Two naked girls in a tiny boat, insignificant in the immensity of the ocean. Beside the dingy we could see the huge gray shapes slide by in the quite green waters. Perhaps the sharks sensed where their next meal was coming from. Marjory and I were still handcuffed with wrists behind our backs. Naked girls have no keys or tools or anything else except hope. And hope is hard to sustain without sight of a plane or ship or land. It was the second day.
We were accustomed to the handcuffs, at least I was, I have been handcuffed for longer than I can remember. And if it isn't handcuffs, it's something else. I suppose being in a boat drifting on an endless sea comes closer to freedom than I have known for a long time. Marjory, who owned me once, admitted the steel circlets on her wrists are getting her down. She had been forced to wear them only a matter of days aboard the Rankin's Pride, the ship of bitter memories. But since there are two of us, it was easy to handle the food and water Rankin provided before he set us adrift. While one of us fumbled, the other could watch and direct. So far we hadn't spilt any of our precious cargo.
We had another passenger in our boat -- pain. For each of us there was a nagging bum below each hip and several times a day we check each other's brands. The "R" on the right and the "T" on the left by which we are forever marked as Rankin Teller's property. The brands were freshly burned upon our skin. But as Rankin had promised, the sun and fresh air kept the bums from getting infected.
It was hard to be bored in our situation. We might have been scared, anxious and frustrated, and almost entirely helpless, but we still, from time to time, took an interest in the metal panic canister in which our food was kept. We decided we would open its lid and take whatever comes to hand. Even this wasn't easy for a handcuffed girl. We started out by placing our food on the seat and then turning around to bend and eat it like a dog. However, we soon improved on this by one of us sitting backward on the seat and holding the sandwich or whatever it was in chained hands, which at least offered it and held it firm for hungry teeth.
Marjory was searching the canister when her expression changed to one of puzzlement then a smile. "The son of a bitch!" she exclaimed. "He's put a handcuff key in with the sandwiches. I'll give it to you and you can get me loose."
It was in keeping with Rankin's sense of humor. I eagerly took the tiny key and with Marjory backward on the seat, managed to get it into one of the holes and open one of the steel jaws. I was about to go fishing for the other hand but she told me not to bother but to hand over the key and turn around. Waggling steel clad wrists, I turned and waited in happy anticipation.
It did not happen all at once but I did not complain, handcuff keys are tiny and the key holes are small. I thought nothing of it when I heard the click of the ratchet which accompanies the closing of a handcuff. Marjory was probably playing with the thing just for the fun of it. But all too soon, with laughter in ever word, she said, "You can turn around, darling. There's been a change in plans. I'm going to keep you just the way you are. Or have you forgotten I'm your mistress? You're my property."
I hadn't forgotten anything and I suppose I wasn't too much surprised. I adore Marjory and her breasts and whip marks and ropes had kept me lustily in a way to counter the menace of the sea and its lousy sharks. I turned around and said the obvious, "Don't be a tease, Marjory. You don't need to keep me a prisoner. And with those sharks I'm not going to jump overboard."
It was a waste of words. I beheld mischief on Marjory's face and an old, familiar sparkle in her eye. Right then I knew I was entering one more of a series of captivities, which her words now confirmed. "Don't be silly, Celie, darling, you know you belong to me. And I'm going to keep you handcuffed because that's the way a slavegirl should be. Rankin is one for the book and I never would have believed this could happen. Look, dear, I've clasp both cuffs of the handcuffs around my left wrists, just in case I need them for your ankles. And, since neither of us have a pocket, I'm going to thread the key into my hair just for emergencies. Gosh, Celie, isn't this wonderful!"
"It's wonderful for you," I said pouting. "But it isn't wonderful for me. Gosh, Marjory, it wouldn't hurt you to let me have my hands."
"Look, sweetheart, wipe that pout off your lips or I'll pinch your nipples until you howl. Gosh, it's wonderful to be a mistress once again."
Well, that was that! I was no worse off than I had been before, and, anyway, Marjory was truly my mistress. Before my time at Shalima, I'd obeyed her completely. After the first few times she had to whip me into obedience, I'd become a very good slavegirl indeed.
Marjory was remembering things just the same as I, and said, with firm decision, "You need a woman's authority, Celie, I've been positively ashamed of you the way you moon over that Arab fellow, Hamid. You've behaved like a silly child, telling me over and over how he's going to rescue us and how wonderful he is."
"Hamid is a good man," I offered weakly. "And you wouldn't be so scornful of him if he were here. He's a wonderful Master."
"I can see I'm going to have to whip you back into a proper state of mind," Marjory said severely. "The guy must be remarkable in some Islamic sort of way for you to go overboard for him like this. You just wait until I get you somewhere I can whip you... Or have you become accustomed to Hamid's cane?"
I kept a discrete silence. Marjory couldn't whip me now but she had a long memory. And if we ever did drift onto Palm Island, she would do her utmost to erase Hamid from my mind. I don't like being whipped any more than the next girl. And I knew for sure I'd already earned myself a sore seat. Marjory was very competent with the cane as I well knew. I was trying to think of something to say when we heard the sound of the helicopter in the distance. My heart leapt and I felt certain it was Hamid, who was more certain to whip Marjory herself than to allow her to whip me. But my mistress and I, in an equal longing for rescue, watched joyously as the tiny speck took shape.
Quickly Marjory unlocked my right wrist, locking the freed cuff on my other wrist so I wore both on the same wrist as did Marjory. She admitted with a touch of disgust, "If this really is a rescue, darling, it's better if they don't find you chained. We have enough explanations without that. But don't you ever forget who you belong to. You're mind."
It was not Hamid and I'll admit to a terrible disappointment when the face peering down at us through the window was a boyish grin and a lot of tasseled blonde hair. The pilot was pretty much the same, they could have been twins. Instinctively I guessed they were Austrians. When their floats came to rest beside our little craft, their accent confirmed my guess.
"There's one for each of us, Joe," one said to the other. "What a pair of Sheilas!"
Marjory and I had to be grateful but I swallowed my disappointment about Hamid to join my thanks to hers while eyeing our rescuers carefully. Both were too damned handsome and happy. But it was only fair to reserve judgment until we had something to complain about. Strong arms lifted us out of our tiny craft and into the helicopter. One of them climbed down to retrieve our items in the dingy. While that was being done, and while Marjory and I were still thanking these two men over and over, the one called Charlie grabbed the wrist with my handcuffs to exclaim, "Look what we got here, Joe. Them wireless messages didn't say a thing about handcuffs."
"It's costume jewelry," Marjory told them. "Don't worry about it. Do you have anything we could use to cover ourselves?"
"Wouldn't give it to you if we had, luv," Joe said cheerfully. "We ain't crazy enough to spoil a good thing."
Joe was the pilot and it was Charlie who turned to lean back and get a good look so that once again I felt very naked beneath his male regard.
"Nice tits," he said. "Rest ain't too bad. You really got to have a look at these two, Joe, when you're not so busy."
It was not the rescue we would have chosen. But we had to presume it better than drifting in the dingy. And, anyway, Austrians are noted for their cheerful lack of inhibitions.
When Charlie reached for Marjory's nipples and got his hand slapped, he said accusingly, "You two aren't properly trained. You'll have a key to those handcuffs somewhere, where is it?"
"There isn't any. We're simply wearing the things for fun. Leave them alone."
It was a good try but ineffective. Laughing at us, Charlie pointed out, "Sweetheart, there's only two places that key could be. It's hidden in your hair or it's up your cunt. Want me to search?" Marjory fumbled and found the key. But as she handed it over, she gave a warning, "Neither of us is without influence. And half the world is looking for us, as I'm sure you know. I'd suggest you behave sensibly."
"She wants us to behave sensibly, Joe," Charlie said aggrieved. "From the tone of her voice I'd say she needs her ass whipped. But it looks like someone done that so we'll have to try sweet reason. Hold out them their handcuffs, luv. It ain't hard to figure out why you're wearing them."
I shrugged and offer a wrist. The key unlocked one cuff and I was told to turn and offer my hands. I managed to obey in the cramped and noisy space of the helicopter, and suddenly I was as helpless as I had been in the dingy. How short was my freedom! Marjory argued like a school mistress with a pair of overly active male students. But her acid words could not prevail against Austrian ebullience, and she ended up with her hands behind her back, locked just as tight as mine. It was not a good beginning.
The atoll was tiny but very beautiful as it nestled on the sea in the sun. Its cluster of palms was dense enough to hide the small shack which appeared was constructed from drift wood, some corrugated iron, and odds and ends. In a fringe around one side there was some grass struggling in soil not fitted for grass.
But at least a nice touch of someone thought of home. The helicopter landed on it and Charlie lifted me out in a possessiveness I didn't much enjoy. "You can take the other Sheila with you to the other island, Joe. He talked as thought this sort of thing was a daily occurrence and naked maidens could be played with at will. "We got ourselves a honeymoon apiece. Come back for me in about four days. That ought to give us time to get ourselves screwed to a frazzle."
We stood and watched Joe and Marjory disappear towards an unknown horizon. Scared and in a terrible disappointment, I asked, "I hope you have a key to these handcuffs."
"Actually, I don't, luv. But don't you worry. Old Charlie is pretty good with his hands and I got a few tools. And, anyway, I sort of like you the way you are. Would be a damned shame to take them handcuffs off. Wouldn't hurt you to wear them until Joe comes back."
It had all happened too fast. Charlie was actually a nice looking young man. In other circumstances I would have been attracted to his boyish good looks and masculinity. But his conversation together with the handcuffs on my wrists left me wondering if I'd exchanged one captor for another. I had lost Hamid, or maybe Hamid had lost me. And now Marjory was gone and I was standing stark naked to provide a young man I'd never seen before with a full frontal view. I was half scared to death but managed to demand, "Am I rescued or kidnapped?"
"That shouldn't be hard to figure, luv. Joe and me is going to enjoy you two gals and we'll all have ourselves a good time. It don't matter much what you call it." Charlie's eyes were scorching my breasts as he added, "I should have told you right off, you're a damned beautiful girl."
"What are you going to do with me?"
"Come off it, kid. You ain't that innocent. You know damned well what I'm going to do with you. But right now we'll go to the shack and I'll see what I can do 'bout them handcuffs. Don't look so damned unhappy, I ain't likely to do anything more than whip your ass."
I almost wished I was back on board the Rankin's Pride. Charlie seemed to me a great big puppy dog who could hurt a girl without ever realizing what he was doing. But I stood and watched his search within the shambles of the sad little hut. Suddenly he found what he was looking for and turned me around. A few moments later one of my hands was free. While I was still saying sincere thank you's, I was turned around and the steel cuff locked back on my wrist.
"Sorry to disappoint you, luv, but I had to find out if I had found something that would work.
"I don't see why you can't let me have my hands. I can't run away."
Charlie didn't answer, but carrying an arm load of stuff I didn't like the. look of he took my arm and led me across the thin grass to the first palm tree which threw a patch of shade. He had a sizable coil of rope, one end of, which now fastened around, the palm then secured it wire tightened with a pair of pliers. Without a word of explanation he took the other end and looped it around my left ankle fast and very tight with a couple of bands of rope which he which was wired. He used pliers in the cinching of the wire to tell me plainly there was no way I would get loose.
"Come along sweetheart." he said encouraging, "let's take a little walk.
We took the little walk. The rope was long enough to give me quite a range although what I might do with this freedom could not guess. When my foot was snubbed and I came close to falling. Charlie simply picked me up and laid me on my back on the grass. He then undressed revealing a truly magnificent male figure and a huge, rigid phallus which both fascinated and repelled me. I kicked at the roped ankle and tugged at the handcuffs on my wrists. Both told me I had no hope for resistance.
Charlie's voice was eager, "You know what you're going to get, sweetheart, and you can love it or hate it according to how you behave." He pointed pridefully at his weapon, "You see what I got for you, and you're a damned lucky girl. Spread them legs and I'll try and cheer you up a bit. And look, sweetheart, I don't want any arguments."
I spread my legs. And arranged one shackled arm under my back as best I could. It was one of those times a girl is thankful not to be a virgin. And while I hated surrendering as meekly as I was, I couldn't for the life of me think of anything else. I couldn't fight or kick or run away. I took the easy way out.
I was bathed in shame and blushing furiously. Charlie was good and I am shamed when I think of my responses. He had me going from the start as he thoughtfully pointed out how much better it was when the girl was robbed of hands. He seemed to like the way my hips were thrust up a bit because of my arms being under me. Certainly it detracted nothing from the ecstasy I could not hide and which pleased Charlie tremendously. When the first time ended in a mutual explosion, he didn't role to one side but rested on his forearms for a quiet chat, which didn't last long because it was only a minute or two before he started pumping at me once more. Once more I disgraced myself and I've forgotten how many times that afternoon Charlie impaled me with that tremendous rod. Whenever he needed a rest, we talked. Girls are not suppose to need a rest so he never bothered to ask if I was ready for another round. He simply entered me at will to demonstrate in our many couplings an amazing versatility that always left me breathless and panting. And wondering if the same thing was happening to Marjory.
"Who branded you?" Charlie asked during one of the brief pauses. I told him as much as I could but he soon became impatient to plow my again, so my story about the Rankin's Pride came out in short installments. By the time it was done, I knew myself conquered. Charlie could do what he liked with me and I would not protest. It is a terrible thing to think how a girl can be controlled by a male phallus. True, he had me fastened, but I would not have run from him even had I been free. And, anyway, on that little island there was nowhere to run.
It was not until we rested contentedly that Charlie brought up the subject of whipping my bottom. By that time I wasn't caring much about anything and sleepily asked why he felt it was something he had to do. "Just comes naturally, sweetheart. A gal thinks her ass is just to sit on but a man knows better."
"But it hurts horribly, and what do you get out of it anyway?"
"The first thing I get is the damnedest hard on. I'll make sure you see when we do it. But apart from it being a fun thing, whipping your ass will keep you well behaved and showing proper respect. If I don't whip your ass, you'll start nagging me about letting you loose or taking you back home. Or not screwing you so much. Know what I mean, luv?"
"But if I promise not to nag...?"
"You'd nag anyway, sweetheart, women always do.
Besides, for all I know, you may be one of the gals what gets a big bang out of it. There was a gal in Brisbane who came to get her ass whipped every Saturday afternoon. Until the silly bitch went and got married. You ain't married, are you?"
"No." The last thing that I wanted was to be whipped but I found myself asking when the event was likely to take place. "Hell, there's no hurry about it," my handsome captor assured me cheerfully. "But I got to mark you up a few times before old Joe comes back with your girlfriend. That's four days away, which gives me time to mark you up a bit on four different occasions. I'll start tonight after we've had something to eat. I guess you're ready for it. I mean, getting your ass whipped, not dinner."
"I'm exhausted."
"You're getting a good rest while we talk. And I got a bottle of brandy somewhere if I can find it. You'll be okay. You're the most okay girl I've ever run into."
"May I please have my hands? I'm awful tired of them being behind my back."
"You can have them when we eat. Meanwhile, what do you say we do it again?"
"Do we really have to?" Charlie didn't answer. Instead he just pushed me back down and climbed on top. Ready he was to give me the thrusts to make me once again ashamed. By the time Charlie was ready for dinner, we'd talked enough for him to have a pretty good idea about me and Marjory, and Rankin Teller. I didn't mention Hamid and Shalima because they were none of his business. For me those memories were something special which Marjory intended to whip out of me if she ever got the chance. Besides, tales of Hamid would only make Charlie jealous. Men are so silly if they think a girl loves another man. And I still knew I loved Hamid very much.
My rope tether wouldn't stretch as far as the shack so Charlie left me alone while he got our food. The crafty little bit of metal he used to free my hands worked their magic. I positively reveled in using them for our supper, even though it was only a can of corned beef, a hunk of bread, and a bit of fruit. He said the fruit was grown on the island. We talked a lot. He was simply a lusty young man who had come into the unexpected possession of a young, naked girl. He intended to make the most of this good luck. And he was serious about whipping me. But I remembered that Hamid had whipped Marjory for no reason other than he felt like it.
I spoke my thoughts aloud, "If women were as strong as men, you'd have to forget this whipping business. It's only because you can handle us so easily and tie us up that you can get away with it. Don't you feel ashamed?"
"Not a bit, luv, it's the luck of the draw." It is true I was so accustomed to being used by men that I didn't complain much about Charlie's intention to whip me almost right away. The sexual afternoon, the food, and now the brandy had left me in a state of mind in which I wasn't worrying about anything. My hands were still free but my roped ankle made certain I would give no trouble. And it seemed the most natural thing in the world when Charlie said, "I'm going to fix you now, luv, so I can warm your ass and see if you like it. I'll bet you love it but just don't let on."
I let that pass. I allowed myself to be led back to the palm tree to which I was already tethered. Then Charlie drew my hands to either side of it and locked the handcuffs once more on my wrists. This left me nakedly standing to fact and to embrace the tree. And it left my back and bottom exposed beautifully for his purpose. He patted my bottom with good-natured reassurance before telling me he had to go back to the shack for the whip.
While Charlie was gone, I went through my usual girlish struggles to make sure I couldn't get loose. I couldn't. It was a damned funny sensation to stand there sort of making love to a palm tree and well able to do quite a lot of wiggling. it is strangely comforting to be able to move while being punished. Anxiously I watched for Charlie's return and what sort of whip he was going to use. I almost loved the guy when I saw he was carrying only a leather strap.
I know I wouldn't enjoy the strap but it was better than a whip. Or a riding crop. With his likes I was surprised he didn't have a cane. The leather wasn't very long and he dangled it before my eyes to give me a good look at what was going to mark my flesh.
"This is going to do you a world of good, honey. And if you make noise, if you can duplicate the sounds you made while being rogered, I'll be real pleased. Here comes number one."
It slapped hard and Charlie was right about the burn and spreading heat. In spite of my being almost sexually exhausted, I felt the stirring of desire, and found myself making pretty much the sounds Charlie wanted. In addition, I found myself raising and lowering my legs and kicking back. Anyway I looked at it, Charlie's strap hurt. I pressed my forehead hard against the trunk and waited for number two. The pain almost seemed worthwhile if it gave so much pleasure.
Number two made me squeal. The strap had a venom of its own, quite different from any other instrument yet used on me. I couldn't say I enjoyed it but it certainly lit a fire in my loins. I wondered how many strokes I was going to get. Numbers three and four made me do a little danced and emit sounds I hoped Charlie enjoyed. After number five the boy who was slashing me with the strap paused in a way to make me hope this was the half way mark, then paid me the best tribute he knew. "You're quite wonderful, Celie. You respond to each stroke with such motions and such sounds as I've always dreamed about. Look at what I'm going to use on you after a while."
It was immense, far bigger and more rigid than before. I shivered at sight of it, wondering if my sheath could accommodate such a weapon. The gasp I emitted at the sight pleased Charlie every bit as much as anything else I had done this far. But I hastily turned back to my palm tree and wondered if I didn't look silly standing there all naked and with a pink bottom. The way Charlie had me fixed must have made it seem I had my arms around the trunk of the palm in simple affection while I got my bottom strapped at the same time. But the handcuffs told me I'd never get loose and this strapping of my skin could go on and on. In an instinctive revolt I tugged angrily at my chained hands but all I achieved was to make Charlie laugh and tell me I was doing every thing just right. I felt like shedding tears of frustration but didn't want him to see me cry.
"Let's try another five, shall we, luv?" he inquired as his arm swept back once more.
The second five hurt more than the first. Charlie had either gotten the range or was simply hitting harder now that he had seen no real damage done by the first five. Each slap of the leather now planted its pain with a resounding crack. And with each one I did my little dance and kicked and tugged to vent my outrage and let this Austrian extrovert know he was being mean and cruel. I didn't enjoy this at all even though there was that heat in my loins growing and growing. In my struggles, I stole quick glances at the rigid tool pointing at me.
At number ten there was another pause and gasping to catch my breath, I pleaded, "Charlie, please don't whip me any more. That strap is something awful. I don't deserve this."
"No Sheila tells me when to stop whipping her ass," Charlie told me in the manner of a man standing by his principles. "I'll decide when to stop, not you."
I kept quiet. There was enough room between me and the tree for Charlie to reach around and clasp my breasts which he described as a nice handful and which he said he was glad they were not a pair of floppers. "I can't abide floppers," he told me confidentially. "And I've forgotten how many times I've paid for boobs which sometimes turn out pretty good except that you're not suppose to whip them anymore. Aren't you glad we don't have to worry about things like that anymore?"
I sniffed dismally. "Please let me loose, I keep hurting myself with these handcuffs."
Charlie's response was the most venomous slap yet. I discovered a few more motions by which to fight the resultant scorch. This third group of five drove me to fight the palm as thought it were my enemy. I almost wished I was more tightly fastened so I couldn't hurt myself. When Charlie had delivered the fifteenth slap of my punishment he stood by and observed, "You're sweating, luv. From now on this strap is going to crack across your skin like a gun going off."
I braced myself for the demonstration but Charlie was unpredictable. Instead of giving me the sixteenth, he fiddled with his bit of metal and set me free. A moment later I was on the grass with my feet kicked wide as my conqueror inserted his weapon with gentle authority and the first thing I knew I was making those sounds all over again. With my hands free I used them to the full.
Naked, the two of us lay upon the grass in the heat of evening, me with my bottom burning mercilessly and feeling very mellow.
"I'd like to keep you, Celie," he said reflectively. "There ain't really no reason why Joe and me can't take you two girls back with us. All this fuss and commotion about searching for you won't last more than a few days. And nobody's going to look for you in a helicopter. How'd you like the idea of being all mine?"
"I wouldn't live long enough to find out," I told him. "You've just finished whipping me for the first time, and you've promised to whip me every day. If you keep on using that strap on me, I'll die."
"Don't be silly. Right now you've got the lovelies little rump I've ever seen. Honest, luv, I mean it when I say a girl needs her ass whipped regular. And that strap don't do you no harm. Hell, we've just had the finest piece of tail ever. And that's the reason why."
I sniffed without conviction. "And I suppose I'd always have to wear a rope around my ankle?"
"Gosh, no, kid! There's your neck, your wrist, and there's your waist. Gosh, a man can keep a girl safely fastened in enough ways to keep her interested. You'd never bored."
"You'd go to prison for life if they ever catch you and find all the marks you're going to put on me. Why don't you kidnap an Austrian girl, maybe they like it."
"How'd you feel about me taking you to the parson and making an honest girl out of you? I would, you know, I like you that much."
I positively winced. "I suppose in Australia it's legal for a husband to beat his wife, but I'd not."
Charlie sighed regretfully. "You're proving everything I said, Celie. I've just finished your first whipping and here you're just a uppity and demand as though all I'd done was stroke your pussy. How'd it be we try another five on you and see if it doesn't help you to see what a lucky girl you are?"
"Please don't. I'm sorry." My alarm was genuine as I realized that maybe I had been a bit more forthright than a girl in my position should be. "Don't whip me any more," I wailed. "I'll watch my tongue and be very polite from now on."
"That sounds better. But we'd best make quite sure, sweetheart."
Charlie was so damned strong he handled me like a child. He snapped a cuff on one of my wrists and tucked me under his arm while he searched for the kind of tree that had a branch sticking out at the proper height. I was hoisted up and my other wrist clicked tight and firm so that when he let me go my feet could not reach the ground. I was suspended at least a foot above the grass and striving desperately to clutch at something to ease the sudden, shocking pain the handcuffs now imposed. I kicked and fought and bitterly complained until I realized that everything I was doing made the steel bands around my wrists hurt all the more. Finally I let myself go limb and hang in passive defeat.
"Five," said Charlie crisply. "Feel free to kick." As the leather found me once again, I forgot the agony of my wrists and my flesh exploded in a different and more intense anguish down below. I heaved and jerked while my sweaty hands could grip nothing. Charlie deliberately strapped me slowly and methodically and with terrible precision. In between gasps and hells, I pointed out the injustice of this punishment and pleaded most earnestly for it to stop. I shamed myself by promising never to be uppity again and to obey his orders. Hanging there with pain flooding me in two different places, I promised everything I could think of if only the pain would stop. But the snap and crack of the leather across my rump continued until the final stroke had done what Charlie described as "bum my butt." But I'll say this for Charlie, he had me down in short order and even removed the handcuffs so he could soothe and massage the wounds they had left behind. Stupidly I stood there in naked surrender and, along with scorched skin, feeling a tremendous gratitude that Charlie had stopped at five. I fully expected more. I was laid back down on the grass, and you know what happened then. When it was over both of us slept.
I awoke early and realized I didn't have all that much to look forward to except being constantly ravished by a magnificent male animal. Sometime during the day Charlie would whip me again. For all I knew he might whip me two or three times and in whatever humiliating postures might please him. I debated slipping away from my still sleeping captor and trying my luck against the rope tether. But even if I were free, it would do me no good, I couldn't get off the island. And I was sure Charlie would use the attempt as an excuse to whip me some more. I sighed and went back to sleep.
The second time I awoke, I sat and played with the rope around my ankle and soon proved I couldn't get it off. I then wondered if Charlie had slept beside me through the night out of male protectiveness for the girl he owned. Or whether he had just gotten tired as I had.
In the quiet of the morning I had time to review my adventures. It seemed hard to believe it was only a couple of months ago that I had been carefree and innocently looking forward to a lengthy and fun ocean voyage on the Rankin's Pride. But once away from the dock, things changed. I refused Rankin's advances and got him mad enough for him to cast me adrift in a tiny boat with no motor, no food, and with my wrists handcuffed behind my back. I drifted onto Palm Island only to become a slavegirl to Marjory Magnus. I had fallen in love with Marjory even though I was often punished by way of being trained. I loved her still and knew full well that if she should ever gain ownership of me again, I would obey her implicitly and accept punishes as she imposed. From Marjory my thoughts flitted to Hamid who had purchased me on the slave block and who I should have hated but chose to love instead, even though he kept me naked and chained and never left me in doubt as to what I was. There was also poor, dead Lobo, the exotic Fayela, who's fate I did not know. I could see how my emotions followed a recognizable pattern. If someone made me prisoner and punished me up to a point, and then forgave my sins, if sins there truly were, I always felt such gratitude for the cessation of the whip that I bestowed upon them a truly slavish affection that wasn't really justified. And that held me as surely as their chains and ropes. The brands on my hips told me I should hate Rankin Teller, and the continuing burn of my strapped bottom should make me hate Charlie but right there was were my own judgment fell apart. I simply couldn't hate any of them any more than I could hate Marjory. Their punishments made a truly a slave and instilled in me an obedience to leave me always shamed. It was all a puzzle I might never solve.
For breakfast we had some more corned beef and drank coconut milk. I had mine kneeling and sitting back on my heels because sitting on the scanty grass was too much of a reminder of yesterday. I enjoyed the use of my hands throughout but lost them when Charlie told me we could take a walk around the island, and he didn't want me playing the fool. I gather that his idea of me playing the fool was for me to do something for which he had not granted permission. He was even suspicious when I used the length of my rope tether to walk into the palm trees and bushes for a bit of privacy. He didn't actually complain but right in the middle of this activity he tugged hard at my tethered ankle just to make sure I was still at the end of the rope. The act caused me to snap at him when I went back to where he waited. But when he looked meaningfully at the strap laying on the grass, I became as sweet as honey in a way to make me want to puke.
I have to admit that the beauty of the island and the gorgeous masculinity of the man who walked at my side cheered me up a lot. Both of us avoided the subject of the strap even thought we both knew it was hovering somewhere in the day and having my hands behind my back didn't bother me a bit. Charlie chose to make the circle of the island by walking on the beach where I admit I kept an eye out for possible rescue from either sea or air. But Charlie, who know very well what I was doing, explained that this cat was too small to attract most men and was unworthy of the massive effort being put forth to recover Marjory and me. I forgot that, too, in the loveliness around us. And I wrote off as boyish fun Charlie's occasional mischief with my breasts and nipples, and the delight he took raising me off the sand by a hand clutching my venus mound. Every time he did this made me realize how strong he was and how foolish it would be to make him angry. Or complain about such a trifle as being whipped. In more ways than one we became very close and I found myself wishing Charlie was not a kidnapper but a rescuer instead. Like I said, I'm easily conquered.
The little island was mostly sand so our walk around the beach was much longer than if we had strolled through the trees. Charlie explained we could do that tomorrow. After being fortified with some more corned beef and we with a bottom burning twice as much, neither of us mentioned the strap. I was cherishing the silly, girlish hope that maybe he had forgotten. I should have known better.
The rope for my ankle was still stretched out, waiting. When Charlie told me he could wait no longer and was going to "roger" me until I shouted Uncle, I turned and wiggled my joined hands for his attention. But Charlie professed not to notice and instead of unlocking the handcuffs, he picked me up an laid me in the all too- familiar posture on the grass. Once more I lay upon an arm as this young man took me back to paradise again and again and again! By the time he decided to give himself a rest, I lay there panting in limp ecstasy. In gratitude for his attention, for a few minutes I didn't even feel ashamed. While the two of us lay quietly, my head upon his bare chest, he said, "I just remembered I wanted to whip your ass again, sweetheart. I could roger you again but I'm just too pooped to do it right now. Maybe a good whipping of your bottom will get my rod back up to attention. You won't mind, will you?"
It was too ridiculous. I wanted to tell this youthful master that I minded a great deal and I actually did suggest that wouldn't it be nice if we rested a while before we returned to what he saw as his duty. When I pointed out that I was still on fire from yesterday, he said that he was glad to hear it and hoped he could get the same results today. There was no way I could get the best of him.
I realized I was in for it for sure, and the best I could do was be a good little girl. I let him lift me to my feet and lead me across the grass to the hut. The hut was less a place to live than storage for a vast collection of junk. There was a table and a couple of chairs. I sat on one of the chairs and watched while Charlie busied himself finding something I was sure I would not like. It started out with a stout plank supported at each end by wooden boxes. Next there was a chunk of wood that somehow fitted and became a fixture at the end of the plank. From the shape of it I began to pick up clues. There, was also a, wooden log which someone had gone to the trouble of trimming down smooth. To me the whole thing looked like a collection of drift wood but Charlie told me to lay face down on the plank and insert my ankles within prepared holes in the chunk of wood. Another bit of timber with similar holes fitted over my limbs to become fastened and thus leave my ankles solidly captive. I tried to move my feet but nothing happened. It was as though Charlie had made the damned thing to measure.
I raised myself and looked hack Jo examine my fastening but this prompted Charlie to gather my hands and click the handcuffs back on my wrists to make-me neatly helpless and beginning to get scared. I absolutely did not want to be whipped while being held a medieval set of stocks. I told Charlie this as politely as I knew how. He didn't bother to answer. He simply lifted my hips up and placed a small log under then which caused my bottom to stick up in the air and make me more uncomfortable the before.
Most of my weight was now on the short log on which my pubic region was resting. The rest was on my breasts, something I hate. But try as I would, I couldn't change anything. There I was, at Charlie's disposal. He was viewing my locked nakedness with approval. I'm sure you'll get to like this after a while." he said with -what seemed sincerity "Every girl is made to be whipped except most of them don't know it. Joe and me have lost count of all the pink bottoms we've turned to red. If the girl hasn't behaved herself she often graduates to purple. Isn't this arrangement nice?"
"It's Horrible and I'll bet it will hurt a lot more. Wouldn't you be willing to take me back to the palm tree and the handcuffs?"
"No, I wouldn't! There's one thing about whipping you girls and that's never to get in a rut. You'll get a lot more sexual excitement out of the way you're fixed than you did yesterday. Are you ready?"
"I'll never be ready. But I'm helpless if that's what you mean. My breasts hurt."
"Stop beefing so much. You beefed yesterday and here you are doing it again today. You'd think I'm hurting your instead of getting you nicely primed for the screwing you're going to get. Damn it, luv, girls sure are ungrateful."
There was no way I could win. Charlie now had his clothes off and when I stole a look, he was as rigid as if he hadn't used the damned thing in a month. I pointed out, "But, Charlie, this is going to hurt a lot more. The way you've got me fastened down makes my bottom stick right up. And I can't move it. That strap will hit me like a baseball bat."
"You talk too much," said Charlie. "Let's try this out for size."
I wanted to cry at the explosion across my cheeks. It was terrible pain. I could image my poor flesh being pounded into pulp. But Charlie didn't agree. "There's a lovely mark spreading on your bottom," he said in a quiet tone. "The noise of that strap was positively cock- hardening. To say nothing of the noise you make." He paused to watch me panting my way back from agony. "See, honey you're loving it. I'll bet the burn goes all the way from front to back."
Charlie was right about the bum going right through to my pussy but I didn't let him know. "Don't hit me so hard," I pushed out between the gasps. "If you want me to fall in love with being whipped, you'll have to go easy. That stroke hurt something terrible."
I could never win. I was struggling frantically to demonstrate my pain but he seemed to be enjoying it very much. I was busy tensing myself when number two slapped hard across my curves with a startling sound like a gun and I went as wild as I possibly could. I lifted my breasts and shoulders off the wood buy couldn't hold the pose. My feet and ankles were firmly secured in the stocks and would not move. Once more I did my best, "You'd get a lot more interesting motions out of me if you'd fasten me some other way." But Charlie was enjoying himself and ignored my protests. Once more he swung the leather and I responded with one of my finest screams. I felt sure that if I demonstrated hard enough, Charlie might feel pity and ease up on my bottom. It didn't work. And once more the limber leather crashed down on my defenseless seat to extract from me a truly magnificent scream. My flesh was now so hot I was pretty sure Charlie could have fried eggs.
Charlie was by no means unreceptive to the workings of the feminine mind. I was ready to unloose a flood of tears when he set aside the hateful strap and laid out where I could see them a collection of weird corporal punishments. Several different weights of leather straps, a number of what he described as "slappers", and a really beautiful riding crop which I knew would hurt worse than the all the rest. I asked, "Please, Charlie, isn't there something I can do or promise that will save me from getting my bottom whipped?"
"Sorry, luv, not a thing. What I want you to do is relax and enjoy."
"That riding crop will cut me to bits."
"You're exaggerating, luv. It will warm you up. Let's see what sounds I can get out of this cute little object."
The cute little object was some sort of slapper and I have to admit it didn't hurt nearly as bad as the original strap. But it made a really shocking noise on impact and that pleased Charlie a lot. He used it until he grew tired of the new sound, then moved on to one of the other exhibits. For the next half hour my poor bottom had to endure the slap and crack of all sorts of different instruments, all of them designed to hurt a girl. After a while he actually made me cry which was something I didn't want to do.
When he viewed my tears, it was with a clinical sort of interest. After a while, he tenderly dried my cheeks. Thinking my ordeal was over, I muttered a pathetic, "Thank you, Charlie," and waited for release, a release that did not come. Charlie had saved the best for the last. He picked up the riding crop and said that he would be interested in my reactions compared to those instruments that made a lot of noise. Giving me no time to plead, he cut number one across my already scolded cheeks so that I howled from pent up emotions as much as pain. Charlie was right, the riding crop was different.
loins. And if only Charlie had not used the crop I had become increasingly filled with lust. I fought the pain of the leather by thinking of my reward with Charlie's Jolly Roger. But that blasted riding crop was purely punitive, all it did was hurt as it cut into my skin again and again. I struggled and howled and cried. Charlie was certainly getting his money's worth. After a while I just gave up and lost interest in the whole affair. When Charlie asked if I would like him to crop my back, I didn't bother to answer. I simply lay there in my fastenings and moaned.
After what seemed a long while Charlie freed my feet from the stocks and lifted me erect. His male arms felt so good. I laid my head upon his bare shoulder and anointed it with tears. He didn't bother to free my hands for, after all, what does a girl need with hands when she is owned by a lusty male! All I wanted was to quietly cuddle up against this male and allow my pain to quietly exhaust itself. Try it sometimes, it's quite a sensation!
When I got back to what passes for normal on Charlie's island, I got what Charlie described as my "reward," and I was once more ashamed that what he said was true. I had become a female body with breasts and loins which was cleverly made to alternate between agony and ecstasy. It is quite true they are not far apart. And by the time Charlie had exhausted himself within my sheath, I knew I adored this golden boy, and would obey him totally. I didn't think of shame, I didn't think of pain. All I wanted was for Charlie to make the decisions and tell me what to do. With his masculine equipment, I knew my rewards would be constant.
I begged never to be cropped again. The blasted limber horror hurt more than I could bear. Charlie was noncommittal but told me that tomorrow, which was the third day, would be entirely without punishment and we could go exploring on his island again. Simply a boy and a girl beneath the sun and against the backdrop of the sea. I was so happy I went overboard telling him to do anything he wanted with me. All I wanted now was to give him pleasure. I was thinking of him as "Master," even though I had not yet used the title. He seemed very pleased with me and was continually demonstrating this affection by grabbing my breasts or palming my pussy. On the forth day he told me that Joe and Marjory would be arriving in the helicopter at any minute. I think there was some kind of wireless hidden in the shack with the junk.
The helicopter arrived on time. In a burst of love and a strong need, Marjory and I ran together but were defeated by handcuffed wrists behind our backs. We did our best by rubbing breasts against breasts and kissing with an urgency our captors watched with envy. It was Joe who explained their plans.
"The search is closing in on us," he told us. "And there's no way Charlie and I are going to spend the rest of our lives behind bars. We're going to drop to the of you off on the beach on Palm Island and then head for the hills. You've got half the world looking for you, so you'll be well off and can pick up where you left off." He grinned at Charlie and winked. "But don't think we're not going to have a bit more fun with you. There is still your breasts and between your legs which we haven't marked up yet. We want to hear you tell us you'll love every lash."
"We'll hate the whole thing," said Marjory decisively. "If you've got any sense, you'll run for it right now." It was as though she hadn't spoken. "Charlie and me have got a good idea what goes on with you two on Palm Island," Joe continued easily. "We know Marjory is the head cheese, she owns the damned place, and little Celie has to do what she's told. Well, you can play that game after we've gone. In the meantime both of you belong to us."
I knew we would be whipped again, I could feel it coming. But Marjory and I remained silent to hear the rest of whatever Joe had to say. It wasn't all that reassuring. "We're going to lose you both later today," he said. "That is, after we've really whipped up some heat inside those pretty little slits. But as far as Palm Island goes, we know there's not another man in the picture she's probably lesbian and doesn't want one around. But you'll be getting us where you want us or not. We'll be making a social call on Palm Island whatever we feel like it. Charlie and I are going to take advantage of you girls alone on that island whenever Charlie and I want to use you. We'll simply drop by and there's not a damned thing you can do except be obedient little girls. And I'm not sure even that will do you any good." He grinned at us. 'Tell us how happy I've just made you feel."
I looked at Marjory, and Marjory looked at me. It was time for the exchange of confidences. But when Joe had spoken of he and Charlie being behind bars, I knew it was something I absolutely could not let happen. If it came to it, I would lie myself silly to prevent it. These two boys who were on only a year or two older than I were such golden examples of a sex I once despised I wished they would take me away with them to keep me prisoner forever. But I had a strong belief now under Marjory's stem eye that this was not what she desired, and I was painfully aware that when the helicopter disappeared I would once more be Marjory's slavegirl. In response to the promise of Austrian virility, I said I'd love to have them come and visit. At that point I caught Marjory's eye and shut up like a clam. Even thought all the decisions are made for them, the life of a slavegirl isn't that easy.
In the promise of impending freedom, I had forgotten impending pain. The blonde young men and I were not like other boys and girls who might have kissed and said goodbye. I knew our farewell was going to leave Marjory and me with scorched skin and terrible regrets. It was all crazy but I was happily drifting on a current I had no wish to stem.
"What do you say, Joe," Charlie interposed, 'let's hang them upside down with their feet wide apart so we can use the thin riding crop on those pretty little pussies? Give them something to remember us by."
"I'd sooner leave them laughing," Joe said reasonable. "If we aim to visit them again, we don't want to have to chase them all over Palm Island. How about you screw Marjory right now while I tend to Celie? That way they'll look forward to our next visit."
"You mean we don't get to use the strap on them again?" Charlie managed to make it sound like moral reproach.
"From what I picked up on the wireless, we don't have much time. Get with it, Charlie, mite, you'll find this Marjory tight and angry and pretending she don't like it. Do your best performance and make her say thank you at the end. She's a surly bitch but a wonderful lay."
Marjory and I stood there with our hands behind our backs awaiting the pleasure of these two men who could do as they pleased with us. I could not be sure how much of what they said was teasing, but I knew I would think less of them if they'd actually gone through with the upside down bit. The first thing I knew, Joe had me down on the grass and was using his virility with a skill to make me cry out loud and match him thrust for thrust. Forgetting my pinioned arm and everything else, I had to wonder what there was in the Austrian climate to bred men like these.
Everything ends. Marjory and I were raised to our feet, kissed and petted, and advised to walk around the beach until rescued. In other words, make ourselves visible to the searching ships and aircraft. The boys then headed for the helicopter in a way to evoke from Marjory and me two wails of anguish.
"You can't leave us handcuffed like this, with our hands handcuffed behind our backs! We're helpless!"
"That's the way we found you, luv, and that's the way we leave you."
"But whoever finds us may not have a key. Please unlock us or leave us a key," pleaded Marjory.
Joe threaded a handcuff on a piece of thread which he then thoughtfully suspended on a bow high above our reach before getting into the helicopter and wave goodbye. We watched it take off and disappear above the palms.
We were just two girls, naked and handcuffed and marooned on a tiny little island that wasn't even on a map.
CHAPTER TWO - PRISONERS ALWAYS
It was not Hamid who rescued us. It was something of a let down to be picked up by an Austrian helicopter and its crew of middle ages men who I suspect thought us odd but who lost no time in covering our nakedness and freeing our hands. They gave us the handcuffs and the key without comment. They were perfect gentlemen but we found them dull. By the magic of aviation we were back on Palm Island within the hour. When we signed a couple of official forms, they accepted our thanks and went away.
"They think we do this sort of thing for fun," said Marjory bitterly. "Look, I'm going to put both cuffs on my left wrist. You can do the same. I'll keep the key. Let's get out of these silly blankets and get up to the house. Gosh, it feels good to be home!"
She was right, it felt wonderful. Palm Island may have been a prison for me in the past but I had grown to love it just as I had grown to love Marjory Magnus. I clasp the cuffs around my left wrist as ordered and was grateful Marjory had not used them on me in the ordinary' way. We folded the blankets and carried them back with us on the familiar path. It would have been nice had Hamid welcomed us on the beach but a girl can't have everything and I kept the thought to myself. Marjory had no reason to love the man whose marks she still bore upon her skin. I knew she was gloriously happy to be back in her home. And I suppose I was happy, too, except that my mind was a mixture of conflicting desires. I had been possessed by too many men and each had etched himself within my awareness to leave me more baffled than ever and longing for strong male arms. I wasn't a bit sure about Marjory.
The big house on Palm Island was unchanged except for the absence of the other captive girls who had been sold with me at the Islamic auction. When I asked about them, Marjory became tight lipped but said she would send an agent to see about them. She was by no means a one girl mistress even though it was me she had chosen as her companion each night in bed. We explored the house. We had tea on the terrace and arrived at dinner without a word being said about the handcuffs on my wrist or my future fate. The life I had led before Rankin Teller was no so distant I hardly thought of it. The after dinner brandy was on the patio and brought us to the inevitable confrontation.
"I know you're not as happy as you should be, Celie, darling," Marjory said for openers. "You're mourning those men who conquered you after Rankin Teller stole you from me. Be honest, sweetheart, you're longing for your Hamid. Or your Charlie. For all I know, you're longing for Rankin Teller. You're pathetically at the mercy of any man with a big cock. I suppose you realize I'm going to have to whip that out of you."
"You liked Joe as much as I liked Charlie," I told her defensively. "Don't let's kid ourselves, all girls are the same. Your money gives you power and your power makes you my Mistress. Marjory, darling, couldn't you send me back to England where I belong?"
"Don't be ridiculous. You'd be pining away there the same as here. I'll never part with you so get that out of your silly head. Did I mention that you're in need of a damned good whipping with me holding the whip?"
"Yes, you mentioned it. I suppose it's all I can expect." I sniffed. "I'd refuse to let you handcuff me or tie me up if I didn't now you could just call upon your servants for help. Do I have go to back into slavery right away? It's so nice to have my hands."
"Come here and turn around. Put your hands behind you where they belong. Stop sounding pathetic and be glad you've got me as your owner."
I could have fought but I was on an island and there were really servants in the big house who would obey Marjory's every order. In any case, part of my mental confusion had Marjory dead center. So I did what for Celie Collins was the most natural thing in the world. I went to Marjory, turned around and put my hands behind my back. I was passive but erect as she used the key to unlock a single cuff. That quickly I was again chained in the old, familiar way with steel joined wrists. And all of me subject to Marjory's will. It didn't feel all that bad.
"There, that's better," said my owner in a businesslike way. "Now sit or kneel in front of me so I can feed you as much brandy as I think you should have. Let's get back to normal as quick as possible."
"When are you going to whip me?"
"There's no need to harp on it, dear. When I'm ready."
I shrugged and knelt down in front of Marjory who, for this occasion, had shed her clothes and was just as naked as me. I preferred kneeling because that way I was that much closer to that part of my mistress I adored. Inwardly I told my memory of Charlie to go away. As for Hamid... Well, for Hamid I no longer knew where I was at. Hamid had whipped my mistress terribly while I watched and then had caned my bottom in casual sort of way just to keep me in my place. That was when the plane went down and Rankin Teller rescued us from the sea. Once more I sighed and wished the memories were not so vivid or filled with male promises that nothing was over or done with. I hoped Marjory could erase the memories but doubted it.
That night I shared my mistress' bed and did my duty as a slavegirl should. The silver collar was on my neck with its chain locked to the wall to make certain I did not stray. I went to sleep knowing everything was normal but wishing it was not.
It was several days before Marjory whipped me. At first she was busy with the wireless, assuring would-be rescuers that we were safe and extending thanks to various authorities for their concern. Hearing her speak to people I did not know, I realized the power of the Magnus name. I remembered Hamid's laughing comment that perhaps she was almost as wealthy as he. I doubted Joe and Charlie had any money or were members of the club Hamid and Marjory belonged to. I wished I could forget those golden boys and their promise to return. Marjory never spoke of them.
I think it was on the fourth day that my punishment would wait no longer. Neither Marjory nor I had spoken a word about it but it had become an unseen presence which I knew I would be glad to get rid of. My mistress was going to make me very humble and promise to never think of men again. I could expect to be whipped very hard and very long.
The announcement came during breakfast. My hands had been in front instead of in back instead of in back. "I think today is the day," Marjory announced. "I expect you'll be glad to rid your mind of those memories of male organs and male hands making you what you describe as 'all gooey.' I want my slavegirl back again. And that male nonsense has been between us since our return. Are you looking forward to being whipped?"
On the fact of it, her question was absurd, no girl wants to be whipped. And while I was carrying around a load of guilt, I had little hope the whipping I was about to receive would rid me of it. But I knew Marjory was going to do her best and knew, also, her best was very good, indeed. Perhaps when she was through with me I would see only her instead of a succession of the male faces she deplored. I ate my breakfast as though I didn't have care in the world. Marjory watched and smiled.
Although the facilities for hurting girls was far superior to Charge's quaint notions, I still wished it was he who would punish me while I was immobilized. That business of locking my feet within the wooden stocks and with the short log firmly lodged below my hips and made some sort of an impression which wouldn't go away it. It had been a very personal between experience between Charlie and me. He'd invented the contraption and made me captive in it. .And when I compared that to the scientific precision of whatever Marjory would fasten me in today, it was like comparing ice and fire. I was going to be confined in such a way as to give their instrument of my punishment it's most convenient access to my skin.
Marjory is playing tricks with me. I loose the handcuffs and am a free girl. She hands me a coil of rope and tells me we'll take a walk down to the beach. It was glorious in the sun, and I privately debated whether I couldn't talk her out of fastening me again. During that pleasant walk we chatted happily and my anxieties came to disappear.
When we reached the sand and the ocean and I held the stout timber firmly embedded in the sand, my euphoria became sadly diminished.
The tide was at its lowest ebb. Marjory said brightly and cheerfully, "Your back against the post with your hands behind it. I want you looking out to sea."
Freedom was glorious, I was cherishing mine. I said quickly, "Marjory, darling, I'm not going to let you tie me to that post like you want. Why can't we go and sit in the garden for the afternoon? I'll let you handcuff me again, if it pleases you."
"Against the post dear, stop quibbling." I suppose it was a contest of wills although mine was no match for Marjory's. I was seeing a golden haired young man with a laughing smile. And for him I would gladly have put my back against the post and crossed my wrists behind it. But Charlie wasn't there. The authority here was Marjory, and only Marjory. Sweetly, she repeated a previous threat, "There's the servants, darling. You can't win. Please be a good girl."
"But when the tide comes in, I'll drown!"
"I'll make sure you don't, darling."
"But there'll be horrible things nibbling at my feet."
"I'll leave your feet free darling, so you can kick away the crabs. Stop being silly and get into position."
I got into position, knowing full well it was proof of the power Marjory had over me. I simply could not disobey this wonderful woman who was so much a part of my life. If Charlie or Hamid had been there, things would be different but they were not. Lacking the will to fight, I crossed my wrists and felt the first bite of cord. I was a slave and knew my limitations.
I suppose it could have been worse, I reflected as Marjory's cord twisted and tugged and bit hard into my skin. I knew that immediately she had tied the last knot securing my hands I had lost the battle. Come hell or high water I would have to stand against the post until she freed me. With the last knot tied, she proceeded to belt the nearest part of my waist with strand after strand of thicker rope. It cinched me to the timber as if l were a part of it. When she was through with that she had a clever trick with my shoulders by which they were welded to the timber. I acknowledged that if this was a battle, I had certainly lost it. Marjory backed away towards the creeping waves to survey her work with satisfaction.
"You can't get loose darling, this is the beginning of your punishment."
Marjory had been clever in binding me to face the ocean. The ocean is wonderful according to your viewpoint. And as I looked out at the shinning waves and swells, I no longer beheld the immensity of it, I only felt fear. The tide would come in and rise first above my ankles and then above my knees. It would then lap its death sentence as it rose above my pubic hair and my breasts. Furiously I fought the ropes while pleading in panic. "Marjory please don't do this. Please, no! I could drown when you're not looking. And there are horrible sea creatures that come in with the tide. I can't bear the thought of being eaten like that."
"You have your feet, dear. You can kick the little things away. And I won't leave you there long enough for sharks."
I wished she hadn't mentioned sharks. It was then that I realized if the water reached my breasts it would be deep enough to attract the sharks. In anguish I cried out, "Marjory, Marjory, don't do this to me!" But Marjory was gone and I was alone.
I wondered how much of such a punishment is in the mind. Even without the surge of water then covering my toes, my state was dire. Marjory might be watching. But supposing she was called away or went to sleep during those fatal minutes when the laughing waves possessed me. I would die!
It was terrible to be alone. I needed the reassurance of human hands and human voice. In panic I fought my corded wrists but my mistress had done her work too well and I knew defeat. I wept in pure fear.
I longed to be whipped. The thong cutting my skin seemed almost friendly in comparison to this ridiculous fear which endowed ever wave with hostile life, so I could believe a Kraken would emerge somewhere out there beyond the surf and carry me away. Since I longed for the whip far more than I wanted this, I knew I was indeed being punished in a way to make me worship Marjory and her return. Since it was Marjory who bound me thus and had the power to set me free, my thoughts were all on her. Charlie was forgotten, and Hamid somewhere out in the distance, beyond reality. By the time the water was half way to my breasts, I was indeed a sad little girl.
The chopper might as well have been a flying saucer, so deeply was I immersed in fear I couldn't believe it real. It scouted around awhile before coming to earth on the sand behind me. By cramming my head around the post I could see the door open and Charlie exit, wearing a silly grin on his boyish features. "We came just in time," he said as if such a rescue was an every day occurrence. "Do you want me to cut you free or are you so fateful to dear Marjory that you want to die here?"
"Cut me free! Oh, Charlie, I can't move!"
"Don't worry, my pet, the sharks are still a few feet away. Where is that silly bitch who thinks she owns you?"
"Marjory I don't know where she is. Please hurry and get me out of this." Once more it was glorious to be free. The waves washed the bits and pieces of cord and rope away, and I felt like spiting on Marjory's post as Charlie picked me up and carried me back to safety.
I was so grateful for release I wept out relief on Charlie's shirt.
At this point Joe made his appearance. The two blonde giants seemed inseparable. His voice was hard with decision, "Where's this Marjory female of yours? We're taking you back with us but I want her, too."
"If she isn't up in the trees, she must have gone back to the big house. Please don't bother with Marjory. Get me out of here."
"You belong to Charlie, sweetheart, which is okay by me," Joe told me. "But I've got a score to settle with that bitch who's got too much money for her own good. She needs her ass whipped a few more times and all the rest of the treatment." He paused and eyed me shrewdly. "Maybe you'd like to be owned by two instead of one?"
At that moment I didn't much care. If Marjory had been in evidence, I would be glad to see her bound and added to the chopper's cargo. All I saw and all I could think about was Charlie, and Charlie was holding me in his arms. What more could a girl possibly desire?
At that moment, Marjory came from the trees. It was easy to suppose she had been there all the time watching the rising waters lap against my flesh. With the assurance of her ownership of Palm Island, she advanced to give greeting to a pair of young men from whom she should have fled.
"What's going on here?" she asked with the voice of authority. "What are you doing with Celie she's suppose to be tied to that post?"
My new captors exchanged chuckles. "How dumb can a broad get," Joe asked. "I told you she needed her ass whipped to get some sense into it." He looked directly at my mistress, "You want to come home with us, sweetheart?"
"Of course I don't!" Marjory was still in full bloom of ownership of the whole island. "Put Celie down and go about your business. If you don't stop fooling around with what is mine, I'll contact someone who will put you in your place. Get in that machine of yours and go."
It was at this point Marjory realized she was in trouble. Her lovely breasts were suddenly heaving as she faced the cheerful invaders of her island to hear Joe order, without much concern, "Take your clothes off, girl. Females don't wear clothes around Charlie and me."
"Don't be disgusting."
"You keep Celie naked. Take them off!"
"Celie's different. Celie's... Well, Celie's different. Celie's my property I'm not your property. As owner of this island, I'm ordering you off. Get into that chopper and go."
The boys stood regarding poor, dear Marjory as if she were an exhibit. My mistress held her defiance as long as she could but suddenly it broke and she turned and ran. A few moments later her hair was gathered in a huge Austrian hand. "Take it easy, sweetheart. I don't suppose you happen to have a pair of handcuffs?"
"Of course not!" Marjory was clawing at the arm which held her hair. "Let go of me, I'll have you in jail."
Charlie put me down and while I was wondering what to do he picked up a length of cord by which Marjory had bound me to the post. With It he bound Marjory's wrists behind her back while she became more and more outraged. "Let go of me! Stop that! Don't you dare tie me up!"
By this time the poor dear was safely tied and the boys stood away to give her every opportunity to test her bonds. The struggle she now engaged in held up all breathless. And while she was still twisting and tugging, Charlie found another piece of cord and tied me the same way. I am ashamed to say I stood absolutely still and gave him every help I could. I wanted to belong to Charlie, it was that simple.
Marjory did not want to belong to anybody. She kicked and bit and struggled against the tiny length of cord by which she was secured. Joe picked her up and tossed her into the helicopter. Then he told her to behave herself if she didn't want her ankles tied to her neck. Then with gentleness I was safely tied and deposited beside the girl I need no longer address as mistress. We were a pair of maidens in distress but the distress was all hers. I was so damned happy I could have laughed aloud.
It was quite a ride. I know little of the geography of the place but towards evening we put down against a sad looking shack in some place rather desolate. "Well, girls," Charlie said cheerfully, "this is home. Make the best of it."
If Marjory could have snorted fire, she would have done so. She was deposited on the arid soil and her wrists cut free of cords. She was told curtly to undress.
I beheld the look on my beloved mistress' face and knew she did not wish to obey. I knew that for me to be naked was right and proper considering my condition. By my mistress' nakedness was hers alone. She responded with a curt, "Drop dead!"
No one dropped dead. The circle of interest held with Marjory at its center and core. She reaffirmed her position by a disdainful sniff to exclaim, "If you two peel me naked, I'll make you pay for it with the next twenty years of your lives. Don't you realize how crazy this is? I have wealth and influence."
Poor, darling Marjory's wealth and influence carried no weight here and now. Our owners picked us up and carried us into the shack. It was as much a mess as the little hut in which Charlie had last whipped my bottom. I looked with interested and wondered when Charlie would "Roger" me. I didn't even both to try and free my hands they were tied so damned tight I knew the effort a waste of time. I grinned at the man who now had possession of me, and asked sweetly, "What can I do to please you, Master?"
My shameful declaration was just what the situation needed. Joe burst out laughing, while Marjory chided, "Celie, I'm ashamed of you. We have to defeat these men the least you can do is help instead of acting like a cat in heat."
Charlie had a protective arm around me in reassurance. With his cutting of the cords, I was now free but Marjory's hands were still tied. She flooded me with threats and pleadings until Joe simply picked her up and carried her to another room where her anger could not disturb Charlie and me. I was well and truly rogered and asked for nothing more. I was so happy I found it hard to understand why my mistress should be so miserable. From the sounds coming from the other room, I had to believe she was being dealt with by a vigorous male. Charlie looked down at me in love and both of us laughed.
The next day we were taken on a tour. My hands were tied behind my back the same way as the boys had bound Marjory. In addition they had triced her elbows hard and fast to join her forearms as though welded together. She was extremely vocal both pain and indignantly, but I was not listening. I was so happy to be free of Palm Island, and viewed everything the boys showed us with instant approval. It was simply the shanty itself, a dugout, and a bam. Along with a sort of corral in good condition of repair. I gathered that somewhere in the vast acreage there were sheep. I suppose what came next was inevitable. The gate into the corral was opened wide enough for Marjory and me to be thrust inside. It was then closed and made secure with chain and padlock.
Marjory and I stood nakedly with hands tight tied, to look through the rails into laughing eyes. 'Two little lambs who have lost their way," Joe chanted. "Good thing you've both been sheared."
Left alone in the corral, Marjory become vocal about the shearing. "There's absolutely no need to keep me naked," she said bitterly. "I'll emphasis this part of our treatment when I get them in 'court. Look at us now, treated like animals, locked inside an enclosure for sheep. Sooner or later I'll get these fools behind bars."
"But I'm naked, too, darling," I pointed out. "You're different you're suppose to be naked. And nakedness becomes you, Celie. And if the two of us ever get back to normal, that's the way I'll keep you all your life."
"Then why is it so bad for you?"
"Stop quibbling darling. Don't think I'm not keeping account of your outrageous behavior. One of these days you're skin will pay the price. What do you suppose these oafs will do with us?"
"I expect it will be more of what Joe did to you in that other room. You sounded like you were getting some enjoyment."
"Don't be flip Celie. I have never approved of the behavior of a girl's glands. You willingness to be impaled is deplorable."
We walked around and around, a pair of naked girls without hands. Marjory continued to sniff disdainfully and I found myself wishing the boys would come back and whip her bottom. When Marjory is miserable, she makes a good job of it. We were taken back to the ranch house for lunch, and our ankles were joined by about fifteen inches of rope. Then our hands were untied that we might eat. Since we weren't going anywhere, our ankles weren't important. I found it a delightful picnic affair even though corned beef isn't my favorite. As expected, Marjory sniffed and said she wasn't hungry.
A girl could always be sure the boys would have something in mind. After we ate, the boys came out with an obvious suggestion, "You two girls can amuse yourselves tidying this place up and later on, making supper. How's that hit you?"
It seemed to me reasonable enough but Marjory vowed loudly, "You're not going to make a domestic servant out of me! Untie this rope on my feet. I refuse to be exploited as slave labor."
Charlie and Joe wasted no time. I watched with interest, feeling that Marjory had indeed overstepped the bounds. They tied her wrists .tight together and threw the rest rope over a beam it was an easy task to lift her off the floor and secure the rope. Each of the boys then selected an instrument of correction before Joe "Sweetly asked, "One more chance, sweetheart. Are you going to make yourself useful or do you prefer we heat up your rump?"
"This is an outrage. I'll have you arrested... " The riding crop cut the poor darling's bottom from side to side in mid-sentence. She had wonderful control but just the same became a puppet on a string as she kicked and jerked in tight-lipped disapproval. I found myself pleading, "Marjory, darling, don't force the boys to do this, you don't have to be whipped if you'd only stop being so snooty. It wouldn't hurt either of us to clean this place up. Say you're sorry and let's get on with it."
I could have saved my breath. In fact I think I made my mistress angrier than ever as cane and strap and crop slapped hard upon the skin she could not shield. And as she danced to the song of whips, she seemed to be getting further from reality instead of closer to common sense. But after her bottom had taken on all the colors of the rainbow, she finally came out with, "Very well, then, I'll help clean this disgraceful hovel. I accept your humiliation. Please let me down."
The poor dear stood hurting; as her feet were returned to the She tried to reach around to her wounds but since her hands were still tied, never really made it. When Charlie cut the cords she instantly felt her well- whipped bottom as if wondering if it was still there. Several times she started to tell the boys what she thought of the whole affair, but, catching my eye and observing the painful instruments still upon the floor, she bit back her words. With glances of pure venom at our laughing boys, she began her share of the clean up job, and even managed to snap at me.
We had out hands but not our feet. The rope snubbed my ankles at every step. We had to take rugs outside to get rid of their dust and whatever had been dropped on them. I knew both the boys were enjoying watching us, sometimes I tripped and feel and that brought laughter. But I knew it was part of the game. I wished poor Marjory could be happier about it but she remained tight-lipped in disapproval as she shared the task. The boys continued watching until, I suspect, they felt embarrassed, too, and left us to our labors.
About an hour later we were startled by as feminine cry of surprise from the doorway, and an amused female voice saying, "Well, I see they've got you working. Do you get paid for this or have you been kidnapped?"
We started in open-mouthed amazement. She was pretty, about my own age, and dressed as one would suppose a girl would dress on an Austrian sheep ranch. It was Marjory who came up with, "We've been kidnapped. Can you get us to the police or a telephone? Who are you?"
"My name's Sheila. Not the universal one, but that's what I was given." There was laughter in ever word. "I'm their sister and I must apologize for the way those two boys behave."
"Somebody certainly ought to apologize," Marjory snapped. "Are those two idiots likely to show up at any moment and tie you up, too?"
"That won't happen. We have an understanding." Sheila looked down at our roped ankles to demand, "Why didn't you use a kitchen knife to cut yourselves loose?"
"We're frightened. We're in the middle of nowhere, aren't we? Where would we run?"
For answer, Sheila found a knife and sawed our feet to freedom. "If you've got any clothes," she said, "grab then and we'll all run in my car. There's a telephone in my place and it's only ten miles away." She was looking at us shrewdly. "I wouldn't do this for most of the girls Joe and Charlie pick up. But I think you're trouble. Hurry up."
I didn't have any clothes and Marjory bundled hers under one arm while we ran to the land rover. Before turning the key, Sheila demanded, "I'm taking it for granted you want to escape?"
"More than anything else in the world," Marjory affirmed. Then, catching my eye, added, "Shut up, Celie, I know what you're going to say."
I sighed but kept quiet. I knew myself absurdly tom between the girl I loved and a boy named Charlie. I knew there should be no hesitation for if I stayed with the two boys I could expect to get my bottom caned or strapped every day. But of course it was their other attention that formed an invisible bond. I sat in the back seat as the rover bumped over a sandy desert. I didn't know how we would get back to Palm Island, but felt sure that when we did, Marjory was going to make it hard for me to sit down for a while. The look in her eye told me I was not in favor.
Once more it was the Austrian Air Force that came to our rescue. Marjory had to sign a very large check to cover costs but I got the impression Austria was glad to be rid of us. It was the same two pilots as before and now they were looking at us with even more disbelief than before. Sheila had insisted we tell a garbled story about being kidnapped and deposited on the Austrian Outback by parties unknown. Our pilots didn't believe a word of it and were not very polite. I wished Sheila was coming with us, I liked her.
Palm Island was beautiful in the sun. Our escort once more deposited us on the beach, and Marjory once again signed several bits of paper. We watched their helicopter disappear into the distance and felt foolish. There was an element of anticlimax to the whole scene. We wondered what would have happened to us had Sheila not come on the scene. There was also the question as to whether Joe and Charlie would take our escape as final or if we could expect another visit. I looked for the heavy timber to which I had been bound for the sea to lap at my naked body and found it not far from where we stood, still dark and threatening. I was almost in the mood to ask Marjory to tie me to it again and see what happened. Like I said before, I am often a very silly girl.
"Get those clothes off. Celie. I suppose you've guessed I'm ashamed of you. It will take a week to get you back to normal."
I made myself sultry and sloe-eyed. It is one of my moods Marjory most enjoys. I was sure I would soon be whipped and had best try and reduce the number of strokes I would get. I divested myself of the garments Sheila had provided and then stood naked for my mistress approval "That's a lot better," Marjory acknowledged. "I seem to remember we left some bits of cord by the post when those impossible men kidnapped us. Go and get me a length long enough to tie your hands."
Actually it was not long ago, but the post was almost a living thing in my memory. I was glad I did not have to touch it, and found some cords scattered around. I selected the longest and then, being almost indecently obedient, I took it to where she stood, turned my back and crossed my wrists.
I had been figuring on fifty strokes, probably with the riding crop. If I could reduce that number to twenty- five or less, I was certainly going to try. I knew I could not challenge my mistress this was her island, and one way or another I would be returned to slavery. I stood in passive acceptance of my lot as the cord twisted around and bite my skin. When Marjory had tugged and pulled to her satisfaction, I made only one brief experiment which showed me it was one of those ties from which no girl would ever escape.
"If I had more cord, I'd tie your elbows to teach you a lesson, you silly girl. Consider yourself lucky."
I could not pick up Sheila's discarded cords so Marjory had to do it. When we got to the house she set aside the clothes to clasp me in her arms and weld her lips to mine. It felt very good indeed, and my mistress tasted wonderful. I knew her whisper was sincere, "I love you, Celie, you know I love you. Forgive me if I whip you more than you would like, but somehow I've got to make you understand who you belong to. Come along, we can both use a cup of tea."
There is something extraordinarily compelling for a girl with wrists crossed and bound behind her back. The feeling is erotic and at the same time frightening in the helplessness it imposes. Every time it is done to me, I feel mostly breasts and pubic area. I suppose if a girl had hands to cover herself she would not feel so naked.
I walked up the path toward the big house with Marjory's hand firmly on my arm. Things were going well and I mentally reduced my maximum punishment down to forty strokes, while hoping for only twenty. It's a terribly chancy thing and causes shivers up and down the spine. Knowing that your punishment might be less than you expect can be a comforting thing. It's a very complicated mental process which only slave girls know.
I remembered the first time I had walked this path from Rankin's dingy on the beach. I remembered the girls I had discovered in the cage and the other one tied tight to a tree. Marjory remembered, too, and vowed bitterly to get them back from whoever had purchased them on the auction block when Hamid purchased me. We made our way through the beautiful forest and garden, and up the steps and through the open door. Both of us were feeling a tremendous excitement in the resumption of our normal life with Marjory the mistress of adoring slave. The door to her office was wide open and when we entered we discovered a man seated in her chair behind her desk.
It was Rankin Teller.
CHAPTER THREE - THE INEVITABLE IRONS
I stared in open-mouthed astonishment, but Marjory was instantly vocal, "Get out of that chair, you son of a bitch! What are you doing here?" She was panting and I think both of us sensed doom.
Rankin was in his element, taking instant inventory of my nakedness with his smirking grin, and cocking a cynical eye at my mistress who no longer held my arm. "Told you I'd drop by sometime when the heat was off. I know about those two boys having fun with you. And what you're going to do now, Miss Marjory Magnus is get busy on the wires, do your normal business, reassure all those who might be concerned that you are live and home and well, and then tomorrow the Rankin's Pride will send in a boat and I'll take you both away."
"You'll do no such thing!"
"Try and stop me, honey. I've got your servants eating out of my hand. I've doubled their wages, paid them up to date, and a little bit ahead. They'll keep your lovely island in good condition until I take over permanently. Palm Island is a damned good place to retire... When I'm ready!"
"You insufferable animal! Get out of my chair and out of my house. I'll have my servants toss you in the sea and you can damned well swim out to your ship, where ever it may be."
Marjory's outburst was one of desperation. At that moment a pair of crewmen from Rankin's ship walked in with a casual, "Nice to see you again, Miss. Collins and you, too, Miss. Magnus. We're glad you're coming back with us." One of them dangled a pair of shinning handcuffs for Marjory's inspection. "You won't mind if we use these?"
"Don't cuff her until she's done her strip act." Rankin ordered. I want her as naked as young Celie here. Never did see any sense in girls wearing clothes."
The office was filled with vibrations as the crewmen stood back against the wall, taking me with them, to leave the two main characters in this drama to center stage. I knew how Marjory must hate the man across the desk who had stolen her position and perhaps her life. My heart went out to her, knowing how she would hate what Rankin would do to her. Behind my back, out of sight, I tugged at my bound wrists in useless effort. I could not help her, I could not help myself.
"Take your clothes off. Miss. Magnus," Rankin ordered politely. "I've got some real fun things planed for you but a girl can't have fun with her clothes off" His voice hardened as he added. "Strip"
"You know I wont do that. No girl should be asked to do that in front of you men. Please be sensible."
"I am being sensible, honey. I am taking you to where you belong. You aren't queen bee on this Island any more."
Marjory bit her lower lip. "Where are my servants? What have you done to them?"
"I raised their wages and paid them up well ahead of time. I want this place well looked after. In case you haven't guessed, it is now my property."
"It's not your property and never will be. I don't care about your money and your ship. I'll have you behind bars for life unless you go away and leave Celie and me alone." Marjory's lovely breasts were raising and falling in the fury of her emotions.
"Take your clothes off, and stop the silly protests I can have the boys strip you but I sooner you do it yourself. Get with it and take everything off."
Marjory stood facing him like some creature at bay.
Ineffectually I pleaded "Please Rankin. leave Marjory alone. Take me away if you want a girl but this is her island. Please don't mess up her life the way you messed up mine."
Rankin laughed in quite genuine amusement. His voice was heavy with logic, "Celie, love, you've had more fun out of life since I took you in hand than most girls get out of ten lifetimes. And don't tell me you haven't loved it all. Just keep quite while I deal with her majesty."
I know Rankin was right but I would not confess to being a silly girl and finding joy where others would only find pain. But I stopped my pleas and watched the drama before me.
Rankin Teller had Marjory and me at his mercy and was enjoying every moment of that mastery. He repeated his outrageous demand, 'Take you clothes off and stop quibbling." There was dead silence with everyone in the room tense and watchful. But my darling mistress held on to authority to the very last as she demanded, "And if I refuse?"
"Hell, you won't refuse, kid. Think what we can do to young Celie! Do you want me to have her steadily whipped until you get some sense?"
It was senseless and cruel. Marjory stood there tasting defeat. Then suddenly her hands flew to the fastening of her dress as if she wished to get it over with as fast as she could. I hoped it would not be as bad for her as on that first time but I knew it would be bad enough. Soon she stood there as naked as myself her cloths and shoes in a pile on the floor. As if to punish herself for defeat she turned and crossed her wrists in mute acceptance.
"I want her in front," Rankin ordered. "She's got work to do. When you've fixed her hands, you two can run along, I can handle the rest."
There is a difference for a captive girl with hands in front or in back. The frontal position allows her to do things and is pretty much non restrictive. Rankin now gave her chair back to her and gave directions. They were crisp and knowledgeable and stripped Marjory of everything she had ever been. She and I were about to enter a new enslavement. Under Rankin's direction she phoned here and there. She tapped out messages on the wireless. All tasks designed to strip her of her authority and continuing residence on Palm Island. Marjory realized as well as I the hopelessness of resistance. Her surrender was total, and tears filled my eyes as I saw my beloved mistress reduced until she was little more than a naked girl with handcuffs on her wrists. Rankin did a thorough job and at the end of it surveyed us both in full pride of possession. To Marjory he was polite, "Thank you, Miss Magnus, thank you for Palm Island. Thank you for that lovely body you now display. And thank you for that pretty girl who thinks you're wonderful. One way or another, I'd say this was a damned good day."
"What are you going to do with us?" Marjory's voice was almost toneless.
Rankin affected surprise. "You mean I didn't explain? Or you haven't guessed?" His grin once more held affection. "Why I'm going to sell you both. I have an agent who will take you off my hands and dispose of you. I'd call it the most exciting thing to happen to any girl to stand upon the auction block stark naked and watch a bunch of millionaire bid to own her. Don't bother to thank me I can take you gratitude for granted."
"You bastard!"
"Hard words break no bones, honey. The heats off and you can join my passengers and give us a bit of entertainment before we enter port. Everything's going to work out fine."
"You mean you're going to torture us for the benefit of those sadists who pay you good money for a ticket."
"That's a harsh way of putting it, sweetheart."
"You're despicable." Rankin ignored the bitter word. "First thing is to look at my brands you've both got on your skin. Come close and turn around so I can see my handiwork. From where I sit it looks like damned professional job."
We exhibited our burnt skin but we didn't like it. Rankin got not only a good look at this brand, but also at Marjory's bottom. He laughed. "Those Aussie boys sure worked you over, didn't they, sweetheart? Don't worry I'll use other parts of you while your back side heals. I can well imagine you hated those two."
I stood and watched Rankin change Marjory's hands from front to back. She had obeyed him and now no longer had use for hands. Rankin imparted a piece of news, "I forgot to tell you about that Hamid fellow. And why he hasn't showed up. The fact is you became a bit of embarrassment with half the world running around searching for you. You see, Hamid's a big man in international circles. And keeping a couple of white wenches prison would not have helped his image. Those messages you've just sent out, Marjory, will convince him you're both safe here on Palm Island, and I suspect he'll leave it at that. If he shows up at the auction when you're sold, it will just be the luck of the draw."
Marjory blurted out, "Damn it, man, you don't need the money. I can give you that much. Why on earth would you consign Celie and I to such an awful existence. Surely we can make a deal?"
"Hell, it isn't going to be that bad, honey. As far as I know Celie loved every moment of her time with Hamid." He looked at me. "Hear tell you fell in love with the guy, Celie, my pet."
I know how Marjory felt about Hamid and I, and did not answer Rankin's jibe. But for the first time it was born upon me fully that I no longer need call Marjory mistress or be concerned over her opinions. In what Rankin did in having her make all those telephone calls, he had removed my former mistress from the ranks of the super rich and reduced her to the same status as me. Miss Marjory Magnus had become a slavegirl subject to the will of others. She would join me in chains or any other restraint our master chose to use. She would be punished as I was punished, mostly to give others sadistic enjoyment. I was unhappy about our predicament but for poor Marjory it was going to be ten times worse. Her pride would be trampled under foot. And since Rankin had the rest of today to amuse himself with us, I was pretty sure he would continue the treatment we had endured on his ship. Our branded skin no longer burned but it would tell the world we were Rankin's property. I could have wept.
* * *
Marjory and I were being punished. Our only sin was being female, and thus a source of eroticism to the Male. Since men are stronger than girls, we had no choice but to endure whatever they chose to inflict.
It was worse for Marjory than for me. She was suspended by her wrists with her feet well above the floor. Instead of handcuffs, her wrists were neatly and tightly encircled by leather bands, a couple of feet apart to a wooden bar. She had ceased to struggle and hung in a passive abandonment of hope which I understood all too well. We must have been like that an hour and my knees were, hurting as I obeyed Rankin's order to kneel and not to move. In front of my eyes was Marjory's patch of pubic hair, its shiny curls a constant temptation to give in to desire and ease her pain. But that was forbidden. I had been told to simply kneel and to contemplate at close range the sex of the woman I had once called mistress. I found it beautiful and enticing, and from it came wave after wave of girl scent. Marjory laughed bitterly as I told her that an she told me of the perfume I exuded as it reached her nose as she hangs in helpless pain. I had been positioned between Marjory's legs with my wrists in handcuffs, the other cuff of which was tight around Marjory's ankle. My hands were linked to her ankles and I made an effort to keep my hands from lowering least that would add more weight to Marjory's punished wrists. My face was very near my darling's fur but I dared not break my pose for fear of being caught and punished. Even though chained to Marjory's ankles, there was several ways I could have changed position and ease my ache. But I did not want more punishment so I knelt as Rankin placed me and stared at a pussy only an inch away, a pussy I longed to lick and tongue. Neither of us knew how long we would be left alone.
We had tried to escape but, as usual, there was not the faintest possibility. Between the modest gasps and moans of maiden pain, we had discussed Rankin Teller and his intention to sell us both the way I was sold before. And the way Marjory's girls were sold into slavery. I had become used to slavery but for Marjory it was still something too awful to consider. She was confident we would be sold to a brothel or something worse. She feared we will be beaten daily and made to do horrible things. I admitted there is not much to look forward to.
Our real concern was separation. We knew that what we suffered now was made more bearable by being together. But we knew, too, how unlikely it would be for us to be sold as a pair. We would probably be taken in opposite directions and never see each other again.
"What we have to do," Marjory offered bitterly, "is persuade the son of a bitch to have us chained together and sold together. I can't bear the thought of loosing you, darling, or of being alone in slavery. Celie, darling, we don't deserve this."
"You're forgetting about Hamid," I said softly. "I don't believe what Rankin said about Hamid. I'm sure Hamid will come searching to repossess me. I'm sure of it!"
"Hamid hates me. He'll take you and leave me on the block."
"He doesn't hate you, dear. He was under the influence of a male Thing. One of those silly urges a male can't resist. It will be different now he won't punish you any more than he punishes me. He's easy to fall in love with."
Poor Marjory snorted in disbelief. There were still upon her skin marks placed there with a whip held by Hamid. I couldn't blame her for the way she felt about the man I had once called master. I didn't push my argument, it was all too hopeless.
A slavegirl being punished has another enemy beside those who bind her. That enemy is time. Time is a terrible thing we can do nothing about. I had gazed at Marjory's puss for what seems a very long time before turning my attention to the shinning steel that held her feet to my hands. It was a bond I could not break. Yet, at the same time, the steel bracelets were beautiful. I could not help my darling and had to fight a constant compulsion to bury my face and lips within Marjory's sex. I fought it back, and was a good thing for Rankin Teller walked in to enjoy this configuration of fastened female flesh. Even though we should know better, we gaze at him in hope.
"Cutest picture I ever did see," Rankin told us. "You two like that are a sight to stiffen any cock. Are you enjoying your afternoon?"
The silence lengthened until it became frightening until Marjory snapped, "You know we're hating every moment of it. Please set us free." A few second of silence followed before she added, "I hope you notice I've just said please."
"You're coming along fine, honey. First thing you know you'll be saying thank you, too. It's marvelous what a bit of discomfort does for a girl. Would you like to be whipped?"
"No."
"Nice of me to ask, don't you think?"
"You're playing with us. You get pleasure out of seeing us suffer like this. It wouldn't hurt you to set up free."
"Why would I do that?"
"I'd think you would do it to show you're not a complete asshole! Please, Mr. Rankin, give us a break."
"Gosh, I've been prompted. I'm Mr. Rankin all of a sudden, even if my last name is Teller. Okay, I won't whip you right now. You can just go on hanging the way you are. The two of you like that make far too pretty a picture for a man to break it up. I'll be curious what you have to say next time I drop by."
We were alone with our pain and I with a longing I could no longer control. I buried my face into Marjory's curls.
* * *
We are released for dinner. Rankin is careful not to upset the staff by displaying their beloved mistress naked and in chains. Marjory and I are so damned glad to be free, even if only briefly. We actually enjoy ourselves and are entertained by Rankin's conversational ability. I wished he didn't have his streak of cruelty because in some ways he was an interesting man. And much of his vulgar humor was no more than real appreciation of the female form and figure.
Rankin's night cheats us of our wild imaginings of pain and immobility. I had expected at least the dungeon with its chains and gloom. But Rankin positioned our arms and tied our hands behind our backs. We were then taken to Marjory's king sized bed and pushed down, one on each side with one ankle chained down somewhere below. Rankin announced his intention of sleeping in the middle and told us not to fall off on the floor.
Our captor had a magnificent physique. He is male, male, male! And proved it first within Marjory's sheath and then in mine. For most men they would be enough but for Rankin it was but the prelude to a carnal night. We accepted his weight upon our bellies and pinioned arms. As usual, I was ashamed of the pleasure I derived. I dared not look at Marjory but the sounds she made were pretty much the same as mine. I sleep intermittently in unconcern over my bound hands or the fetter upon my foot.
Several times during the long night I was awoken by Rankin's wonderful weapon impaling my sex.
We slept late. Noon brings us the Rankin's Pride anchored out beyond the surf. In preparation for our return to marine captive, Rankin inflicted upon us a bitter humiliation we could have done without out. It appeared Marjory and we were to return aboard the waiting ship wearing a full compliment of chains. Unfortunately Marjory's storeroom was abundantly supplied. We had to stand in. naked shame while iron collars were locked around our necks, iron bands locked tightly around our waists and shackles locked on each ankle. We were constantly tripping on that ankle chain or stepping on it. The chains made a shocking clatter whenever we moved. Rankin was pleased with the metal bands around our wrists which were not only joined to each other by several links, but also to the belt As though this, were net enough, there were chains from each ankle to a central ring above out knees from that to the chains which hold our hands. It appeared the brutal collar on our neck was simply for effect, it connected to nothing else.
I clanged my noise clatter up the stairs and along the hall to the front door without mishap. I had been chained like that before and had some expertise in avoiding treading on the links. But Marjory is not experienced and fell several times only to be caught by Rankin's arm. He used each opportunity to fondle some part of her she could not shield or hide. Rankin enjoyed himself. We did not.
We were lifted into the boat on the beach. As the motor drove us through and over the waves, Marjory and I suffered the awful heart break of looking back at her wonderful island and knowing we would not ever see it again. Her hands were clenched fists. We were slave girls on our way to a profitable sale.
Marjory and I do not look up at the faces avid with interest which peer down across the rail. We will see enough of them and they will see enough of us. But I would sooner bear pain to give them pleasure than to be locked in that awful brig. Since we cannot climb the ladder, each of us is slung across the shoulder of a crewman who must also bear the weight of our chains. We are placed to stand erect in the center of what I always think of as "the stage", the largest clear portion of the ship's deck. The clearing afforded both crew and guests a perfect view of our humiliation. We cannot avoid the laughing eyes for they are everywhere. So we stand in our chains with bowed heads as if finding interest in our chained feet. Rankin takes center stage.
"Ain't they a pretty sight, folks? Chains do a lot for any girl." His eyes made a sweep of the guests. "And if any of you young ladies want to volunteer, you can wear them right now because I'm taking them off these here girls, and we're going to play ourselves a little game. Celie and Marjory are trading a hundred pounds of iron for a pair of handcuffs so we know they will want to play." Rankin got busy with the keys. I looked out over the guests, trying to avoid eyes but curious who he was addressing as "young ladies." There were many new female faces in the crowd, almost all of them wearing dresses or other clothing. My heart sank for them. He must have stopped off in Hawaii for a new batch of fresh feminine flesh. Soon enough those innocent young girls would find out just what they had gotten themselves in for. As if our naked and chained bodies didn't tell them something.
The terrible part was those innocent young eyes were eager to gaze at our naked and whipped bodies, as if they failed to recognize that they might soon look like this themselves.
The irons had fallen from us to the deck and Rankin once more made his cute suggestion, "Any of you gals want to wear these a while, just step forward. And have your boyfriend get his camera 'cause you'll take a pretty picture."
There were no volunteers although I noticed several men talking seriously to their feminine guest. When the collar was taken from my neck, and I was free, I automatically turned and offered my wrists. But Rankin turned me around and locked my hands in front. "The boys and gals will want to buy you a drink," he explained jovially. "And I wouldn't want to fixed you so you couldn't raise a glass." He turned to the expectant crowd. "They had some adventures I expect they want to tell you about so take them to the bar. The game we're playing is that I want each one of you to write on a slip of paper the description of a punishment you'd like these girls to get. I can't promise it will happen since there are so many of you, but I'll pick a few so you can have your fun." Rankin slapped our bottoms and retired to his stateroom.
The amusement Marjory and I provided the guests lasted most of the afternoon. By that time we were slightly tipsy and Rankin's Pride had left Palm Island behind. As we sipped our drinks and answered questions, our handcuffs became no more than pretty bracelets on our wrists. We told our story of Joe and Charlie and the Austrian Navy. I didn't think most of the girls believed us. And I did notice that many of the men were repeats from the prior voyage. Apparently these men found it easy to recruit pretty young girls with the promise of an ocean voyage and constant party.
Even though we were treated in a friendly manner I knew we would be soon enough feeling pain. Some of the men wrote on slips of paper with a smirk and I knew whatever they wrote I would not like. Some of the young girls declined to write out a punishment but some of them giggled as they wrote, apparently thinking this all a big game. I hoped those girls weren't being too ridiculous with what they wrote. Marjory and I might soon be enduring some horrible punishment written only in jest.
When night came we expected a repetition but Rankin chose to vary his carnal satisfaction by handcuffing Marjory's right wrist high on one of the bottom posts of the huge four poster bed which, as he pointed out, had more possibilities than a girl could shake a stick at. I didn't get to wear handcuffs because Rankin told me I'd have a good use for my hands to increase his pleasure. But as always he locked the shackle on my ankle to keep me safe. When I gazed in desolation at Marjory standing where she was forced to view Rankin taking his pleasure with me, I saw a very sad look on her face. I used the bit of freedom I possessed to go to the bottom of the bed and clasp her in my arms where we shared a few tears together. Rankin allowed this to continue for a minute with an amused smile on his face, then a sharp order pulled me back to the middle of the bed where he arranged me for his pleasure. When I tried to beg that Marjory be taken from the room, he clamped a hand over my mouth and thrust himself inside me with a force to take all my attention. I even forgot the lovely nakedness whose hand was chained to the post. Once Rankin is inside a girl he is a tender giant who knows more tricks by which to enchant a female than most men ever imagine. For me it was like swimming in some magic pool. But when I reached its opposite shore I beheld only the girl I loved standing against her post and crying. I had never realized Marjory hated so much to see a man touch me. But every time I started to tell Rankin to set her free he closed my mouth and mind by ways I couldn't not counter. It was not until the night was well advanced that, for some reason of his own he listened. Before I got it properly underway he clasped my nakedness to his in a way he had ever done before. His phallus was limp, resting from its labors. But my owner's lips found mine with an unusual tenderness.
"You really love your Marjory, don't you?" he whispered in my ear. "Don't you see she's a stuck-up broad with too much money? If that board ever gets the chance she'll give me a real bad time." Rankin squeezed me tight as though to emphasis what he said next. "But don't worry, girlie, she'll never get loose and she'll never get the best of good, old Rankin Teller. I'm not fussy about selling you on the block, but I want to see her there being sold to some guy who will whip her ass daily. And twice on Sunday. And someone she feels is socially inferior. Celie, honey, that's going to be the time of her life."
"Please unchain her from the bed, please let her loose. She's going to be terribly tired."
For some reason of his own, Rankin thrust me gently from him, and did exactly as I asked. A moment later my darling mistress was chained only by her ankle the same as I, but to the opposite side of the bed. He slipped in between us and, for Rankin the night became a sexual feast with naked female flesh whichever way he turned.
In the morning Rankin left us alone, still chained within his bed. It was easily possible to clasp each other in our arms. Marjory wet my cheeks with her tears, sobbing fiercely her sense of shame that when this man had raped her again and again she had discovered joy. She refuted my assurance that it did not matter and that a girl's flesh would always betray her. I don't think she found comfort in my words but clutched my flesh in a terrible need of communion. In this strange mood the two of us were unlocked and told to get ourselves ready for breakfast and be in his stateroom on time. Evidently we were to have another state breakfast before the ax fell on our necks.
Rankin wouldn't be Rankin if he didn't constantly think up innovations. At breakfast our peace was shattered by sight of a huge rubber phallus thrusting upward from our chairs. We still had hands and were able to guide the beastly within our sex and to very cautiously sit down upon its huge shape. We were then handcuffed and told to keep our hands visible for our master's pleasure.
It was all easy enough to do but was one more shame for me and a tenfold humiliation for Marjory.
I am afraid I enjoyed my breakfast very much. The food was very good. I tried very hard not to let the pleasure I was finding at that huge dildo inside me show on my face. It was a most strange breakfast.
At least I was saved the embarrassment of orgasm because of the sexual exhaustion from the long night of lovemaking. If Rankin had expected us to orgasm from the huge tool, he did not say. But also he did not seem disappointed. After the table had been cleared, we stayed in our chairs by Rankin's bidding. Then the three of us might share whatever amusement might be had from the folded slips of paper.
It was a cross section of sexuality and sadism to keep any shrink consulting his text book for week. And pleasure we got from listening was clinical. Rankin read each slip with laughing enjoyment. Sometimes Marjory and I laughed, too, but not often.
The first inspired message was that Marjory and I be strung up on the rigging with a whip hanging from a belt around our waist and with an invitation for each guest to deliver upon our skin one single stroke as hard as they might please. When I thought of the number of guests on that ship, I shuddered. But I noted Rankin set the slip to one side as if it possessed some merit.
The next note was from a passenger who apparently had enjoyed the make-believe school room charade in which we had to hold out our hands for them to be caned. This person requested a repeat. He wanted to see us do it all over again.
Another person much have sensed the terror a girl must feel in being suspended above the awful deeps with the sharks plainly visible, awaiting the feast just out of their reach. This cheerful soul suggested Marjory and I be suspended over the side with our toes only a couple of feet over the water while on deck the passengers could dump garbage over us. The garbage would have the duel purpose of humiliating us and attracting sharks.
"Sharks can jump farther out of the water than most people think," Rankin muttered and went on to the next note.
Number three was a wistful appeal from someone who had enjoyed the burning of our skin. He or she wanted a repeat, this time with the branding iron applied to our breasts- And that we should be somehow suspended so our burnt skin could be examined and approved of. "Ain't no way I'm going to spoil four lovely tits for a bit of fun," Rankin offered.
For Marjory and me it was not happy reading. We listened and the object within our sex picked up the message and began to exert the influence we had wished to avoid. Everything Rankin read from the folded papers might be cruel but was usually extremely erotic. And since it was aimed directly at us, carried personal venom we could not ignore. I remember one invented type who suggested we be spread-eagled on the deck with a mechanical device thrusting a-rubber phallus in and out constantly all day in our pussies. Marjory heaved a sigh of relief when it joined the discards with Rankin's comment, "Shit, there ain't no way I'm going to wear your little holes out. The guy's out of his tree."
It's a strange feeling for a girl to choose her own punishment from a list. But by the time each folded note was read, Marjory and I found ourselves in agreement on our choice. Most of the suggestions were either horribly sadistic or disgustingly sexual. So we chose a middle course, a punishment all too familiar, we opted for number one.
Being bound to the riggings is simple. A girl goes to where a network of ropes support the masts above, and hold up her wrist that they might be bound far apart to the taut spider web of rope so that she stands looking out to sea. A belt is buckled was tight around my waist and from there hung a beastly quirt which is a couple of heavy leather thongs falling from a braid handle from which we could receive agony from anyone who passes by. The first one to venture upon this experiment in girlish suffering was a girl herself. Her man stood to one side and watched as she lovingly played with our beautifully exposed skin, and cruelly asked if our corded wrists gave us pain. And if we were ready for the one terrible stroke she was allow, and how we must recount for us afterwards if it hurt.
It was hateful and obscene. We well understood how we were exposed and hated to think at anyone had the power to cut us with a whip. As our first customer freed the dangle quirt, we knew for sure it was about to happen. When the leather tongs struck our flesh, we squealed and contorted in a way to satisfy the most sadistic. It was in this outrageous manner that Marjory and I discovered that our real enemy was another girl. There was no mistaking the pleasure with which the girl had just slashed our flesh. She listened as we told of how it hurt and how we longed for release.
I wondered if her boyfriend was going to whip us next. We soon discovered the men were shy. They had brought with them on this voyage a women who expected their whole attention. To Whip Marjory and me would tell their girl of their wish to whip her, too. Thus most played it safe, congratulating their girl upon the accuracy or strength of her using the quirt. Then they took their girls by the arm and walked away. We noticed how the girl, after they had whipped us and saw how much, felt ashamed and were glad to go. I have forgotten how many strokes we got that afternoon. Almost all were from females and all were delivered with all the strength that female possessed.
Marjory and I jerked, cried out in pain, and gasped in a fine show for the passengers of the Rankin's Pride.
We were rewarded by a deluxe dinner with his majesty himself. Our skin burned from the kisses of the quirt, but as every slavegirl knows, things can always get worse. And thus we were grateful for a good-natured master who was pleased with our pain and seemed to look upon Marjory and I as favorite daughters who had done honor to his name... How crazy can you get!
We basked in his good cheer. At least I did. For I was still remembering the Rankin had held me during the night. A few strokes of the quirt during the afternoon had taught me that I was still a slave and very much subject to the will of others. But between Rankin and I had grown a bond in which I longed for Marjory to be included. Marjory bore the same quirt marks as I but she had not found favor in our master's eye. I expect it was the wine at dinner that gave me the courage to plead, "Please don't sell us on the auction block, Master. Please keep us here on the ship for your own enjoyment." At the time I really meant it. I wished the whip had imposed upon Marjory the same subservience.
Our night after dinner was just the same with its sexual thrusts and our female surrender to the weakness of flesh. It was not until the next morning after breakfast that Rankin picked one more slip of paper from the pile on the table to ask in a manner of real concern, "How do you feel about this one, darlings? Seems to me the guy or gal may have something."
Breathlessly we listened, knowing we were about to hear the pains and punishments of our day. The folded bit of paper revealed a simple message: "Have your carpenter build two pairs of stocks and lock your little lovelies within so that we may play with them throughout the day and in the knowledge that when the afternoon is over you use the riding crop on whatever part of them is usefully exposed."
Rankin cast the bit of paper aside to ask, "What do you think of that, sweethearts? It's not all that bad, is it?"
"It's cruelty to ask a girl how she'd like to be punished," Marjory said.
Rankin seemed to think it a good idea but Marjory and I saw it as an unpleasant day. Sitting in the stocks or standing in the pillory all day while strange men and women played with your body isn't my idea of a fun afternoon. Then when it comes to an end with a riding crop applied to your bare skin... Well, I timidly inquired if we couldn't go on to the next paper.
I knew Marjory was taking this harder than I. And, perhaps in self defense, she came out with a suggestion of her own. "Since Celie and I have to be abused and humiliated," she said icily, "why don't you hold an auction on this ship? Sell us for the whole day to the highest bidder. In the evening we revert to your possession."
Rankin liked it. "You got a business head on your shoulders, honey," he said cheerfully. "I'll collect a bit of money, and you two will have an exciting day because you won't know what will happen to you. I think you would be nervous about that."
"Why don't you restrict the bidding to your female passengers?" said Marjory shrewdly. "Quite a few of the girls on board have got a wicked look in their eyes when they touched us or whipped us. You'd be entertained."
"Supposing the dame who buys you wants to play rough? You might then wish you were standing in the pillory with a male hand feeling your twat."
"It's a chance I'm willing to take. But read some more papers if you want."
He picked up another folded slip, scanned its message and then burst out laughing. "I'll bet it was a woman who wrote this!" he said with great amusement. "Listen to this. There's rats on board. Why don't you catch two of them, or four if you prefer and tether them to the girl's tits with twine. I'll bet those pretty little tricks would squeal whenever a rat headed for home.'" My heart sank. There seemed no mercy in the world. I had no idea what a rat could or would do to me if I were fastened so I could not move. Rankin observed the disgust on our faces and immediately declared this submission the winner.
Marjory and I would each be spread-eagle on a hatch cover so we could not dispute the rat's freedom. The audience could watch what the rat chose to do to us. I had visions of it eating us alive. But as usual we could not protest, It was not long before crewmen laid us on our backs and tied our arms and legs spread wide tightly enough to make this a punishment even without the rats. By looking to the side Marjory and I could see each other better than we could see ourselves. I tugged and twisted but could hardly move my body.
"Have a nice day" one crewman offered cheerfully and they departed. It is terrible for a girl to be tied like this with her treasure so exposed by legs stretched far apart. From the look in the eyes of the men who examined us it would not have surprised me had several of them leaped into the breach between our legs and violated us in public. I was sure they would have done so had it not been for the watching women. Finally a chattering commotion announced the arrival of the rats.
I would once have gone into hysterics but a slavegirl learns to expect anything and endure it as best she can. Needless to say that with Rankin in charge four rats had been captured instead of two. Each of our breasts would get a rat tethered to the nipple. But in this I understood Rankin's ingenuity. The rats had been cleverly harnessed with cord while a woman volunteer neatly noosed one of our nipples with bitter twine. When this was joined to the thicker stuff on the rats, the beastly animal had a wide range over which to prowl. But this same lady had been briefed on a second entertainment. This time it was not our nipples but a binding of a selected pubic bunch of curls which might or might not hurt more than the twine upon our nipples, but which must inevitably attract the rats to a portion of our bodies we did not want them to go to. When finished she modestly rejoined the audience.
Rankin himself was grinning from ear to ear. We were not bound so tight that it was not possible to raise ourselves to view our own bodies nor the rodents tethered upon them. I was shocked to realize that the rat was standing between my outstretched legs tethered to my pubic hair. I knew he couldn't crawl up inside the way some, girls think but I shuttered to think of the other possibilities. Rats had sharp teeth and sharp claws, and I was tied too tight to move.
The rats sensed their tether as an enemy. They ran for cover but achieved only a snubbing by the cords. Along 'with frustrating the rats, the action caused me to squeal with dismay as the cord tugged hard on my nipple and a bunch of my pubic hair. The creature could tug and run and pull all he liked but my nipple would hold him secure and my pubic hair the same. It hurt but not much compared to the usual punishment a girl found aboard the Rankin's Pride.
Imagine what it's like for a naked girl to lay still while a rat sniffs away up the inside of her thighs. My flesh crawled and I longed to scream as the busy snout approached what it saw as a meal. Or at least a place to hide I had back my screams until I felt whiskers thrusting between my pubic lips.
Neither of the rats was happy. They wanted to go home and made every effort to do so with the result that my nipple and some of my pubic hair was in constant protest against the tug and pull of the captured animals. I went a little crazy in my revolt against the beastliness which fed the audience's hunger for diversions. I was sure each one of them was longing for the rats to start feeding on our living flesh, but our little enemies had sniffed and sniffed but refrained from nibbling. However the show had just started and even rats are shy and cautious. They had a living breathing naked girl at their disposal and I had to wonder if they did bite us. If Rankin would stop them or simply watch one of my nipples make a tasty lunch. I found myself going overboard in fear and arching my back and thumping my bottom against the hatch cover as hard as I could to keep the wicked little jaw as far from my flesh as possible. The result was to send my two rodents scurrying the limit of their tether where they tugged to cause me the pain by which those who watched could enjoy the performance.
The result was compromise. My two rats fearful of my actions and those who watched came to huddle together on my belly where their claws and snouts kept me in constant agony. I longed to throw them off but had enough control to realize that if they wanted to stay in the middle of my tummy, at least they caused no pan. The audience was breathless.
I have no idea how this strange ordeal would have ended I was coming close to hysterics which the mere presence of the animals upon my flesh keep me close to screams. But Rankin evidently considered that his guests had had a good look and Marjory and I had suffered enough so he cut the four rats free and tossed them overboard to leave us simply bound tight and hard against the hatch covers in an exposure that left nothing to the imagination.
Rankin's proclamation was in keeping with our condition, "There they are, folks, you're all yours for the day. Play with them as much as you like. I expect the little darlings will be grateful for a bit of attention."
It was vintage Teller, and I squirmed unhappily against corded wrists and ankles. There is one thing certain about slavery, things can always get worse. And I found myself wondering if the rats had been all that bad. I closed my eyes in preparation for a disgusting day.
Nothing much happened. Since the main show was over, the passengers disbursed. But before leaving, most came over to have a look at the two nudes tightly spread for their pleasure. But it soon became evident that no man was really interested in enjoying what Marjory and I so obscenely displayed. I wondered if it was because they didn't wish to place their bodies upon a girl whose body had been in contact with rats. Or it they had been told that screwing us was off limits that day. Either way I became thankful for little favors.
It turned out to be the girls who enjoyed us most. The group of four females must have consigned the males to the bar while they appeased their curiosity by sitting on the hatch cover and allowing their hands to test my reactions to sexual stimulus. Wise fingers teased my nipples while others made themselves acquainted with my most private place. I tensed in expectation of pain but when pain did not come I realized these females were watching my reactions to sexual stimulus. Perhaps they were wondering what they looked like when sexually excited and were using me as a mirror to see.
Almost immediately they got results. I am young and healthy, and goodness knows I've been pleasured and pained so often there is nothing new for me to find. What I endured now was simply an intensification of a theme. I was being played upon as though I were an instrument and the hands and lips which worked my body were artists creating music. I clenched my teeth, determined to give no satisfaction, but my body soon betrayed me, as if always does, and I was soon tossing my head from side to side, tugging at the ropes and cords, and gasping and moaning as fingertips took me down an all-too familiar. My explosive climax evidently gave pleasure.
"Gosh, look at the way she heaves and tugs. I wonder if we act like that?"
"It's because she's tied, silly. Get your guy to tie you down to the bed and see how you act."
"I'll bet this is the reason why men like to whip girls. They get pretty much the same response. Gosh, this has made me so horn, I can hardly bare it."
"We shouldn't stop. Let's keep on going and see how long it takes her to come around again. One of you suck on that tit."
It began again and there wasn't a thing I could do except to mutter a pathetic, "Please stop." I pleaded for them top stop but they kept right on going. And once again I was worked up to an intense orgasm which was, if anything, more explosive than the first. Perhaps it was because it came almost as a continuation of the first. The girls watched me and commented upon my reactions. They tired of me after a while and went away. Or perhaps they didn't tire, only went to seek sexual release from the worked up state they were in. Either way, I sighed and closed my eyes. And stayed spread-eagle for I was still tightly bound.
The rat show must have been a success. Another group of sparkling eyed females showed up with a harnessed rodent provided by the crew. There was a great deal of debate as to whether it should be tethered to my tit or pubic hair. The majority seemed to want the pubic anchorage. They pointed out that having a, rat active between her legs should make any girl turn into jelly. As one pointed out, if a mouse could do it, a rat must surely do it better. Almost immediately there was a rat yanking on my pubic hair as it tried to run away. Everyone waited breathlessly including me.
It, was worse than I had supposed, and I was ashamed of myself for suffering all the wild imaginings and torments that girls have always suffered at thoughts of a mouse running up their leg to their private part. The only comfort I had was from reasoning that the rat was simply to big to crawl up inside. I've never really believed a mouse could do it. But what girl wants either a mouse or rat sniffing around her pussy?
When I felt whiskers tickling the insides of my thighs very near my pussy I simply went wild. I screamed a whole bunch and heaved so hard at tied wrists, and ankles as to bow my back in arched agony. Then I slammed my hips back down in the only motion I could make to discourage the rat.
I .was saved by one of my tormentors pointing out that Rankin Teller-would not be pleased if they returned me to them with my pussy eaten by the sharp teeth. The poor damned animal, which was probably as frightened as me. was pulled away and since the thought of Rankin Teller's displeasure had spoiled the sport, it was set free to run back to where ever it is rats live on ships at sea." My breasts were heaving as I moaned in terror.
My next visitor was a single male. He sat and looked down at my nakedness and for openers complimented me on the contours of my breasts. I said an automatic thank you and waited while his hand found the triangle below my belly. "Would you mind if I stick my finger inside and played with you?"
"I'd rather you didn't, if you don't mind."
"Well, you're here and suppose to be available to us. I'd think a finger up your snatch would be small potatoes after what the girls have been doing to you. Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. I've had enough. I'm exhausted. Please don't do anything else to me."
"I'll tell you what," he said as if suddenly inspired. "How'd it be I untie you and we can go and play games in my cabin? You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Sure I'd like to be untied. But Mr. Teller says I have to be like this for the day and that's the way it is."
My visitor nodded without offense. He also withdrew his finger which he wiped dry across my belly. He evidently felt there had to be something to interest a girl in my situation so he inquired, "Does this carte blanche extent to my whipping between your legs? And the inside of your thighs? I understand girl's are very tender inside those places."
"You'd better go and ask Mr. Teller," I suggested quickly. "I think if he'd wanted me whipped he would have left a whip around here someplace. Are you sure you wouldn't just like to talk?"
"Sure, if that's what you want. I'm not much of a sadist, I just like naked girls. Look, honey, gossip has it that you were owned by some Arabian prince or something. But you escaped and Mr. Teller got a hold of you. Is that right?"
"That's more or less what happened."
"Well, didn't he whip you? Whipping girls is suppose to be their favorite indoor sport."
"Yes, he whipped me. Everybody whips me. I wish they didn't but when a man sees a naked girl with her hands tied behind her back, it appears to come naturally."
My companion laughed. "I have to admit the instinct is strong in me. If you don't mind I'll leave you for a few moments while I find the captain and get his permission to borrow a whip. Don't go anywhere." He beamed at me. "I expect you prefer a whip, or are there other instruments like a riding crop or quirt?"
I moaned in honest depression as I watched him go. It was horrible with legs spread out wide like that. I had given up struggling. I couldn't work a single rope loose and only hurt my wrists and ankle trying. I looked sideways to where Marjory was bound on her hatch cover. There were a couple of females doing things to her which I didn't want to see, so turned my attention back to the man who had gone to find a whip. Apparently he had drawn a blank and been told that I was not to be whipped in private but only for the enjoyment of the whole guest list. "Mr. Teller says," He informed, "he's bound to get around to whipping you sometime and I'll enjoy it just as much then. I don't suppose you'll mind if I go and have a snort at the bar."
I didn't mind a bit. All I was concerned with was the increasing ache in my arms, legs and shoulders. But being one of Rankin's playthings was pretty much like a nine to five job. Exactly at five a pretty brunette untied the cords and ropes and helped us sit up to massage the sore limbs. In his fine, grand manner, Rankin gave us permission to use the private bathroom, and suggested that when we had prettied ourselves up, we should come to him before going to the bar. I sometimes think he inflicts this vivid contrasts of condition just to watch our bafflement. Anyway, when Rankin had locked our wrists in chrome bracelets, we did indeed head for the bar with haste.
On board the Rankin's Pride it was a routine day.
CHAPTER FOUR - MARJORY SOLD
The days sped by. The brands that Marjory and I wore on our hips had healed enough to become artistically acceptable. They were much admired and the females leaned hard on their boyfriend's suggestions that wouldn't they like brands, too. Our pains and penalties varied daily and it was not until breakfast one morning that Rankin broke the shattering news that Marjory was to be sold at auction that day and would for the remainder of the cruise be the personal property of whoever purchased her. "Be nice practice for you, honey," he said to the startled Marjory. "Ain't quite the same thing as it's going be later on but I already got the boys fixing up a block and I'm going to be the auctioneer, so we'll see how much you get on the open market. We'll do the thing right and won't cut comers."
Marjory and I exchanged stricken glances as our owner returned to his breakfast in unconcern. Finally I had to blurt out, "Are you going to sell me, too, or do we go as a package?"
Rankin's voice changed as he paused to look at me. "Hell, no, I ain't selling you, honey! I wouldn't part with my little Celie for the whole world! You're going to stay with me and learn some new tricks. And don't you shed no tears over miss high and mighty here. She's only getting what she deserves."
Once more Marjory and I exchanges messages with our eyes but dared not say a word. There was about Rankin at that moment an air of decision and authority. And since either of us wanted to be whipped we shut up. But we sensed that all of a sudden we faced a whole new ball game with different rules. Absurdly enough I found myself looking back at the things Rankin had done to us and thought that, in his own way, he had been giving us what he considered a good deal. Certainly he had rewarded us equally each night.
The auction block was a huge wooden packing case covered by a white sheet. Smaller boxes made the steps by which the girls to be sold mounted to her doom. I knew myself privileged for the only thing I wore was a pair of handcuffs in front. I had also been given the run of the ship by a master suddenly kind. I think every passenger on the ship was there in a circle to watch a woman sold.
Between fact and fiction a tremendous legend has arisen over the sale of women at auction. It drives men wild to think of it and even girls get a sympathetic shiver when they read of the fate of a less fortunately member of their sex. I had to wonder how many females present would willingly have changed places with Marjory had they not been burdened with boyfriends. I honest wonder why females burden themselves with men. I found myself really believing it was a lot easier and more pleasant for a girl to be conquered by force.
Rankin was loving every moment. My poor, dear mistress was nowhere to be seen when he mounted the stage to make his pitch. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we got something here that you all think about sometime. I'm offering a damned lovely piece of female for sale to any one of you who values her enough." He paused to leer at the upturned faces. "And what I mean, folks, is it ain't just you men who can bid. None of us will think any worse of a woman who decides to buy herself a girl." He paused dramatically. "I hope you brought your checkbooks."
Marjory's nakedness was hidden under a draped sheet, no doubt to give credit to the male believe he only dresses a woman in order strip her. This legend is true.
I could tell Marjory's hands were tied behind her back. But there was visibly a collar around her neck and from it a rope leash which her purchaser could use to lead her from the scene. I looked at Rankin up there on the block and wished I could feel worse about him than I did. Girls are weird.
Marjory was flanked by crewmen whose hands-assisted her to mount the steps. Teller positioned her at his side. She was stony fared faced and I could guess the agony within.
Rankin opened the auction by scorning the first bids, which admittedly did no justice to the beauty they sought to buy. But in response to his mockery over "chicken feed" the bids became higher and more reasonable for a lovely young girl. The bidding leaped from a thousand to five and then to ten. Rankin's smile was broad and even Marjory raised her head in interest to see who placed this value on her body. To reach the sum of twenty thousand dollars took only a couple of remarks from the auctioneer. Judging the time right, Rankin reached for the clasp of the white sheet which covered the nakedness of a frightened girl, he freed it and cast it aside to reveal Marjory in total nakedness with hands fastened behind her back and no recourse but to stare hark at those gazed up at her in longing. If I had been a man. I would have bid on her myself.
Marjory was knocked down to a couple. Without embarrassment, they handed Rankin his check and, in return, were given the rope by which Marjory could be controlled. They led her away amid clapping and cheers. The only ones who made negative sounds were those who didn't have thirty-five thousand dollars to pay for such a privilege. Slowly the gathering disbursed. When I asked Rankin for permission to join the others at the bar, he laughed and said there was no way he would part with me until I had received his first tuition. We would now go to his stateroom where there would be enough brandy and scotch for any slavegirl.
Standing before his desk with my hands cuffed before me I heard the sentence I must now serve. "What I want from you, Celie, sweetheart, is something you've been doing right alone, something that comes to you naturally. I want you to call my "Master" at all times. In any company when you don't have anything else to do, you will kneel before me, at my feet as they say in books, and await my pleasure which could be to take you to bed or to whip your ass." He paused to bestow his grin. "What you are now, honey, is number one. It will give you a few privileges but it won't give you freedom. It will prevent you being sold at the end of this voyage the way your Marjory is going to be sold. I'm keeping you on board the Rankin's Pride as something I've learned to treasure. Honey, if you didn't realize it before, you're a natural born slave. When I whip you from now on, it won't be because you've misbehaved, it will be simply because I want to. Understand?"
"Yes, Master." I understood only too well and was once more ashamed of myself for not being more concerned. But from the way Rankin had briefed me, I figured I wouldn't be punished any more than usual and maybe less. That is, if I was as good a slavegirl as he said I was.
I was more concerned about Marjory's fate. What did that couple plan to do to her?
I didn't see Marjory for a couple of days, and when I asked my master if he knew what they were doing to her, he said it wasn't any of his business.
It was on the third day I was given a mission which, on the face of it, was too outrageous to be taken seriously. But over breakfast Rankin told me, "There's things I know and you don't, sweetheart. This job is damned simple. If you blow it, I'll mark up your pretty pelt for sure."
Quivering under a threat I knew Rankin meant seriously, I listened as Rankin outlined the scenario I had to play. "I expect you've talked to that Simpson couple," he said. "I mean that snooty couple with the wife too damned good looking for her good. That's the couple you're going to have to work on."
"I've met them. They're very polite," I timidly offered.
"Well, this guy Simpson thinks he's a big wizard on the stock market. But I happen to know he's made a couple of trades that left him flat broke." Ranking grinned at me as a co-conspirator. "So what I want you to do, honey, is go visit them and explain how I want to help out and maybe get his money back. If he plays dumb, just mention the Magnet Mining Corporation and you'll be on the same wavelength."
"But why would you pick them out for an expensive charity?" I asked.
"Well, sweetheart, it ain't really a charity. I've taken a fancy to Mrs. Simpson. I want her naked and I want to whip her ass. You know these notions are with men, so I don't have to explain it to you."
"But how can I explain it to them!"
"That's why I'm leaving it to you, Celie, girl. If a little sweetheart like you breaks the news, it's not going to be as much a shock as if I did. You may have to beat around the bush a bit, but the sum and substance is Mrs. Simpson is going to play pretty much the same role as you with me. She's going to be naked, she's going to be handcuffed, and she gets whipped whenever I feel like it. It's her chance to play the adoring wife who puts her husband back in the money after he's been asshole enough to loose what he used to have."
"But they'll throw me out on my ear, Master!"
"I doubt that, honey. If they do, then simply pick yourself up and go back in again. I'm damned sure one or the other of them is going to accept the deal. What you've got to remember all the time, Celie, is you draw a blank and come back to me with a sob story you'll get the whipping of your life. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Master."
"Another thing you've got to remember," Rankin said earnestly, "is that you're naked and handcuffed and there's marks on your skin to say nothing of the brands. This couple enjoyed seeing you get them brands, and they were right in there with the rest of them any time I put on a little show. I'll bet that Simpson fellow poked you with his finger more than once when you were tied to that hatch cover."
"Well, yes, but so did other men. Some of the women did it, too. If you'd tie Mrs. Simpson out that like, she'd die."
"She's more likely to enjoy the whole damned thing. You run along, sweetheart, and pretty yourself up. Then get to work. If the Simpson's don't take the bait today, I won't whip you until tomorrow afternoon. We can give them time to sleep on it. Run along."
I ran along, shivering at the thought of the whipping I was sure to get. The more I looked at it, the less likely it seemed that a girl like me, naked and handcuffed, could do a selling job on a couple like the Simpsons. But I tracked them down and asked if we could go to their stateroom and talk. They were puzzled but interested. Mr. Simpson had a bottle and some glasses, and I was never more grateful for a drink. I made .a play with my handcuffs in the hope of planting the notion that all the best people wore them. Then, in a torrent of embarrassment, told the Simpsons everything I had to tell. The result was real family drama. Mrs. Simpson didn't look at me half as much as she glared at her husband in a way that told me all too well that she was not aware of their financial disaster. Simpson himself turned pink and red in a mixture of resentment and anger.
"I don't know what you're talking about, girl," he said stiffly.
"I was told to mention Magnet Mining... " I thought the poor guy was about to explode but the company name sort of deflated him. He looked appealing at the woman he had reduced to poverty. Mrs. Simpson was a cool one and asked simply, "Is this right, Kurt? Are we broke? Why didn't you tell me?"
I stood as far to the side as I could, and listened to a domestic drama. I suppose it was in an effort to retrieve his male assurance that Simpson turned on me and snapped, "The Captain's suggestion is an outrage! My wife is not for sale."
I had the feeling that the first gun had been fired but the war was not over. I shrugged and looked at Mrs. Simpson while I held my joined hands as through they were reaching for my breasts. I've practiced this pose in front of a mirror and it's a real honey. Perhaps it did something for the wife for she took a step in the wrong direction. "You heard what Kurt has said, Celie, I am not for sale. On the other hand, perhaps we should talk about this and come to a better understanding."
"That would be nice. I'll be glad to tell you everything I can. Like what it's like to be... Well, like you see me now. And I don't mind telling you that if you send me back to Mr. Teller with a rejection, he's promised to whip me to bits."
"You trying to play on our sympathy?" Simpson growled. "No, it's just a fact of life. My life, that is."
"The sort of life I'd lead for the rest of the voyage if I said yes," his wife said quietly.
"Get out of here, bitch, before I throw you out," Simpson blustered. "If I had a whip around, I'd... "
"Hush, Kurt. Celie is just a massager, not an enemy. Look, you idiot, when we get back home, will there be a dollar in the bank?"
"No. I owe them money."
"Then keep quiet while I'm asking Celie some questions."
It is a terrible thing to watch a man shrink and shrivel. He gulped and tried to look dynamic. I've always known that for men their potency depends upon cash. Without money they don't amount to much. Before his wife's accusing eyes, Simpson took on the look of a loser.
"We wondered, Celie dear, how much make believe is there in the act you play out with the captain. Do you like being naked? Do you like the handcuffs?"
It was my turn to look sheepish as I explained, "I've gotten used to being the way I am because it doesn't bother me any more. I must be a natural born slavegirl because when I get rid of one master or mistress, another just picks me up. I'm ashamed to tell you I sort of enjoy it."
"I can understand that," Mrs. Simpson said softly. "There's a bit of the slavegirl in all of us. But what about when you get whipped and have all those sort of... Well those tortures you have to put up with to amuse the guests? Do you enjoy those?"
Mrs. Simpson was a nice woman who wanted something and I did not want her to despise me. I did my best with a difficult question. "Being whipped just hurts. But it has a terribly erotic effect on a girl. But after a few strokes the pain overcomes the erotic effect and sends you up the wall. If you've heard me scream, those screams are real. Being whipped hurts more than you would believe."
Ellen Simpson nodded as if she knew everything I said, then took one more step in the wrong direction. "The captain," she said, "I think you call him Rankin, are you really his prisoner? Can you walk ashore with the rest of us?"
"No, I can't. I belong to Rankin and I'll do only what he tells me to."
"She's some sort of nympho," Simpson said defensively.
"Shut up!" barked his wife. "Do you realize we're not going to eat unless I talk to her? I can't see you working an honest day's work! It is always the woman who, in the end, pays all the bills." The three of us stood in a strained silence until, with an oath of disgust Simpson turned and left the room. Mrs. Simpson looked at me and shrugged. "This is traumatic for both Kurt and I," she said. "And please don't feel that because I've listened, I'm prepared to do something with the captain that I consider absolutely outrageous and which I'd certainly regret." She paused and gave me a look of confidence. "But did I understand you to say that Mr. Teller is prepared to replace all of poor Kurt's looses on the market? It's a quite large sum. Having me walk naked down the deck isn't worth it"
"What's why Rankin hasn't the nerve to believe you'll accept."
"The guy must have more money than sense."
"I'm afraid he's got both, Mrs. Simpson. And he's not the first of those men who've owned me. He gets a fixation in his mind about a women and he'll be ready to pay vast sums for the privilege of seeing her stripped and whipping her bare skin. Sometimes the woman has nothing to say about it, but in your case that's different. Look, Mrs. Simpson, I'm not going to even suggest you do this, I'm simply doing what I'm told. If I were you, I'd leave it alone. Being whipped hurts so terribly you can't imagine."
"But that's what's going to happen to you if I turn Teller down." It was my turn to shrug. "That's what he says, MS, but you can't be sure about these things. Men love to scare a girl then make love to her." I paused and found myself blushing. "I suppose you understand this package deal includes taking you to bed or having you service him?"
"You're making him sound like a bastard."
"I didn't mean to. In some ways he's a nice guy."
"Can I go and talk to him and have him tell me all this incredible stuff with his own lips."
"He doesn't want that. He wants you to make your decision here. If you say yes, I'll bring a pair of handcuffs which I'll lock on your wrists after you've stripped naked. We'll walk down the deck with everybody looking."
"Oh, for Pete's sake, I can't do that!"
"Don't worry about the other passengers, for the most part they're kind. Or at least only mischievous. You'll become accustomed to them looking."
Ellen Simpson still had her hands and she used them to enfold me in her arms and kiss my forehead. "You're very sweet, Celie," she whispered in my ear. "I want to think about things. So let me talk to Kurt this evening and give you our decision tomorrow morning."
I figured that was the best I would do and said that it was okay. I figured Rankin wouldn't whip me today. I got a real big sisterly hug as I left the poor woman alone with a major decision. In lot's of ways Rankin really is a bastard!
I went back to give my master my report. I was joined by a brand new nudity. She was a mischievous little trick who was a favorite at the bar, and who had, from the start, shown little tendency to obey the man she was with. At the moment she was simply minus clothes -- no handcuffs, no rope. And she was bubbling over with laughter at my astonishment.
"Mr. Teller," she informed, "wants me to go back to his stateroom with you. I think he wants to do something dreadful to me. I'm on my way to finding out what it's like to be a girl like you. Seems like the law is waiting for Casper at the end of the voyage. Mr. Teller says he can fix things for my boyfriend if I behave myself for the rest of the voyage. Casper is a bit of a jerk, but Mr. Teller is a He-Man. I can hardly wait."
Her name was Dulcie and I didn't feel the least bit sorry for her the way I did for Mrs. Simpson. What did matter was that I seemed like getting a close up view of Dulcie getting her bottom whipped. Rankin drank in Dulcie's nude slenderness with approval. He had her twist and turn to fully display her assets. "She's cute," he said to me, isn't she? Take her in the bedroom. Handcuff her and hang her up to one of the hooks in the ceiling. Then I want you back in here for your report."
I was about to protest that to suspend a girl by handcuffed wrists is really rough, but Dulcie looked so pleased that I decided she may as well learn the hard way. I guided her to where she would make her first acquaintance with pain. Dulcie shivered with excitement when she saw the handcuffs. I let her handle examine them before telling her that she had asked for this and that she was not going to like it. And gave her a suggestion that she go to Rankin and tell him she's changed her mind.
Dulcie's answer was in her shinning eyes and laugh as she stuck out her hands. She gasped and shivered as I locked the first steel band around her wrists She tested the handcuffs, holding her joined hands up and down to view them. . "Aren't they positively darling Celie? I've always envied you and now I get to wear them. Jeepers! What was it Mr. Teller said you have to do with me?"
I told the poor girl to stand on a chair and to snare the handcuff's link over the waiting hook above her. Immediately she did so I took away the chair. While the suspended Dulcie was still gasping in disbelief as the steal dug into her wrists. I made my escape to return to Rankin's office and his probably displeasure. Finding myself in a disagreeable state of mind over what I had just done to a mischievous imp, I tried to forget her and concentrate on Mrs. Ellen Simpson. Ellen had character there was a force in her above the average. And I could well imagine she and her husband having a really vicious battle over her choice.
"You got her well and truly hung, sweetheart?"
"Yes, she's hung up. But she'll be in agony with those handcuffs. Could I change it to rope instead?"
"No, you can't. Let the silly little so and so suffer a while then we'll go in and get acquainted. I'm going to use the strap on her this time. You can watch. In fact, you can give you a few licks yourself." Rankin dismissed Dulcie with a wave of his hand. "Now, give me the low down on the Simpsons."
I told him. "Well, your ass is safe today," he said with a grin. "You're right about there being a quality in that Simpson woman. And her husband's just a asshole. They're going to be a really surprised couple when I'm through with them."
"I told them what you wish to do to her, pretty much the same as you do to me. I hope that was right."
"That's right enough, honey. But they won't get the real shock until we hit port. I'm going to sell that haughty dame the same as I'm going to sell your Marjory. And I've decided to toss in that young Dulcie, too. Those three wenches will bring a pretty penny on the block." Rankin paused to look at me. "If I had any sense, I'd throw you in to make it a quartet. But I don't mind telling you that somewhere you got under my skin, so you don't have an thing to worry about."
"Except for getting whipped from time to time," I muttered.
"Don't beef about me warming your ass," Rankin admonished. "You know damned well you enjoy it. And the way I feel about you, you'll be getting less and less. That is, so long as you behave yourself."
"Ellen Simpson deserves better than being sold in a slave market," I offered. "Do you really have to sell her?"
"You've got the warmest heart on this ship, honey. Of course I have to, it's just plain good business. That Ellen Simpson will fetch far more than I've offered to give her husband. And young Dulcie will be a damned sight better off without that Casper asshole she's sleeping with right now'. It's a good deal all the way around."
I almost laughed out loud. There is something about Rankin's logic. I could see how he had gathered wealth unto himself. Everything was profit to this man.
"Shouldn't we go and let Dulcie down?" I suggested. "If you're so damned sorry for the kid, why don't I hang you up beside her? You've got to watch that-damned bleeding heart of yours, it will get you into trouble."
Dulcie had not yet given up hope. Her young body was still twisting and her feet kicking at the open air. Dulcie was every much alive and seemed to be taking what must have been rather painful very well, if not a little vocally.
"Let me down, you asshole!" she told Rankin as soon as we entered the room. "I never bargained for anything like this. Hanging from these handcuffs is absolute torture! Please, Mr. Teller, let me down! This is killing me."
The poor child was ignored. Rankin searched for and found the limber leather strap I knew all too well.
"I'm letting you. off easy this first time," he said sweetly. He dangled the leather before poor Dulcie's anguished eyes. "But you knew you were getting this, didn't you? It is something you've wanted right along. Come on, be honest about it."
"Well, if you didn't hit me too hard. And if my feet were on the ground... Gosh, Mr. Teller, give me a break!"
The break was a resounding thwack across both youthful cheeks of the sweet round bottom. The force of the blow caused Dulcie to swing back and forth and intensified the pain in her wrists. "That was awful!" she cried. "Please don't hit me that hard again."
I knew the scene, it had happened to me. Blow number two snapped hard across young buttocks with the sound of a pistol shot, and this time Dulcie screamed. "I think we're getting to her," Rankin said to me in a sort of confidential aside. "By the time she's had twenty, we'll have us a real good girl."
"Twenty! You can't possibly hit me twenty times like that!" Dulcie was outraged and scared to death. "Please, Mr. Teller, I'll do anything you say if only you'll let me down and send me back to Casper... Please!"
"You ain't never going back to Casper, sweetheart. And twenty with this here strap isn't a bit more than you need to get you in a proper state of mind. Right now you're simply a mischievous little bitch who needs a guiding hand."
The blows continued in the same cadence. Rankin was loving every moment, but I felt terrible and would have gladly slunk out of sight. But slavegirls are rarely forgiven anything and I got a broad wink from my master that told me clearly he knew what I was thinking. At the same time he delivered several cracking impacts in quick succession upon young Dulcie's bottom. She may have irritated me once but now I shared her pain. After the tenth blow had filled the bedroom with erotic sound, my master inquired pleasantly, "You said something about wanting your feet back on the floor, Dulcie. Are you sure that's what you want?"
"Oh, yes! Yes, please!" For Rankin it was simply done by his wrapping an arm around the nude hips and lifting up the girl. Dulcie lost no time n pulling her hands off the hook. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Teller, oh, thank you!"
Poor Dulcie, her thank you's were premature. Rankin removed her handcuffs and she thought her ordeal over. Instead it had only just begun. Tinker led his quivering victim to the multi-purpose four poster bed. Placing her arms on each side of a massive post, began Binding her wrists to the post, wrapping rope all the way up her arms until they were welded to the post. Dulcie said not a word undoubtedly simply grateful to be free from those handcuff s. When finished. Dulcie had to stand there her body totally available and arms out of the way. It didn't take the poor girl long to realize that she was out of the frying pan and into the, fire. "Please, Mr. Teller," she cried, "don't whip me again. I don't want to be whipped again. That strap hurts terribly. Isn't there something else I could do to please you?"
I could think of several things Dulcie could and would be doing to please our master but kept my mouth shut. Dulcie had ten more strokes to endure in her introductory whipping. From experience I knew that by the time each had made its imprint on her flesh, she would be converted from freedom to slavery. It is so beautifully simple I shutter to think of it.
"Honey, this is going to do you a world of good," Rankin assured the scared girl. "You've had things pretty much your own way, but now you're going to meet your master. Do exactly as I say. Is that understood?"
"Let me loose! I want to go back to Casper."
"She wants to go back to Casper... " Rankin shook his head that any maiden would want to do that. In slow deliberation he took a stance then swiftly planted the supple leather squarely across her breasts. The fleshy part of the breasts took the impact, not her torso. Her eyes opened wide in shock and a strangled gasp escaped her mouth. She twisted wildly from side to side but the ropes held her arms firmly locked to the wood. I longed to leave.
The measured blows cracked loudly in the bedroom. He distributed the blows equally between the soft flesh of her breasts and the tender skin of her thighs and hips. She danced and squeezed her legs tight together in an effort to make sure the leather strap didn't find its way between her legs -- a brutal act she obviously feared greatly.
After nine strokes delivered with the strength of a male arm, Rankin paused to let her catch her breath. The girl was sobbing and tears flowed down her cheeks to fall upon reddened breasts. But it was not kindness that prompted his pause. He was only letting her return enough to normal to hear his next order and obey it.
"Spread your legs apart," he said casually. Her eyes grew wide again and she bit back a cry of protest. "I can easily go on whipping the rest of you until you decide to obey... " I could see the fear in her eyes as she envisioned this whipping continuing until her whole front was one throbbing mass of injured flesh. She slowly eased her legs apart, her eyes fixed on his all the while. Without taking his eyes off hers, he took a small step forward and suddenly brought the leather up to impact squarely upon her sex. For a long second her face was frozen in shock, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Then she screamed.
We both watched her clench her legs tightly together as if that would help ease the pain, and listened to her sobbing scream echo around the room. Knowing Rankin, I was sure the room was soundproof.
I could see that Dulcie was panting from more than just the pain and bet that if I were to palm her sex I would find it wet. She, like myself and heaven knows how many other girls, found her body reacting in highly erotic ways to the administration of pain. And I could see how she was looking at Rankin Teller with the look of a woman lusting after a man. It was probably better that she was still bound to the post or she might have thrown herself upon the man who held a leather strap in his hand. And yet her struggles against the ropes and the whip had been quite real, as was the pain she was feeling. Girls are strange!
Things were different now with Dulcie from when I had first brought her to the captain's cabin. She had settled down and given up struggling. She now stood sweating and trembling beneath her master's gaze. "How you doing, Dulcie, gal? Do you feel a bit more human?" he asked cheerfully.
"I can't bear it anymore. I'll do anything you say. Oh, please, please, please!"
"You're coming along fine." Rankin knew that what he spoke of had always been a forgone conclusion. "If you whip a girl enough, she'll always obey," he told her.
Dulcie was sweating considerably and eyes bright with pain. Both her bottom and her front were scarlet from the impacts of the leather. I knew how her breasts must have burned for mine have burned from the kiss of leather also. I knew for sure her flesh would go on burning for a long time to come. But the pain had worked -- I could see it in her eyes. She was a different girl now.
The pain, the outrageous, the agony, and above all the shock are potent in those first five strokes to mark the skin of any girl. For Dulcie these five strokes were long past and each fresh blow was just in intensification of pain which found a few spaces on a girl's body as yet unmarked and subject to the will of he who administered the punishment. I could easily tell Rankin was seeking out fresh skin. His use of the supple strap on Dulcie's tender flesh was cool and calculated and designed to make an impression on both her flesh and mind. The poor dear had been well and truly whipped.
The training continued. "What do you call me, Dulcie?"
"I call you Master."
"Did you deserve the punishment just received?"
"I deserved it, Master. Please punishment me more if you wish."
It went on and on in a way to make me curl up inside as I witnessed the way a girl becomes subject to a male's will. In the end a girl always throws herself upon masculine mercy just to survive. Any girl who had been well whipped will agree with me. While it is happening to us, we are positive we are going to die. Young Dulcie had made her first acquaintance with the leather strap and that was that.
The manner in which Rankin, Dulcie and I spent the night was a shameful bit of Rankin humor. Absorbed with Dulcie, Rankin-left me pretty much alone in my handcuffs. But I suppose I made a good enough audience for what he was doing. When bed time came, he simply spread-eagled Dulcie on the bed and tied her down like a butterfly with widespread wings. I then got my usual shackle on one ankle and was told to sleep on one side with my head resting on Dulcie's outstretched arm while he slept on the other. I noticed he had not bound Dulcie in a tight way, she could move a little and I deduced that meant she was to remain thus bound for the night. I kicked my ankle chain unhappily and wondered if I should tell Rankin I preferred the brig. I was just excess baggage in his bed. But prudence held my tongue.
I turned my back and left him to his busy night with the spread- eagled and helpless girl. But that wasn't good enough for Rankin, he told me to turn over an watch the show. I meekly obeyed. If Dulcie had any illusions about being raped, they vanished when Rankin mounted her spread-eagled form and quickly thrust home his huge tool deep into her sheath. I watched as he possessed his prize but felt only disgust. Those who rave about the beauty of the sexual act have never seen themselves thus engaged. For my money, it should be a very private act, but Rankin was an extrovert. Yet I had the impression he did not perform the act nearly as well with me. At any rate, I comforted myself with the attitude of sour grapes, and I might as well admit right now that the more I got ignored, the more piqued I become, as I was forced to watch Rankin thrusting home with such vigor as to make Dulcie squeal with pleasure. Who ever said a naked man pounding away at a gasping girl was beautiful? I guess you have to be the gasping girl.
We all went to sleep finally from exhaustion. After breakfast Rankin reminded me of the mission I must perform and of the area of bare skin which would suffer if I failed. But he was in a mischievous mood with most of his wisecracks aimed at Dulcie, who I was sure by now was wondering if she'd made a good deal. He told me to hang around for a while before going to the Simpson because there was a little demonstration he thought would provide me amusement. I said my, "Yes, Master," without any interest.
It was a heavy wooden box that stood in the center stage of the deck, Dulcie was told to stick her hands out to be tied and, as my master did his usual job on her. I could tell she was getting a thrill from the biting intimacy of the cord. Then Without warning, Rankin picked her up, turned her upside down, and lowered her into the box, head first. He positioned her so that her shoulders took her weight while her master still clasp her hips as he thrust shut the lid from either side to tightly encompass her slender waist. It was like a stock or "pillory, two half circled cut in the heavy boards exactly sized to fit her waist tightly in its jaws. This left poor Dulcie in darkness down below while her hips, her bottom her pubic area and slender legs were sticking up in the sunshine. Rankin clipped the hasps with padlocks and stood Back to proudly survey the outrageous exhibition of young female sex and the bare legs which Dulcie was kicking wildly as though hoping that might free her. Rankin looked at me and at the guests who had gathered to watch, and said with great good humor.
"That's a damned good way to show of ass. Any other girls who would like to try it, just let me know. Can't let young . Dulcie have all the fun."
I doubted if Dulcie was having any fun. It was easy to picture her in the darkness, her hands tied in what was painful bondage, and in the knowledge that her bottom and sex were available to anyone who wished to use them. I was pretty sure she would feel at least ninety percent pussy. I stood with the others and watched for I have to admit that Rankin's unkind creation was absolutely laughable as the one half of the girl displayed went through a series of struggles which told all too clearly the other half was suffering tortures of shame and discomfort. And was probably wondering who was watching and what they would do to her upraised bottom and legs.
I was in a pensive mood as I made my way to the Simpsons cabin. I had little doubt that if I failed in this mission, Rankin would, indeed, mark my skin. But I wasn't going to push because Ellen Simpson was fare too nice a person to deserve any of what was going to happen to her. I knew what agony it would be for her to walk naked beside me among the passengers. And worse would be the promised whipping, probably in front of all the guests. When I entered the cabin, I found her crying softly on the bed. She looked up at me pitifully. She gulped and applied her handkerchief as she explained, "I didn't mean for you to find me like this, Celie. I'm going to accept Mr. Teller's terms of being made naked and whipped and all those other things." She paused to gulp again and I felt so damned sorry for her. "You won't have to worry about being punished, dear. I'll do whatever Mr. Teller wants and won't give you trouble. If you have to use handcuffs or whatever to make me prisoner, I'll let you. Oh, Celie, dear, I've just had the most awful shock."
I raised Ellen to her feet put my looped hands over her head to hold her tight with all the comfort I could give, while she whispered, "Kurt wants to get rid of me. He's gone to see your master and persuade him to have me sold at the auction. Kurt says he can't stand to have me around after what's happened and he believes he can talk Mr. Teller into giving him more money if he has me sold. Oh, Celie, I can't believe it all, it sounds so terrible!"
I had no trouble believing it. But for Ellen Simpson it was all too bizarre to think of. Unthinking of the pain, I found myself sentencing myself to Rankin's punishment. "Look here," I said earnestly, "don't go through with this. Don't give away yourself. If this husband of yours is such a bastard, he doesn't deserve that sacrifice. You'll fetch a tremendous price at auction if it comes to that, so he won't be of any need of funds. But, Ellen, please put up a fight. Tell the other guests about this outrageous demand. Get them behind you. Rankin can't possibly stand against the whole passenger list."
"It's no good, Celie. I have to do it, I gave Kurt my promise. We're through, of course, I'll divorce him at the very first opportunity." She eyed me questioningly. "I really cannot believe Mr. Teller will do as Kurt requests. I just don't believe he'll sell me into slavery. So all I have to fear is the punishment you've come to lead me to, so let's get on with it. Do you want me naked like you?"
Ellen Simpson was quality. "I'm afraid so," I told her dismally. "And I'm suppose to put you in handcuffs but I forgot to bring them. Is there anything in the cabin I could use to tie your hands?"
"There's lots of nylons, will they do?" While I picked some nylons, Rankin's new prisoner fixed her face and fussed with her hair in a manner entirely feminine. I was wondering if Rankin would be mad about the handcuffs but hoped he would find the nylons a pleasant change. It was at this point the discarded wife turned from the mirror to ask, "I'd expect you'd like me to take my clothes off now?"
She was very beautiful but that went without saying for Rankin Teller would select no other kind of girl. She wasn't shy about showing herself to me. Rankin was going to be pleased with her, and I wondered what kind of pain and shame she would have to endure to please him. She suggested, "My hands have to be behind my back, don't they?"
I nodded and felt an absolute bitch. Suddenly I was enveloped in two girl arms and pressed against hot girl flesh as once more Ellen whispered in my ear, "You're being terribly sweet about this whole thing, Celie. I know your master doesn't give you too much choice but I really am grateful it's you who ties me and leads me to my fate." She laughed. "I know that sounds silly, but it's exactly what we're going to do, isn't it?"
We kissed a long time before she turned around and let me gather her bare arms and cross her wrists behind her back. I had to admit that when I circled them with the nylons I got the damnedest thrill in a way I would have thought only a man could do. She was so beautiful, and so sweet, and so willing, I could not help being excited as I bound her hands and made her helpless. I knew I would soon lead her to a place where she would be painfully bound and horribly whipped to give a lot of male assholes an erection inside their pants and a lot of girls a wet pussy. For a moment I almost tossed the nylon aside but I'm no real heroine and knew if it wasn't me who did it, it would be someone else. And then, as though to deny urge, I gave a savage tug around and around the soft girl flesh with the thin nylon. Ellen stood erect and gasp with each bite of the bond, which I was discovering was in many ways superior to rope. The poor darling's hands were going to be tied for sure. When pulled, the nylon shrank down to a think cord and knotted very tightly. I added a second nylon around her wrists so they were bound up and down as well as sideways. And knotted so tightly I doubted I could even undo them.
"I guess that's it, now you're ready for delivery," I said. "Shall we start this wicked walk you're going to hate?"
Ellen certainly had grit. I heard the deep breath she sucked in and saw the tightness of her lips as we stepped from the cabin and began the walk which display her naked for the first time in her life before a number of people. The first time if awful for a girl and I suffered with her as we met and passed inquiring eyes. Sometimes we had to pause while people examined the naked and bound woman they had previously only seen clothed. Her body met with approval. By the time we reached Rankin's cabin, the poor dear was blushing clear down to her breasts, and still vainly striving to use her hands to cover herself.
Rankin was delighted, his eyes devouring this fresh, new nudity. He patted me upon my bottom as a mark of approval. He laughed over the nylon-encircled wrists and I breathed easier. He fingered the lovely big breasts and ran a hand alone the curves of her beautiful bottom. He finally resumed his seat in a good mood.
He lost no time in getting to the point. "I suppose you know I've had a visit from that asshole husband of yours, Mrs. Simpson?"
"Yes. Kurt told me what he intended to ask."
"You'll fetch a fine price, honey." I saw her flinch. I had been hoping you'd be man enough to refuse," she said boldly. "It seems incomprehensible that a man like you would sell someone like me into a life of slavery."
"It's just the luck of the draw, sweetheart. You're quality merchandise, and it's not likely you'll be purchased by a truck driver. If you don't mind your ass getting whipped once in a while, you can have a good life. And don't you keep after me to change my mind. And when you hear the price you're knocked down for, you'll understand why. Talk to young Celie, here, and she'll tell you how to make the best of things."
I was aware of an involvement in a strange intimacy. In a way I was sharing Ellen's agony of spirit as she stood naked before this man while working against the nylon with which I had bound her wrists. I understood how betrayed she must feel, and how helpless. I suppose in a way her fate was worse than that of a criminal sentenced to life imprisonment. I've always wondered how they felt when the judge said those fateful words. Here Ellen was being sentenced to lifetime slavery with all its sexual impositions and corporal punishments, a worse fate than anything she had ever dreamed of. For the moment Rankin's interest was centered entirely upon this woman who was only a few years older than I. I was left out of his regard as he enjoyed watching Ellen Simpson literally squirm under the visions of what future held for her. But I knew I belonged to Rankin utterly and that brought a sort of comfort. But it was a comfort only a slavegirl could understand.
My reflections were interrupted by Rankin's jovial voice, "First off, you belong to me, Mrs. Simpson. I'm having you whipped this afternoon the way I promised. It will be a full dress affair except you won't wear no clothes. And you'll be tied up to the rigging to get your first taste of the whip and riding crop the way every girl should long before she's you age. How do you feel about it?"
"I think you're terrible, almost as terrible as my husband!"
Rankin shook his fingers. "Sweetheart, are you forgetting the times you've watched Celie here and that fool of a female she thinks she belongs to, and quite a few other gals I won't bother to name, get their punishments? I've watched you in the audience and you were enjoying it the same as all the rest. But now the wheel's turned full circle and you're on the receiving end." Once more his crude chuckled filled the cabin. "You're going to love every moment of it. And you'll never be the same again."
Ellen stood there in the splendor of her nakedness and said no word. She knew there was nothing to say and so did I. It was as though a machine had been set in motion, a machine we could not halt. Rankin now took us one more step along the way. "I've got things to do before you get to be marked up, Mrs. Simpson, and in the mean time I've got a cute little notion. See what you think of these."
I recognized two collars joined by about three feet of chain. Once again the woman to be punished flinched as the jaws opened then closed snugly around her neck. Rankin carefully and tenderly smoothed away her hair from under the iron grip and clicked it shut. I didn't bother to protest but stuck my chin up to aid the. placement of the silver circle around my neck while at the same time; he pronounced my orders. "Celie, gal, I want you and Mrs. Simpson to sort of mingle with the guests. Go to the bar if you want, or back and forth along the deck. But one thing for sure I do want is for you to be seen. I don't want to find you hiding in no cabin. You're as pretty a pair as any man ever did see." He slapped my bottom affectionately and motioned us along our way.
My fellow captive was understandably nervous, shaking her neck occasionally as if to rid herself of the collar. I had to watch no to get snubbed with awkward motions. The chain from neck to neck made us a single entity, and Ellen's blush was trying hard to be more scarlet than it was. We took the steps slowly down to the deck and were confronted once more by people interested in our bottoms, breasts, legs, and pussies.
We also saw Dulcie, still inside her box with legs and hips sticking out of the wood, and had to wonder about her frame of mind. But apprehension can only go so far and she had evidently reached its limits in the exposure of her pretty puss and the curves of her bottom. The girl to whom I was so firmly chained took in the pathetic sight and sniffed disdainfully but admitted, "There was a time when I would have found this amusing, Celie. I'm ashamed of myself for the way I was. Is that girl in the box hurting?"
"Not yet. It all depends on what Rankin decides to do next. I wouldn't be surprised if he uses a riding crop on her bottom."
"The man's a beast, he's not human!" I couldn't entirely agreed with that judgment and kept silent, and felt a glow of pride that I was privileged as his chosen slave. I suggested that we begin the process of mingling with the guest, as ordered.
We were, of course, a great success. Everyone loved our collar and our chain. Some of the bolder females who looked at us even went so far as to compliment Ellen on the quality of her blush, while others went overboard to say what a lucky girl she was to have been chosen by such a masculine a hunk as Rankin. Everyone on that ship was secretly afraid of the owner, but I had long been aware that most of the females cherished a longing to be possessed by such a rough, tough hunk of man. We were a strange and diverse shipload of humanity.
With her hands tied behind her back, and meeting now those who had been her friend, my linked companion had no opportunity to play coy. After the first shy contacts, Mrs. Ellen Simpson now looked everyone in the eye as if daring them to comment about her breasts or the curves so soon to make the acquaintance of Rankin's crop. By the time we had finished our first time around the deck, she had become almost used to her condition and the stares of the passengers.
When we reached the bar we were plied with cocktails on every hand and sipped enough to make us slightly numb, Ellen was then able to ask me the questions uppermost in her mind. "Celie, dear, this whipping: it's going to hurt me terribly, isn't it?"
"Sure it is, and I'm not going to kid you about it."
"And this business of being tied up to the rigging is going to expose me horribly. I mean, everyone will be able to see everything I've got?"
"No more than they're seeing right now. The only difference is that you'll then have to stand the way you're tied and wait for it to happen."
"Will I scream?"
"Do as you like about screams. But it's always possible Rankin will gag you so that all you can manage is some small, sad sounds you'll be ashamed of afterwards."
"Do they use the riding crop on my bottom and then the whip across my back?"
"That ought to be enough to please his highness. Usually a girl's first whipping is on her bottom and maybe her back. Your breasts and pussy is probably safe." I deliberately failed to tell her that the first whipping I ever got from Marjory included many hard strokes directly upon my pussy and that it was sore for days afterwards. Ellen, dear, if I were you, I'd try to stop thinking about it."
"But I can't, my mind is so full of it." Fortunately at that moment Ellen's attention was diverted by a male hand intruding between her thighs from the rear to clutch her pussy. I knew she longed to slap the lustful face but the clutch up her sex was far to strong for her to turn around and the forearm between her thighs anchored her securely as playful fingers and a playful palm did as they pleased with her most private place.
The girl with the man feeling up Ellen, a girl even younger than I, took the opportunity to mischievously tease the nipples so erect upon Ellen's breasts. As she played with them she laughed at a woman scarlet-faced with embarrassment at being so treated. It was one of many such carnal interludes the poor dear had to endure until I knew the time had come to lead her to her punishment.
Dulcie was still inside the box her legs listlessly awaiting whatever would fall. We had no need to mount the stairway because Rankin was already waiting for us on the deck with a couple of grinning crewmen holding loops of cord. We were unlocked and Ellen was turned over to the crewmen. Her head was held high but her breasts were raising and falling with apprehension of something that was now coming true. As the trembling girl was lead towards the span of tight rigging, Rankin took his favorite post on the hatch cover to address his passengers and the crewmen. I didn't listen I was too busy watching Ellen Simpson being prepared for the whip.
The girl so soon to be whipped with everyone aboard watching her pain was magnificent in her acceptance of the contract she had made with Rankin Teller. When her hands were freed from the nylons I had bound around her wrists, she followed the instructions of the two crewmen she knew she could not fight. Meekly she raised her arms and spread the wide to place her wrists firmly against parts of the rigging to be corded tight and hold her secure as her skin was scored by the leather thong. She stood very still as the cords looped and twisted and knotted tightly. Seeming to ignore what was being done to her, she gazed calmly out to sea. I was breathless with the beauty being created before my eyes. It was at that point Rankin's voice intruded upon my absorption.
"I've got a little thing which I know you're going to like." He was saying easily. What I want you to do now is stay absolutely still and don't make a sound and you'll soon see why." He placed a warning finger across his lips.
The audience's attention followed Rankin's eyes and focused upon Dulcie's upturned bottom and legs and where her bottom blushed in silent shame. Treading quietly to make no sound, Rankin selected a riding crop from several instruments and cautiously he walked around the upturned legs to find what he considered the best vantage point from which to strike. Suddenly the air was cut by one swift and terrible swish as he planted a scarlet mark from hip to hip across the tender young flesh. It drew applause from the crowd. Rankin then stepped back to watch the reaction to the shock and pain. There was a squeal of agony muffled by the box. Ranking bowed grandly in acknowledgment of the applause. And why not? It was he who had created this scene. It was he who displayed feminine flesh in agony for the pleasure of the watchers. And it was he who Dulcie must thank for the pain and apprehension of future pain that she was now enduring.
Rankin was a master showman who now approached the nude girl standing with arms raised and well apart. Ellen continued to stare without apparent concern out to sea. But when Rankin made his wicked leather sing as he cut empty air, the poor darling turned to look back over her shoulder. Now there was fear in her eyes. From my own personal experience of being whipped, I knew this was a moment she would remember all her life.
My master was also enjoying himself to the full and did his usually window dressing by running his riding crop up and down the bare back and the sweet curves below. Once more he addressed his audience, "We got quality here, folks, and this girl ain't ever been whipped in her whole life, so what you're going to see is the rape of virgin skin. I ain't gonna hurry none, 'cause I want you to get your money's worth. Looks real pretty, don't she, tied like that!"
The crop snickered through the air to plant the wicked red mark across the round bottom. I watched Ellen stiffen and become erect in shock and disbelief that the world held so much pain. Allowing the pretty wound to ripen into greater display, Rankin stood playing with his toy and measuring the amount of virgin skin available to him. When the second stroke scorched across her lovely shoulders, she went wild as girls are apt to do when the first realization of incredible pain blots all else out. Her dance of pain was beautiful. The female body is very beautiful when thus displayed.
Rankin was enjoying himself. I knew that when he struck the next time, Ellen would scream. He knew it, too, and allowed long moments to pass to let the nude innocence finish it's dance and calm down to heavy panting and a tension visible in the backs of her legs. Positioning himself for a third swift cutting of the air and girl flesh, he appeared to see something I could not. For a moment he stood in open-mouthed astonishment before uttering an oath and swiveling around to point the riding crop at me. "Get up into my office, Celie, girl, and stay there whatever happens. Don't you dare stick you head out of the door until I come. Get out of sight."
There was that in Rankin's voice that made me obey without question. I leaped up the stairs as though the devil was at my heels. Inside his office, I stood panting at the window to gaze in wide-eyed disbelief at the incredible.
It is very quiet on board the Rankin's Pride. The crew is here, my master is here, and I am here. But that is all. The entire passenger list vanished as though it had never existed. I will never see my darling Marjory again, nor Ellen Simpson, or Dulcie, or any of the others. I would be terribly lonely if it were not that Rankin Teller was greatly pleased with one of the most outrageous kidnappings the oceans of the world have ever known.
I had scarcely taken position at the office window when the reason for Rankin's reaction came into view. It was a ship, but so strange a ship I have no name of it. I suspect it of being a rusty old hulk which some power around the Persian Gulf has converted to a warship. Ancient guns appeared here and there upon the deck, so that it could have inflicted great damage upon an innocent cruise ship like the Rankin's Pride. Its crew wore uniforms but one could not tell of what country. The wearer's showed great discipline and confidence. They were a swarthy, Islamic bunch who went about the rape of the cruise ship in a way to tell they had been well brief and knew their way around. The name African Queen painted on the ship may have been pure satire, but there it was so I use the name even though it bore no resemblance to the small boat of that name and movie fame. Its officers seemed a cheerful bunch who evidently enjoyed some huge joke as they directed their men in the separation of male and female, with the males under the treat of automatic weapons. They were prodded into several small boat lowered from divots into the water. There was a lot of shouting and a great many threats as the mother ship allowed them to drift away, ignoring such protests. The crewmen of Rankin's Pride had disappeared below and the deck beneath my window was crowded by ever female passenger as one after another was discovered in this place of that and herded into a group. Even Dulcie had been released from her box to stand in bewildered confusion with the other females. The stripping and binding of the prisoners was methodical. An officer with a couple of soldiers and a considerable pile of wicked looking twine stood at the ship's rail to secure and make helpless two girls at a time while the rest stood in helpless impotence beneath the threat of an array of guns. Any girl who protested or tried to flee was dealt with roughly, some being sapped so hard they fell to the deck. Among the girls was darling Marjory and poor Ellen Simpson, who, like Dulcie, had been freed from one bondage to be readied for another. I doubt if there was a woman of more than thirty-four years old and some were even younger than myself. The rusty ship was going to sail away with an abundant harvest of female flesh. I pictured Marjory standing on some auction block somewhere far away. But it was for very certain very one of the women now submitting to being bound would fetch a good price. I found myself hiding behind a curtain and heading Rankin's advice.
The girls were moving forward to the railing to be stripped bare and bound. If they were reluctant, they were slapped into compliance. The shoes and clothing were cast into a pile on the deck behind the supervising officer. I didn't think that this stripping bare bothered them as much as it might have for, by the time they got to the clothes Off, they were, scared to death and only too willing to comply. Each of them in docile surrender placed her arms behind her back, her hands palm to palm where they were, swiftly and skillfully tied with the thin twine. It made me wince to watch. When the soldiers used the-same twine bind the elbows, I knew each captive girl would he in agony very soon. I did not want to watch but the scene held me fascinated and I stared as each female package was lowered to a waiting boat and ferried across to the African Queen. I doubt if the entire operations took one hour.
The grand finale of this operation took place when Rankin appeared from somewhere to stand at the rail, shaking his fist at the foreign army and uttering loud curses. But they only laughed at him. He was still standing there when the African Queen blew its horn and turned back upon its course under the thrust of powerful engines which belied its rusty exterior. It was not long before it disappeared from sight. It was the same with the small boat and their male cargo. I had to suppose the unfortunate boyfriends and husbands were about to experience the same agony Marjory and I had known in a little dingy long ago.
For me surprises were not yet over. When Rankin turned away from the rail, his face was beaming with a grin from ear to ear. Swiftly he mounted the steps to join me in his office, where I was picked up bodily and soundly kissed, and got my bottom patted. I was left in no doubt of my owner's good will and humor. As always I remained handcuffed through it all.
"That was the niftiest trick I ever pulled," he uttered delightedly as he took his chair. "I sold every damned female on this ship, and there's three boatloads of fellows out there somewhere who can't testify to anything except a raid by some foreign navy they can't name. So far as the authorities are concerned, I'm home free!" It was classic Rankin. I wished I could hate the guy, but there was something about his massive maleness which held me enthralled as surely as the handcuffs upon my wrists. In ancient times, Rankin would have made a wonderful pirate.
As I stood there in my handcuffed nudity, my master recounted for my benefit the whole story. I realized the degree to which I was privileged. Rankin was telling me details which could have sent him to prison many times over. But I was not his one and only girl and his confidences made me feel pretty much like either a mistress or a wife. I glowed with the Rankin fire hot within my loins.
"So what happens to us now," I asked timidly.
"Shit, gal, you don't have nothing to worry about," he said. "I'd sooner screw you than any gal I every knew. No way I'm going to sell you. I'm keeping you all to myself."
"But the ship? You're not going to sail around empty, are you?"
"Oh, that! Well, gal, I had that all figured out long ago. When we make port we'll load up a whole new passenger list. There's always plenty of suckers what have plenty of money. And when word gets around that there is this ship where every cruise is a sex orgy... And plenty of girls to be tied up and whipped... Well, they line up for tickets. And they all have girlfriends, or sometimes wives, to bring along. If you got money, it ain't hard to pick up a pretty girl! Hell, offer her an ocean voyage that's one long party, and the girls will line up at your door. Most of them don't find out until it's too late that they're gonna be the main attraction themselves." He laughed.
"I suppose I'll be the first one to be wandering around naked and letting all the guys feel me up?"
"Of course! And what's wrong with it, honey? Them guys don't get to screw you. That's the beauty out of having their girl friends alone. Both the males and females get all excited out of seeing a girl like you handcuffed and naked. And whipped now and then. Ain't nothing like a whipping to get a cock good and hard. See what I mean?"
I saw what he meant and I have to admit to a shameful thrill in realizing how I would be the center of attention. Well, at least until some other girl suddenly found herself naked and handcuffed. But I could not forget recent events and had to ask what was going to happen to Marjory. And poor Ellen Simpson.
"They'll be sold, honey, same as all the rest. My split of the take is going to help look after my old age. Stop worrying about them, there isn't a damned thing you can do, and a well-whipped ass ain't gonna do any of them any harm."
Out of nowhere my mind envisioned poor Dulcie in her box. "You won't put me in that awful box," I found myself asking, "with my pussy and legs sticking out of the top and the rest of me tied up in the dark below? Will you, Master?"
"You know better than to ask questions like that." It was indeed a journey back to square one. And when my master suggested we retire to the bedroom to perform what he coarsely described as "knocking off a piece," I realized the circle was complete. I might as well enjoy Rankin's sexual immensity. Shamefully I knew myself a very lucky girl.
But after he had brought us both to climax many, many times, I thought of Marjory, and Ellen, and wept.
One of Rankin's secrets was that the Rankin's Pride often steamed around and around in a meaningless circle while the passengers played with me, or any other female Rankin could force into slavery on his ship. Port was ever far distant and the illusion of traveling vast distances was easily maintained. Rankin told me to amuse myself in the quarters we shared while he loaded his fresh cargo of innocence. He also had a second request which gave me much food for thought. He would have to notify the appropriate authorities about the kidnapping of most of his previous passenger list, so we could expect a visit from some authorities investigating. Rankin wanted me to dress respectably in my clothes which were still in his closet, and to express the same indignation as he about the crime committed on the high seas. It was not a difficult task, and I performed it with no more than a slight discomfort than being forced to wear clothes. I discovered I was much more comfortable when happily naked.
I answered questions with much sincerity and did my best to confirm my master's story. I must have been good enough for I did not earn a whipping of my bottom at this time. Rankin was indeed proud of me and was lavish in his praise. As my reward after the authorities had departed, he took me to this bed and performed the carnal act in all it's various positions again and again and again. I was a well screwed little girl when I made my way out onto the deck to provide the first thrill for those who had purchased tickets for the voyage.
He was not a man from whom I would have purchased a used car. He was oily, and slick, and sly, but his message sent my heart to racing as he whispered to me in a dark comer of the bar. "If you want to join them girlfriends of yours in being sold into slavery, or if you want to try rescue any one of them," he told me earnestly, "all you have to do is jump overboard at a certain time in the middle of the night and swim like hell and the currents will take you to a beach where there is a village where they will tell you where to go. And give you clothes."
I should have laughed at him but I was bitterly remembering the two women who so far I had failed to help in any way. Now I found myself tom between loyalty to Rankin Teller and a female bond I could never break. But I was cautious and it was easy to demand, "What are you getting out of this?"
"There was a gal in the bunch I got the hots for. I want her free. If you can somehow blow the whistle on this whole deal, I'll be well enough content. I know you don't trust me, but it's the only deal I've got to offer. And, by the way, if you're worrying about the time and place, this old tub is going around and around in a circle, and if you don't catch the time and place tonight or tomorrow, there's always the next day. You'd best take the chance while you can."
I didn't grasp the opportunity right then. And had Rankin not gotten mad at me over my sadness over Marjory and Ellen, I probably never would have. But Rankin too easily sensed why I was sad and the next day chose to rid my mind of such female fantasies by putting me into Dulcie's box as his first offering to his passengers.
I should have guessed something was up when Rankin changed my handcuffs from front to back, and then read me a lecture about the uselessness of clinging to the past. But my inner judgment was impaired by the agony of events. It was by no means the first time I had done my mingling with a couple of hands I couldn't use. My satisfaction with myself was much enhanced by the universal approval which my helpless nudity was greeted with. It was not until Rankin picked me up and carried me to the fatal box that I realized he intended to teach me a lesson. "You got big ideas about your sweetheart," he admonished as he carried me to the deck. "A little spell of punishment won't do you no harm. You're my own little gal and that's the way I want it. You get them notions of them other females out of your head and be a good girl. That there box to which I'm carrying you is a wonderful cure for any female trouble. Relax and enjoy."
As is customary for a slavegirl, things happened so fast I was left well behind in the matter of protests and pleas. The first thing I knew I was upended in Rankin's arms and lowered head first to recline on my shoulders and handcuffed arms "as my master slid around my waist the two segments of the box's lid which would hold me prisoner. I heard the locks click and felt myself, cruelly exposed in a posture no girl could ever envy. I wasn't in any real pain but I was in darkness and lying on a couple of bare arms which the handcuffs defeated in any attempt to move. Somewhere up there in the sunlight people would be looking at my pussy and legs. I pressed my legs together but doubted that I could hold that pose for long, and then I would be opening them wide to rest them. I was a slave girl who had displeased her master.
I wasn't in any real pain but my mind was alive with that (memory of the terrible, unexpected stroke which had cut Dulcie's skin at a moment when she believed herself forgotten. I, wiggled around to make myself as comfortable as I could and, having seen Dulcie's blatant exposure of her sex, I lay on my shoulders and arms in breathless fear, feeling that if had transgressed enough to get myself inside this box. I could be pretty sure there would be more to follow. But in spite of this punishment my thoughts were still overly concerned with Marjory and the gorgeous Ellen Simpson.
I could guess it was the hands of passengers who were feeling my legs and bottom, and occasionally palming my pussy. Some hands were rough in toying with my sex, some very expert at teasing a girl's private parts to stimulate her body into actions she didn't wish to do. I considered kicking out whenever I felt a hand upon my body but discarded the idea for fear of what might happen to me were I to connect a kick with some passenger and do damage. Half my body was completely exposed for any type of retaliation the injured person might wish to inflict, and horrible thoughts crossed my mind as to just what that retaliation might be.
I could hear comments, remarks about the beauty of my legs and pussy, statements as to what a man would like to do to that up turned pussy, and even wonderment about if it would be possible to perform sexual intercourse upon the body so confined. The general consensus was that it would be possible if the man were to place himself between my legs, spread them wide, and sort of do push-ups right over me. But thankfully no male tried that not that some didn't try to stimulate me to climax with teasing fingers. I held off as best I could, feeling I would die of embarrassment were people to see half of me hit an orgasm.
But my resolve not to be affected by the touching was severely tested by some of the more skillful fingers, and finally broken by what I am sure was a woman. Someone had been teasing my pussy with very skillful fingers until I was entering a state of sexual excitement despite my efforts to resist. Then the fingers went away for a few moments and thought I was home free. But there was a sound like someone mounting the top of the box and suddenly hands were pushing my legs apart. Before I could even protest a mouth descended upon my pussy and a tongue began licking my soft private parts. Instead of a protest, my lips uttered a gasp of pleasure, followed by moans and little cries as the very experienced and skillful tongue and lips brought me up to a crashing climax. As I trembled and shuttered with pleasure in the aftermath, my benefactor left me, having never uttered a word. But I was sure of one thing - it had been a woman. I felt her long hair brushing the insides of my thighs as her head came down upon my sex. I was embarrassed but thankful to the unknown women for helping relieve the boredom and discomfort of this punishment.
But the day was long and one hand after the other explored my loins, some with crude and rough handling, some tenderly and lovingly.
Several others tried to give me an orgasm and, after a little while I stopped fighting and gave into the incredibly wonderful feelings. I think I orgasmed five times that day. It's an incredible feeling to be so helpless and so vulnerable.
And there were those who commented about the availability of this up-turned bottom to the crop and whip. I didn't doubt for a second just how much a riding crop would hurt against my bare skin. And I constantly feared the sudden flash of pain that might or might not ever come.
For the most part I just lay there my legs bent at the knees so that my feet rested on the box lid. I knew it was an obscene and terrible pose, but it was the most comfortable position I could find.
I don't know .how long I lay in that box. I supposed that by Rankin's standards I had nothing to complain about. After all, I wasn't in serious pain. And what's a few orgasms to a captive girl? Or a few pinches on the soft flesh of my ass?
Finally they tired of me and no new hands roved my body. After that I wished I could keep still but was ever conscious of a waiting whip which might at any second slash across my bottom. Towards the end I found another position to ease the strain on my thighs and waist. I bend my legs double, crossed my ankles, and sort of balanced my legs directly over my hips. Surprisingly that was more comfortable than trying to rest my feet on the box lid.
After what seemed like many hours I was willing to admit that just being in this box was real punishment, not an inconvenienced After a long period of inactivity, Rankin, or someone else, chose to use the riding crop directly upon my bottom. I hadn't heard it coming and the fiery pain was a sudden shock. When I finished jerking my legs and gasping, I was willing to vow to anyone I would not transgress again. I was the sorriest of slave girls and knew I should never presume to be anything else.
Repentance did me no good. Why should it? The repent half of me was buried in the box while the other half of my nakedness, that part most suitable for punishment, was wildly kicking at nothing in the futile hope of discouraging a second stroke.
Nothing happened. There was no second stroke. Finally my feet ceased kicking and fell back to be limp. I lay in quivering apprehension in a psychological anguish almost as great as the pain itself. Gradually my mind channeled itself into speculation of my future. And to the two women I had seen stripped and bound and taken away with all the rest to an unknown fate. If being put upside down in this box was a good sample of what I could expect from Rankin Teller, then I ached for Marjory's arms with a yearning which grew and grew.
Suddenly my ankles were grabbed and spread wide apart to be held there while a cane was used upon my upside down bottom. Three strokes landed on my bottom, followed by two across my pussy. I screamed out, not carrying how loud it was inside the box. Then the cane was slashing down upon the bottoms of my feet, a surprisingly intense pain. First one foot then the other was whipped as I cried out in pain below.
Half a dozen blows on each sole, then my feet were dropped, leaving me in a fine state of terror and fear. But all was silent outside my box. All I heard was my sobs echoing strangely inside the wooden box.
That night, after my master had changed my handcuffs from back-to front and I serviced him until he fell asleep I silently crept out into the darkness and leaped from the nearest rail into the inky blackness below.
CHAPTER FIVE - SLAVES BEYOND PRICE
I am very lonely and the soles of my feet still hurt. I sit glumly upon the wooden bench which is my bed and gaze without interest through the iron bars which separate me from the world. I am suppose to be given audience with an official who will listen to my tail, but I have been in this prison a day and a night without being able to speak to anyone who matters. My jailers simply laugh and shake their heads and point to my still handcuffed wrists to repeat over and over "Bad girl, you must bad girl."
Over and over I relive my escape from the Rankin's Pride. And, looking back at it now, I realize how suicidal it really was. One small naked girl with chained hands, struggling to swim as best she could in an infinity of ocean. An ocean undoubtedly filled with creatures lusting after human flesh for their dinner.
I had to learn to swim all over again but I'd been pretty good at it before and was very soon proud of my new ability. The handcuffs probably compelled me to create a two handed stroke, and I was soon making reasonable good progress and refusing to look back at the vanishing lights of the Rankin's Pride.
It was not long before I thought of sharks, and before I was wondering about that sly young man who had given me information which could be entirely false. In that case, I would eventually sink beneath the waves. I soon realized that no girl in her right mind would ever have done what I did. But the beating of the soles of my feet, together with my longing for the girl I loved and once called mistress, had motivated me into an act beyond reason. The rod across a girls feet works wonders.
After what seemed a long time I slowed down to rest then actually kidded myself I could feel some sort of current or drift in the water to which I had entrusted myself. Without hands I could not lay upon my back and float to seek some sort of direction from the stars but I did my best.
I did not find the solid ground that I sought but the sound of an engine that alerted me. By that time I had no concern about who my rescuer might be just so long as I would get rescued. As each passing swell gave me elevation I as able to glimpse the approach of what seemed a sizable launch, and it was not long before masculine arms were there alone with sparkling eyes feasting upon my nakedness. The men spoke a language I did not understand. Then I noticed the men all wore uniforms.
The officer spoke English and sat impassively while I sipped steaming coffee and blurted out the story I had to tell. It was not until his poker-faced disbelief kept silence after I had come to the end of my tale that I thought to ask for clothes.
I might as well have wanted the moon. And when the son of a bitch did speak, it was to tell me I was in the hands of police, and to then ask a lot of questions to which my answers did no more than confirm his belief that I was either insane or a criminal. The handcuffs I wore so easily were my undoing.
"You cannot tell me, Miss. Collins, you would be handcuffed if you were not a criminal. Come on, I am not a fool!"
I repeated my story of the Rankin's pride and the fifty girls enslaved two days ago. I could name the ship which had taken them but that was all. I had no knowledge of who would sell them or the actual place where they would be sold. I could tell from the look on this man's face how improbable the whole story must seem to a stranger. After a couple cups of coffee and a continuing disbelief mounting to almost anger, I was locked in a cabin in which I gratefully went to sleep, still fairly confident that some authority on shore might believe my tale.
The man who I still thought of as a used car salesman must have told the truth for it seemed no time at all before I was awakened by the mooring of the ship and being escorted to a waiting police van in which my heathen nakedness would be hidden from pious Islamic eyes. In that lousy prison they did all things they do to newly arrested prisoners before locking me in a cell.
I was still naked and still handcuffed. Rankin's handcuffs upon my wrists seemed to amuse everyone except myself. My repeated pleading for covering evoked only scorn. In that place I was only a naughty girl who would get her just desserts.
The Big Cheese also spoke English and examined my nakedness as I stood before him in his office. He listened blindly to what I Had to tell then issued his verdict. The matter of my disposal is not under his jurisdiction, and since my complaint concerns crime on the high seas, it becomes an international incident with which he will not deal. I was to be given a ticket on a bus to the capital city, my handcuffs would be removed, and I would be given the simple coverings of the native girls.
The bus is ancient and filled with Arabs dressed in a mixture of clothes just as ancient and modem. I sat next to a man who smelled of goat while I clutched the bit of local currency by which to find my way to some real authority who may, hopefully, be of help. I somehow doubted the success of my mission. It was good to be out of that prison but I was not much better being trapped in a country with no ID papers, little money and no knowledge of the tongue.
The capital was not impressive, like the bus, a combination of ancient and modern buildings, none containing an American Consulate, I found out. Instead I had to hand the address given me to a taxi driver and hope for the best.
The Chief of Police was the most impressive thing yet. A magnificent uniform was greatly enhanced by much gold brad. He had a steely eye but was mercifully polite and actually appeared to appear half of what I said. He even agreed that he had heard something of the traffic in slave girls of which I complained. He said it was the experience of his department that most of these young ladies deserved what they got.
The name of Rankin Teller rang a bell. In his eyes, Rankin Teller was a distinguished visitor to his country who made a great contribution of good will and tourist dollars. I could consider myself a lucky girl to have dealing with such a man. And my objections about the treatment aboard the Rankin's Pride were swept under the rug with an airy wave of a coffee-colored hand. Then he decided to send me to one more gentleman who could speak of these delicate affairs without the handicap of official rules. A police car would be placed at my disposal and the journey was not long. As I was ushered out, I had the feeling of a brush off, but beggars can't be choosers and I got into the waiting car and felt a touch of optimism that perhaps I was making progress.
The phone must have been busy. The local gentleman who was suppose to know everything about everything was waiting. I simply transferred myself from one car to another and, while my companion spoke knowledgeable about the price of farm produce and the costs of borrowed money, he did not give me an opportunity to tell my story. We left the capital city behind to pass through an area of pleasant fields of farms until we left the river valley and the desert claimed us. Once more I felt as vulnerable as when I jumped into the ocean.
In response to my urgent requests, my host gave me the information that he hoped he had knowledge of the whereabouts of the two woman I sought. He pointed out that to expect connect with the whole group of kidnapped maidens was asking too much. But it appeared the couple who were my principle interest had aroused the interest of others so that they were now separate from the others. I gathered that Marjory's money had something to do with this. When I asked if they would be able to return to the city with us, I got a truly magnificent shrug of the shoulders which could have meant anything.
The crumbling stone and ancient plaster had been there a long time but somehow I felt less uneasy about it then with a modem structure. It was authentic and in keeping with my quest an assortment of varying species of palm tree surrounded the place to give it the appearance of ancient times. A trickle of water from an ancient spring soon lost itself in the sand.
The gentleman who knew everything lost no time in dumping me into the arms of a pair of waiting servants, both male and with hands like iron. My arms were clasp firmly and I was ushered within the walls and along a passageway. At the far end we found a barred cell pretty much like other prisons I had seen. When its door clanged behind my back I realized that everyone must be laughing at my innocence.
This was evidently a prison in which events moved swiftly. I had been brooding over my folly less than an hour when I heard approaching sounds. A minute later my cell door opened and Marjory was thrust inside. The door slammed shut behind her back. The jailer who had delivered her walked away to leave Marjory staring in disbelief at me.
She was stark naked and her ankles were chained together in irons. Her voice field wonder. "Celie! Darling!"
Her arms reached out and, forgetting hobbled feet, my darling stumbled into my arms. I held her tight and we kissed until we could kiss no more. She told me the rest of the girls were imprisoned in this place in one huge cage where they were constantly inspected by prospective buyers and sometimes one of them would actually be sold. Those not thus disposed of would be sold at auction. Ellen Simpson was among them.
My darling mistress then got serious in telling of negotiations by which her own immense wealth had gained her recognition and the possibility of freedom. She kicked at the chain between her feet and told me she was hobbled thus to preclude her giving trouble as she was taken from interview to interview. The rest of the kidnapped girls were metal restraints so that they could pose and show off their bodies for anyone who wished to see all parts of them. There was no indecent posture they could not assume. Those who refused were immediately tied to the bars of the cage and whipped while the buyer watched.
"I've tried to make myself as inconspicuous as possible," my mistress explained. "I don't wish to be bought before I might be able to arrange my own freedom. I'm going to cost myself enough as it is without these bastards having higher bids," she said in anger.
"But can't we leave this place together," I asked eagerly. "If you pay your ransom, it shouldn't be any trouble."
I was hugged. "You're forgetting something," said Marjory sorrowfully. "They'll simply put you in the cage with the other girls and I'll have to rescue you, too. I just hope I can raise enough money on short notice."
We sat on the bench while I told her what I had done. Marjory would soon be free of chained feet and back on Palm Island but I would be subject to sale on the auction block. Instead of us walking away together, Marjory would be alone. "It's not likely to be tomorrow," she said thoughtfully. "We have a lot to arrange."
"Now I've messed it all up by walking straight into this mess! Oh, Marjory, I deserve to be whipped!"
"Don't be silly. You've risked your life to save me from becoming someone's slavegirl. Stop moaning about it, dear. I'll get you out of here if it takes every penny I've got."
I loved her terribly and demonstrated this affection in the way girls do. I did not know the extent of Marjory's wealth but from what she said it had to be enough to buy two girls. We talked and talked as she showed me the marks she now carried from the treatment she had received on board the Rankin's Pride from the people who had purchased her there. We both got satisfaction from knowing that men might still be adrift someplace. And the female half of the team who had bought her was soon to be sold into slavery herself, and we both hoped she would be bought by a very unkind master.
The jailer came to take us away and it appeared I had lost all privileges and must now be naked. Without concern I let them take my clothes and shoes When they found the handcuffs in my pocket, they seemed to feel it a pity to waste them and they were quickly locked upon my wrists. My feet were also shackled the same as Marjory. "It. means they'll be taking us both from the cage from time to time," Marjory explained. "Don't worry, darling, we'll get rid of these chains before too long."
They were all there except Ellen Simpson. After all the greetings and explanation, we were told she had been taken from the cage only minutes past. No one knew to where or why. It would have be easy for me to feel sad but my joy in Marjory tempered and made all else of no importance. I tucked Ellen Simpson in the back of my mind and held on to my mistress as if fearful of her escape. Despite the cage and restraints, life was suddenly glorious.
The name of our cage should have been Boredom Plus. A lot of girls sought to banish ennui for a little while by playing with each other, unmindful of watching eyes. I could not blame them because I might have found myself as desperate for distraction as they had I not had my Marjory. There is something bitterly humiliating about a cage in which girls are held safe behind the bars. You come to expect offerings of stale bits of bread. Every once in a while some lucky maiden found favor in the eyes of a man who was prepared to pay the price of taking her away. Never once did the girl resist or fail to do her damnedest to please. They had seen other girls whipped and wanted none of that themselves. I wished each one of them an early escape before they were led from the cage to be bound for travel. It was all very businesslike but left ever girl in the cage wondering what trick fate had played upon her and what horrors lay ahead.
I soon learned to walk with shackled feet. My mistress and I were frequently escorted to where earnest business types dealt with questions and a great many bits of paper. It was all Greek to me but Marjory seemed to know what she was about.
On the following day we ran into trouble. This time we stood before only one man in the office. The guy was an American and pitifully embarrassed.
The man spelt rescue but was gazing upon our twin nakedness with sorrow. But with false light-heartedness he told us that all the financial terms had been arranged and agreed upon. "I must admit, Miss Magnus, that the State Department is glad you have handled this whole affair yourself. We would have found it a problem to ransom you from government funds. And as to the other girls about to be sold into slavery, well our government would rather look the other way. After all, slavery is an institution in this part of the world and has been for centuries. We do not wish to risk our relations with this country. And their oil. I'm sure you understand." Marjory said, yes, we did understand and were grateful for our own pending freedom. She then asked boldly why he seemed troubled. Was he was worrying about the other fifty girls? As usual, she had put her finger squarely upon the problem.
"What we are up against now, Miss Magnus, is something too bizarre and outrageous to contemplate but it has come to me that unless we give in to a terrible local custom, we might as well forget the whole matter of your release." He paused to looked sternly at us. "Some local big wig has decried that before they let you go, you both be whipped."
We were probably well ahead of the poor man who obviously wished he had been given another assignment. I was sure he expected cries of distress and pleading for mercy. But both of us had been whipped before and, while we did not tell him so, were not scared to death of being whipped again. If this was the price of freedom, we would be willing to pay. Marjory said quietly, "This business of whipping girls is something more common than you would think. We are not surprised and we will not complain. We are grateful for all you have done. Please don't worry about it."
The official was obviously much relieved but still under a feeling of guilt and his own personal horror that white girls would be treated thus. "These people must be sadists," he said with feeling. "You are not only to be whipped but you will be whipped before an audience of local officials and myself. They want me present to emphasis their ability to rub the nose of the USA in Islamic dirt. I have been told I must not refuse." He coughed and added, "When you find me present you must not think I am there for personal pleasure for what has been done to you. It has been embarrassment enough to see you are now, naked and chained, and subject to the will of men I cannot fight."
The poor guy was genuinely upset. But we reassured him as best we could and then were escorted back to the big cage where we explained the conditions of our release to receive such comfort as we could from girls who had become used to the marking of their flesh with the whip. We were not to be whipped inside the cage for, after all, we had not offended an customer nor attempted to escape. The whipping of our flesh was simply for the pleasure of locals. The only man who might feel shame at what he was forced to witness was the American who arranged for our release. And Marjory cynically said she could not be too sure of him, either, since most men secretly cherished a wish to whip a girl. She said, with a shrug, that it was quite probably some sort of mating ritual. And females were expected to love it all and open their thighs after the final stroke. Marjory almost had me laughing.
I was not laughing as we were ushered into the big room around whose walls a considerable number of men were comfortably seated. There was an atmosphere of theater and undoubtedly something was about to happen. A well-braced pole ran from wall to wall at just the right height above our heads. Without preamble was chosen for the opening act and divested of both handcuffs and leg irons in order that my wrists be tightly strapped to the bar above and my feet free to kick when the pain so urged. A slender chap stripped to the waist and beaming quite widely in what was probably simple happiness took up a whip to stand behind me. Marjory was provided with a chair where she could sit and get an excellent view of the manner in which I would be whipped and thus look forward to being whipped herself.
At least the American sitting in the front row had the grace to sweat.
It is always a potent moment when a girl looses, her freedom. I raised my arms and allowed the straps to circle my wrists and be tugged tight to hold me with raised arms in a bare exposure for all to see. I felt pretty sure that the sly discussions among the audience were all comments upon the contours of my breasts and bottom, and how I might be expected to perform if tied spread eagle on a bed. The whole atmosphere was carnival, and I felt the flush filling my cheeks. I have never known why a girl's nipples do it, but mine were rigid. Perhaps it has something to do with fear.
I don't know what happened to me right then but when the executioner walked around me a few times, no doubt to see where his whip should cut, I found myself smiling back at him as though he was an old and trusted friend. His broad grin no longer seemed out of place. I had become victim to a strange detachment which left me in neutral while everyone else was in override. When the whip was held up before my eyes, I saw it as a single thong of supple leather of a type never used on me before so I couldn't be certain if it would be cruel or kind. I was made to kiss the ridiculous thing which I did as though I loved it, then allowed my eyes to follow the man who would wield it as he walked behind me.
There is something strange about me, or about the whip, or about this place. The first slash cut across my shoulders to make me shift from foot to foot uneasily and press a cheek against a bare arm. Someone is counting and it was the count of one. The first stroke had been across my back but the second was suddenly lower down, cutting me from hip to hip to flare where the fire which forever bums somewhere in my loins into a joyous flame. The counter said two.
I should have been screaming but I was not. I was gasping but had to come up for air whenever the pain permitted. It was as if there was two of me beneath the thong. One absorbed the pain while the other made a mental note of everything going on. I strove to twist my wrists within the straps but they were hulked too tight. The agony was terrible but part of me found the whole thing amusing and I managed to smile brightly at anyone who met my eye. I have no idea what they thought of me.
During the all too brief pause between strokes, I saw Marjory sitting in her chair and caught her nod of encouragement. There must have been something wrong about the whole thing but I couldn't have cared less at that time. The count reached five and my fire was burning in furious joy.
In all the leather kisses me thirty times. Thirty is an awful lot of strokes upon a girl's skin but I had developed emotions which pleased me immensely and probably stiffened a good many penises in the audience. At times I bent forward to hang from my strapped wrists. At other times my head was thrown back. Often I flung my hair from side to side as though flaunting a foreign flag before the eyes of Islam.
It took a long, long time. The executioner was a master and paused between each cut that all might enjoy my contortions and moans. I found myself most anxious to please my audience, and while I had little freedom, I did the best I could with hips and legs, and wished I could somehow I could move my breasts for I knew they were much admired. I found myself wondering if the thong might curve around my body once of twice to impact against the soft flesh at the sides of my large breasts. I knew that would please the audience. And strangely I did not scream at all. I think I was even smiling except when the whip's tip impacted against my flesh. Then I frowned.
The man who whipped me was something of a showman. After every fifth stroke he palmed my pussy to kneed it once or twice then hold up the result for inspection and applause. Evidently my pussy was very juicy.
There was an atmosphere in the room of a business well and truly brought to a conclusion. Judging from the comments I could hear, I must have given satisfaction by a performance which left me baffled and bewildered. No one bothered to unstrap my wrists, but the pole was long and had plenty of room for Marjory's hands as well as mine. When the executioner grasped Marjory's arms to leas her up, there came a sudden and dramatic interruption.
He was a fierce-eyed, bony old gentleman who seemed much disturbed but was listened to with much respect. His voice crackled in the room and heads began to nod in agreement, and when the old boy concluded with one final, resounding passage, there was much applause. My first thought was that he didn't think I had been whipped enough. But the matter was evidently more serious than that for the executioner returned my mistress to her chair and came to tell me what it was all about in an urgent whisper only I could hear.
"He say you two girls far too beautiful beneath the whip to be sold outside the boarders of our country. He say our government should purchase you and keep you safe in prison so that every feast day you make whipped for all to see and enjoy."
The man from the State Department was visibly disturbed. He took the opportunity to come and confirm that Marjory and I were indeed to be considered property of the nation and to remain imprisoned as a sort of national treasure in the way they buy costly paintings for museums. Before resuming his seat, he looked at me firmly to say, "You were incredibly beautiful while you were being whipped. I don't understand any of this but I can understand the old boy's point of view. You were out of this world!"
Once more the ancient old buzzard got to his feet and made some proclamation and the way things were going I could almost see that beastly barred cell in which Marjory and I would spend the rest of our life. The horror of it must have shocked me into fast thinking for I thought of a possibility. When the old boy paused for breath, I said in a loud, clear voice, "We are the slaves of Hamid Abed Shamail. He purchased us at a slave auction. We are his property."
I couldn't have created a bigger shock if I had dropped a lighted stick of dynamite in the middle to the room. The old buzzard got his ears whispered in from a dozen pairs of lips. When he got up and walked majestically from the room, everyone followed except Marjory and me and the executioner. Marjory couldn't go very far because her ankles were still shackled together, and I wasn't going anywhere with my wrists still lashed to the pole. The whipper placed a chair between Marjory and myself and sat down to await developments. He was cheerfully vocal, "You cause much trouble. And I think you get much whipped." He looked at Marjory. "No one has told me not to whip you. So now I get you ready to save much time."
"Please don't bother.
"It is no bother. Is great honor to whip such pretty girls. You both have such pretty breasts." He sighed longingly.
There wasn't much we could say about it so kept quiet. I think if Marjory's feet had not been shackled, she would have run away, or at least tried to. But as it was, she took the small steps to allow our cheerful companion to position her beneath the pole just as I had done, raised her hands in hopeless submission to allow them to be buckled to the metal pole. I saw her wince as the straps were jerked tight. Her eyes met mine and were filled with despair at the shattering of our plans. Belatedly I realized that for Marjory to once more come into Hamid's possession was something to fear. I was loved but she was not. And, in any case, wasn't it far more likely we'd be buried in a prison cell to be whipped on state occasions. She flexed experimentally against the straps which held her. The whipping had been our gate to freedom but it seemed now that gate had been closed.
I loved her so much, but we could not even touch. We could talk but had an interested audience, an audience who soon became bored explaining how much he enjoyed whipping out bodies. And how honored he was to be whipping the possessions of a man of such importance as Hamid. Innocently he explained that had we not been the property of a man who was almost king he would be pleased to perform sexual intercourse with us. Well, that's not the words he used but they convey the technical meaning if lacking somewhat in vulgarity.
After a while of raping our bodies with his eyes, he said he had an errant and left.
"I've got something to confess," Marjory said earnestly as soon as he was gone. "I suppose you're wondering about the way you felt while you were being whipped. While that was simply because I paid someone to have you drugged. And I got drugged myself. And I do hope these idiot men will get me whipped before it wears off." She moaned. "I suppose it's turned out one of the worse things I could have done. They're already looking at you as if you're some sort of female deity, and now you've told them about Hamid there's not much chance to get us released the way I had been working on. Gosh, a year ago I wouldn't have believed any of this."
The Sons of the Desert returned, and with them the poor chap from the State Department who was allowed to come and give us the bad news. Marjory and I were to be whipped once more to make quite certain of our superhuman tolerance of the lash, and then be safely chained to keep us from going home. Hamid was not to be informed of our existence. If he ever confronted them to demand our return, they would simply hand us over, with apologies.
The man from Washington looked us over with a mixture of sadness and pleasure at being so close to our breasts. I'll admit he did spare some attention for our assets lower down but I think he is primarily what is called a "tit man." And I knew he longed to possess our bodies with all his heart. Urgently he whispered, "When the terrible affair is over and I'm out of here, I can contact this Hamid guy of yours and if he is what you suppose, he should have no trouble repossessing you. Looks to me like getting out of the frying pan and into the fire, but hang on, sweethearts, I'll be working for you."
Our friendly executioner again had possession of his whip, smiling at Marjory and I with pure love as he prepared to mark her skin and probably mine again. From one side I heard Marjory's urgent command, "Look, Celie, pretend its hurting. Leap around and scream a lot like you can't bare it. Scream and scream, that's what I'm going to do. If we put on a good enough show, these bastards might loose interest."
It wasn't hard to do. The first stroke landed right over several others placed there half an hour before and hurt like the devil. Perhaps the drug was wearing off or maybe it was that a second whipping on top of the first does hurt much worse. I dance on the air and moaned. A couple strokes later I was screaming with little pretense. After the fourth stroke I noticed that old buzzard who wanted us a national treasures got up to issue some curt command.
"He thinks you're play acting to fool us," our executioner informed. "He say that unless you behave the way you did before, you get much extra whipping and then get hang up by your thumbs." He smiled at us. "Is much better you don't make all this fuss."
What the hell could we do! I looked at my mistress but she simply nodded in defeat. When the whip bit at her again, she didn't even move but looked back over a bare shoulder at our executioner to say how kind he was to be whipping us so pleasantly. I almost wanted to laugh.
We hammed it up and behaved with outrageous docility as the leather snapped and bit across our skin. Closing my eyes for a few moment, I drifted back into the same abstraction as before. The blasted leather hurt but not more than I could handle. And Marjory, who was getting three strokes to my one, was a perfect measure of lady- like deportment, moving her nakedness just enough to stiffen male rods while expressing undying gratitude for such kind attention. In pure submission, she confessed to every crime on the books and was deeply thankful for this correction. The State Department was looking at us in open-mouthed admiration.
All things have to end, and I'll admit that by the end of our whipping I was damned glad to have it stop. Whatever Marjory had arranged for me was most definitely worn off to leave me with a burning back and fiery rump. We couldn't move enough to examine each other wounds, and were compelled to stand as we were while our gratified audience trooped out to dinner. Finally only the executioner was left. He tossed aside the whip and produced shackles from somewhere. When my ankles were safely locked, I knew myself as helpless as Marjory who had worn her irons throughout her punishment.
"My name is Benakar. You may call me Ben." The man who had now become our jailer now announced, "I take you now and chain you so you do not run away."
I suppose we could have been in worse hands. Ben may have been an idiot but he was most clever with his whip and far too large for us to try any stuff, even though our hands were free. We were ready to be taken down into the darkness of the dungeon we were kept but instead led into the open sunlight and a bare courtyard with a high stone wall. When we gave this wall a second look, we knew why we were there. Chains hung from it everywhere like a festooned Christmas tree.
"Is very nice place for two pretty girls," Ben said as if he owned it all. "Now I fasten you to keep you safe."
We minced our tiny steps under his direction. Summoned by his clap, we were now , joined by a couple of his grinning colleagues, one with a collection of tools and a small anvil, the other with a brazier of hot coals.
"We don't have to be branded." Marjory snapped angrily "Not for burning skin." Ben assured us much concerned. "It is for hot rivets so that none may set you free please to place pretty neck on anvil that we may give you nice collar."
I shrugged and knew there was, not nothing we could do except what we were told. Uncomfortably I crouched down and positioned my neck in pretty much the manner of Anne Boleyn when she lost her head. Surprisingly gentle fingers disposed of my hair and fitted the metal circlet around my throat. It was snug but not to tight. I could not see the details of what was then done to me behind my back, but a hot rivet was inserted through the holes of the collar's flange and pounded out flat by blows with a hammer expertly wielded. The heat of the rivet spread through the metal until I could feel it on my neck. Then it cooled and I was allowed to rise. When I was told to kneel and present my hands, I discovered the brute weight of the iron I now wore around my neck. I was placed so that my wrists rested on the anvil and I could see the hammer flatten the rivets to hold me prisoner forever.
I would have thought that would be enough but we were close beside the wall and from the wall there hung a couple of lengths of chain which it now appeared were for my special benefit. I stood next to the wall while my neck collar's ring was connected to a chain dangling from the wall. They used rivets to secure the chain to my collar, a more frightening method that if they had simply used a padlock. Padlocks open so easily when you have the key. Another short chain was riveted to my neck collar ring and that came down to join the chain between my wrists.
"You here to stay." Ben informed me brightly as though I couldn't figure it out for myself. "We leave chain on pretty feet to be opened with key. That way we don't need blacksmith to spread your legs and screw!"
I stood against the wall and watched it happen all again, this time to Marjory. When the task was done, my mistress demanded, "What happens to us when it rains?"
"You get much wet," Ben informed as though bestowing benefits. "It is good for young ladies to sometimes get wet. And if it does not rain, I bring a pail of water to wash you. I will let you wash. Am I not kind?"
We assured him he was kind, then watched the three of them walk back to the big house to leave Marjory and me in about as difficult a fix as any girl could ever be in. The hell of it was we gathered we had been chained against the wall as a great favor rather than be kept behind iron bars. Since we had nothing to say about it either way, it didn't much matter. We spent the next half hour tugging and twisting and experimenting with our chains. They were solid.
When we tried to comfort each other with hands and lips, we discovered the closest we could come still left a foot of spaced between us. So we sat in misery as close as our hardware allowed, to talk about our future and when we could expect to be whipped again. Out bottoms and backs hurt. Soon we were reclining on one hip to try and keep our bottom from the sand. We were not happy.
CHAPTER SIX - DISPUTED PRISONER
It was a strange experience. We were beside the wall at the rising of the sun and still there when the sun was replaced by stars. The air in the courtyard was soft and warm which, for a couple of girls as totally naked as we were, was a blessing indeed.
We were left alone. No one came to gloat or ask questions. Our only contact was Ben and three times a day he relieved our tedium with food and drink and quaint conversation. Our food was mostly fruit and our drink was strictly water. A pail of water was left where we could both reach. I suppose a girl fastened in a deep, dark dungeon might look at us with envy but for me it was one long, frustrating time. And Ben's answers to our questions gave no hint of how long we might remain in our outdoor prison.
We lived by speculation. First there was the degree of help which the State Department might provide. We understood their position well enough -- we were an embarrassment. Our next most urgent concern was to learn how long it might be before we were once again whipped. We knew of no national holidays coming up.
"You have been whipped very nicely," Ben pointed out with pride. "Do not concern yourself when it is to happen again. I very much like to whip pretty girls. But I do not keep asking when it is to happen. I would like to whip you every day, if the masters allow."
We took it as a reprimand and did not ask again. We spent our days in sleep, conversation, and boredom. Our chains, like all things of long habit, were sitting on us comfortably but denying our dearest wish -- that we might press our bodies together to share the love we felt. But we couldn't even touch fingertips. It was agony. My eyes fed hungrily upon breasts and pubic hair of the girl I loved. But that was all.
The temptation to relieve ourselves with our own fingers was powerful but quickly put to rest when Ben warned that if we were caught at it, it would surely mean a whipping or perhaps being hung up by our thumbs as a way of keeping our fingers away from our pussy. I think perhaps Marjory did play with herself during the darkest part of the night but couldn't be sure. I know I was too afraid to try it. I got more and more frustrated and my dreams were filled with images of giant male phalluses at rigid attention.
One way other the other our captor had taken away everything that girls can use to pass the time. Sometimes we fought in pure frustration at the chains, even though we knew it a fruitless exercise. As the days slipped by, our hopes grew dim. In our boredom we were almost willing to contemplate a national holiday with us standing bare naked in the public square for all to see us whipped. In a way it was the strangest time of my life.
It was an impressive cavalcade, lead by Ben's beaming smile to be followed by no less a person than the State Department. Behind him were the local gentlemen with their bag of tools. Our fellow countryman,- for whom I began to feel sorry, said, for openers, he had better introduce himself. He was Heber B. Patmore, and he was much concerned over a couple of naked girls who were having a real bad time. In his features it was easy to discern his longing to take us to bed. Everything was suddenly more pathetic. "I have been instructed not to involve the gentleman you call Hamid," he announced. "However, I have been able to negotiate the terms of a release. It will not please you but it is the best I have been able to do. I have been given permission to take Miss. Marjory Magnus to freedom. But I am afraid that you, Miss. Celie Collins, are so highly thought of by the local authorities that they insist upon your remaining as some sort of national treasure." He paused to sigh deeply. "It's all quite absurd, but that's the way it is."
There was a deathly silence until Marjory exclaimed, "I'm not going without Celie, I won't leave her here alone."
"I'm afraid you have no choice, Miss Magnus. The matter has been discussed from all sides and should you chose to be difficult, you will be taken by force. Please understand my position."
Even if I was a national treasure, I had the feeling I no longer matter. The interest of all present was focused on darling Marjory, who I knew was suffering the tortures of the damned and looking at me with wide, appealing eyes. It was a moment we would both remember.
"It is difficult for me to see you two young ladies in this terrible situation," Heber said in obvious distress. "These people here are difficult to deal with and appear to regard you, Miss Collins, as something supernatural and beyond the norm." With an effort at cheerfulness he added, "But at least while you're here alone you will be no worse off than before, and Miss Magnus and I can continue our effort to effect your release. I do hope you understand?"
I understood all right, and longed to cry at the prospect of remaining against the wall, securely chained, with nothing to look forward to except being whipped every so often as the holly days might indicate.
I watched and learned there is a remarkable difference between ironing a girl with riveted metal and affecting her release. There was the little anvil and as Marjory's loveliness was laid upon it, the hammer punched out rivets with such ease as to leave us wondering why we hadn't been able to do it ourselves. It was only a few moments before she stood in total freedom, and despite reaching arms, leapt to engulf me in such an embrace as I will always remember. I could not clasp her back because I was chained but I was hugged and we kissed until a hand on her arm said enough was enough and led her away on the first few steps, which for her were the entry to another world.
I was sad and, for the first few minutes after being left alone in my chains, I wept tears I could no longer control. Marjory's discarded chains laying there upon the sand were a constant and bitter reminder of her warm female flesh no longer pressing against my own.
It is useless to go on and on about my emotions. Emotions come and go and the cold reasoning within my mind told me Marjory and Mr. Patmore would undoubtedly affect my release. I simply had to wait. Since my chains had prevented me touching Marjory anyway, my slumber that night was no different from the previous night. When Ben brought me breakfast in the morning, he informed me that the following day was the Feast of Suliman in which the nation that held me captive would proclaim it's virtue in the eyes of Allah by having me whipped in a public place. Gosh! How lucky can a girl get!
I knew instantly what the fold of paper contained. Ben handed it to me with the air of a conspirator and told me not to swallow the pills before they came to strike off my irons. He wouldn't talk about who gave them to him but said I was a luck girl with much to be grateful for. With a wide smirk, he announced his intention to whip me very well, indeed.
When I unfolded the paper there were two small pills. I also saw the scrawled message: "This is the best I can do, darling, and I have to trust Ben to give them to you. You'd best destroy this message any way you can."
The irons which made me captive to the wall had become almost friends, enforcing, upon me life without derision and limited to the few pares I could walk When the smith and his helper came into view, I found myself wishing they would go away. I hastily swallowed the two pills and thanked Marjory in my heart.
When I stood unchained the whole thing was hard to believe. My hands and feet were free, there was no collar upon my neck, and I accepted Ben's earnest assurance that everything was going to be okay. With an extraordinary docility I allowed myself to be led from the courtyard, felling the beginning of that pleasant world where I didn't really care. It was a drug-induced world but one I was grateful for nevertheless.
It was a long journey evidently those who now governed my life deemed it was to get as far away from a port city as they could. But the crowd assembled to watch my nakedness and my strange immunity to pain would have done justice to a small city. In the middle of the city square stood a couple of poles firmly embedded in the sand. I knew their purpose immediately. When I was taken and placed between them. I felt like moaning out n protest at this cruelty as my mind continuously asked, "Why me? Why me? Why me?"
The business of binding my wrists was simple it was like repeating a daily domestic chore. Ben circled my wrists with his cords and tugged them tight until I stood helplessly between the two posts. I looked around in astonishment at the many eyes all staring at a naked girl and longing to hear her screams. Or to witness the miracle of a girl who did not scream beneath the thong. Ben patted my bottom reassuringly and repeated that he would whip me very hard.
Ben had left me alone between the posts. Evidently there was to be a wait in which I could contemplate my fate and the faithful would have an opportunity to examine infidel female flesh. Several policemen were in charge and marshaled the curious into a constantly moving stream of hungry eyes feeding up me from a few yards away.
In a clinical sort of curiosity I looked up and saw that Ben had my wrists with neat circles of rope and knotted them with such tight knots that there, would be no hope of my getting loose. If a girl can't get loose, why hurt your wrists in useless struggles?
When a quick glance over my bare shoulder told me that Ben was getting ready for his task, I simply closed my eyes to await the first cut on my skin. I longed to howl at them all in revolt against the outrageous indignity. I longed to threaten them with the Stars and Strips and the Marines, gut a naked girl tied to a couple of post and distant from her country doesn't have much to say about anything. I simply prayed that Marjory's pills would do their job.
The pills failed me totally. Marjory had been swindled. Or perhaps Ben had substituted something else. His first lash across the center of my back evoked my loudest scream and such a dance of agony as to hold my audience enthralled within the framework of the posts. I danced and kicked and cavorted that finely evoked applause. I was an infidel getting her just desserts.
That was the way it was. And Ben's urgent whispering between the strokes told me he was almost as concerned as I that Marjory's pills had failed me. Once more I got the full thirty strokes and then stood there, sweating and panting and longing to die while some old twit in a white shirt addressed the faithful and, for all I knew, made apologies for my behaving naturally. I was left tied to the post for maybe an hour before someone untied me only to bind my wrists again behind my back and lead me to a waiting car.
I slept upon my belly against the wall with every bit of me firmly secured by familiar chain. I sobbed myself to sleep. After breakfast the following day I was visited by a trio of grave, elderly men who had already decided my fate but felt it proper to deliver their verdict to the chained prisoner while she was still captive to the wall. It was very simple, beneath Ben's whip I had shown myself simply human and thus became a silly, sinful young woman who might as well be sold by auction to bother them no more. I was now to join others in the cage of girls awaiting sale. Undoubtedly they found virtue in their judgment. I watched them go in an agony of apprehension. I would vanish from the sight of Marjory and Hamid, and Heber Patmore, as though I had never existed. I looked at the chains from which there was no escape and wept.
They came for me in the afternoon, a pair of nattily attired soldiers and the smith. The irons were struck away by sure, swift blows of the hammer. and I was led from the courtyard and taken to a building I hadn't seen before and in which I found a vast chamber in which there was a huge cage. And in the cage were girls each of whom was restrained by handcuffs or cord or rope. None possessed their hands I soon joined this sad-group by having my own wrists corded unkindly behind my back and was then thrust through an open gate which clanged behind my back.
My new companions were staring at me as I was at them. They came in a great variety of colors but all were beautiful girls of better than average figures.
I knew there were worse places than this cage. I had lost my hands but what did it matter since I could do nothing with them anyway? The iron bars were only a transition to a different imprisonment. Each of us in that cage knew that the day would come when we would stand upon the block that men might view us and bid for ownership of our bodies. It made us sisters. I know for my part, and I suspect for most of those girls, we could only hope we would be purchased by someone rich and powerful and who would only whip us once a week.
Two days later I stood on that block and was sold for an incredible sum to some unknown man who had found me pleasing to his eye.
My hands were already tied behind my back to make me helpless. But to make quite certain I would not misbehave, my new owner used thin twine to tie my elbows together while I gasped at each bitter bite and pleaded for mercy. With a firm hand upon my arm I was then led from the auction room to a new life in which my only function would be to look beautiful and to serve this new master.
The huge price paid for me did nothing to raise my social status. I was delivered to the elder Raschid El Akabar's senior wife as what was little better than a household slave. She had the power to whip me as she pleased or to punish me anyway as might meet her fancy. The master himself would enjoy me in his bed whenever so disposed. This whole domestic scene, when measured against my purchase price, seemed a waste of money. That night my master availed himself of my body, not bothering to untie my hands which had remained bound throughout my ordeal, and asked casually if my whipped back enhanced my pleasure. I would have loved to spit in his face but I could do nothing except to assure him he was entirely wonderful.
The following day Hamid arrived to repose his property. It was ecstasy piled upon ecstasy! My treatment in the Raschid dwelling switched from low girl on the totem pole to a degree of respect I found embarrassing. They did everything except untie my hands. Apparently a slavegirl should be delivered to her master with hands tied and wearing no clothes. Hamid's visit was accorded all honor and respect.
When his Rolls drew up at the gate, I was allowed out on to the patio to give him greeting. It was respectfully hinted that it was only proper if he found me on my knees.
A lot of things had happened to me since we were last together. Sometime he seemed only a legend in my mind, and I wondered if he remembered the little slavegirl he had kept in chains at Shalima.
But all these speculations were swept away as he raised me up, cut the cord upon my wrist, and clasp my naked body to his with such strength as to tell me I was loved. And the way he whispered my name in my ear...
I had gathered that Raschid El Akabar was no small potatoes in his own right. But whatever rank he held must have been as nothing compared to the man I adored. Thus it was only fitting that the distinguished visitor be provided with a glass of the local beverage, and we accordingly sat with me kneeling at the side of my master's feet while the two men talked but in a language I did not understand.
But I could have cared less. I sat back on my heels and simply glowed and glowed in the glory of knowing myself loved. And once more I was properly enslaved. If you think slavery is crazy, just try it sometime with a master like Hamid and you'll change your mind.
I say no more of Raschid and his wives. We were served by a shy little girl who was obviously scared to death probably because she had been threatened with a thrashing if she spilled a drop. When the toasts were done, Hamid sent out to the car for a suitcase in which was everything a Western girl might wish to wear. I had been naked for so long I looked at him in wonderment.
"It is a long way back to Shalima, beloved girl," Hamid explained. "There will be a stop over and I wish to take you to dine and to go shopping. For these pleasures you may not be naked in any land. And even though you may be proud of your whip marks, I am not. They were placed there upon your skin by someone other than myself. Come, sweetheart, make yourself beautiful."
The shy little girl led me to a small room and helped me when I needed it. There was a basin of water and a towel, and with the child looking on bug-eyed, I washed by pussy and my nipples and anything else that needed cleaning. I longed for a bathtub but had to do with what I could. I was so damned happy I could have cried.
As we walked out to the car with me uncomfortable in my gorgeous clothes and expensive shoes, I could not but reflect in the manner in which the lives of girls are fashioned by the men they meet. Even though we do not realize it at the time, men do as they please with us. Society has pretty names for their attentions, but in the end it is men who dictate our destinies. I know girls in love tend to be silly in their desire to immolate themselves for the men they love, but in this case with Hamid, I had a feeling that my emotions went beyond this much overworked word of love and came close to being simple worship of a man who could perform miracles. Yesterday I was on the slave block being auctioned off and today I was a fairy princess who hadn't even lost her slipper. Frictioned by the unaccustomed panties of purest silk, my sex was working over time. And the flame I had believed dead flared into demanding heat. I was shameless in desire.
"I do not wish to hear about your adventures," Hamid said with the touch of amusement I remembered well. "I either know or can guess most of them. Your life on the Rankin's Pride would be predictable but I am curious how you made your escape from Rankin's ship. I could tell he valued you. Did he not keep you chained?"
"Only by handcuffs and they didn't stop me swimming." I found myself reluctant to speak of Rankin but added, by way of explanation, "He had the soles of my feet whipped. And it hurt so bad and was such an ugly thing to do to me that I jumped over the rail and took my chance. I knew you'd be waiting for me somewhere."
"You took an awful chance, sweetheart. You could have drowned, and there's sharks."
"I refuse to think about that. Don't let's talk about it. And why didn't you rescue me earlier?"
"All in good time, sweetheart. I have you now and won't let you go." His enjoyment of possession kept me constantly excited in that nice, warm sensation of being totally owned. Mischievously, I asked, "Why don't you have me handcuffed?"
"We will spend the night at a hotel and not at Shalima. I can't very well march a handcuffed maiden through the lobby and up the elevator."
"Yes, you could. You have such tremendous power in this land no one would raise an eyebrow. In fact, I think it would be fun. Please handcuff me."
This time Hamid's pat was a little harder. "A properly trained slavegirl would never dream of asking her master for such a privilege." His voice was alive with laughter. "Evidently your behavior has been allowed to go in its own direction with proper corrections. That matter will be attended to when I get you home."
"I bet you'll whip me?"
"You are in a masochistic mood, sweetheart, and I am going to have to start your training all over again." Hamid gave me a sideways glance. "That's what you want, isn't it?"
I knew myself in a state of euphoria in which whippings and chains seemed far distant but which, since they came from Hamid, were something to be much desired. I knew I was being girlishly silly but it was a lovely feeling. I longed for our journey to end so I could be hugged and kissed and receive all the gorgeous male attention which Rankin Teller had been loath to give. Spending the rest of my life with this man was something I desired above all else. I was pretty sure Hamid wouldn't go soft on me. He'd keep me some way chained and I could be pretty sure of an occasional whipping simply because I couldn't control my tongue. Hamid's thoughts must have been following the same trend for he added, "Perhaps, after I get you to our hotel suite, I can do something you may not enjoy. I think that for you frustration is the best punishment. Tell me, sweetheart, how you would enjoy to be tight tied down, spread-eagle on the bed to receive my attentions throughout the night but yourself be unable to move a single inch?"
"I'd say you'd be wasting a good girl. I wouldn't like it the least bit."
"But that's what you have to look forward to. Let's look at it as your number one lesson of the new training course."
"You mean how to be a well behaved slavegirl in six painful lessons?"
"More probably it would be twelve. You are a most difficult subject."
"It's because I'm in love. Love complicates everything. You see, I'm not a frightened little girl scared of getting her bottom whipped. I'd love you to whip my bottom. And I guess I could become accustomed to being spread-eagle on the bed. And enjoy that, too."
It was delightful conversation with just the right undercurrent of menace and authority to keep me constantly aquiver. A girl can't go on inviting outrageous punishment as her own topic of conversation. Suddenly curious, I inquired, "What did you do with Fayella and Inza?"
"You saw them punished. And they continued to receive punishment throughout the day. But they're of no importance so I set them free and told them to go home and behave themselves. They seemed grateful for the mercy. I suspect they feared something far worse."
"Will I see them again?"
"If you wish I can have them brought before you in chains, and perhaps whipped one afternoon while we take tea. Or, if you prefer, you can simply visit them as an honored guest. Accompanied by an armed guard, of course and I expect they'd see the visit as an honor. But, sweetheart, why bother. If you desire a companion you could punish at will and with whom you could find communion, I am sure I could obtain one of those pretty little tricks that belonged to your beloved Marjory. I know where they were purchased and I'm sure I could buy one of them back. I should have thought of doing this before. Would you like that?"
"Hamid, I'd love it! I'd love to have any one of them. But would it bother you if I didn't punish them at all?"
He chuckled. "You think that now," he said good-naturedly. "But you'd get bored with each other, and since I would insist upon you keeping her at least handcuffed, she would have to obey your commands and accept whatever discomforts boredom might dictate. We must all guard against boredom and the best way to do that is not to allow it to happen."
"So you think I should whip the poor girl whenever I'm out of sorts. I'm sure you're right but I'm not sure how good I'd be at it." Hamid squeezed my arm. "There's one way of finding out," he said jovially. "I had considered enslaving Fayella and Inza and making them a gift for you. But you might find it more interesting to possess a maiden of your own race. Consider it done."
Our destination was a port city which was the usual mixture of ancient and modem. When I beheld the splendor the hotel Hamid had chosen, I could understand his wish for me to be properly clothed but I still regretted not having my wrists properly chained. The desk clerk was the usual SOB and I would have loved to see the expression on his face when I exhibited a pair of feminine joined hands before his eyes. Hamid knew perfectly well what I was thinking and whispered that I should behave myself or I would perhaps find myself spending the night hanging upside down from the balcony by my big toes. I didn't know if he was serious or not!
After we were settled into a suite only a little larger than most homes, I was given the choice of dinning in or going to the dinning room. My reply was to the effect that since I was to have a bad time later, it would be nice to be among the noise and glitter of a fine restaurant. I was being vastly humored and I sometimes had a twinge of apprehension that there might be a price tag waiting for me somewhere.
We were half way through dinner and the wine when a heavy hand fell upon my shoulder and a familiar voice addressed my master without a trace of reverence, "Damn it, Hamid, old boy, it's you who fished her out of the drink?"
I am absurdly female. I knew I should hate Rankin Teller but I never quite managed to tell him this, and his unexpected appearance at our table seemed something to be expected. No doubt the Rankin's Pride was anchored in the harbor while its master had a night out on the town. Or, far more probably, was arranging to make himself a few more millions. Strangely enough, there existed between these two men a sort of camaraderie as though they were big enough and strong enough to overlook each other weaknesses. "I should have had you killed, Rankin," Hamid said without emotion. "I have not forgotten your hospitality, and keeping Celie prisoner. But the fact is you're a lovable rogue. Sit down and I'll order another bottle."
I suffered a pinched nipple and a somewhat less than polite kiss upon my forehead. I looked at Rankin and sniffed disdainfully as he sat down and accepted our waiter's attention. "So you didn't like the riding crop across those pretty little feet of yours, sweetheart?" He laughed at my feeble attempt to look haughty. "I'll have to be careful from now one. Next time I'll keep you in irons after I have you whipped." Shaking his head, he turned to Hamid, "These girls, you can't keep up with them. I didn't think it hurt enough for her to jump over the rail in the middle of the night. I'll be more careful next time."
"There won't be any next time."
"Well, maybe not. But I notice you ain't got no irons on her now. First thing you know she'll be running off down the street."
"No, I won't," I interrupted firmly. "And if all you can talk about is whipping me, I wish you'd go and have your conversation somewhere else!"
"My, my, she's feeling her oats, Hamid! You ain't doing nothing silly with her, are you? I mean like hauling her off to church and making an honest woman of her?"
"That's none of your business, Rankin. And, in any case, you have not kept her properly in line. She needs a fresh course of training. I suppose you gave her run of the ship and she spent half her time with those guests at the bar."
"Celie will tell you what sort of a time she had. Mostly she didn't get nothing worse than a pair of handcuffs. I really do admire a set of steel bracelets on a girl's wrists. Couldn't we make her wear them now while we're having dinner?"
"No, we can't!"
"Well, look her, Hamid, old boy, I figure Celie belongs a lot more to me than she does to you. How'd it be I buy her back. Not that you ever paid me for her in the first place, mind you. How about ten million bucks? That's a hell of a lot of dough and you could buy yourself a hundred dancing girls for less."
"Rankin, you're being offensive. And you're also giving Celie exaggerated ideas of her own value. The answer is no."
"Okay, okay, keep your shirt on." Rankin turned to me and leered. "You see, honey, the effect you have on us poor men? Shit, I ain't ever offered no one ten million for a pretty ass and a pair of nice tits. I hope you're flattered."
I felt annoyed with myself for I actually did feel flattered buy knowing his estimate of my worth. And for something he had previously enjoyed free of charge. I love the way these tycoons toss around millions to make the rest of us feel like two cents. Demurely I looked at Hamid and said, in meek submission, "Thank you, Master, for wishing to keep me. Please don't ever sell me to anyone." I almost added, "Certainly not to Rankin," but for some reason the words wouldn't come. I dropped it while wishing devoutly Rankin hadn't come and messed up our evening.
"Well, if ten million ain't enough, Hamid, old chap," said Rankin thoughtfully, "how about I let you in on that consortium I'm setting up with the Saudis. Looks like the biggest thing since bread. You let me put handcuffs on this little girl here and lead her away right now and I'll give you a twenty percent cut. If that ain't being generous, I don't know what is."
"I told you, Rankin, Celie is not for sale. You can keep your money. She is my number one slavegirl." He turned to me to add, "That's what your are, Celie. And I want you to tell this oaf that in your own words."
Once more I was shocking demure. "I belong to Hamid and I am his number one slavegirl. And if he doesn't want to sell me to your, you'd best go back to the ship and select one of your lady passengers and see how she enjoys getting the soles of her feet beaten by a riding crop."
It was always impossible to faze Rankin Teller. He carried off the moment well enough by pinching my nipple once again. "Well, I don't bear no hard feelings," he said. "The way you allow this kid to run around loose, Hamid, I wouldn't be surprised I run into her again sometime and get her for nothing. Let's drink to it."
It shows the weight of Rankin's character that we drank the absurd toast and then I had to listen to a lot of he-man stuff about Rankin's lousy consortium with all the details of business matters that I didn't understand. But in the end he took his departure gracefully, and might even have been mistaken for a gentleman. I think both Hamid and I were grateful to see him go. And when Hamid said we had allowed the main event of the evening to drift on until it was now overdue, I followed him upstairs with a fast beating heart and happy anticipation in my mind.
I could never be coy with Hamid. And between us there was nothing to spoil the glorious moment. I simply removed my clothes and shoes, then knelt at my master's feet to say with all the sincerity I possessed, "I love you very much, Master." Then I leaped upon the bed to stretch my limbs out and lay there panting and starry-eyed.
Hamid was as good as his word. But for the binding of my ankles he made me sit up to watch as he strapped each in a band of leather, each with its ring through which he threaded his rope. My wrists were, not honored with the soft leather, instead they got the cut of cords wound around and around again and tightly knotted to leave a trailing length of rope by which I was to be anchored to the bed. It was then he positioned my nakedness to his pleasure before cinching tight each cord to the waiting bed post. I was absolutely taut in a very indecent exposure. Mischievously, I told him the binding of my right foot still had some slack and wouldn't he like to tighten it some more? For that outrageous piece of nonsense I got myself spread tighter. Playfully, Hamid plucked one of my pubic hairs to teach me a lesson.
It was altogether glorious and I journeyed to and from the stars in the ecstasy of sensations he created in my body. Hamid had the power to make any girl happy. I thought of Rankin Teller only once and that the was moment my master decided to thrust a couple of pillows beneath my rump. I had never been happier in my life as that night beneath the hard, sure thrusts of the man I would forever call master. I was transported through all the places of the mind but was far too tightly bound to contribute anything except gasps and moans. I simply lay there and enjoyed.
I wanted it to last forever. Bound there upon my master's bed, I knew for certain I had achieved a female ultimate beyond anything most girl would ever know. The bondage of the ropes told me who and what I was, and I blissfully hurt my wrists and ankles without feeling the pain while I struggled fiercely to thrust back at the male body thrusting against mine. I could not move but my spirit soared.
It was during one of the brief pauses in which I was allowed to catch my breath and prepare to be pierced again that I beheld behind Hamid's naked form a hooded figure sheathed in black. The figure struck one swift blow before I could cry out and Hamid fell across my naked body. His body was dragged roughly from the room and from my sight. The whole thing had happened in the space of seconds.
I deadly silence took possession of the room to make me its prisoner as did my bonds. I strained to hear any sounds but there was nothing. My master and the man or woman in black had vanished without trace, leaving me helpless.
I felt no urge to scream, something told me it would be useless. What had happened was beyond my power to influence. Naturally I thought of Rankin but the black invader had not been of his shape or size. I wondered why I had not been touched. Evidently I was considered unimportant to someone's plans. Then, as pain began to seep into wrists and ankles. I turned from grief over my lover to bleakly survey my own situation. Hamid's cords had spoken only of love while he had been there but now had become enemies while the pillows beneath my hips were mute testimony to the shame and humiliation I was bound to suffer when released.
But would I be released? T was tied to tightly to rise up and see the time. But it was probably midnight or later and a long time before the maid would discovery me. I had hours and hours in which in lay there in increasing pain without hope of help. In panic I screamed and screamed but my pitiful cries were lost in the penthouse. Desperately I strained against the bindings but only got pain as my reward. So I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my mind a jumble of fear and speculation. I was a sorry girl indeed and was painfully conscious how disgusting and ridiculous I would appear to those who might free me. If I hadn't hurt so much I might have gone to sleep.
They came suddenly and in silence. A cloth was thrown my face and a gag strapped tight into my mouth. My cords were swiftly cut and I was flipped over onto my face while my arms were pulled roughly behind my back. I tried to struggle against the weight holding me down but my struggle was weak and I soon lay in acceptance of my new fate. My captors wasted no time. My arms were bound by one captor while my ankles were tightly tied together by the other. After my ankles, it was my knees, tight, tight, tight. While this was going on my wrists were being tied palm to palm with a vicious tightness to hurt. They now had me helpless and proceeded to bandage my eyes so I was mute and blind. They then preformed upon my elbows the brutal binding designed to make any girl do what she was told. But there were no commands and my elbows were soon joined as brutally as was the rest of me. The next inflection was a rope encircling my waist and drawn tight in a noose above my navel to be brought down between my thighs, a difficult operation since they were tightly bound, and then in some way attached tied to my tied hands and pulled very tight to inflect upon me what a captive girl always hates, a single strand of rope threaded between my lips and secured so tightly that it buried itself deeply with my soft flesh. When this was done, it draped down my arms to rob me of the last motion I might make. Whoever my captors were, I was now totally at their mercy and hurting far to much to fight.
I think it must have been a sleeping bag into which I was shoved I heard zippers and felt the bag enclosing all of me including my head. I was picked up and carried I knew not where.
CHAPTER SEVEN - GIRL FOR SALE
It is a bare stone room, well lit by a high barred window I am the only occupant and I woke slowly without much caring much what I found. I must have lost consciousness in the sleeping bag or I was drugged, but it does not matter, nothing matters now.
I am naked. The gorgeous clothes which were Hamid's gift are gone, and I am bare all over. I have been lying on the stone floor. And when I make motions to get up I discover myself in a predicament over which I might giggle if I had a giggle left. I am chained --- chained hand and foot, and even a metal collar around my neck. I look at the metal bands upon my wrists and then upon my ankles. They are snug and tight. A chain perhaps four feet long snakes across the floor to anchor me to a metal ball. That might not have been so bad had there been only one, but each of my limbs is controlled by a length of chain and it's own iron ball which I suspect weigh more then I can lift. If I don't want to go anywhere I am well prepared.
I didn't bother to fight and soon lost my desire to giggle. The iron balls were almost a living presence surrounding me with their five spheres of authority, I could move around within the tolerance of my chains but that was all. Slowly experimenting with this novel form of restraint I discovered I had the ability sit up and possibly feed myself, but that was about the extent of it unless I could drag five hundred pounds of iron around the room. I didn't even consider the possibility.
I thought of Hamid. I didn't believe he was dead. This whole operation of kidnapping me had all the earmarks of a well-oiled plan for a purpose I could not yet guess. I had reached a point where I didn't really give a damn any more. If someone wished to chain me to five iron balls, I could only hope they enjoyed themselves at my expense. I lay down, intending to try and sleep, but had no sooner reached a fresh discomfort than the dungeon door opened to admit the bright-eyed presence of a girl. It was Inza, the daughter of Fayella and the murdered Lobo. And, as I saw her interest in my condition, I picked up clues as to what my fate was to be.
"You're so beautiful, Miss Collins," she breathed heavily. "I'm going to love whipping you every day all the rest of your life. You may call me, 'Mistress'."
I moaned inwardly and thought back to the punishments this girl had suffered on my account. It was a formidable tally which warranted giving the child my full attention.
"Mother sent me first to tell you what you may expect," she said in a pleasant, conversational tone. "You have been kidnapped and made our prisoner by the Islamic group to which we belong. It is called the Fayad Jamafe. Our people do not have enough money with which to fight the man to whom you once belonged. But we can torture you enough to avenge my father's death."
"If your father and mother hadn't kidnapped me that time before, he would still be alive. It's their fault."
"That is not the way we see it." The child's eyes glowed with what I once might have supposed was love. "It would be nice to whip you now as you struggle against your chains. Would you like that?"
, "Nobody likes to be whipped. What else have you got to tell me?"
"Everyday we will take pictures of you. We will send these to Hamid and, if he loves you as we think he does, he may respect our demands. Mother will be able to tell you a lot more than I."
The young voice trailed away into silence and I felt pretty sure the child had been couched in what to say. Inza's English had improved considerably since that day when she directed a group of children in mild tortures my naked and helpless body had to endure at her hands. The last memory of this ardent young female was of her being naked and punished in the garden at Shalima. One way or another my future did not look bright.
When Fayella came, it was easy to tell she was unhappy with her new role. But she cast everything aside to sink to her knees among my chains and embrace me warmly before uttering her distress at my condition and the judgment upon me her tribe had already arrived at. "It is the holy men who have brought you here like this," she mourned unhappily. "They are most angry over the death of my husband. And the punishments I received at Shalima. The tribe might not be rich but among them is power. And the will to inflict it on persons like me who could not fight back. As far as I could figure out they regarded Hamid as evil.
"I pleaded with the old me not to make me your jailer," Fayella told me sincerely, "but they think I will find pleasure and revenge in punishing you each day. I ask forgiveness for the things I will do to you but I will try to do only enough for he who uses the camera to take the pictures. It is by these pictures they hope to punish the one you call 'Master'." She sighed. "It is all very simple."
I suppose Fayella was right by the standards of another age my punishment would be simple, indeed. "So, all right," I asked, "so I have to be kept in chains and hurt. But, Fayella, for how long must I be treated thus?"
"That I do not know. The only comfort I can give you is that it will be a friend who wields the whip and locks the irons. The elders of our people have no interest in you other than as an opportunity to distress Hamid."
Inza knew her place and did not intrude as her mother spoke. And quite frankly she told of her disappointment that Hamid had not taken her into his personal slavery. As his slave she would, apparently, in the eyes of her family, obtain a particular social status that, when I had it, I never realized. To me it just seemed strange that she should be heart-broken at her punishments by Hamid then send back to her people as a well-whipped widow. She had had the same ambition for her daughter, who, it seemed, shared her disgrace. Then Fayella hurriedly added that whenever I was left alone with Inza, there was the possibility that the child might do harm. And that whenever Inza was unreasonable cruel I must be sure and let her know. How crazy can you get!
As Fayella paused for breath I took the opportunity to point out that Hamid would bring his small army and inflict whatever damage he must in order to recover me. But in this hope I found another disappointment. "We are not where your master will seek you out," she explained patiently. "Our tribe would not dare keep you prisoner within our lands. Most certainly not within my house. This old house we are in is one loaned to us by one of our people who has moved to the city. You are still in the town where you and your master were found in that hotel. My poor, poor Celie, you will never be discovered here."
"But my Master? What have you done with him?"
"We dared not harm him, he is far too powerful and important a man. Today he is back at Shalima and in good health. Please forget him."
No girl who has been owned by Hamid is likely to forget. I gazed at Fayella, who seemed as unhappy as I. "If you have the key to all this metal, why don't you set me free? Send me to Shalima or let Hamid know where to find me. It would be so easy."
"The vengeance of my people upon Inza and I for disobeying their orders would be so terrible I dare not think of it. Please do not ask me again to do this thing."
I felt sorry for Fayella but not the least bit sorry for Inza. The girl had listened respectfully but I wasn't a bit sure her mother's admonition about hurting me would have much effect. It looked like any way the cookie crumbled I would get hurt. What Fayella now came up with was most comic relief. "It is not too late in the day for us to punish you, Celie. Would you mind having your first punishment this afternoon?"
I wasn't sure whether to laugh of cry but did neither. "Do I have a choice?" I asked.
"If fear not. I am so terribly sorry about all of this." She paused then asked, "Would you mind if it was Inza who punished you this first time? I don't think I would do it very well, but after you've been our prisoner for several days I will have to try and share with my daughter the task of sending your master the pictures he will not like." Sadly, she added, "I wish Lobo had never kidnapped you."
Then followed a rapid exchange between my two jailers in their own tongue. And then Fayella turned to ask me anxiously, "If my daughter sets you free while arranging you for punishment, will you be sensible and allow her to fasten you again? She will tie you very tight."
I felt like telling them both where to go but I looked at the stone room which was my prison and at the hateful round chunks of iron to which I was chained and realized it might be best if I played along. It would be bitter humiliation to stand quietly while Inza did as she pleased with making me uncomfortable. Then, as an idea struck me, Fayella read my thoughts. "Celie," she said quickly, "please do not believe you can over power Inza and escape. Even if you succeeded there are others in this house. For my sake and your own, please don't try."
I was once more hugged in a way to tell me how lonely this woman had become. Then, when she had departed to leave her daughter and me alone, I choked back the natural things I longed to say and became outrageously humble. "I will try and be obedient, Inza. Tell me the things I have to do."
"First I wish to play with you. It is much fun for a girl like me to have a naked white woman whose nipples I can pinch and pull hairs from your bush below. You will enjoy this? No?"
Inza and I were both forced to tug at my chains to give me enough slack by which to stand. She pointed out helpfully how needful it was for me to stand and thus make all of myself available. I stood there with the chain form my wrists and neck taut in disapproval. Gosh I hated those damned chunks of iron.
The child had a genuine curiosity in the body of a full grown woman. I suppose in this way she caught a glimpse of her own future. I suppose it was only natural she should start with my pussy. I stand in taut apprehension as she preceded to pluck a hair at a time as slowly as she could to cause the maximum pain. "It would be nice to pull them all out" the dear child told me as she pulled another. "But this I have been forbidden to do. My mother is your friend."
"Aren't you my friend, too?"
"Oh, yes, I am very much your friend. But I have a duty which says I must hurt you. Maybe you wish to tell me of ways by which I may give you pain?"
It is useless, my life revolves around pain, humiliation and immobility. Even my darling Hamid bound me to his bed so that I became an easy prey to those who wished us ill. Striving to delay the inevitable, I inquired, "Tell me, Inza, of all the things you intend to do to me."
Inza's hands were now busy around my pussy. I hated the thought of being made to climax, standing here like this. But I kept silent and endured the mischievous fingers, one of which was making a sly penetration. Seeing that she had me aroused, Inza gave full attention with the finger below and her other hand upon my breast while her lips and teeth sough my second nipple. Soon I was breathing hard and this simply redoubled the efforts of the little bitch to make the outcome inevitable. I exploded with a moan and shivers in which the child took great interest. I was still chained and unable to protest.
"That was very nice," my tormentor said. "Would you like me to do it again?"
"No, please don't. It's horrible when I'm chained like this. Can't you think of something else?"
"You will not like the things I think of... "
"I'm sure you're right."
"What I wish to do is to unlock you from those lovely iron balls and then find out just how obedient you are."
The thought of being free from all that metal was wonderful. Throwing caution to the wind, I told her, "Get me free of these horrible things and I'll be as obedient as you could want."
It was a wonderful feeling to have the heavy chains removed, one by one. When it was done I looked down at the pile of metal with a loathing to make Inza laugh. "You are free, Celie," she mocked. "Do you not wish to take the key from me? Do you not wish to run away?"
Every word the moppet spoke was a goad to the anger and humiliation building within my chest.
"I will be the teacher and you will be the little girl who has to do what she is told," she said sweetly. "First you will kneel and tell me how beautiful you think I am and how you hope I will punish you very much."
I knelt before the child, demeaning myself with every word I uttered. I was then put through sort of a drill in which I had to pose in a sort of series of objectionable sexual positions. And to march back and forth across the room like a soldier on parade. It wasn't exactly torture but after a while came damned close. When she'd had enough of it, I was told, "You will come here and stand before me, Miss Collins. You will turn your back and cross your wrists." Goodness knows I'd been tied often enough but this was something different. The damned girl was actually making me feel a child. But I had given my promise and assumed the posture desired and waited for the first bit of cord.
The business of having my hands tied behind my hack has always aroused feelings of one sort or another according to who was doing the binding. But I had never been bound by a fourteen year old girl, and I had to admit the experience fanned my flame until I became shamefully aware of its heat. I stood erect with breasts out thrust and drew in a deep breath with the first bit of cord. I had expected an amateur job but was swiftly made to change my opinion by strong young fingers that must have played this game before. The wrists mere secured quite solidly with many winding anti .knots, ail as tight as the girl could make them. It hurt but I did not say a word standing in my nakedness in complete acceptance of this fresh humiliation. I was being made helpless by a child.
Inza's final knot came and I knew that my fingers would never reach near it. Inza then turned me around for a full frontal view. "Just think of it. Miss. Collins you're a grown up woman and you're naked. And I can do whatever I want to you! Aren't you frightened?"
"Yes, I'm frightened. Please don't hurt me too much, Inza."
"You are supposed to call me Mistress. For that I pinch your tit.
She immediately did so hard enough to make me squeal and try to twist from a relentless thumb and finger When the young voice asked me slyly if I had learned my lesson, I said a vehement, "Yes, Mistress," which I repeated several times before the pinch was released. I wondered what would happen next but could have saved my time -- I too soon found out.
"When I was a small girl, I was whipped very much, indeed," said the young teenager. "Mostly it was the caning of my bottom. But there were other places, too, and it hurt very much. Your bottom, Miss. Collins, is beautifully shaped and I would like very much to cane it hard. I am sure you will not object?"
"With the way you've tied my hands, I can't object about anything. But I wont like it."
"That is good to know, Miss Collins, but it would be so nice if you asked politely for me to punish you in this nice way. Please do that now."
I tugged at corded wrists. I couldn't help it. In a voice choked with emotion, I managed, "Please, Mistress, would you please cane my bottom very hard?" By the time I had finished I was panting.
"You did not say that good at all. Miss Collins," Inza complained. "You should smile and sound most happy. You will try again."
I tried again and this time managed to pass. I was then told to be a good girl while my mistress went in search of the objects by which I would be hurt. I stood there watching her flit lightly from the room, no doubt in invitation for me to misbehave. But I refused to go near the temptation and spent the time struggling against the cords which now burned horribly around my wrists. I went to the barred window to enjoy the view. It was limited to houses like that in which I was now a prisoner and I wondered if someone came close enough to hear my plead if it would do any good. I had the feeling that I would constantly be confronted with opportunities to seek escape -- opportunities to gain more punishment, more likely. When my mistress returned, she carried not only a cane but a riding crop, some straps, and a wicked looking little whip. I was evidently in for a bad time.
"You will please bend down, Miss. Collins as though to touch your toes. I will swish you five times and you will thank me after each. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I understand." I bent forward as ordered but my punishment was raised to six because I failed to stiffen my knees. When I did so, I understood why it would hurt me more. I felt certain my bottom was taut as a drum. When the first blow bit my skin, the pain was about ten times worse than I'd expected. I forgot to count and I forgot to offer thanks, the main reason being I was withering on the floor in pain. Inza watched with pleased enjoyment but then said crossly, "You are not behaving at all well, Miss Collins. We must start all over again. And you must tell me how sorry you are for being so bad. If you do not get up now, I will use this little whip on you until you do."
I started to tell her how impossible it was to bare such awful pain but the first cut of what she called her "little whip" convinced me there was worse pain. I struggled to my feet as rapidly as I could.
Once again I was bent over in that shameful pose and hearing myself saying, "I apologize, Mistress, for my behavior. I will try and do better."
We started again. Armed with the knowledge of what the cane could do, I managed to stay put for the first and second strokes and to gasp out my insincere thanks for the weals across my skin. But Inza gave blow number three everything she had to cause my knees to buckle once again and to cause me to fall to the floor. The child listened to my pleas for mercy with contempt. When she again reached for the little whip. I'm ashamed to say I hurried back to my feet and resumed the bend over posture. I was actually grateful when told that because my mistress had a kind heart, the punishment would not start over. I'm not sure how I managed to get through the remaining strokes. But I remained in that horrible posture for the rest of the strokes. After one I Was weeping bitterly until Inza grasp my hair, raised my head up and kissed me full on the mouth with all the ardor of love. I stood in disarray while my tears were kissed away.
"I think you did that very well, Miss. Collins," Inza informed with sincerity. "You have been punished enough this first day so I will now put you back in your chains and to go tell my momma how brave you are. I am sure you will like that."
"No I won't. Oh Inza, please don't chain me again. I can't get out of this room, you've got me safe."
"I would be whipped for being too kind," Inza stated simply. "But I will leave your hands the way they are and I will chain one ankle if my momma says that is not enough. I will come back and chain you more."
I didn't argue. Maybe she really was being kind. I looked down to watch my ankle encircled in Steel. And I was once again kissed by a nymphet who fled laughing from the room, slamming the door to leave me baffled and with a burning bottom. Thus passed my first day of a new captivity.
I slept on my belly and bitterly regretted my chose of Inza's cord over the steel bands and chains. Having my arm behind my back precluded any sort of comfort and the relative freedom of my one chained foot make me wish my other leg, my hands and my neck had been restrained in iron rather my hands being painfully bound. By morning I was stiff and bad tempered and inclined to be tearful at the thought of another day of undeserved punishment. My tied wrists burned horribly.
It was not Fayella or Inza who woke me in the morning. It was a cross between a policeman and a solider, I couldn't tell which. He appeared to be on a tour of discovery and seemed pleased at what he had discovered. Right off the bat he said, "You are Miss. Celie Collins. Is that not right?"
Puzzled and dazed, I admitted my identity, and before I could ask questions, the military type ran back from where he came, presumably to impart the glad tidying of my discovery. The door of my prison was open and I longed to go and see what was going on. But my hands were still tied and Inza's chain was still on my foot. It was not long, however, before reinforcements arrived, this time obviously an officer with several uniformed men who used a key on my ankle shackle and actually cut the cords Inza had tied to tight.
"We are civilized men," the officer said crisply as he motioned to one of his men who produced handcuffs which I gratefully exchanged for the thin cords. Those handcuffs felt so damned good I could have cried.
Everything moved with military precision. I was given no time for questions but was propelled upstairs and out into the sunlight where a couple of police cars and a van awaited cargo. I was lifted into the van and dumped within the iron grip of as quaint a contraption as I had ever seen. My feet and legs were thrust through a couple of hoops as my joined hands were unlocked only long enough to fasten them again beneath my bent knees. The thing was then secured by a collar around my neck, a brutal iron collar that compelled me to sit upright upon my wounded bottom and discover I could make no effective movement whatsoever. I simply sat within the confining iron to attempt once more the hopeless task of finding out what this was all about. But my questions died upon my lips as first Fayella and then Inza were thrust to join me within the van, each being handcuffed as was I but joined together by a chain from neck to neck.
"You are all under arrest for kidnapping," the officer sternly informed. "You will please to do as you are told."
The officer's place was taken by one of his men who produced another set of handcuffs to lock Inza's ankle to the ankle of her mother so that their chances of running away were remote indeed. With that task performed, the policeman took his position at the wheel and we drove away. I looked at Fayella in mute amazement.
"We have been betrayed," Fayella told me without emotion. "Our servants have been sent back to their homes and the three of us will share a fate I don't like to think about." She paused then asked, "I don't suppose you can get yourself free from that thing? My daughter and I are helpless with all these handcuffs. Oh, Miss Collins, I feel so guilty."
I looked at mother and daughter and realized we were into a whole new ball game in which they appeared to have no more status than did I. But there was question I had to get answered. "If it's me who was kidnapped, then why am I arrested? That uniformed idiot didn't tell me."
Fayella sighed. "We are in the hands of the police of this city. But they will not hold us long. Right now they are delivering us to a small village in the desert where we are to work as slaves. I have told that silly policeman of your identity, Hamid and Shalima. But he simply laughs and now we are on our way to be sold. Oh, Celie, I am so terribly, terribly sorry!"
I was terribly sorry, too. "I do not understand this land in the way you do," I told Fayella dismally. "But cannot you get word to Hamid? Hamid would get us all out if he knew what had happened."
"It is not possible, Celie. I do not know who has betrayed us but for certain we are on our way to where all three of us will be sold into slavery. A rich man will buy us and use us as they please. Even my poor child Inza will grow up within the clutch of irons." Fayella broke down and wept as I sat helplessly like a pretzel in a cage.
It was a long drive and at the end of it the slave trader to whom we now belonged treated us with an unemotional kindness, frankly admitting that it was not good business to have his female merchandise marked by whips. The police made their delivery, released me from the metal thing, then went their way, leaving the three of us standing in the presence of the Arab gentleman who would sell us. He spoke rapidly to Fayella and Inza but mostly ignored me. We were than taken to a large room where my two companions were forced to remove all clothing, including shoes. And then all three of us received a metal collar, the chain from which was fastened firmly to the stone wall to allow us about ten feet of freedom but that was all. Our hands were joined in front by handcuffs. We were left alone and the door slammed with an alarming sound.
I walked the few feet I was permitted by my chain and turned to look at my companions who were now as naked I. "He has not whipped us yet," said Fayella. "Perhaps we are going to be lucky arid not suffer strips until after we have been sold. I fear we can never escape."
We did our damnedest with tugging and pulling but only reassured ourselves that we could not escape. Finally, exhausted, we sat on the bare floor and leaned against the wall to wait what ever happens next. In my case it did not take long.
It was the officer. He was accompanied by one of those smaller men who are neither fat nor thin, and who, at first glance, appeared to one huge beaming smile, focused entirely on me. "This is Mr. Tony Pregio," the officer told me. "Mr. Pregio is considering doing you the honor of a purchase. He is aware of your past history, so do not burden him with pleas for release." The officer stepped aside.
I liked Mr. Pregio's smile. Here was no grim-lipped authority but a man of the world who I felt sure would give a girl an even break. In the politest tone I could, I said, "How do you do, Mr. Pregio? My name is Miss. Celie Collins. I do hope you will buy me and get me out of these chains." I paused briefly then went for broke. "I should explain to you that I am very well behaved."
The officer beamed, Mr. Pregio beamed, and my companions in chains viewed me with frowns.
Mr. Pregio looked as though he might be shy but most certainly was not. He had me stand and assume various poses all designed all to show off my best assets. He poked and prodded and pinched and patted. He even looked inside my mouth as though I was a horse. Encouraged by the way my previous remark had been received, I went a step further by adding, "I am twenty-four years old. And as a slavegirl I should deliver my owner many years of useful service."
Mr. Pregio could not provide a broader smile that the one on his features. Instead he burst into a genuine laugh, and patting my cheek, said, "You wish to be sold. Are you not happy with your present condition?"
"She has been harshly treated," said the officer as though fearful of what I might next say. "But I have found her obedient, just as she has said. She is possibly the finest piece of merchandise I have ever offered for sale."
"You mean the finest female flesh you've ever managed to arrest," Mr. Pregio chuckled. "How much do you want for her."
The answer was crisp and instant, and a very large amount. Mr. Pregio was unfazed by the amount. He looked at me slyly and winked. "Think you're worth that much, girl?"
"No girl is worth that much, sir. But it is not for a poor slavegirl to say. But if you buy me, I will try to make you pleased with your purchase. Please buy me.".
He and the man who wanted to sell me left the room. In a surprisingly .short space of time Mr. Pregio returned, oozing good will from ever pore, to inform me I could not consider myself his property. And to be prepared to deliver my promise of good behavior. He patted my bottom before seating himself in the chair of authority behind the desk.
My flesh had been sold that easily. I wondered if I had done the proper thing in trying so hard to be sold, but considered that perhaps I would have been sold even if I had been surly. But there was something American about Mr. Pregio to give me confidence.
For a while my owner enjoyed gazing at his new toy, and I felt very much like merchandise. "There is a box over there," he told me casually, "take from it the first object you find and bring it here."
I did as I was bid. Setting aside the lid I beheld something I understood all too well -- a massive dildo complete with straps and buckles was the last thing I would have supposed Mr. Pregio would wish to use on me But obediently I lifted the disgusting thing from the box and took it to where my new owner was eyeing my dismay in amusement. When I offered the beastly thing to him, he waved it away. "Thrust it within your self" ordered. "And then I shall buckle the straps on."
The lifelike thing was huge but not as daunting as a whip, which I was sure would be the next instrument brought out if I refused. And I had boasted of obedience. Blushingly I spread my legs apart and began a gentle insertion of the male symbol I longed to hurl at Mr. Pregio smiling face. But inch by inch I completed a task most girls try at one time or another out of simple curiosity. This time I was not curious but simply shamed. When the monster phallus was tight within my loins I held it there with my fingers while backing up to enable Mr. Pregio to arrange the straps and tighten them as he might wish. I ended up with a neat belt around my belly made of supple leather and rather tight. Another strap was threaded down through the base of the prong and then up behind to be tugged and buckled brutally tight. I was then told to walk back and forth across the room to reveal any possibility of slack, after which the buckle was tightened one more notch to complete the authority by which my most place was invaded.
I was about to explain the inevitability of my being sexually excited by this thing and the climax that was sure to follow but was cut short by the next command. "Celie, you will now dress yourself. The box contains everything you will need.
I held out my hands and he unlocked the handcuffs with a tiny key. I was free to run or fight or do whatever I pleased but obedience had become a way of life for me. I looked to the box with feminine delight. Bit by bit I covered my nakedness, and I will never forget how good it was to encase my breasts in a perfectly fitting bra and remove them from the hungry gaze of males. The panties covered the straps completely, and the summer frock, along with the sleek and expensive shoes, completed all the covering a girl might need in a warm climate. There were no pantyhose. But there was a brush. When I had used it, I turned to Mr. Pregio and offered my hands to be once more joined. I was in a strange mixture of emotions but primarily a happy girl.
I easily sensed the man's pleasure in both my appearance and behavior. But Mr. Pregio waved my hands aside to say gently, "You are a free girl, Celie, you bear no bonds. The door is not locked. You may open it and run to find your liberty."
I suppose it was part of the picture, one surprise after another. Encouraged by a nod from the man behind the desk, I stepped out to do as I was told. I was more than half way to the door when it happened. I was suddenly in the grip of a flaming agony spread through out my being but mainly from within my loins. With a cry of pure agony I clutched my crotch and fell to the rug. There I contorted as wave after wave of pain flooded over me. All the time Mr. Pregio smiled.
The anguish stopped as suddenly as it had begun to leave me gasping on the floor. Mr. Pregio helped me to my feet helped me straighten out my dress then quietly resumed his seat. "The door is still unlocked Celie do you no longer wish to run away?
I gazed at him fearful of sawing anything wrong or making a wrong move. I wanted no more of the agony I had just experienced. My voice held wonder tinged with fear. "How did you do that, Master? I though. I was going to die."
My master took from his pocket a small remote, control thing "It has different intensities," he explained helpfully "The one you have just experienced was the least of all Run away now and I will give you another demonstration."
The straps were tight upon my tortured loins. Running away was a though from which I recoiled in pure horror. Instinctively I performer an act of which I was to feel shame. But which at that moment was purely instinctive. I fell to my knees and buried my face within Mr. Pregio's lap, clutching his knees in the desperation of a girl drowning in an ocean she did not understand. Unashamedly I wept.
The flood of tears was just what I needed to wash away the emotions created by Mr. Pregio's next devise I unleashed one sob after another while male fingers played gently in my hair. He even dried my tears. I affirmed with real feeling, "I will never try to run away again, Master."
I recovered but was still fearful lest that terrible pain return at any moment. But Mr. Pregio's voice was unfailingly kind as he patted my bottom in reassurance. It was probably the thing I needed most of all.
"We are now going to dine," said Mr. Pregio, grandly. "It will be a pleasant change for you, and, if you do not wish to roll upon the floor, you will behave yourself." Once more I got a reassuring pat. "And, most certainly, dear girl, I will wish you to be polite to anyone who we may meet. Your obedience is a treasure beyond price."
A taxi took us to an expensive restaurant that set my heart to beating in fresh optimize. Mr. Pregio was evidently well know at that place for he was treated like royalty and seated us at a center table where we could be seen by all and see all. I sat down grandly and knew myself a queen.
I won't pretend the straps around my waist and digging into crotch didn't bother me -- they were they were very much present in my thoughts, imposing a constant threat. Just as I tried to ignore that threat, I also tried to ignore the erotic pressure on my private place, lest I become too excited and embarrassment. But for the moment smiling back at my master I felt fairly safe. And most certainly secure.
At the end of the first course, and when I was in a happy glow of contentment, I became aware of another presence. It was that of another male who was immediately welcomed warmly by Mr. Pregio, who introduced me to me as Mr. Maskadek. My hand was raised to the newcomer's lips to be kissed. It left me flustered, sensing new developments while Mr. Maskadek was seated at our table, apparently an honored guest. Between polite exchanges with my master, he bestowed upon me an attention which stripped me bare so that I had to force my hands to remain where they were instead of rising to cover my breasts in feminine defense. Mr. Maskadek made an obvious query. "The girl is to be trusted in a public place without restraints," he casually inquired.
My master then told of my virtues, stressing above all the quality of obedience. "Explain," he said, turning to me, "to Mr. Maskadek how you are controlled, Celie, dear. Mr. Maskadek will find the description of the device you wear of much interest. Do not be ashamed, Mr. Maskadek is a man of the world."
I sensed our visitor as an educated Arab. He was lean and wore expensive clothes with distinction, and was now bestowing upon me his full attention. The last thing I wanted to talk of the device invading my private place and the terrible pain it could cause. But I was indeed obedient and now heard my own voice as from far away reciting the conditions of my strange captivity as if to have my loins thus strapped was a mundane detail of everyday life. I managed to reveal myself totally for these two males who probably got a erection out of what stripped me of everything except my blush. I sat there squirming and wishing Mr. Maskadek would go away.
My master played his role of host with admirable easy. By the end of the next course I was once more relaxed. My blush faded and I was able to answer questions with relative ease. But that was too good to be true and at the end Mr. Maskadek came up with a real honey of a request.
"Miss. Collins, it would please me greatly if you would expose for my benefit one of your breasts." He paused and then made what I suppose was a real big concession, "One breast will be enough, I do not need them both."
Instantly I looked at my master but got only a nod of approval. I gazed around the restaurant and found everyone's attention elsewhere. The waiter was absent and no one was looking in my direction. My cheeks were flushed and my fingers trembled as I adjusted the flimsy dress to lay bare the female treasure Mr. Maskadek desired to see. I felt certain my breast was blushing as much as my cheeks and the nipple was outrageously erect. It seemed an eternity before Mr. Maskadek said a polite, "Thank you, Miss Collins," and a hastily scrambled to rearrange my dress so that my single breast vanished from sight. No one appeared to have noticed. We continued our dinner as if the shameful act I had just performed was something every girl might expect to have do to in expensive restaurants. I was breathing hard as my companions took up conversation in their tongue which left me in no doubt my master was offering me for sale and Mr. Maskadek was seriously considering the offer. Strangely enough it all seemed the most natural thing in the world.
My companions now carried on their conversation in a language I did not understand but I had little doubt it all referred to me. And in the end I was happy enough to be left out of it while I enjoyed the best dinner I'd had in quite a while. I knew myself a girl who had lost identity along with freedom and knew it best to simply enjoy the good food and lack of pain while it lasted and to hope that Mr. Pregio would sell me to a kind master. Cynically, I wondered if the phallus deep within my sheath along with the straps would be tossed in as a bonus to my sale. I knew myself a little girl very much lost and far from home.
From the moment I had been sold to him I had felt at ease with Mr. Pregio. When he took me home after dinner and straight up to his bedroom, I was not unduly concerned. A bedroom is a hell of a lot better than a prison cell or a dungeon. And when my master told me I was now free to unfasten and remove what he humorously described as the "Jack in the Box" my regard for him took a one more jump. I tugged at the straps and thought gratefully of the relief of going to the bathroom. The enormous phallus came out a lot easier than it went in. My master watched every move I made with a delighted interest which made me feel I was doing something clever. When the wicked prong was set aside, Mr. Pregio waved me to the bathroom. When I returned he suggested casually I might as well undress.
CHAPTER EIGHT - SLAVE TRADER
Mr. Pregio had purchased me nude so it seemed natural enough I should strip for him now. The whole thing seemed absurdly normal, and just to make sure I gave no offense, when I cast aside my final bit of covering I demurely held out my wrists for the handcuffs. But Mr. Pregio had a little surprise in store.
"In the top draw you will discover a length of rope, Celie, bring it here. Then turn around so I may tie your hands behind your back."
"But you have handcuffs, aren't they much more convenient for you?"
"I suppose they are," my master agreed. "But I find the act of tying girls hands with rope a very intimate and exciting act, as something we both share. Fetch the rope and don't argue."
I fetched the rope and wondered how good my master was with knots. J stood straight and erect and crossed my wrists without being told. I found myself forced to agree that there was something very personal about this method of rendering a girl helpless. The crisscross of the thin rope, the tugging and the tightenings and then the knots were very familiar and I found the flame which smolders behind my loins gaining heat and telling me that even though Mr. Pregio was middle aged with an average figure, he was nevertheless very much a male. And using neither unkind word nor the whip, he had made me very much his slave, and I didn't mind the least bit this business of him tying my wrists. I liked my master and felt safe with him. When I was told to step away but to stand and talk, I obeyed without concern. If he wanted to look at me naked, I would not begrudge him a single glance. After all, I was his property!
"I suppose, Celie, I am a voyeur," Mr. Pregio sighed. "I am well aware of all the things men to do you but I am afraid I prefer to watch rather than to perform. I may whip your bottom a little later on, and having enjoyed that stimulus, I will have you lay upon your back upon the bed so we may enjoy that male and female delight which has so many names. Will you enjoy this?"
I was uncertain about the bit where I got my bottom whipped, but if he didn't lay it on too hard I was pretty sure I could give this remarkable man real pleasure. I told him so and then asked him why he had tied my hands behind my back when I could have used them to enhanced his joy. But Mr. Pregio was evidently more experienced than he liked to tell because he now, again in a faint apology, explained how a girl with a hands bound behind her back was forced to assume a position in which the penetration of her sheath was far more easy to accomplish and far more pleasant to enjoy. He added that any man who failed to get extra pleasure for a bound girl had something wrong with him.
When he paused for breath I inquired, "If you enjoy me so much, Master, why don't you keep me for your own and have me always?"
My master came up with another sigh. "Alas, dear girl, you represent an expensive luxury, a luxury I cannot afford. As I think you know, I already have a tremendous investment in you which gives no income until the day when you are sold."
"You mean you can't afford me!"
"I fear that about sums it up. I intend to enjoy you to the full while I have you. But a girl as beautiful and obedient as you is bound to find a new master very soon. And then I will have to find another girl to take your place."
I stood there, naked with my hands tied behind my back, while this middle aged chap ogled me and my various feminine attributes with obvious pleasure. Taking a stab in the dark, I said, "But, Master, if you want another girl, why don't you buy Marjory who was sold the same time as I was sold? She's in this country somewhere. I expect you could find her if you tried."
I had piqued his interest and his question was instant, "She's beautiful, this Marjory of yours? And is she obedient as you?"
"She is absolutely gorgeous. You'd love doing to her what you're going to do to me. Please, Master, try and find her."
Mr. Pregio nodded absently his attention was one hundred percent on me. He opened a draw and came back with a cardboard box which, when opened, disclosed a collection of what he playfully described as "goodies," all of which were designed to cause a girl varying degrees of pain or shame. "I enjoy the unorthodox," he explained modestly. "And I wish to examine the effect these little treasures have on you as you stand exactly as you are. They will hurt but I am curious to find out how well you will cope with that hurt."
"But aren't you going to whip my bottom?"
"That comes later, Celie, dear. In fact, as a further exploration into maiden distress, I intend to inflict the thong and the crop while you are still wearing my choice of what this box contains. Please don't worry, dear child, the inflictions will not be more than you can bear."
It was one of those moments when having your hands tied behind you makes you alive with apprehension for you know you cannot stop whatever is to be done to you. Somehow I could not be scared of Mr. Pregio or anything he chose to do. In any case, my corded wrists told me plainly who I belonged to and that was that.
My nipples were first to receive attention A girl can usually figure that if she is about to be hurt, it is those poor. Little innocent rosebuds by which she will be made to feel pain. I stood in interested silence while Mr. Pregio chose his nipple and carefully circled it within a metal loop which itself was at the end of what was obviously a handle with a screw device by which my master had only to turn the handle anyway he wished to causes the loop to tighten. Unfortunately my nipples were already hard and all he had to do place the thing on them and tighten the beastly little screw.
The effect was to protrude them even more. I longed to tell him of the danger of circulation cut off or of doing injury to a couple of very lender parts of my body. But I need not have worried, my master was evidently well experienced and was as moderate in tiny tortures as in all else. It was but a minute or so before he withdrew the handle to leave my throbbing breasts painfully aware of how each nipple had been bound. The rings were by no means bits of wire but were of such dimensions that even buried in my flesh they were plain to see. And my master now exhibited another interest I had not formally seen. He produced a camera and proceeded to take the most inmate close ups of his erotic creations. I simply continued to stand with a pair of burning breasts of which I found myself ridiculously proud the pain didn't matter because the results were beautiful. And I found myself viewing my tortured tits with much the same interest as did my master. It was crazy, crazy, crazy!
I was now expecting something to bit my tender flesh around my sex but instead of something so mundane, I was shown some larger rings than those now embedded in and around my nipples. But these rings were different for within their inside circumference was many small needles, sharp little, points of steel that looked very wicked, wished to squeal at the mere sight of such a potent threat. When my master turned me around I saw they were designed for girlish thumbs.
When a girl's wrists were crossed and tied such as mine, it leaves all your fingers and thumbs free to wiggle and twist, and equally free to receive punishments all their own. Almost immediately my thumb got a taste of what to expect as my master slipped the wicked ring down over the knuckle and gently twist the handle. "Such sweet little thumbs." Mr. Pregio breathed as he turned his cute device to bring the needles in contact with my skin. I was still standing erect but this was becoming increasingly difficult to do. "The little needles are not long, Celie dear, but long enough to break the skin. I will now fix the other one so that both your thumbs may take their little journey into pain at the same time. Do not be alarmed you are taking it beautifully.
I shivered and winced every time my master made one more turn and it was only a minute or so before I had two more rings burning intensely than the pair already on my breasts. But along with my panting and fearful gasps, I realized that the agony my thumbs would receive was strictly limited. When the last turn of the screw had been made the man who was having his pleasure with me turned me around once more and kissed me gently before making apology for all the awful things men do to a girl.
"I am ashamed to do these things to you, Celie dear. You are so sweet and innocent and undeserving of pain. But your pain gives me such joy I know you will bare it with fortitude and love. You are the most beautiful girl I have ever purchased."
I tried to smile and kiss him back but my pain was now all too real and I found myself laying my head upon his shoulder and leaning on his male strength as if I were about to crumple to the floor. But I was kissed and pushed away and told to stand erect to enjoy the rest of my punishments. When I obeyed I found myself looking at a couple of plain old office paper clips the kind with two handles and a big spring. Instantly I knew what was to come. "Please to spread your legs." Mr. Pregio told me with a smile. "Wide apart for something, I ran you have already guessed. Stand firm while I put them where they belong."
I longed to tell him such things did not belong on the lips of a girl's pussy but dared not. The first clip gathered unto itself one of pussy lips to bite hard and deep I twisted and pulled away. Mr. Pregio .was enraptured at the sight of the metal clip dangling from my tender flesh. The pain of that clip, along with all the other pains inflicted on my body became too much.
"Oh, please, Mr. Pregio, take that away! It's too awful for me to bear master, please! Everything hurts too much. I can't stand still any more. Please don't use that other clip on me!"
The result was predicable. I stood quivering and with legs wide apart while my second pussy lip received the bite of clip number two. My vagina was now firmly in the grip of metal clamps and the pain something terrible. I could not look down to see them and still stand straight upright as I had been ordered but I was sure they made a strange sight as they hung from my very tender and sore flesh. I squealed and begged yet again for mercy. His only reply was to assure me that nothing more would be taken from the box except a gag.
It took everything I had to stand as he desired. Even though the horrible little inventions possessed my flesh only at nipples, thumbs and pussy, the pain they created seemed to be spreading throughout my body. When I saw the gag I has to bite hard to hold back a feminine protest against a supple leather strap in the center of which an ideally designed rubber phallus! Quickly the terrible thing was pushing against my lips and, mindful of how easily this man could add more pain to my collection, I parted my lips to allow the horrible thing into my mouth. It filled my cheeks and was buckled with authority at the back of my neck. Confirmed by my master's smiling features, I could not utter a word. Whatever I endured now, I would be unable to plead. Ruefully, I considered that this was just as well.
"The equipment is all now in place, Mr. Pregio assured me without realizing the thankfulness his words imposed. The next thing is to whip your bottom; a small punishment for which I think is only kind to secure you so you will not disgrace yourself by useless motions. I am sure' you will agree with me so do not bother to try and speak. I have decided this admirable armchair will suit our purpose without making you too uncomfortable. Come along, Celie, you will bend over the seat."
I suppose if a girl had to be fastened in order to be whipped, the armchair was a happy enough choice. It was not long before rope bit my ankles to tie them to the legs of the chair to each back leg, well apart and firmly helpless. It was at this point that the strap from my gag was joined by a leather collar from which dangled a whip and a length of rope which Mr. Pregio fastened somewhere at the front of the seat and pulled and pulled until I was tightly bend over the back of the chair. My face was very close to the seat and all my hair fell around my face. But my attention at that moment was concentrated on my behind which was sticking up in the air, inviting punishment.
I was quite sure my exposed bottom was stretched tight as a drum in readiness for my master's whip. My nipples burned, my labia down below screamed in silent indignation as the office clips bit into me like teeth. My thumbs also burned. I was now ready for the first stroke across my bottom. All in all, I was not a happy little girl.
"You will observe how beautiful you are held and how these small torments all contribute to your punishment." Mr. Pregio managed to sound like an academic lecturer. "You will not be happy with me this moment but I ask you to bear with me the cuts of cane and crop with which I intend to pain upon your beautiful bottom curves a masterpiece of color. I will try not to be too severe. First I kiss the lovely cheeks I intend to mark."
I suppose that at that point I could easily say that Mr. Pregio kissed both cheeks of my ass. But such course description of his salute fails to do him justice. Both kisses, gentle as they may have been, burned my skin with what I had to suppose was love. But I didn't have much time to think of such niceties because the riding crop cut across the skin with venom which made me thankful to be gagged. It hurt, it hurt real bad.
My master must have kept the instruments of pain tucked away somewhere in a draw. The second stroke was not with a riding crop but instead a short leather thronged whip. I knew it was going to hurt when he dangled it before my eyes. He explained as he took up position that each cheek would receive individual attention. The results sent me surging against my bonds and making pathetic little noises. I couldn't do a thing, not a damned thing! I wondered what sort of visual effect he was striving for on my bottom and how many strokes it was going to take.
I wondered how so nice a gentleman could bring himself to do these things to a girl but gave up. It's just the nature of men, I guessed.
The next instrument was a leather strap, a limber, vicious thing like a live thing of heavy leather. The stroke across my bottom was a cracking surprise. The damned thing landed with a noise like a pistol shot, a noise to scare a girl half to death. And the pain was different and horrible in its own way. Mr. Pregio then moved to the other side and produced an even louder crack upon my other cheek. I tried to shake my head in negation but the rope which held the collar around my neck also tilted my chin so as to deny my head very much movement.
The instrument taken up next was a wicked looking length of yellow cane. This time it wrapped itself all the way around from hip to hip. Spreading the pain across more of my flesh than another of the other instruments had. When it exploded across my flesh I came close to passing out, and the next thing I knew was my collar being released so I could stand erect. With belly hard against the back of the chair and fiercely flaming bottom, I was allowed only a few seconds rest before two male hands took hold of my hips and pushed me forward again. I felt a male phallus pressing against my pussy from the back side. I bend forward as silently ordered and .felt fingers spreading my pussy lips by the clips attached thereon. Suddenly the male phallus was thrust inside and the male body pressing against my back and rump. Make that my burning rump, if you please, for the tortured flesh of my bottom flared in pain each time his body thrust against it. Strangely, one of the things I remembered about the act of sex was that I grunted each time he thrust his phallus deep within me.
Perhaps it was just that my bottom was too inviting a target for him to wait so he had shoved home his rod while I was still bound to the chair. Quickly I was excited and well on my way to a climax. It never fails to amaze me how a whipping or most any kind of pain can excite a girl's sex and make it ready for the male invasion.
Just when I was really getting good and worked up, he slowed down. Suddenly he withdrew and quickly untied my ankles from the chair. In a rush I was picked up and carried to the bed where I was thrown upon the covers on my back. Mr. Pregio was quickly on top of me against, thrusting home his rigid rod with the vigor of a man twenty years younger than his.
It felt most strange to be in the act sexual intercourse and still be very aware of the pain of metal rings upon my rigid nipples, around my thumbs and harsh clips upon the lips of my vagina. He used those metal clips to pull wide my vagina lips and thrust his rod inside. That act was painful but I didn't mind. That part of me that was the very core of a female screamed delight at the invasion of a male rod and I thrust my hips upward to meet his. The pain of my freshly punished bottom mingled with the pain from my vagina lips, nipples and thumbs, to intensify the sexual excitement. As he worked my body up towards climax, I closed my eyes and surrendered myself to the sexual ecstasy. I think I screamed into the gag as I climaxed.
It was wonderful. I don't think I would recommend any girl endure the pains and torture the way I did just to enhance the sex act. But on the other hand, it was wonderful, far and away greater than "normal" sex every could be.
Afterward we both gasped out last ecstasy, we lay there, Mr. Pregio still on top of me and inside my pussy while we caught out breath. I did not mind the weight of his body, nor the extra pain it caused on my ringed nipples and thumbs. I was in a haze of sexual aftermath and felt wonderful.
But all things end. Eventually he rose from my body and regained his clothing. With the loss of sexual ecstasy, the metal instruments simply hurt, having lost all their ability to excite. I was finally stood erect and patted lovingly while my master fumbled with the rope bound my wrists. When I got' my hands back, I couldn't use them for a while they were numb. So I just stood there in limp gratitude while first one nipple and then the other was released from the bondage of the ring. If I hadn't winced before, I certainly did so now. When my tortured thumbs were freed I squealed in agony as the little needles left my flesh. The marks left were surprisingly tiny.
I expect I would have been judged a nymphomaniac but had my master wanted to do it all again right then, I would have gladly helped him secure me.
We fortified ourselves with brandy, I suppose to celebrate the fact I had emerged alive. My master's eyes were on my body constantly while he was lavish with congratulations for a job well done. I told him I had no choice about any of it but his modesty he refused to accept. I was a remarkable young woman beyond price and was again reassured I would fetch a great deal of money from some buyer. I had become accustomed to the whole thing and shrugged it off as just an incident in a slave girl's life. We were both dead tired and went to bed, my master's only precaution against my flight was to handcuff my ankles together, which, after all, was a pretty good way to keep a girl safely in one place.
My life as Mr. Pregio's only bit of inventory became routine. We talked a lot and I found my master interested in what I could tell him of PI and Shalima. He delighted in my account of Rankin's Pride and my ups and downs of fortune while I had been Rankin's captive but our time together was not all conversation. My master had business affairs and when he left the house on them, he made certain I was secured indeed. His favorite trick was to tie me. Spread eagle on the bed or to bind me to a chair so I couldn't move. In the manner of two people having fun, he would sometimes handcuff my wrists and fasten them up above my head, not stretched so they hurt but simply to compel me to stand in what he called my "lovely nakedness." And that I had to endure until he chose to return.
Dinner was always an event. It always entailed the use of his beastly Jack in the Box, with its unkind-straps beneath expensive dresses. During these pleasant interludes in expensive restaurants, I was examined at least twice an evening by gentlemen of all sizes, shapes and colors, who, if I found favor in their eyes, would enter into a flood of the local language in which I knew they were bartering for my body. I was told not to worry about those who went away without purchasing. I was told that while I had inspired lust enough to send them away with an erection, they had found the prize I commanded more than they could afford. If Mr. Pregio was not upset by their shortage of funds, it didn't bother me at all and I was beginning to enjoy myself.
Until, that is, the morning when, after breakfast, my handcuffed wrists were raised above my head in a manner now familiar and I was told to posture myself in a provocative manner if and when a visitor arrived. I had a frightening premonition this would be the day.
"He is tall, dark and handsome. And terribly rich," my master assured me earnestly. "He is also an old man and has the reputation of being kind to the girls he owns."
"You mean he keeps a collection of us!"
"He has four wives and a number of slave girls."
"Good gosh, I don't want to be shoved into a harem!"
"I have spoiled you, Celie," Mr. Pregio chuckled. "I would suppose the only disadvantage you might labor under would be that, after the first week, you might receive male attention only at rare intervals. I understand the poor creatures frequently resort to the use of lips and tongues even through the punishment is dire if they are caught."
"It all sounds horrible!"
"You should wait, Celie, until you see the man. And I want you to understand that should you fail to be sufficiently seductive, I would be forced to whip you severely after he has gone."
"If you're going to be around the house, Master, I don't see why I have to be chained like this until he shows up. It might be hours."
"If that proves to be the case, Celie dear, you will have to spend the time making pretty poses, and thinking up a few undying vows of devotion and obedience. Our client speaks English and may talk to you."
Mr. Pregio went away about his own affairs to leave me stand with my hands loosely held above my head. I could shift around with ease even though I couldn't go from where I stood. I wondered what poses I could try on this unknown man and which might be likely to interest him. I even tried a few but found myself blushing at the silly posture and gave that up. I felt pretty certain Mr. Pregio had me sold.
He wore Arab attire, including that oddly shaped thing they use for a hat. But in spite of that, he wore these garments as might a prince. Perhaps he might have been a prince, he was certainly handsome enough. His gray eyes met mine with a slight hint of amusement in them. I expect it was girlish silliness but right off the bat I wanted him to buy me.
With Mr. Pregio hovering anxiously in the background, ready to give me a silent warning about behaving myself and being a good girl, my visitor wasted no time in coming close to open my mouth and examine my teeth. And if that isn't the most humiliating thing a man can do to a girl, I'd like to know what is. He then took a complete inventory of everything my body had to offer, playing with my breasts and nipples and then getting down on one knee to push my legs apart and examine my female area, no doubt with a view to using it sometime in the future. He made comments I could not understand about my whipped bottom but these Mr. Pregio easily dealt with, assuring him in perfect English that should he wish to whip me now, I was completely at his disposal. I not got a question shot at me in English.
"Are you familiar with the custom in this country of whipping slave girls regularly every week whether they have misbehaved or not? Tell me truthfully."
I had never heard of the custom and didn't like the sound of it, but I got a signal from Mr. Pregio which caused me to laugh, and assure eagle eyes that to be whipped by him would be the most wonderful thing a girl could ever have happen. I don't think he believed a word of it but I was pretty sure it had been the right answer. I was now freed from the chain above and told to walk back and forth across the room, and then to kneel at his feet. These guys with their humiliation kick sure know how to reduce a girl to nothing. By the time I'd had my little walk and was kneeling at the feet of my master to be I was trembling and quite sure I would be whipped at any time. But instead they fastened me the way I'd been before with hands above my head. They then went off to do their bickering in private.
I stood there in miserable uncertainty. I had become fond of Mr. Pregio and did not wish to be sold. I had been a prisoner one way or the other for so long that I no longer had expectations of freedom or a life of my own. I would always belong to someone and be subject to their authority. Mr. Pregio would have suited me fine because he was really a kind man who say his tiny tortures and his Jack in the Box as simply a useful way of keeping his property under control. I suppose I could sum up my feelings for Mr. Pregio by saying he would never give me more than I could bear and most of the time not hurt me at all. I wasn't a bit sure about Hawkeye from the desert.
My heart refused to stop beating fast with apprehension. I shifted from foot to foot and turned this way and that in meaningless movement. In the end I allowed my head to rest against one raised arm and tried to dream of anything but a man I feared.
I had been standing quite a while before the door opened and I was so pessimistic about my future that I would have preferred not to look at something I might not wish to see. But, as if often the case with slave girls, my world was suddenly transformed by a flutter of feminine feet and a delighted cry.
"Celie, darling, it's really you!" A moment later I was hugged by female arms and was feverishly seeking each other's mouths to kiss and kiss again. I longed to hold my mistress and tell her my love but had to simply stand there while she did all the work. She laughingly told me to be still so she could tell her story and I could tell her mine. I think it was the happiest moment of my life when Marjory walked back into it.
There were surprises. Marjory had a key to free my hands from the overhead hook but leave them still handcuffed. I clasp my mistress by putting my joined hands over her head and hugging her all the way down. Ruefully she told me, "I'm a slave, the same as you, darling. I was told to come to this room and give you back your hands. And that I should then strip naked and put these handcuffs they gave me on my own wrists. Just a minute while I act the obedient little slavegirl because I don't want to be whipped in the middle of all this happiness. I've become very good about taking off my clothes and it doesn't bother me any more."
I had seen my mistress naked often enough. I could swear now she was more beautiful than ever. Slavery had refined an already perfect figure. When she was as nude as I, we clasp and laughed joyously in a tangle of naked bodies and chained wrists. It was after that she told her story.
"His name is Sabra, and I guess I was lucky he bought me at that damned auction. I was scared to death with visions of pure horror, but Sabra simply enjoys having a collection of girls around for the purpose of occasional sex, or whipping any bits of them that pique his interest. After the first week, which was pretty bad, he settled down with me to one session in bed and another session with the whip or riding crop each week. The rest of the time he's actually kind. All the girls live in great luxury unless they're caught trying to escape. In those cases he makes quite sure they won't try that again, and will become good little girls like me." My mistress paused to grunt sardonically. "You see, darling, I tried to escape and was caught. And the treatment I got for the week after that cured me of any more motions of freedom. There isn't any freedom for girls like us."
"But with all your money... ? And the people you know...?"
"I worked on Sabra with that but I don't think he believed a word I said. And ordinary millionaires like me don't hold interest for him because, like all these oil guys, he deals in billions. That's the reason they can pay these tremendous prices for us at an auction."
"But it's so wrong! You're my mistress, you're not a slave. You should never be whipped! Oh, Marjory, darling, can't we do something?"
"Maybe we can. But first I have to explain how the guy who owns you approached this billionaire who owns me with a proposition. I don't know what deal they finally arrived at but they're going to make a trade. Sabra gets you and Mr. Pregio gets me. The advantage for Sabra is that he gets the new girl to screw and whip, and Mr. Pregio gets me with a large chunk of cash besides. Each guy thinks he profits... "
"But, darling, that way this man Sabra will take me away and Mr. Pregio will sell you so we'll be just as far apart as ever!"
"It could work out that way. But since we cannot complain, we'll have to do the best we can with what we've got. Sabra wasn't interested in my money but Mr. Pregio is a different matter. He's actually a small business man, dealing in an inventory of one slavegirl at a time. I'm going to try and interest him in allowing me to ransom myself. I don't expect freedom without being screwed a few times, and having to be hurt in a few of the ways these guys find amusing. But, darling, I think there's a real chance Sabra really just wants girls for the playing of keeping them in a cage or chaining them up. But your Mr. Pregio wants money. Whatever it costs I'm going to get free. And then I'm going to get you."
"But supposing Sabra won't sell me?"
"There's more ways of getting you than simply money, Celie dear. I can have you kidnapped or simply raise a stink with the authorities."
"It sounds too wonderful to believe!"
"Believe it, darling, I'll make it happen. This Mr. Pregio who owns you now sounds like a decent enough type. If those words can be applied to a man who buys and sells girls for a living. Don't worry, I'll get to him."
"He'll never allow you a chance to escape."
"I don't intend to try. I've been punished enough to last a lifetime. I think I can handle Mr. Pregio, so stop worrying."
When the men returned it was obvious a transaction had occurred. Apologetically Mr. Pregio chained Marjory's feet, explaining that until they knew each other better, it was better that he take every precaution. Marjory said that she understood perfectly. She even added a demure little, 'Thank you, Master," in perfect innocence. I almost laughed. With my mistress safely disposed of, attention now turned to me.
I didn't get my feet chained but my handcuffs were switched from front to back, no doubt to put me in the proper mood for what came next. Tearfully I examined my new master and mentally classified him as too handsome for his own good. Without any emotion he put me wise as to what to expect as his slavegirl.
"Marjory has told you who and what I am. You will give me total obedience and erase any notions of escape from your mind. You will never escape, you are mine to enjoy." Those dark Arab eyes roved up and down my nakedness. "When I am in the mood, I will screw you. Once a week or perhaps more often I will whip you or have you whipped to keep you aware of who and what you are. Tell me what you are."
"I am your slave, Master."
"Excellent. Always remember that." He turned to a beaming Mr. Pregio. "You are right, I will enjoy this girl. She is everything you promised. I wish you profit from the girl you now own. She has given me much pleasure. The one I buy from you will give me much more. I can tell she has been properly trained to yield a man submission."
Mr. Pregio actually took me in his arms and hugged me as though I was a girlfriend, a child or wife. Both of us understood a strange sorrow in the parting. My elbows were then drawn tight together by the man who I must call master, who used only a few winding of thin cord that bit instantly into my flesh to tell of increasing agony designed to make me docile and, and anxious to please. I was still alive with joyous hope for Marjory's plan and bore the pain which, after all, was nothing new. I even managed to thrust my breasts out for good measure and approval of a new master. Thus I was taken to the garage to be stowed away in the trunk of a waiting car. In the darkness of the trunk I wept in longing for my mistress and in sadness for myself. I found a wry comfort in knowing I now belonged to a man who would give me sex when he so chose.
Sabra's dwelling was much like a second Shalima. When I was thrust inside the gilded cage, I found it a complete dwelling all its own. I was greeted with little joy by the prisoners already within. At least the thin cord binding my elbows was cut and for that I was grateful. I did not mind my wrists remaining handcuffed.
With me, the cage totaled six girls, which was probably more than enough for Sabra. After all, how many girls can one man use?
I was shown to a huge bathtub and enjoyed a lengthy bath and shampoo, given to me by the other girls. I was the only one with handcuffs on, and was grateful that they were willing to perform such service for me. Next came the cosmetics for my face. I was then fitted with a pair of light sandals and admired by all to find myself the butt of feminine humor, heavily laced with dire predictions as to my fate.
"Well, Celie, get ready to get yourself whipped. He's bound to give it to you today or tomorrow."
"Our Master only whips his girls up between their legs. He doesn't bother with the place we sit on."
I looked around at their grins, uncertain what to believe. I already notice noticed a couple of well-whipped bottom but decided not to mention that. Instead I asked humbly if someone would unlock the handcuffs.
This got me only laughter. "You do not think our Master so foolish as to leave us with a key. We are often handcuffed as you are now. It is something a girl must expect."
Well, that was that. Only one 'girl was completely naked like myself, the others were variously attired in very little. I had a strong hunch there would be a senior girl who had a key but I wanted to make friends and not start out arguing. The kidding continued.
"Our Master will hang you by your thumbs for sure."
"You will also be staked out on a ant hill in the desert."
"He'll beat the bottoms off your feet so you can't walk for a week."
I let them have their fun. I had to be grateful for all I had suffered since first being captive. Their threats would have scared me to death once but now I grinned back at them without concern.
My hands fastened behind my back gave me more annoyance than their stories. But anyway, we couldn't 'get better acquainted right then because a male servant called me over and unlocked the door. I was followed out the door by dire predications of horrible things to happen. I left the cape and allowed a firm male hand to grasp my arm. No doubt I was about to learn something.
I had to play it by ear but figured I'd best give the submission thing everything I had. I was taken to a very plush room where I found Sabra standing in princely garb to await my coming. I lost no time in sinking to my knees at his feet, bow my head and utter the single word, "Master."
For at a least a minute the two of us would have made a statue, neither of us moved. But this desert prince or whatever he might be had me scared. He was so damned handsome and masculine for a little girl who had been trained in submission by Marjory and Rankin Teller. Here was a brand new deal, and if I didn't handle it properly it was going to hurt.
I was raised to my feet by strong, gentle hands and told to stand before the chair in which my master seated himself. What he had to say was beautifully rational. "You name is Celie, that is what I will call you. You will address me either as 'Master' or 'Lord'. One thing I want you to avoid is, as you Americans say, 'laying it on too heavy' when you talk to me. Just be natural. Can you handle this?"
"Yes, Lord."
"I have had many slave girls. One day I will marry one or two of them to produce heirs. But that is not now. You are probably wondering why I do not possess you at this moment and spend my seed within you. I am simply bored with these impalements of a girl. When I honor you with my attention, you will give me pleasure by being bound and enduring small punishments which I devise. Do not be alarmed, there will be no hot irons or racks on which to stretch your body until it breaks. My interest in purchasing you lays in my believe that while I whip your skin, you will have intelligence enough to engage me in conversation. The effect I seek is much as if you were a private secretary who pauses in her work at my demand to uncover certain portions of herself which I will whip while we discuss your work. When I am satisfied with the strips I have placed on your skin, you will return to work as if nothing had happened. I find this a most pleasing fantasy. What do you think?"
Once more I knew how ridiculous men were. Sabra was a little boy playing with a new toy. What he wanted was no worse than I already knew but this business of rational conversation while being whipped was a bit much. But Sabra's measured words told me I had no choice. Desperately I asked the obvious, "Did Marjory manage to please you in these ways, Master?"
Sabra shrugged. "She fell short of what I expect you to do. She never managed to believe in her enslavement and keep trying to tell me she had a little bit of money with which to buy her freedom. In our conversations I found her talking to me as if we were equals. I grew tired of punishing her and thus traded her for you. Perhaps Mr. Pregio will give her freedom in exchange for her little bit of money which will seem like a lot to him. I am aware, also, that she will then seek to get you from me by whatever ruse she can devise. I am a man of honor, I respect a bargain or a contract. But, if in her pursuit of you, she places herself within my reach, I will make her once my slave. And thus possess you- both. I am not an idiot to be deceived by a pretty girl."
It was as though he had read Marjory's mind. Once more I knew despair, this man was clever as well as cruel. Somehow I had to please him.
"You are wise, Master, you can read a girl's mind as easily as you can read a book."
"You will not be an acceptable slavegirl until the punishments I inflict cleanse your mind of such silly thoughts. We will begin in this room."
The servants appeared as if by magic, handling me as if I were a .child. In a shockingly short time I was suspended from strapped wrists with my toes almost touching the rug. Panting and gasping I looked at my new master with mute appeal.
"You no doubt find your situation distressful, Celie." Sabra resumed his seat to comfortably survey my stretched nudity. "It is a simple little punishment but will introduce you to my home and my authority. You will now discuss with me your admirable Mr. Pregio and I do not want your responses delivered in gasps and moans. I want your talk normal."
I had no belief I could give him what he wanted. In suspension nothing is normal for a girl, and I wished Sabra would leave me alone to gasp and moan as I wished. But I always am amazed at the things I am able to do if a whip or some other horror is dangled before my nose. At that point, as I gazed unhappily up at strapped wrists, I heard my voice telling of he man who had been kind to me during his short ownership. I fought constantly to keep my voice normal and not to intersperse it with gasping breaths my punished breasts implored. Sabra listened attentively, asking a few questions here and there, and I got the impression he was satisfied with my performance. The trouble was I was sure my ordeal had just begun.
I must apologize, Celie, for this very ordinary discomfort you now enjoy I'm sure you've been hung by your wrists many time. You're probably finding it a bore." The suave apology was heavily loaded with implications.
I knew Sabra had something in mind and was just playing with me. But he evidently expected a reply so I said, "Yes, Master," and hoped for the best. With an unhappy feeling the best was still to come.
It was an ordinary looking suppository. It was wrapped in silver foil which he carefully unwound making quite sure I observed every move. My mind instantly flooded with disgusting visions. But, of course, anything Sabra did wouldn't be ordinary and I don't suppose he wanted a mess on the rug any more than I wanted to make one. He now steadied my sway body with an arm around my waist while his other hand found the lips of my vagina to insert that beastly thing within. And then he pushed it well up inside with an expert finger. He patted my pubic patch as if in affection and then resumed his seat. For a while nothing hurt.
"I am sure you realize, Celie, you will not enjoy the effect of what I have just done. The pain will come gradually and steadily increase until your pussy secretions flush out what has been placed there. The process is far from speedy. I will enjoy your comments and the effect begins. Spare me no detail."
There I was stark naked before the steely eyes, allowing myself to hang limply without a struggle. And inside me an enemy gathered its forces to give me pain. I cannot think of any way a man could fasten a girl to make her feel more totally exposed or more vulnerable. I could almost feel the intensity of my new master's interest in what was about to happen. I expect he had seen plenty of naked girls so there was no reason for me to feel shame at being thus bared. I was pretty sure it wouldn't do any good to ask for mercy.
It was a slow burn from within. I became aware of forces at work which caused me to suck in a breath and gaze upon my master with open-eyed dismay. My first forbidden moan came more for fear and apprehension than from what was taking place within my heated flesh. But suddenly as the beastly thing went to work in full earnest I could not avoid a wince and the involuntarily raising of one leg. Sabra nodded approvingly.
I had been made terribly aware of the need to engage in normal discourse during any punishment. I had been told to give my master a play by play description of this agony as it steadily increased. Once again I heard my voice as from far distant. "It bums me, Master, it bums terribly. Please take it out."
"I cannot take it out, Celie. It must be endured. Has it yet aroused you sexually?"
"Yes, Master, it is having that effect. But it also hurts so bad I don't think I can control my voice. I am going to scream." I panted and wiggled for several moments until, without meaning to, I blurted out, "I know you will punish me terribly but I just can't help it. I'm sorry. Master, but this is more than I can bear."
I had delivered this bit of news between gasps and moans and with my legs pumping steadily. I ended it with a scream. I put everything I had in that scream and peddled like crazy as Sabra watched in what I can only describe as deep content. I remember wondering if such a man ever got an erection.
The scream had unlocked a door. It was followed by other. I no longer cared about punishment to come; I was far too concerned with my present condition. I knew I was providing Sabra with the best show of his life but I simply could not stop the jerking and kicking my wrists took a punishment of their own as I lunged and surged and sometimes lifted myself higher above the rug at their expense. I became a bundle of hurting female flesh and did no concern herself with the watching. The burn continued on and on, seemingly without end. Finally I sank into the darkness of oblivion.
I must have been out a long time and came back into a sleepy state where I no longer hurt. Someone had rid me of that awful thing and washed away the burn. My wrists had also been freed so I lay on the rue in a sort of contented exhaustion, wanting only to Be left alone. I was totally free of restraints but could have cared less: The girl was pretty and clothed in only a few trifles which accentuated those parts we are supposed to hide. Her features were sympathetic and concerned. And when she moved there was the musical sound of the chain which joined her ankles. The chain was short and I recognized her as one of the girls from the cage. Weakly, I said, "Thank you for whatever it is you've done. Please go away and let me sleep."
"I can't. There are things I've been told to do."
"Can't you do them while I sleep?"
"Don't be silly, it's you I have to prepare. Sabra is not finished with you yet."
That woke me up for sure. I rose up on my elbows to gaze at my companion askance. "He's not going to shove another of those hateful things up my pussy is he?"
Her laugh held music. "No, dear, you can forget the Hot Box treatment. I thought you know every new girl is whipped on her first day. It's our Master's way of saying hello."
With the aid of two young, strong female hands I managed to sit up beside this girl. Her name was Betty. She was white and had been kidnapped while on a tour of the Middle East. She had been one of Sabra's slave girls for more than a year. Her scanty coverings failed to hide fading whip marks. "Sit still," she said. "There's a bottle of brandy around here somewhere, I think you could use it."
I watched her take her small, sad steps forced by the chain joining her ankles. She certainly had learned to walk prettily with leg irons locked upon her feet. I watched as she returned with the bottle and glass, and then gulped down a sizable amount of the fiery liquid.
"I'm not allowed to drink," she told me seriously. "The only time we slave girls get brandy is during or after we've been punished. You'll soon learn the rules they're not easy to forget."
I held out the empty glass and watched it refilled. I was feeling better. And as I sipped, asked the obvious question, "You don't have me fastened any way at all, why don't I run away?"
"Go ahead, if that's what you feel like. You won't get far and your punishment will be so damned awful you'll never do it again."
I took her word for it and then asked the second most obvious question, "You' said you have to do things to me, what are they?"
"There's no big hurry. Why don't you just enjoy being free. It's a nice feeling to be free." She gestured disgustedly. "After I've looked to you, I'll be put back in the big cage with the others. It isn't really a cage, you know, it's really a very beautiful place, but it's a place we can't escape from. Quite likely they won't unchain my ankles. I'll have to walk like this for days."
"I don't see any sense to it. Does he just like to hurt girls?"
"You'll think he's cruel today but he may leave you alone after... Well, after what's soon going to happen." Betty laughed bitterly. "He's got so damned much money he can indulge any whim he has. And most men have got a dream about owning a woman or a bunch. Most men never get to own one. But our Lord and Master collects girls and trades them around if they get to be a bore to him." She eyed me seriously. "The hell of it is we all realize we could be a lot worse off because the Master can leave us alone for a week at a time, or simply fasten us in ways he considers some artistic way just to look at."
"It's not much to look forward to."
"Maybe not, but let's face it, we're slaves. There is never any way to escape. After a while your main concern is to make it real good for our Master in bed. That joke about the sultan choosing his slavegirl for the night is the most real thing in our lives. We all long for it. We get bored with pussies."
"I don't see why he traded Marjory for me, she's a lot better looking."
"No she isn't. But I think Sabra began to believe her stories about how rich she was and her influential friends she had. He probably figured it safer to trade her off. Besides, she was sort of stoic and never did scream as much as the rest of us when being punished.
"Look, sweetheart, I expect we've talked enough. Lie back on the rug and don't give me any trouble."
It was a lovely silver bracelet and from it a few links of fine silver chain. It was not the least bit like a handcuff it was no where as thick or heavy. But it clicked around my wrist with a solid snap which told me I'd never get it off Betty did the same with my other hand and then got down to the real nitty-gritty, which was pretty much the same as Mr. Pregio had used on my pussy. The silver chain was only four or five inches long and at it's end was a metal circlet I recognized Betty played with my nipples until she had them hard and thrusting out, and then tightened them in the metal bands. When she was through she had me helpless. Whatever I tried to do with my hands ended up in a painful tug at my tit. The chain was just lone enough to make me have a sense of freedom. I could scratch my nose but not much else. I couldn't reach my puss and to defend myself would be a joke. I had to be a good little girl and keep my hands beside my breasts. Once more I knew the hopelessness of being a slave girl."
I lay there while Betty busied herself with something else. The suspension bar to which my wrists had been strapped was now replaced by one both longer and heavier, one end of which she now proceeded to tie to my right ankle using a rope which she threaded and knotted tightly with real expertise. To drag my left ankle to the opposite end of the bar was a stretch which made me moan until Betty said she was sorry to have to put my legs so far apart. Laying the way I was. I could not see my pubic hair but she assured me my pussy was discreetly closed even though it felt wide open. She then attached the tackle to the bar and a moment later' my feet were going up in the air and I couldn't a thing about it.
When my feet were well up so I couldn't see my own pussy and taut belly, she pressed the button so everything stopped. Her voice held genuine regret, "I'm sorry sweetheart' but this is where I have to leave. You can guess what's going to be done to you but don't let's talk about it. I'll see you later in the cage. That is, if Sabra doesn't take you to his bed." My legs were stretched too far apart and bound too tightly to encourage struggling. My hands longed for freedom and tried to fight the bracelets with their chains. My fingers were able to explore the pretty circles around my wrists and, since this was about all I could do. I played with-them steadily When Sabra came he laughed at the way I suddenly jerked my hands away and looked up at him with wide eyes. He carried a collections of small whips and a slender riding crop, the sight of which made me shiver because I could guess the portion of myself upon which it would be used.
The hard, cold eyes surveyed me approvingly. Evidently Betty had done a good job. With surprising gentleness, Sabra told me, "You days will not all be like this. We are taking a measure of each other. You've already acquitted yourself very well. You might not have believed that as you struggled and screamed but girls are my hobby and I can tell from the sounds a girl makes when being punished what she is feeling. I am sure you realize I am about to punish you now."
"Yes, Master."
"Have you any more to say?"
"I could beg for mercy, Master, but that is forbidden."
"And you can control your hands?"
"I must control them. Master, I dare not tear my nipples."
"You see, child, we are conversing sensibly. It is my wish we continue even when pain bums your skin. You understand?"
"Yes, Master."
Maybe it was the brandy or perhaps Betty had put something in the brandy but I was in a daze of not caring, a euphoria of numbness of emotions. I asked, "Please, Master, could I have another glass of brandy." Without a word, Sabra fetched the bottle and glass. His strong arm raised me up while the other hand placed within my fettered hands the glass. The chain to my nipples allowed me to sip but would not permit me to tilt the glass. With grave courtesy, Sabra held me until I had swallowed the last drop and gasp out a thank you. He then allowed me to return to my back, disposed of the empty glass, and then went to the control.
It was a strange and terrible sensation as my wide- spread legs went up and up so that my back slid forward until I rested only on my shoulders. My feet seemed way up high but the center of interest for Sabra was my sex. He fingered my pubic hair lovingly and said in a thoughtful tone, "You know, child, what these portions of yourself mean to men. I am greatly privileged to have you fastened thus. I have brought with me small whips which will cause you only pain. There will be no damage, there will be no blood. You will be able to see almost everything I do. For you, too, this is a moment of great privilege. You have one of the most beautiful pussies I have ever seen."
The blow swept down onto my pussy, the small slender tongs of the first of the wicked whips bit the surface of my sex. My body and legs made motions but they were small for I was stretched and bound most skillfully. My hands were desperately clutching the breast to which they were linked. As though casting bread upon the waters, I said in as even a tone as I could, "Thank you, Master."
This whipping up and down the inside of my thighs and squarely across my anguished puss was probably a work of art for the strokes were each measured and perfectly placed. I did not scream, but made terrible small sounds as I tried to hold inside disgraceful noises that Sabra did not want to hear. But with every stroke the pain became worse. I rocked back and forth on my shoulders but my pussy could not be move out of range. But through all of it my corded ankles held me tight and fast. I was being punished by a new owner who was probably finding out how much punishment I could take. Sabra's eyes glowed as I looked up at him over my sex.
The little whips varied in the length of their thongs or the weight of leather. They had been skillfully made and designed not to cause damage but inflict pain. There was one whip with a single tong and when that bit between my two spread lips, I fought roped ankles and clutched my breasts so hard that they hurt themselves. I cried out that it was too terrible for a girl to take.
But nothing ceased, there was only the small pauses as Sabra chose a different whip or moved himself to get a better angle on his target. The whipping of my tender flesh of all was methodical and thorough and terrible.
The slender crop was the most terrible of all. I was so immersed in pain and the shame of being beaten upon and within my most private place that when Sabra departed from the room I did not see him go.
I did not lay there alone for long, just long enough for me to come back into the world and realize I was neither dead nor dying. And to hope that the fire consuming my thighs and pussy would sometime cease to bum.
It was Betty who came to survey my predicament and exclaim, "The Master really had a time with you, darling, didn't he? I'll bet you're wishing you'd been born without a pussy between those legs. Cheer up I got it too on my first day here. While he slashed away I knew I was going to die."
"Oh, Betty, I'm so glad you've come. Please untie me and let me down."
"In a minute dear first of all I want to have a good look. Did you blush when he put his hand on it? I'm going to put my hand on it now and see how hot it is. You won't mind, will you, darling?"
I didn't care. I watched her fingers playfully running up and down my scorched thighs and then touch my pussy with a sort of clinical interest. But she also brought some stuff in a bottle which she put on my bruised flesh and I have to admit that by the time she was through I felt a little better. It was then a serving girl brought a tray with steaming coffee.
"I'm not going to let your feet down just yet." Betty informed me. "We'll give you back you hands. I expect those poor nipples will be glad to get rid of them. Now hold still while I use the tool to take them off."
I lay there breathless as fingers released first my nipple, and then my wrists. It felt glorious to have hands even if they could do nothing to help free myself from that obscene posture. With my feet still tied, Betty supported my head between her breasts and gave me the cup of coffee. I sipped it gratefully.
After the second cup I felt almost human. When I lay back on the rug and Betty replaced handcuffs my wrists, I didn't care. It was not until then she lowered my legs, and untied my feet. She shackled them in the same manner as her own feet, with the same size leg irons. They made silvery music as she led me from the room.
I noticed that Betty had no key to the leg irons. She was as bare as we walked as I was. The only difference was I was handcuffed. Our destination was the master himself, who examined my condition and explained as he unlocked the cuffs, "There is one more pleasure you can give me this day, dear child. I am about to bind your wrists behind your hack with simple cord. It is same thing which gives me great satisfaction."
As soon as my hands were free I placed them in a crossed position without being told to. He bound them tight in a way which told me there would be no escape. For some reason I cannot explain, this attention, along with what he had done to me with the whip, aroused the flame within my sex. I never will understand why this happens. I said my thank you as sweetly as I could. It was in this condition Betty led me to the cage.
The cage was really one wing of the palace. Everything was beautiful and wonderful and must have cost a great deal of money. The girls belonging to Sabra lived in great luxury. My punished skin was examined, evoking, no doubt, memories among the others. Some said nothing, some said they had fared much worse. They all refused to untie my hands.
Thus began the most comfortable period of my slavery. Some of the girls were naked like myself others wore scraps of flimsy coverings. The days of idleness passed in a luxurious boredom interspersed by temporary excitement when one was called and got her feet shackled to leave the cage, destined for Sabra's attentions. They were returned to us with their hands bound behind their back. Most girls thus bound were allowed to be untied at the end of the day some were left bound for a few days. I was the only one left bound at all times.
Thus passed seven days during which my wounds healed so that when I was summoned by a servant to clink my shackled feet beyond the open door, the girls all wished me a happy time in bed and promised they would see me tomorrow. But that tomorrow never came.
When a hand at my back thrust me into the master's office, I beheld two men cheerfully conversing and sipping coffee. My heart almost skipped a beat when one of them grinned at me. It was Rankin Teller.
As usual, Rankin was at no loss for words. "Come on in, sweetheart. Like a drink? I'm sure our friend here will untie your hands."
Sabra waved to me and I backed up that he might remove the cords I had gotten very used to over the last week. I said my thank you and felt very strange to see my own hands.
The offered glass was good coffee. I stepped back to stand submissively before male eyes. I had a fateful premonition.
"Has the little so and so been trying to run away? I see you've got her feet fixed?"
"The girl has behaved admirably. She is obedient. Her feet are chained because it pleases me."
"Well, I get a charge out of it myself. In fact, I get a charge out of doing anything to this girl." Rankin turned his attention fully upon the man who owned me. "I'm damned grateful, Sabra, for this trade you've agreed to. I'm sure neither of us will regret the deal."
I now got the full attention of Sabra's cold smile. "Mr. Teller is in a position to do me a favor. He has also made me a gift of two young women to replace the loss in giving you to him. I relinquish claim to you and Mr. Teller is free to dispose of you as he sees fit."
I took another gulp of coffee and wondered what pair of unfortunate girls Rankin had chosen. With feeling too much shame or humiliation, I slid to my knees, bowed my head, and said, "Thank you, my Masters, I obey your wishes." I felt a fool but what else was there for me to do!
"This girl's a real honey," Rankin said to no one. "I treated her real bad, that's how she came to be wandering around loose. But you're going to get a lot of fun out of those two gals I've just delivered. One of them likes her ass whipped so you don't have to worry about laying it on."
I could see Sabra wince at the vulgarity and implication that his interest lay only in female bottoms. He finished his drink and suggested it was perhaps time for my new master to take me to a safe place to enjoy the marking of my skin. Everything was very friendly and polite as Rankin joined my elbows with thin rope, crushing them together in the standard binding of a slavegirl mea fit for transportation. The silver chains I wore on my ankles were evidently a gift as they were not taken from me. They clinked as I was led into fresh slavery. In the darkness of Rankin's car I wept.
Our destination was, of course, the harbor and the Rankin's Pride. My new owner carried me up the gangplank with a pride and satisfaction he could not contain. "I told you I'd get you back, sweetheart. What's more, I got a visitor waiting for you in my stateroom. I could turn a nifty profit on you right quick if that was what I wanted. But don't worry, kid, I ain't selling you at any price."
It was all terribly familiar. I was carried in Rankin's arms like a child and wondered why I did not hate this man in the way I should hate him. He was a brass- bound son of a bitch who nonetheless held me in an emotional thralldom from which I could not escape. When he stood me up in the familiar stateroom, I found myself gazing into the familiar smile of none other than Mr. Pregio!
My elbows were released so I felt better, and then there were drinks all around. While I sipped a drink, Rankin boomed out his information, "Mr. Pregio, here, wants to buy you, sweetheart. He's told me about you and Marjory, and it seems he was damned fool enough to let your girlfriend ransom herself. She paid a hell of a price for her freedom so Pregio's heavy with cash and looking to buy you back. How's that grab you?"
My heart was beating fast. I could almost feel Marjory in my arms but I was not a bit certain of what was going on. It seemed altogether out of character for Rankin to buy me simply to please Mr. Pregio. Especially if he would, in turn, sell me back to Marjory. Cautiously I said to Rankin, "I am a slave, you will do as you please with me. It is not fitting for me to make a choice."
"See what I mean! Ain't she a honey, Mr. Pregio? And you just don't have enough dough to persuade me to let her go again. I lost her too many times already." His voice turned serious. "I'll tell you what I will do, Pregio, I'll buy that Marjory if you can still lay a hand on her. I'd pay a pretty good price to have them two girls chained safe in my brig again. What you say?"
"Alas, the girl Marjory has already departed. Her ransom purchased her freedom and I haven't the least idea where she went."
"That was a damned fool thing to do," Rankin admonished. "That gal can cause us trouble. But I'm willing to bet that right now she's looking for this little sweetheart. What I'd suggest, Mr. Pregio is you take that wad of cash and buy yourself another gal and you're back in business. I'm sorry but you're not getting Miss. Celie Collins."
Mr. Pregio was graciously granted permission to embrace me before leaving. I gave me the most sincere hug and kiss he'd probably ever had from a slavegirl. But Mr. Pregio was out of his depth between men like Sabra and Rankin Teller, a realization I think he knew as he departed sadly. Through the window we watched his departure before Rankin produced the inevitable handcuffs and I extended innocent wrists to give him the pleasure he got out of keeping my hands close joined in silver bracelets. What he said then was not exactly good news. "Don't you worry none, Celie, you ain't going to be alone here for long. I'll have that Marjory girl rounded up soon enough. I got friends in this city and she's an innocent babe in the words in this part of the world."
I kicked the chain between my feet and raised hands for him to see. "Isn't this what really matters," I asked, despondently. "You get a kick out of keeping me prisoner and sticking that big thing in me every night. Why don't you make a big guy out of yourself and contact Marjory who will give you a awful lot of money for me. Please!"
"You know that ain't gonna happen, sweetheart. I just won the jackpot and I ain't gonna risk loosing it. Damn it, girl, I'll hold off whipping you until tomorrow. How's that for generosity?"
"That's what I mean. I don't want to be whipped but you'll do it anyway. You could have made me love you if you hadn't been so mean. Look, if you lay off the hunt for Marjory, and if you'll let her go back to Palm Island, and if you'll let me speak to her on the phone, I'll tell her I belong to you and that's the way it has to be because... "
"Because of what?"
"Because I love you. I'll tell her that even if it isn't true."
Rankin looked at me with that sly grin I knew so well. "But it is true, ain't it? I got the hots for you right alone and I sort of guessed you got a soft spot for me. Trouble is, any girl who falls for me has to put up with getting her ass whipped, and a few other tricks besides. You know them all so I don't have to tell you."
The words did not come easily but I knew I meant them and could be bound for life by what they said. "All right, Rankin, I can't help loving you. If you'll forget about Marjory, I'll say I'm willing to let you whip me all you like, and do all those other things with me."
"Even that box with your ass up in the air?"
"Yes, even that. But next time please don't whip my feet." Rankin, from where he sat, had a view through the window and just then made a startled move. "Holly Cow, I don't believe it!"
I worked my way to the window. Horrified I beheld Marjory, exquisitely dressed, climbing the steps to the deck and speaking casually to a member of the crew who pointed up to where Rankin and I watched. Resolutely my darling mistress walked across the deck.
Rankin watched our greeting without comment until Marjory turned in his direction. "I've come for Celie," she said simply. "I was pretty sure you had her and I'd like to take her home. Please don't try to make me prisoner. I have a policeman waiting on the dock for my return."
Rankin looked out the window once more to utter, "Well, I'll be damned if you're not right." He sent a crewman to fetch the uniformed escort. As soon as the man arrived in the stateroom, Rankin broke into the local tongue and then produced some large domination currency. In return the policeman saluted us smartly and went away. All three of us watched him leave the dock. Marjory's face was white in disbelief and fear.
"Them guys can all be bribed, sweetheart. Didn't you know that? You've the second girl today I get today. How about a pair of leg irons like Celie's wearing just to make sure you don't go running off someplace?"
The struggle was short and sharp, and when my darling arose from the floor, her ankles were chained together just as mine. She glared at Rankin angrily. "If I'm not off this ship within an hour the authorities will come and ask you why. Be sensible and let us g�-"
"Hell, honey, I ain't never going to let you go. Not ever. Celie, here, is my number one girl but you'll make a good number two. I've told Celie she don't get her ass whipped until tomorrow, just to let her get to feel at home. The same will go for you. Settle down and we'll wait an hour before I strip you naked and chain you in the brig."
"You and I made a bargain," I said hotly. "You're supposed to leave Marjory alone. Let her go."
Rankin winked. "I told you the boys would leave her alone. She's walked in here of her own free will and I've done nothing to make her come. The damned girl's asking for it!"
I looked at Marjory and Marjory looked at me. As though in acknowledgment of ownership, we both shook our shackled feet before accepting glasses offered by Rankin.
Rankin entertained us for the full hour as we waited but the authorities never came. Perhaps they never intended to, or perhaps Rankin had bribed them, too.
"Well, you pretty bitch, where's your army?" My darling mistress refused to reply but stared stonily at the man whose property we had become. It seems that once a girl is enslaved, she can change ownership at the drop of a hat. And I knew that in both Marjory's mind and mine there were no longer doubts or hopes. Palm Island had vanished in the mists.
Rankin unlocked the leg irons on my ankles. "Come on, Celie, you can watch while I fix your sweetheart for the night. You know the hotel where she's going to stay."
I knew all too well, I was still handcuffed and what the hell was the good of fighting or trying to run. Or maybe I didn't want to run! I followed my former mistress and her captor down the familiar steps and to the familiar iron door. I watched Marjory strip naked when her feet had been released until she stood there in bitter shame as the heavy irons were locked upon her at wrists, ankle and neck. And the brutal iron belt went around her slender waist. She stood there in all her loveliness, a defiant captive in her chains while Rankin took my arm and led me from that place of bitter memories. I wanted to cry and to be taken to his bed. His fingers on my arm had set me aflame below. I thrust the thought of Marjory from my mind. Tomorrow we would both be whipped, but tomorrow is another day. At that moment Rankin had me chained in metal and lust.
Beside the desk where my master writes there is a chain and collar most solidly anchored to the floor. The collar was locked around my neck and my ankles wore the same heavy shackles as if I were in the brig. There were heavy shackles on my wrists. I sat beside my master as he writes. Sometimes he played idly with my hair or pinches a convenient nipple. Cheerfully he told me how hard he would whip me when he gets to it. I knelt there beside his chair to sometimes lay my head upon his knee. That was as it should be -- I was then and am now a slave.
