They were a tidy group. Had he been present, the Ranger would have approved their competence. The fire drowsed with water, the scraps and garbage garnered in a plastic bag, the bench and table swabbed. Four girls. College seniors perhaps. Educated, concerned... If, from time to time their eyes strayed to the girl handcuffed to the tree, their interest in her in no way lessened their absorption with their task. They were a camping party, going home... Leaving nothing behind them but a girl.
The girl herself belonged. The same stamp of quality was upon all five. She leaned forward against the eight inch trunk with an affected ease. The chrome bands, tightly encircling her wrists, compelled an intimate embrace so that her arms were forced to a seeming affection for the rough bark, held thus by joined hands she could not withdraw. Her eyes followed each movement of her companions, but her lips were as silent as their own - an unnatural silence charged with tension. A challenging silence provoked by pride in one, and amused expectation in the other four. It was not broken until the last of the gear was loaded and the car door opened.
"You're not going to leave me like this?"
It was more a question than a statement. It dissolved unanswered in the still air of the remote campground.
"You just can't! It's too awful...?"
The question was now definite, made urgent by hope. The captive of the tree raised her locked hands and extracted such eloquence as she could from the single link. Four pairs of eyes examined the demonstration with approval.
"I could die here!"
Since the dramatic declaration elicited no response, the captive girl tried moderation.
"You're just trying to frighten me. You'll drive away and then come back...?"
It was a question without much hope. No one spoke.
"Even if I'm found, it's certain to be a man - or more likely several. Think what they can do to me!"
"You'd enjoy it, Wendy." It was the first response. Amused and a little contemptuous.
"I wouldn't! And that was a beastly thing to say!" The handcuff rattled in earnest now as the wearer sought, unsuccessfully, to stamp an indignant foot.
"I still think we should strip her." The voice was bored.
"Don't be a pig, Rita! And I don't see how any of you can believe I did what you think. I didn't! I didn't, I didn't... ! Oh, how can you be so stupid?" The young voice was desperate.
"Time to go, girls. Wendy will make out. She always does. She can play Guinevere to Sir Lancelot or Galahad - or whatever happens by."
"No! No! Oh, please!" The handcuffs clinked in agitation. "Don't you understand? I can't get loose! And no one can get me loose without the key to these beastly things on my wrists!"
"That's why we bought 'em, Wendy dear. 'Specially for you."
"But I'll be here forever!"
"Someone's bound to think of something."
"No one's going to come here before tomorrow at the very least. D'you want me to stand alone here all night?"
"You can lay down if you wiggle a bit. The tree's not that big."
"I can't These things hurt my wrists every time I pull."
"Don't pull then! Be grateful you're not tied tight with rope. Things can always be worse, Wendy."
"Let's strip her naked. Seems to me the concept calls for it."
"N-O-O-O-O-! Please don't do that; I couldn't bear it." Wendy's voice rose to a frantic wail. "Oh damn, I'm so helpless... ! Please be a little kind to me? Don't make me stand her naked!"
"See, you're getting used to the idea, Pet. Now all you're concerned about is your clothes."
"That's not true! I don't want any part on any of this. It's a beastly way to treat me and you know it!"
"You deserve it. You know that too."
"I don't. You're all so wrong -!"
"Talking of stripping -." The feminine voice was amused but practical. "We'd better take her panties off for her. She certainly can't do it herself, and she's sure to need - "
"You're hateful! All of you! Alright, yank off my panties and see if I care! Oh damn, damn, damn!"
"You should be grateful. We'll take 'em home with us. A bit vulgar to hang 'em on a bough."
It was like a blow. A sudden shattering revelation. Taking the small feminine thing form her loins meant the four girls were not joking. The prudent act, so sensible under the circumstances, told Wendy she was indeed being abandoned to whatever fate chance provided. Desperately she temporized, her voice imploring.
"Come tomorrow? Come and get me tomorrow... ? Leaving me like this all night is punishment enough - isn't it - Isn't it...?"
They laughed but did not answer. She watched them drive away.
When the last throb of the motor died, the silence settled around the captive girl like a tangible presence. Her wrists still hurt from the first panic wherein she had fought the shining cuffs to no avail. Wryly, she raised her prisoned hands and examined them around the trunk, but found no solace in their neat snug hold upon the slenderness of her wrists. She could not wiggle loose; she could never break the lock.
She had no illusions. She was wedded to the tree for the night. If the girls showed mercy, it was unlikely to manifest itself until after she had been punished and humbled and scared half to death. Even then... ? Wendy resolutely closed her mind to the knowledge they might not come back at all - not ever!
Resigned, she explored the project of laying down. To kneel was easy. To sit impossible. But with a good deal of squirming and some chafed wrists she contrived to dispose herself upon the ground. It would make a sorry bed but would be better than to stand. She clambered back upon her feet, hating the tree more with every minute. Its attachment for her was beyond dispute.
Wendy surveyed the possibilities without enthusiasm. The Ranger would be her best bet. His uniform would protect her and he would, presumably, know how to get her out of the cuffs. But campers were the most probable - and campers came in all kinds! Some were best not thought about. The four girls must have considered rape a desirable part of their revenge and her punishment. Wendy wondered what rape would be like... ! She even managed a wry smile at the picture of a would-be rapist frustrated by her handcuffs. Was it possible she might come to see her tree and her chain as friends?
Her first impression of him was of an easy casualness. An amused regard for a world which presented him no problems. The word 'rangey' came to Wendy's mind; the type who sauntered through he-man commercials tossing aside trees and rocks or other men who stood in his way. The primal female knowledge he could subdue her with one hand sent a thrill up Wendy's spine. It was a truant thrill but potent.
She had heard his jeep approach, and endured an agony of suspense. Now, exchanging frank assessments, she was unsure whether to expect rape or rescue. He was too unconcerned, too obviously amused by her predicament, to fall into any category she could name.
"Bit of a jackpot, eh?" His voice was as quizzical as his eye.
"It's a silly joke. Will you help me, please?"
"Sure it's not the Law?" Seeing her puzzlement, he added: "The handcuffs. Handcuffs go with cops."
"Of course not!" She found herself indignant. "It was some girls, some friends. They bought them specially to play this trick on me." She added, lamely: "At least, I thought they were friends."
"They'll be coming back to let you loose?"
Wendy sensed a trap. He was altogether too cautious. Galahad should have been hacking at her chain with his sword. "I expect so." She admitted doubtfully. "But I don't know when. In the meantime I'm scared silly."
"What are you scared of?"
"I'm so helpless! And it's going to get dark -"
"Scared of me?"
"No. At least, I don't think I am. Please help me! Can you get these things off my wrists?"
He sauntered over and took possession of her joined hands. She winced without complaint while he turned and twisted the chrome. "Manufactured in Spain." He read thoughtfully. "That lets the police out. You sure those kids didn't leave a key around someplace?"
"Yes I'm sure."
"Looks like you and that tree stay together then."
His cheerful concern was infuriating. Angrily she tugged at her restraints. "But there must be something you can do! You've got a jeep - there must be tools...?"
"Not that would cut that steel." He smiled at her dismay. "Course I could go to town and pick something up. But, hell, by the time I make the round trip your friends would have come and got you."
"They wouldn't!" She bit her lip at the incautious admission. "Look, I don't believe you can't get these handcuff off. I think you could if you wanted to try. A great big man and a jeep and - and - everything."
He chuckled. "What's everything?"
"Well, men can do things - you're strong - "
"Can't pull handcuffs apart any better'n you. Besides they put 'em on real tight. There's no way - " Wendy stamped an ineffectual foot. "Well, think of something! Do something!"
"Best I head back for town - "
"And leave me like this?" Wendy's wail held all the feminine vexation in the world.
"Don't carry an axe. If I'd had one I could take you and the tree both."
"Oh, funny, funny." Her exclamation was immeasurably bitter.
"You can call me Garret. What's yours?"
"Wendy Andrews, Mr. Garret."
"No Mister. Just Garret. Your folks got any money?"
Her doubts broadened. "Enough that you'll be well rewarded if you help me."
"That ain't what I asked. I mean, are you worth kidnapping?"
She laughed scornfully. "The one you want is Denise Renton. Her folks are heavy, heavy... Mine are just ordinary - " Then, startled, "You're not serious...?"
Garret had extracted a small notebook from a shirt pocket. He was carefully writing. "Of course I'm serious. Chance of a lifetime, wouldn't you say?"
He was right! Wendy quailed inwardly. The girls had packaged and delivered her into his hands... But he must be joking! He did not look like a kidnapper... But then, what did kidnapper look like? "Have your fun," she said stiffly. "I'll stand and await your convenience."
"Bet you're from that College... ? 'Hillier', that's the place?"
"What if I am?"
"Finishing school for the upper crust. Nothing in there under seventeen. How old are you?"
"Nineteen. But I don't see - "
"Makes it legal, that's all. Nice to know. Who do I talk to at Hillier about ransom?"
"Don't be absurd! You'll just get us both into trouble. No one's going to believe - Look, if you want to get between my legs, break these handcuffs and I'll be nice to you. No beefing. No hollering rape?"
He eyed her approvingly. "More to you than I thought." He admitted, amused. "Should I feel honoured?"
"Don't make a big thing out of it." Wendy was conscious of a spreading blush. "You look respectable, and clean... And, in case you don't know it, you're damn good looking... "
"Oh, I know it." Garret admitted without modesty. "Not often I have to use force. How would you say was my best way of picking up this Renton wench? You've got me started - "
"Me! Well, I like that!" Wendy suspected she was being played with. "All I want to start you on is getting my wrists out of a pair of handcuffs. It doesn't seem much to ask. So far as kidnapping Denise Renton goes: you'd better be satisfied with me."
He affected a judicial pondering. "Might be easier though. She's not attached to a tree."
"I think you're just being mean." There was a trace of tears in her declaration. "I'm sure you could get me loose if you tried - and after I've offered...!"
"I'm not sneering at that offer, Wendy. In fact, you've made me feel like the real bastard I am."
"Well then -" He snapped shut the little book and returned it to his pocket. "I'll do a bit of checking. Maybe I'll be seeing you... " He was half way to the jeep before the full import of his words drove Wendy to shout in panic, "Garret!"
He turned, smiling. "Yes Wendy?"
"Surely you're not going to leave me handcuffed like this -?"
"Sure am." He turned back to the jeep.
"Garret, stop! Don't go! Don't leave me alone here!"
Again he paused. Good natured but unconcerned. "Not much else I can do, kid."
"I've made you a promise. I'll keep it. Honest I will!"
Silence.
"Garret, get me loose! I'll do anything -!"
She had touched him. But his smile remained amused. She was an interesting diversion, a novelty. That was all.
"Garret, I mean it! Anything! Anything you want me to do."
"I'll remember that, Wendy."
For the second time that day, the captive of the tree watched a vehicle drive away. In an abandonment of hope she wept. With none to see, she shed her tears, uncaring.
In any treed place the coming of night is eerie. Tomorrow the sun would dispel the ghosts and menace; the goblins and the ghouls. But through the hours of darkness they would rule. The girl chained to the tree fought panic, rationalizing her condition, assessing hopes. She told herself that at any moment she might hear the rumble of wheels on a dirt track. The girls! Garret! A stranger! But the dark defeated optimism. She had stood, chained as she was, for hours. Emotions had hammered at her. She was tired. Unhappily, she lowered herself to the leaves. Embracing her tree with locked hands, Wendy wriggled herself into such comfort she could find. Sleep banished everything.
It is distressing for a girl to be unable to touch herself. Wendy knelt, in bright sunlight, against the tree whose prisoner she was, and tried with little success to tidy her hair and rub the sleep from her eyes. Angrily, she stood erect to utilize the increasing slenderness of the trunk. By straining an embracing arm and hurting her wrists against the handcuffs, she could contrive some small service from the fingers on one hand. It was a pathetically inadequate toilette. Despairing of much that was worth while, she stood panting from exertion and anger and a growing fear. It was a new day. No one had come. She could not tell the time. Emotion inhibited hunger but not thirst. She longed for orange juice.
The beat of the motor was recognizable. It was the jeep. Wendy was sure of it. She was less sure of her response. Would she prefer the girls? Would she... ? Would the girls be kinder... ? But, like most prisoners, she had no choice... What was going to happen would happen. With quickened pulse, she gazed expectantly into the trees.
"Silly little bit of metal." Garret held up the key for her inspection. "Surprisingly easy to buy one though. Lot cheaper than bolt cutters."
Wendy's heart was pounding. She viewed the key and the man who held it with a great thankfulness. Yet both were still an enigma. "I want you to know how glad I am to see you... I can't tell you how glad - "
"Yes you can. I'll give you chances." His tone was no more serious than the day before. "But before I use this tiny trifle there is the matter of a promise."
She eyed him levelly. "I'll keep it. And in case you're wondering, I'll keep it willingly. Last night wasn't much fun."
Garret nodded satisfied. "You've got some courage, kid. Now! Take a deep breath...!"
It was simply and dexterously done. Bemusedly, Wendy looked down at wrists still joined, but without a tree. From them, her eyes rose questioningly. "But...?" She raised her wrists and pulled the handcuffs tight apart. "Why...?"
"Don't tell me you didn't expect it!"
The still captive girl flushed. His jibe was at least half true. She had not expected a conventional rescue. "Making sure I keep my bargain?" She raised a scornful eyebrow.
"Hell no, in that I trust you."
"I'm kidnapped?" She strove for casualness.
"Right! Smart girl."
"I won't be very profitable. I thought you were checking that out."
"I regard you as an asset. For now leave it at that."
Wendy sighed, rejecting a vivid compulsion to flight. This lithe male creature would handle her with ease. She was a palpitating bit of femininity - controlled. Aeons ago she would have been his primal prey. Perhaps still - ! Nagged by a wish to be rid of them, she held up the handcuffs for his inspection. "You want me to wear these - while we -?"
Garret patted her bottom like an indulgent uncle. "You sure are anxious to pay your debt, kid. Forget it for now! I'll call the shots. And don't feel rejected; I'd just as soon get out of here." He patted her curves again, reassuringly. "But since it's your favourite subject: you did extend your offer? I recall the word: 'Anything'?"
Wendy had not forgotten. But she was female. Once more she used her only weapon against him, holding up her chained hands. "Don't these cancel that out?" She asked innocently.
"If you really believe that I'll return you to your love affair with the tree and you won't have lost an ounce of precious virtue."
She had expected nothing, so was not deflated. "I don't want to go back on that damn tree." She admitted honestly. "That 'anything' still holds. I'll honour it."
With a strange courtliness he raised her hands and kissed the back of both.
After the confinement of the tree, the motion of the jeep was exhilarating. Wendy refused to be daunted by a foot tightly tied to a brace beneath the seat. She saw Garret's point. She was not to be trusted. If she was truly kidnapped he could take no chances. At least the handcuffs were comfortable and were in front instead of behind her back. She made a quick scan for objects with which to strike a blow for freedom but saw nothing. She had best behave.
"No tire iron or hammer." Her captor said cheerfully. "And anyway, you wouldn't hit me with it if there was. You just think you would."
Her reading of her was as infuriating as the handcuffs, and perhaps more deadly. No doubt her options were obvious. He would forestall them all. Wendy's wounded ego sought a re-affirmation. "I'm prepared to lie and protect you up to a point." She said primly, "I mean after you - after we're caught."
"Damn big of you."
"Kidnapping's serious. Twenty years or something? You'll need a friend." He gave him a quick sideways glance that told her nothing.
"You bargaining, Wendy?"
"No, I'm trying to tell you I still like you." Then, primly again. "I must be out of my tree."
"So what does it take to make you stop liking me?"
"To know I really am kidnapped."
"Doesn't that rope round your ankle make it fairly obvious you are?"
"It ought to but it doesn't. There's something wrong with the script. I suppose I'll be finding out?"
Garret spared her a sideways grin. "It's so damn simple. That's all. I'm astounded myself."
"What about my parents? Are you going to frighten them to death about me? If you do, I won't like you for it."
"I'll let you write 'em a letter. I'll censor it, of course."
"Gosh, aren't we civilised?" She was half enjoying the exchange. "By the way, where are you taking me?"
"I've got a place up here away's."
"Has it got a suitable cell, dungeon or hole in the ground for me?"
He turned and winked. "Actually it has. You'll love it."
"You do this often?"
"First time. The whole damn thing's happened to us by chance. Call me an opportunist."
"What's your asking price for me?"
His lips twisted with amusement. "You're getting as big a charge out of this as I am. How about half a million? It's cheap as ransoms go these days."
"You're stuck with me. Dad couldn't come within miles."
"A hundred thousand?"
"Or that either. I told you, we're ordinary."
"Dammit, Wendy, a hundred grand's almost giving you away."
"I honestly don't know what my father's got. I'd suppose twenty or thirty thousand would be tops - and if you take it away from him I won't like you for that either."
Garret shrugged carelessly. "Best thing I just keep you."
"For a pet?"
"Sure, why not?"
His insouciance irked. On impulse, Wendy bent down and fumbled with the knot securing her ankle. It was surprisingly easy. Given a minute's grace she could free it.
"Stop that!"
His voice held the kind of male assurance calculated to infuriate a woman. Wendy tugged harder.
"If you don't sit up and behave, I'll tie both your feet together and cuff your hands behind your back. Would you like that?"
"No."
Wendy was angry with her instant admission, and for the way she sat erect like a startled rabbit. She had come to heel like an obedient dog. Garret's first real show of authority had shattered her into disorder. She was vexed enough for tears.
Garret slowed the jeep enough to give her his full attention. "Only half of me's a nice guy. The other half's mean. It's capable of beating you and probably will." He said without emphasis. "I'll enjoy you being cute, up to a point. But beyond that - ! Best I let you know right at the start." He winked cheerily and turned his scrutiny back to the road.
The rope and the steel by which she was held became suddenly tighter for the captive girl. She was hostage. She was prisoner. Fear flickered, but it was not as strong an apprehension as she felt it should be. She was in the process of being kidnapped: She was kidnapped! But the man beside her did not inspire terror. If she had the choice to go back and be fastened to the tree again, and say good-bye to him for good, she would not want to. As a captor, she still preferred him to the sturdy trunk. Even the handcuffs were not his. They were the girl's.
"Alright, so I get beaten if I don't obey! I suppose I can cope -" He cut her short with a raised hand. "I didn't say exactly that. I'll beat you whenever I feel like, just for the hell of it. Your reactions should be worth the trouble."
"But that's not fair!" Wendy was vividly indignant."
"Sure isn't." He agreed heartily. "I get must of the fun."
He grinned at her flushed perturbation. "But then hostages aren't supposed to have a ball."
"But I'm not a hostage!" She pouted at him, furious with her helplessness. "At least, I don't see that I am. I'm some sort of prisoner but I don't know what. I'm a nothing...!"
"That's right, kid. Think about it."
Wendy thought about it for the rest of the ride.
CHAPTER TWO - SHANTY SHACKLES
"Be it ever so humble, there's no place like... ," said Garret.
"It's a disgrace," said Wendy. "You must have picked it up from a movie set."
In the moments it took him to untie her ankle she surveyed her rustic prison. A faded shack with sagging porch. Off to the rear a forsaken barn, the poles of its corral mostly askew. A total absence of paint. Any charm it possessed was not feminine.
"You carry this. I'll bring the rest."
Handcuffs evidently did not absolve a girl from usefulness. Wendy accepted her burden, chagrined to discover how much a pair of loosely joined hands could do. The handcuffs kept her from fighting effectively; a sort of male reproof. That was all.
The interior was better. Some of its appointments spelt money. There was a big stone fireplace and logs and rugs. One big room, two bedrooms, one of which was starkly empty. Wendy had a feeling she would come to know that room.
"Hand me the stuff! I'll put it away."
It did not occur to her to refuse. They were suddenly domestic. A pair. She took groceries from supermarket bags... sometimes annoyed to be compelled to use two hands instead of one.
"You've got a fridge...!"
Garret laughed at her surprise. "We're not all that far from the main line. The road we came on makes it seem isolated. It's not. I don't try and hide, so nobody bothers about me much."
"But - But -?" Wendy flickered a chained hand in puzzlement. "There'll be people... ? How do you expect to keep me hidden?"
"I've been thinking about it." He conceded. "I expect we'll make out. It's a predictable sort of place. I'll mostly know when to put you in the dungeon."
"You haven't got a dungeon. And If I hear anyone around I'll scream."
"If you feel a good scream coming on, let me know! There'll be time to gag you."
She wrinkled her nose at him. "Aren't you ever serious?"
"Only under the influence of lust and anger."
"I think you'd know how I have to feel! The way you tell it, I just have to be in a damn awful jackpot. I don't know why I'm not hysterical."
"That's easy. You're enjoying yourself."
"I'm not!" She stamped her foot in exasperation. "How can you say such a thing?"
"It's true, isn't it?"
Wendy glared, finding it hard not to laugh at herself. "Well O.K. I suppose it would be true if it stopped right here. Garret, make it stop right here - ! Please!"
"Nnnuh! I'm not kicking Lady Luck in the face."
"You won't see anything lucky about it when you're in jail. Garret, be sensible! You can't possibly keep me hidden."
"I aim to try."
Seeing her animation deflate, Garret tilted her chin and kissed her lightly on the lips. Then harder, and harder again. Wendy's cuffed hands were suddenly flat on his chest; her head on his shoulder. He smelt comfortingly male. She hoped she smelt nicely female but was by no means sure... !
"Alright. If that's what you want to do with me! If you'll help a bit I'll try and not hate you."
"No promises and no bargains. You're a sly female." He patted her bottom and she felt him tense. "S-A-Y... ! No panties?"
"No." She rested harder against his shirt.
"May I draw the obvious conclusion?" He was close to laughter.
"No you may not! Don't be an idiot! If you'd just think a moment - "
"I'm thinking. Nothing comes -?"
Wendy was glad her blush was under his chin. "The girls took my panties when they fixed me to that tree. They were just being practical. Want me to draw a chart?"
"O.K.! O.K...!" He was unblushingly amused. "That reminds me. I suppose you noticed the outhouse - way out in the weeds?"
"You mean you'll trust me that far?"
"Oh sure - with precautions. Look, there's some stuff you'd better see. Hold still!"
Through the open door, Wendy saw him take the sizable box from the jeep. It obviously contained weight. Watching her shrewdly, he emptied it out on the solid surface of the heavy table.
Wendy's gasp was of dismay. There was nothing in the miscellaneous collection to hold anything but grim promise for a girl. "You mean you bought this stuff - for me?" She demanded, askance.
Separating the items, Garret enumerated them with pride. "Cotton rope, two weights, cotton ties a better knot than nylon. Chain. Lots of chain! It may look a bit grim, but you'll find it a lot more comfortable than being trussed up like a mummy."
"I don't see why I have to be trussed up at all."
"You will, pet, you will! And padlocks, lots of padlocks! You'll be the safest little hostage ever."
"I think the whole collection's absurd."
"How about these?" Garret pulled loose a lengthy paper roll. From it fell the black and shining wickedness of a riding crop and a coiled whip. To the stricken girl they seem to have malign eyes staring straight at her. "We'll hang 'em on the wall here. Be a constant reminder. Save you no end of silliness."
"I'd sooner be silly." Wendy's breasts were heaving from a racing pulse.
"And this leather! Extra tough and damned expensive. But I've got the tools. I'll make the circlets for your neck, wrists and ankles. Maybe one for the tummy - Nice dressy effect."
The captive's heart was pounding but she professed indifference. "You've wasted your money. I'll be gone anytime. Besides, it's - it's - well, it's too ridiculous! I'm not going to let myself be decked out like a Christmas tree in all that - stuff!"
"You'll love every bit of it, Wendy. And there's these -." He opened one of the small boxes and held up gleaming handcuffs. "They're so damn handy... " Garret clicked the half circle of steel through its ratchets with obvious pleasure. A boy with a new plaything.
Wendy was working hard not to share his engrossment. "Wear them yourself, then!" She suggested acidly.
"And for those trips to the John...!" Another box produced more chrome. "Leg irons!" Garret enthused. "Just little short steps... They think of everything."
"You mean you can actually buy this stuff?" Wendy was genuinely curious.
"Sure you can! There's a place on Hollywood Boulevard and another on Melrose. Hollywood has it all."
Wendy looked at her captor and was suddenly laughing with him. Everything was nonsensical. Solemnity and hostility seemed out of place. She supposed it aligned with the "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em" principle. Under a sudden impulse and a natural need, she reached for the leg irons and, with surprising ease, clamped them on her ankles. Refusing to blush, she cooked an enquiring eye at her captor. "May I?"
"Be my guest."
"Should I - I mean do I need -?"
"Everything's there. It's probably not as bad as you're thinking." His voice was faintly paternal.
"Don't laugh!" Wendy took a cautious hobbled step. "I feel an absolute fool."
"You're not. Just take it easy!"
"You certainly don't need to worry about me. I won't be heading for the bush. Good gosh -!"She giggled. "It's a good thing I'm not in a hurry."
On her return, Garret defeated embarrassment by kneeling with the key. But Wendy stopped him.
"No, don't! They're quaint! It's the damndest feeling. Look, if I have to wear them sometimes I'd like to get used to being hobbled. You don't mind, do you? I'll tell you when I've had enough."
Kneeling, he looked up at her, amused. "You're one for the book, y'know. I'll tighten them a notch. They'll chafe less if they're snug."
She stood for him. Aware of her femaleness. Knowing he too was enveloped in its potency. The tight clicks on each of her ankles under the pressure of his fingers carried a message. She shivered deliciously and tried to be properly annoyed at her involvement.
Garret perked coffee. Sipping it, they declared a truce. Wendy clicked her cuffs at him provocatively and rattled the chain between her feet, frankly enjoying a new sensation.
"I've a bit of a workshop in the barn. Want to come and keep me company?"
"And watch you make those terrible things to lock on me?"
"They'll be nicer for a girl than what you've got on."
Wendy refused to apologise for her short steps. Garret matched his pace to hers. When he offered his hand, she refused. "No. Let me learn! If I fall, I fall."
"Practising for escape?"
"Just practising. Don't hold everything against me! We both know I'll escape if I can, so don't let's harp on it." Wendy sniffed the warm air. "It's lovely out here. You're lucky."
"Sure I am." He acknowledged unaffectedly. "Aren't you lucky too?"
"I can't answer that. I just don't know." She looked up at him, puzzled. "What would happen now if a helicopter flew over or someone drove up in a car?"
"I don't know that either." He grinned down at her. "You sure do worry a lot."
She stood compliant, while he changed her hands from front to back. She tested this new excursion into total helplessness and found it frightening. She had become doubly female - defenceless.
"There's things laying around." Garret explained. "This saves you wondering if you should hit me over the head."
"But you said I'd never bring myself to do that!"
"I don't think you would, Wendy. But your conscience will nag at you constantly to escape. You almost have to listen - ! This way you can tell it to go take a - " She leant against the work bench with its litter of tools. She felt surprisingly at ease. "You've thought this all out... You sure I'm the first girl you've kidnapped, Garret?"
His fingers were busy, using the tools with skill. "The very first." He gave her a confiding grin. "But that doesn't mean I haven't thought about it. It's a damn profitable profession."
"Not with me."
"Should pick the right girl." He admitted. "But you've got to admit you're giving me a wonderful dummy run."
"Gee, thanks!"
"It's a figure of speech. And I have to wonder if all girls would react the way you do. Why the hell aren't you scared of me?"
"I am scared of you. But I'm scared different." Wendy wrinkled her brow in thought. "First off, you didn't kidnap me in the approved manner. The girls did that. They made you a present of me... Then there's the rape bit. You can't rape me. I'm willing. I'm not a virgin. I'm not promiscuous but there's been a few ahead of you. I'm afraid I enjoy it. Not that Hillier gives much scope."
"You've got a point." Garret said, busily punching holes. "I've often laughed about it. A girl going to her wedding and a girl being kidnapped both face the same possibility. One is scared to death, the other's delighted. Even making allowances for circumstances, it still has to be in the mind."
Wendy became intrigued. The deft male hands were creating small miracles. The heavy tough leather by which she was to be restrained was being shaped and beveled and trimmed into tiny circlets patently feminine; the hardware bright and firmly riveted through holes cunningly recessed to present an unsullied symmetry. She would have believed them too small but they had not been fitted and measured upon the neck or limb they were to prison.
"You must intend to keep me forever!"
He grinned at the discovery in her exclamation. "I could."
"Why else would you make these things? They're designed to keep me as comfortably helpless as possible. Isn't that the idea?"
"Sure, But there's an aesthetic factor too. They're photogenic."
"You like girls, don't you?"
Garret kissed her lightly. "I like you. Come along!"
The captive girl tripped daintily beside her kidnapper as they returned to the shanty. It was there it happened.
"May I have the leg irons off now, Garret? I think I did well -" He did not demur. He used the key, then rose with the links dangling from one hand. They were very close. He let the irons fall and clutched her hungrily.
"Now!"
He led her to the bed. Wendy had never seen him so serious or intent. She laughed and kissed his chin. "You're scared I'm going to hate you. Don't be! And don't think of it as a bargain or that I owe you. Let's just be happy... " She allowed herself to fall back upon the covers, then reached down with cuffed hands for the hem of her dress.
"No don't!"
She looked up in surprise. Garret waved a deprecating hand. "Not like that. Not hoisting your skirt like a trollop giving a quickie."
Wendy raised her handcuffs. "But I can't undress...?"
"Give me your hands!"
Relieved of the steel circlets, Wendy ribbed chaffed wrists and looked up in astonishment. "I'm free...?"
Garret laughed at her little girl enjoyment of the use of hands. "Don't let it bother you!" He stripped to match her own abandonment of clothes. When, naked, she offered her hands to be again secured, he knocked them aside and said, huskily: "Use 'em!"
Joyously possessed, Wendy used them to the full.
The captive saw it as one of the small ironies of fate that she awakened first. Nakedly free, she was confronted with decision. Had her captor forgotten? Or was he conferring trust? Wendy cautiously sat up and looked down at the man sleeping beside her. Garret was heavily in slumber; on his lips the half smile he habitually wore. He was defenceless. She knew she must escape. Every social and moral instinct bid her flee. The ropes, the restraints, the whips told her to run for her life. But an illogical sense of guilt nagged. He had rescued her! He had not been unkind! As a lover he was immensely skilled. Overshadowing all else was fear. Supposing he caught her! Would her rejection of his captivity unleash a sleeping tiger? If her effort to escape failed, what would he do to her?
Resolutely, she edged from the bed. The breathlessness of suspense sustained her primal instinct to freedom. Prisoners were supposed to escape. It was a moral obligation. Her parents... ! Hesitancy dissolved at the romantic vapourings of a teenager. As the air struck cool upon her flushed skin the certainty of flight possessed her utterly. As she gathered her tiny armful of clothes and shoes she vouchsafed a last wistful look at Garret, lingering and remembering... then tip-toed through the open door.
It was almost shockingly easy.
Outside and out of earshot she dressed. She had hoped for a key in the jeep, but there was none. She remembered the wave of Garret's arm, when he had said they were not isolated. Somewhere out there would be a road... ! The track on which they had driven was far too long and too lonely. And before many hours night must fall. With racing pulse she leaped towards the trees.
It was daunting. Wendy knew not what lay ahead. Her shoes were ill designed for a woodland trek. She found faint traces of a path and followed it, hoping that if Garret pursued he would do so in the jeep, expecting her to retrace ground back towards the camp where he had found her.
The 'If' was bothersome. She might be running without pursuit. There was no essential reason why Garret should bother. He might shrug her off as an amusing experience and go back to sleep. The thought piqued. It held an unflattering logic. She was just a girl who had fallen into his orbit by accident. The talk of kidnapping and ransom may have been no more than a diversion, amusing them both. In feminine vexation, she now had to wonder if he had left her unchained in a certainty of her flight; thus closing, neatly, an entertaining interlude. Her steps slowed. It was while she was debating the wisdom of returning and confronting him with a demand to be driven back into civilisation that she heard the sounds of pursuit.
Panic was inherent in her plight. Wendy leaped forward. The sounds of male pursuit spurred primitive instincts. There was nothing indifferent about them. She had become a quarry, a prey, a fugitive. Garret was after her for sure. Pique vanished and was replaced by fear.
It was hopeless, of course! Wendy was sure Garret was gaining. She wasted precious moments taking off her shoes. Then, when the pain of pebbles and twigs were too great, wasted more by putting them back on. When the thud of pounding feet left no doubt of capture, she halted, salvaging dignity, and waited, quivering, to be re-possessed.
Their confrontation was almost shy. Wendy had nothing to say. Garret fought shy of the obvious. The escapee instantly recognised the purpose of the rope her captor had hastily grabbed. With a moue of resignation, an unspoken apology for the trouble she had caused, she joined her hands and held them out to be bound. It was a placating gesture she was secretly pleased with. Garret crossed her wrists and tied them, not savagely but tight enough to hurt. The rest of the rope trailed from her hands to his as a leash.
"Wendy, haven't you any sense?" His admonition was curt.
"I'm sorry."
"What for? Running or being caught?"
"Well, you can't blame me." She felt foolish and inadequate. "I mean, I do have a right to escape... Don't I?"
"You could have got lost - Or into all sorts of trouble."
"Worse than being kidnapped?"
He did not deign to answer, but retraced the steps of her flight, dragging on her leash so that she was hard put to keep pace; her captive arms outstretched. She did not resist, but returned meekly and silently to her captivity: the silence imposed more from lack of breath than sulkiness. Back in the shanty's big room, Garret threw her leash over a rafter and drew Wendy up on her toes; then snubbed the rope to keep her teetering.
"You know what I'm going to do to you?"
"Yes."
"Well, say it then!" His anger was convincing.
"You're going to whip me."
"Just like that?"
"I'm afraid I don't know the ways - "
"You know damn well what I mean! Cool as a cucumber - Couldn't care less - No emotions?"
"I might have if I thought there was anything I could do about it. But there isn't... ! Or is there?"
"No, I suppose there isn't." He admitted slowly. "I take it you see a reasonable justice?"
"My wrists are hurting horribly... If we're going to talk -?"
Impatiently, he loosed the rope enough to allow her heels to exactly find the floor. "That better?"
"Quite a bit. Thank you, Garret. And, yes, I expect what you are going to do to me is just and fair."
"For Pete's sake drop that monotone; that patient martyrdom bit."
Wendy knew herself in a temporary euphoria in which she saw herself and Garret with a great clarity. After she had been whipped, nothing would be quite the same again. The pain and the shame would change her. But now... ! "I'm sorry, Garret. I didn't mean to be stuffy - you can beat it out of me... " She managed a giggle. "I'm like a drunk. I can make a lot of disgusting noise or work at being ponderously proper and correct." Past a tractioned arm, she gave him a pathetic look of appeal. "Inside, I'm frightened, scared to death. Please remember that!"
"Hmmmmm!" He eyed her shrewdly. "There's more to you than most. I bet you're figuring some way to sweet talk me out of it?"
"No. Honest, I'm not! I hadn't supposed it possible...?"
"You understand why I have to whip you?"
"Garret please...!" Wendy wriggled fretfully against the rope. "The way we are, it's only me who HAS to do things. You don't HAVE to do anything. You want your cake and eat it too. You want to whip me and also to justify whipping me. I'm sure you can do both."
"Dammit, you're clever!" His tribute was honestly admiring. "I'm going to whip you anyway, but you're going to make me feel like a first class bastard."
She glinted amusement at him. "You shouldn't have let me talk."
"Like a wife and a mother and a big sister and the nice old lady next door! A man has to watch you."
"You wouldn't like to untie me."
"No."
"I had to ask. I guess a girl always hopes." She glinted up at him wistfully. "Alright, I'll be kind to you and say what you want."
"Is there something I want you to say?"
"Of course there is! Your 'reasonable justice'. Don't tell me you've lost track of your motives?"
"With you wriggling around on the end of a rope any man would lose track of anything."
"You're going to punish me, Garret. There! Isn't that a satisfying word? You're going to punish me because I've been a naughty girl and tried to escape. You're going to whip me to teach me a lesson."
His voice was dryly amused. "Thanks. I couldn't have said it half as well."
She looked at him earnestly, dropping all banter. "I suppose it will teach me a lesson... ! It's never been done to me before."
Garret chuckled, patting her cheek. "Now it's you who's trying to be sure your suffering is in a noble cause."
They stood, silent. Sensing the end of words. His hand went to the shoulder strap of her dress.
"No! Please, don't tear it! It's the only one I've got."
"Damned if I'm going to the trouble of untying you."
"Must I be naked?"
"Yes."
Irritably, Garret looked around. Then found a razor blade and slit away the stitching of the strap. "You can sew it together another time." He stripped her totally. Leaving her nude and suspended, he went away.
The helpless girl labelled her condition as "Softening up". It was scary and spine crinkling to be stretched taut and naked and have to wait for a man to come and whip her bare skin. A week ago it would have been a thing for a horror movie. Now it was happening - to her! No doubt Garret was going to make the most of the occasion. She was well and truly going to be taught a lesson.
She looked up between her bare arms and decided rope was worse than handcuffs. Her wrists were still hurting, and frantic tuggings and twistings had already convinced her she could not get free. Guiltily, she supposed her nakedness should bother her more. But it seemed no more than part or the props of this strange play. It had been implicit to their act of love. It was equally valid now in her impending punishment.
In this quite prelude to pain, Wendy was prepared to be magnanimous. She saw Garret's dilemma. Captives were a constant suspense. Give them an inch and they took a mile. They were tireless in their search for weakness. They had nothing else to do but strive to outwit or outrun their captor. Punishment was therefore logical. If a girl tried to escape, she was punished! It was simple logic. It kept her in her place, aware of what she was. Certainly of pain would inhibit enterprise... ! Wryly, she admitted she was making excuses for a man she had not yet come to hate.
Garret whipped a naked Wendy with finesse and competence. The weals he planted on her writhing skin could have been less vivid. But they could have been much worse. Wendy herself could not judge. All she knew was a pain greater than she had believed possible; a measured agony of stripes transcending all else. Clinging to a painful pride, she did not scream, nor did she plead. But she flung herself into contortions of agony; lifting herself from the floor by her bound wrists; kicking wildly at the air; flinging her damp hair from side to side... From her throat there came sounds... Afterwards, she could neither remember nor describe those sounds. She was bitterly ashamed of them. The snapping strokes bit her here or there, respecting no crevice of her being. By the time the fifteenth cut had marked her, and Garret's arm fell limp, she was sweating in a frenzy of terror that the punishment might never stop.
She was alone again, and glad to be alone. Wendy wanted no one to see her as she was. Sweating, panting and sobbing... ! She knew herself at the nadir of an experience more awful than she had believed. How absurd she had been? The silly repartee, the pride, the patronising condescension. She hung, achingly, from her wrists; no longer caring for their nagging contribution to her pain. Perhaps Garret was being kind in leaving her alone to re-surface from anguish. Or perhaps he would leave her thus all night... ! She thought, numbly, of a freedom now purely academic. How silly could a girl be!
When Garret loosed the leash, Wendy slumped to her knees, sobbing into the refuge of her bound hands. She wanted to say a hundred things but could think of none of them.
"Stop it! You've had enough time for that." Garret evidently shared every man's distaste for feminine tears.
"I can't help it."
"Yes you can. Beyond a point it's pure self indulgence."
"How could you know?" Wendy wailed her anguish into a fresh flood.
"If you don't stop that weeping, I'll hang you up again and give you five more."
Wendy was surprised and a trifle indignant at a sudden drought. As though Garret's threat had been a faucet, her tears stopped. She hiccupped forlornly and spared him a glance of deep reproach.
"I'm sorry to be such a nuisance to you - "
"Now, don't start that again! Be female human!"
"I hurt."
"Good."
"I won't try and run away again."
"Until next time...!"
"Well, you shouldn't have given me the chance. It was all your fault." Wendy sniffed and gave him a look of anguished reproof.
"Oh, for Pete's sake -!"
He carried her to the bedroom and flung her on the bed. Wendy lay, savouring her pain, while he found the leg irons and locked her right ankle to the frame. The chain was just long enough to permit... ! They made love long and passionately with an intensity that dwarfed the afternoon. The captive girl discovered a wealed back held magic. By some erotic alchemy it multiplied her potency. Her ecstasies were as ultimate as her pain...
Sometime in the night Garret kicked her from the bed and tossed a blanket. Wendy was too tired and too replete to bite at the rope on her wrists. They could stay tied, what did it matter? With her shackled ankle awkwardly outstretched, she went to sleep again upon the floor. As she drifted into unconsciousness, she felt neither indignity nor indignation. She was a bad girl chained beside her master's bed. What was wrong with that... ? Hillier College was a million miles away.
CHAPTER THREE - THE CUTIE CAGED
"Call me wanton." Wendy twinkled at her kidnapper over the coffee cup. "As mother would say: 'I don't know what's got into me'!"
"I know what's got into you."
"Alright! Don't make me feel any more outrageous than I am."
Garret shook his head in mock puzzlement. "Damned if know how that pussy palace they call a college produced you."
"Hillier isn't to blame for me. You are."
"Don't give me that!" He flipped a bit of toast at her. "But look, I'm not complaining. Thing is: are all the girls there like you?"
"How do I know? I didn't know about me until I was kidnapped by you. It's this male-female thing that throws us."
"So if every kidnapped female got well and properly screwed she'd hate to go home? That's it?"
"Seems to me there's been cases." Wendy flipped the toast back at him. "Is that why I don't hate you?"
"Been puzzled about that myself."
"I ought to hate you. I bet you've no idea how it hurts - being whipped? While you were doing it to me I couldn't possibly believe I'd live through it."
"Think it did any good?"
Wendy shrugged. Her grin was rueful. "I can only tell you the way I feel. I mean right now. I can't tell about tomorrow. Right now I wouldn't run away even if you told me to."
Garret nodded, his gaze admiring. "Damned interesting. Glad I got a girl who can talk sense. Must cheese a professional off to kidnap a broad who just beefs or sits petrified."
She was not sure of him. In spite of what had passed between them, Garret remained as much as enigma as when he had found her chained to the tree. Grudgingly, she conceded the whipping had made her respect his authority in a manner nothing else could have done. Deliberately, she kicked the leg iron chain joining her ankles. Brightly, she said: "If you keep these on you'll never have to whip me again."
"Humph, that's what you think?" His words were suddenly uncompromising. "You've got more tricks than just running away. Besides, like I told you, I'll whip you sometimes for the fun of it - all mine, I suppose. But I can't be sure about that either... " Wendy resolutely dispelled a dark shadow, suddenly hovering. "You mean those cases one reads about? Where a girl actually gets a thrill of being whipped? Is it true?"
Garret grinned at her earnestness. "Maybe you'll have a chance to find out."
"Can I have more coffee? And can we stop talking about whipping me? It makes me all shivery. Tell me about the kidnapping business!"
Filling her cup, his eyes roved. "You're beautifully marked up." He said reverently.
"I'm glad you like my weals." Wendy said tartly. "Some are in places where no gentleman...!"
"You should have stood still - "
"Alright, alright! Let's get back to your kidnapping exploits."
"There aren't any. You're my first. You fell into my lap at the start of a new career." He pushed dishes around in her direction. "But the idea's been a 'Thing' with me for a long time. I've done a lot of work - You'll be seeing it... "
"Mmmmmm, what about dressing? Have you noticed I'm still naked?"
"A blind man would notice you without clothes."
"Mostly, I'm noticing myself. Can I dress after breakfast?"
"I've been thinking about that." Garret treated the matter with deadpan solemnity. "Naked's best."
"Oh N-O-O-O-O... ! Naked all the time! Oh, Garret?"
He winked at her. "It's got something to commend it - besides showing me what you've got. It's convenient. When I want to whip you, you're ready. Running away's a lot more awkward without clothes and shoes. It's handier for roping or chaining you - take last night; I had to slit your dress."
"I don't want to be naked all the time."
"Well... maybe you can wear something sometimes, just for contrast. You're cute wither way. But naked's good for you. Keeps you vulnerable."
"I don't want to be vulnerable. Oh, Garret...!"
"See, that whipping didn't do you a lick of good. Argumentative as ever."
"I'm not! Oh, Garret...!"
"You said that before."
"Well supposing I did! Garret look, I've just remembered. What about that letter to my folks. They'll be worried sick."
He nodded, accepting the change of mood. "O.K. Clear the table!"
It was an order she was in no mind to contest. Demurely, she washed the dishes. Her mind was busy. She eyed the pen and paper with hope.
"I'm going to read what you're write, y'know."
"I don't see why. But if you think you have to - "
"You know damn well I have to." Garret laughed at her chagrin. "You've been concocting cryptic sentences all through the dishes."
Wendy flushed. She wrote busily. Then watched her effort torn up.
"You sure want to escape, don't you?" Garret shook a warning finger.
"Of course I do! It doesn't do any good to keep me here like this. If you want to make love to me you can do it in my free time at Hillier. I like you. I don't need to be chained... "
"Write!"
Her fourth effort met with approval and was duly sealed. She looked up anxiously. "When will you -?"
"It will be mailed today." He paused, obviously thinking. "I'm afraid you'll have to be alone for a bit."
Wendy shrugged. "O.K. I can understand that. Chained, I suppose?"
"Yes."
"But suppose someone comes -!"
He laughed at her concern. "Dammit, Wendy, I can't tell from that whether you want someone to come or not?"
"Of course I want someone to come!" She was defensive. "I should have kept quiet."
"You haven't lost a chance." Garret chuckled. "I've thought of everything. Remember, I told you. I'd made plans... Come along!"
Wendy walked beside him, clinking. It was a long way.
"Got it for nothing," said Garret with pride. "They were demolishing the building."
His naked companion surveyed 'it' without enthusiasm. "I suppose you've got it out here so no one back at the house can hear me scream?"
"Right! And nobody's going to stray here through the scrub."
"Garret, don't be ridiculous! I'm not going to go in any lousy cage!"
"Want to bet?"
"So alright, you can force me. But why you can't just chain me by one ankle to the tree? I'd be just as safe?"
"Never thought of it." Her captor admitted cheerfully. "And anyway, I like this better."
"I suppose my feelings don't count?"
"That's right, Wendy girl, they don't."
"The whole idea stinks!"
"That's where you're wrong, sweetheart. There's a free flow of air and it will be nice and cool under the tree."
"Bugs and beetles - "
"Company for you. You won't be lonely."
"Garret, don't be a pig. Oh please...!"
She was secretly amused and wanted to laugh. A tinge of fear was present but it could not compete with her interest in the cage she was to inhabit. Garret had bolted four massive grids to form the walls. Another was fastened atop. There was a small door with a huge padlock. The grids were square orifices; big enough to thrust an arm or a leg through but that was all. Once inside, she would be there to stay. She had a giggly thought of zoos and monkeys and peanuts... "But I won't be able to stand up!" She complained indignantly.
"What d'you want to stand up for?"
"And it isn't all that long or wide!"
"Ideal for a restful day. It's longer than you need to stretch out and go to sleep."
Garret emptied the bag. "Here's a good chance to use my creations." He said complacently.
Wendy recognized his work of yesterday. She deliberately wailed in dolour. "But I'll be locked in a cage! Why do I have to wear that stuff as well?"
He had the grace to look sheepish. "Well, mainly because I want to see it on you. But anyway, with a girl like you a man can't be too careful."
"You're just saying that. Besides, my feet are already chained together. I've hobbled all this way at about half a mile an hour." She gave him a reproachful stare. "It wouldn't have hurt you to take these leg irons off."
"And have you scampering off into the trees!"
"I already told you - after being whipped once - "
"You're a woman. Women will promise anything. Besides, I don't think that whipping did you a particle of good. You're still as uppity as they come."
"I'm not! I'm doing everything you tell me."
"Then you'll wiggle into that cage?"
Wendy sniffed disdainfully. "Yes." She looked at him in vexation. "I have to be crazy! This can't be happening - " She stood, mutely and unwillingly thrilled, as the leather bands were nestled into her skin. Male hands were making her decoratively helpless. She watched with interest the manner in which it was done.
Her wristlets were joined by a link. The link had a screw device Garret tightened with a small spanner. Her hands had a trifle less freedom than with handcuffs. But she could tug as she pleased without hurt. The leg irons were replaced by a similar arrangement on her ankles, but here the chain was a little longer. When her neck was collared, she protested. "What's that for?"
"Artistic effect." Garret admitted shamelessly. "It really does something... ! Sets you off!"
The snap of the padlock was final. It hung behind her neck. Wendy raised joined hands to finger her adornment. She was secretly pleased but would not show it. When her middle was encircled, she complained again: "What good will that do?"
"You were beefing about being naked, sweetheart. Now you're not."
Wendy sniffed. "As if a few widths of leather...!" She winced as the padlock clicked its triumph. The belt was wide and snug on her tummy; her fingers found it with feminine relish. "Well, I suppose...!"
"You look absolutely ravishing." He assured her solemnly.
"Shouldn't 'ravished' be the word?" She glinted mischievously. "What else do I get attached to me?"
"That's the lot."
"I suppose you've noticed. Nothing that matters is covered."
"It's all in the point of view." He assured her cheerfully. "Here, I'll unlock the door... " Wriggle was the word! Wendy wriggled. It would have been easier had she not been chained. Inside the cage, she turned in time to see Garret closed the door and tug the padlock with authoritative finality. She reclined on one hip and looked up at him through the bars. "I don't think I'm going to like this much." She told him dolefully.
"You're a good kid." He looked down at her with affection. "If there was some other way...!"
"Sure, sure! I understand your problem. How long do I have to stay in here?"
"It's a long way, and a lot to do. Probably all night."
"Whoopie ding! Garret, don't be such a drag; you can't possibly leave me - ! I'd never have crawled in here if I'd known."
"I'd have pushed you in. Sorry, sweetheart. It's one of the hazards of being kidnapped. You'll have to put up with it."
She watched him go. Having to stay put while others went free was becoming a too frequent experience in her life. Wendy turned her attention to a sizeable box. It contained a pail with a tight lid which made her blush, Kleenex, a container of water, a bunch of bananas and a bundle of paperbacks. She shrugged. Perhaps later!
The captive girl sat back against the grid of one wall of her cage and tried to rationalise. She played with her new restraints and tried to unscrew the links by which her ankle chain was made fast. Her hands were too closely joined for her to reach the one between her wrists. None would budge, but she was forced to recognize their symmetry. Garret was a perfectionist who wanted his captives pretty. She wryly supposed her condition could be described as "Neat and tidy". She was also quite desperately helpless.
What made Garret tick? Wendy's need to know was both feminine and practical. She was his prisoner. The leather bands locked upon her everywhere, and the cage in which she reclined like a canary, were proof of his determination to keep her securely his captive. But why?
She supposed it would be asking a lot for him to trust her. She was obliged to admit she would escape if given an opportunity. Threat of the whip would deter her only up to a point. She would escape, not from any hostility to him, but from rebellion against captivity itself.
Her thoughts turned inward. She herself was turning out to be a big a surprise as Garret. She had called herself wanton: In this captivity she was! Previously she would have scorned the accusation. She had been just another girl. Did a sudden release from Hillier cause an otherwise rational female to blossom out as a tomboy sexpot. True, Garret's maleness was more potent than any other she had known, but must she reduce her emotions to no more than a teenage infatuation? At this moment, and in this cage, she should be angry, frightened, resentful... But she was none of these to any significant degree. She was immensely curious, a little flattered, and more than slightly in love. It was nuts! Guiltily she faced the fact of a tremendous erotic stimulation.
She was horny.
She considered her whipping. The searing intensity of pain had been a shock. But it was an awfulness rapidly over. It had etched in her mind his superior strength, and that ultimately she would always obey. Wendy cherished no illusions about her fortitude under the cut of a lash. Yesterday she would have promised anything to end her flogging. But she had supposed it a thing immutable. No doubt it had been just exactly that!
Her parents and the school! They would be frantic. A search would be on. She had been buoyed by a conviction such a search would rescue her. Someone would come; someone would see her; Garret would make a slip! But the cage dissolved such hope. Garret could never be a suspect. They would not beat the brush around his domicile. In this cage she could forget escape or rescue. Even if someone saw some feminine trifle of hers around his place it would mean nothing. He had told her, laughing at her all too patent jealousy, that girls came and went with him. There were other feminine bits and pieces too. She had seen some in the bedroom. Now, within his cage, she realised the cold clever intent behind his banter. He had planned to kidnap a girl and planned to keep her safe. Wendy looked at the bolts and the bars. They would defeat a hundred girls. Resignedly, she went to the box and selected a book. The bands on her wrists impeded her but little.
Her night chained to the tree had been a good foretaste of dark captivity. The cage was better. She could turn and toss as she pleased. Nothing hurt. But it would have been nice to be clothed. It was hot enough but still... ! Her nakedness was doubled when seen by ghosts. She could agree with her captor: nakedness would keep her from getting ideas. Ideas above her station... !
She judged it noon before Garret came. Wendy had slept late and lazily dozed. To a girl in a cage a banana had seemed an adequate breakfast. She knelt, alert and expectant against the bars, when her jailer came into view. She was undisguisedly pleased to see him.
"Behave yourself, chicken?"
"No, I had a night on the town." She tried for sarcasm but failed.
" 'Spose I could say the same." He eyed her approvingly. "You're a damn lovely girl, y'know! Here, I brought you something."
Enveloped in female ecstasy by his presence and his words, Wendy reached captive hands to where Garret dangled something through the bars. It was a necklace; a costly lovely thing reeking of money.
"Oh Garret!" For a moment she was speechless with delight. "It must have cost a fortune?"
"I expect it did. Put it on!"
"I can't. Not with my hands - "
"Get up close!"
Wendy obeyed, and quivered as he clasped the gold upon her throat and allowed the pendant to hang beneath her collar. "What do you mean? You expect...?"
"I stole it. So I don't know."
"Garret!"
"Yes, chicken?"
"I don't believe that. You're no thief! And, Garret, thank you, thank you, thank you!"
"My pleasure, chicken. Someone else's expense." He made a quick survey. "You been all right?"
"Yes. It's a lovely cage. I didn't even try to get loose."
"Want out?"
"Yes please."
Garret chuckled. "This is where I should tell you you're in there for a week."
Wendy wondered if the sudden fear showed through her joy.
"But I won't!" He laughed at her obvious relief. "I've got a job for you."
She waited inside the door like an eager puppy while he dealt with the padlock. She squirmed out faster than she had squirmed in. On her feet outside, she offered her hands.
"Stay as you are! You look cute."
"But if you unfastened me I could give you a proper hug for the necklace."
"Consider me hugged." He bent and kissed her.
"Garret, why did you get it for me?"
"To make up for a night in the cage."
"I'm ever so grateful - and such a surprise! I didn't think kidnapped girls -?"
"You're not a run of the mill kidnapped girl."
"You're terribly sweet sometimes. I say, what about my feet?"
"What about 'em?"
"They're chained together?"
"Why so they are!" He laughed at her bright eagerness.
"Oh, Garret, don't tease! Are you going to make me hobble?"
"The chain's as long as the leg irons, and the bands I made for you are a lot more comfortable. What you beefing about? Come on, I'll walk slowly."
Daintily, she tripped along beside the greatest enigma she had ever known. Half way to the house he stopped and fished in a pocket. "I got an idea... " With the spanner her loosed her hands and freed her wrists of the leather. "Your feet stay. But your hands - " He chuckled. "Maybe you can find a use for 'em."
At the porch steps he ordered, abruptly: "Go on in! I've got to get something from the jeep."
Wendy clattered happily across the weathered boards. Motion felt good after the cage. If she was permitted, she would make a cup of coffee. Glad of possession of her hands, she entered the now familiar room.
The feet were expensively shod. The sheathing nylon on the legs was laddered. In disbelief, Wendy's eyes travelled up and up to where the feminine wrists were crossed and bound and hauled high from a rafter as her own had been; their owner teetering on her toes. She exchanged stares with a girl as startled as herself.
It was Denise Renton.
CHAPTER FOUR - TWO GIRLS
Old money is potent. It bestows on successive generations a deeper assurance of divinity; an increasing assurance of the rightness of their station and their acts. It creates a cast from which an aristocrat may emerge. Denise Renton was the finished product of millions mellowed by a century. Her greeting was typical.
"Oh, for heaven's sake!"
Wendy's mind was in turmoil. Garret had done it! The thing she had not believed! Denise was kidnapped. The new victim's greeting was about what was to be expected, exasperated condescension. She made her own more cordial than she felt.
"Hello, Denise."
"I should have guessed! What is he? Your boyfriend?"
Denise contrived a certain soign�e superiority. She did not dent easily. As though bestowing a favour, she said: "You can untie this damn rope. Such a lot of nonsense! The two of you must be out of your tree."
Wendy surveyed the girl she had no cause to love. Denise had been prominent in the struggle by which the handcuffs had been used at the campground. She saw a very beautiful girl; a girl whose costly grooming though dishevelled, was there to stay. A girl who Garret might find well to his liking. Competition! Demurely, but inwardly laughing, she said: "Oh, I couldn't possibly! Not unless I'm told."
"Don't be ridiculous! Untie me!"
"Honest, Denise, I can't. Garret will be in - "
"That's the point, idiot! Untie me before he comes!"
"I recall a little matter of handcuffs...!" Wendy allowed the words to fall from her lips like honey.
"So that is it!" Denise was smugly pleased. "Revenge! For gosh sake, Wendy, can't you take a joke?"
"Is all night fastened to a tree a joke?"
"Don't be picky! Someone would have found you."
"You mean, you never came back. Oh, Denise, what a lousy rotten...!"
"You deserved it. This proves - " The suspended girl's eyes widened, as though seeing something for the first time. "W - E - N - D - Y!!... What on earth... ! You're not decent - those things...!"
"Yes, I'm kidnapped too."
"Don't give me that! You've gone kooky."
With a pleasant sense of being on top of a situation, Wendy turned slowly round, displaying her nudity and its attachments to confer total exposure. Mischievously, she traced several of her whip weals with a delicate fingertip, and asked brightly: "What about these then?"
"He's whipped you?"
"That's right. I expect he'll whip you too. He does it to make us mind."
"You're kidding."
"Do these marks look like I'm kidding?"
"They're lovely!" The exclamation was spontaneous. A grudging tribute to something not understood. "Holy gee, Wendy... ! On you - On you, like that, they're gorgeous!"
"Yes, aren't they?"
Wendy was beginning to enjoy her seniority. It was worth being whipped to get one up to Denise. Even Denise's next exclamation failed to diminish her complacency.
"That's my necklace!"
Wendy preened. "It was your necklace. Now it's mine. Garret took it from you and gave it to me."
"You rotten little thief!"
"Careful, Darling!" Wendy was purring with content. "This necklace is spoils of war, or something. I expect it's part of your ransom."
"You must have told him about me! I suppose you're splitting fifty-fifty?"
"I'm held for ransom too."
"Yeah, I just bet you are! And don't just stand there! Untie me! You don't know how this hurts my wrists."
"Yes I do. I was tied like that yesterday."
Unease and uncertainty shadowed the Renton hauteur. "Those things on your ankles - ? Can't you get them off?"
Wendy kicked her shackle as though suddenly aware. "Oh these! No, I can't get 'em off. They're locked on to stop me running away."
"You don't want to run away." Denise glowered. "And those bands around your tummy and neck - with padlocks?"
"Garret has the key. Aren't they super?"
"Damned effective." Denise admitted grudgingly. "And you're happy as all get out to be wearing 'em. I can tell. Look Darling, ease up on the revenge bit. There's nothing to stop you letting my feet back down on the floor. It's not much to ask."
"Sorry! If I did I'd be whipped."
"I'll apologise. In helping to handcuff you to that tree I was a bitch. I'll try and make it up to you some way."
Wendy glimpsed the painful path to comprehension this scion of the upper crust had still to travel. "There isn't any revenge, Denise." She assured earnestly. "You're not here on my account." She giggled. "I think Garret's a professional kidnapper."
"You're too damn happy not to be in cahoots."
Wendy saw the truth of it. Here was one more facet of her own puzzlement with herself. It would be easier to let Garret bring the tied maiden into realisation than to try and explain. Jealousy flared again at the thought of this new kidnapee becoming as happy as herself.
"I'm ashamed of myself." She admitted demurely.
"And so you should be." Garret's wide shouldered bulk filled the doorway. "Why haven't you got this wench stripped?"
"Don't you dare," flared Denise.
"You never told me," said Wendy.
"So O.K. I forgot to tell you. Do it now!"
"I'll never forgive either of you!" Denise warned with the portent of a break in diplomatic relations between major powers. She twisted desperately against the suspending rope. "And what my family will do to you -!"
Wendy was suddenly shy. She wanted no part of Denise or of her kidnapping. "I'd sooner you did it, Garret." She admitted dubiously.
"I can't whip her with her clothes on Get 'em off!"
"Whip me!" The tethered girl's exclamation was truly shocked. "Why? This is all crazy!"
"It's so you don't get uppity." Wendy ventured. "It - it - sort of does something to a girl."
"I'll bet it does!" Denise's exclamation was urgent. "Look, you want ransom. I expect you can get it. But isn't there some sort of understanding about not damaging the merchandise?"
"You won't be damaged. Just marked. Look at Wendy; she isn't damaged. Your marks will probably be gone by the time your family get through arguing."
"Let me phone them! I'll speed it up. I want out." Denise emphasized her disaffection by a further sequence of tuggings.
"Wendy, I told you to take her clothes off." Garret's tone was ominous.
"I'm afraid I have to." Wendy looked at the struggling heiress appealingly. "Please don't make a fuss!"
"What the hell fuss can I make?"
Denise disproved her affirmation by kicking out wildly and connecting with a feminine hip. Wendy was human. The blow aided decision. She tore away the captive's dress with some satisfaction.
"Lovely figure!" Garret commended complacently. "You ought to be glad of a chance to show it off."
"I'm not! Stop it! Wendy, stop that!"
"If your folks won't buy you back I can sell you to an Arab." Garret was enjoying the female indignation immensely.
"Leave me my panties and bra! There's no need... ! Oh, damn you both!"
"Take 'em!" Garrets command was curt.
Wendy took them; her eyes imploring an understanding Denise refused to give. The bra was easy, but it took a threat from Garret to still the thrashing legs. When a freshly naked female stood revealed, Garret indulged in humour. "Not sure I want to part with that. Really high grade. Almost as good as you, Wendy."
"My father will hound you into the ground." Denise was one large and lovely blush. She was making an absurd effort to cross her legs to hide her sex. "When I tell him about this...!"
"How'd it be I send you home pregnant?" Garret asked conversationally.
"Wendy, do something! Make him - "
"Wendy can't do a thing 'cept what she's told." Garret assured earnestly. "She's simply got more sense than you." He turned to his first prisoner. "Getting your ass whipped help any, chicken?"
Wendy wished he had not asked. But she answered truthfully. "Yes." Distressfully, she looked up at the suspended girl. "Honest, Denise, it does. Don't be mad at me!"
Garret stepped into the breach. "So best we get started. Get me the whip, Wendy! The one I used on you."
"No!" Denise's denial was explosive.
"Yes."
"They'll pay anything! I'll pay anything! I have money of my own - Please don't!"
"You'll feel better afterwards."
"I won't! I won't! Oh, this is impossible -!"
Wendy looked at the swaying shamed nudity with more sympathy than she knew Denise deserved. In empathy she felt the scald of the whip upon her own flesh, She wondered if Denise would scream. She seriously considered pleading with Garret to forego the punishment. But there was a dark side to his nature she dared not counter. And besides, suppose Denise did benefit... ! A week ago she would have scorned the idea. But she did not scorn it now. The whip was an amalgam between captive and captor, cementing one of the most ancient relationships of humankind. A whipped girl knew where she was at. But she savoured no joy in passing the cruel coil to Garret's waiting hand.
"Scream all you like, honey!" Garret's concession was impersonal.
"I'll do nothing of the sort - ! Arrrrragh! Oh damn -!"
A line of scarlet replaced the white band around the contorting waist. The man and the girl admired it, each from their own viewpoint. The owner of the striated flesh was more vocal.
"You can't! Oh, you can't! It hurts beyond - " It was a terrible fascination to watch the weals form upon the protesting flesh. They possessed a wicked beauty, enhanced by the flawless canvas on which they etched their patterns. Wendy abandoned hypocrisy and stood entranced.
The whipped girl was highly vocal. She rejected the first strokes with outrage and indignation, high pitched with pain.!
"You absolute bastard - ! Nunnuh, oh, oh, oh... "
"Stop it! Oh damn you - Ahhhhh...!"
"You'll pay for this! Oh please not any more!!! Stoppit -!"
The expensive legs flailed; the taut breasts vibrated; the black pubic triangle flashed and flickered as its owner sought surcease in writhing motion.
"She's enjoying every stroke," said Garret companionably.
"I'm not! I'm not! I'm not a beastly pervert - ! Aggggah, Ahhhhh, oh, oh... ! You're an animal -." The protest died in a moaning cry of anguish.
"Oh, Garret, go easy on her! It hurts something awful -!"
"You want to hang up there beside her, chicken? I can alternate...!" Garret sounded almost eager.
"No." Wendy made the admission grudgingly. "But please don't whip her more than you did me!"
"Got a way to go yet. Just look at her wiggle!"
"You'll both rot in jail for life - ! Waaaaah - Ugggggh -!"
"See, she's beginning to appreciate it." Garret snapped a harder stroke across the latticed back.
"You're a sadist, a beastly sadist. You're both - Arrah -!"
"Bet this is the first time she's ever managed an honest sweat." Garret commented, interested.
It was true. The skin of the punished girl was glistening. Droplets of sweat trickled from her armpits down her flanks. Denise Renton was face to face with primitive fear, her first primal agony.
Wendy watched Denise Renton's travail, stroke by stroke. Except for the threats, she was seeing a mirror of herself as the whip had subdued her to moaning incoherencies. When Garret was satisfied with his work he handed her the whip.
"Hang it on the wall where you both can see it. And don't dare to let her loose."
He had a motive in leaving them alone. Wendy was sure of it. But the motive itself escaped her. She was beginning to glimpse a purpose in her captivity. She would be a buffer between him and Denise, absorbing hysteria, performing feminine tasks. On impulse, she went to the drawer and sorted knives. The good steel was locked away. The ordinary kitchen blades made no impression on the heavy leather of her shackles. She sawed away in disbelief, but the bands laughed at the knife edge. No doubt Garret was laughing too.
"Untie me, Wendy!"
Denise spoke the request as though, now she had been whipped, it was a foregone conclusion. She was panting and sweating, sagging against her bonds.
"I can't, Denise. You heard him order me."
"You don't have to obey him like a puppy dog." Denise's breasts were still heaving. "Good gosh, that hurt! I'd never have believed... "
"I do have to obey him. D'you want to get me whipped too?"
"You're free. You could untie me. We could both make a run for it."
"I'm not free! Didn't you see me try and cut this leather on my ankles? I can't cut it, I can't even walk properly. I mince."
"Well, do something!"
"Denise, all I can do is to tell you to do as he says. That's what I've been doing, and I've only been whipped once."
The swaying captive moaned her misery. "My wrists! They're being cut off... ! This is too damn awful to believe. And I'm so beastly helpless...!"
"I'm pretty sure he'll let you down soon. I think he just wants to cure you of being hoity-toity. You are a bit that way - "
"I'm not! I'm just civilised. What about ransom? Has he contacted your parents? And what's he doing about me?"
"I don't know. I'm not his accomplice. Honest, I'm not!"
"If you weren't, you'd let me loose."
Wendy sighed. She wished devoutly Denise was still back at Hillier. Rapport with a kidnapped heiress was elusive. She was absolved of a reply by the return of Garret. Without a word, he loosed the tethering rope and allowed Denise to slump to the floor. Instantly, she raised her tied hands and went to work on the rope with her teeth.
"It's no good." Wendy mourned. "I tried that myself."
She might not have spoken. Denise bit and gnawed busily. Garret cheerfully contemplated the futile exercise. Then, as his gaze roved, Wendy's heart missed a beat.
"Those marks on your ankle bands, chicken? How come?"
She had forgotten. Wendy looked down in trepidation. The knife had cut nothing but its blunt indentations had not yet disappeared. Unable to think of a plausible lie, she told the truth. "O.K. Garret, I tried a kitchen knife on it. You've locked the others away." She faced him squarely, heart pounding.
"Punishable offence, I'd say?" His tone was casual.
She did not answer. Denise cocked an inquisitive eye but continued chewing.
"Well, is it or isn't it?"
"I expect it is."
"Huh!" He made the retort contemptuous. "Give me your hands!"
There seemed to Wendy an inevitability about the locking of the handcuffs on her wrists. Passively, she watched it done, inwardly shrinking from what must follow. She gasped in dismay as Garret's hand went between her thighs from the rear, grasped her sex, and lifted her so he could loop the handcuff's link to a hook high in the wall. When he released his grip, her wrists shrieked their pain as her toes inadequately sought to sustain her weight.
"Oh please... ! Garret - oh, oh - Oh please...!"
Wendy chocked back her plea. Denise was listening, and Denise would enjoy every bitter frightened word. Best to suffer in silence. Dolefully, and in awful anticipation, she thrust her forehead and her breasts against the wall. She was completely helpless.
This time, Garret used the crop. The slender limber thing designed more for female flesh than for a horse. Its cut across the twin curves of Wendy's bottom was a vicious scalding crease of agony.
"You do have to learn to behave, chicken."
Wendy was furious. Not with Garret but with herself. To thoughtlessly earn a punishment in front of Denise! Why, why, why had she been so foolish? She could feel the other girl's eyes drinking in her shame. Bitterly she thrust against the wall. Taking her pain, and saying over and over, vehemently in silence: Don't scream, don't scream... !
It was hard to confine her responses to panting gasps as the slender snake bit at her again and again. The girl handcuffed to the wall knew her screams would have come if the beating had gone on and on. She was absurdly grateful to hear Garret's complacent words.
"Seven strokes. Not too much, not too little. 'Bout right, I'd say for a foolish girl." He paused while his fingertip imposed the most erotically vivid sensation of Wendy's life as it traced the seven swollen ridges of girl skin that had been her punishment. "Would you agree, chicken?"
"Yes - oh yes! Oh Garret - thank you."
"Good heavens above!" Denise sounded genuinely outraged. "How humble is a girl supposed to be in this home for the insane? Give her seven more for me while you're at it."
Garret's query was dangerously cool. "And why should I do that, Miss Renton?"
Denise sailed blithely on to disaster. Her declaration was that of top dog; of wealth omnipotent, "She's positively nauseating, the way she licks your boots. And I suspect she likes being thrashed - by you! And I'm damn sure I owe this whole miserable business to her. It was Wendy who put you to grabbing me - Wasn't it?"
"And if it was?"
"Make it fourteen! She deserves it."
Garret's reply was to pick Wendy up and turn her around so that her scalding bottom was against the wall and her taut breasts and black triangle faced the room. He did it with ease both gentle and frightening. He was immensely strong.
"You're going - you're going to whip her breasts...?" Denise's exclamation was more interested than concerned. She ceased biting at her tied wrists.
For answer, Garret threw the tethering rope across the rafter and, once more, tensioned the naked Renton millions to stand erect. Not suspended but tightly stretched. "No, I am not going to whip her breasts." He said equably. "How 'bout I whip yours?"
"No!" The negative held a wealth of feminine indignation. "That's not fair. Just because... ! And besides, you've already whipped me. It was murderous...!"
"You were prepared to enjoy watching Wendy get her breasts whipped."
"I wasn't!" The denial was uncertain. "And anyway, she deserves it. Getting me into this horror."
"You have just seen Wendy punished. After that do you still believe she's my accomplice?"
"Of course I do! The two of you are just making her an alibi."
Wendy was hurting. The handcuffs were cruel on her wrists; her bottom burned. But she forgot both travails in her exasperation with the intransigent nudity tautened by the rope. The prospect of Garret resuming Denise's whipping was not without appeal.
"What do I have to do to convince you?" His voice was infinitely patient.
Denise's rejoinder was instant and assured. "Give her the fourteen strokes!"
"Where would you suggest?" The inquiry was suave.
"How would I know?" Denise was riding high. "Why not her breasts? If they stuck out any more you'd have to walk round 'em."
Garret struck from where he stood. The crop scored Denise's hip and curled to expend its tip upon her derriere. She screamed in pained indignation.
"What d'you do that for?"
"Can't you guess?" He sauntered round the tractioned girl, assessing the palpitating terrain.
Denise was panting. "Sure I can guess. You've both got it in for me. And all I did was handcuff her to a tree. It wasn't all that bad - just a joke. The rotten little - " The cut was aimed at the curved cheeks. It lapped them perfectly. Their owner screamed savagely and performed the now familiar gyrations from the rope.
"When you feel you can talk rationally I can stop doing this." Garret suggested as he slashed the frantic bottom again.
"I am rational! It's you -!"
The riding crop thunked an answer.
"Alright! What d'you want? I'll do it!" A ballerina would have envied Denise's kicks and twists.
"I don't want a 'Thing'. I want a frame of mind."
"You want a whipped bitch - on her knees...!"
The crop sang its measured rhythm. The naked girl matched it with her screams. Wendy watched in fascinated wonder at the obstinacy of great wealth. Or was Denise Renton obtuse rather than stubborn? After more than seven strokes, Garret paused and asked: "Can you now envision the possibility of Wendy's innocence and your own obedience?"
The panting sweating girl tossed her head in frustration. "Damn your politeness. Get my ransom and let me go!"
After four more strokes Garret tried again. "I'm going to let you down. I want you on your knees offering a decent apology to Wendy and to me."
The suspending rope had no sooner fallen free than the girl with tied hands leaped for the door, her tether trailing.
"Are they all like this at Hillier?"
Garret shook his head in mock despair. Without haste, he sauntered after the would be escapee. When he dragged her back at the end of the rope he again hung her for the whip. Denise was weeping and incoherent with rage and pain.
"Bit of a bore for you, chicken."
Wendy was suddenly picked up bodily and carried outdoors. Handcuffed, she could not put her arms where she would have wished. But Garret's maleness was comforting. The fresh weals marring her bottom had not marred her feelings for her captor. It was as though the seven wicked strokes had never been. "Where are you taking me?" She asked contentedly.
"Can't you guess?"
"Oh Garret, Not the cage?"
"What's wrong with the cage, chicken?"
"Well... nothing, I guess. But you only let me out of it this morning!"
"Now I'm putting you back in. Any complaints?"
"If I complained, you'd whip me. So I won't complain."
"Delicious feminine logic." He squeezed affectionately. "Think I'll ever get that much sense into Her Majesty?"
Wendy voiced a nagging puzzlement. "Garret, does it matter? Why don't you put her in the cage, get the money, then let her go?"
"And what do I do with you?"
"I'll do the housework and make the meals. I can't run away."
"There's a domestic quality in you a man needs to watch." Garret mused. "You're a menace."
"You can always whip me when I fail to please."
He chuckled delightedly. "You said 'when' instead of 'if'. That means you expect to fail."
"I expect to be whipped. I know you love whipping me."
"And it doesn't bother you?"
Wendy considered, unconcerned. "Well, I suppose it does... But it's one of those things... ! One of those things that's going to happen and you know it's going to happen. There's no use thinking about it all the time. Garret, must I really go in the cage?"
"Why don't you want to?"
"You'll be alone with her -." She broke off in confusion. "Oh damn! I never meant - ! Oh Garret...!"
He evaded her confession. "You don't want to watch me whip her into becoming human." He suggested lightly. "Could be a long job."
"Are you going to - you know...?"
"Have sexual congress with a millionairess?" Garret laughed. "Might be an experience. I'd have to tie her down."
"But are you?"
"I'll be damned, you're jealous!" Garret was entertained. "Next time you see her, you can ask."
"She's never tell." Wendy affirmed with seething female knowledge. "Garret... I don't want you to - " Laughing, he shook her as one does a beloved pet. He did it with thrilling ease. "Did I hear a wife speaking?"
"No... But I wish you wouldn't - do it with her."
"Would you like me to cut a switch and put you in the cage with a bottom far more tender than you now have?" His enquiry was solicitous.
"No! No - never mind. I'm sorry."
"Sorry and sulky. You females...!"
Wendy stood, petulant and silent, while he unlocked the door. Then repeated her worm-like entry into her metal prison. Kneeling, she made a last appeal through the bars.
"Garret, I'm a lot more use to you than she is -!"
He grinned at her earnestness. "That remains to be seen, chicken." He was still chuckling as he strode away.
Wendy wept at his retreating back. She would have been hard put to it to describe her tears.
It was peaceful in the cage. After having her own bottom cropped and then watching the thrashing of a naked girl, the captive found it lonely. Back in Garret's shanty things were happening. But they were not happening to her. Wendy clinked her handcuffs and her shackles in frustration. From the door, the padlock leered back at her with an almost personal animosity. She was most adequately caged.
Thoughtfully eating a banana, the captive of the cage wondered, without too much concern, whether a lifetime's pampering could possibly be whipped out of Denise Renton's lovely skin. She was surprised at the gap between herself and wanton and in love! Despite cruelty, she could feel for Garret only a turgid joy in his maleness; a tumescent longing for his arms. Thought of those arms holding Denise Renton as they had held her caused Wendy's wrists and ankles to angrily tug at her chains. A fervid imagination painted vivid pictures of what might be taking place back in the big room.
When night came, Wendy cried herself to sleep, longing for Garret's bed and her ankle chained to it. Even the floor beside it, and a contemptuous blanket, seemed like heart's desire.
CHAPTER FIVE - ESCAPTE
For Wendy Andrews, preparing breakfast was happiness. She had been carried back from the cage early in the morning and given her orders. She sensed in the man who gave them a mood best not provoked. Denise Renton was not to be seen. Cautious peeps into the bedroom were reassuring. The closed door to the empty room told its own story. She held up her handcuffed wrists for her captor's attention.
"Must I wear these, Garret, when I'm working?"
He laughed and kissed her lightly. "Sure. Why not? You'll scarcely know the difference."
It was surprisingly true. Girls had an affinity for bonds. Restraints forbid nothing save escape. Wendy perked coffee and made toast with almost the same facility as when free. Her steps were short and her ankle chain clattered. Sometimes both hands had to go where one sufficed... That was all! Eating and sipping across the table from her kidnapper, she deliberately clinked her handcuffs as she glinted at him in mischief.
"They look well on you, Wendy. You should wear them always."
"Even when making love?"
"Think a bit, chicken." He laughed at her transparency. "You can still use your claws to furrow a male back."
That was true too! Hesitantly, she asked: "Am I permitted questions?"
He grinned at her caution, and motioned to the closed door, "She's in there. Fixed. You can feed her after we're through."
"How... ? I mean, what -?"
"Yes, she's still alive. I gave up whipping her. Pure exhaustion. Mine, I mean."
"Garret... ? Being so - well, so severe with her? All those marks she's covered with... ? Won't her folks be awful mad at you?"
"Probably." He cocked an amused eye at her concern. "Yours may be a bit cheesed off too."
"Oh, I'll think of something to tell them. Don't worry - " Again, confusion claimed her. The assurance had come with complete naturalness. But how wickedly it betrayed her state of mind! Garret gazed at her shining eyes; his own were sardonically questioning.
"You mean... ? You'd get me off the hook?"
"Of course I would."
"But I've been cruel...?"
"Have you?" Wendy considered his statement. "Isn't it just the situation?" She giggled. "Isn't there a threadbare line about something being 'Bigger than both of us'?"
"You said yourself, I enjoy whipping you?"
Wendy shrugged. "Well, alright then. You enjoy whipping me." She bestowed a grin of deep feminine wisdom. "I expect most men would enjoy whipping me if they were honest about it."
Garret sighed, knowing himself a man greatly blessed. "You're probably right. But what about you? Don't tell me you enjoy -?"
"No I don't. It hurts something fierce." She glinted at him mischievously. "But if you don't go overboard I can likely stand it."
"Yesterday's seven about right?"
"I didn't think so while I was getting them." She smiled in retrospect. "But now I can say yes."
"Supposing I'd made it ten?"
"O.K. Ten!" Wendy wrinkled her nose at the man across the table. "But please, Garret, don't be cruel to me! Not more than I can handle."
"I'll always be cruel to you for one thing."
"You mean running away?"
"Yes. You make a serious escape try and you'll be sorry."
Wendy gulped coffee, thinking busily. Then made noises with her chains. "That isn't even anything to think about, is it? Fixed the way you've got me?"
"You'll get ideas. Things will happen. Little Trixie rich bitch in there will get after you. I bet she thinks escape sixty minutes every hour. You'll get to feeling sorry for her...?"
"She's so wrapped up in her own consequence." Wendy's question was forthright. "Is that why you keep me around? To do the chores and give her something to blast at?"
"You're forgetting the ransom?"
She coloured. "Have you been in touch with my father? Has he been able to offer you a price for me?"
"Chicken, you are beyond price. No sum, no matter how large - "
"Oh Garret, don't joke about it. I'm kidnapped and my folks will be going nuts - the same with Denise."
Wendy was intermittently aware of a nagging guilt. She was sure she should not be behaving as she was. This acceptance of a strange captivity in which she was oblivious to most things other than her captor was surely not to be condoned. Escape had taken on the shape of an obligation. She could even sympathise with Garret's deterrent.
"You can write Ma and Pa a nice long chatty letter later on." Garret said thoughtfully. "In the meantime, clean up and feed your old school friend."
"She's not my friend."
"Feed her anyway! And look, you don't have to take any guff."
"She never did like me."
He grinned; his eyes suddenly amused. "O. K. You prepare it; I'll deliver. I've thought of a cute notion."
Wendy was not sure of the cute notion, but it was beautifully simple. She was placed against the wall opposite Denise and attached to it by a few links of chain from a ringbolt to her collar. She could stand there. That was all. Looking at her fellow captive, she found it hard to repress giggles.
Denise Renton was naked. She was chained to her wall in the same manner as Wendy except that her chain was much longer. Her ankles wore the leg irons. Her wrists were handcuffed behind her back. But her crowning glory was the gag. It explained a puzzling silence. It was a metal bit held in her mouth by light chains locked at the back of her neck. Insouciantly, as though tending a pet, Garret changed her cuffs from back to front and removed the bit from between her teeth. He placed the plate and cup on the floor and made a quick exit, closing the door.
"Come for a laugh, I suppose?"
Denise got to her feet and stretched luxuriously. Wendy gasped at the numberless striations etched on her companion's very feminine figure. Garret appeared to have utilised all available space. Intercepting her fascinated gaze, Denise postured to examine her own nudity.
"Made me kneel and beg, damn him! I had to! I just had to!"
"Don't fight him, Denise! You don't have to."
"That's all right for you. You're doing a number with him."
Wendy blushed. "I'm not but I'd like to."
"See! And you're all red! Look Wendy, get me out of these beastly things I'm locked in!"
Wendy sighed. Denise was hopeless. "I'm chained to the wall myself." She pointed out reasonably. "Can't you see?"
"I don't believe it. It's just another put up job between the two of you."
"Denise, I'm more helpless than you are!" Wendy clattered her chains angrily. "Eat your breakfast and we can talk."
The disgruntled debutante resumed her seat on the floor, her back to the wall. She sipped coffee. "The man's insane. I had the damndest night!"
"You mean - chained in here?"
"Where else? You don't suppose I got into bed with him?"
Wendy hoped her sigh of happiness would pass unnoticed. "Well you might have... Or he could have made you." She giggled. "He could have tied you spreadeagle."
"Well, he didn't. Is that what he did to you the first time?" Denise sneered. "Or didn't he need to?" She bit angrily at toast. "Look, I've absolutely got to escape. I don't think he's even started the ransom business. You could help me. I'm damn sure you could!"
"Denise, I wish you'd believe it." Wendy held out her cuffed hands. "I'm a prisoner too. He's already threatened me - any escape effort and I'm in for the most awful whipping."
"It couldn't be as bad as I got. Look at me!" Denise sniffed. "And he'd never do it to you. A little maybe, but I doubt that. You've got under his skin. He likes you. Wendy, please help me?"
"How can I? Would you believe I spent last night in a cage?"
"No, I wouldn't. Or if you did he was in there with you. Besides, there isn't any cage."
"It's out in the woods, hidden."
"A love nest!" The sneer was more pronounced. "But will you help me escape? I don't think you even want to, but that's your affair. Will you help me?"
Impossible of consummation as it might be at that moment, the thought of getting rid of this carping girl, this threat to her own designs, was suddenly infinitely appealing. Suppose... ! "Sure I'd help you." Wendy said impetuously. Then, cautiously. "But don't hold your breath! I don't see what chance either of us got."
But the chance happened.
It happened out of great happiness.
That night, Garret took Wendy to his bed.
It was more tumultuously ecstatic than before. But, relegated to the floor and a blanket, the satiated girl seethed in memory of her kidnapper's last chuckle before he went to sleep.
"I wonder how her Royal Highness is going to enjoy being down where you are."
It was the spur.
Without the goad of jealousy, Wendy would have considered it far too risky. She had no illusions about the lash. She would break under it more easily than Denise. She did not want to break - not in front of Garret or beneath his hand. But she longed, with an intense longing, to get rid of a rival. A rival richly endowed with both pulchritude and cash. Suppose Denise suddenly became loving and female... ! She shuddered at the thought.
Garret was asleep. His breathing was deep and positive. Wendy's ankle was chained to the bed frame, but the length of her leg and arms bestowed a considerable radius... ! She could see his pants, tossed carelessly across a chair, normally beyond her reach. But suppose she could stretch far enough to get them? And suppose in the pockets there were keys! With infinite caution and a painfully thudding heart she inched her way towards the impossible. Finding her utmost stretch too short she used her blanket as a net. At the second try the blanket delivered her prize. The pocket yielded keys...
Denise's bitted tongue was a blessing. Roughly awakened, her eyes flew wide but she could make no sound. Busy anxious moments passed while the rescuer tried key after key... Outside, they whispered.
"My clothes! Where are they?" Denise was only faintly gracious.
"Fiddle on your clothes! Run!"
"But which way?"
"I don't know any better than you. Just run and keep going."
"But I simply must have shoes - and something - "
"Run, you idiot!"
"But aren't you coming?"
"No!" Wendy was glad the moon did not reveal her blush. "I'm too scared. If he caught me -!" She left the portent unsaid.
"Well, suppose he catches me!"
Wendy took a deep breath. She longed to kick this obdurate creature. "That's a chance you have to take, isn't it?" She whispered impatiently. "It was you who wanted to escape. If you've changed your mind we can go back in and I'll chain you up the way you were."
Denise Renton was suddenly a receding blur in the night. She had forgotten thanks for gratitude. The girl left behind reflected, with wry amusement, how effectively whipmarks camouflaged feminine nudity in the scrub. Briefly, Wendy was tempted to flee in the opposite direction. Surely one of them would find rescue. But the impulse was short lived. By the standards of Denise Renton she had to be crazy. But she knew she must play out the strange complexities of her kidnapping. Garret was still a mystery she had to solve. That she would suffer pain in its unraveling she had no doubt. But it was a compulsion she must follow; a compulsion she wanted to obey and would refuse to question. Anxiously, she turned towards the shanty.
It was the most delicate operation of her life. She must replace the keys and re-arrange the pants. Then she must lock her ankle again in the shackle hanging from the bed. After that, sleep. In the morning she must keep her features innocent and share Garret's bafflement over the discarded irons and collar and the absence of the girl they had prisoned.
It was surprisingly easy. Wendy was a nude shadow in the night, soundless. She pushed Garret's pants this way and that to the careless folds in which he had left them. The keys were safe in the same pocket from which she had filched them. Breathlessly, she sank to the floor beside her captor's bed and, very gently, clasped the shackle round her ankle. The click as it locked was her only enemy. But Garret slept. Thankfully, the willing captive reclined beneath her blanket and closed her eyes.
But the ghosts of conscience denied her sleep.
Had she been a good friend to an ungrateful girl? Had she been disloyal to a man to whom she was attracted beyond anything she had ever known? Glumly, she realised both were true. They conflicted, that was all. Supposing Garret figured out what she had done, and he might well do so, would the punishment he would give her more than she could bear? Panic strove to possess her but she fought it off. She had made her bed... !
It was not until that moment she beheld the error.
It leaped at her starkly as she considered Denise's escape. Denise and her parents would call the police. The police would come and rescue her. Even though she had shackled herself to a fate of her own choice, the police would break the lock. They would clothe her and take her home...
But what of Garret?
Wendy had a sudden unbearable vision of herself being coddled solicitously, and of Garret being led away, handcuffed and condemned. Her protestations would die unheard against the testimony of Denise Renton. Denise would probably accuse her too.
Under the spur of panic, she sat up: "Garret!"
He was instantly alert, throwing aside the cover: "What the devil?" He looked down at her in concern.
"It's Denise. She's escaped."
Garret laughed. "You're having nightmares, chicken. Her Royal Highness isn't Houdini."
How could he believe? The bonds she had unlocked from Denise would have prisoned a giant. Wendy kicked her own shackle urgently. "Garret, go and see! I - I can't."
"You can't, van you?" He chuckled at sight of her captive ankle held awkwardly to one side.
"Hurry! Oh please - I heard noises. I just know - "
"Women!" Garret put the good natured contempt of a badgered husband into the exclamation. Shaking his head he stepped through the door.
"Wendy, she's gone!" It was as though he himself had made the discovery.
"That's what I told you. Oh, Garret, catch her!"
"How long?" He was frantically dragging on his clothes.
"Several minutes. Oh do hurry! Can I help?"
"Why wait several minutes?"
It was the first weakness in her story. Her answer was lame. "I couldn't believe... ! I thought she was just moving around on her chain - "
"Any idea where she went?"
"I couldn't tell. But she'd take the road. I'm sure she would."
He grunted and was gone. Wendy heard the jeep kicking dirt. She sat on the floor in dismay and disorder. She had made a sad mess of everything. Now nothing would go right. Terrible things would happen, some of them to her. She wept, kicking angrily at the ankle fetter from which she could no longer free herself. What total frustration, to have to sit on the floor and wait for something to happen! And when it happened... ! She wept anew at thought of Garret's anger.
Time seemed interminable. It finally occurred to her that the ankle tether permitted the comfort of the bed. She climbed on to it. And lay down -remembering! It was still warm from his body, and smelt excitingly of male. But Wendy was little comforted. Supposing, as part of her punishment, she was supplanted here by Denise Renton? There was a logic about it to bring fresh tears.
Sound of the jeep brought her tensely alert. There were no voices, but the footsteps were heavy. They had the ring of doom. Denise's hands were tied behind her back; a rope tether circled her neck. Garret set her on her feet and tied the end of the rope to a wall bracket. Denise had been crying, but sight of Wendy on the bed drove all else from her mind.
"You rotten little tramp!" Indignation vied with contempt. "What a filthy trick! A lousy set-up, making a fool of me! I suppose you're getting a big laugh - both of you."
"Don't notice any hilarity." Garret was obviously pleased with his capture. But his eyes, when they rested on the girl on the bed, were cold.
The runaway was busily twisting against the rope on her wrists. "Do you have to indulge in this primitive nonsense?" She demanded disgustedly. "Ropes and chains and bits of leather...!"
Garret decided to be amused. "What are you beefing about? You got free of 'em, didn't you?"
"Did I?" The exclamation was heavy with sarcasm. "It was that little - that little - on the bed there! Oh damn, I can't think of a word bad enough."
Wendy's colour deepened as she realised how, to a hostile eye, trivial and faked her ankle shackle might appear. It was a minimal bondage easily shed by any fingers with the key - perhaps her own. She did not like Denise, but she did not relish her hatred and contempt. She realised that Wendy Andrews was losing heavily all around. Looking from one accusing face to another, she mourned.
"I'm - I'm sorry. I've messed things up - all around... I can't expect either of you to ever forgive me."
She buried her face in Garret's pillow and wept.
Wendy lay, a small slender slip of femininity hiding, ostrich-like in her kidnapper's bed. She wanted strong and tender arms, or instead, oblivion. Her tears wet the softness where Garret had laid his head. She heard the sounds and protests of Denise Renton's return to bondage, and was unconcerned. Resolutely, she refused to think of tomorrow.
"Back on the floor, you!"
It was the quickest motion she had ever made, hurting her ankle. She sat, clutching the blanket and looking up at Garret in desperation.
"You little idiot!"
He looked down at her with a mixture of affection and exasperation. Irritably, he snatched the blanket from her grasp. "You don't deserve this." He said without emphasis. "And now for Pete's sake go to sleep." Ostentatiously, he hung his pants where she could never reach them. Without another word, he flung himself upon the bed.
Breakfast was a catalyst between nightmare and normalcy. Chained at ankle and wrist, Wendy apprehensively dealt with the mundane; her thoughts vivid with impending punishment. But she and the man she served approached her delinquency by casual paths of Garret's choosing. He must surely be angry with her. But he gave no sign. Coffee and toast held a portentous silence at bay.
"Scared, Wendy?"
"Yes."
"That's a good honest statement." He approved. "And so you should be! If ever a girl asked for a thrashing...!" He cocked a quizzical eye. "Why the devil did you do it?"
"I don't know." Desperately, she gulped coffee. "You're right, I'm an idiot. Thrash me!"
Garret waved an omnipotent hand. "All in good time. But you're not telling me the truth, y'know."
"I don't like Denise. I wanted to get rid of her."
He studied her with grave amusement. "You don't like her so you set her free. Then you came back and locked yourself up to wait for the flogging of the century... That right?"
"Like you said, I'm an idiot."
"Then you change your mind." He held up a warning hand. "Never mind the idiot business! What made you change your mind?"
Wendy twisted unhappily and gulped again. "I remembered something... She'd go to the police and they'd come and arrest you."
"And you don't want that?"
"No."
Garret sighed. "Why didn't you run away with her?"
The blush suffused Wendy like a visible confession. She sought vainly for evasions. With feminine impetuosity she flared: "You know perfectly well why I didn't run away and why I changed my mind! If you keep on hammering me with questions I'll start to cry."
"Heaven forbid!" He laughed enjoyable at her frustration. Then, soberly. "I have to be flattered... " His next words came less easily. "But nothing's changed...!"
"I know." Relieved by confession, the guilty girl felt absurdly cheerful. "I have to be whipped. Don't worry about it."
"Aren't you worrying about it?"
"I'm trying to think. And Garret... " She looked at him anxiously. "I won't hate you. I won't, I won't...!"
"For a chicken, you're something special."
Wendy wondered if the look in his eyes was affection. Her heart fluttered as she asked. "Please, Garret, whip me quickly and get it done with! I'm frightened silly."
"That's part of the penalty, sweetheart. You're going to have to think about that whipping for quite awhile before it happens."
She refilled both cups, made him a wry gesture of resignation, and said with more cheerfulness than she felt: "I suppose I asked for it. I expect I deserve - "
"There'll be diversions, chicken. Keep your mind of it!"
Wendy tensed. "You're going to punish me terribly, aren't you?"
"Yes."
The bare and lonely word was more terrible for her than threats. It was daunting. Sensitive to the emanation of her desolation, Garret casually dropped a bomb.
"Most every act is selfish." He mused thoughtfully. "I'm not a bit sure I'll enjoy what I'm going to do to you. The motives are - well, They're not fun, they're dead serious and I'm not the serious type." He grinned apologetically. "So what I'm going to do is unlock everything on you, give you your clothes and point the path. You can hit the main road in about two miles - about the time I've finished the coffee and given her Majesty her breakfast." The shocked silence was momentary. Wendy broke it with a wailing cry of anguish. "Oh N-O-O-O-O-no, no, no! Oh, Garret, don't do that!"
He affected astonishment. "Why not?"
"Because, oh don't you see! It's too awful a decision."
"I can't even see a decision. You just run. Walk if you prefer. I'm not going to chase you."
Mantled in pink, she femininely accused: "You're being mean. A choice like that's too cruel."
"You mean you'd sooner stay and take what's coming?"
"I didn't say that! I don't want to be whipped. But a man shouldn't put a girl in such a - a - "
"Dilemma?"
"I suppose that's the word." She gazed at him with artful feminine approach. "If you let Denise come with me I'll go."
"You told me you didn't like her?"
Wendy knew he was taking a masculine joy in her emotional turmoil. She was convinced he would keep his word. She could elect freedom or punishment and a continued captivity. Garret was testing her. She was being stripped of pretence.
"You make me say it in words." She retorted sulkily. "You know the answers but you make me spell them out. Sure I don't like her. That's the reason I won't leave her alone with you."
"You are scared I might be nice to her?"
"You might! She's a beautiful bitch - and you're a man."
"Suppose I tell you she'll sleep in my bed every night if you decide to stay, and you'll sleep on the floor beside us - and no blanket...?"
There were tears in Wendy's voice. But she said, manfully: "I don't believe you'd be that mean. But if it was what you wanted, I'd put up with it. I'd have to, wouldn't I?"
Garret shook his head, laughing at her vehemence. "You really are the eternal wife." He chuckled. "Up against you, there's no way a man's ever going to be anything but in the wrong."
Wendy sniffed. "Well, aren't you?"
He gestured in mock bafflement. "I've even forgotten what we were talking about."
"No you haven't! You were compelling me to decide between being terribly whipped and something else I don't know about, or leaving you alone with that - that - "
"She couldn't find a name for you either. You're a pair of felines. I put you both in the cage for a week!"
"I'd sooner be whipped."
"Dammit, I believe you would!" Garret grinned at her in pure enjoyment of her riled femaleness. "But what's the answer to the main question?"
"You know perfectly well what the answer is! You've known all along. You're just amusing herself with me. I'm in a good mind to cry."
"Don't use that as a threat too often, or I'll hand you a Kleenex." Garret admonished. "I take it the answer to my generous offer is a resounding negative?"
Wendy sniffed accusingly. "I suppose so."
"Well, aren't you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. You don't deserve me but I'll stay."
"Wifely put!" Garret gazed at his captive with tenderness. "But all the cuteness... and the blushes... and the whole female ploy... ! It won't exonerate you from a single stroke."
"It isn't a ploy! And I don't want to be let off a thing." Wendy looked up wistfully. "But I wouldn't mind being forgiven?"
"Let's just say you're understood, chicken."
They did not mention it again.
CHAPTER SIX - THE LONG STRETCH
Making the best of a bad job, Wendy discovered a tingling sensuality in standing passively to be bound and in instantly obeying an order. She was a female about to be punished by The Male. It was a situation possessing its own particular piquancy. She wondered what her punishment was named.
A bright spot in the prelude had been Denise. "Do what you like with her during breakfast." Garret had conceded airily. "Untie her if you want - and if you think you can get her tied again."
His point had been obvious. Despite dolour, Wendy had been obliged to stifle a giggle. A bitted damsel glared at her from the floor; a naked captive whose wrists were tied behind her back and whose ankles had been crossed and bound together. She had not even been allowed the comfort of a collar. Her neck was still encircled by harsh rope, tethered to the wall. Its skin was red and angry from the rub. Relieved of the bit gag, Denise's first statement had been pithy and to the point.
"I hate you!"
Wendy was tired of remonstrance and ingratitude. Her own impending punishment was an oppressive nag. Matter-of-factly, she said: "I'll untie your hands, if you'll promise to let me tie them again."
"Don't be ridiculous!"
"In that case I'll have to spoon feed you."
"I want nothing to do with you."
"In that case you don't want any breakfast." Wendy turned away.
"No. Stop!" The moneyed voice turned sulky. "I refuse to starve on account of a little - little - "
"Is bitch the word you're looking for?" Wendy asked helpfully.
"You should know. Untie me!"
"Promise you'll allow me to tie you again?"
"Oh alright!" Denise struggled irritably. "This has been a hell of a night - and you tucked safe in bed! Do I have to turn round?"
"Yes please! I'm handcuffed myself - in case you didn't notice?"
"You can't expect me to take that nonsense seriously. It's just for my benefit."
"If you say so." Wendy was tired of protestations. She struggled with Garret's knots, bending down to use her teeth.
"I'm not impressed." Denise declared ungratefully. "This rope and stuff is utterly bizarre."
"You have to admit it does stop us going home."
"It stops me." Denise sniffed disdainfully. "You obviously have no wish to leave."
Wendy sighed. She arranged the cup and plate for the prisoner's convenience, then sat herself against the opposite wall.
"Untie my feet please! Or must I do it myself?"
"You don't do it at all." Wendy said forcefully. "You don't eat with your feet. If you want to make a fuss I'll call Garret."
"Little Wendy tattle tale!" Denise attacked her breakfast viciously. "Just wait 'till I get back to Hillier! They're going to get an earful about sweet little Miss Andrews."
"You're not being a bit fair."
"Huh, that's a laugh!" Denise glowered. "How long does this nonsense go on? These ropes and handcuffs and things? Look at my ankles! The rope's cutting them in two."
Wendy looked. It was true. The veins showed purple. The captive feet were tied cruelly tight. In impulsive sympathy she offered: "O. K. then! I'll untie them if you give me your word to let me tie them after?"
"I've already given my word."
"That was your hands. Now I want the same promise about your feet... And you'd better think twice before you give it. You'll be entirely free. If you're going to be tempted to fight you'd better leave your feet as they are."
"Good grief, what a situation for a girl to be in!" Denise retorted fretfully. "I don't see how you can look me in the face. But alright, I promise. You can tie me up to your heart's content. I don't want to be mauled by lover boy."
Wendy tugged at knots, wondering if Garret would be angry if he knew. She was aware of absurdity. She, the jailer, was chained. But Denise, the captive, would be absolutely free. She watched, sympathetically, as her companion vouchsafed a grudging "Thanks" and busily massaged the deeply indented skin. There remained the rope tether on the captive neck. It was a small margin of safety in which to take comfort.
"What's on the agenda for today?" Denise enquired sulkily.
"I don't know about you. I'm going to be punished."
"Punished!" Denise looked her disbelief.
"Yes, I have to be punished because I set you free."
"You HAVE to! Oh Wendy -!"
"Sure! We've both warned, but we did it anyway. Now we get punished - at least, I do."
"It's - bizarre...!"
"Maybe, but it'll still hurt."
"Wendy, this is too much! You mean you'll actually submit... ! And what's he going to do to you?"
Wendy held up her handcuffed hands. "These say I submit." She said ruefully. "Garret's going to whip me."
"It's barbarity!" Denise suddenly modified her indignation. "Or is this another charade to bamboozle me?"
"Maybe you'll get to watch. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Certainly not!" Denise looked at her uncertainly. "You don't have to endure torture just to convince me of something." She swallowed awkwardly. "Look, you've just been kind to me. I'll do the same when I get out of this. I'll tell 'em you were coerced - or infatuated. Infatuated is about the truth of it, wouldn't you say...?"
Wendy shrugged. "If you like." She agreed wearily. "Now, if you're finished...?" She held up the rope suggestively. "I've got to go and be punished."
"You want to tie me again?" Denise grimaced. "Oh, don't be alarmed! I gave my word. Let's see... I cross my wrists behind, don't I?"
"Please - and don't be angry with me."
Denise sniffed disdainfully, but obligingly stood and with a pained air of martyrdom, crossed her wrists behind her back. Fumbling awkwardly with cuffed hands, Wendy tied them in the same manner Garret had done.
"I suppose you know that's terribly tight!"
"It's the way they were - "
"Alright, alright!" Denise scrambled to the floor and extended two bare feet. "Don't say I haven't acted decently about this. Getting tied up again is about the last thing I want."
"You've been sweet." Wendy admitted, busy with clinking handcuffs. "I'm sorry about the tying up. If it's any comfort, I'll probably be getting tied up myself in a minute." She tugged a knot and tucked it beneath a strand. "There, all ship shape!" She gathered the plate and cup. Instinctively feminine, she bent and lightly kissed the sulky lips of the girl she had rendered helpless. "Wish me luck!" She said with an insouciance she did not feel.
That had been the prelude.
"I'm supposing you'll be a good girl?" Garret's query was amused rhetoric.
She was trembling. But airily responded. "Scout's honour and all that? Oh sure, I'll be a meek little penitent."
"For a moment you'll be completely free!"
"And completely naked and completely unable to outrun you! Here's my hands. I gather I lose my handcuffs?"
Wendy watched him unlock the steel bands that had become so much a part of her. Then stood quiet, with thumping heart, while the leg irons were taken from her ankles. She stretched luxuriously.
"These are going to be best for you."
Garret was a man absorbed with a task. The girl about to be punished stood, nakedly, quivering and passive while the broad leather bands were fastened on her wrists. She supposed she was reprehensible, but his strong male fingers preparing for her punishment were thrillingly erotic. As each circlet prisoned her wrist she held it up to view the yard of pendent chain whose weight she must now bear.
"Up on the box, chicken!"
She could begin to guess her fate. But, nimbly, stepped high on the box Garret had thrust beneath the rafter. Using a short ladder, he was able to circle a wrist chain round the rafter and padlock it in the position he desired. Looking up, Wendy could see the nail driven half way into the wood to hold the links in place. When the ladder was moved and her other hand similarly stretched high and to the side, she knew she could never move he tethers. They would hold her arms outstretched to either side. Methodically, Garret took the ladder outside as though having no further need of it. The naked girl's breathing quickened. This was like walking the plank or mounting a scaffold... Something was about to happen - something nasty!
Garret laughed up at her. "Scared?"
"Horribly."
He took away the box.
In the first vivid impressions of agony and fear, Wendy saw her kidnapper dispose of the box as he had done the ladder. The act spoke volumes. She was locked in suspension to stay. Her shoulders screamed at her arms, stretched up and out. No matter how she strained, her toes could not find the floor. She suspected it was six inches beyond their utmost reach. She was hanging, free and naked, from her wrists.
"You should have taken my offer and run, chicken."
Garret was examining her pendent nudity with absorbed interest. He scanned her from frustrated toes to impotent fingers above the leather bands now tight within her flesh, holding her weight. His eyes were on a level with her own. He moved slowly round her taut helplessness; here and there using a finger to trace an interesting tension of muscle or tendon or test a tautened breast.
"You're very beautiful like that, Wendy."
"Thank you."
She was inordinately pleased by his compliment, and felt silly at her polite response. But the pleasure penetrated her pain. With the first shock of suspension past, she could spare some small attention for other things than agony. She imposed the same intent regard upon the architect of her penance as Garret bestowed on her. She beheld a man totally involved, completely happy; the quiet smile on his lips was the one habitually there. No trace of cruelty was visible.
Wendy moaned, a small gasping of stress, bringing a flicker of animation to the watching eyes. "Making you tick too?" It was a question not a statement.
How could it make her tick? It was awful! A nagging strain such as her nakedness had never known. She longed to tell him how terrible it was, but the words would not come. Garret was so certain of the rightness of her plight. Wendy moaned again, nostrils flared, and repeated over and over: "I don't know - Oh Garret, I don't know... ! Oh Garret...!"
He kissed her and went into the other room.
Wendy supposed it was torture. But, then, they hung weights on a girl's feet. Hers were free. She could kick and twist. But it hurt too much. She soon discovered it best to hang very still in the cruelest exposure of her captivity. She was vulnerable everywhere.
There came sounds.
"I wish you'd stop this nonsense. Get my ransom and let me go!"
Denise Renton came into view, articulate and aggrieved. She was carried by a grinning Garret who positioned her upon bound feet.
"Stand still!"
"D'you expect me to walk with my feet tied?"
"I expect you to fall on your face if you aren't careful."
Wendy watched their kidnapper untie her careful knots from her fellow captive's hands. Watched while Garret loosed the rope from the chafed neck and fastened it around Denise's right wrist. He threw the other end over the familiar rafter and drew it tight, knotting it safely out of reach. Hen then loosed the Renton ankles and stepped back to survey his second prisoner.
"What the devil?" Denise surveyed her predicament with surprised indignation. She was standing on her toes with one arm stretched high. Two strands of rope around her wrist imposed a complete authority. She motioned with her free left hand as though wondering what to do with it. She glared at the omnescent Male. "I suppose this is your idea of a joke."
"Punishment."
"But I haven't done anything!"
"You tried to escape. Escaping is forbidden."
"Oh, for Pete's sake! Who d'you think you are? Let me down!"
"Perhaps tomorrow." Garret was politely casual.
"Good grief. I couldn't stand this for an hour, let alone all night! I'm all - all - wracked out of shape!"
"Your shape is exquisite. Almost as good as Wendy's."
"That's not what I meant. Look, you shouldn't do this to us! It will just mean more years in the pen after they catch you."
"But in the meantime think how you benefit!"
"Garret, I'll - I'll -crawl, be humble - Oh damn!"
Garret had gone.
"Does that hurt much?" Denise was curious rather than sympathetic.
"About six times as much as yours." Wendy told her bitterly.
"Can't you wiggle and get loose?"
"Denise, don't be silly!"
"You could try, couldn't you?"
"So could you. Why don't you?"
"It hurts something awful. The rotten so-and-so's tied me with rope. But you've got nice broad straps." Denise was determined to be aggrieved.
"And I've got both feet off the floor too!" Wendy pointed out mournfully.
"And I'm standing on my toes... Oh damn, this is too - too... ! He fixed me like this just to make me look silly."
Wendy spared a sideways glance round a tractioned arm. "You don't look silly." She chided. "You're a very beautiful girl. You just look - well - sort of pathetic."
"I don't want to look pathetic!"
"I don't want to look the way I am either."
"You always look lovely. You've got a gift for it. Look, Wendy, I've got a free arm - I wonder -?"
Wendy watched without hope. Garret would be sure to know what he was doing. And yet... ? Her pulse quickened as her companion in captivity lifted herself painfully by her bound wrist, straining the free fingers to reach a knot. For a moment they groped. Then their owner relapsed, sobbing. The unbound arm hung limp and impotent again.
"The bastard! The lousy S. O. B.!" Denise's voice broke under the stress of tears and frustration. "Oh dammit that hurt! And I can't, I can't reach a knot - no way!"
"I can't do anything either." Wendy consoled. "I guess it's best to just keep still."
"I can't keep still. My toes get so tired - I'm so mad I want to scream."
"Go ahead, Denise. I'll scream too."
"He'll just laugh. It's what he wants. I say, Wendy, what's with that guy? I don't believe he's doing a thing about ransom?"
The same thought had crossed Wendy's mind. But she had no wish to voice it. "I don't know." She said listlessly. "I don't know any more than you. I only know I wish I had my feet on the floor."
"Well, you asked for it," said Denise with somewhat less than her usual acerbity. "If the spot you're in spells being in love, I never want to know." Anxiously, she added: "He's not going to leave us here all day and all night too, is he?"
"I hope not. I've got to be whipped after this."
For a moment Denise Renton forgot her own travail. She surveyed the outstretched nudity of the suspended girl with shocked regard. Her voice was awed: "Like that? All stretched and naked - whipped?"
"Of course! He's done it to both of us before - Or have you forgotten?"
"Gosh no! But we at least had our toes on the floor and could move a bit. You - you - you look so helpless. Hanging there - as though you're crucified!"
"I'm not enjoying it. The way you seemed to think."
"Well - Oh damn, I don't know what to think about - Wendy, it's going to hurt twice as bad - stretched like that -!"
"Probably."
Denise pondered. Then turned stricken eyes to her companion. "Wendy! What's to stop him whipping me too?"
"Nothing."
"Well? Is he going to? Did he say anything?"
"He doesn't confide in me. Just don't think about it."
"Wendy, has it occurred to you -?" Denise's voice was genuinely troubled. "Has it struck you - I mean... This guy isn't ordinary. Suppose he doesn't want ransom at all. Suppose he just wants - us!"
"I've thought about it." Wendy admitted. "But he could have picked up girls who nobody would have bothered about much. Not the way they're going to bother about you. You're money."
"Suppose he prefers quality. You and I aren't exactly homely." Denise wrinkled her nose. "Could be there's an extra charge for him in a couple of Hillier girls... " She twisted unhappily against her leashed hand. "Wendy... ? Has he - ? I mean, have you... ? Oh damn, has he done that beastly thing to you?"
Typical Renton! To Denise, men were instruments of social advantage. Wendy managed a small grin and admitted forthrightly: "Yes he has."
"And you liked it?" The words dripped distaste.
"It was gorgeous - all rainbows."
"Ugh! That's why you're so damn happy. You're nothing but a - a - a little - "
"No I'm not! You'd love it too."
"Disgusting!" The Hillier maiden grimaced. "But I'm safe enough. All he wants to do with me is hurt and humiliate. The guy's a sadist."
"He's not!" Wendy was indignant.
"Alright then! A cleverly copulating sadist."
"He's not a sadist at all - "
"Then why are we hung up naked like this?"
"We're being punished."
"Horseradish! He adores seeing us suffer."
"That's not true either." Wendy saw a yawning chasm of doubt she had no wish to explore. Loyally she clutched at a comfort sensed rather than seen. "Sure he gets a bang out of - what he does to us. But it's not the way you think. I think girls tied and chained - or the way we are right now... I think we have some sort of aesthetic appeal. Maybe sensual is the word instead of sexual. But Garret's not a sadist. I'm sure he's not... " Except from a disdainful snort from Denise, the two girls hung in silence and absorbed their pain. It was a strange punishment. Wendy wondered if her fortitude would survive the hours. Wondered, too, if hanging thus by her wrists would have been more bearable without the shrinking knowledge of the whip to come. To be whipped as she now was... ! It was unthinkable. But it was going to happen.
Garret returned in the early evening. He surveyed his punished maidens with critical satisfaction. They were obviously exhausted; their weariness exuding a strange beauty all its own. They gazed back at him with wide appealing eyes. Without a word, he got water and held it to their lips. They drank avidly but fearfully. The small kindness might mean a prolongation of their misery.
"No ransom." He informed blithely. "Sorry! Bit of a disappointment, I expect."
He gave them not time to be forlorn. With decisive motions he freed Denise and carried her to his bedroom. Alert with suspicion, Wendy heard the click of handcuffs. When he returned to her, Garret was grinning, amused and pleased with himself.
"Ready for your whipping?"
"Yes."
She said it bravely but every particle of her being screamed protest. She gasped as his fingers traced the circles of her breasts.
"These get it too, y'know." His eyes were very close.
"Of course." She managed only a husky whisper.
The hand slid down past her navel, brushed her pubic hair and cupped her sex. "I'll whip this too. I'll tie your legs apart... " Wendy gazed back at him in wide eyed desolation. "If - if - If that's what you want, Garret."
He kissed her lips, brutally and demandingly. Suspended, she could do nothing. Garret grasped her nakedness and drew it close, moulding its pliancy against himself. Wendy kissed as avidly as she had drunk.
The box beneath her feet was an infinite blessedness. Wendy stood on it, panting, limp against the tug of the chains. Released, she would have fallen, but Garret's arms scooped her up and deposited her on the chair. She moaned gently in the sweet agony of freedom, and watched without caring as her leather wristlets were closely linked and her ankles similarly joined. Such bondage did not hurt - If it did not hurt it did not matter...
Garret picked her up and carried her from the house and along a too familiar path. Realisation broke her silence.
"Garret... where?"
"Can't you guess, chicken?"
"Not the cage? Oh Garret...!"
"Sure. Why not?"
"Aren't you going to whip me?"
"Not right now. You had a rough day."
"But you're still going to?"
"Oh, of course! Wouldn't be right not to - would it?" His tone was lightly bantering.
"I earned it." She admitted ruefully. "Anyway, thanks for the reprieve."
It was nice being carried in the strong male arms. Garret always made her feel tiny and helpless and naked - but immensely female! She did not care about being chained; it had become her natural state. But Wendy was nagged by a feminine malaise. "What are you going to do with Denise?" She asked with artificial diffidence.
"Her Majesty's chained to my bed right now." Garret affected an equal unconcern. "May as well leave her there. Sort of handy... "
"All night?" Wendy could have kicked herself for asking.
"O sure... She might be half human by the morning."
"You mean - right in the bed?"
"Uhuh. She can sleep on the floor tomorrow. Can't be giving her ideas above her station."
"And me out in the cage?"
"Mmmmmm, saves us getting in each other's way."
Garret's cheerfulness was infuriating. Loading her voice with reproach, Wendy accused: "You're being mean to me."
"Part of your punishment, chicken."
"I don't want her alone in there with you!"
"Your jealousy is showing, chicken."
Wendy pouted up at the amused male features. "Please, don't put me in the cage, Garret! If I have to be punished some more I'd sooner be whipped."
"You're going to be whipped, sweetheart. There's one on the books. Can't be cutting up that pretty pelt of yours too badly."
"Well, do something else to me I won't like. You thought of something today. That was a beast."
"Wendy, my sweet, you're a masochist. Pop into your nice cage now and be thankful I'm so kind. It's not every kidnapper - "
"Garret, you're teasing. Must I really get in that damn cage?"
"Yes."
"Make love to me first!"
"That's a reward not a punishment."
"You're going to do it to her instead of me -!"
"Wendy!!"
Flushed and angrily she checked her outburst. There had been menace in his exclamation. She stood, quivering, while he fumbled with a key and the padlock. She was, after all, only a girl - kidnapped! Subject to the whimseys and lusts of a too good looking male she scarcely knew. She looked down at her wristlets and anklets, joined by chain... She had no will. She was the marketable property of the man holding open the small barred door.
"Into your cage, chicken, Pronto!"
Wendy shrugged. Angry and hurt and hating everything, she wriggled her way into the familiar prison. Kneeling to watch her jailer lock her in, reproaching him with hurt eyes.
"Any messages for her Royal Highness?" He cocked a laughing eye.
"Only that I hope she gets pregnant."
"My, you are put out, chicken."
"So would you be if you were locked in here!" Behind the bars she could be petulant. She had nothing to lose. "How long are you going to keep me here?"
"Your sentence is indeterminate, chicken."
"I'm not your chicken!" Wendy clinked her links sulkily. "I could have been but you've gone and spoiled it."
Garret's voice was cheerful but his words were not. "Think a few days in there without food would improve your temper, sweetheart?"
She tensed, suddenly appalled by her dependence on this stranger. Garret could do what he liked with her. Naked and chained, she had no single weapon with which to fight back. She peered up at him despondently, humbly acknowledging his mastery. "O. K. I'll shut up. But after you've gone I'll cry."
"You probably will." He nodded brightly. "Girls are lucky that way - wonderful things, tears." He winked lewdly. "I may drop around tomorrow if I'm not too exhausted."
Watching him walk away, the tears came easily.
Only one thing had changed. There was nothing to read. Evidently her punishment did not include diversions. But the bananas were there and the two pails. Having exhausted the potential of her prison, the chained and naked girl lay down and tried to sleep. She had learned that sleep was a captive's best friend. But sleep would not come. Her shoulders ached from her day's punishment and her mind was filled with visions of an enraptured Denise writhing in an unfamiliar ecstasy... !
Garret did not come! The following day dragged itself interminably into darkness without him. By evening, the captive girl had lost all shame and abandoned all pretence. The smallest sound, the tiniest hope, brought her kneeling to the bars, clutching them witch chained hands and pressing her cheek against the cool metal. Had he not made an appearance on the morning of her second day in the cage Wendy would have dissolved in panic.
He sauntered blithely down the path, carrying the pail of water. Her anxious clutching of the bars must have touched him. Sympathetically he bantered: "Little chicken miss her wicked kidnapper?"
"Oh Garret, don't ever leave me like that again! Oh please!"
"That bad?" Again his voice was interestedly clinical.
"It's too awful... ! I'll go all to pieces! Garret - Oh gosh, it's good to see you!"
"What's so bad about the cage, chicken? You're comfortable."
"It's being alone, and out here in the woods, and there's nothing to do but think, and you took the books away...!" She looked up pleadingly. "And it's the not knowing... "
"Not knowing what?"
"The things you're doing. What may have happened - " He laughed at what she could not voice. "You're wondering if I'm giving Her Majesty a good time in bed."
"Well, are you?"
"That's no concern of a chicken in a cage."
"Yes it is!"
"How about I cut me a nice willow switch?"
"Yes please!" Wendy brightened perceptibly. "You'd have to let me out of here to use it."
His intent look had returned. "You really mean that, don't you?" He mused thoughtfully. "Look, it can't be that bad in there, it's something else?"
"I want you to hold me."
Garret bent and kissed the ready lips pursed at him through the bars. "You're very sweet." He said softly.
"Let me out -just for a little while!" She coaxed.
"What good would it do?"
"Well, for one thing, I could stand up. I can't in here." Her gaze through the bars was infinitely wistful. "It would feel so good just to be with you - to be able to touch?"
"Sorry, chicken." He shook his head in make believe regret.
"You said you'd cut a switch... " Wendy was desperate. "Look Garret, if that's the only way you'll let me out, please cut one!"
"You're asking for a whipping, sweetheart? Honest?"
"Yes I am. That's how tired I am of this cage!"
"But you're going to be in there a long while yet!"
"I guessed that." She admitted miserably. "That's why I'm asking for this break - Please, Garret?"
He shook his head sadly; his regret seemingly sincere. "I'm not going to let you out." He said firmly. "I've made up my mind you'll stay in there awhile, and that's the end of it." He grinned sheepishly. "Besides, if I let you out I'd feel a real bastard making you get backing. That part would be bad for you too - you'd be hoping - " The cage had her and would keep her! Wendy knew it! She sighed in defeat, making her dolour louder enough for him to hear. "Then... please? Not so long between visits?"
"O. K. that's a deal." He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Want me to bring Her Royal Highness next trip?"
"No!" Her denial was explosive.
"Could pop her in there with you for awhile? Break the monotony? The two of you could compare notes on my performance in bed?"
"Garret - don't! Please...!"
He grinned at a mental vision of his own. "Got to admit I'm tempted. I don't have to put her in there with you. I could cuff her with one wrist to the bars?"
"We'd both hate it. But me the most."
"That's what makes it so good. The two of you being snooty to each other." He sobered slightly. "Supposing I do put the two of you in there for a long, long while, would any Lesbian instinct surface?"
"Not with me there wouldn't!" Wendy flashed. Then, slowly: "Maybe with Denise... ? I'm sure she thinks she's far too good to waste of men."
"How about we find out?"
"No! Don't make me! Garret please... ? I don't want a girl. I want you!"
He stood and looked down at her pensively. "I'm the luckiest kidnapper - " He said slowly.
"Why don't you use your luck?"
"Pure exhaustion, chicken." He shrugged. "I'm sorry too."
Garret knelt so they could kiss. Then went and left her in the cage. Wendy kissed him passionately, not knowing what to believe.
The day was a sample of her time in the cage.
There were many, many days.
CHAPTER SEVEN - BLONDE BONDAGE
Drugged by sleep, Wendy settled back comfortably, not wishing to wake. The words of the dream had been real enough to disturb. Now they came again. A woman's voice: "The son of a so-and-so! He sure can pick 'em!" The speaker sounded both amused and pleased.
Wendy sat erect, blinking. Conscious of feminine eyes, she raised chained hands to tidy her hair.
"Naked, chained and caged! The whole schemozz! Honey, you look damn sweet in there."
Thirty. Stylish. Blonde. A good figure still supple and lithe. A business type; the features wise rather than hard. Their owner was looking at the cage and its occupant with an all too obvious enjoyment.
"You're in there because you enjoy it, or did her use force?" The interest was real. It was also coloured by laughter.
"I don't want to be in here." Wendy said stiffly.
"But you're not sure if you want to be let out either, are you? Let out by me, that is?"
It was a shrewd probe. Wendy flushed pink at this reading of her thoughts. She was coping with shock. "Of course I want to be let out!" She retorted indignantly. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Never can tell, honey, there's some - "
"If you'd ever been locked in a cage you'd know -!"
The blond laughter was pleasant and inoffensive. "Honey, would it shock you much to know I've probably spent more time in that same cage than you have - and every bit as naked?"
The girl in the cage registered several emotions. "Don't keep calling me honey!" She requested irritably. "My name's Wendy Andrews. And I don't believe anyone's been inside this cage except me. I certainly don't think you have. You're altogether too - too -"
"I am, aren't I?" The visitor chuckled. "I'll take it as a compliment. And that lovely leather work on your wrists and ankles... ! Made to measure. Must be tight and snug! I've got mine at home in a cedarwood box." The blue eyes became dreamy. "I take 'em out sometimes and wear 'em for an hour. Makes me horny."
"I think you're teasing me." Wendy said politely. "I feel silly and naked in here with you laughing at me. Is there any chance you could get me out of this cage?"
For answer, quick fingers delved into a capacious handbag and came up with a large ring on which there were a surprising number of keys. "Never visit the shanty without 'em." Their owner said absently, busily sorting. "Oh, and by the way, my name's Heather Tillson. I've been married a few times, but at the moment; I'm sort of off men... Amusing bastards but a pain in the - Ah- ha! Betcha' this is the one!"
It was the one! To Wendy it seemed magic - or a trick! But the little door swung open invitingly. Her heart was racing.
"Need a hand, dear?"
"Thanks, no I can manage! I've had to."
Heaven! The released captive stood as tall as she could. It felt good. Heather Tillson beamed. "I know the feeling." She confided. "Almost makes the rest worth while." She placed a gentle hand on a bare arm. "Look, dear, if there's nothing you want in the cage I think we ought to be going. If that bastard catches us he's capable of tossing me back in there with you."
"But I'm chained!"
"Don't make a production out of it, Wendy Andrews. You don't need your hands, and there's enough linkage between your ankles so's you can hobble. I'll go slowly."
"But where are we going?" In chains, Wendy knew herself helpless and ineffectual. The cage suddenly seemed a safe refuge.
"To the car, silly. It's at the end of this path up by the shanty. It's as far as I could get it."
"But he'll catch us!"
"If we don't rustle our butts he may. He wasn't there when I was. Don't look so pathetic. I can't get those chains off without a spanner, and I haven't got one."
It was true! Her constraints had no locks; only the screw link tightened beyond the strength of fingers. In frustrated panic the naked escapee drove her feet against their hobbles in as swift a mincing gait as she could contrive. The path seemed endless. But the feminine hand beneath her elbow was comforting. It was a strong hand, reassuring. And she had walked in chains before...
The car was inexpensive. "Slide in backwards, Wendy, and pull your feet in after... " The interior was redolent with money. The seat soft and sensuous on bare skin. As its owner swung it to head back down the dirt road Wendy looked in longing at the shanty. It seemed more dilapidated and forlorn than ever. No sign of life. The jeep was gone. The lonely scene sparked a tender nostalgia so that chained hands rose to brush tears from a girl's eyes...
"I know how it is, Wendy." Once more the soft fingers brushed the captive arm. "He really gets to you. I've shed a few tears myself around this place."
The motor sang its own song of freedom. The car surged forward.
It was exciting. Even for a chained and naked girl huddled beneath a rug it was exciting. The paved road, the highway, streets and houses - all were remarkable. It was as though she had been captive for years. When landmarks were recognizable, Wendy ventured: "This isn't the way to the address I gave. My parents live away off - "
"We can't decant you on their doorstep naked and in chains, dear." Heather Tillson bubbled laughter at the thought. "It would shock them out of their socks. We'll go to my place first, and do some phoning."
"And get a spanner?"
"I've got one of those too. Don't worry!"
In the company of Heather Tillson it was easy not to worry. Heather exuded competence and an easy good humour. The captive beneath the rug found thoughts of the shanty and of Garret and Denise receding with the miles. If only Garret had not chained her alone in the cage! If only Denise had been left safe at Hillier! But these were dreams. The reality of the cage and the lonely days had diminished something precious. Wendy diverted her speculations to what might be most politic to tell her mother.
It was a canyon road in Beverly Hills; a sharp driveway leading to the house completely hidden by the trees. It was a thing of beauty. The electric eye door of the garage enfolded them in privacy.
"But I can't go in like this!" Wendy dropped the rug and motioned with linked hands in dismay.
"Yes you can, dear. There's only Ingrid, and Ingrid can't be shocked." The more than maternal hand patted a bare shoulder.
Ingrid was European. Dark as her mistress was fair. She absorbed the shock of a chained and naked guest without a quiver.
"Give the poor child a quick clean, Ingrid! She's been in a cage. Then bring her to the lounge! We'll have a drink!" Heather Tillson waved a negligent hand and disappeared.
The thing foremost in Wendy's mind was a spanner, but the Tillson m�nage seemed oblivious to such a need. She was startled to be lifted bodily into the steaming perfumed bath by hands and arms of a strength to make her feel a child.
"Please to relax! I will do the wash."
"But, Ingrid, I'm all chained -!"
"It does not matter, Miss. Just to enjoy -"
"But all I need is a spanner to get out of these things!"
"Later, Miss. Mrs. Tillson gave nor orders."
"But -!"
Thee water and the scents and the shooting hands defeated her. Wendy relaxed. It did not matter. The leather would get wet but could be taken from her later as well as now. She gave herself to sensuous enjoyment of something long denied. Ingrid's voice was an amused evocation of sundry movies... German perhaps, or Swiss!
"Madam has been held captive?"
"Gosh, have I ever!" Wendy was prepared to be expansive. "When I get rid of these things fixed on me I'm going to do a ballerina dance."
Ingrid sighed without dolour. "To be made captive is often the fate of girls - girls who have the quality -" Wendy did not bother to ask what the 'quality' was. She studied the intent features absorbed in the task of rendering her clean and smelling nice. Ingrid was beautiful. Her dress and her hair were purposely austere, but the loveliness peeped through. The rescued prisoner sighed sensuously and surrendered to the magic of wise hands.
It was the same seated before the huge mirror. Her washed hair was dried and moulded by fingers long practised in an ancient art.
"Madam is a very beautiful young woman."
"Why, thank you!" Wendy flushed with pleasure. From Ingrid, the tribute seemed doubly potent.
"I think we are now ready for the lounge, Miss." A meticulous finger flicked a final touch.
"You're wonderful, Ingrid! What should I wear?"
"Madam wishes clothes?"
"Well, shouldn't I - I mean -?"
"Madam is exquisite as she is."
"Yes I know -." Wendy bit her lip. "I - I didn't mean it like that. But, Ingrid, I ought to wear something...?"
It was a silken loveliness. Elastic above her breasts, narrow at her waist. It fell only long enough to cover the pubic triangle.
"Since Madam wishes... " Ingrid injected a faint note of disapproval.
But Heather Tillson was enraptured. "Ingrid's a wonder - and so are you, dear. I can't tell you how pleased I am. Here, drink this!"
Wendy was uncertain of the drink. It glowed and irradiated beams of sunlight. She allowed herself to be ensconced at one end of a huge chesterfield while her rescuer lounged at the other.
"Here's to damsels in distress!" Said Heather brightly.
They drank their toast, and then another. The mundane receded but a nag remained. "I'm still chained up, y'know." Wendy said pointedly.
"I know!" Heather waved the item aside with an airy hand. "We'll deal with that in a minute."
"And I absolutely must call my parents."
"That too." Keen blue eyes twinkled above the cocktail glass. "What cock and bull story are you going to tell 'em?"
"I'm not sure... I've been wondering... "
"I bet you have!" Heather's amusement overflowed. "I suppose you're madly in love with Garret?"
"I don't know what I am!" Wendy's eyes pleaded. "I just wish - "
"Don't suppose a team of horses would drag you to the police?"
"No! Oh, no... ! I wouldn't dream - "
"Neither did I, Wendy - If that's any comfort." Heather sipped thoughtfully. "He really is a bastard though. Plays with fire and never gets burned, damn him!" The shrewd eyes laughed at the younger girl's dilemma. "But in that cage you weren't a damn bit sure you wanted to be rescued... Am I right?"
"Y - e - s." The admission was grudging. "But, Mrs. Tillson, who is he? What does he do?"
"He kidnaps girls."
"W-e-l-l-, y-e-s-. But surely he DOES something?"
"Didn't he tell you?"
"Not a thing."
"I'm not going to either. Not now, anyway. Maybe another time. And drop the Missis! Call me Heather!"
"Heather, can I have another drink - whatever it is... ? And do you like the slip Ingrid found for me? I think it's gorgeous."
"Help yourself, dear! It's in the shaker. And, yes, I like that bit of silk. You do things for it... I may let you wear it sometimes."
Wendy was conscious of euphoria, but she clinked her way to and from the bar with short graceful steps her hostess watched with approval. She was conscious, too, of something else. Something the other woman had said. Faintly bemused, she asked: "You mean you'll lend it to me? Or I can wear it if I visit?" She giggled. "It doesn't properly cover my pussy."
"It's not supposed to."
Wendy picked up a vibration, a current of excitation. She sipped and smiled. "It's lovely just between us. I wouldn't want anyone else... ! It's much naughtier than being naked."
"Not even Garret?"
Wendy giggled at an entrancing vision. "W-e-l-l, maybe."
"I suppose you've guessed I'm not going to let you go?"
The cool assured statement was outrageous enough to seem rational. It only partly nullified the drinks. Allowing its import to sink in, the chained girl was forced to admit, to herself, that such a possibility had indeed crossed her mind. She took a sizable swallow, then held up her wristlets. "You mean, you won't take these off?"
"That's right, Wendy." Heather smiled warmly. "Oh, I may take those things off you, but if I do I'll replace them with something else."
The girl in the silk slip knew she should be concerned, frightened, angry. She suspected the cocktails were shock absorbers... and anyway, who could be frightened of Heather Tillson... ? She was too - too - !
"You mean you're going to tease me? Keep me chained up... Maybe overnight?"
"You know perfectly well I'm going to keep you permanently. You'll make an absolutely delightful pet."
Against the assurance of the casually uttered words, the cocktail tide ebbed. Wendy parted with the rainbows reluctantly. "Suppose I don't want to be a pet?" She asked dolefully.
"Don't be silly, dear! You know you want to."
Panic is a part of captivity. It surfaced now. "I don't! I don't!" Wendy looked around desperately. She gulped the last of her drink and let the glass fall to the cushions. She stood up, tearing impotently at her bonds. "Get these damn things off me, you've no right...!" Her wail of anguish was half laughter. "Oh gosh, not again! Don't tell me...?"
"Yes, dear."
While the chained girl stood in flushed frustration, Heather Tillson touched a bell. To Ingrid, she said: "The dear child wants her chains off."
The dear child wondered about the spanner. It appeared as if by magic. Feeling obstreperous and silly she stood meekly to be released. When the servant stood politely back, the leather and link shackles dangling from one hand, she vouchsafed a sheepish: "Thank you... Sorry I got excited."
"Oh, this is wonderful! It's the first time in days and days... " They watched, sharing her joy, as she danced round the room, flinging wide her arms, kicking in the air. When she stood before them, glowing and breathless, Heather Tillson's words were another small earthquake.
"Cross her wrists and tie them behind her back, Ingrid, please!"
"No. Oh, no...!" Wendy's denial was vehement. She stepped back, defiant and defensive. "I won't be tied up! I won't! I won't!"
"Just a demonstration, dear." Heather purred. "It will sort of clear the air for you."
The demonstration was impressive. While it happened to her, Wendy harboured no doubts of its effectiveness. Resisting Ingrid was like taking on a troupe of Karate Black Belts. She was turned, twisted and flattened on the floor in a space of seconds. A knee was weightily indented into her back and her flailing arms gathered as sheaves at harvest time. Her wrists were crossed and held while a cord bit and cunningly entwined. The knot was almost audible as a knell of doom.
"Thank you, Madam!"
It was as though Ingrid was politely grateful for favours conferred. She stood back, smiling her small differential smile. She was not even breathing fast. The newly bound maiden on the rug looked up with deep respect and felt the emotions of a small child.
"May as well tie her ankles while you're at it, Ingrid." Heather contrived the order to sound utterly mundane.
"Madam wishes to struggle perhaps...?"
Madam did not wish to struggle. Madam already felt foolish enough. With a wry grimace, Wendy sat up and extended two long bare legs. She watched them tightly tied, and made no complaint at the tightness of the cords.
"Thank you, Ingrid. You can take her shackles. I'll call if we need you."
Alone, there was a confrontation of feminine eyes. One pair amused, the other uncertain. Wendy tugged resentfully at her bound wrists and tried, unsuccessfully, to shake her bit of silk down to cover her black triangle.
"You look awfully silly, dear, sitting there like that." Heather said kindly. "Wiggle yourself back on the chesterfield."
"I can't!"
"Yes you can. And don't be sulky!"
Wendy could, and Wendy did. It took a lot of wriggling so that she felt untidy and absurd, but she achieved her former position. This time, however, she had to lean back against bound arms and abandon her silk slip to a revealing disarray. There had been a quality in the older girl's voice with which she was not prepared to trifle.
"How about another drink, Darling? I expect you could use one?" Heather's voice was affectionate and coaxing. The word 'Darling' was obviously a peace offering. But Wendy was still ruffled.
"How on earth can I hold a drink when I'm trussed up like a turkey?" She asked vexatiously.
"Would you like to be beaten a little, dear? A dozen strokes are so beneficial to hurt dignity?" Heather Tillson's outrageous query was warmly solicitous.
"Oh, not that too!" Wendy's outburst was so spontaneous and so much a clich� the both laughed. "No thanks, I don't want to be whipped. I'll try and be polite."
She vouchsafed with only a faint petulance. "And, yes, I'd like a drink."
The cocktail was held to her lips while she gulped it all. Being bound like this with rope was a new sensation, quite different from chains. She remembered Denise. Denise had been tied like this the whole of one night. Wendy looked up at her new owner: "I don' want to get drunk - please? I've got to - well, I've got to find out where I'm at."
"You're tied up on my sofa."
"Yeah, I know. Gosh, I'm helpless! But what are you going to do with me?"
"Train you. I want a slave girl. Call yourself a Lady's Maid if it will salve your feelings."
"I want to go home."
"No you don't. You just think you have to say that. You girls all react much the same."
The captive's startled look evoked laughter. "You don't think you're the first, Darling... ? Do you?"
Wendy tossed her hair in bafflement. "I hadn't even thought - I mean, it's too crazy... ! Have you got a collection of girls like me?"
"I just enjoy you one at a time, Darling. I kept my last one seven months."
"Why did you let her go?"
"Her tongue got tired."
Wendy's outrage was such as to impregnate the silence to a point where they spontaneously laughed. Heather added: "I set her free a couple of days ago. That's why I went out to the shanty and stole you. I've been stealing Garret's girls for a long time now. Ever since he tired of keeping me in the cage and whipping my bottom."
"I don't believe it."
"If you can believe you're tied up on my sofa you can believe the rest." Heather smiled confidingly. "I'm not sure about Garret. He knows I raid his flock ever so often, but he doesn't complain. I suspect getting rid of surplus girls works for his convenience - if they've any animosity they transfer it to me. He's probably hoping to catch me poaching and pop me back in the cage. He'd love that, and it adds a bit of spice to the whole scene."
"But if he did catch you -?"
The older girl chuckled. "I've briefed Ingrid. She won't take any action if I disappear for a month. But after thirty days...!"
Wendy was groping. "You mean you WANT to be his prisoner?"
"Don't we all - dammit!"
"Why don't you just drive out there and ask him to lock you up? You could even put on your own handcuffs?"
"Wouldn't be the same, dear. You know it wouldn't. No spice, no anger, no fear, no striped skin - no nothin'."
"Don't tell me you like being whipped too!"
"If Garret does it. I howl like crazy while he whales me but the before and after is out of this world."
The captive on the couch tried to sort it out. Everything was crazy, deliciously upside down. She had a sudden vision of Hillier College and knew it a thing long past. A pair of burning wrists prompted her request: "You can untie me, Heather. I'll behave."
"Don't be silly, Darling!"
Was it silly? Wryly, Wendy pondered her new condition. "Well then, untie either my wrists or my ankles! With one or the other bound, I'm still helpless."
"Don't be importunate, dear! I hadn't intended to start whipping you so soon. But if you insist...!"
Wendy's denial was hasty. "I don't insist, Heather. I'm sorry."
"You look very sweet like that, and you're tight enough you can't get into trouble. Ingrid ties well, doesn't she, Darling?"
"She ties so it hurts and so I can't get loose."
"That's the way it should be." Heather smiled possessively. "You look very nice, and I've always thought a girl tied with rope feels a lot more loved and helpless than when she's chained. I'll keep you tied a lot. It will be good for you."
"Thank you."
"Was that sarcasm, Darling? I hope not?"
"I'm afraid it was." Wendy admitted, playing with fire. "It seemed so exactly right."
"Let's hope the five strokes I'm going to give you for it tomorrow will feel exactly right too, dear."
"Thank you again. No sarcasm! Just being polite."
"I'll let it pass, though I've got my doubts. Did Garret whip you much?"
"Not a lot." Wendy admitted. "But enough so I thought I'd die." Innocently, she told of her captivity.
"Mmmmmm, I think the guy must have liked you a bit." Heather adjudged musingly. "He whaled the tar out of me. I got beaten for everything in the book. He had me so I'd crawl and beg and be a doormat if he so much as picked up a whip - or that beast of a riding crop he uses on a girl's bottom. By the way, Darling, I have the same lovely instruments. I promise I'll use them on you a lot."
"But why?"
"To make you a hundred times more feminine, dear. I promise that too."
If Heather Tillson was an example, Wendy could believe the promise. The older girl radiated an intense femininity almost tangible. It was hard to envision her grovelling beneath a whip - and yet!
"But don't I have to do something bad first -?"
"You are sweet!" Impetuously, Heather came and kissed the lips willingly raised. She looked down deeply into the young eyes. "And so deliciously na�ve. Of course you don't have to do something bad! You can if you like but you don't have to." Heather's eyes twinkled. "But I'll admit you get punished a lot harder when you do."
"I don't want to be whipped at all."
"You adored it when Garret whipped you."
"That was Garret - And I'm ashamed of the way I was."
"Don't be! It's a girl thing. We can't help it." Heather resumed her seat. "You don't believe it's possible but I'll make you feel the same way."
"I know it isn't possible."
"Oh, and by the way, Darling. I'll demand instant obedience."
Wendy wriggled distressfully. She did not feel alone, but knew herself on deep and dangerous water. Heather Tillson was a Force. Gorgeous, but still a Force. "I'll be obedient." She grinned sheepishly. "I feel so silly saying this, but I'll do what you tell me... so long, as - I mean if you're not too - Oh alright!"
"That's a mixed up vow, honey dear." Heather laughed. "I suspect you're going to get your little bottom striped for sure."
The captive twisted against her tied wrists. Instinctively, she knew the feminine motions of revolt were more eloquent than words. She did not expect to get free. But surely Heather could pick up the feminine signal! "I still think I should go home." She declared forlornly.
"You can't run away, can you, dear?"
"No I can't!" The tied girl gazed at her captor wistfully. "But I think I'd better say something I don't want to." She tensed as for a shock. "You'd better understand it, Heather. I'm not a Lesbian."
Heather's laughter was infectious. "You silly little pussy cat. All girls are Lesbians."
"I don't believe that."
"You'd better believe it. It's true. I'll admit it's often a matter of chance. But the instinct's there in all of us."
Wendy continued to twist and tug. Her voice was scared. "Well, anyway, I don't want to be."
"Oh, for heaven's sake stop chafing your wrists! I get the message." The older girl was vastly amused by maiden innocence. "Look, Darling, I'm half in love with you, so I'll be terribly kind. You can have a lovely night's sleep all alone. Tomorrow we'll start your lessons. I'll turn you into the most gorgeous slave girl... There's just one thing though. To start you off right tomorrow morning I'll give you the hardest whipping you've ever had. After that, you'll find everything comes easily."
Wendy could not think of an answer.
CHAPTER EIGHT - WHIPPED
The room was daunting. Not that it was gloomy. It was bright and cheerful. But it contrived to blend a stark emptiness with furnishings which Wendy labelled in her mind as 'unkind'. Its intent was emphasised by the fact she was bent tautly over a trestle. Her ankles strapped to the base on one side and her wrists on the other. She could move but little, and that not effectively. In seeming derision, her silken slip was dragged up to her breast, leaving her bottom curved and bare in a frightening prominence. She was waiting to be whipped. Presumably on her bottom, but she realised that if her slip was torn away her bent back would be invitingly and conveniently exposed.
She had slept surprisingly well, even though she had been carried from the sofa to the bed and not untied. No doubt she had been exhausted from tension. Ingrid cared for her like a baby. Always solicitous, unfailingly polite. But the strong fingers had checked the knots before the door was locked. In the morning she had been fed, bathed and made immaculate for what Ingrid euphemistically referred to as her conditioning. She herself had used a harsher term.
"You mean I'm to be flogged until I agree to anything?"
"Not at all, Madam." Reproof hung heavy. "Your conditioning achieves a state of mind. Obedience follows."
"You mean, if half way through I promise to do anything you want, it doesn't stop?"
"That is correct, Miss. Your conditioning will run its course."
There had been more of the same. The captive suspected she was sometimes teased. Ingrid was, at all times, deferentially amused. It had let her to this room and the pedestal over which she was now bent and firmly strapped. She had not fought Ingrid - What was the use? Left alone, she had struggled to confirm helplessness. Now she waited in enforced passivity.
The fastened girl wished ardently Heather Tillson had been other than she was. At times between them there had been a tremendous warmth. But what else should she expect? A mature female would have little interest in a callow girl save for the one outrageous indecency she did not want to face. To be an obedient and loving slave girl had held a strange allure. If only her captor could have been satisfied with that! But perhaps the two went together. Wendy unhappily realised that perhaps they did. She had no idea how brave she would prove to be under the whip. Strapped tight as she now was, she did not feel brave at all. She was trembling.
"Oh, Darling if you could only see yourself!"
Heather was glowing and exquisite. She tilted the captive's chin so they might kiss. Her fingers played up and down her tight nudity.
"Terribly scared, Darling? Is it awful?"
The kiss had not stopped the trembling but had changed it. "Yes, it's awful." Wendy mourned yearningly. "Can I stop it any way? If I say something...?"
"No, Darling. Didn't Ingrid explain?"
"She explained. It's scaring me to death. Which of you is going to whip me?"
"Ingrid, Darling. This time. It's sort of ritualistic."
"She'll hurt me more than you would?"
"Mmmmmm, not necessarily. I can be shockingly cruel if I want to be. You'll find out."
"I'd still sooner it was you."
"That's because you think she's impersonal. That's the veneer. Ingrid's tremendously sensitive. You'll find that out too."
"Heather, how long are you going to keep me prisoner?"
Heather laughed and patted a cheek. "What a question at a time like this! You really are precious. I'll keep you until I tire of you. That means you could be my prisoner for life. Think of it, Darling... ! So many lovely times like this."
"It's not lovely for me."
"Yes it is. I know you're trembling. But it's not just from fear."
"I'm so helpless like this!"
"Of course you are, silly! Can't have you jiggling around. Oh, I almost forgot. Would you like to be gagged?"
"Good gosh, no!" Wendy's exclamation war fervent.
"Well, it's not as unkind as it sounds. Sometimes we make awful noises - and then we're ashamed. I always am. Can you imagine me howling for someone to stop beating me?"
"No I can't! Oh, Heather -!"
"Well I do! Let that be a comfort. Sure you don't want to be gagged?"
"Not unless you want me to be gagged." Wendy found herself inconsistently considerate of the gorgeous vibrant creature. "I mean - if I make a lot of horrible noise - it could be nasty for you... So if you want?"
She was kissed again and patted. "Gee, I'm glad I got you!" Heather's happiness was like a wave of perfume. "I won't gag you at the start, Darling. But maybe - ! Oh Ingrid, there you are! Our little Darling's all ready. Isn't she sweet?"
"I have become very fond of her, Madam. She is, as you say, precious. Do you wish me to use the riding crop on her bottom?"
"The thin black one. Yes, that's it! Moderately hard, Ingrid. But don't break her skin."
"A specific number, Madam?"
"Oh, about the usual, I suppose. Let's see hoe the little dear bears up."
They were talking about her! About Wendy Andrews! A poor frightened little girl, all strapped tight, nearly naked. Wendy Andrews was about to be whipped. She was being discussed as though it would not hurt at all.
"Her cheeks separately, Madam? Or straight across?"
"You'll have to give her some of both to get a proper coverage. I'll keep an eye open for bare spots."
"And her thighs?"
Wendy wanted to start screaming now! Were they talking like this to torture her? Some sort of refinement of cruelty! Her fists were clenched white, straining against the straps. Her eye was held in fascination by the tip of the crop flickering back and forth across the floor where she could see it. The slender evil so soon to cut her flesh!
"Yes, some on her thighs. But not too low down. Not down to her knees."
Wendy remembered the shanty and Garret. Had her whippings there been like this? They had not. But why? What was the difference? Pain was pain and fear was fear. But it was not the same - not the same - !
Her world was suddenly dissolved in agony.
Wendy did not scream. She did not want to scream.
But the pedestal creaked, sharing her travail.
"She marks exquisitely, Ingrid. I'm so pleased with her."
Again the whine and the fire. Wendy clenched her teeth. Screaming didn't help. A girl just thought it did.
"She's feeling it intensely. I can tell. I'd say you were hitting her about right, Ingrid. What a cherub!"
The thin rod snickered round her thighs. It was worse than she had dreamed. Ingrid was an artist in pain, etching upon the unmarked skin the scarlet lines of punishment. Wendy clenched her teeth harder and vented her venom against the straps. The pedestal protested the surge of the youthful muscles it was designed to hold. The crop sang a paean of purest joy.
"I think we could allow the sweetheart a rest after number ten, Ingrid."
Wendy tensed anew. After ten! She had hoped ten might be a magic number heralding the end. But her punishment was to go on beyond the number that was no longer magic at all but just another digit in a count. Without intent, she moaned in desolation.
"Ingrid, did you notice? The little darling picked that up. She was hoping we'd stop at ten."
"She is immensely sensitive, Madam. Delightful."
"Poor sweet child! The first conditioning is always so difficult for them. They enter it so full of hope."
Wendy had lost count. She did not want to count. Counting nourished false hope. The scalds continued. When they finally stopped she supposed she had received her ten. If someone had told her twenty, she would have believed.
"Such a brave darling child!" Heather's finger traced the burning ridges across the innocent bent cheeks. "Such responsive flesh! I'm so lucky."
"Perhaps a small brandy, Madam?"
"Why, of course. Thank you, Ingrid."
Heather Tillson pulled back the bent head as the maid held the glass to ready lips. It was an awkward gulping affair, but the glass was emptied. Wendy hoped they were being kind and not just wanting to conserve her strength. Her tummy burned to match her bottom.
"She is sweating healthily, Madam!"
"Yes. Look at her skin glisten. And her scent! Have you caught it? She's ending it out in waves."
When the whipping of her bottom resumed, it took three fresh strokes to tell Wendy she had changed. The whip had changed her. Urgently she gasped: "Oh stop, oh please stop! I have to say something."
The blows ceased. Wendy instinctively knew they guessed what she must say.
"I'll do it - that thing you wanted. You needn't whip me any more."
"What thing was that, Darling?"
She was being mocked. But that would be part of her punishment. She tried hard to specific. "I'll be a Lesbian for you, Heather. I promise."
"Do you know what that entails, dear?"
"Yes I know."
"Tell us!"
Wendy remembered the pound of flesh. Heather was as determined as Shylock. She tried hard to gush out the unutterable. "I have to make love to your - your - "
"Use the colloquialism, dear! Pussies are for little girls."
What did it matter? She hated the word, but had used it on sundry giggling occasions. She took a deep breath. "I have to use my lips and tongue to make love to your cunt, Heather. I promise I'll do it."
"Splendid! But will you enjoy doing it?"
"Yes. I will enjoy doing it."
"You may resume her whipping, Ingrid. Now the dear girl has passed the point of decision you will whip her slightly harder."
The blow was frightening. Wendy choked out a wailing plea. "No, oh please no! It's - it's - "
"It's for emphasis, Darling. Emphasis is so important in conditioning. You're doing marvellously."
Wendy continued to do marvellously until someone uttered the word "Twenty". She heard it through a haze of pain so great she feared to faint, even though she might welcome the oblivion. The riding crop ceased to cut at her. There was a silence in which her panting gasps seemed thunder.
"Poor little bottom! She's had her twenty, Darling. She looks gorgeous but she's had enough."
Relief was a flood of ecstasy. "Is - is - is it finished?" Her voice sounded small and lost.
"Your bottom's finished, Darling. Now all we have to whip is your back. Of course we'll use a proper whip, not that terrible crop."
Wendy embraced the eloquence of tears; great gasping sobs that told her disappointment all to well. To have suffered what she had, and now to start afresh with a whole new dimension of agony! It was too, too cruel! "Not my back! Oh please not my back - don't whip me any more! I've promised - I've promised...!"
"That's a beautiful whip, Ingrid. It hurts something fierce, but won't cut the sweetheart's skin. Maybe she'd like another brandy."
Wendy obediently drank, and was annoyed with herself for wanting it. She gulped lustily between sobs.
"I think you should whip her back longitudinally, Ingrid dear. It won't curl, and it will keep her breasts safe. Is there any way to get rid of that absurd piece of silk?"
"Only by unstrapping her, Madam. Though I could possibly pull it over her head and down her arms. It would look untidy."
"Let's look untidy then. It's rather a rather sweet little piece of nonsense."
Ingrid gripped the silk strategically, dragging it over the pert breasts, gathering hair and pulling... When she was done, the small silken treasure rested pathetically above the prisoner's strapped wrists.
"That's better. Oh Ingrid, look at that back! She's superb!"
"Her back is curved, Madam! The whip may hurt her more."
"That is the name of the game, Ingrid, y'know. Carry on!"
They whipped Wendy's back ten times. The tip of the lash snapped home upon her smooth shoulders; its base came close down to the wounded bottom. Ingrid varied angles so that no part of the lovely skin was ignored. The girl beneath the lash was certain this was worse than the way Garret had whipped her. The longitudinal impact enabled the thong to bite a greater contact with her bent back and curved flesh than when she was pendent from her wrists. Each stroke exacted from her a fortitude of silence she had not known she possessed. After the tenth had laced her shoulders flamingly, deft hands unbuckled the strap around her right wrist. Suddenly she was alone.
For moments, Wendy failed to grasp the import of what had been done. She was absorbed in pain and thankfulness. But then, in a fervid hunger to be free, she struggled with the other strap, wrenching it from its buckle, then standing erect and hurting more as her skin fought its weals. In her hand was the tiny sheath of silk. Absently, she dragged it over her head, wincing at the silken contact with her wounds. She stood thus for a long time, panting, her wondering fingers tracing proud flesh. Then she bent awkwardly to loose the straps prisoning her ankles. When she stepped away from the pedestal it was with a feeling of unreality. She was free, free, free... !
She walked round and round the room for the simple joy of movement. Escape was something absent from her mind. When she came, at last, to try the door, she found it locked.
It did not matter.
Wendy Andrews stretched out upon the floor, face down, and wept into the comfort of her own bare arms.
Soon she fell asleep.
In its way it was another cage. But this one was bigger. Three of its walls concrete, as was the ceiling and the floor. Only one end was barred. The bars enabled anyone in the passage to examine a prisoner locked within. As far as Wendy could see it was an exact replica of a penitentiary cell.
The cot was the only furnishing. Wendy lay face down on its thin hard mattress without covers and pondered her day. It had taken a lot of wriggling and twisting to achieve even a modicum of comfort. Having her hands tied behind her back and her ankles roped together was no help. On the other hand, her wounded back and bottom precluded any wish to lay on them. Since she had been allowed to sleep long after her whipping she did not, now, easily fall into slumber. Her mind roved in a strange excitation of what was almost disbelief.
"Handcuffs, Darling!" Heather had decided. "They'll look good on you, I know they will. And a collar on your neck - a collar does something for a girl, and it's sometimes useful. Stand still and be a good girl!"
Wendy was trying very hard to be a good girl. She discovered within herself an ardent wish to be good. She supposed being good meant being obedient. Her scorched back and bottom were a constant prompting to prudence. She offered her hands and watched them joined by shining chrome. She tilted her chin to enable Ingrid to fit the black band of the collar round her neck. The click of its padlock was eloquent of her new condition.
"The effect is charming, Madam." Ingrid made deft adjustments. "And Miss Andrews feet...?"
"Of course her feet, Ingrid dear. Fasten those things on her that she wore when she came. I don't like the bastard who made 'em, but they suit her. And besides, she's got to be able to walk a bit."
The spanner again! Tightening the links to where she could never get them off. Wendy looked down and admired her ankles. The stout black bands set them off in the same manner as the collar on her neck. She raised a tentative foot. It was soon snubbed. It felt pleasantly familiar.
"And the riding crop, Ingrid. I'm sure she doesn't like it... And I guess that's all for now."
It was the same lounge and the same bar. A wealth of sensuous luxury after the room where she had been whipped. When Ingrid had gone, Wendy stood awkwardly, and with a feminine awareness tried to tug down on her brief covering.
"Wendy dear, take that thing off! I don't know why Ingrid ever gave it to you. She knows I like a girl naked. Certainly I want you in the nude."
Reluctantly and awkwardly the handcuffed girl stripped down the precious bit of silk and stepped out of it with a clink of chain. She reflected, ruefully, that it was a bit late for modesty. She had been naked enough in the past two weeks - and Heather was a girl...
"I never did subscribe to that idea of feminine fripperies." Heather mused. "Fishnet stockings and garter belts are for dirty old men. I don't see why girls need 'em. Darling, have you any idea how lovely you are?"
The captive grimaced an apology. "Well, sort of... I mean, I've been told."
"You should never wear clothes, dear. It's a waste. I'm going to keep you naked - always."
Wendy examined what she could see of herself. She lifted the handcuffs and noted their tight grip upon her wrists. Hesitantly she asked. "The thing you said - about making me a slave... ? Are you really going to?"
Heather laughed delightedly. "You've already started, Darling. But you guessed. I know you did."
"I don't want to be whipped any more. I'll do whatever I'm told."
"We've gone into that." Heather waved it airily away. "From now on I'm your Mistress and you're my serving wench."
"Do you want me to call you 'Mistress' - or something?"
"No. Maybe we'll come to it but not now. Keep on calling me by my name! It makes a delicious contrast with your condition. Two girls together, but one of 'em does what she's told."
"May I sit down please?"
"No, you may not. Come here and practise kneeling! One of your prettiest functions will be to serve the drinks. Let's see how you make out with your ankles and wrists fastened."
Wendy felt silly. But it was sort of fun. She bent a confident knee and fell forward into her mistress's lap. "I can't!" She looked up in dismay. "The chain's too short. It won't let me."
"Try again, Darling. I know you can do it. Practise balance."
It was like a child learning to walk. At first, wickedly frustrating, the chain an enemy, snubbing her every motion. The two girls became totally absorbed, one in amusement, the other dismayed by her own gaucherie. But suddenly it came, a liquid flow of feminine grace. Its beauty enhanced rather than diminished by her bonds. Wendy was enthusiastically kissed. "And now the drinks, Darling! Maybe half a glass this first time."
It was a strange mixture of subservience and authority to be standing behind the bar agitating the shaker with cuffed hands. The tray and the two glasses and the expanse of rug were a daunting challenge.
"I won't whip you the first time you fall, Wendy. But I sure will the second." Heather said complacently. "You can put your own drink on the end table and return the try."
It was a tremendous victory. Wendy felt inordinately proud. She tripped back from the bar and took her seat and her drink. Her bottom was tender on the cushion but her eyes were sparkling. "Will I really get punished for - mistakes? Clumsiness, things like that?" She asked anxiously.
"Of course, Darling!" Heather glowed radiantly. "How else can I keep a slave girl in line?"
"If I was well behaved... And if I made a mistake I apologised... and was truly sorry - "
"Oh come now, Darling! How can you be truly sorry without a bit of pain? That 'I'm terribly sorry' business is a social insincerity. Nobody's sorry unless they get hurt."
Wendy looked wistful. "Couldn't I try?"
"You don't have to try, Wendy my sweet. I'll make quite sure you're sorry. It's the best way."
The prisoner glimpsed a truth her former captor had never tried to hide. In a wondering curiosity, she asked. "You like to whip me, don't you, Heather? It does something for you. It's - it's erotic?"
"It does something for you too, sweetheart." Heather chuckled. "I haven't fingered you myself yet, but Ingrid assures me you're always well lubricated between your legs whenever she's tested?"
Wendy flushed. Ingrid's hand had been wise and firm and clever. She had wondered why it had cupped her sex so persistently. "Does being whipped do that to a girl?" She asked doubtfully.
"It's one of the things. I'm sure you know some of the others."
"I've felt sort of half ashamed." Wendy admitted. "Until the girls handcuffed me to that tree I was - well - like any other girl, I suppose. But when Garret took me... ! Everything he did had that effect. If I was tied or whipped or put in the cage - everything...!"
"Don't look so solemn about it, cupcake!" Heather trilled laughter. "You make me feel a million years old. I'm remembering the way it was with me -just the same! Us girls are made to be abused. Our cunts love it."
"I thought it was - him!"
"And now you're wondering why it's the same with me? It's because we like each other. Maybe if we were brutalized by someone we loathed it wouldn't be like that. But I don't know. I can't be sure. It would be a scary business finding out but it's something every woman secretly yearns for. You know, the good old Rape Syndrome."
"Ugh! Are we really that ridiculous, Heather?"
"Of course we are! I'm simply honest about it. You'd better be too if you don't want your little bottom tanned."
Wendy emptied her glass and twinkled over the rim. "You're not going to let me forget that, are you, Heather?"
"No. There's a streak of impudence in you I'll have to watch. Go and get us another drink!"
This time she was so proud of her prowess it was pure pleasure. Wendy could even absorb her mistress's curt question without shock.
"Tell me what being whipped this morning did for you, cherub?"
The cherub wriggled deliciously and prudently sipped. "I suppose it did what you wanted it to." She admitted slowly. "Ingrid calls it a conditioning, and that's what it is. It sounds trite, but I'll never be quite the same again. It was awful! If I was a Victorian maiden I bet I'd be in bed with doctors hovering."
"I've learned myself what us girls can endure." There was bitterness and nostalgia in Heather's admission. "But how d'you feel now towards Ingrid and me?"
"Respectful!" Wendy giggled. "No - honest! I don't like you a particle less."
"How about a particle more?"
"Mmmmmm, I think what's happened is you've taken a bit of me away and replaced it with a bit of you - Maybe my pride."
"You can feel proud, Wendy. You never screamed once."
"Yeah, I don't know how I managed that. Heather, I'm going to be obedient. Being whipped - the way you did it! It's made me want that terribly."
"Good! Now we can go to the bedroom. It's time."
To Wendy it was dreamlike; the beginning of something in which she had refused to believe. She made her hobbled journey with an affectionate hand beneath her arm. She could not fail to be aware that Heather's other hand carried the crop. Its quivering black length was shivery. She felt like a small child being let to unutterable doom.
"I know you're trembling, Darling." Heather's voice was kind. "Maybe we should go back and have a couple more drinks?"
"No!" Wendy was quite certain. "I don't want to - to - to do it to you drunk."
"Goodness, Darling, you sound as though you're going to remove my appendix! Please shed some of that gloom!"
"Well... this isn't a bit easy. I'm frightened." The hobbled girl looked around in the bedroom in awe. "Gosh, this is beautiful, Heather! You must be lousy rich."
"Our love nest, sweetheart. Undress me! Then we're going to bathe and smell gorgeous."
The captive heart quickened. The Act was not to be immediate. The prelude was exciting. Wendy picked up Heather's blonde vibrations and sent up some of her own. Her chained hands rose shyly to their task.
"Heather, you're wonderful!"
"Like me? I work at keeping in shape. Aren't my breasts nice? But I wish my cat fur was as dark as yours." Heather Tillson chuckled. "Tell you what, cupcake! When we bathe you can shave me off."
"Oh, Heather, I couldn't."
"You can and you will, precious. I'm thinking of you, y'know. Save you getting hairs in your mouth."
Wendy's blush was furious. Her mistress's words had brought her face to face. She had a vivid mental picture... ! She clutched avidly at a diversion. "Heather!" The chained hands pointed, "There, inside your thigh - that mark?"
Startled Heather extended a bare leg and looked down. She laughed in sudden comprehension. "My brand! I forgot to tell you. Isn't it a honey!"
The scarlet 'G' stared blatantly from between moist thighs. It was deeply imprinted in the soft female flesh, perilously close to the first fringes of pubic hair. Wendy eyed it in fascinated horror.
"But - but - who -?" She was afraid to ask.
"Come on, cupcake, can't you guess? What's the big 'G' stands for?"
"Garret did that - to you!"
"No one else, sweetheart. With his very own branding iron. I was just a sweet little heifer."
"But... I mean, you wanted him too? Or he just did it?"
"He tied me down, Darling. I didn't have a thing to say. I made an awful lot of noise, but I was secretly hoping it meant he loved me."
"It must have hurt something awful?"
"Worse than that. I cursed him every day for a month until it began to heal. It kept me perpetually horny."
"It must have meant something." Wendy ventured uncertainly. "He doesn't do it to all the girls. He didn't brand Denise or me."
"Give him time, dear! He's have got around to it."
"But why do it to you in a place like that?" Wendy was shocked.
Heather laughed at her fascination. "He called it staking a claim to my cunt. A sort of 'Hands off' warning. You're jealous, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Don't be! The pain's damn awful."
"I don't think I'd mind." Wendy had sunk on one knee the better to observe. "Oh, Heather, it's beautiful! I envy you."
"I envy myself sometimes now it's all healed up." Heather admitted cheerfully. "But don't you ever - " She paused and cocked an amused eyebrow. "Darling, if it's given you the hots, how'd you like a lovely big 'H' down there between your legs?"
"Oh Heather, could you -?" Wendy was breathless.
"You ridiculous creature! You really mean -?" Heather was looking at her enraptured slave with fresh interest. "Look, if you want to be branded I'm sure I can manage it for you. Ingrid would be intrigued... ! How about an 'H' on one side and a 'T' on the other? You'd me mine for life; the same way I belong to Garret."
"Oh gosh!" Wendy looked at her mistress appealingly. "The idea's made me all funny - sort of - "
"You little idiot. You're half way to orgasm, that's all it is. Come along to the bath and do your gasping and jerking in there. I'll help."
Wendy was ashamed of herself. To so blatantly expose her sexuality... ! Captivity was revealing female responses of which she had never dreamed. Branded! How silly could a girl get? Meekly she followed where she was led.
The bath would have made Cecil B. DeMille drool. Cleopatra would have traded Egypt for it. In its perfumed immensity the two girls sported like kittens. The difference in age vanished. Their nudities matched and made them one. With a surprising strength, Heather clasped the younger girl and held her fast while she used knowing fingers to bring into blossom and then a bursting flowering the orgasm sparked by a branded 'G'. "I'll teach you." She said delightedly. "And you've so much to learn."
To Wendy, now, the razor was no longer a thing of dread. It was one of many ingeniously shaped and curved for female use. She held it admiringly in joined hands. "You kneel and I'll stand with my legs apart." Heather was giggling like a girl. "I can pull my skin to make it taut, since you're handcuffed."
"You could take my handcuffs off, Heather?"
"Don't you ever dare say such a thing!"
"Oops, sorry! I forgot what I am." Wendy grinned up a smiling face. "Who does the lathering? I don't want to be disrespectful."
"You do, silly. But don't excite me too much!"
It was fun! Gorgeous exotic erotic fun! As she soaped and kneaded the soft mound and downy hair, the captive girl wondered why she had feared this task. Blithely she drew the razor to cut a delicious swathe from the barest and most intimate female flesh she had ever known.
"You're quite perfect, Wendy. I'll never part with you."
"I don't mind." Wendy was absorbed in her task, and could have cared less that she was sentenced for slavery for life. "Do you mind sort of parting the lips... ? If we don't there'll be some little bristles... "
"Can't possibly have bristles, Darling." Heather separated her plump labia with helpful fingers so their inmost folds could receive careful attention from the blade. "You'll have to do this twice a week to keep me smooth."
When it was done, the slave admired her work from a distance of inches. The shorn mistress faced a mirror. "A shaven cunt!" Heather breathed. "I should have had it done long ago; it's gorgeous! And look how it makes my brand show up!" She traced with searching fingertips. "I'm absolutely bare... Oh, Darling, hurry up and dry us both - I'll do your back. I'm so horny I can't wait."
It should have been easy. She had shaved it! Why now then could she not... ? Sprawled between the scented thighs, Wendy beheld the approach of the neat cleft and knew herself defeated. It was something she could not do. She wanted to but could not. She supposed it was her mother or her grandmother or Queen Victoria... ! She burst into tears.
"What the devil!" Heather sat up, frustrated and annoyed. "What on Earth are you crying for?"
"I can't do it."
"Oh, that again!" Heather was provoked.
"I thought I could - Honest I did! And I want to... But I just can't." Wendy drowned her sorrow in tears.
"Oh damn, I thought we'd get over this!" Resignedly, the older girl slipped of the bed. "Roll over on your back, you little idiot!" She demanded tersely.
Wendy closed her eyes. She did not wish to see or to know. She was deep in shame, bereft. Suddenly alone. Hands positioned her nakedness; her legs hanging over the side, pillows under her wealed bottom. She guessed what was to be done to herm and kept her eyes closed tight. She was sure she deserved - !
The fire cut her sex in two. At least it felt like that! The crop's slenderness had sliced accurately between her legs. The chain between her ankles was long enough to permit... ! Wendy screamed and twisted back onto her tummy.
"Back into position, cupcake! Hurry up!" The voice was confidently nonchalant.
She knew she must obey. She wanted to obey. If only... if only... ! Wendy turned and rearranged herself.
It took four more criss-cross cuts of the crop across her loins to send her, once more, into a writhing revolt. This time there was no harsh demand, only fingers busy with rope. When they were done, Wendy lay raised and stretched and open. She could not move. The whipping of her cunt was resumed with merciless measured strokes.
"Tell me when you're ready, Darling. I'll stop."
Heather sounded as though she was performing a domestic chore. But the crop was something from a world of agony. Wendy moaned and fought and could not move her sex from where it was hunched up and spread open; pleading for the lashes now scalding incessantly across the young labia shocked and outraged by its violation. Bemused by pain and the shame of failure, the tied girl heard a small scared voice: her own!
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'll do it! I'll do it! Oh, I will...!"
What happened then was, once more, from a dream. Hands grasped her hips; something warm and wonderful was buried where the crop had cut. A tongue was where no tongue had ever been... ! The universe exploded in a thousand stars.
When the time came, Wendy flung herself between soft and eager thighs, burying her mouth deep into the wet and perfumed flesh.
Heather gave her nectar lavishly.
They made their love long into the night. When it was done, Wendy's chains were taken from her and her hands tied behind her back. "Come along, cupcake. Making you sleep on the floor beside my bed is trite. It's been overdone."
The slave followed her mistress to the cell. She would have followed her anyway. Seated on the cot, Wendy stretched out her legs for the rope and watched them bound. "If you can wriggle free, Darling, you're welcome." Heather patted the last knot, kissed a pair of heated lips, then locked the barred door and went away. For a long time after she had gone, Wendy fought her cords. She could not get free.
She would never be free again.
CHAPTER NINE - INNOCENCE AND INGRID
Having come into possession of her slave, Heather Tillson resumed the pattern of her life. In these absences, demanded by business, the slave was left in the big house in Beverly Hills under the protection of Ingrid; a protection seemingly casual but complete.
"Can't lock you in the cell all day, Darling."
"Gosh, Heather, I don't want to be locked in there at all." Wendy shivered. "Those bars and that concrete make me feel like some shocking criminal with a life sentence. It's dismal."
"But you're so charmingly grateful when I let you out."
"Alright, so it does me good sometimes! Heather, do I obey Ingrid when you're not here?"
"You obey Ingrid always. If she wants your body give it to her. If she wants to whip you she can." Heather chuckled. "Not that it matters. Ingrid's strong enough to make you do anything. She doesn't need your assent."
"And I still have to be chained or tied?"
"Don't harp on that! You know you'd be bored if you were free."
It was simple and easy and without decision. The slave girl fell into a pattern of her own according to her bonds. There were days when she was tied so she could do nothing. But when chained she had the run of the house; she could even swim. There was a library... Phones were locked where she could not use them. When there were visitors she was tied tightly in the dungeon and gagged. Wendy protested against such prudent stringency but was ignored. She suspected her mistresses enjoyed her forlorn dolour at such times.
It was inevitable to consider escape. But the promise of another 'conditioning' deterred. The first awful whipping had left its mark on her in more ways than on her skin. Evaluating her condition she knew herself happy. Her urge for freedom was not strong. Doors were locked and windows would have to be broken... ! Ingrid would catch her before she reached the road.
She remembered Garret often. He had been the first. But the branded 'G' on Heather's thigh, and the picture of him carrying Denise to his room while he locked her in the cage diluted romance. When she thought of him she sighed. Heather had displaced his sardonic raillery with something else. The captive could think of names but did not use them.
She came to know Ingrid. When not immobilised, Wendy often sought the housekeeper for company. She dared to tease.
"I have to obey you, Ingrid. I expect you know?"
"Yes, Miss."
"You don't have to call me 'Miss' or 'Madam', Ingrid. I'm just a slave girl. Why don't you call me Wendy?"
The housekeeper allowed a smile. "It might bother me to whip a girl named Wendy, but a 'Miss' or a 'Madam' I can punish with pleasure."
"Wow! You've really got it figured." Wendy was impressed.
"I will whip you now, Miss, as a demonstration."
"You don't have to." Wendy was unsure. Ingrid might be teasing too. On the other hand... ! She looked down at her handcuffed wrists and linked ankles, suddenly apprehensive. "I didn't mean to displease you."
"You were teasing, Miss. A familiarity you are not permitted."
"Gee, I'm sorry! I really am."
"We will go down to the special room, Miss. It is the most suitable."
"Look, I don't want to be whipped! I haven't - "
"Silence!"
The tone of the one word ended Wendy's revolt. Lugubriously she minced her way to punishment beside a servant she suspected of laughing silently at her chagrin.
"Your weals are healing nicely, Miss."
"They are, aren't they?" She was afraid to say more.
"We will use your thighs today. They are not much marked."
"But Ingrid, that crop hurts wickedly on my thighs!"
"It does, doesn't it?" Ingrid mimicked.
"Well, couldn't you use it somewhere else? On me, I mean?"
"Perhaps the soles of the small feet, Miss?"
"Ingrid, you're joking?" Wendy was aghast.
"No, Miss."
"But that's the bastinado! Don't they use it somewhere in Africa - it drives people out of their mind, it's so awful."
"I will fasten you securely, Miss. I am sure you can survive five strokes on each foot without injury."
"Thank you, Ingrid, but never mind. Please whip my thighs! Sorry I beefed."
"It is not your privilege to chop and change, Miss."
Wendy tensed. She had loosed a tiger. She gulped unhappily and tried again. "I was being silly. Oh Ingrid, please not that - that - awful thing. If you'll just whip my thighs I'll never complain again."
The housekeeper allowed humour to soften her features. "I detect a change of tone, Madam. I am pleased." She pretended to consider. "An alternative to the soles of your feet might be your hands, Miss?"
Wendy felt the ground falling away from around her feet. Ingrid was implacable. Never, never, would she tease this woman again! She looked her desolation. "You mean hold my hand out like they used to do in schools; then you hit my palm with the crop?"
"Yes, Miss."
"But that would be terrible! I say, Ingrid, how many?"
"Five on each palm, Miss."
"My hands would be ruined."
"I think it unlikely, Madam. There is, of course, one other possibility...?"
"Oh Ingrid, yes?" The captive was guarded but hopeful.
"Madam has the most charming breasts. Five weals of red across each would be most becoming."
Wendy buried her face in her linked hands and wept.
When her sobbing ceased and she raised an apprehensive eye above her fingers she was alone.
It was a sad and chastened girl who mounted the stairs. She found Ingrid in the kitchen. Uncertain of her status, Wendy stood forlornly in the centre of the floor, sniffing and awaiting a fresh judgement.
"Madam will find the Kleenex on the counter."
The culprit took a square and blew her nose. "Thank you... "
"You are most welcome, Miss."
After a long silence in which she was ignored, the moist delinquent ventured. "Aren't you going to punish me, Ingrid?"
"Madam wishes to be punished?" The query was politely vague.
"Well, I thought - ! You said -?"
"A guilty conscience, Miss?"
"Oh Ingrid, you're teasing me. You've got me so scared. I'll say something silly. Oh Ingrid...!"
"It was Madam who was teasing. Surely she remembers?"
"Yes I do. And I'm sorry. And... Oh gee, what happens now?"
"Nothing happens, miss. You will notice I am busy."
If Wendy could have flown across the room she would have done so. As it was she hobbled as rapidly as her chain permitted. Having no arms with which to clasp, she laid her head on an austere shoulder and repeated over and over: "Oh Ingrid, thank you, thank you, thank you." She kissed a now smiling mouth and found it unexpectedly sweet.
"Madam has no longer a wish to tease?"
"Gosh, Ingrid, I was so silly."
"It is forgiven. You may start again."
"Oh, Ingrid, I love you!"
"A natural reaction, Miss. I suggest you find a good book."
It was a small cameo to look back upon with amusement. It was one of the many as the days flew by. Some of them were tests.
"Good morning, Ingrid."
"Good morning, Miss. Your orange juice is ready. I will pour your coffee."
"Gee thanks. I say, Ingrid, I slept in yesterday's chains. Do I wear them again today?"
"We will change them after your punishment, Miss."
The captive had become wary of such announcements. They were suspect. She responded to them with gushing goodwill. It was insincere but showed how willing she was to please.
"Are you going to punish me, Ingrid? You're so sweet."
"A mere conditioning correcting, Miss."
"I'm so lucky the way you look after me."
"Madam is a most satisfactory subject to punish. Your acceptance of correction gives me much pleasure."
"Am I allowed to ask what I'm to get today?"
"Your marks are fast disappearing, Miss. You have so much lovely skin. I am undecided between the crop and the whip - in their appropriate places of course. I have also recently purchased some lengths of cane... The kind so much publicized by their use in English public schools."
Wendy had come to know Ingrid's enjoyment of stilted repartee. Without planning, they had made a game of it. For Wendy it was a perilous sport in which she must tread a narrow line between humility and impudence. The two seemed constantly to merge. It was not easy.
"Where does the cane get used? On my bottom?"
"The bottom and the palm of the hand, Miss. I am sure you have read erotic literature?"
"That's mostly lowering your pants and bending over, Ingrid. I don't see how anyone can stand still. I'm sure I couldn't."
"Fortitude is encouraged by twice the strokes for one who has to be secured, Madam."
"Oh golly, Ingrid. I think I'd better shut up about canes and things. I don't want to seem ungrateful."
They descended to the room of punishments at mid-morning. By that time Wendy was feeling an unjustified delinquency and a properly fearful apprehension.
"A change of posture, Miss. Your ankles against the bar."
Wendy was curious but obedient. She stood facing the wall while her feet were separated and tied to the floor bracket. When her handcuffs fell away she saw the cuffs on the wall.
"Your hands apart, Miss. Lean forward! I think you will find the wall chain from the cuffs long enough for you to place your palms against the stone."
Ingrid was right. The palms of the prisoned hands could support the leaning weight. They could press above or below the ring to which their chain was fastened.
"Gee, this is real severe, Ingrid. I'm going to get terribly tired - all bent, and I can't work my knees."
"Your bottom and back are ideally exposed for punishment, Miss. There is also this - " Ingrid's hands came up between the parted thighs and cupped a damp pudendum. "The separation of your legs enables an effective uppercut. A most versatile position."
"Gosh yes, you really are thoughtful." Wendy felt closer to tears than gratitude. She was quite sure she was going to be hurt.
"I think the new cane across your bottom, Miss, and the whip up between your legs?"
"That would be nice, Ingrid. Thank you."
The cane was beastly. Wendy hated it from the first blow. It was a new and different and horrible pain. She was sure it would mark her vividly. But she sought favour.
"Gee, Ingrid, it's really something! Oh wow! If you use it on me much you'll have me screaming."
"Madam has permission to scream."
Madam did not want to scream but each impact was a brute. She could move scarcely at all without falling on her face and breaking her ankles. She was compelled to hold her nakedness available to whatever instrument the housekeeper chose to use on it.
"Ingrid dear, could we switch a minute? I mean, could you use the whip on me to give my bottom a rest? It - It's really hurting."
"Of course, Miss Andrews, a pleasure."
Wendy wasn't sure about the 'Miss Andrews'. The more polite Ingrid was the more she punished. It looked like being a bad morning for slave girls. A flash of fire snapping across her belly confirmed the fear.
"Thanks, Ingrid. That really helps."
Several more strokes cut up into the young loins before an inquiring hand explored the whipped sex. "Madam is exquisitely wet."
"Am I? Gee, Ingrid, thanks." It seemed an absurd remark. But Wendy was panting and close to the end of her endurance.
"Perhaps we may now cease. This small correction is just a freshener. I am sure Madam will not object?"
The relief was rapture. Ingrid's next words killed it. "Now that Madam's whipping is finished she may stand as she is for an hour. I will return in sixty minutes."
"Ingrid! No - no! Oh gosh, I can't hold this that long. I'll fall and break something. Please... please...!"
The punished girl was dismayed. She had done so well, accepting appalling pain with insouciance. Now she would disgrace herself! But she was helpless. She could never hold out for an hour - Never!
"Madam prefers to be whipped?"
There it was! She had expected it. She must not be allowed to win. She would not step away from the wall cocky and complacent. The hateful decision would break her.
"I don't prefer it, Ingrid, but - "
"It's a most simple choice?"
"Thank you, Ingrid. Please whip me some more! I can't possibly stand - " It was a terrible searing lash. While the naked girl was still moaning with its pain, Ingrid set her free. Wendy stood erect, crying and hurting, and abundantly thankful.
"Ingrid, you're a darling. Thank you."
"Madam will cross her wrists behind her back please?"
Madam obediently turned and crossed her wrists. She stood passively while the cord bit and tugged; its strands indented from the first encirclement. She would have liked to massage her wounds. But, after all, she was only a slave!
"That is all, Miss. Just to be without the small hands."
"Oh Ingrid, you're a darling!" The exclamation was abundantly sincere. The whipped girl glowed with gratitude.
"Madam may come and talk to me in the kitchen if she wishes? I will make coffee."
Madam wished it very much.
The prisoner in the house in Beverly Hills soon came to learn she was possessed by two women whose strength of character was matched only by the vagaries of their fancies toward herself. She could never be sure what her day would bring or what deportment she must employ to find favour. Her punishments were totally inconsistent. Usually she was without guilt. She was lavished with love, and sometimes with cruelty. She learned to walk warily. But she never got used to the shocks.
"Did Madam know her servant has a cunt?"
"Oh Ingrid...!" The slave girl was visited by a vivid premonition. "Of course you have!"
"You will now eat it, Wendy."
It was out of character - all wrong! And the use of her real name was frightening. "Heather has instructed me. I will do as you wish." Wendy said tremulously. "Where -?"
"In the room of punishments. Come!"
The room was always frightening. It was no less so today. To the captive, Ingrid's authority was sometimes more daunting than that of Heather Tillson. It was to be treated with caution.
"I loose your hands, Wendy. I stand. You strip me. Then kneel between my legs."
The terse staccato held an urgency as of a force too long contained. Wendy was grateful for her hands, and used them well. She longed to speak of the taut and supple beauty they revealed, but did not dare. Gracefully, as in the serving of a drink, she sank to her knees and buried her face in a pubic bush as lush and black as her own. Her splayed fingers clasped at curved hips and white thighs as she plied her slave girl's trade. She did it well. Ingrid moaned from the beginning. At the climax she cried aloud her joy.
For minutes they did not move. Compelling fingers in her hair thrust the slave girl's face home between the hungry thighs while their owner panted and grasped her way back into the world. Then the same hands raised the kneeling girl erect. Without a need of words they guided her to the incredible.
Within Ingrid was magic. Naked, she was potently female. Already, in the pungency between damp thighs, Wendy had sensed a new dimension; her seeking lips discovered an unsuspected sweetness. It was a though the nourishment they had garnered was a drug. The strong fingers used the naked girl with swift deft purpose and she was without will to resist. She was, instead, quiveringly alive to their tactility. Something was about to happen and she would not stop it if she could. Ingrid had been a enigma, a partly closed door. The door was about to open.
Ingrid used rope. Wendy did not watch. Wendy's eyes were closed by an unspoken command. She felt the strictures knotted round her wrists, others on her ankles. By mechanisms unseen, her young nudity was raised from the floor; her hands pulled wide apart as Garret had done to her once long ago. But Ingrid's ropes bit far more cruelly than had the leather bands. When the suspended legs were drawn off to each side and tethered to the floor, their owner knew herself a stretched 'X'; the core and centre of which was her sex; its black and hairy blush a pleading invitation.
The blindfold seemed no more than to be desired. It bandaged Wendy's eyes in tight folds of darkness within which were visions all her own. She expected to be gagged. But it was not done. The pain on wrist and ankle was intense but she welcomed it. She was entering a state of orgiastic sensation engendered by vibrant fingers she could not see.
The tied girl was never sure. Ingrid's lips or Ingrid's tongue. The hot contact of Ingrid's own nakedness and the communion of hard nipples... A female knee thrust knowingly between female thighs... And the fingers! The fingers were everywhere. Wendy Andrews was soon moaning in a way she had never moaned before.
Words would have been a desecration. Neither female knew the need. Wendy was possessed, enveloped in female musk; the blended potency of their combined scents; delivered to an excitation so intense as to become a delicious agony. She knew not what was being done within her sheath but it was magic. The curling slash of a whip around her waist was no more than a fitting punctuation in a paragraph of passion.
It was a symphony of sexuality in which the crescendo of orgasm was instantly followed by the thin thread of melody which, in its turn, would explore the theme and thunder to a climax of its own. There was no beginning and no end. The taut and naked girl was subject to a power endowing her with an endless potency. Within her loins was an inexhaustible source of orgasms, never diminishing. Without warning, the whip would curl and cut. But it, too was an orgasm, infinitely desired.
Time vanished. They had merged with eternity. Wendy screamed in exultation under the thong and moaned in ecstasy beneath an ancient skill. She spared but a flickering thought for the burning weals whose numbers mounted steadily as the day progressed, or of the scald of rope against which her surges of response were impotent. Looking back at it afterwards she could but wonder at the strength of girls... Or at the life force emanating from a female more a lovely witch than woman. The hours passed. Only in the last of them was there a diminution. Wendy was not even aware of release. It came while she was still in the distant land. She lay, gently moaning, for a long time before Ingrid carried her glistening and scarlet wealed nakedness to the cell.
"I use the rope, dear child. It will be a thing of me within your flesh."
Still blindfolded, the whipped and depleted maiden lay face down upon her cot. The hands still held their magic as they bound the slender wrists behind the striped back. Wendy did not mind. She did not want to be free. She did not want to be free of Ingrid ever again.
"And your elbows, child! To tie the elbows is so cruelly sweet."
It was so! The ropes circled again and again; the forearms were drawn closer and closer until the elbows met and the streaked shoulders were wracked back to thrust taut breasts hard into the thin mat.
"You are so beautiful... a little girl of innocence... " It seemed only right that her ankles be tied too. They were bound tight to match the strictures on her arms. And then her knees... Wendy had never been more helpless but only knew content. A strange languorous content, as of a child tucked warmly into bed by a mother's loving hands.
"The blindfold, dear?"
"No. Leave it on me!"
There came a sigh. Deep, satisfied, fulfilled. Fevered lips found others just as heated and drank lovingly... The tightly bound girl heard the door close and the lock turn. She was alone.
Wendy struggled but could not move. She was trussed and blind. The ropes were already bitter in her flesh but they were ropes of love. She, too, sighed sensuously, and fell asleep.
In the middle of the night a rough hand, brutal on her lips, awakened her. A rubber ball thrust her mouth wide and compressed her tongue, held tight by a strap buckled savagely behind her neck. Wendy Andrews could not move; she could not see; she could not utter sound. But she could hear and she could smell. The male scent was strong. She recognized it instantly. The exultant male voice was one she knew too well.
"The silly bitch - thinks she's the only one with keys...!"
It was Garret.
He picked her up and carried her into the night.
CHAPTER TEN - PENANCE
All of it was the reliving of a dream. A kidnapped girl, naked and bound and in the power of a male! A sardonic man creature whose intent and emotions were as ambiguous as they had ever been. Beside him in the jeep the pain of her ropes was overwhelming. They were no longer of the female but of the male. She twisted angrily to tell him of her pain. Her abductor chuckled audibly as he allowed the jeep to coast a silent way down to the boulevard.
"Must have known I was coming. Couldn't have packaged you better myself."
Mute and blind! It was infuriating. Wendy shook her head savagely. It was the only movement she could make.
"Alright, chicken. I'll let you talk and see when we get out of town."
She had to be satisfied. The endearment of his favourite name for her was something to think about until the jeep stopped. When it did stop and she was blinking at his smile, her first words were urgent.
"Garret, untie something! I'm dying! It's all too tight."
Leisurely, he took the rope from her knees.
"Thank you! Oh gee - ! And my elbows...?" She twisted round for his convenience.
"Your elbows stay, sweetheart." He twisted her back to her former position. "They make you look pretty and they keep you safe. Someone knew what they were doing."
"But they hurt terribly! Please Garret...?"
He affected reproof. "Good gosh, I've just rescued you from a shocking fate, and all you do is beef!"
"You haven't rescued me. You've kidnapped me again. And I hurt so bad - "
"I've warned you before about sounding like a wife. You're nagging already." He sighed patiently. "I'm a good mind to take you back."
"I wish you would!" Her exclamation was heartfelt.
Ruefully he surveyed his prize. "That nutty bitch must have tongued you to a fare-ye-well. I can smell it on you. She's got you hooked but good."
"Don't be disgusting! And, for heaven's sake, have a little mercy! I can't possibly get away." Once more she turned and thrust her bound arms to his attention. "Please... please...?"
Garret sighed again. Then untied her wrists.
"Thank you - Ohhhhhh! Oh, Garret, this is worse!"
"You asked for it."
"I didn't.! Oh yes - but it's my elbows -?"
He started the motor.
Furious with his unconcern, the perennial captive spent the rest of the journey striving to minimise the pain of her cruelly strictured arms. She had hands but they were useless. Her enemy was the rope upon her elbows. It controlled her in more ways than one. She thought of Ingrid longingly.
It was as though the house in Beverly Hills had never existed. She was again the property of an insouciant man she could not hate. She was angry with him, but her teenage infatuation was still alive. She hoped her straining breasts look nice and her pouting lips inviting. Her time would come. She was not afraid of Garret. She had slipped into her former status with amazing ease. Her pulse was racing as he drove slowly past the shanty and on towards the barn.
"Chicken, I'm going to teach you a little lesson - not to go running off on me."
His aggrieved tone spurred Wendy's indignation. "Run off on you! Well, I like that! You know damn well I was kidnapped - the same as you kidnap me." Forlornly, she added, "I never have a say about anything any more."
"I'm going to tie you up, but good!"
"Don't be unkind, Garret! Heather Tillson took me the same you've taken me now. You had me in the cage almost as helpless as you found me in the cell."
"Horseballs!" He chuckled. "She's have those leather bands off you in no time. Besides, you walked to the car and let her drive you into the city."
"She had nothing to cut the bands with and she threatened to whip me if I don't behave." Wendy produced a fine feminine sniff. "It's not fair the way I'm passed around."
"I may never know the rights of it." Garret admitted without rancour. "But, anyway, you're going to learn a lesson. It'll do you no harm after all that hen atmosphere you've soaked up."
He carried her into the barn. It looked and smelt familiar. When he untied her so that she stood free, rubbing her elbows, she could have wept in gratitude and relief on his shoulder. But he was taut with purpose.
"Stand against the post, Wendy!"
She sensed it useless to protest. It would be best to seek his arms after he had worked off whatever animosity he had generated in her absence. But she was femininely practical.
"Garret, let me pee first!"
Laughing at her earnest request, he motioned assent, and watched her as she squatted in the shadows. Her human task completed, she flitted to the post and placed her back to it. Naked and defenceless, she knew a sweet and feminine obedience her best weapon.
He cinched her small waist to the wood, anchoring her safely for what would follow. While he tied his knots she continued to massage her rope burns before being denied her hands.
"I haven't been unfaithful to you, Garret. I never had a chance to escape." Her voice was wistful.
In careful silence he separated her feet to each side of the post and roped her ankles neatly and tightly to the upright support.
"If only you hadn't chained me alone in the cage it wouldn't have happened." She made her words drip reproach.
Garret stood on a box to circle the post above her head with an anchoring strand. To it he tied her wrists, raising her arms so that her elbows pointed up and her fingers back. Wendy felt ninety percent armpits and breasts.
"You must have known Heather might take me. She told me she's stolen some of your other girls."
Garret stood back and surveyed his work. He nodded, satisfied. "You look damn pretty. Any more would spoil the effect."
"I suppose you know my arms and wrists are going to hurt?"
"I know." He agreed cheerfully. "It's an occupational hazard. You'll get used to it after a few days."
He was teasing... ! He had to be! But a thin sliver of fear invaded her spine. "I realise I have to be frightened." She said stiffly. Then added in an appealing wail: "I wish you'd love me instead."
Garret did not love her. Instead, he left her alone against the post. It was not until he was gone that the tied maiden realised she had forgotten to ask about Denise.
Wendy supposed it was her increasing inurement to bondage that made possible her fitful flirtations with sleep through the balance of the night. The post and the ropes supported her; a raised bare arm made a pillow for her cheek. Ruefully she recognized her present plight less painful than the bonds of Ingrid in the cell. Her concern now was for how long her master would make her stand like this. She wished, ardently, he had tied her wrists in the more conventional manner behind her back. There was something punitive about their bondage where they were.
Garret told her it was nearly noon when he untied her. Wendy knew herself subdued; a little scared. Wary and uncertain, she ate and drank what he had brought. She was escorted to the ridiculous outhouse. Returned to her penance in the barn; there was a pail of cold water, a towel and a comb. She dragged out her use of them for as long as she dared.
"Back against your post, chicken!"
It was true then! Realisation brought her close to tears. Why did he have to punish her like this? Why, why, why... ! She fell to her knees at his feet and clasped him with hungry arms. "Don't tie me again, Garret! Please! Look at me, I'm begging... Don't tie me -" His voice was unrelenting. "Hell, chicken, don't tell me you're mot enjoying it - the way those two lesbians had you trussed...?"
"I'm not! You know, I'm not. You're being mean."
"O.K., girlie, so I'm being mean. Back to the starting post!"
It was hateful to have to stand again and let herself be bound. She hated the post; she hated Garret. At that moment, Wendy was not sure there was anything she did not hate. She was burningly resentful of being punished in innocence.
"If you hadn't been off somewhere with Denise, Heather would never have had a chance to find me." She accused fretfully.
Garret enjoyed her sulkiness. "Wasn't really off anyplace, chicken." He laughed. "Heard the car and hustled her Majesty down in the hideaway under the floor. Played with her odds and ends until it went away. If you'd have called my name or screamed I'd have been there like a shot... ! But you didn't scream, did you? Nary a sound."
It was true! In her own eyes she was still innocent. But in Garret's judgment she must be guilty - and she could understand that assessment of her failure to cry out to him. She was defeated. She shrugged hopelessly and thrust her nudity back against the still warm wood. She wished the ropes, as they circled her, were a caress. But they were not! "Do you realise you're tying me tighter than last time?" She asked tonelessly.
"Just feels that way, chicken."
"Take me to bed, Garret!"
"You're not through with this little penance, sweetheart."
"Well alright! Take me to bed and then tie me back here again! I promise I won't give you any trouble."
"You want a piece of tail that bad, chicken?"
"No, I don't! I just want you to love me. Nobody love me. Everybody just ties me up and won't let me be ME."
It was no good. Garret carefully tied her at ankle, waist and wrist as she had been tied before.
"Garret, what are you going to do with me?" Wendy made her voice as pathetic as she could. "I mean, how long does it go on? I don't mean me tied to this post, but the whole thing! Are we going anyplace... aiming for anything?"
"Would you like to be gagged, chicken?"
"No I wouldn't!"
"Then shut up! Good gosh, you make like a wife!"
As thought to make amends he kissed her before he went.
Wendy knew it useless to cry or to struggle. But she did a little of both. It passed the time and relieved frustration. It also streaked her cheeks and chafed her skin. Ruefully, she used her bare arms as Kleenex and chalked the rope burns up to experience. It seemed probable she and the post would be together for a long time.
Listlessly, she examined the forces now governing her life. Garret and the house in Beverly Hills - herself between! It was herself she was most concerned with. Guiltily, she doubted an honest assessment. Her behaviour was irrational - Or was it? She was only a girl. A girl dragged from college and thrust into what should have been a nightmare but some how was not. How crazy was it for a girl to fall in love with her kidnappers; one a man, one a woman? Was she a lesbian nympho - wanton!
The impacts of three personalities upon her were so vivid, so indelible! For Wendy Andrews life could never, never be the same again. Twisting against the ropes that held her now she questioned her acceptance of bondage and the whip. She had taken chains and roped and lashes without hysteria, without the screams, the threats and pleadings a girl was supposed to provide when subjected to such outrage. She had accepted physical acts of love and asked for more. Memory of Ingrid was evocative. Most cruelly bound, she had adored her bonds because of the woman who tied them. Throughout, she had been robbed of decision. No girl had ever had less to say about what was done to her than she! But she had not been robbed of feeling or reaction... ! In there somewhere was the guilt - If guilt there had to be.
Wendy did not know. She was not even sure she cared.
"And how's our little lovebird?"
Denise sauntered in as though taking a stroll in the park. She was stark naked but handcuffed. Apart from these minor impediments the Renton millions were free to wander where they chose. Wendy eyed her visitor without favour.
"Jeepers, Heather really laced into you, didn't she?" Denise used her coupled fingers to trace the weals of Ingrid's love. "I bet you loved every lash."
The unconscious truth of Denise's sarcasm was one more of the injustices of life. Wendy bore it bravely. "There's a few marks on you too." She retorted pettishly. "Haven't you been pleasing your Lord and Master?"
"Oh those!" Denise shrugged off her stripes as unworthy of comment. "Just love play." She cocked an inquisitive eye. "I say, Wendy, is that Tillson woman as fabulous as she's supposed to be? Or is it Ingrid who's got the longest tongue?"
Wendy was genuinely surprised. "I thought you found such things disagreeable...!" Struck by a sudden realisation, she demanded: "Denise, you're free. You can untie me!"
"Sorry, dear, it's forbidden."
"Oh alright! I know I said something like that to you. But this is a cinch. Please untie me... Please?"
"Couldn't possibly, Wendy. I'm on parole."
"Is that why you're not running away yourself?" The question was heavy with doubt.
"That's right, chicken. It includes letting little girls loose."
"Don't call me chicken! That's what Garret calls me. And I don't believe a word of this parole business. How come you're walking around like that?"
"I'm not free. I'm handcuffed. Look!" Denise held up her linked hands.
"Oh rubbish! Handcuffs in front don't stop a girl doing anything - I should know!" Wendy eyed her former colleague shrewdly. "There's something you're not telling me!"
Denise laughed and did something utterly surprising. She kissed a pair of startled lips.
"Denise, you lost your marbles!"
"Wendy, you precious little idiot, haven't you guessed?"
"Guessed what? Untie me!"
"I won't untie you, so shut up about it!" Denise said good naturedly. "I thought you'd catch on. I told Garret you'd never buy it, but you did." She chortled delightedly. "I mean, when he went off and picked me up like a package at the market... ! Then that time you let me loose and told me to run! Didn't you wonder how he managed to capture me so easily in the middle of the night? And my haughty heiress act... ? I thought I was overdoing it."
"You have to be kidding?"
"And when he tossed me on his bed and put you in the cage - wasn't that a bit out of character? And that business of tying us up together so we could exchange petulance - with him listening in outside the door... ? Oh Wendy!"
"How come he kidnapped me the way he did?" The question now held doubt.
"Because, before we all went to the campground, I'd already talked the other girls into handcuffing you to that tree."
"Oh Denise, it doesn't make sense! Why me?"
The handcuffed visitor giggled. "Garret wanted an intelligent girl with suitable reactions - She had to be pretty, of course. I thought of you. He says you turned out a real winner."
"But - but -?" The prisoner of the post was bewildered.
Denise giggled again, happily. "My reward is I get to play the Lead in his next picture."
"It's all poppycock! Oh, Denise, please -!"
"You ask once more to be untied and I'll bite your tits until you howl."
"Oh alright! But who is he? I mean, who - what -?"
"You haven't a clue, have you dear? I thought you'd catch on to that too. Well, you can keep on wondering. It will give you something to occupy your mind in the days and nights to come. How long did he tell you? A week?"
"He's not going to leave me tied to this post for a week?"
"Why not, Darling? You look cute as can be. I'll drop by sometimes when Garret lets me have my feet. Maybe I'll whip you a little. You know, just for old time's sake."
"You're teasing me. Oh, Denise, you're being mean."
The female eyes locked. The helpless girl knew instantly what she had invoked. When her right nipple was tight between sharp feminine teeth she wailed her surrender.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry... ! I didn't mean -!"
Lips were wet upon her breasts. The teeth bit.
"Arrrrrah! Oh No! Oh, stop! Oh - Waaaahhhhah!"
"Let that be a lesson, lovebird. Next time it's the other one."
Panting, the captive looked down at her scarlet teat. The indentation of Denise's teeth confirmed the pain. When Wendy raised her eyes they were wide with bewilderment.
Denise was actually contrite. "I am mean, Darling. I'm sorry - if that makes any sense." Once more she kissed her captive, this time more lovingly. When she stepped back she asked brightly. "Want the rest of the story?"
"Yes please."
"Hurts, doesn't it? I mean biting your nipple."
"Terribly! I promise I'll behave."
"It's simple really." Denise managed to look apologetic. "I may as well lay it right on the line. Garret loves owning girls; enslaving them. Call it a quirk if you like, but I think it's in most men. They can't do much about the urge but he can. And he does! Does he ever?"
"No ransom...?" Wendy was still groping.
"Hell no! Along with the slave bit he likes tying us up. All part of the picture, I guess. It's the same about whipping us. He adores doing it. Right this moment he's probably loving you so much, tied the way you are, it hurts."
"And he's not nuts...?"
"If he is, I am." Denise grinned sheepishly. "You see, I'm the same. Except, of course, I adore taking it to his dishing it out." The lovely eyes appealed. "Do you feel like using an ugly word for either of us?"
"No."
"It's touched you too. I can tell. You want me to untie you. But if I did you'd run right back to where you got those whip marks - they're real dillies."
"Yes."
"We're both being delightfully honest. It sure does help. You won't hate me too bad if I come and whip you sometimes, will you?"
"No."
"You belong to Garret now. He'll let me use you part time. I get a tremendous charge out of that too. Your scream when I bit your nipple was pure melody. He'd probably let you use me the same way if you wanted. Would you like to whip me?"
"I - I - Oh, Denise, I don't know!"
"Well, never mind, dear! Everything works itself out. I'm hoping Garret will be impartial about us. I mean, that he'll punish us both the same and not play favourites."
"Denise, that word - Punish? Is it -?"
"Well, Darling, sometimes we deserve to be punished and then it's right. But even when he just punishes us for fun the word simply crinkles my cunt. So I use it. You don't have to."
Wendy gulped, shaking her head as though to clear it of fog. She looked at her smiling companion, seeing her as a girl not previously known. Liking her more, much more! But fearing her too; the burn on her breast a reminder of Denise's privilege. Her voice was awed. "It - it - It gives you happiness to have me tied like this, Denise?"
"It gives me the hots like crazy. I adore you. I wouldn't dream of letting you loose."
"Don't be mad at me, Denise. I just have to ask again. Will you and Garret really keep me tied this way for a week?"
"How about two? Or three! It's quite practical, Darling. He'll let you loose for a little while every day. Not for long, of course, but long enough. And you can sleep. The bindings support you."
"With my hands tied above my head like this?"
"That sets you off to perfection. It completes the picture. Didn't Garret tell you of the aesthetics... ? Of how much beauty there is in a tied girl?"
"Sort of... Gosh, Denise, you're almost making me glad I'm tied to this post. It's crazy. A sort of pride."
"You are glad and you are proud. Don't knock it!"
"And you feel those things when you're tied?"
"Exquisitely! I always have done." Denise held up her handcuffed wrists. "And I've had a love affair with handcuffs always. I'm besotted with the darling things. Back or front, I don't mind. Knowing only Garret has the key lights a fire between my legs hot enough to burn."
The ingenuous admission revealed a new Denise. A girl Wendy liked. Aware of an almost certain regret, she was compelled to shyly ask. "Denise, it's nice of you to tell me. And - and - Oh gee, I want to tell you how good it is we're friends. And it's made me feel... well, sort of the way you say. Look, if it gives you that much happiness to whip me, please do! I want you to."
"You little sweetheart!" Denise was touched and, herself, a trifle awed. "I'd love to, but I just remembered you're facing the wrong way. I just won't whip your front - and anyway, it's had enough already."
"I won't mind. Honest!"
"Well, I will. Tell you what! I'll ask Garret to let me whip your back when he has you loose tomorrow. He can tie you some way for the little time it takes. What d'you say?"
"Well, I 'spose." Wendy twinkled. "But I may not be in the mood then."
"Moods are the luck of the draw, Darling. I have 'em too, y'know. There's times...!"
"Alright. It's O.K. Gosh, Denise, you've been so nice...!"
She was kissed again. "Look, I've got to run, Wendy. I'm supposed to make supper. See you... "
"Denise, before you go; where's Garret?"
"Eh! Oh... ! Garret's asleep." The handcuffed girl laughed gaily. "He's working nights now."
It was not the answer Wendy sought. Her new question was almost pleading. "Does he - I mean, do you -? Oh, Denise, help me out! Do you two sleep together?"
"Good gosh, no!" Denise sounded shocked. "That would spoil things. For me it would ruin the whole scene. Garret understands. Wendy, do you understand?"
Wendy said, yes, she understood.
But she did not understand at all.
She thought about it steadily until it got dark.
But the shadows brought their own mood. It was sombre. Girls do not like to be alone in the dark; not the eerie darkness of an old barn, and most certainly not tied naked to a post. It seemed incredible to the helpless girl that all over the world girls like herself were going out with guys and other girls; out into the brightly lit streets to movies and bars and friends. Being held tight and laughing and wearing their new dresses. Thinking about it brought tears of self pity. She was naked and tied to a post in a smelly old ruin; alone with no one caring; no one even knowing except Garret and Denise who would be deriving an erotic joy from their knowledge of her desuetude. Her fingers worked fretfully in frustration. It was the only exercise her ropes allowed.
When she thought of rats and mice and crawly things panic was inevitable. Daylight had held such visions at bay. But now they descended on her in full living colour. Frantically she fought Garret's ropes. But she could not move. She was bound by an economy of bonds but they held her motionless. Even her raised elbows could scarcely flutter. Thought of the long hours of the night was almost too much to contemplate. Wendy opened her mouth to scream. But she realised neither Garret's amusement or his anger would change her situation, so she shut it again after allowing herself the luxury of a small moan.
She thought of sleep. It seemed impossible. But perhaps if she just kept quiet and refused to think... !
Resolutely, she closed her eyes.
It was two o'clock in the morning when Heather Tillson came.
CHAPTER ELEVEN - POSSESSED
It was ironic that Wendy was asleep at her moment of rescue. Her bonds allowed her to sag but little; her head had fallen sideways against a pinioned arm. She made a picture of distressed loveliness, little marred by darkness. Looking at her, Heather muttered savagely, but with the satisfaction of a suspicion now confirmed, "The son of a bitch! The rotten stinker...!" From her bag she took a knife.
The severing of her ankle bonds awakened the captive girl. Realisation came instantly. There was an inevitability about what was taking place. The impact of her master's authority had erased the possibility from her mind. But it was all in character: her own as much as Heather's. She was a slave girl passed from owner to owner. She knew she would not contest this new theft of her person. Memory of Ingrid was potent.
"Keep it quiet, cupcake!" The pressure of Heather's lips was warm; her hands upon captive breasts were vibrant. "The sooner we get away from here the better."
Wendy's arms were stiff. They fell limply from where her hands had been bound. Even if she had wanted to she could not have resisted the handcuffs. They closed around her wrists with the clasp of love.
"D'you mind these, dear?"
"No - oh, no!" Wendy was breathless.
When the conch dropped from her waist there was an arm to take its place; an arm propelling her to the open air. Wendy stumbled and gasped against the after effects of her prisonment against the post. But she was young and resilient. "I'll make it." She promised. "Oh Heather, you're taking such a risk!"
The arm tightened. "I'd be crazy to let him get away with you." Heather's whisper was savage. "The car's down the road a way. I had to be careful of noise."
Wendy's heart raced with her bare feet. Passing the sleeping shanty, she had the dream sense of having done the same thing before. But Denise's presence in there with Garret negated remorse. The dirt road beckoned. With stiffness gone, it was Heather who had to pant to keep abreast. When they reached the car, Garret and Denise were waiting in the front seat.
The battle was short and decisive. Garret took Heather with an almost negligent ease, pinning her down with a brutal knee and tying her hands behind her back with swift and practised tugs. He obviously enjoyed every motion. Denise was laughing too hard to do more than hinder the flight of a furious handcuffed girl. But she performed that function long enough to enable Garret to make both his captives secure. He did so by a single strand knotted to join each pair of bare elbows. A cincture so painful as to inhibit enterprise. Frightened and dismayed, a naked girl and a panting woman were shepherded back to a fresh captivity.
* * *
It was a neat and simple arrangement. Wendy was sure she was going to hate it bitterly. Being tied to a post might come to look like a picnic by comparison. The barn had once boasted stalls with railed partitions. Wendy's shoulders were against a top rail; her arms extended along it to either side. They were held there by roped wrists. A pair of weathered sawhorses accommodated the pole on which she sat astride. Her feet were roped far to either side; the tethers descending to driven stakes. Her toes touched only air.
"It's not really torture, chicken." Garret assured her earnestly. "They used to have a thing they called 'The Horse'. But with that the poor little cunt had to sit on a sharp edge and the girl's hands were tied behind her back. You've got it good."
"I haven't got it good, Garret. You know I haven't. This is going to be beastly." Wendy gazed at her captor reproachfully. Once again she felt herself ill used.
"Yes you have, sweetheart. You can take a bit of weight on your wrists."
"I can't! Well, hardly any... and not for long. Garret please!"
"I'll admit that pole you're sitting on isn't all that wide, but it's better than the edge of a two by six."
He was laughing at her. He was always having fun at her expense! Wendy tugged irritably at her tied wrists and tethered ankles. "I've never sat on the edge of a two by six." She said crossly, "So I can't tell. But this is ruining me, I'm sure it is!"
"Hard to ruin a good plump cunt, chicken."
"Don't be so horrid! And anyway, I don't deserve this."
"You're sure about that?"
"Yes I'm sure! Please, Garret, tie me to the post again instead of this awful affair!"
"You beefed about the post."
"Garret, don't be so mean!" She grimaced at him in vexation. "I'm only a girl and I'm only nineteen. You can't expect me to be an authority on torture. So alright, I didn't know when I was well off." Her voice became wheedling. "Please tie me to the post, Garret!"
"A little matter of punishment, chicken. You escaped."
"Oh, not that again!" Wendy wriggled in dismay. "How can you accuse me of escaping when Heather had me handcuffed?"
"Those handcuffs, the way you were wearing 'em are just a sort of token between you tow broads. Like a wedding ring. If Heather didn't put 'em on you, you'd lock 'em on yourself."
"I wouldn't! Oh, Garret, I'm hurting...!"
"And anyway, can you think up an excuse for walking by the house and never uttering a peep?" His tone held little humour.
He had her! Miserably, but to herself, Wendy admitted her guilt. She must have wanted to go with Heather Tillson. Screaming or calling for help had never entered her mind. "If I'd called for help, Heather would have punished me terribly when she got me home." She offered lamely.
"Horseballs!"
It was no good! Wendy did not want Garret's contempt. "Alright then!" She flared in feminine disarray. "So I didn't call! And I was glad to be rescued!" She glared defiantly. "You don't need me; you've got Denise. Go ahead and keep me tied on this rotten pole for a week! I hate you!" She sniffed and stared stonily at the barn door.
"I'll accept that as a plea of guilty." The laughter was back in his voice.
"You know what you can do with your plea!" This time her sniff was even more eloquent of distaste for her condition.
"Well, I'm glad that's settled." Garret declared expansively. "Nothing to do now but leave you to sit out your sentence."
"Goodbye!"
Grinning, he turned away, but was stopped by female inconsistency. "Garret, what have you done with Heather?"
"She's in the cage, chicken."
"Why can't you lock me in there with her?"
"And have you tonguing each other's clits all day long!" He laughed at her flaming bush. "That busy broad is going to get the whipping of her life. She needs it bad. I'll let you watch."
"Do you have to keep us apart? That's mean!"
"Can't encourage immorality, chicken."
He went away laughing.
Wendy knew she was being punished. The pole between her legs would not allow her to forget. It was a beastly nagging misery which she could ease but little. By tensioning her arms she could take weight upon her bound wrists, but not for long. Always she must relax so that her distorted pussy must accept her weight. She could twist her shoulders a little, but that was all. Her legs and thighs were rigid. Ruefully, she believed if they were pulled further apart she would split.
She sat out the hours. Sometimes weeping, sometimes dozing. Being tied up was always basically the same. A girl endured and hoped someone would come and set her free. Eventually someone would. Denise delayed her visit longer than anticipated. She was still naked, but now her waist was cinched by a broad padlocked belt. To it, on either side, her hands were chained.
"The latest afternoon fashion." She said cheerfully. "How's your poor little cunt?"
"It's gone! Ruined!" Wendy exaggerated morosely.
"Anyway, don't ask me to let you loose!" Denise fluttered her hands within their short linkage. "This is a bit more handicapping than handcuffs."
"I wish I was allowed something that comfortable."
"Well, you do ask for trouble, Darling. You're punishment prone."
"He's horrid! He's treating me in the most beastly way." Wendy complained.
"I'd say you were privileged, dear." Denise sat down on one of the sawhorses. "Don't you realise he's had you back all this time and not even whipped you!"
"I'd sooner be whipped than have to sit on this damn pole."
"I'll mention it to him, dear. In fact, I'll ask him to let me use the whip. I'd love to give you a real all-out whipping."
"Thanks, I'm so glad you enjoy me!"
"Don't be bitter, Darling! One of these days I may be sitting on that thing and you'll be walking around. I won't make snarky cracks."
"Have you been to look at poor Heather?"
Denise chuckled. "Poor Heather my foot! She's clawing at the bars, a tigress caged. He's got her in there naked. Boy, is she mad!"
"Is she supposed to be pleased?"
"I think she is - inside." Denise grinned at her punished companion. "Maybe she doesn't face it herself, but it's my opinion she didn't come out here so much to repossess you as to expose her femaleness to Garret. She wanted to be caught."
"Horseballs!" The girl on the pole used Garret's expletive with relish.
"No it's not." Denise proclaimed soberly. "Gosh, Darling, you really are terribly na�ve. You've seen Heather as a successful business type, a dominant female who possessed you. But I'll bet there are times when she wants Garret's rope and Garret's whip so bad it hurts. She's not a slave like you or me, but she needs him for contrast."
"She told me something a bit like that herself." Wendy admitted. "Garret says he's going to whip her terribly and that I've got to watch. Is he serious?"
"That's going to be fun." Denise giggled. "He's going to make a very formal affair out of it. Pile on the humiliation."
"Does she know?"
"Oh sure! He's told her so she can stew over it first. But it's the same deal. She's as excited as hell about it. Can't wait."
Wendy sighed. "You've got it all figured - for yourself. I wish I was that certain. By your reckoning I ought to be having a marvellous time on this pole."
"Well... ? Aren't you?"
"Oh, Denise, how can you say -?"
"Horseballs again! That pole's all wet where you're sitting. I'm damn sure it isn't pee."
"Don't all girls -?"
"No they don't. It takes something to generate the flow. You know that as well as I do - or you ought to. C'mon now, you don't have to be laughing with joy on that pole, but aren't you feeling just a little bit - well - deliciously foxed?"
"Oh Denise...!"
"You're a cute little hypocrite."
"O. K. then." Wendy yielded grudgingly. "I hurt like crazy. But that feeling you're talking about... ! Remember what I'm sitting on!"
"Your cunt! Oh Darling, you weren't sitting on your cat yesterday. But I bet being tied to the post made you leak too?"
"Well... ! Oh gee -!"
"If I bite your other tit, would it help to be honest?"
"Yes, yes, yes - O. K.! The things Garret and Heather do to me make me horny. There! Is that what you want me to say?"
"Gosh, we are making progress, aren't we?"
"Maybe you are. I'm sitting on a beastly pole."
"You do harp so, Darling! Garret's right, you often sound like a wife. It's something you ought to watch."
"I don't nag. It's just these awful - "
"Did you know he actually got notions about marrying you when he had you that first time?"
"No I didn't, and it's not true!" Wendy's denial was vehement, but her heart was dancing jigs.
"It's true alright. I picked it up from little things he said and the way he looked at you. I'm surprised you didn't."
"It's crazy. He'd be more likely to marry you."
"Mmmmmm, I'm not sure about that. The thing we've got going now is pretty hard to beat. He'd figure marriage would spoil it - and it probably would. I'd grab him so damn quick though if he asked."
Wendy was once more lost in a sea of emotion. Garret's wife! Heather and Ingrid and everything else vanished in a flash of ecstasy at the prospect. Womanlike, she protected her bases. "I can't imagine Garret married to any girl... "
"Well, you damn near had him, you little idiot. But your love affair with Heather Tillson killed it. Men aren't all that keen on lesbians."
"I don't have a love affair with Heather! We - we - "
"Yeah, I know! You nibbled each other like crazy. Ingrid too, like as not. That pair is famous... "
"That's unkind! And any way you twist it Heather actually did kidnap me. And she kept me chained so I couldn't escape."
"I bet you tried real hard!" The sneer was one of Denise's best.
"Well... ! Gosh, you do twist things...!"
"And when he brings you back you're simply plastered with the loveliest whip marks you don't complain about at all. They're not even starting to fade yet. You look good enough to eat - No pun intended."
"I'm not a lesbian!" Wendy declared angrily and not too sure of her ground. "If Garret asked me to marry him I'd say yes so quick it would shock him."
"Even if he fixed you like this once in awhile?"
"Sure. Why not? If you can, I can."
"That's jealousy talking. Or the free enterprise system."
"No. Honest, Denise, I wouldn't mind. You've all made it sort fall into place. Not that it matters. He's not going to ask me."
Denise chuckled slyly. "You'd like me to tell him, wouldn't you? Maybe he'd start looking at you again?"
"Don't you dare!"
"Alright I will, He's giving me what I want. I won't be a dog in the manger. Look, Darling, I've got to go now. Would you mind terribly if I bite your other nipple before I leave?"
"I'm so glad you mind. It makes it better. And you can't stop me."
"It's not fair! I haven't been rude or anything... "
"You don't have to be rude, Darling. I'm doing it for pure pleasure. Mine."
"But it's the most awful pain. You bite too hard."
"Try me this time! Hold still!"
Wendy screamed. Denise bit viciously and long. It was cruel; she had to just sit there and let it happen. The hurt girl flung her head from side to side in agony. When she was ardently kissed afterwards it did not entirely make amends.
"Thank you, Darling, that was gorgeous!"
"You're not welcome."
Denise laughed and went away.
The whipping of Heather Tillson invoked in Wendy's mind a diversity of terms. Awful. Absurd. Terrible. Farce. Each of them belonged somewhere. She herself was tied back on the post to watch her mistress flogged. The lovely victim was economically suspended from her wrists.
Heather was escorted to her fate by Garret and Denise. One on each side. They came into Wendy's range of vision as might a trio out for a stroll. Wendy's mistress was naked. She was handcuffed. She hobbled daintily in leg irons. The three of them hade made a leisurely progression from the cage. They were chatting pleasantly. When the Mistress beheld her slave, she turned brightly to her Master and asked: "May I?" Then twinkled her chained feet towards her helpless love.
"Darling girl, how sweet of you to come and see me whipped!" Heather winked archly before enveloping her fellow captive in a wave of musk and feverish lips.
It was in Wendy's mind to plead with Garret. But Heather's slight shake of the head closed her lips. It was Heather herself who pleaded. It was, in fact, Heather who dominated the proceedings until the first whine of the lash.
"This is so like old times." The blonde head roved as the blue eyes glinted at the barn and all it held. "I'm so thrilled, Garret, to be invited."
"You weren't invited."
"Well, sort of! You set out some bait to catch me. Garret dear, how'd you like to be generous and let one of your slave girls tongue me before I get whipped?"
"Denise is not a Les', and Wendy's out of circulation." Garret was being wary in repartee.
"Ah well, it was just a prisoner's last request. How about you fuck me instead?"
"You made that sound like asking for a glass of water."
"Gosh no! I'm aware it's a privilege. The Garret cock mustn't be treated lightly."
"Heather, are you asking for trouble or just having fun?"
Before Wendy's startled eyes, her mistress did the impossible. Prettily clinking her chain she went to where she could kneel before The Male. Her voice became pure melody. "Master, I beg of you. Please don't whip me?"
"I'm not going to, you blonde menace." Garret's assurance was both amused and caustic. "I've given the job to Denise."
"Please no, Master. I want you to whip me."
"You just asked me not to."
"I've changed my mind. I don't want to be whipped by Denise. I want to be whipped by you." The declaration was sweet and innocent as from a child.
"Denise it is! Don't worry, Heather, she'll make you horny."
"Thank you, Master." In a single liquid motion she stood erect and held out her joined hands. "How do you want me fastened?"
Wendy watched in fascinated awe as her mistress was relieved of metal bonds and her hands bound with rope. She knew she was watching a play; a game Heather could not win, but in which, to this point she was scoring heavily. Even with Heather's toes could no longer find the floor their owner still simulated a bright unconcern.
"This is such a lovely way to whip a woman. To have her dangle so she can kick. How far are my feet off the ground, Darling?"
"About six inches."
"That makes me beautifully vulnerable, doesn't it? Every little bit of me."
"Every little bit is what I have in mind," said Denise with indecent relish.
The banter survived the first lash. As the white, then scarlet, proclaimed itself upon the lovely flesh, Heather drawled.
"Gee, Garret, you're lucky to have her. I couldn't do better myself."
After that the screams and pleadings were as surprising as the initial insouciance. The whipped girl abandoned all pretence and howled lustily in anger and in pain. Her legs flailed the air. It was as though she dredged the bottom of each experience, extracting all it had to give. Garret watched entranced. Wendy flinched with each blow as Denise joyously kept her promise.
When Garret loosed the rope, Heather slumped to the ground, moaning. Then, quickly, she crawled to his feet and begged.
"No more, Garret. Please not any more?"
It was a ritual. Not the end. They hoisted her again and sought the places on her flesh previously missed. When they were satisfied with her striations she was once more chained and taken to the cage. Wendy was taken too. She was not placed inside with her mistress, but was made to kneel outside the bars with her right wrist cuffed to one of them. Denise winked. "A girlie, girlie talk-talk." She said to the slave girl before she joined Garret down the path.
"The rotten bastards!" Heather had finished moaning and was gazing tearfully at her tethered slave. "It wouldn't have hurt them to put you in with me." She sniffed. "All part of the punishment, of course. You out and me in. Oh damn!"
"Are you all right, Heather?" To Wendy, the whipping had seemed cruelly severe.
"Oh, I suppose so." Heather said wearily. "I won't say I've had worse, but I expect I'll live. Jeepers... that blasted girl!"
Wendy fingered the tight metal band around her wrist. "There's nothing I can do." She mourned. "Oh, Heather, it seems so wrong to see you in there like that. You're not supposed to be in a cage. I am."
"And goodness knows when I'll get out of it!" The older captive managed half a grin. "Thank heaven for Ingrid."
"But you've told her not to do anything for thirty days!" To Wendy, such a month stretched to infinity. "They can whip you and whip you - and I'm sure they're going to put me back on that punishment thing."
"We'll just have to put up with it, cupcake." Heather motioned with a cuffed hand. "And I expect this little tete-a-tete is just a tease to make us feel worse when they separate us again."
"Don't you think they'll ever allow -?"
"I'm damn sure they'll never let us touch each other." The caged girl affirmed morosely. "I know how Garret feels about lesbians. They'll tempt us - like now! But that's all."
"Heather, what will Ingrid do? What CAN she do? If Garret catches her too he'll have all three of us for life!"
"Trust Ingrid, cherub! She'll think of something. Oh gollies, that was a beast of a whipping! I'm all sore... And those two back there laughing their heads off."
"Please, Heather, tell me who he is?"
"Poor kid, I should have told you before. He's Garret Compton the Director. He's the one who writes his own scripts and sometimes acts in 'em. That's what he's doing when we don't see him around; he's writing."
"Garret Compton!" Wendy was startled. "Then what's he doing in that awful shanty and this old ranch?"
"Can you think of a better place to keep slave girls?"
"But doesn't he ever get caught? Don't the girls...?"
"Hell no! Garret Compton could flaunt a harem full of us in chains and no one would say a word." Heather chuckled at memories. "By the time he lets a girl go she's so conditioned to being whipped or so hopelessly in love with the bastard she won't make a peep. I'm damn sure most of 'em hope he'll grab 'em again."
It was Denise who came to escort the slave back to the barn. "You can thank me for the chat." She told them bluntly. "I told His Majesty it would frustrate you both to death. So he went for it." She cocked an enquiring eyebrow at her charge. "You going to give me any static, Darling?"
Wendy considered. A cuff would remain on her wrist. It would give Denise the advantage in a fight. Besides, she would have to lie. "I'll be good." She promised. "I'll hold out my hand."
"Behind your back, Darling."
Wendy shrugged and turned her back. She listened to the clicks without enthusiasm. Now, when she was led towards the path, she could not even wave her mistress good-bye. They exchanged resigned grins. Heather's hands, gripping the bars, showed white.
"You've got to go back on that thing, Wendy. Sorry. Want me to call Garret? He's working."
"You're asking me to behave, aren't you?"
"Sort of. I suppose I could whip you back on. But I'd sooner stay friends."
"It's O. K. I'll put my poor pussy on the pole. But think how you'd feel if you had to sit yours on it for days and days."
"Don't joke, Wendy! You may just see that." Denise made a gesture of bafflement. "I'm a trusty today. But sometimes Garret gets real mad at me - or pretends he does."
Wendy looked dolefully at her waiting perch. Throwing a bare leg across it was one of the most difficult things she had ever done. She sat, precariously and painfully, while Denise swiftly tied and tensioned her legs. It was not until she was tautly anchored that her hands were unlocked. Denise was being cautious. With arms outstretched and wrists tied she was back in her penance.
She remained there four days and four nights. Twice in every twenty-four period she was freed for exercise and food. Twice she was given the privilege of a brief visit with her caged mistress. Once she was compelled to make good her pact with Denise.
"Remember, Wendy dear, I was going to get to whip your back? It sort of got lost in the shuffle."
"I hoped you'd forgotten." Wendy admitted.
"Garret says I can whip you this exercise period. Are you going to be a good girl?"
"You'll just leave me here if I don't." The captive complained, wryly. "Sure, I'll let you tie me."
"Just the handcuffs, dear. Then I tie 'em to the upright. You just stand and enjoy."
Wendy doubted the enjoyment. She wished she was more tightly bound. Evidently Denise wanted to see her dance. She faced the vertical support, her hands clamped to it at the level of her chin. "Aren't you going to tie my feet?" She asked doubtfully.
"No challenge in that." Denise chuckled. "See if you can stand still. I don't mind if you don't."
"You said just my back?" Wendy implored.
"O. K. We both keep our word. I'm going to love this."
It was an erratic whipping. Denise sought more to elicit response than to be cruel. Slow leisurely blows would be suddenly followed by a crescendo of sharp cuts against which the tied victim had no defence. Wendy howled and kicked. It was infuriating to be held helpless by so small a restraint. But the handcuffs and the bit of rope controlled her utterly. She had to stand and take it.
"You're so sweet." Denise was panting with excitement. "I adore the way you lift your legs and then kick at nothing. This is the loveliest way to tie. I'd leave you like it all day if Garret didn't have this punishment notion about you. The guy must have the hots for your crushed cat or he wouldn't be so riled about you creeping off with Heather."
It was an incident. Actually a break in the boredom of immobility. She bore Denise no malice. Her stripes and the kiss she got as a reward gave her something to ponder on for the next few hours. The following day it was Garret.
"My apologies, chicken, I've neglected you."
"Denise hasn't. She whipped me yesterday. She said you told her she could?"
"She's become quite fond of you. Says you're a born slave." He gave her his sly wink. "You are, aren't you?"
"I suppose so." Wendy admitted crossly. "I do everything I'm told and never say boo. And I don't hate you all the way I should. Garret, please don't punish me any more! I'm so tired of it."
"That's the idea, sweetheart. Just another week... " She refused to raise to his bait. She merely sniffed in disdain.
"I hear you've found out who I am?"
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Kidnapping girls...!"
"Finest sport there is." He grinned, unabashed. "Didn't really want you to know. You've been coming across with damn good reactions. I've got 'em all down on paper. Knowing about me could influence you."
She sniffed again. "My pussy hurts every bit as much."
"I've missed those breakfasts of ours. You were cute."
Was there something in his voice? Her heart quickened, but her tone remained caustic. "I certainly can't make your breakfasts sitting on this damn pole."
"It's in a good cause, chicken."
"If you want to untie one of my wrists I expect we could play checkers."
"You're being untied, sweetheart. It's your exercise time. I'm going to chase you round the yard with a whip."
"Very funny! I'll be lucky if I can even walk."
Wendy walked. There was no whip. They made violent love in the musty straw. When he tied her back upon her punishment he told her casually: "Tomorrow I'm taking you into town. Make a nice change for you - and me."
Wendy did not believe a word of it. But it was nice to dream.
They went to Lawrey's that bastion of beef and horseradish on La Cienega. Wendy suspected Garret provided its rich respectability as a contrast to her pole. Over cocktails she asked. "Why aren't I running away from you, screaming?"
"Because of that super screw yesterday, chicken. It really gets a girl."
Was that her reason? Wendy doubted it. She was bound to this man by an invisible chain. He jerked it unconsciously but she responded.
"Thank you for the clothes and the shoes and the bag. It was sweet of Denise to pick them. Everything's just right. Gosh, it feels funny being dressed. Do you like me dressed, Garret?"
"I prefer you naked." He admitted frankly. "But I'll put up with you for the day. You'll have the beef, I suppose?"
"Mmmmmm... Oh, Garret, this is gorgeous." She giggled guiltily. "But poor Denise! She's going to hate it in the cage with Heather. I don't think they like each other."
Garret chuckled. "With their hands behind their back they can't claw. Do 'em both good."
"You're not going to keep Heather long are you... Please?"
"None of your business, chicken. I'm going to keep you for life."
Again the quickened pulse! Wendy searched his smile, but was as unsure of him as ever. "Garret? Please let me phone my folks! They'll be half crazy -." Her voice was wistful.
"No need, lover girl. They've had several letters from you. Typed. Denise forged your signature. All is well. You're both only guilty of playing hooky from Hillier."
She flooded with relief. It showed Garret in a new light. Her thanks were real. She supplemented them archly. "And thank you for yesterday."
He laughed at the colour in her cheeks. Then said that which blossomed her blush. "Had to prove it wasn't ruined, sweetheart. Matter of fact, I'd say that pole you've been sitting on has done it a power of good."
Wendy drank a whole cocktail, fast! Impetuously, she plunged.
"I suppose you know I'm in love with you?"
Garret wrinkled his nose and cocked a sardonic eye. "The idea has sort of filtered trough."
"Am I being silly?"
"Any girl's silly to fall in love with me, chicken."
"That's not what I mean. I'm talking about ME. I'm all mixed up between wanting you to take me to bed and all the other things you do to me."
"Good. You'll never be bored."
"Oh, Garret...!" Her exclamation held reproach, exasperation and love.
After the theatre he said. "I'll take you home now."
Her heart stood still. She was tautly tense, waiting.
"I mean, to your folks...!"
"No." The constriction in her throat was such she could scarcely utter the trembling negative.
He kissed her and held her quivering slenderness. His voice was soft as though for an endearment. "You know I'll tie you back on the pole...?"
"Yes, I know. It doesn't matter."
Garret sighed. He was silent a long time before asking: "Is that love, or something else?"
"I don't know," said Wendy. "I just don't know."
When they got back to the ranch, the cage was empty.
* * *
It was Ingrid, of course. It had to be. Wendy was secretly elated and hoped it didn't show. Under the impact of loss, Garret took her to bed instead of the pole. Over breakfast, she sparkled delight. Her robbed master was ruefully amused.
"She's a clever bitch." He admitted. "Had me fooled with that thirty day business. She got it to me through Denise." His jaw set. "I could let her get away with it if she hadn't taken Denise. With Heather and me it's become a sort of game. But she'll latch on the poor kid. She'll never let her go."
It was true! Wendy remembered the totality of her own captivity in the house in Beverly Hills. If Heather liked you she kept you!
"Denise is made to order for that pair of vultures." Garret continued morosely. "And to think I trained her... ! Damn!" He gazed at his remaining slave girl in wry apology. "I'm going to have to go and get her back."
"No! You mustn't! They have to guess you'll come and they'll be ready. You'll walk into some kind of trouble. Maybe the police. Or, more likely, they got her some place you don't know."
"O. K. But I'm not going to abandon the poor kid." He made a gesture of disgust. "I'm going."
Wendy dared not demur.
Garret put her in the cage. Her handcuffed hands clutching the bars, she watched him go. Her delight was shattered.
It was just past noon when Heather Tillson came for her.
"Had it figured just right." The blonde beauty chuckled. "While His Majesty is rescuing a girl he won't find I can pick up at leisure. You won't mind if I put your hands behind your back and fix your ankles?"
"Would it matter if I did?" Wendy allowed herself to be kissed and held close. Her mind was in turmoil.
"Poor dear cherub." Heather was busy with handcuffs and rope. "All this chopping and changing just has to be an emotional strain for you. If you're helpless you don't have to worry about the right thing to do." She kissed her cherub again, comfortingly. "I'll never underrate the potency of our hero's lovemaking... Puts us girls off balance."
"I'm grateful, Heather. Honest! I'm lost...!"
"Of course you are!" The older girl chuckled. "He'll be lost too. I've got Denise in the garage next door - a special arrangement. Ingrid will give him the run of my house while she plays dumb. There's not a thing he can do."
"Isn't it unkind to take both his girls away from him?"
"Do I detect a touch of wistfulness? You're going to be punished for all those sheep's eyes I saw you giving him."
The repossessed slave sighed. Punishment had become a daily event. She made no complaint. When they were well into the suburbs she snuggled helpless beneath her rug while her mistress phoned.
"Yeah, he's come and gone. He's mad. But he's baffled. Ingrid's just fetched Denise back in." Heather laughed at memories. "They'll probably do a number together. They did one last night. You should see the colour of our little dear's pelt! The two of 'em are palpitating with lust." She turned a sideways smile. "I've been saving myself for you."
It was methodical. It followed a pattern. It was inevitable. Finally it was frightening. Chained nakedly in Heather's bed, the slave looked down a vista of days and years. Her immediate situation was about as she expected. First she would service her mistress for as long as her mistress desired. She herself would be given no joy - she had misbehaved. Second, she would be whipped. It looked like a very full day. Wendy kicked unhappily at the shackle on her ankle, and knew herself out of the mood for either of the promised delights.
"You're besotted with the guy, aren't you?" Heather said disgustedly. "With your tongue in my cunt you were thinking of him. That man's a menace."
"Heather, please don't whip me today!" The slave voice was beseeching. "I'm all in a dither. It's - it's too much too fast."
"This is precisely the time you need to be whipped." Heather retorted irritably. "Gives you something else to think about besides his cock and his cunt curling voice. If I just chain you up now you'll only mourn over memories."
"But I don't want to be whipped now!" Wendy's eyes were as appealing as her voice. "Please whip me tomorrow! - you can do it harder if you want - "
"Gee, thanks for the permission!" Heather was still annoyed. "I thought these decisions were mine."
"Don't be angry with me!" The young face showed its desolation. "It's just that I'm always being punished. I was being punished all the time he kept you in the cage - a horrible kind of punishment."
"You loved every moment."
"I didn't! I didn't!"
"And I suppose you were being punished all day yesterday?"
"That's not fair! Oh, Heather...!"
It was no good. Nothing was any good! Wendy resignedly let herself be suspended by her wrists in the room where these things happened. The pain and the stress were cringingly familiar. If her tears affected her mistress, Heather failed to show it.
"Heather, don't hang me up! Can't I have my feet on the floor? The whip will hurt me just as bad."
"No it won't! You deserve to be stretched. And while we're at it - " The punished girl moaned softly as her feet were pulled wide apart to the rings in the floor. She knew what it meant. "Please don't whip inside my legs!" She pleaded. "I don't think I can stand it."
"Gave you a bad time in there, eh? Or maybe it was a good time?" Heather's query was sarcastic.
"No - oh no - Ohhhhh!"
Heather whipped Wendy with great competence, giving special attention between the sundered thighs. When her piqued pride was assuaged she left her slave to hang. The slave girl's body glistened with sweat; the fresh weals screamed; her moans made a gasping symphony of penitence.
When Ingrid came with Denise it brought no surprise. Denise seemed dazed, bemused. The whipmarked girl knew why. In bare minutes the other girl hung as she herself; her nudity equally striped and scarlet. The girls from Hillier College exchanged smiles of wan greeting before the blindfolds delivered them to Ingrid's hunger in the dark.
Wendy was not touched. The magic of Ingrid's hands was not for her this day. A brief caress only; the flickering touch of fingers on her breasts and on her swollen sex. After that there were only sounds. The sounds so much an echo of her own when she, too, had been granted the enchanted time. The moans, the cries. The snapping curl of lash on female flesh. Wendy knew them all. She hung in the dark, in loneliness and pain, and listened to Denise's ecstasy.
In the darkness there was no time. Somewhere in the blackness Wendy was lowered and the bar taken from her feet. It was Ingrid. She knew it was Ingrid when her elbows were joined by the biting cords. She was trussed as she had been once before, carried and placed upon the mattress, heard the door slam and the lock snap. The cell held her. Once more she was its prisoner. Wendy moaned in desuetude and thought of Garret - and of yesterday.
"I'm giving Ingrid a free hand with Garret's little mink." Heather said cheerfully. "They may be still at it for all I know. Quite an education for the dear child." Her voice turned thoughtful. "I seem to have an insatiable appetite for you, cupcake. I'll have to make the most of you today - I've got this damn trip."
They were at breakfast. Wendy knew herself privileged in nothing but handcuffs. Sunlight and food and semi freedom were making her world less bleak. Her weals were of yesterday. It was always good to know the passing of a punishment. She was still being cautious, so kept quit.
"Would you hate me terribly if I punish you again?"
There were the stirrings Wendy had become to recognize. There were no names for them. Mesmerized. Hypnotized. Possessed. Wanton in a tumescent concupiscence. Food and sleep and Heather's magnetism had rejuvenated her. She heard her voice declaim: "No, I wouldn't hate you. I'd understand."
"I was beastly to you yesterday."
"No you weren't. I was exhausted. I'm better now."
The loving hand was back upon her arm. Heather's voice pulsed emotion. "We will love and love, cupcake... How shall I punish you?"
"I don't know. Whip me again I suppose."
"You darling back, it had so much...!"
"I'm sorry I've run out of skin, Heather dear." Wendy made a small moue of disparagement. "I'm afraid everybody uses me." She sparkled across the table. "Would you enjoy hanging me up by my thumbs?"
"Oh, Wendy...!"
"I'm not very knowledgeable." Wendy giggled apologetically. "Don't they stick needles into girls' breasts and burn them with red hot irons... ? I don't have the courage to ask for things like that."
"How about the bastinado, dear?"
"That's where they whip the soles of your feet...?"
"That's right. How's it sound?"
"I'm already curling up inside. Is that really what you're going to do to me?"
"Yes. I want action. A sort of 'Grrrrr!' feeling. You just said it yourself: 'To DO it to you!' The musk you're exuding today is driving me crazy."
"All right then. I get the soles of my feet beaten. I don't imagine I'll enjoy it a bit."
"But you won't hate me for enjoying it?"
"No. Crazy! But that's the way you've made me; you and Garret." Wendy paused thoughtfully. "If you're going to be away, will I belong to Ingrid or will I just be locked in the cell?"
"You'll belong to Ingrid, cherub." The mistress grinned. "But that doesn't guarantee you won't be popped behind bars. That woman of mine has got the hots in a big way for dear Denise. You may have to plead for attention." Heather's smile was shrewd. "Ingrid's attention is quite something, isn't it?"
The handcuffed girl mused thoughtfully. "But, Heather dear, what about Garret? He's going to get me back even if he has to break your house down."
"Well, well! Confident, aren't we? There must be more between you two than I thought. I suppose I could keep you chained in the garage next door...!" The mistress's hand patted a bare arm, her smile confided. "But I've changed all the locks and there's a burglar alarm I didn't have before... ! Look, you delightful cupcake, this is a game he and I play; a sporting contest. If the S.O.B. does manage to make a successful raid and get away with one of you it's the luck of the draw. There'll be one of you left. I'm going to make sure it's you."
"But can you?"
Heather sighed. "Drat the man! It means I have to load you with expensive chains that can't be cut and expensive locks that can't be picked and put rings in the concrete he can't get loose. But it will just be nights. You'll be able to sleep."
Wendy giggled. She had a vision of Garret tugging in frustration at lengths of chain and breaking keys in locks. "They used to rivet chains on girls." She suggested thoughtfully. "A blacksmith did it. That way only a blacksmith could get them off."
"O. K. I'll hire a blacksmith. It was your idea."
They laughed at an entrancing thought.
"Y'know, he could be equally frustrated with his little mink." Heather mused. "Ingrid's put a spell on the child. I suspect a perpetual orgasm. I'd like to be listening in when he rescues her and she tells him she's not leaving. That would crinkle his cock."
"He could simply take her by force."
"Not if we hire that blacksmith."
"Then he'd grab Ingrid."
"Not a chance! He knows she's pure lesbian. For Garret, that's out. With me it's different. He knows I'm hungry for him between my legs, just like any silly girl."
"I'm a silly girl, aren't I?" Wendy grimaced. "All these things - and some are my own fault. I ask for them. I think about it sometimes... I'm only nineteen. Heather, am I a lot too young to interest Garret?"
"I'll whip you for that question. It says more than you meant it to. Wendy dear, you're quite shameless where he's concerned. I ought to keep you in a cage. If you got half a chance you'd run to him."
Wendy did not answer. She did not know the answer.
"But I'm getting a laugh out of Denise." Heather confessed. "I'm in a good mind to give her a test. Leave her without a single restraint, and see what she does."
"Wouldn't you like to try that with me?"
"Come to the punishment room!" said Heather severely. "You're getting too cocky. Besides, the other two are asleep and won't be needing it." She sighed heavily; her eyes glowing. "Dammit, girl, I could eat you alive... Maybe I will."
Being bastinadoed seemed quite simple. Face down on the floor; her handcuffs were taken to her back. Her ankles were raised to a low bar and tied there tight. The soles of her bare feet had suddenly become outrageously accessible. She began to tremble.
"Scared, cupcake?"
"Gee yes, more than I thought - "
"Me too. It's my first time. I'll have to experiment a bit."
The experiments made Wendy scream in a way that shocked them both. "Gosh, I must have latched on to something!" Heather was awed.
"It's awful! I'd no idea. Oh, Heather, you mustn't. Not any more! I'll never walk again."
"You should have seen yourself writhe! You little Darling... And there's scarcely a mark. I'm not going to stop."
"Then not so hard! Oh please...!"
Wendy screamed steadily until the riding crop paused. "You sure you're not putting some of that on?" Heather asked doubtfully.
"My, we are in a tizzy! I've never seen a girl more beautifully responsive."
"You were hitting me harder."
"No, I wasn't."
"Then beat my bottom! It's all ready. Oh, Heather, I can't stand any more of this."
"Here, I'll give you an orgasm. That will help."
"No! No! it won't. It - Oh... ! Ohhhhhh! Ohhhhhh!"
"Good gosh, girl, you were right there. I only just got my finger in you!"
"Oh Heather... ! Ohhhhhh! Ohhhhhh!"
Heather beat steadily the upturned soles.
But the orgasms in the bed were better than ever.
"We'll have to do this more often." Wendy whispered before sleep.
* * *
"Ingrid and me have it figured." Denise explained brightly. She held up keys. "We think you've been in this cell too long. Two whole days! Here, hold out your hands!"
Free! The captive flexed her limbs, bemused and dubious.
"We're going to blame it on me." Denise said happily. "I like being whipped more than Ingrid. Heather will take it out on me. She's bound to be a bit vexed."
"But...?"
"No buts, Darling. We've got you clothes and money. We even borrowed a jeep. Give Garret my love!"
"But, Denise, aren't you coming?"
"What... and leave this goldmine named Ingrid? I'd have to be crazy. Beside her a man's nothing."
"But your part in the play! And Garret! And she'll whip you terribly...!"
"Good. That looks after that." Denise blithely brushed all obstacles aside. "C'mon, get cracking!"
Wendy did everything they said. Past the farthest suburb she stopped the jeep and wept. Her shoulders heaved with sobs. Decisions assailed her brutally. She could choose none. When she heard the familiar and beloved voice she knew it was a miracle. "I was coming to get you, chicken. Regardless!"
"Oh, Garret!" She clung to him as to a rock.
"We'll leave this jeep at a service station and go back in mine. I'll phone were it's at."
She clutched him through the negotiation. She would not let him go. Before stepping into his own vehicle, she whispered. "Garret?"
"Yes, chicken?"
"Have you got a bit of rope?"
"Of course I have." He reached under the seat.
Wendy turned her back to him and offered her crossed wrists. When they were tightly bound, she asked again.
