Wanda And The Whip, Part One
by F.E. Campbell


Wanda dropped the last clam into her bucket, scuffed her bare toes through 
the wet sand, and headed daintily across the dry hot drift above the water 
line to the trees. She felt certain it must be time for her Tie; Dick might 
be waiting. She herself did not see that time mattered all that much. But 
Dick was a stickler for such things. As far back as she could remember he 
had always quoted that "what was worth doing was worth doing well," and 
taught her the precept that if you let yourself get slack and careless in 
the little things, you would very soon be getting slack and careless in the 
big things too! She understood how right he was in this. Dick was always 
right. He was a dear, and so nice to belong to. 

Sure enough, he was waiting. Not exactly tapping his toes in irritation, but 
when she came into view he glanced at the watch that still kept time for 
them after all the years. "You've been 'Wanda-tog' again," he accused 
cheerfully. The pun was a small joke between them, aimed at the teenager's 
roaming daydreams. 

"Oh, darling, I'm sorry!" Wanda stood on tiptoe and mischievously kissed the 
tip of his nose. "I'll just get these ready and then you can have me." 

Dick watched with affection as the lithe slenderness in the tight slip of 
cotton dealt with her catch and put the pot to simmer on the hot embers of 
the fire that never quite died. With a grimace of censure at his pretended 
impatience, she combed her hair and set in it a fresh bloom she had gathered 
on the way. Without pause she went to the two waiting posts, shrugged the 
cotton into a small ruffle at her feet, and positioned herself centrally 
between the upright timbers that had been anchored firmly with rocks and 
sand; she had never succeeded in even making them shiver, so well had Dick 
planted them. Dick the staunch and reliable, he did everything so well! 
Happily, Wanda looked to either side, the loops of strap were just right, 
she wriggled her hands through them and mockingly stuck out her tongue at 
the man who watched. She stood with arms fully stretched out at shoulder 
level while he tugged the leather bands tight and buckled them. Even in 
this, Dick had been meticulous. He had drilled holes so that the straps 
passed back and forth within the wood and fastened at the back. This left 
the loop that confined Wanda's wrists neat and free and untrammeled for its 
purpose. Dick had taught her that this was the "Esthetics of the Thing." It 
was most important to him, and it had become most important to her too. She 
would now be irritated and out of sorts with any Tie that was not neat and 
tidy and safe. 

Wanda watched her master disappear within the house that he had built long 
ago. It wasn't really a house, but they called it that. Dick would write or 
sleep while the clams gently cooked and Wanda enjoyed her Tie. Mostly she 
enjoyed it very much. She might never have done so had it not been for 
Dick's careful tuition in the art and emotion of submission, but long ago he 
had guided her into the exciting fun of striving to free herself and finding 
that she could not, and of the gift of projecting herself into a private 
world of dreams while she was held by strap or cord or rope or chain, or 
some of the other simply hilarious confinements he had devised. Her Ties 
were an intensely private and personal happiness. She could not envision a 
life without them, they had always been there. 

Like the original Eve, Wanda knew not that she was naked. The word had never 
existed in the quite considerable vocabulary that Dick, a bookish man, had 
made certain she acquired. She wore the slip, or she did not wear the slip, 
they were the only states she knew. She herself did not want to bother with 
the slip, it was a bit of a nuisance and always needed washing. But Dick 
insisted, just as he insisted that she remove it for the Tie. It was a 
ritual as immutable as the Tie itself. She looked down at the tiny garment 
and wondered if she should wash it today or tomorrow. Her eyes then followed 
her own femaleness up as far as she could view herself, so that she wondered 
once again if she would like to be a lovely brown all over as were her arms 
and legs, or whether the tawny gold of the rest of her was truly as 
beautiful as Dick insisted. That was the only purpose of the slip. It hid 
her body from the sun enough that her tan was shaded in a way that made a 
differential between her Tie and the rest of the time. Actually, Wanda was 
quite pleased with herself. 

Dick often called her his "Golden Girl" and told her she was even more 
beautiful than the island on which they lived. 

Wanda was never certain how long her Ties would last. That was what made 
them good, of course, the delicious suspense. Dick left her fastened as the 
mood took him, or as the exigencies of her duties might dictate. Wanda 
always prepared the meals, so she could feel fairly certain of being 
released in time to perform that function. But sometimes, when in playful 
spirits, Dick might conclude the preparation of their food and leave her 
tied. On such occasions he would feed her with a spoon, and there would be 
no telling at all how long her Tie would last. He did this rarely, but 
enough to keep her always on the qui vive and aware that her return to 
freedom lay solely in his hand. It was all the greatest fun and made a 
tremendous bond for them to share. 

The Tie was never used to punish her; that would have spoiled their 
mystique, they were quite separate from such intent. True, she had to be 
tied when she was punished, but that was purely coincidental as a practical 
mechanic of the occasion. She was not punished often, not nearly as often as 
she wished to be. Her whippings took a great many shapes and forms and 
covered a surprising range of severities. They had come to be her painful 
pathway to The Reward. Wanda always thought of The Reward as being in 
capital letters. She received it after being whipped, and had come to 
realize how appropriate a time it was. 

The weekly "Girls' Penalty," as Dick had taught it, had nothing to do with 
her other whippings; it had no relation whatsoever to the business of being 
punished for something she had done or failed to do. Every Friday she was 
whipped because she was a girl. Men did not get whipped, it was their task 
to whip the girls. This worked out very well and was sensibly logical. Girls 
needed to be whipped once a week so that they didn't get too cheeky, or 
forget to be obedient and pay proper attention to their daily tasks. It had 
never occurred to Wanda to contest such reasoning, for her its rationale was 
patently obvious. 

Wanda's "Girls' Penalty" every Friday was a ritual. But, unlike most 
rituals, it had never become mechanical or commonplace. It was always her 
bottom that received the strokes of whatever instrument Dick might choose. 
The rest of Wanda's person was reserved for those whippings she provoked by 
her own behavior, but the other factors varied as much as did her Tie. The 
"Penalty" was never severe but, at the same time, it was never just a token. 
It was very real, something to be considered in the functions of her week. 
Its approach was a subject for amused comment by both of them. Wanda 
cheerfully tolerated a good deal of teasing about the state of her derriere, 
and the dark and dreadful hints of what awaited her on Friday. She loved 
being teased, and adored the man who did the teasing. 

Taking the clams into consideration, Wanda guessed she would remain strapped 
to the twin posts for a couple of hours. She looked along the satiny columns 
of her arms to the bands about her wrists; they were more than snug, they 
were tight. But being broad and of leather they did not cut or impede 
circulation. She tugged experimentally, but neither hand would move; she 
knew herself quite helpless. This was as it should be! Comfortably enough 
she settled down to wait. She had long since become inured to the fatigues 
of the many positions in which Dick placed her. Acceptance defeated them. 
Some could tire her still, a pleasant weariness, but for most she had 
adapted postures, within the confining strictures, which enabled her to 
drift away into a delightful dream world of her own. 

It had been Dick, of course, who had explained how the enforced immobility 
of being bound could free the mind to roam into enchanted lands in ways it 
would never do when the limbs were free. Wanda fell easily into the habit. 
She was able to defeat physical discomfort by rejection or by the supple 
youthfulness of adaptation. The way in which she stood now with arms 
outstretched would have been tiring to most, but not to her. Instinctively 
she leaned into or against the bands about her wrists, relaxed without 
tension, a naiad reaching out to touch the twin pillars between which her 
nudity was a golden statue. 

Musing lazily, Wanda thought, as she often did, of the story of The Swiss 
Family Robinson, and how they themselves had been as fortunate. For her it 
was legendary stuff holding a mysticism of other places that were not like 
the Island at all. The boat that had brought them to the Island had been a 
cornucopia of treasures that had formed the basis for their more than 
adequate self-sufficiency. But it was not in their store of tools and cord 
and clothes and pots that Wanda found the substance of dreams. It was in 
Dick's tales of the out-beyond and the myriad people to be found there that 
she discerned strange and disquieting possibilities. She did not really 
believe in them. She and Dick and the Island were the world, how could there 
be more? Why would there be? She often teased Dick with her disbelief, so 
that he would shake his head and say he wished she had the right of it. 

When Dick came out of the house he gave her a lazy wave of the hand and went 
to tend the fire and the simmering pot. Wanda tensed, she would now have to 
guess whether he was just teasing or if she would now actually have her Tie 
indefinitely prolonged. If it was she who was to make the supper, the straps 
on her wrists must soon be loosened. 

"Want me to unstrap you?" He made it sound as though he's just remembered. 

Wanda pretended a first awareness of immobility. "I really don't mind," she 
said languidly. 

They joined in laughter, each reading the other's mind. Dick always knew 
what was in hers, but Wanda could not always divine his. He loosened the 
straps upon her wrists, and watched with affection as she luxuriated in a 
feline stretch. She kissed him and tweaked his ear on her way to the small 
waiting tasks. 

"I saw another ship today," Dick said absently as they ate. 

Dick hated the ships. His feeling for them would have been more 
understandable to the girl had she ever seen one close. But they had never 
been more than small blurs on the horizon which she viewed with about the 
same interest as a distant planet in the heavens. That she and Dick had once 
come from such a distant phenomenon was much like the fable of being found 
in a cabbage patch. 

"Understand, Golden Girl," he continued soberly, "if you're alone and see 
anything or anybody come to shore, don't go near, run to me." 

"Of course I will, darling." Wanda wished he would not worry about something 
so nearly impossible. She was glad girls didn't have to worry, it was much 
nicer. To divert him to a more entertaining subject, she added, 
nonchalantly: "Tomorrow's Friday." 

"The weeks do come 'round, don't they? Let's see your bottom." 

She had not replaced her slip. She always hoped he would not insist. With 
effortless fluidity she turned and displayed her round behind for his 
inspection. 

"O.K. kid. You're a bloomin' miracle. Not a mark." 

"You don't try hard enough, darling," she accused. "Sometimes the marks used 
to last me all week." 

He chuckled. "It's not my hand that's lighter. It's just nature at work. 
That lovely little seat of yours has toughened itself up. I'll have to 
compensate." 

When morning came, Wanda faced the day with her customary tingling of 
excitement that was part of Friday. Between getting her "Girls' Penalty" in 
the morning and her Tie in the afternoon it was a very full day, especially 
if she was allowed to prepare lunch and supper. But even if she was not 
allowed, she reflected humorously, it could only mean that her female 
privilege had been extended. On Fridays she never got to go to the beach for 
a swim or whatever there was to be found there, or to the tiny valley in 
which she gathered herbs. Friday was fun, but she was glad enough it came 
but once a week. 

They indulged in a palaver as to what would be used on her. The relative 
merits of what was available were frankly discussed, the pros and cons 
flitting back and forth as though neither knew Dick had already made his 
decision. The Island had been generous in its provision of lengths of 
various canes and sundry withes. It had provided stocks for the whips Dick 
had fabricated from material on the boat. It had even provided the ultimate 
weapon by way of a storm which cast ashore a giant sting ray, the slender 
tail of which put to shame all other instruments by which a weal could be 
placed on female skin; it was a beautiful, tapering, slim length of 
wickedness only used when Wanda was to be punished, and that was rarely and 
with restraint. Both recognized it as something to be feared as well as 
treasured. 

Whilst the Friday "Girls' Penalty" had never been allowed to fall into the 
rut of the mundane, it had found its way into a zig-zag path, never 
mentioned but enjoyed. Dick studiously strove to keep their Friday Ritual 
within Wanda's margin of tolerance. True, he went up and down the scale with 
cane or whip within that latitude, so she would always be uncertain and know 
suspense, but he had come to gauge her reactions so well that he easily 
maintained a teetering balance between play and pain. She, on her part, had 
long ago evolved a conviction that, no matter how she might squeal while 
being punished, she must at all cost of fortitude and clenched teeth, 
maintain a light and impudent insouciance while the strokes lapped across 
the rotundities of her nether cheeks for the duration of her "Penalty." 

On the present occasion, one of the more pliant canes had been chosen as the 
implement of the day. From this important decision they drifted happily to a 
choice of the way in which she should be fastened to receive it. This led 
them to the simplicity of the plank and the rocks. Among the many gifts the 
surging tides had left upon their shore had been a stout and smoothly planed 
plank of such a weight and size that, when its ends had been placed upon 
convenient rocks, it made an ideal seat or bench which they had converted to 
their special need by affixing at near midway a small curved slab of 
half-round wood, over which Wanda, with the limber suppleness of youth, had 
no difficulty in flowing the smooth curves of her loins so that her bottom 
was well protruded in an esthetic symmetry typical of all their play. 

Negligently, Wanda arranged herself. There could be no cheating. Holes had 
been drilled in appropriate spots to enable loops of cord to entrap each 
ankle, each thigh below the first curve, and lastly the trim waist. Each was 
wedged into a tight cinch by sticks inserted beneath and levered as a 
fulcrum. This neat arrangement left the lissome length of the maiden free 
above her waist, but totally immobilized below. 

This left Wanda the option of resting cheek down or raising herself on her 
forearms so that she might enjoy a view of what was taking place. True, the 
latter imposed a drastic curve upon an already well curved spine. But life 
on The Island had made her far more pliant than the rod about to be used 
upon her flesh. She raised herself now and looked back over one shoulder. 

"Gosh, Dick, I do protrude beautifully, don't I?" 

"Nice girls don't admire themselves in public," he admonished. He picked up 
her discarded slip and shook it at his naked captive. "Soiled again!" 

She pouted. "It was getting breakfast. I didn't have time... be a darling 
and add a bit on 'The Penalty,' please. Don't save it up for my next 
punishment." 

"You know perfectly well that's cheating, so I'll add a bit more this time 
and also put it on the list. You're quite incorrigible the way you try and 
twist me." 

The naked nymph curved upon her plank stuck out a pink and pointed tongue. 
"I'll tear the list up," she promised. "I think you add all sorts of things 
without telling me. I'm far too well behaved to get punished as often as I 
am." 

"What about the things you add yourself?" he jibed slyly. "Think I haven't 
been able to tell...?" 

Wanda blushed. She had thought her forgeries perfect. "I refuse to discuss 
the matter further," she retorted haughtily, then swiftly turned eyes 
forward as Dick swung back his arm. 

A bright repartee, as though nothing untoward was taking place, was de 
rigueur. The first stroke was always cringingly awful so that her nerve ends 
curled and cried their protest, but it also demanded her total nonchalance. 
"Really, darling, not quite up to form, are you?" 

Dick could then have belted her helpless flesh with all his strength and 
made some sort of comment such as: "Well how's that for size?" Often he 
wanted to, but he refrained because it would have been outside the margins 
within which "The Penalty" remained valid. The distinctions were important 
to them. He knew perfectly well he had severely hurt the tender skin he had 
just slashed, and that Wanda's airy remark had been sheer bravado. But that 
was the game... it delighted both of them. 

Having surmounted the hurdle of number one, Wanda's courage was equal to 
raising herself and looking back so that she could witness the rise and fall 
of number two. The snickering awfulness of the cane's arc was an emotional 
poignancy that she returned to watch again and again with a fearful 
fascination. It never seemed quite possible that her bottom lay at the end 
of the downward slash, but it always did! The pain that irradiated her being 
at the thud of impact was so exquisite that she would often close her eyes 
and deeply inhale through flared nostrils as though savouring every nuance 
of a perfume too precious to lose. But her lips remained tight closed. Now, 
turning to watch herself receive numbers three and four, she inquired 
absently: "Darling, for supper, would you like the fish fried or should I do 
that bouillabaisse thing?" 

"Fried, silly girl, you know perfectly well you won't have time for the 
other." He delivered her number five with commendable restraint. 

Wanda had tossed in the bouillabaisse as a diversionary tactic. Had Dick 
fallen for it she would have gained points, but his failure to succumb to 
feminine guile in no way dampened her mood. She lay flat, rested her cheek 
on her hands and said, with utter impertinence, "Wake me when you're 
finished, darling." 

It was, of course, too much! All tolerances have limits, indulgence should 
extend only so far. Pretending to doze, the naked girl was, inwardly, a 
seething excitation of suspense. She had lit a fuse. Picking up the gage 
impudently tossed at his feet, Dick carefully selected the strip of unmarked 
skin upon the pert derriere, teetered in perfect balance upon his toes, and 
cut a swift and perfect stroke of pure cruelty. 

"I'll leave you for your nap," he told her casually and strolled away. 

Wanda was never quite sure why she provoked the occasional agony during her 
"Girls' Penalty," under circumstances which inhibited normal response. Her 
code of the stiff upper lip made the stroke, when she achieved it, doubly 
and trebly hard to bear. If only she could scream and beat her fists, as she 
would have done during punishment, it would have made it so much easier. But 
she was testing herself; she knew she was! She was not specifically sure 
why, but it had to do with Dick. She wanted to match his excellence, to show 
by means of her "Girls' Penalty," which was a thing exclusively feminine and 
all her own, that she had the quality to surpass and to transcend. It 
maintained her Code. 

The naked girl upon the plank wondered if Dick knew the supreme heroism it 
was for her to remain passively limp when the lightning cut her flesh. She 
was sure he must; he had to know to make such awfulness worthwhile. Had she 
not inured herself on other occasions to the torture of what she provoked, 
her listless lack of response would have been miraculous. It was an act 
bordering on the spiritual mortification of the flesh, a sublimation by 
pain. She lay quiescently while every nerve and sinew screamed for the 
relief of sound and motion. Curling and cringing inwardly with the sickening 
throb of the impact suffusing every scrap of flesh, she thought only of Dick 
and of her tremendous sense of oneness with the man who was her father and 
her brother and her love. Wanda did not think of him as such, but so it was. 

She had won her victory. It was a glorious feeling when the first bitter 
wickedness of the pain began to recede and seep away. Its place was taken by 
jubilation as she counted her small victory. Wanda wanted very much to make 
lucid to herself the impulses that were increasingly at work within her 
femininity. All she could think of were the sort of hackney phrase that Dick 
would use in satire. She contented herself with these. Subduing a giggle, 
she labeled herself as coming through each tussle with pain as a 'better and 
stronger girl'. It was not the resounding declaration she desired, but it 
would have to do. 

The welt she had just received would be a 'three-weeker'. Wanda had become 
expert in estimating the length of time needed for her skin to renew itself 
after a weal had raised its ridge of tender flesh. She had no intention of 
further provocation today. The rest of what she had received and what was 
still to come would be gone in the seven days before her next Friday. But 
the single wound from which she now recovered would remain as a reminder for 
a long time, just as certain other portions of her person still bore 
evidence of punishments long past. Thus was a girl kept forever aware she 
was a girl. It had a logic as tidy as Dick's mind. 

Wanda's "Girls' Penalty" was rarely dispensed in a single installment. True, 
it was occasionally dealt with in such summary dispatch, but mostly it was 
spread out. This had the advantage of enabling her to absorb far more 
strokes and of having time between them in which to reflect on the feminine 
fact that she was a girl. It all had a delightful logic that left no room 
for doubts. Tentatively she tried to reach the fastenings that held the 
lower half of her nakedness rigid and immovable. It was a foregone premise 
that she would fail, but this never stopped her from trying. How delicious 
would be the sight of Dick's face if he returned to find the plank bare of 
its warm and pulsating adornment! The thought justified the try. That effort 
negatively disposed of, she was bound firmly and tightly without hope of 
freeing herself, she gave her mind to speculation on the balance of her day. 

It was a quite pointless rumination, Dick would always confound her, but it 
was fun and all she had to do until he returned to whip her further. She 
guessed she would collect thirty or forty moderate strokes and would then be 
left to meditate for an hour or two before being released to prepare lunch. 
Often she could prolong lunch by getting Dick involved in animated 
conversations, but if he divined her intent she would be hustled off to the 
twin posts or the tree, or whatever he'd thought of for her period of 
meditation, and safely installed in her "Tie" for the afternoon. She noticed 
that Fridays were rarely compassionate; her Tie usually lasted a long, long 
time. Wanda supposed, quite without cynicism, that Dick planned it so to 
give her bottom time to recover from the ardours of its morning. 

"Tell me, Golden Girl, how was that last one?" Dick was back, flexing the 
cane while studying her behind. 

"One of your better efforts," Wanda conceded. Then lied, "I loved it." 

"Want another?" 

"Well, perhaps not during my 'Penalty'." 

"Must have stung a bit?" 

"I suppose it did. I was thinking of something else at the time." They loved 
their play. They kept no tally of the points, but they were there.- "There's 
a lovely bit of skin across here." He traced the spot with the tip of his 
cane. "It's inviting. May I?" 

"I'd rather you didn't." 

"You don't mean it actually hurts!" 

"Of course not, silly, but I do think you should keep such energy for when 
I've done something wrong. I've been an awfully good girl lately." 

He gave her claim consideration. "Soiled slip, tough clams, late breakfast, 
and, up to now, a good deal of impudence. D'you call that being a good 
girl?" 

She was fallible and female; he would always be able to think of faults. 
Wanda knew herself vulnerable. "I'm supposed to be getting my "Girls' 
Penalty," she said with hauteur, "not a lecture." 

Dick proceeded to whip her. Wanda thought it a bit unfair that he could 
always conclude a losing argument with the cane or the whip. But, after all, 
she was a girl! She had so many advantages it would be unsporting to 
complain about being whipped. It was a small thing compared to the advantage 
of being female. She raised herself and looked back critically at the pink 
stripes she was collecting on her skin. The pain, compared to the one 
outrageous stroke, had diminished to what she could bear with just a gasp or 
the hiding of her tell-tale face within the sanctuary of her hands. "That's 
an awfully good length of cane, darling," she said approvingly. 

"It is, isn't it!" Dick agreed. "Let's try it lengthways." He moved from her 
side to the rear. His next stroke precisely crossed all the others on the 
bottom cheek he had chosen. 

"It does hurt more," Wanda conceded judicially as though passing judgment on 
a bottom other than her own. 

Dick gave her the next on her other cheek. His strokes alternated back and 
forth on the two sections of her seat. "Not hurting too much?" He asked 
considerately. 

"It does hurt quite a lot, darling," Wanda conceded unwillingly. "Would you 
like to go and read a book or something? I can wait." 

"I don't want to cheat you." 

"Honestly, darling, I wouldn't feel cheated, not a bit." Wanda gasped as a 
vigorous cut crossed others still burning. "Do go and finish your diary 
while I quietly think what a lucky girl I am." 

"Quite sure?" 

"Oh yes!" Her affirmative was fervent. 

Dick left her. She wondered why it was that her "Girls' Penalty" had 
latterly seemed a more emotion-charged experience than it had originally 
been. She felt sure this was true for both of them. It had something to do 
with her growing up and the formation of the firm cones of her breasts. The 
growing up process was a mystery to her. Dick had obviously completed it. 
But how long did it last for a girl, and what was involved? Wanda was 
conscious of change in herself and in Dick's regard for her. His attention 
was not less; it was different. 

In the luggage frantically tossed in the boat they had found an odd 
assortment of books. Under Dick's tutelage Wanda had swiftly learned to read 
and had avidly perused their tiny library again and again. From her reading 
she had formulated a strange and jumbled vision of the legendary world that 
Dick insisted was actually 'in being' somewhere beyond the planet's curve. 
He had worked hard to give her a perspective between Edgar Rice Burroughs, 
Marcus Aurelius and James A. Michener. But since she had little real belief 
in the truth of any of it, he shrugged cheerfully enough and left her mind 
in peace. But often, now, she would recall a situation or a sentence and 
find it familiar within her widening comprehension. 

Whilst the remainder of her "Penalty" licked and slapped away at her tightly 
fastened bottom, Wanda managed to chat innocently about the small garden she 
cultivated, and to do a bit of teasing about her Tie. "You never have 
remembered to hang me up by my thumbs, Dick." 

He paused in his attentions to her scarlet seat, and pretended to consider 
her outrageous reminder. Dick had been amused, and quite satisfied, by 
Wanda's fertile imaginativeness in devising Ties for herself that ran all 
the way from the neatly practical to the wildest fantasies of discomfort. He 
was never quite certain how serious she was in some of her creations for 
immobility, and she in turn was never sure which of them, if any, he might 
put into practice. Occasionally he would use one of her more colourful 
flights of fancy as a punishment, and to keep within bounds her ever 
bubbling exuberance. It was all in keeping with the game that absorbed so 
much of their life together. 

Thus it was that, after lunch, Wanda stood beneath the Monkey Pod tree that 
provided shade adjacent to their dwelling, tossed away her slip, and crossed 
her wrists behind her back. 

"This one's your idea, Sweetheart," Dick reminded her dryly as he tied them 
tight and firm. "You thought of it a long time ago, remember?" 

Wanda remembered. Looking down she saw the exposed root and knew what to do. 
When the knot which robbed her of her hands was tied, she knelt so that each 
of her ankles rested on the cable like tentacles from the tree. Dick tied 
them to it about a foot apart. This left the naked girl kneeling on the soft 
soil beneath the shade of the big old tree, a not too arduous pose for his 
victim's female slenderness. 

But there was more! This extra small refinement was also of her own 
devising. A stake had been driven in the ground a yard behind her back. It 
reared its stubby length a bare thirty inches high. From it dangled a cord 
which Dick attached to that securing her hands. He pulled it to a moderate 
tension so that her arms were drawn back only a few inches. As a tether it 
remained relatively loose, yet it would exert upon the captive a coercion 
not instantly apparent. He stepped back to admire the picture of a sweetly 
kneeling girl, nodding in approval. 

"You look gorgeous," he assured her. "I'm going to leave you, Golden Girl, 
while I do a bit of work on the boat." He gave her an airy wave of the hand, 
to which she could not respond, and casually sauntered away. 

Left alone, the Golden Girl proceeded to research her own ingenuity. She was 
always honest in her inventions in that they provided no cunning avenue of 
escape. But it was new; a girl might as well find out for sure! She began 
her cautious struggle with the cords. 

First, she sat back upon her heels. This had the effect of getting her 
closer to her tether so that her arms were no longer pulled slightly back; 
now they were raised. Her wrists crossed higher at her waist. She could not 
lower questing fingers to the cords on her ankles, nor could she by any 
contortion she contrived raise them to loosen her tether from the stake. 
Defeated, she once again raised herself to kneel as she had been when tied. 
She could do it, but not with ease. The pull on her arms was always there. A 
few more motions convinced her that she had planned well. She could kneel 
erect or, still kneeling, she could sit back upon her heels. Her hands and 
arms would always be subject to the authority of the stake. Wryly, she 
reflected that each posture would give her a little easement and a little 
pain. The alternative made it different, but she suspected she would come to 
wish she had never thought of it. 

It was on the following day that Wanda earned a punishment. 

She had spent the morning on the beach and had caught several of a kind of 
fish Dick particularly enjoyed when cooked in a way she herself had 
experimented with. Enthused by the idea of grilling them beside the surf, 
she built a fire and, having got it to a fierce flame, dampened it down with 
fresh fuel while she went in search of sticks on which to impale her catch. 
She had not hurried. When she returned, a fine column of white smoke was 
lazily drifting skyward. 

Wanda stood askance, horrified by her own carelessness. With bare feet she 
could not kick the fire asunder, nor had she a pail by which to douse it 
with water. Quickly her gaze roved in search of any shell or board or flat 
rock by which she could bury the smoking sin with sand. It was in this 
moment of ineffectual groping that Dick arrived, running, shouting, but 
armed with a shovel. When the last wisp of smoke and flame had died beneath 
his frantic shovels full of sand, they stood and eyed each other in a 
diffident awkwardness. 

The guilty girl knew full well the measure of her fault. She had never fully 
understood Dick's horror of detection by beings they never saw. But she had 
been taught that smoke was utterly taboo. It could be the instrument of 
their discovery. She had accepted it as she had accepted all his 
instruction. Dick was right. Dick knew so much! She stood before him, 
ashamed of her disobedience, angry with herself. 

"Alright, darling, I have to be punished. Don't feel bad about doing it." 
She looked at her master and her love, not seeking remission, but 
desperately wanting forgiveness. 

Dick would always forgive his Golden Girl. But he was adamant in his 
unswerving adherence to the Codes that governed their life together. Wanda 
had long since divined that, whilst he looked forward to Friday as much as 
she did, her punishments were something else again. In the act of punishing 
her, she knew him to be prey to emotions she did not understand. She did not 
mind. She knew no reason why she should be privy to every thought within his 
mind in the same way that hers was an open book to him. All was as it should 
be. When she earned punishment she got it and was glad-not while it was 
happening, but before and after. 

The concern faded from Dick's face. He turned his attention to the matter 
she had placed on the agenda. He grinned at her commiseratingly. "It was 
just yesterday you got "The Penalty," he reminded her. 

The same thought was in Wanda's mind, but she gave no sign. Instead, she 
lifted the brief bit of material at her back and twisted to survey as much 
of her behind as she was able. "It's pretty well faded," she said 
reassuringly. "There's just that big one, isn't she a beaut'! Besides, since 
it's a punishment, you don't have to use my bottom at all; there's all the 
rest of me." 

There was indeed! Surveying her loveliness, Dick found himself loathe to 
place weals upon it. This was a quite new scruple. He had always found an 
exquisite joy in artistically whipping the slim nudity. The striations he 
cut upon the youthful flesh were the fulfillment of a dream, the ultimate in 
human experience. 

"Suppose I don't whip you this time, Golden Girl... What say I tie you in 
one of those fantastic improbabilities you're always thinking up?" 

The day before, Wanda would have agreed readily enough. It would be a kind 
of painful fun. But yesterday had given her a glimpse of a kind of 
discomfort she had not enjoyed. The hours she had spent kneeling with her 
ankles bound to the root and her hands tethered to the stake had taxed her 
to a degree in which her usual meditations had been defeated by her Tie. She 
had been too clever for her own comfort. She had resolved to be less 
inventive. Dick's Ties were best. 

"That's sweet of you, darling, but no, I'd like to be whipped, please." 

"You'd like to be...!" He grinned quizzically. 

"Oh, Dick, don't make me ask for these awful things!" She chided cheerfully 
enough. "Of course I don't WANT to be whipped... I'm just being polite, and 
I do think it's the best thing for me today." 

"You're scared of those things you're always telling me to do to you," he 
accused, laughing. "Didn't enjoy yesterday, did you!" 

Wanda flushed. Trust Dick to know! "Well alright then!" She confessed. "I 
didn't enjoy it." She took her confession a step further. "I'm scared of 
some of that nonsense I've told you." 

"In that case it's perfect for your punishment." 

Was he joking? She could not tell. The whip suddenly seemed an old friend. 
"I'd sooner be whipped, Dick, if I may." 

"If I whip you I'll use the Manta tail." 

Wanda hoped he did not see her flinch. As usual, he was going to be a jump 
ahead of her. They bantered a lot about her punishments as they did about 
all else, but when it came right down to the act she was not supposed to 
enjoy it and there was no obligation to remain brightly cheerful while it 
was done to her. But the Manta tail! Wanda shrugged, it was bound to be used 
on her sometimes! She had not felt its excoriating impact for a long while 
and, by their Code, her foolishness merited its kiss. "O.K. Dick." She 
grinned to show she was not hurt by his choice. "I don't mind a bit." Her 
disclaimer held truth: if it pleased him to use the Manta tail on her she 
would bear its bite without complaint. 

"Arms up, y'know, Golden Girl." 

She flinched again. Of all the many ways in which she could be tied to be 
whipped he had chosen the one that exposed her nakedness in its utmost 
vulnerability. Without thought of what was to happen to her, Wanda gaily 
kissed his chin. "Come along, darling, I'll cook the fish on the fire at the 
house. Just for you... The way you like them." She took his hand, together 
they ran lightly toward the path. 

The Island provided everything, even to the sturdy horizontal bough, beneath 
which Wanda would be whipped. She stood there now, trembling with the 
strange excitement she always knew at such a time. That it was more intense 
on this occasion she put down to the use of the Manta tail. Without need of 
being told, she held out her hands, wrist to wrist in the way Dick liked to 
tie them for this purpose, and watched as he deftly welded them together 
with the cord, three strands and the cinching loop through the middle. When 
he threw the rope over the bough she knew herself delivered to her 
punishment. Up to that point she might have run or struggled, now she could 
not! As though watching someone else, she saw her hands go up before her 
face, up and up until she must throw her head well back to see them at their 
final elevation. 

"I won't suspend you this time, Golden Girl." 

Sometimes he did. It made a double punishment. It hurt her wrists wickedly, 
and she was always terribly shamed by the way she kicked and swayed like a 
pendulum. She supposed that this time he considered the Manta tail enough. 
He was actually allowing her heels to rest upon the ground. She dutifully 
pointed this out to him as an omission. "I'll probably wriggle and jump 
around," she warned. 

He laughed delightedly at her honesty. "I want you to, Sweetheart. We might 
even take time for some lessons in self control." 

"Oh Dick!" she exclaimed in feminine protest. "You know perfectly well I 
can't stand still or behave or anything else when you use the tail. It's 
just too awful." 

"Something for you to aspire to, Sweetheart. Want me to start?" 

What a question to ask a girl at such a time! Wanda longed to make a 
suitable retort. She tugged at her wrists, she was beautifully held. She 
supposed they might just as well get her agony under way. She looked back at 
the frightening thing dangling from Dick's hand. "Shouldn't I have a little 
suspense first, darling?" she asked hopefully. 

He laughed at her obvious ruse. He went to the house, and when he returned 
he held two shells. They were beautiful products of the sea to which he had 
done something, the purpose of which the naked girl almost instantly 
divined. They were cones, wrinkled outside but pearly smooth within their 
interior concavity. Amused by the girl's breathless pleasure, Dick fitted 
them over the young breasts and fastened them at her back. Her flesh filled 
them to perfection. Her eyes glowed with pride. 

"Darling, you made those for me!" 

"About time," he chuckled. "Those two nice things on your chest are 
demanding attention. He stepped forward and allowed the sweet pursed lips to 
kiss him ecstatically. 

"Oh, Dick, I know you made them so I won't get cut there while I'm being 
whipped. But they're so lovely! Can I wear them always?" 

"No you can't! I don't want them hiding what they cover right now. You can 
keep them for special occasions." 

She looked at him with little girl tenderness. "Darling... it's worth being 
whipped. Oh, Dick, you're sweet." 

He curled the Manta tail neatly round her waist in a scalding band of fire. 

Later, much later when she had ceased to leap and plunge and kick, and the 
speck of blood bedewed the thin belt of scarlet she now wore around her 
tummy, the punished girl fought down her moans and said apologetically, "I 
don't remember it being this awful. Oh darling, I'm so sorry." 

He struck her again. This time the tip of the tail snapped across one of the 
protecting shells, leaving a trail of carmine beneath her armpit. Wanda 
expended in motion and in sound the agony she could not bear. When she 
stood, trembling but quiescent, Dick said gently, "If you wish, we'll call 
that enough for today. It's a terrible whip. The marks you have are the best 
ever." 

For a moment she tensed. "It's always five with the Manta tail, isn't it?" 
she asked quietly. 

"It always has been, but there's no rule... " 

"We'll make one! It's five. You owe me three more, darling. I can't help the 
fuss... don't pay any attention to it." There was no doubt whatever in the 
delinquent's mind. To stop now would be a disgrace. "I'm ready for number 
three," she said in a small clear voice. 

Long after it was all over, after Wanda had stood tied for two hours to 
allow the pain to seep through her being and away, there came her reward. 
The black bandage was placed across her eyes so that she was in a world of 
total darkness. The sea shells were taken from her breasts, and slowly and 
indefinably the gentle hands led her to a place of glowing lights and sounds 
and sensations, a place in which she gasped and moaned in ecstasy in much 
the same manner as she had previously done in pain. It was quite wonderful! 
It got better every time. 

After the supper Dick had prepared while she stood tied in punishment, they 
sat and talked as the mood took them. The sun was low, so Wanda insisted on 
remaining nude so she could admire the wounds the manta tail had made across 
her skin. There were only five of them, but she was inordinately proud of 
each. In their way they were things of beauty etched upon a perfect medium. 
Her flesh would bear their fading marks for weeks. 

"It's such a good feeling... afterwards, I mean," she said meditatively in 
recognition of a recurring miracle. 

Dick looked across the fire at her with love. This vibrant slip of female 
was his creation. Her thoughts and values were his. But she intensified and 
sublimated them beyond his own ability to do. She was adorable, she was 
youth! She was an unending exploration. "Would you like me to give you five 
a day?" he asked, curious. 

Wanda took his question seriously and gave it thought before she answered. 
"Yes, I'd like that. I want to extend the way I feel right now on and on and 
on. I'm so beautifully at peace and all warm and satisfied." She looked 
earnestly at the man who had whipped her. "How long was I kicking and 
howling after each cut... two minutes? Something like that. Which means that 
for only about ten minutes of something quite unbearable I can buy this 
lovely glow. It's... well, it's sort of cheap, darling. Am I making any 
sense?" 

Dick nodded. Her animation had reached across the embers and touched him. 
"Carry on, Golden Girl, you make a lot of sense." 

Wanda ran a cautious finger the length of a scarlet stripe vivid beneath her 
arm. She made a small moue of regret. "They're so lovely, aren't they! But 
if I had dozens and dozens of them they wouldn't be lovely at all. It's like 
eating too much or running too hard. It's funny, Dick... as though we're not 
allowed to have all we want... " 

"You're not the first to have made the discovery," Dick said dryly. 

"There's something else that affects my wish... " She eyed him shyly. 
"You've only been giving me my reward after I'm punished for the last few 
months. It's sort of new, and terribly exciting." She looked at him, seeking 
guidance. "It's so wonderful, I'm afraid I'd ask for the Manta tail anytime 
just to get my reward. Is that good or bad, darling?" 

It was a poser Dick had been expecting. Within the context of their 
relationship, there could be but one answer. He made it positive. "It's 
good, Sweetheart!" He laughed at her earnest features. "But you've already 
said it: 'we enjoy what we can,' there isn't any ad infinitum." 

"I want another reward." Her eyes were bright and challenging. "Dick, 
darling, give me the Manta tail again... now!" 

He had half expected it. She was more woman than child. She was vividly 
healthily alive. Their island was another Eden which knowledge could 
destroy. He wished to keep her innocent-always if possible, but certainly 
well beyond her present age. He had wanted her to read the books and to be 
literate, but their stories plus her own female intuition must inevitably 
lead her to correct deductions sooner or later. He wanted it later, much 
later! He was determined that, marooned as they were, his darling child must 
never become pregnant. "You've done nothing to earn a punishment," he 
pointed out reasonably. "So, no Manta tail! Don't be greedy." 

But his Golden Girl was hot on the trail of speculations on which she had 
enjoyed much time to dwell. "Why is it, darling, that girls only get their 
reward after being punished? It's so lovely! Why can't girls have it any 
time?" 

"Because it's a reward, silly. It helps you over the bad spots. You wouldn't 
want to be punished without it to look forward to." 

His specious logic stymied Wanda momentarily, but she returned to the 
attack. "You can give me a reward, and I can't help knowing how it's done." 
She enunciated slowly. "I think I'm blindfolded because it's nicer we don't 
see each other at the time... I read something in one of the books about 
turning off the light." She paused, marshalling her rationale. "I'm a girl, 
but I'm quite sure that if you can do something so beautiful to me, it must 
be possible for me to do something equally gorgeous for you." She paused, 
this time frankly for effect. "I'm quite sure I've guessed and figured out 
what I have to do. You haven't told me because you think I'm still awfully 
young. But look at these... " She teased her nipples with her middle 
fingers, the others spread wide as in astonishment. "My breasts have grown 
so much in the last year. And I know what they're for... ! I read that too. 
I don't know how old I am, but I'm not as young as you think! Oh 
darling...!" 

Dick sat in a quiet reverence, denying nothing. It was Wanda's hour. It had 
come sooner than he wished. 

The Golden Girl got resolutely to her feet. "Darling, please stand up." 

Half in amusement, half in awe, Dick obeyed. "Close your eyes please, and 
don't cheat. Oh please don't! And don't stop me. If you stop me I'll cry and 
make a fuss and be thoroughly bad so you'll have to punish me... " Wondering 
in what strange ways the Serpent may have tutored this naked Eve within 
their garden, Dick did as she had asked. 

With a gasp of exultation, the Golden Girl fell to her knees before her 
master. Small strong eager hands stripped him of the brief cloth he wore 
about his loins. Two hot and avid lips engulfed their prey, and a worshipful 
tongue paid tribute to her love. 

The man stood, thankful for her innocence. 

* * * 

Wanda saw it all and, in her wonder, forgot Dick's stern command. The 
strange bird, that was a light two seater plane, stuttered and coughed its 
jerky and uncertain flight from out of the horizon, bumped itself upon the 
sandy beach and sought destruction on the small rocks that littered its path 
before the death of its momentum brought its wreckage to a halt. 

She had been on the beach repairing a net with a view to fishing. But this 
she abandoned and, with cautious steps ready for flight, approached the 
apparition. Female curiosity easily defeating fear. 

The woman was heavily overdressed in coveralls, against which the mass of 
her dark hair was in strange contrast. She bad-temperedly kicked open a 
jammed door and stepped away to make a disgusted appraisal of the wreck. She 
paid no attention to the approaching girl until Wanda stood but a few feet 
away. Irritably she turned. "Oh, Hi! Where's the nearest phone?" 

Wanda's expression spelt bafflement. 

"Oh, damn and blast! You don't speak English!" 

"Just as well as you!" Wanda affirmed defiantly. She had not liked the 
inference and she did not think much of the woman either, even if she was 
pretty and still young. 

"Well, where the hell am I then?" 

"You're on our island, that's where you are!" Wanda felt sure her answer 
would fail to please, but she had no other. 

"Doesn't the bloody place have a name?" 

"It's Dick's and mine, that's all." 

The woman eyed her, puzzled. "Dammit, it's hot!" In a divestment that Wanda 
watched with interest, she climbed out of the coveralls to reveal a well 
curved femininity clothed only in halter and shorts. 

"Why are your breasts covered with that thing?" Wanda inquired politely. 
"Were you all ready to be whipped?" 

"Look, kid, I'm in no mood for funnies. Where's the cops, the gendarmes, or 
the chap in charge?" 

Wanda had caught sight of a speeding Dick. "He's running down the beach 
now," she said sternly. "You'd better be more polite to him than you are to 
me." She seated herself on a rock, expectantly prepared to be edified. 

Under the answers Dick was able to provide, the visitor visibly wilted, but 
managed to convey an unspoken criticism of a man and a girl who had no 
phone, no plane and no power launch. "You mean I'm stuck on this damn fool 
island the same as you!" She made it sound quite unbelievable. Then added, 
as though to reassure herself, "Of course there'll be a search. I left a 
flight plan. They shouldn't have any trouble... " 

"No one ever comes here," Wanda said happily. 

She was ignored, but listened, enthralled by the questions and answers. The 
woman still regarded herself as a girl. Her name was Phyllis; she was 
twenty-eight years old; she was a journalist. She had been married twice 
without progeny and was, at the moment, single. The plane was her own in 
which she had embarked on a series of island hopping for a feature she was 
writing for a New York paper. She owned a house in the country in England 
and an apartment overlooking Central Park in New York. She had been advised 
against her present flight, but had paid no attention and had embarked 
alone. The span between the islands concerned had been a bare four hundred 
miles, a mere nothing. She conveyed an impression of being very busy without 
time to waste on the nonsensical situation in which she found herself. 

Wanda could sense Dick's disquiet. She was jealous of the attention he gave 
the two new breasts and the trim waist beneath the halter, but pleased that 
he did not like their owner any more than she. Dick himself was cursing 
inwardly and making rapid computations of probabilities. With this demanding 
wench nothing would be easy. She could disrupt the delicate balance of 
Wanda's faiths. She could cause them to be rescued, willy-nilly whether they 
liked it or not. If she was rescued, it would be hard for them to remain. In 
any case, he owed it to Wanda to place her back in the world if the chance 
arose. It was a thing he had thought of often. But if the rescue efforts 
missed their island or failed to detect the wreck, it meant there would now 
be two females in his life, one of which would rebel against all he had 
built with the girl who, as a malleable child, had fallen to his care. The 
newcomer was no conformist. She might respond only to force. 

"You'll be our guest," he said genially. "But I will ask you to respect our 
way of doing things." 

Phyllis Stafford eyed him dubiously. "You want me to sleep with you?" She 
seemed incapable of charity in thought or speech. 

How good it would be to thrash her! Dick was victim to a wave of desire so 
great it was hard to resist. He had a momentary vision of a naked woman 
hanging by her wrists. "It's kind of you." He parried coldly, "but thanks, 
no." 

"I'm a lesbian. You may as well know it." 

He longed to be brutal, to make her fall to her knees. "Don't apologize," he 
said dryly. "Not much scope here, I'm afraid." 

"I'll take the girl. You can't be using her or she'd be pregnant." 

Dick thought of the Manta tail, not five, but twenty-five. It would make her 
human. "You'll take nothing but what you're given." 

Phyllis Stafford waved an apologetic hand. "Sorry, sorry! I'm not my best. 
That damn motor! It's ruined my schedule." 

"You're alive. Isn't that lucky?" 

She considered what was obviously a quaint new thought. "I suppose you're 
right. Could have gone down in the sea. Bloody nuisance though just the sumo 
fire and keep a round the clock watch." 

"You can if you wish, we won't." 

She looked at him incredulously. "You don't want to get off this Robinson 
Crusoe place?" 

"Personally, no. But if a chance arises I owe it to Wanda." 

"I don't want to go either," said Wanda decisively. 

Phyllis Stafford looked from one to the other. "Both of you got it good, eh! 
Must be something special. Want to let me in on it?" 

"She's frightfully rude, darling." Wanda suggested thoughtfully, "Don't you 
think she ought to be punished? I'd love to watch while you whip her." 

The journalist surveyed the younger girl with fresh interest. "She's kooky, 
isn't she! Said something before... " She flashed a knowing glance at Dick. 
"You got something good going here, I'll bet." 

He had another entrancing vision of this vixen tied down tight on the 
whipping bench, the cane flexing in his hands, the curves of her seat livid 
with weals. "So?" He met her insinuation brusquely. 

Phyllis Stafford laughed mockingly. "Oh brother! I can guess it all. I 
really have horsed things up for you." 

"Think a bit further," Dick suggested ominously. 

"Oh, no you don't! I'll play, but not the way you're thinking." 

"What other way is there for a female?" 

"Oh, come off it! If the little quail likes her ass whipped, what of it?" 

"I wasn't thinking of Wanda." 

Phyllis Stafford considered. She believed she had seen and done everything. 
She was, above all, an opportunist. "Look, keep a smoke fire going 'round 
the clock and I'll play it your way." 

To Dick, the demanding insistence brought back the memories of a life from 
which he had escaped, and which Wanda had never known. The probing for 
advantage, the restless pursuit of ends that mattered little or not at all, 
was like the opening of a door long shut. He could feel the unease, the 
surge of stress of a world that would press in upon him, and the girl whose 
life was his, unless he closed the door back tight. He gazed appraisingly at 
the tense woman who saw him as a useful pawn. She was beautiful, but driven 
by urgencies that made her less than female. "Don't bargain," he said 
firmly. "We want no fire and no deals. Do what you please yourself, I won't 
stop you." 

"Oh brother!" Phyllis sighed disgustedly. She looked from the wreckage of 
her plane to Wanda and to Dick. "Can't bribe you, eh?" 

"If I want you, I'll take you." 

"Like hell you will!" 

Wanda was shocked. "You mustn't talk to Dick like that!" she protested. 
"It's not right. He's a man." 

"I sort of got that impression, honey. So what?" 

"You're simply asking to be punished, y'know." 

The newcomer laughed sardonically. "What I dropped into! If it's the way I 
think, it's going to make one hell of a juicy feature." 

"If you get to write it." Dick eyed her levelly. "Don't you understand. The 
first storm will wash your wreck into the sea. Then you'll have vanished 
just as Wanda and I. This island seems to have no interest to anyone. It's 
very small and well away from the shipping lanes." 

"I'll be picked up within three days," she sneered. "I'm not a nobody." 

They fell into a hostile silence. Wanda picked up her net and walked toward 
the water. "I'll get the fish, darling. You get the fire good and red. I 
won't be long." She waded into the surf and did not look back. 

Dick glanced at the petulant journalist, shrugged and turned to leave. 

Phyllis Stafford sulkily followed him up the beach. 

* * * 

To Wanda, the advent of the woman from the sky was less disturbing than to 
Dick. Phyllis Stafford's militancy repelled. It confirmed her belief that 
the rest of the world was disagreeable and best avoided. She was curious, 
but that curiosity was aimed purely at the newcomer's temperament and how 
many thrashings it would take Dick to make her reasonably polite. 
Humorously, she found herself looking forward to these as to an experiment. 
Throughout the day, she supposed her Master's tolerance for bad temper was 
designed only to gauge its depth and the best way of dealing with it. 
Innocently, Wanda was unconcerned with the implications that left Dick's 
mind in turmoil. She looked and listened and went about her small tasks. It 
was not until late afternoon that a communion was established, a communion 
neither had planned. 

Dick had gone to the wreck to see if there was anything of value to salvage 
before the waves took it. The two girls sat, uncertain, busy with their own 
thoughts until, suddenly, Wanda started up with an exclamation, "It's time 
for my Tie. Dick's forgotten... " 

"You're damn odd wearing a tie, kid." Phyllis was puzzled. 

"Not that kind of tie, silly!" The younger girl eyed her companion with 
concern. "It must be time for yours too. It's been such a mixed-up day." 

Phyllis Stafford was intrigued. For her, boredom easily raised its head. She 
found the child-woman delicious. She had sensed undercurrents. Dick had 
emanated heavy vibes. "Maybe you'd better show me," she suggested casually. 

"The simplest is the two posts." Wanda indicated them with a wave of the 
hand. "You can have it, if you want. I can use something else." 

The visitor transferred her attention to the twin columns. She had scarcely 
noticed them, but now she observed the looped straps. Memory stirred, but 
there was nothing conclusive. "A couple of bits of wood." She said without 
enthusiasm, "What d'you do with 'em?" 

"You stand between them, of course!" To Wanda it was obvious, this girl from 
outer space was stupid. 

Interested and amused, Phyllis got to her feet and took the few steps needed 
to place her in position. "Can't see much point." She observed dryly. 

"But you put your hands through the loops," she explained patiently. 

Had the straps been hanging limp with obvious intent, Phyllis would have 
correctly divined their use. But the waiting loop deceived. If a girl was 
going to stand in just that spot for some absurd reason of her own, why not 
a bit of strap hanging! It made sense. Amused she thrust her hands within 
the leather and rested her wrists against the straps as though in support of 
weariness. 

There had been no original guile. But when Wanda saw the languid arms raise 
to their required position, she became instantly certain of the thing that 
she must do. No sooner had the exploring wrists fallen into place then she 
drew tight the buckles. 

"Hey, what goes!" The victim was still groping. 

"I'll get them nice and tight for you. It's always best when they're tight." 
Studiously she tugged and completed each buckle. 

Phyllis was not alarmed. She was still curious. Her natural unease at her 
unsought predicament was modified by Wanda's blithe matter-of-fact 
performance of a routine task. She tried to move her wrists within their 
confinement, but found herself helpless. "Say, kid, I can't get out of this. 
What's the big idea?" 

"You're not supposed to get out, silly! You know that as well as I do. But 
it is fun to try." The teenager giggled. "I always try. It gives you a 
lovely goosey feeling when you find out you're foxed." 

"I don't feel goosey," said Phyllis uncertain whether she did or not. 

"I'm sorry Dick wasn't here to do it," Wanda apologized. "I know it's 
supposed to be a man who ties us. He'll tie me when he gets back." 

The captive realized herself on the brink of discovery. "Tie you! Why?" 

Wanda was impatient with her prisoner's argumentative response to the 
affairs of every day. "The Tie, silly! Girls always get tied in the 
afternoon." 

Phyllis was unsure. The kid might be prone to practical jokes, and she now 
the butt of one of them. "O.K. So he ties you up. I'm already tied. What 
happens then? Where's the percentage?" 

"Nothing happens, and there isn't any of... what you said. The Tie is good 
for us. Weren't you properly brought up?" 

Phyllis Stafford had not gotten where she was in the world without 
perseverance. "You mean this Tie thing is sorta' like push-ups, or a bit of 
meditation, or saying grace before meals?" 

"I don't know any of those things," Wanda said primly. "I don't think you 
can have been very well trained. You're lucky that airplane thing let you 
down here. Dick will be able to help you no end." 

"You're kidding?" 

"No, really! Dick's sweet and terribly patient. But I'm afraid you'll have 
to be punished an awful lot; you don't seem to want to do anything right." 

"Punished!" The captive rolled the word around her tongue as though it was 
an ulcerated tooth. "What is this punishment thing you keep talking about?" 

"Mostly you'll be whipped. But there's other things too... " Phyllis 
Stafford tensed, disquiet flamed. She became frighteningly aware that if 
someone wanted to whip her she was beautifully positioned for their purpose. 
"It's all damn interesting," she acknowledged. "But now you can undo these 
straps." 

It was as though she had not spoken. "There are several kinds of whips," 
Wanda continued warmly. "And quite a lot of canes for our bottoms. I got the 
worst whip yesterday. Look!" She slipped out of her tiny sheath and proudly 
displayed the purple ridges left across her skin by the manta tail. 

The journalist's first reaction was enchantment. What a story! What a gold 
mine this pair would be! She may have scarcely started to tap the lode... ! 
She found herself breathless at the pure beauty of what was so insouciantly 
offered for her enlightenment. Her mind also registered the fact that she 
was looking at the loveliest female figure she had ever seen. A figure bared 
of all covering-as thoughtlessly as she herself might remove a pair of 
earrings. 

"Die likes me to wear this when I'm walking around in the sun." Wanda 
explained as she regretfully replaced her bit of cloth. "Oh, I'm terribly 
sorry!" Her exclamation was contrite. "Here I've left you with those clothes 
while you're in a Tie. So much has happened, I forgot. Don't worry, I'll 
have them off you in a jiffy." 

"Don't you dare!" The spinsterish flavor of the command annoyed the woman 
who uttered it. Phyllis Stafford was beginning to feel out of her depth. Her 
reaction had been instinctive. She was no prude. But to be stripped while 
helpless... No! 

"You are funny." Wanda giggled as she removed the halter from her squirming 
captive. "Oh, what lovely breasts! They're bigger than mine. And such 
nipples! I don't see why you want to cover them up." 

"I can still kick. You touch my shorts and I'll let you have it!" 

Wanda stood and surveyed her captive with disgust. "What a nasty thing to 
say! I'm only undressing you for the Tie. I'm sure you know you have to be 
naked, all girls do. I don't see why you'd kick me." 

"Touch my shorts and find out." 

The younger girl nodded thoughtfully as at an unforeseen but minor hitch. 
Going to the house, she returned with a whip, a single leather thong, 
neither the kindest or the most cruel of those used on her. She held it up 
for Phyllis to get a good look. "Dick ought to use this. It's the men who 
whip us girls. But I don't suppose it matters if I whip you just once. Shall 
I give you just one to start... ? So you know how it hurts?" 

Phyllis petulantly tugged at the straps round her wrists. "Let me out of 
this!" she demanded. "Enough's enough." 

"You know your Tie lasts longer than this. Dick will unfasten you, not me. 
I'll probably be tied myself. But you don't want him to find you with 
clothes. He'll be angry." 

"Don't you touch my shorts." 

In complete bafflement, Wanda swung back the whip. "No!" 

The whip fell, trailing from a ready hand. "Well?" 

"Don't whip me. Take the damn shorts if you have to." 

A few moments later Phyllis Stafford stood completely nude. She glared 
defiantly at the girl who had stripped her and who now stood ingenuously 
marvelling at a pubic area baldly shaved. "Never seen a shaved slit before?" 
she demanded arrogantly. "A girl could get lost wandering around in that 
bush you've got between your legs." 

Wanda was entranced. She giggled, appreciative of erotic discovery. "But 
you're all white... ! Your skin, I mean. It's as though you're still wearing 
something. Your breasts and... down below." 

Phyllis eyed her shrewdly. "What's the down below bit? A cunt's a cunt." 

The girl with a whip in one hand and the contentious shorts in the other 
giggled. "Is that what you call it?" 

"What else! What d'you call yours?" 

"Dick used to call it my thingummy. But since I grew all the hair he calls 
it my 'Furry Spot' or maybe just my 'Fur'." Wanda wrinkled her nose. "I 
don't think I like that word... cunt." 

"Whether you like it or not, kid, you've got a cunt, and I've got a cunt." 
She laughed bitterly. "By any other name t'would smell as sweet." 

"I think it's nasty. I won't use it unless Dick tells me to." Wanda looked 
at her whip regretfully. "I guess I'd better not use this on you now. I'd 
like to, but it's Dick's privilege, not mine. But I won't put it away. He's 
almost certain to want to whip you when he comes back." She tossed it 
carelessly beside one of the posts. 

Phyllis eyed the cruel thing with distaste. "Look, kid, I'm tired and scared 
and I've sorta' had enough of fun and games. Please let me loose." Her tone 
had become conciliatory, almost pleading. 

Wanda could not fail to recognize that this girl's reactions in her Tie were 
very different from her own. She could not understand this. But it changed 
nothing. "I wish you wouldn't keep asking me to undo the straps. You know I 
can't. You've only been like that a little while." 

"A little while...!" All the outrage Phyllis could muster was in the 
exclamation. Suddenly, in a burst of fury she went completely wild in a 
berserk struggle against her bonds. She kicked and heaved and jerked with 
all her strength, to no avail. The posts did not quiver, the straps merely 
creaked. 

Wanda watched in pure delight. It was a new experience to see another as she 
herself had often been. She saw the slender wrists striving to turn within 
the close grip of the leather bands, saw the small clenched fists or the 
captive fingers searching only air, saw a foot pushed against a post and 
used as lever to punish a prisoned wrist that found no whit of freedom in 
the act, saw the lovely breasts judder and sway in tense motion. Even though 
she did not like Phyllis, she felt immensely grateful for so wonderful a 
show. 

"Giving our guest her Tie, Sweetheart?" Dick's voice held infinite 
amusement. He had approached unseen. 

The bound girl turned to him in thankfulness. "For Pete's sake, get me out 
of this! The little bitch trapped me." She was panting. 

"I expect it's just your daily Tie. Calm down and enjoy it." His voice was 
soothing. Perhaps, too, it held a trace of mockery. 

"Of course it's her Tie. And I didn't trap her," Wanda affirmed vehemently. 
"She's just awful the things she says. She's had a terrible bringing up." 

"Undo these straps on my wrists." Phyllis Stafford was putting the full 
force of her personality into each word. "This far I'll call it one big 
joke. Keep me like this any longer and I'll make all the trouble I can for 
you." 

Dick ignored her. "It's time for your Tie, Sweetheart," he said cheerfully 
to the girl who was his dearest possession. "We'll just make it the little 
tree today, fetch me the cord." 

With a feeling of total unreality, the captive woman watched a laughing girl 
happily run to the house and return with a length of cord. Wanda then tossed 
aside her slip and placed her back against the slender trunk of a young tree 
that flourished but a few yards distant. She crossed her wrists behind the 
bole and stood passively while Dick bound them tight. When he was done, she 
struggled a little to demonstrate her impotence, then stood still, laughing 
at their guest's outraged features. "It's my Tie," she proclaimed as though 
that explained everything. 

As Dick had come up the path, the sight of Wanda's captive had coalesced 
decision in his mind. Phyllis Stafford's rescue was improbable. Why change a 
way of life! The woman could conform... Or be made to conform. The tableau 
Wanda had contrived was fortuitous but timely. 

Standing in front of the naked, bound woman who looked up at him with 
uncharacteristic appeal, he put an end to her dubiety. His sentences were 
terse and clipped. "The Tie is an Institution with us. You will share it 
whether you like it or not. Every Friday you will be whipped as Wanda is. 
You will also be punished for anything I deem a fault. Such things as 
failure to clean up, insolence, disobedience... anything that disrupts the 
life of this Island. Force can be used as required." 

In an effort to throw him off centre, the captive mocked, "You've been 
having a good look at my cunt and my tits, like em: "You will wear clothes 
except on the occasions I have just outlined," Dick continued, ignoring her 
jibe. "You will have to contain any curiosity you may have in regard to 
these customs, their origin, or purpose. You will simply conform. I explain 
or excuse nothing. Understood?" 

"Oh, for heaven's sake, man! We're not discussing my constitutional rights. 
Let me loose and we'll all have a drink. There was a couple of bottles in 
the plane. Let little Annie Fanny loose too. You've got the poor girl so she 
doesn't know whether she's bored or punched." Phyllis tugged irritably at 
her strapped wrists. 

Dick picked up the whip. 

"Hey! Look now, you're not going to use that on me?" 

"You ignore words. What else is there?" 

The woman strapped to the posts eyed the whip as Dick drew the thong back 
and forth through his fingers. She was suddenly very conscious of naked 
breasts and bare bottom. "Dammit! Don't use that on me, please. I'm not 
stupid. I have to know that the way I'm fixed you can beat me until I'll say 
or do anything." Seeing no softening in his level gaze she continued 
urgently. "Unfasten me. We can go in the house. You can fuck me to a f 
are-ye-well. I'm not hard to get along with." Striving to gauge his 
reaction, she tossed in a bonus. "We can leave Fannie with her tree while I 
show you a few tricks I bet you've never had before." 

The first cut bit 'round her hip. It is a cruel place, the tip draws blood. 
Phyllis Stafford squealed and went into a paroxysm of agonized contortions 
that hurt her bound wrists but brought her no closer to freedom. "You silly 
bastard! What'd you do that for?" She glared up angrily. "That hurt like 
blazes. I can't stand pain. Throw that fool thing away." She sneered, "Or go 
and use it on smiling Fanny over there, she'd probably enjoy a few licks." 

Dick sighed. With the Phyllis Staffords of this world there is but one way! 
He proceeded to thrash the lovely nakedness conveniently strapped for his 
attention. 

Wanda watched, enthralled. She found herself unconsciously trying to free 
her tied wrists, a quite hopeless effort, purely instinctive in her wish to 
dance 'round the writhing nudity and watch and count the crimson weals as 
they formed on the recalcitrant flesh. But she was close enough for an 
uninterrupted view of the lash as it sought and found the virgin skin, close 
enough to see the ridges form and to behold the shocked anguish on female 
features that could have been beautiful. An anguish melded from incredulity 
and pain. 

Dick used no subtlety, no technique. He gave no pauses and made no comments. 
He whipped the naked girl steadily with a fierce determination that gave her 
no respite, no hope, nor chance to speak. She screamed and moaned in a 
ceaseless cacophony of despair. When her strength began to wane and her 
cries lessened into whimperings, he stopped and looked at the numberless 
criss-crossing striations that had fallen upon the helpless flesh wherever 
chance or the girl's struggles had placed them. He stood silent. Wanda, tied 
to her tree, was equally mute. 

It took a long time for Phyllis to speak. She glistened with sweat, her hair 
was limp and damp, she half-hung from her tied wrists, leaning forward as 
though in shame to raise her face. After several minutes when her panting 
breaths had subsided she forced herself erect, easing the burden on her 
wrists and lifting her stricken gaze to the man who had whipped her. 
"Alright," she said thinly in a broken voice, "just tell me. I'll do it." 

"You will call me 'Sir.'" 

"Yes, Sir." 

"You'll accept all the conditions I have told you of?" 

"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry I've been... foolish." 

The transformation was almost unbelievable. Wanda watched and listened in 
awe. Dick always knew the right thing to do. Dick was wonderful! Remembering 
the manta tail, she understood the age old miracle of a whip upon a girl's 
skin. What she had just beheld told her more confirmingly than ever before 
how wise it was to whip a girl every Friday. Without that, there was no 
telling how foolish she might be. 

The naked journalist seemed dazed, not physically but in a confrontation 
with the unbelievable. She leaned back and forth against her prisoned 
wrists, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and looked at her surroundings 
with unseeing eyes. She was obviously trying to come to grips with a new 
reality and to seek expression. "Sir. Can I... can I, say something?" Her 
eagerness to use the title was pathetic. 

"Of course." 

Phyllis Stafford shook her head as though to clear it, but it remained bowed 
in shame. Her words were halting and cautious. "Sir, I've just said 
something that sounds silly and insincere. I can't tell if it sounded so to 
you----" Tears came into her voice, "Oh, damn and blast! I can't say it! 
This isn't me at all. You're not going to listen to me crawl, are you?" 

"Happy to," said Dick cheerfully. "You're not crawling, you're just looking 
at something you haven't seen before." 

She raised her head and eyed him doubtfully. "I'll level with you... 
sir-that 'Sir' doesn't come easy! But right now I'll do or say anything 
rather than be whipped again. Honest, I will! But it won't be Phyllis 
Stafford that's doing it. It will be someone else. I'm going to feel 
contemptible... " She groped around for the words she needed. "I suppose 
what I'm trying to say is I don't want you to see me as contemptible... " 

"We won't. We understand this better than you." 

"Just bloody pride; you don't lose it in minutes. Please, don't try and whip 
it out of me all at once." 

"There will be many times. Cheer up, girl, you won't die." 

Phyllis was still searching in the ruins. "This title of 'Sir'. I can 
understand why you want me to use it, and I will! But I don't want to be 
silly about it. We'll both be demeaned if I overdo it. Maybe if I do you'll 
think I'm being insolent. It sort of lends itself to insolence... Sir." 

Dick was pleased. The fool woman had a bit of sense. She was working her way 
towards something she must loathe. "Would you prefer to call me 'Master?' " 
he asked quietly. 

She faced him, once more in command of her faculties. "Is that what you will 
be to me, Sir?" 

"Yes." 

She considered. "Damn ridiculous, but I find myself preferring 'master' to 
'sir.' I must be crazy, but I'll get into less trouble with it. If I get in 
a couple of 'sirs' with a wrong inflection you'll be whipping me again, 
won't you?" 

"Yes." 

"Very well, Master. That's out of the way." 

Wanda was enthralled. Being female, she knew Phyllis would very soon regain 
most of her equilibrium, not all but most. She would have to be whipped 
again and again to bring her to the point where Wanda was and had always 
been. It seemed to the girl with her hands tied behind the trunk that to be 
the Phyllis Stafford of that morning must be a most unsatisfactory 
condition. No one could love her, she could enjoy nothing. Wanda was still 
wincing in vicarious agony from the whipping she had witnessed. She had been 
whipped hard and often, but never like that! She shuddered at the thought of 
being foolish enough to earn such a thrashing. Besides, what would Dick 
think of a girl who did? 

"I'm going back down to the plane," Dick announced to his two captives. 
"We'll have supper around the usual time." He turned and strode away. 

"Master!" There was a touch of panic in Phyllis Stafford's cry. 

"Yes?" He paused, but did not retrace a step. 

"Master... I've been punished. Could I be let loose, please?" 

"Of course not. You're still in your Tie. It has nothing to do with being 
whipped." Dick walked off down the path. 

The girl whose wrists were strapped to the twin posts examined as much of 
herself as her bondage permitted. She moved her weight from one foot to the 
other several times. Then she gave Wanda her full attention. "I'm cut to 
pieces," she bemoaned. 

"Not really. You've got some, the ones with a bit of blood, that will take 
three weeks to heal, but the rest will surprise you how fast they go. They 
always surprise me," Wanda assured her brightly. 

Phyllis obviously did not believe a word. "How long have we got to stand 
like this?" 

"Well, if Dick lets us loose to get the supper, it won't be more than a 
couple of hours." 

"I can't get loose." Phyllis stated the fact as though still marvelling at 
the phenomenon. "How about you?" 

"The way Dick ties a girl she never gets loose," Wanda said pridefully. "I 
always try, just for fun, but it's never any good." 

"Will I ever get to wear clothes again?" Phyllis looked at her discarded 
halter and shorts with longing. 

"Oh sure. We only have to be naked during the tie or when we are punished. 
But I hate clothes hanging on me. I'd be naked all the time if Dick would 
let me." 

"You go for the whole scene, don't you? You're quite happy the way you are 
right now, I can tell." 

"But you will be too," Wanda assured her earnestly. "After you've been 
whipped a few times you'll understand how silly you were and what fun it is 
to be herewith Dick and me. 

"Come off it, kid. Look at me. Call this fun? If I wasn't so scared and mad, 
I'd cry." 

"If you want to cry, you can easily wipe the tears away on your arm. I 
couldn't, the way I'm tied, but you can." 

"Thanks a whole heap! Can't you understand, girl, I'm frightened half out of 
my skin." 

Wanda was concerned. "Oh, but you mustn't be!" she exclaimed with genuine 
sympathy. "Dick's sweet. You'll love him after you've learned to behave." 

"Oh for Pete's sake! You mean when I'm a whipped bitch I'll want to lick my 
master's hand!" 

"You mustn't keep on about being whipped," Wanda reproved. "Only some of 
it's awful. Fridays are usually fun." 

"Bare-assed little masochist!" Phyllis was feeling sorry for herself. 

The younger girl's ebullience was an affront to her own distress. "Can't you 
see what I've lost? I've lost everything. On top of that I'm strapped to 
these damn posts so all I can do is wiggle my bum, and I've been whipped 
worse than Captain Bligh ever knew about. And to cap it off I've got to 
crawl and lick a man's boots. Me! The leading lesbian of the Press!" 

"What's a lesbian?" 

The exponent of the arts of Sappho was in no mood for niceties. "It means 
you lick my cunt and I lick yours. It's like you and your whip... Real good 
fun!" she explained bitterly. 

Wanda had been taught no prudery. She examined the information impartially. 
"I bet that does make us girls go all goosey," she agreed innocently. 

"Want to try it sometime?" Phyllis breathlessly eyed her prey. 

"Sure, why not? I'll ask Dick." 

Phyllis wilted. "Good gosh, girl, no! You tell him that and I'm dead." 

"Why?" The girl against the tree was unaware of sin. 

It was not an easy question to answer. "Because the lousy men want to keep 
us girls all for themselves, that's why." 

Wanda understood this. She was, in fact, pleased with the thought that Dick 
wanted to keep her for himself. "I think that's nice," she agreed brightly. 
"But I don't see why he'd be angry if we licked each others' cunts," she 
giggled. "Dick doesn't know, but I often use my finger down inside... 

There's a little spot, it feels terribly good." 

"Look, honey, lay off the asking. Keep mum. He's bound to leave us alone 
sometimes." 

Wanda was shocked. "Oh, but I'd never do a thing like that without his 
permission! I mean, it wouldn't be right. Besides, when he caught us we'd 
both get the manta tail for sure. And not just five either." 

"What the hell's a manta tail?" 

Wanda told her. 

"Oh brother! That means I haven't even graduated. What he's just given me 
could be twice as bad. Those weals on you are shockers. Let's forget I ever 
said anything." She took another look at her pinioned wrists, then asked 
disgustedly: "Tell me, bright-eyes, what am I going to have to do to save 
lover boy lacing into me again with one of his lousy whips?" 

"I do think you should try and talk nicely," the younger girl suggested 
judicially. "You always sound so... so angry, as if everything's our fault." 

"C'mon, honey! Whose fault is it I'm tied up like a trussed chicken with 
enough whip marks on me to give De Sade a wet dream?" 

"See, that's what I mean!" Wanda explained. "I don't know anything about a 
lot of the things you say, but I can tell they're spiteful. You'd better not 
talk to Dick like that. He'll whip you every time if you do. Just be... 
well, sort of natural, and call him 'Master' the way you've agreed and do 
what he tells you." 

"You don't call him 'Master.'" 

"I will if it would make things easier for you." 

"You're head-over-heels in love with him." 

Wanda was baffled by the older girl's elusive intractability. "Of course I 
am," she agreed. "You would be too if you weren't so angry about that silly 
airplane thing. Why don't you quietly sort of lean into those straps on your 
wrists and doze or dream or think how lucky we are. I always do, it's 
lovely." 

Phyllis Stafford neither dreamed or dozed, but the conversation languished 
for lack of rapport. She was furiously angry with the trick fate had played, 
and genuinely frightened of the casually handsome man with the whip. She 
deployed her thought to ways of besting him, and was still thus employed 
when she was released and Wanda flew to her job of the evening meal. 

The naked woman stood, rubbing her chafed wrists and marvelling at the 
perfect red band the straps had imprinted on her skin. It was hard to say 
they were not decorative. Facing the amused gaze of her master she was 
uncertain what to do or say. Acting purely on impulse, she raised her hands 
and offered them and their angry circlets for his inspection. 

"Quite beautiful, aren't they?" 

Had she expected sympathy? She was not sure. But she felt supremely foolish, 
a whipped cur seeking a kind word. She noted that the girl busy at the fire 
had slipped into her tiny garment, and was angry with her own shy awareness 
of her white breasts and loins. But, at least, she could break the ice of 
silence. "May I dress, Master?" she asked, hating her new humility. 

"You must dress. It's de rigueur." 

The act of donning her scanty costume beneath the eyes of this man who owned 
her was oddly shaming. It placed a salacious emphasis on the past hours. The 
halter and the shorts did no more than tell her how close now she would 
always be to nakedness and the hurt or shame that nakedness would imply. 
Dressed, she felt a need to be involved. "Is there work for me to do, 
Master?" 

Dick showed her. Through the suppertime a polite conversation kept 
diffidence at bay. But when it came time to seek their beds for the night an 
awkwardness fell upon the man and the woman, an awkwardness that Wanda did 
not share. 

There was little doubt in Phyllis Stafford's mind that she would share the 
bed of the man she now called Master, but she did not dare to speak of it. 
She waited to be disposed of. 

Dick was fully aware of what was revolving in the mind of the self-confessed 
lesbian. That she would "yield him her body as his due he had no doubt. She 
would expect to share his bed. It would not distress her, neither would it 
give her joy. She would regard herself as the spoils of war between the 
sexes. But this was not his plan; he was confronted with a strange concern. 
"You will use my bed for tonight. I've fixed up something for myself that 
will pass well enough. We will all be comfortable." He gazed at her levelly, 
conveying a message. 

"Thank you, Master." She still waited, half guessing. 

He wanted no preamble, he made no apology. "I don't want you roaming in the 
night. I will tie you." 

It was like a blow. Phyllis was instantly resentful. Forgetting the whip, 
she was about to let loose a diatribe of protest when Dick's voice saved 
her. 

"I don't mean hog-tied or spreadeagled." He grinned reassuringly at her 
evident dismay. "I shall tie one ankle in such a way that you cannot free 
it, that's all." 

Phyllis Stafford, Journalist, considered the odds and made one try: "Master, 
I'll give you my word. Please, I don't want to be tied." 

Dick ignored her words as though she had not spoken them. "On the bed, if 
you please, Miss Stafford. If you wish to remove your shorts you will have 
to do so now." 

She could have killed him! How good to deluge him beneath bitter words of 
scorn. One day he would pay for this. She would see to it. Angrily she made 
the few motions needed to strip herself, hoping it would shame him more than 
her. Without a word she positioned herself upon the bed, ostentatiously 
sticking one foot over the edge. 

There was no mattress, just palm leaves. Dick gently replaced the proffered 
foot to the centre of the bed. Looping his best piece of rope up through the 
slats, he circled the angry ankle and returned it down the other side of the 
sturdy length of wood. Reaching beneath the bed he tied the two ends tight. 
No matter how she tried, Phyllis Stafford could never reach the knot. He 
stood erect, pleased at an easy solution. 

The woman hobbled to the bed tested her single bond. She could turn her foot 
as she pleased, but she could not move it from that spot. It would 
effectively confine her to the bed. Naked and tied before the eyes of a man 
and a smiling girl, her sense of indignity destroyed caution. "Why don't you 
put me in irons?" she asked bitterly. 

The angry words had no sooner left her lips than she recognized her fault 
and its certain consequence. She made a gesture of hopelessness and threw 
prudence to the winds. "Oh shit!" She looked anxiously at the faces smiling 
at her outburst. "It's no bloody use! I'm not the kind. I'll blow it every 
time." She looked bleakly at her future. "Can you whip me here on the bed, 
or do you have to tie me outside?" She looked with withering contempt at 
Dick, and added a single offensive word, "Master!" 

"Oh dear!" said Wanda, genuinely perturbed. 

Dick laughed with pure enjoyment at the tied woman's return to honesty. 
"Don't make a martyr of yourself." He chuckled. "Sure you boobed, but I'll 
make an allowance. I don't suppose this is easy for you. But you won't get 
thrashed for every little blooper." He held up an admonitory hand. "But you 
won't be allowed to get away with any either. That little bit of Stafford 
satire will cost you five with the cane. Not now, in the morning. On your 
seat." 

Phyllis looked from one to the other, and then to her pinioned foot. 
Suddenly she went berserk, tugging and jerking and flinging herself from 
side to side in a futile struggle against the loop of rope that held her to 
the bed. "Damn you, damn you, oh damn and blast you both! You and your 
fucking rules! Take your lousy five with the cane and shove 'em up your 
arse!" She howled in a paroxysm of feminine rage. "I can't play your rotten 
game, so whip me to death and be done with it." She flung herself face down 
upon the bed and buried her face in her hands, sobbing. "Go away and let me 
be. You can cut my skin off tomorrow." She moaned in desolation, her face 
deep within the pillow. 

"It's only five, darling." Wanda consoled gently. "Five's not so bad." 

The two of them turned and went toward their beds. 

PHYLLIS STAFFORD 

I don't suppose I ever put in a lousier night in my life. Figure it for 
yourself! Whipped, naked, tied... some sort of blasted slave... ! The whole 
damn bit! When I felt sure they were asleep I went to work on his bit of 
rope round my ankle; fingers and fingernails, I gave it all I had. But, of 
course, it was hopeless. I couldn't put a dent in it. I broke all my nails 
and was still as securely tied at the end of it as I had been at the start. 
I'd lay in that damn bed with a rope round one ankle and wait for morning so 
I could get a cane slashed across the bit where I sat down. Holy cow! It 
just didn't seem real. 

Lying on that pathetic makeshift for a bed I had to take a good look at my 
chances. The hell of it was I didn't know what one of them was! I could 
figure my chances of rescue as pretty damn small. Not to be written off, but 
not that good! On the other hand I had these two absolute kooks with their 
Ties and their whips and their own erotic way of doing things. I figured 
Dick as having fallen into a pretty good thing with his little quail. He'd 
raised her just the way he liked. Good gosh! What man wouldn't give his eye 
teeth for such a chance! Or what woman! I knew I'd love to have that little 
pullet all to myself. She'd have a warmer ass than she ever dreamed of. 

They'd make me conform. No use kidding myself. I couldn't get away, Dick was 
about three times as strong as I was, and the kid was on his side; for her 
he could do no wrong. I could easily see what my future was. He'd make me 
crawl. I'd call him 'Master.' Sooner or later he'd start fucking me. He'd 
left the kid alone because he didn't want her pregnant, but I was sure that, 
for me, he couldn't care less. I had about thirty pills; I could almost hear 
the pitter patter of little feet. I think if I could have gotten my ankle 
free of that damn bed I'd have killed him. I 'spose that's why he tied me... 

I could picture it all. I'd be a good little girl and let myself be tied and 
caned and maybe fucked for a few days, and then he'd push me too far and I'd 
blow my top. Then they'd tie me to a tree or something and whip all the skin 
off my back. When that guy whips a girl he does it for real. That's the way 
it was going to be. I couldn't see anything else. But, believe it or not, I 
actually went to sleep. 

They're quite unreal the way they go about it all. They were so damn pally 
at breakfast I almost enjoyed myself. Getting untied from the bed had been 
quite a ritual. When the rope had fallen from my ankle, I'd had a silly 
vision of that fool picture about Aphrodite rising from the sea. That's 
sorta' what I did with both of 'em looking on. A girl goes behind a bush to 
have a pee here, and I will admit they let me go without one of 'em holding 
a leash round my neck. I thought of running, but what the hell... II had my 
leak and went back to breakfast like a good little girl. 

Then we went swimming in the surf. It's gorgeous! You could lead the life of 
Riley here if you didn't know it was forever. Sometimes I managed to forget 
about those five strokes with a cane I had to get on my backside, but not 
for long. I knew they were waiting. When we went back from the swim I got 
them. 

"Wouldn't you like to get your five now, darling?" The kid asked as though 
she was talking about a pay cheque. 

"You going to give 'em to me?" I asked, surprised. I'd supposed his Lordship 
kept all the goodies for himself. 

"Oh, could I! Oh darling... I'll ask Dick." 

Believe it or not, the bastard let her. I wasn't all that put out, he's 
quite a chunk of male. Surely she couldn't hurt me as bad as he would! They 
had quite a conference about how I should be tied. I kept out of it. I 
didn't want to be tied at all, by that time I was quite willing to touch my 
toes and try to behave. But they settled on a tree. I had to embrace the 
damn thing as though I was in love with it, and then they tied my hands 
together. This left me having a love affair with a youngish palm while they 
cinched my tummy tight against the bark. My poor rear-end! I was sure it was 
sticking out like a beacon. I couldn't move it. I was sure it must be a 
perfect target for that kooky girl. 

They discussed ways and means. I swear I can't tell whether they were having 
fun at my expense or were quite serious as to whether the Wanda dame should 
flog one cheek of my bottom at a time or just slash right across regardless. 
Look, I might as well admit right now that I'm not all that naive. I've been 
around. I've coerced men into taking me where women don't usually get 
admitted. In Cairo they get up to the damndest things! So I'd known about 
getting whipped and about being tied. Seems like there's quite a trade in 
these quaint diversions. I saw a trick-book once in a real high class whore 
house; the names scared me. And their notions! Poor old Krafft and Ebbing 
never even got properly started. The Madam offered me a job. If I'd wanted 
my arse whipped every night I could have made about twice what the President 
of the U.S.A. gets in the way of salary. I won't pretend I wasn't tempted 
either. 

Look, I'll let you in on my private archives. I'd had a notion about doing a 
feature, but it got too bloody personal. This Madam I spoke of wasn't a bad 
type. I made a deal with her for one evening only. She'd bill me as a 
virgin. So far as my hide went, I was! She told me that half the Johns never 
bothered to shove anything into a girl's slit. All they wanted was to hear 
her howl and see the lovely marks they made on her skin with the whip. I 
figured I could stand it once. 

The boy with the bucks turned out to be an elderly coot who looked more like 
he should be home patting his grandchildren on their curly locks instead of 
whipping a girl's bottom. But to each his own! I was just plumb curious. I 
wasn't even scared. 

We were introduced down in the lounge. He was so fucking polite and courtly 
I felt like a Southern belle before the shot at Fort Sumpter. He looked too 
old to fuck, but that wasn't what I was looking for anyway. It wasn't what 
he was looking for either. 

The House this Madam ran had more rooms than Nixon has excuses. My John took 
me to one that had more equipment in it than the local Armory. Directly 
after he shut the door I knew I'd gone back into the dark ages. I couldn't 
tell what everything was for, but I could guess! It was a Torture Chamber 
for real. 

Well, of course, the first thing to do is to get naked. My John was too 
polite to use such a word. He called it disrobing. I disrobed. I'd figured 
on that one. The Madam had given me a few hints. The next thing was I got 
ushered to a sort of 'X' frame affair. He did it the way the Maitre D does 
when he gives you the best table in the house. First thing I knew I was 
strapped to it with leather bands round my wrists, my ankles and my waist. I 
felt like an oyster out of its shell. I couldn't move. I began to wonder if 
getting a syndicated feature was worth what might happen. 

There's one thing about these old boys, they do it in style. The old bastard 
had champagne. He held the glass to my lips and we both downed enough that I 
hoped it would kill any coincidental pain. What a dream that was! 

My first sight of the whip made me giggle-you know champagne! My John had 
stripped, I never found out why. But it seems like nakedness is a first rule 
in these affairs. You know, you're not dressed properly unless you're naked. 
He made me kiss it. I did it without a qualm. I really was a sucker. Then he 
backed off. To see him and his blasted whip I had to look back over one 
shoulder. Oh sure! I looked... 

I've read the porno books. One of the most boring bits is where the innocent 
virgin keeps going "Oh!" and "Ah!" and very quickly promises her cunt if the 
guy will lay off whistling the leather across her bum. But dammit, it's like 
that! I'm not going to try and tell you, but it's plain bloody awful. If you 
had six cunts you'd give 'em all just to get him to stop whipping you. My 
John was an expert. He whipped my back, he whipped my bottom, he whipped my 
thighs. But then he got really down to business and whipped up between my 
legs. 

I went quite insane. I struggled and howled, I screamed and screamed. I 
promised my John about every erotic delight in the book if only he'd stop 
whipping me. I expect he'd heard them all before, he just went right on 
happily slashing away at the lovely bit of female flesh he had purchased for 
the evening. I cried for help, and tugged away at the straps that fastened 
me, in a way that must have given him his finest erection in years. When I 
looked over my shoulder, which I did from time to time, he seemed a very 
happy man. 

Anyway, that's enough. I got whipped, but good! But I do have to admit that 
the cheque I got when it was all over did make me think about giving up 
journalism. I was stunned with pain and cash. The Madam wanted me to stay. 
I've often wondered... ! But what I'm trying to tell you is that when I 
crashed on that damn island the things I found there weren't entirely beyond 
my ken. But, as I was telling you, there I was tied to the palm tree 
awaiting my five, which I was sure could become ten or fifteen if I blinked 
an eyelash in the wrong direction. I looked over my shoulder. I expect it's 
a sort of conditioned reflex. 

Dick was flexing the cane back and forth in his hands. It was a shocking 
looking thing with which to whip a girl. He handed it to Wanda, and I could 
see this was about the happiest moment in her life. Not that she had 
anything against me, but I suspect the poor kid had been caned and whipped 
so much she was curious to see what it was like to be on the other end. She 
took a really wild swing and let me have it. 

Right then I wished it was Dick who was giving me the five. He might 
withhold, but Wanda went all out. By that time I was becoming a bit of an 
authority on the result from the impact of a cane or thong across a girl's 
naked body. When she connected with me I forgot everything but how damn much 
it hurt and what I'd do to avoid it. I really went to town with pleas and 
howls while she cut my behind to pieces with her beastly cane and paid no 
heed. 

When I'd had my five they went away and left me. My rear was on fire and I 
was ready to promise anything rather than get any more. I rested my cheek 
against the palm and wept, just like a bloody kid I cried and cried. I hurt 
and I couldn't get loose. For all I knew I'd be tied to that tree all day. I 
saw my halter and shorts laying on the ground, and wondered what was the use 
of putting them back on. I never really wore them for very long. I tried to 
rub my cunt against the tree to get a bit of a good feeling going, but it 
was no go, I was tied far too tight. I just stood there, hurting and scared. 

When they let me loose they took me fishing. It was the damndest fun. I 
enjoyed it immensely. "See what I told you," Wanda said to me seriously. 
"Five isn't all that bad, is it?" 

I wanted to tell her how bad it had been, but kept my trap shut. I'd have to 
be careful. "I loved every stroke of it," I told her untruthfully so that we 
both laughed. "How about me giving you five?" 

They're absolutely nuts! I'd no sooner said it than the little sexpot calls 
out to the boss man: "Dick, darling, can Phyllis give me five next time I've 
been bad?" 

He said 'yes' right on the spot. I could tell he was as much in love with 
her as she was with him. I felt like a yo-yo they were passing back and 
forth. 

"That wasn't what I meant." I told her brazenly. "I mean five right now." 

It made her think. She has quite a tolerance for pain, but only so far. I 
could see she didn't want those five any more than I'd wanted them. But she 
was a good sport. "Darling, can she give them to me now even though I 
haven't done anything?" she called to Dick on the other end of the net. 

There's no flies on Dick, he knew! But he was a good sport too. "D'you 
really want her to cane you, Sweetheart?" He grinned at her. 

"Yes please." The kid managed to convey the feeling that she was about to 
get a present. 

I felt better. "D'you want to be tied?" I asked. 

"Oh yes, you'll have to tie me." She actually giggled. "I'm not all that 
much of a little heroine. I wiggle terribly." 

I could never get used to that Island or those two screwballs; I'd never 
know where I was. I had an awful feeling they were putting me on and that it 
would be me again who'd end up on the wrong end of that cane. "Would you tie 
her, please?" I asked Dick, feeling a fool. 

"It was your idea, Miss Stafford. Go ahead." 

That formal 'Miss Stafford' thing kept me uneasy. If he liked me, even a 
little, he'd call me Phyllis. It left me with the feeling that Miss 
Stafford's hind-end would never be far from getting scorched by his willowy 
rods. Anyway, there I stood. I'd never tied anyone in my life. When he 
placed some cords in my hand I wished I'd kept quiet. 

Wanda was enjoying the whole thing. "Do you want me straight or bent over, 
darling?" she asked, just as though she could hardly wait. "It hurts more 
when I'm bent over," she added helpfully. 

She and her 'darlings!' It was natural for her, the kid loved her whole 
world. I'd fallen in it so she loved me. I tried to stare down her bright 
excited regard, but no go! I guess I'm a bitch. "I'd like you bent over 
then, please," I told her with a nice blend of satire and respect. 

They'd thought of everything for their Game. It would have been cute and 
funny if it hadn't hurt. Beaming with pride, the little darling led me to 
where a tree had been cut off at the right height and a crosspiece laid 
across the top to make a T.' Wanda bent over the thing so that her patch of 
black hair rested on the short horizontal. When she went all the way she was 
draped on that stump as though she was a part of it. That was the moment I 
saw the straps. By the time I'd buckled them on her wrists, ankles and waist 
she hadn't a hope of even twitching her cute little derriere. It was 
sticking up like a round smooth face full of hopeful expectation. Wanda had 
a gift for smiling at both ends. 

It was right there I became erotically excited. That girl was anybody's 
dream. The way she'd tossed aside her bit of cotton and taken up position to 
be caned would have given the hots to a marble statue. Now she was perkily 
looking up at me from upside down as though trusting me to lay it on her 
good. Trouble was I wanted to eat her, not cane her can. But I'd started 
something: something I didn't want to do now I had the chance. I felt pretty 
certain I wouldn't be allowed to give her love taps. When Dick pressed the 
cane into my hands it was like holding a slender living thing with a vicious 
temperament. "I can't do it," I said miserably. It was like hearing someone 
else say the words. 

"Why?" His query was pleasantly polite. 

"I guess I just don't want to hurt her that much." Sure! It sounded feeble. 

"But, darling, I want you to. You'll love it." Wanda was concerned. 

"Are you being temperamental?" Dick inquired in a voice I didn't like. 

"I... I, don't know," I said lamely. "I'm afraid I asked in fun. I never 
thought you'd let me do it." 

"You are being offered an unusual privilege, Miss Stafford." 

Standing there holding that damn cane I felt like fifteen cents, or maybe a 
plugged nickel. "I know," I agreed wanly. "But could I please be excused?" 

"No!" The negative was very emphatic. 

I looked unhappily from one to the other. Surely I couldn't be compelled! 

"Perhaps you'd prefer to take Wanda's place and receive ten instead of 
five?" His voice was still softly suave. 

I should have seen it coming. But it hit me where I hurt. I was trapped, but 
good! 

"Don't get all upset," Wanda warned encouragingly. "Come on, darling, give 
them to me and get it over with. I don't want to be upside-down all 
afternoon. Hit me hard or they won't count." 

I'm not going to come out of this story smelling like a rose. Actually I'm 
just the ordinary modern female bitch, but I suppose that doesn't say much 
for me either. Holding that cane and looking at the kid's gorgeous nakedness 
strapped to that thingummy I felt myself slipping to an all time low. Fact 
was, there was no way I could face ten more of those welts across my rump. I 
was chicken! 

That lousy Island taught me something. Whips and canes and things always 
hurt. When you speak of getting used to them it isn't the pain you get used 
to, it's the shock. The awful traumatic shock of something impossible to 
bear and knowing yourself unable to do a thing about it. Being tied or 
strapped is pure panic. The way Wanda was fixed would have had me trying to 
climb the wall. It didn't bother her, she was accustomed to being helpless 
and waiting for something to happen. Secretly she got a big bang out of the 
suspense. But I hadn't progressed that far... not then! 

I had enough sense to keep quiet. Anything I'd have said would have come out 
wrong. I hit that glorious girl's lovely little bottom as hard as I could. 

Even that didn't turn out well. Phyllis Stafford, the successful columnist, 
wasn't shit hot when it came to caning a girl's backside. 

"I don't think you're standing quite right," Wanda complained regretfully. 

"Can't possibly count an effort like that," Dick said briskly. "Here, let me 
show you." 

Sure, sure! It's crazy, I know! But it was exactly like having the golf pro 
show you how to hold the rotten club. Right on down to where he rubs his 
erection against you and waits for your reaction. But in this case there 
wasn't any free lesson for letting him fuck me. 

I'd never have believed there was any skill in whipping a girl's bottom 
displayed in the way Wanda's was. But there is! I learned it. By the time 
I'd given her the five I knew she was in bad shape. I could sense that if I 
hadn't been there, if it had been Dick who had caned her, she'd have been 
crying buckets. But, for me, she held on to all she had and at the finish 
managed a very wobbly "Thank you, darling, you did wonderfully." 

From the stripes across her flesh I was sure I had. I don't suppose the poor 
child gets time to heal between beatings, but there were my five standing 
out in proud ridges of flesh that made me curl up inside. But here's the 
kicker: I curled up in pure lustful joy, no regrets, no shame, no 
contrition. I'd never felt so worked up in my life, my cunt was on fire. I 
longed to start all over. When the little sweetheart came out with a bit of 
pure bravado and pleaded in that unbearably sexy voice, "Just one more, 
darling, please. Extra, extra hard!", I gave it to her with all the force of 
my arm and then proceeded to go into orgasm on the spot. I stood there with 
the cane, clutching my sex, bent and moaning in one of the wildest and 
prolonged spasms I have ever known. 

Wanda was moaning with me, for all I know for the same reason. But when she 
got herself back to normal she said brightly, "You see, darling, I told you 
so! Isn't it wonderful?" 

"Welcome to the club, Miss Stafford," said Dick. I knew he was laughing. 

I blushed like a schoolgirl. I wanted to curl up and hide. It was far worse 
than being naked. I managed to save myself from total disorganization by 
getting busy on the job of freeing that poor kid from the thing she was bent 
over. The first thing she did when she could stand was kiss me and squeeze 
my arm in sympathy. She'd guessed... 

In the telling of this you have to remember that for those two everything 
was normal, for me it wasn't. I was in a state of constant outrage. Their 
daily routine was, for me, the most appalling imposition on my freedom and 
my person. I dared not reveal the successive spasms of revolt they 
triggered. I was desperately afraid of Dick's whip. Knowing myself, I was 
quite sure I would pick up quite enough stripes along the way without 
deliberately indulging in being completely natural. 

At this time, too, I was grappling with the matter of speech. Just how 
subservient and humble could I be without making myself puke? Can a girl 
like me efface herself by unction! I doubted it, but I had to try. I was 
quite certain Dick was intending to whip me again quite soon, but he was 
watching for me to build up enough demerits to make it justifiable. Don't 
get me wrong. He wasn't being cruel, not by his standards. He believed I 
really needed to be whipped again as a help to adjusting. It was going to 
have to be me who did all the adjusting, not them. I wondered if seeing me 
naked so often had made him desire me. I didn't want him to fuck me, I 
wanted Wanda. But I very much wanted him to get the urge. Then I'd have a 
weapon! A girl's cunt is her best friend as well as being her worst enemy. 

Wanda tugged on her bit of a dress. I'd kept on my halter and shorts while 
I'd whipped her. Being all dressed up we needed somewhere to go, so Dick 
took us on a tour of the island, just for my benefit. It didn't take long. 
It was a sweet little place that gave me two very clear messages, Dick 
probably wanted me to get them. One was that no girl would have any luck 
running away and trying to hide. The other was that no search was likely to 
bother with so tiny a dot in the ocean. I enjoyed all they showed me, but I 
was depressed. By the time we got back I felt as though a real ball and 
chain had been welded on my ankle. I just simply wasn't going anywhere and 
the sooner I made myself the way Wanda was the better. I groaned at the 
thought; not that I wouldn't want to be a Wanda, but I had to deal in 
possibilities. I knew the whip would get me half way there. But the other 
half... ! It scared me. 

I suppose you're chuckling at the thought of what comes next! I was thinking 
about it but not chuckling. I did not relish being tied again. I was sure I 
was going to be, along with Wanda. But the Tie I'd had the day before was 
still vivid in my mind. Those straps fastening my wrists to the posts had 
infected me with a sort of claustrophobia. There had been something 
frightening and humiliating in being held so completely helpless by two 
small scraps of leather. And when a girl's tied she's so beautifully 
available for the whip. 

I was bothered, not only by what I knew was going to happen, but by a 
nagging insistence that surely there was something I could do about it. The 
use of force was implicit in Dick's command over me, but I'd given him no 
cause to use it. Yesterday's session had shattered my confidence. I'd heard 
myself being humble in a way that had changed something forever. But I was 
hurting a bit less now. Thoughts of knocking him cold when he wasn't looking 
began to crowd my mind. With him out of the way I could probably handle the 
girl. Handling Wanda was something I wanted very much to do. 

All very silly! Come right down to it I knew I could not hit Dick on the 
head with a club, even if I had one. Besides, what would I do with him then? 
I could pretty well figure that any physical revolt would end in an 
undignified scuffle and a lot more whip marks on my skin. But how about 
sticking my feet in and refusing to play? Good old noncooperation. It hadn't 
worked the day before, so why should it work today:? Summing it up I figured 
that unless I could get Dick to fuck me I was a girl without much of a 
future. On the spur of impulse I tried to make a virtue out of my state of 
mind. I blurted out the whole thing to him, feeling like a penitent little 
girl about eight years old. 

Wanda, of course, was entranced. But Dick listened to me gravely, I don't 
suppose a word of it was news. "Makes a bit of sense out of fastening your 
foot to the bed at night," he suggested dryly. 

"Yes Master." It did too, dammit! "Do you expect to be punished for this 
baring of the soul?" 

"No Master." I'd have to work like blazes to rationalize this one! "I have 
told you of thoughts and wishes I can't control. I'm scared of them myself. 
I don't want to be whipped again like yesterday, but as long as they are 
there I'm in constant danger." I made my eyes beam their best at him. 

He laughed with such enjoyment that I found myself smiling sheepishly. Wanda 
frankly giggled. When everyone got around to my problem Dick summed it up 
quite neatly. "We have to get; you out of danger, then," he chuckled. "That 
means we have to get those thoughts out of your mind. You mustn't feel bad 
about 'em. Hell, girl, they're natural. That's why you have to be whipped." 

My heart dropped with a thump. I'd gone 'round in a circle. "Master, I think 
I'm hoping you'll just let me stay with you without... without the, the 'you 
know what'. I'll behave, and you can... well, you can do whatever you like 
with me... " I trailed off hopefully. In front of Wanda I was damned if I 
could bring myself to say outright that he could fuck me all he pleased, but 
surely he could get that message! 

He nodded in complete understanding. My heart beat a bit easier. I'd 
probably get whipped, but not right now. "You've explained a position," he 
acknowledged. "But think a bit. You dropped in out of the sky. Why should 
Wanda and I change a lifestyle because of you?" 

I thought of chivalry, of noblesse oblige and plain old hospitality. But I 
couldn't come up with a good answer to his question. Unless I conformed, or 
was made to conform, to the way they lived I'd be a disturbing factor, a 
walking reproof. I knew I was sunk. 

He laughed at my quandary. He even gently patted my shoulder. "Stop 
worrying, Miss Stafford. Leave everything to me. You'll surprise yourself." 

I knew that leaving everything to him meant I'd be whipped until I grew up. 
But I felt better. You know, confession is good for the soul! With feminine 
irrationality I said, "My name's Phyllis, y'know." And, once more, blushed 
as though I'd lit a fire. 

What I had done must have helped, helped me, I mean. Because when the time 
came I was ready for it, I didn't feel like a victim of the Inquisition. 
'Time for our Tie, darling," Wanda announced brightly, as though speaking of 
a coffee break. She was obviously immensely curious as to how I was going to 
behave. 

I don't suppose I'll ever get used to stripping naked the way I have to in 
front of Dick. It's not a matter of prudery or modesty or any of that stuff, 
it's a giving away of a part of yourself, an admission you belong to him and 
have to do what you're told. But I added my halter and shorts to the little 
pile on the ground started by Wanda's only trifle. Looking at the pathetic 
small relics I reflected bitterly on how much of being a woman lay there on 
the sand. 

Dick has the damnedest way of admiring what I uncover. He is quite frank and 
open about it, he'll even make comments. It's easy to see why Wanda hasn't a 
single inhibition. It makes me want to use my hands for cover. I have to 
exert will power to keep 'em away from my tits and twat. I'll be damned if 
I'll play the shrinking violet. But this time he just spared my treasures a 
fleeting glance while he fiddled with the cords, the cords that made me 
cringe just to see. 

"Back to back, darlings, if you please." 

This had to be a new one. I could see Wanda was intrigued. Obediently we got 
into position. The feel of that girl's flesh all the way up and down my 
spine damn near made me come again. He tied us together at the waist, 
several tight bands that made me gasp and little bright-eyes giggle. 

"Wrists crossed in front, Phyllis." 

The 'Phyllis' told me I'd been promoted. I crossed my wrists. He corded them 
tight, the knot where I couldn't see it. While he was fixing Wanda the same 
way I flexed my arms. They were really tight, but I'd be able to lift the 
bindings to my teeth... 

I need not have worried, the punch line was still to come. It was painfully 
simple, a cord from my wrists pulled down and back between my legs and up 
between Wanda's. It circled her wrist tie and came back again. When he 
cinched it we both yelped. 

"A bit of an innovation, darlings," Dick announced. "It's in honour of our 
guest." He actually pinched my left nipple in a painful and absent-minded 
sort of way before returning to his main task. 

I don't want to be a bore about all these blushes, but I'd never previously 
experienced a man's thumb and forefinger separating the lips of my cunt so 
that two strands of cord went right inside me. He didn't honour Wanda with a 
similar attention, so it was just me who gasped when he reefed the line so 
blasted tight I could picture my poor little sex neatly cut in two. It hurt 
like hell. I was sure it was supposed to. Pleased with his work, Dick 
circled us a couple of times, kissed his little darling, nodded 
encouragingly to me, and left us alone. 

I didn't struggle. You can figure out why. But little Sweetheart came up 
with her usual happy giggle. "Isn't Dick clever?" she glowed. "He's never 
done this one before... I'm so glad you came." She tried to wiggle her 
bottom against mine, just to show how good she felt to be tied to me. 

I yelped again from the motion. Instantly she guessed. "Oh, darling, have 
the cords got inside?" 

I admitted my shame. 

She giggled commiseratingly. "He's got one up on either side of mine," she 
confessed. "Poor Dick, he thinks I'm not old enough. I say, darling, can't 
you get a bit of a good feeling out of it?" 

"All I'll get is a longer cunt." I was feeling sorry for myself. Exploring 
with my fingers told me I'd best leave well enough alone, the cords were in 
me to stay. If my clit was getting any favourable sensation she sure wasn't 
passing it on to me! "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but it hurts so much I'm scared 
to move." 

"Don't worry," she promised. "I'm not exactly comfortable either. He's 
really foxed us. I'll be a good girl." 

What a hell of a position it was! Standing there back to back with our 
crossed wrists just above our cunts. There was just no way we were going to 
get loose. Even if it didn't hurt so much to try, we couldn't do a thing 
with our hands. For sure we could not raise them. Wiggle our fingers a bit 
perhaps, but that only showed us how deeply the cords were embedded in our 
flesh. It was going to be a bad time for two female crotches, and that's all 
there was to it. 

"In an everyday Tie he doesn't usually make it hurt like this," Wanda 
confided. "I think Dick's trying to impress you." 

"No need for him to hurt you too." 

"Oh, I don't mind!" She was instantly eager to absolve me from concern. "We 
can talk to each other, it's not so bad. Do you want to try sliding down on 
our heels so we can sit? Or would that make it cut more?" 

I was horrified at the thought. It would cut us in two and, once down, we'd 
never get to our feet again. I felt precarious enough standing as we were. 
If we lost balance and went over we'd flounder like a couple of fish tossed 
out of the water. I told her so. 

"I expect you're right, darling. Dick thinks of everything," she sighed in 
pure homage to genius. "Phyllis, I've been thinking about that word you use 
so easily. I'm sort of scared of it, you know the one?" 

"Cunt?" 

"That's it. The way we're fixed right now made me remember what you said... 
how you'd lick mine and I'd lick yours. I'd really like to try, I think we'd 
love it. I feel beautifully goosey just thinking... Are you sure you don't 
want me to get Dick's permission?" 

"Absolutely! Mention it to him and you'll get me whipped for sure. He might 
even have a go at you. It's something men won't go for." 

"I bet he'd be amused. He'd probably like to watch." I could almost feel her 
pouting. 

"Honey, believe me, he wouldn't be amused." 

"You mean we're never going to get to try it?" Wanda sounded heartbroken. 

"Can't we get off on our own sometime? Or how about nights? I'm tied to my 
bed, but you aren't. The rope on my ankle wouldn't stop a thing." 

The little darling was curious and intrigued; I could feel her shivering. 
Imagine how I felt! But she wasn't about to betray her Dick. Everything had 
to be on the up and up. There we were, tied helplessly back to back and 
wanting each other so bad it hurt worse than those damn cords. I had the 
hots for that girl to such a degree I just surrendered. I sighed forlornly 
and said, "Oh go ahead then, honey, ask him. Maybe you know him better than 
I do. I'll take a chance on him whipping me. I might as well get it for that 
as anything else." 

If we'd been free, she'd have hugged and kissed me. She was pure delight. 
Her happiness was infectious, I had something to look forward to as well, if 
Dick said yes... I tried not to think about the whip. We left it at that. 
I'd tossed my bread upon the waters... ! 

It was agony to be welded flesh to flesh to that pulsating girl and to be 
helpless. I wondered if Dick was a sadist, but I think it was just his idea 
of an amusing situation. The two cords cutting into our vulvas was his way 
of exerting a bit of authority. He didn't want the day's Tie to be just a 
giggle for two girls. I think he saw me as a demoralizing influence, which 
in fact I was. Wanda and I weren't making motions, but even our breathing 
imparted sensation. Our behinds were absolutely clamped together by the 
cinch 'round our tummies. This meeting of our curves had the effect of 
thrusting our cunts into prominence out front, but there was no erotic 
wiggling for us. Between the bands 'round our waist and the cords up between 
our legs we were closer together than any Siamese twins ever managed to be. 
I was frustrated half out of my mind. "Isn't it lovely being tied together 
like this?" my fellow captive enthused. "I've never been tied to anyone 
before." 

"Be a lot nicer if we were face to face." 

She instantly saw the possibilities. "If we were, could we do things?" 

"Depends on how tight lover boy tied us." 

"I don't think you should talk about Dick like that." 

"Give him a report, honey. I think he wants an excuse to whip me." 

"There you go again. It's not so much that he wants to whip you; he wants to 
help you settle down with us." 

"What's he helping you with when he laces into you? Like those five awful 
stripes you've got now?" 

"Just to behave, darling. A girl so easily forgets she's just a girl." 

"Horse balls! We're better than men any day!" 

The poor girl let out an enchanted, "Oooo!" that was half shock. "You are 
silly." She chided like a little mother. "How can we be better? We wouldn't 
be like this if we were. Don't ever let him hear you say that, he'd punish 
you terribly." 

I was sure she was right. But I was getting a bit of a charge out of playing 
the enfant terrible; it was a diversion in the painful fix we were in, so I 
tried again. "How about the two of us ganging up on him and tying him up? We 
could keep him tied and make him do the things we wanted?" 

I could feel the ripple of horror go right through the child. Her voice was 
awed by my temerity, I had uttered blasphemy. "Oh darling! Oh please... 
Don't say such awful things." 

"But supposing we had the chance, would you help me?" 

"No, no, no!" She managed to stamp one foot for an emphasis that hurt both 
our cunts. "You mustn't! I won't listen...!" 

"You can't help listening to me, sweetheart, the way your hero has you tied 
you have no choice. Anyway, I don't see why you and I have to be a pair of 
slave girls in order to tickle his majesty's ego and give him a stiff 
prick." 

Her muscular indignation was so fervent my cunt wished I'd kept quiet. I 
don't know about hers. As I've said, Wanda has an amazing tolerance for 
pain. I wished I could have seen her face, it was probably a real panic. 
"Ohoooo! what you said!" She considered my genital reference cautiously. "Is 
that true, darling? Does looking after us girls make that thing between a 
man's legs stick up hard and rigid the way it often does? You mean whipping 
us or tying us up makes it do that?" 

"Sure, didn't you know?" 

"I'd often wondered," she admitted, "but when I ate it with my mouth and 
tongue it got quite tremendous." 

"It will do that too," I admitted dryly. 

"Isn't it all simply wonderful?" Bright-eyes mused thoughtfully. "Aren't we 
terribly lucky?" 

I couldn't follow her reasoning, not that it mattered. To Wanda everything 
was wonderful. I knew I could tell her things, but I wasn't too sure how 
kindly Dick would take to having innocence stripped from his love. A too 
knowledgeable little girl would likely earn me a fine old-fashioned 
flogging. Thoughtlessly I went too far in another direction. "When we jump 
him and tie him up," I exclaimed in a burst of enthusiasm, "let's milk him 
all day long with our lips and our fingers until he howls." 

I knew right away I'd gone too far. To Wanda her Dick was holy. I felt her 
lovely slenderness tense against the cords that bound us together, the words 
that she uttered were broken and disjointed: "Phyllis... Why, oh why? It's 
awful. You shouldn't...!" All of a sudden I almost jumped out of my skin as 
she cried at the top of her voice, "Dick. Dick, darling, come here... 
Quick!" 

I won't say he came running, but he came. I could see he was puzzled. His 
first glance was to the cords. But he could easily tell we were tied as 
tight as when he'd left us. He gave my female portions a good scrutiny 
before he went 'round to look at bright-eyes. I knew I was really for it 
this time. For the thine I'd said, he'd whip me into unconsciousness. I 
listened, I couldn't see. Every move I made hurt my cunt, even to try and 
look over my shoulder. 

"Trouble, darling?" He was genuinely concerned. 

My heart was thumping so loud I was scared he'd hear it. I waited for the 
accusation, and then the sentence. I could feel the whip. 

There was a longer silence than seemed called for. I could feel Wanda's 
female nakedness strain against the cords that made us one. I no longer 
cared that her movements hurt my cunt. Any pain I felt now was as nothing to 
what I knew would soon be inflicted on me. I could think of Dick's rage, I 
could understand it. He'd cut me to pieces. In a way I deserved it. Wanda 
was sweet and clean. I shouldn't have pushed her that far. 

I waited for the death blow. I had gone past hoping or caring. I was for the 
high jump for sure. I heard Wanda gulp and swallow. I'll swear I could 
follow that swallow all the way down, we were cinched that tight! When she 
spoke the words that were to destroy me I damn near passed out. 

"Oh, Dick darling. I'm so glad you came. Could we please have the cord 
that's up between our legs loosened a bit? It hurts terribly. It hurts a lot 
more than it's supposed to for just a Tie." 

You know about suspended animation, that was me! Not that I was animated, 
but for moments I stopped everything. I was waiting for Wanda to tell Dick 
what I'd said. That was the drill, wasn't it? Why else had she called him? 

Dick took what his darling said at face value. We probably both of us looked 
pretty peaked. I expect the cords had disappeared into Wanda's flesh as they 
had in mine. Actually we were being tortured, in a mild sort of way, I 
suppose, but still tortured. 

"Hurt that bad, sweetheart?" He was all goo. 

"Oh, Dick, it's awful." 

That was enough for lover boy. First thing I knew, his fingers were busy 
above my twat. I could have cried out in pure happiness when the cords 
loosened and the pain dropped about ninety percent. I said a heartfelt 
"Thank you, Master," and then listened to little darling tell him how sweet 
he was. I could almost agree with her. 

When he had left us alone again there was a long silence that neither of us 
seemed to want to break. Finally curiosity got the best of me and I asked, 
quite simply: "Why?" 

"I couldn't do it." She sounded close to tears. "Oh, Phyllis, everything's 
so wrong!" She tugged desperately at her bound wrists so that my own were 
tugged down in answer to the strain. "The thing you said was awful... 
terribly wrong. But when it came time I just couldn't tell. I got to 
thinking of the manta tail and you screaming... " She tugged again and again 
as though venting all her distress on the cords that made us helpless. 

I felt an absolute bitch. The poor kid felt so deeply. The things I'd said 
now seemed cheap and unkind. Compared to Wanda I felt ashamed of myself. If 
she'd wanted to say a few words I'd now be one of the sorriest girls in the 
world. But she had not said them; we were even a helluva lot more 
comfortable than we'd been before. I was tremendously grateful and utterly 
shamed before her innocent wish to be kind. I had to choke back an insane 
notion to shout for Dick and make a full confession, I was that humbled by 
the sweet kid to whom I was so brutally tied. "Why don't you like being 
naked?" 

Her question caught me unaware. But this, too, would be touchy ground. 
"Saves a girl's breasts bobbing up and down," I told her lamely. 

She thought it over a bit, I suppose I was becoming suspect. "Mine don't bob 
up and down," she said doubtfully. "But I suppose you're a little older... " 
She took the thing a step further. "Why do you want to cover your cunt? It 
doesn't do anything?" 

Well! I ask you! If it hadn't been for Dick and his nice little set-up of 
Codes and behavior I could have given the child the full treatment of birds 
and bees and the Garden of Eden. But, anyway, how do you go about it with a 
girl who you're tied to the way I was tied to Wanda? Dick had loosened up a 
bit on the cords, but our cunts were still compressed by the same ligatures 
and we still couldn't move much without hurting. I was still groping for an 
answer when she carried on. 

"It's your breasts and your cunt you want to cover. But why, darling? What 
makes them any different than the rest of a girl?" 

Delightful, eh? The innocence, I mean. But, standing there tied to her, I 
found myself asking whether she didn't have the right of it. Why sneer at 
innocence, maybe it was just common sense. But, for sure, I was in no shape 
to give the kid a lecture on the moral mores of the human race. I clutched 
at a straw. "Darling, if we go around with our breasts and nipples twinkling 
and our cunts peeping out through our pubic hair we'd have all the men going 
bonkers. They'd all have an erection all the time. It would make things very 
difficult when you're all busy making a living." 

She had to try and visualize what I was talking about. It certainly was not 
her Island! "But what about a girl's Tie?" she asked, puzzled. "We don't 
wear anything then... " Hell! What's the use? I could go on and on. Let's 
just say that for Phyllis Stafford it was a bloody difficult afternoon. 

Bedtime wasn't much better. I was hoping Dick wouldn't tie me, and he was 
wondering whether he should or he shouldn't. I wished he would let me sleep 
with one or the other of them; it would have saved a lot of trouble. But we 
ended up standing beside my bed and looking at the inviting loop of rope I 
was supposed to stick my ankle into. 

"Must I, Master?" I gave it all the poignancy I could dig. 

He didn't bother to answer, just made me one of those "be my guest" motions 
of the arm. He also smiled very charmingly at my girlish modesty about 
taking off my clothes. I was pretty sure I could have fun with that guy if 
it wasn't for little bright-eyes busy watching. 

I did my strip tease. I made it as erotic as I could, but there's not that 
much scope with what I had on. If I had to be naked, and if I had to be 
bound, I wanted to give him as much frustration as possible. We both knew I 
was watching the bulge beneath the bit of stuff he wore around his loins. 
Hell, I'd nothing to lose! 

"Please don't tie me, Master." In a puckish mood I knelt at his feet and 
bowed my head in submissive appeal. It's a pose that ought to harden the 
limpest dink. Or soften the hardest heart. 

Dick didn't say a word, just admired me quietly for a few moments and 
stepped away. Curious, I looked up. He was turning back to me. He had picked 
up his favourite whip. In panicky haste I leaped to my feet and positioned 
myself on the bed. I got my foot through that damn loop so quick you'd have 
thought it the thing I desired most in the world, and at that moment I guess 
it was! I looked up at my Master in pure fear and trembling. 

He didn't whip me. Dick had some sort of tolerance of his own for female 
frailty, probably just an overflow of his affection for the kid. He just 
grinned to let me know he was up to my little tricks. Then he got down on 
his knees and reached under the bed. The loop of rope 'round my ankle 
suddenly got tight. 

In the dark I cried. I was glad they could not see my tears. I was ashamed 
of them. Me! Weeping like a baby! But I couldn't help it. The rope 'round my 
ankle had a strange potency in telling me I could never, never be free 
again. Life on the Island was wonderful for Dick and Wanda, but it sure 
wasn't much for that one time journalist Phyllis Stafford. 

During the next few days I managed not to get whipped. I made enough gaffes 
and bloopers, but I was very obedient and submissive about the daily Tie, I 
think it helped. It beats all what a girl can adjust to. I got tied in all 
sorts of ways and to all sorts of things, always naked, of course! But after 
the first day Dick tied Wanda and I apart where we couldn't see each other 
or talk. All alone and tied to my tree or the posts or whatever, I came to 
realize there was something in what they'd told me about meditation and a 
chance to think. Whilst I hadn't gotten that far myself, I could understand 
that, for Wanda who'd been tied as far back as she could remember, it could 
easily become a restful period each day and something to look forward to. I 
tried out the languid postures she'd spoken of. Once I snoozed. 

I had something to think about. Wanda, I think mischievously, made constant 
reference to the coming Friday with its gala event: She and I would both get 
our bottoms caned. This delightful custom was referred to euphemistically as 
"The Girls' Penalty," or maybe more casually as simply "Friday." For the 
rest of my life I will be unable to think of Friday without feeling the cut 
of a cane across my naked rump. Anyway, I didn't relish it. Wanda's 
assurance that I'd come to love it didn't cut much ice compared with my 
memory of that awful whipping the first day when I'd been strapped to the 
twin posts. I was still striped all over the place. I couldn't see how a 
girl could take that once a week and live, not right then I couldn't. 

It was my privilege to be first. Guest of honflur, I suppose. To keep me 
where he wanted me, Dick had thought up a real honey of a device. The stuff 
washed up on the beach plus the natural abundance of the Island provided an 
abundance of bits of wood and sticks and poles and posts. This contraption 
was simply a couple of poles staked to the ground and pegged together at one 
end, the other end was open like a pair of jaws. In the middle of each, Dick 
had managed to carve out a pair of half circles, I was invited to strip and 
stand where the two poles could be closed together imprisoning my ankles in 
the two circlets. Since the poles were about ten feet long, a girl fastened 
in the centre would have no hope of reaching either end to free herself. 

Trying to look grateful for what I was about to receive, I stepped into the 
trap and watched the poles come together and neatly clip my ankles about a 
foot apart. The circlets were a tight fit. So far as my own efforts were 
concerned I'd stand there forever. Dolefully I turned and watched Dick 
position the loose ends and tie them firmly. I was fixed, but good! 

Dick gave me a little lecture. Wanda loved it. So did he, the bastard! I 
gave it my polite attention. For sure, I was going to be extra special 
polite about then! I felt like something taken from its nice protective 
shell and laid out in the open. He explained that the virtue of the fix I 
was in lay in the fact I was almost free. Only my ankles were held. The rest 
of me could make any motions I wanted to contrive. True, I wouldn't be 
taking a walk, and I couldn't kick anyone. But apart from those trifles I 
was a lucky girl. 

It transpired that these quaint stocks in which I stood were designed to 
build character. A girl getting her bottom caned while in their embrace had 
the choice of making an exhibition of herself, or of displaying the good 
stuff of which she was made by standing still and smiling while her bottom 
got soundly tanned. Dick added, as an afterthought, the info' that a girl 
who made a bit of fuss naturally ended up with a lot of extra marks. Any 
girl ran the hazard of reaching back her hands to soothe her scorched skin 
and getting caned across her knuckles in the process. This was why my hands 
were not tied. I would have to learn to dispose them acceptably while being 
punished. In short, I was once again being reduced to childhood, but with an 
adult bottom on which would fall an adult cane. Gosh! Wasn't I a lucky girl! 

My final indignity came when that smiling son-of-a-bitch explained that I 
could take my first slash standing up and the second bending over to touch 
the pole that was looking after my feet. I'd have to alternate, the onus of 
keeping track was mine. There was also a nice stable currency with which I 
could pay for errors or omissions or bad behavior. I could just hold out my 
hand and get a stinger across the palm. Those two bits of wood that looked 
as though some farmer had dropped 'em off by accident held more potential 
for a girl's self control than the Girl Guides and the local Convent put 
together. 

Let me indulge in a pun. My number one stroke left me painfully uncertain. 
It hurt like Hell, but it wasn't in the same class as those of my first 
beating. Instinctively my hands flew back to feel my hurt. It was only by my 
greatest effort of will that I pulled them away in time to save offense. 
Having done so I was left wondering what to do with them. Silly, I guess, 
but I couldn't for the life of me think of a good place to put them. I 
actually wished they were tied and out of the way. 

Figure my plight, standing bare-naked and unable to move my feet. I couldn't 
let my hands just dangle, the tip of the cane might get them. To clasp them 
in front looked as though I was praying. To join them at the back of my 
neck, which certainly makes a most attractive pose for a naked girl, would 
seem as though I was enjoying the whole affair and please hit me harder. The 
only use I'd have for them was when I bent over to touch the post. 

Wanda had taken up a position well in front. The little darling wanted to 
sustain my morale with her smile of encouragement, and also give me a stern 
nod of disapproval if I started to do something wrong. The space at my rear 
was well taken up by my Master with his damn cane. Since he'd be moving from 
side to side so as to get both my cheeks well beaten he'd need all the space 
he could get, that and the swing of his arm. It was really beautifully 
organized. 

Suddenly I realized I had to bend over for number two. But when? I didn't 
want to seem eager. The more time between strokes the better so far as I was 
concerned. On the other hand if I was dilatory... ! I could see that was 
another one I wasn't going to win. Gracefully, as though before a camera, I 
bent forward until the tips of my fingers touched the pole. The cane 
instantly bit me as if it had been waiting for just that chance. 

I think bending over doubles the pain; I thought so then. I made some weird 
sound I can't describe and snapped upright. My hands flew to my burning seat 
and were immediately rewarded for their trespass by a slash that managed to 
catch both sets of knuckles. It was bloody awful I moaned and hugged my 
injured hands beneath my armpits, which fortunately was an acceptable 
disposal. Through the pain I wondered desperately if that stroke counted. If 
it did I was now due to bend over. But I most urgently longed to keep my 
fingers where they were for a little while and nurse them back from their 
raging agony. The dilemma was settled for me: the stroke had not counted. It 
cut me now while I was leaning forward hugging myself. 

It was almost a relief. Number three was a repeat of number one. It gave me 
time to realize that if I kept my hands out of the way I might get through 
this absurd ordeal credibly. Only half my stripes would verge on the 
unbearable. Anxiously I bent down and touched the pole with numbed and 
throbbing fingers, then gasped and moaned as number four striated the 
stretched skin curved to receive it. 

I suppose I have to give the bastard some credit for judgment. After a bad 
start I found he was caning me in such a way and with the blows so spaced 
that I was able to cope. My "Girls' Penalty" was following the prescribed 
course. Not a real flogging, just a sort of gentle reminder. Gentle... Holy 
cow! 

I had no idea how many strokes I was supposed to get. The tempo we had 
fallen into could very well go on all day. From time to time I looked at 
Wanda appealingly, but she just gave me her brightest smile as though I was 
doing fine and just carry on. My bottom was a raging furnace. When the quiet 
steady succession of blows had reduced me to a fear I wasn't going to be 
able to take it after all without a scene, they stopped. 

"Intermission," my Master announced cheerfully. 

The relief was almost worth it. Feeling more than ever like a child I asked 
plaintively: "Can I rub my bottom now, please?" 

They both laughed. I'm sure the request from an adult female must have 
sounded quaint. But I didn't care. I wanted to rub my wounds in the worst 
way and be damned to 'em. At that moment I probably looked utterly forlorn. 

"Permission granted," Dick managed between chuckles. "Rub as hard and as 
long as you like." 

"It doesn't help half as much as you think it will, darling," Wanda 
explained regretfully from her long experience. 

She was right. You can't rub too hard or it hurts. But there is some strange 
soothing sensation in simply splaying out your hands to cover as much of 
your two cheeks as possible and just holding them there. It's actually 
erotic. Standing there and doing just that, I knew I looked silly, but I 
didn't give a damn. I found myself wondering if the tremendously compulsive 
urge came from sensory need or was nature's way of shielding the spot from 
further damage. But anyway I did it and little by little patted myself back 
to where I could stand upright and pay polite attention to my company. 

Wanda and Dick were squatting on the ground surveying me with tremendous 
approval. I had to suppose my performance had been satisfactory. Quite 
casually, as though I was not standing there with locked feet and burning 
bottom, they drifted into conversation in which I found myself included. 
Everything was going fine; all was well with the Island. My condition was 
normal! I longed to know how much more I had to suffer. I wanted to believe 
my penalty over, but dared not ask. I realized that part of it might be my 
having to stand as I was a long, long time. I suppose it was my looking a 
bit dejected that prompted little bright eyes to drop the bomb. 

"Dick darling, the poor dear looks a bit down. May I lick her cunt?" 

You could have cut the silence with a knife. I'd forgotten my rash weakness 
in telling the child to go ahead with the devastating request for permission 
to do the thing I wanted most of all. Now I stood, naked and helpless, 
delivered to the wrath to come. I could feel my nerves twitching here and 
there in pure fear. 

Dick took it slow and easy, the clever swine! "Why would you want to do 
that, sweetheart?" he asked in an absent sort of way that gave her no 
warning of the trap. 

"I think it would feel scrumptious. It would cheer her up. 'Cuz you're not 
through with her yet, are you." She beamed at her deity adoringly. "And then 
she could do it to me when it's my turn. I think it's a lovely idea. Oh, 
darling, please...?" 

I could tell he was doing some heavy thinking. So was I! I longed to have my 
feet free and to run... run like hell! He leaned forward and patted her 
affectionately on the shoulder. "Sweetheart, I've just remembered... be a 
good girl and trot back to the fire and bank it up. Don't hurry, Phyllis 
needs a break." 

Wanda got the message. She got slowly to her feet, her face stricken. When 
she turned her eyes to mine they implored forgiveness. I could see she was 
deathly scared and did not know what to say. This was something new for her. 
I knew myself the serpent in her Eden, and cursed the heat between my legs 
that had brought about her misery and the agony that would fall to me. I 
watched her trudge drearily away. I had never seen her loveliness so 
desolate. 

When we were alone, my Master gave me his full attention. "That came from 
you, didn't it?" 

"Yes." 

"Why the Hell couldn't you leave well enough alone, you silly bitch?" 

"I'm asking myself the same question." I admitted dolefully and with truth. 
"Have you really got the hots for the kid that bad?" 

"Yes." 

He was a bit taken aback by my ready admissions. "Would it help you out if I 
released you from that thing and gave you the fucking of your life?" 

"I think it might help you more than me," I told him, not caring what 
payment such honesty might earn. 

It hit him like a blow. The poor bastard had to be so hungry for a woman 
that it hurt. He got to his feet, his lips grim. "Wanda will stay away for 
awhile," he said with certainty. 

The moment he separated the poles I ran. I was so damn scared of the 
punishment I was going to get I wasn't thinking straight. I was going to try 
and reach the girl before he grabbed me. Wanda would be an ally. She might 
talk him out of whipping me half to death. 

He caught me within ten paces and slapped my face from side to side until I 
was dizzy and sank to my knees. I heard a broken voice that was my own sob 
brokenly: "I don't mind. I want you to fuck me. I'm just frightened, that's 
all." I lay down on my back and opened my legs wide in the oldest invitation 
in the world and watched Dick toss away his loincloth, saw, too, that which 
I was about to get. It was very, very ready. 

Look, I'm not going to slip you any fine descriptive prose. I wasn't the 
first girl to be fucked like that. I didn't kid myself I was being all that 
badly treated. I'd asked him for it, why would I beef! All I'll tell you is 
that I made one hell of a lot more noise from what he did to me than I ever 
had from his caning. 

He never withdrew. He knew with certainty we were going a second round. With 
his weight on me alive and pulsing I tried for a female advantage. I stroked 
his damp hair with one hand and his back with the other while he was 
ravenously devouring my nipples. "Darling. I'm sorry. Honest I am. Please 
don't whip me. I'm frightened. I'll be good." 

"You are good," he said sardonically, ignoring my plea. 

Once more he plunged into the depths. Once more my cries and whimpering rang 
out to Venus or Aphrodite or whoever it is who hears the agony of a girl in 
coitus. For a little while I forgot about the whip. 

Quite absurdly, Dick brushed the dirt off my naked back with his bit of 
cloth before he put it back on. I said an embarrassed "Thank you, Master," 
and awaited instructions. There did not seem to be any. So, to show what a 
good girl I was prepared to be, I went and fitted my ankles back into the 
holes in one of the poles. In an absent-minded sort of way Dick locked them 
in and made the poles secure. Then he went and squatted where he'd been 
before. He looked at me, frankly enjoying my nudity. I stood erect, making 
the best of myself. I clasped my errant hands behind my back where they 
would hide nothing. 

"That didn't change anything," he said heavily. 

My heart did a nose dive. "I hoped it did," I admitted simply. 

"Big disappointment eh?" He sounded amused. "I told you, I'm terribly 
frightened. I think that whip could kill me." 

"Who said anything about a whip?" 

It was true, he hadn't said a thing. I felt foolish. "I'm afraid I took it 
for granted," I saw awkwardly. "I suppose that's an admission of guilt." 

"There's lots of ways to punish a girl," he said, continuing to assess me. 
"How'd you like to hang by your thumbs for twelve hours?" 

My stomach curled up. I couldn't even imagine it. 

"Or be staked out spreadeagle for a week." 

My voice was close to breaking, I could be sure of nothing. "Please, Master, 
you're not like that. These things are tortures." 

He considered, and shrugged. "Not really. They wouldn't even mark you. But 
they help. After looking at them you can look at the whip and know you'll 
live." 

"You are going to whip me then?" 

"Yes." 

"Was what I did all that bad?" 

"For Wanda, yes. And anyway you've known for a long while you have to be 
whipped again. It's the only way you'll conform. Mostly you're acting." 

Passionately I wished my feet were not anchored. I felt so damn silly 
standing there talking about my life and looking like a vegetable well 
rooted in the ground. "Master, since I'm going to be punished anyway I might 
as well blurt out the whole thing." 

"There's degrees of punishment, Phyllis." 

I waved that aside and plunged. "Don't you understand what's wrong with the 
three of us on this Island! It's sex. It's driving us nuts. Wanda reeks of 
it. I bet you've been in agony this past year or so, scared to stick it into 
her for fear she gets pregnant. There's such a powerful emanation from that 
little girl I simply can't bear it. You're going to whip me because I can't 
bear it. But that won't change anything either. We'll both go on wanting 
her." 

He looked at me disgustedly. "We were doing fine until you showed up." 

"You had a marvellous thing going. Not another man in the world had it that 
good. Even your deviations made rational and immutable. But dammit, can't 
you understand! You can still have it all. You and Wanda continue as you are 
with you working out your frustrations by fucking me. What the Hell more 
d'you want?" 

"I don't want you pregnant either." 

"No one would have guessed that a few minutes ago," I scoffed. "But I've got 
some pills, they'll last quite a while. When they're gone I'll have to take 
my .chances." 

He was still looking at my breasts and my cunt and my pinioned feet. "But 
you're a rebel. You sneer and scoff at the whole edifice Wanda and I have 
made." 

"The edifice you made," I told him. "So, O.K. I'll conform. I'll let you tie 
me every day and to my bed every night and whip me every Friday. I haven't 
done that much complaining these last few days, have I? Look at me now! It 
was me who stepped into these holes where my feet are fixed. You didn't have 
to ask me. We have to live together, I'm the minority, I'll come to you and 
do it your way." 

"You're just trying to escape being whipped, Phyllis." 

I longed to stamp an angry foot. I longed to go and shake my fist in his 
complacent male face. But I couldn't do a damn thing but stand. I sort of 
slumped and let him see my defeat. I waved a hopeless hand. "Alright. It 
doesn't matter. We'll live together and I suppose something will evolve. 
I'll do what I've just promised." I laughed bitterly, "I've got the time and 
maybe I'll get to like it the way Wanda does. I'm going to do this whether 
you whip me or not. You've got this whip idea on the brain. Sure! You're 
right, I know it'll work. I'll be humble as hell afterwards. So you'd better 
whip me and get the job out of the way. Maybe we'll both feel better 
afterwards. I know I will. I'm scared out of my wits all the time now 
thinking about it." 

It was quite an outburst. I braced myself for the cane. I couldn't imagine I 
hadn't earned it. But instead of a scowl Dick smiled amusedly. "I could 
almost kid myself you want to be whipped," he said quietly. "Ever consider 
that possibility?" 

Sure I'd considered it. I've said before, I'm no naive kid. The Island was 
saturated with sex. Its principle codes were deviations. I'd been living 
with them for a week. I'd been whipped and seen a girl whipped and whipped 
her myself. Sure I'd consider the possibility that some of the heat in my 
crotch came from the whip. "O.K." I told him honestly. "The whip has touched 
me, but I want to whip Wanda. It's that simple." 

"You've told me you're a lesbian. So the Wanda thing's understandable. To 
you she's luscious. Quite sure the whip hasn't touched you? I've been 
watching, remember." 

"It doesn't touch me." 

"Remember that Shakespeare line: "Methinks the lady doth protest too much." 

I remembered it. Far too often it was valid. Was it so with me! "I'm too 
confused." I told him. "If I ever get to like being whipped I won't be 
ashamed of the fact. You'll be the first to know." I roved my mind around 
for a few moments and added, "Can't you believe I wish I did love being 
whipped. I'd be in for the greatest joy of my life. But, seriously, you 
don't help me. You hurt me too much. Far beyond any initial tolerance I 
might have. Since I have to live with it and with you, why don't you try and 
help me?" 

"This whipping today? How does it affect you?" 

"Standing up I can bear it. If you and Wanda helped I might get some of the 
feelings you think I ought to have. Bending over it's just too damn much. 
Does Wanda's fire get burning when you give her that Manta tail thing?" 

"I gave her five. Later she asked for five more." 

"But there's so much difference when a girl asks for it. It's the awful 
compulsions and the not knowings that defeat me. Look at me now: I stand 
here naked waiting for you to cane my bottom. Even if I was inclined to get 
the hots out of it, I'd be defeated by being frightened because I don't know 
how hard you'll cane me or how long. I'm only a naked girl and the pain 
drives everything else away, that and the fear. Give me five or give me ten 
in the right sort of way and maybe I'd respond." 

"Ask me to give you five medium strokes." 

I wanted so much to belong! "Please give me five medium strokes with the 
cane, Master." 

He came and sucked my nipples, my hands found him everywhere I could reach. 
He cupped my pubic hair and stroked my waist. In no time he had me moaning. 
Then he stepped behind me and slashed my bottom with five hard strokes in 
rapid succession. I looked back over my shoulder and laughed in his face. It 
was not until the fifth stroke that I screamed. 

When it was over I was wet with the sweat of pain or of lust, I don't know 
which. Both of us were panting. Neither spoke. 

"Well?" It was an eternity of silence he had broken. "Please give me five 
more strokes, Master. But please love me first." 

He loved me. I spasmed into orgasm at the fifth cut. 

It was me who broke the next long silence. "Did it prove anything, Master, 
except that you're a damn good lover?" 

"It proved something," Dick said with certainty. "But just the same, on 
Monday you will be whipped properly. You'll have three days to think about 
it." 

"Sadist!" 

He just laughed. When Wanda came back she looked at us as though expecting 
change. She was a sad-looking little girl. 

"I'm going to get my whipping on Monday," I told her brightly. 

"We've got this one to finish first," Dick said as though it was a mere 
nothing. 

"Please whip me for the rest of my 'Girls' Penalty,' Dick," I requested 
formally so that Wanda would know everything was O.K. 

Her smile was my reward. "I told you that you'd come to like it," she 
exclaimed delightedly. 

The cane found my bottom once again. I bent over and then straightened up. 
My hands were no longer a problem, they looked after themselves. All I had 
to do was bend and then stand and keep on doing it. The cane would find me. 
Dick cut steadily at my bottom, his strokes rhythmic and controlled. As in a 
slow motion movie I did what I had been told to do. The stocks held my feet 
immovably. I could not run. All I could do was offer my derriere to the 
cane. 

My "Girls' Penalty" went on and on. 

I felt only lust. 

* * * 

RICHARD CARNABY 

Am I a right Royal S.O.B.? I've asked myself that question often enough 
during the years on the island. Did I pervert Wanda, or did I create in her 
a female quite unique? If end results mean anything I did a good job. I 
might not be far out if I said Wanda was the happiest girl in the world. So, 
O.K., she worships me! I adore her. We're even. 

I don't suppose I'd be writing this if that damn plane hadn't flopped on the 
beach. We needed Phyllis Stafford like we needed a hole in the head. I have 
to suppose she's an example of what money has done to females: bitchy as all 
get out, completely selfish. It only took me a day to decide I was going to 
do her a lot more good than she'd do us. I revised that after awhile. She 
might have possibilities. Once you've given her a few bad times the human 
being and the feminine begin to surface. I stopped actively disliking her 
after the first few days. 

As I caned her for the second half of her 'Girls' Penalty' that first 
Friday, I had to admire, and be a bit excited about the way she was coming 
along. I suppose we'd both found release in making love, I'd also allowed 
her to blow off some steam verbally. In a way we had come to an 
understanding. If she lived up to her rationalizations about our Island Code 
she might not be a liability after all. She had intelligence. In the end 
that's everything. 

Caning Phyllis was fun. Caning a girl every Friday isn't the kinky quirk it 
sounds, it actually does them good. If I get an erotic thrill out of doing 
it, so what? It's a bonus for my time and trouble. The Friday caning is a 
balance. As a girl's bottom collects her stripes she sheds the flighty 
notions she's built up during the week. Chivalry has been a curse to the 
Western world. It's given both sexes all sorts of false premises and no end 
of headaches. Caning corrects it. Caning a girl's seat makes her twice as 
female as the bitch who goes around thinking she's as good or better than a 
man. 

Caning a girl on Friday is very different from punishing them. I'll get 
around to the punishment bit another time. I've had to develop a technique 
for Friday, and it's not all that easy. There's that rosy round bottom 
twinkling at me so that the urge to really lace into it is overwhelming, but 
the idea is to give only enough pain to sharpen awareness and evoke a few 
gasps. I've found that neat sharp cuts on one cheek at a time gets the best 
results. If you don't get heavy handed you can whip them quite a long while. 

Phyllis Stafford is quite lovely. Different from Wanda, but lovely in her 
own right. As I caned her now it became evident she was adjusting. The first 
half of her penalty had been ragged, but now she'd got the hang of it. Her 
captive feet no longer seemed in rebellion. She was standing or bending with 
a graceful fluidity that had a rhythm entirely her own. The pink stripes 
springing to life upon her flesh were periods within the poetry of her 
motion. I was finding her immensely provocative. I cut at her bottom with a 
deep joy. 

Wanda is sweet. I could see that after her first revulsion she began to take 
to our island's second female. She could sense the shock of compulsive 
adjustment that was throwing Phyllis for a loop-not that Phyllis was not 
loudly vocal about it herself, at the start anyway, before I whipped her, 
and I'm damn sure she said a helluva lot to the kid that she was scared to 
say to me. For Wanda, Phyllis was an experience. 

Right now Wanda was watching entranced as I gave our new arrival her 
penalty. Her eyes were bright, and she was breathing rapidly. I remembered 
the zest with which she had beaten the older girl once before, so I handed 
her the cane and let her finish off the job. Neither Phyllis or I had any 
doubt her strokes were sharper than mine had been. The fact that her own 
Friday whipping was due at any moment did not bother Wanda at all, but then, 
it never did. 

When I unlocked her captive ankles Phyllis managed a quite credible "Thank 
you Master," and studiously refrained from rubbing her bottom. "May I dress, 
Master?" 

She was playing it safe with the 'Master' bit. She was still on probation. I 
didn't want the title, but figured it would be good for her to use it a 
little while yet. I watched with amusement her speed in getting into her two 
piece. My amusement was more than matched by Wanda's curiosity as to why a 
girl should be so damn anxious to cover her female assets. I wasn't giving 
any lectures on the subject. In fact I don't think I could any more. It's a 
damn fool bit of prudery when you consider what it's all about. 

Over lunch Wanda and I worked at conversation. I unbent a bit and told 
Phyllis straight she'd better join in and say whatever she felt like, so 
long as it was not condemnatory about us, or moaning about a rescue and a 
lost career. We wanted her to talk. 

"I'm scared to," she admitted. "I'm opinionated. You'll whip me." 

"You must talk, darling," Wanda assured her. "But don't be rude to Dick." 

"But how will I know the line where lese majeste begins?" 

"Tell you what," I suggested big-heartedly. "I won't be the judge, Wanda 
will. When she figures you're being offensive she'll whip you. I'll stay out 
of it. How about it, Sweetheart?" 

"Oh, Dick, how gorgeous!" The youngster clapped her hands. "You will let me 
tie you, darling?" she asked her new responsibility. 

Phyllis had to laugh at the exuberance. "Of course I will, Honey. It'll be 
about six times a day, but we'll get used to it." She looked confidingly at 
me. "Wanda whips me harder than you do." 

I felt we'd all got a bit closer together. 

I like to keep the kid in suspense about her Friday Penalty. There's a sort 
of understanding that she won't ask, even if she's bursting with curiosity. 
She loves the suspense more than I do. When we had finished eating I made 
the big announcement. "It's the Merry-Go-Round, Sweetheart." 

The youngster clapped her hands and danced away, leaving Phyllis and I to 
follow with the cane and the cord. 

"Will I ever get like that, Master?" 

I handed her the cane. "It's you who's going to use this. I'm going to 
watch." 

She accepted it, not unwillingly, and giving me a sideways glance. "You're 
quite sure I'll become an addict, aren't you?" 

"Don't worry about it. It'll happen in its own way. And for goodness sake 
don't think about perversion. I think about eight women out of ten can find 
glory in the whip if the circumstances are right." 

"Not the first time, Master." 

"That's only because they're scared." 

When we came into view Wanda got out of her slip. Getting rid of it is one 
of the things she likes best. She waved gaily and got into position. 

The Merry-Go-Round is just a name. It enabled me to use another of the 
lengths of timber the tide rolls in, I pegged it on top of the flat surface 
of a stump, dead centre. Wanda lays herself on one end, face down as on a 
table, she stretches her hands forward as far as they will go and they are 
strapped there; another strap is tightened over the small of her back. Her 
feet are still on the ground. Since the plank on which she is bound revolves 
from its axis on the stump, she can kick herself into motion and the whole 
thing will circle. I stand still and deliver the cane to her bent bottom as 
she goes by. 

It's a kid's notion, but presents her with a nice quandary as to how quickly 
she wants to push herself around. If she gets tired of pushing and tells me 
so, I then tie her feet up beneath the plank so that her bottom is nicely 
draped over the end. That stretches the skin, so she doesn't often choose 
it. The two of us strapped her down. She was tremendously excited, eyes 
sparkling. 

"Is it you that's going to whip me, darling?" She had seen the cane in 
Phyllis's hand. 

"D'you want me to?" Phyllis was yearning for an affirmative. 

"Of course I do, darling! Isn't Dick sweet to us. Would you like me to go 
'round and 'round, or would it be nicer if my feet were up? Dick will fix 
me." 

"Which hurts the most, Honey?" 

"Feet up. It stretches me." 

"I think I'd prefer it though. If you go 'round and 'round you'll be 
scrambling sideways like a crab." 

Wanda grinned at me. "Get my tootsies well up, darling." 

I was a little bit cruel, but I know what the kid can stand. I not only tied 
her feet up all the way, but I put a couple of bands round her thighs. Her 
bottom became about as available as a bottom can be. It was a fascinatingly 
dimpled curve. Phyllis Stafford began, experimentally, to cane it. 

I sat unobtrusively out of the way. Suddenly I was aware of privilege in 
watching these two females who, each in her own way, were involved in a 
tremendously emotional experience. I knew Phyllis was walking steadfastly 
into a strange land, unsure of what she might discover. I was pretty 
certain, too, that Wanda would reach a climax within her sex sometime during 
her caning, her pubis was pressed hard against the wood in an intimate 
sexual embrace. She was already beholding visions. 

But it was Phyllis Stafford that held my main attention. She was testing 
herself, testing the cane, testing Wanda's gasps and small moans. She varied 
her strokes, trying all angles, from above and from below or from the side. 
The pink striations multiplied upon the innocent flesh in their own degree 
of severity according to the force of the impact Phyllis chose. It was right 
there my curiosity focused. 

Jut as she had discovered grace when her feet had been locked between the 
poles, so Phyllis found it now. There were no nervous stabbings or awkward 
stances; her motions flowed. She caned the bent stretched girl's bottom in 
total absorption with the task. Her eyes were bright, noting each mark she 
etched upon the taut skin. There was about her an aura of power and force. I 
knew for sure Phyllis Stafford longed with all her being to slash the round 
flesh into the ridged weals of agony. 

It turned out to be quite a day. We didn't keep Wanda strapped to the 
Merry-Go-Round any extra time. Free, she was untouched by her Friday. She 
embraced the girl who had whipped her as though it had been a priceless 
gift-in a way it was! Then the three of us went down to the beach and got 
our supper and cooked it. While we were eating Phyllis slipped us another 
hesitant anecdote. 

"I'm getting used to the rules." She smiled companionably. "Hit me hard at 
the start; I seemed to be on the wrong end of everything. But, as I told 
you, I've been around, and because of that I have never seen you as a pair 
of monsters. I've known about the whip for a good many years." She paused as 
she drifted back in memory. "I can't tell you his name. He's one of those so 
far up you find it hard to see him as mortal. Being a columnist gets me in 
where angels fear to tread, and it got me into this party where my eyes 
almost popped when I saw him. It was a real scoop for me when the host, who 
owed me a favor, introduced me and I found myself alone with this most 
distinguished man." 

She grinned ruefully. "Nothing's what you expect. He seemed glad of someone 
to talk to. We gabbed back and forth like a breeze, and it was all good 
stuff. He was a charming man, beautifully educated, superbly dressed, well 
along in years, yet quite ageless. We flitted from topic to topic and 
sharpened our wits on each other. When he said, without any preamble: "I'd 
like to whip you," I thought I'd caught something out of context. He saw me 
groping, so he repeated in the pleasantest tone of voice: "I'd like to whip 
you." 

This time there was no use pretending I hadn't heard, looked at him stupidly 
and asked, "Why?" 

"You know why, my dear." He disposed of my question firmly. 

I did know why. He had no doubts that I knew. So what was the busy 
columnist's next move? I was right in there. I might never get this high 
again. So what to do! Run, temporize, be fluffily feminine? Or meet him on 
his own level? 

"Where do we go?" I asked as casually as my pounding heart would allow. 

He had a house; in it was a room! He asked me with a fine courtliness if I 
would prefer to strip naked myself or have him remove my clothes after I was 
helpless. I chose the latter. It seemed somehow wrong that I should perform 
a vulgar strip act before such kind wise eyes. I sensed instantly his 
pleasure with my choice. 

He had leather cuffs, padded with fur. He buckled one 'round each of my 
wrists, very tight. In each was a ring. It took him no more time than it 
takes me to tell to have me standing on my toes in the centre of the floor, 
with my arms stretched up and far apart, suspended from the rings in my 
wrist cuffs by chains reaching from the ceiling. I was so taut I quivered, 
probably I was just trembling. 

Undressing me was easy. It was an evening "Do." I hadn't a thing on that 
went over my shoulders, nothing to cut or snip. He did the job with 
gentleness and reverence... and a skill born of much practice. He placed my 
clothes neatly on a chair. 

I'm not going to say I'm a prude or that I'm not. I don't know what I am. 
You've found out yourselves I'm embarrassed when my breasts and my vulva are 
made bare. We needn't ask why. Out in the world most women are the same. I 
can only tell you for sure it was a frightening and beautifully erotic 
sensation to be stripped by that man and have him see all my nakedness to do 
with as he wished. Up to that time I'd never been so helpless in my life. I 
wasn't scared. I should have been. 

He whipped me into unconsciousness. It took a long time and more pain than I 
believed existed or was possible. With the first stroke I knew I'd been a 
fool. But at the beginning, my principal concern was my own behavior. I 
kicked, I twisted, I lifted myself up off the floor by my tied wrists; I 
screamed and screamed. Even when I was screaming I'd look back over my 
shoulder at his composed concerned face as he gave all his attention to 
whipping my naked body. For him it was a total involvement. I couldn't be 
sure he even heard my screams. 

Just as with undressing me, he showed an exquisite skill. He must have 
whipped a hundred girls. I was willing to believe a thousand. Whenever my 
agonized contortions exposed a fresh bit of me, his whip found it instantly. 
I struggled and twisted so much that it was my most intimate parts that got 
the most attention. He saved my bottom and my back to use when I tired of my 
gymnastics and stood still or hung from my wrists. I remember vividly how 
from time to time I'd use all my will to bottle up my screams and replace 
them with reasoned arguments as to why he should stop whipping me. I 
couldn't manage any very lengthy rationales, but I crammed as much pith into 
the choked sentences as I could. I won't repeat 'em. They'd sound silly now, 
and anyway you've heard some. They're good old tried and true feminine 
stand-bys. But I don't believe he heard a word of them either. He carried 
right on whipping the naked young woman who had accepted his honest 
invitation to be whipped. 

The searing excoriations on my skin seemed to me incessant, but actually he 
whipped me in a very leisurely tempo, vicious and cruel but with finesse. 
His lash marked me from my neck down to my knees. He even came to the front 
and whipped my stomach, my cunt got his very best attention. For some reason 
he left my breasts alone, perhaps to prove he was a gentleman. The pain 
mounted up and up and up until I was a single screaming agony, and then it 
quietly released me into a nice warm darkness of insensibility. I suppose I 
hung by my wrists. I don't even know if he continued whipping me or not. 

When I came back into the world I was on a sofa having brandy poured down my 
throat. When I spluttered back to where my mind was functioning he was 
quietly discussing a show of Renaissance art a local gallery was featuring. 
Believe it or not I picked the conversation up myself while he unstrapped 
the bands from my wrists. I could see the virtue of the fur lining, a 
hanging girl needs it. We chatted away for quite a while. I dressed with him 
watching appreciatively. I also drank a great deal of his brandy. He then 
drove me home. Neither of us mentioned my whipping. 

Phyllis Stafford's voice drifted into silence. She grinned apologetically. 
"Sorry. I got carried away. But the whip... ! It haunts me, doesn't it? A 
sort of destiny." 

"That was a wonderful story," Wanda breathed. "Are there any more?" 

"Not tonight, honey. I'm bushed. Mind if I go to bed?" 

We escorted her. She forestalled my order. "I'm not complaining anymore, 
Master. That rope on my ankle doesn't stop me sleeping. Let's make it a 
permanent arrangement I'll put my foot in it every night without 
complaining." 

Phyllis was feeling her oats. I had been saving a small item for such an 
occasion. "Remember this morning?" I asked. "You called me Dick in speaking 
to Wanda?" 

She remembered alright. "I hoped you hadn't noticed, Master," she admitted 
candidly. 

"Take off your shorts and touch your toes. Wanda, go and fetch the cane." I 
gave her no time for diversions. 

Wanda trotted off on her errand. Phyllis stood and looked at me, shocked. 
She was searching for something to say, but couldn't find it. Without a word 
she stripped her bottom naked and placed her shorts on a rock. 

"You'll stay tight and still for three. If you mess it up you'll get six... 
tied." 

"Yes Master." I could have sworn she was relieved. She'd expected worse. 

We stood silent and in complete communion until Wanda returned. I was amused 
to note she had brought me the cruelest cane of all. As though disdaining 
the incongruity of so isolated a covering of her femaleness, Phyllis 
Stafford undid her halter and tossed it on top of her shorts. With an almost 
challenging look at me she turned and bent over, but it was not her toes she 
touched, she put the palms of her hands upon the ground, With her knees 
rigid it placed her bottom into an impudent prominence. I knew she was 
giving me a message, but for the life of me I could not tell what it was. 

I caned the stretched taut flesh with three cruel strokes. Wanda gasped in 
sympathy. When it was done, Phyllis slowly stood erect, only the drawn lines 
of her features told her agony. Her gaze, meeting mine, was level. "Thank 
you, Master." 

I felt humbled and a bit of a sadist. She was superb! I would have liked to 
pay some tribute. But what the hell... "May I dress, Master?" 

I motioned assent. She put on her two bits and pieces and went to her bed. 
Without a word or a look she thrust her foot through the loop of rope. I 
tightened it securely. "Good night, darlings," she said sleepily and turned 
over on her side. 

We were actually happy, all three of us! We shared things and talked and 
laughed. It was a good couple of days. We enjoyed each other. If, sometimes, 
we saw the shadow across Phyllis Stafford's face, we did not speak of it. 
We, too, remembered the whipping she was to receive. We did not speak of it. 
Why be cruel? There would be no reprieve. It was like the ocean and the 
Island, it was there. 

After breakfast on Monday it was she who broke the taboo. "When am I to be 
whipped, Master?" 

For a crazy moment I wanted to forgive her and call it quits. But that would 
have been fatal. It would have spoiled her, ruined everything. "After 
lunch," I told her casually. 

"I won't have much appetite." 

"You don't have to eat, darling," Wanda assured her. "I know I wouldn't." 
She turned to me appealingly. "Couldn't you whip her this morning, Dick and 
save her all that awful waiting?" 

"The waiting's good for her." 

Wanda was oozing solicitude. She'd had enough punishment whippings to know. 
"But you're going to use the manta tail... " 

"Why not, she's earned it." 

Phyllis saw her fellow female's concern. "Don't worry, honey, I expect I'll 
live." 

"But, darling, you've never had it. The manta tail's... " Wanda broke off in 
confusion, she wasn't helping. 

Phyllis managed a real laugh. "I know. The manta tail is the ultimate. It 
will hurt me worse than all the others. I fully expect that today I'll be 
whipped insensibly for my second time." 

Wanda loves to fish. During the morning she danced away to the beach with 
her net, leaving Phyllis and I alone. We fell into each other's arms with an 
intensity of passion I won't try and describe. In a pause between our 
thrustings she looked up at me with a twisted smile and quoted sardonically: 
"We who are about to die... " I think we could have made love all day, such 
was our hunger, or our lust, whichever you want to call it. But we 
remembered the kid, she might return. Neither of us wanted to shock her into 
discovery, there are better ways. So we tidied ourselves and talked. 

"I thought you were a lesbian!" I jibed at Phyllis. 

She grinned ruefully. "I am. I'm as hungry now for Wanda as I've ever been. 
And she wants me. Can't you tell?" 

I nodded soberly. "Yes, it's there alright. Fact is, these damn names don't 
mean as much as we'd like them to. We love labels. I take it that since I 
was out in the world lesbianism has become a bit of a fad." 

"I am a lesbian! I can't explain you and me... nerves perhaps, anxiety, the 
need to be held. I loved it. I want you again now. This Island's made me 
insatiable. I told you, you're a lucky man." 

Things were falling beautifully into place. Wanda's youthful loveliness need 
not be spoiled. Phyllis and I could slake our carnal needs in each other. 

She read my thoughts. "You needed me. If my plane hadn't conked out, you'd 
have had the kid pregnant within a year or two. You couldn't have held out, 
no man could. Wanda's sending out sex demands by her own wave lengths every 
moment of the day; she's dynamite now, and she's going to continue to 
develop. She may have the two of us climbing trees yet." 

"You're not exactly without a certain appeal yourself," I told her dryly. 

"Thanks." She'd scarcely heard me. She was thinking, hard! Taking a deep 
breath, she let me have it. "In a little while you're going to whip me 
because I asked for something. I'm going to take my chances and ask you 
again. Master, allow Wanda and I to make love. In me she can satisfy a 
tremendous compulsion she's feeling but can't understand. If you deny her 
me, then she must turn to you. She's well past the point of being happily 
neuter." 

There are times when a man despairs of men. Women come up with the damnedest 
logic. Insidious is the word. I always think of poor lovesick Adam and that 
lousy apple. I'd probably have taken a bite of it myself. "Take you a bit of 
courage to say that?" I asked sourly. 

"Damn right it did! You now have an excuse to whip me today, and Wednesday. 
And, of course, there's always good old Friday." She gave me a 'let's burn 
the boats' look. "But what I'm asking you makes sense." 

She had me boxed in. I recognized the influence of our coitus, it affects 
human acts and judgement more than we care to admit. The bond between us was 
carnal, but it was strong because we both wanted to renew it. Supposing 
Phyllis and Wanda trotted off to the beach or into the trees ever so often, 
why should I complain? It would make our lives dovetail in a unique 
perfection of its own. Was a refusal to say 'yes' anything more than 
chauvinism? "What you ask robs me of part of my maleness," I told her. 

"What you're talking about is pride." Phyllis was angry and disappointed. 
"For Pete's sake, man! You're fucking me and whipping me to your heart's 
content; how much more male can you get?" 

She was right, but I saw the shadow of fear fall across her eager face. 
She'd blown her top and forgotten my title and generally told me where to 
get off. Further punishment was inevitable. Phyllis was honest in her fear 
and respect for the whip. Being right doesn't help much when you hurt. 

"If I give you what you ask, it's from weakness. You'll have twisted me." 

"No, no, no!" She made ineffectual thumping motions with her clenched fists 
as though knocking sense into a male head. "You'll simply have solved a 
problem and made two girls happy. We'll both love you more, not less." 

I looked at her. She was extraordinarily beautiful in her animation. I also 
looked at my pride; it was a tug of war. 

Sensing it, Phyllis reloaded her female artillery. "If you'll let us do... 
do this it will also give me a chance to break the news about the stork and 
human coupling... " She grinned in a wry recognition of farce. "Leastways I 
can fill in with girl talk stuff whatever she hasn't already figured out for 
herself." 

I accepted defeat. I'd have to watch it, or it might become the first of 
many. With women it's a ceaseless war of attrition. They never tire. As I 
said, my Island Friday is predicated on a basic fact, an actual need in 
maintaining the status quo. "Very well then," I agreed, feigning weariness. 
"What you've said makes sense. You and Wanda can have your sixty-nines. 
Perhaps, if I ever get accustomed to the idea I'll come and watch." 

I knew her jubilant, why not? Her intelligence got us over an awkward 
moment. She knelt in front of me and bowed her head. "Thank you, Master." 
The act was without satire or guile. She sat back on her heels and looked up 
at me open-eyed. "I'll do all I know how to make sure you have no regrets." 

"It really means all that to you?" 

"Yes, Master. It means that much to all of us." She lowered her eyes, 
thinking. When she raised them again I saw resolution. "Master, I have 
earned myself a lot of punishment." She swallowed and essayed a grin. 
"Please don't feel badly about giving it to me. I'll recognize that I've... 
well, got it coming. I'll try not to mind." 

What the hell! She could have been twisting me, but I didn't think so. I'm 
only human, and at that moment she seemed the most beautiful woman I had 
ever seen. "Forget it," I said gruffly. "The slate's wiped clean. We were 
simply talking." 

I could see and feel the tension leave her. She'd been really scared. Just 
to keep the record straight I reminded her, "That doesn't affect your 
whipping after lunch." 

"Of course not, Master." She almost seemed glad of that too. 

I felt tremendously male. 

* * * 

There is one perfect way to tie a girl who is to be thoroughly whipped, tie 
her hands together and hang her up by her wrists. But that's a punishment in 
itself. So let her have her toes to stand on and tie her wrists well apart 
to something overhead. If you want her immobilized you can stake her ankles 
down to the ground, but the disability of that is she can't kick. As I said 
before, I may be an S.O.B. but I dearly love to see all the motions she 
indulges in once the whip curls 'round. The leg work is fantastic. 

We made a solemn constrained little procession as we wended our way to the 
convenient tree. I couldn't resist giving Phyllis the manta tail and the 
cords to carry. Her face was really something to watch as she ran through 
her fingers the cruel wand that would cut her flesh. But she put on a brave 
smile and only surrendered it when the moment came for her to strip. 

"Y'know, it's funny, I can't really believe it's going to happen to me," she 
said conversationally. 

"Nature's anesthetic," I assured her cheerfully. 

"But isn't it a really super goosy suspense though?" Wanda giggled. 

"It really is," Phyllis agreed thoughtfully. "I'm feeling everything 
intensely right now. I suppose that's nature too." She turned interested 
eyes to me. "Do you mind, Master, if I try and feel my way into and through 
this... what's going to happen? You know our talk; if there's something to 
be found I want to try and find it." 

Hers was a tremendous courage. I wished I hadn't decided on the manta tail, 
it might defeat her. She had the capacity to reason even as she screamed. 
The Fridays would be the best for what she was now willing to seek. Today 
the die was cast. I tossed Wanda a cord and took one myself. "Give us your 
wrists, please," I asked gently. "We are going to do everything very slowly 
and very neatly and we will talk as we go along. Along with the whip, I 
mean, not just the getting ready for it." 

Phyllis stood passive while we tightened the bands about her wrists. She 
moved to where she must stand and raised her arms. Wanda scrambled up and 
out on the bough and fastened the cords so that the girl to be whipped stood 
on her toes worshipping the sun. She was breathtaking. 

"This is another of those moments, darling. Recognize it?" Wanda was as much 
aquiver as the bound girl. 

Phyllis turned to me. "She's right, Master. May I stay like this a very 
little while? I want to let the sensation seep in, to stand as I am knowing 
what is going to be done to me, and not be able to do a thing about it. It 
is sort of one for the book." 

I let her stand and wait for the whip. The two girls were involved in a 
communion almost psychic, it didn't take much imagination to believe Phyllis 
was at that moment more vividly perceptive to sensation and atmosphere than 
ever before in her life. I held the Manta tail for her to see. Her eyes 
would focus on it and then raise to mine as though the whip and I held the 
answer to a question. But there was no appeal in them, she made no plea. 
Phyllis Stafford had become entirely dedicated to the situation in which she 
was about to play the central role. I had the feeling that if I was to call 
the whole thing off I would destroy something worthwhile. 

When I sauntered back behind her tied nakedness she knew her time had come. 
She watched me back over her shoulder for a moment and then stared straight 
ahead, her body taut, still marked from the time before. "I want to really 
try," she said unsteadily. It sounded like an affirmation of faith. 

I was about to draw back the whip when a gasp from Wanda held my hand. "Oh, 
darling, we've forgotten the shells. Shouldn't she wear them?" 

I was thankful the kid had thought of it. Phyllis's breasts are too much of 
a treasure to muck around with. I let Wanda do the job, and watched amusedly 
as she worked to compress a lot of breast into a shell more closely designed 
for her own. She managed it by cinching them on very tightly, the band at 
the back making an indentation in the skin I was about to whip. Phyllis 
sounded almost tearful when she said a heartfelt thank you for her twin 
armor. I made my first blow streak across her back, curl beneath a raised 
arm, and snap its tip on one of the shells-just as a demonstration. 

Phyllis really did try. I gave her lots of time for the gasps, the 
disbelief, the uncontrollable twistings against her fastened wrists. 
Actually she did damn well considering it was the Manta tail and I hadn't 
held my hand. It was the second stroke that did it. As I watched her 
writhings and heard her scream I could only think of her own description of 
her whipping by that distinguished old gentleman. She'd about said it all. 
No use me repeating it now. I did exactly what the old buffer had done, took 
advantage of her flying legs to reach the spots normally enclosed by prudent 
thighs. 

As her second paroxysm wore itself out, she said in a remarkably clear 
voice: "It's no good. I'm sorry, but I can't keep on top of it. I'm just 
going to scream... That's all I can manage." 

I curled one across one hip so that it lapped around in front. As she had 
promised, Phyllis screamed; she screamed quite a long time. 

I was half way through with what I intended to give her when it hit me like 
a blow. The dam-fool inconsistency! We'd all got ourselves so pledged to 
what was now taking place that I'd overlooked the obvious. I sauntered to 
the front of the sweat-drenched loveliness that was still tugging at its 
wrists from the last blow, and waited for it to return to the world where 
Wanda and I watched. It took a little time, but when Phyllis had arranged 
her weight on her toes and tossed the hair back over her shoulder, she 
became conscious of a change and focused her eyes on me questioningly, but 
without hope. She knew it was not over. 

"You're being whipped because of something you wanted to do, something you 
asked for, right?" 

She nodded wearily, her voice had become husky. "Yes, Master." She wanted to 
be strictly accurate, so added, "And you thought it would be necessary for 
my adjustment." She shook her head as though to clear it. "Sort of on 
general principles." There was no humor in her words, but I think we all 
felt there should have been. 

"It's just occurred to me that I've given consent to what you asked for. I 
cannot therefore punish you for it." 

I heard her quick indrawn breath. But she was wary of hope. It was there 
alright, but Phyllis was not showing it. I might be indulging in a bit of 
tantalizing cruelty. "It is not for me to say, Master." She was doing 
everything so right she deserved a medal. 

"General principles have been served," I said grandly, and this time with 
humor. "Your punishment is over. You've had it." I dropped the Manta tail at 
her feet and stalked majestically back to the house leaving the two girls 
entirely to themselves. Wanda could do the honors. She might carry on with 
the whipping, but that I doubted. She would be bursting with curiosity. I 
settled down with a book I'd read seven times before and left them to their 
joy. 

It was a couple of hours before they showed up. Phyllis carried the Manta 
tail; the kid had the cords. They glowed with happiness; it radiated from 
them as something tangible. They clutched as though fearing to lose each 
other. They were absentmindedly naked. 

Both kissed me. 

How blessed can a man be! 

The next days were so good they have a dream quality in my mind. The girls 
now had their own secrets and dealt with themselves in their own way. Thus 
it was that I would suddenly find myself alone with Phyllis so that we could 
plunge into our almost savage couplings; or that I would inexplicably 
discover the girls had disappeared for an hour or two on their own. The 
daily Tie was something to behold. Phyllis was so damn submissive I had an 
erection all the time. She soon matched Wanda. Except for age the two of 
them might have been twins. It was the same with Friday. 

For the first of hers Phyllis managed to keep up an animated conversation 
while I whipped her. She did finally fall silent except for a good deal of 
gasping, but her control was magnificent. I don't suppose I could ever take 
oath as to how much of her performance was acting and how much for real. So 
far as I could tell she was utterly and totally sincere. But you know us 
men! We're a bunch of chumps. 

It was wonderful, it was exciting, it was lustily erotic. All three of us 
knew we were lucky. It's not often in life that happens. I'm not really a 
snoozer. But on those occasions when I'd been tipped the wink and the girls 
had gone giggling away to whatever nest they'd made for themselves, I did 
fall into the habit. Maybe I was totally at peace, or maybe I was exhausted 
from my gymnastics with Phyllis, but I'd recline with a book and the first 
thing I knew I'd conked out. I found it pleasant and relaxing. It also left 
me rested and in good condition to look after my obligations. 

One day I was well away in slumberland and dreaming like crazy about the 
three of us getting into the damndest jackpots that were so good I could 
hear myself hoping I'd remember 'em when I woke up. Suddenly I did wake up, 
and I knew right off there was something wrong. You know what it's like, 
pure instinct. Something woke you, but what! I had a bad feeling about this 
one. I sat up and looked around: Nothing! I got up and walked around and 
searched the house, but everything was O.K. The silence was the usual 
silence of the island. The ghosts had gone by then, so I lay back down and 
picked up the book. 

"Well, Chum, I'm damn glad I found somebody alive." The voice was male. It 
had a shocking Australian twang. Once more I sat up-startled. 

He was about my own age, hard and tough and red-faced, but genial enough. 
His eyes were darting hither and yon. He seemed faintly suspicious. 

"Hell of a 'to-do,' mate," he said disgustedly as he dried his forehead with 
a tent-sized handkerchief. "Bloody women! Half the country out looking!" He 
fixed me with a fierce eye. "I'm searching for a girl, chum. Her plane's 
smashed up on your beach. You seen anything of the silly bitch? Her name's 
Phyllis Stafford." 

* * * 

PHYLLIS STAFFORD 

The wheel had turned. But I'd never be back to where I started. I don't mean 
I'm better or worse, but simply that I learned one hell of a lot on that 
island. The strangest turn of all is that Dick and I have traded places. 
It's me who's got Wanda. 

Dick Carnaby was an officer in the merchant marine. When the smoke had 
cleared he got a dozen offers. He has to make a living so he took one. That 
means we'll see him once a month or so. We couldn't find any of Wanda's 
relatives who were all that keen on doing about her, but I was! I'd have 
fought tooth and nail for her, but I didn't have to; the sweetheart fell 
right into my lap. I've got her, but good! 

For Dick the loss of the island was heartbreak, and why wouldn't it be! I 
don't know whether I'm in love with the guy or not. I miss him. But I'm not 
as lonely; I've got Wanda. I suppose we'll feel our way into things. 

Even now after the publicity and all the hassle is done, Wanda is still a 
glowing bundle of excitement. She cries a lot, half for Dick and half for 
the island. But that's natural. The rest of the time she sparkles with an 
immense curiosity and enjoyment. But then, the little darling's got me the 
same as I've got her. 

Not quite the same! Let me get my confession over right now. I realized what 
fate had given me, so without a blush or a stutter or an explanation I 
carried on where Dick Carnaby left off. Wanda gets her Tie every day and 
knows what to expect on Friday. I've added a few refinements of my own which 
she accepts along with the T.V. The stereo and hot dogs. The island taught 
me some things about myself I hadn't known. 

She's a darling child, but she radiates sex with an unconscious intensity 
that compels me to watch who I expose to her aura. I feel it all the time. 
Goodness knows what it might do to others, especially men! But she's mine, 
and she knows she's mine. I'll never let her forget it. One of the first 
things I did after the smoke cleared was buy the finest set of handcuffs I 
could find. I keep them on her most of the time. She adores them. Once when 
I took them off for some reason or other she put them right back on. She's a 
honey! 

Her total lack of inhibitions makes her a handful. Thus the handcuffs do 
have a practical application as well as doing something erotic for me. She 
wants to be naked all the time, mostly I let her so long as she stays in the 
apartment. But at the start there were a couple of times I was dashing 
around the building looking for a naked girl. 

I own this place. It's quite sizable. So I got in a contractor. I now have a 
room; it's gorgeous! A barred door and barred windows. Two of the walls are 
real stone, and in them have been sunk the loveliest collection of rings, as 
well as a few here and there on the floor and the other walls. There are 
conveniences in the ceiling too; all I have to do is press a button. But the 
rest of it's from a Sultan's Palace: masses of deep, deep rugs, cushions 
large and small, ottomans and hassocks, and a divan or two. Rugs and furs 
are all over the place and rich coverings over a heavy wooden bench and a 
few other items best kept out of sight. I chain Brighteyes in there whenever 
it suits my need. And I lock the door-to keep out any straying guests I 
might happen to have. If Honeybunch loved her handcuffs, they were as 
nothing to her joy in what I've named The Harem. She throws her nakedness on 
the cushions and the rugs in a sensuous orgy of delight. I've told her it's 
her room, her very own. It's twenty stories up and bright and cheerful and 
expensively lush. As with the handcuffs, she'll go in there and chain 
herself to a ring just to revel in the atmosphere. 

Chains are her delight, especially her handcuffs. There was nothing like 
them on the island. The shining chrome is Wanda's idea of jewelry. She 
persuades me to load her with metal and then poses her chained nakedness 
before a full length mirror and candidly admires herself for an hour at a 
time. She's an absolute pet, a gorgeous naked kitten who resolutely refuses 
ever to grow up. At the moment she is waging a campaign to persuade me to 
shave her cunt the way I do mine. She is intrigued by my bare slit. But I 
won't do it. I love her thick bush. Sometimes I actually do have to whip her 
to stop her pestering; she's quite tenacious over notions. 

There is so much she does not understand. She feels sorry for almost 
everybody. She loves me to take her around town, but can't really understand 
why she can't be handcuffed. All the clothing baffles her; she thinks people 
here are a bit screwloose. It's easy to say maybe she isn't that far wrong, 
but I can't walk a naked girl in handcuffs around Times Square. Anyway, it's 
no great problem, she'd sooner stay in the apartment neatly attired in 
chrome steel. 

I'm a bit of a bitch, of course. I flaunt her. She's so deep under my skin I 
can't bear it that others shouldn't know. I want their envy. If I had a 
Picasso I wouldn't hide it in the storeroom. A T-bone steak tastes twice as 
good if a starving men watches you eat it. Quite a lot of the girls I know 
are starving. I put on an afternoon tea for them. Wanda would pass the cups 
and the plates and the goodies. 

If a naked girl is going to play the part of a maid and actually do the job, 
she can't be loaded too heavily with chains. The only thing that seemed at 
all practical were the shining things she had come to love on her wrists, 
and in which she was now able to perform miracles. I had a lovely silver 
collar for her throat and bands of gleaming silver above each elbow and on 
her ankles. There was no mistaking what she was. I painted her nipples a 
screaming scarlet. 

We struck a delightful keynote of utter nonchalance. I affected not to 
notice I had a naked serving wench in handcuffs. Wanda went about serving 
the tea as though she'd been doing it all her life. The emanations of her 
sexuality pervaded every corner of the room. If my guests had been men there 
would have been a lot of bulging flies. When Hetty Strauss was handed her 
cup with two conical breasts almost sticking in her face she couldn't stand 
it. 

"Phyllis, I've got to have this naked houri." 

Wanda had been well briefed. She was in a seventh heaven of excited 
lubricity. She sank to one knee and looked adoringly up at the spinster with 
the teacup. "Dear Hetty," she cooed, "would you like to whip me or tongue my 
cunt?" 

You know the one about hearing a pin drop! It was the most pregnant silence 
I've ever run into. But Hetty's no shrinking violet so she came right back: 
"I want you to tongue mine, I'll only whip you if you don't make a good job 
of it." 

Poor Hetty! She didn't know Wanda. My little angel instantly went to work 
with her chained hands. A moment later Hetty's panties were round her ankles 
and Wanda's face was lost beneath the skirt of my least attractive guest. We 
could all hear slurping sounds. Wanda was pure mischief. 

"Not here!" Hetty was lost. Someone relieved her of her cup. 'Damn you, 
girl, can't we go to a bedroom! Not here. Not with everyone... " Hetty was 
lost. Her eyes were staring. Miraculously two small chained hands had found 
her nipples, a tongue and lips were busily employed. Hetty began to moan; 
within moments she was lost in a Nirvana of her own. When she had climaxed 
and Wanda was done with her, she was utterly drained and sat panting, 
uncaring of all else save the thing done to her. The veins of all of us 
throbbed to Wanda's sexuality. Wanda herself was calmly dealing with 
sandwiches and cakes. 

Hetty went and laid down. She had no wish to come back from wherever it was 
Wanda had taken her. Hetty's place was taken by an even more determined 
young matron with two children. "Me next, Phyllis, please." 

Wanda innocently tendered her a plate. "Whose tongue did you have in mind?" 
she asked huskily, "Or was it the cane you wanted?" 

Believe it or not, my guest had her orgasm right there. The rest of us 
watched, enthralled. Wanda, being the closest, enjoyed the best view. I 
could see the kid was shockingly excited. So was I! Wanda was pure T.N.T. 
Someone started to clap, the rest joined in. No one was sure who we were 
clapping for. 

I had to stop it getting out of hand. I was not going to subject my darling 
to servicing all of them. "You can draw lota," I told them. "The winner has 
carte blanche." 

Wanda glowed. I wanted her myself. But I'd started this affair, I had to 
follow through. The winner of the draw was a vacuous blonde that everybody 
liked because she was too dumb to be real competition. Wanda did her 
kneeling act at her feet. My loins flamed. 

"What do you want of me, darling?" To Wanda everyone was darling. 

The dippy blonde was feeling her oats; I expect she was also feeling Wanda. 
"I'd like to cane you first," she said in a Grand Dame fashion that set off 
a few titters round the room. 

"You'd like to whip me!" Wanda made it sound as though she'd been offered 
Fort Knox. 

"Across your ass," said Blondie complacently. 

In sprightly fashion Wanda fetched the cane; she also brought a length of 
cord. Since she was already totally naked there were no other preparations. 
"I expect you'd like to tie me?" she asked brightly. 

My droopy guest accepted both cane and cord. Quite obviously she had no idea 
what to do with either. 

"How would you like to tie me?" Wanda asked helpfully. 

"Well... what's the usual?" Droopy asked. 

"You can tie me over a chair, or tie my wrists to my ankles. I'm already 
handcuffed so it makes it easy," Wanda suggested kindly. 

"Haven't had much experience," Droopy offered hesitantly. "Perhaps you'd 
better show me." 

Wanda glowed more brightly than ever. I knew what was going to happen. 

"Why, of course darling." Wanda sounded as though butter would not melt in 
her mouth. "Let's use this chair, shall we." She offered an enticing hand, 
"You just kneel on the seat... " Blondie knelt. She was the only one in the 
room who hadn't guessed what my little darling was up to. A few moments 
later she was lost; her wrists were neatly corded over the back, her ankles 
to the front legs. Her bottom, when it was bared to view, would be in 
considerable prominence. Wanda stripped it. The handcuffs did not inhibit 
her at all. She lifted the skirt to exhibit a pair of well fleshed cheeks. 

"O.K----O.K.! I get the idea." Blondie had just realized her plight. An 
enthusiastic round of applause fluttered round the company. 

"I'd better show you properly," said Wanda, picking up the cane. 

Handcuffs are normally no help to any girl engaged in the task of whipping 
another; a full swing is scarcely possible. For that reason I did not come 
to Blondie's rescue. But Wanda's mastery of the confining metal bands was 
such that, for Blondie's sake, it was just as well she wore them. She 
managed a quite impressive swish through the air, an equally impressive 
scarlet line sprang into being on Bondie's butt. The air was electric. Here 
was something new! 

"Thanks. You can let me loose now," said Blondie hopefully. She had done 
very well with the gasp and moan bit. 

Wanda stroked her again. The two pink lines across the exposed behind were 
immensely appealing. 'Take off the kid's handcuffs and let her do it 
properly," said a voice from the company; there was responsive applause. 
Wanda instantly proffered her cane to the enthusiastic voice. It was 
accepted with alacrity. Blondie looked back over her shoulder in dismay. The 
cane rose and fell. Ever girl in the room had a few swipes at the protesting 
damsel on the chair. Wanda stood glowing and radiating female musk. 

Wanda's Tea Party was a trivial enough diversion, but it had the strangest 
aftermath. I'd known Tansey Pepper about a year; she was the secretary of 
one of the Syndicate executives, poised, competent and probably good in bed. 
She had to be beautiful or she wouldn't have had the job. Her age was hard 
to tell, probably somewhere between me and Wanda. She had been one of the 
guests. I was surprised when she phoned, but what the hell; she might have a 
worthwhile snippet. I let her come right over. She sat awkwardly; she was 
nervous, not herself. I gave her a good strong shot and had a smaller one 
myself. Obviously I was on to something. 

"That girl yesterday... could I see her again?" I could tell she'd been 
rehearsing. 

"Wanda! What d'you want to see her for?" 

A bit of foot shuffling and a big gulp of the drink. "Is she naked like that 
all the time?" 

"Mostly." I had the feeling she hadn't heard a word I'd said. 

"And those handcuffs?" 

"Those too." 

"You mean... ! She's wearing them right now?" 

"At the moment she's chained to the wall." It was Wanda's daily Tie. But I 
wasn't going to try and explain that. 

Tansey was looking at the bottom of an empty glass. She accepted a refill 
with gratitude. "Phyl, don't think I'm crazy. Help me out. Can I go and 
look?" 

It took me a moment to get the drift. There's a big difference between 
calling to see someone, and visiting to have a look at 'em. That word 'look' 
was ambiguous. "If you have a thing about naked girls I'll take my clothes 
off," I offered with complete sincerity. "I'm quite attractive naked." 

"So am I," my visitor said absently, "but, please, don't kid. I want to see 
that girl. The way you... the way you've just said." 

I began to see daylight. I started to bridle. Was this the first of those 
who'd try to steal Wanda! But I set the fear aside, I couldn't see Tansey in 
that role. "Come along then," I said cheerfully enough. "You can have your 
look." 

She brought her drink. Her eyes were shining, I had the feeling of something 
tremendous happening. I suddenly got excited, too; the picture Tansey was 
about to see might throw her for a loop. Wanda and her room were strong 
medicine. I'd be patient and enjoy the show. So, just to enter into the 
spirit of the thing, I put my finger to my lips to enjoin silence and 
tip-toed my visitor to where I could abruptly place her before the steel 
bars of the door to Wanda's rococco prison. 

If I'd been a movie director I couldn't have staged it better. There was 
that absolutely Arabian nights dungeon and there against the wall was Wanda, 
beautifully naked with her thick black thatch in full prominence, and 
beautifully chained with her arms straight out from her shoulders, the 
shining metal bands about her wrists briefly linked to rings in the stone. 
She was dreaming, I knew the pose, her head over on one arm, eyes closed. 
There was no hint of weariness, simply repose within her chains. She could 
stand like that for hours and still spark up bright-eyed when you came to 
tease her or to set her free. I had seen her like this often enough, but 
each time made me ravenous. 

Far away in her reverie she had not heard us. I gently positioned the 
wide-eyed Tansey against the bars and let her drink it in. I wondered if she 
realized that what she beheld was almost unique, a once in a lifetime thing. 
A lot of men would have paid a thousand dollars. 

Tansey knew! I had only to watch. Her face was rapt in adoration. She poured 
the rest of her drink into herself to get rid of it and handed me the empty 
glass with only the briefest smile of acknowledgement. She gripped the bars 
with small tense hands as though she herself was the prisoner looking out at 
a forbidden freedom. I could see her breasts rise and fall at an accelerated 
tempo. Tansey was looking at a promised land. 

I let her look; it went on and on. Sometimes she gave me a small brief smile 
of apology, then hastily returned to her vision. I was puzzled that she did 
not ask to enter. Breaking Wanda's daydream was of no consequence, the kid 
would have been delighted. She was tremendously proud of her room and 
everything in it, including herself. There was an innocent shadow of 
Narcissus in her psyche. But Tansey wanted only to look. I think she was 
relieved that Wanda was unaware. Finally, in obvious reluctance, she turned 
away, her face softened and beautified by something she had seen. I wondered 
if I'd missed seeing a vision. 

Back in the living room, I sat waiting. I felt like the psychiatrist about 
to hear the juicy bit at the end of the story. Tansey was going through a 
good many agonies to give it birth. It finally popped out in her fine clear 
voice I'd known in the office. 

"Phyllis, I want you to take me." 

Strange how obtuse one can be, I missed her point. "I've just taken you," I 
said, feeling lost. 

"Oh, Phyl', you know what I mean! Take me-put me in that room with Wanda... 
please!" 

"Wanda's mine," I said firmly. "Nobody's horning in." 

"I don't mean that!" she exclaimed, startled. "I want you to strip me and 
chain me the way Wand's chained. Keep me chained... ! Always." 

I should have guessed. Now that I knew, I looked at Tansey with a new 
awareness and quickened pulse; the heat between my legs began to burn. I had 
known her as one more beautiful girl, the offices of successful corporations 
are full of them. But here, now, sitting in my chair in my apartment, 
offering herself to me as a gift, she became pure female. The office with 
its desks and phones, its switches and muted words had vanished. In less 
than a minute Tansey could be naked and on her knees. In sudden vivid 
interest my mind computed possibilities. 

"But your job?" 

"I have a girl waiting to take my place." 

"Your family?" 

"I have no close relatives, the others don't care." 

"You've got a boyfriend." 

"I am not in love with him. I want to be as you are." 

I thought sardonically of Dick. Would Tansey still be lesbian if he picked 
her up and tossed her on the floor? 

"You said 'always', that's a long time." 

"I'm giving myself to you," she smiled with a trace of humour. "It wouldn't 
be real if I asked for myself back in a week or a month or a year." 

"Have you done this before?" 

"Only in my mind, my private fantasies. It's been there as far back as I can 
remember; I'm only twenty-three." She paused, considering herself. "If it 
hadn't been for that party of yours yesterday I wouldn't be here. I've been 
around, but I suppose not in the right places. It was a revelation. That 
girl... Wanda; she's so totally explicit I knew for sure it would be silly 
of me just to go on yearning. Phyllis, please! Chain me in that gorgeous 
room with her and keep me there." Her face became irradiated with sweetness. 
"I'm nice to... use. I've discovered that much. You'd like me." 

Feast or famine! One more of the eternal plaints. Owning Wanda, why would I 
want Tansey! But I did! Seeing her struggle with her heart's wish and 
hearing her simple affirmation of need fanned my inmost fire to a flame that 
consumed doubt and hesitation. Do you quibble when you win the Irish Sweep, 
the Kentucky Derby and the Nobel Prize all in a single day! I saw no reason 
to. But I was in the catbird seat and the things the Island had taught me 
about myself were suddenly compelling. 

"You don't want to be tied so you can't move, and then whipped on your naked 
skin so that you scream?" 

Tansey's features became animatedly alive. "Yes! Oh, yes... please." 

You know how it is with conscience, you want to go through the appeasing 
rituals. "Chained naked to a ring for a week; you'd get bored to tears." 

"No!" The single negative held a hundred denials. 

I took a deep breath and stepped into the unknown. "I'm not just a lesbian; 
I'm a sadist too. I think the two interlock a bit. I would be terribly 
cruel." 

"Of course! I don't mind." 

"I'm not very cruel to Wanda, but I would be to you. You'd be on the wrong 
side of a double standard." 

Tansey frowned as though I was quibbling with the obvious. "But Wanda and I 
are quite different types and backgrounds, we ought to be treated 
differently. Phyl', we'd need perspectives and contrast... " I had another 
try. "Would you want to see your own blood? Would you wish to watch your 
flesh pierced for purposed that might please me?" 

"If you willed it so, yes I would." 

You know the thing about the gift horse! I couldn't go looking into the 
mouth of this one forever. But I let good old conscience have one last 
fling. "I won't take you for a week. But come back then with all your 
affairs in order and disposed of and I'll imprison you for life. From then 
on your body will never be free of the marks of punishment. Honestly, 
Tansey, you'd be crazy to return; we both know that, don't we?" 

"No, we don't know that," she stated calmly. "You know perfectly well you 
want me and that I will be here in seven days. Those seven days are for you, 
not me. I don't need 'em," she glowed reflectively. "But they'll be pleasant 
enough. I intend to enjoy them. I'll have a lot to think about." 

Tansey Pepper kissed me softly, her arms hugging me in a strange gratitude. 
When she left I wondered irritably how sensible I'd been to let her go. 

I did not tell Wanda. I had nurtured a condition in which I retained my 
private thoughts and personal life. To all intents and purposes we were 
Mistress and Slave. The words had never been used, but they were implicit in 
all we did. Loving each other was woven into the same fabric. Wanda 
questioned nothing, save in curiosity. If I punished her she would weep but 
not complain. Knowing the child happy I found an immense contentment. 

I wondered how Dick would read to Tansey, should she come. He could scarcely 
fail to be gratified by such a plentitude of female flesh, but he might be 
angry that I had failed to wait to include him in the decision. Dick Carnaby 
had not allowed the difference in our incomes and backgrounds to affect our 
relationship. He did what he pleased with me, more even than he did with 
Wanda. On his last visit he had thrashed me brutally with the Manta tail 
because I'd crossed him in a temporary return of the bitchiness I'd 
displayed on the day of our first meeting. He had hung me naked with my feet 
off the ground for the whip, and when that was done I spent twenty-four 
hours chained to a ring in the floor of Wand's room. In the end I was as 
meek as Wanda. I uttered no word of complaint. I clung to him when he had to 
go... As I told you: I just don't know about me and Dick! 

But it's marvellous! 

In considering the enslavement of Tansey I knew it could not fail to be an 
intensely absorbing experience. In this initial contact in which she had 
fallen out of the blue into my unsuspecting lap I had played a secondary 
role, all the conviction had been hers. The lust I now felt for Tansey had 
been generated by her words, her attitudes and her femaleness. If she showed 
up at the end of a week, it would be by her decision, not mine. I was 
curious to see how such a poised and successful young woman out of the 
executive atmosphere would effect the transition she desired. That she could 
do so, I had no doubt. Tansey had a quality. Whatever she did she would do 
well. I found myself becoming excited. 

On the day it might happen, I chained Wanda by one ankle to a floor ring. 
She adored a pile of cushions on which she would fling her nudity in a 
scramble of arms and legs while she devoured a book. She scarcely noticed my 
leaving, she was idly flexing her fettered ankle back and forth to hear the 
music of the links. She failed to note that I did not lock the door. She 
suspected nothing. 

I instantly divined that Tansey was as curious about me as I was about her. 
She was possessed of an immense serenity. In the act of entering my door she 
had cast aside a world and a life, but she faced whatever lay ahead with a 
calm assurance. Somehow she contrived a sweet humility that in no way masked 
decisiveness. I though of her as a novitiate passing through the gateway of 
a Convent where she would spend her life. It was sad and beautiful. 

I took her to my own room. Since she was going to make herself naked it 
seemed the most appropriate. But first we sat, I wasn't pushing things. I 
felt certain she had more to say than I had. 

"Phyl,' bear with me a little while. It's a strange and weirdly thrilling 
time for me, a little frightenly. Her eyes sparkled, her lips slanted in wry 
humour. "I working to make myself believe that in a few minutes I'll have 
passed a point of no return. I will, won't I?" The last words were anxious. 

"You will." I made my assurance warm and comforting. I didn't want her 
changing her mind. 

"I've been thinking about how I should address you, Phyl'. Sounds silly, but 
I'm not going to be on your level. This is the last time I'll be talking to 
you as though I was your equal. I won't be. What title must I use when I 
speak?" 

I hadn't thought of it. Wanda tosses her 'Darlings' around with complete 
insouciance, and from her they fit. I wouldn't want her to call me anything 
else. That's what she is to me too. But I now remembered Dick and I. He had 
made me call him 'Master'. Even with the resentment I had felt for him at 
the time, it seemed natural enough. The word had come easily to my lips, 
there had been only a few times I had forced it. I now toyed with its 
antonym; would I want to be called 'Mistress,? 

Tansey came to the rescue. "I've wracked my brains, and all I can come up 
with is 'Mistress'," she admitted. "In a way I like it, but it's so much in 
use today for concubines, odalisques, and just plain whores that I think of 
it in that context." 

"Me too. Go on calling me by my name. The chains will hold you just as 
tight." 

Tansey shook her head; she was quite vehement about it. "No. It'll throw us. 
May I start out by calling you Miss Stafford? You can always make me change 
if you find it grates on you." 

"Try it." 

"Miss Stafford, never let me forget what I am. Please name my condition. Am 
I a captive, a prisoner, a slave? I think that's important too." 

The way she had used it made the formal title serve well enough. "You're a 
captive," I told her. "Slave is like Mistress, it's gotten a bit hackneyed. 
You'll refer to yourself as my captive and you'll call me Miss Stafford. 
It'll do for starters." 

An awkward silence fell on us. We had reached a brink. Once Tansey had 
stepped over it I would not be at a loss, but I wanted her to do the 
stepping. There was still about her the aura of Executive Secretary. 

"Miss Stafford, I think this is it." She was flushed, wide eyed, living 
intensely. "Please tell me once more it will be for real... won't it?" 

"For very real. More than you may wish." 

"And if I plead or cry, you won't let it change anything?" 

"Pleading and tears will be a part of your life from now on. You'll have a 
human need of them, but they will earn you nothing, except perhaps a 
whipping." 

I could see that Tansey was loath to abandon the moment in which she now had 
being. She was flushed and breathing quickly, looking inward at herself in 
farewell. I sensed all she felt, and wondered how well I could do what she 
was doing, or if I would ever wish to. She stood up as though stepping away 
from introspection. There was no bravado, no posturing; her smile 
acknowledged a bond between us. "This is the end of Tansey Pepper," she 
announced gaily. "I'm going to stop the 'between us girls' talk. Please, 
Miss Stafford, your captive asks you to make her captivity real." She stood, 
passive and inviting. My lust for her flared unbearably. But this was not 
the time... "Strip." 

Tansey instantly obeyed. She folded her things neatly and placed them in a 
drawer I indicated. I suppose both of us wondered if she would ever wear 
them again, or when. Her body was even better than I had thought. 

"Stand before me." 

She took the few paces and, seeing the handcuffs I held, meekly offered her 
hands. "No. Turn round, hands behind." I wondered if the huskiness of my 
voice told her how I felt. 

All her motions were pure melody, Tansey was a natural. She presented me 
with the ivory planes of her back and the curves of her derriere and two 
limp hands open for captivity. 

"Take a deep breath, darling," I said softly, "here's your point of no 
return." 

She actually obeyed. When I fastened the metal bands tight upon her wrists, 
she gasped. A quiver of pure sensation was visible as a garment might have 
been, her nostrils flared, her head reared. I knew for several moments her 
eyes were closed. She would forever treasure the memory of the bite of 
steel. 

"Forward a few paces, turn and face me." 

I draped the whippiest of the riding crops over my knee as I lolled with 
deliberate negligence in my chair. Her eyes widened when she saw it, her 
hands busy testing the unfamiliar limbo in which they were held. 

"Play with your handcuffs all you want, but stand to attention, stick your 
breasts out." 

Again instant obedience, she was electric with response. 

"Stretch your legs far apart." 

Deliberately I stared at her cunt, testing her vulnerability to shame. She 
made it as open to me as she could. There are limits to how far a girl can 
separate her legs and still stand. Getting the feeling of this new privilege 
life had placed in my hands, I got up and went and made a manual exploration 
of Tansey's naked sex. It was a large soft mound thatched with an abundant 
crop of wiry hair. She uttered no word, staring straight ahead as a soldier 
on parade. Her nipples needed no teasing, they were already tumescent; I bit 
each of them hard. She gasped but did not move. Circling her nakedness I was 
amused at her small clenched fists tautly spreading the single metal link 
that joined them. I spread apart the twin cheeks of her bottom and tickled 
the tiny anus twinklingly revealed and was rewarded by one more involuntary 
gasp. I sauntered back to my chair. 

"You may stand at ease." 

She brought her legs more comfortably together, her eyes rested on me 
expectantly. 

"Did you feel shame when I handled you?" 

"No, Miss Stafford." The voice beautifully modulated. 

"I intend to whip you sometime today." 

She took it well, a sudden tensing, a widening of the eyes, the captive 
hands ceased their play against the cuffs. "Very well, Miss Stafford." An 
intelligent acceptance, no humble thanks. 

"Are you afraid?" 

A shrug of strained shoulders. "Just nervous, Miss Stafford. It will be my 
first time." 

"It will hurt about ten times worse than you expect." 

This time she made a determined twisting protest against her handcuffs, then 
looked at me levelly. "You see, Miss Stafford, I cannot free my hands. No 
matter how it hurts, it will happen." 

"You are a lesbian, aren't you?" 

"Yes, Miss Stafford." 

"If I deliver you, chained, to a man who will fuck you, how would you 
react?" 

"Again, Miss Stafford, it would happen. I've been pierced many times. I 
would sooner be whipped." 

Her choice of a word was revealing. 'Pierced!' How well it might describe 
such couplings as she had known. I wanted to watch Dick make her moan with 
delight. 

"It will be done to you sometimes, perhaps as punishment." 

A small inclination of the head was her acceptance. She was bringing few 
illusions to her new condition. "Could you fight me now?" 

Tansey was suddenly animated. "I've been thinking about that, Miss 
Stafford." She tugged at the handcuffs demonstratively. "It's strange and 
beautiful. These steel things on my wrists behind my back; they seem so tiny 
and insignificant, but I've been realizing that I'm almost completely 
helpless. There's nothing effective I can do." She laughed unaffectedly at 
her plight. "I could kick if there was anything worthwhile kicking, but I'm 
certainly not going to kick you. I can imagine what would happen to me if I 
did. That whip thing you hold; if I had notions of revolt it would drive 
them right out of my head. I suppose I am afraid of it; it's partly from 
being naked too. I can see how you can govern me with such a threat." 

"You wear handcuffs like that for a week at a time." 

"I don't mind! At least I honestly don't think I'd mind. They might be good 
for me." 

"Come." 

When I opened the steel barred door, Wanda knelt up among her cushions. As 
always, she was immensely grateful for attention or diversion. Seeing a 
naked Tansey, her eyes widened in excitement, but she uttered no word. Wanda 
was sensitive to impressions, she kept her questions to herself. I chained 
Tansey by her ankle as I had chained Wanda, inwardly chuckling at the 
knowledge they might come close but could not touch each other. I went away 
and left them to their own discoveries. 

I had work to do, so it was several hours before I went back to Wanda's 
room. The two of them were draped on cushions as closely together as they 
could get, the fetters on their ankles snubbed tight and shining with their 
own implacable authority over feminine whims. 

"Oh, darling, poor Tansey doesn't know anything. She's never heard of a 
girl's Tie or what happens to us on Fridays!" Wanda was definitely shocked 
by such omissions in a girl's education. 

"We're going to teach her." 

"Can I help?" 

"I may let her help me with you," I said dryly. "You probably need your 
Friday more than she will." 

"Ooooo! See, I told you! Darling Phyllis is terribly strict. I daren't say 
'Boo'," Wanda told her neophyte proudly. 

"You're saying it all the time," I reminded her. 

"Well, yes. But then, I'm getting whipped all the time too," Wanda agreed. 
"I've been showing Tansey the marks. She says she's never seen any before. 
She hasn't any at all." 

"She'll have some soon. I'm going to whip her now." 

"What's she done that's bad?" Wanda was interested in sin. 

"She hasn't done anything; it's just to show her what to expect." 

"Mmmmm! Can I whip her too, darling?" 

I love the child. I cannot forbear teasing. "Sure, alt you want. But for 
each one you give her you get one also. I can tie you afterwards." 

The captive Tansey listened to our exchange, unsure of its reality. Wanda 
exuberantly got to her feet and kicked her shackle to make the links swirl 
and chatter. "I expect I can stand five," she said judicially. "I usually 
can, and anyway if I'm tied I have to. Save me a bit of space on her for 
five, darling." 

"Miss Stafford, is Wanda serious?" 

"Terribly. She adores whipping a girl. She's good at it." 

Tansey thoughtfully assimilated Wanda's special status. I could see she was 
as captivated by the kid as Dick or I. Words were forming on her lips, but 
she did not utter them. Her new status left her unsure of how far she might 
intrude on conversation. Demurely she stood and awaited my pleasure. 

I unlocked the chain from her ankle and positioned her beneath the trapeze 
bar. I could feel her trembling. For simple convenience I snapped handcuffs 
on her ankles joining them so closely she was well-nigh helpless even after 
I had removed the handcuffs from her wrists. A glance exchanged between us 
told me she understood: Even in transition from one bondage to another she 
would be restrained. She was signaling the most vivid vibrations. 

There could be no doubting her virgin interest in what was being done to 
her. It was the first time. Almost eagerly she placed her wrists at each end 
of the bar and watched me strap them tight. I had to smile at her naive 
surprise as the bar, with her hands attached, rose before her eyes, lifting 
her arms until she stood only on her toes. Seeing my smile, she returned it 
nervously, awkwardly aware of her innocence in the subtleties of this new 
experience. I removed the handcuffs from her ankles. 

"That's so as you can kick, darling," Wanda contributed helpfully. 

Once again I knew the urge to eat a tied and naked girl rather than whip 
her. Tansey was downright sweet standing there on her toes with her hands 
high and well apart. There was a mystic smile on her face as of an acolyte 
at her initial rite. Her unblemished skin was an invitation to my whip. Yet 
it was a sacred moment, with the etching of the first weal upon her flesh 
nothing for her would ever be the same again. I kissed her. "Frightened?" 

She nodded brightly. "Yes, Miss Stafford. More than I thought I'd be. I 
think it's being so totally naked and the standing on my toes. I've never 
been this helplessly exposed in my life. I've never done a strip tease on a 
stage, but I think it would be... well, less cringe-making." 

"Sure the whip hasn't anything to do with it?" 

Tansey grinned ruefully. "Of course it has, I'm trying not to think of it." 

I fetched the whip I intended to use and placed it on a cushion where it 
screamed for her attention. "I'm going to make you kiss it first," I told 
her cheerfully. "I told you I'd be cruel." 

"What do you keep calling her Miss Stafford for?" Wanda complained. "Her 
name's Phyllis. 'Miss Stafford' sounds silly." She gave the matter a 
moment's thought. "If Dick's my Master that makes you Tansey's Mistress. 
That's what she ought to call you." 

"I think she's right... Mistress?" The captive's eyes sought mine. 

"Ask me to whip you." 

"Please whip me, Mistress." The request was instant. It sounded right. 
"O.K." I agreed, "I'm your Mistress. How shall I whip you?" 

"Hard please, Mistress." 

I lifted the whip to Tansey's lips. She kissed it reverently. 

Tansey was special! Wanda and I each have our own reactions to being 
whipped, but for both of us the punishment means a frenetic response in 
motion and in voice that leaves us shamed afterwards when we remember it. We 
are always going to be better next time but we never are. We watched, 
breathless and excited, to see how a girl who had never in her life been 
whipped would behave. 

I think we were both awed. I whipped the virgin white nudity hard. Not all 
out, nor with the most severe whip, but hard enough that, had it been me on 
the receiving end, I would have been dancing like a puppet on a string and 
howling enough to let everyone know I was being hurt. But not so Tansey! 

I had to believe that within her own mind she had formed a code. She had 
sought enslavement clear-eyed and with conviction. She could not avoid 
uncertainty as to the agonies she might suffer from my caprice, but she 
could formulate her own image of herself beneath the lash and within the 
chains. Given enough will power she might treasure that image intact. For 
her it might mean an infinity of riches that she present me with a naked 
thrall tailored to her own vision of perfection. She was that kind of girl. 

I made her first stroke moderately cruel, it sliced across her back and 
snapped around her ribs. The instant scarlet reply from her flesh was 
exquisite, so was Tansey. I circled her silently to assess her baptism. I 
could tell that the world and Wanda and I had ceased to exist; she had 
entered the kingdom of agony and was seeking her bearings within the pain. 
Her eyes were closed, her lips tight shut. Her flaring nostrils inhaled and 
exhaled breaths so irregular and of such force that they took the place of 
screams. They conceded nothing, yet touched the heart more deeply than a 
piercing cry. She did not kick, but undulated against her strapped wrists. 
It was by her wrists themselves she told most graphically her suffering; 
they tugged and twisted against their bonds in a quiet intensity of 
determination to free themselves from a travail too great to bear. 

I curled the next one across the twin curves of her bottom and deliberately 
made it snap over one hip where I know it hurts abominably. But, once again, 
Tansey expended her hurt within the confines of her mind and her straining 
nakedness. Her feet refused to leave the floor, and only the almost angry 
respirations told her anguish. But her wrists... those poor slender wrists 
within their straps had an eloquence all their own. Tansey was fighting a 
battle against an antagonist I could not see and did not know. 

I whipped Tansey slowly but steadily. As each vivid weal sprang into relief 
upon her flesh I tensed for her scream, but it did not come. Her body was 
alive with motion, but I could not say she writhed or contorted; she 
certainly did not kick. It was as though every muscle and sinew expressed an 
agony of its own. The effect was exquisitely erotic. Wanda's pubic hair was 
wet and I could feel my own panties absorbing the juices of a demanding 
lust. The whipped girl's response to any particularly cruel lash was to 
change the angle of her head from one raised arm to the other, or to throw 
it back in homage to the deity of pain. 

At one point in the whipping I stopped the blows and went and stood before 
the tractioned nakedness in curiosity. It took Tansey a long while to open 
her eyes; the momentum of her anguish carried her on and on through 
diminishing reactions. When her eyes finally opened to see me watching her 
she smiled in gladness, a small wan smile, it is true, but still a smile. I 
saw in it no hint of a belief her whipping was done; her gladness sprang 
from simple communion. Having expressed it she closed her eyes again and 
returned whence she came, passive and expectant of the thong. 

Wanda was in an agony of her own. She would have loved to stand beside me 
and to circle the now beautifully striated nakedness. Her eyes were burning 
with a tremendous excitement, and she was tugging with her foot against the 
shackle on her ankle. Her chain tether allowed me to approach closely enough 
for a good enough view of what was taking place, but for Wanda that was not 
enough. She did not plead for me to free her, she was as subject to Tansey's 
silence as was I, but I knew her petulant desire to be free of the chain she 
had stretched to its utmost limit so that her prisoned foot was held back as 
though striving to catch up with the rest of her. I chuckled inwardly, a bit 
of restraint did the exuberant child no harm. Silently I resumed my stance 
and swung the whip. 

When I had whipped Tansey enough I had evoked no cry. Even when I stopped, 
she remained silent with closed eyes. Unless I told her, she could not know 
I was done with her. I did not speak, but stood with throbbing pulse, 
drinking in the loveliness of the palpitating captive. I could not fail to 
see the moisture escaping from her sex lips within the damp thatch of her 
triangle. Tansey was vividly pulsatingly alive. Reluctantly I turned away 
and freed the fetter from Wanda's ankle. 

I suppose the sounds we made penetrated the consciousness of my prisoner. 
Opening her eyes she saw what I was doing and sighed in thankfulness. She 
now knew the limit of her punishment. Wanda did a gleeful dance of liberty 
and clasped the helpless nudity in eager arms, and with equally eager lips 
kissed the captive again and again until Tansey was kissing her back 
hungrily. 

"Darling, it's my turn to whip you now!" Wanda made it sound the most joyous 
event of the day. For her it was! 

The captive said nothing, she smiled and offered pouting lips for another 
caress. She was still half within her own private place. 

"Would you like me to whip you up between your legs, darling?" Now the eyes 
opened wide. For a moment I saw in them a faint tremor of something that may 
have been shock. But the voice was soft and wistful. "If it would give you 
pleasure, Wanda, yes, whip me like that." 

"Oh, it will give me pleasure, darling, but it will hurt you terribly." 

"I don't mind." 

"You'll have to spread your legs apart, Tansey dear. It'll make your wrists 
hurt more." 

My captive did not answer with words. Meekly and obediently she separated 
her feet until she practically hung from her wrists. She did not close her 
eyes, but kept them fixed on the glowing Wanda with a smile of understanding 
at the child's joy. I placed the whip in Wanda's hand. 

The girlish wrists strapped to the trapeze bar took up their tale of woe; 
they and their hands were enough to tell the whole awfulness of their 
owner's whipping. The small fists clenched or spread their fingers wide; 
there was a continual and fruitless straining to twist within and against 
the tight bands of leather into which they were buckled. Wanda mischievously 
and wickedly whipped Tansey's cunt. 

I was of a mind to stop her and insist she ply the thong on more 
conventional bite of the captive's person. After all, this was the first 
time! I had not set out to break a spirit. But now that Wanda held the whip 
her victim's eyes were no longer closed, they followed the youngster's every 
move. I realized there was a deep communion, some sort of intimate knowledge 
between the two girls. After all, why not? Their roles in life were not 
dissimilar. They had spent a few hours whispering to each other, chained in 
their own private prison. They would spend many more. Tansey was almost 
daring the kid to do her worst. 

Wanda knew I had an eye on her. What she did was bad enough, but she 
refrained from going too far overboard. Tansey's feet were now 
excruciatingly alive. With each snapping impact of the lash upon the loins 
so obligingly and wantonly offered, one or the other of them would perform 
its own dance to acknowledge the cut that the innocent but wealed cunt was 
unable to attest. At such moments it was again the wrists that took the 
punishment of the captive's weight. Once she looked up at them in wonder and 
in anguish as though to offer compassion to suffering separate from her own. 
Without pity, their captivity held her subject to the lash. 

It was only five! When their excoriations had painted their venom on their 
victim's sex, both girls were panting. Tansey's nakedness was glistening 
with sweat, her toes seeking stability to close the tortured triangle of her 
loins and ease the strain upon her tortured wrists. They stood thus for a 
long time until Wanda dropped the whip and clasped the wet body in her arms 
and sought the lips that feverishly sought hers. Watching, I knew a pang of 
jealousy that I would have to keep these two chained apart if I was to 
preserve the flesh that was mine to enjoy, not theirs to give. Scrutinizing 
every bit of her, I could make no other judgement than that Tansey was a 
happy girl. When their passionate kissing began to generate a writhing of 
their loins I took Wanda by the hand and led her from the room. I, too, 
shared their hungry ecstasy, but Wanda was mine! She followed happily 
enough. I could feel her trembling. 

We left Tansey hanging by her wrists. 

* * * 

TANSEY PEPPER 

When my mistress led Wanda away I passed through a moment of desolation. I 
could not follow. The warm wet lips and glowing body had been taken from me. 
The pungency of female musk, mine and theirs, hung heavy about the spot 
where I must stand, reminding me vividly of desire and female appetite. But 
when that absolutely wicked steel barred door clanged shut behind them, I 
found I was glad to be alone. I wanted to sort out the thing that had just 
been done to me but, most of all, that which I had done to myself. I hurt; I 
was supposed to. Unexpectedly now it was my wrists that were bothering me 
the most, my longing to ease them kept me painfully on my toes. But I was 
sure this too was deliberate. In choosing Phyllis Stafford I had made no 
mistake; any girl her captive would never be allowed doubt any more than she 
would be vouchsafed liberty. I was a prisoner. At the moment I was a naked 
girl terribly whipped, the prisoner bit seemed almost incidental. In a few 
fleeting hours freedom had become, for me, an abstract theorem; in the times 
to come I would know of it only by hearsay from others who enjoyed it. 

I felt I should be demanding of my alter-ego: "Fool of a girl! Are you happy 
now you've got it?", or some other such accusation of stupidity, but it 
wasn't like that at all. My most urgent thought was of Wanda. I wanted her 
so terribly it set other needs aside. But I wasn't going to get her, was I? 
I was so damn helpless I could have cried in vexation. But that was part of 
it too; I was sexually ablaze because of two girls. For Wanda with lust, for 
Phyllis because she possessed me. Toward Phyllis Stafford I generated a 
glowing submission that was a lust of its own. She was a treasure chest of 
emotions from which would emerge cruelties and joys as her caprice might 
dictate; I would wear them all as jewels. For her I would blend an adult 
fear with a schoolgirl adoration. 

To be whipped so soon had thrown me a bit. I'd expected to get whipped, but 
I'd supposed I'd have to break a rule. Yet now that I was covered in stripes 
and my flesh still throbbingly tender I could see a logic. It was like that 
first bite of the handcuffs; both had told me my wish was granted. I might 
not like the reality of my fantasy, but I had been given my wish in a 
measure overflowing beyond my dreams. 

The time Wanda and I had spent together tugging at the ankle chains holding 
us apart had helped. Without those fervid whisperings I might have broken 
down while Phyllis was whipping me, but the warm sexuality of the child in 
chains had told me clearly of the Tightness of my choice. Wanda had never 
faced a choice or decision. All she had known was an erotically motivated 
semi-captivity. But she was the happiest and least inhibited girl I had ever 
met. True, she enjoyed more freedom than Phyllis would give me. But still... 
! 

Why do I possess this compelling need to be slave to a girl? I cannot tell 
you. All I know is that it has always been there. You do not ask a giraffe 
why it is a giraffe. Even if it could speak it couldn't tell you any more 
than I can. Let it rest. That I am a lesbian may have significance, but I 
doubt it. My adoration of girls and my need to be enslaved by one of them 
probably gave it birth. What is lesbianism anyway beyond the love two girls 
can share? I loathe homosexuality in men. I do not believe men can give each 
other the spiritual sustenance females can share in our whisperings and 
caresses. For me, lesbianism has no relation to that other ugly word. My 
mistress's threat to give me to a man is a thing I do not want. But if it 
happens it will not destroy anything. If my chains allow, I will bathe 
afterwards and that will be that. I do not think I want a man to whip me. 
There is an awful fascination in the thought, but I am frightened by it. 

I have no faintest wish to reverse what I have done. While I was being 
whipped I could glimpse such a possibility, but I have been slave for so 
little time that, even if I knew doubt, it would be absolutely vital for me 
to stick it out. As yet there is no doubt; I am sticking out nothing. But 
such reflections are silly. I have relinquished decision. I can look up now 
at the straps that bind my wrists and know, with an utmost certainty, that I 
cannot free myself. I will stand here on my toes until my mistress or Wanda 
releases me. I am quite sure that before it is done, my ankles will be 
chained; I will be given no chance to make an ass of myself. 

I will always remember the handcuffing of my wrists. To make such a 
conjunction is absurd, but it was gloriously frightening, the thrill of a 
life! Without experiencing the sensation a girl cannot realize how bereft 
and helpless she becomes when robbed of her hands. I hadn't a clue, but when 
I stood there naked with my wrists chained together at the small of my back, 
I had to face the fact that the girl who had snapped the handcuffs upon me, 
or for that matter any girl, could handle me with ease, physical resistance 
would be a farce. A six-year-old child could have put up more of a battle 
than I was capable of. It was tremendously exciting; it provoked a hundred 
fantasies. 

So now I make an assessment of myself standing here naked with my wrists up 
in the air and hurting like hell. It's simple. I want to get loose. I want 
to get my hands back. I want to lower my heels to the ground. But this wish 
is not significant any more than a wish to scratch my nose or to sneeze. The 
spot I'm in now is inherent in captivity. I must expect a lot of it. I have 
been left here like this deliberately to let me know I'm what I am, to give 
me a chance to think under the stimulus of pain. Above all, to make me 
thankful and glad when my mistress comes to set me free. At the thought of 
that moment that must eventually come, my heart leaps in joy. 

Now that I am a slave I must learn to think as one. If I do not I will 
dissolve in tears and panic. I find it impossible not to see myself, frantic 
and hysterical, pleading and screaming for the return of my freedom. I do 
not think I will do this, but I cannot be sure. What I have got myself into 
would be, for most, an intolerable torment; I am only human. Certainly I can 
be very sure that my mistress has seen this vision too and made up her mind 
what she would do with me. I would suspect that if my hysteria was genuine I 
might be coddled for a little while, but a chain would remain heavy on my 
ankle all the time. Before I came here to yield myself I kept a comforting 
reserve in my mind that if I was making a terrible mistake, a misjudgment of 
myself and my capacity, the resulting mental anguish would touch the heart 
and understanding of she who held me in thrall, so that she would set me 
free. But now, standing here naked and whipped, I see this dream as false. 
It won't happen, there will be no freedom for me, ever. The whip has given 
me a message, and the handcuffs on my wrists, and the chain upon my ankle a 
while ago. Above all, Wanda has convinced me escape is impossible. It is 
impossible for two reasons, my chains and Wanda herself. I have a burning 
lust for the child. She radiates so powerful an aura of sex I am enslaved by 
it. I long for her. In my longing there is love. At the back of my mind 
there is the hope my mistress will desire me in the same degree. If she does 
not desire me in that way now, I will make her. I will! I will! I am a 
slave. 

I do not know how long I stood with my wrists strapped to the whipping bar. 
It seemed a very long time. When my mistress returned she knew as well as I 
did my readiness to kiss her feet in return for release. But first she 
kissed my lips and then chained my ankles, not with handcuffs, but with 
heavy bands and heavy links which left me conscious of their weight even 
when I was not testing them. When she lowered the trapeze and unbuckled the 
straps I instinctively fell to my knees and clutched her thighs in an 
intensity of longing as a child might seek the solace of its mother. 
Unthinkingly, I cradled my cheek against the juncture of her thighs. I must 
have been more lonely than I thought; the warmth and strength of her felt so 
very good. I was worshipping at the most ancient shrine of all. 

My mistress fondled my hair; she pinched my ears and tickled my nose. I 
vibrated with thankfulness that she wanted to do these things to me. When 
she raised me to my feet she had to clutch at me as I stumbled, tripping 
against the unfamiliar shackles on my feet. We held each other for a moment 
and kissed but she would not allow the kiss to hold. It was she who would 
decide the length and ardour of our caresses; I could show longing, but that 
was all. 

I had to learn to walk. I could not take a proper step. In a way I was glad 
the chain joining my ankles was no longer than it was, I had a heavy enough 
burden of links to carry now. My mistress laughed at my shuffling 
exploration with shackled feet and the hand I reached out to her for 
support. "You won't be a runaway slave in those, darling." 

I wanted to reach her again. I was in a really shocking state of lubricity. 
I wanted a girl; my mistress was a girl! But I did not presume; perhaps I 
would never presume again! I remembered the whip. I could easily believe the 
reason for my skin being striped with its wounds was to help me remember, to 
help me become what I must be. Now I would not dare assert myself. Fear and 
respect would keep me within the pattern of my choice. 

"I think you'll like these much better than handcuffs, darling." 

I was not so sure. My mistress was holding chains for my wrists. They were 
as heavy as those upon my ankles and, like them, were beautifully fashioned 
of a gleaming silver I supposed was steel. I held out my hands and watched 
them locked upon me. There were only three links, I was not being given much 
freedom, but infinitely more than when handcuffed behind my back. I wanted 
to ask if handcuffs were just for convenience on temporary occasions, but 
did not dare. I was discovering a lot of things I did not dare to do or ask. 
For a moment the weight of the metal holding my hands in thrall caused my 
arms to sag. Ashamed, I lifted my chain and bore its weight as though it did 
not irk. Pride, I suppose. If I must wear chains, I wanted it to be with 
grace. 

My mistress kicked aside some cushions and a small rug. Beneath them was 
plumbing that, absurdly, made me blush. "When you're chained, you're 
chained," she said matter-of-factly. "You'll be glad of the facility, 
there's another on the opposite side." She pushed back the scattered items 
and laughed at my shamed face. "You could be chained here for a month, 
y'know," she assured me cheerfully. "I want you to be comfortable; my 
cruelty's only spasmodic." 

Oddly enough, the things she had shown me only added to my sense of 
imprisonment. With them, a girl could be left chained in this room for life. 

But I was not yet secured enough. Now it was a silver collar and a silver 
chain. I could not restrain a gasp of delight at their perfection. My 
mistress placed the collar in my hands. "Examine it now, darling. You won't 
be able to see it when it's 'round your neck." 

It was beautiful. Almost I was proud to have it hold my neck in thrall. Its 
chain was lighter, in keeping with the band itself and in practical 
recognition of the place on which I must wear it, but it was heavy enough 
that I could feel its drag as a compulsion when the collar itself was locked 
upon me. The silver tether running from my neck to the ringbolt in the floor 
was about eight feet long, but would only give me that latitude if I 
crawled. Standing, I had far less. It was a strange evocative situation in 
which to stand. I won't pretend I was anything less than happy. 

My mistress selected a hassock and made herself comfortable. "Sit down, 
darling," she ordered. "When you get used to your chains you'll find you can 
reach about everything you need." 

Awkwardly, I gathered cushions and tried to lounge on them gracefully. Both 
of us laughed at the result. I could see I was going to have to develop 
techniques. Chains were an art form I had not yet mastered. 

"The collar on your neck would be enough to hold you," my mistress told me 
companionably. "The rest is to keep you in a proper frame of mind." 

"Is that why the door is locked, Mistress?" 

"Right! And it's the reason you'll never know how long you're here for. I 
might leave you chained like that for a couple of weeks, it's bound to 
happen sometimes." She examined me with satisfaction. "You look very 
beautiful in chains." 

"Thank you, Mistress." 

"Any regrets?" 

"No, Mistress. Little bits of fear sometimes, but they pass." 

She nodded. "You'll always have them, they're a part of it." She grinned 
reassuringly. "Look, darling, I'll want to talk to you when I'm in the mood, 
two girls together sort of thing. Don't be scared of me. Talk back, say what 
you want." 

"Could I not earn punishments, Mistress?" 

"Yes, you could! It's a hazard of your condition. Adds a bit of drama. 
You'll never be sure of anything." 

I took her at her word. "Where's Wanda, Mistress?" 

"Out shopping." My Mistress laughed at the expression on my face. 
"Surprised! I told you there would be a double standard. Wanda isn't a slave 
the way you are. I can set her free anytime and she'll bounce right back. If 
she didn't love this room so much, she'd only have to spend a few hours a 
day here. But it's her room and she never tires of it." 

"Then I'm an interloper?" 

"Not really. For Wanda, you'll be a delightful addition to the amenities. 
It's Wanda who'll look after you half the time. She'll punish you too. In 
fact, the little darling will amuse herself with you to her heart's content. 
But don't get ideas, you'll have no more chance of freedom with her than 
with me. 

"I sort of belong to her too?" 

"Yes. Does it bother you? It won't do you any good." 

I was entranced, but thought it wise to go easy on the enthusiasm. 
"Mistress, will I have duties, things I must do?" 

"It's not practical, honey. I'd make you tend the apartment, but you'd need 
too much freedom. I'd just as well let you dress and go home." 

"I am home, Mistress." I held up my chained hands and admired them. 

I could see she was pleased. "You'll be lonely, darling," she mused. "When 
that kitten, Wanda, leaves a room there's a vacuum. You'll have to count the 
links of your chains like a Rosary." 

"I can see books over there, Mistress." 

"O.K. Go and get them." 

I almost fell into the trap and tried. My Mistress saw my involuntary 
motion. We shared our amusement. "My chain won't let me, Mistress. I don't 
think I can get more than half way." 

"Right! The things you may see over there will tantalize you to death. Wanda 
has orders not to give you any of them. If I catch her doing it I'll whip 
her hard and make you watch." 

Some shape of my captivity began to form. The velvet glove and the hand of 
iron would both be present. "Will I never read again, Mistress?" I was 
curious. 

"Wanda reads a lot. She loves to read in this room with her ankle chained to 
a ring; it's her thing-or one of 'em! She's got plenty. Wanda can have 
almost anything she wants, so she'll be a constant irritant to you who can't 
have anything at all. I think it's a piquant situation that has 
possibilities." 

"Won't Wanda feel... unkind?" 

My Mistress chuckled. "You don't know our Wanda! She's a sympathetic little 
kitten, and she's a mischievous demon at the same time. Work on her and see 
how you make out. She knows she'll be whipped if she's too easy with you. 
That won't necessarily stop her; she's more used to being whipped than you 
are... yet. Incidentally, if she gets whipped for that reason, so do you. 
You can watch each other get it. But don't be too scared, the little 
sweetheart will probably think up a way to get around the rules; she's 
cute." 

"I am scared, Mistress. I'm still living the whipping you've just given me. 
You were right, it was worse than I ever dreamed." 

Her eyes were momentarily somber with memories. "But it passed. You came 
through it O.K. A girl thinks she's being whipped to death, but she never 
comes anywhere near dying. It's frightening and it's wonderful." 

I caught a glimpse of something I had not guessed. "Mistress, you mean... 
you mean...?" 

"Oh sure! And the hell of it is I'm not the type. But I've been whipped so I 
thought for sure I was being killed. 'Cut to pieces' is the usual complaint. 
It's been done to me more than once. I'm not giving you the gory details; 
you can worm them out of Wanda." 

I was a bit stunned. I'd thought me and my fantasy were all alone. But here 
was a vista of a hidden country in which the whip and the chains were for 
everyday. Wanda and Phyllis Stafford walked in and out of this delectable 
land at will. But, looking at my chains, I knew I would walk nowhere. I had 
become a permanent inhabitant. 

"Of course I'll use you for entertainment. In my business I have to quite a 
bit." 

Another small bomb I hadn't expected. "You mean... that Tea Party affair... 
where I first saw Wanda? I'd have to...!" 

"Yes, darling, you'd have to." 

"But all those people...!" I could glimpse pitfalls. "Wouldn't some of them 
feel they had to do something about me? I mean, report it or try and rescue 
me?" 

"Or you might plead with them to give succor to a maiden in distress!" My 
Mistress laughed delightedly. "Oh sure, the hazard's there. But look at it 
their way. For a couple of hundred dollars anyone can hire the right girl to 
put on such a show. For enough cash the little dears become amazingly 
cooperative. The crowd will be a raffish lot who've seen about everything 
there is to see. Even the girls have been to North Africa and watched a 
donkey fuck a woman. They're blase and jaded. They'll sense something fresh 
and frightened in you. Calling the cops will be the last thing in their 
minds." 

"But if I pick the right one and please...?" 

"Covering all the bases, honey? Leading yourself not into temptation?" My 
Mistress was pleased by my wish to cover avenues of escape. 

"Yes I am," I admitted. "I think I'd feel a falsity, sort of insecure. It 
would be like you leaving the key to these chains here where I could reach 
it. I'd be wondering if I dared use it." 

"Damned perceptive, sweetheart. So I'll try and help. Let me catch a single 
hint that you're up to tricks and you'll spend the following day hung up by 
your wrists, toes off the floor, and getting your pretty skin striped with 
the whip in ways you don't even dream of. There! That make you feel better?" 

Oddly enough it did. 

* * * 

When my Mistress went away leaving me chained amidst the expensive luxury of 
Wanda's incredible Arabian Nights Room, it took me an hour to make myself 
believe it had all happened, that this was indeed Tansey Pepper chained by a 
collar round her neck in a place of pure fantasy. 

First of all, I explored my range. The shackles on my wrists and ankles 
hobbled even a modest crawl. But I was not short of time, so I wriggled this 
way and that and discovered I could reach everything I had to have for 
comfort. The place was knee deep in rugs and skins and blankets along with 
the cushions and other odds and ends a chained girl might sit on. Feeling 
shockingly exposed I took a better look at the plumbing beneath the rugs. It 
was beautifully ingenious and more than adequate. I couldn't have a real 
bath, but all the other possibilities were there.-I supposed I'd get used to 
the exposure, but after all there was only Wanda! 

Almost from the start I found myself looking longingly at the books and 
magazines and other stuff she had scattered round her special ring in the 
floor. I deliberately tugged at my chain to prove to myself I couldn't go 
and pick them up. At the start this was quite unreal. A new captive feels 
quite sure there has to be a way, there just has to be! But there isn't. 
Tantalizing is right! But after an hour or so I began to accept the fact of 
my fetters. They isolated me in a small prison of their own. I found myself 
concocting an absurd alliteration that fetters infuriate, and shackles 
shame. I could well see that a mind held in captivity was going to think up 
a lot of silly notions. 

It was evening before Wanda romped in, naked as I was, and well ahead of our 
Mistress. She danced over to me and kissed as long as she dare, and then 
stood beside her ring. She was flushed and radiant and alive. She was 
followed by an amused Phyllis with a tray. It was for me. "You won't be 
given much to eat, darling. I refuse to have you put on a single ounce." She 
placed it within my reach and then casually went and chained the ankle Wanda 
obligingly extended. 

"I've had the most gorgeous time," the nymphet exploded after our Mistress 
had gone and locked us in. "I bought all sorts of things. I was going to buy 
something for you, but you're not supposed to have things... not yet 
anyway." She giggled. "But there's not much that's any use to you. You're 
not allowed to wear clothes or have boxes of chocolates." 

"I could read a books," I offered hopefully. 

"You know perfectly well I've been forbidden to give you one," she chided, 
"but there's one here that's really something. I'll bring it over and let 
you look at the cover and read the blurb." 

Before I could stop her she came leaping towards me. When her ankle chain 
snubbed she fell sprawling, only the cushions and the rugs saved her from 
hurt. The book went flying. 

"Oh, damn and blast!" She sat up, grinning ruefully and rubbing her ankle. 
"I did that once before with Phyllis. It's awfully easy to forget. Where's 
that book?" 

The book was in plain view, but when I saw it my heart dropped, even Wanda 
looked perturbed. She stretched her chain and herself to the limit but could 
come nowhere close. 

"How about you, darling?" 

I did my captive crawl with even less success. I felt like a puppy straining 
at the leash from its kennel. As though by mutual instinct we moved towards 
each other, at the very limit of our restraints we barely managed to touch 
finger tips. 

Wanda backed up and kicked furiously with her captive foot. "She's done it 
again! I'm so mad! It's on purpose, you know. She wants to keep us for 
herself. I was going to have a lovely time nibbling your cunt, I know you 
want me to." She looked angrily around. "I wish I could think of something. 
Being chained and more or less free I always feel I ought to be able to get 
these metal things off. But I can't. We didn't have chains on the Island, I 
was always tied. It's quite different. Chains are nice. A girl can be free 
the way I am now. I can do anything except go away from this ring. But they 
absolutely frustrate a girl to death. You know, the 'so near and yet so far' 
business" 

"That book's going to get us both whipped." It was the thing uppermost in my 
mind. "I sure don't want to get whipped again today." 

"If Phyl' finds it, we'll both be whipped." Wanda conceded without much 
concern. "Don't suppose she'll believe any excuse I can cook up, she always 
knows when I'm fibbing. But wait a jiffy, there's still hope." 

I wanted to laugh, but there was too much at stake. Wanda is a perfect 
treasure. I wanted to hug her. She prowled around in the radius of her chain 
and found a rug to suit her purpose. Once more stretching everything to the 
limit she went fishing. She managed to swing the rug so that its far end 
fell on top of the errant volume; gently she pulled. The rug slid back, the 
book stayed where it was. 

"This is really a lot of fun," the child said cheerfully, "but usually I'm 
scared to death, like now. The thing is to keep trying." She threw again and 
again. "Lucky it isn't you who has to do this. All that hardware you're 
wearing would make it a real pain." 

She managed it finally. I felt like cheering. As yet, my captivity had never 
been a bore. Wanda petulantly tossed the book back within acceptable 
limits." 'Spose we might as well go to sleep." She yawned unconcernedly. 
"Good-night, darling. I'd love to nibble you, I'd make you feel all 
gorgeous. Wait till I tell Phyl' what I think of chaining us apart! But 
never mind. She's bound to leave me loose sometime so I can get at you." 

I had my doubts. 

For twelve days the collar was not taken from my neck. I Knew the full depth 
of captivity and often loneliness, once or twice panic. I was so terribly 
chained, I could do nothing. My Mistress spent only a little time with me 
each day. Neither of us spoke of my prisonment on the ring. My Mistress knew 
I wanted to speak but did not dare. As the number of my days lengthened, my 
Mistress's amusement grew. Often I was afraid. 

Wanda came and went in an endless exuberance. Without her daily presence I 
think I might have gone a bit hairy. There was something claustrophobic in 
the weight and implacability of all those chains that were fastened on me. 
They were always there. I could never be unaware of them. My Mistress kept 
her threat about the books; I was not given any. When I was left alone I had 
to live within my mind or try to sleep. There are limitations to both. 

With Wanda they have these quaint rituals that are absolutely sacred, sort 
of sacred cows. They call 'em The Tie and 'Friday.' Every day the kid gets 
tied helpless in some way or other for anything from a couple of hours to 
all day; that's The Tie. Every Friday, whether she's misbehaved or not, she 
gets her bottom caned. The child herself is convinced this has to be, it's 
immutable. She enters into the spirit of both with an absolute assurance 
that it's right and proper that she should. I can almost share their belief 
in what these notions do for a girl. You know: character building and 
keeping us in our place. Who am I to sneer! Look at me! Anyway, I'm in on 
these whether I like it or not. While Wanda's tied tight to a pillar or 
hogtied on the floor or standing in the stocks, my wrist chains are unlocked 
and my hands are tied behind my back with cord. If I've been the least bit 
lippy I also have a strap buckled tight round my elbows so as to draw them 
together; it's awful! I have to stay like that for however long Wanda has to 
put up with hers. We talk and even manage a laugh or two. But I don't know 
how the kid managed to survive when she was left all alone. 

Wanda takes Friday in her stride, but I don't. I hope I'll get used to it. 
Maybe a girl's bottom toughens up with use. We get strapped to a bench with 
our bottoms sticking well up. I don't even have to be unchained. Phyllis 
pulls the bench over especially for me. When we are strapped tight she canes 
our bottoms for as long as she feels like it. Not as hard as she could, I 
suppose, but it hurts like hell. I feel a bit of injustice, but I can see 
their point. Getting that every week is going to keep me remembering. Wanda 
says it's to remember you're a girl. But with me it's to remember I'm a 
slave. I suppose there's a difference. I manage not to scream or moan. Wanda 
gasps and giggles and even talks a bit. She tells me she screams terribly 
when she's whipped for punishment. 

Quite early, the day after I was chained, Wanda and I had a quaint 
interlude. We got measured. 

She was a sad severe little woman that our Mistress ushered into our 
presence. You could easily imagine she'd spent her life with a sewing 
machine. She didn't seem to notice anything out of the way in our condition 
or in Wanda's room; presumably she dealt in oddballs and the theatre. She 
went about measuring us with quick sure movements of the tape in all the 
usual places and some where I'd never been measured before. She took a lot 
of time and trouble. When they were gone I pounced on Wanda, but the kid 
didn't know any more than I did. She was intrigued, imagining all sorts of 
delights. She preferred nudity, for her clothes were an amusing 'dressing 
up'. Having enjoyed them she wanted to take them off. In this case I had to 
make my own guess: It would be one our Mistress's entertainments. Wanda and 
I would be dressed up in some bizarre and incredible garb, and no doubt 
during the evening would be stripped bare of it. 

In one way my guess wasn't too far wrong, but in another it was out a mile. 
That's the way it is for a girl who's a slave. The one who owns you is 
always two jumps ahead. Our Mistress made the great revelation on the second 
Friday after we'd both been caned. I was alone in Wanda's room and still 
running my fingers soothingly across the flaming cheeks of my bottom when 
Phyllis appeared with the box. "A pleasant surprise for you," she said 
archly. "You won't mind if I blindfold you." 

If I had minded it would not have made any difference. I did not say this. 
I'd already drawn a few stripes with the cane for remarks judged impudent. 
I'd had to bend over and touch my toes. They had hurt like blazes, so I was 
cautious. I stood passively while I was put into darkness and waited for the 
gown of the century, or maybe rubber or latex. 

There were strange sounds, not the kind you associate with the world of 
fashion. Suddenly I gasped at the cold touch of metal over my shoulders and 
upon my breasts; something cold and hard and strangely flexible was being 
fastened on me. Moments later there were similar sensations round my hips 
and upon my loins. When the blindfold was whisked away I found myself 
clothed in a brief two-piece of panties and bra' made of gleaming steel 
mesh. 

They were beautiful. I longed for a mirror. But I could see the reflection 
of their loveliness in my Mistress's eyes. They were artistry in metal, so 
perfectly fashioned as to cling like a second skin, but so tight that each 
tiny link made its own indentation in my flesh. They were heavy and 
immovable; there was no slack. They covered my vulva and my breasts, little 
else. I gasped in pleasure and explored them avidly with my chained hands. 
They were exquisitely symbolic. What more fitting garment for a girl in 
chains! 

"For the entertainments, Mistress?" I asked breathlessly. 

"Save you a bit of embarrassment, honey. No tits in the drinks and not much 
for the men to put their hands on. Admire them for awhile. I'm going to give 
Wanda hers." 

Admire them I did. I was inordinately proud of my adornments. Slave girls 
receive few gifts, and being naked have little need of them. But this silver 
mesh intimately embedding itself into me wherever it touched was something 
utterly unique. It was exotic and erotic with a touch of cruelty. A girl so 
clothed would never forget she had them on, they had that in common with the 
chains. I wondered how often we would be allowed to wear them. 

When Wanda waltzed in with shining eyes, my Mistress blew me a kiss as she 
closed and locked the door that made the two of us secure. For a moment she 
surveyed us, then disappeared. 

"Oh, darling, aren't they simply too, too gorgeous!" 

Wanda danced here and there between the cushions to try out the feel of her 
metal garb. In complete motion the links held firm as though painted on her 
flesh. The child was quite free, there was not a restraint on her. Phyllis 
had locked the door and gone; could this mean... ! 

"I'm free, I'm free!" the nymphet chanted as she danced. "No chain on my 
ankle!" She flung herself upon me and found my lips. We kissed wetly and 
hungrily. The feel of her fanned desire into a bright flame within my being. 
I cursed the chains that joined my hands, they prevented me throwing my arms 
about her as I had a great need to do, but she was alive enough for both of 
us. I was engulfed in arms and legs and lips. I sighed in glory. 

The sudden thought must have hit us both at the same time. We tensed and 
separated. Wanda whirled about, presenting me with her back. "Take them off 
me, darling," she demanded in a voice in which there was the hint of tears. 

At the back of each garment there was a small flat oblong metal lock; the 
links were either a part of it or their terminals entered it by tongues or 
prongs thrust into slots. There was a keyhole, but no key. Despairingly I 
tugged and pulled and twisted. "It's no go," I told her sadly. "They're 
locked on us. We can't get them off." 

Slowly Wanda turned. She was crying. She engulfed me in her arms and bore me 
back upon the rug. We kissed and used our hands, but our kisses were sad, 
they were of love, the other was denied us. 

Finally she knelt beside me, her fingers busy at the metal on her hips. 

"The lousy thing's a chastity belt," she declared vehemently. "Oh, what a 
rotten trick to play on us! I bet Phyl's laughing her head off." 

We surveyed each other dolefully, two maidens utterly forlorn. The absurdity 
of our plight got the better of us, we broke down into giggles and laughter. 
It was ridiculous, but it was comic. Never had two damsels bent on illicit 
lust been more neatly foiled. 

"She's even covered our nipples and our breasts," Wanda wailed. "There's 
nothing to nibble on at all." 

She pushed me down. Separating my legs she busied herself trying to insert 
fingers beneath the mesh upon my sex. But the little woman with her tape had 
known her job too well. Wanda's frantic efforts accomplished no more than to 
rob me of a few pubic hairs and make me say "Ouch!" Any virginity we might 
possess was absolutely safe. 

"Looking for something, darlings?" Our Mistress's voice was brimming with 
laughter. She had sneaked in unobserved. 

Wanda reared, her face flushed with indignation. "Darling, why are you so 
mean to us? All I want to do is nibble Tansey's cunt. Why can't I?" 

"Because it's my cunt, sweetheart." 

"But you never use it." 

"I might want to. At any time." 

"Well, it's there. I'm not going to wear it out. It could probably do with a 
bit of use." Wanda's voice was unusually petulant. 

"Honey, don't take on so. I got these things for quite another reason than 
stopping you two feeding on each other. Tonight's a tryout. I take it you've 
both found yourselves safe and securely protected?" 

"They're works of art," I interjected, hoping to ward off words best left 
unsaid. "With these on a girl would be safe on an aircraft carrier with a 
thousand sailors a month at sea." 

"Let me bite Tansey's cunt," Wanda demanded doggedly. 

"Honey, don't push." 

"You're mean not to let me." 

"Wanda! You'll be whipped in the morning." Phyllis was angry. 

Wanda tensed, she bit her lips. I could see she was vexed at her own 
foolishness. I could sense, too, she was no more anxious for the whip than 
I. She stood, flushed and irresolute, close to tears. But she did not beg. 
At a nod from our Mistress she marched angrily to her ring and thrust 
forward a hostile foot on which Phyllis firmly clamped the metal band. No 
word was said. 

I could have wept myself. She was such a lovable child. It was partly 
because of me she would be punished. I looked appealing at my Mistress. 
"Please don't whip her. I should have stopped the things she said. The 
fault's part mine." 

My Mistress laughed. "Going to do the nobility act and offer your own skin?" 

"If you will accept it in place of hers." 

"Well, I won't. Tomorrow I'll cure that cute little pout she's wearing. Her 
'Friday' evidently wasn't enough for Miss Sexy." 

I dared not argue. I felt a great tenderness for the hurt proud child who 
was trying not to cry, but it was a moment when my slavery rested heavily. I 
could do nothing except get myself whipped too. 

"The mesh won't do you much good now, I'll take it off." My Mistress was 
obviously miffed over the turn things had taken. I suspected she was feeling 
as sorry for Wanda as I was. But, having issued a judgement, she would stand 
by it. A key turned in my locks, the heavy metal fell away; I was once more 
nude. She did the same for the stiff rebellious figure of the child. Without 
a word she left and locked the door. 

What was there to say! Fortunately the moment was eased for us as we beheld 
on each other the imprint of the belt and bra. It was as though we were 
still wearing the lovely things. They had been so tight upon us they had 
left their mark. It would soon recede, but it was as though we wore brief 
pink coverings for our most female secrets. Inevitably we laughed, the 
tension was gone. Wanda became her ebullient self. "Gosh, I was an idiot, 
wasn't I!" 

"Will it be very bad?" 

"'Bout like yours was, I expect." 

"But that's awful! You don't deserve... " 

"I do, y'know. I'm not supposed to shoot off like that. I don't know what 
made me make such a blooper. Don't worry. That whipping of yours wasn't as 
bad as you thought it was. I doubt if I'll get much less." She gave me an 
explanatory grin. "You see, the punishment ones have to make us really want 
to do better. Wouldn't do much good otherwise, would they!" 

"Sweetheart, I'm so damn sorry." I wanted to hug her. 

"I was going to say the same thing, darling. 'Cuz I know you're feeling bad 
about me getting whipped. Don't worry. I'll be O.K. 'Tisn't my first time, 
y'know." 

And that's the way we left it for the night. 

But I could not sleep. I wanted that kid so bad it hurt. Fact is, I was 
horny as all get out. Between them Wanda and my Mistress affected me as an 
aphrodisiac. They reeked of sex, they exuded desire as a thing almost 
tangible. In innocent unconsciousness Wanda emanated waves of sexuality that 
kept me with a wet pussy all the time she was in the room. My Mistress felt 
it too. I could tell. But she herself bombarded me with sensuality. I 
wondered if I had that effect on them. When the three of us were together 
the atmosphere was heavy with musk. It left me with an aching hunger and a 
fire burning in my crotch, a fire that did not seem to have much hope of 
being quenched. I knew my Mistress was conscious of my agony and was 
deliberately keeping me starved. I thought it likely to be a part of my 
indoctrination as had been the whip and the chains still heavy upon me. I 
hoped this was all; I could see my frustration driving me to a vocal 
outburst such as Wanda's and earning me some awful punishment. I slept and 
dreamt turgidly of Wanda on whose ankle there was no chain. 

In the morning it was all very cut and dry and without fuss. Wanda and I did 
not speak of what would happen. Evidently the cheerful nymphet had some 
store of resignation on which to draw when the inevitable hovered in view. 
There were only a few odd times I caught a bleakness in her eyes as she let 
herself see and feel, the rest of the time we talked as we always did when 
chained to our rings. Once we crawled to the limit of our chain and 
contrived the brief touch of our fingers and the exchange of a wry grin 
acknowledging our helplessness. 

When our Mistress came with the whip I knelt beside my ring and watched. 
Nothing was said. It was as though the occasion demanded a ritualistic 
silence. Immediately the shackle was unlocked from her ankle Wanda strode 
quickly to stand beneath the trapeze bar I remembered so bitterly; she 
looked up at it to gauge her position with precision; her manner was 
absorbed and preoccupied as though her thoughts were elsewhere. When the 
hateful thing was lowered she placed her wrists within the straps, and 
watched the buckles pulled tight to render her helpless. It was not until 
she stood on her toes, her arms and body stretched taut, that she managed 
speech. 

"I'm sorry, Phyl'. I didn't mean to be beastly." 

"It's O.K. sweetheart." 

"Darling... my apology, it's not to get me off anything, don't let it." 

"I won't, honey. You'll get it all." 

"Kiss me, Phyl', please! I'll kiss the whip too." Was there humor in the 
poignant words? 

It was all very normal for them, I could tell. Their lips met in a lingering 
heat, and then the lovely child kissed the awful thing that would weal her 
skin. As she did so her eyes lovingly sought those of the woman who held it. 
I ardently wished I was not chained, I too wanted to kiss such courage. 

Wanda had promised screams, she delivered them. They were as uninhibited as 
her laughter or her tears. She was being unbearingly hurt, so she screamed. 
She screamed, not for dramatic effect, but because they were natural and 
eased her pain. Because they were hers they held an awful beauty. 

I knelt with the rivulet of tears streaking my cheeks. How well I knew 
myself a slave. I could do nothing but watch and know that sooner or later I 
myself would stand again as the darling child stood now. My fists were 
clenched against the chain that joined them. 

Phyllis Stafford whipped Wanda with the same thorough competence with which 
she dealt with her career. She was a woman with a tremendous store of warmth 
for others, which she set aside when there was a job to do. Whatever she was 
engaged in got her whole hearted attention. Wanda was getting it now, her 
youthful curves tearing at her bonds and writhing in a sensuous frenzy, her 
feet plunging and kicking as though they fought a tangible enemy. But in all 
her gasps and her moans there was never a plea that her punishment should 
stop. The livid weals mounted, one upon the other on her skin. 

She stood there, still strapped, panting and wet, after our Mistress had 
gone. The cones of her breasts were rising and falling with the depth of her 
breathing, twin protests against her pain, her legs still flexing and 
seeking something they could not find. My tears now were of frustration that 
I could neither hold or free her or even touch my lips to hers. I found 
myself on my feet striving to work away my futility by chain rattling steps 
this way and that so that the collar round my neck snubbed me again and 
again with its brutal message of my impotence. I was learning with a 
vengeance what it was to be a slave! Tansey Pepper was gone, as was my will, 
decision and freedom. 

Well, I'd damn well asked for it! 

Everything is wonderful and frightening and sometimes beautiful. It was past 
noon of the twelfth day when my Mistress unlocked the collar from my neck 
and let it fall tinkling to the floor. Next my wrists were freed, but their 
heavy manacles were instantly replaced by glinting handcuffs, feather-light 
by contrast. My heart soared. When the massive irons were removed from my 
ankles I sank to my knees and kissed the hands by which I had been freed. I 
was trembling. 

"How 'bout soaking in the tub, honey." 

I let her lead me. I was floating on weightless clouds. Right then it seemed 
the strangest and most wonderful sensation of my life, the metal that held 
my wrists so close was fantastic jewelry. I loved it. 

"I'm going to play Lady's Maid, sweetheart. You'll find there's a few bits 
you can't reach with your hands fixed, and it's quite impossible to towel 
yourself afterwards. I know, I've tried." 

It was heavenly, all of it! Especially her hands on me. I longed to make 
love. She did too; I could tell. But for some reason I was still interdict. 
I refused to let it mar by joy. But being toweled by her knowing hands 
almost drove me into orgasm; she knew and laughed delightedly at my blush. 
"Let's make you really feminine, darling, just for the hell of it." 

Seated before the huge mirror in My Mistress's bedroom the two of us worked 
with tremendous absorption at just me. My hair, my eyes, my lips, nothing 
was forgotten. I became increasingly proud and excited by the reflection in 
the glass. "Shouldn't my nipples be painted with something bright?" I asked 
breathlessly. 

"Bit of a waste with these." 

I gasped as the chill metal of the silver mesh hugged my breasts. "Push your 
nips around, honey, and get them comfy, I'm going to make these tight." 

I did what I could. She was right about being tight. After the click of the 
lock each breath I took drove my breasts surging against and into the links 
of the mesh. It wasn't exactly painful, but I sure knew I was wearing a 
chain mail bra. It was the same with my pussy, the steel cupped, covered and 
held it with finality. When I stepped around the room I sure knew my virtue 
was in safe keeping. But it felt good, snug and tight and of my Mistress. So 
were the handcuffs, pure thistledown. I felt just as much a slave, but a 
tremendously happy and excited slave. 

"This way, darling. You look good enough to eat." 

My heart leaped in hope, especially when we went to one of the spare 
bedrooms; like all of them it was large and bright and expensive. But it 
wasn't that-not what I wanted, I mean. My Mistress unlocked one cuff and 
snapped it round the bedpost, leaving me standing with one single wrist 
captive, the rest of me free. Pulling at the cuff that held me I knew I 
wasn't going anywhere. 

My Mistress did not pause. Going to a drawer, she extracted there from a 
slender riding crop which she placed in stark prominence on the dresser, 
well out-of my reach. She then held up two keys. "Your clothes and your 
handcuffs, darling." 

I watched, still trembling with hope and apprehension, while she took a 
magazine from a shelf, slipped the keys inside, and replaced it at the 
bottom of a pile. "You and I know where they are, darling. No one else. You 
don't have to tell a soul." 

I stood, helpless, yet free. Certainly infinitely more free than I had been 
for a long time. My Mistress placed her hands on my shoulders. "You're 
beautiful, almost too beautiful." She said it wistfully as though from some 
inward knowledge in much the same way that an old and withered woman will 
say it to a child. She pulled me to her and kissed me again and again. My 
fettered hands reached for her but could hold nothing. A girl can do a lot 
in handcuffs but not the things she most wants to do. My one free hand was 
not enough to hold her. She broke away laughing. "I told you I could be a 
bitch, darling." A moment later she was gone. She left the door ajar, 
probably to tantalize. 

I stood at the end corner of the bed. The steel band was tight around my 
right wrist. An exploration of the bedpost to which I was chained soon 
showed me I would not get free of it. It was solid as the Washington 
monument. So there I stood, a nearly naked girl chained by her wrist to a 
bed post, and over on the dresser a whip. It was a piquant stage setting, a 
real teaser. The only thing I could think about was the surety that 
something was about to happen... happen to me! 

He lounged in, bored, but curious. Maybe thirty-five, tough and cynical and 
damn good-looking, the kind of looks that go with money. Seeing me he 
grinned, not at all surprised. I could believe that, to this man, naked 
girls were commonplace. He said, "Hi, kid," then looked me over and added 
casually, "You've got a nice ass." 

I'm a lesbian. It always infuriates me when a male manages to make me notice 
him, it's a sort of betrayal. 

"O.K. They're damned effective, but toss 'em away. I'm not going to screw 
you any way but naked." 

Damned generous of him! The lordly male bastard! If I got a chance I'd kick 
him in the testicles. For the moment I held my end up by rattling my 
handcuff at him. 

He was instantly intrigued. Some of his boredom slipped away. "W-e-l-l...!" 
He drew out the exclamation pleasurably. "Not a willing victim, eh?" 

"Go to hell!" Not original, but I had to say something. 

"What? No plea for release?" He was going to enjoy me. 

"What would I want to be released for?" 

He considered my question. "I take it you're not a damsel in distress, 
sweetpea?" 

"I wasn't until you walked in. And my name's not Sweetpea." 

His interest perked up another couple of notches. My dialogue was taking me 
in the wrong direction, but it felt so good to be rude. 

"How come you're handcuffed?" 

"None of your business." 

He assimilated this without visible offense, his eyes roved. My heart 
thumped shockingly when he went and picked up that awful riding crop. "Think 
this might make it my business, sweetpea?" he inquired blandly. 

I devoutly wished I was chained back in Wanda's room. Phyllis was right, she 
could be a bitch! "Yes, it will make me beg, if that's what you want," I 
told him bitterly. 

"Hadn't really thought of begging," he conceded mildly. "Figured I might 
just screw you for awhile, 'fore and 'aft." 

The crass and complacent male! How I hated them! I felt like those damsels 
in the legends who were chained securely for the attention of the local 
dragon. "Go ahead and screw me then," I said disgustedly. "I can't stop you; 
and incidentally, I'm not a virgin. I hope that's a big disappointment." 

He enjoyed every word I said. I wasn't going to be able to talk my way out 
of this one. He came and examined my locked wrist. "Who's got the key?" 

"You know as well as I do." I could smell his maleness, he was that close. I 
stepped back a pace, it was as far as I could go. It left me with my arm 
stretched out. 

"You aiming to go some place, sweetpea?" 

"Damn you, screw me and get it over with." 

"Damned awkward with your hand up there." 

"That's not my fault. You don't think I chained myself, do you?" 

"Well, anyway, take off that avant garde two-piece you're wearing. I've a 
notion it's hiding something good." 

"Just my breasts and vagina. Were you expecting something else?" 

"Don't get too cute, sweetpea." He flexed the riding crop thoughtfully. It 
was wickedly limber. He saw me looking at it and laughed. "You don't really 
want this, do you?" 

"I can't get these things off, I've only got one hand." 

"O.K. Turn 'round." 

I chuckled inwardly. He was in for a shock; but I'd have an angry man on my 
hands, and he had a whip! I positioned myself obligingly to be undressed. 
Strong ruthless fingers tugged at me. 

"Hell, these bloody things are locked on you!" 

"You mean you can't undo them?" I asked innocently. 

"You know damn well I can't." 

"How should I know?" I exclaimed indignantly. "Someone else put them on me." 

I turned back so that we again faced each other. He eyed me pensively, more 
intrigued than angry. "Dear sweet Phyllis Stafford," he said thoughtfully. 
"She said it would be different; it is." Once more his eyes searched the 
room, he probably expected to find keys hanging somewhere. "With the right 
tools I could have you out of the whole thing, handcuffs and all, in no 
time. But I'm not going to find a man size bolt cutter in a lady's bedroom." 

"If you did find one, would you free me and take me away, away from this 
building?" I asked tentatively, but hastily added, "After you'd screwed me, 
of course." 

"You been kidnapped?" He eyed me with fresh interest. 

My mistress had put me in a pretty pickle. I wondered if she was listening 
outside the door. I could feel myself sliding into a spot in which anything 
I did or said would be wrong. I couldn't keep my eyes from straying to that 
blasted whip. "No I have not been kidnapped!" I said tartly. "But, 
regardless of that, would you take me?" 

"Sweetpea, you know damn well I wouldn't. Always leave the furniture the way 
you find it. That's a rule." 

"Alright, you've had a good look at me, so why don't you go? I'll even give 
you a genuine good-bye kiss if that'll soothe your male ego." 

The wise eyes surveying me were wickedly shrewd, they made me doubly 
conscious of my nudity and helplessness. I was totally vulnerable. All my 
lesbian sensitivities recoiled from the thought of him using my body as he 
would wish to do for the afternoon. I remembered his " 'Fore and 'aft." The 
'aft' bit was something new I could do without. If I could exhaust his 
interest with words or some lesser capitulation, I had better try. 

"Spunky little trick, aren't you?" he chuckled. "Getting yourself closer to 
this all the time." He bent the length of the crop double for my inspection. 
I was scared, why wouldn't I be?! "You shouldn't use that thing on me." I 
protested, striving toward a bit of logic. "I didn't engineer this silly 
spot we are both of us in." 

T think you know more than you're telling. Five or six with this and you'd 
be real helpful." He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "It had to be sitting on 
that dresser for a reason, wouldn't you agree, sweetpea?" 

"Oh, please, no! Don't whip me, it won't prove anything." I could feel his 
quiet reasoning surrounding me, cutting off escape. 

"Honey, of course it'll prove something! Even if you didn't talk-and you 
will-I'll enjoy slicing a few marks on that soft skin of yours." 

I'd guessed it anyway. Everybody loves whipping a girl. But they like an 
excuse, it salves their conscience. I found myself pulling at my handcuffed 
wrist. "Look," I said desperately, "I think I can kneel. My hand will be up 
in the air, but that won't matter. If you come close I'll give you a blow 
job. Will that prove I'm not cheating?" 

He was vastly entertained. "You're quite something, kid." His mind was 
obviously busy with assessments. 

"I've never done it," I admitted. "But I know what it's called. I don't 
suppose it takes all that much skill." 

He did not answer me at once, just pensively looked, stripping me of both 
covering and pretense. "Not a bad offer, sweetpea. But that comes last. We 
do the other first." 

I squirmed against my tethered wrist. One by one he was closing my escape 
routes. The horror I had just offered him was, for me, a tremendous and 
humiliating surrender. In him it had evoked no more than amusement, perhaps 
suspicion. I may have made a tactical error. 

"Know what I've figured out, kid?" he mused aloud, "I think the keys we need 
are right here in this room, and you know where." The grin he gave me was 
almost benign. "Figure it my way, sweetpea: add you and Phyllis together, 
then add those handcuffs and that trick suit you're wearing, and then for a 
clincher toss in this lovely whip. You know what it adds up to, don't you?" 

His addition was perfect. If it hadn't been for seeing the whip bending in 
his hands I might have kept my features innocently composed; but with it 
staring at me or me at it, I'm sure my face betrayed all I had striven to 
hide. 

His long drawn-out sigh was not one of regret. It held all the sensual 
anticipation of a satyr. "In what position do you want to stand for it, 
sweetpea?" His whip now swung idly from a single hand. 

The moment was upon me. I wanted time to think, but I had no time. 
Miserably, I turned to the high bedpost to which my wrist was shackled and, 
gripping it with both hands, laid my forehead against the wood. I had 
bluffed it this far. Perhaps after a little agony he might relent! I waited, 
tense and hopeless. 

His first blow cut across the cheeks of my bottom. The mesh chastity belt 
gave no protection. Its stricture came from between my legs and rose up 
within the cleft to lock itself with the band around my waist. The ensemble 
had been designed to leave the wearer's seat bare and available. I curled up 
with the sickening pain. It is bad enough to be whipped by a girl. But by a 
man! All my femininity rose up in futile revolt. I held tight to the 
bedpost. 

He whipped me hard and with little pause; he had a purpose. I managed not to 
scream, but I could hear small animal noises coming from my lips. I tried to 
keep still, but it was not easy. I found a strange and unexpected comfort in 
the bedpost. I gripped it with all my strength, my forehead sought it harder 
and harder until it hurt. The slender withe cut me everywhere. 

I gave up at the seventh lash. If he knew compassion it would have surfaced 
by now. "They are in the magazine at the bottom of the pile," I told him, 
not weakly, but with anger and disgust. 

He was jubilant with male egotism. 

"Could have saved your hide, sweetpea." 

"I'm sure you enjoyed every stripe," I said bitterly and without caution. 

With the keys still in his hands, he paused. Reading the message in his eyes 
I cringed and cursed my sarcasm. "How many did you get, honey?" he inquired 
pleasantly. 

"Seven." 

Without waiting to be told, I turned back to the post and sought its 
comfort. The whip sliced me three more times bitterly, cruelly, and without 
mercy. I could not hold back the tears that measured their injustice. 

"Makes an even ten, sweetpea," he said comfortably. "Teach you not to get 
uppity with me. Or would you like to drop another sarcasm or two?" 

"No. Thank you." I hated the whole thing, including myself. 

He unlocked the handcuff from the bedpost and immediately snapped it 'round 
my one free wrist. "Won't stop you doing what I want you to," he leered, 
"but might deter any declarations of independence you have in mind." 

I wasn't chained to anything. I could run! But he killed the idea as soon as 
it was born. "There's ten more waiting for you, kid, any time you give me 
trouble. I'd love to give 'em to you." 

I daren't chance it. He'd catch me before I could reach the door. Thought of 
ten more lashes with that beastly thing set me trembling. "The missionary 
position to start?" I asked politely. 

He fucked me again and again. I'll use the filthy word; it aptly describes a 
filthy act. I spread myself for him, and even put a couple of pillows 
underneath without being told. But after his second orgasm he whispered in 
my ear, "You want the whip again, honeybunch?" 

"No!" 

"Stop closing the door then. You're managing a mental blackout. There's no 
spring in your ass." I gave him that concession too. 

After he's extracted from my flesh the response that means so damn much to 
men, he had the effrontery to chain my wrist to the bedpost again and take a 
nap. I had to stand there and keep quiet. When that was over he was 
obviously invigorated and announced the main event. 

"Ever had it up your ass, sweetpea?" 

I threw away all my pride. I begged. 

He listened thoughtfully to what I had to say, then made his casual 
suggestion. "You're damn good under the whip, kid. Would you sooner I did 
that?" 

If he hadn't whipped me already I might have said yes. But now I couldn't. I 
just did not want my skin cut anymore. "If you'll push me into whatever 
position you want, I'll try and behave and make it good for you." I don't 
suppose any maiden's defeat had ever been more total. 

It was no worse than I expected. 

He had another snooze after that. I wept quietly, using my one free hand to 
dry my tears. I felt lonely and bereft and abandoned. I knew that had the 
sleeping figure on the bed been female, I might have been happy. But a 
man... ! Ugh! I cringed at the sight of him and at the knowledge of "act 
three" coming up. 

"If it's your first time, sweetpea, you'll get a real charge out of it," he 
assured me blandly. 

I knew all too well the charge I was going to get. "I understand I have to 
swallow it all to gain approval," I said acidly, coming dangerously close to 
sarcasm. 

"And lick it clean afterwards, honey. Be sure about that." 

He stood, making no move. I looked at him, distrait. "Aren't you going to 
wash?" 

He slapped his thigh and roared with laughter. "Hell, girl, that's the 
reason it comes last. Wouldn't want it unfavoured, would you? Or were you 
thinking of some peanut butter?" 

I wanted to puke in his face. I could feel my gorge rising. But I choked it 
back down. Just one more river to cross and I might be home free. Best not 
spoil things or earn myself more stripes with the bitter words upon my 
tongue. At least the secretions I would have to savour were my own. "How do 
you want me?" I asked helpfully. I recalled hearing it spoken of as a term 
whores used upon their clients. 

"You got me going with that thought of yours," he admitted. "And you don't 
need more than one hand. I'll stand right close." 

Miserably I knelt before him, my chained hand held up and away. I edged 
close into position and used my one free hand to guide his redolent penis 
into my waiting mouth. I sucked and tongued lustily. 

When he went he left me handcuffed as he had found me. The silver mesh and 
the whip lay scattered on the floor. I stood there, desolate and soiled, 
even to the final insult of a fifty dollar bill pushed roughly between the 
lips of my cunt. 

* * * 

NARRATIVE 

It was like owning a Cezanne and a Van Gogh and having the cognoscenti in 
your drawing room to pay tribute to your taste and fortune. Phyllis Stafford 
glowed with pride in her two silver maidens as they glided among her guests, 
proffering their trays and their smiles. The silver mesh was a delight upon 
their flesh, their whip marks an exciting contrast on satin skin. Each wore 
chains upon her wrists; chains to match the closely woven links of their 
brief costumes. The silver bands upon the slender wrists were joined by 
eight inches of chain, enough to allow them ease and grace in what they must 
do, yet mark them captive. 

Each of the girls knew their own excitement. To Wanda all things were 
gorgeous and exciting. But for Tansey it was a new chapter. After her time 
in chains this hum of conversation, the smoke of good cigars, the eroticism 
of perfume, and the admiring and speculative glances of all the men and most 
of the women was heady stuff. She and a giggling Wanda had stolen a drink or 
two. This, coupled with what was for them an almost total absence of 
restraint left Tansey floating on a euphoric cloud in which anything could 
happen. If vagrant thoughts of escape flitted through her mind, she 
dismissed them. Her wrists were chained, and almost certainly Phyllis 
Stafford was equal to contingencies. The comments were diverting. 

"That thing on your what'sit is actually a Chastity Belt." 

"Surely you've got the key to those chains on your wrists?" 

"How much do you charge for an evening?" 

"Is that true, you're really a prisoner?" 

"Did she buy you or something?" 

"Those whip marks are real, aren't they? Did they hurt?" 

"Do you like being whipped? Or has she got something on your' "Are you 
kinky, or just need the cash?" 

A dark-eyed sultry girl cornered Tansey and said bluntly: "If you like being 
whipped you must come to me. I've got a lot more time than Phyl', and I've 
got better premises. I've got a post I'll tie you to. You'd love it." She 
imparted an intense stare and drifted away. 

But the thing that maintained a tingling excitement in each girl's breast 
was her knowledge of The Prize. Later there would be a draw. The winner 
could take a choice of either one of them and subject them to whatever 
delights Wanda's room could provide or their own ingenuity devise. The 
winning slip got its owner an hour's privacy with a captive girl. It added a 
fillip to the evening for everyone. For Tansey it added much, much more. 

"To them that hath shall be given," quoted the middle-aged man as he 
accepted the glass from Wanda's tray. "You know the 'Smoke a Smeaton and 
Smile!' ad. That's her, Connie Smeaton, richest girl in town. Her old man 
died last year." He gave an alcoholic chuckle. "From what I've heard, that 
pretty little sidekick of yours may be in for a rough time." He winked 
broadly. "If I'd have won the toss I'd have picked you." 

Wanda was glad he had not drawn first prize. She had a feeling that, with 
him, she would not want to be it. The word 'nasty' came to her mind. She 
gave him her politest smile and turned an anxious eye to where the Smeaton 
millions was leading Tansey from the room. The Smeaton hand was very firmly 
on the slave girl's arm. A round of congratulatory applause followed them 
out. Wanda sought her Mistress. 

"Phyl' darling, there's a man here who says that girl who won the prize will 
be really cruel to Tansey." 

A slight frown crossed Phyllis Stafford's features. She shrugged 
regretfully. "Just the luck of the draw, sweetheart. There's others here I'd 
sooner see win, but Connie won't kill her, y'know." 

With that, Wanda had to be content. 

"I think I'll bastinado the soles of your feet, Tansey," Connie Smeaton 
suggested thoughtfully. 

Tansey's indrawn breath was very real. "That's where you beat the bottom of 
my feet with a cane, isn't it?" She was uncertain what right of appeal or 
protest she might have probably none since she would be closeted alone with 
this girl who had won her. 

"That's right," Connie approved warmly. "Ever had it?" 

"No. Isn't it a bit severe? A sort of ultimate punishment?" 

"Mmmmm! I suppose it is. You're bound to run into it sometime though." 

Tansey wasn't sure. She felt an impulse to run back and throw herself on 
Phyllis's mercy. But the hand that had gripped her arm had now slid down and 
gripped the chain between her wrists. The metal bands could hurt terribly. 
In a scuffle she was half beaten at the start. "Please don't hurt me so I 
can't walk," she pleaded. 

Connie Seaton did a surprising thing. She turned her captive about and 
roundly kissed her. The dark eyes glowed, the voice was warm. "Poor Pet! I'm 
not going to beat your feet. I was testing. You came through pretty good. I 
like you, you grab me." 

Tansey was overwhelmed, instinctively she fell to her knees in gratitude. 
Her hands were still held in the other girl's firm grip, but she used her 
forehead to seek the comfort of physical contact. 

"You poor kid! You really are a slave. I'd wondered; but you're for real." 
Connie's voice was eager and excited. "You're a prisoner, you can't get 
away." 

"No, Mistress, I cannot get away." 

The dark eyes looking down at the kneeling girl were intent, shining. "Is it 
by your own wish?" 

"Yes, Mistress." 

To Tansey it all happened very quickly. When she swung from the trapeze bar, 
her toes an inch above the floor, it had happened as in a dream. She had 
been passively obedient, Connie Smeaton had done the rest. Done it with sure 
and certain motions that spoke of long practice. 

Tansey had never before been fully suspended. She instantly realized it as 
having a quality of awfulness of its own. Kicking her legs made it hurt 
more. Once again it was her wrists that took her punishment. She hung naked 
and motionless helplessly awaiting what might befall; her eyes were on the 
whip in the hands of the girl whose captive she now was. 

"I'll love whipping you. You're an absolute Pet." Connie swung the whip and 
slashed it round the taut waist. "You mark beautifully, you're a darling." 

Tansey was in a welter of emotions. Connie Smeaton would be cruel and 
ruthless and exact her pound of flesh, but she had felt a bond. There had 
passed between the two girls a message of kinship. Striving for silence 
against her pain, she heard words beyond belief. 

"Tansey, come home with me." 

She sought the dark and enigmatic eyes, they glowed. "I can't, I belong to 
Phyllis." 

"Right now you belong to me. I have you for an hour. In less than that I'll 
have you safe." 

"Will you love me?" Suddenly it was all important. 

"You poor Pet! Of course I'll love you. I'll love you and whip you 
alternately until you're my slave and no one else's." 

"I don't know... I don't know!" Anguished, Tansey was lost. "Don't ask me. 
I'm a slave. Treat me as a slave," she moaned as she had never done beneath 
the whip. 

It was a dream, it had to be! Connie Smeaton was not a girl, she was a 
force, a power. She was decision! A free and bewildered slave girl stood 
mute and awestricken while a cord tugged down her chained wrists, sped 
beneath and upon her sex within its mesh and up behind to make a circle 
round her waist. Tansey was helpless, her hands were low against her tummy, 
she could not raise them. 

"Just in case you get notions, Pet. You can't do much, don't try. Come on." 

There was a blanket and a cloak, swift sorties down empty halls and 
passages, an elevator to themselves to the basement and the car. There was 
an exhilarating drive through familiar streets, and a big, big house. By the 
time they left the automobile they had exchanged enough ardent glances to 
ensure the mesh upon the captive sex was more than damp. 

Tansey thought she had been spreadeagled on the bed for perhaps thirty 
minutes before Connie appeared with the horrendous implement that caused her 
to surge against the cords that held her fast and widen her eyes in terror. 

"Hush, Pet, don't take on so. These things will cut anything. Hold still." 

Tansey strained to watch. She was scared. It had happened too fast. What 
would her Mistress say at the destruction of the lovely metal things locked 
upon the body of her slave! The cold steel inserted itself upon her flesh, 
Connie Smeaton heaved and thrust. There came a snap and then another. The 
Chastity Belt protected her no more. In a few moments her breasts were also 
free, their nipples betraying her excitement. The lovely mesh was cast aside 
with the brutal tool that had sundered them. "You're too gorgeous for 
words!" the bright eyed captor breathed as she tossed the clothes from her 
body with careless haste. "Two wet cunts and four hard tits." Connie laughed 
joyfully as she threw her nakedness upon the tied and waiting nudity that 
was Tansey Pepper. 

They ate each other endlessly. Tansey strained against her bonds without 
wish to free herself. Hers were the sinuous writhings of feline awareness. 
She had no wish for freedom. All her pent up hunger found release in this 
dark-eyed maiden who had taken her. Here was a new and excruciating joy that 
only a slave girl could know. Deliberately she hurt her wrists and ankles 
against their cords as orgasm after orgasm filled the void she had carried 
within her loins for far too long. Her tongue was busy seeking and finding 
what she sought. 

Time did not matter, they had no concern with it. When it was done, Connie 
raised herself on one elbow and pensively ran her fingertips back and forth 
over the wet and captive nipples. She smiled in quiet delight at the sounds 
and motions the loving play evoked. Tansey writhed gently, undulating 
against the four cords that spread her, much as a cat will luxuriously 
stretch itself after sleeping in the sun. 

"You can't get loose, Pet." 

"Mmmmm!" Tansey did not care. 

"We can both sleep as we are, no need to untie you." 

"Mmmmm!" 

"Talk about a kitten full of cream! You're happy." 'Terribly, terribly 
happy. Don't untie me." 

"Your breasts are luscious." Connie cupped one with her hand. 

"So are yours. Give me one to bite. I can't reach." 

"Did Phyllis Stafford ever whip them... your breasts, Pet?" 

Tansey turned a lazy eye to the lovely dark eyes that were so close, she 
shook a lazy head. "No. But she whipped me between my legs... alright, I'll 
say it: she whipped my cunt." 

"I'll whip your cunt too. Will that please you?" 

Tansey nodded vehemently. The sensations of the busy fingers made talking 
difficult. 

"I'll also whip your breasts." 

For only a moment Tansey tensed, then relaxed again. "Alright, Mistress, I 
don't mind." 

Connie smiled tenderly. "You like calling me Mistress, don't you? Is that 
what I am?" 

"What else could you be, Mistress! What else is there to call you?" The 
captive gazed innocently up at the girl who had bound her, then added the 
single word, "Darling... " 

"The way you said that made me crinkle up inside," Connie admitted in 
wonder. "You're pure female. I shall probably eat you and whip you to death. 
Always call me Mistress or Darling, never my name." 

"Yes Mistress." Tansey savored the word lovingly. 

The flicker of a rueful grin fled across Connie's face. "Phyl' Stafford's 
going to blow her top. I'm absolutely not letting you go until I'm satiated 
with you, if that ever happens. Want me to let you loose then, or turn you 
back to her, neatly trussed?" 

"I am a slave girl, Mistress. Don't ask me things like that... darling." 

Connie Smeaton felt her fires rekindle. This girl she had won as a prize in 
a silly draw was a new experience. Tansey was a hundred dreams come true. 
The dark-eyed beauty had never before been so possessed by an affectionate 
hunger, a loving lust for a naked girl, as she was for this submissive 
nudity spread and tied for herself alone. In curiosity she asked, "I'll have 
to untie you sometime for... well, for everything. When I make you free will 
you yield yourself to me again to be tied?" 

To the bound girl, the question with its implied trust was heart-touchingly 
naive. "Of course I will, darling! No matter how you hurt me, whenever you 
make me free I'll give you my hands to be fastened whenever you tell me to. 
I'll obey you completely." 

Impetuously, Connie's lips drank at the willing fountain before her captive 
managed to gasp: "But please never let me be free. Keep some bit of me tied 
or chained always, even in between times. I can't tell you why this is 
important to me, but it is. I suppose I want to be reminded always of what I 
am: I'm a slave! It's like wanting to be told you're loved." 

The simple confession brought tears to the eyes of the girl called Mistress. 
She was consumed by love for this bounty chance had bestowed. "Pet... 
darling, shall I keep you forever?" Her voice was husky with emotion. 

Tansey could not answer. She twisted and pulled at her bindings as though 
seeking from their strength both comfort and guidance. "I can't answer, I 
can't! I don't know... " she moaned. 

The dark-eyed Mistress took her captive's face in both her hands. "Look at 
me. Look at me properly, deep in my eyes." 

Tansey looked and was lost. 

Connie Smeaton had her answer. 

"We are going to love each other again, Pet. But when I'm between your 
thighs I want to see marks that are all mine. I'm going to whip the inside 
of your thighs. You're tied about right." 

Tansey simply nodded, she could not speak. "It will hurt you terribly, 
darling. Would you like to be gagged?" 

To Tansey, then, it did not seem to matter. Pain from this dark Mistress was 
to be expected and to be borne. She shook her head, her lips smiling their 
disdain for being bound. "I will make some noises, Mistress, but I will not 
scream." 

In a turgid daze of happiness, Connie Smeaton used the whip and watched with 
joy the scarlet streak form within the soft length of the exposed whiteness 
of the helpless thigh. The thong had buried itself within the flesh from 
above the knee up to Tansey's crotch. Smiling wickedly, the Mistress 
measured the second stroke to be a twin upon the other leg, but from a fresh 
angle so that the end of the lash bit across the wet lips soon to be parted 
by her tongue. The Venus mound absorbed the blow within the dark softness of 
its .shining hair. 

The pain was of a stomach curling intensity that sent the spreadeagled girl 
into a nose dive of new sensation. Her soft and most intimate flesh 
responded excruciatingly to the violation of the lash. She closed her eyes 
against the torment of the rise and slicing fall of the leather by which she 
was being wealed. Her head went from side to side seeking an imaginary 
surcease. Her lips allowed the strange inarticulations of agony to escape, 
but not the screams. Tansey did not scream. Her breasts heaved as though 
knowing they, too, would be creased and indented by the scourge. 

Connie used exquisite care. When she was satisfied, each inward thigh bore 
with seeming pride three scarlet bars for its full length. The terminations 
of the lash were hidden within the triangle sanctuary of pubic hair. The 
girl on whose flesh the marks were etched was panting with small 
intermittent moans. For moments the girl with the whip drank in the sweat 
soaked loveliness she had wrought. Then, with a naked cry of ecstasy, flung 
herself upon her pulsating captive, her lips seeking eagerly the now swollen 
vulva labia her whip had set on fire. 

Their passion was unquenchable. It was forever. They bathed in it, laving 
each other with their tongues, slaking thirsts that renewed themselves 
endlessly. When they slept within Connie's arms the world had left them 
utterly at peace. The black thong of the whip curled possessively over a 
pinioned ankle. The scent of female musk hung heavy in the room. 

"Gosh, I was proud of you, sweetheart! My two silver maidens!" 

Wanda glowed with pride and happiness. About them was the debris of the 
party; the last guest had gone. Impulsively she lifted her chained hands and 
managed to hug her mistress while her lips were ardently employed. "Oooo! It 
was fun, darling. I got my bottom pinched, but not one of them could get a 
finger under the mesh." She giggled happily. "But what about poor Tansey? 
That girl was only supposed to have her for an hour?" 

Phyllis frowned. "It's closer to three. Go and see what they're up to, 
honey." 

Her hurried tidying was interrupted almost immediately by a whirlwind of 
youthful concern. "They're gone! Oh, Phyl, they're not anywhere in the 
place. They were in my room, the trapeze bar is down and there's a whip 
tossed on the floor... " 

"You lost something, ladies?" The voice was cool, and very male. 

The two girls swirled to face the door, they were greeted with three false 
grins and assessed by three pairs of reptilian male eyes. 

"How the hell did you get in?" Phyllis Stafford was angry and she was 
scared. She recognized the type: young, ruthless, living by their wits and 
their switchblades. 

"Come in with the parties and stay after the guests are gone. There's 
pickings and snatch. Works out real good, never had a bummer yet," the 
leader informed her languidly. "Hey, Rossi, go search the joint. Find you a 
man, holler. Cinch, take that desk." 

With a cry of rage, Phyllis Stafford leaped to get there first, but the 
youth thrust her aside and pocketed the gun she had sought. Rummaging 
further in the drawer he came up with a handful of gleaming metal that 
prompted an amused exclamation. "Hey, Collie, the bitch must be a cop or an 
escape artist." He dangled two pairs of handcuffs. 

"You know what we heard about her," Collie reminded him. "And look at the 
kid, wears 'em permanent, I'd say. Try a pair on the Stafford dame just for 
size." 

Phyllis knew terror, but masked it as best she could. These youths were 
known. They had their sport with their victims for a night. By morning they 
were gone without trace. They had never been apprehended. She had little 
hope for herself or her possessions, but there was Wanda! Could she bluff 
the invaders into acceptance of the lie that there was no key nor tool in 
the apartment by which the child's chain mail could be removed? She would 
have to try. 

"Forget the handcuff nonsense," she said brusquely to Cinch. She turned to 
the obvious leader, Collie. "Alright, what's it cost me to have you pack up 
and go?" 

Collie pretended to consider. "For starters you can take your clothes off, 
babe." 

"How much money?" She kept a wary eye on the boy with the handcuffs. 

"It's me that wears handcuffs, not her," Wanda explained innocently. 

"The dough goes along with the sandwiches, the booze and your snatch," 
Collie explained in a bored voice. "Get them duds off." 

"I won't!" 

"Who cares? What's a stripped broad more or less. Stick them hands out. 
Cinch wants to try them pinchers on you." 

"This way, lady. Let's have them pretty little flippers." Cinch held up the 
handcuffs invitingly. 

"I'd have to be out of my mind to let you put those things on me. Try and 
talk sense." She was the authorative Stafford woman of the office. 

"Ain't no man, but you ought'a see the room I found," Rossi returned 
chortling. 

Collie was suddenly steel. "Help Cinch with the Stafford broad. Cuff her. 
Behind her back. She wants trouble." 

The struggle was brief. When the grinning youths backed away they left a 
flushed and dishevelled woman tugging angrily at hands locked behind her 
back. 

"You, kid," Collie pointed at Wanda. "Take a tray, load it and serve us. 
Looks like there's plenty left." He turned to his henchmen. "You two, strip 
that yappy dame." 

Phyllis Stafford was a realist. Tonight she was no successful columnist, she 
was a girl about to be robbed, probably raped. Her twentieth-century 
apartment above the park had been whisked back a thousand years to where 
marauders ravaged their prey as spoils of an unending war. With her wrists 
handcuffed behind her back she was utterly defeated, she could not phone, 
she could not fight; she could not reach the second gun on the high shelf in 
her clothes closet. Desperately she did not want to be naked, not that she 
cared about nudity, but clothes were a strangely potent armour for a woman, 
without them she had no defense at all. 

They used their blades to snick away whatever of her covering failed to 
respond to their first tug. She fought, striving to kick a spiked heel at 
their genitals, but they gleefully captured her foot and wrenched away the 
shoe. In less than a minute she stood glaring at her captors, panting and 
completely nude. She had no hands with which to cover anything. 

"Nice snatch," Rossi commented judicially. "Centre floor, babe," Collie 
directed. "You just stand there and stick your tits out while the boys and 
me take on some chow." 

Miserably, Phyllis obeyed. It was a lot to hope they were no more than 
voyeurs, but you never knew... 

Wanda could not share her mistress's agony of spirit. She had been happy in 
a lifelong acceptance of being possessed by a male. For Wanda, Phyllis 
Stafford was no more than surrogate for her master, Dick. She would obey 
them both and absorb their punishments without complaint as being the normal 
expectation of a girl. She did not like these three strange and sinister men 
whose eyes burned her near nudity, and she sensed her mistress's alarm, but 
it seemed natural enough she should serve them. After all, she was a girl... 
! She loaded her tray and innocently ministered to the leering smiles that 
now negligently lounged around the room. 

Phyllis Stafford stood naked for their enjoyment. They ate and drank noisily 
while they viewed her as they might have viewed the flickering screen of a 
T.V. Her heart quailed when the inevitable command was jocosely tossed at 
the child she must protect. "Take off them pretty doo-dads, kid. Let's see 
the size of your cunt and how good your tits are." 

Wanda's mind had flashed warnings. She knew the steel mesh locked upon her 
femaleness was both a punishment and a protection. From the way her mistress 
had fought she knew it bad to be bare before these men. She lied craftily. 
"I'm sorry, I can't take it off. It locks. I left the key at home with my 
roommate. I ought to be home by now." 

"Hot damn!" Rossi inserted a brutal finger beneath the lock of the halter at 
Wanda's back and tugged. "I'll be go to hell!" he exclaimed astonished. 
"Damn things are on her for keeps." 

"Gotta' be some tools around somewhere," Cinch suggested confidently. 

"Hold it," Collie counseled. "We can teach the little bitch to leave her key 
at home. Got a mouth and a tongue, ain't she? And the Stafford broad's got 
as nice a bit o' snatch as I've seen. We got it made." 

The naked girl on centre stage knew a flood of relief. It was going to be 
ugly and bad, but Wanda might emerge intact. She kept her nudity erect and 
taut for their approval, and watched Wanda gorge the hungry guests with food 
that, hopefully, might prevent their becoming too drunk. 

Collie's eye rested speculatively on the busy girl with the tray. "Hey, kid, 
you got a tongue?" 

Phyllis could have wept at Wanda's innocence. The child grinned cheerfully 
and stuck her tongue out as far as it would go. 

"Damn good." The leader approved. "Go and put it to work in your girl 
friend's cunt." 

An angry protest, even a plea, rose to Phyllis Stafford's lips, but she 
stifled it. In the thing about to be done it would be she who was debased. 
Wanda's innocence would protect her. When the child sought her eye in 
confirmation, she nodded in acceptance and spread apart her feet in 
readiness. 

"Ain't breaking no fresh grounds," said Rossi knowingly. 

Thoughtfully, he left the room and returned with the whip Connie Smeaton had 
cast aside. He tossed it to Collie. "Might be useful," he cynically 
suggested. 

The raiders had no need of a whip in the tableau they now sat and watched. 
Wanda performed her task in ignorance of implications. Phyllis performed 
hers as the first effort to cut her losses. She stood staunchly making her 
pubis as easily available to the loving lips as she was able, her eyes 
sought a horizon beyond the heads of the rapt audience. 

The naked woman being publicly shamed dared not be stoic. She provided the 
sounds and motions expected. Hopelessly she closed her eyes and her mind so 
that they became truly real. Wanda's lapping searching tongue was hard to 
deny, it was wickedly knowing and it was working upon familiar flesh. The 
child could probably bring her to orgasm sitting on an iceberg. When her 
final moan of fulfillment died to gasping breaths and Wanda sat back upon 
her heels, licking her lips, there came a round of sarcastic applause. Wanda 
beamed. Phyllis wished the floor would open and devour them. She knew she 
blushed. 

"What's it going to be, boys, the Stafford snatch or a blow job from the 
girl?" Collie chuckled. 

"Dammit, the kid got me going," Rossi admitted. "Hey, Wanda what'syername, 
come and do the same for me." 

Phyllis was thankful the men and the girl lived in separate worlds, the 
child might survive. Once more she nodded to the querying glance. 

Without visible distress Wanda obeyed Rossi's command. Her chained hands 
were no problem, they sufficed to unzip his pants and bring into view the 
object on which she must work. It was obscene, turgid, and more than ready. 
She looked at it in a childish amazement that men should possess such 
things. She was about to lower her lips when Collie's voice intruded. 
"Rossi, boy, don't you think it oughta' be flavoured?" 

His suggestion met with favour. Phyllis backed away in horror as the men 
approached. Collie and Cinch seized and bent her. She cried out in anguish 
as Rossi's well-lubricated penis pierced her anus. 

"Look what we're doing for you, kid," Rossi proclaimed boastfully as he 
thrust his full length into the helpless orifice Phyllis unwillingly 
provided. 

Wanda watched in fascination and disbelief. She was now lost in things 
beyond her ken. She supposed Dick had considered her too young for 
indoctrination into this particular mystery. From Phyllis's moans it seemed 
evident you would need to be a very bad girl to justify it happening. Rossi 
withdrew and resumed his seat. "There you are, sweetie-pie, a nice 
mouthful." 

The girl to be soiled viewed the glistening weapon without hostility. "Would 
you mind washing it?" she asked naively, then smiled without understanding 
at the male laughter. 

"Give her a belt or two with that whip," Rossi requested. 

The child looked up at the man she must service. "You don't need to whip 
me," she said appealingly. "What you want is for me to lick it the way it 
is?" 

"Right kiddo." 

"I expect it will taste funny." She gave him a doubtful grin without 
rancour, and devoured his male organ with her lips. 

Wanda was unaware of her audience. She did not know that what she did was 
remarkable. She licked and tongued and sucked assiduously, a very busy girl. 
A deeply shamed Phyllis had been allowed to resume her shaming stand. She 
shared the rapt attention of the men. 

"Best blow job I ever seen," Collie exhaled a huge sigh of approval at what 
he had witnessed. Rossi was striving to shake himself back into the world 
after a shattering orgasm. Wanda sat back on her heels, wondering if she 
should feel proud. "I gotta' get me a bit of that," the leader said avidly. 
"Makes a piece o' ass look like peanuts." He got to his feet. 

This time Phyllis Stafford did not fight. What was the use? Her face 
flaming, she positioned herself for her impalement. 

Wanda watched clinically as the second shaft was thrust deep within her 
mistress's behind and allowed to saturate itself with the mistress's 
secretions. Collie left it within the warm receptacle while he examined the 
child who should have screamed and protested until whipped into obedience. 
Strangely, he found it satisfying as it was, the whipping could come later 
if there was time. He withdrew and made himself comfortably available. 
Wanda's lips took him to herself. 

It was after Cinch had been serviced in his turn by their two captives that 
the question of copulation was raised. "She's got a nice slit of naked 
snatch," Collie pointed out without marked enthusiasm. He eyed Phyllis 
Stafford's prominently displayed cunt as a connoisseur. 

"Seems a pity not to use it," Rossi agreed. "But that kid's tongue beats any 
cunt I ever got into by a mile." 

"Damn right!" Cinch agreed. "She's outta' this world. But the Stafford 
dame's burning up, she's mad. Bet you she's dry as sawdust up front." 

"Only one way to find out." Collie made it sound like an arduous job. He 
divested himself of his clothes. "On your back, bitch." 

Phyllis had known pique at their indifference to her most female attribute, 
but now it was to be used she felt only nausea. Rejecting futile defiance, 
she lay down, the chained arms beneath her back obligingly raising her pubic 
mound. The three of them could undoubtedly bring her to orgasm. She resigned 
herself to her shame. 

Wanda watched uncertainly as her mistress was impaled again and again. She 
had received a warning glance from the ravaged girl on the floor. She would 
make no demonstration, but simply watch a thing she had guessed but had not 
seen. Now she understood the true potency of the chain mail around her hips, 
without it she herself would now be pierced. An innocent curiosity prompted 
a wish that just once this thing be done to her. Her mistress's reactions as 
the male things pounding between the spread legs were disturbing. She 
recognized them for what they were. But if her mistress wished to lock her 
cunt within its metal sanctuary, no doubt her reason was not to be 
questioned. Dick had never pierced her thus, so it must be something for 
which she would have to wait. Thoughtfully, she replenished her tray and 
tendered nourishment to the depleted warriors as they returned from the 
eternal battlefield of sex. 

Food and drink was appreciatively consumed. Phyllis was made to stand at 
attention to display her nakedness. Wanda kept herself busy. The visitors 
might have gone their way if it had not been for the whip. "Saw a cute movie 
once," Cinch drawled. "They had a girl bend over to suck a guy's cock while 
a feller beat her ass with a cane to keep her on the bit." 

"This girl we got don't need no cane 'cross her rump to do a good job," 
Collie pointed out reasonably. 

"Be sorta' fun though," Rossi mused. "Hey, kiddo, you got a cane?" 

To Wanda the request was not irrational. Proudly she fetched him the best of 
their collection. If she was to be hurt she preferred the cane to the whip. 

Rossi flexed the cruel thing back and forth. Wonderingly, he eyed the girl 
who had given it to him. "You want I should use this on you?" he inquired 
blandly. 

To Wanda it was a silly question, she supposed it rhetorical. Men whipped 
girls; that was all there was to it. "If you feel I've been bad and should 
be caned, then I want you to cane me," she said simply. 

The eyes of the men sought each other in disbelief. Even Phyllis Stafford 
was caught in the general sense of unreality. 

"I don't believe it!" Collie said emphatically. 

"She ain't fer' real," Cinch chimed in. 

"I'm going to cane her can anyway," Rossi announced with immense 
satisfaction. "Which of you guys want her chewing your cud?" 

"Me!" Cinch jumped up and took the required stance. "Come and get it, kid," 
he invited. 

Wanda was puzzled. Her sense of justice was being violated. "Why must I be 
caned?" she asked, bewildered. "What have I done?" 

Rossi swished the cane through the air and seemed gratified by the ensuing 
whirrrr. "Ain't what you done, kid. It's just to keep you on the ball. 
'Sides, I wanna' see your ass wiggle when I belt into it." 

The girl about to be caned considered her sentence. Wanda held no illusion 
that she could evade the punishment. Men were men and had their own ideas, 
sometimes strange, but male and immutable. She turned stricken eyes to the 
grinning Rossi. I'll do what you want me to and I'll try my hardest to do it 
real good. I wish you wouldn't cane me. I don't think it will help." 

"You're going to get caned, sugar, and if Cinch don't think you're putting 
your heart in it then the cane swats you twice as hard. He'll give me a 
wink. Savvy?" 

"You'll start caning me when I bend over?" Wanda was trying to sort it out. 

"I'll let you get properly started before I whale you." 

Wanda shrugged. She was trapped. She would just have to try and please. She 
leaned forward and unzipped the familiar fly. Taking out the equally 
familiar phallus she found the excitement of the new scene, and its 
enactment had endowed it with a fresh vigor. As though to brace herself for 
what was to come, she held it with both her small chained hands, then bent 
and engulfed it with her lips, held her knees rigid and arched her back down 
to give prominence to her derriere. She did these things as a matter of 
course, they were expected of a girl whose bottom was about to be caned. She 
sucked anxiously. 

Phyllis Stafford was desolate and helpless. She felt soiled and discarded. 
Her wrists twisted constantly against the cruelly tight clasp of the 
handcuffs. With her hands chained behind her back she had ceased to be a 
factor in her own home. The three ruffians would do as they pleased, she 
could be handled or subdued with frightening ease. She watched miserably as 
Wanda commenced what might well be an impossible ordeal. Phyllis doubted 
that any girl could give satisfaction with her mouth while her bottom was 
being cut with a cane. She doubted her own ability to please in this manner, 
but she had little doubt it would be demanded of her. 

Wanda herself pursued what she must do with only slightly more optimism. She 
knew only too well that if she must be truly punished she would need to be 
tied. She could stand still for only minor punishments. Always in the past 
and through her whole life with Dick she had been fastened to receive the 
unbearable. She felt certain that if, now, her bottom was caned beyond a 
point of tolerance, she would squirm or fall or that her mouth would lag in 
its duty. She tongued vigorously and tensed. 

Rossi intended to enjoy himself at length. His first blow upon the taut 
girlish cheeks was not all out, but it was cruel. Wanda absorbed it with no 
more than the flexing of one leg which she hastened to again make rigid for 
the next blow. He caned her in leisurely fashion, going from side to side 
and striving for a pattern upon her flesh. The tortured girl's nostrils 
flared, her eyes widening and seeking to look back in appeal, her hips 
weaving back and forth and her legs jerkily and spasmodically acknowledging 
agony. Her mouth sped faster and faster in its work and was rewarded by the 
gush of semen that signaled the end of this particular phase. She had come 
through with an amazing fortitude. Carefully she licked the penis clean and 
replaced it out of sight. 

"Please don't cane me any more," she pleaded. "I don't think I can manage it 
again." 

"You're going to have to try, sugar." 

Wanda looked from one to the other of them, seeking reason. "If I must do it 
to each of you," she suggested in an even docile tone. "Could you tie me 
some way so I can't move?" Then added pathetically, "I only need my mouth." 

Collie shook his head in frank admiration. "You're a bloody wonder, kid, but 
we want to see you squirm. That's half the idea, see. Just do the best you 
can. If you get a few extra swipes, well what the hell... " Cinch and Rossi 
had exchanged places. Wanda looked at their expectant leers and at the ready 
cane. "Will you hit me lighter, please?" she asked politely of the 
enraptured Cinch. 

"Hell, no. Why would I?" 

Incredibly, part of Wanda's concern was for the quality of the work they 
demanded of her. She did not want to fail because of pain, and fall writhing 
to the floor to receive other worse punishments. 

"Well then, will you tie my ankles and my knees so I can't move them? I'd be 
ever so grateful." 

Her sweet appeal should have melted every heart. It simply made more 
tumescent the waiting lust. Defeated and fearful, the tortured child reached 
for Rossi's pants with her chained hands. 

This time she fell twice. They extracted screams. But as though hypnotized 
by determination the teen-ager leaped back each time to resume where pain 
had interrupted. Rossi also drenched her mouth and received the careful 
washing with the girlish tongue. Wanda's bottom was aflame with the 
criss-cross of more weals than anyone had counted. 

"She's had enough," Phyllis Stafford said firmly. "Let me take the next." 

It was as though they had not heard her. The magic of the naked girl in the 
silver mesh held all three of the men in its fascinated grip. Her 
performance was too beautiful to forego. By her own excellence she condemned 
herself to pain: Her suffering possessed an eroticism such as none had ever 
known or glimpsed. Collie took up position. Cinch kept the cane, flexing it 
lovingly. 

"I won't do very well," Wanda told them sorrowfully. "I hurt terribly. I 
wish you wouldn't hit me so hard. I'm sorry. But won't you help me please? 
I'm going to really try." 

"You're giving me another hard on, kid," Cinch told her with evident truth. 
"Better hurry up or Rossi will want it again too." 

Wanda cried. The tears overflowed as though too long restrained, she flicked 
at them with captive fingers, then hastily bent and posed herself in wanton 
invitation to the cane. Her chained hands found and brought into view 
Collie's most treasured possession, her lips accepted it into the warmth and 
sanctuary of her mouth. She sucked and tried to close her mind to pain. 

Collie's lust was rampant. Every word and act of this fabulous girl had 
inflamed his imagination. As the first few blows of the cane wrapped 
themselves 'round the tender cheeks beneath his fevered gaze he strove for 
an even greater joy. Gathering the lovely damp hair of the whipped girl into 
his hands he held her to her task, pulling her face and avid mouth closer to 
himself so that she was gagged by his flesh. The cane swished steadily at 
the round derriere weaving madly in its anguish. 

The explosion was shattering. The chair smashed Cinch and Rossi to the 
ground in two swift merciless blows. Collie had time only to observe his 
fate before it descended and sent him sprawling into oblivion. Wanda fell 
with him, his hands still tangled in her hair. 

"You rotten bitch! Is this how you look after my girl?" Dick demanded 
furiously of a bemused but infinitely thankful Phyllis. 

As though they were scraps of rubbish, Dick picked two of the bodies up and 
dragged them from the apartment. When he returned for Collie, Phyllis 
gasped, "What are you doing with them?" 

"Freight elevator. They're not dead." He lugged the leader to join his 
fellows. 

In wild ecstasy, Wanda flung herself upon her beloved. She got her chained 
hands over his head and hugged and kissed in an almost savage avalanche of 
joy. Phyllis Stafford would have loved to do the same. She cursed her 
handcuffs and tore at them in frustration. She was a little frightened along 
with her relief. Dick had seemed a madman in his fury. She quailed at the 
thought that some remained to be spent on her. 

"Oh, darling, it wasn't Phyl's fault! Those awful men... " Wanda returned to 
her passionate welcome. 

* * * 

Phyllis Stafford was tired and hurt and humble. She wanted only release, but 
had no expectation of it. She felt sure she had been hanging naked from the 
trapeze bar for several hours, but she knew the fickleness of time spent in 
agony. She fully expected to hang by her wrists for the rest of the day, 
even that might be only a prelude. She believed herself alone in the 
apartment. Dick had probably taken Wanda out on the town to give the child 
happiness. She knew a weary desuetude. No matter how she stretched, her toes 
could not touch the floor. 

Dick Carnaby had refused to listen to either girl. He had sent them both to 
bathe, refusing to remove the handcuffs from Phyllis's wrists, but releasing 
a happily protesting Wanda. He had shepherded the younger girl to her bed, 
and then taken Phyllis to her own where he had ravished her loins savagely 
until both of them had slept to near mid-day. 

Hanging in her punishment, Phyllis reviewed Dick's whirlwind return. A man 
of the sea comes and goes erratically. His arrival held no significance 
beyond its fortuitous blessedness. But what he had found had made a deep 
impression on him. She knew him still under the influence of the Island and 
dubious of today's world. His passionate attachment to the girl child he had 
reared was undiminished as was Wanda's adoration for her master. 

The suspended woman shivered at a memory, but the tremulous quivering of her 
flesh was not from cold, and only in part from trepidation. She had called 
Dick Carnaby "Master." The title had escaped her lips with utter 
naturalness. Even in her irritation at his refusal to consider her innocence 
she had used the word. And, having used it once continued to address him so 
in all she said, or was allowed to say. Her wrists flamed fire within their 
tight straps as she recalled the other words she had uttered to this fierce 
and gentle man who had enslaved her once and who enslaved her still. Naked 
and handcuffed she had been thrown on her bed and had pleaded desperately: 
"Fuck me, Master, fuck me... " Phyllis Stafford tiredly pressed her cheek 
across the raised tautness of a pinioned arm. It was as though she sought 
comfort from the contact with her own bare flesh. She knew that to move 
anything else would hurt. It was best to keep still and simply hang. Her 
mind revolved ceaselessly upon the anomaly of Dick and the Island and 
herself. How incredibly absurd that one of the country's best known 
columnists should hang naked and punished within her own home, hoisted into 
suspension by equipment she herself had bought and paid for, and had not 
struggled or sought escape when it was done to her. 

Could she maintain a life subject to these periodic invasions of her psyche 
and her flesh? How to be an authorative figure within her chosen work, yet 
slide back millenniums into a primitive slavery whenever the sea released 
this intensity of maleness to work his will upon her. Before him she was 
abject. Strangely she felt no shame that his ability to mount her nakedness 
and shatter her world into a thousand ecstasies was part of the compulsions 
by which she called him 'Master.' Dick Carnaby was a product of his island 
life with Wanda, but she realized her own short vivid captivity there had 
indelibly marked her too. She had plunged back into her former life, but its 
waters were lukewarm. Restlessly she brushed her other cheek against its 
tortured arm. Somewhere she must find her answers. 

The tractioned girl saw clearly that since she could never part with Wanda, 
she must therefore endure Dick. Was endure the word? She did not know. Had 
she been seventeen she knew she would believe herself in love with this 
suntanned male who took so much of her for granted. But she was not 
seventeen. And yet... 

More hours passed until she would willingly have made any promise, agreed to 
any terms to get her feet back on the floor. Suddenly and silently he was 
there. Her eyes widened to find him smiling at the hopeless resignation in 
which she accepted the torture he imposed. She knew it useless to plead, so 
waited for him to break the silence. 

"Want me to let you down?" 

"Please, Master." 

"I won't do it, not yet. You look delightful. I should hang you like that 
every day." 

"Where's Wanda, Master?" 

"Never mind, she's happy... and safe. I'm going to whip you." 

She had known it would come. It was Dick's justice. She wondered how guilty 
she might truly be for the horror of the night before; without her party it 
would not have happened. Along the way she had lost the will to defend 
herself. Perhaps he would treat her more kindly if she saved him servile or 
angry pleas. In any case he would do as he wished. She could not be more at 
his mercy than she was. But she was so terribly weary, she had hung from her 
tortured wrists so long. Silent tears gathered and trickled down her cheeks. 
She could brush them away against her arms. She did not try, she did not 
care. She wept. 

"Tired?" 

She nodded and sniffed. Why speak? 

Casually he lowered the bar barely enough to set her heels upon the floor. 
She was still tautly strained. 

"Thank you, Master." It was a small victory. 

"What am I going to do with you?" 

She eyed him doubtfully. "You said you were going to whip me?" 

Dick gestured impatiently. "I don't mean that. I'll whip you tomorrow. 
You'll bear it better after another night's sleep." He grinned. "That's 
supposing we get some. I intend to fuck you until you howl for me to quit." 

"I won't do that, Master. I mean, I won't howl. You know I won't." 

"You're in for a rough few days, y'know. D'you want to make phone calls?" 

"You mean I'm a prisoner? You want me to quiet the office?" 

"Yes. Until I leave you won't exist." She considered briefly. "Yes, I can do 
that." 

"Why do you put up with me?" he demanded. Phyllis Stafford gave her master a 
wry smile. "Have I any choice?" 

"Not today or tomorrow or the day after. But I won't be like other men. The 
Island spoiled me, and there's Wanda; so after I'm gone again what do you 
want most?" 

She tried, without success, to ease her aching muscles. "If you want to 
talk, couldn't you set me free? I hurt." 

"No. You'll talk more realistically the way you are." He grinned at her 
cheerfully. "By the standards of your world I treat you brutally. So we'll 
talk from that basis, you're nicely positioned for it." 

"I ought to hate you, but I can't," Phyllis said fretfully. "And I can't 
answer your questions either. Don't you have any answers?" After a moment's 
pause she added the word: "Master." 

"I could put Wanda in a good school and leave you home free?" 

She twisted in more than pain. "I love Wanda. Don't take her from me... 
please!" 

"Lesbian love?" 

"You know it's more than that. She's gorgeous... She's everything." 

"The kid must love you too," he admitted soberly. "She's been on at me all 
day not to whip you. She swears she's been as well guarded as the gold at 
Fort Knox." 

"Why whip me then?" 

He gave her a comradely grin. "You know why. I like to whip you, and it does 
you good. You're the kind that need it every so often to stay human. I'm 
still remembering that obnoxious female who came storming up from her 
wrecked plane." 

"Surely a girl's entitled to one wreck without prejudice! You've whipped me 
one hell of a lot, Dick." 

"You dropped the Master. Intentional?" 

"I suppose so. Whip me for it if you have to. I'm just trying to make this 
conversation human." She glinted at him. "Or am I only allowed to listen? If 
you want only humility, I'll give it you for sure. The way you've got me 
fixed I'm scared to say a cross word." 

Dick sighed appreciatively. "Y'know, sweetheart, in your own way you're as 
special as the kid. Go ahead and say your cross word. No stripes for it. I 
promise." 

"I wish you'd take me off this damn bar I'm strapped to." With a petulant 
toss of her head she flung the damp hair from her eyes. "You really do treat 
me like an absolute bastard." 

"Carry on, girl." His lips slanted in amusement, "... as you are." 

Phyllis Stafford's voice had become animated, some of her weariness slipped 
away. "The way you left me hanging here I've had nothing to do but hurt and 
think. The conclusion's easy: To have Wanda I have to let you brutalize and 
fuck me silly every time your ship's in port." 

"I don't like that word brutalize." 

"Alright. How about enslave? Either way I get whipped." 

"I could take the two of you to a theatre tonight?" 

"Damn sweet of you. All I'd see on the stage would be me hanging like this 
tomorrow with the whip curling around." 

"You dwell on it too much." 

"Oh shit!" Phyllis tried to stamp a frustrated foot, but was stretched too 
taut. "You're nuts! You want your damn island right here in New York. It's 
not real." 

"Isn't it! Look at yourself." 

She squirmed. "I shouldn't let you." 

Dick's voice was pure reason. "When we return from the theatre tonight you 
need never allow me to tie you again." 

"You needn't rub it in that I let you tie me. You know damn well that if I 
didn't hold my hands out like a good little girl you'd jump me and do it by 
force. I've about as much chance against you as I'd have against a charging 
rhino." 

"Thanks for the simile." 

"You're welcome!" 

They were suddenly laughing. Despite the shame of her pose and the hurt of 
her wrists, Phyllis Stafford could not see this man as she saw all others. 
But, with a thrill of emotion she could not define, she knew she would never 
want him to be as others were. Dick would be either the suntanned god of the 
island or a nothing, a chimera hovering in memory. But to keep the 
delectable and lovable Wanda, she must come to terms with his intransigence. 
Or was it only Wanda... ! 

"O.K. The way I'm standing here I have to know I'm in for it this round. 
Give me a bad time and be damned! I'll probably be able to limp to work 
after you've gone. But what of the future! Wanda will need one or both of us 
for a long time. Can I expect to be chained up and whipped once a month for 
the next three or four years?" 

"Why not!" 

She eyed him shrewdly. "You were about to add: 'You know you like it,' 
weren't you?" 

"You read my mind," he laughingly confessed. 

"Well, I don't like it!" She made another futile effort to stamp her foot. 
"O.K., I'll admit I adore you in bed and I find your maleness the strongest 
I've ever known. But to have that lousy whip and that rotten manta tail 
slicing 'round me naked is something I can do without." 

"When it's over and done you're glad it happened," he insinuated slyly. 

"You don't leave a girl anything, do you!" she rejoined petulantly. "I 
suppose you're right about that, women are made responsive to pain. 
Something to do with childbirth and being raped, I suppose. But I can tell 
you for sure I'd do or say anything to get that whip to stop when you're 
actually hitting me with it." 

"You react perfectly. One hundred percent female." 

"You haven't answered my question." 

"Yes, Phyl', you can expect to be tied and whipped whenever I come. It's the 
way I am and the way Wanda is. If you stop thinking about the lady columnist 
you'll realize it's entirely practical." 

"Practical! Going around striped like a zebra!" 

Dick's lips twisted cynically. "I'm sure you can tell the lucky man 
something convincing. I bet you he finds your marks stimulating." 

Phyllis flushed and wished she could kick this smug male. "It's not men, 
it's women. And only Wanda!" She suddenly realized the truth of his 
assertion. It was practical! She could easily endure him once a month! Again 
she questioned her use of the word 'endure,' it was not entirely apt. "I'm 
not going to try and analyze why I want you to fuck me," she blurted out 
defiantly. 

"I'll explain it to you sometime," he said flippantly. "So that's settled 
then? We can stop the backchat?" 

Settled! Phyllis Stafford longed to scream and beat her fists upon his 
arrogance. But awareness of her impotent nudity swept over her like a flood. 
Between her need of Wanda and the maleness of this man she was indeed 
enslaved. Furious at her seeming weakness she found herself wondering why 
she had to feel so concerned at his dominance. Wanda adored it. She could 
see herself falling into an equal dependence. 

"If I concede everything, the least you can do is let me off that whipping 
tomorrow?" she implored. "Please... Master?" 

"You are using feminine wiles." Without warning he kissed her gently and 
long. "I'm immune to them. They get you an extra five." 

Phyllis was surprised by her absence of reaction. "How many lashes have I to 
look forward to?" she asked with sarcasm. 

He chuckled wisely. "You didn't ask that out of curiosity or concern," he 
said gently. "You asked it because knowing it's going to happen starts a 
little fire burning in your cunt." 

Madly she writhed against her strapped wrists, expending mortification in 
angry futile motion. "Damn you! Damn you...!" She sobbed, chagrined by the 
truth of his perception. She ceased her struggle as suddenly as it had 
begun, and glared at him balefully. "So you know it all, don't you...!" In 
total femininity she burst into tears and wept in full surrender. 

Wanda had a child's awareness of something of portent between her elders, 
but since both seemed happy she was not concerned. She would often intercept 
a look between them that told her they had reached an understanding beyond 
her ken. Phyllis's somewhat distraught preoccupation she attributed to the 
whipping the older girl was about to receive. "I say, darlings," she 
interjected at breakfast, "what about poor Tansey? Shouldn't we do 
something?" 

"I phoned Connie Smeaton," Phyllis said absently. "She's got her safely 
chained. She wants to keep her." She raised an arch eyebrow at Dick. "Or 
would you like another slave girl, Master?" 

"I was not consulted about this Tansey. That's another demerit," Dick 
proclaimed succinctly. 

"She's awfully sweet, darling," Wanda told him wistfully. "When Phyl' wears 
handcuffs the way you have her now she reminds me. Can I put mine on, 
please? Phyl lets me." 

"Sure, put 'em on sweetheart, if it pleases you. But not just in sympathy 
for this assertive female." 

When the child had leaped away on her brief errand, he turned to the 
condemned girl. "This Tansey wench, she'd be another bottom to beat. D'you 
want her back?" 

The flame of jealousy took Phyllis by surprise. She had a sudden vision of 
the sultry Tansey beneath Dick's whip. It would be an experience that, 
suddenly, she had no wish to expose him to. Tansey was heady stuff for 
female or for male. There came another vision of Tansey and her Master she 
had no wish to contemplate at all. Dick would bed the lovely creature, she 
had no doubt of it. It must not happen! "I think Connie Smeaton's a 
marvellous idea," she said as casually as she could. "It's sort of a 
natural, the two of them." 

The subject of Tansey Pepper did not survive the return of a glowing Wanda. 
The man and the woman watched amusedly as the child handcuffed herself with 
a practiced dexterity. She made the steel a notch tighter upon herself than 
either of them would have done. Holding up her joined hands with their 
gleaming metal she enthused, "There. Aren't they beautiful! We never had 
anything like this on the island. If we ever went back we'd have to take 
them." 

Phyllis Stafford drank the last of her coffee. Handcuffs were still awkward 
for her. She looked with love at the radiant child for whom their shining 
cruelty held such unending appeal. How gorgeous her flesh and her 
enthusiasms and the endearing innocence of her uncluttered mind! Wanda was a 
jewel worth any sacrifice. Smiling, almost in happiness, she turned to Dick 
Carnaby. "I'm ready to be whipped, Master. I think it's time." 

He eyed her curiously. No doubt he read her thoughts. He rose and, almost 
with humility, bowed her from the breakfast table. 

The girl to be whipped looked somberly at her wrists strapped one on each 
side of the pillar just above the level of her eyes. Well, at least it was a 
change from that rotten tractioning bar that kept her on tiptoe or raised 
her feet entirely from the floor. This whipping post would be better, except 
for the writhing and kicking in which she knew she would indulge. Perhaps 
she should ask that her feet be tied to salve her dignity, but dismissed the 
thought. Her limbs had little enough freedom when Dick Carnaby was in 
residence. 

Phyl' Stafford supposed she would have to stand awhile. She recognized the 
validity of the suspense. It made a girl think. It made her willing. She had 
been unable to find out how many strokes she was to receive. Perhaps it was 
just as well, she was scared enough. What on Earth would they think on the 
network if they could see her now! It was too impossible! She closed her 
mind to the incongruity. In a way it was like an operation in a hospital. 
She could not walk away from it. Everything would follow a predetermined 
course. Her role was only to suffer. The blankness of the anesthetic would 
here be replaced by the most vivid sensitivities of her existence. In each 
instance there would be wounds. With wry humor she acknowledged herself as 
waiting for major surgery. 

She found cause for wonder that she did not resent the child watching her 
punished. Wanda would not stay away. She wanted to watch as though by 
vicariously sharing the pain she might also bestow comfort. And why not! 
Their flesh had been welded again and again in love. The waiting victim knew 
herself so besotted with adoration for the child that she would feel no 
shame in the young eyes watching the whip wounds mount upon her skin. Wanda 
wore her own whip marks as a bride wore jewels. 

This whipping was different. Phyllis knew it so. All the others had been in 
revolt or in the shame of delinquency. In each she had either hoped or vowed 
it should be the last, that her flesh never again be thus violated. But now 
the small cameo of her anguish was but a single link in a chain, the length 
of which might spread across the years. Her whippings might be few and far 
between, but they now had a continuity that she hoped would make them easier 
to bear. The hope was faint, perhaps it was no more than a wish! 

Wanda kissed her, and Dick gave her a broad wink. Phyllis did not understand 
the wink, but it was better than a frown. She managed a smile for both of 
them before she turned back and stared fixedly at the pillar and her solidly 
strapped wrists. 

When the cuts began to blazon themselves upon her back and the curvatures of 
her behind, she longed for whatever magic Tansey contrived beneath the lash. 
But it was Tansey's alone, and not for her. Phyllis Stafford did her best, 
she wanted to come through with honor. But the cries came, she tugged and 
fought her wrists. Once, in some desperate need to make her terror known, 
she thrust against the pillar with her foot, a gesture she did not repeat, 
for it invited the thong to invade a sanctuary she had no wish to yield. She 
screamed at the intimate anguish and hastily returned her foot to the floor. 

She wished she could embrace the post to which she was fastened. To hold it 
and to press her face against its solidity must surely give some ease, if 
only in the mind. But the breadth of the straps and their secure placement 
defeated her desire. She could not bend or twist her wrists. She must stand 
at arms length so that all of her was vulnerable. To kick and to sway her 
body forward from the searching lash was her only surcease. It was little 
enough. The whip found her anywhere it chose. 

She knew the sequences. She supposed they would never vary all her life. The 
desperate determination at the start that this time should be different, 
stoic and aloof she would bear her stripes disdainfully. When that was 
jettisoned beneath the flood of scalding misery there came the screams and 
the wild and oft times obscene contortions of the whipped flesh. When they 
had echoed their futility without response the pleas would take their place. 
The frantic and throbbing pleading that, by its very intensity, must surely 
melt the hardest heart. The protests, the promises, the avowals. They 
tumbled out in anguished hope. Surely this time he would listen! Surely he 
could tell from her broken gasping voice that she had endured to the limit, 
that to whip her more was waste. She was pliant and amenable and in despair. 
She had yielded all of herself and the whip had taken her bestowal and 
demanded more and more... The blows cut steadily at her courage until it was 
gone. She began to scream again. To moan and then to scream had become her 
life. All else was blotted out. The striations of the lash were like the 
measured ticking of a clock... 

"You were very wonderful, darling." Wanda kissed her and went away. 

Dick stood and watched her loveliness as it gasped and moaned its way back 
into the world. Phyllis's nakedness was wet with the dew of pain. Beneath 
the sweat the livid stripes were jewels for her to wear in pride, in grief, 
or in exaltation. In the coin of feeling they were the most costly 
adornments in the world. When she finally lifted her head and found him 
watching her, she smiled. He nodded as at some emotion of his own, kissed 
her as Wanda had, and turned and left her strapped to the whipping post. 

She was in the 'afterwards.' Phyllis knew it as the moment of relief and of 
thankfulness that, for a little time, the whip was done with her. It, too, 
was part of the sequence. Up to the time the first stroke had burned her 
skin she had refused to look ahead. But now she did so avidly. What would 
Dick do with her for the balance of his leave! If she was obedient and 
cautious he would not whip her more. Surely he would not! So what awaited 
her! To be tied? To be chained? The best she could hope for was to be 
handcuffed and given the run of the apartment. She would gladly settle for 
that privilege; she would be happy. She reflected ruefully on the distance 
he had taken her down the path he himself had hewn. Phyllis Stafford was a 
slave, a female slave. 

When Dick Carnaby returned it was after a far longer period of solitude than 
she had anticipated. She was tired of standing and looking at her fastened 
wrists and the post to which they were strapped. She was pathetically eager 
for communion, the touch of a hand, the sound of a voice. She sensed in her 
Master some fresh purpose, and would not have been surprised had he again 
picked up the whip. She knew sadly she would have accepted fresh stripes 
rather than be left alone again. 

"You've stood here all morning, sweetheart." 

"Yes Master." 

He studied her intently. "You are most beautiful of all after you've been 
whipped." 

"Thank you, Master." She was absurdly pleased. 

"I've had a busy morning. I've reached a conclusion." He held something for 
her inspection. "Know what this is?" 

"My check book, Master." 

"Got quite a lot of idle cash." 

"Yes, Master. It is between investments." 

He held the small book before her eyes. The check was made out to himself in 
the amount of forty-five thousand dollars. Phyllis did not speak, but looked 
at him in mute question. 

"I'm going to loosen those straps. When I do you are free. You can sign this 
check or tear it up." 

She wanted to hold him with her freed hands. But she was a little scared, 
her pulse had quickened in alarm. Instead, she leant painfully against the 
post that had prisoned her. Mutely they looked at each other until she was 
breathless. Then, weakly, she asked, "Dick, please hold me a little while, 
in your arms. I'm afraid." 

Dick Carnaby held his slave. She was trembling, she was frightened, she 
needed him. He held her nakedness so close her softness was welded against 
his strength. The fingers of one male hand hovered lightly across the ridges 
of whipped flesh upon her back and waist. She shivered, but this time not 
with fear. "Do it again," she pleaded when he stopped. Again his fingers 
sought the keyboard of her punishment. She clutched at him and moaned gently 
in a release from fear. Soon she ceased to tremble. "Take me to bed, Master. 
Fuck me. I need you." 

"Yes, you need me. You've always needed me. But later. First the check." 

She huddled against him, seeking refuge from the monsters of the mind. 

"You know what the check is for, don't you, darling?" 

She returned to life. "Oh that! Of course I know!" As though signing a chit 
in a restaurant, she casually scrawled her signature on the tiny slip of 
paper and, without word or gesture, returned to the haven of his arms. 

* * * 

It was very quiet upon the island. The tumult and the shouting had died and 
the small plane had winged away into the blue. Standing with her ankles 
firmly held within the orifices of the twin poles, Phyllis Stafford wryly 
reviewed the day and the night that had passed since they had stood alone 
watching the speck diminish in the distance. 

"Well, that's that," said Dick. 

"Isn't it gorgeous!" enthused Wanda. "We're home again." 

She herself had wept and sought her master's arms. She was becoming ashamed 
of being increasingly female. 

A storm had dispersed most of the wreck of her old plane. Nothing else was 
changed. They had washed and cleaned and repaired. The three of them working 
in single purpose. They had brought much material and goods. They stored 
them and put them into use. The two elders had laughed at Wanda's concern 
for the proper placement or storage for the rope and the cord, the chain and 
the handcuffs. The silver handcuffs were hung upon the wall as a trophy 
might have been. The Manta tail hung once more upon its hook. The girls had 
spent some of their afternoon in their Tie. There had been much girlish 
giggling. Dick had radiated content. 

Phyllis knew not why this morning her feet had been locked between the 
poles. Of memories perhaps! She wished she had not been left helpless and 
alone. The apartment above the Park was still too close. It was all too easy 
to remember loss rather than to count gain. Who of her colleagues would say 
there was gain to count! None! They did not know Dick Carnaby. 

Fear came so easily. She had renounced so much. She ruefully recalled 
Churchill's 'Blood sweat and tears'. With her it would be cord chain and 
whip. By most standards it was not much of a future. But she had chosen it. 
She tugged at her prisoned feet. They would not move. She bent and tried to 
pry apart the poles. They were solid. She was captive. She had better bloody 
well get used to it. 

"You're feeling sorry for yourself, darling. I can tell." It was Wanda with 
her net. The child was glowing with happiness. They kissed long and 
lovingly. 

"Dick's terribly mean to you," Wanda mused. "I think he's afraid of being 
too kind. He's in love with you. Did you know?" 

The girl with captive feet feared for the pounding of her heart. If only the 
child spoke truth! 

"I know what the two of you do at night. I think it's scrumptious!" She 
sparkled thoughtfully for a moment. "Not half as nice as what you and I do, 
of course. But I'm so pleased he likes to get inside you." She kissed the 
prisoner gaily and went upon her way, net trailing. It was not until she was 
out of sight that Phyllis knew herself blushing. 

"See, darling, I've got some lovely fish." Wanda deposited net and contents 
upon a rock. "I want to make love to you." She surveyed the possibilities. 
"Dick's awfully careless about the way he ties you and fixes you up. The way 
you are now isn't much good, you're legs are so close." 

They exchanged woebegone grins. "Oh fiddle! I'm going to let you loose," 
Wanda decided. "Dick won't mind." 

"He will!" Phyllis was suddenly a frightened slave girl. "He'll whip you. 
He'll whip us both." 

The younger girl giggled. Even though she hated the pain, she was not afraid 
of the whip. "What if he does! We'll have had our fun." Gleefully she untied 
and thrust apart the prisoning poles. 

Phyllis knew there were no words for Wanda. Magic, elfin, fey, Dryad, 
Sprite! None would suffice for her vibrant sexuality, her glowing innocence. 
The girl who had been captive delivered herself to enchantment. Both were 
lost in happiness. 

Much, much later they carried home the fish and the net. Dick grinned at 
them quizzically. He knew! "Didn't I leave you fastened someplace, darling?" 
he asked Phyllis casually. 

Both girls had forgotten. Quaking, the delinquent fell to her knees before 
her Master. She bowed her head without excuses. 

"It was me! I did it!" Wanda clutched Dick's arm. "Don't punish Phyl'." 

"Let's say it's Tie time." The Master patted Wanda's bottom and raised the 
kneeling girl to her feet, she was trembling. "No lunch for bad girls. 
Wanda, fasten this troublesome wench. I'll deal with you later." 

Pure instinct told Phyllis what to do. The two posts were there with their 
looped straps. Standing between them she stretched her arms and inserted her 
hands through the waiting circlets, then shrugged at Wanda in rueful 
invitation. Strange and exciting tremors possessed her as she watched the 
swift young hands tug and pull, and felt the inflexible bands captivate her 
wrists. 

"You do look sweet, darling. You should never wear clothes." 

Wanda's place was suddenly taken by Dick. Wanda left them alone. "Thank you 
for not whipping me, Master." 

Their eyes met. What Phyllis Stafford saw upon her Master's face caused her 
to forget the apartment above Central Park completely. Deliciously she 
shivered against her bindings. The island slept peacefully in the sun. 


THE END
