailing. Then kissed her gently; the kiss of a big brother. "I still love you. Welcome home."
"But, Reid darling, I'm still chained!"
"Why, so you are! But no problem." He chuckled. "I have to do something you'll hate though. Assef's got a notion - you know, the way men are?"
"Sure, I know. Don't worry about it."
"I have to deliver you back in chains or tightly bound."
"What's wrong with that?" Said Audrey Cotswold happily. "I thought you were going to tell me something rough. After what's been done to me... ! Darling, hurry! Get me out of this!"
Reid Hunter chucked her under the chain and kissed her again. "Hold on, sweets. I'll go and pay the cash and get your key. Be right back."
The relief was one huge tingling excitement. Audrey Cotswold stood, fingering her metal collar, savouring these last moments of a more mercenary slavery than Assef Aslam had ever imposed. The collar would soon be gone, and so would she! The plush luxury of Aslam's New York empire would enfold and protect her once again. She was more amused than concerned by his order that she be returned to him bound and helpless. They understood each other. These whimsies of his were a part of whatever strange bond it was that held them. She gave herself to them gladly. They were a small price to pay for what he gave her. She had found in this austere and enigmatic man something no other woman had touched. He too had found in his enslavement of this English beauty a feminine response unique and satisfying.
Assef Aslam whipped Audrey Cotswold far more often than an observer might suppose. Few of the grave faces round the Board Room table had an inkling that beneath her exquisitely expensive clothes her skin bore livid weals or that her bottom was ridged by a cane. They knew only that as she handed round the documents she exuded wafts of femininity disturbing to the male. She was widely desired.
Audrey was content with her Master's changing moods. She knew it vital she yield to them. In any of the premises they shared there was a room set aside for her punishments. These rooms were as austere as the man himself. Assef's taste in female pain was simple and easily dispensed. They often laughed over the word 'punishment' that was rarely a punishment at all but was, instead, an erotic caprice of his own sensuality. One of his favourites was to gaze up at her gravely from his chair before the commencement of a meeting and state simply a number: ten, twenty, fifty... She would nod and brightly smile, knowing that when the rest had gone she would be taken to the punishment room and whipped with that number of strokes. He sometimes added to his terse statement of a number the word 'above' or 'below' so that she would know whereabouts on her body he would place his weals. Between that moment and the time when it began Audrey Cotswold would be obliged to hide from view the tingling bundle of erotic sensation she had become.
It was that way now. When the man came with the rope she recognized one of Assef's favourite cruelties. Everything was much worse for a girl if she received her inflictions from an underling. It was as though the Master could not be bothered. A servant could bind or whip the slave girl and effect a useful saving of time. Or sometimes the Master would watch while it was done. Audrey had hated it at first, but had grown to find in it the same sexual stimulation as in all else. The newcomer grinned broadly and she smiled back.
An advantage of collar and chain is that it leaves the rest of the girl available. With quickened pulse, Audrey stood while here hands were tied behind her back. She wished it was not palm to palm: that meant her elbows too! But she was too happy to care about pain, and braced herself against the tugs and tensions by which her forearms were joined as one and her elbows well laced with rope. She recognized her binder as one of the Auction Market's staff. No doubt he had bound a good many girls with an artistry to catch a buyer's eye. She was excitedly pleased by the care he was taking with her now. When she turned to say so was the moment she got the gag.
There was something wrong! Audrey's alarm bells were ringing lustily. The gag was a false note. There was no need of it. She and Reid had things to say. If Assef wanted her gagged it could be done just prior to her delivery which was some hours distant. But she was being gagged with the same care as with which she was bound. It was a hateful but well constructed inhibitor of speech. A soft pouch of something filling her mouth, a reinforced velvet band across her lips, clipped tight over her hair at the nape of her neck above her collar. A collar she was evidently still to wear. When its chain clattered to the floor the padlock clicked again to leave her with a metal memento round her neck. She had long since grown accustomed to its weight. It did not matter.
The horses were all wrong too. She was hoisted on to one and her ankles cinched under its belly. Her companion mounted the other. They left the dustiness of Ben Sirah at an easy lope. Before they found the path into the scrub, Audrey Cotswold saw Aslam's plane waiting on the sand. It looked every bit as lonely as she felt.
They rode a steady pace for hours, defeating the miles. Such travelers as they passed viewed the constrained girl with a tolerant eye. She was a delinquent wife or unwilling bride being taken to her just desserts. This was Africa. They smiled and nodded. Audrey understood why she was gagged.
They rode for two days and nights on short rations and brief sleep. At the first dusk her gag was taken from her mouth and her elbows freed.
"My name Effayd. You make trouble I cut branch and whip."
It was a helpful introduction. He was amiable: best keep him so. She reverted to the slave. "Where are you taking me, Master?"
"No matter. Is to get you from Ben Sirah. Ben Sirah not good for you now."
"But I thought Mr. Hunter from New York had purchased me?"
"Deal no happen yet. All wrong. You worth much money." He grinned confidingly and ejected a startling colloquialism: "Fucking coppers!" Warningly, he added: "No more questions."
A small light in darkness. Slavery was alternate hope and despair. A wise slave did what she could with both. "Please untie my hands, Master?" She asked politely.
Effayd considered her helplessness gravely. "You wish to shit?"
She was impervious to shock, but wanted to giggle. "I... Well, I'm... I can't do anything."
He untied her hands, joined his sundry ropes, and attached one end to her collar. "You go behind bush. You tug rope, I know you still safe."
"Thank you, Master." She was genuinely grateful.
At dusk, Effayd shrugged apologetically and re-tied her wrists behind her back, laid her down and tied her ankles, prudently tethering them to a tree. "Am sorry. But you must not be free. I know no other way... " Audrey did not know another way either. She went to sleep. At saddling up time very early in the morning, she pleaded. "Please, Master, not the way I was yesterday?"
Again, his grave attention. "Hurt bad?"
"Yes, Master. All you need to do is tie my wrists crossed in front and tie them down to the saddle. I can't do a thing. I can ride, I can use the stirrups. My ankles are all cut; they don't need to be tied under the horse." She gave him her best pathetic look. "And I promise I won't speak when we pass anyone... " As a sweetener, she added: "You can whip me terribly if I don't behave."
Effayd considered, point by point, then nodded. A few minutes later Audrey sat her horse as a rider should. Her crossed wrists were tied where she suggested. It was very practical. As an additional precaution he sternly caught her eye. "I whip to cut your skin!"
"Thank you, Master."
They rode hard and fast all day.
At dusk, after she returned from behind a bush and was still free, her escort enquired blandly: "You would like me to fuck you?"
It was a question slave girls were well attuned to. Audrey knew it well. It was often followed by the casual but pregnant suggestion Effayd now employed. "Of course, if you would prefer to be well whipped...?"
"Thank you, Master. Please fuck me!"
In a scale of one to ten, Effayd ranked no more than six. But she had made him happy. He had been kind. He was kind now.
"Is better way to tie for night."
Audrey wanted to please him. Obediently, she stood with her back pressed against a tree's slender trunk. She was always a little breathless at such times. She was breathless now as her arms were drawn back and her wrists crossed and bound. Effayd took much trouble with her wrists. A care and caution she could understand, but counted herself fortunate.
"There! Is nice tie!"
It was certainly simple. She could not leave the tree; her arms embraced it behind her back. From the feel of her wrists she knew they would stay tied. "Thank you, Master. But for the night: must I stand?"
"You silly girl! You sit. You sit now."
Silly indeed! Cautiously, she edged down. But her feet were free and made the change, if not easy, at least possible. With her back resting against the trunk she smiled up into his earnest regard. "Yes, it's good. And I won't be able to get loose."
"Now you stand again."
It took a lot of wriggling and heaving but she managed. Standing as he had tied her, she smiled gratefully. Effayd was satisfied. He nodded, pleased. Then went to seek his rest. After a few minutes of sampling her new captivity Audrey did the same. Wryly, she named her awkward descent to the ground as going downstairs. She slept.
When she woke in early light, Effayd and the horses had departed in the night.
It took Audrey Cotswold a little while to reach fear. Being bound or chained was now her natural lot. It was commonplace. A girl just put up with it. But being abandoned in an African wilderness, attached securely to a tree, was something else again. She called out several times but was mocked by silence. When panic loomed she fought it down. Pushing herself erect, she considered waiting and hoping, or starting now to strive to free her hands. She did not believe she could. To seriously try meant chafed cut skin and pain, and was unlikely to accomplish anything. Audrey was a good judge of bounds. In a scale of one to ten the cords on her wrists would merit top score. She decided to wait in the hope of Effayd's return. When, after a long time, it became evident she was on her own, she fought her fight with her single bond. She fought it with all her strength and in mounting panic. Finally her wounded wrists demanded she desist. In defeat, she knew she had not loosed a single cord. She was as tightly tied as she had been the night before.
In frustration she wept. It was too cruel to be held by so small a length of rope. But she was as helpless as if heavily chained. Around her the African day responded to the sun. There were sounds. Unhappily, she wondered about animals and snakes. They did not invade a camp. But a single naked girl tied to a tree was almost bait for a carnivore... ! Her heart contracted. She remembered reading of just exactly that: A delinquent damsel staked out to lure a tiger. She supposed that here it would be a jackal or a lion... she had heard of other animals she could not name.
She considered returning down to sit. Effayd had been considerate in that! But she was frightened. Somehow it felt safer on her feet. She was defenceless either way, but standing she could see the path. If someone passed she could call for help. But that would invite rape or another slavery... ! By afternoon she was in despair...
She would stay there, naked, with her hands tied behind the tree until she died.
Why?
CHAPTER EIGHT - THE CONCUPISCENT COFFLE
Corey Gibson was happy. She was where she had asked to be, chained neck and wrist within a coffle of twenty female slaves. She paced the miles, light footed and alert, her mind busy with plans. At the end of the coffle's journey she would not be sold. Her Master would keep her for his own. It was a miracle! What he would do with her, neither of them knew. Her suggestions had been erotically stimulating for both, but they had about them much of the roseate exuberances of an infatuated teenager. Miss Corey Gibson, the daughter of The Planet Corporation, was deeply and romantically in love.
But Corey Gibson was female. Rooted within the female is an instinct for a home, a family and friends. For one of the richest and most beautiful girl in the world there were other enticements from which slavery had divorced her utterly, but which now surfaced with surprising allure. She would not dare mention them to Seth Burdett... not now! But there would come an opportunity... ! For the present, she adored the shackle on her wrist and the metal collar on her neck. She fingered them often.
She supposed Seth Burdett had seen it in her eyes, or the jaunty toss of her head as she walked. That evening he took her once more into the trees. In their brief walk to seclusion he allowed her freedom. It did not last. Satisfied with a small clearing, he demanded: "Give me your hands."
Quivering with the joy of being alone with him, Miss Corey Gibson surrendered to the breathtaking sensuousness of watching the rope prison her wrists. She wanted embraces and declarations but would settle for simple sex. Ingenuously, she declared: "I love you, Master."
He was always unpredictable, her hold on him tenuous, not yet cemented. Tersely, he told her: "Kneel, Face me."
Corey obeyed, her sex heating, adoring his dominance. Her ambitions were still distant. For now, she wanted only to wallow in submission. She was well aware of being slave to the tumescent glands demanding his seed within her womb. But there was more to Seth Burdett than that. To explore that unknown quantity behind his steely eyes would cost her physical pain. But that too was a price she longed to pay. Her demure: "Yes, Master." was almost too perfect. Sitting back on her heels, she allowed her bound hands to rest on her pubic triangle.
"Not that way! I don't want you comfortable. Kneel upright."
It was going to be wonderful! Corey knew it was. Her Master was in a mood. He would certainly hurt her. She braced herself for feminine dissembling.
"We didn't talk enough, love. Your eyes are too starry."
"As you whip me they will become as you desire, Master."
"Who said I'd whip you, Corey? You want it, don't you?"
"I want whatever is a part of you."
He sighed. "Look, you silly bitch, you're going through a stage you should have outgrown. You want my whip, you want my cock, you're plotting to make me a possession."
"I'm chained on a coffle, Master, I can't plot anything."
"Come off it! I'll tell you what you're plotting. It's me in a Homburg hat from nine to five, the posh apartment above Central Park, and the place at Cape Cod?"
He was been right in making her kneel this way. Corey felt defenceless and exposed. There was no really good place to put her tied hands; they were as de trop as an adolescent boy's. "I can't help being rich." She said plaintively. "I've asked you to keep me in Africa in chains, isn't that enough?"
"For now." He bestowed his sardonic grin. "But let's put the housekeeping in order. First, I'm my own man. I'll take you as a slave, and I'll keep you as a slave. What's more I'll make my own money - "
"But, Seth, I don't mind -!"
"Hold on! Try that again!"
"I'm sorry, Master. I - I forgot."
"See what I mean! For a moment there you thought you were free. That's going to keep happening - Never been broken, have you, Corey?"
"No - I suppose not." The thought thrilled her outrageously. "Are you going to make me crawl, Darling -?"
"Put those tied hands at the back of your neck, Miss Corey Gibson. And hold still. That 'darling' is going to cost you."
Unrepentant but quivering. Corey obeyed. Her breasts jutted in response. She guessed instantly what he was about to do to her. "I'm not sorry I said that, Master." Deliberately, she arched her back and added an inch or two to the prominence of her nipples.
A lash across the curve of each breast. One only! Corey had retired behind closed eyes and clenched teeth, and accepted this new and dreadful pain with a fortitude she knew would not have lasted if the blows continued to fall. She swayed, her nostrils flared, her sex flamed. She had given and received in a love play designed for a slave. Opening her eyes, she looked down at the scarlet bars enhancing the loveliness of her most feminine flesh.
"Thank you, Master."
"Humph, you make me feel a bastard, love." He grinned confidingly. "Doesn't change a thing. I'm going to make you scream before I take you back to the coffle."
"My breasts hurt terribly, Master, but I did not scream."
"You will, love. Underneath those palpitating glands you're a sensible girl. You're not a kid. You'll scream rather than be whipped to death."
Corey's heart fluttered. Would he? She did not think he would. But still... ! She fell back on mischief: "Will you fuck me first, Master?"
"... And last, you outrageous female! They had a word for you in the States - Sexpot!"
"I'm not really. I used to be considered cold. I was cold. I'm what I am now because of you."
Seth held up a hand. "We're starting to argue. Keep quiet while I tell you about the housekeeping money - and don't think those pretty tits can't get another stripe or two."
"I'll behave, Master. I'm honestly not a bit keen on getting my breasts whipped, even by you."
Burdett draped his whip prominently across one knee. "First off, you'd better understand about the slave trade. When someone pays a million dollars for you up there on the auction block I'm lucky to end up with ten percent. There's the Auction boys to pay; there's a couple of political factions, there's the lousy police; and there's some damn heavy bribery to find the girls, get 'em kidnapped and delivered to where the coffle starts its trek." He grinned, admiring her taut loveliness in its tiring kneel. "The trek doesn't cost, and it gets us out of sight. Its best function is to tell the girls what they are. I've seen many a randy little bitch start out fighting her chains all the way but end up smooth as silk. Nice thing about the coffle is the girls have to pay attention to each other. If one of 'em acts up so the girls on either side get chafed skin they damn soon lean on her hard. A coffle's the best leveler I know."
"Can I sit back now, Master?"
"No, you can't! Erect and attentive's the drill."
"Well, can I lower my hands from behind my neck, please?"
"No. Stay as you are. Your breasts are nicely positioned for a couple more stripes - you're hovering on the edge of getting them."
"Master... about the Auctions? All that money for Audrey and I... ? I thought you'd be rich?"
"Hah, so did I! You three white girls stolen out of Amphala were the first real bonanza Mustafa and I ever ran into. White girls are hard to come by without an organization behind you. We'd mostly had to deal in coffee colours. If it hadn't been for those bastards, Abdul and Mustafa, I'd have made enough out of you to turn respectable." Seth grimaced in disgust. "If I sold you again now I could make enough to feel I was talking to you on half way equal terms - that is, if you were around... which you wouldn't be. So now I've promised not to sell you, and that leaves me about where I've been for a long time." He bestowed a rueful grin. "How'd it be if I sold you anyway and kidnapped you back afterwards?"
"Darling, collect ransom on me. Daddy will gladly give you a couple of millions and then we can get married - " Corey's breasts cringed under the two cuts, one across each. She whimpered under the searing impacts, fighting hard not to move, protruding her second feminine curvature defiantly while still screaming inwardly with the agony of the first. But her emotions were overcharged. With a cry of anguish, she slumped back on her heels, her bound hands flashed up and over her head to awkwardly and pathetically caress her wounds. Piteously, she wept.
"I was only... t-t-trying... to h-h-l-p." She sobbed.
"I am a slaver, not an extortionist."
"I'm... I'm sorry... I - I keep making the mistake."
"And my wife doesn't buy me! I'm not at all sure I want a wife. I told you I'd take you as a slave, and I still will. If that's not good enough, just say so. I'll sell you instead."
"It's good enough!" Corey couldn't get the words out faster.
Seth Burdett eyed the disorganized bundle of femininity with affectionate amusement. "This is where the script says I take you in my arms and offer you my shirt and pants if you'll stop crying... " He gave a contemptuous grunt. "Piss on that! Here's the proper way."
Once more, Miss Corey Gibson knew herself betrayed by her own libido. One should have dissolved in grief to either disgust this man or earn his pity as he dragged her to the tree. Instead, her tears ceased and her loins flared in a sudden intense desire for the cleansing scourge of his lash. As her bound hands were tied to the trunk above her head, she muttered savagely: "Alright, whip me! Whip me into an orgasm. Whip me into a hundred orgasms... damn you, Master!"
Seth whipped her joyously, aware of each of her tremors, the flexing of her muscles, the growing heat within. Amused, he noted her bound wrists and their agony as she tugged and heaved, turned and twisted. But, as a boy controls the whipping of a top, so he carefully kept Corey facing the trunk, the whip across a twisting hip or exposed flank kept her back and bottom properly available. When, in her beginnings of orgasm, her legs parted and one raised invitingly, he swept the thong in a snapping uppercut into her crotch so that her climax flowered in an ululation of delicious agony. Her wailing cry was neither of triumph or defeat. It was the tribute of a slave whose Master knew her all too well.
"Don't stop! Whip me! Whip me...!"
"What are you?"
"A slave! You idiot, I know I'm a slave, a slave, a slave... ! I'm never going to be anything else but a slave, so I may as well get used to it. Whip me - you complacent bastard. Whip me good!"
Corey thrust her breasts hard against the tree while her Master spaced his strokes across her back. Probably he would half kill her for the epithets she had hurled at him. Her tear stained cheek joined her breasts in seeking the comfort of the bark. Inspired, she added to her declaration: "I want to be... Oh, can't you understand? I want to be your slave, I want to be - I want -."
The whip acknowledged her surrender. It did not stop. When she began to scream she terminated each cry of pain with a curt demand: "Whip me, damn you, Master, whip me...!" Then screamed again.
When he dragged her back to the coffle he locked only her neck, leaving her hands tied as they had been. Corey did not know whether he had forgotten or had a purpose, but she hurt too much and was too tired to try and bite at his knots. Besides, what did it matter? Even freed entirely of all restraints she would still be a slave. She would always be a slave. Her mind would no longer search beyond that knowledge. Unconcerned and undismayed she went to sleep.
When Corey was freed the next morning for the chores, another girl was unlocked to take her place. Quietly smiling, her Master stood her upright before nineteen curious girls, tied her ankles tight, then took her crossed wrists to the nape of her neck and tied them to her collar. His instruction was terse. "Stand there and keep still!"
Miss Corey Gibson stood there, a public spectacle, fuming.
The girls were delighted.
When Corey's neck and right wrist were once more shackled to the coffle and the march resumed she was teased unmercifully. She did not mind. She detected in the comments a hint of envy. She wore her fresh weals, particularly the scarlet stripes across her breasts, with immense elan.
She wondered at herself and at the man who owned them all. Could she say she was broken, that the coffle and the whip had made her subservient? Or was it her own shameless lust that made his whip a benison upon her flesh? She was wanton, revelling in the memory of being tied to the tree and then, afterwards, ravished again and again in a series of couplings in which she used her bound hands and thrusting body in taunting provocations to replenish her Master's virility. In loving abandon she regaled the man who had whipped her with every trick and variation of the practiced whore. In so doing she defeated not him but herself by erasing from her mind all thought of liberty. Seth Burdett remained his own man, but Corey Gibson was most certainly a woman!
At the end of the day's march nothing had changed. With Talifa, Corey was freed for her usual tasks. It was while she was searching for firewood among the outer fringe of brush which, for a few moments, hid her from view that she discovered Audrey Cotswold.
For both girls it was a moment of disbelief, followed by joy. Corey, who possessed hands, used them and her lips to tell the ecstasy of reunion. In a breathless flood of whisperings she used them then to fight the knots by which the English girl had been compelled to stand captive to a tree. With Audrey's freed hands warm upon her skin, Corey suddenly tensed. In a frightened whisper she demanded: "Darling, I'm a slave again, in the coffle... Do you want that?"
"You mean... I should run away?" Audrey considered the sudden possibility. "Alone... in this damn awful place -?"
"I can't come with you. If I'm not back with firewood in a minute I'll be missed."
"Burdett will chain me again... and sell me?"
"Of course, he will. There's no such thing as freedom for girls like us in this place. I want you bad. But I also want you free."
"Corey Darling, I want you too. I'm damned if I'm going to wander off... ! I'd be safer on the coffle with you."
Corey turned to display her whipmarks. "D'you want these? It's part of being on the coffle."
Audrey shrugged. "If I have to. I've been whipped before, y'know. What is it, the price of admission?"
"That's right, love. You pay in advance."
They turned to face him. Burdett had walked silently while they were engrossed. They were without guilt, yet felt guilty. "I was tied to a tree." The English girl explained awkwardly. "Corey just found me."
"And you were wondering if you should honour me or run like hell?"
"Well... yes."
"You've lost the chance to run, love."
"I can see that, Mr. Burdett. Don't be rough with me! I'll yield my body to you. Can I please help Corey with the wood? I'll behave, and there's so much to say... " The Slaver's keen eye noted the slip of paper. Effayd had pinned it to the tree above Audrey's head. Scanning it rapidly, he chuckled. "Seems you were an embarrassment to the boys at the auction. They wanted you out of the way for a few days. They've made me a present of you - less the first hundred thousand... " He laughed delighted. "I'll make a bundle out of you." He frowned at Corey. "And you were going to let her go!"
They hastened with their firewood back to camp.
Audrey Cotswold offered herself passively to be chained on the coffle. Her return to it held some of the elements of coming home. Collared and shackled, she shrugged and grinned ruefully at Corey from beyond a span of four naked girls. In their separation they sensed their Master's disapproval. His rejection of her plea to be chained together was an admonition. Both knew the matter of Audrey's new enslavement was not yet settled. Corey uneasily suspected she had a bill to pay. Her Master would allow her to get away with nothing; and she had erred. She wished though that he would not punish Audrey.
In the evening of the new day he took them both into the trees. They were joined by a handcuff. He was a prudent man.
"I don't see why you have to punish Corey, Mr. Burdett." Audrey complained. "She wasn't trying to rob you of a slave. She was just trying to help me."
Audrey's hands were now cuffed behind her back as she watched her owner suspend his naked slave girl from a bough. When Corey's heels left the ground he snubbed the rope, satisfied. The job done, he turned his attention to his latest acquisition. Without a word, he turned a key; he pushed; he knotted. In a few minutes Miss Audrey Cotswold hung in the same defenceless nudity as did the girl she had striven to defend. Her Master found a seat and made himself comfortable. He looped his whip over one crossed leg. "You were saying, Miss Cotswold...?" He enquired politely.
"Alright, I'll just shut up." Audrey gasped. "I can take a hint."
"You will also take a licking."
"If you say so." Audrey sniffed. "What's it for, talking, or my ticket to your coffle?"
Burdett whipped her slowly ten times. Twisting on her tether Audrey Cotswold made no pretence of heroism. Sweating with pain, panting from the shock of the blows, she gasped: "Alright! So I forgot! I'll behave. What d'you want me to do or say?"
He gave her ten more. None were excessively cruel. But none were kind. "You know damn well what I want." He growled. "Drop the 'M'Lady' act! Call me Master!"
"Yes, Master." The inflection of submission was perfect.
"Good! Now I'm going to punish Corey. Are you going to keep quiet while you watch, or would you like a gag?"
"You're going to hate me, Darling." Corey wailed. "I'm so damn humble you'll want to spit -"
"If you're going to be beastly to her, I'd sooner be gagged." The already whipped girl admitted. "I'm bound to say something."
Corey watched her companion made mute with rags and bound lips. She felt certain Audrey would hold her in contempt for what she had so happily and gloriously become. A slave is a slave is a slave! She gave her Master her full polite attention.
"Why are you being punished, love?"
"Because I offered to aid a slave to escape, Master."
"D'you deserve to be punished?"
"Yes, Master, I was thoughtless."
"Ask for it then, you silly bitch!"
"Please, Master, punish me for offering to help Audrey escape, and for trying to encourage her. I was not a good slave."
"Hmmmmm, not bad." Seth eyed her quizzically. "Any ideas about a suitable penalty?"
Corey had no ideas she liked, certainly not with Audrey watching! But she did her best! "You could whip me, Master. Although I - " She swallowed hard. "I - I've got an awful lot of whipmarks on me now."
"A few more won't hurt. There's your front, y'know."
"Yes, Master." She dared not look at Audrey.
"Not keen on whipping you this time either, love. A few marks improve a girl's hide, but enough's enough. There's other ways to make you mind."
Corey looked down as her left ankle was roped. When her arms were lowered she became uneasy. To have her hands untied and then handcuffed behind her back gave no clue. She wryly reflected that a slave girl's hands spent a lot of time behind her back. When she was told to sit on the ground, her punishment still remained vague. But when the long rope from her ankle was tossed over the bough she could guess her fate. Corey dared not protest. It would spoil what she had achieved, and anyway would only get her an additional infliction. As her foot, her leg, her thigh rose up before her eyes, she refused to turn to the suspended girl who had been told to watch. She fell on her back; her bottom left the ground, then her shoulders. A moment later only her long hair, falling in a cascade of loveliness, made contact with the soil. Her cuffed hands sought and found nothing; her right leg waved uncertainly with nowhere to go. Corey Gibson gasped in pain and dismay; her roped ankle was on fire. But, most of all, she was ashamed.
"You two wanted to talk." Seth Burdett said pleasantly. "Here's your chance."
"You're in love with each other!" Audrey gasped incredulously. "It sticks out a mile. And he punishes you for every little thing! Darling, is that very awful?"
"If it's not too long I can stand it." Shamefaced, Corey took an upside down look at her companion in distress. Between them flowed a bond of sharing. "It's my own fault. I seem to deliberately provoke. I'm making him break me. I think it's because I know I'm a slave and I want to blot out the past. I don't want to live with nostalgia... I want Seth Burdett so damn bad...!"
"You've got him you little idiot."
"Well... in a way. But he's got me for sure. Darling, do I look too obscene? I feel as though I'm all pussy and a single leg."
"You look crazy, but sweet. Darling, don't let's chatter! Let's plan! If I'm taken back to that auction, Reid will know. We're as good as free."
"I can't be free, Audrey, not the way you mean. I'm Seth's salve for life. I asked him not to sell me, but to keep me. He agreed. When you get sold he'll have me hidden."
"Corey, you are an idiot. Being sold's our only chance. Make him sell you when he sells me!"
"I can't. I don't even want to." Corey twisted and flexed. "Oh, damn! This is a hell of a way to treat the girl you sleep with. I wish he'd hurry up and put us back on the coffle."
"You're not mad at him, are you?" Audrey said enviously. "You half like it."
"I'd sooner be whipped. Damn him, he knows it."
"Too right, he does!" Their owner was back, impelled by curiosity. Thoughtfully, he rested a rough palm on the well haired Venus Mound of his personal slave. "Puts this little item nicely in view, eh? If you want to be whipped...?"
"Master, please... Not there!"
"What you mean is, not in front of your girl friend?"
"I'd be so ashamed. Oh... please! I'll look so silly and... and... messy hanging on the end of a rope with one leg kicking - "
"But you're not concerned about the pain?"
"Well... that too. But, please, Master?"
"You two make me sick," said Audrey Cotswold. "Why don't you fuck and be done with it - I'll look the other way."
Pleased with them both, Seth Burdett locked them back on the coffle. The English girl would fetch another small fortune. If only he could ass Corey Gibson to the pot... ! He was a practical man. There'd been times a'plenty when he'd had his cake and eaten it too - and found it doubly sweet.
Seth found his couch. Before sleep he debated the idea of enslaving both girls to his personal use. Audrey Cotswold was a dish. He would possess two of the most beautiful females in the world. Locked in his chains, no one would ever find them. Auctioned they would be discovered, but to hold them both, chained, obedient and submissive! It was a delectable prospect.
But he could not afford... !
CHAPTER NINE - PRISONERS OF IMBALLA
It happened on the day before they should have reached Ben Sirah. The uniformed men rose from concealment, three to each side of the coffle of girls. Rifles pointed.
"Is nice we meet again." Corporal Eliah was one big grin.
"What the hell do you want, Eliah?" Seth demanded without concern for pointing muzzles. "You'll get your cut -!"
The Corporal raised a placating hand. "Mr. Burdett... please!" He managed to sound reprovingly shocked. "We do not steal. We arrest."
"Try and arrest me and I'll break all your bloody necks!"
"Is not you, Mr. Burdett. Please, no! Is bad young lady escape from custody. You are most respected, Sir. No doubt she tell a story of bull and cock for getting your sympathy. I am seeing her now. She is there on coffle with slave girls."
"You're talking about Audrey Cotswold?"
"Indeed yes. Most guilty young lady."
Corey cringed in the impotence of chains. The shackle and collar removed her from the affairs of men. She could do nothing.
"Dammit, Eliah, don't mess up a good deal. You know the drill. She'll be sold inside a week." Burdett was puzzled.
"Alas, this is not business, Effendi. It is the Law."
"Fuck the Law!"
"We must take young Lady. I have warrant." The corporal unfolded a well decorated document. He read with relish: "Conspiracy to defraud. Escape from custody. Naked in public place. Immorality. Prostitution. Perjury - "
"Stow it, Eliah. It's all horseshit, and we both know it. But you take that girl... I'll make trouble!"
"Court have no quarrel with honest Slave Trader, Mr. Burdett. We arrest girls - such bad and naughty girls! You carry on with coffle, Mr. Burdett, Sir."
"What d'you mean, girls? There's only one of her?"
"Regrettably, is two." Corporal Eliah pointed at Corey Gibson. "She whore from Amphala. Also suspicion of fraud. Must be tried and sentenced to much prison."
"Up your arse!" Burdett was nonplussed.
"With possible whippings." The Corporal added pompously. "Our esteemed Magistrate Mussuba not approve bad girls."
"You take Corey Gibson and I'll have all your hides."
"Please, most honourable Sir, do not make distress. We now arrest. When you arrive Ben Sirah you most welcome to visit their cell in police station. Can arrange nice fuck if you so like... ? We very modern."
"Police station! Though you said prison?"
"Must have proper trial. Then sentenced to punishings. They stay police station a few days so we all get good fucks." The Corporal beamed importantly. "Is police perquisite, to fuck."
"Yeah, and more than girls. Look, Eliah, how about I arrange bail?"
"For such crimes is no bail. But you come visit. Police think Mr. Burdett is fine Sir."
"Dammit, Corporal, there has to be a way... ! How about you taking four of the other girls? You can screw 'em for a week and then sell 'em. Two for one's a good deal?"
"But is not white girl." The Corporal shrugged. "Can arrest local girls anytime. We fuck a little then let go."
With grim set lips, Seth Burdett unlocked the two white girls from the coffle. Their shackles hung slack and empty and forlorn. "You heard the silly twit. He's got six guns. When I get the coffle into Ben Sirah I'll raise bloody hell. I've got friends. If that's not good enough I'll wire New York for you."
"You could have done that in the first place." Audrey said tartly.
"Shit, I wanted to sell you first, girl! I need the money."
Corey Gibson was shattered, bereft, and furiously angry. "You mean this... this fuzzy wuzzy can actually -?"
Seth patted his gun. "I might get two of them before they got me. Then you're friendless. But with me alive you're going to come through this... some way... I guarantee!"
She believed him. There was that in his voice which evoked her fire. With a greater faith than Audrey's, she surrendered her nakedness to the familiar turning of her back and the limp proffering of her wrists, on which the Corporal's handcuffs clicked with a sound of minor doom. Reluctantly, Audrey did the same.
"Is jeep behind bush," pronounced the Corporal importantly.
The man and his slave said a farewell with their eyes. Audrey stalked ahead disdainfully, furious at an unkind fate; her wrists tugging irritably at the shaming metal bands. Corey followed the Corporal's hand, not unkindly, on her arm. "Is very nice cell." He explained encouragingly. "Is bars all round so everyone can see. You feel nice at home."
Corey supposed he meant well. She tried not to cry.
The jeep was actually there. The two girls were lifted into the back. More handcuffs were produced. The armed detachment beamed approval.
"We're already handcuffed. We don't need any more." Audrey's protest was bitter. She knew where she was going.
"Is best we join you. That way is hard to run." The Corporal was anxious for good intentions to be understood.
The girls were side by side. It was neat and tidy to clip a cuff above Audrey's right elbow, with the matching steel circlet notched on Corey's left. Where one went the other must go too. Another pair of handcuffs similarly joined two ankles. "Why not our necks too?" Audrey demanded belligerently.
"Alas, we have no chain." Corporal Eliah was genuinely apologetic. "But at police station we can arrange."
Submerged beneath a load of policemen, rifles and naked girls in chains, the jeep fought its way to the path. It was not a pleasant journey. Four pairs of handcuffs mocked the female prisoners all the way to Ben Sirah.
"The son of a bitch! He's actually managed -!" Audrey stared incredulously at the four foot chain linking their necks. Her fingers were busily exploring the band of metal which was her new collar. "There's more to that damn Corporal than meets the eye."
Corey was a welter of sensation. Audrey had been here before, but she had not. The cage-like cell in which they were safely locked was daunting. So were the eyes... It seemed there were always eyes peering at them through the bars. "The bastard sells tickets so the wogs can look at our cunts." Audrey Cotswold averred disgustedly.
They had lost the battle of nakedness. The corporal's apology had, as usual, been most sincere. "Is prescribed tunic for female prisoners." He explained. "But is now all at laundry. You not mind nice policemen look at cunts and boobs?"
Corey was testing her own metal. Her collar was heavier than any she had previously been forced to wear. "Is prison issue." The Corporal had informed with pride. "Is specially made for very bad girls."
"But I was only being sarcastic." Audrey protested. "We don't need a beastly chain on our necks. We can't get out of this damn cage."
"Then must have chain on hands and feet. You like this better."
She subsided, breasts heaving in fury. He held all the cards, they held none. There would always be a refutation.
"Or can tie hands behind backs if you prefer?" The offer was the soul of kindness.
They accepted linked necks.
"Reid Hunter will find us." Audrey vowed in conviction. "Cheer up, Darling!"
"He won't find us if we get stuck in some rotten prison first. Audrey, dear, I'm scared. There's something final about everything they do to us. We could wear this collar and chain the rest of our lives."
They did not wear it to Court. It was taken from them. But their hands were bound at their backs and their elbows roped hard and tight to expose their breasts. Standing in the dock, their nipples pointed at Magistrate Mussuba like accusing fingers. Disgustedly, they heard the corporal read their list of crimes. Corey resigned herself to life imprisonment. Everybody except they themselves said a few words. Then the Magistrate. Corporal Eliah interpreted.
"Is this time no fine. This time no escapings. Judge is much sorrowful for such bad girls. He sentence you each to fifteen years in most strict prison for naughty ladies. He direct you must be put in most heavy irons because you wanting to escape. In prison is full discipline for both - "
"What's that mean?"
"The strap, the whip. Much restrains. Sometimes dark cell." The Corporal diluted shock with consolation. "Could be worse. is only fifteen years. Could have been for life. Many girls go to prison for life."
It was too shattering, too medieval to immediately comprehend. In shock, they asked: "When does it start, Corporal?"
"Magistrate very kind. He allow police to keep you a few days for fucking. I expect you glad?"
It seemed unkind to complain. Two female felons went with their jailor, not back to their cage but to a blacksmith.
"I can't believe this either." Audrey was sitting on a box. Her feet were raised upon an anvil. Around each ankle had been fitted a heavy iron band. Rivets had been inserted in holes. The blacksmith was raising his hammer...
Corey stared in equal disbelief. The arms of both girls remained bound, as in Court. She stood, awaiting her turn, and watched the incredible take place. The centuries had rolled back five hundred years. Between the heavy anklets being riveted upon her fellow prisoner was a length of equally heavy chain, its links massive. It was longer than need be. It would not deter a girl in the servicing of men, but it would most certainly inhibit escape. With that weight of metal attached immovably upon her ankles each step would compel her to drag... ! In fascination, Corey watched the hammer splat the soft metal down to form a rounded head. Two rivets to each shackle! Such irons would hold a giant. On a girl they were purely punitive. And for fifteen years... !
The four rivets having been hammered to become a part of the anklet itself, Audrey was helped to stand by the kindly aid of Corporal Eliah. She was cruelly captive. Wrists and elbows tight bound, her feet ironed. Like a girl testing new shoes, she peered down at her own feet as she assayed a step. There was a visible pause, then with an equally visible effort, the hobbled foot advanced with its load of links following as a dead weight upon a foot that had lost its freedom for fifteen years.
"You see, you walk with much care." The Corporal was delighted.
With shrinking heart and a sense of something lost forever, Corey Gibson took her turn upon the box. When she lifted her feet to the anvil and saw the fitting of the iron bands upon her ankles she remembered the old cliches: 'Walking in the last mile'. 'The Point of no return', 'The Mounting of the Scaffold steps'. She wanted to weep in memory of lost liberty. In comparison with this horror Seth's coffle was a privilege much to be desired.
"With rivets, they cannot be unlocked. There is no key." The Corporal explained prideful. "No one can be helping naughty girls."
The hammer impacted, the metal spread. Corey saw imprisonment become real and actual before her eyes. In but a few minutes she stood beside Audrey Cotswold, the weight on her ankles horrific and frightening, exchanging wide eyed dismay at an imposition far worse than they had supposed. She lifted a foot, suddenly leaden, and dragged...
"I catch you if you fall." The Corporal promised expansively. Then extended himself to humour. "I also catch you if you run."
They did not run.
In the cell their arms and wrists were freed. In their barred confinement their irons became more practical. They had little need to walk. From one side of their prison was only three or four dragging steps, the rest of them was free. If they stood still they could enjoy a false sensation of liberty. But this reflection was grim. It meant that, from now on, their life would be spent behind bars in small confined spaces where the irons would not matter much, other than as a constantly depressing reminder of their condition, and a mocking denial to anyone who sought to aid their escape.
They were grateful for each other. To have been alone in the cage would have been a thing hard to take. They even managed a giggle as they heaved their irons awkwardly up to enable them to sit on their bench facing each other, chin on bent knees, and talk about their most immediate infliction. "We're going to be fucked." Audrey mourned matter-of-factly. "What do we do about it?"
"Darling, I've been a whore. I told you, it doesn't really matter... unless a girl lets it. So don't let it matter." Corey was ashamedly proud of her expertise.
"We can spread our legs, dammit!" Laboriously, Audrey did so. "The sons of bitches, they had that figured when they shackled us with all this chain. We can't either run or say no." She managed another giggle. "But they cheated themselves out of any good leg action."
"I got the impression we wouldn't be screwed in prison." Corey meditated. "There's only about a dozen policemen and the Corporal - oh, and that Magistrate bastard gets in on us too, doesn't he? It could be worse, y'know."
"Gosh, what a spot! You mean, we have to be grateful for being fucked by only fourteen men we don't even like?" Audrey wrinkled her nose in disgust. "And you can bet they'll have friends - Oh, damn, we've got a visitor."
"I have decided to fuck you now," announced the Corporal magnanimously. "My men will come later as their duties permit. We are all much pleased and very hard." He unlocked the cell door. "Which of you would like to enjoy me first?"
Corey Gibson arranged her nakedness in the oldest position in the world. As a reassurance to a dubious Audrey, she proclaimed jauntily. "Me first, please Corporal!"
"Ah, you are wise girl." The Corporal was flattered, his own self assessment confirmed. "I have very hard - "
"Can't we have privacy?" Audrey broke in on his pleasantries. "Can't you take us somewhere, one at a time, and do it to us in private?"
The Corporal was puzzled. "You do not like to watch?"
"No, and I don't want to be seen either. It's not decent. This damn cell is like a cage in the Zoo. What girl wants to be fucked in a cage?"
"Hush, darling, it's no use." Corey was concerned.
"Miss Gibson is right." The Corporal confirmed. "She is a most proper young lady. Perhaps if I whip you a little you will become polite?"
Audrey shrugged in resignation. She watched. She admired the Corporal's member. She was by no means untrained in sexuality. When the thrustings and moanings drew to a close she obeyed the inviting gesture and cleansed their jailor's glistening penis with her mouth, lips and tongue. When, after a minute, it responded with an expanding virility, Miss Audrey Cotswold lay on her back and thrust savagely at the irons on her feet. She did not close her eyes but looked steadily at Corey Gibson as she was raped.
"You are both very nice girls with fine cunts." The Corporal informed warmly. "You now how have visitor. My friend, Mr. Burdett, is wait in office."
The two girls looked at each other askance. Would he know? Should they tell him? They lowered their weight of metal to the floor and sat primly erect.
"You are most welcome to fuck them both, dear Sir Mr. Burdett. They have luscious cunts." Corporal Eliah's hospitality was warm. Evidently he intended to miss nothing.
The Slaver's retort was typical. "You bastard! You mean, you've fucked 'em both already?"
"Of course. Am I not the Corporal here?"
Corey knew her Master had to fight for control. The set of his lips spoke volumes. She glowed with fresh hope as his eyes met hers. "You alright, girl?"
"We have not been harmed, Master."
"What the hell's all that scrap iron on their feet?"
"They have been sentenced, Sir. All legal. They have been found most naughty and must wear irons because of previous escape."
"Piss on that! Take 'em off!"
"Would be to break the Law, dear Sir. Irons do not matter to nice girls. They spread their legs for you most easily. Will you fuck them now?"
"If you think I'm going to fuck a girl in a cage with you watching, you're nuts. I didn't come here to fuck. I want them out of this."
"Alas, they are much in. Perhaps you would be our guest for the evening. My staff will fuck the girls from time to time. You are most welcome to watch through the bars."
"Piss on that too! Look, Eliah, I want 'em out. What's it cost?"
"But, Sir, they have been found guilty. Their sentence is for fifteen years with full discipline and restraint. In a few days, after we have all fucked them well, they will be taken to the special prison for naughty ladies and begin to serve - "
"Where the hell's that?"
"It is the State Institution for intractable females at Imballa, Mr. Burdett, Sir," said the corporal with stiff dignity. "They will be much whipped, and in fifteen years will be fine citizens."
"Horseshit!" Seth Burdett frowned at his former slaves. "Hold on, girls!" He said forcefully. "The Corporal here can't do a thing. He's a good chap on the wrong side of the fence. But look... " His face became fierce. "I'll get you out. Chains and all, I'll get you out. Remember that!" He turned and strode from sight.
Corey glowed with pride. The fire inside her crotch quenching the Corporal's ravishment.
For four days Corey and Audrey serviced the Ben Sirah constabulary with lips and cunt and mouth. On the fifth day they were taken to Imballa.
It was in a police car with the Corporal. They sat in the back, linked together by handcuffs on their elbows. On arrival at one of the grimmest buildings they had ever seen there was much signing of papers while they stood at attention. Then Corporal Eliah unlocked and pocketed his department's handcuffs, shook their free hands warmly, and wished them well for the mere trifle of fifteen years, and left them to the mercy of the Correctional Institute of Imballa.
Imballa had no mercy. It hosed them down, it disinfected, it fingerprinted, it completed documents. Then a wardress put them in a cell with the heartening information that, when she got around to it later, she would whip them both between their legs as an institutional aid to the rejection of carnal thoughts. The barred door and its lock made a sound to discourage any optimism a girl might have brought along.
"We're not going to like this." Audrey's statement was positive.
"I'm hating this iron on our feet more and more." Corey mourned. "They don't need to put it on us here. There's no escape. They're just being mean." She brightened. "But our Master will get us out. I know he will!"
"You and your Master!" Audrey sniffed. "He's only one man." She looked around disconsolate. "Gosh, what a hateful place! I can feel those fifteen years... " Wardress Taruma could have handled six ironed girls with ease. Corey and Audrey gave her no trouble. "I no have time to take you to punishment room. You walk too slow." She told them tersely. "Each cell equipped for whippings. I whip you here."
"We don't need to be whipped. We haven't done anything. We promise we'll behave."
"You been naughty. You be sentenced. Is custom to whip new girl."
There seemed little left to say. The twin delinquents did as they were told. On their backs on the floor, they watched the pulley raise their irons. To meshed gears the weight of metal meant nothing. Four feet went with the iron, rising up and up, followed by legs and thighs. Somewhere there was a winch and motor. They could hear it. But for Taruma there were only the ropes and the button on the wall. After two pert bottoms had left the floor she pressed the button and surveyed the two open and exposed crotches with approval. "You got pretty cunts. I find a use... ! Now I whip."
She used a quirt, a hateful thing with heavy thongs, well lubricated with the secretions of a hundred girls. She used it leisurely, going from one sundered cunt to the other. Her blows were viciously wise in female agony. But she would do no damage. She appeared to regard a whipping as a time for conversation, some of it informative. "We got nice room for girl punishment. Have stocks. Have whipping post. Have thing to stretch. Have many whips. Imballa girls very lucky."
Corey squealed. The twin thongs had sliced her sex without warning. The pain was hateful. But then... all pain was hateful. She braced her free forearms on the floor to raise herself to where she could see herself whipped and watch the quirt slice the naked girl beside her. "Please," she pleaded, "Why can't you whip our bottoms? It's not right or decent to whip a girl's cunt."
She was instantly rewarded for temerity. The quirt flashed down across her left breast. She subsided, writhing her scream of agonized anger cut in two by a second splat between her open thighs.
"In Imballa girls do not complain," said Wardress Taruma blandly.
Miss Corey Gibson did not complain again.
The two thonged wickedness went back and forth. Sometimes it entered the forbidden lips. Soon it was wet with female fluids and hurt the more. The girl's own secretions were etched upon the skin of their loins and thighs, but they replenished the leathers by the multitude of their emissions. They were young and full of sap. Wardress Taruma cut into them with shrewd snapping blows. They rewarded her with their impotent writhings and their yelps and squeals from the desolation of their distress. It was a wise and compelling introduction to their new captivity. When she released them and went her way, the two girls lay sprawled upon the floor and wept upon each other's naked skin.
On the second day they were escorted to the main office, their dragging feet a misery to themselves and an irritation to Taruma. The prison governor was male. He eyed their breasts with pleasure as they stood to attention before his desk. Taruma had told them to 'stick them tits well out'. "Welcome to Imballa." He greeted politely. "You have received your first whipping?"
"Yes, Sir. Between our legs, by Wardress Taruma."
"So I observe. You will be whipped again today. I am a great believer in the whip. I hope you share my faith?"
"Yes, Sir." Both had been told the expected response.
"Excellent! This will be a more conventional lashing."
"Thank you, Sir."
"You are most welcome. We do our best here at Imballa. We get results. Few leave who are not reformed." The governor cleared his throat. "Our staff is largely female: splendid women such as the Wardress you have met. But there is a small male contingent. This includes myself. We will fuck you as convenient. It is a modern innovation designed to modify the tedium of incarceration."
"Thank you, Sir."
"Not at all. Ah, yes! You have fifteen years to go. A mere trifle."
"Yes, Sir. We will benefit from your training. We are sorry we were naughty girls."
"I am sure you are. By the way, I understand you have origins in high places in the United States?"
"Yes, Sir. Millions would be paid as ransom for our release and delivery. No one really wants us in this prison."
"Indeed! That sounds suspiciously like an offer to bribe?"
"We are sorry, Sir. We are bad girls who do not know - "
"We will endeavour to teach you. I will have you taken direct from this office to the punishment room. You may stay there several days. A night standing in the stocks is most helpful."
"Of course, Sir. Thank you."
"Er... this matter of millions... you mentioned?"
"The Planet Corporation, or Mr. Assef Aslam, Sir."
"Well, well! Aslam is an honoured name. What is your relationship?"
"I am his slave, Sir."
"Interesting! And on your return...?"
"He would have me whipped, Sir, for being such a nuisance."
"But you love him?"
"Oh yes, Sir. He is my Master."
"Hmmmmm, most unusual. Well, at least, we can have you whipped here. But the love...!" He turned to Corey. "Your father's name is known. But you are also the slave of our highly esteemed Mr. Burdett?"
"Yes, Sir. He desires my release."
"Did he ever whip you?"
"Of course, Sir. I am his slave. I have marks... "
"Indeed you have! We will replenish them."
"Is there any hope of us being pardoned, Sir?"
"Who knows!" The governor's vision sought a delectable vista all his own. "In the meantime you will become acquainted with our punishment room. It is a most estimable compartment." His regard was suspicious. "You do agree you are here for punishment, I hope?"
"Oh yes, Sir! We are very grateful to you for all this trouble. But... Well... We did think we were just going to be imprisoned?"
"By no means!" The governor's tone was expansive. "We are a modern facility. We deal in delinquent females. We do not believe in the morbidity of confinement in a cell. Our inmates are constantly punished in many ways... They spend no more than half their time behind the bars of their own small dungeon."
"Oh, thank you, sir."
The governor pressed a bell.
Miss Corey Gibson shrank from the sight of the ugly structure into which she was invited to insert her neck and her wrists. But Wardress Taruma was a compelling force; it would be useless to fight. Obeying a specific directive, she gathered her hair and placed it down beside one cheek as she fitted her neck into its designated slot. Hopelessly, she fitted her wrists... "Is very good girl." The Wardress approved as she lowered the upper yoke of the pillory. "Now I lock with nice padlock." There came an ominous click which caused a knot to form within Corey's tummy, and from there spread... She was safely in the pillory. Around her neck and wrists the wood was snug. It had been built for girls.
Audrey's penance was a chair. From its seat a phallus rose commandingly. The rest of the surface was serrated. It was a thing no girl would wish to place her naked bottom on. "Please to sit." The Wardress invited. "You may take a little time. You may adjust to inside your cunt. But you must sit."
Corey's view was limited. Bit she could look sideways at this. She cringed in sympathy as her fellow prisoner adjusted the blunt knob of the ugly male thing against her vulva's lips and slowly lowered herself until she sat impaled. Her grimace as her weight came to rest was a tribute to the chair's punitive intent.
"Is hurt girlie's arse?" The Wardress inquired solicitously.
"It's... it's awful. And inside...!" Audrey looked up at her smiling inquisitor. "Oh please... must I?"
Taruma placed the naked arms behind the back of the chair and bound them there with tight drawn loops of cord. "Of course must sit." She reproved. "You are here for punish. In a little while you neither like what I do for you. Much time to think of bad things you do." A strap cinched around her waist completed Audrey's captivity to the chair. Taruma nodded approval of her work. She went away.
"I could kill the smarty bitch." Audrey exclaimed vehemently. "To leave us like this! Oh damn, and we don't know how long... "
"Is it bad, Darling?" Corey was thinking of the huge thing within Audrey's sheath. She would not have wanted it inside her own.
"It hurts where I sit." Audrey tensed against her bonds. "That will get worse, of course. But this damn thing way up into me... ! I'm going to have twenty orgasms - and hate every one! I can feel the first one starting... " Corey mourned for them both. Her punishment also would get worse. She could move but little. Her neck and wrists were clamped tight. At the end of the timber the dangling padlock mocked. She was as helpless a prisoner as if cemented. The irons on her feet prevented her from kicking. She shared disconsolate glances with her pained companion as the time went by. Hurting and hopeless as they were there was nothing good to say. The sudden advent of the prison Governor was surprising but welcome. Any break in the awfulness of their immobility was better than none. The governor was accompanied by Mr. Syroid. He motioned pridefully. "You see, Sir, your concern is needless. The young ladies are well looked after."
"Indeed, yes!" The lawyer moved to beam down at a shamed Corey. "I already represent Miss Cotswold. I am prepared to accept you as a client? I possess some influence. Your sentence may be appealed."
Hope flooded Corey's being. She twisted her yoked neck to look up appealingly. "Could you... ? Oh, please."
"There is every possibility. I pull the strings. There is the matter of a retainer."
"Miss Gibson is nicely positioned," said the Governor thoughtfully.
Corey did not believe it was happening. It was too bizarre. Her new lawyer patted her bent head and moved behind her limited view. A moment later she felt the first thrust of his erection between the parted cheeks of her buttocks, with the second prod she knew herself impaled.
"A pleasant change for you, Miss Gibson." The Governor said heartily. "I suggest you do not complain. Mr. Syroid is being kind."
The first time within her anus! A smutty legend became real! Corey Gibson could not move. In shocked immobility her bottom took the poundings by which the barrister and solicitor collected his retainer. When he had grunted his way to satisfaction the Governor took his place, his voice unctious: "I am sure you won't mind, Miss Gibson - so very convenient...!"
For both worthy gentlemen the period of regeneration was usefully employed by changing the bondage of the two girls. In fifteen minutes Corey sat, with a pierced and bulging sheath, bound to the chair, and Audrey Cotswold was safely in the stocks. Corey Gibson watched in fascinated horror the anal rape she had been unable to witness on herself. While it was being done to the yoked girl Corey burst into orgasm. She was bitterly and heatedly ashamed. She hoped it was the dildo's fault and not her own. Her bottom was a flaming misery.
"I've had it there before." Audrey admitted. "I suppose if it pleases the bastards...!"
"Will he do anything for us?"
"I think he will. He can smell profit. So can the Governor."
In constant and increasing pain they morosely contemplated their improved prospects. Mr. Syroid was absurd but he was hope. From time to time they wept in the utter misery of their punishment. Corey's orgasms became less frequent as the day wore on.
It was in the darkness before the next dawn that the rape of Imballa Prison made the news. The first explosion shocked the chained girls from sleep. The second ripping blast drove their nudities to the apprehensive comfort of each other's arms. Their heavy shackles mocked them as did the brutal implacability of their cell's locked door. In whatever was taking place they were pitiably helpless. When the lights went on there were shots, then a scuffle in the passage beyond their bars. They gazed in wonderment at a woman and two men.
"Open it up, you silly bitch!" Seth Burdett's approach to a problem was unmistakable.
Wardress Taruma, disordered in scanty night attire, used her keys, then allowed herself to be bound. She was frightened.
"C'mon, Bonzo. Use that flame thrower!"
Corey adored him. The oxygen torch flared with a roar. As its heat approached their shackles the prisoners of Imballa cringed away.
"Push their feet the way you want them, Bonzo. Never mind the anklets, get the chain!" For the first time he met the startle but worshipful regard of his two slaves. "Watch this, girls. You're going to love it."
A cutting torch is indeed a thing to see! Two slave girls stared in flinching joy as links dissolved. "You'll have to wear the shackle and one link, love. Can't get the heat any closer to your tootsie."
Even with the weight of an iron band and one link on each ankle the girls walked with wings as a strong hand pushed them through Imballa's blasted gates to the waiting trucks. "I've got my army to attend to." Seth told them. "Talk to this guy while you're waiting... Oh, and here's that trick of the Corporal's." He linked one elbow from each girl with the bite of handcuffs. "Hold on to 'em, Hunter, they're a slippery pair."
"That guy's a miracle." Reid Hunter kissed them both with real affection. "We're getting you back for peanuts. This army of his won't run us more than a hundred grand. You'll be back in the U.S.A. tomorrow." He eyed their shared handcuff approvingly. "That's a damn cute way of keeping you together. Good mind do deliver you like that."
They were hysterical with happiness. Corey's fire burned bright. She wondered if the handcuff above her elbow held any particular significance! But what did it matter, she and Audrey loved each other. On the other hand... ! She shrugged a thought away as Reid answered a question.
"Syroid? Oh sure. Slimy bastard but we hired him to get us the floor plan. Easy for him to visit you on a pretext."
The girls told nothing. They were ashamed of Mr. Syroid. Their rectums were still tender from his legal machinations. Doubtfully, Corey asked: "Isn't the roof going to blow off the United Nations about this raid?"
"Hell, no!" Reid chuckled. "We also bribed the Governor. We fired a few shots but didn't hit anyone. The whole thing's going to be blamed on bandits, political dissidents who want their girl friends back."
"But the staff and prisoners will have seen -?"
Reid Hunter's chuckles seemed endless. "That's been taken care of too." He winked at Corey. "That Slave Trader of yours is out of this world. You can guess what he's going to do?"
They giggled. They could not help it. Wardress Taruma headed the coffle, her arms tight bound behind her back, the collar locked on her neck. Each female prisoner was similarly tied as the chain prisoned their necks. "The guy's going to make a fortune out of this." Reid enthused. "Never have thought of it myself."
"But they're such a handsome lot of girls... for convicts!"
"It's the young ones who go political. They got prison for helping some fool boy friend toss dynamite."
There were two coffles of twenty each. Two trucks roared away, well loaded with female flesh, all helpless, all chained. In the growing light of dawn some of them had smiled as they were thrust over the tailgate.
"Those girls were wasted in that rathole." Burdett bestowed his best sardonic grin. "So were you two. Dammit, you've given me a lot of trouble!"
"Aren't we worth it?"
"Hmmmmmph, still smartass, eh?" He turned to Reid.
"There you are, you've got 'em. You'd better get to that damn plane of yours. They're nicely attached, so they shouldn't give you any static."
"I'm not going." Corey said firmly.
"That handcuff says you have to, love."
"Take it off, then!"
It was a silent quartette, each of them aware. Audrey broke it. "She's in love with her Slave Trader, Reid. He actually does own her."
Seth held up the tiny key, his eyes steel grey upon his love. "You know what will happen to you if I use this?"
"Yes, Master. I want it to happen."
Seth used the key on Audrey, clipping the freed cuff on the opposite elbow of his slave so that her arms were constrained behind her back. "You two go to the plane. Our little masochist and I'll meet you there in a couple of hours."
After awhile, alone together in the hired car, Corey ventured: "Thank you for taking me back, Master."
"You're nuts, love. No home, no security, just the coffle and a whipping every Friday."
"Thank you, Master. It's all I want."
Burdett sighed. "I know that's true. You wouldn't be sitting there if I didn't."
Corey sat in bliss. The iron on her ankles felt gorgeous: she would wear them always. The bite of chrome above her elbows became the loving clasp of her Master's hands. The blacksmith came as no surprise.
"Please don't have him strike off my anklets, Master?"
"Too right I won't! I like 'em. Damn practical."
Corey gasped at the collars the smith placed in line for her approval. "Pick your own, love. You'll wear it forever. Rings front and back for the coffle."
The slave made her choice: heavy iron to match her anklets. She knelt and bent her neck within the opened circle on the anvil. It closed. When the rivets were inserted her sensations were so intense she became fearful of orgasm... The hammer blows mashed metal to form a weld. When she rose, suddenly shy and flushed, her owner kissed her properly for the first time. The snug weight on her neck sent her pulse soaring. "Shouldn't I have one on each wrist, Master?" She asked demurely.
"Damn right! But another time, love." His hand on her cuffed arm propelled her to the car. "You picked the right collar, love. I'm damn proud of you."
Corey was proud too. She was a bride with something better than a ring. Reid Hunter inspected her collar with awe, Audrey with adoration. There was much kissing...
Corey would have liked her elbows back, but after all, she was only a slave! Reid Hunter winked as he handed Seth the Slaver an envelope.
"Money." Burdett said laconically. "I can afford to get married if I ever find the right girl." They were back in the car, the plane a dot in the sky.
"I couldn't care less." Corey said haughtily. "What are you going to do with me?"
"The trucks are taking the long way round. We'll meet 'em at the usual rendezvous for the coffle. I'm doing it that way to keep the girls out of sight. By the time the trek's ended they'll be in good physical shape and we can slip 'em into the auction cages without a snag. Maybe their boyfriends will buy 'em back."
"Please whip Wardress Taruma a little for me, Master?"
"Hell, do it yourself, girl. You'll be free night and morning for the chores. I'll lend you the whip I use on you."
"Thank you, Master. It's a lovely whip." She paused, then asked, shyly: "The coffle's going to be my home, isn't it? You'll keep me chained on it?"
"Always. You'll be my Judas goat."
"Please, never let me free, Master."
"You've had it, love! For sure! Where d'you want to be on the chain? First girl, or on the tail end?"
Corey Gibson glowed. It would be a pleasant option to consider on the journey.
