The Prisoner Of Ismaul VOLUME TWO
by F.E. Campbell


Two girls. Houris of The East. The youngest leaning her lissome slenderness 
backward that she might better examine the two crimson slashes the whip had 
placed across her hips. The other watching with a quiet amused smile. 

"You're going to have to watch your P's and Q's, darling. Ayesha was right. 
That whip of hers is cruel. I haven't seen one quite like it." 

"I wasn't all that vulgar!" Lynn protested. "But Alison dear, aren't they 
simply gorgeous!" 

"They show up beautifully through these bits of nothing we've got on." The 
older girl traced the weals with an exploring fingertip so that the bearer 
of the livid lines winced and giggled. 

"Make a rude noise at her, Alison, and get a pair of these too. Whoever it 
is that's bought us may want a matching effect." Lynn turned wide eyes. "I'm 
scared. Honest! Aren't you?" 

Alison kissed the impudent lips. "Don't be frightened, Kitten. Someone paid 
a lot of money. They're not going to lead us to the chopping block." 

"Oh, I expect it will be good old bed first!" The bright-eyed youngster 
conceded. "Think darling Eve's getting it now? Fancy whisking her off from 
under our nose like that! I thought these old bearded buffers in a blanket 
went for the young stuff. He should have picked me." 

"Eve's not exactly ancient, y'know." 

"Maybe I'll be next. I 'spose he'll knock us off one at a time. Must be a 
horny character." 

"Darling! You are shockingly vulgar." Alison laughed. "Keep that up and 
you'll look like a zebra. Chances are he's reading Eve the Koran. Or it may 
not be a he at all. Could be a she." 

"Eve's still got the hots for that suave super sheik Rasuli." Lynn glowed 
romantically. "I could do with a bit of that myself... " In a sudden access 
of dolor she turned imploringly to the other near-naked girl. "We're never 
going to get free, are we! We'll never see the U.S.A. again. All it's going 
to be is chains and whips and prisons or some old bastard pawing us... " She 
shook herself angrily. Her eyes sought Alison's. Rhetorically she asked the 
question that filled both their minds: "I wonder what's happening to 
Eve...!" 

To Eve it was as though time had stopped when she had last beheld him. 
Transfixed by wonder and the turbulence of her emotions she was oblivious of 
Ayesha's quiet withdrawal and the closing of the door. Had there been a 
thousand present she would have been utterly alone with this man. What she 
did was without volition, utterly natural. She could have done naught else. 
Sinking to her knees before him she clasped his hand and kissed it, again 
and again. 

"Master." In the single word she had given herself completely. 

They held the tableau as the seconds went by. For each the moment was too 
beautiful to surrender. When he raised her to her feet her eyes were 
shining, her lips crimson and ready for his. 

It was not until the dinner was well underway that Rasuli mentioned Ismaul. 
"I did not know you were there. Can you believe that?" 

"Yes, Master." 

"Years ago I gave control of the place to Rahbinda. It pleased her to wield 
such power. I have known what goes on there... " He shrugged. "But one 
cannot be forever apologizing for customs that were ancient before one was 
born." 

"Mrs. Cohen is powerful, Master?" 

"Yes. She and I work in different spheres. Jedrah is sadly torn... " 

He sighed. "I will not bore you. There are factions and the fomenting of 
discontent. She and I do what we can in our different ways. There are the 
Guerrillas. Sometimes we have mutual interests. They told me of the auction. 
Knowing you to be of Ismaul they wondered... I am glad they did. And then 
there is the government. Forever on the verge. Forever pulling back from the 
abyss. Dominating everything is the oil. The oil makes puppets of us all." 

"Master, forgive me. What was my price?" 

Rasuli laughed in such a way that Eve laughed too. 

"You are female. Even though nations fall you are curious of the value 
someone placed upon you." 

She looked at him roguishly. "Yes, Master. I am curious. If I have 
transgressed you will whip me. I know." 

"Oh, I will whip you! Often! But not tonight." His eyes, too, were glowing. 
"You cost me two hundred and twenty-six thousand of your American dollars." 

"Oh no!" Her exclamation was consternation, awe and worship. 

"For the child one hundred and ninety. For the other girl one hundred and 
ten." 

"Over half a million...?" She saw him as a god. 

He made an expressive, gesture of half-humorous deprecation. "The oil: it 
pays for everything." He grinned happily. "Even you. If the auction had been 
less hasty and better organized you might have gone above a million." 

"Do... do men value us that much?" It was frightening. 

"You are the most costly merchandise in the world. You always have been." He 
shook his head in mock sorrow. "You of the West refuse to recognize that 
women are always bought and sold. You do it your way. We are more honest. 
Females are designed by nature to be slaves. It is their happiest 
condition." 

Eve could not disagree. 

He laughed at her blush. "I tease you," he acknowledged. "But you are a 
slave. Truly! You understand that, don't you?" 

"My feet to be cut off if I run away, Master?" 

"Far worse. You would be encouraged to run!" 

They savored their empathy. 

"And Lynn, Master. What will you do with her?" 

"She is yours. I give her to you. I cannot afford her. She would cost me a 
fortune in whips." 

She looked at him in wonder. "You mean it, don't you? Lynn is mine?" 

"The perfect plaything. I will even give you a silver cage to keep her in." 

"Can a slave girl own a slave girl, Master?" 

"You shall have a parchment, and a silver-handled whip which shall have 
engraved upon it the words: 'For Lynn with love'." 

"Within your house." 

"You can give her all the love she needs. She can sharpen her wits on me 
when I am here. She will be happy." 

"Beyond her dreams... " 

"Come. Let us be happy too." 

She followed him into the other room. Three paces behind, as is meet for a 
slave girl to follow her Master. 

The explosion blasted Eve from sleep into a world gone mad. It shook the 
house, the cries and gunshots made a fitting accompaniment. Rasuli leaped 
from the bed, thrust himself into a single garment, clutched a revolver from 
a drawer, shouted at her the brief command: "Stay here." Then was gone. 

How could she obey! The sounds of battle told her that this room was 
un-likely to remain inviolate. The House was attacked. Miserably and 
furiously she looked down at her chained feet. The rivet heads were as 
implacable as ever. The metal bands were a part of her, or she a part of 
them. She longed to follow her Master. She belonged with him. She knew with 
certainty that wherever Rasuli went she would wish to go. She damned her 
fetters. But they had become a fact of life. She would walk into the fray 
instead of run. Hastily she slipped into the fragile garments of which she 
had been so proud... 

On the landing the smell of powder was strong. There was smoke. The noise 
was chaotic. Halfway down the huge staircase she came within view of the 
Great Hall. It was full of men. Almost all of them in uniform... soldiers! 
Here and there bodies lay, some in uniform, some nondescript, servants, 
guerrillas! Her eyes searched wildly and found what they sought. The body of 
Rasuli Khan lay sprawled on the heavy carpet. Beneath his head was blood... 
Frantically Eve navigated the remaining stairs. Before she had reached the 
last one she had been seen. Men stared at her, mouths agape. There were 
cries and orders barked crisply. Striding to the limit of her shackles Eve 
dived for the lifeless body of the man who, an hour before, had held her in 
his arms. Suddenly vision was gone. A curtain enveloped her from head to 
waist. It was knotted and tied. Hands grasped and lifted her. The shouted 
commands bit into the turmoil. She was carried from Rasuli's house. 

* * * 

Variations on an Arabian theme! Eve wryly coined the sentence. It fitted. A 
sizable tent instead of a small office. A folding table instead of a desk. 
No handcuffs, instead her hands were tied together behind the tent pole 
against which she stood. Her feet still bore their chains. She was once more 
naked. The lovely flimsy things of Rasuli's House had not withstood the 
rough ungentle hands that had placed her as she was. The one constant was 
the man. 

There had been so many of them that the bronze faces and the nondescript 
garb merged. Eve's first impression was of Semitic features, eyes in which 
there was a glint of humour, a not unattractive face. He was not old. His 
words shattered her. 

"You're the prize in the Cracker-Jack, Honey. It's been a damn good day." 
The voice was pure U.S.A. 

He enjoyed her astonishment. "Got an uncle runs a dry cleaning business in 
New Jersey. Spent half my life over there. The lingo's worth a fortune in 
business." 

"But aren't you in the army?" Eve searched for her bearings. 

"Damn good!" He approved. "None of this 'save me' and 'wait till I call the 
cops' nonsense." He laughed outright. "Bet you've been kidnapped and traded 
around more than once, eh?" 

"Yes," Eve admitted carefully. She pulled at her bound hands. "Am I some 
sort of prisoner now?" 

"Might as well call it that," he nodded. "Yes. I'm in the army. I'm a 
captain. Name's Jethro. Leastways that's the one I use." He winked as though 
they shared a secret. "I'm betting, honey, that you're on a little vacation 
from one of Jedrah's fun spots, place called Ismaul?" 

Eve's heart sank. She was indeed a prisoner. She would be locked back in her 
cell wearing the same chains as when she left it. "Must you take me back 
there?" she asked without hysteria. 

"Where else, honey!" His eyes twinkled. "But not right now." 

She was almost indifferent to the implication. She was a spoil of war. He 
would use her before he sent her back to prison. What did it matter! If it 
was not him it would be some other. 

He read her thought. Shaking an admonitory finger he chuckled. "Won't 
promise I won't, honey. Nice idea. I'd rate you as special. But business 
before pleasure... and don't ask questions!" 

"There were two other girls...?" She had to know. 

"Actually three." His eyes glinted at her. "You forgot the one with the 
whip. Picked her up too. Grade 'A'. Don't worry. We've got 'em safe." He 
raised a quizzical eyebrow. "All lesbians, I suppose?" 

"Does it matter? We have all the equipment you need," Eve said 
dispassionately. 

"That tongue of yours ever get you whipped? We do use 'em, y'know." 

"Surely my clothes don't cover the marks." Her voice was acid. "The answer 
is yes. Now I suppose you'll do it too. I'm surprised a whip is not Jedrah's 
national emblem." 

"You're not frightened. Why?" 

She shrugged her bound shoulders. "I suppose fear is like anything else, you 
can wear it out." 

Jethro saw the tears in her eyes. "Ismaul that bad?" 

Eve flicked the salty drops from her lashes. "It's a cruel place. I have to 
stay there five years." She gave him a direct look. "Must I be tied like 
this? I can't run away. I won't try." 

They were interrupted. Eve placed him as a non-com. His face was similar to 
Jethro's, but somewhat less trustworthy. There was a rapid fire of speech. 
Eve's hands were untied from behind the pole and retied behind her back. Her 
question had been answered. 

Captain Jethro patted her shoulder. "Sorry to lose you, honey, and I mean 
it! But Sergeant Franji's got a mission for you." Again the wink of 
complicity. "I'll get to fuck you yet." 

"Do you have to use that word?" 

"Wasn't me, honey. Picked it up from that little girl of yours. Real cute 
kid." 

"We go," said Sergeant Franji. 

Eve went. At the tent flap she turned. The Captain raised his hand in salute 
and gave his broadest wink. "Be seeing ya, honey." She could almost believe 
he meant it. 

"Come quick," said Sergeant Franji. 

The captive girl's chains proclaimed her speed. She blinked in the sudden 
sunlight. Then gasped at what she saw. 

Lynn, Alison and Ayesha stood in a row. The hands of each were bound behind 
her back as were her own. Each wore a metal collar, from it they were linked 
together by a chain. In moments an iron circlet was snug around Eve's neck. 
The long chain joined her to the coffle. As usual, escape would be no more 
than a pleasant dream. The four naked girls grinned at each other in 
commiseration. "We ride," said Sergeant Franji. 

It was a Land Rover with a tarp to keep the sun at bay. The girls were 
lifted into it with due regard to the limitations of their tether. Often a 
girl must lean herself this way or that to provide slack for the movement of 
her neighbor. They shrugged apologetically when they jerked. 

"Socially we're on the skids," Lynn mourned. 

"Ismaul, here we come!" Eve declared bitterly. 

"I wouldn't bet on it," Ayesha warned soberly. "I speak Jedrah. There's 
dirty work afoot." 

They looked at her askance. 

The truck jerked into motion in a shower of sand. 

The unnamed town was the usual gash of tired green in the desert sun 
surrounded by baked square and oblong boxes spilled indiscriminately by 
their builder's hands. The Land Rover reversed up to the back entrance of 
one of the larger ones and the chained girls were encouraged to alight. "We 
here," said Sergeant Franji affably. 

Like many, the house of Madam Mushad belied its plain exterior. Inside was 
luxury and comfort, and the evidence of wealth. The slave coffle was led to 
the patio in which their hostess sat. They were placed in line to the full 
extent of their tether. They faced a throne. "Tits out," Sergeant Franji 
ordered without humour. 

It truly appeared to be a throne. In it sat what can best be described as a 
fat lady of uncertain age. She was simply fat. It was her only attribute. 
Words passed. Ayesha tensed. "The bastard's selling us," she breathed in a 
bitter whisper. 

Madam Mushad heaved herself out of her throne. She seemed to resent the 
necessity. But she had no intention of being bilked. Her digital examination 
of the merchandise was shamingly complete. "I spik Eengleesh," she warned. 
"No jokes on cunts and arseholes." 

"Polite lady," explained Sergeant Franji. 

"You good with licking cunts?" their prospective owner inquired. 

Ayesha disposed of the question for them in a blast of Jedrah. Madam Mushad 
appeared gratified. She returned to her chair. The bargaining began. "We're 
not even fetching much money," Ayesha whispered disgustedly. 

Banknotes changed hands. Sergeant Franji, no doubt feeling conscious of 
being a part of an occasion, came smartly to attention and saluted the line 
of four. The girls stuck out their tits as though in commendation. With 
military precision he turned and did the same for the fat woman in the 
chair. She inclined her head as though still thinking of the money. A moment 
later he was gone. "Sold!" Lynn tittered. 

Madam Mushad fixed the teenager with a baleful eye. "You smartass!" Her 
English appeared to be liberally endowed with colloquialisms. "Get whip." 
Her sharp eye flickered over her new property and came to rest on Ayesha. 
"You got whip. I know why." She slipped into a stream of Jedrah. 

Ayesha's translation was diplomatic. "Madam Mushad knows something of my 
past," she explained. "She has appointed me Whip Mistress over the rest of 
you." 

There was an awkward silence. 

"Whip her." Madam Mushad pointed a fat finger at Lynn." 

An obviously distressed Ayesha tried some more Jedrah. At the end of it 
Madam Mushad impatiently clapped her hands. 

The black man was immense. Clad only in loincloth and sandals his body 
shone. He beamed and bowed. More Jedrah flowed. His muscles rippled. 

Ayesha translated what all had divined. "I can either take the job and do it 
right or Bonzo here takes over and beats hell out of all four of us." 

"Name not Bonzo," said the colored gentleman proudly. "Name Mustapha." 

"Mustapha effendi is very competent with a whip," Ayesha explained without 
enthusiasm. 

"Cut little arses. Make jump," Mustapha agreed. 

"I'll bend over for you, darling," Lynn said unhappily, but with decision. 

"We all will," Eve sought to ease Ayesha's dilemma. 

Madam Mushad nodded imperiously. Mustapha bowed and withdrew, obviously 
dejected. 

"Whip small bitch now," Madam commanded comfortably. 

Throughout the turmoil of the day and night Ayesha's badge of office in 
Rasuli's house had remained fastened to her belt. The cruel wicked whip 
feared by all. Its owner looked down at it without affection and motioned 
with her bound hands. 

Madam Mushad sighed. Slave ownership imposed cruel burdens of effort. She 
heaved herself to her feet and untied two pairs of hands. "You hold hands 
behind neck," she told the quaking Lynn curtly. 

The four naked maidens looked at each other in dismay. One of them was to be 
whipped. Ayesha was at the end of the tether, but Lynn was not. They did the 
best they could within their close captivity. The chain that linked them was 
stretched taut. The girl to be punished stood bravely erect, hands clasped 
behind her neck. She was obviously very frightened. Ayesha's whip drew 
blood. 

In a flood of dialect the Whip Mistress explained their fear. 

"No cut skin," Madam Mushad conceded. "Just hurt." 

To Eve and Alison, Lynn's whipping was almost as agonizing as to the victim 
herself. The tether held them close so that they shared every gasp and 
impact, every moan and cry. Ayesha applied the thong with as little force as 
she dared, but the weals it left were vivid. Madam Mushad was pleased. She 
stopped the penalty at the sixth stroke. "Plenty more another time," she 
promised generously. 

The four girls fell back into line. They knew not what else to do. The 
collars and chain imposed a mute compulsion. They looked at their 
proprietress expectantly. Madam Mushad surveyed her purchase with 
satisfaction. She clapped her hands. 

The room to which Mustapha escorted them was large and cheerful enough. It 
had the anomaly of a modern bathroom and a quite handsome dresser with a 
fine array of cosmetics which Lynn eyed with suspicion. "Bet you we're in 
the local cat house," she said dubiously. 

"No cats," Mustapha proclaimed proudly. "Girls!" 

He took the cords from the wrists of Alison and Eve and waved in lordly 
fashion at the dresser and the bathroom. "Make beautiful. Madam want 
pretty." 

"Do we rent by the hour?" Lynn asked, rubbing her striped bottom. 

"No rent. Sell! Big price or whip hard." 

Ayesha tried some Jedrah. "The Madam's a genuine slave trader," she told her 
companions. "We are merchandise, and we have to look as though we are just 
off the shelf at all times in case a prospective purchaser drops in." 

Eve fingered her collar. "Could we get this off, please?" she appealed. 

Mustapha grinned hugely. "No come off. Stay on." 

"But if we're chained together how can we-" 

"You manage." He laughed out a flood of Jedrah. 

"He says if we have any doubts about how easy it is to manage things chained 
together like this we can all lay down on our backs and he'll provide stud 
services for the lot of us just as we are." 

"He's boasting," Lynn said, her voice uncertain. 

"I wouldn't bet on it," Ayesha warned. She broke once more into his speech. 
"He says we have to be chained. If it's not our necks it would have to be 
hands and feet. So, except for sitting on the John, this is best." She 
reverted to a lengthy exchange in Mustapha's tongue, after which he gave 
them all his whitest smile. His slamming of the door and shooting of the 
bolts combined with the heavy bars across the windows told them very clearly 
that, for the time being, they were going nowhere. 

Mustapha's prediction proved surprisingly correct: they managed. They 
managed quite well, even to the point of squeezing all together into the 
sizable bath so that for a little while they forgot their plight in an orgy 
of splashes and giggles. They soon fell into a graceful adaptation to their 
chain and the motions each imposed on it. "We'll come to like the damn 
thing," Alison prophesied. "You watch. When they take it off we'll miss it." 

They used the mirror and the dresser two at a time. The non-users kneeling 
submissively beside the girl to whom they were chained. Sleeping would 
present no problem. It would be on the floor amongst the many rugs provided. 

"You're probably curious about me?" Ayesha lifted an amused eyebrow at her 
chainmates. Their tasks of beautification completed they lounged in their 
own most comforting postures on the rugs, the shining links connecting their 
necks no more than an erotic enhancement of their loveliness. 

"You answered an ad in the Times?" Lynn prompted. 

Ayesha laughed ruefully. "Almost as naive," she admitted. "I'm English. My 
real name's Jane, good old plain Jane. I was a schoolteacher in Lincoln. You 
know the drill, lovely bright ideas about the wonderful new world of Africa. 
So I saved up my money and bought a Cook's Tour of North Africa. All 
alone... " She laughed in retrospect. "It's bloody wonderful how easy it is 
for them. I was having a marvelous exploration of the shops and stalls in 
the market when a chap offered a rug for just a few pennies. I followed him 
inside to see the rest. They bunged a sack over my head and tied my hands 
and that was that. It's damn surprising there isn't more of it. We are 
immensely valuable and all they have to do is pluck us like apples from a 
tree." 

"Was it Rasuli?" Eve was concerned. 

The storyteller chuckled. "Heavens no! I ended up in his House as you found 
me. But there were stops along the way. All painful for me and expensive for 
the chaps whose hospitality I was forced to enjoy... if that's the word!" 
She mused for a moment. "I suppose it's much the same story with all us 
girls. We get whipped and whipped. I was whipped for almost everything I 
did." She shrugged deprecatingly. "Oh sure, most of all I did was forbidden. 
But it takes so damn long to get used to the idea that you're not you 
anymore. You hold onto the silly idea that your breasts and your vagina are 
your own property, but they're not! They belong to the chap who bought you, 
along with all your other assorted bits and pieces. I was forever getting 
whipped because I slapped his hands away or used my own to cover my pubic 
hair." 

Ayesha grinned wryly. "But finally, of course, the whip beats you. There 
comes the day when all you are concerned with is avoiding it. All you want 
to do is what you're told, to be a good little girl and frightfully grateful 
for male favours. You don't realize it at the time, but that's when your 
real slavery begins. When all you want to do is be obedient you're a slave. 
Took me about two masters to reach that point. There were so many whip marks 
on me I was scared they'd never go away. I didn't want anymore. I got 'em, 
but not from want of trying not to." She surveyed her fellow captives sadly. 
"The whip's awful, isn't it? It curls you up, makes you sick inside, you 
can't believe it's true. It makes you feel a hundred times a girl. Half the 
time you know you're only being whipped because you're female and they love 
to watch you squirm and hear you howl." 

"Rasuli wasn't like that," Eve affirmed. 

"He really owned you!" Ayesha laughed. "No, Rasuli wasn't like that. He 
never fell in love with me the way he did you. But he treated me like a 
princess-at least he made me feel like one! Oh, he whipped me too. But I 
never minded much with him... The afterwards made it seem worthwhile. And he 
gave me a real position in his House. I was lucky... " 

Ayesha picked up the chain that ran from her collar to the girl beside her. 
She clinked it dejectedly. "Now look at me! Back to square one. There won't 
be any Rasuli's coming to this hole in the desert looking for bargains in 
slave girls... " She pondered. "Y'know, there was one other chap that bought 
me who I sort of regretted. He wasn't what you'd call kind. But he had a 
sense of humour. A big, boisterous, laughing man, a bit on the fat side but 
not too much. I never did know what he was. They are such a mixed-up lot 
racially here that I don't think they know themselves. Quite a lot of white 
blood has got filtered into the stream. This chap's name was Mullah. 

"We never do have a chance to escape, do we! We kid ourselves, and in the 
first year or two it's in our mind all the time. We watch every chance. 
That's another facet of being a slave: it's when we stop looking and know we 
never will be free of a chain or a lock or a bit of cord. But when Mullah 
owned me I actually escaped." She laughed derisively. "It was the biggest 
swindle ever. I had a little room where I slept on the floor on a rug. I was 
chained there every night with a great big chain bolted to the floor and a 
shackle round my ankle that weighed about five pounds. With that on I was so 
safe they never bothered with the door. One night when I gave my chain one 
last disgusted kick that damn shackle opened and fell to the floor. I was a 
free girl!" 

Ayesha grinned at their eager faces. "I expect you're a jump ahead of me. 
But anyway, I was so damn happy I didn't stop to think. It was a wonderful 
feeling. I knew the house well enough that creeping out of it unseen 
shouldn't be difficult. It was in a fair-sized community, and because Mullah 
had a lot of visitors who often got a look at me I'd been allowed to wear a 
bit of something round my hips. So I supplemented that with a towel and set 
off on The Great Escape. I don't think there's been a feeling before or 
since as fearful and exquisite as when I slipped out the front door and into 
the street. 

"It was late. There weren't many people around. What I needed was a white 
man or a policeman. Imagine my joy when a uniform came striding round the 
corner almost into my arms. I had a good look at him first. But he was the 
real thing. I practically jumped on the poor fellow, babbling out my 
troubles sixteen to the dozen." Ayesha laughed bitterly. "He didn't have a 
word of English. Just stood and grinned and shook his head. When I was about 
frantic he took me by the arm in a grip I couldn't break and led me down the 
street. We were practically on the doorstep before I realized where he was 
taking me. I fought, I kicked, I screamed. Mullah must have been watching. 
He opened the door wide and came to help. Not me, but the cop. They were 
both roaring with laughter as they dragged me inside and dumped me on the 
living-room floor. That damn policeman took his handcuffs and cuffed my 
right wrist to my left ankle so all I could do was sit on the rug and howl. 

"I've never seen two happier men. They sat down with a drink apiece and 
simply admired me and the tantrum I was throwing. Not that I could do much, 
but I did what I could. Mostly tears. They really enjoyed the tears. They 
kept catching each other's eye and going off into great guffaws that made me 
long to kill them. But handcuffed the way I was any move I made turned out 
ridiculous. The whole thing had been staged, of course. It must have been 
one of Mullah's most successful practical jokes. They made an evening of it 
and got quite drunk, with me sprawled on the rug glowering." Ayesha grinned 
at the memory. "I had to be punished: that went without saying. When they 
took me to my room and locked the shackle on my foot, this time to stay, 
Mullah solemnly sentenced me to a hundred lashes for the next day. To be 
administered before the assembled household. I cried myself to sleep. But 
the whipping I actually got was no worse than I'd had often before. In his 
own way, I suppose Mullah wasn't a bad chap." 

"Why did he sell you?" Eve asked curiously. 

"Actually he didn't. He lost me in a card game. But before that happened he 
got one more grand and glorious bit of fun out of me. I could kick myself... 
but I suppose there is a bit of humour in it somewhere. This time I was 
helping in the kitchen. They had leg irons on me, so I was shuffling back 
and forth with a good deal of noise, and when I tripped and fell with a bowl 
of salad the woman in charge-she never had liked me or wanted my 
help-unlocked the shackles, threw them aside and irritably gave me twice as 
much work to do. There were enough women around that escape never entered my 
mind even though I was both free and clothed. 

"When the commotion came out in the street they all went to look. Suddenly I 
had my chance. I slipped out the back door, up an alley and the crowds on a 
busy street. This time I'd do it right. Nothing but a well-dressed white man 
or the American Consul. No seedy-looking cops! There was such a crush of 
people nobody noticed anybody. I was doing fine when the fingers tapped my 
shoulder. The butterflies in my tummy did a somersault. Sure enough it was a 
policeman. But this time a smart bit of work. I was about to make a run for 
it when he spoke in English: 'You have a purse?' " Ayesha giggled. "I 
thought he was asking for a donation. You know, the Camel Corps yearly 
binge. I was groping for words when he put his hand in the pocket of the 
thing I was wearing, and came out with a purse. When he opened it I saw a 
lot of money. Someone had planted it. He had my wrist before I could run. 
First thing I knew I was handcuffed. I could just hear Mullah roaring with 
laughter. But it didn't turn out just that way. 

"The policeman was frightfully polite. He arranged my garment so that the 
shame of the handcuffs weren't noticeable, then guided me off through the 
crowd. But not back to Mullah's. We ended up in a police barracks, a sizable 
place with a court and a judge so that inside half an hour I'd been 
convicted of theft and sentenced to two years in prison. Whenever I 
mentioned the American or British Consul no one seemed to hear. 

"Everything happened so quickly that never managed to keep up. But suddenly 
the atmosphere changed. The upstairs of the barracks was reasonably modern 
and quite tidy. But downstairs where the cells were was something different. 
We went back a century with the first flight, and about five hundred years 
with the second where they took me. In no time at all I was kneeling on a 
bit of mat on a stone floor in a tiny little box of a cell that had only a 
glimmer of daylight from a tiny barred window up by the ceiling, the rest of 
the place must have been underground. I was chained by my neck to a ring in 
the wall. Both the collar and the chain were heavy enough to make wearing 
them pure misery. There was enough chain that I could lay down or walk a 
step or so either way. They took my clothes and tossed me a bit of sacking. 
The Chief of Police then read me a bit of paper and told me how lucky I was 
to get off with only two years and no hard labour. I'd have a wonderful time 
sitting there at the end of my chain without a care in the world. What a 
lucky girl I was! He bowed and left. 

"I wept and wept! I longed with all my heart to be back in Mullah's house. 
Why, oh why, oh why... ! You know what it's like at such times. That awful 
little cell and the beastly heavy collar and chain absolutely demoralized 
me. 

"Good old Mullah played this one for all it was worth. He wrung every ounce 
of drama out of it there was to wring. It was hours before he showed. By 
that time I'd given up all hope and was willing to die. He came in and 
pretended not to know me. He'd just chanced by and stopped for a chat... the 
carney old bastard! 

"He lamented a lost slave girl. An ungrateful female who had spurned the 
love and affection of his house. An abandoned creature of deplorable 
judgment. Could I imagine where such a one might be found! 

"I was in no mood to quibble or worry about pride. I'd have done anything to 
get out of that hole. I abased myself utterly. I'd discovered one thing men 
love. That's to kneel before them and offer yourself in total submission. So 
that's what I did. The chain would not quite let me reach his feet, so I 
couldn't kiss them. 'I'm sorry, Master.' I put my heart and soul into it. 

"Ah! he said, if only his slave had shown such appreciation, such 
willingness to accept her just desserts! That gave me the clue to my next 
humiliation. 'I have been bad, Master. Please whip me." 

"He affected great surprise. What a jewel I was! If only his slave girl had 
possessed such wisdom! I want to go home, Master and be punished. I pleaded. 
The hell of it was I meant every word. That chain and that cell had broken 
me. 

"It went on and on until he tired of that sequence and moved on to the next. 
It appeared I had caused much trouble to several quite noble souls. The 
policeman, the chief and the judge. The least I could do was make amends... 

"I suppose, once, I'd have raved and fought and been quite genuinely 
appalled. But that was past. I'd have accepted every rampant cock in the 
place if it would have got me out of there. I expressed my gratitude for the 
honour about to be done me. I even lay on my back and opened my legs. A bit 
prematurely as it turned out. My first visitor, the judge, preferred a blow 
job. Well, I got him looked after and showered him with thanks for the 
privilege he had bestowed on a quite unworthy wench. Then got ready for the 
next. I arranged myself so the first and only thing he'd see when he came in 
was my anxious little cunt pleading for his beneficence. But, once again, my 
good intentions were a bit astray. This chap, the chief, wanted his reward 
up my behind. So I obediently bent over. I could almost hear Mullah hasping 
with laughter somewhere outside the door. 

"I suppose you've all had it up there too. I wasn't all that experienced. 
Fortunately a girl doesn't have to do much except keep still and make 
appropriate sounds. I managed the first and had no trouble with the second. 
Then I thanked the chief for a truly memorable experience and waited for the 
cop standing up. He promptly made me lay down and did the job normally three 
quite separate times. He even made me climax twice. It was about the only 
bright spot in the day. My thanks, on bended knees, was almost sincere. 

"It was a gorgeous feeling when the key turned and that bloody awful collar 
fell away from my neck. I actually did bend and grasp Mullah's legs and kiss 
his feet. That's how far gone I was. Then I had to watch while he bargained 
for a pair of handcuffs. I never did know if he got a bargain or not. But 
anyway my wrists were locked tight behind my back and I was respectably 
draped in my discarded clothes. My Master, the man who owned me totally, led 
me back to his house and to my punishment. 

"That walk was bad. I couldn't fight, not handcuffed. But it was a fair 
distance. Surely, surely! some friendly face would show. Someone to whom I 
could appeal. But none did. At the last moment I considered flight. If I 
could break away I could outrun my weighty owner. But I rejected the idea. 
That little cell was still potent in my mind. I was in enough trouble 
already. I just didn't have the courage to face anymore... Remember what I 
told you about slavery! Right then I was a naughty slave girl being led back 
to her just desserts. I was actually thankful... " 

Ayesha shook her head sadly. "This time Mullah was not forgiving. I'd tried 
to escape twice. True, he had engineered the whole charade, but still I had 
actually tried. I had shown intent. So I had to be taught a lesson. I had to 
be made an example. I was not his only slave girl... 

"The rotten bastard hung me up by my thumbs. Don't know if you've had that 
one or not. You read about it in books. But it's not something you believe. 
It's too... what! Too bloody exotic! Too damn awful. But it's real. They do 
it to a girl. Mullah did it to me. What's more he hung me in the kitchen. 
That's where I escaped from. So that was where I should suffer. Of course, 
too, I'd be in plain and intimate view of all the female dependents: a 
lesson to all... 

"The hooks were put into the corner of the ceiling where I'd be out of the 
way but still in plain view. Then there was the trapeze effect and a noose 
of soft leather round each of my thumbs. I watched my hands going up and up. 
I didn't really believe what was happening until my toes left the floor. 
Even then it just didn't seem possible that this was happening to me. The 
agony and the strain on every inch of me was just not true. 

"They pulled me up until my fingers were close to the ceiling. Then snubbed 
me there. The wives and the staff and the slaves would have a lovely view of 
naked me hanging there by my thumbs because I'd been a bad girl. It was a 
wonderful object lesson. I had become a subject of much interest to all. 

"I hung. That was all I did. It hurt too much to struggle or move. I 
drooped. But after the lordly males had departed I made all sorts of 
shameful noises and shed floods of tears. I did not exhibit a particle of 
Nordic superiority. Hitler would have been disgusted with my lack of 
stoicism. I just didn't have any. I pleaded. I begged. The females busy in 
the kitchen all laughed and enjoyed my misery to the fullest. I'm sure they 
thought I deserved every minute of it. I suppose, by their way of thinking, 
I did. The trouble was that it wasn't minutes. It was hours. For all I knew 
it might be days. 

"I never did know how long I hung there. Sometime in the night I lost 
consciousness. When I woke up I was chained by my ankle in my room. That was 
that. But it was months before my thumbs felt right again. Escape was 
something I didn't dare think about after that." 

Ayesha looked from one to the other of her chainmates. She shrugged. 
"Nothing out of the way, I suppose. Just a slave girl. You could tell the 
same. Our bodies used. Our skins marked by whips. That's about it. All very 
simple really. Sort of basic." She laughed bitterly. "I often think of that 
courting business when we were in our teens. Remember those nights in the 
car and in the movies and all those hot hands. All that absurd curiosity 
about our breasts and our slits! Those poor immature male creatures with 
their leaking cocks wanted to whip us. But they didn't even know it. If they 
got their poor silly penis into our vagina they spilled their beans about 
the second stroke, and then couldn't get us home fast enough. Just imagine 
the glory they would have known if they could have hung us up naked and 
whipped us so we made all the sounds their poor overtaxed cocks couldn't 
invoke." 

She mused thoughtfully. "Since I've been a slave, and that's a few years 
now, I've had to recognize that these chaps over here have the right idea. 
They master us. If they can do it then it makes it real. They don't paw us 
in the back of a car and take us home with their pants wet and ours sopping. 
They fuck us honestly. If we demur they whip us. When they whip us we know 
what we must do and we do it. Often we find glory in it. More glory than the 
suburbanites ever find." She looked at her companions of the coffle 
appealingly. "Am I just a whipped bitch, or is there a truth in there 
somewhere?" 

The chained girls cast their minds back into that other world of pretence 
and prurience. How sad it had been! They felt no wish to return to the 
fruitless gropings for something that was not there. Eve laughed in 
unaffected amusement at a mental picture. "What a thing for the real estate 
boys." She chuckled. "A whipping room in every home. The rings, the pulleys, 
the stocks and the post! Sales would double. I wonder how many girls would 
be willing to admit...!" 

"That's the trouble," Alison said quietly. "We won't admit. Right now if 
some halfway decent accountant offered me marriage and the whip I'd fall 
into his arms. But only because I'm a slave. Once I'd have scorned his 
proposal. I'd have been wholly concerned about an Aubusson rug for the 
living room so as to make the folks next door jealous. When he fucked me on 
the delivery night I'd have moaned a couple of times to show how pleased I 
was with something he'd be paying on for the next thirty-six months. I hate 
to admit it, but these chaps here have the right idea. A girl shouldn't be 
forever making decisions. The male should make the ones that matter." 

"Which reminds me," Ayesha interjected. "I'm supposed to tell you that when 
any of us get called out for a possible sale we are supposed to do our best 
to sell ourselves. Put on a good act, I suppose. If we foul the thing up we 
get whipped. In other words, sell yourself or suffer. Thought I'd better 
pass it on... " 

Eve was the first. Escorted to the place of audience by Mustapha she 
wondered if it was an honour. She had been unlocked from the coffle and had 
her wrists handcuffed behind her back and now was being taken to be viewed. 
How could a girl tell! Perhaps the chap had asked for an economy model! 

Mustapha stood to one side. Eve was the centre of interest. Madam Mushad sat 
regally, secure in title. The buyer, ill at ease and at a disadvantage, 
gaped at beauty. Jedrah flowed. 

"He wants free fuck," Mustapha informed Eve with contempt. 

Somewhat later the bulletin was conveyed: "He wants free to whip your arse." 
Evidently the North African buyer of slave girls was a demanding type that 
would have utterly dismayed Sears Roebuck. Eve felt lost in this welter of 
interest. The flow of Jedrah intensified. "Now he want you suck his cock," 
Mustapha interpreted. "He very much tightwad." 

Eve was taken back and chained to the coffle. She gathered she had failed. 
She wondered when she would be whipped. Alison was led forth, but soon 
returned. Each of the four was rejected. Mustapha reassured them. "No whip. 
No your fault. All cock, no cash. Madam tell where to go." 

It took a couple of days to make The Great Sale. They were happy days. The 
slave girls gloried in each other and fed upon ambrosia. Their necks 
remained linked by the chain. But they had ceased to notice it. The four 
were as one in all ways. They were happy. 

This time the purchaser was a man of substance. All four were led forth for 
his approval. Either he possessed exceptional vigour or he simply enjoyed 
feminine company. Either way Madam Mushad stood to profit. 

"Stretch feet. Show cunts," the Madam ordered. 

They obeyed. Their pubic hair was no longer shy. 

"Stick out tits!" 

They thrust their breasts into prominence. Lynn tickled her nipples to gain 
maximum effect. "Turn arseholes." This one was more difficult. It required 
an almost military maneuver to bring the four rumps in line. But they 
managed it. Obediently they bent over. 

Each was soundly goosed. An exploring finger found its way between their 
legs and entered their frontal orifice. They made suitable sounds... 

"Turn and face." 

They managed it with a tugging at their necks. 

They stood, attentive but ignored. Much Jedrah flowed. In five minutes of 
intensive haggling they were sold. 

"Pretty fair price," Ayesha whispered. "He's taking the lot." 

Madam Mushad beamed. Her faith in the Tightness of things was restored. 

"Big feast," Mustapha proclaimed portentously. 

"She's giving him dinner," Ayesha translated. "We're sort of a backdrop. He 
can eye us as he chews. Maybe we get the bones." 

Mustapha returned them to their room. "Get cunts ready for big fuck," he 
exulted. "Much fine price. Must have fine stiff cock." 

"At least we are all being sold together," Eve said thankfully. 

"Think he'll fuck us all the first night?" asked Lynn. "Quiet, child," 
Ayesha reproved. "You need the whip hourly." 

They were very lovely as they stood before the banquet table. They had 
worked before the big mirror. Worked because they had no wish to be whipped 
and because they had pride. They knew they were beautiful. Let he who had 
bought them know it too. A girl's beauty should not increase her stripes. 
Their concern was not with their new owner, but with his whip. All four of 
them passionately wanted no cut of the thing. 

"Tits well out," Madam Mushad ordered complacently. 

They stuck our their breasts. 

"Spread feet. Show cunts." The Madam must indeed be well satisfied with 
their price. 

They spread their legs and thrust their pubic hair into prominence. They 
were sex, tumescent and triumphant. 

Their new owner was a scrawny little man who eyed his purchase as though 
doubting his own temerity. His name was Aboud. He had little to say, and 
allowed his hostess to overwhelm him with assurances of his good fortune. 

"Bet he's got a wife and six kids," Lynn whispered. 

"Young one smartass," the Madam advised Mr. Aboud. "Needs much whip." 

Mr. Aboud nodded absently. Eve suspected he was on the verge of asking for 
his money back. The sight of so much young and eager female flesh might well 
have daunted more robust men. Mustapha supplied the answer. "Fuck one a day. 
On fifth day sell quick. Much profit." 

The chained slave girls stood, submissive and erotic. Mr. Aboud eyed them 
from time to time and masticated thoughtfully. Madam Mushad kept up a bright 
flow of chatter designed to divert her guest's mind from thoughts of a 
refund. Mustapha beamed on all. 

The slamming open of a door. The clatter and thud of heavy boots. A woman's 
cry of alarm, stilled by harsh male voices. All present froze. 

Captain Jethro stalked grandly into the room. 

He was accompanied by four armed soldiers who eyed the slave girls with more 
appreciation than their owner had evinced. 

"You are all under arrest," the Captain proclaimed. He made the announcement 
in both Jedrah and English. Then saluted smartly and winked at Eve. He 
frowned sternly on Madam Mushad and a cowering Mr. Aboud. "You are 
harbouring escaped convicts from the prison of Ismaul. You are also 
trafficking in female flesh," he added piously whilst giving the female 
flesh in question his close attention. 

Jedrah erupted in violent explosions from Madam Mushad. Even Mr. Aboud 
contrived some lesser detonations. Mustapha lost his smile. Captain Jethro 
produced fine official documents and plunked them on the table. Two of the 
soldiers handcuffed the naked girl's hands behind their backs and flanked 
them as an escort. 

The military precision was invincible. 

Little by little indignation died. It was replaced by glowering eyes, 
heaving breasts and perspiration. 

Captain Jethro's voice took on a softer tone. It became gently persuasive. 
The Madam and her erstwhile customer listened with emotions undoubtedly 
violent but mixed. They looked at each other in resignation as they reached 
into their clothing and produced paper currency in sizable wads. The captain 
accepted it with the air of a man bestowing a considerable favour. Once more 
he winked at Eve. It was as though he saw her as a kindred rogue. He saluted 
the deflated slave traders smartly. The soldiers marched their coffle of 
captives to the truck. They were lifted aboard. The soldiers joined them. 
The truck roared away across the sand. 

* * * 

"Don't suppose you're in any great rush to get back to Ismaul?" Captain 
Jethro grinned companionably at Eve over his glass. "You'll like this: 
Southern Comfort and ginger ale. Down it and have another." His wink was 
lecherous. 

It was nice to be just handcuffed and off the coffle. Eve held her cool 
glass in her linked hands and smiled back. The Captain had a way with him. 
"Do we have to go back there at all?" she asked hopefully. 

"'Fraid so. I've got a pretty good thing going here. Can't risk losing it. 
Besides, there's a reward." 

The victim of avarice sighed. She supposed she should be thankful for this 
absurd interlude. There was always a chance... 

"But if you held us and sold and repossessed us once a week that would be 
better than any reward," she wheedled. 

"Not all that many Madam Mushads," he pointed out reasonably. "And anyway, I 
do have other irons in the fire here and there." He waved his hand airily. 
"Damn comfortable one way and another." 

Eve let her eye wander round the luxurious apartment that was the upper 
floor of the small military unit. "It's a lot nicer than that cell you have 
the four of us chained in," she conceded. 

"Not too crowded, eh?" He sounded anxious. "You'll spend the night with me 
in turns. Thought you'd sooner be all together. That's our biggest cell. If 
you'd sooner have cells to yourselves I can manage it." 

"A small extra charge?" she twinkled at him. 

"Never sneer at profit," Captain Jethro proclaimed. "Matter of fact, there's 
a small enterprise brewing I'd like your help on." 

"You'd whip me if I refused?" She was enjoying his ingenuousness. 

"Of course, honey. And I mean it! So behave." 

He did mean it. Beneath his insouciance was steel. But in the meantime, by 
Jedrah standards, he was being kind to her. 

"Why did you pick me for this delightful talk?" Her curiosity was genuine. 

"Two reasons," he admitted slowly. "Hey, drink up! You may need it. First of 
all is you're a damn beautiful girl. You're the kind that gets under a man's 
skin. You're special! Second is those chains on your ankles. They're Ismaul 
chains. I know. If they put those chains on a girl in Ismaul it's because 
she isn't one of the herd. She is something or she's done something that 
sets her apart. Don't suppose you see 'em that way, but they're really a 
tribute. As I said before, you're special. And I'm not going to take those 
chains off you either." 

"I don't mind. They're a part of me now. Mostly I forget I have them on." 
There was understanding in the glance they exchanged as she accepted her 
refill. Her handcuffs tinkled against the glass. "What is it you want me to 
do?" 

"Dull place this." His eyes sparkled at her. "Needs a bit of entertainment. 
Ever do theatricals?" 

"Real ones? Or do we put on an act with donkeys or dogs?" 

"Oh come now! You underrate us all. But with four girls... Couldn't you hash 
something up?" 

"Porno?" 

"Not really. There's quite a lot of that around this part of the world. 
There's a quality about you... Don't laugh, but I'd hoped for something a 
bit artistic." 

"You'll sell tickets, of course?" 

"And at a damn stiff price," he affirmed. "You'd better be good." 

"Or we get whipped!" she grimaced at him. 

"You're wasted in Ismaul." He examined her admiringly. "Damn pity... " He 
shook his head sadly. "You're worth a fortune. The way you talk about the 
whip and your chains... You're so marvelously adjusted." 

Eve sipped and grinned at him. "Simple really. I've been broken. I have, 
y'know. I'm not acting like a slave this minute, but I am one." 

"Ismaul that bad?" 

She nodded somberly, her eyes suddenly piteous. "Don't send me back. Take me 
to an American Consul. I'll get you money, a lot of money. If you take me 
back to Ismaul I'll be punished terribly and I expect my sentence will be 
lengthened, that's what they do to escaped convicts, isn't it!" 

"I won't promise anything, honey. But leave it with me. If it's that bad I 
don't want you back there either." 

"I'll do anything you want... anything! Honest, I will!" 

Captain Jethro smiled thankfully and began to talk. 

It was a sort of assembly hall within the barracks. It was lined with rows 
of chairs. The chairs were filled with men. Men intent and hushed. Men who 
had a stake in something they had paid for. Men who watched a curtained 
stage. 

Captain Jethro was a resourceful man. Whatever had been asked for was 
provided. He himself had done the lights. They were almost professional. The 
black velvet was the girl's idea. Where he had acquired such quantities no 
one knew. 

There was the sibilance of tension, of breathing changed as the curtain 
dropped away. 

Four naked girls against velvet black! White girls shimmering in contrast. 
The legs of one are chained. She holds a whip. 

One is younger than her fellows. She sinks upon her knees, pleading. She has 
transgressed and seeks forgiveness. She kisses unyielding feet and looks up 
piteously to unrelenting eyes. One by one they spurn her. She sags, without 
hope. Humbly she kisses the whip and offers her hands that they be bound. 

They circle her wrists with cord. Unseen pulleys lift her outstretched arms. 
Soon her questing toes search vainly for the floor. She hangs suspended. A 
naked white girl, sacrifice of the whip. She moans and tosses her lovely 
head in desolation. 

Two of the nude maidens become acolytes. Each grasp an ankle, step back and 
gently pull. The victim moans in protest as her legs are drawn apart. More 
and more and more! Her pubic hair and that which it conceals is lifted and 
stretched. It becomes a beckoning eye to the roomful of avid men. 

She tries to struggle, but is held. The acolytes split her loins. Satisfied 
they stand, feet braced, a slender ankle held fast against their bellies. 
They know their task. They stand. Each is beautiful. 

She who holds the whip walks, her chains clinking, until she stands to see 
that which the audience has seen. She looks long and deep. Then steps aside 
so that no nuance of agony be lost to the watching eyes and strikes. The 
lash curls across the cunt. There is an undulating cry of anguish. The line 
of scarlet bisects the sex. 

The whip is cast upon the floor. She who held it sinks in worship of her 
work. Then fiercely buries her mouth upon the sweetness within the center of 
the weal and feasts. 

The eyes watch. The deep intent hungry eyes confronted with a beauty they 
had not expected. Participants in a female rite as ancient as woman. Enacted 
in a land where female joy is sin. Their breathing quickens. They behold the 
forbidden. 

There is music. She who is tied and spread plays it with her lips. Who can 
tell whether she moans and cries in pleasure or in pain. 

Who cares! 

She of the hungry mouth performs her task. She has eaten of the forbidden 
fruit and found joy. She has given ecstasy to female flesh stained with 
guilt. Once more she grasps the lovely whip. 

How beautifully they etch upon the whiteness of the skin, those weals of 
scarlet! How punished is the sex that holds its stolen happiness. It pays 
with pain. But is the price too high! 

The young girl's voice keens out her agony. Out in the darkness the men 
lust. Theirs is the greatest agony of all. 

They take their turn. What is done to the first is done to each. Only she of 
the shackles is inviolate. She is a goddess. It is proper. 

But the whip is hungry. The youngest takes it from the loving fingers. The 
acolytes tie the loving hands. They suspend her so that only her chains 
touch the floor. The whip feeds upon her hungrily. The taste of her is 
gorgeous to the thong. 

Her screams are melody. 

* * * 

"Damn near fooled me." Captain Jethro looked at the four slave girls with 
immense approval. Brimming glasses celebrated a smash hit. His apartment had 
never known greater felicity. 

"That red stuff on the whip... " Eve giggled. "We had to scrub each other." 

"Hurt some, I suppose?" It was almost as though he cared. 

"If we never get worse, I'd be happy," Lynn vowed with sincerity. 

"Tickets all sold?" Eve was arch. 

Her answer was a wink. "Pity you girls don't need money," the Captain mused 
thoughtfully. "You damn well earned it." 

"Set us free, please." 

He sighed. "From now on there's a penalty of five strokes for any girl who 
comes up with that bright idea. It embarrasses me. Sit on it, or I'll make 
sure you can't sit at all." 

"Which of us gets to sleep with you tonight?" Lynn's voice was expectant. 

Eve saw it as a time of tantalizingly pleasant frustration. This happy, 
cynical man who held them could so easily set them free. But he would never 
do so. He had no faith in promises of money. Matched against what was within 
his grasp they were too nebulous. Now the plea was forbidden. 

Lynn had already collected five ringing cuts across her bottom. That was 
enough. Captain Jethro meant what he said. They would do his bidding until 
it pleased him to return them to Ismaul. 

But they cherished a ray of hope. It was Ayesha. If she was delivered to 
Ismaul along with them, surely she would be free! The Commandant would have 
no need of her. He could give her aid. She could be with an American Consul 
the following day. If she was free perhaps they could be free too. She was a 
link with a lost world. Just so long as Captain Jethro did not know... ! It 
was easy to guess what would happen to her should he discover her status. 
Ayesha would fetch a very high price... 

"It shouldn't be too difficult a job," Captain Jethro explained blandly. 
"I'll have Franji dress in rags and tatters. He'll make the deal for you 
with Rabbah: sell you for whatever he can get. In a few days we make the 
raid and pick you up." He smiled deprecatingly. "I don't suppose you'll be 
any worse treated with Rabbah than anyone else." 

"If I say no, I'll be whipped?" Eve was weary of antics. 

"Yes, you will. But don't harp on it!" he pleaded testily. "I'll let you in 
on a secret. Nothing I enjoy more than caning a girl's arse. But with you I 
don't want to. Damned odd! I suppose it's because you are such a good... " 

"Slave!" Eve supplied the word bitterly. 

"Well... sport's probably better." 

"A nice obedient girl who does not want to be whipped." 

"Have it your own way." He waved a tolerant hand. "But this time you have an 
assignment. I want you to count and try and memorize the men who visit 
Rabbah. Shouldn't be hard. He'll want to show you off. May even let the 
important ones-" 

"Fuck me? That's what you were going to say." 

"Oh alright!" He actually showed embarrassment. "But try and take the job 
seriously. It's army business. You'll be performing a service." 

It was in her mind to ask if the service to the State did not warrant 
commutation of her sentence. But why start this new adventure with a sore 
bottom! She did not want to start it at all. 

She was given a cloak. Franji and his helper were comic in rags. Her hands 
were tied behind her back with sleazy cord. Handcuffs would be suspect. 
Coarse rope circled her throat and provided a leash. "Pretend you no want," 
Sergeant Franji suggested playfully when they reached their destination and 
he was leading her by the rope. 

Obediently she dug in her heels and protested. She struggled against the 
cords. They held. She shook her head in fury. Franji blandly jerked it so 
that she followed. An authentic picture of a slave girl un-subdued. 

Rabbah was surprised, but gratified. The bargaining was brisk. The usual 
currency changed hands. Her rope changed hands. Once more Eve was sold. 

It was disconcertingly silent. She was led into the large pleasant room with 
the divans and the rugs. She was placed against a wall, her tether tied to a 
ring above her head. Like a puppy dog, she thought angrily. Then flinched as 
her cloak was torn from her. She stood tied and naked before her new owner. 

The new owner found himself a seat, lounging in it negligently and devouring 
her nudity. Eve stood for his inspection. What else could she do! Rabbah was 
obviously enjoying his power over the white naked girl. He was in no hurry. 
When he spoke his words were one more bombshell. 

"I'd like to see Jethro's face when he discovers that cash is counterfeit." 

For moments the everyday English words failed to register. When they did 
Eve's heart almost stopped. Her wide-eyed tension told her consternation. 

Rabbah was a man approaching middle age. He had a humourous twist to his 
mouth and a hard eye. He was amused. 

"Are you from New Jersey too?" It was all she could think to say. 

"Got mine in London," Rabbah said. "I speak several. It's useful in my 
business." He did not state his business. 

"Please help me escape. I've been kidnapped." 

He laughed. "I didn't think this was a feature of a Horizon Tour. All you 
girls are kidnapped. So far as getting free goes, forget it. You're worth a 
fortune. No man's going to let you go free. Why should he?" His eyes focused 
on her pubic hair. "I suppose you've been well fucked and well whipped?" 

"Yes, both!" she agreed bitterly. 

"Jethro's a lucky devil. You're worth big money." 

"Sell me then." 

"Every fresh owner a fresh hope, eh?" he said. "What are you going to do 
with me?" 

"Torture you, of course." His eyes were level and grey. Her nostrils flared. 
"Why?" 

"I have to know what the good Captain has in mind." 

"You don't have to torture me for that. You don't suppose he tells me his 
secrets, do you?" 

"Barbed wire thrust in and out of a girl's cunt is most disagreeable." 

"I can't stop you doing it. But I can't tell you what I don't know." 

"Ever been in a cage with a cobra? It loosens most female tongues." 

Eve looked at him heartbroken. She had no defense. 

"Or matches, sharpened at one end and thrust into your breasts, then lit." 

She moaned. Already she could feel the burn. 

"A candle shoved up your arse, then lit." 

Eve wept. Her courage was gone. He would do these things to her and she 
could answer nothing. 

"In the morning you will tell me what you know," Rabbah said casually. He 
rose and left the room. 

She stood there against the wall. It took her a little time to guess her 
plight. A naked girl. Her ankles chained. Her hands tightly tied behind her 
back. Tethered by her neck to a ring set in the masonry above her head. She 
must perforce stand. All rest was denied. She could not sleep. She could not 
walk away. This was the first of her tortures. She wept in bitter 
realization. But could not dry her tears. If she had known anything she 
would have screamed it aloud. She leaned back against the stone and faced 
the night. 

The night was very long and very bitter. 

"So our little slave girl knows nothing at all!" Rabbah laughed at her. 

It was morning. Eve was distraught with weariness and fear. All she could do 
was weep. 

Rabbah untied the rope. He untied her hands. "There is a bathroom in the 
hall. Come back here. No nonsense." 

She returned to her master. Nonsense was the furthest thing from her mind. 
She was abject. 

"You know nothing. I am not concerned with you. I am leaving. You will count 
no heads and memorize no faces." He laughed at the admission on her face. 
"Your noble Captain can stage his spurious raid whenever he pleases. I will 
not be here. But you will be. He can take you and send you back to Ismaul... 
You see! I even know that! Or what is more probable, he will rent your body 
out at so much an hour. Men would pay a lot for you." 

"Don't you want me?" Her voice was pitiful. Already she could feel the 
Captain's cane. 

"I desire you. But I have not the time. Nor did I pay for you." He chuckled. 
"We Arabs are noted for our honour." He clapped his hands. 

The girl reminded her somewhat of Lynn. But she was younger. She was Jedrah. 
She was pert and alive. She carried a whip. 

"My daughter, Ann. Yes. A Western name, why not! Next year she goes to the 
London School of Economics. For the next few days she will possess you 
utterly and will whip you to her heart's content. My family should get some 
dividend from the trouble Captain Jethro is causing us." 

"Make her understand I will be cruel, Father." The voice was soft. 

"You see! Ann understands your state of mind." 

"But... but, why...?" 

"To own you and to hurt you will give Ann happiness. That is enough. Ann is 
my daughter." 

He turned to the bright-eyed girl. "You will allow her to sleep now. It is 
urgent that she does. Keep her healthy. She will scream louder." 

He swiveled to his captive. "Put your hands behind your back." 

Eve unthinkingly obeyed. Her wrists were corded tight together. 

"There you are, cherie." Rabbah kissed his daughter and was gone. 

Half dazed, Eve followed the tug of her leash to the dismal little cell and 
the cot. The door clanged. The lock snapped. She flung herself on the 
blanket and slept. 

"I'm not really a sadist." Ann's eyes were soulful. "I just like to hurt 
girls. Not males, they don't interest me. But girls!" She looked 
ecstatically at Eve, who was still on her cot. "Girls have such nice things. 
Their breasts and nipples and their cunts! Men are either flat or silly. But 
girls are gorgeous!" 

Eve felt better for her sleep. It would help her deal with a kinky broad. 
"You're a lesbian, darling?" she asked helpfully as she tugged at the cord 
on her wrists. 

"You'd like to be untied, wouldn't you." The soft voice was almost maternal. 
Deft fingers went to work. "There! Is that better?" 

Eve sat up. She massaged her wrists. She was bewildered. 

"I'll whip you if you don't obey me." Ann held the whip. Her eyes glowed. 

"I asked if you were a lesbian." Eve struggled toward some semblance of the 
rational. "If you are I'll give you pleasure. Wouldn't you like that?" 

Ann clapped her hands. "Mary will look after you. I want you antiseptic, 
fed, and helpless." 

The huge negress was maternal, ruthless and kind. Whilst she was dealt with 
Eve had no thought of resistance. When she was once more delivered to the 
capricious Ann she knew herself clean, well fed and helpless. Her hands were 
bound behind her back. 

"Do men prefer fucking you or whipping you?" the youngster asked 
interestedly. 

Eve felt better. But not better enough for a teenage inquisition. "They 
usually whip me. That gets 'em an erection. Then they use it on me." She 
looked her inquisitor in the eye. "Simple, isn't it." She was sure she would 
be whipped. It was the last thing she wanted. 

"I've never been fucked." 

"You're lucky." Eve's voice was bitter. 

"Don't you ever enjoy it?" 

"Sometimes. Afterwards you wish you hadn't." 

"You know I'm going to whip you, don't you?" 

"Everybody whips me," Eve said dejectedly. "You might as well. What does it 
do for you? Give you hot pants?" 

"It's a gorgeous feeling." 

"Spread your legs. I'll give you a gorgeous feeling without the trouble of 
whipping me." 

"You're being clever." Ann was youthfully suspicious. 

"No, I'm not. I'm tied helpless. You can whip me afterwards if you're not 
pleased." 

"You're trying to bribe me. Trying to make me do things your way." The young 
eyes were accusing, uncertain. "Right at the start now you have to 
understand that you belong to me. You do what I say. Will you obey me? Tell 
me. If you don't I'll whip you till you do." 

"I'll obey you." Eve wanted only the easiest way out. 

"Call me Mistress." 

"I will call you Mistress. I will be obedient." 

Ann surveyed her slave girl with approval. "You must have been whipped an 
awful lot to be the way you are. Someone would have to whip me terribly to 
make me as humble as you." 

"I have been whipped terribly, Mistress." 

Ann became judicial. "My problem is that I don't want your hands tied like 
that all the time. For one thing, it stops me whipping your back properly. 
But if I untie you, will you let me tie you again another way?" 

"I'll let you tie me, Mistress. I won't fight. I promise. My feet are 
chained together. I may not seem helpless, but I am." 

Ann looked at the naked girl admiringly. "You're so sensible. I'm glad. It's 
going to be so much fun hurting you. You will scream, won't you. I don't 
want you to be heroic." 

"I'm not the least bit heroic. I'll scream." Eve had never felt lower in the 
human scale. 

"I've never whipped the nice parts. Have you been whipped on them?" 

"What are the nice parts, Mistress?" As though she did not know! 

"All your front. I've just whipped a girl's back up to now. But her front's 
much better, mine and yours." The child wriggled in the throes of lust. "I 
can just almost feel it. Your breasts and your cunt. That's what I want to 
whip. All the bits of us that men love. I hate men." . "There's no use 
hating men, Mistress. Women aren't any kinder to women. Look at us two now! 
You are going to whip me for your pleasure. It will hurt me just as much as 
if a man did it." 

"But you have pleaded to love me. You want to suck my cunt, don't you. Would 
you do that for a man?" 

Eve grinned at her youthful owner companionably. If only she could touch the 
child, find a chink in the armour of insouciant cruelty. "Yes, Mistress. I 
would do it to avoid being whipped." She made a gesture of frustration. "You 
see, Mistress, it is not until a girl becomes a slave that these things fall 
into place for her. When we are free and can exercise choice there are all 
sorts of inhibitions that make our behavior and attitudes utterly different 
to mine now. All the inhibitions have been whipped out of me. Each moment 
now I do what I must. I push all the other things out of my mind. If I left 
them there cluttering me up I'd be whipped to death." 

"What about the love business?" 

The slave girl shrugged sadly. "Yes, there's a tragedy there. A girl like me 
who's been trained and punished as much as I have comes to physically treat 
all she must serve as though she felt love... " She sought the intent young 
eyes in a need to impart a truth. "You see, that is the quintessence of the 
arts we learn, the ultimate achievement. To create in our Lord or Mistress 
the certainty that they possess our spirit as well as our flesh. I suppose 
to be good at it we have to actually make the thought transference within 
ourselves for the duration of the act. Perhaps, too, it's some sort of 
psychic armour we protect ourselves with. Certainly we who achieve it are 
truly slaves." 

"You're not doing a Scheherazade on me, are you?" 

"It is you who ask the questions, Mistress. I will answer or keep silent, as 
you wish." Eve managed her best smile. "I will admit I find pleasure in 
speaking of these things to you." 

Ann nodded, satisfied. "Good! But I don't want you to think it will make any 
difference. I'll still whip you." 

"Of course, Mistress." 

Impetuously the girl knelt beside her prisoner and untied the cord from the 
crossed wrists. "There! That's a reward for being nice." 

"Thank you, Mistress." Eve was genuinely grateful. Rabbah had tied the cords 
too tight. She massaged the weals. 

"There are menservants, you know. And women. I have only to call." The 
younger girl warned, "I know, Mistress. But please trust me. I won't fight. 
I'll let you tie me when the time comes." In a spontaneous need to create 
trust, Eve offered her wounded wrists. "Tie me now, Mistress, if it pleases 
you." 

Ann gurgled with delight. "There! That's what I mean about you. You're so... 
so absolutely... oh never mind! You've made me all wet. That's what I mean. 
Do you affect men like this?" 

"I'm afraid so, Mistress. I am told that lam very female." 

"You are very gorgeous. Don't you think it time I whipped you?" 

"Yes, Mistress." 

"There you go again, you pant wetter. What part of you shall I start on? You 
can choose. See! I'm being kind." 

The kneeling Eve tried to hide her inward qualms. She terribly feared the 
whip upon her breasts and within her loins. She wanted neither. How hard it 
would be to plead for one and not weep. 

"You're scared, aren't you! Poor darling. You don't want your breasts 
whipped... I can tell." 

"No, Mistress. You are right. I am afraid." 

"Not even that lovely cunt?" 

"Forgive me, Mistress, I am afraid there too." She looked up seeking pity in 
the bright and eager eyes. "A girl... a girl, has no courage in those 
places. They are too much... too much, us." 

"But I will whip you on those places." 

"Of course, Mistress. It is wrong of me to spoil your pleasure. Please 
punish me." 

Ann cooed her delight. "I'm so glad Daddy gave you to me. It's going to be 
wonderful. We must both love every minute. You will, y'know. I'll make you. 
You're so sweet I'm going to start easy. We'll keep your nice girly things 
till later. First I'll cane your bottom. Would you like that?" 

"Oh, thank you, Mistress!" Eve sensed absurdity, but heartfelt gratitude was 
in her voice. She was a slave girl thankful that only her bottom was to be 
hurt. 

"Now, how shall I tie you?" Ann wrinkled her brow in thought. 

Eve looked around the pleasant room. "There is that wooden bench, and 
there's rings up in the wall... " She offered helpfully. Then asked the 
obvious: "Don't you have a room...?" 

"Yes, we've got a room alright," the teenager admitted. She tittered. "I 
suppose I'm not very fond of it because Daddy takes me in there to be 
whipped when he thinks I've been bad." She eyed Eve archly. "Bet you never 
thought I get whipped too?" 

Eve smiled in feminine comradeship. "I think all us girls get whipped in 
this part of the world." She shot a keen glance. "Do you really hate it?" 

"You know! I can tell." Ann twinkled. "When I know it's going to happen I 
get all wet. While it happens I hate it and scream and scream. Afterwards 
I'm glad and happy." She giggled. "And I'm a very, very well-behaved girl 
for a little while." 

"I expect I'm going to be very well behaved too," Eve said demurely. 

The teenager knelt, her small hand inserted itself and cupped the slave 
girl's sex. "Ohhhh! It's the same with you! You're wet just because you know 
I'm going to whip you. Isn't it lovely!" 

Eve was both angry and amused. She was wet. She knew she was. The prolonged 
discussion on the excoriation of her flesh had unleashed her sensuality. The 
younger girl who she must obey was vividly erotic. Ann exuded sex, a pungent 
femaleness that reached out and inflamed the senses. The naked girl knew 
herself captive of more than the chain that linked her feet. She thought 
momentarily of Lynn. 

"Suppose we could use the bench," Ann mused. "But I'll want you in more ways 
than that. The rings are nice just to hang you up or tether you, but they 
aren't good for whipping. If you push yourself against the wall half of the 
whip hits the stone instead of wrapping round you. Come on. We'll use the 
room. With you, I'll enjoy it." 

They walked hand in hand. Two girls in search of joy. 

"The best position to tie me in is up on tip-toe with my hands in the air." 
Eve explained. She felt ridiculous and guilty over this self-immolation. But 
there was something about the child... "That way every little bit of me is 
open and available for anything you want to do to me. Those 'nice bits' you 
are curious about are in full view-you can even stretch my legs apart so I'm 
even more exposed... " She smiled helpfully. "But I suppose it's not the 
best way to cane my bottom. I expect you'd like it to be bent with the skin 
stretched so that it will hurt more?" 

Ann clapped her hands. Her eyes glowed. "You're a perfect dream. Yes. I want 
you bent. It does hurt more. I know! It hurts about twice as much." 

There was a padded trestle. Bent over it, her sex upon the pad, Eve's toes 
were off the floor, nor could her questing fingers touch it. She was draped 
from her hips. They giggled together as the straps were drawn tight to hold 
her thus. The last one to be positioned and cinched was the one across the 
small of her back, drawing it in and down. When it was buckled, the girl to 
be caned knew she had never been more cruelly packaged for the cane to hurt. 
The skin of her bottom was so tight that it imparted its own sensation to 
her consciousness. Yet so great had been their sharing of her binding that 
they laughed together at her plight. Eve ruefully. Ann in admiration and 
delight. 

The victim was shown the cane that would cut her. She quivered inwardly at 
the sight. But bravely kissed it when it was thrust against her lips. 

"I think the starting off bit is one of the best. Don't you, darling? Like 
this... see." 

Eve endured the pattings, the rappings, the measuring, with the smile of a 
happy participant. She had been thankful that it was her bottom that was to 
entertain Ann. But the purposeful competence of her preparation told her 
clearly that the cane would be as merciless as the straps. "I'm not going to 
tell you when I start," Ann said divertingly. Then struck. 

Eve was certain she must be cut. That there would be a gaping wound. She 
left Jedrah and went into the private world of those who are tortured. A 
world of writhings and screams, tugging and moans. She stayed there a long 
time. 

Suddenly she was free. The straps fell away. Soft hands guided her to the 
rug. They made love with frantic passion, a wild demanding intensity of need 
which they served with the same motions and the same moans with which they 
paid homage to the whip. 

"I couldn't wait... I couldn't wait...!" Ann sobbed in joy. 

It was a long time before either of them thought about the cane. 

It was still there. A lovely wicked cruelty on the floor where Ann had 
dropped it. Their eyes fell upon it at the same moment, then turned to each 
other in communion. Eve stretched her arms in the glorious luxury of 
freedom. "I'll let you tie me, darling," she breathed huskily. 

"You don't mind? Oh darling!" Ann was enraptured. 

"I don't mind." Eve was anesthetized by the magic of the radiant child. Her 
fingers explored her wound. There was no blood from the ridge of hurt. What 
a charlatan is pain! Yet it was a wound. It hurt. Even now it hurt. "Would 
you like me back up on the trestle?" she asked brightly. 

Again they shared their laughter and their giggles over the quaintness and 
aptness of the posture that the straps imposed. One by one, Eve felt the 
leather bands circle her flesh to make her potent for the pain. Once, in 
total empathy, she asked for the tensioning of one more hole by which the 
buckle would subdue her. She could look to each side, and up at her 
Mistress's absorbed and eager face. She was watching when Ann picked up the 
cane... 

She closed her eyes for the explosion. Then made her lonely journey into 
pain. 

"I could feed upon you forever," Ann breathed sighingly. 

"Feed on me, darling." Eve wantonly stretched her legs to the limit of her 
chain. "I'm utterly gorged with you." 

"I'm too tired," Ann sighed happily. "Darling... I didn't know it could be 
like this. You're... you're so, so delicious." She cocked a confiding 
eyebrow. "Daddy has let me whip a lot of girls. When a kitchen girl has to 
be punished he lets me do it. But it's not like it's been with us... They 
aren't a bit like you. They babble and cry and get all messy... sort of wet 
in the wrong places. Underneath all their assurances of devotion they hate 
me. I can feel it. Why don't you hate me?" 

"I don't know," Eve laughingly admitted. "It's me, I guess. I've stopped 
worrying about it. I told you that when I loved you it would be real. It 
was. It still is." 

"Even though you know I'm going to whip you more? Oh, lots and lots more? 
I'm sorry, darling. I feel a beast. But I have to. I just have to. I love 
you so much! Is that crazy?" 

"It's not crazy," Eve chuckled without thought of the pain. "I wish I could 
tell you why it's not crazy, but I don't know that myself." 

"You screamed and cried. But when you did it you were beautiful. Not like 
those others... And the way you struggle! I thought those straps would 
break." 

"I'm a slave." To Eve it seemed the best explanation of what she was. 

They went back to the nicer room. They ate, they loved, they laughed. The 
whip was in the consciousness of each. But it was not a cloud. "There is 
something I should tell you," Ann said soberly. "Daddy said that you would 
try to persuade me to let you escape. That you'd make promises and want to 
talk about it. He said when you did I was to have you beaten by one of the 
men." She paused hesitantly. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

Eve shrugged in resignation. "I suppose that girls who have been kidnapped 
and whipped into slavery always remember when they were free. I was owned 
once by a man I would not have left for freedom. But he was killed. Except 
for that one time I always want to escape. I try not to think about it too 
much." She grinned. "Thanks for the warning. I don't want one of your men to 
beat me. I won't even ask you to let me walk in the courtyard... " 

In a sudden welling of affection for this clear-eyed child, Eve told her 
story of Ismaul. 

Ann listened, wide-eyed and enthralled. Hungrily she demanded detail and 
incident. In the end she was in a daze of desire. "I wish I could go there," 
she said simply. 

Eve laughed at the childish fancy. "See yourself as a wardress with a whip, 
darling. There'd be lots of bottoms. All female." 

Ann was serious. "It's funny," she said slowly, "but I'm seeing myself as a 
prisoner. Like you." In a burst of candor she exclaimed, "I wish I could be 
chained in a cell with you. Just the two of us... counting each other's 
whipmarks. Wouldn't it be gorgeous!" 

Eve had a blinding and nostalgic memory of Lynn. 

"I'd sooner be chained here with you," she told Ann forthrightly. 

The child exploded into joy. "I'll ask Daddy. Daddy can do anything. He'll 
buy you and give you to me. I know he will." Her eyes sparkled gleefully. 
"Oh darling, then I'll even let you chain me sometimes so I'll know what 
Ismaul is like. You will, won't you?" 

Eve said she would. She wished passionately it could be so. 

The two of them vibrated together like tuned harp strings. 

"There's a special whip for it." Ann's voice was hesitant with guilt. "They 
are silken cords. They won't cut. Or not much... " 

Eve had known the time must come. She no longer cared that the loving child 
would whip her breasts. She was happy about the whip... 

"How are you going to tie me, darling?" 

"You aren't going to fight or complain? Even though you hate it?" 

"I'm a slave girl." Eve proffered her wrists. "Tie me." 

"I'm going to whip your breasts!" 

"Of course, darling. You are going to whip my breasts. Please don't feel 
guilty." Eve laughed mischievously. "I'm the guilty one: for having such 
nice breasts to whip. Everyone always whips them sooner or later." 

Ann tied Eve to a bench so that her head fell back over the edge. It was 
narrow. The captive arms were pulled down and tied on each side. Ankles and 
waist were fastened. She could not move. The breasts to be punished were 
beautifully isolated in immobility. Eve could raise her head to watch her 
punishment or let it fall back naturally. In latter case she could close her 
eyes and avoid the agony of seeing the sweep and fall of the biting thongs. 

It was truly a most remarkable whip. A thing of beauty. "It's really good 
for three places, darling." Ann dangled it before the captive eyes. "You can 
guess the third... Maybe when I've done your breasts I'll open up your 
legs." 

"One at a time?" the victim asked passively. 

"Oh yes! That's much the best. I'll do one breast really well, then move 
round to the other." She caressed the rigid nipples with the tips of the 
lashes. "Ready?" 

"I'll never be ready-" The silken strands wrapped round her breast before 
she could complete the sentence. They splatted home on the tender sphere 
with a bitter accuracy. But it was not until the seventh stroke that Eve 
started to scream. 

They were happy days and nights. Eve would always remember them. In the days 
they shared laughter and the whip. At night they shared a bed. A long chain 
from a ring in the floor was locked on Eve's wrist. One wrist only. "Because 
Daddy would want it," Ann excused. They fed upon each other with a loving 
hunger never quite appeased. 

The raid was a bitter moment. Eve's hands were immediately cuffed behind her 
back. She shared piteous and impotent glances with her love as a bewildered 
Ann was uselessly questioned. The child's cries of desolation followed her 
to the waiting truck. She never saw her again. 

* * * 

"You must have done something wrong, something to warn him." Captain Jethro 
was irritated. 

"I didn't. Honestly, I didn't!" Eve protested. "The sergeant and I put on a 
good show. I get the impression Rabbah is a knowledgeable man. He must have 
been suspicious. I mean, waiting for you to make a move like that. Why else 
the spurious money...?" 

"Bend over." He selected a cane from the rack. 

"But I haven't done anything. Please!" 

"Bend over anyway." He was angry. Guilt did not matter. 

Flushed and humiliated, Eve obeyed. She was not sure she could touch her 
toes without moving for the minimum six. 

"Who in Jedrah did that to you!" 

Eve explained her wealed rump and scarlet breasts. Captain Jethro laughed 
with some return of good humour. "Luck of the draw, honey." 

"But I've been caned terribly. Must I have more?" 

"You're a big girl." 

"I'm not sure I can stay still. It will hurt more than I can manage. I mean, 
on top of what I've already had." 

"Touch your toes." 

"Please tie me. I'm afraid I'll... I'll not be able to behave." 

"I don't mind, honey. Do what you like, just so long as you bend over nicely 
for the next. Now bend! Unless you want twelve instead of six." 

Eve bent. 

She did not behave well. 

"Think you can handle this one without horsing it up? Just a repeat of the 
Madam Mushad theme. Franji's got the drill and the old clothes. There will 
be a couple of chaps with him." Captain Jethro's good humour had returned. 
Once more he entertained four naked girls. Each sipped daintily from glasses 
held in handcuffed hands. They gave him their full attention. Eve's bottom 
had impressed them all. They assured him of devotion to his cause. 

"I'll really lace into you if there's trouble," he warned. "Now drink 
hearty, my honeys, and have another." 

Obediently they drank. 

Even the coffle was familiar. The metal was soon warm about their necks. 
Nondescript bits of cloth adorned their nakedness. This time they climbed 
into the truck unaided. But now there was a change. Their hands were tied 
behind their backs with cord, palm to palm. Then cord circled their elbows. 
Several bands drawn tight, and tighter until flesh crushed against flesh. It 
was brutal. 

"Please! Not our elbows," Eve wailed. "It's torture." 

"Keep safe." Franji approved as though giving warmth on a cold day. 

The ride was a misery. Each jolt made the cord bite deeper. They grimaced at 
each other. "Just to make that bastard a profit," Lynn declaimed angrily. 

But there was another change. The truck stopped. Ayesha was unlocked from 
the coffle. A rope put on her neck. She was led away. She looked back at 
them with longing. 

"Good price," said Franji when he returned. 

The rest of the ride was pure misery. They sat and endured the punishment of 
the cord. 

The truck stopped in the shelter of a sand dune. They left it there. Franji 
used Ayesha's chain as a leash, tugging his coffle of three across the sand. 
His helpers prodded them with sticks in enjoyment of some private joke. The 
girls walked in pain, wanting only to reach their destination. Crossing a 
rise they beheld their destiny. 

"Much big reward," said Franji. 

Less than a mile distant lay Ismaul. 

* * * 

The court was as busy as ever, the judges as grave, the clerk as active. 
Dialect and papers flew back and forth. Alison stood in the box and faced 
the bench, serene as always. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, as were 
Eve's. Sentence was about to be pronounced. 

Caleb stood beside Eve. He was clothed in the immense importance of being 
what he called "most good interpreter." It appeared that Eve was not only in 
court to be tried herself, but was also a witness for the prosecution. She 
gathered that, so far as sentencing was concerned, the judges saw no need of 
communion. But, as a witness, speech would be required of her: hence Caleb. 
He glowed. She was surprised he had not brought his drum. 

The sonorous words had been delivered. Alison was led away. As she passed 
they signaled with their eyes. They could do no more. 

"Is now for five years," Caleb explained with pride. 

Eve quailed. Their sentences were being extended for escape. For this, it 
seemed, Ismaul had no mercy. 

For once Lynn looked frightened. The solemnity of the court was daunting to 
a teenager far from home. No doubt it had occurred to the child that she had 
committed a bonafide crime. To engineer escapes from a State prison would 
earn retribution anywhere. Jedrah would be no exception. The full weight of 
the law would fall upon her. Calvin's malign influence need not exist in her 
case. She had doomed herself. Eve wondered if Rahbinda Cohen had exerted 
pressure... 

"Is for conspiracy, for bribing prison officer and for aid and abet," Caleb 
informed. 

It was frightening. It was true. They were face to face with the inexorable. 

In the witness box Caleb reached a pinnacle when the judge directed the 
fatal question at Eve. 

"He ask if girl make your escape. Best you tell truth. Truth already known, 
so make no difference," he urged ingenuously. 

Eve told the truth. She cringed at the single damning word. Caleb contrived, 
by some magic of his own, to flourish her small affirmative into three 
sentences of rhetoric. 

Others testified. Dialogue flew hither and yon. It was soon over. Lynn was 
led from the dock, stricken. Her face, as she passed, an agonized question 
mark. 

"Is three years," said Caleb cheerfully. "With full punishments. Little girl 
will have most sore ass." 

It was Eve's turn now. Manfully Caleb marched her to her doom. It must have 
been very cut and dried, it took so little time and so few words. 

"Is sentence doubled for escape." Even Caleb sounded shocked. "Ten years is 
most long time. Caleb is sad... " He looked at her with pity. 

"Ten years!" Eve looked up at him beseechingly. "Oh, Caleb...!" 

"I comfort you with fucks," he said. 

Commandant Perkins was alone in his office. His sad dog expression befitted 
the occasion. "None of this is by my wish," he assured Eve dolorously. Then 
added, petulantly: "If we could have been left alone... the woman and that 
willful child!" 

To stand before his desk, naked, hands chained behind her back. It was 
familiar enough to seem commonplace. How far had she traveled to end up here 
again! She blurted out the question dearest to her heart: "Rasuii... can you 
tell me anything?" 

"To me he is but a name," the Commandant said wearily. "One of many names 
that tear our country apart. I know that you and the other two were found in 
his house by government troops. That is all. I am not told much. Ismaul is 
not political." 

"Must I truly stay here ten years, sir?" 

"Yes. The papers are now in your file." He sighed. "It is cruel for one so 
young." He brightened. "There is also a directive from Mrs. Cohen that you 
share a cell with the troublesome child you adore. It is a rare privilege. 
It will make your first three years easier." 

"Sir, she is so young. Must she bear all the punishments?" 

His thin smile made its appearance. "No doubt you would heroically bear them 
for her," he suggested sardonically. "Yes, she will suffer the full list. 
There may even be additions. I have never known Mrs. Cohen more angry with 
an inmate." He paused and considered. "I, too, am displeased. She did us 
great harm." 

"Please, sir! Not the bastinado?" 

The Commandant smiled at her kindly. "That was, for you, the unbearable, the 
last straw. It is for most of our girls. Yes, she will feel the cane upon 
her little feet. Natcha will not lighten her hand." 

"Sir, I would do anything... " 

He waved the inference away. "Do not weep yet for your little dove. I think 
she is a very durable little dove and will bear what she must: perhaps 
better than you can." He gave Eve a shrewd glance. "She is a type. I have 
known them here often enough. They are irrepressible. You whip them one day 
and they are full of impudence the next. It is impossible not to feel 
affection for them. They are like small, lovable animals: the kitten that 
purrs and the puppy that gambols. They are deeply sensual." He laughed in 
memory. "I have known it where such a girl was not whipped for several days 
so asked her wardress to whip her for the pleasurable sensations it 
engendered in her loins. There are punishments under which she will break. 
But the effect is fleeting... You will see." 

Eve recognized truth in what he said. Lynn was a lovable bundle of 
contradictions, amazingly resilient. Yet the child's wan and fearful face as 
she had been led from the court was still vivid in her mind. 

"Will Mrs. Cohen be vindictive with her, sir?" 

He shrugged and chuckled. "Mrs. Cohen is a very busy woman. She has more 
than this disobedient child to think about. But I am very certain she will 
set aside affairs of State long enough to personally cane the young bottom 
you are so concerned over. I don't know when she will do it. But she will do 
it!" 

"Must my ankles really be chained for ten years, sir?" 

"Yes, they must! It is the law. It is a sensible precaution." He grinned at 
her confidingly. "In fact, I do not mind telling you that your little 
darling is down in the smithy now being ironed as you are ironed." 

Commandant Perkins laughed enjoyably at Eve's evident consternation. "Come, 
come! Consider for a moment. You girls who have come to us from... far away, 
are an unusual hazard. You are subject to exterior influences. Look at what 
has just taken place. All of it due to factors and interests beyond my 
control. I do not like it. This is fanciful, I know, but liken it to a 
foreign hand reaching across the ocean and the desert to reach into the 
heart of Ismaul for motives not of Jedrah at all. Do you see my point?" 

Eve saw his point, all too well. 

"I will tell you frankly, too," he continued, looking awkward, "that a most 
simple thing, which I am sure would seem to you primitive and cruel, could 
have saved the heartbreaks that fell upon you in court today. Had you and 
the other girl been chained to the wall by a long chain to which only I had 
the key, much misery would have been avoided. You say to yourself, 'This is 
of the Dark Ages.' But not all from the past is foolish or without value. 
When I was first appointed here I made this recommendation. It was rejected 
on the grounds of fire hazard. That the inmates could not be released 
quickly enough in an emergency. I did not argue." He smiled sourly. "It is 
wise not to oppose what is called progress." 

Eve saw the Commandant's point in this also. How basic was the precept for a 
prisoner, implicit to her condition: "Thou shalt not escape!" The metal upon 
her ankles felt doubly heavy. 

"There is something I am much tempted to impose upon both of you," Perkins 
continued gravely. "That is to chain your hands. It is a desirable 
precaution and would not be as cruel as it sounds or restrict you from doing 
whatever you need do. It would simply further inhibit escape. But it is 
impractical. The Full Punishment List demands the availability of your 
wrists. We cannot be running you both back and forth to the smithy every day 
or so." He sighed regretfully. "We must fall back on the handcuffs whenever 
it seems desirable." 

Eve could not hate him. Almost she could sympathize. He was a tired and 
disillusioned man doing his job. Impulsively she found herself making a 
suggestion that once would have seemed irrational: "Sir, instead of keeping 
us handcuffed I think we would both prefer to be chained to the wall as you 
have explained." She flushed in embarrassment. "I feel silly asking... But 
we might be more comfortable." 

He looked up at her in surprise. His voice told her she had touched him. 
"You are a remarkable young woman," he said slowly. "I find something in you 
that is rare, very rare." He shook his head sadly. "I will tell you that if 
I could I would set you free." He .shrugged helplessly. "Instead of that I 
place more chains upon you... " 

Eve wished that she could comfort him. 

Eve looked up at the twin columns of her naked arms and their spread 
fingers. What had the proverb said? "Beware of that on which you set your 
heart... " How true it was! Not that she had truly set her heart on hanging 
from her thumbs. But she and the Commandant had joked about the eroticism 
that had touched her lightly in the threat. What infinite capacity women had 
to invite pain! 

Natcha had dealt with her most competently. First to strip her of the 
sackcloth. Then to bind her thumbs with the bands that would not cut, 
looping each to the end of the bar from which she was now suspended. A bar 
that separated her hands by no more than the width of her shoulders so that 
she hung in a naturally vertical symmetry. She was raised only enough that 
her toes were well clear of the floor. She could never touch it. But the 
center links of her ankle chain rested on the stone. It was deliberately 
tantalizing. It was also excruciatingly awful. Full punishments! The 
sentence was never far from her mind. This was but one of them. It would go 
on and on... She would just hang. 

She kept looking up at her thumbs in disbelief that the small digits could 
possess-such capacity for pain and such strength to sustain the weight of 
her naked body and the metal that had become a part of it. The strain set 
the thumbs apart, stretched, immovable, agonizing in their bonds. Her 
fingers were limp, without will to move or seek either release or relief. 
Neither was possible. She was neatly suspended from her thumbs so that she 
should suffer pain and serve, thus, one more day of her ten years. She had 
been told to scream or make such other sounds as she might wish. No one 
would care. 

She was not alone. 

Eve wondered if she looked half as lovely as her companion. How feminine the 
wish! Yet how frivolous when both of them were being tortured. The planned 
methodical torture of Ismaul. Presumably someone, probably the Commandant, 
ticked each one off on a list as it was inflicted, then gave instructions 
for their next installment. That never-ending roster that went on and on. 
Could any such list be ten years long! Or even three... ! 

"It's worse than I thought it could be, darling," said Lynn in a small, 
choked voice. 

She was so beautiful! Why did so many tortures enhance a girl's femininity, 
make her more desirable! They did! How erotic torture was. Even when you 
were its victim you knew that those who saw you stretched and taut would 
feel the demanding stirring in their loins. The knowledge made you feel it 
too. Briefly perhaps, because of the pain. But it had the power to touch 
you. 

Eve saw a mirror of herself. Lynn hung limp without fighting, without 
motion, her slim loveliness captured motionless by pain. To move hurt. To 
blink an eyelid must be done with caution. One knew with certainty that the 
small thumbs could bear no more. To move the head was an exploration into 
agony. The chains added their own grip on small ankles that feared to move. 
What had someone said: "You wear them well." On the tormented child they 
were as jewels. The heavy polished metal and the brutal rivets had absorbed 
from her youthfulness a quality that made them a part of her. They belonged. 
They should never be taken from her. Never, never, never! Her youth would 
cope with them as it surmounted all else. For three years she would wear 
them. Perhaps already she had lost consciousness of their snug grip. Except 
in those brief crises in which their intended function had defeated her Eve 
herself wore her irons casually without thought. 

The whip marks were pure artistry. Natcha had given of her best. The 
Ceremonial had been hushed as the lash had licked and cut. There had been no 
heroics. Lynn had been her natural self, curious, interested, pert. Her eyes 
roving here and there until they met Eve's agony. Eve who had tried to shut 
her eyes but could not. Because she loved the child she must watch her 
whipped. Vicariously she must gather the blows unto herself. Standing 
stiffly in the ranks it was her only sharing. How almost happily the slender 
body had received those first kisses of the thong. Hope for her erotic 
fantasy sustained her. But as Natcha wrapped the lash snappingly upon skin 
never before so stung, her gasps and finally-her cries had mounted to 
acknowledge her acceptance of defeat. Her youthfulness had bent and twisted 
against the cords she could not break. She was, after all, a girl, a young 
girl whose nudity was being whipped. 

How breathtaking was the whip! Through her maze of pain Eve worshipped the 
striations upon the body she adored. Her own was well marked. But her fellow 
captive's Ceremonial had been but the previous day. Each stripe still stood 
clearly etched upon the white canvas on which it had been painted. From knee 
to neck. Only the breasts inviolate, the young breasts now pulled almost 
flat with strain. The lovely breasts that a Ceremonial mercilessly left 
harmless so that, at some later punishment, they should bear the full 
attention of a day of pain especially designed for them, with a special lash 
to caress their curves with its cruelty. 

The pixie features that had been flung back in distress to gaze in wonder at 
the captive thumbs cautiously raised. The wide eyes pleaded. "Darling... how 
long-how long will they leave us like this?" 

How to tell that a girl never knew. That not knowing was a part of it all. 
That they would most probably hang from their thumbs all day! Yet false hope 
destroyed you, made you doubly vulnerable. There was no kindness in it. 

"It's usually all day," Eve vouchsafed, striving to make her voice casual. 
"Don't think about it. Never expect release. Hoping is an agony. We just 
hang. There's nothing we can do. Nothing! Except scream. It helps... " 

Lynn's eyes glinted. She screamed. 

The door opened. Commandant Perkins had come to join his guests. 

There are those who feel themselves absolved of blame when they make a frank 
ingenuous admission of their fault, or even of their sin! They do it 
artlessly as though, by so doing, they achieve virtue. Commandant Perkins 
was not of these. His open enjoyment of their torture was marked by no 
hypocrisy. Eve exonerated him in her mind by believing, probably with much 
truth, that he found the sight of two beautiful, naked girls suspended in a 
most unorthodox situation entrancing. Their pain was incidental. Certainly 
no man would pass them by without a glance. 

"And so you have your wish, Miss Trevor!" His eyes traveled up and down her 
loveliness. 

Had it been a wish! Eve was not sure. It had been a small pleasantry between 
them. She would not mar it now. She was sure this lonely man had not come to 
be burdened by tears or pleas. She managed a small animation in her eyes and 
said demurely, "Thank you, sir." 

"And you are finding some small magic here?" 

"No, sir, none!" 

He nodded. "It is the way with life. It dangles its carrots that we never 
grasp." He produced his thin smile. "You wish to ask me now to allow our 
young lady to place her feet upon the floor?" 

"No, sir." 

"How sensible! What understanding! You are a jewel of a prisoner." 

He turned to Lynn. "And you, my child. What have you to say?" 

"Please let us both down, sir. I'll do anything you want." 

"Ah, dear, dear! You are young enough to believe the open thighs will buy 
anything. How very charming." 

"Oh please, please!" Lynn forgot the servile sir in her extremity. "Let us 
down. We haven't done anything to deserve this. It's too awful." 

"Pain is comparative, child. You will learn this at Ismaul. Sometimes when a 
girl is, er, enjoying your present infliction she is also whipped. Girls who 
have been whipped in this way have told me of how very terrible it can be." 
He paused and looked at the tortured teenager somberly. "It is also 
considered routine to place additional weights upon the feet. I have seen it 
done. The girl attended her exercises as usual the following day. I am sure 
you would possess an equal resilience." 

There was a break in Lynn's voice. "It's cruel. You enjoy seeing us like 
this... " She let her head fall back, without hope. 

He returned his regard to Eve. His tone became conversational as though they 
were seated comfortably at ease. "I find myself a curious spectator in the 
present circumstances of Miss Myers: I believe her name is Alison. One of 
the judges who officiated at her trial and sentencing has been availing 
himself of a prerequisite of office by visiting her frequently in her cell, 
and also having her escorted to his quarters for social evenings. I have had 
a word with him. But he is much enamored. I have not wished to deprive 
either of them of what is, after all, a most ancient privilege... " The 
Commandant sighed and shrugged. "In such situations there is always the seed 
of trouble. But if he has the wish to aid her by some legal process of which 
I may be unaware I can only wish them well. I have taken the precaution of 
having her ankles heavily ironed. At least she will not run away... " 

Through a haze of pain Eve realized the Commandant was trying to say 
something which he found awkward. She wished he would go away and leave them 
to suffer alone. Even though her body might be lovely in his eyes she knew 
her face must be lined and drawn. A girl undergoing torture is not at her 
conversational best. Yet his mention of Alison captured her attention. 

"I was wondering," said the Commandant diffidently, "if you might welcome 
some similar interest from the other two judges, his colleagues. I could 
perhaps put in a word or two. They are influential men... " 

"No thank you, sir," Eve said firmly. 

"I'd let a donkey screw me if it would get me out of here," Lynn told him 
with conviction. 

The Commandant eyed her with a sardonic amusement. "I recall a time, young 
lady, when Miss Trevor expressed a curiosity about being hung by her 
thumbs... In many things Ismaul is quite versatile... Consider it." 

He stood and watched them quietly for a long while. Both girls were hurting 
too badly to care. Each was breathing heavily in distress. Neither wanted to 
speak. What was the use... Sadly he left. 

Behind him two naked girls hung by their thumbs. Their hours would pass 
very, very slowly. 

Lynn hated the sacking she was forced to wear more than she hated the chains 
upon her ankles. In the cell she lovingly shared with Eve she would cast the 
wretched garment aside and be naked. In the end Eve joined her in this small 
freedom. But they wore the dismal uniform when taken from their cell. The 
joy they found in being together tempered the agony of spirit imposed by 
their sentences. The younger girl made light of her three years. "Something 
would happen." But the ten years in which Eve must wear her chains desolated 
them both. When it was mentioned they clung together as though by the 
vehemence of their longing they could keep the years at bay. 

It was typical of Lynn that she found a feminine pleasure in her fetters. 
She never tired of playing with them. She would lift and stretch one foot to 
admire the band around her ankle. She practiced walking, pointing out 
reasonably that at Ismaul she would never be allowed to run anyway, so she 
had lost little by being chained. She found distinction in the fact that 
most of the girls were not so confined: thus not so honoured. 

They never forgot gratitude to Rahbinda Cohen for ensuring that they share a 
cell. They were the only girls so privileged. They made love shamelessly, 
not caring that the metal lattice of the cell rendered all they did clearly 
visible to anyone who passed. Ismaul robbed them of inhibitions with the 
same certainty that it robbed them of freedom. Caleb viewed their antics 
with an indulgent eye. Their passionate absorption in each other touched 
him. He no longer offered them his sexual prowess as a consolation for their 
imprisonment. He ceased to speak of it at all. Perhaps he envied them. 

"Who the hell wants men!" Lynn declared vehemently one evening when, replete 
and happy in each other's existence, they lounged upon their bench. "I'm 
almost glad of being here. I am glad to be here with you. If I was back at 
The Estate I'd be making calf s eyes at Calvin or twinkling my little twat 
at some old bastard who might sell a million shares of something cheap. If 
those hawk-faced old judges had used a bit of moderation on both of us... 
six months, say, I think I'd have got a kick out of it all." She wrinkled 
her brow in puzzlement. "I'm wondering about Marge: what she knows, and how 
Calvin feels about losing his last free little trick. I suppose the Cohen 
woman would tell 'em about us." 

"She's sure to. There has to be hope there somewhere. Calvin will want our 
bodies back. Even me! I won't be much good to him after ten years. He 
certainly never meant you to officially get imprisoned in Ismaul." 

Lynn grinned. "The Commandant-he's a dear in his way. Are you sure we 
shouldn't have taken him up on that notion about being nice to the judges?" 

"You know what being nice means." 

"Sure, we'd get screwed plenty. But s'pose it got us out?" 

"I'm scared of escapes," Eve admitted. "Look at last time!" 

"Poor Alison. We never get to talk to her." Lynn giggled. "I think Caleb 
feels us two is bad enough. He doesn't want a threesome. If I was a man and 
she did all her tricks for me I'd get her out." 

She played idly with Eve's shackles. "Darling, aren't they gorgeous!" 

Lynn was still a child. 

They shared their nights. But not always their days. Eve was often glad. To 
have a loved one witness your punishment, or to yourself witness hers, is 
not always easy to take. Perhaps someone was being kind to them. There came 
one particular day that Eve was glad to suffer alone. It was such a 
miserable, demeaning thing she was made to endure. 

The usual uncommunicative wardress escorted her to an area she had not 
previously explored. Their walk ended beneath a tree in what looked like a 
schoolyard. A chain was locked round the tree trunk. Its other end 
terminated in a metal cuff that was now locked round Eve's right wrist and 
made secure by a padlock. She was left alone. 

Taking stock of her situation it looked like being an easy day. She was 
tethered by about five feet of metal links. She could step a pace or two, 
stand, sit or even lie down. A brief scrutiny of the band round her wrist 
and the padlock that secured it negated notions of freeing her hand. She was 
firmly held. She and the tree would stay together until someone with the key 
chose to separate them. She sat in the shade wondering. 

The explosion took an hour. It was sudden. The doors of the building to 
which the yard belonged swung open with a slam. Children erupted. It was 
indeed a school. This was recess. The first of the children to notice the 
chained girl sent up cries of delight. Within moments the entire assemblage 
swarmed towards the tree. 

Eve stared back at the half circle of bright-eyed, dusky faces. She was 
puzzled. The children had the air of knowing something she did not. The 
vibrations of excited expectation could be felt. They were a mixed lot, boys 
and girls, ten to twelve years old. The biggest of them all, a girl, stepped 
forward and demanded: "Off." She pointed at Eve's single garment. 

An inkling of her fate told Eve it might not be an easy day after all. 
Stripped before these little hoodlums! Not a master or mistress in sight. 
Probably watching out of the windows, she reflected bitterly. This would be 
a punishment reserved for the white girls. They would not do this to their 
own. Without hope she pointed to her chained wrist, intimating that it 
prevented removal of her dress. 

Three of the largest children stepped toward her, their intent evident. In 
panic she stayed them with raised hand. Hastily she tugged at the sackcloth. 
She had never expected to be loath to part with it. She was now! She tore 
the minimum she must to get it over the chain. Better to keep what she could 
of it intact in case of later need. If they stripped her they would tear it 
to shreds. 

The white girl, chained, naked, inspired waves of exclamations in the Jedrah 
dialect. Even the youngest showed a keen interest in Eve's anatomy. The 
ranks closed in. She tugged at her chain. She would have to stand there. She 
could retreat perhaps a few feet until at last she would face them with arm 
outstretched to the limit of its tether. She disdained this pathetic 
maneuver. She would suffer what she must while there was still slack in her 
chain. It was a matter of pride. 

The biggest boy pointed to her pubic hair. "Fuck," he said forcibly. It was 
probably the only word he knew. 

Eve made a flash decision. She could not win this battle. But perhaps she 
could minimize her wounds. She smiled at him sweetly and said: "Yes, 
please," in her most winning manner. 

He stepped back, uncertain. There was another babble of comment. One of the 
smaller ones picked up a stone and threw it. She warded it off with her 
hand. It was followed by a veritable shower of missiles so that her only 
defense was to turn her back and hug the tree. The stones and twigs stung 
and bruised. In panic she remembered the biblical stories of offenders who 
were 'stoned'. Usually they died. Would these little horrors be allowed to 
go that far! But she was not struck by anything heavy. Perhaps there were no 
large rocks handy, or perhaps it was by intent. The barrage ceased as 
quickly as it had started. Fearfully she looked back over her shoulder. What 
she saw was not reassuring. 

One of the smaller boys had just dropped on the ground a selection of withes 
he had just cut and trimmed. A number of the older boys and girls each took 
one. The girl who had some English tried again: "Bend." To make the order 
explicit she herself touched her toes. 

Here was humiliation indeed! Alternatives flashed through the chained girl's 
mind, none of them practical. Miserably she leant forward into the age-old 
posture. 

They must have done it before. They formed a line. As each walked behind her 
they paused long enough to stripe her bottom. The withes were not peeled. 
There were rough protrusions that cut and drew their drop of blood. Had she 
not been inured to pain she could not have borne it. 

Even the smallest were given their turn. Some evoking laughter by 
incompetence for which Eve was grateful. The end of it was timely. Eve knew 
that a few more heavy strokes would find her instinctively trying to fight 
them off with her one free hand. She had suffered all she could take in the 
voluntary "bend over." 

But her final degradation had never been in doubt. The boy used the hated 
word again and made explicit gestures. His female companion pointed to the 
ground. Lacking words she demonstrated for their victim's total 
comprehension. Amidst gales of laughter she lay upon her back stretching her 
legs up and out on either side in a wide 'V that made words superfluous. 
Half a dozen withes were held at the ready awaiting Eve's compliance. 

She could not weep. She could not plead. She could not escape. She obeyed. 

He did not leap upon her. At this school they did it differently. The 
smallest girls had first go. Three at a time. With much verbal encouragement 
they attacked her. One sucking each nipple, the third busy in the hair 
between her thighs. The older ones superintended, ensuring a proper rotation 
and 'fair shares for all'. 

The result was inevitable. Their victim was a very female female. Her 
nipples and her clitoris responded to the manifold tongues. Something 
approximating a cheer went up every time she was driven to orgasm. By the 
time the girls had their share of her Eve was bathed in sweat and longing 
only for rest. She was spread lewdly. But did not care. Her hope now was to 
last them out until some teacher somewhere rang a bell... 

They elected the smallest boy. He failed. No time was wasted. Another 
replaced him, and another. The failures stopped. Erections penetrated and 
thrust. Each ejaculation was cheered according to its merits. Performances 
varied. Exhausted as she was it took three or four of their swift attacks to 
bring her to orgasm. But her gasps and writhings were watched for avidly and 
applauded gleefully. When the bell did finally ring they left her there upon 
the ground, arms out-flung in utter weariness. She let her legs fall and 
crossed one under the other. How good that felt! Knowing she could not 
escape, she slept. 

When she awoke the Commandant was sitting propped against the tree. He had 
thoughtfully covered her with the sacking. She was grateful for the small 
attention and said a sincere "Thank you, sir," as she struggled into 
whatever cover the damaged dress offered. The activity made her blush less 
obvious. 

"The small ones are as bad as the big ones, eh!" he commented cynically. 

"Is this a true punishment, sir? Or have I been abused." 

"It is both," he told her dryly. "It is listed for white girls only. It 
assuages our racial pride." 

He was honest. He always was. 

She must voice her instant concern: "Sir, what happens to me now?" She held 
up her chained wrist. 

"In an hour or two there will be a repeat performance when they are released 
to go home. A teacher will watch to ensure there is no... excess. You will 
not see him. But he will be there. When he rings a bell they will disperse. 
The wardress has instructions to bathe and cleanse you before returning you 
to your cell." 

"It is ugly." She deliberately omitted the sir. 

"It is ugly," he agreed somberly. "You do not deserve it. But it will not 
leave its mark on you as it would on others. There is something immaculate 
about you." 

"Sir! Lynn... must she have this?" 

He looked at her with an infinite pity. "Because you have asked it... no, 
she will not endure it." 

Eve wept in gratitude and love. 

The Commandant sat quietly while the tears worked their magic. At the end he 
handed her a white square of cambric. Eve used it gratefully. She had never 
felt more soiled. 

"I ask myself why I come like this," he said meditatively. "I expect you ask 
it too. Is it because the punishments of a naked girl excite me? Is it that 
you are someone I can talk to? Is it because you are unfailingly beautiful? 
You are! I am sure you think yourself grubby and disheveled now, sitting on 
the ground, that ugly sack about you, the chain on your wrist that holds you 
to this tree... I am sure you wish I did not see you like this. But, to me, 
you are beautiful. You wear punishment as you wear your chain... some 
natural grace of your own." 

He stopped and thought a while. "If I was younger I would say that I was in 
love with you. I suppose that is in there too, mixed up with all the rest. 
We men are absurd. In the end it is we who are the prisoners." He paused and 
considered her gravely. "I am glad that you and that impertinent child can 
be together. She is good for you. I think the time after that... that, 
absurd escape would have been hard for you to bear alone. The ten years! It 
is altogether too much." 

He smiled apologetically. "I expect you think I should feel the same 
sympathy for the child. But this is not easy for me. She has broken our laws 
and caused much distress. There have been moments when I have shared Mrs. 
Cohen's wish to cane her bottom. Not that it would have much lasting effect 
on the child, but it would relieve my irritation. I fear Mrs. Cohen has 
stored up a great pressure of actual anger that the small bottom will have 
to absorb. I think it will give me pleasure to watch." 

He stood and looked down at her. "I leave you. I do not want to witness 
whatever it is they do." He moved a few paces, then paused and looked back. 
"From now on, whenever we are alone, you need not call me sir." 

He walked briskly away. 

A strange man! 

How good it felt to be clean again. She thrust the pictures of juvenile lust 
from her mind as a beastliness that did not matter. She was almost happy as 
she was led back to her cell. But that which greeted her brought a choked 
sob of distress to her lips. Lynn had been bastinadoed. 

The child lay stretched upon the bench, face buried in her hands, her 
chained feet stretched down so that the soles were exposed. They were 
cruelly cut and bruised, swollen from their beating. Natcha had surpassed 
herself. Eve wondered if her own feet had looked so awful. At the clang of 
the door the prostrate teenager raised herself on one arm. Her face was red 
and swollen from crying. Eve took her in her arms. Neither spoke. There was 
no need. 

That night before they slept Lynn made a bitter admission. "Darling, I can't 
stand pain like that. I don't think anyone can. It's silly to try and be 
heroic. I'm... I'm sort of, broken. S'pose that's the word. They could do 
anything they wanted with me and I wouldn't say boo. I'm scared at myself 
I'm so humble. From now on all they have to do is speak of whipping my feet 
and I'd lay down and spread my legs or act like a well-trained puppy dog. 
S'pose I might even be a good little girl." Her voice trailed away. She 
snuggled closer. "Darling, how was it with you?" 

"I haven't said boo, either," Eve admitted. 

During the time it took the small feet to heal Lynn was absolved from 
further punishment. Eve saw the Commandant's hand in this clemency. But she 
herself was delivered daily to Natcha to be whipped. After the exercise 
period she was always taken to the room where Natcha would be waiting. 
Waiting within an array of canes and whips that the chained girl could 
scarce bear to look at. She was required to strip instantly: an easy task 
that no longer shamed. She looked then to her whip-mistress to know what she 
must do. 

Eve came to suspect that her ordeal provided Natcha with a pleasant 
diversion. The punishment was in no sense a ceremonial affair. It was much 
like schooldays of the past when you were sent to the principal's office. 
Natcha whipped her with tremendous zest and in a great variety of positions 
and, at one time or another, with each of her daunting collection of 
instruments. Since, for a period, this whipping was to be a daily infliction 
she used all her skill to bestow the greatest pain with the least injury. 
Again, Eve sensed the Commandant's influence. Left to her own devices Natcha 
would have cut her to pieces in a week. 

It pleased Natcha often to leave her victim free of bonds and compel her to 
offer her body, or specific parts of it, so that the whip or the cane could 
bite to the greatest advantage. At such times it taxed the naked girl's will 
to its limits to remain submissive, or to hold an especially awful pose 
beyond the first stroke. 

The two girls were quite alone with their whips. They were never disturbed. 
The Commandant stayed away. It was to be expected that Natcha would exact 
the pleasure of the flesh from her slave. She did so capriciously, rewarding 
or punishing according to the degree of ecstasy Eve's tongue and fingers 
could invoke. The girl in chains cast aside inhibitions and strove 
sensuously to earn remission of her strokes. 

It is impractical to whip a girl all day and every day. Whilst Eve remained 
a prisoner in the whipping room all day long, bound or chained as Natcha's 
whim dictated, the Mistress herself came and went about her affairs. The 
victim might be whipped once or at ten different times: the number of 
strokes remaining about the same either way. She who wielded the whip 
obviously enjoyed the situation immensely. A strange communion wove itself 
between the two. Eve came to realize wonderingly that she preferred Natcha 
and the whips to most of the other punishments the "List" employed. At night 
an ecstatic Lynn caressed her love's scarlet weals with adoring lips. 

There was one bondage that pleased Natcha above all others. She employed it 
often. When she did it was always for the day. It was the raised 'X'. 
Because it could be a torture in itself she did not stretch Eve's legs too 
wide, nor did she raise the toes from the floor. As with her whipping, she 
contrived the maximum discomfort without harm. Eve hated it. She was so 
stretched! She could move so little. She got so tired. But the whips and the 
cane could bite at every crevice of her nakedness. For Natcha's purposes it 
was the perfect pose, not only for the whip, but so that she might kneel and 
with her tongue impose orgasm upon the taut-stretched 'X' that was a girl. A 
girl who would cry out in agony and could not move as ecstasy blossomed 
within her loins. 

Whilst Eve was collecting Natcha's stripes, the whip marks faded and 
disappeared from Lynn's body and her punished feet healed. At the end of two 
weeks the teenager was walking and had regained much of her normal 
effervescence. It was then that Eve was confronted with an awful decision. 

The piece of paper was thrust into her hand during exercise. She was never 
sure by whom. It read simply: "You will be unlocked at night within a week. 
Two men will carry you and Lynn so that your chains will make no noise. Obey 
them in everything." It was not signed. She could guess who had sent it. She 
tore it into minute pieces and ground them into the dirt. She did not tell 
Lynn, but sought counsel within herself. At the end of it she asked Caleb to 
take her to the Commandant. 

How absurd this all was, she reflected as she stood in the familiar position 
before the enigmatic man on whose mercy she must now rely. Pure pulp 
fiction! She felt foolish and inadequate. What she sought might tax his 
forbearance. 

"My dear," Commandant Perkins greeted her cheerfully. "I thought you were 
getting whipped." 

After all, this was Jedrah, for a girl to be whipped was no big thing. 

"Would you like to see the marks?" she asked lightly. If she could avoid the 
portentous she might be able to pull this interview off without harm to 
anyone. 

He surprised her. "Yes. Show me." 

Did she feel guilt that she was pleased. She was pleased, immoderately so. 
She felt so much a female as she discarded the sack. She felt a thrill of 
power as she saw him tense, his eyes become alive. She posed for him 
shamelessly. Hands clasped behind her neck she stood on her toes and turned 
slowly so that every inch of her and every stroke of Natcha's whip was 
nakedly revealed. Coming to rest she faced him, still posed, still 
arrogantly lovely. 

"If it is possible to enhance your beauty, I would say Natcha has achieved 
that miracle," he conceded. He looked at her shrewdly and laughed. "You well 
know the effect the sight of you like that has upon a man... upon me. If you 
were free the male world would beat a path to your door for such a glimpse 
of paradise. I am a lucky man." He paused, savoring a thought, then asked 
musingly: "Is there some significance that this very quintessence of woman 
finds its flowering only in places like Ismaul?" He smiled gently. "What can 
I do for you, Miss Trevor?" 

The moment had come. Eve prayed. She must not muff this. She fought for 
casualness, and deliberately refrained from replacing her sack. 

"Do you remember your belief in the wisdom of chaining each girl... each 
prisoner to the wall of her cell every night?" 

"Yes." It was very noncommittal. 

Eve visibly squirmed as she came out with what Lynn would have called the 
real 'dilly'. 

"Please chain Lynn and I in that way from now on." 

It was out! The most preposterous request any girl had ever made. 

He had to ask. Of course he had to! 

"I wish it. Lynn does not know. But I wish it for both of us... very much." 

"You still have not told me why." 

The strain was worse than she had reckoned on. Whichever way she went she 
would betray someone. She burst into tears. 

As usual he was patient. He had an endless supply of handkerchiefs. She 
blinked at him with a wet and pleading eye. 

"I can probably make an accurate guess," he said pleasantly. 

Hope dried a few tears. 

"Surely you realize I have a duty to have you bastinadoed until you tell me 
the truth?" 

Eve nodded dolefully. "Yes, I know. I expect I deserve it. If you did I'm 
sure I wouldn't be a bit heroic. But I sort of hoped you'd just guess and 
leave it at that. I don't actually know anything for sure, I mean names and 
things... " 

"Miss Myers?" 

"Honestly, I don't know. It might not be her at all. We never get to talk to 
each other." 

"Do you want me to load her with chains too?" His raised eyebrow was 
sardonic. 

Eve shook her head in frustration. "I'm being a nuisance. I know I am. I 
probably should not have put my problem in your lap. But it's Lynn I'm 
thinking of more than me." 

"Very well. Let us just chain our impertinent young wench to the wall." 

He was joking. It was a good sign. Feminine wisdom kept her silent. 

Rising, he circled the desk and took her hand. "You know, don't you, no 
other girl in Ismaul could come to me as you have done and leave for any 
other destination than the bastinado?" 

Almost with worship she raised her free hand and touched his cheek. "You are 
very sweet. Thank you." Her voice trembled. "I wish life was other than it 
is for us... this place... " 

"I do not wish that at all," said Commandant Perkins. 

Eve left him for her daily appointment with the whip. 

When at the end of her afternoon, smarting and sore, she was escorted to the 
cell, she found it hard to hide her amusement. An indignant Lynn was 
obviously awaiting the arrival of someone on whom to vent outrage. The 
furious teenager pointed dramatically. 

"Look! Look what they've done to us!" 

The Commandant had been better than his word. The chains were magnificent. 
The smithy had, once again, demonstrated their artistic skill. On each side 
of the cell a massive ring-bolt had been bedded deep in the stone. From it 
ran a long length of shining chain at the end of which was a heavy hinged 
metal band. One lay, open on the floor, awaiting its captive. The other 
terminated on Lynn. It was snug and tight around her right wrist. She shook 
it furiously. 

"Look at this damn thing I've got on!" 

Eve could not restrain laughter. "You mean they locked you in it right off?" 

"What's so damn funny!" Lynn demanded. Then blushed. "Well, not really like 
that. When they bunged me back in here a little while ago here were these 
bloody things staring me in the face. I just had to try one on. I must have 
pushed too hard or something. It went and locked shut. Now I can't get it 
off. I'm chained to that blasted wall." 

The child was a delight. Eve rolled upon the bench enjoying honest 
merriment. The teenager stood examining her shackled wrist with hostility. 
An anger that quickly melted under Eve's sparkling eyes so that, in no time, 
she was laughing too. Eve had an inspiration. Picking up the open wristlet 
she fitted it upon her own right wrist and clamped it shut. It clicked shut 
with a smooth finality. She raised her hand, scrutinizing her new fetter and 
the links that fell away from it. 

"It's beautiful!" 

The youngster took another look at her own. "I suppose it is," she conceded. 
"But why do we have to be chained to the wall?" 

Eve shrugged offhandedly and told of the Commandant's opinion that every 
girl should be thus restrained every night. She made light of the 
imposition. 

"What does it matter!" She rose and walked back and forth. "See, we can 
still do everything we ever did. The chain's long enough. But it's not long 
enough to let us out of the door. If he wants to chain us like this I'm not 
going to complain... not after that escape disaster." 

"I think you're sweet on him," said Lynn, mollified. While her companion 
tested her new toy, Eve examined the metal band about her wrist. It was easy 
to see now why it was so heavy. No padlock was used. Padlocks can be fiddled 
with. Here the lock mechanism was welded deep within the thickness of the 
band. Its keyhole deeply recessed within the under edge. It would take much 
skill and much time and many tools to tamper with such intricacy. The girl 
who wore it would never, never make a hasty escape. Whoever owned the key 
owned her. Secretly Eve felt safe. 

Caleb was intrigued. He knew there must be reasons. But he did not probe. He 
was a cautious man. He enjoyed his bit of humor. "Should make chain most 
short," he affirmed. "So could not lick cunts." He departed happily laughing 
at his own joke. 

Lynn did not laugh. "Oh darling! Do you think they might?" 

"No. They won't." 

Lynn still looked doubtful. "Even if I pull a boner?" 

Eve laughed. "Well, don't let's mention it. The idea might take hold." 

It came on the fourth night. Eve had begun to hope that it would not come at 
all. But when a male hand covered her lips and roused her from sleep she 
knew that for better or worse the escape was underway. The cell door was 
wide. Another dark figure was shaking Lynn. 

She had but one wish: to have them gone. That she and her darling should be 
left alone. No accusing fingers. No bullets flying. No bastinado. She held 
up her chained hand. 

The men froze. For a moment shock and consternation held them. Then, 
feverishly, they explored the girl's tethers, scrutinized the wristlets. 
There was a rapid exchange of whispers, a shaking of heads. Each man turned 
to a girl, pointed to the shackle making a negative head motion, shrugged 
regretfully and made a quick exit, locking the cell door behind them. A 
moment later they were gone. It was as though they had never been. Eve gave 
a great sigh of relief. 

The visitation had been so transient that Lynn was only now comprehending 
its full import. She looked at Eve in wide-eyed dismay. "They were going to 
rescue us...!" 

Eve hated the deception. It would be too cruel to tell the child the truth. 
She would never understand. She must dissemble. Thank goodness, and the 
Commandant, for the chains. The chains could be blamed for everything. She 
took the teenager into her arms. 

But Lynn was angry. She sat up and voiced her disquiet. "We've been gypped! 
I bet they came from Alison and her judge." She shook her shackled hand 
angrily so that the links rattled. "This blasted thing beat us! Somebody 
must have known something to chain us like this! To think we could have been 
out in the desert right now if it hadn't been for this lousy little bit of 
chain! Oh darling, it's too much... It's too damn much! It's cruel!" She 
threw herself into Eve's waiting arms. 

They wept together. It was easy for Eve to weep. She knew not the wisdom or 
cowardice of what she had done. It was a guilty thing she would have to 
carry always. They hugged each other. Each of them aware of the metal on her 
wrist as though it was a band of fire. Suddenly there came the sound of 
shots. It reached their cell faintly. But was certainly within the environs 
of Ismaul. There came a sizable volley, then desultory firing for a little 
while. The silence that followed was pregnant with dread. Lynn clutched and 
trembled. Eve comforted her as best she could. But how could two girls 
chained in prison know what had taken place out there in the desert night! 
All they could do was pray for Alison and fear for her. 

There was no exercise the next day. All prisoners remained locked in their 
cells. Caleb passed briefly, but refused to answer questions. He said 
dejectedly' "Is bad... is most bad," and went his way. In the afternoon a 
military type in uniform, an officer of some sort, scrutinized them through 
the metal lattice. He held a clipboard with papers and a pencil. 

They answered passively. Name, age, offense, sentence. He ticked them all 
off on his list. Then asked: "Why are your wrists chained?" 

"We tried to escape once." Eve smiled at him. "I suppose we are considered 
dangerous." 

He made an appropriate tick mark. "You wish to complain about the chain?" 

"It does not matter. Our ankles are chained anyway. We cannot escape." 

He said thank you in a civilized voice and went on to the next cell. 

For four days the prison routine was halted. There was a stir and atmosphere 
of tension, of things pending. Soldiers passed by, looking important. No 
prisoner left her cell. Lynn and Eve were not freed of their wrist fetters. 
They did not care. Their minds were full of other things. The fifth day 
brought change. 

At exercise time the cell doors opened. But there was no exercise. There was 
an innovation. The wardress carried cord. Eve stood passive and wondering as 
her hands were placed palm to palm and tightly tied. Then cords circled her 
elbows and were tugged and pulled until she gasped with pain. The same was 
done to Lynn. Why not the handcuffs! .But they were more helpless like this 
and there was much pain. Perhaps that was reason enough. They were not 
stripped. Their sack hid their breasts out-thrust by elbows pinioned behind 
the back. 

The two girls were separated in the marshaling of the ranks. There were as 
many soldiers as there were staff. A worried Caleb, hurrying by, muttered 
the one word, "Ceremonial." 

So it was a Ceremonial! A girl would be whipped. They would all watch. They 
would all remember when they had stood upon the platform. They would all 
know how easy it would be to stand there again. But why was she and Lynn 
bound like this! Eve could not see another girl similarly confined. A few 
were handcuffed; that was all. She knew a momentary fear that the cords 
might mean it was them who would mount the platform. But that was un-likely 
since they were ordered in line with the rest. The assembly was kept 
standing. Orders were barked. A more than usual military precision was 
contrived by a reshuffling of the prisoners. Then the final command. The 
lines of girls began their march to the sun-drenched courtyard. Eve's elbows 
hurt bitterly. 

Like so much of Jedrah it could not be true. It just couldn't be! It was a 
charade. It was a play enacted to impress. It was a grim warning. Cliches 
slipped through the mind. It was pure Hollywood. Soon they would march back 
to their cells and Ismaul would return to normal. Eve forgot the fiery pain 
of her elbows. 

The executioner wore black tights and a mask. How theatrical could these 
people be without evoking laughter! No one laughed. The huge axe on which he 
leaned gleamed and shone. The block which was now the centerpiece on the 
stage was black. It was not new. Age had marked it. Across the square a 
smart line of soldiers, all armed, stood at ease. The row of dignitaries 
below the platform were mostly military. The Commandant merged himself 
unobtrusively among them. Caleb stood disconsolately without his drum. His 
function had been usurped by a group of three provided by the army. 

Alison stood upon the platform facing the block on which she was to die. She 
had been stripped, but a fold of black cloth had been wound around her hips 
to provide a flimsy skirt. Her wrists and elbows were bound in the same way 
that Eve's were bound. Her serene face was lifted to some vision of her own 
far away. She was breathtakingly lovely. 

It was happening to Eve as a nightmare happens. She witnessed. She could not 
touch the players. She could not turn and flee. She would endure the 
nightmare's progressive horror until she awoke screaming. 

Now she understood why she and Lynn were tied. They were as committed to the 
nightmare as was the lonely girl upon the platform. They could make no 
gesture. Would Lynn suppose that because they were similarly bound they, 
too, would mount the scaffold! The child might be in torment. Eve thrust the 
thought away. There was nothing she could do in that either. She and the 
girl she loved had been reduced to nonentities. 

An officer took the stage. He read in a loud, clear voice from an official 
document. There was quite a lot of it. Eve could feel the shock and tension 
run like a current through the lines of girls among whom she stood. 
Surprisingly, when he was done, he spoke in English. The lesson must be 
learned by the white girls too! It was brief. Alison and her lover had 
murdered two guards in an attempted escape. Death was mandatory. 

How magnificent the drums! How they reach out and clutch the gut. How the 
hair will stiffen to their call. The breath will quicken in glory or 
despair. Exquisite. Ethereal! Alison was not of Ismaul, nor of Earth itself. 
She had always belonged in some Parnassian world of pure beauty. Now she 
would return. How gracefully she kneels and bows in submission to whatever 
gods whose music she could hear. How carefully and tenderly she places her 
head and rests the fragile neck within its groove. The lovely hands that 
gather up her hair and bring it forward so that she is naked to the blade. 
The arms fall. For a moment she is at rest. The axe rises, then falls 
flashing in the sun. The drums, in a paean of farewell, rise to a 
crescendo... 

When the second task was done sixty frightened, tearful girls were marched 
back to their cells. 

They sat silent, the two of them. There was nothing to say. The wardress had 
removed the cords. They rubbed the scarlet grooves left in their flesh. 
Jedrah had shown itself to them nakedly. Ismaul held them. Ahead lay the 
years... 

In the end a single thought! Mutely Lynn voiced it without words. She took 
Eve's hand, clasped the shackle round the slender wrist and snapped it shut. 
Then did the same with her own. After a very long time she caught her 
companion's eye. With a studied solemnity the teenager raised her tether and 
kissed the metal band upon her wrist. Once more they held each other tight 
and wept in thankfulness. 

* * * 

If, in places such as Ismaul, there is a norm they returned to it in the 
days that followed. The military vanished. Caleb returned to cheerfulness, 
and beat his drum to his heart's content at Ceremonials where a girl was 
whipped. For the time being Eve's days with Natcha were suspended in order 
that her striped epidermis might renew itself in readiness for future 
sessions with the whip. The two girls worked their way down the list of 
their 'Full Punishment' by enduring distresses which ranged from the trivial 
to the bizarre. Each night in their cell they exchanged experiences and 
shared comfort or laughter as their day may have brought. But one small 
facet of their imprisonment that did not revert was the chains. Each night 
their wrist was locked in the now familiar metal band. Even when she had the 
chance Eve refrained from speaking of this to the Commandant. It was an 
awkward subject. She never knew whether it was an oversight or simply a wise 
precaution. Neither girl ever mentioned the word escape. 

Eve had always supposed that when she reached it on 'The List', it would be 
indoors. Her approach to the punishment was unconventional and, like so much 
at Ismaul, had about it-a touch of farce. The Wardress propelled her up into 
the back of the ancient truck, which then wheezed its way to the big banyan 
tree with its post against which she had spent a painful day. But they did 
not stop. Their destination stood on the opposite side of the huge trunk. 
Still in the vital shade, but placed so that she had not seen it previously. 
When the truck began to back toward it she knew how she would spend her day. 
In spite of what she had been told it was still frightening. 

It was a quite substantial cross. She would be crucified at a considerable 
elevation. Those who passed would have to gaze up at her. Hence the truck 
with its raised box and two ladders. Hence the two male jailers who laughed 
at her consternation. 

A small platform was clamped to the upright. Eve was stripped and made to 
climb up on it. This made it easy for her to extend her arms so that her 
wrists could be tightly strapped to the cross at the very limits to which 
they could be stretched. Then the clamps were loosed and the platform jerked 
from beneath her feet. 

Eve cried out in shock and pain as her body fell, all its weight hanging 
from her spread wrists. Fruitlessly her legs sought any kind of support to 
lessen the strain. For a moment she had a faint hope that she could use her 
ankle chain if somehow she could get it thrust against the rough wood. But 
it was impossible. She hung limp. Her jailers had enjoyed her struggles. Now 
they finished their task. Cords were passed around and over her ankles above 
and below the metal shackles, pulled tight and knotted around the post. 
Still laughing, they drove away and left her. 

Determinedly the naked girl told herself not to panic. Much of the awfulness 
would be in the mind from historical and biblical associations. She was not 
nailed. The straps round her wrists would not impede the flow of blood as 
cords would have done. It was going to be a bad day, but they evidently did 
not expect her to die. She instantly recognized their cunning in allowing 
all her weight to hang from her wrists before they bound her feet. By so 
doing they foiled her natural instinct to thrust some of her weight upon the 
strictures that held her ankles to the wood. Mirthlessly she considered that 
if the strain stretched her she might then find some relief from that 
source. No doubt the absence of bonds upon any other part of her was 
thoughtfully designed to place all strain upon her extremities. She actually 
longed for a rope around her waist. The strain on her stretched arms 
frightened her. 

Had she desired it, Eve might have been gratified by the attention she now 
received. Tied to the post, most had passed her by with only a glance. Few 
did that now. They would stop and gaze at her suspended charms with 
enjoyment and interest. Whenever there were two or more the comments would 
fly back and forth with knowing smiles and nodding heads. She supposed, 
wryly, that female pubic hair provided an intensified eroticism if the male 
had to look up at it. She was no more lewdly exposed now than when she had 
stood at the post. But she was a greater attraction. What did it matter! Let 
them look. 

It was hard not to plead with them. They were free. She was tortured by a 
few straps and some cord. It seemed inconceivable that one of them would not 
cut her down. She knew they would not. But it was almost a torture in itself 
not to ask. To ease frustration she looked down now at the three peering 
males below. "Please set me free," she enunciated clearly. 

She never knew if they had understood her words. They could not fail to 
know, or guess, what she had pleaded for. It sparked some ribald interchange 
and much slapping of legs and fingers poked in ribs. She did not try again. 

Eve had been suspended many times. But never quite like this. The cross 
imposed a compliance of its own. Had she been willing to accept the extra 
pain she could wriggle or ineffectually struggle. Her body was completely 
free of strictures. She guessed her audience would greet such an effort with 
joy. But to all intents and purposes she could not; or would not, move. Just 
her head. But, even in this small freedom, the cross defeated her. She could 
not toss her head or throw it back. The only way in which she could hold it 
without stress was to let it drop forward as though she was unconscious, her 
hair falling beside her face. It was not a pose she wanted. But she fell 
into it. 

What does a crucified girl think about? She wondered if, technically, she 
was crucified. Were the spikes implicit in the word? Or did simply hanging 
on a cross entitle her to boast, in time to come, that she had been 
crucified! Why had she chosen the word, boast? Because she remembered the 
Commandant's story of the girl who experienced a carnal thrill when hung 
upon a cross. It had seemed improbable, but the naked Eve glimpsed how 
plausible it could be for the seething male concupiscence below to reach up 
and infect the naked female stretched for torture. Already she could 
palpably sense their urgent need to use her body, even when she closed her 
eyes she knew, they mentally ravished her. 

Was it that she was high upon a cross beyond the reach of their hands! Did 
this make her more desirable, or more interesting. Such speculations were 
idle she knew. But they helped counter pain. Would they do this to Lynn? 
Would her slight youthfulness hang like this one day soon? Poor child. She 
was imprisoned here because of their love. Because of the abortive escape. 
Without that love she would be back in America a free girl. Now they were 
both doomed. Ismaul held them with a stronger grip each day. Chained as 
completely as they always were they could never, never escape of their own 
efforts. Their only hope was Calvin. But Calvin had not saved Alison. Calvin 
had begun to recede into a distant past that could not be resurrected. Their 
chains would hold them always... 

"You are not asleep, are you?" a quiet voice asked. 

It was the Commandant. 

"I have elucidated the mystery," he said in a pleased conversational voice. 
"It is purely that, fastened as you are, you are probably the most beautiful 
creature in the world." 

She managed a wan smile. She wished they could talk more at times when she 
was not being tortured. 

"I suppose it's one of those strange facts of life that the naked female 
positioned or subjected in certain ways projects an elemental and universal 
appeal." He continued in his favorite meditative strain. "You, being of the 
quality you are, enhance this appeal. I am almost ashamed to confess the 
potently erotic influence you impose upon me now." 

She managed a real smile this time. Damn the pain! She liked him. She had 
long since given up resentment that he should be free and she bound. It was 
natural. It was their lot in life. She toyed with a deliciously naughty wish 
to embarrass him by asking if she would gain freedom from Ismaul if he 
married her. 

So, seeing her like this gave him an erection! She was grateful he had told 
her. 

He laughed cheerfully. In these meetings he was no longer shamed by her 
pain. Even when she was in agony they were at ease with each other. It was 
an anomaly of life at Ismaul. 

"If you were my personal property I would place you on a cross for an hour 
every day." He looked up at her quizzically. "Would you bear it gracefully 
in the cause of esthetic appreciation?" 

"Yes." She smiled down at him. "I mean it. Yes, I would." 

He sighed. Their discussions were always punctuated by sighs. "I am much 
tempted," he admitted. "I could easily order it done. But it would rouse 
comment." He grinned. "But I can assure you that this is not your last time 
upon a cross." 

He said suddenly: "This man in America who sent you here. He is perturbed 
about the execution of Miss Myers. He is frantically seeking the release of 
our insolent moppet. But he is defeated there by her authentic involvement 
with Jedrah's criminal laws. Our little damsel has become far more the 
property of Jedrah than even you." 

He made a gesture of weariness and doubt. "I have concerned myself little, 
for the less I am involved the better. The uses to which Ismaul is put by... 
interested parties, is something I am supposed to close my mind to. But here 
and there information filters through. I should not tell you perhaps, but 
your Mr. Calvin turned to you as a second possibility. It seems he wants a 
female back... any female. But there is an influence that denies him you. I 
get the impression that it is a case of both of you or neither. I find 
myself becoming intrigued... " 

Eve was intrigued too. Would the influence be Marge? Marge would not want 
her kid sister left alone in Ismaul. Marge must be frantic with worry about 
the child. 

"But it's Mrs. Cohen who has the real influence here, isn't it?" Eve asked. 
"Isn't it through her he got us imprisoned in Ismaul?" 

"Yes. But Mrs. Cohen is much involved in Jedrah. I do not think she wants 
embarrassments at this time. Jedrah at this moment is a troubled state." He 
chuckled. "I suppose I do not have to tell you that, whilst Mrs. Cohen bears 
you personally no ill will, the same cannot be said of her sentiments 
towards the maiden who shares your cell. I fear that, as far as Mrs. Cohen 
is concerned, the little lady can stay with us the full term of her 
sentence. Nor has she forgotten her intention to stripe the youngster's 
skin. It is a prerogative she has and will use." 

"But to feel so strongly about a child...!" 

He shrugged. "A child... well, in some ways. But in others very much a 
woman. Mrs. Cohen was angry enough with her to once consider legally 
invoking the Jedrah punishment for lesbianism. Had it not been you who was 
the equally guilty partner I think she would have done so. I could not have 
stopped her." 

Eve's heart thudded. She remembered. The girl's clitoris was removed. It did 
not bear thinking about. How closely the unthinkable hovered above a girl in 
Ismaul! She broached a subject never far from her mind. 

"How long do these 'Full Punishments' continue?" 

"You are in great pain, my dear. Should we talk of such things?" 

"Please." 

He nodded understandingly. "You fear the unknown. A swimmer has hope when he 
can see the distant shore." He became silent, thinking. "I should not speak 
of this. There is nothing good to tell. The approved list is very long. When 
a girl surmounts it she starts again." 

It was no surprise. Eve had guessed. "But the whole ten years!" she 
protested. "Might it not stop when I have served my original sentence?" 

"If I am still Commandant here I will strive to make it stop." Seeing the 
gratitude in her eyes he added hastily, "Don't think that far. Think no more 
than the five years. In that time you must suffer these... things. You may 
think this quaint, but there is a check, an audit system designed to foil 
lenience to any girl for whom someone in authority may feel...!" He sought 
for the right word. "... Pity." 

"In the second round... is a girl bastinadoed again?" 

"I am afraid so." 

"Within Lynn's three years: will her feet be whipped again?" 

"Yes." 

Eve was close to tears. It was not a happy vista of the years for either of 
them. Yet they had each other, and there was an illogical comfort in this 
strange man who came and talked so rationally to a tortured girl. It wasn't 
really punishment... its proper name was torture. But between the two of 
them it had taken on a guise peculiarly its own. 

"There is a knowledge that has come to me in this work," the Commandant 
continued slowly, "that could offer you some philosophical consolation if 
you could bring yourself to believe it. At this moment, hanging there upon 
the cross, you may not believe it, but the fact is that most girls prefer 
'The List' to being locked alone in their cell all day." 

"How can you tell?" 

"Observation, discussion, actual requests." 

"You mean...?" 

"Yes. Girls who had been sentenced to a specific period of the punishments, 
but whose imprisonment continued on, have often asked to be put back in 
rotation. It may take them a week, a month, a year to reach the desire. But 
in the end boredom prompts them back to the drama and eroticism of pain." 

Could it be so! Was solitary confinement so devastating! To a girl... young! 

"You think that I...?" 

"Most especially you. You are vividly alive and possess a sensuality you 
have tried to hide from yourself." 

The naked Eve squirmed inwardly. How much of her did he understand! More 
than she herself... 

"Are you sure this... eroticism, is in the girl? Isn't it rather in those 
who watch?" 

He laughed chidingly. "You know better than that. You have felt the stirring 
in the loins. Your passionate Lynn would adore a daily whipping if it was 
not too severe." 

She could not deny. She hung there helplessly and considered the world of 
Commandant Perkins. How strange a world it was. But it was the world of 
Ismaul. Filled with women, Ismaul belonged to man. Jedrah was male. Yet in 
these walls a girl came I face to face with her femaleness more vividly than 
she would ever do at Colby & Associates. 

"I have given you something to think about," he said kindly as he turned 
away. 

Her next visitor was Caleb. 

He gazed up at her with a vast and intrigued grin. 

"Hello, Caleb. Yes, it hurts like hell, and I wish you'd let me down." She 
got her piece in ahead of him. He was delighted. "You make most big joke. 
Your cunt is showing well." 

"Anything else?" To hell with the pain... ! 

"And tits. Is most fine position for girl." 

"I'll trade you." 

He motioned in mock horror. "Oh no! Caleb look most foolish." 

"Well, how d'you think I feel?" 

"Most good. All men stop and admire cunt." 

In his way Caleb was a vulgar and abbreviated Perkins. "Did you just come to 
look at the thing I use to pee?" She was taking a perverse delight in 
matching his earthiness. 

"No. Caleb see many cunts," he affirmed with dignity. Then added hastily, 
"But none so fine. Is most neat slit and good thick bush. Long tongue of 
little girl make hair grow... " He roared with laughter. 

"Do you enjoy seeing me tortured, Caleb?" 

"Of course. Make fine cock most hard." 

"Isn't that uncomfortable?" 

He shrugged unconcernedly. "Is good. I go back and fuck any girl I like." 
His eyes glinted. "Maybe I fuck Lynn...!" 

Eve was unconcerned. He wouldn't. She knew him. Yet what power this 
nondescript man possessed. Sixty vaginas into which he could empty his seed 
at will. Calvin did not know what power was. 

"Caleb think most nice to fuck girl while she being punished," he confided. 
"But book say not to do." He considered the injustice. "I am thinking is 
because girl not to have pleasure at such time." 

His male conceit was infuriating. "Fuck me now," she invited innocently. "No 
one is looking." 

"You make sport." He sounded injured. Then tittered at some picture in his 
mind. "Caleb would have to get ladder." He was obviously intrigued. "Caleb 
thinks first time pretty girl gets fucked by man standing on ladder." 

This time they shared laughter. Eve wondered at herself. She was undergoing 
torture and she was laughing. Was there something perverse in her? Or did a 
girl simply get used to suffering. 

"Go and get a ladder, Caleb." 

"You are having small joke. Caleb not mind... much." He looked around as 
though for eavesdroppers, then lowered his voice. "I fuck you good when you 
being punished some other time. Get in fine position to fuck most hard... " 

"But what about the book of rules?" Eve was deliberately arch. 

"Fuck the book of rules," said Caleb. Even Ismaul had compensations! 

"I am bringing most bad news," Caleb now informed her importantly. He had 
obviously been treasuring some tidbit she would not like. 

"Alright, Caleb. Let's have it." Eve wished she could move. 

"Your darling girl is to be fucked." 

Eve showed her puzzlement. Both of them had been violated often enough by 
jailers and guards. They refused to allow it to touch them emotionally. They 
kept it mechanical, referring to it laughingly as 'The Availability Clause'. 

Caleb smiled commiseratingly. Then delivered his bombshell with vast 
panache. "Is to be fucked by most big dog." 

It hit her like a blow. Lynn! The immaculate child. She let the ugly picture 
seep into her mind. How would the girl react! The performance would hold no 
more significance than the use of their bodies by the staff. But it could be 
traumatic if you let it. She remembered the girl's heated avowal that she 
would let herself be screwed by a donkey if it would get her out of Ismaul. 
Was this the Commandant's sardonic response? Or was it only one more item on 
The List. 

"How will it be done?" she asked miserably. 

"Is much fun," he assured her as though with comfort. "Is most big cage. She 
is locked in with most big dog and with bench. Whenever she wish she can lay 
on bench and help dog stick most big prick into her cunt. After that dog is 
knowing what to do." 

There was a finesse to it. It would bother and hurt a girl more: having to 
inaugurate the act herself. They could tie her to the bench and it would 
soon be over. But not this way. 

"Is she alone? Are there watchers...?" 

"Small boy watch. When she decides to let dog fuck she sends him to fetch 
whoever wants to see. If she do without people seeing, then she have to wait 
for dog to get hard-on again and try once more. Is most best to do as told." 

Yes, it would be best. But would Lynn do it? 

"Is she in the cage now?" 

"Oh yes. Has been since exercise. She say no play." He giggled. "Dog show 
much interest." He looked up at the suspended girl helpfully. "You hang for 
long time yet. But it is me who loose you tonight when punishment over. 
Then, if she not let dog fuck, I take you to see. She look most pretty in 
cage... " 

Caleb was a most kindly man. 

It was a big cage. But not big enough for a girl to stand upright. She would 
kneel, or move on hands and knees. Thus she was reduced to the level of the 
animal she must couple with. The naked girl in it was grubby, her cheeks 
tear-stained. The cage also contained a wooden bench and quite the largest 
dog Eve had ever seen. It sat placidly waiting for something to happen. Lynn 
hurled herself at the bars and thrust her arms through them. "Oh darling... 
I was afraid they wouldn't let you... " 

"I'm here." Eve took the supplicating small hands and kissed the reaching 
mouth avidly. It was a kiss that went on and on. 

Caleb watched in tactful silence. 

"It's beastly!" The declaration surged out of the caged girl in an explosion 
of indignation. She was not so much scared as mad. "That damn dog. He's been 
sniffing at me as though I was a garbage barrel." 

"Knows bitch in heat." Caleb scored a bull's-eye. 

"You drop dead!" The naked teenager spat at their benefactor. "Where in hell 
did they find a dog this big?" 

"Is special breed for fuck," Caleb informed. "Is true." 

"He hasn't hurt you, darling?" 

Lynn sniffed. "Oh no, he'd be rather a dear if I was out of this damn cage 
and had some clothes on. I bet he's done this before. All morning he climbed 
all over me and licked everything he could get his tongue on. I was scared 
to hit him in case he bit. Now he just sits like that and watches. It makes 
me so mad! He's quite positive in that blasted male mind of his that if he 
waits long enough I'll lay on the bench and invite him over." 

"All girls do," Caleb explained. "He know." 

"Well, I'm not going to!" 

"Oh yes! No food until you do. You get most hungry. No sleep. When try and 
sleep dog lick cunt and wake up." 

"He would too," admitted Lynn vehemently. 

"Are most foolish girl not to let him lick cunt," Caleb pointed out 
reasonably. "Is most pleasant and pass much time." 

"Pleasant for who, you idiot?" Lynn asked sulkily. 

"For both. Is it not taught we be most kind to animals?" Caleb declaimed 
sententiously. 

There were moments when Eve was not quite sure of Caleb. 

"Well, stick your prick through the bars and let him lick that," Lynn 
suggested. 

Eve was relieved by the vulgarity. She knew Caleb's feelings would not be 
hurt. Lynn had not, as yet, suffered trauma. 

The younger girl in the cage sat back on her haunches and looked at her 
loved one as though expecting Eve to produce a miracle. "Darling, what am I 
going to do?" 

It was not. a rhetorical question. Eve knew the answer, but had no wish to 
put it into words. Caleb did it for her. 

"Lay on bench and spread legs." 

The silence that fell upon the three of them and the watching child who was 
the prisoner's custodian was far more eloquent than words. Far more final 
than a judgment. Lynn's hurt eyes sought Eve. 

"I'm going to have to do it, darling, aren't I? S'pose I've known it all 
along." 

"You much enjoy. He give most long fuck," Caleb approved. 

Eve looked up at him, worried. She remembered jokes. "Is it... is it 
alright? I mean, dogs aren't like us, are they?" 

"Is O.K.," he assured. "Just take much time." He chortled. "Little girl can 
go to sleep once prick in cunt." 

Eve thought this improbable. But she was grateful for Caleb's presence and 
his reassurance. She turned to the caged girl and resignedly said the words 
that have been considered good advice since man first learned speech. 

"Best to get it over with." 

Lynn nodded. She had evidently made her own decision. "O.K. Send Hawk-eye 
there for the audience. They're going to be the worst part of the whole 
deal. Hey, Caleb! You going to sell tickets?" Lynn was herself again. She 
would defeat this punishment as she had all the others save for the 
bastinado... 

The audience was a motley group. Lesser members of the staff, slightly 
bored. They had seen it all before. Perhaps they had been coerced into 
coming. They did not know they were getting a hundred-dollar show for free. 
They viewed the proceedings with humor rather than lust. Eve was thankful 
that the Commandant had not responded. Caleb took charge. 

"Is ready now for fuck," he announced grandly. 

The naked victim looked up at him through the bars. "O.K., wise guy. I'm 
going to go through with it. I'll even try and give you your money's worth. 
But I've never done this before. If I do something wrong you'd better tell 
me." 

Caleb was pleased. "Is most good girl. Push bench to center. Lay on it so 
cunt stick out over end. Stretch legs wide, bend knees and pull back. Gives 
him nice view." 

"And everyone else too," Lynn agreed bitterly. 

The huge dog watched Lynn's progress with an interested eye as she achieved 
the demeaning exposure required. Blushing furiously the teenager turned to 
Caleb and demanded: "Well, here I am. Why doesn't he jump on me?" 

"You have been unkind to him. He thinks you do not love. I think you have to 
go and play with prick." 

"You mean get him an erection?" Lynn was outraged. 

"And let him smell your cunt." Caleb knew all the tricks. 

For a moment Eve had to suppress laughter. Once again Ismaul had 
unintentionally provided farce. She watched with a repugnant fascination as 
the girl in the cage did what was required of her. The crowd applauded. Lynn 
grimaced and stuck her tongue out at them. She was committed now. She would 
be neither shy, nor humble, nor show a fear by which they might despise her. 
If she had a flag handy she would have waved it. The power of the presence 
of the girl she loved sustained her. Eve prayed that this would always be 
so. 

Suddenly the dog lost its lethargy. Avidly it followed the sacrificial girl 
back to her bench. Lynn arranged herself as before. This time she did not 
have to wait. 

It was quite obscene. The great tongue lapped at the parted lips within 
their wiry bush. There was much sniffing. The wet nozzle thrust itself 
within the moist cavern. Lynn clutched rigidly at the bench, tense, her eyes 
staring. 

"Stretch knees very far apart. That way chain on ankles not hinder," Caleb 
directed from his eminence of consultant. 

Eve wryly had to admit to herself that the dog possessed a technique of love 
play superior to most men. It would be hard for any woman to fail to respond 
to so much warm moist friction so intimately applied to her most sensitive 
possession. She could feel a tingling within herself. The naked girl upon 
the bench had surrendered utterly to a new dimension of sensation. 

Satiated yet excited by his preliminary exploration of the girl's body, the 
huge animal suddenly mounted her. Eve saw the immense red glistening weapon 
seek its prey and slide within the female sheath that her own lips and 
tongue had so often sought and entered. Lynn was impaled. 

It was as though the rutting creature played to its audience. Perhaps it 
did. It varied its assault upon the naked Lynn so that periods of hunching 
thrusts which shook her open body and the bench on which it lay were 
interspersed by quiet immobility in which the dog seemed to await the 
generation of fresh forces by which to continues its attack upon the supine 
female flesh delivered for its pleasure. 

It was in one of these pauses, longer than the others, that Lynn turned a 
shocked eye to Caleb. "For Pete's sake! How long can this damn dog keep 
pounding at me? I've gone off four times already." 

"He is most fine dog," said Caleb proudly. "He make you gasp and squirm for 
long time yet. You most lucky girl. You do much enjoy...?" He inquired 
solicitously. 

The captive girl raised a sweat-dewed face to look at him, and at the 
panting dog, and at the avid crowd. "Alright you bastards!" she exclaimed to 
no one in particular. "Sure I'm enjoying it. It's a better fuck than any of 
you could give... " A giant thrust from the organ within her loins sent her 
head back to rest and set her hips to weave and raise to meet her canine 
master. The fur-clad haunches leaped into a frenzy of motion. Thrust after 
thrust impaled the slight nakedness. Lynn emitted cry after cry, the age-old 
cry of the female mastered by the male... The dog beat at her savagely until 
the end. 

* * * 

Eve lay on her back and admired the shackle on her wrist. "Y'know, darling," 
she said lazily, "Caleb's sweet. Absurd, but sweet. We owe him a lot. He had 
that woman take you and give you a bath and a douche. Most men wouldn't have 
thought of it. I was worried... " 

"You and me both," Lynn said ardently. "We don't need the pitter-patter of 
puppy feet in this cell." She raised up and gazed down at her love. 
"Darling, is it possible? I mean, can a girl have puppies... or 
something...?" 

"I don't know," Eve frankly admitted. "There's all sorts of tales. I've 
never really believed them." 

"Darling, am I awful? Before you showed up with Caleb I was quite sure I 
never, never would do it-even if they left me in that cage forever. Then all 
of a sudden I'm having a ball." 

Eve had felt guilt for both of them. "It's just no use us feeling guilty," 
she affirmed vehemently. "We will always have to do what we are told in 
Ismaul." She rattled her chain as evidence. "We can't ever be heroic anymore 
than we can ever escape. What's bothering us is that you enjoyed it." She 
laughed. "Darling, I almost envied you. That's an awful admission to make 
too. But there's nothing remarkable about it. If any girl was laid out on a 
bench and someone stuck something inside her slit and wiggled it up and down 
long enough she might have a dozen orgasms. But it wouldn't mean anything. 
Forget it. It's been ticked off your list-" She started upright herself: 
"Good gosh, I suppose if it's on the list it's going to happen to me too... 
" They looked at each other and burst out laughing. 

They forgot it very easily. 

* * * 

Rahbinda Cohen had the air of a preoccupied businesswoman faced with a long 
overdue task. She and the Commandant turned from the papers on his desk as 
Eve and Lynn were thrust into his office. 

"Remember me?" 

The older woman smiled fleetingly at Eve and turned her full attention 
grimly upon Lynn. "You know why I'm here?" 

"Yes, Madam." Eve had never seen the girl so meek. "Well, why am I here?" 
Rahbinda was going to have her pound of flesh. 

"To whip me, Madam." 

Lynn did the unexpected. In a burst of honesty she blurted out: "I'm 
sorry... really I am. You trusted me, bringing me over here and all that. I 
let you down. I deserve to be whipped. I won't complain." 

Mrs. Cohen scrutinized the teenager critically. Even Eve cast a quick glance 
for signs of dissembling. 

"You may mean that," Mrs. Cohen conceded. "It won't help your backside 
today. But I'll remember." 

Rahbinda turned to Eve and held up a warning hand against the questions she 
could see trembling on the captive's lips. "Not now, my dear. All I can tell 
you is that change is at work everywhere. Jedrah is torn with it. Ismaul may 
not be exempt. It is possible that even I do not know the answers to what 
you ask. For now, hold your tongue and take this tiresome child to Natcha's 
room and strap her as tightly as your arm can manage to that small pedestal 
affair that sticks her bottom well out. I want you both naked. When I join 
you I shall test your work. If our little vixen can even twitch I'll whip 
you too. Now, away with you." 

Change was indeed at work. This was Eve's first errand in Ismaul. She and 
her charge had a small freedom without supervision. Their chains held them. 
But still... it was an odd feeling. She glanced at her subdued companion. 
"Why so humble, darling?" 

Lynn found explanation difficult. She was not sure herself. "Well, I did 
treat the old girl sort of bad," she apologized. "I mean, she did bring me 
over to see you. When I was working on The Great Escape I never even thought 
about her. I can see that from her point of view I'm a little bitch... I 
say, Eve darling, she's really going to lace into me... I can tell. If being 
humble will save a few cuts on my bum I'll be humble." 

The pedestal was like the one back at the Estate. The girls looked at it 
unhappily. There seemed a lot of straps and buckles. 

"I suppose we'd better get set," Lynn said without enthusiasm. "If she comes 
in and finds me walking around you'll get a skinned bottom too." She grinned 
ruefully. "I think the old girl's got a 'thing' about bottoms. I'm scared 
for mine. I almost wish she'd string me up some other way and spread the 
damage around a bit. I haven't got a mark on me now, have I. I got a feeling 
I've been saved up for this." 

Eve watched the resigned teenager drape her slenderness over the round T bar 
and reach to the floor. Her bottom reared. The pedestal was designed for 
just one thing: to protrude a girl's bottom defenselessly. The straps were 
wicked. They, too, had a single purpose: immobility. Eve tugged at them 
angrily. It was a task she did not want. But Mrs. Cohen's injunction was 
vivid in her mind. There was another pedestal in the room... 

The leather bands bit into the child's ankles, knees, thighs and waist. 
Wristlets cinched the hands to the base. She was bent like a hinge. The 
final and worst infliction was a long strap that circled the whole ensemble, 
passing over her shoulders, round the pedestal and over her thighs. A small 
muffled voice informed: "Darling, the way they do that is to shove your foot 
into my back and tug the buckle like hell. Go on. Do it." 

Eve was shocked by her handiwork. Both girls had been bound for punishment 
in many ways. But there was something specifically malignant about this 
simple device, a hostile intent against a single portion of a girl's 
anatomy. Whoever had designed it must have cherished a bitter animosity for 
the feminine posterior. Or a cruel love! 

The older girl tugged and pulled. There was no slack at all. Surely Rahbinda 
would be satisfied with this! Tenderly, but with a shamed awareness of a 
blossoming eroticism, she stroked and caressed the round curves that would 
soon be bitten by the cane. They were exquisite. She longed to fondle them 
endlessly. She bent and kissed them, letting her lips make a tracery of 
love. But she was fearful. The chubbies were bent and stretched so wickedly 
tight that whatever instrument was used on them must surely cut cruelly into 
the proffered flesh. 

Eve voiced her concern when Mrs. Cohen joined them. 

"Madam, I fear the skin is stretched so tight the cane will do it real 
injury." 

"Good!" 

Rahbinda tested the straps as she had promised, and nodded approvingly. 

"But Madam, forgive me... I've never seen a bottom so terribly exposed... " 

"Neither have I," said Rahbinda cheerfully. 

"I think it will cut her skin." 

"Excellent!" Mrs. Cohen grimly enthused. 

There didn't seem anything more to say. 

Rahbinda made her choice with care. "Well, if the little vixen's rump is as 
tight as you say we'd better not use anything too stiff. A nice whippy cane, 
eh." She made her choice and tested it. 

It was indeed a nice whippy cane! Eve flinched. The helpless victim 
contrived a shocked glance from one apprehensive eye. 

"I will not be hypocritical about this," said Mrs. Cohen. "I'm reading no 
lecture, I'm making no justifications. I shall enjoy caning your bottom 
immensely. I have wanted to do it for a long time. You know the reason. Make 
as much noise as you wish. I shall enjoy that too." 

Eve longed to close her eyes. But could not. We are under strange 
compulsions at such times. She grimaced in horror at the scarlet line that 
followed the cane across her darling's cheeks. She stood transfixed as it 
was followed by another, and another. How did Lynn keep silent! A 
determination to be unpredictable. Strangled sounds did emerge, but the 
bound child did not scream. Eve was certain that she herself would have 
screamed from the first blow. The scene had an unreality. The white bottom 
with its wounds was inconsistent with the utter and total stillness of the 
punished girl. So complete was her confinement that she could not twitch, 
could not quiver. Within she must be an agonized turmoil. But her youthful 
bottom reared itself jauntily as though the searing whip was a loved one's 
kiss. 

Mrs. Cohen smiled happily and flashed her arm back and forth with intent 
purpose. Soon the screams came. Beginning with pleas and protests whose very 
futility dried them on the tongue they won their victory over the tight lips 
that sought to contain them and pealed forth as a fearful accompaniment to 
the ringing splat of cane on female flesh. 

It did not stop. The watching Eve was in an agony all her own. Blood was on 
the tight skin now. The weals were merging so that soon the defenseless 
cheeks would be one wound. The screams tore at her very core. She could not 
endure them. She pleaded in panic. 

"Please stop... oh please! It's too much. She's only a kid!" 

Mrs. Cohen did stop. One got the impression she was glad of a breather. She 
turned her amused attention on the frantic supplicant. 

"The little mother, eh!" She eyed Eve shrewdly. "Go ahead. Say it. You'll 
take her place. Don't beat her anymore. Beat me instead! That's it, isn't 
it?" 

Eve nodded. Her eyes were filling with tears. The whipped girl managed a 
muffled "No... No!" and resumed her choking sobs. 

Rahbinda laughed. "You really want that, don't you?" 

The shining hope in Eva's eyes was her answer. 

"You have enough whip marks on you now, girl. But I'll cater to that 
Protestant puritan conscience of yours if it means that much. But remember, 
no matter how hard I whip you it will not absolve your little darling from a 
single stroke." 

Eve was distraught. She could not bear that Lynn should suffer alone. Yet to 
bear such agony without aiding her love... ! She suspected Rahbinda was 
laughing at her. Or setting some trap. 

Rahbinda herself watched with real interest the play of emotions across 
Eve's anguished face. "You of the West," she mocked. "So full of guilt. You 
feel immoral without suffering. Or is it that you feel lust in pain?" 

Eve had no answer. She only knew that she longed for the whip to cease 
cutting at her love. "I don't know," she admitted helplessly making a 
woebegone gesture of bafflement. "But I'll do anything if you'll stop 
whipping her. Please don't whip her anymore." 

"Are you trying to bargain, girl?" 

"I'm making a mess of it," Eve wailed. "I'm sorry. I really am sorry, but I 
can't help it." 

Rahbinda was enjoying herself. "Well then, I'll offer you a bargain. Get 
over that pedestal and I'll whip you as you've never been whipped before. 
I'll make you both howl at the top of your voices. Perhaps, if you don't 
deafen me too much, I may relent a little and let you share a portion of 
what she really deserves." 

"Don't do it!" Lynn's voice was urgent. 

Without pause Eve sped to the pedestal and bent over. Without further 
comment the older woman strapped her to it as brutally as the moaning 
teenager was fastened. Eve was glad of the leather bands. She knew she could 
not endure the pain to come without them. But her tummy churned in fear. She 
had seen Lynn's bottom. Soon hers would be the same! The fear came close to 
panic when she discovered she could not move in even the slightest degree. 
Her naked bottom felt as though the eyes of the world were upon it. 

Mrs. Cohen was a methodical woman. She would finish what she had started. 
She returned to her 'nice whippy cane' and Lynn's bloodstained buttocks. The 
frightful whir and splat once more sent Eve's compassion writhing in 
torment. The caning went steadily on and on. By now the poor child's bottom 
would be a terrible thing to see. Why, oh why, didn't the woman desist and 
divert her savagery to the new bottom pointed into the air in voluntary 
sacrifice? No girl could long continue to bear what Lynn was bearing. It was 
too much! Eve began to wonder if she had been duped: if what she must soon 
suffer would serve any purpose... 

The steady beat of the cane on female flesh stopped suddenly. Mrs. Cohen was 
breathing heavily. The whipped girl's screams lapsed into choking sobs and 
small inarticulate sounds that tore at Eve's heart. Eve herself knew a great 
thankfulness. The cane had stopped before her beloved had slipped into 
unconsciousness. Now it was her turn. Mentally she braced her whole being... 

"Nobility can be tiresome," Mrs. Cohen chided good-humoredly as she 
unbuckled the straps that had clamped Eve to the pedestal. "Let it be a 
lesson." 

Eve stood up, dazed, her bottom unmarked. The cane had not touched her. "You 
mean...?" She looked at Mrs. Cohen in wonder. 

"That's right," Rahbinda assented. "I set out to cane the little vixen's 
bottom, and that's what I've done. No good reason for me to cane yours, so I 
didn't." She smiled confidingly. "I don't mind telling you I feel better. I 
needed that. So did she!" 

Using the cane had made Rahbinda Cohen surprisingly human. How strange women 
were! Eve felt foolish. 

"Take your little darling back to the cell. I'm through with her. You can 
lock yourselves up. Good-bye, my dear." 

Purposefully, Mrs. Rahbinda Cohen strode from the room. 

Tenderly, Eve led the gasping child back to their own small prison. Smiling 
wanly in thankfulness Lynn slithered onto her stomach on the bench. Eve 
could not lock the door, but played it safe by clasping home the shackles 
for their wrists. As she poured water in a bowl she speculated that Mrs. 
Cohen's visit had been a resounding success... 

Eve never knew. That was the potency of 'The List'. A girl never knew! When 
the banyan tree came into view she wondered: It had been some time since her 
day on the cross, some time since Lynn's bottom had been caned. Was this a 
repeat... ! 

She had underestimated Ismaul's repertoire. The dour wardress and Caleb 
brought her to a standstill beside a grave dug deep beneath the shade of the 
vast tree. A funny sort of grave, deep but small. Maybe they buried their 
corpses standing up in Kedrah. Then she guessed. 

They stripped her. How simple the task was! Caleb used his precious 
handcuffs to lock her wrists behind her back. They lowered her into the 
hole. 

"Please to stand quite still," Caleb requested as he went to work with the 
shovel. 

They must have measured. Her chin just surmounted the rim. She was afraid. 
What they were doing to her held so many grisly associations. But she could 
only distress Caleb by pleading or protesting. She trusted him and kept 
silent as the warm earth rose foot by foot to hold her as securely as bonds 
might have done. Conscientiously he laid down the shovel from time to time 
in order to tamp the soil firmly around her person so that a uniform 
pressure was upon her everywhere. When it reached her neck, the wardress 
gathered and lifted the prisoner's hair and held it high while Caleb 
carefully fitted round the captive neck two boards with half circles cut 
into them so that when they were locked together Eve's neck was snugly held 
as in a pair of stocks that were no more than two feet square. Dirt was 
packed beneath the wood to ensure a correct level. Then the square was 
staked into place at ground level so that it could not be moved. The 
wardress allowed the lovely hair to fall in a cascade upon the plank. Eve 
stood, tightly buried to her neck: around which the wooden yoke ensured she 
would not struggle. Her chained hands were thrust hard against her back. She 
believed that if she could struggle she might move them. But to what end. 
They might then be less comfortable than now. She could not escape. 

"Is most nice change," said Caleb cheerfully. 

Eve looked up at him. From where she was he seemed absurdly elongated. "Oh 
Caleb, is this it. Or is there something else?" 

"You are wanting something else?" He was immediately solicitous. 

"Don't be silly, Caleb. I don't even want this." 

"This is all. Is quite nice. Maybe you sleep." 

"How can I sleep with everyone coming to look at me?" 

"They just look. They no do bad things." 

"Bad things!" She knew how vulnerable she was. 

Caleb laughed airily. "Is nothing. Sometimes they pee on you. Or sit down 
and make suck cock. But the Commandant has told they must not do such 
things. So you have most pleasant day." 

"I don't think it's pleasant at all." 

"Some dirt has got inside your cunt?" he inquired. 

Actually some had. But she was not going to tell him so. 

She watched them walk away. It was going to be very lonely this far down in 
the world. 

There were the dogs. They sniffed and probably had other intentions. But she 
managed to shout soon enough and they went away. The dogs were the thing she 
had feared most. 

The staff was less interested than previously. She assumed there was nothing 
about a head sticking out of the sand that they deemed worthy of attention. 
Her erotic attractions were well buried. It was one small dividend in a 
dismal plight. 

It was not often in her punishments that she could move. But this was the 
first time everything below her neck had been taken from her. That was the 
idea: to diminish a girl, to cut her down to know her place. The girls of 
Ismaul had once not known their place. They had thought they were people. So 
now they were buried in the sand or hung by their thumbs to inculcate a 
proper female humility. How nice to be a man! 

She was in this bitter frame of mind when the Commandant placed a newspaper 
on the ground and sat facing her. "I can try and reach your level," he 
apologized. 

"This is a rotten thing to do to a girl." 

He produced his thin smile and noncommittal shrug. "It is better than many 
things. It would be most excellent for a woman's liberationist." 

"You mean it reduces a woman to nothing!" 

"Well? You are perhaps a foot high." 

"What perverted joker thought up that damn list?" She knew she sounded like 
Lynn. She should go easy on him. He was a friend. 

"Some predecessor of mine who discovered that a girl has but so much skin 
for the whip. One can imagine him searching for fresh places and drawing up 
the list in frustration." 

"We always speak of whips," Eve said wearily. "Tell me of other things." 

"Mrs. Cohen will soon leave us. She brought no good news." 

"Is she sadistic? Why did she cut Lynn's bottom to shreds?" 

"No. She is not that. But the child's behavior is unacceptable to one of 
Jedrah." 

"Should women... girls, be humble and doe-eyed? Would you like me like 
that?" 

"No. I have become addicted to you as you are." He repeated his smile. "But, 
perhaps without knowing it, you have become humble. You do not argue. You 
chain yourself in your cell-" He laughed. "You see, I know. If you knew you 
could escape the bastinado you would crawl." 

"So would any girl." 

"You know that is not so. When a girl arrives here she is filled with 
pride." 

"So you beat it out of her." 

"We do what others should have done long since." 

"I'm in a bitchy mood," she admitted. "You should beat me. Then I'd feel 
better." 

They shared laughter. 

"You see," he said amiably, "Ismaul has taught you much." 

"Why are we fencing like this?" she demanded. He looked down at her 
somberly. "You are bitchy. I am troubled. That is all." 

"This trouble is Jedrah. Could it set me free?" 

He shrugged unhappily. "If the government was lost I suppose it might. There 
are those who believe all change is good. They are wrong." 

"You don't want to let me go. Do you?" 

"No. I tell you frankly that if I could buy you as a slave I would." 

"Only as a slave?" 

"Would you wish to share me with other wives? They might beat you." 

"You would beat me." 

"Yes," he agreed. "I would beat you. With a fine thin whip. It would give me 
much happiness." 

"Why don't you whip me here? You could." 

"I have asked myself that question," he said. "I do not know the answer." 

She watched him go. A deeply troubled man. 

Eve was suddenly very lonely. 

When the Commandant was lost to sight she suddenly knew a great surge of 
resentment and frustration. Why, why, why! With furious energy she 
struggled. She did not move her body. The wood collar chafed her neck. For a 
little while she wept. Then, unexpectedly, went to sleep. 

She awoke to the sight of a pair of shoes. Sleek, expensive, feminine shoes. 
Shoes that were not of Ismaul. The ankles in them were nylon-sheathed, 
svelte and dainty. To a mind still blurred by slumber they stood out as an 
anomalous incongruity. Wonderingly, Eve's eyes traveled upward scanning this 
product of Paris and Park Avenue. Surmounting the clothes was a pleasant 
feminine face that peered down at her in horror and incredulity. 

It was Lynn's sister, Marge Atkins. 

* * * 

It was an important day for Caleb. But he found the visitor an embarrassment 
beyond anything covered by his terms of reference. Living as he did in a 
world of females who were either mother naked or draped in a scrap of 
sacking, he viewed her costly and becoming ensemble as an affront to the 
traditions of Ismaul. At least two of the three pairs of feminine eyes 
anxiously upon him understood his dilemma. He made his own definite 
summation. "Is not in book of rules." 

"Blast your bloody rules!" Marge was perturbed. "If Mrs. Cohen and your 
Commandant are away for the night, then let me see whoever is in charge." 

"Is me," said Caleb with immense satisfaction. 

"Caleb is our friend. He is very competent," Eve interposed tactfully. 

"He'll screw you anytime for free, Sis. Real obliging," Lynn got her ten 
cents worth in. "Won't you, Caleb?" 

"Have most fine cock," Caleb acknowledged modestly. 

Marge Atkins looked at the cell. She looked at the perspiring Caleb who had 
put on a clean uniform for the occasion: an honor of which she was 
oblivious. To her he looked like a refugee from the sanitation department. 
Lastly she surveyed her naked sister and the equally naked Eve. 

"This has to be nuts!" she said hotly. "Don't tell me it's for real!" 

"All he wants to do, darling, is strip you and chain you in here with us so 
we can have a nice visit." Lynn held up her shackled wrist and rattled the 
chain mischievously. 

"But I'm a visitor!" 

"In Ismaul is no visitors." Caleb had found firm ground. "He's right, Marge. 
This place is grim. Calvin fixed us, but good." 

Eve was anxiously aware of a need to bridge the vast gap between the facts 
of Ismaul and their visitor's comprehension. 

Gazing around with an infinite distaste for all she saw, Marge burst out 
angrily: "I could kill that bastard! Putting you in a place like this! I 
knew it was bad. But not out of the Dark Ages... " 

"Is most fine prison for girls," Caleb affirmed with hauteur. 

"See, Sis, I told you. They do everything for us girls here. Caleb's 
offering you full privileges." 

"Don't be bratty," Marge retorted irritably. "I'd have thought from the 
state of your bottom they'd have whipped that out of you by now." 

"She is most happy here," Caleb reproved. "They bite each other's cunts with 
much-" He sought for the right word and tacked it on with evident pride, 
"-gusto." 

"Can't you find another word for that thing?" Lynn inquired. 

Caleb examined the thought. His expression conveyed that he was asked to 
alter a natural law. 

"Is no other word," he affirmed solidly. "Cunt is cunt." 

Lynn explored her stock of vulgar synonyms. "How about slit?" she asked 
slyly. 

Caleb considered. His face brightened. "Ah! Slit! Yes, of course. Girl has 
slit. Is very good." He mulled his new vulgarity in his mind and came up 
with a beaming smile. "Now when must insult fellow I call him big slit!" 

"Is there any possibility of returning to normal?" Marge asked wearily. 

"I've been thinking about this." Eve frowned earnestly at their angry 
visitor. "Look at it this way, Marge, they just are not about to move two 
prisoners, and that's what Lynn and I are, into Mrs. Cohen's suite. So if 
you want to be with us it has to be in this cell. Actually that's a 
privilege none of the other girls have." 

"Of course I want to be with you. That's why I came. But naked...!" 

"Is fine dress." Helpfully he handed Marge Eve's discarded sack. 

Marge visibly recoiled. 

"Well, that's all we get to wear," Lynn proclaimed. Eve explained: "We don't 
wear them. We'd sooner be naked. But it is a covering of sorts." 

"Caleb does not mind naked. Most like to see... slit!" 

He was like a child with a new toy. 

Eve continued. "We are naked most days for punishment. We just got used to 
it." She grinned amusedly. "A girl has to make up her mind before she gets 
chained. Once you are chained it won't come on or off." 

Marge shook her head in bafflement. "If it was anywhere but this place I'd 
think you two were having me on." She turned irritably to Caleb. "Dammit, 
man, must I do this nonsense?" 

"Is not nonsense. Is book of rules." 

Marge sighed and reached in her purse. "Will fifty cover it?" 

Caleb's eyes bulged. But not with avarice. "Is fifty strokes with whip for 
bribe officer." In the role of outraged virtue he pronounced sentence. 

Marge's shoulders slumped. She looked at Eve resignedly. "What the hell am I 
fighting for! I've had worse from Calvin; and I do want to be with you kids. 
So O.K., I strip. But this chain thing. Must I...?" 

"Is book-" 

"O.K... O.K." She waved him to silence. "The bloody rules. I'd tell you what 
to do with them if it was for more than one night." 

Angrily she stripped, handed him the small bundle of costly garments, then 
arrogantly thrust her nakedness upon his attention. "Well, do I stack up?" 

"Caleb sees many slits and tits," he said stiffly with unintentional 
alliteration. 

"A girl ain't going to win in this place," Marge acknowledged ruefully. "He 
figures." 

Caleb placed his small bundle outside the door and turned purposefully. "Am 
most sorry is no third chain to wall." It was as though he was apologizing 
for the absence of a bathroom. 

"Don't let it bother you." Marge's satisfaction was obvious. "Those things 
look to me like they'd be easier to get into than out of." 

Her irony missed him. He beamed reassuringly and produced his faithful 
handcuffs. "Is better behind back." He assured her as though with comfort. 

Marge looked at him almost with despair. She looked at Eve. She looked at 
her younger sister. 

"Put your hands behind your back, Sis. Join the club. We'll do everything 
for you." Lynn impudently enjoyed her sister's chagrin. 

Shaking her head in mock despair, Marge turned round and placing her arms 
behind her offered Caleb her wrists. 

The new captive palpably winced as the door clanged shut after the departure 
of a beaming and triumphant Caleb. Fluttering her strained shoulders and 
tugging at her handcuffed wrists, she grinned wryly at the two girls who 
surveyed her with such infinite understanding of her emotions. 

"Hell of a fix for a girl... " She looked at her kid sister speculatively. 
"You come here on a visit. Now look at you. Your ankles chained forever and 
your wrist shackled to the wall. Now I come on a visit, and look at me. That 
grinning jackass has got me more helpless than either of you." 

She saw their concern and was contrite. "O.K. I'll cool it. After all I'm no 
virgin martyr. You must be busting to know why I'm here." 

She grinned at their eager affirmative. "It's no long story. I simply gave 
Calvin such a bad time that he bought me a ticket. I've been frantic about 
you ever since Mrs. C came back with the story. She wasn't too happy about 
it herself." She looked directly at Lynn. "Calvin blew his top when he heard 
about you. He never wanted you in a dungeon. In some ways he's an absolute 
bastard. But I have never seen a man more broken up than he was when he got 
the word on Alison... He'd sent her here for maybe a thirty-day course on 
how it's best for a girl to behave." She turned to Eve. "I think he had 
about six months in mind for you-that vase must of hurt-his dignity anyway. 
Now the whole deal's screwed up somehow. Mrs. C says its because the 
military got involved. Seems like there's enough official documents on you 
all over Jedrah by now that it's going to take TNT to get you out of this 
bloody fortress." 

"You came alone?" 

"Calvin figured it would be O.K. with Mrs. C in residence. They still 
scratch each other's backs." She laughed bitterly. "And look at me now... " 

"What's going on outside... in Jedrah?" 

Marge shrugged. "I don't really know. Some sort of a revolution. Mrs. C and 
her brother are in there somewhere. Probably playing both sides against the 
middle. But word came through that he was killed. So it's Mrs. C and the 
government and the guerrillas now." 

Marge shook her head disgustedly. "They don't tell me much, but I get an 
impression there's something odd going on about this prison, about Ismaul. 
It can't be bad or drastic or Calvin wouldn't have let me come. But it's 
some sort of change. I just sort of picked up hints from Cal and Mrs. C and 
Lil." 

"What's Lil got to do with it?" 

"Nothing. But she and Cal amuse each other. He tells her things. There's a 
good deal of back scratching goes on there too. Lil's got dough."... 

Morning brought another contretemps to Caleb. He rose to its challenge in a 
way that, for the moment, relieved Eve of a nagging worry. His first 
announcement had sent her pulse throbbing in concern for Marge. 

"Is punishments as usual." 

"Oh Caleb, can't you leave us chained in the cell today? Give us double 
tomorrow if you have to catch up," Lynn wailed. 

"Is not permitted." He pointedly viewed Marge with a cold, possessive eye. 
Eve suspected he had taken a dislike to their visitor. 

"Surely you won't leave Miss Atkins alone all day?" 

"Miss Atkins spend day with you." 

He enjoyed the dawning comprehension on the faces of the three girls. 

"You can't punish a visitor!" Eve was aghast. 

"Is nothing else to do with her." His logic was Ismaul's. It was 
irrefutable. 

"What's on the bill of fare?" Marge demanded suspiciously. 

Caleb enjoyed his power. "A day with Natcha and her whips?" he suggested 
casually. 

Marge had spent the night handcuffed. She was still handcuffed. She was 
angry. 

"You have to be kidding! You wouldn't have the nerve to send me back 
Stateside covered in whip marks." 

Caleb shrugged. "Not send. Not invite. You come. If not want marks to show, 
can whip soles of feet," he offered magnanimously. 

"Oh grow up!" Marge turned her back to him and extended her hands. "Take 
these damn things off my wrists." 

Caleb stepped around the supplicant leaving her flushed and helpless. He 
turned to the two girls as though seeking their support, his features bright 
with inspiration. "We leave as is: raise hands with rope most high behind 
back so she bend over. No marks. Much time for think." 

Lynn clapped her hands delightedly. "She'll love it! Won't you, Marge?" 

"If I ever get you alone with a whip...!" Marge hissed at her shining-eyed 
sister. 

"Is most fine," Caleb enthused. "We go." 

The fortress of Ismaul nurtured around its flanks a motley straggle of 
dwellings that centered in a village square. Eve had not been taken there 
before. She saw now that the influence of the prison had spilled over into 
the community. Or, more probably, that the community had encroached upon 
Ismaul's forensic facilities. Prominently and permanently established in the 
public place were several sets of stocks, whipping posts, even a gallows. 
Time had mellowed the blending of these grim instruments with the market 
place so that the plight of any victim on whom they were employed would be 
doubly shaming. But it was to none of these that their steps were directed. 

Since they were to leave the fortress proper, Caleb had enlisted a couple of 
guards as escort. He had removed Marge's handcuffs and thrust a sack 
covering on each girl. Marge had donned hers as though it had been removed 
from a leper's corpse. Now their fate stood ahead of them in plain view. 

It was a cage. Woven of iron bars it stood dead center in the Square, 
ancient but solid. Perhaps ten feet square. Eve prayed. If only it could be 
something like this! Something that would not injure the older girl who had 
come to help them. Just for today... 

And thus it was! But not quite as their visitor would wish. 

The cage door was secured by no less than three huge and forbidding 
padlocks. One of them gleamingly modern. Caleb unlocked them with a 
flourish, opened the heavy narrow door as wide as it would go, then motioned 
pridefully to his prisoners. As each passed the beaming Acting Commandant he 
relieved them of their sack and handcuffed their wrists behind their back. 
Eve and the younger girl accepted Ismaul's commonplace indignity passively 
and without comment. They would have been surprised had it been otherwise. 
But Marge was genuinely stricken. She balked, and inconsistently clutched 
her bit of sacking as though it had become ermine. 

"Right in the middle of town!" she protested, unintentionally paying the 
village an undeserved compliment. 

"Is for people to see," Caleb explained the obvious to a stupid woman. 

"But not with my hands behind my back," his unwilling guest wailed. "I won't 
be able to cover a thing!" 

"You begrudge them to see your slit?" Marge was falling steadily in his 
esteem. 

"I'm not going in there without this sack and I'm not going in there with my 
hands chained." Marge's stand had much in common with General Custer's. 

Caleb motioned with his head. A few moments later Marge was thrust into the 
cage. She was blushing angrily, panting from the struggle, and quite naked. 
Her wrists were handcuffed behind her back, each metal band tighter than it 
need have been. She stood in helpless fury watching the slamming of the door 
and the locking of the padlocks. Caleb and his escort marched smartly back 
to Ismaul. 

"A girl can't cover everything anyway, Marge," Eve pointed out with the 
voice of experience. "So when they cuff your hands behind your back it's a 
bit of a relief: you don't have to try anymore. Let 'em have a damn good 
look. If you act coy they get an extra kick." 

"Slits!" Lynn giggled. "Show 'em yours, Sis. It's a biggie." 

Marge stamped her foot in exasperation and said, "Ouch! To think I'm in this 
jackpot because I was worried stiff about you!" She turned to Eve in genuine 
curiosity: "I think the little baggage is actually enjoying herself!" 

Eve knew the surmise to be partly true. Even now the youngster was making 
grimaces and cocking her leg suggestively at any of the villagers who paused 
to view what was, for them, an almost daily exhibition. But then she 
remembered the teenager's sobbing slenderness upon the bench and her cut and 
swollen feet. She remembered the tearful avowal never to say boo again: a 
vow that had been largely kept. The child used judgment in her displays of 
humor. Eve tried to rationalize. 

"You see, Marge, Ismaul's a cruel, terrible place. But here and there-mostly 
with Caleb and the Commandant there are chances to laugh. We grab at them. 
Even if they come while we are being tortured we try not to let them slip. 
They are precious. They keep us alive. I honestly don't know how I'd have 
made out if it hadn't been for the kid and her impudence." 

"She likes to be whipped, doesn't she? I've guessed." 

Eve fluttered her strained shoulders. "Yes, she does, up to a point. There 
is something erotic about being whipped. I'm not sure I can explain it." 

"You mean, you've become an addict too?" 

"Well, not really. But I have to admit it's got to me at times. Poor Alison 
went into some world of ecstasy when she was whipped. I envied her. I know 
it sounds profound and sort of clinical... but there is a bond that grows 
between the whipper and the whipped. Chained here in Ismaul I've had to 
wonder about the old theory, or maybe it was just a joke, that a woman was 
better for a good whipping. If the chips were really down I'd have to say, 
yes, it's true." 

"Then what the hell are we all fighting Cal for?" 

"Oh, I've thought of that too. I was sent here to think about it. You are 
right. Us girls must seem crazy. The only answer I have is that when he 
savaged me at The Estate I was still Miss Eve Trevor. In Ismaul I'm less 
than nothing. Ismaul reduces a girl to total nonentity. Look at the spot you 
found me. in yesterday. Believe it or not I never said boo when they chained 
me and put me in that lousy hole in the ground and locked that wooden collar 
round my neck. I even helped them. I'm a slave. So is Lynn. She may not 
always act like it. But she is!" 

Marge surveyed their cage disdainfully. "It would take more than this to 
make a slave of me." 

"Try and remember you are an honored guest," Eve suggested tartly. "This 
cage is Ismaul's way of giving the three of us a lovely holiday." 

"Holy cow!" Marge's voice was almost reverent. "Wait till I tell Cal." 

Eve's intuition bothered her. Something was not quite right. She sensed it. 
Confirmation came with evening and Caleb. 

"Is nice cage. You not want to leave." Three pairs of female eyes glared in 
dismay through the bars. 

"Just for few days." He was a man cherishing some secret joke. 

"A few days!" Marge was indignant. "You're going to leave these kids in this 
bloody cage for a few days...!" 

"You stay too." Caleb's voice oozed generosity. Or was it sarcasm! 

"Let me out of here. Take these damn handcuffs off." 

Caleb produced a key. "You back up please." 

It was unexpected. The younger girls watched intently. A flustered Marge 
thrust her chained hands against the bars. A moment later she was massaging 
her chafed wrists. 

"Please now to hold them out in front." 

It was a measure of Ismaul's potency that Marge obeyed without protest. Once 
more the metal found the same grooves in her flesh. But now her hands were 
locked before her giving a modicum of freedom. At a gesture from their 
jailer the younger girls were served in the same way. Eve shrewdly guessed 
it boded them no good. 

"Take me to Mrs. Cohen or the Commandant." Marge sounded panicky. Intuition 
must have been taking its toll of her too. 

It was at this point Eve began to suspect Caleb of being tipsy. Caleb 
giggled. It was an effervescence of something too funny to contain. When one 
is drunk it is possible to laugh at very little. 

"Mrs. Cohen and Commandant not return." He effervesced once more, his eyes 
dancing. 

The thought was ludicrous. Eve gasped. Surely not! Marge put it into words. 

"You mean they've eloped?" 

Caleb could contain his laughter no longer. He rolled and roared with it. 
Finally when he managed some control he shook his head and made some 
indeterminate gesture that could have meant anything. "Is not elope... " He 
fought for breath. "Is worse, much worse." Once more he was delivered to 
hilarity. 

"What the hell's so damn funny?" Marge demanded. 

He wiped his eyes. Several times he fought for utterance but met defeat in 
laughter. In the end he staggered away, still bubbling over with his secret. 

"He must be drunk," Eve offered. Yet it was not like Caleb... 

"Drunk or sober, we're locked in this damn cage." Marge was becoming scared. 
"What do we do at night? Sleep in a pile?" 

"At least we have our hands back." Lynn held hers up and admired the link 
that joined them. "You don't know when you are lucky, Sis. I think this is 
the first time we have ever been handcuffed where we could see 'em." 

But Eve knew the use of their hands meant they were to be caged for a long 
time. 

Three nights and four days. Eve knew there were worse places in which to be 
imprisoned and worse ways in which to be chained. Lynn frankly enjoyed 
herself, reveling in all that took place around them, even the peering faces 
and lewd gestures. The time passed better than it would have done in the 
cell. Perhaps someone was being kind... There was a single incident. 

The faces were mostly anonymous. One did not meet their eyes. The naked 
girls were the exhibit, not them. It was hard not to act the part of being 
caged: to sit or walk back and forth instead of holding on to the bars and 
peering out. To talk with each other naturally without concern for who might 
hear. To stay away from the door and not forever explore its locks. 

The quiet voice scarcely registered. 

"You are more beautiful than on the day I sold you." 

Startled, Eve found herself being examined by the sardonic eyes of the 
guerrilla Fashad. 

Her reaction was instinctive, involuntary. 

"Get me out of here. Please." 

He laughed, frankly enjoying the caged girl. 

"Why should I?" 

She had nothing to lose. He was a relief from boredom. He was handsome. 
There was a lambency in his eyes that told her she was female. "You could 
sell me again." 

He nodded, giving the cage and its naked contents careful scrutiny. "The 
three of you might top a million." 

"The Commandant here would buy me." 

"Ah, the good Perkins. He does not possess your price." 

"You know him?" 

"I know most in Jedrah. He is worthy, but of the past." His eyes twinkled. 
"He is absent now: the old Tom, so the mice can play." 

"Isn't it dangerous for you? Why are you here?" 

He shrugged. "Danger is my trade. I visit here as I visit all places in the 
land. I had not expected so naked a welcome." 

She blushed. She knew he would have the power always to make her blush. She 
liked him. He scrutinized her 'slit' without seeming offensive. Their eyes 
met. Her scarlet deepened. 

"You have become used to nakedness. You wear it well. Our women do not. I 
would find it hard to sell you again. I would wish to keep you." 

She was ashamed of her joy. "Would you whip me, Master?" she asked archly. 

"Why would I?" 

Her question had been instinctive. She had not framed the words. But he 
caught their inference. 

"Jedrah has entered your blood. Yes, I would whip you. You would despise me 
if I did not. You would also weep if I failed to beat you. It is in your 
eyes." He laughed at her good-naturedly as at a child. "You would like me to 
whip you now." 

A rush of passion struck Eve. Unexpected, violent. A consuming hunger for 
his manhood within her and his lash upon her loins. She should have been 
shamed, but was not. She clutched the bars between them in an intensity of 
longing. "Get me out. Free me...!" 

"Then sing you the 'Desert Song'?" He was still laughing at her. 

She thrust her libido into the background. It was not easy. She told herself 
she was simply man starved and had better behave. "But seriously," she 
pleaded, "you have power. Use it to get us out of Ismaul." She shook her 
head angrily. "I am trying to think of something that is not a cliche and 
absurd. I almost said to you: Free us and I am yours." 

They shared their laughter. "You really have no bargaining power at all. If 
I freed you, you would automatically become my slave." 

"Free me." Her voice and her eyes were intent. 

Fashad laughed and blew her a kiss and walked away. 

"That guy could get into my pants anytime," Lynn breathed. Her voice was 
reverent. 

"You don't have any pants," Marge pointed out bitterly. 

* * * 

They saw no more of Caleb during their stay in the cage. Their needs were 
dealt with by a wardress or a jailer. Caleb did not even accompany the 
uniformed escort and the wardress who came to release them in the early 
afternoon of their fourth day. A nagging suspicion tormented Eve about him. 
Could it be... ? But, no... it was not possible,! Yet his overflowing 
exuberance on that first day carried a message. 

Their sacks were thrust at them and their wrists cuffed again behind their 
backs. Marge contained herself and said nothing. To Eve it was routine. Her 
thoughts were upon the three men of Jedrah who had so poignantly touched her 
life. After Fashad had left her in the cage a great loneliness had 
descended. Beyond the bars was life. But she remained chained, a prisoner of 
Ismaul. It would always be so. The ten years of her sentence would rob her 
of youth. Marge would soon be gone. Eventually Lynn would be released, that 
would be the hardest thing of all to bear. Perhaps even the Commandant would 
be promoted or retired. But she would remain. The prisoner of Ismaul! It was 
like the title to a book. 

Rasuli! She could not bear to think of his lifeless body that terrible day 
in his house. Yet it was a picture constantly in her mind. She knew that she 
had wanted to be Rasuli's slave more than she had wanted any other thing in 
her life. With him all else had vanished. She longed to wear his chains, to 
feel his whip, to pay him homage with her lips and her loveliness. Eve knew 
she was lovely. For him she could have been doubly so. 

And Fashad! Eve wryly reflected that her passion was simply the reaching out 
of youth to youth. They were both young. Momentarily they had found in each 
other that assuagement of the eternal loneliness that waits in the wings of 
mankind's stage. Fashad was vivid and strong. She found herself possessed of 
an intense desire to give herself: her lips, her body and her love. She 
would provoke him to the whip, then be his slave girl for a little while 
before the bullets found him. Why must men be forever dying for causes that, 
to a woman, did not matter! 

What was it she felt for Commandant Perkins! It was loneliness there, too, 
for both of them. They had reached out and touched. Gratitude, yes. But for 
what! He had neither remitted nor modified a single one of her punishments. 
He had stood gravely talking to her as she bore her torture. She owed him 
the female's eternal debt for being desired. A woman would always be 
grateful for being loved. Here again she knew eroticism in his frank avowal 
of his desire to buy her as his slave. Why could he not use his 'long thin 
whip' upon her nakedness! She wanted it. With him the infliction would be an 
exquisite artistry. He would savor each scarlet stripe he placed upon her 
flesh. He would cherish her. 

The sand was gone from beneath her chained feet. They had entered Ismaul. 
They were not taken to their cell, but to the office of the Commandant. At 
last Marge could reenter the world of the free. Poor Caleb would be released 
from his dilemma with her. 

The wardress threw open the door. Their escort gently propelled the three 
handcuffed girls into the office. Eve was disappointed. The Commandant was 
not there. Rahbinda Cohen sat at his desk. She was reading a newspaper. At 
their entry she lowered it. She was not Mrs. Cohen at all... 

She was Lillian Galbraith. 

* * * 

Her smile was warm. Her greeting was simple. "Stand in line, girls. Sharp to 
attention. I'm the new Commandant." 

The exclamations, the questions seemed too obvious. Eve stood silent, as a 
spectator, waiting. 

"Get these blasted handcuffs off me!" Marge ran true to form. 

Lil airily waved a hand. Obviously she was enjoying herself. "Jedrah has 
been getting a draft from the 'winds of change'. They wanted a woman with 
modern ideas of penology. Calvin fixed it. Meet today's Elisabeth Fry." 

"You don't know anything about prisons," Lynn giggled. 

"For Pete's sake unlock these handcuffs," Marge demanded. 

Mrs. Galbraith had the stage. She kept it. "By the time they find out I 
don't know anything about prisons I'll have come to know quite a lot. 
Besides... I've got ideas." 

Eve made a shrewd guess at the ideas. 

"It's wonderful! Now you can set us all free." The happiness in the child's 
voice tore at Eve's heart. 

"How many times do I have to ask?" Marge was becoming indignant. 

A silence lengthened. Eve sensed its message. Soon the handcuffed sisters 
felt it too. 

"It's not quite that easy," said Mrs. Galbraith cheerfully. 

"What do you mean, it's not that easy?" Marge demanded. "Get these things 
off our wrists." 

The new Commandant's raised hand compelled silence. 

"I'm enjoying this," she admitted honestly. "I'd sort of like to prolong it. 
Slip you the mickey a sip at a time. But what the hell... ! I'll be a good 
sport and let you have a broadside: Here's the deal. First, I've been here a 
couple of days. Sure, sure, I could have got you out of that cage. But I 
wanted to get my feet wet. Caleb's my boy, and I've been looking and 
learning. He's a panic. The poor old Commandant has got promoted. Actually 
he always was military. With the troubles, the authorities decided they 
needed him more somewhere else than here. That opened the way for me. 

"Second, Calvin's worried. He wants me here." Lil frowned. "He needs to be 
worried. I've read the files on you two and I made some inquiries and I 
talked to Perkins. You're not about to get out of Ismaul. Jedrah's making an 
issue out of it. You stay-" 

"O.K., Lil, O.K.," Marge interposed. "We are all damn glad to see you. But 
get me out of these things." 

The new Commandant gave her erstwhile friend and colleague a pensive smile. 
Then chuckled openly as at a joke too good to keep. "Calvin sends his love, 
honey, and says you stay here for two weeks' intensive training before I 
send you home. Seems like you've been getting uppity lately." 

The silence and the shock could be felt. Ismaul's visitor stood stricken. 

"You're not going to do it? Dammit, Lil, we're friends." 

"Of course we are, darling." Mrs. Galbraith was at her sweetest. "The hell 
of it is Cal and I are friends too. In return for him getting me into a spot 
I know I'm going to enjoy I had to make him a couple of promises... " 

"The lousy bastard!" Marge tugged at her chained hands. "What's this 
intensive training bit... ? As if I didn't know." 

Lillian Galbraith smiled comfortingly. "Let's put an end to the suspense for 
you, darling." She pressed a button. "I'm sure you'll adjust. After a couple 
of weeks you'll be so glad to be back at the Estate. This training thing 
seems a bit imaginative... " 

"Don't you start being a bitch." Tears of frustration were in Marge's voice. 

Whatever else she might have said was terminated by the arrival of a spruce 
and dapper Caleb who gave his new Commandant a far smarter salute than he 
had ever given the old. Eve was certain his lips were quivering and that he 
was suppressing hilarity with difficulty. Obviously his new situation 
intrigued him. 

Lil gave him a comradely smile. "Please take Miss Atkins. Provide her with a 
cell and keep her well chained. For two weeks she is to receive each day one 
of the punishments listed in the 'Full Punishment List'. I will leave the 
choice of them to you, as per our recent discussion." She turned to the 
fuming Marge. "Good-bye for now, darling. I'll drop in on you from time to 
time." She contrived a most affectionate smile. "Don't worry. With Caleb you 
are in the best of hands." 

With glowing panache Caleb grasped the visitor's arm. Marge was too dazed to 
utter a word as he led her from the room. The watching Eve could almost hear 
the roll of drums... 

"What about our handcuffs?" Lynn asked doubtfully. 

"Commandants don't have keys." Lil chuckled amusedly. "You must be used to 
wearing 'em by now anyway, honey." Suddenly she became serious. "Look, kids. 
We all know I'm a bit of a bitch. I think I've struck pay dirt in this 
nuthouse. I'm going to have a ball. You're part of it." She gave full 
attention to Lynn. "Calvin says to get you out anytime I can. I've told you 
it looks impossible. But I'll keep plugging. He says lay off the real rough 
stuff with you. You get the whip from now on: for you the fancy stuff is 
out." 

Lillian Galbraith looked at her two prisoners and became very human. "I just 
have to be a disappointment to you, I know. When you saw me sitting here I 
bet you both thought: 'The nightmare's over.' It isn't over. As of right now 
it looks like you'll serve your full time. But I can make a few things 
better." She grinned. "Mostly in the sanitation line, and food, and things 
like that. I want you well and in good shape because I'll be whipping you 
regularly... I suppose you guessed that, didn't you. I didn't come here so 
much for the job as for the prerequisites of office... the good old fringe 
benefits." 

"A prison full of girls to whip?" Eve was bitter. 

"Right, darling. And now for you! Same deal as the kid except Cal says you 
can go on getting this 'Full Punishment' bit for as long as you're in here." 

"I want it then, too," Lynn asserted vehemently. "Why does Cal have to be so 
damn mean to her!" 

"She hit him on the head with a vase, honey. For Cal that's enough." 

"What about these chains on our ankles?" Lynn kicked hers to make the links 
rattle. 

"You'll have to wear 'em, sweetheart," Lil sighed. "I must be an awful 
disappointment, I know. But figure it this way: the staff will be watching 
me. The other prisoners will be watching you. Racial discrimination and all 
that. I may be the boss lady, but I can't ease things for you beyond a 
certain point. Do the damn things hurt? I mean, wearing them all the time 
the way you've had to." 

"It doesn't matter," Eve admitted wearily. "I guess we'd feel funny without 
'em. These have been on my ankles for months." She felt weighed down by a 
bitter, bitter disappointment. 

The door opened to admit two young and pretty Jedrah girls, shy and scared. 

"Ah yes!" Lil enthused. "Had Caleb send me these up special. You may as well 
get in on the show. Aren't they delightful!" She leaned sideways and 
produced a long sliver of a cane. "Brought a few of these with me-just in 
case. Didn't need to though." 

The girls must have been briefed. They looked shyly at each other as though 
seeking moral support. Then, simultaneously, cast aside their sacks, stood 
erect and naked for a moment to show their loveliness of youth. Then 
demurely took positions and gracefully bent over and touched their toes, 
knees firm, bottoms canted well up. 

Lillian Galbraith took a deep breath, such as one does after being deprived 
of air too long. She flexed her cane and smiled with a great happiness. 
"Exquisite, aren't they?" she breathed, then struck. The blow was like the 
breath, a rediscovery of life, a sampling of the elements. It lapped cruelly 
across and round the coffee-colored curves. 

The child was magnificent. She gasped, her head raised. But she held 
position. It was on Lillian Galbraith that all eyes centered. She held her 
cane high as if in offering to some unseen image. She stretched to her full 
height, arching the back of her supple figure, reaching up upon her toes in 
a feline sensuality of passion appeased. 

"I sure did need that," she said with unmistakable sincerity. "I haven't cut 
into good female flesh since that idiot Cal got his idea about reforming 
wayward girls. Gosh, I never realized how much I was missing. These girls 
are treasures." 

The second girl was of weaker fiber. The slashing impact sent her to her 
knees with a cry. But instantly she thrust herself back into the shameful 
pose, eyes apprehensive. The cane whirred again. 

"No hypocrisy about this," Lil said gleefully. "I've been wanting to do this 
so bad it hurts. I'm starving! Gosh, what lovely bottoms." 

She lashed at the maiden skin until each bore five perfect ridged weals. The 
first girl still stoically bore her pain. But the second broke with each 
stroke. Amazingly though she managed to once more offer her bottom for its 
unearned punishment. 

"I just have to do this," Lil said, almost as apology. She inserted her cane 
between the first girl's legs and rapped. Her message was instantly 
understood. The slender rounded legs parted, the feet spread wide apart, lil 
kept tapping until the girl was stretched wide opening up a whole new vista 
of delights. Her eyes were fearful with pre-knowledge. 

It was expert. The cane flew low, rising to seek its prey beneath the 
juncture of the thighs. 

Eve watched in wonder. She would remember it always. She would remember it 
because of her inward shame at the heat within her sex. For a moment she 
herself was the whipped girl, fired with an agony of desire. The child broke 
pose, her face drawn with suffering. For a moment she fell to one knee. 
Then, with an incredible fluidity, rose, hands fluttering toward her wounds, 
head thrown back in anguish. For moments she writhed in breathtaking slow 
motion until, inch by inch, she again bent to offer her most intimate 
treasures to the cane. 

"That's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," Mrs. Galbraith said 
reverently, and struck again. 

This time the girl fell forward, knees buckling. She lay sobbing, broken at 
last, uncaring. Fear overwhelmed by pain. Lil let her rest. Then bent and 
raised the slight hurt figure of the naked girl and kissed her gently on the 
lips. The weeping child backed against a wall, extended palms spread upon 
her stripes, and viewed the woman who had punished her with undisguised awe. 

The second girl had seen it all. But had fearfully prepared herself and took 
her two unheroically. Lil then gently guided the tearful pair through the 
door and closed it after them. 

"I expect someone will look after them," she said cheerfully. She smiled 
ecstatically at Eve and Lynn. "Wasn't that absolutely gorgeous!" 

Eve was flushed, still shamed by the increasing carnality of her reaction to 
what she had seen. Lynn, too, had glowing eyes. But partly from indignation. 

"Don't you enjoy anything except whipping girls?" Her voice was caustic. 

Lil was in her first flush of fulfillment. "No, darling. Bend over." 

"You aren't going to cane me like that!" The teenager was outraged. 

"Not like that, darling. Just two lovely, well-placed strokes as a sort of 
reintroduction. A new beginning. Eve gets 'em too. Over you go." 

Lynn was flushed, mutinous. She tugged futilely at her handcuffs, her 
shoulders fluttering. "I can't get the sack off." 

"You can't, darling. But I'll help. Bend over and I'll fold it up where it 
won't be in the way." 

Slowly, rebellion and resentment in every motion, the younger girl obeyed. 
Her absurd and scanty dress was lifted high and tucked well under her 
chained arms at her back. Her already marked bottom was laid bare for the 
cane. She took her two wicked lashes without a word, waited for permission, 
then stood and shook the sack back down. There were tears of mortification 
in her eyes. But she managed not to shed them. 

Eve knew her role. Why make a fuss. Lillian was riding high. Why cross her. 
A new era was beginning at Ismaul. Best wait and see if it held aught for 
her save pain. Fastidiously she walked to center floor and bent well down, 
her chained hands rising at her back. She received two of the most painful 
cuts she had ever known. When she had permission to rise, her eyes sought 
those of the woman who had caned her. She made her glance level but without 
challenge. In a soft, gentle voice she said, "Thank you, Lil." She, too, was 
kissed. She wondered if she had won a victory. 

* * * 

The beneficiaries of the new era at Ismaul were Lillian Galbraith and Caleb. 
Strange that in a male-oriented society Caleb should find happiness in 
subordination to a woman. But he did. The small smile bordering on laughter 
clung to him as an aura. Eve, watching amused, supposed his adoration a 
mixture of novelty and pure lust for the lovely creature who ruled them. 

Lillian herself was in a seventh heaven. She whipped every girl in the 
prison with a pure selfish joy. She took particular pleasure in whipping 
Eve. Eve wondered why, with all the female flesh available, her own bottom 
should seem the most delectable of all. Probably she represented to their 
new Commandant the only vestige of puritan conscience in Ismaul. Thus she 
must be exorcised. The whipped girl reflected wryly that a better word might 
be excoriated. 

Lil had a way with her. She sincerely whipped with love. With seeming 
inconsistence she wanted the girl under her lash to view her with adoring 
and grateful eyes and to speak her pleasure in the soft, husky vibrations of 
desire. To a quite incredible degree she was successful. The girls adored 
her as something magic from a fairyland beyond their ken. Even Eve bowed to 
her whip and her cane without rancor. 

Eve thought often of Commandant Perkins and mourned his passing. In the 
lonely pain-wracked vigils of her punishments she missed his diffident, shy 
explorations of the mind. They had shared a loneliness. Now she bore it all. 
Lil brought many changes, some of them good. But she was too much the 
extrovert to satisfy as a Confessor. Eve was constantly thrown off balance 
by her compatriot's exuberance. She was constantly saying to herself: Oh no! 
She can't! But Lil could and did: leaving Eve in a constant dither of 
incredulity or resentment. 

The captive of Ismaul scarcely believed what she saw now. It was at the 
older woman's laughing invitation that she stood beside her in the 
courtyard. 

"This cost me... " Lil admitted. "The Jedrah boys are not too keen on 
expenses, so I paid for it myself. But what the hell! Where else would I get 
the raw material... " 

Eve longed to laugh. To clap her hands at the utter absurdity. To share with 
someone her sense of the ridiculous. But her exuberant companion was viewing 
the scene with such obvious pride and satisfaction that hilarity seemed 
tactless. Lillian Galbraith always carried a cane and often dealt with 
disrespect instantly and painfully. 

The twenty pedestals had been set in the ground in two neat, straight rows 
of ten. One row had already received its complement of tenants. Ten youthful 
round feminine bottoms tilted in the air invitingly. The second row was 
filling rapidly as new incumbents were escorted from their cells. Straps and 
buckles were cinched with a vigorous enthusiasm by muscular wardresses whose 
lips and eyes, like Caleb's, barely controlled their explosions of delight. 
Apprehensive glances were cast sideways from the bent-over faces. 

"Up one side and down the other. It's a dream come true," Lil explained. 

"You mean, you alone... all of them?" 

"Of course, darling." Lil gave her intrigued companion a chuckle of 
complicity. "Can't you see, honey, it's the only way... to get enough, I 
mean. With just one bottom, yours for instance, there comes a time to stop. 
What's yours good for... ? Twenty strokes, say. Maybe thirty. But then I 
have to stop if I don't want to ruin the merchandise. About the time I'm 
really getting a good feeling out of it I have to lay off." She took a deep, 
ecstatic sigh. "But not anymore, sweetheart. Look at the little dears. All 
waiting patiently. Go on. You may as well get in on it too... Bend over the 
one at the end." 

Eve had become used to these sudden demands upon her flesh. She suspected 
Lil of a perverse delight in provoking her to remonstrance or pleas which, 
up to now, she had not deigned to make. But now, faced with the humiliation 
of adding her own bottom to the rows of pertly expectant rumps, some flicker 
of her distaste must have reached the watching eyes. 

"Remember, darling, no racial discrimination. I've got to have one white 
bottom in there. Yours is the best of the lot." 

"It gets enough experience," its owner said bitterly. Their eyes met. 
Confrontation was always latent. Eve lowered hers and said meekly: "Thanks, 
Lil, you're really sweet to me." She shed her sack, walked to the small 
rigid structure that would hold and expose her helpless, gave the watching 
Lil her very best smile and bent over the bar. 

Strapped so that she could not even twitch, Eve sincerely mourned her loss 
of view. She could see a little about her, but not much. In spite of her 
predicament and the pain to follow she longed with an honest amusement to 
watch the posterior parade Lillian Galbraith had created. If, in years to 
come, she had a chance to tell of it she would meet disbelief. But she 
wished to cherish the memory herself as something unique. How nice if she 
had not become a part of it. 

The sounds were graphic. The whirrr... The thunk or splat. The gasp or cry 
or the tongue bitten silence. Eve knew them all. Lil made a leisurely 
progress of pain down the line, the sounds fading as she went, save for the 
occasional uncontrollable cry of agony. 

Then the return down the line of which Eve was the last. First the sounds, 
closer and closer. Then Eve's sudden realization that she had never been 
caned in this cruelly stretched posture. She remembered Mrs. Cohen's 
vengeance on Lynn and its resultant wounds. Miserably she refused noble 
resolutions. She'd howl if she felt like howling. Why did Lil have to be so 
damn mean... ! 

Lil's quaint concept carried with it an unintentional bonus of punishment. 
You had to wait your turn! Eve was soon aware that the wait was made doubly 
agonizing by the accompanying sounds that receded up one line and inexorably 
approached down the other. That your pain would also be suffered by 
companions in distress made it no less devastating. 

It was typical of Lillian Galbraith that she made it uninhibitedly 
conversational. "Darling, it's beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!" she 
breathed fervently. "I'm developing the most gorgeous swing. Doesn't this 
grab you?" 

Eve's cry should have been answer enough for a slash that she genuinely 
believed must have cut deep into her. 

But she bit short her gasping dismay and pleaded tremulously: "Oh Lil, it's 
awful! Please not so hard. Please... " 

"You have the most exquisite bottom. It is so very, very whippable," Lil 
extolled happily. "I wish you could see the cane thunk across your cheeks 
and bounce right back. It leaves a sort of calling card... A lovely scarlet 
wound. If there weren't so many eyes on me now I'd bend over and kiss the 
one you just got." 

The bent-over captive wondered at herself. She could not hate Lil, nor even 
feel any deep resentment for the pain she inflicted. It had been the same 
with the Commandant. Surely he might have eased some of her inflictions. But 
he had not done so. Yet she had come to feel an affection... Was she a 
masochist! Surely not! A masochist would not hurt, or fear the hurt as she 
did. A familiar voice returned her to farce. 

"Are most fine assholes," observed Caleb. 

Pathetically she welcomed the familiar voice as the splat, splat of Mrs. 
Galbraith's cane faded down the line. Ismaul had so denuded her of 
inhibition that if Caleb wished to show an interest in her rectum he was 
quite welcome. 

"Oh Caleb, this is awful. Can you loose me a bit?" 

"Is most tight fix," he agreed. "Caleb does not like. Cannot see cunt. Just 
small bit of hair poking through." Whilst she sought an answer, he continued 
interestedly: "Is true that in country where you come girls shave off cunt 
hairs?" 

"Have you heard from Commandant Perkins?" she parried. 

"Is in much war," he answered without enthusiasm. "Bang, bang. Is very bad." 
Then added with animation, "Now I watch you get cane." 

Eve wished he was not watching. Under his intent scrutiny and in the 
interest of nondiscrimination Lil would have to give of her best. She did! 
The result was stomach-turning, quivering agony against which she fought 
passionately so that Caleb should not hear her cry. When her gasps subsided 
and the sounds of the whip passed down the line, he said with undisguised 
reverence: "Commandant Galbraith is most grand woman. Whip better than 
Natcha." 

"Do you really like working under her?" Eve was curious. 

"I fuck her most willingly," he affirmed with deep emotion. 

What greater homage can a man give. 

"I sure wish Calvin could see this!" Lil breathed ecstatically. She was 
panting slightly. "It's worth every penny. I'm trying to ease up a bit but I 
just can't! The beautiful swing and the thunk... It's heady stuff. I give 
'em all I've got. You have three beauts! Say, darling, am I a bitch?" 

"No." 

Why had she uttered the negative! Eve pondered. Cries along the line were 
more frequent now. She knew she herself could not remain silent. A beautiful 
woman was whipping twenty girls with the utmost cruelty. Yet Eve suspected 
that most of them would, quite sincerely, have made the same response. No, 
Lil was not a bitch. It was as though the exquisite joy this lovely creature 
derived from the impact of the cane upon her charge's flesh and the 
reactions it impelled were justification enough for the pain. Who of them 
would deny their Mistress her sublimated ecstasy for the sake of their 
whipped bottom! What nonsense! She chided herself. And yet... 

The next stroke was almost bearable. "Not that I'm tired, darling," Lil 
warned. "I'm still going all out: you know, grab it while I can. But I have 
something else in mind for you. A real fun thing for us girls. I don't want 
to exhaust your bottom's capacity, so the next lot will be just tokens. Be a 
sweet and let out a howl or two, just for the sake of public relations. 
After ten rounds you and I are going for a stroll to let me and the girls 
catch our breath and show you a cute little notion I've figured out." 

The cute little notion was puzzling. It came so close to being nothing at 
all. True, it had led to Natcha's room with its whips and canes and other 
things. But it had also placed her in the center of the floor with her right 
wrist chained to a ringbolt at her feet. She could raise her shackled hand 
belly high. Thus she could take one step in any direction from the ring. 
That was all. She could reach nothing. She could stand, or sit upon the 
floor. The door had been left open. Lil had left her with a cheerful "Think 
of something nice, darling, while I'm gone." 

Eve did not want to stand. But she did not want to sit her wounded bottom on 
so hard a floor. She compromised by reclining on one hip. It was not 
comfortable. But a chained and naked girl cannot expect comfort. She 
pondered. 

How long could Lillian Galbraith get away with the preposterous sham! In a 
preoccupied and disturbed Jedrah her tenure could be indefinite. A few 
judicious bribes. The adoration of Caleb. Keep the expenses down. It could 
be enough. It could profit Eve nothing to see her replaced. Yet, somehow, 
the stripes she received from Lil hurt worse than those delivered by Natcha. 
It was mental. She was hurt that the American woman had not favored her, had 
not lessened her pain and her punishments. She was chagrined and humiliated. 
Of all the girls in Ismaul it was her flesh that Lil's whip found most 
desirable of all. 

Eve no longer thought of her ankle chains as shackles. They had become a 
part of her. But the metal band now upon her wrist carried a very personal 
message. Lil had locked it there. It was very much a shackle holding her to 
that one small space in the big room. Without it she could walk through the 
open door. Left open, no doubt, to tantalize and frustrate a girl alone with 
her thoughts. 

What was Lil going to do with her. She shrugged. It did not matter much. It 
would probably hurt. But she was in Ismaul to be hurt. If it was not one 
punishment it would be another. She had never lost her original amazement at 
the resiliency of a girl's body, its capacity to absorb pain. She went to 
her intermittent punishments much as a child goes to school. They were 
routine. They were ordained by the power of the law. She suffered them in 
varying agonies that never dulled or to which her flesh became inured. Each 
cruel indignity hurt as much as the first had long ago. But they had lost 
their power to shock or throw her into panic. She endured. All things end. 
She went back to her cell each night: again the same simile, as a child 
returns from school. The day past and forgotten. 

She constantly knew both joy and desolation in her awareness of the scented 
flesh of Lynn. Each night they buried their sorrows of the day in a 
perpetual discovery of each other, an endless exploration of lips and tongue 
and fingers and of their minds. A linking, a coupling that banished Ismaul 
and carried them to some enchanted Island of their own. But supposing she 
lost the child! Supposing her darling was driven from her! How tenuous their 
union in prison! Could she live on without the girl she loved. 

Sometimes she thought of escape. Idly, without conviction, but as a pleasant 
dream. A whimsical, will-o-the-wisp fancy. A naked girl who is chained can 
never escape. A girl watched. Locked behind bars and metal grilles. Escorted 
by jailers. Punished for disobedience. The chains riveted on her ankles 
would always hold her. They had defeated her once: cruelly and tragically. 
They would hold her always. They were a symbol of Ismaul, implacable, 
enduring. Her daily unawareness of being fastened in them was the most 
graphic proof her immolation to the fortress in which she must spend her 
days. 

"Am I really a sadist, darling?" 

A warm and panting Lil carried a stool so that she could sit close to the 
chained girl. She had the air of a woman behind whom lay a satisfying task 
well done. 

Eve supposed the question rhetorical. But tried to answer it. "Literally, 
yes. Spiritually, no." 

"Got to admit it bothers me sometimes," the older woman admitted. "But then 
I get to thinking what marvelous fun it all is, and there doesn't seem much 
harm in it." 

"The end justifies the means?" Eve punned. 

"I suppose so, darling. But I'm so damned mean to you. I feel guilty." 

"You could try being nice to me." 

"I know I could. That's the hell of it. I don't want to." 

"There's sixty other girls, y'know, besides me." 

"I keep telling myself that. You have to admit today I gave some of 'em a 
bit of attention. But just the same it hasn't taken my mind off you. 
Darling... anyone tell you about your breasts? They're gorgeous!" 

Eve tensed. She and Lynn had learned to fear references to their breasts. 
Lil chuckled. 

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm not going to cut them off or nail your nips to 
the wall so you have to stand on tiptoe. It's just that they are so damn 
perfect I want to eat them." She grinned apologetically. "Fact is, honey, 
I'm horny. Who wouldn't be after what I've just done!" 

"Want me to help?" Eve offered demurely. Better to seek merit in the act 
than be whipped into it. The signs were clear. 

"You really are something!" Lillian Galbraith viewed her captive with 
affection. "Sure you can help, darling. But not right now." She made a 
disclaiming motion with her hands. "Here I go again. I just can't help it. I 
want to have a nice cozy time whipping you all afternoon." 

It was no worse than the chained girl had expected. If she could use skill 
it might be made bearable. "Let me help first," she pleaded. "You are all 
tensed and ready to burst. I know what it's like. I can make it beautiful 
for you." 

Lillian laughed. "Crafty wench! If you rob me of my sublimations the whip 
may fall more tenderly. I'm sort of cherishing this lovely fire that's 
burning up my furry spot. I want you to get the full benefit of it." She 
paused and eyed the naked girl hungrily. "You are just too bloody gorgeous, 
love. I could eat the whole dish." 

Eve stood upright and extended her hands in invitation. "Eat me. Please. 
Don't whip me. Love me... " 

Lillian Galbraith stripped. She did it with a jerking, thrusting urgency. 
Her nakedness was breathtaking. It still held the color and suppleness of 
youth. Age had not touched its symmetry. Used to feminine nudity as she was, 
even Eve felt desire. 

She slaked it avidly. 

For a long time both forgot Ismaul. 

"Darling, I've often wondered... " Lillian Galbraith eyed her new possession 
tenderly. "This ten-year bit: does it get to you?" 

"If I let it. Lynn counters it. I daren't think beyond her." 

"I find it erotic. I fantasize about it. A lovely naked girl in a fortress. 
Chains welded on her that will never come off. A thousand men would give a 
fortune for her. But none may have her. She's about as safely tucked away as 
the gold in Fort Knox. Can't you feel it? Doesn't it eat at you?" 

Eve gestured with her chained hand. "Of course it does. But it's so total, 
so utter, that the world disappears. For me there is only Ismaul." She 
flushed. "I think I know what you're probing at. I couldn't have talked 
about it a year ago. I wouldn't have understood it. But I can now. You're 
right. This place provides more eroticism than a Vegas floor show." 

"Such as?" Lil's eyes were glowing. 

"Well, it starts out as shame and humiliation. You are naked before men. 
They use your body at will. In the Ceremonials they make a big deal-you're 
the star turn. Try standing up on that platform stark-naked and all alone 
knowing you are going to be whipped and that all the men will get a great 
big erection out of it. Sure it gets to you. You end up reaching out to it 
as a sort of a lifeline. It's your drama. It's your human contact. Pitiful, 
I suppose, that a girl must look to being hung up by her thumbs or buried to 
her chin in the sand for kicks-and we never see it that way at the time. But 
we don't want to be left alone in our cell all day." 

"What gives you the hots, sweetheart?" 

Eve grinned and shrugged resignedly. "You want it all, don't you. Well, I'm 
not sure I know it all myself. It sort of sneaks up on you. Some of the 
Punishments call for me to be taken to some public place and tied in some 
way so I can't move. Mostly they manage to get my breasts and what Caleb 
calls my cunt well stuck out so that you're shamingly conscious of what you 
have. Men and women stop and look. The men adore pubic hair and get into all 
sorts of vulgar exchanges about yours which they are looking at all the 
time. You don't understand a word. You don't have to. But first thing you 
know you get the feeling. It gets worse and worse as you stand there all 
day. In the end you frankly wish they'd do something, anything, to put an 
end to your hunger. If your hands weren't tied you'd do it yourself." 

Lil laughed delightedly. "You're a treasure, honey. I love you. I'm more 
ashamed than ever 'bout what I'm going to do. But please continue. I'm 
getting randy again." 

"Am I doing a Scheherazade act?" Eve asked winsomely. 

"I won't kid you, love. Sooner or later some bit of you will look too damn 
delectable and I'll just have to whip it. But carry on. Right now you're 
winning." 

Eve considered. Then continued musingly. "Here and there I'll find myself 
fastened in some way that really does something for a girl. You know you are 
beautiful. The way they look at you then: that does it too. In fact, even 
without them looking, I've felt it: a sort of narcissism... " She paused and 
looked pleadingly at her companion. "Please, Lil, don't leap at this too 
joyfully... But we both know... Yes, the whip will do it... " Eve 
deliberately squirmed and rattled her chain mischievously. "But please don't 
whip me thinking I'm loving it. I'm not. I hate it. It scares me. I scream 
when it's more than I can bear. I scream a lot." She looked at the older 
girl hopefully. "If it hasn't happened to you I don't see how you can really 
understand... But there's a time before and a time after, mostly after, when 
the thought of it curls you up inside with longing or with love." 

"What about you right now?" 

"Yes. It's there. A quiver of fear and something else, something delicious. 
The knowledge that I belong to you. Actually I do: you can do anything you 
like with me. That's owning, isn't it?" 

The chained girl rose to her knees and allowed her fingers to search and 
follow the ridges Lil's cane had left across her bottom cheeks. Her eyes 
intent upon she who held the cane. "You put these on me. Nothing I can do 
can get them off. They're a brand. Yours! They will be tender for a long 
time always reminding me of you. Telling me you can mark me again whenever 
you like. There's something intimately personal about being whipped... Is 
all this silly?" 

"No." 

"If it was a man, or someone ugly and cruel, maybe it wouldn't be like that 
at all. But to be whipped by a woman, especially if she's about your own 
age, or by a man you are in love with... It's a sublimation of making love. 
A girl cries out in agony under the whip, or in ecstasy in the throes of 
orgasm... They sound the same." 

The naked kneeling girl searched her memory for the right words. "I'm 
covered with whip marks. Some of them may never go away, ever. I often 
wonder if I'd miss the whip if I was set free and did not get it anymore. 
It's absurd. But I might. Yet in Ismaul I'll do anything to avoid being 
whipped. You've seen yourself how obedient I've become. I didn't used to be 
like that. The whip did it. Maybe the bastinado. But that's a whip too. A 
little while ago we made love. If I had not wanted to you would have whipped 
me until I obeyed. I never even thought of... not wanting. That's how far 
I've come. A year ago you would have had to whip me half to death to force 
me...!" 

"But you wanted to. I know." 

"Yes. I did. Ismaul makes a girl honest with herself." 

Lil stretched her nudity with sinuous joy. "Oh honey, I'm so damn happy it 
hurts. I expect, really, it's the happiest day of my life. All those girls 
with their little bums stuck out... And now you! Darling, I'll say it again: 
you're a treasure. Something special. If I had to make a choice between 
Ismaul and you I'd take you." Her lips pouted voluptuously, her eyes 
sparkled. "I want to whip you now." 

"Of course." Eve rose to her feet willingly and said with complete 
sincerity: "I'll try and put on a good performance, Lil. That includes 
screaming and rolling around on the floor. Now, how do you want me?" 

"Sweetheart, we've got such a nice rapport. I'll let you pick the first." 

Eve leant down and gripped her knees. A girl could hope. 

Nothing happened. The silence almost hurt. She cast an apprehensive and 
inquiring eye to the rear and beheld Lil frowning and thoughtful. "Bit 
unoriginal, isn't it, darling." 

The victim gave a woeful sigh. With lil you didn't play games. She 
straightened up. "Sorry, Mistress. I think I know what you'd like." 

There was no support. Eve took a single pace so that her tether sprang taut. 
Leaning against it as though striving to tear it from the floor she used it 
as support enabling her to stand on one foot and raise her other leg high at 
a right angle. "How's that?" she asked brightly. "Everything in full view 
and accessible." 

Lil sighed in pure admiration. Ecstasy was there. "Honey, you are a natural! 
I should use a whip, shouldn't I? I mean, not the cane under those places?" 

"Yes please," Eve responded demurely, as though the offer had been of a 
piece of cake. 

When the lash burned and curled its path into those post private recesses 
with which it had been enticed, the owner of them uttered a wail, almost of 
unbelief, and fell to the floor writhing. Her unchained hand seeking her 
wound, the other tugging at a tether already at its limit. Lillian Galbraith 
watched avidly as the injured slenderness worked itself through the waves of 
pain into a panting quiescence. Striving not to impose on her Mistress's 
tolerance, the whipped girl struggled to her feet and managed a wan and 
apologetic smile. 

"Now's the moment," Lil declaimed. "Tell me. Are you randy?" 

Lil was unbelievable! Eve shook her head sadly. "No. If it was over now, I 
might be. But fear of the next one erases it." She looked appealingly at her 
tormentor. "Please, Lil, I hurt. Please don't whip me anymore." 

The older girl holding her whip drank in the pathetic loveliness of the girl 
who must do her bidding. "Honey," she admitted with a wry twist of her lips. 
"What you've just said and the way you said it is about the most aphrodisiac 
thing that ever happened. It makes me want to whip and whip and whip... 
Understand?" 

Eve nodded. "Yes, I do understand. I think we have one of those instances or 
situations in which anything I say or do will affect you like that. In a way 
it affects me too. I'll just have to scream and scream and scream. Neither 
of us can help it." 

"Darling... " 

Eve's nostrils flared. "Yes?" 

"Just one more in that special place." 

The chained girl nodded. She showed neither disappointment nor joy. After a 
try or two she contrived the same posture but with her other leg held high. 
Her head reared for the agony to come. It came with precision and sought her 
with a terrible bitterness of scald. She screamed, almost with joy, again 
and again. In the screams there was a girl's hand reaching out to touch 
another... 

When, at last, she stood she contrived her shackle so that she could use 
both hands to caress her stripes. They were exquisitely crossed where no 
lash should ever go. For long she examined them intently, her finger 
following their ridges, making her wince. When her sobs had died and she had 
wiped her tears away with her free hand she turned submissively to her 
companion who had watched silently with hushed breath. 

"Feeling horny, darling?" 

Eve was ashamed of her errant loins. With the agony of the two awful wounds 
they should not be rampant. But they were. 

"Yes," she said with quiet assurance. "I'm horny, Lil." 

"I'm horny too, love." 

The afternoon belonged to Scheherazade. 

* * * 

It was Lynn who broached the thought that bothered Eve with twinges of 
conscience. 

"Darling," she rattled the shackle that attached her wrist to the wall. Eve 
raised an attentive eyebrow. 

"I've got a sort of a confession," the youngster said seriously. "Lil made 
me make love." 

"Made you?" 

"Yes. Honest! I held out until she started to whip me really hard. Then I 
thought you'd understand. Do you...?" 

Eve took the lovely child in her arms and made her own confession. They 
ended in laughter. "Did she whip you into it?" 

"She never stops whipping me," Eve said almost with pride. "Look at the 
marks. We are a couple of zebras." 

"Lil's in love with you," Lynn said wisely. "I can tell. That's why she 
whips you so hard and in such cute ways. She just whips me for fun, unless I 
get bratty. Then she lays it on. But mostly since she came I'm having a 
ball. I think we are both better off. She must have cut you off that damn 
Punishment List. You haven't had anything awful for a week, have you?" 

"Only her whip," Eve admitted. "I don't think any girl could take that and 
the List too. So I expect that's why. She's saving me for herself." 

"Well, aren't you pleased?" 

"I would be if I thought my skin would hold out. But I'm running out of 
fresh places. If she'd whip me the way she does you I'd be up and cheering." 

"Darling, you know why, don't you? She wants you to love her too. To really 
give yourself. You are holding back because of me. So she will whip you 
cruelly until you give in. Don't hold yourself in because of me. I'll love 
you anyway." 

What infinite wisdom the child had! Eve held her darling close. The next day 
her stripes were easier to bear. 

It was soon thereafter that the two of them awoke in the morning, dulled 
with sleep and with a sense of something wrong. Something had happened! 

The younger girl had wakened first and made the discovery. She sat on the 
bench, looking down at her cellmate with eager anticipation. Thus it was 
that Eve saw her before she saw herself. 

The new rings were a perfect circle of chrome. They had been fitted into 
their noses with the same magic skill as had been used previously. But these 
were twice as large. At first awareness they seemed huge coming down over 
the lip. They cried aloud their presence both by sight and their grip within 
the pierced nostril. Instinctively Eve's eyes flashed down. 

"It's just our noses," Lynn said cheerfully. "Lil's being mean. I'm not sure 
they are ornaments at all. She probably means to lead us around by them." 
She giggled. "Sort of cute though." 

Eve was not so sure. Rings of such a size set them definitely apart. They 
were marked. They would always attract a second glance. She saw, in her 
mind's eye, all the double takes. There was a hint of punishment... 

"Sure, I'm being mean," Lil admitted. "It just tickles my fancy to have you 
both ringed like that. You can't get 'em off, and there'll be times when you 
want to because you think they are too big to have an esthetic appeal. But 
you're wrong. You both look scrumptious. I'll eat you both. I want to see if 
they really make you more docile the way those others did. I'd have 
installed the whole set, and made 'em pretty too. But I got to thinking 
there's others besides me who handle you: you'd be too vulnerable. Happy?" 

They were happy. 

Ismaul admired her ring. Caleb produced effusive compliments without 
reference to four-letter words. It drew envious glances from the Jedrah 
girls so that Eve became glad it had been fastened upon her. Lil got endless 
amusement from it and did at times lead her around by it or tether her in 
some way so that she was as helpless as though ironed. 

She was doing it now. The lead a slender lace of leather fastened by a snap. 
Eve accepted the humiliation submissively and not without some of the older 
girl's exuberant amusement. It was a game between them. But a game in which 
Lil held all the cards. Even with her hands unbound Eve dared make no 
gesture towards freedom. The ring was potent. Whoever held its leash held 
her. Their walk took them to the banyan tree. 

Lynn hung from the cross. Her slender girlishness creating a picture at once 
beautiful and poignant. Eve caught her breath at the child's loveliness. Had 
she looked half as appealing hanging there! Lynn had not heard their 
approach. Or perhaps she had ceased to care who came to examine her 
nakedness. She hung by her wracked arms with an exquisite grace, hands limp 
above the tight bands that secured her to the beam. Her weight finding no 
support from the cords tightly circling her ankles. How cruel they were to 
make you hang limp before they bound your feet! Eve remembered it all so 
vividly. The slack links of the captive's ankle chains drooped in a slack 
loop beneath her toes. The youthful head slumped forward as Eve's had done, 
seeking in its dejection no wider view than the sand below. 

Eve turned angrily upon her companion. "She was not to be given these 
punishments," she accused hotly. 

Lillian Galbraith laughed softly. "You forget I'm the Commandant here, 
darling." 

"Yes, but Calvin... " 

"Good old Cal begins to seem a long way away." 

"Well, what did she do to deserve this?" 

"Nothing, honey, nothing! Don't get all worked up. I just wanted to know 
what little Miss Smartass looked like up there." 

"You mean she's been bratty?" 

"Sort of. Is she ever anything else?" 

"Oh, don't argue." A woebegone voice requested from above. 

"I thought you'd fainted. Oh, darling, is it very bad?" 

"Well, you should know," Lynn pointed out. "It's your fault I'm here." 

"Mine!" Eve was outraged. 

"Hold it, sweetheart." Lil laughed. "You told me about this one. Have you 
forgotten? You told me about that other girl and you and how sexy you felt 
and how everyone admired your girlish quims." 

"I don't feel sexy," Lynn interposed. "What do I have to promise to get let 
down?" 

"She looks adorable, doesn't she?" Lil enthused. "I'm glad I had her put 
there. If I hadn't I'd have had to have them tie me there instead. Just to 
satisfy my curiosity." 

"Stick me there then," Eve demanded. "Why the poor kid?" 

"It will do her good. You can go up afterwards if you are all that keen on 
it. See. I've made an improvement." 

Eve was well aware of the improvement. Lynn's legs had been bound one on 
each side of the upright, thus giving maximum exposure. Passersby could not 
fail to observe the offering. 

"Am I open?" the sufferer inquired. "Almost feels as though a bird could 
nest in there. But I can't see." 

"Honey, you don't have to see. We can see. You are about the most beautiful 
thing there is. I think you should be like this daily. Just for esthetics." 

"If I asked to be whipped, would you let me down?" 

"I can whip you anytime, darling." 

"Whip me in front then. I'll stand still for it. You've always dared me to." 

"You really must want to get down," Lil sounded surprised. "To offer to let 
me whip your quim. You hate it... " 

"You two and Caleb!" Eve exclaimed. "You must have hangups about girls' 
slits and pubic hair. You ought to grow up, Lil!" 

Eve stiffened. Her nose ring felt the pressure. Fearfully she yielded to it 
and faced a stern Mrs. Galbraith. Who unexpectedly smiled. "See, honey. 
Don't ever get uppity wearing a nose ring." 

Eve sagged. It was one of those sudden moments of weariness when she felt 
the weight and hopelessness of Ismaul. What was the use. She was a 
nothing... 

The older girl caught the look and said brightly: "Talking of your girls' 
dear little quims reminds me of something I want to try. Caleb showed me. 
Nothing frightfully original. But I've always been curious. Want to try?" 

"Oh please! Right quick," Lynn pleaded instantly. 

"I suppose it hurts?" Eve inquired without enthusiasm. 

"I suppose it does," Lil conceded. "I mean, everything here does. But I 
don't know how much. I've just read about it in books." 

"Will you take Lynn down?" 

"Sure. But she's in on the other deal, y'know. You both are. I don't know 
why I'm bargaining like this. I don't have to. I really think it's time you 
both had a lesson. Fancy a girl with a ring in her nose talking back to the 
Commandant." She paused and tittered. "I've just had the most gorgeous 
notion... " 

She chuckled all the way back to the Fort. 

Eve recognized it. She had seen it often to and from her punishments. It was 
in one of the rooms: the rooms where a girl was taken for pain. She had 
always known she would sit on it one day. She had been told how it worked. 
It was just a case of reaching it on The List. Now it confronted her in all 
its basic simplicity. 

A pole on two trestles. So simple! 

In her dark mood she stood uncaring while her wrists were tied behind her 
back. Because of her chained feet Lil had to get help. The taciturn wardress 
swiftly and competently dealt with the matter. The pole and trestles were 
set aside. The captive was made to stand where they had been. Her feet were 
spread as far apart as their chain would allow, then bound to rings in the 
floor. A trestle was placed behind her. The pole was inserted between her 
legs, its end anchored on the trestle. It was then lifted and the second 
trestle placed beneath it at the opposite extremity. Eve found herself 
astride, her feet painfully pulled down and separated on either side. All 
her weight rested on her narrow perch. The pole bit intimately into the very 
core of her being. She knew instantly. This one would be bad! 

The process was repeated when Lynn arrived. The younger girl was placed so 
that they faced each other a few feet apart. When they were firmly perched, 
their tractioned legs holding them firmly in place, their bound hands 
incapable of easement, their eyes met in an awful moment of prescience. 

"I think we made a bad deal," Lynn summed up woefully. 

There was more! Pulleys were above. From them cords descended to be joined 
to their bound wrists. A steady pull lifted and raised their hands behind 
their backs. Each girl leaned forward to ease the strain on her shoulders. 
The Commandant signaled. The wardress left the three of them alone. 

"Why are you so damn mean to us today?" Lynn complained, gasping. 

"I think the original purpose of this exercise was simply to have a girl sit 
and sit and sit without being able to ease herself. The longer she sits the 
worse it gets," Lil explained in a cheerful conversational tone. "But all 
this talk about quims and slits gave me an idea. Ordinarily the pole sits 
between her two little thingummys. But if I make you lean forward far enough 
by raising your ropes at the back you'll . be sitting closer and closer to 
your little furry spots. I can't get you right on them, I'm afraid. But 
close enough. No use being too rough on the little dears. I'm sort of fond 
of them." 

"You can't be very fond of us," Eve commented lugubriously. 

"See what I mean," Lil retorted happily. "You are both forgetting your 
status. This will help you back to normal." 

Eve wondered. They slipped back and forth from gaiety to torture. Lil was 
unpredictable. Was she irresponsible? She had introduced them to this misery 
in about the same manner she would have taken them on a picnic. Pain 
sickened the helpless girl as she realized how bad their plight might be. 
She could not move. The pole bit at her steadily. 

"Sometimes they have a plank on edge," Lil continued. "That's much worse. 
You can figure it. I think this pole is almost humane. I really don't think 
you'll be damaged. It's a pity about your chained feet. Usually they stretch 
'em out wider. It makes it worse." 

She carefully examined the placement of their loins upon the narrow surface. 
"Just getting on to the hair nicely," she reported. "I'll just raise you a 
bit more to bring you further forward." 

"No, don't!" Eve's cry was a mixture of plea and command. It stopped Lil in 
her tracks. 

"What did you say?" The tone was ominous. 

"I know, I know," Eve wailed. "You'll punish me. I spoke out of turn. But 
please, oh please don't raise our hands any higher. This is pure torture. Do 
it to me. Not to Lynn. She's done nothing to deserve it." 

"Have you?" Lil sounded sincerely curious. 

"I suppose not. But I'm older and I'm supposed to be punished. And you like 
hurting me... " Eve burst into tears. There was nothing sensible to say 
anymore than there was anything she could do. 

"How long are you going to keep us on this thing, Lil?" Lynn asked. The 
younger girl was gasping. But trying to stay polite. She was scared. 

Lillian Galbraith relented. "I suppose I am a bitch," she acknowledged. "I 
can see this thing is no fun. But you are not getting off it yet. I want to 
try my notion." 

Quickly she snapped the leash back upon Eve's nose ring, threaded it through 
Lynn's circlet and gently drew the two lovely heads closer together. Both 
girls gasped in protest but instantly leaned closer in deadly fear of their 
rings. Their position on the pole worsened. Lil made a neat bow in the lace 
and stepped back to survey her masterpiece. By straining every nerve and 
sinew the sufferers could keep the tether between them slack. They exchanged 
agonized glances. Then bent all their concentration on maintaining the 
status quo. If either relaxed the nose rings would exact a cruel vengeance. 

"I'm going to have to let up on you two," Lil said blandly. "I find you 
irresistible. But I'd be crazy to wear you out. Besides, I'm sort of fond of 
you. How would you like a nice peaceful week in a dungeon? They have 'em 
here. Caleb showed me. All stone. Black as pitch. The most awful looking 
chains. It would be a real rest. Let some of the whip marks fade." 

She settled herself upon a stool and viewed her work with satisfaction. The 
naked slenderness of her captives was stretched and taut. Neither moved. But 
sweat ran down their flanks. 

"There's another thing that sort of takes my fancy. Painless, but I sure 
wouldn't want it. Those stocks in the village square. You know: you sit on a 
bench and put your little tootsies in the slots and they lower the boom. 
Then you just sit. Lots of company. The locals would all come to look. You'd 
never get bored from having nothing to do. You'd have two hands to cover two 
tits and a twat with. It would be like those sums where you always have 
something left over... Darlings, you don't give a damn about being naked 
anymore, do you?" 

There were two faint negatives. 

"This place gets you. Grim as granite. But filled with boobs and bums and 
pubes. It's the most femininely erotic atmosphere ever imagined. I whip the 
poor girls to a fareye-well. But there's just so many... Makes me even more 
of a bitch the way I go after you... Goodness knows I'm not short on ripe 
little bums." 

"Please let us loose, darling," Lynn pleaded humbly. 

"I think I'll concentrate a bit on those other girls from the U.S. They 
aren't in your class. But their bums take a nice stripe and they sure do 
howl. While I'm catching up on them how would you two like a spell in the 
oubliette. They have one. It's really something. You know... open at the top 
because you haven't a hope of climbing out. You sit down there and look up 
at the little circle of light that spells a freedom you can't reach." 

Lil ruminated further. She was enjoying herself. 

"Caleb showed me another cute idea that would be a rest for you. In its way, 
that is. It's a cell where you lay the poor girl on her back on the floor 
with her little chubbies up against the stone and her feet straight up. 
There's clamps for her ankles. So there she lays. She's quite free except 
she can't get her feet down. So she just lays there and admires them. They 
are about all the view she has. Gosh, kids, I'm really thinking up some 
honeys for you. Don't suppose you're a bit grateful. I sure do wish Cal was 
here. He'd love to see you now." 

Lillian Galbraith's voice suddenly lost its banter. Heartbreak had entered 
it. She was an incredible woman. She said simply: "I don't suppose you 
realize, but if I could smuggle you out of Jedrah to freedom tomorrow, I'd 
do it." 

The thudding crack of the explosion and the stutter of rifle fire that 
followed came from another world. They emphasized the silence that normally 
covered Ismaul like a blanket. The two girls upon the pole stopped their 
labored breathing, their eyes leaping to meet in wild speculation, the 
tether between their rings becoming taut. Lillian Galbraith stood, her mood 
destroyed. Another clattering dissonance spurred her to action. Deftly she 
unfastened the leash between her captive's rings and cast it aside. She was 
reaching for the cords from the pulleys when a cacophony of sound billowed 
from within the prison itself. Distractedly she gave her victims a 
reassuring smile and sped from the room. 

"A bloody war, and us in the middle of it like this," Lynn gasped. 

Eve fought frenziedly against her bonds. She could not move. The pain was a 
live thing tearing her apart. 

* * * 

The taking of the fortress of Ismaul can hardly rate as one of history's 
major battles. It achieved no headlines and was unnoticed by the foreign 
press. One charge of dynamite and a great deal of rifle ammunition was 
expended, largely for effect. It had been thoughtfully provided free of 
charge by a foreign government and thus made possible an inexpensive 
expression of exuberance by a gaggle of guerrillas who were but one degree 
removed from common bandits. The action produced bruises and abrasions 
aplenty. But only one fatality. 

The casualty was Caleb. 

To Eve, the time that followed was a succession of horrors, heartbreak, or 
tragic comedies that followed without sequence, as flashes on a screen, 
instantaneous or prolonged. Each struck her with its own impact. The sum 
total of all was nightmare. 

When left alone upon the pole the two girls were forced to recognize that 
their condition had become normal for girls assigned to that punishment for 
the day. The door would be closed upon them so that they could accept their 
agony without extraneous influence. They could suffer in silence. They could 
gasp and moan. They could scream. They could even faint. It would not 
matter. The cords that held them would not let them fall. Even unconscious 
the pole would exact its toll of their flesh. Conscious, they could not 
move. They sat with the pain sundering their loins and enveloping their 
whole being. Lynn wept in desolation. 

To Eve, the sounds beyond revived vivid memories of the night in the house 
of Rasuli Khan. Again she saw his inert body and its blood. She cherished no 
hope that what was taking place could spell freedom. What faction was there 
in Jedrah that would treat her other than as prisoner or slave. Even Fashad 
had sold her on the auction block. A bandit could rape a hundred girls. But 
cash was cash! Briefly her mind settled upon his laughing eyes and nimble 
tongue. If only... if only... ! 

She sobbed miserably in the despair of her bondage. 

It was not Fashad who freed them. It was a pair of the same nondescript 
creatures she had seen before. One in rags, the other in an ill-fitting 
uniform probably filched from the dead body of a soldier. They found only 
hilarity in the girl's torture. Eve realized they would have found quite a 
number of girls around the premises undergoing some similar discomfort. They 
chattered at each other excitedly and took their time scrutinizing the finer 
facets of the girl's pain. Their breasts were fondled and their sex invaded. 
Eve felt certain that had it not been for the commotion of events underway 
the two intruders would have left them fastened and enjoyed their misery. 

It seemed probable they were part of some organized takeover of Ismaul and 
under at least a vague compulsion. 

Reluctantly they, at last, freed the two sufferers, withdrew the hated pole 
from between the shackled feet, then laughed with huge enjoyment at the 
pain-wracked postures of their captives. The nose rings intrigued them. They 
were attentively and interestedly examined. They were also tentatively 
tugged. The tuggers being instantly rewarded by the agonized apprehension in 
their victim's eyes, her gasp of pure fear. Eve realized miserably what an 
effective impotence the rings imposed on their will to resist. A ringed girl 
would always obey. 

Armed men were everywhere. The diversity of their attire defied 
identification. Presumably they recognized each other by the common 
denominator of the gun. The female inmates of Ismaul were driven before them 
into the larger courtyard. Among them Eve discerned the wardresses, a few of 
the more domestic staff and, quite incredibly, Lillian Galbraith. 

It was almost like a Ceremonial. The girls were marshaled into two widely 
spaced lines. An inspection began: curt, efficient and to the point. The man 
with the clipboard accompanied by two of his men. There was only one 
incident... 

Reaching the flushed and furious female Commandant, the vociferous Lil was 
dragged from the line and made to stand apart. The distance was too great to 
hear all that was said, but some English words reached Eve's ears. Then, at 
a sign from their officer, the two soldiers began to strip the clothes from 
their protesting prisoner. 

Two things happened. Lillian fought. A small door in the courtyard wall 
opened and Caleb charged across the sand. He reached his superior officer by 
virtue of the fracas by which Lil diverted all attention to herself and 
perhaps because his own quaint uniform made him one with the invaders. With 
a cry of outrage and loud Jedrah protest he kicked aside one of those who 
sought to violate the person of his Divinity and, seizing the rifle of the 
other, proceeded to beat him with the butt. It was then the officer casually 
produced an automatic and shot the Knight of Ismaul three times in the back. 
His body was dragged away across the sand. The inspection continued. 

Shock canceled shock so that Eve became a spectator numb with the bitterness 
of all she saw. Poor, faithful Caleb! She knew for the dead man the same 
sort of affection she had felt for Commandant Perkins. She watched a 
half-naked Lil marched away between an escort. The Commandant of Ismaul was 
still protesting in colorful condemnation. No one paid heed. Strangely, it 
was not until that moment Eve realized that her hands were still crossed and 
bound behind her back. Those who had taken her from the pole had not 
bothered. Here and there other girls were similarly confined. Perhaps they 
had fought... At a time like this she wished it otherwise. Her ring and her 
chained feet were bad enough. But to have her hands taken from her too... 

The clipboard had reached her now. The few questions: the raised eyebrow; 
the scrutiny and the smile. A few moments later she was marched away under 
escort. One last agonized look towards her love. They could not wave. The 
final vision of Caleb's dead body stretched out upon the sand... 

It seemed appropriate that she stand before the desk in the Commandant's 
office, naked, hands behind her back. It always ended or began thus. But no 
Commandant viewed her from the chair. This man in Jedrah garb, stocky and 
solid, sharp-eyed, middle-aged, was something new. There was a power in him, 
an assurance projecting itself across the desk. There was purpose... 

The questions. The extraction of her file satisfied him. Eve knew, 
therefore, that her identity was meaningful. She was not yet to learn why. 
He sat back comfortably enjoying the situation, frankly looking at her 
femaleness, then satisfied raising his eyes to hers. Like so many of them 
his English was good. A legacy the British had left behind... He had the 
same thin smile she had seen before behind that desk. Perhaps it was a 
Jedrah trait. 

"I shall use you personally," he said. 

There was too much to say. So she said nothing. 

"I think perhaps your detestation of what I do to you, and of myself, will 
be enhanced by a few scraps of understanding." 

"Thank you," Eve said it meekly. She could think of nothing else. 

"My name is Cephas." He waved his hand airily. "There is no reason why you 
should know it. My followers and I are ridding Jedrah of its offal. We are 
what you call guerrillas." He saw the hope in her eyes and killed it. "No. 
Fashad is not of mine. He is an impetuous youth following false gods. He 
does not like me. He shall be told I possess you. It will give him one more 
thing to be angry about. He is forever angry. It will destroy him. But I owe 
him gratitude for an idea." He nodded complacently. "Very soon the wealthy 
from many lands will gather here to buy by auction the treasure our futile 
government has allowed to accumulate within this prison." He laughed 
outright. "They have their oil. But I now hold a priceless value in female 
flesh. It will buy me Jedrah." 

He was enjoying his boast. But he spoke truth. How beautifully simple! 

Eve saw a ray of hope and clutched at it. "Three of us could be ransomed?" 

Cephas smiled sardonically. "Do you know the price you brought before?" 

She nodded. 

"I will get twice that now. Would anyone pay so much for you?" 

She kept silent. No American would buy her. 

"In any case ransom is impractical. We have no time. There would be risk. 
Therefore I will enjoy you, and my followers will enjoy the rest until they 
are sold. I am not sure that I will sell you. The decision can wait." He 
pressed a button on the desk. A soldier came and took her away. 

Eve did not speak. A girl in her position had nothing to say. 

* * * 

The images came, etched themselves upon her mind and sped away. The 
interminable wait alone in a cell. The girl who freed her hands, fed her, 
bathed and prepared her, and led her to Cephas. 

He had prepared a stage. Luxury and horror. He had made himself a throne. He 
sat, intent. His hands idly toyed with a whip. In the waiting time Eve had 
schooled herself for what she must do. Her feet that must be forever chained 
led her to where she could kneel. She bowed and offered her crossed wrists 
in submission. 

"I am your slave, Master. I will please you." 

Eve was sincere. Passionately she loathed the whip in his hands. She had 
been trained for just this moment. Let her training be her weapon... or her 
shield. 

Cephas sat and gazed his fill. In the act of offering herself the girl was 
exquisite. "You act the part well," he acknowledged. 

"I do not act, Master. I am a slave. I wear the chains of a slave. I will 
obey you." 

Sardonically he placed his heel against her shoulder and thrust. She fell 
sideways and back, sprawling, shocked. The appeal in the face she turned to 
him was a question, mute but urgent. 

He was on his feet, looking down enigmatically at the chained and naked girl 
upon the floor. "You have learned the words," he said. "Let us now hear the 
music." He brought the lash down full across her nudity. It seemed to touch 
every part of her. She uttered no sound. 

A gambler will often risk his all in one last desperate joust with Fate. Eve 
did it now. With half-closed eyes she rose to her feet with the pure fluid 
motion of the dance. Standing on tiptoe she stretched sensuously to her full 
height. Clasping her hands behind her neck she thrust her breasts forward. 
Lifting her face she stared serenely into a distance that was not there. "I 
am yours, Master." 

Cephas curled the whip around her slenderness with a resounding snap. Its 
weal was livid. She did not move. She did not turn her eyes. Surely she 
could touch him... 

"Thank, you, Master." 

He sighed heavily. With what emotion she did not know. He struck again. 

The punished girl was weary. It had been a brutal day. A frightening day. 
All of it loss or pain. Now this... ! She held her pose in splendor and made 
her responses in a soft, warm voice. But at the fifth stroke she broke and 
fell sobbing to the floor. She lay upon her stomach uncaring while he 
flogged her. The gambler had lost her last resource. 

No one counted the strokes, least of all Eve. She heard her voice pleading, 
her gasps and moans, her rasping breaths that went on after the whip had 
stopped. Most vital of all, coming to her through a haze of 
half-consciousness, she heard her Master's voice: "Crawl!" 

She knew now. It must be his way. Debased in revenge for all the real or 
fancied indignities of his race. A Wog! The British had called him that. So 
now she must crawl upon her belly. Her white flesh must bear the marks of 
his dishonor. He could vent upon her, too, his bitterness with Jedrah. 

Eve crawled. She had not been taught to crawl. Was it an art! Could it be 
made anything more than a degradation of dusty skin and grazed knees. Of 
dirt in her navel and hair moist and awry. She stopped only when she reached 
his boots. 

"You may kiss my feet." Eve kissed his feet. Ardently, again and again. "You 
may service me with your lips." Eve serviced him with her lips and with her 
tongue. She threw into the act all the skill and artistry she could devise. 

When her task was done and he was at peace, he asked: "What am I?" 

"My Master, Lord." 

"And you?" 

"I am your slave. You own me." Head bent, eyes downcast, she waited. "You 
may rise." 

Eve stood and faced her Master. Their eyes met. "You understand now?" 

"I understand, Master." 

"What do you understand?" 

"That I had pride. A slave does not have pride. That I tried to lead. Slaves 
do not lead, they follow, That I used my body against you. A slave does not 
use her body. Only her Master uses her body. Lord, I am grateful." 

"Grateful for what?" 

"The lesson you have taught me, Master. I thought I knew it. I did not know 
it. I know it now." 

Cephas studied her thoughtfully. The frenzy of the whip and its aftermath 
had sobered them both. For the first time Eve saw him as a person. He was 
cruel. But he would not kill her. She sensed his intent to use her for some 
wider purpose of his own. The excoriations of his whip burned and scalded. 
She would obey. She had no will but his. 

"You have a quality," he told her grudgingly. "If I had time for you I would 
not sell you. I can understand those others. You would destroy Fashad: he 
would become your slave. You are too close in age. Rasuli's judgments never 
failed him. Always for him it was the best... " He sighed again. "In six 
months I will have Jedrah. I will find you and take you back." He laughed. 
"Your feet will still be chained." 

He fell silent, visualizing something in his mind. Then instructed his slave 
girl: "At any time now a woman will enter this room. You will recognize her. 
But you will speak no word. You will not seek her eyes. Now you will stand 
to the left of this chair. While she is held by those who bring her you will 
kneel and bow before me in total obeisance. You will speak your fealty and 
vow me Lord. You will do it well. When I nod permission you will stand again 
at my side, submissive." 

"Yes, Master, I obey." Eve stood beside his chair. Eyes downcast... 

Lillian Galbraith was still fighting. She was strong. The two men held her. 
But not with ease. She was naked. She was handcuffed. She was gagged with a 
rag and a strip of cloth. The play began. 

Eve realized ruefully that what she was about to do was now her easiest task 
of the day. She was letter perfect. Her wish to please the man who had 
mastered her would sound in every word. She knelt and abased herself with 
consummate perfection. Cephas's eyes glowed fiercely. She knew he lusted for 
her. That she had acquitted herself with honor. She stood once more beside 
him. Her pulse as fast as his. The soldiers left and closed the door. 

Lil tore the band from her mouth and pulled out the gag. She spat angrily 
and declared: "If you think I'm going to kiss your ass like that you have to 
be nuts." 

Eve sensed him stiffen. But his voice was suave: "You can suggest 
alternatives?" 

Lillian Galbraith answered absent-mindedly. She was tugging and twisting at 
her handcuffs. Eve's heart went out to her. It took a girl a long time to 
accept the fact that she could not get them off. 

"You're damn right I can, Buster. You let me and the two kids go and you can 
write your own cheque." 

"What did you call me?" His voice was icy. 

"Look now," Lil spoke much as she would to a fractious child. "Forget the 
Valentino bit, you don't have the figure. Smarten up and get us out of here. 
Don't think I can't make it rough for you. I can." She returned her interest 
to the metal on her wrists. "Take these blasted things off, will you?" 

Cephas watched her with amusement. His voice was still gentle. "You are a 
quite remarkable woman, Mrs. Galbraith." 

"Sure, sure. I know," Lil conceded, still occupied. "And another thing: if 
you think I give a damn about being naked, forget it." 

The slave girl beside his chair could almost feel his control as he kept his 
voice even and inquired, "Mrs. Galbraith, have you ever been whipped?" 

It took a moment to register. But register it did. Lil forgot her handcuffs 
and dropped her chained hands. "No, I have not," she stated candidly. Then 
took the matter a step further. "Were you thinking of whipping me for fun, 
or did you have some profit in mind? I'm a businesswoman. You don't have to 
whip me to make a point." 

Cephas sighed. Eve suspected it was with pleasure at what lay ahead. "I 
intend to sell you," he said gently. "I want you to fetch a price upon the 
block." He laughed. "Can you imagine yourself on the block yapping as you do 
now like a mongrel dog?" 

"Sell me!" He had caught her full attention. 

"Ransom is impractical. You have a splendid body. Decorated with a few whip 
marks you will fetch enough money to buy me some good used tanks." 

Lillian Galbraith assessed him, her mind active. 

"O.K. Maybe you make sense. Sounds crazy to me. But suppose some idiot pays 
you money: do you really think I'm going to walk off beside him like a 
kitten?" 

"That is why I am about to whip you." He chuckled. "Kitten! I like that! 
Yes. I will transform the spitting cat into a kitten. Are you ready, Mrs. 
Galbraith?" 

It was hard for the watching Eve not to see some measure of retribution: Lil 
had wielded the whip often enough, yet her own lovely skin had remained 
untouched. Now... ! But the slave girl could not fail to see herself as Lil 
now was. She knew every nuance of emotion that went with the predicament. 
She felt the handcuffs. Even fastened in front they placed a surprising 
inhibition on defense. A naked girl faced with the whip has crossed a line 
of no return. 

Lillian Galbraith watched, wide-eyed, as Cephas slowly rose and stepped 
toward her, his heavy hands caressing the whip lovingly. 

"Alright! A million dollars," she said, striving to stare him down. 

Cephas said nothing, nor did he pause. 

Lil took a step back. But there was nowhere for her to go. It was obvious 
she scorned to cringe against a wall. She stood and faced him. Slowly her 
linked hands rose. Crossing them within the tether of the cuffs she spread 
her fingers across her breasts. It was instinctive. 

The lash snapped and curled around the white thighs. Eve knew why he had 
chosen that spot. A girl's hands would fly to it. She would bend. She would 
raise one leg. She would be robbed of poise. 

Lillian Galbraith ran true to form. She did all those things. But within 
moments she stood erect seeking to reclaim a dignity that was gone. "You 
bastard!" she exclaimed vehemently. 

The human reaction to pain is anger. Adrenalin retaliates. But a naked girl 
cannot afford anger. Nor will her adrenalin sustain it long. Lillian 
Galbraith stood for two more kisses of the thong, then buried her face in 
her hands and sank to the floor. "Stop it! Oh, stop it!" Her voice was 
shocked as though she had not known such pain was there. 

Cephas smiled with pleasure and brought his lash down in full strokes down 
the exposed back. The handcuffed girl curled her nudity into its smallest 
possible compass. But she could not deny the whip. It found her shoulders 
and her hips and her back with cruel delight. Unable to endure, she leaped 
to her feet and fled around the room. "Stop it! Stop it. Stop it... " Her 
mind could not seek beyond surcease. 

"You look ridiculous," Cephas commented, amused. He clapped his hands. 

The two men suspended the incredulous woman so that she hung from her 
wrists, standing on her toes. Eve knew the posture well. The girl could kick 
and writhe. She was totally delivered to the whip. Her own motions would 
enhance her enemies' enjoyment, yet offer her only humiliation. 

Lillian gasped. "What the hell do you want me to do? Plead? I'll plead. I'll 
do anything. But stop!!!" 

Cephas motioned to his men. They retreated to opposite walls. "You are 
bargaining, Mrs. Galbraith," he chided softly. 

The whip sang its song. Lil battled bravely against the dance that would 
match its tune. But, little by little, the gasping jerks by which she 
accepted the lash merged into the contortions of utter abandonment. She 
writhed. She kicked. So great was her agony and shock that she even lifted 
herself by the biting clasp of the metal upon her bleeding wrists, as though 
by so doing she might escape the thong. 

When her loveliness was wet with her sweat and her cheeks lined and streaked 
by tears, Cephas paused. The lash from his hand curling upon the floor. Lil 
tried to toss her damp hair from her face. She did not raise her eyes. She 
hung, breathing heavily, seeking the right word she had failed to find. 

"I don't know... I'm lost. What is it you want...?" 

"I want a slave girl," said Cephas. 

The whipped woman stole a glance at the man who possessed her. She shook her 
head as though at the impossible. What she said then was, for her, an 
apology for all her race: "I was not born a slave... " 

Her whipping continued. 

It did not cease until she hung unconscious. The stripes upon her nakedness 
bore testimony to the time taken to bring Lillian Galbraith to that state. 
One of the watching men forced brandy between her lips. She coughed and 
returned to her world of pain. But she made no move. A small trickle of 
blood made its way down her forearm from one cut wrist. She was given more 
brandy until she managed to again place her weight upon her toes. Cephas 
asked caustically: "Well?" 

"Yes... anything." 

She was lowered to the floor. 

"You know what to do." Cephas was impatient. 

Lil did her best. It lacked the polished artistry of Eve's long experience. 
But was unmistakably sincere. 

"Kiss my feet." 

She obeyed. 

"Service me with your lips." 

The command hit Lillian Galbraith like a blow. The agonized face she raised 
to her master held appeal, but no protest. It was as though she faced a task 
beyond her ken. She was bewildered by shock. Confronted by implacability she 
slumped sprawling to the floor sobbing into the dark refuge of her hands. 

They suspended her again. She screamed as the handcuffs bit. "I'm sorry," 
she said humbly. "Let me down. I will do it. I will do it well. I can. I 
will do anything... " 

"I shall whip you now, not to make you do something. But to punish you for 
something you did not do. It is a difference a slave girl must understand," 
Cephas explained. 

He whipped her. It was bad. But he confined the infliction within the limits 
the lovely body could endure. When she was again lowered and the tether 
removed so that her only bond was her handcuffs, she crawled to the big 
chair and performed her service to her master with skill and finesse. 

When it was over Cephas sat silent for a long time gazing down at the 
striped back and bent head of the woman crouched at his feet. Slowly Lil 
returned to the world of awareness. Cautiously she raised herself so that 
she sat back upon her heels, her chained hands resting limply upon her lap, 
her head bowed in humility. Eve wondered if the whipped girl had taken the 
pose in the knowledge of how beautiful it was. 

Softly Cephas began his catechism, the responses to which would diminish the 
beauty submissive before him to her new condition. Lil knew the words. She 
spoke them with a terrible sincerity. In return for the cessation of the 
whip she sold her body and her mind into slavery. 

The slave girl who stood at the left of the Master's chair had a sudden 
vision of another world. Why did men bother with women in the way they did! 
Why pay them homage and shower them with gifts and attention. Why even marry 
them. A man with a whip could make a woman do or be anything he wished. It 
was so simple. In the end the female was more a woman than she could be in 
any other way. As though reading her thoughts Cephas asked the kneeling 
girl: "What have you learned?" 

"That I am a woman. That you own me utterly." 

He asked sardonically: "Are you happier than you were two hours ago?" 

It was a cruel question. Could any girl give the right answer! The small 
silence was pregnant with the kneeling girl's decision. 

"Yes, Master." 

Cephas laughed. "I believe you are." He became serious. "Tell me: would not 
all the women of your tired old race that has run its course be happier 
within the security of the lash and the chain?" 

A small silence grew. He said quietly: "You may look at me." She raised her 
eyes. They locked with his and held. Slowly a radiance came upon her. Under 
his intensity she began to blush. Her lips trembled and became red and full. 
Her voice, when it came, was firm with a new emotion. 

"Yes, Lord. They would be happier: as I am happy." 

Lil, too, had made her strange discovery! 

* * * 

Whatever the quality of his followers might be, Cephas himself was an 
organizer. Ismaul was in chaos. But a chaos under his control. Early in the 
morning cars and jeeps and trucks crowded the courtyards with men eager to 
purchase female flesh. The largest court of all contained the auction. 
Guerrillas have little time. Cephas must have planned his gathering of the 
clans with foreknowledge. To bid on eighty girls would take time. Thus he 
had created a number of small stages and enlisted the efforts of equally 
many auctioneers. The girls to be sold had been screened: the former 
wardresses and staff. The least attractive of the feminine merchandise. Then 
those more richly endowed... A man wishing to buy gravitated to the block 
for which he had the cash, or moved from group to group to fill his needs. 

For Eve the day was a kaleidoscope of color and motion. It began with a fear 
quickly dispelled. She was tied firmly to a post. An obsequious little man 
appeared with a small trolley containing tools, instruments and some finely 
glittering objects that set the captive's heart pounding with excitement. 

At other times she had been put to sleep. Now she watched the placement of 
the rings in her flesh with bated breath. Flame was used. But ingenious 
shields saved her harmless. The heavy iron ring was cut and taken from her 
nose. All that was placed within her now was of the most exquisite 
craftsmanship. There were jewels within the metal. Jewels that would sparkle 
with brilliance at her every motion. Why had Cephas spent this fortune upon 
her! Perhaps he would get it back tenfold. 

Being feminine, Eve wished there was more time to preen. She adored her 
rings and wished to worship them in private. But even the girl who attended 
her with baths, perfumes and cosmetics had been warned to waste no time. The 
torpid government of Jedrah might be alerted to events at Ismaul and act. 
Thus no girl had ever been more quickly ringed and made beautiful for her 
Master. 

She was to attend Cephas as slave. Standing one pace behind him always. 
Refreshments would be brought by others but she would serve them. She was to 
be seen and admired. Cephas himself was a busy man. His customers were 
legion. All sought him. They were a thirsty lot so that Eve became as busy 
as her Master. She loved it. For a little while again she was a woman. They 
spoke to Cephas. But they looked at her. She glowed under the homage of 
their eyes. She knew her value rose by the minute. She had never felt more 
clothed in loveliness... or more naked. Cephas was also a salesman! 

The sale itself was well advanced by the time they reached the court. Here, 
too, urgency prevailed. As a girl was sold, her hands were tied behind her 
back, often roughly and without concern for her comfort, she was hustled 
into a vehicle which sped away into the desert on one of the myriad tracks 
almost indistinguishable from the desert itself. The ranks thinned rapidly. 

Eve sought anxiously for Lynn. She had risked terrible things by pleading 
with Cephas that she be allowed to see the child. He had rejected her 
angrily. They would be sold and go their ways: that was an end. He wished to 
hear nothing of their love. He hinted of the penalty Jedrah exacted for such 
a union. 

It was not until her darling was led to a platform and exposed to the 
bidders that Eve found her. Even then it was at a distance. Cephas was 
involved in another area. She must not leave. Even at a distance she could 
sense that the teenager had sparked interest. There was a considerable 
commotion in that particular ring. The younger girl must have proved 
difficult. Her hands were tied behind her back. She faced the crowd 
defiantly. But stood there without being held, scorning the indignity of a 
scuffle. Soon the hammer fell. Minutes later one more expensive car left 
Ismaul. In it was the child Eva loved more than her own life. The slave of 
Cephas had never felt more alone. 

The stock of slave girls dwindled. But as they were whisked away other cars 
arrived. The ranks of the bidders actually increased. The eyes of Cephas 
gleamed. Unhappily Eve guessed the Grand Finale. There would be herself and 
one other... the new slave girl Lillian. The turmoil of the morning was but 
a prelude to the main event. She was filled with dread of the block and 
where it might lead her. This time there would be no knight errant to bid 
for her. But mixed in with apprehension was a female joy in what she was. 
These desert men coveted her. She had been ringed and displayed as had no 
others. She was beautiful. For girls of other days this would be her moment 
of triumph. Even for her there flickered dimly a small flame of hope: her 
ankles were still chained, but she would be taken from the prison of 
Ismaul... 

In waiting upon her Master, Cephas, Eve could not be unaware of the potency 
of what he had done to her. She knew she was a slave: That was the point! 
She knew! It showed. The hard desert eyes gazing upon her knew and approved. 
She sensed, also, with a terrible certainty that those same eyes that 
glittered at her rings and at her breasts and thighs found their greatest 
delight in the whip marks that striped her everywhere. Those that Cephas had 
placed upon her yesterday still stood upon her flesh with a cruel loveliness 
all their own. They were many. Absurdly she found herself wearing them with 
the same pride with which she wore her rings. 

The moment was now. The electric vibration touched all present. Suddenly 
there was no sound. Lillian Galbraith stepped up on to the block. Her feet 
were free. But her wrists and elbows were bound tightly behind her back. 
Perhaps it was for effect, she was totally submissive. But the strictures 
thrust her breasts forward so that her superb body was rendered trebly 
enticing. She faced the multitude without arrogance, head bent, eyes 
downcast as becomes a slave. 

All else was forgotten. Cephas made his way to stand close to where the 
bidding would enrich his cause. His slave girl followed, docile and 
obedient. It is doubtful that the naked slave upon the block saw them. When 
the auctioneer ordered her to raise her head she did so with eyes veiled, 
focused far away. She stood meekly when pawed or when fingers traced the 
whip marks on her skin. Mrs. Galbraith had died under the whip. Her body and 
her limbs bequeathed to Lillian the slave girl. She was sold. She was taken 
away. One more car left Ismaul... 

It had the quality of an oft repeated dream. She had stood naked upon the 
platform above the staring faces at her Ceremonial punishments. She had 
stood thus when she had previously been sold by auction from the block. Now, 
again, her value would be gauged. At this final moment she had lost her 
fear. Too much had happened too quickly. She reached out and tried to 
recapture her erotic pride in this exposure of her ringed loveliness. But 
even that was gone. She was numb. 

She had not been bound. There was no need. She would obey. Her loveliness 
needed no stricture at wrist or elbow to enhance. She was led to where she 
must stand by none other than Cephas himself. His hand upon her arm was the 
caress of a farewell. "I wish it was otherwise," he told her softly as they 
mounted the steps. "I part with you in sorrow... " 

She stood passive. Cephas left her side but remained upon the platform. This 
was his moment too. 

An auction is like a dance. Often there is a reluctance to be the first upon 
the floor. Undoubtedly at this moment which Cephas had so carefully planned 
and so craftily contrived many held mute their most generous bids for fear 
of being laughed into derision. Here was a slave girl for princes and for 
kings. 

Eve watched unbelieving. He stepped from the ranks, a desert man lithe and 
vital. Throwing aside the scarf that veiled his face, Fashad smiled up at 
her. He raised his arm and made his bid. He spoke in English so that she 
knew it was for her alone. 

"One million dollars!" His voice carried to the farthest corners of the 
crowd. 

There was a stunned silence. The barking crack of the rifle shattered it 
like glass. Eve almost felt the impact of the bullet that struck Cephas in 
the chest and laid him dead at her feet. 

Men with guns were everywhere: Fashad's men! Upon the walls and the terraces 
and within the crowd itself. Most of the latecomers were his. His victory 
was neat and total. No other shot was fired. Without Cephas his men were 
sheep. They were herded into the cells that for so long had imprisoned only 
girls. For a brief hour Fashad owned Ismaul. 

He had offered his arms. Eve had stepped from the platform into them. Their 
eyes were bright, remembering... "I have set you free," he said. 

"And I am yours!" They both laughed at her promise in the cage. 

"You are more beautiful than ever." His voice was reverent. 

"Even with the whip marks?" They were children. Playing---- "I will give you 
others. Remember... you asked?" 

He took her hand and led her away. "Come, there is much to do and little 
time." 

He kept her with him even though her chained steps slowed his pace. He gave 
crisp orders and supervised the looting and the gathering of arms. At the 
end he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the smithy. 

"It is fitting that you lose your irons where you found them," he said. "I 
do not want my woman chained. You will fight beside me, and run beside me, 
and rule beside me. The whip and I will keep you bound enough." 

But the smith was gone, his tools scattered. Men were sent to search. The 
two of them stood beside the anvil, waiting. Eve thought of Gretna Green. 
This was as close to marriage as she would ever come. She did not care. She 
was almost sorry when the smith came hurrying to set her ankles free. But 
his arrival coincided with the entry of another. 

The man was sweat-stained and panting. He spoke six words that sent all 
present into action. Fashad picked her up again and ran. A minute later they 
were in a jeep and heading into the distance, a small army of vehicles 
filled with armed and desperate fighting men. Fashad was grim. "The Jedrah 
dogs," he said, "have smelled a rat." 

Eve remembered some reference: "The thin red line... " It was not like that. 
They were small dust clouds with patches of khaki and grey. But it was still 
a line. A line that gradually filled their horizon. A line that spelled an 
army and the tools of war. 

Their cavalcade swerved, and swerved again. But always the line came closer. 
Each gap perceived would fill, each break would mend. Even behind them, now, 
beyond Ismaul the dust clouds gathered. Ismaul was surrounded. 

It was as heroic as Fashad himself. A bare slim chance that they must take. 
Their force sped toward the chain of their encirclement. If they could break 
one weak link they could escape. 

It was a very small engagement. The tanks moved in from behind the dunes. 
For a couple of minutes there were ear-splitting detonations followed by the 
bark and clatter of small arms, then comparative silence. The jeep had been 
tossed on its side like a child's toy. Eve found herself sprawled upon the 
sand, her head ringing from the explosion. Beside her there lay a body. Even 
before she turned him over to see his face she knew Fashad was dead. For the 
second time that day death had stood at her side. 

They found her kneeling there looking down at the quiet face that smiled 
even now that life had been stolen from it. She was dazed and made no 
protest as they bound her arms and put her in a jeep. As its motor sprang to 
life she took one last agonized look at the bundle of clothing that had been 
a man. A staff car drove importantly up to the guerrilla leader's corpse and 
those who guarded it. An immaculately uniformed officer stepped out upon the 
sand. As the jeep in which she lay hastened her back to Ismaul Eve saw that 
it was Commandant Perkins. 

* * * 

It was a dungeon. Eve never knew why she had been placed in it or why her 
arms had been untied and her wrists handcuffed. She had been told nothing. 
Pushed this way and that and deposited here in a dismal stone vault lit by 
one small barred slit high in the wall beyond her reach. She guessed the 
cells were probably packed with the survivors of the two guerrilla armies 
that the government forces of Jedrah had so neatly destroyed. Caleb had told 
her that Ismaul had dungeons. Now she was in one of them. She sat upon the 
stone floor and wept. 

She had lost everything. Everyone she loved. Everyone who had been kind to 
her. All were gone! There was none to help her now. Perhaps this dungeon was 
to be her prison for the next nine years-she did not know the number of the 
odd months. Idly she played with the chain that joined her ankles: the iron 
that had so nearly been struck from her that day but which now would hold 
her feet in thrall for a decade. She remembered how Lynn had loved to play 
with the implacable links. She desisted, there were reminders enough! She 
was thankful that her hands were not behind her back. At least she was not 
reduced to utter helplessness. Yet it likely meant only that her jailers 
wanted her to tend her own needs without help. She might still be wearing 
the same metal on her wrists years from now. 

Commandant Perkins had not seen her. It seemed improbable that an officer of 
his new enhanced importance would be told of the single prisoner of Ismaul 
who had not escaped. She would be dealt with by lesser men. How ironic that 
she remained a convicted prisoner because she had not been auctioned into 
slavery. Ismaul held her with a chain that no circumstance ever managed to 
sever. 

She stood before the familiar desk. How many had stared at her across its 
surface! She had lost count. The morning had brought food, a wash, release 
from the dungeon, and now this. She must stand and wait. Someone would come 
through the door. At least her hands were still linked in front. She could 
cover her pubic hair if his eyes were too hungry. 

"My dear, I did not know of you until this morning." 

Eve's whole being flooded with relief. Her own Commandant! It was like 
finding a whole family all at once. Her face lit with joy. Instinctively she 
sank to her knees before him and clasped the razor-like crease of his 
trousers. A slave girl does not quickly forget her place. 

Gently he raised her to her feet. In spite of his uniform and its insignias 
he was still the same rather sad, faintly dejected man she had always known. 
He fingered her handcuffs apologetically. "As usual I do not have a key. One 
moment, I will ring." 

"Don't." Her fingers stayed him. "Let me wear them. It is fitting... " 

He looked at her sharply. "You have been through much, haven't you?" 

She was weeping on his beautiful jacket. He held her close and let her cry. 
When her tensed emotions released her he parted with one more of his 
handkerchiefs, provided her with a chair and found his own. Then sat quietly 
gazing at a woman he desired. 

"What will become of me?" she finally asked. 

His mirth was genuine. "Do you realize," he asked, chuckling, "that you are 
now the only properly accredited prisoner in Ismaul? The guerrillas will be 
gone today. You will then have a choice of one hundred empty cells." 

She shared his amusement. But her voice was still tearful. "Others go. But I 
always remain, don't I?" 

He became more serious, though his voice remained tinged with humor. "This 
whole Ismaul story is too absurd," he confided. "True it has proved the bait 
by which Jedrah is now rid of a lethal menace. That foolish boy and the 
strutting Cephas! But our little birds who were caged here... they have 
flown away. None knows where." He could not contain his laughter. "I doubt 
that we see a single one of them again and I strongly suspect our new 
government will be most happy that this is so." 

"But Lynn... and Mrs. Galbraith?" 

"On those I must reserve an opinion. But for the rest... " He shrugged. "You 
know the motives that placed them here. They were not good. Our authorities 
may be happy to forget the prisoners of Ismaul as though they never existed. 
It may be the only service Cephas ever rendered his country." 

"Do I stay chained in one of the cells?" Eve asked plaintively. 

"Cheer up, my dear. It's un-likely that Jedrah will maintain Ismaul for your 
sole benefit. I think that, in the light of what has happened, I should be 
able to persuade someone to do something about you. You should be freed. But 
at the worst surely they will take you to a modern prison where you will be 
better cared for." 

She stared at him bleakly. "Prison, prison, prison! Chains and punishments 
and dungeons! Oh, I'm so tired of it all... I'm so damn tired... " Eve 
buried her face in her hands. 

He came and stood beside his captive. His fingers gently played with the 
hair of her bent head and across the nape of her neck. 

"Once you said you wanted to buy me as a slave," she sniffed. "Yes." 

"Why don't you then?" she demanded fiercely. "I want it!" 

"How can a soldier buy one of his government's prisoners? Not even in 
Jedrah." 

"Put on the record that I was sold with the rest. Then take me." She was 
greatly daring. 

"You know I cannot. Too many have seen you." 

"I'd be free of charge." 

"Don't you think I'd do it if I could!" His voice was as fierce as hers had 
been. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen or ever known." His 
tone softened. "I am a soldier. A soldier fights the battles. The victories 
belong to others." 

"You are trying to tell me that I can belong only to a prison or a prince?" 

He could not answer. But his fingers took on a new tenderness. Passionately 
her chained hands rose to his. He lifted them and covered them with kisses. 
She asked softly: "Do you remember the two things you wished to do to me 
every day?" 

He sighed. "I remember. But tell me." 

"Each day you would hang me on the cross for one hour, and each day you 
would whip me with a long thin whip-" There was a hammering at the door. An 
anxious face appeared on the Commandant's summons. Uttered its rapid Jedrah 
message and was gone. The Commandant bit out some Jedrah imprecation of his 
own. "My dear, I have but an hour left to stay with you. What delightful 
fancy was it you were telling?" 

"The cross I do not think we can manage. But we both know a room where there 
is a long thin whip." She felt him tense. Rising she gently touched his 
cheek. "The whip marks I now have do not matter. No one will know the new 
ones will be yours." She put her heart into her eyes. "I have so many whip 
marks. Yours will be the only ones given me with love. Give them to me to 
cherish. Please... " 

He could not speak. Again he raised her fingers to his lips. His eyes spoke 
adoration... almost worship. For a few moments she was the strongest of the 
two. "Come," she said. "I know the way to our room and to the long thin 
whip. Love me for an hour." 

She took him by the hand and led him to their strange farewell. 

* * * 

Ismaul was being cleansed. It was a military project done with military 
precision. The guerrillas were gone. Soldiers in fatigues swabbed and 
mopped, plastered and nailed. Looking through the bars of her cell door Eve 
felt unreality. All the other doors were open, their small prisons empty. 
The place echoed and clanged with emptiness. When she had been one of sixty 
no one had paid heed. Now that she was the solitary prisoner in the huge 
fortress few passed who did not glance or pause and frankly look. 

She supposed she owed it to Commandant Perkins that she had been returned to 
her old cell. A place heartbreakingly full of memories of Lynn, yet 
pathetically more like home than elsewhere. The wardress, an army girl 
drafted into an unfamiliar duty, had even shackled her wrist to make her 
condition totally familiar. The other shackle with its chain lay empty 
across the floor, a mute reminder of the bright-eyed girl it had once held. 

The novice wardress was immensely intrigued by her prisoner. She possessed a 
few words of English and was anxious to use them. The anomaly of the whip 
marks and the chains in conjunction with the beauty of the rings obviously 
perplexed. Fingering the ridged flesh and the confining chain, she enquired 
with raised eyebrow: "Much bad girl?" 

She accepted Eve's laughing denial dubiously. Then turned her attention to 
the rings: "Someone love very much?" 

The prisoner amusedly countered with her urgent need to know her fate and 
the fate of Ismaul. But the girl knew little. 

"Is much great change here. In Jedrah is new government. Is now strong. No 
more guerrillas. Ismaul I do not know... " She laughed at a pleasant 
thought. "I stay here and keep you prisoner. Much chain. No whip." She was 
still laughing when she left. She was a definite improvement over the old. 

Eve sat for a few hours with her chain, remembering. Often she would peer 
through the bars at the empty cells across the way and at the bustle of 
staff to and fro. But mostly it was the workers who looked through the bars 
at her. It was much like the cage in the market place. She intrigued them 
vastly. Then it all happened very quickly. 

"Is now for wash and hair." The wardress announced crisply as she unlocked 
the wrist shackle. "You mind if you wear these?" Tentatively she held a pair 
of handcuffs as though expecting resistance. The poor girl was further 
baffled by Eve's smiling acceptance and the passive offering of her hands to 
receive their familiar link. She locked the metal circlets tight with 
evident relief. Being a wardress was not her trade. Her voice became tinged 
with awe. "Is big new officer arrived. Is for you to see." 

Eve's heart quickened. A wash and a comb implied the normal. Absence of 
other embellishments precluded the erotic. An officer from the capital might 
have authority, be less insular, open to reason. Her condition for the next 
ten years might hinge on such an interview. She followed gladly where the 
wardress led. Finally, clean and neat, she found herself more amused than 
fearful when she was, once again, thrust through the door of the familiar 
office with its many memories. The officer was more resplendent with 
decorations than even Commandant Perkins had been. He faced her, smiling. 

"It has been too long, my love," said Rasuli Khan... 

There are the cliches, the tired old words that blossom anew with each fresh 
use. The dream come true! Happiness beyond words! Ecstasy! Heart's ease. Eve 
knew them all, and invented others of her own. Her days and nights were 
filled with them. She lived in joy. 

For Rasuli himself his slave girl was pure delight. They made endless 
discoveries of each other. Never for a moment did Eve think of herself as 
other than slave. Nor did her Master. He declared a two-week moratorium on 
the whip that the stigmas placed by others should be erased and her flesh 
virgin for him alone. Each understood with certainty that when the time was 
past he would scribe his own strokes upon her white skin. They laughed about 
that time, teasingly. 

They talked about her chains. A quite serious discussion. Since she now 
walked unconscious of them, she herself would not have thought to broach the 
subject. It was through her Master's concern over her linked ankles that she 
became aware that Rasuli was now Jedrah's Head of State. The government was 
his. The victory over the guerrillas had been his. He was his nation's 
strong man. Jedrah was in his hands. Thus, since he would not keep her in 
total seclusion, his slave girl would often be in evidence within his social 
world. Perhaps her feet should be free. For instance, she might be called 
upon to dance... Yet neither of them wanted to strike off the irons she had 
worn so long. Eve least of all. They had become a sentimental symbol of 
those who had been kind to her and of her slavery which she no more wished 
to relinquish than life itself. He shrugged: in Jedrah her chains would 
rouse no more comment than her rings. She wore them happily. 

Her Master was a fairy prince. He owned Ismaul. He changed it from a prison 
to a palace. Courtyards became gardens, terraces blossomed, fountains tossed 
their spray into the air. The old grim fortress became a place of beauty in 
which to house their love. Because there was an abundance of space the 
concourse with its cells on either side was left untouched save for cleaning 
and renovation. Only one alteration in the way of modernizing was made. It 
was to the cell in which Eve and Lynn had spent so much time together. By 
demolishing the adjoining cell a modem bathroom was made possible. Nothing 
was visible through the bars. But the captive within would have free access. 
Eve was chagrined by her blush when they viewed it for the first time. Her 
suspicion was confirmed. The next time her Master spent the night in the 
capital she was locked and chained behind the familiar metal grille. She did 
not mind. It became a pleasantry between them that the cell awaited her 
first demonstration of disrespect or disobedience. 

It reminded her of Lynn. She never ceased to plague her Master that he must 
somehow find the girl she loved. It would not be easy. The deserts of 
several lands had swallowed up the captives of Ismaul. But she was certain 
that if Lynn could be found Rasuli would find her. He laughingly threatened 
her with the cell and its chains if she did not modify her importunities. 
But he promised. 

As they became accustomed to each other Eve took a childish delight in 
perversely provoking her Lord to discover the limits of his tolerance for 
the slave he adored. Often she would cross a line and find herself hung by 
her wrists. She bore his whip marks with a rueful joy. She had made her 
discovery. Now she must pay for it. Since he was often absent she constantly 
made a reacquaintance with her cell. Often she deliberately invited these 
punishments. Both of them understood it as her way, perhaps her actual need, 
to reaffirm her joyous thralldom. 

They shared so much laughter. It was in this spirit that Rasuli told her 
that a slave might herself have a slave. 

"What would I want with a slave girl, Master?" 

He laughed at her innocence. "She would attend you. You could whip her when 
in an ill mood. She would give you authority." 

She played her favorite trick of sinking to her knees before him. "I do not 
want authority, Lord. I am a slave." 

"Would it not be pleasant to whip her when you are vexed?" 

Eve considered. It was a new thought. "I have been whipped too much, Master, 
to wish to stripe a girl's skin." 

"Well, then, chain and lock her in your cell and tease her through the bars. 
It is a pleasant diversion. I have done it to you." 

"But we love each other, Master." 

Rasuli laughed indulgently. "My poor darling! You have a problem. I have 
already purchased her." He raised her to her feet and kissed her willing 
lips. "She is in your room awaiting your pleasure. She is shy and very much 
afraid. 

But you will train her. Go and see for yourself." 

Wonderingly, Eve did his bidding. It was almost with trepidation that she 
opened her own door. 

The girl was not Lynn. She admitted to herself that a wild hope had been 
born, that this might be his teasing way of reuniting them. Her heart sank, 
but rose again with curiosity. 

The slight figure crouched humbly upon the carpet was white. The face was 
buried in its hands as though in fear. She had bowed herself into a small 
bundle of femininity in the center of the big room. Her back was her most 
prominent feature. It shone palely save where it was criss-crossed by whip 
marks, most of them fresh. Even with the sound of her Mistress's entrance 
the child did not move. Eve was perplexed. This gift was intended to please. 
But she had small hope of finding joy in it. 

"Please stand up, dear," she said as gently as she could. 

Mutely and with bowed head so that their eyes should not find each other the 
girl obeyed. Her motions were graceful and fluid. She was very beautiful. 
She was not a child at all. 

She was Lillian Galbraith. 

All Eve's natural instincts to greet and to embrace were sent awry by the 
subdued monotone: "I am your slave, Mistress. I will obey." It was as though 
they were complete strangers. 

"Lillian!" Eve was shocked. "What are you talking like that for? This is 
Eve. You know me, don't you?" 

"Yes, Mistress." 

"Well then?" 

"I am a slave girl, Mistress. Our Master has bought me for your pleasure. I 
will be obedient." It was as though she was drugged. 

Eve was angry. She seized the erstwhile Mrs. Galbraith by the shoulders and 
shook her. "Look at me! Stop this nonsense!" 

Hesitantly the bowed head lifted. When their eyes met and held there was a 
moment's pause. Then Eve's new possession threw her arms about her neck and 
burst into a flood of anguish. They stood as they were until the storm 
abated. Then Eve eased the sobbing girl into a chair and brought out brandy 
and glasses. At the second drink she looked doubtfully at her new Mistress. 
"Is this safe, darling?" 

"Of course! Why wouldn't it be?" 

Lil shook her head in bewilderment. "I get whipped for everything. Anything 
I do or say seems wrong, then they whip me." 

"Who?" 

"That bastard who bought me!" Animation returned. "Has Rasuli really made a 
deal on me? Am I going to stay with you?" 

"Of course he did. Now you belong to me. He gave you to me." How strange the 
words sounded between them! Mrs. Galbraith had died just as Miss Trevor had 
died long ago. 

It was as though the world lifted from Lil's shoulders. Eve watched the 
lovely creature return to life. She poured more brandy. "Look," she said 
comfortingly, "you're a millionairess. There just has to be some way to get 
you back to the U.S. I'll talk to Rasuli. He can do anything in Jedrah." 

Lil tensed and grasped Eve's hand. "No! Oh, honey, please... Don't do that." 
Fear had returned. "When he brought me here he tied me up and whipped me. He 
had his servants do it. He explained that it was so I'd know my place and 
what I was." She laughed bitterly. "Everybody who'd come near me since that 
swine Cephas... they all did it. Look at me. You've never been whipped more 
than I have... " 

Eve looked. It was true. Lil's body would have matched her own that last day 
when she had said farewell to the Commandant. 

"They all did it for the same reason," Lil continued fiercely. "So I'd 
behave. So I'd be a good little girl. So I wouldn't run away. So I'd be 
obedient. They made something real noble out of it-for them! Honest. I 
haven't said boo to anyone since that day with Cephas. I obey anybody or 
anything." She grinned ruefully. "Anyway, darling, when his servants had 
half cut me in two Rasuli told me you'd do just what you have done, and that 
I must give you a message. Every time you get after him to send me back to 
the U.S.A., I'll get whipped. Hard! He'll do it too. He may love you. But 
underneath he's pure Jedrah." 

They considered in silence. Rasuli would do this. Eve knew. He was their 
Master. She could wheedle him up to a point, but not beyond. Yet it seemed 
unthinkable that this lovely woman with all she owned could be brought to 
this... ! 

"Darling," Lil whispered ashamed. "The things I did to you. I was a bitch!" 
She shook her head dazedly. "I never knew. Honest! I never knew a whip hurt 
the way it does. I was having fun... " 

Eve bent and kissed her. "I believe. Crazy, I know. But I believe you. Thing 
to have done was let one of us give you a couple of good ones sometime so 
you'd get both sides. Never mind. We have both been whipped a lot worse than 
you ever whipped me." 

"Darling... " Lil was still grappling with too many emotions at once. 
"Please, darling, try and understand me. I'm not Mrs. Lillian Galbraith 
anymore. It's been beaten out of me. I'm a slave girl and I know it. I'm 
scared to death of the whip. There's been so damn much of it. They have sort 
of broken me, I guess." She looked up piteously. "The U.S. and the money and 
everything... it's gone. I scarcely think of it anymore. I know what I am. 
Please, honey, keep me with you. If I act up whip me or have me whipped-I 
know you won't be mean or ugly about that part of it, and maybe sometimes 
I'll need it." She grinned with returning confidence. "Young Lynn loved it, 
up to a point. I think you do. Maybe you can teach me." 

Eve said nothing. Just held the other's hand. 

"It's damn funny," Lil continued, as though talking to herself. "But I have 
to be honest about this. If you'll keep me your slave and don't be too mean 
I can be happier with you like this than I ever was back home... " 

Eve laughed. "Sweetheart, you forget something. I don't want to go back 
either." 

They saw the truth in each other's eyes. Eagerly Lil slid to her knees and 
bent her head in submission. "Mistress, no more of the past. I am your slave 
now and I will address you as nothing but Mistress. It is best." She looked 
up happily. "Thank you, thank you, Mistress." 

Eve laughed happily too. She searched her mind for some task to keep her 
slave girl busy. She would not whip her for at least two weeks. 

But the following day she ordered Lil's ankles chained. The links to count 
one less than those that joined her own. 

Time passed. Much time. Because it was a happy time it sped quickly. 

Rasuli used Lil to provoke Eve. It was a teasing he never ceased to enjoy. 
On those nights when Eve was chained in her cell, and with his increasing 
involvements these nights were many, he made quite sure that it was the 
slave girl, Lil, who would escort her Mistress to her small prison. It was 
Lil who would chain her and it was Lil who would lock the door with its huge 
key. It was Lil who would bring her Mistress food or answer a summons. It 
was a delicious situation that he enjoyed creating. Quaintly enough both 
girls enjoyed it too. But, no matter how low her Mistress might be brought 
down by her Master's whims, Lil unwaveringly tendered total obedience and 
humility. The slave girl never forgot her station even when she chained her 
Mistress to the wall or gazed at her through the bars of her cell. Lil was 
the perfect slave girl and intended to remain so. 

Eve often considered the anomaly of it all. Hers were not the introspections 
of a prisoner immured in loneliness, but rather the wonderment of a child in 
all she saw and in all that took place. She knew that if, a couple of years 
ago, someone had told her of this time and this place she would have laughed 
them to scorn. She would have loved to share her wonder with Lil in endless 
discussions and exclamations. But she was forced to respect her slave's 
determination to maintain her status at all times. Lil had acquired no 
fondness for the whip. Fear of it governed her every action. Its threat 
would bring her to her knees instantly. Eve whipped her often enough. More 
in curiosity at the strange sensation than in anger. But never with cruelty. 
Lil respected but did not fear her. It was the shadow of Rasuli and those 
others from whom he had purchased her that limited her horizon to her duties 
and her small joys within Ismaul. 

The Master seldom returned from the capital without a gift. Sometimes there 
might be one also for Lil. He had watched her adjustment with a professional 
interest. His gift to his beloved was often passed to her through the bars 
of her cell before she was released. They played their games in which she 
would be forced to beg... 

On one such return he professed weariness and handed her a key. He said it 
was to Pandora's box and that what she found therein was for her alone. He 
told her where to look. 

She loved his surprises. Half the time now she was clothed, for he bought 
her gorgeous scanty things to wear. They were too lovely not to use. There 
was a promise that she would be newly ringed with jewels more costly than 
those she now bore with such pride. Her cup was very full. 

It stood in one of the larger rooms that she seldom entered. It was a huge 
silver cage. Inside it, clutching the bars and grinning her gamin grin, was 
a naked girl. It was Lynn. 

Eve remembered then. Rasuli had made a promise just before he had been 
felled in the raid upon his house. A silver cage and a silver whip! It was 
there. It gleamed upon the wall. A thing of beauty as was the cage itself. 
Eve took it down in wonder and turned to her captive love... 

"Took you long enough to get here," Lynn complained impishly. 

They loved each other through the bars. 

"How long have you been here?" Eve asked, breathless. 

"About an hour. I say, darling, is it true I'm going to be kept in here 
always?" It sounded more like a hope than a fear. 

"Always and always." 

"But I mean... won't... won't Rasuli or one of his boys want to have a go at 
me sometimes?" She giggled. "Or do they have to get in the cage too?" 

"No one 'has a go at you' except me," Eve assured her darling vehemently. 
"You have just been presented to me as a gift." 

The elfin face lit up. "Darling... is that a key I see?" 

"Yes. It's mine. You are mine." 

"Oh goody! Let me out, darling." The child jumped up and down with 
excitement, her eyes shining. 

"Why on earth would I let you out? A cage is the proper thing for you. The 
only time I will unlock your door is when I use this." Eve dangled the 
exquisite silver handle whip teasingly. 

The ecstatic child cooed with delight. "Oh, now please. I can't wait. My 
very own whip. That's what it says, isn't it: 'To Lynn with love'. Don't 
tell me you're not aching to use it." 

"You really want me to, don't you! You incredible kitten!" 

They faced each other through the silver bars, eyes shining, their breath 
faster than normal. 

"There isn't room to whip you inside the cage. I'd have to let you out." 

"I'll get right back in when you tell me to. Honest, darling. You know I 
will. It's too gorgeous for words." 

"You'll get awfully tired of being in a cage all alone." 

Lynn made a happy grimace. "Don't spoil it for me. You can always come and 
whip me or something. You can feed me through the bars. You can put someone 
else in here with me. Oh, there's loads and loads of possibilities. I feel 
as though I'm something tremendously precious." 

"You are precious. Beautifully, wonderfully precious." 

"Then whip me." 

"You haven't done anything." 

"I'm sure you can think of something I've done or said. Don't tease." 

"You're getting a nice little erotic thrill out of all this," Eve 
admonished. "You think I'll just warm up your pretty skin with a pale shade 
of pink." 

"Won't you?" 

"You're not supposed to ask for punishment. Just say thank you after you get 
it." 

The moppet in the cage stuck out her tongue as far as it would go and made a 
rude noise at her loving owner. "There! I've been bad." Eve sighed. "The 
best punishment for that would be for me to turn round and walk out of here, 
leaving my pretty little bird in her cage. I think that's what I'll do. 
'Bye, kitten." Eve sauntered casually from the room and closed the door. An 
anguished wail followed. She waited two minutes, then went back in. 

The caged captive was in tears. She sat on the floor of her cage and wept. 
She looked delectable. Eve knew guilt. 

"I knew you were going to do that," the prisoner sobbed. 

"Then why are you crying?" 

"It was awful! When you went and shut the door. I was all alone! Suddenly I 
couldn't get out. It was terrible. You try it sometime." 

Eve was contrite. Her love for this weeping child was a part of her whole 
existence. "Alright," she agreed cheerfully. "Sometime in the next few days 
I'll let you lock me in there. You'll tease me and probably scare me half to 
death. But I'll do it. I promise. Feel better?" 

A bright eye peered above fingers busy with tears. "All day?" Already the 
captive was excited. 

"All day. You'll have me in tears the first hour." 

They adored each other through the bars. 

With mischievous perversity Eve hung the silver whip back on its hook. The 
nymphet pouted but dare not question more. The same Puckish mood stopped Eve 
from entering the cage. Instead, she pressed herself against the bars. Lips 
and hands sped to their appointed joys. Once more sated, the Mistress made a 
hurried errand. 

When she returned she was accompanied by a slave girl who once, long ago in 
another life, had whipped them both. 

For the first time, now, she used the silver key. 

The naked Lil stepped nimbly and ecstatically into the silver cage. 

The slave girl, Eve, went to seek her Lord. 


THE END
