Slave Market
by F.E. Campbell
(HIT-136)


CHAPTER ONE. THE BOUND BEGINNING. 

There was no doubting the ancient sign above the door. It bluntly affirmed: 
'Wm Herries" and added: "Custom creations in fine leathers." Watching the 
deft strong hands at work upon her wrists, Lynne Stacey could not doubt the 
Herries craftsmanship, any more than she could doubt her flaming cheeks or a 
seething fury at the Herries indifferance to her person. To Regina Conant he 
vouschafed the polite deference of a tradesman proud of his wares. 

"A knife won't touch it, M'Lady. The hide itself, tanned and cured as this 
has been, has become a rarity." 

"A razor blade, perhaps?" 

"Yes, but even that not easily. And there's metal at the points of stress." 

"It will remain supple and pliant without stretching?" 

Wm' Herries sighed. "M'Lady, this young woman could no more stretch my 
leather than she could stretch me." 

The girl whose hands were being joined refused to meet eyes. An 
understanding glance from either the man or the woman would flare her blush 
a deeper scarlet. It was best to see only a horizon beyond the walls or to 
watch, with fascinated distance, the tools and the skills being employed to 
partially rob her of freedom. 

"One single link, M'Lady?" 

"Yes. I want her hands close." 

Lady Regina Con ant was enjoying herself. Lynne strongly suspected Wm' Hemes 
of enjoying himself too. She felt like a mare being shod in the village 
smithy, or perhaps a recalcitrant schoolgirl being fitted for a uniform in 
which she would be stiffly uncomfortable. She looked down at her hands, held 
close and proffered for the convenience of the wise fingers, busy with the 
leather wristlets of which he was so proud, and which she would wear, 
presumably, into a distant future she refused to contemplate. 

"Tighten them on her as snugly as is practicable, Herries." 

"I will indeed, M'Lady. The measurements are true. We have an excellent fit. 
The young lady will be proud-" 

"Will you be proud, Lynne darling?" 

Flame to maiden fire! Lynne Stacey cringed. If the roguish Lady Conant had 
been middle aged or an elderly beldame the situation might have seemed more 
plausible. But 'Gina held only six years seniority, and she herself was 
twenty-two....! Wm Herries would be quietly chuckling to himself over a pair 
of lesbians. "That's something I have to find out, isn't it." She retorted 
listlessly. She longed to scream in fury and run, to fling aside the bands 
upon her wrists as though they were serpents. But she stood, passive to the 
promise she had made. 

Small screws, nestling wickedly into tough leather and the thin segments of 
shining steel, their recessed heads buried implacably beneath the droplet of 
molten metal from the electric arc, then filed and polished as though they 
had never been. For minutes at a time her wrist was within the clutch of a 
vise as the creator of her exquisite bondage sought perfection. The single 
chrome link shined mockingly in its promise of prisonment. 

"How do they feel, Miss?" In the completion of his task Herries deigned to 
notice her. 

"Tight." 

Fingers tested. Her wrists were twisted, skinn pulled. A shrewd eye made her 
defenseless. "But not too tight, eh?" 

"I suppose not-" 

"Damnif, Lynne, be polite. You were asked a question!" 

"Oh alright!" She gave a shamed attention to her hands. "They are 
tight-honest! But I'll get used to them. They don't hurt." 

"Good! Now sit down so Mr. Herries can band your ankles." 

"But, 'Gina, no-No! I won't be able to walk!" 

"Yes you will. Don't be a ninny. Sit, and do as you're told." 

Removing her shoes and nylons was her first task with joined hands. It was 
shaming before the man but easier than she supposed. Again she watched the 
curtailment of her freedom. 

"They have a ring, darling. It dangles on the inside. No chain today." Lady 
Conant glinted in amused mockery. "I'm not going to carry you back to Castle 
Conant." 

Ashamed, the ankleted girl stuffed nylons into her bag, they would be 
impractical over the shackle and its ring. Fortunately her shoe tolerated 
the steel and leather band. Sitting to await 'Gina's pleasure she felt more 
than ever the delinquent child. 

"There will be other stuff, Herries....Send your bill." 

"Keep her from razor blades, M'Lady." 

Lynne's eyes implored, agonized. 

"Drop the dying duck look, darling. You can walk to the car. If anyone sees, 
they probably won't care." 

They gyved girl believed it the most difficult thing she had ever done. A 
memory of Lady Godiva flitted through her mind. True, she was clothed but 
the prisoned wrists and ankles were plain for all to see. Resolutely, she 
walked into the street. Beside her, Lady Regina Conant stared down startled 
curiosity. Three women and a child beheld cuffed wrists and heard the tinkle 
of ankle rings before the car door closed. But the Bentley made all things 
proper. 

"Your last public appearance, darling. Solemn thought." 

"I felt an idiot." 

"Of course, sweets. Part of the treatment." 

"You didn't tell me about my ankles-?" 

"We were there. Seemed a shame not to get you nicely attached." 

"You're loving every moment, 'Gina." Lynne held up her wristlets, tugging 
and twisting, morbidly curious. "Gosh, it's so strange! I'm not believing 
it-and I'll be sorry, I know I will." 

"Isn't that the whole idea, pet." 

"Yes, that's the idea." It was a flat acceptance. '"Gina-that man, and what 
you said-other stuff-?" 

The Bentley purred expensively. Its pilot's lovely profile turned from a 
casual attention to the road, eyes sparkled mischief. "Girls have more than 
hands and feet, darling. Maybe a nice collar?" 

""Gina, my neck!" 

"To lock on, precious." 

"Like a puppy dog? What else?" 

"You're sounding sulky, Lynne. Watch it!" 

"I'm sorry. I know you're breaking me in gently. But these things fastened 
on me-they're scarey." 

"Couldn't really say you're helpless, could you?" 

"No-o-o-o. But these things on my wrists make me feel helpless. It would be 
no use trying to fight you now. They're a sort of point of no return." 

"Mmmmmm, lovely! The other thing I want Herries to do for you is something 
for your tummy." 

"Oh, 'Gina, please-!" 

"A lovely band, tight enough so if you overeat or put on weight you'll know 
about it." 

"But I don't put on weight-and I've scarcely got any tummy!" 

"And it will have a ring each side for your wrists-just in case...." 

"But my wrists are already-!" 

"I'm thinking a year or two ahead, pet." 

Lynne quenched the spurt of fear. Femininely, she pouted. "But the rings 
will show through whatever I wear-?" 

"Wear, darling...?" 

"Oh alright, I forgot-" 

"If I take you out in public we'll manage something." 

"You showed me all those awful things down-down ... where I've got to so 
sometimes?" 

"Oh-h-h-h, you'll wear those too, my precious." The mischievious voice 
became tender. "I thought I was being kind at the start." 

"You are! Oh, 'Gina, I'm sorry. I know these things you've had fastened on 
me are-humane. Gosh, that word sounds awful!" 

"You're a Trojan, Lynne. I'll try and not be too flip. But if I become too 
damn portentious, or allow you to be, we'll end up in tears or hysterics-or 
feeling we're strangers-" 

The joined hands reached out and touched an arm tenderly. "You're sweet, 
'Gina. If I have to be-well, the way I am, I'm glad it's you." Lynne 
grimaced ruefully. "It's just so long, so terribly, terribly much of my 
life." 

"There's historical precedents, sweet. Way back it wasn't uncommon to lock 
up a relative for the rest of their life even if it was a woman, or a wife-" 

"O.K.-O.K. I'm grateful! I'll try and be a perfect prisoner and be always 
smiling so you won't feel guilty 

"You're feeling sorry for yourself, love. Like I said: watch it!" 

"Sorry! I forget. I suppose I can get punished for saying the wrong thing? 
Has that time started yet? Or can I get rid of a bit of bitterness?' 

"Let's say when you get inside the castle doors, Lynne." 

"Thanks. Don't drive too fast. Will you really whip me-or have me whipped? 
It's so hard-" 

"Yes." 

"I'll try and not make you do it to me, not often. If you didn't love me I 
couldn't ever have said 'yes' to this." 

It was the turn of the girl at the wheel to reach out a reassuring hand and 
pat a pinioned arm. "I love you terribly, Lynne." She spared a frank 
sideways gaze. "Is there a devil of cruelty in me?" 

"Of course. It's in me too." The captive held up her linked hands. "Look at 
these exquisite things of leather and steel, dearest one, and say to 
yourself: "There, but for the grace of god, go I." 

Regina, Lady Conant, looked avidly at the Herries masterpiece in feminine 
restraint. She shuddered deliciously. "They're too, too beautiful. You know 
damn well I wouldn't mind-" Her grin became pensive. "Is the heat in our 
bellies going to see us through this? I'm sure mine will. But you-?" 

"I'm wet." The admission was simple. "I don't know about the bad bits." The 
captive parted with a wry grin. "I'm hoping I'll sort of-regenerate after-" 

"I'd thought of practice. I mean, going beyond anything we've done-a sort of 
test. But I was scared. It's not as though either of us really has a choice. 
Back in that leather place I was mean-testing myself, Lynne. How'd Lsound?" 

"Implacable. I think you impressed the pants off that poor man." 

"Herries!" 'Gina laughed. "He adored you and what he was doing. Look at 
those works of art he brought into being just for us. Hold your hands up 
again, darling. I can't get enough of the way those leather bands nestle 
into your skin: your wrists cry out in sweetly ravished innocence." 

"My wrists don't do anything except stay close to each other." In a wry and 
resigned demonstration Lynne tugged at the chrome link, compelling its 
unforgiving mockery. "See, I'm helpless." 

"You're not, y'know!" 

"Well, maybe-" The captive continued to test the heavy thickness of supple 
leather by which she was bound. Her laugh was rueful. "But that's the scarey 
thing, 'Gina. I've been thinking about it ever since he sealed me with those 
drops of molten metal. You could keep me like this for life. I couldn't 
possibly win a tussle with you, but I expect I can do the chores. I could 
drive a car." 

"A lovely arrangement, darling. Even Enderby approved." 

The captive hands relapsed into their owner's lap. "'Gina, let's leave that 
part out of it as much as we can? Keep it as though it's only you and I." 
Lynne's brow furrowed. "Has he changed the servants?" 

"Yes, but damn cleverly. Castle Conant still has as fine an exhibit of 'Ye 
olde Brytishe retainers' as you'll find outside the movies. But I don't 
think any of 'em could raise an eyebrow if they tried." 'Gina chuckled. "We 
had a meeting about you. They're well briefed. Darling, for heaven's sake 
don't try and bribe the females of seduce the men. A list of penalties was 
drawn up." 

"If I decided I wanted to escape, I'd be punished?" 

"'Fraid so." Gina shrugged. "Logic in it I suppose." 

"You mean some damn housemaid, cook or lackey can beat me-or something 
disagreeable? Oh 'Gina....!" 

"Don't exaggerate, pet. They simply report your lapse from grace, then you 
get sentenced to something unpleasant as a deterrent." 

"Who sentences me? As if I didn't know!" 

"It doesn't have to happen, precious. Don't thrust it on me, I don't want 
the job. You'll have enough on your plate with what that blasted Diomedes 
woman demands. What on Earth did you do to that Greek bitch?" 

"All I had to do was just be Me-and a Stacey-" 

"O.K., O.K..-...! I don't like the way she looks at me sometimes...." 'Gina 
grimaced. "Let's forget her too. Here's the Castle." 

"You mean: here's my prison." 

"You love Conant as much as I do, sweets. Let's see how well the two of us 
can carry this off. It isn't all that easy for me." 

Jeffers was almost too perfect. He ushered them into the Great Hall with a 
grandiloquence as of long association. With Olympian detachment he failed to 
see wristlets and anklets on the family guest, or to hear the metallic 
accompaniament of metal rings. 

"This is Miss Stacey, Jeffers. She will be staying with us for quite some 
time." 

"It will be a privilege to serve her, madam." 

Lynne felt only the beginnings of a blush. Jeffers would be discreetly 
oblivious to even a ball and chain. She stifled an irreverent impulse to 
giggle. 

"Miss Stacey and I will be in my suite, Jeffers. Send Nicole up, please-and 
then Tea." 

"Thank you, madam." Jeffers effaced himself among the suits of armour, the 
old Masters, and the timelessness of polished wood and mellowed stone. 

"Priceless, eh!" An amused Lady Regina Conant led the way up the main 
staircase. 'They're all like that: makes things a lot easier." 

The 'Mistress Suite' was pulsingly familiar ground, but the leather bands on 
Lynne Stacey's wrists and ankles made her suddenly a stranger. She heard 
herself stammering awkwardly: "You'll have to tell me-well-I mean, how I'm 
supposed to act." 

"Be yourself, pet. That's all! If you feel an idiot, it doesn't matter. 
Nicole will start you off beautifully." 

The captive felt an idiot already, standing in centre stage with her hands 
together in a bond she could not seperate. The advent of Nicole was a 
relief. 

"You sent for me, madam?" The accent held only a whisper of French. 

"This is Lynne Stacey, Nicole." Lady Conant's words betrayed mischief. "You 
remember our Meeting? Miss Stacey is shockingly overdressed-?" 

"Oui, madam." 

It had been rehearsed! It must have been! Lynne gazed at the sissors in 
dismay. When the small Gallic fingers and the shining blades approached her 
sleeve her exclamation was spontaneous. 

"No! Don't cut it! I'll take it off-" 

"You can't, darling." 

It was true! The leather mocked her. She could neither remove her dress or 
her bra'. Lynne looked at her companions appealingly. "But I love this 
dress-!" 

"We know, dear. But you won't be needing clothes." 

That also was true! She had been told. She had said a reluctant 'yes'. But 
to reach nudity by virtue of a French maid and a pair of household 
scissors....! Lynne Stacey cringed. 

"Your first test of obedience, darling." 

It was clever. 'Gina had engineered drama. To have her coverings cut from 
her until she was naked would leave a far more compelling memory than a 
mundane undressing. Her first milestone! 

"Oh alright, I'll stand still. 

"Thank you, Miss." 

The shears bit hungrily. A sleeve fell away, baring a shoulder. Then the 
other. The beloved fabric fell wounded for her to step out of. Her bra' 
followed. Her briefs could have been lowered intact but the blades severed 
them with sharp venom. Lynne Stacey kicked off her shoes and was naked. 

"Thank you, Miss. A figure of the most perfect, n'est ce pas." 

The shears should have cut the leather too, but they had not. They remained 
upon her as Herries had fastened them. They would remain on her forever. 
Lynne felt the spreading blush as she watched Nicole gather the scraps she 
would never wear again. 

"You wish me to shave her bush, Madam? It is of an epaisseur densite-?" 

Lady Regina Conant's eyes sparkled with delight, but her voice was under 
control. "Now now, Nicole. It will be discussed. Quite probably at another 
time. The poor dear will never look quite naked with that shining pubic 
forest." 

The captive waited out Nicole's discreet withdrawal before exploding. " 
'Gina, you wouldn't! Would you...?" 

"What? Shave your pussy? What's so awful-?" 

"But it is awful!" The newly naked girl twisted her wristleted hands in 
protest. "I'd hate it. I love my hair." 

"It's one of the Things, precious. It's exquisitely shaming to a girl who 
doesn't want it. Some do-" 

"I'm not one of them!" Lynne's protest was almost a moan. "I'd feel twenty 
times naked with my hair shaved away-down there-" 

"With that neat slit you've got I wouldn't worry, pet." 'Gina was amused. 
"Even if it happens you'll look sleek as a seal and right now it isn't 
happening. Hold the wails of agony, here's Tea." 

The nude captive sat down and crossed her legs. It was comfortinglyless of 
an exposure than standing. The comfort did not last. 

"Uncross 'em, sweetness. Forgotten the code already?" 

Lynne flushed anew. She had forgotten! She seperated her thighs in time to 
allow the maid, proffering a teacup and a plate, an excellent view of her 
pubic hair. She had never cherished a hope of hiding her breasts. The damn 
girl might as well look: everybody else would! Sulkily, she accepted a 
sandwich. 

"Pansy, this is Miss Stacey. Be very nice to her." 

"Yes, M'Lady. Should I get her a small table-on account of-I mean, it's 
awkward for her with-" 

"With her hands locked together? How very sweet of you, dear! Yes, of course 
you can get her a stand." 'Gina was very much the Chatelaine. 

In kindness, Lynne experienced her first deep shame. The tiny table, the 
helpful hands, her own strange clumsiness as both arms must follow where one 
had gone before. Pansy was obviously enraptured. 

"M'Lady. Nicole told me to ask-about Miss Stacey's feet? She sent a 
chain...?" 

"How very thoughtful! I'd quite forgotten. Be a good girl and attach it for 
me." Lady Conant exuded beneficence. 

Shocks and shames! The naked girl knew she must accustom herself to them. 
She looked to 'Gina for help but received only an encouraging smile. 
Chagrined, she extended her naked legs, and watched as Pansy opened a box on 
the Tea Trolley. 

"It seems ever so short, M'Lady?" 

"Never mind, dear. We can't have Miss Stacey leaping around the Castle, can 
we!" 

To the apprehensive recipient of bondage the chain appeared both short and 
needlessly strong. It looked as expensive as the padlocks by which it was 
attached to her anklet rings. Pansy took studious care in her task and 
clicked the locks with a fine sense of drama. "Cor, M'Lady, there'll be no 
getting loose from them-not ever." Her exclamation was awed. 

"That's true, dear. The effect's quite lovely, don't you think?" 

"It 'ud scare me to death, M'Lady, to have me feet chained together like 
that. Couldn't nohow run-couldn't even walk proper-" 

"Thank you, Pansy, and don't worry. You're quite safe. You can run along 
now. Leave the trolley, you can get it later." 

The cups bridged a pulsing vacuum. The two girls eyed each other over the 
rims, holding in check the exclamations they did not need. Each knew the 
other. 

"Hate me, precious?" 

"I love you, Gina. This is the beginning. I can't help feeling strange. 
Don't feel bad about what you have to do....! I just wish I didn't blush so 
easy. D'you want me to get up and try and walk?" 

"In a minute. Finish your Tea. Eat those little cakes, they're good." 

"You're going to tell mc something-about what comes next." 

"You asked me not to talk about it until I had to, pet. Time's close now." 

"Are you going to have me whipped? Or do it yourself?" 

"I want to do some things to you myself. We both know why. But there's other 
things I won't-want. I'll order these done. And set your mind at rest, you 
won't be whipped today." 

"Something worse? I can tell." 

"I think it could be. I have to lock you in a dungeon." 

"Enderby or Diomedes?" 

"Probably both. The end result's the same." Lynne essayed a laugh. "Well, 
I'm appropriately chained. They're sort of de rigueur in dungeons-" 

"Yes." 

They examined the monosyllable bleakly until Lynne could bear the constraint 
no longer. " 'Gina darling, I don't want any more Tea. May I try and walk?" 

They found laughter in the absurdity of the question and the new need to 
seek permission, a laughter soon becoming sober. "I guess you'd better, pet. 
You may have to do quite a lot of walking-" 

The laughter returned at her stumbles, her sad small shuffling steps. To the 
chained girl it was a discovery. "But, 'Gina-Oh, 'G-i-n-a-, I'm s-o-o-o-o-so 
helpless! I can't really do anything-?" 

"Keep trying. You're adorable to watch. You've no idea-" 

"Yes I have. 'Gina darling, can't I have a longer chain?" 

"No." 

"Well, that looks after that. I suppose in a dungeon it doesn't matter 
much." The hobbled girl caught her breath in dismay. "Gina, is this for 
life? This chain between my feet?" 

"No, pet. If it had been we'd have had Herries seal it safe." 

"Oh wow! Oh, darling, it's so much so soon. Don't laugh. I'm going to keep 
trying. This chain locked on my anklets isn't more than twelve inches, is 
it?" 

"Exactly twelve. But you have to add the padlocks and the rings. You've got 
at least fifteen." 

"Having to hold my hands together in front seems to make it worse ... I 
mean, I can't balance-or-or anything. Oh, 'Gina, I wish I could laugh this 
off." 

"You're getting the hang of it, y'know. You'll make a pretty picture when 
you've got it beat. I want to take you to bed, I'm all wet." 

"Gina, can we? Will this chain...? " 

"No, the chain won't stop us, but Diomedes will. Our pussy's are tabu, 
verboten, forbidden." 

Lynne paused, askance. "One of the things you didn't want to tell me? But, 
darling, how will she know?" 

"The servants, of course! I doubt we can make love without them guessing." 

"I want to try. Gina darling, it's all we've got!" 

"No it's not. We have each other: like now. Do you want to risk being 
whipped?" 

"Yes." 

"I'd be whipped along with you, darling." 'Gina shrugged. "Another of the 
things I didn't want to talk about." 

An abyss opened before captive eyes, halting captive feet. Lynne felt the 
leather bands constrict. "But, 'Gina...! You're Lady Conant! You own the 
Castle....!" 

"Precious, don't be shocked. You know what we're into, both of us-in our 
different roles. They've got a sort of peasant logic." 

"But how-? Who-?" 

"The servants report any breaking of the Code. Then Enderby or Diomedes, or 
somebody would sentence me the same way I have to sentence you. Damned 
humiliating, but it was part of their terms." 

"But, never again to make love-never....?" 

They were suddenly locked in each other's arms, the joined hands fumbling 
and straining as best they could. 'Gina's whisper was fervid and urgent in 
her captive's ear. "No, no, no, not forever! I love you too much-I'd die. 
Trust me-trust me-Oh, darling....!" 

They kissed and adored each other. After awhile they began what Lynne always 
thought of afterwards as 'The Long Walk'. 

Lynne Stacey had seen the dungeon before. It was by no means the worst 
Castle Conant could offer an unwilling guest. Its ceiling was vaulted. There 
were slender pillars. There was even some daylight through a reasonable 
expanse of bars. "Arn't you being kind, 'Gina?" Its new tenant asked 
doubtfully. 

"Not really. There's a motive. How's the ankles? 

"They're not chafed. I thought they would be, I snubbed about every second 
step." Lynne thrust forth one hobbled foot. "See, 'Gina, nothing-that lovely 
leather!" She rattled her chain playfully. 'That was the strangest and 
longest walk of my life. Darling, it's absurd: I'm horny." 

"It's not absurd, sweets. I'm throbbing inside like a little steam engine. 
Watching you take those little steps-wow! And it's cute the way you 
constantly try and do something with your hands-" 

"I can't do anything right with them, 'Gina. They don't seem to like being 
together. They each want to go off on their own." The captive managed a wry 
grin. "If I raise them up it's like I'm trying to cover my breasts. If I let 
them fall it's as though they're reaching to hide my puss." 

"Nakedness bother you, pet?" 

"Not with you. But it won't be just you, will it! I'll die the first time a 
man has a good look. I suppose it's part of my punishment." 

"'Fraid so. There's another bit coming up." 

Lynne had made a quick scan of her prison. She had seen the rope. "Are you 
going to tie me up some way?" She asked, puzzled. 

"To one of the pillars, darling." 

"But why? I'm already chained-and the chains won't come off!" 

Lady Regina Conant patted a flushed cheek and kissed two pouting lips. "You 
know why, darling." 

"Yes, I suppose I do. It's just it's so new. I mean, sort of adjustments all 
the time." 

"D'you hate me for loving this part of thejob?" 

"Don't be silly! I've adored it so far. I'm shamefully wet. This typing me 
up...? It's something you have to do?" 

"Orders, pet. Otherwise I'd leave you only chained. Those things Herries 
fastened on you are just too sweet." 

"'Gina dear, do They know? About us, I mean-the way we get horny....?" 

"I don't think so. Diomedes may guess, but she'll be banking on the rougher 
stuff, the things I may not even do to you myself." 'Gina pondered. "You 
see, pet, I think they realized they've pushed us both damn hard, so if we 
happen to find happiness in bits and pieces here and there they're willing 
to close a blind eye. That way we'll be more amenable for the rest of it." 

Lynne nodded absently. She had chosen a column and clicked her hobbled steps 
to where she could turn and press her naked back against the stone. She 
gasped. "Oooooo darling, it's c-o-l-d! Am I going to have to warm it up 
with-just-Me?" 

"That's right, pet." 

"Tell me where I have to face then. I don't want to warm two places." 

"Where you are is fine, facing the door. If you went the other side you 
wouldn't know who entered. I'll spare you that suspense. Stand still and 
push back hard." 

It was a game: their game. A lovely, gorgeous, spine tingling eroticism 
filled with gasps of acute sensation and roseate imagery. The naked girl 
felt the stone grow warm in communion with her flesh and dwelt briefly in a 
shared ecstasy beneath the sure swift fingers of her love. In an hour she 
might weep. But in the minutes it might take for 'Gina to bind her to the 
stone she would know only joy. 

"Tummy first, pet. Lucky you don't have one." 

The several bands about her middle made Lynne Stacey one with "the vertical 
column. She emitted a cheerful 'Ouch!' as they were cinched tight by a 
cross-loop at the small of her back. When it was knotted her hips were 
welded immovably. 

"Relax, darling. You can't fall now, and you can't escape. Spread your 
little tootsies as far as the chain permits." 

It was true. Initiative was gone. She belonged to the post. In a heat of 
erotic arousal she felt her ankles tug at their tether as a rope joined them 
as implacably at the rear as the chain in front. 'Gina stepped back and 
admired her work. 

"You look good enough to eat, precious." 

"Eat me then." 

The union of four lips was instant. The naked torso of the bound girl 
writhed and twisted against relentless rope in an ecstatic response to a 
tongue familiar with her sheath. Lynne's braceleted hands tugged demandingly 
at their single link, striving for a contact they could not make, flexing 
against their leather bands as the conductor of a symphony might weave the 
motions of his baton. In a rising crescendo she began to moan. 

It was a gasping return to the dungeon for both. Dazedly, 'Gina stepped 
back, searching for errant pubic hairs within her mouth. The bound maiden 
had placed her fastened hands, palm to palm, beneath her cheek, nestling her 
head upon their support as though exhausted and awaiting sleep. When their 
eyes met they grinned sheepishly. 

"Forbidden fruit." Lady Regina Conant admitted ruefully. "Sorry, you sexy 
darling, I couldn't'help myself. Tied like that you're just too, too yummy." 

"Let me loose, 'Gina." The naked victim pleaded. "I can't love you like 
this-the chains won't matter." 

"Not a chance, pet. It's playing with fire. I ought to be kicked." 

"I loved it. It was beautiful." 

"Were you watching the door? I couldn't." 

"I wasn't watching anything. I was 'way off somewhere. Oh, darling, it was 
the most marvelous ever! I think it's being tied like this. It makes me 
all-all-" 

"Don't tell me. I know!" The older girl disposed of the last silken thread 
of her beloved. She was suddenly vehement. "Lynne my precious, I promise 
you. We'll get through this-this-I don't know what to call it, but I'll get 
you through it somehow. It won't be for life, it just can't! It's too-" 

"I don't mind, darling-Not as long as it's you." The tied loveliness was 
still in the throes of ecstasy. At that moment Lynne Stacey could 
contemplate a lifetime of such captivity without a qualm. 

"I'd better lock you up, sweets. I hate to leave you....But the 
servants-It's hateful to have to suspect....! But I'm going to be careful." 

"I don't want you ever to go." The nude girl pouted a pixie grimace. "But 
I'll behave. Tie up the rest of me, Gina." 

"There isn't any 'rest of you', sweetness, that's it." 

"You mean you're going to leave me free-above my navel!" 

"That's right, pet." 

"But I'll be able to reach back and untie myself!" 

Lady Regina Conant giggled. "No you won't." 

It was true. Lynne reached vainly with her cuffed hands but could find no 
knot. The jointure of her wrists condemned her to a partial freedom she 
could not enlarge. "But, darling, I'm going to feel-all funny-! This will 
tantalise me to death." 

"That's the idea, love. It would be much kinder to tie a couple more loops 
above your breasts." 

"I don't know what to do with my hands....!" The younger girl waved Wm' 
Herries masterwork ineffectually. "Just hold 'em out in front." 

"That looks like the prow of a ship, or as though I'm holding a tin cup for 
people to drop coins." Lynee grimaced. "They ought to be tied behind the 
column, nicely out of the way." 

"I could tie them above your head. But they'd be hurting bad before 
morning." 

"Do it, darling! I'd look pathetically sweet: sort of sacrificial." 

"Yes you would. And in an hour you'd be sorry. You've been sentenced to a 
tease. Be thankful with it." 

They were suddenly sober, aware of themselves as pawns. Needing each other 
but forced to part. Unsure of tomorrow and all the tomorrows reaching into a 
vista of strange captivity. After awhile night would creep into the stone 
chamber and envelope the white and lonely nudity tied to the post. Then in 
the morning...? 

"I have to stand like this all night, 'Gina?" 

"Yes." 

"It doesn't really hurt much-not yet. But-but, will I be able to sleep?" 

"I don't know, pet. In the morning-" 

With a sob of desire the older girl flung herself upon the naked loveliness 
she had bound. For long moments they kissed and clung. Then, without a 
backward glance, without a word, 'Gina fled. They heavy bolt studdied door 
thudded shut, there came the grind of grooved metal.... 

Lynne Stacey was alone. 

 CHAPTER TWO. REBELLION IN ROPE. 

In times to come it would be called Anaguara's 'Freedom Day'. But, to Trixie 
Malone it was just one more bloody riot by bandits armed with Russian guns 
and waving banners condemning the United States for most of the crimes on 
the calendar. Bastique echoed with the crack and boom of firing and the 
whining ricochet of bullets triggered by exuberant marksmen who cared little 
for a target. The streets were a shambles. There was a good deal of smoke. 

There could be no doubt of a planned purpose in her seizure. A panel truck. 
Four armed and whiskered ruffians in anonymous uniforms. When they had 
dragged her from the house she wryly computed her capacity to cope with four 
rapes in quick succession, and was fleetingly thankful for having taken her 
daily pill. In the panel job she was brutally stripped. Instead of sundering 
her thighs they tied her ankles. No doubt they would take her to a quiet 
place, stake her out spread-eagle, and enjoy her at their leisure. She 
remembered the nuns in the Congo. She had wondered then how they had felt. 

The Avenida Maturas was Bastigue's main thoroughfare. 

An un-likely place for the ravishing of feminine journalists, even on a day 
such as this. There was little traffic and fewer pedestrians. All were in a 
hurry to go elsewhere. Trixie's screams and struggles passed unnoticed as 
she was dumped nude upon the pavement. Her captors seemed to be enjoying a 
private joke she could not share. Two of them sat on her whilst the other 
pair dragged forth tools, a small anvil, and some frightening bits of chain. 
Whilst the shocked girl was groping for her Spanish she was addressed her 
own tongue. The words were an amused chuckle. 

"We do you honour, Miss Malone. You become a National symbol." 

A wad of rag stuffed into her mouth stifled her offer of cash to deliver her 
to the Consulate. She watched, wide eyed, the swift preparations for her 
discomfort. 

"The Lamp Standard is of steel, Miss Malone. Made in Pittsburg." 

She wanted to say: "So what!". But must perforce be a mute audience for her 
captors hilarity. She began to wish they had raped her and gone about their 
murdering. There was something ominous in their present activity. 

"Specially made for a lady about your size, Miss Malone." 

The idiot was holding up heavy metal bands from which dangled chain. The 
appropriate word flashed in her comprehension like a thunderclap-Shackles! 
The crazy fools were going to shackle her to a lamp-post on the City's Main 
Street. Some sort of fervid gesture. She could envision the headlines, and 
cursed the luck by which she was denied the chance to write them. 

One ankle, one wrist! Glumly, Trixie Malone watched the iron circle and bite 
her limbs, watched the rivets splat under the hammer. The male hands hurt 
her compellingly so she ceased to struggle. The purpose of the anvil was now 
clear. She was thrust down for the cruel heavy circlet to be riveted upon 
her neck. 

The Lamp Standard claimed her nudity for its own. It took only one man to 
keep her standing as they desired. He did it by the simple expedient of 
embracing her and the pole itself with a muscular constriction she could not 
counter. His beard rested on her chin while his companions grunted under the 
weight of the anvil and the blows of the hammer by which her slenderness was 
helplessly clamped, her hands behind and out of sight. Another heavy chain 
dragged around her middle completed the ensemble. It, too, was fastened by 
hammer on soft iron. Trixie's embracer stepped back with his fellowes to 
admire their work. The bound girl had never felt so naked in her life. The 
new sound of the motor and sight of the cable with its arc welder sent a 
scream of protest to spend itself against her gag. 

"National monuments should be permanent, Miss Malone. The flame is not for 
you." 

There was some heat from the sparking arc. But they were careful. Trixie 
Malone could not see what was being done to her chains but she could cherish 
no doubt. All four of her riveted fetters: ankles, wrists, stomach and neck, 
were being heavily and redundently welded to the parent post. 

"Stand there with pride, Miss Malone." 

They had a well constructed sign which she was not allowed to read. Trouble 
was taken to weld it to the standard above her head. The naked girl could 
cherish no doubt she was a complete and satisfying exhibition for whatever 
point the quartet wished to make. 

"We have not raped you, Miss Malone. Remember that when you write your 
article on the New Anaguara." 

Before they left they plucked the wad of fabric from her mouth. The welded 
journalist watched their departure in a fury of anger, of frustration and, 
above all, of puzzlement. If she could have read the sign it might have 
helped, but she could not. 

She supposed it everybody's nightmare to stand naked in a public place. But 
in all her considerable experience Trixie Malone could not duplicate her own 
predicament. Her situation was unique. To have been raped or killed was 
commonplace. But this...! Her abductors had possessed both humour and 
originality. No doubt their purpose was political. But, suppose it was not! 
Suppose Trixie Malone was chained naked on the Avenida Maturas just for 
laughs! The thought was bitter. 

She struggled. She had to test. There might be hope! But there was none. The 
collar chafed her neck. She could move but little. Her fingers explored the 
cooling metal enough to gauge its massive implacably. An attempt to close 
her legs failed. They had been fastened well apart and there they would 
stay. Her pubic triangle was well displayed for the edification of the 
rebels. She reflected, grimly, she'd be damn lucky if some of them did not 
use it. 

Computing rescue, the possibilities were slim. Bastigue was strife torn, its 
people dying, there was no Law. Every street would project its own vista of 
the bizarre. In an atmosphere charged with death and destruction the vision 
of a nude girl leaning against a lamp-post might stop no one would be 
commonplace today. With a thrill of horror the chained girl realized she 
could stand thus until she died. 

Welded naked to a lamp-post in a battleground! It was incongruous, but she 
had yet suffered injury. Trixie Malone concentrated her attention on such 
life as came her way. She could not wave, she could not writhe. Her best 
smile or wildest grimace might be hard to interpret at a distance. 

A truck loaded with nondescript fighting men paused long enough to read her 
sign. They cheered, waved and roared away. Private cars sometimes did the 
same, but more discreetly and with a furtive air. When she shouted her plea 
for help it was lost and swallowed by the sounds of war. The metal by which 
she was welded to the post became, more and more, an implacable enemy, 
laughing at her impotence. For the first time in many years Trixie Malone 
shed tears. She recalled the legend of Andromeda. But for her, in Bastigue, 
there would be no Pegasus. 

Trixie was proud of her breasts. She knew they were nice breasts of a 
curvaceous symmetry. They had been much admired. In the pursuit of her 
profession she had exploited them outrageously. She was equally satisfied 
with her pubic hair. Its shining fronds were not as convienient a lure as 
her pink nipples, but in the right times and places had drawn many a sigh of 
ecstasy and a number of contracts. That these assets should be blatantly 
displayed on the main street of a Capitol City and draw neither rape, cash, 
nor an offer of aid told her clearly how desperate her plight must be. Once 
more she struggled until everything hurt too much, then relapsed in her 
bondage, helpless, hopeless, and without expectation of a dragon or the 
knight in shining armour to slay it for her. 

The girl was a bitter irony. What good was a girl! Blue jeans, a sweater and 
a man's cap. But the startled eyes were kind. Trixie parted with her Spanish 
in a volley. Intelligence lurked beneath the cap. There were vehement nods. 

"The Consulate, senorita. I go there for refuge. I tell them of you here. 
But cannot I help?" 

"No. I'm welded. You'd better take a look so you can tell them. They'll have 
to bring tools." 

Searching fingers and comiserating sounds....! Hope flared. "It is most 
awful, senorita. I tell them. I run very fast." 

Trixie watched her go. In irrational optimism her mind compiled the first 
sentences of the article she would write. The U.S. Consulate would be safe, 
safe, safe! 

The jeep held three soldiers. They captured the running girl with ease, 
stripped her and raped her in a space of minutes, leaving her ravaged 
nakedness sprawled on the asphalt. They stopped before the chained girl long 
enough to read her sign, waved cheerfully, fired a couple of random shots in 
the air and went their way. Anaguara's Liberation was following a familiar 
pattern. 

Her next visitor was more official. An officer, the uniforms less tattered. 
He flourished his English with contemptuous ease, heavy with sarcasm. 

"You are enjoying your stay in Anaguara, senorita?" 

"You know I'm not! Get me out of this. Inform my Consul." 

His Spanish smile took full cognizance of the bare Trixie Malone. He 
overlooked nothing. "You are comfortable, I trust?" 

"Don't be absurd!" 

"My men had strict orders. You have not been injured?" 

"No, I suppose not." 

"Or raped?" 

"No." She glared defiantly. "You'll be the first." 

His bow of acknowledgement mocked her fury. "Wishful thinking, Miss Malone. 
And in any case-your present position-?" 

"Arn't you going to set me free, get me out of all this scrap iron?" 

"Alas, no. We have no tools." He smiled charmingly. "But you have an 
excellent view of our revolution. You will not be bored." 

"You're not going to just go away and leave me like this?" 

"Indeed yes." His tone became reassuring. "By tomorrow order will be 
restored. You will then be expertly freed." 

"All today, and all night, and part of tomorrow-like this!" Trixie was 
horrified. "Suppose in the meantime I'm-I'm-" 

"The fortunes of war-and journalism, senorita. But when you are released you 
will find our prison unusually well equipped." 

"Prison!" Under Bastigue's hot sun she felt the touch of ice. "You have to 
be kidding?" 

The official document was white and clean. He flourished it and read with 
relish: "Espionage. Sedition. Subversion. Enticement-" 

"Enticement! What the hell-!" The naked girl's impulsive struggle was an 
emphasis. 

"Possibly your breasts, senorita? They are most certainly-" 

"They're just breasts. All girls have 'em! And that other nonsense....! You 
know damn well I'm innocent." 

"Without a doubt, senorita. But who are we to quibble!" 

"It's some sort of rotten politics. I'm being used as a hostage-or held to 
ransome-or something-?" 

The Official shrug was charming, and more than eloquent. "Your sentence is 
twenty years, Miss Malone. In solitary confinement." 

"But I haven't even had a trial!" 

"A mere formality." 

"But it's inhuman! Cruel! I'm innocent!" 

"Your innocence adds a certain piquancy." He parted with a conspiratorial 
wink. "As for your solitary confinement, I am sure that I myself and other 
privileged revolutionaries will visit you from time to time to relieve your 
tedium." 

"I get fucked to boot! Oh, come off it!" 

"No, I assure you. The New Order has issued a manifesto on Penal Reform. We 
reject North American sterility and re-introduce the stocks and whipping 
post. Prisoners whose crime is against The State will be ironed. That will 
include yourself-" 

"You mean you're going to keep me in chains-the way I am right now?" 

"Of course not!" He reproved. "There will be no lamp-post." 

Once more the prisoner of the post watched a shattered hope depart. Its 
exhaust seemed a personal mockery of her plight. In sudden concern she 
turned to where the raped girl had been left supine. But she was gone. A 
bullet struck the post above her head and sang its way into oblivion. The 
welded captive of the new improved Anaguara relapsed within her chains and 
bleakly viewed the vista of her promised prisonment. The U.S. of A. vanished 
into limbo. She was doomed. 

The tiny Volkswagen ejected a pink cheeked clerk who viewed Trixie Malone's 
breasts and pubic hair in fascinated shock. He was middle aged and inclined 
to be plump. "The Consulate sent me-there was a girl-" 

"Thank heaven! Are you enjoying my tits?" 

He flushed pinker still. "Well really-how can I help-!" He bestowed a quick 
scan upon her pubic hair before raising anxious eyes. "You are Miss Trixie 
Malone, the journalist?" 

"Yes. But right now I'm just a piece of naked female. Did you bring the 
tools?" 

"Tools?" 

"To cut me loose. I'm welded to this blasted pole." 

He scurried to the rear. His startled: "Oh dear!" and disturbed: "My 
goodness!" told Trixie the worst. 

"You can't possibly get me loose without tools." 

"No. I can see. I'm afraid-" He absently produced a pen-knife and replaced 
it hurredly. "I'm afraid I shall have to leave you-" 

"Please hurry. This isn't much fun." 

"No. I am sure." He groped for chivalry. "I really should cover-something." 

"That would be nice. How about my cunt?" 

"All I have is a handkerchief?' 

"That should be big enough." Trixie retorted bitterly. "But how are you 
going to make it stick? You wouldn't happen to have a few fig leaves....?" 

The forces of the United States retreated in disorder. Even the Volkswagen 
sounded lost and far from home. 

Abandoned in her metal bondage, Trixie shed a few more tears. They were 
tears she would have angrily shaken from her cheeks if the collar had not 
hurt when she tried. She swallowed her chagrin and hoped for the best. 
Someone knew where she was. It was comforting. 

The black Mercedes was sinister from the start. Trixie watched its approach 
as a tethered goat might watch the tiger. It was silkily feline, its purr 
oblivious of the childish antics of war and insurrection. Its shining gloss 
spoke of omnipotence. There was a uniformed chauffeur and a man. Both had 
prognathous jaws and cold eyes. There was a bag. They spoke no greeting, 
reducing her to one of a long line of naked female flesh leading to the 
indifference of satiety. 

"Silly bastards! They can keep their welds." 

There was a reassuring clank as the bag was dropped to the pavement. Hard 
fingers probed. To the chained girl they did not feel like friends. She knew 
the answer, but she had to ask: "Are you from the Consulate?" 

It was as though they had not heard. There was a satisfied grunt. "All we 
need here is the bolt cutters. The bands can stay on her." 

Grunts and heavy breathing. A snap and clink of chain. Suddenly she had her 
hands, holding them up to view in incredulous joy. What mattered it that the 
iron bands were still riveted on her wrists, and from them links of severed 
chain-She was free! The rest of her liberation followed in quick succession. 
Joyfully she stepped away and faced her saviors. 

"Gosh, I'm so terribly grateful! I just can't tell you-!" 

The gag was no surprise. Nor was the padlock which clicked to join links 
behind her back. Both were done too swiftly for remonstrance. A bigger shock 
came from the rope looping her elbows and drawing them tight in a cruel 
cinch. It burned and hurt: a beastly unkind pain. 

"Keep you sensible, girl. Nothin' like a bit o' rope." 

He was right! Trixie hated him and the rope too. Against the stricture and 
its steady scald she had no defense. It reduced her to a demeaning 
submission. Anything she did hurt. Resistence would hurt most of all. She 
allowed herself to be guided to the car. In it was a woman who invitingly 
made room in the back seat. A woman as sleek and darkly menacing as the 
Mercedes. When Trixie's ankles had been harshly bound together, she nodded 
approvingly. 

"We have much to talk about. Miss Malone." 

Trixie Malone made wet sounds of denial into her gag and shook her head with 
emphasis. With the speed of a striking cobra a feminine palm slapped a 
captive cheek so that the nude helplessness cowered back into a corner, wide 
eyed and fearful. 

"Behave yourself. You can do nothing." 

It was true! Even to do nothing hurt. The two women gazed at each other 
assessingly. After moments of silence the captor smiled. "Perhaps I should 
introduce myself." The eyes became coldly searching. 

"My name is Diomedes." 

Pictures of naked girls hanging by their bound wrists to await the whip had 
surfaced enough in Trixie's life to leave a conciousness that such things 
happened. That it should happen to her had never been a thing to even 
remotely consider. It had happened now! Her wrists burned with a worse fire 
than her elbows had done previously. Her toes searched for the floor they 
were denied. She had, however, been cunningly suspended so as to enable her, 
with stress and stretch and strain, to barely make contact with a single 
toe. It was a tantalisation not worth the agony. She hung in limp despair. 

It was a softening up. Esther Diomedes had explained this before leaving her 
alone with suspense. It had been kindly explained: suspension would 
undermine resistance, fewer stripes on her skin would be required to make 
her talk. 

"But I'm willing to talk now!" It was a wail of anguish. 

"Of course you are, dear." The tone had been maternal. "But when I return 
with the whip you will be willing to tell the truth." 

That was the nub of terror, the core of her desuetude. Trixie Malone had 
nothing to tell, no secret to cherish. Torture would elecit nothing from her 
but the expediencies of lies. She might be whipped to death in protesting 
innocence. The naked girl allowed her head to fall so as to behold what she 
could of her own nudity. It was the last time she would see it without the 
crisscross grid of welts and purple etchings she would earn because of 
something she did not know. She wept. 

Strangely, it was Esther Diomedes who dried her tears. Not from compassion 
but from a sense of order and neatness. In one hand she held the scrap of 
white cambric, in the other the whip. Despite absurdity, Trixie said a 
polite "Thank you." 

"You are a most attractive young woman, a lovely body. Suspension brings out 
the best in all of us." 

Trixie sniffed and said, wanly: "I'll tell you anything about anything." 

"I will get a chair so we can exchange some thoughts before I start whipping 
you." 

"Please don't whip me. There's no need." The hanging girl watched her new 
captor make herself comfortable. "I believe you think I know something I 
don't. I'm scared." 

"And so you should be, dear. I have whipped a lot of girls in my time. I'm 
highly skilled." 

"I'll scream horribly. I know I will!" 

"That will be nice. I cannot abide Stoics." 

"But haven't you any mercy, any sympathy forme? I've had an appalling day." 

"You girls today! No stamina. Most of you are no more than pulsating 
glands." 

"Mine arn't pulsating, Mrs. Diomedes. I'm dry as the Sahara." 

Grimly, with an ancient wisdom, the older woman rose and cupped a palm hard 
beneath her captive's pubic labia. Exhibiting the result, she smiled. Her 
hand glistened. "I don't try and explain it." She said casually, resuming 
her seat. "But most of us females respond to dominance. I suppose that's the 
way it was in the beginning." 

"Mrs. Diomedes, if we're going to talk, can I have my feet on the floor? My 
wrists and shoulders hurt like crazy." 

"No." 

"I don't mean let loose. You could leave me tied-But just so I could support 
my weight?" 

The lash bit across the curves of Trixie's rump, wealed her hip and snapped 
its final inches across her loins. She screamed and kicked wildly against a 
pain too great to bear. Her gyrations made her a puppet on a string. 

"Does that convey a message, dear?" 

She knew she must answer. But her breasts were heaving, her lips gasping. 
She did her best. "I mustn't ask for things...?" 

"Sensible girl. You catch on." 

Fear spurred Trixie's tongue. At all costs she must please. The whip was 
worse than her most nightmarish imaginings. "Please help me, Mrs. Diomedes. 
I don't want to be-hurt. But I've never had this done to me before." 

The pathetic plea drew a chuckle. "I'll be damned! Never had quite that 
response. You've got possibilities." 

Trixie kept a discreet silence. Bowing her head submissively, she took the 
opportunity to observe her welted hip and a groin nipped in scarlet. The 
pathway of the lash scorched her skin in stern reminder. 

"And now you can tell me where I can find Hammond Stacey, Miss Malone." 

The hanging nude stiffened. Taut in realisation. 

"Touched a nerve, eh! And why have you followed me to Anaguara?" 

"I thought you knew where he was and would lead me to him. I want the story. 
Your name crops up all over, Mrs. Diomedes. I'm sorry." 

"Scoop of the century, eh! Well, perhaps it would be. Hell of it is I don't 
know where the bastard's got to myself." 

Trixie said nothing. She was sure silence would be golden. Esther Diomedes 
sighed heavily. "Maybe you know where Lord Victor Conant is? He and Stacey 
did a lot of business." 

The weighted questions savoured of a trap. But Trixie's wrists were hurting. 
She was in no mood to temporise. Her answer was forthright. "He's dead-Quite 
young-in an accident. He left a widow. She's quite young too." 

"Tracked it down as a lead, I suppose?" 

"Yes. It didn't help. Lady Conant lives with Stacey's daughter. They're a 
pair of lesbians. Too damn beautiful for their own good....But they've got 
this Castle....It's a lovely place. As far as I could learn they nibble each 
other all day long." 

Mrs. Diomedes sighed again. Trixie sensed a prelude. She had never felt so 
nakedly vulnerable in her life. All of her was exposed. Try as she would she 
could not refrain from looking at the whip in her Inquisitor's hand. Her 
whole being was still battling the shock of its impact on her flesh. 

"There's a precept I've learned with you girls." Mrs. Diomedes said 
pleasantly. "You need bringing down to Earth. Basics! A touch of reality-" 

"Please don't whip me-please!" 

"Five strokes, dear. It will do you a lot of good. You may thank me 
afterwards." 

"No! Oh, no!" The suspended nudity was frantic, swaying and turning on her 
tether. "I'll answer everything. I promise-I promise!" 

"It won't stop, dear. You get them regardless. You'll feel quite different 
afterwards and we'll have a nice talk." 

Another impossible nightmare! It was happening ... happening! She was being 
whipped on her bare skin by a woman who never believe anything she said. 
Visions of her hanging naked and unconscious with blood trickling from her 
wounds to the floor flitted vividly before her agonized mind's eye. Trixie 
Malone sought, bewildered, for a word of truth by which she could save her 
skin. But there was none there-None! The first of the five strokes curled 
round her taut tummy with a resounding snap. She screamed lustily. 

"It's a very pretty effect when the weal springs up after the impact." Mrs. 
Diomedes said reflectively. "Pity you can't see." 

The second blow was across the strained shoulders, flicking within a 
flattened armpit towards the curve of an unprotected breast. Its receipient 
choked against the higher peal of her scream in order to gasp: "I'll do 
anything....! Say anything....Oh, please, not any more-don't whip me again-" 

"So sweet! Such predictable cliches." Esther Diomedes struck again. Her tone 
verged on admiration. "You girls are so enjoyable." 

Trixie Malone abandoned everything except her body's response to agony. She 
writhed, she kicked. She jerked wildly against the rope by which she was 
held. Mrs. Diomedes prudently raised it an extra inch to compensate for any 
possible stretch. Never for a moment did her gaze leave the picture of 
contorting anguish created by her whip. 

"That was three, dear. They soon pass. Since you're new to this I think I'll 
get you to open up your legs. You may as well learn." 

Trixie was in such a daze of pain she failed to understand the import of the 
request. Her response was bewilderment. "What-I don't-I don't-" 

"Open up those thighs! Stretch your feet as far apart as they'll go. 
Quickly! Now!" 

It was specific. It was frightening. Trixie Malone obeyed unthinkingly. 

"Nice. Very nice!" Esther Diomedes measured the exposed loins with the eye 
of a connoisseur. The whip slithered behind her on the floor like a living 
snake. 

It was cruel! It was obscene! It was an outrage to everything 
feminine-something never to be done to any girl! But it had been done to 
her! Trixie screamed again and again as her crotch, her Venus mound, her 
belly were lanced and branded with flame. The woman with the whip watched, 
enthralled, her breasts heaving with an emotion beyond exertion. The 
suspended girl moaned and gasped as she kicked her bare legs in a tentative 
exploration of her newest injury It was all she could do. Perhaps never 
again would she reach to touch her pubic hair. 

"I'm taking quite a fancy to you dear." The older woman said equably. "Now I 
want you to stretch exactly the same way again." 

One more! Only one to go....! The whipped girl repeated the assurance over 
and over again. It made the impossible possible. In fearful anticipation she 
opened her sex to accept its kiss of venom. The thong cut up and under, 
splatting where no whip should go. Trixie rewarded it with screams that went 
on and on until she could scream no more. As her moans subsided into gasps, 
Esther Diomedes observed in tribute: "You're so damn pretty like that I'm a 
good mind to do it again." 

It was not done again. After Trixie Malone struggled back into Mrs. Diomedes 
world, and the insistent hurt of her wrists began to obscure the more 
dramatic agonies of her stripes, the two women assessed each other anew. The 
older had resumed her chair and comfort. She smiled invitingly. "Want to 
talk about it, Trixie Malone?" 

"It was awful." 

"Hmmmmmm. That the best you can do?" 

"I never realized such pain existed. I always supposed a girl became 
unconscious-" 

Mrs. Diomedes laughed. "It's one of the fables. This whole business is laced 
with 'em. I suppose you might pass out after a couple of hundred." 

"That would kill-" 

"No it wouldn't. I'll admit I've been astonished myself. Some of the little 
dears are indestructable. It varies. You could take a lot more than you'd 
believe." She eyed the reaching toes with amusement. "Want me to let your 
feet down on the floor?" 

"Oh please! Oh, thank you-Oh yes!" 

"I'm not going to. I'm a thorough bitch." She absorbed her victim's dismay 
with relish. "Hurts twice as bad now, eh?" 

"Yes." 

"Shows what can be done with suspense, disappointment....Give a girl hope 
then snatch it away." The quiet voice mused as from many memories. "You can 
break a girl with words and nudity. But it's not dramatic: no screams." She 
eyed her stretched striped captive speculatively. 'Tell me the truth now. 
You're not the same, are you?" 

"No." 

"Care to elaborate? I'm interested." 

"I don't see how a girl can possibly be the same after something like that. 
Girls who've experienced childbirth are different." Wide eyed, the captive 
appealed. "Don't torture me any more. I'll be obedient. I'll do anything you 
want-even if it's sexual. There! I don't suppose I could have said that an 
hour ago." 

"Interesting. I'll bear the offer in mind. Are you a lesbian?" 

"No, I'm not! But if you'll let me off this rope I'll try hard to please-" 

The slash was instant. Esther Diomedes possessed a feline strength and 
fluidity of motion. To Trixie Malone the searing agony around her ribs and 
beneath her breasts seemed the cruellest yet. She swung like a pendulum, 
back in the realm of agony. 

"You don't make terms or offer deals, girl. Remember that." 

"I'm-I'm-I'm sorry." Trixie gasped. "I am trying-Really I am-" 

"Good! Try and recall Hammond Stacey's address." 

"I don't know it." 

"Try and recall why you're following me around." 

"I've told you that already. Honest, it's the truth!" 

"I enjoy whipping girls." Mrs. Diomedes reflected cheerfully. "You are 
eminently whippable. You are also nicely exposed for it." Her eyes swept the 
sobbing swaying nudity so totally at her mercy. "I've had a lot of 
experience with stubborn females. Its led me to try and avoid cutting them 
to bits-Damned easy to do when I get hot between the legs watching 'em 
twitch. I'm going to let you think a bit. I'll come back tomorrow." 

The tied girl watched the retreating back in dismay. Her cry of despair 
died, stillborn, under the slam of the door, scaling her alone in a room of 
pain. She looked askance at the empty chair and discarded whip, and knew 
with a terriblt clarity she would have preferred the woman and the lash to 
the prospect facing her now-to simply hang inert, swaying if she tried to 
move, her wrists and shoulders blazing. She looked up the bare taut columns 
of her arms to the rope by which her hands were bound. It was neatly 
strictured within her flesh-mocking! If she could have got an anchorage for 
her feet and put her teeth to work she could be free in minutes. But to hang 
suspended....! She was lost. The floor was a living tease. No more than two 
inches from her toes. It might as well have been a mile. 

Trixie saw the hours ahead as small corporeal eternity, each hour a century, 
a millenium of misery repeated on and on. She cursed herself for failing to 
concoct a tale by which her captor might have been appeased. She refused to 
contemplate her resultant penalty when the falsity was revealed. She could 
deal with only so much horror at a time. She wept copiously without relief, 
the ropes around her wrists defeating nature. She wondered if, by the 
following morning, she would still be alive and not a stiffened ugliness 
upon the rope. Or would her arms be lost to her, the small hands become 
talons, robbed of life! Such thoughts were poor sustenance to sustain her 
through the night. 

 CHAPTER THREE. ENDERBY'S HOBBY. 

The Chatelaine of Conant Castle suspected Enderby of deliberately 
cultivating the pose of an enigma. If he had a christian name, none seemed 
aware of it: He was Enderby. Bond Street attired him. He was not without a 
deprecating and sarcastic humour, his cherubic features sharing pixie grins 
that 'Gina found as suspect as the rest. They faced each other now across 
the neutrality of her desk. His voice was, as usual, faintly probing. 

"Perquisite of office, wouldn't you say?" 

"No I would not! I don't see why the poor dear has to be tortured." She 
looked at him irritably: "I'm surprised a man like you would want to whip an 
innocent girl." 

"You are not surprised at all. You probably enjoy doing it yourself: a 
charming subject." 

Lady Regina Conant flushed. Enderby's perceptions were acute. She was, as 
yet, unsure of him. "Whatever lies between Lynne and me remains our own. 
Those were the terms." 

"Excellent. I'll cane her hands. You pick your own favourite part." 

She ignored the goad. She sought an ally. "The Diomedes woman is 
ridiculous-to wish to imprison a girl for life, and constantly punish her. 
It's-it's-not even practical." 

"Oh but it is! The sentence is already being carried out: with yourself as a 
most charming wardress." His smile was benign. "Let us never forget the 
Diomedes wealth. It is greater than the resources of many of the smaller 
nations. Your beloved Lynne spit in her eye, a most imprudent act. To dear 
Esther it was simple lese majeste." 

"I'll sell Conant. Buy it and let us go our way?" 

"Oh come! In a sense we have Conant already, without cost. It would not have 
the same value to us without your presence." 

"Me in the Royal suite and Lynne in a dungeon!" 

He gestured negligently. "It was ever thus. Probably your ancestors-" 

"Do you intend to hold Hammond Stacey for life too?" She examined him 
shrewdly. "We only have your word that you've got him." 

"The transfer of such vast holdings takes time, my dear." Enderby gestured 
vaguely. "And now, in the matter of caning your darling's hands....?" 

"Do you really have to? Look, it was Lynne's first night. I doubt she slept 
much. She'll be tired and dispirited ... and what you intend to do will hurt 
her horribly." 

"She has accepted the principle of dailyer, discomforts." 

"Oh, damn your principle! Cane my hands instead, if that will make you 
happy." 

Mr. Enderby perked. "A predicatable response, I suppose." He mused. "To tell 
you the truth, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to have you 
stripped and holding out those pretty hands, palm up, for me to strike." 

"Why stripped-to cane my hands....?" 

"Atmosphere, dear girl. Attitude-most important." 

"Very well. Where do you wish to do this to me?" 

"On your hands, of course!" 

"Oh please, don't let's be cute! What room? Where?" 

He was quietly laughing at her intensity, then shook his head with what 
appeared to be genuinine regret. "I have considered-you! Don't think I was 
not tempted. But I have to agree with Esther. You are serving a most useful 
function. What more impressive cover than Lady Regina Conant! Dammit', the 
name smacks of royalty. Can't possibly send you out and around with swollen 
hands and a striped bottom." 

"If you'll work with me to just keep Lynne prisoner-and not have her 
tortured, I'll allow you to ... possess me-do what you like?" 

Enderby shook his head sadly. "It's me who's being tortured, dear girl. To 
be offered-You, and to have to reject-" 

He seemed sincere. Absurdly, she felt strangely flattered. The girl who was 
Lady Conant of Conant Castle voiced a thought never far from her mind. "I've 
never been sure about what we are trying to do, my ability to maintain a 
front behind which you work. Supposing the things you demand of us become 
more than we can bear-or do....? Suppose we balk? What then?" 

Enderby shrugged. "Why ask! You know. There's Hammond Stacey and there's the 
servants here." 

'Gina sighed. "Threats and compulsions! O.K., I understand them. But since 
the new staff came I've become aware of being a prisoner in my own Castle. 
Not like Lynne, not in the same way, but still-" 

"Does the staff not give satisfaction?" 

"It's not that. They're damn good. But I keep having visions of Jeffers or 
the head gardener tying me up and torturing me a bit as a gentle 
reminder....!" 

"You're being fanciful. If anyone tortures you it will be me or Esther 
Diomedes." 

"If it has to happen sometime, make sure it's you. That woman frightens me." 
'Gina grinned ruefully. "Fancy talking such stuff. A year ago I'd have 
thought it in poor taste." 

"There remains the matter of Miss Stacey's hands...?" Enderby's insinuation 
was gentle. "I've told you: Use mine." 

"I prefer to keep you as an entrancing possibility. We will adjourn to 
wherever you have our douce damsel incarcerated. An hour or so with cane and 
whip will do me a world of good. I've felt a bit jaded lately. Do you wish 
to be present?" 

"Yes." 

"Eroticism? Or don't you trust me?" 

"This is Lynne's first encounter with bad pain, her first deliverance of 
herself to you. It is best for both of us to know what degree of suffering 
you consider normal." 

"You're making me the villian of the piece." 

"Well, arn't you!" 

Enderby sighed. "Yes, I suppose I am. But it's rewarding work. By the way, 
what about the camera?" 

"I have it ready." 

"I'll rely on you to use it competently. I want graphic shots. Something to 
curl Stacey's hair." 

"I'll click the shutter. I won't enjoy it." 

Enderby leaned forward confidentially. "Y'know, I don't always see eye to 
eye with Esther. She's too fond of cloak and dagger. What I've proposed is 
to have you sign over Conant to us, a spot of real torture on you and the 
Stacey girl would be the persuasion, and then sell the pair of you. In the 
right market you might fetch as much as your Castle." 

It sank in slowly. Enderby was serious. Lady Regina Conant wrinkled her nose 
in distaste. "Sell us-!" 

"Yes, sell you. There are markets....! They are for the cognoscente. The 
sums of money that change hands in them is sometimes staggering. The bidding 
on an English Noblewoman might well stajt in the millions." 

"I'm not really a noblewoman. I simply married into the nobility." 

"With your body, no one will quibble." 

"Gina knew herself dealing in the impossible. But wealth and power would 
make it possible. She was a pawn. "What about Stacey then?" She asked 
listlessly. 

"We could make a good supply of pictures. He need never know." 

So simple! Give the father a couple of pictures a week, showing his daughter 
under torture. But the daughter sold for profit. The Diomedes organization 
overlooked nothing. 'Gina's query was bitter. "Oil Sheiks, is that who gets 
us?" 

"Mostly. But there's quite a collection of disgruntled damsels held on a 
chain here and there around Europe." 

"Why don't you buy out Diomedes share and keep us for your own perverted 
pleasure? You could whip us to your heart's content?" 

"You are bitter and you are shrewd, my dear." Enderby waved a deprecating 
hand. "Fact is, Esther and I do a bit of trading in female flesh, just as a 
sideline where it serves a purpose. I get to use the merchandise while in 
transit." He chuckled. "Dear Esther's not avarse to a bit of dalliance 
herself-and it's free." 

It was all hopeless. She was surrounded by compulsions and cynicisms beyond 
her ability to resist. She produced the camera and said, listlessly. "Very 
well. It's no use talking....!" She led him from the room. 

It was a modern cell. Functional, as per the Diomedes edict. Lynne lay, 
nakedly asleep on the narrow cot, her joined hands nestling beneath her 
cheek, her joined ankles unconsciously taut against the links of their 
chain. Against the wall were the toilet and washbowl, blatantly vulgar. In 
such a sterile convenience the captive girl could be kept forever. The 
concrete of the walls was claustrophobic. The bars facing the passage 
permitted no privacy whatever. The naked girl could be examined by anyone 
who cared to look. She was not permitted a blanket. 

"Very nice." Said Enderby cordially. 

"Can't we let her sleep longer?" 

"She is already awake, my dear. I know the signs. She is listening. 
Prisoners tend to follow a pattern." 

The daughter of Hammond Stacey sat erect, instantly alert. Seeing Enderby 
and what he held, she knew! It was her first time. It had to happen. She 
made the best of it. "Hello, Mr. Enderby. I see you've come to cane me. And 
you have a whip too! Well....!" 

'Gina was busy with the big key. "Do you wish to punish her here or in one 
of the other rooms?" 

"In here for the moment ... While I attend to her hands." 

The girls locked glances. "Mr. Enderby wishes to cane your hands, pet. I 
suppose we can call it your punishment for the day." 

"Yes, of course." Lynne's heart was racing, but she would not make this 
first test more difficult for her beloved than for herself. She smiled 
brightly at the cherubic features of the Male. "How would you like me? I 
mean-what position?" 

"You're quite enchanting, m'dear. Perhaps if you would kneel erect and 
extend your arm....?" 

Lynne demurely tried to obey, but looked up in confusion. "My hands are 
fastened together....They don't seem to quite want to-" She made 
experimental motions and blushed at the absurdity of her dilemma. 

Enderby turned irritably to Conant's chatelaine. "Can't you take those 
things off?" 

"No. Mrs. Diomedes was insistent. They had to be permanent. Lynne has been 
sentenced to wear them for life. She is not allowed to have hands." 

"Impractical nonsense!" He smiled down at the kneeling girl. "Does it shame 
you to have me looking at your cunt and breasts?" 

"It's something I have to get used to, Mr. Enderby. A lot of people see me 
naked. I don't really feel ashamed-I blush easily." 

"And do you think you can contrive to hold out a hand: in spite of those 
expensive leather bands on your wrists, dear girl?" 

"I'll try. I'll do the best I can. I feel a little silly-I mean, I'm not 
doing it properly like in girl's school. But I expect I can get my palm out 
so you can hit it." 

'Gina watched breathlessly, shamed by the flare of lust within her sex as 
her beloved contrived to hold out two arms and one hand at an angle of about 
forty-five degrees. The small proffered palm seemed infinitely sweet, too 
sweet to slash and wound....! 

"Will that do, Mr. Enderby? I'll hold my other hand back all I can. There's 
only one link...." 

"Excellent, m'dear! You're a little Trojan. Lady Conant, the camera, please. 
Snap constantly, there'll be one or two turn out. And, Miss Stacey, I'll 
need your hand a little higher and the palm more tautly spread. Ah, thank 
you!" 

Enderby's cane was swift and sure. It impacted on the maiden flesh with a 
force and a thunk to send the kneeling girl in a sideways sprawl on the 
floor, there to strive ineffectually to comfort her hurt. The constricting 
work of Wm' Herries defeated every move she tried to make. 

"Come, my dear, you are supposed to hold position and say thank you. When 
you've done that prettily you hold out your other hand." 

"That's too hard! You don't have to hit the poor darting like that." 

"I do as I please, Lady Conant. Mind your own business. Get that camera 
going while she writhes so deliciously." 

Lynne Stacey controlled her agony. She resumed her humble pose. "I-I'm-I'm 
sorry." She apologised in a choked voice. "I've never been hit like that 
before. I'd no idea it hurt so terribly." She smiled up at her tormentor. 
"Thank you for caning my hand, Mr. Enderby. Now I'll hold out my other-" 

It tore at 'Gina's heart. In her meek submission to a punishment she did not 
deserve, the kneeling girl was beautiful beyond imagining. The young pink 
palm crept out to receive its cut, changing to dappled white under the taut 
stretch of cruel compulsion. 

"Thank you, Mr. Enderby." The caned hands fell, inert, against their owner's 
pubic hair. Locked together, they could follow no natural instinct. Each was 
a raging agony. Lynne's lips trembled, her eyes brimmed. But she did not 
move. 

"That's enough." Said 'Gina decisively. 

"The first hand again, please." Enderby requested softly. 

"She can't! You hit altogether too hard." 

"She must speak for herself, Lady Conant." 

Lynne held our her arms again. The palm now offered bore a scarlet wound. 
When it was ringingly cut for a second time the chained girl toppled to the 
floor, writhing. "Thank you-But I can't! I just can't-!" Distressingly, she 
screamed. 

"Quite lovely." Enderby approved with the air of a connoisseur. Pensively, 
he watched the twistings of the girlish body and limbs. "As I said: a most 
charming subject. 

"Please be satisfied." 'Gina pleaded. "The darling's tried so hard to 
please. Don't hit her again." 

"I had thought of six." 

"You'd have to fasten her some way-and it would make her hysterical." 

"Ah, fasten! There's the key! We're not trying to prove anything about self 
control. I have always believed girls to be whipped should be tied, strapped 
or bound in some pleasantly erotic posture which holds them impotent but at 
the same time allows a vent for their fleshly responses." Enderby beamed. 
"Let us adjourn to a more suitable facility." 

It was a hesitant procession. 'Gina held her beloved's arm as the chained 
feet strove for normal steps. Enderby brought up the rear, chuckling at two 
swaying bottoms and the douce tears evoked by his mastery. "Hands above her 
head, don't you think?" He asked pleasantly when they entered the room where 
it was to happen. 

"I suppose so. But not suspended-Please?" 

"Very well. It's your little darling's first time. I'd sooner have had her 
hands spread wide though-nicer effect." 

"Surely she'll be exposed enough-and helpless!" 

"Oh sure! But, y'know, we're all going to curse those Diomedes cuffs, or 
whatever you want to call 'em. I'm going to speak to Esther. They're fine 
for keeping the little dear half helpless, but they limit 
her-punishment-wise, as much as anything." 

"Sorry, pet." 'Gina kissed Lynne's ready lips as she raised the captive 
hands and slipped the hook into their only link. The motor whirred and the 
sweet bare arms rose until their owner's heels were in danger of leaving the 
floor. She looked at Enderby for confirmation: "High enough?" 

"I'm sure both of you think so." He chuckled. "Gives her quite a bit of 
leeway for contortions, but that's where you use the camera....Don't spare 
the film." He turned his attention to the quaking Lynne. "Ever been whipped 
before, Miss Stacey?" 

"No." 

"Looking forward to it?" 

"No! Of course not! Oh, Mr. Enderby, don't tease." 

"If it's any comfort to you, m'dear, you'll owe your pain to three factors, 
all quite worthy in their own way. You offended her Majesty, The Diomedes. 
Secondly, we need some graphic art as a persuasion for your obdurate parent. 
And, thirdly and most important of the lot, it is going to give me exquisite 
happiness to mark your lovely skin. How old are you?" 

"Twenty." 

"The perfect age. Such resilent flesh!" 

"Thank you." 

"Was that to soften me up?" 

"No. Honest it wasn't!" Lynne looked back appealingly. "It's just that I'm 
lost. I'm not sure what's required of me. I'm supposing I have to be very 
polite and formal with anyone who whips me. It's all very new and 
strange....! If it didn't hurt so terribly I'd find it hard to believe." 

Enderby took his time, measuring his stroke. The naked girl looking back 
over her pinioned shoulder read the intent in his eyes. Before she could 
formulate a plea she beheld the flashing arm and the streaking lash. When it 
cut the centre of her bare back, curling to bite upon her ribs, she 
screamed. 

They might have been artists perfecting a tableau. Hating her task, 'Gina 
snapped and snapped again, her lens capturing the apex of a maiden's pain. 
Enderby stood, engrossed with the rising red welt now forming on his 
victim's deltoid. The victim herself moaned her way back from the frantic 
contortions she had been unable to control. 

"The essence of what we are doing here is beauty." Enderby said soberly, and 
struck again. 

Lynne knew he was right. A naked girl, so tethered and tormented, must 
inevitably betray every nuance of motior. 

Her muscles, her sinews, her nerves, all contributing to the saraband of 
sensuality she danced before his eyes. She screamed a primitive paean as the 
whip scorched her bottoms and cut one hip. After a long while she enunciated 
a pale "Thank you." Then added, wanly: "I missed one, didn't I? I mean, I 
missed thanking you. It was so-so-" 

The third etched a belt around her waist. A scarlet loveliness she might 
wear for weeks. Somewhere in her gyrations she said her humble 'thank you', 
scarcely audible amidst her screams. When she again stood, trembling and in 
a sheen of sweat, she said clearly in a dull monotone: "I can't do this any 
more. I'm sorry...." Then, after a pause. "Daddy wouldn't want me to. He'll 
understand." Her pause was longer this time before she asked, child-like: 
"Could I be untied please, and have some clothes?" 

If 'Gina's heart had been touched before, it was riven now. She was stricken 
with remorse at having acquiesced to cruelty. She looked to Enderby, seeking 
sympathy, but found only his rapt attention upon the palpitating flesh. His 
cherubic features lit by the ineffable beauty of the whipped nude. 

To intrude upon his ecstatic trance seemed sacrilige. But Regina, Lady 
Conant was in a floodtide of retreat, the terrible realisation of a giant 
mistake and a need for its erasure. Her heart beat out the bitter chant 
within her mind: 'Too late! Too late!'. In a voice she tried to make as even 
and controlled as the bound girl's, she said slowly. "Lynne's right. I 
should have known. What you ask is more than girls can bear. We must 
re-assess-?" 

Enderby turned slowly. 'Gina could swear he had not heard a word. "Would you 
procure me a suitable whip?" He asked politely. "I now wish to whip her 
breasts." 

"No." 

The negative pierced his euphoria. Enderby focused upon her, his expression 
still benign. "They make them specially. A short stock and several silken 
thongs, braided. Or maybe thin slivers of leather. They leave a girl's 
breasts scarlet-" 

"No." 

"What did you say?" 

"I do not have such a whip. I would not give it to you if I had. Mr. 
Enderby, we've made a mistake." 

Lynne Stacey watched, her heart pounding. She had become a helpless 
spectator in her own disposal. The tether above still possessed her hands, 
her arms were taut. The steady scald of the whip wounds were a frightening 
reminder of what 'Gina was now fighting for. She had not yet become used to 
helplessness, her linked limbs were like a prison wall against which she 
must continually beat her head. She listened in a growing realisation of 
terror. 

"And what do we have now?" Enderby asked jovially, "Mutiny?" 

"I suppose so." 'Gina sounded tired. "I'd prefer to call it a return to 
sanity." 

"Hmmmmm!" Enderby eyed them shrewdly. "What's your next move?" 

"To lower Lynne's arms....Excuse me-" 

"Leave her alone!" It was a quiet command, but it stopped 'Gina in her 
tracks. "You're being impetuous. Dammit', girl, give me a moment to think." 

"I'm sorry....! I know I've been silly." 'Gina was contrite. "I'm sure this 
all seems rational to you. But to us it's-it's ... Well, it's simply 
impossible." 

"You made an agreement." 

"My fault, mostly. We're a pair of innocents beside you. In some ways it 
seemed like fun-a bit cruel perhaps, but Lynne-" 

"Lynne loves the cord and the whip. So do you. Esther and I checked you out, 
we've known from the start. You're a pair of romping lesbians." 

"That doesn't mean we wish to be flogged by all and sundry." 

"Meaning me?" 

"Yes. And there's some of the things I am told to do to Lynne which I find I 
can't. I thought I could. But they're too cruel." She eyed him levelly. "For 
instance, this imprisonment for life....! The Diomedes woman means it for 
real. It seemed quaint at first, a fun thing we both giggled about. But, 
even with me for her jailer, it's too damn cruel for a girl of twenty." 

"O.K., O.K.!" Enderby raised a placating hand. "So you want out. What about 
Hammond Stacey?" 

"I don't know. Neither does Lynne. You hold him as a threat over us. But 
he's actually a ghost-the whole thing's unreal." 

"So you'll go trotting off to the police?" 

"No I won't! We'd look damn foolish. I'll simply get rid of your hirelings, 
employ my old staff, then get hold of a private investigator to dig out the 
facts on Lynne's father." 

"Mmmmmm." Enderby's cherubic features were still amused. "I've always 
admired you, m'dear. Now supposing-and I do mean supposing! If I go to 
Esther Diomedes and persuade her to cancel out the Castle Conant deal, what 
do I get out of it?" 

"Money? We'd certainly be grateful." 

"I already have a great deal of money." 

Enderby allowed his gentle statements to hang, almost tangibly, in the 
cell's still air. Both girls instantly picked up its implication. 

"Your price is whipping me." Lynne said quietly. "I understand. I'll pay 
it." 

There was an awkward silence. The bound and naked girl bestowed a cautioning 
glance upon her lover. They both turned to the man who might prove an 
unexpected ally. "Actually, no." Said Enderby hesitantly. He turned his full 
attention on the chatelaine of Conant Castle. "I had been thinking more in 
terms of you." 

"No!" 

This time it was the punished girl who ejected an emotional denial. She 
twisted impotently against her bonds and stamped a bare chained foot in 
painful contact with the floor. " 'Gina doesn't get whipped, Mr. Enderby. 
She just doesn't! If you want to whip a girl, whip me." 

"You errjoy being whipped, Miss Stacey?" 

"Well, no, not the way you do it-and by a man. The ways you've just hurt me 
were terrible." 

"But you'd like some more!" 

"Don't say it like that, Mr. Enderby! Oh please understand us properly. If 
someone gets whipped, it's me. 'Gina mustn't be whipped. She just mustn't!" 

"And why not, m'dear?" 

"Because....!" The captive clinked her ankle chain and blushed. "Because 
that's the way it is." 

"I'd thrash you between your legs and stripe that pretty cunt?" 

"Very well. I'll scream a lot, but I don't suppose you'll mind." 

Enderby turned his amusement upon a perplexed 'Gina. "Miss Stacey defeats 
you, Lady Conant. She is imploring the thing you contend impossible." 

"I'm not either!" There were tears of frustration in the young voice. "If 
whipping me is your price for talking Mrs. Diomedes out of this silly 
arrangement, then go ahead and whip me. I won't complain-not if it's just 
this last time." 

Enderby's smile was feline. "Lady Conant-tell her!" 

"It's me he wants to whip, pet." 'Gina explained patiently. "For him, I'm a 
turn on in a way you arn't-" 

"But I'm a girl-with breasts ... and things!" 

"But I have them too, sweetness. I sort of suspect Mr. Enderby would enjoy 
whipping a member of the British Aristocracy. He could point me out in 
Burke's Peerage when he tells of my shame in years to come." 

"You explain it most charmingly, Lady Conant." 

"'Gina, don't! You must not! Insist he does it to me!" 

The girl who was Lady Regina Conant kissed the pouting lips of the 
tractioned loveliness. "Darling, I have to. Don't take on so. It's no worse 
for me than for you, and it's all mostly my fault." She kissed hard again. 
"I'm going to gag you, Lynne. I know you, you'll make such a righteous fuss 
if I don't." 

Lynne Stacey sagged. She recognized authority. Eying Enderby with reproach, 
she obediently opened her mouth for the rubber ball and shook her head in 
disdain as the strap was tightened at the nape of her neck. She would now be 
very silent indeed. Inside, she was volcanic. 

"And you'll collect your payment now, Mr. Enderby?" Lady Conant was 
determined to carry her martydom with a flair. 

"If you please." Enderby bowed a sarcastic inclination of the head. "May I 
praise your manner of accepting this-token?" 

"I expect you'd like to look at my breasts and cunt?" 

"Thank you, of course! Almost essential under the circumstances, I suppose." 

"D'you want me to strip erotically, or just get rid of my clothes?" 

"Thank you, the latter. And then we'll require-?" 

"The second button on the wall lowers a trapeze bar with straps. I'm sure 
you'll approve-" 

"You are quite wasted in this backwater, Lady Conant. A young woman of your 
caliber should be tilting with the Diomedes on her own ground. ... Really, 
these preparations are most excellent." 

"Do you wish to handle my breasts and pubic hair now while I'm naked but 
still free, or after I'm helpless?" 

"When you are properly secured and positioned, if you don't mind. We all 
have our little quirks." 

'Gina's tone was crisp. "Here, let me help. I'll slip my hands through the 
loops. You can buckle my wrists as tight as you like." 

Enderby pressed the button and watched Lady Conant's arms rise. He was awed. 
He cherished no doubt of beholding two of the most perfect female figures in 
the world. He was fortunate indeed. When the feet of his newest willing 
victim threatened to leave the floor he took his finger from the control and 
stepped to where he could survey the twin nudities to best advantage. 

"Do I please you, kind sir?" 'Gina mocked. 

"Indubitably." 

"May I plead for mercy?" 

He shook his head. "There will be none." 

She accepted his dictum without complaint, respecting his honesty. When he 
grasped her pubic hair she passively spread her legs to accommodate his 
exploration of her cunt. 

"You're dry!" 

"You're Male." 

Each understood. 'Gina was standing taut for the whip, but when her new 
Master sought her breasts she thrust them out as far as she was able. "I 
hope you like my breasts, Mr. Enderby. I've always loved them myself." I 
think there's a touch of narcissism in every lesbian." 

"You're going to strut this off to your last squeal, arn't you." He said 
admiringly. "And now let's try little sweetpea over here, I'm curious." 

The two girls were tied twelve feet apart. Twin nudities. Helpless! 'Gina 
watched the male hand cup and massage her loved one's sex. It came away 
glistening and wet. 

"If she wasn't gagged I'd make her clean that off with her tongue." Enderby 
chuckled. Casually he wiped his palm dry On Lynne's left breast. 'Those two 
feels certainly confirm the status of both of you." He grinned disarmingly 
at the newly captive Lady Conant. "Think you'll moisten up under the whip, 
m'dear." 

"You'll have every opportunity to test me. I'll be curious myself. If I'm 
not in screaming hysterics perhaps you'll keep me posted?" 

"A pleasure. I'll leave you un-gagged so you can lick my hand. And now, that 
whip! The one for your breasts?" 

"I told you. We don't have one." 

"I'll whip Miss Stacey until you decide to tell me where it is." 

"It's in the next room, to the right. There's a chest-" 

"We understand each other so well." Enderby shook his head regretfully. 
"Damn shame to dissolve such a partnership." 

"Probably I'll be no good to anybody after you've finished whipping me." 
'Gina looked him in the eye, proudly. "It's going to be bad, isn't it! I 
know." 

"I'd supposed that implicit from the start?" 

"Yes, of course! Mr. Enderby, must you whip my breasts? I wish you 
wouldn't?" 

"I'm afraid I must, dear girl." 

She nodded, understanding his compulsion, and essayed a smile. "Good thing I 
have that whip after all." She confessed wryly. "It's a perfect little 
brute, but maybe there'll be a bit of my breasts left after you've finished 
with them. It's kinder than-the others." 

When Enderby was on his errand, Lynne struggled unhappily and made 
protesting sounds behind her gag. 'Gina glowed at her with love, smiling a 
reassurance. "I know, dear. You don't want me to do this. You think it's all 
wrong. But tomorrow this will just be a bad dream-" 

"Pretty little bit of wickedness. I like it." Enderby had returned with the 
exquisite instrument by which 'Gina's breasts would be scourged. "I'll try 
it on your cunt as well." He examined 'Gina's fastened nakedness with a 
critical eye. "I like the way you're standing." He acknowledged. "Your arms 
are nicely apart, absolutely the perfect posture for a girl to be whipped. I 
can always ask you to spread your legs so as to get at your cunt and the 
inside of your thighs ... His glance rose. "And those straps around your 
wrists...! Damn good. You can't get loose, can you?" 

"Not a hope." 

"May as well start whipping you then?" 

"Please do. I'm waiting." 

Enderby laughed at her affectionately. "Cool as a cucumber!" He shook his 
head in mock despair. "I'm going to love your screams, and yet I hate to 
make them start." 

"You'd find me very grateful for mercy, kind sir?" 

"You mean, if I let you loose and forego the whipping you'll allow me to 
fuck you?" 

"Yes. It's more of a concession than you may think. But the amnesty must 
include Lynne." 

"Do I get to fuck her too?" 

"Yes. Unless you'd like me to spread my legs for you a second time? I'd do 
it, and I think I'd prefer it that way." She paused a moment before meeting 
his regard. "I'd try and make it good for you. I'd try and make you 
happy....?" 

"Sorry, dearl girl, this is not a day for amnesty." He put down the small 
breast scourge and picked up the whip, the whip he had used on Lynne Stacey. 

Lady Regina Conant had always wondered. Now she knew! In loving play she had 
sometimes allowed Lynne to use a whip on her-always when she was bound naked 
and could do no more than verbally protest. It was a reversal of roles in 
which they had sometimes indulged, and in which had discovered strange new 
eroticisms in addition to the knowledge of how far a girl could be whipped 
and still survive. All of it now paled into girlish whimsey beneath a 
reality more shocking than she had surmised. The first blow traversed the 
width of her shoulders, biting an armpit. The agony of it burrowed, burned 
and glowed in what she knew to be only a single prelude to what must follow. 
Her clenched teeth held, she did not scream. But she knew it the last and 
only time she could remain mute. Despite all her determination, her breath 
whimpered against the thudding of her heart. Her wrists became bands of 
protesting pain as she fought the straps without being aware she was doing 
so. 

"I am interested in your reaction, Lady Conant?" Enderby's query was 
politely solicitous. 

She shook her head as though clearing it of the mists of pain. She searched 
her mind for the right words and found none. "I can only ask you to set me 
free. It's more awful than a girl can stand." She said slowly and ashamed. 
"That probably answers your question." 

"That bad?" 

"Yes. Maybe if I'd been brought up to be whipped from time to time....! I 
just don't know. All I do know is it's unbearably terrible." 

"And you wish to be released?" 

"Nnnnnuh, never mind. Make me go through with it. Its very horror simply 
confirms what Lynne and I discovered: we'd bitten off more than we could 
chew." 

"You are a remarkable young woman, Lady Conant." 

"Thank you. Actually I'm frightened and ashamed. 

"I will resume whipping you, my dear. Please let us consider your 
opportunity to withdraw as now past." 

'Gina closed her eyes, a childish seeking of oblivion. When her screams had 
died away after the second stroke she moaned weakly. "Is there blood? I 
mean, are you cutting me?" 

"It probably feels like it." Enderby said gently. "But no. 

I don't intend to. However, as the stripes crisscross there is a possibility 
of broken skin. I apologise in advance." 

Lady Regina Conant screamed steadily as she was whipped. Shame lingered 
through the first few strokes, then fled. Screaming helped. It was all she 
could do: scream and kick. She did so lustily. 

After twelve blows there came a pause. It was broken by the clicking of a 
camera's shutter, but she paid no heed. 'Gina discovered it took a long 
while for a well whipped girl to moan her way back to where she cared about 
anything except helplessness and agony. 

"You are exquisitely lovely, Lady Conant. It would be wrong not to 
perpetuate what I see now." 

It was hard to realise the trickling droplets descending her flanks were the 
sweat of pain from beneath her raised arms. She would have believed blood 
more easily. Once more shame claimed her as she beheld her whole nudity 
bedewed and damp. She wondered if Enderby was going to kill her, whip her to 
death without understanding what he was doing. She dared not look at Lynne. 
What might pass between them could be beyond bearing. She was thankful she 
had gagged her love. 

"A girl's back is admirably structured for the whip, Lady Conant." Enderby's 
voice was quietly meditative. "But I would suppose it deeply humiliating for 
an adult woman to have her bare bottom caned. The whip carries a certain 
dignity. But a cane-! And the word 'bottom'-!" 

The limber cruelty splatted across the twin virgin curves with such venom as 
to cause her to leap against her straps and squeal at a fresh and different 
pain. She kicked frantically as though to repel a palpable enemy. Guilt 
flashed briefly in her mind as she recalled the caning of Lynne's small 
hands. She had stood by and watched....! But what girl could believe a cane 
could hurt so much! Lady Regina Conant began to scream again as the blows 
fell steadily to slice and slash into a latticework of wounds the rounds of 
tenderness her slavegirl, Lynne, had loved to kiss. 

"An even dozen of each, Lady Conant. A most admirable commencement." 
Enderby's voice was blandly satisfied. 

Commencement! The word filtered through 'Gina's haze of pain to register its 
portent of horror. She had dared to hope, a hope shattered by Enderby's 
complacent words. She sobbed in desolation but said nothing. 

"If you will be kind enough to place your feet well apart, my dear...?" The 
request might have come from a benevolent uncle. 

She had forgotten! But he had promised the whipping of her cunt and of her 
inside thighs. She wondered if twelve on each place was the pattern to 
expect. She dared not ask. And there remained her breasts! His insistence on 
the correct whip told her they would not be ignored. Thirty-six more strokes 
with different whips in seperate areas of her body....! Could she bear it! 
Could she...? She had no choice. She had already twisted and tugged against 
the straps until her wrists were raw. For her, there was no escape. She made 
no demur when her inquisitor tightened the leather bands by which she was 
secured, tugging each buckle to gain another notch. It was in keeping. 
Perhaps a necessary part of what was being done. In defeated resignation, 
Lady Conant parted her feet and spread wide her legs. 

"Ah, I had forgotten! Our little test!" Enderby's hand cupped and fondled 
Lady Conant's most secret place. He held up the result for her to see. His 
palm was wet. It seemed natural for him to smile and press it against her 
lips. Humbly, she licked it clean for him, knowing the dictate of pain she 
dared not refuse. 

"You are exquisite." His tribute was sincere. 

The whipping of Lady Conant's thighs and cunt required far more than a dozen 
strokes. She lost count, and no longer cared as one whip was exchanged for 
another and one part of her being was striped to match female skin already 
heavily striated by the thongs. Once more it was a different brand of 
suffering against which her defenses crumbled. 

The camera clicked. Enderby was suavely conversational. "The colourings 
inside your thighs are superb, dear girl. I am tremendously grateful. Your 
vaginal lips are most sweetly swollen." 

"Please, no more! Mr. Enderby ... Please?" 

It was her first such plea. He chose not to hear. "I have saved your breasts 
until last, Lady Conant. The piece de resistance of our mutual pleasure. 
When I have marked them artistically with the scourge we can consider phase 
one of your punishment completed." 

'Gina fought, flinging herself against her bonds, kicking and twisting in a 
frantic need to show by revolt her inability to face a repetition of the 
inflictions he had already dealt. She hurt her wrists in their tightened 
bindings. Panting and distraught she appealed: 

"I can't take any more. I can't! You'll kill me." 

"You were never more vividly alive, dear lady." 

"Give me a break then. Free us now and resume on me tomorrow." 

"But we have not even completed one cycle!" Enderby sounded both hurt and 
reproachful. "Your breasts are untouched, quite virgin." 

'Gina sagged, she recognized defeat. There was an inevitability about her 
breasts she could not counter. Perhaps if he scourged them to his pleasure 
he might relent! Her ability to absorb pain had already astounded her, girls 
were evidently as resilent as Enderby had stated. Quite probably she could 
receive twelve more strokes and survive-Or would it be twelve on each 
breast! She deemed it imprudent to ask. 

Lynne was nakedly writhing against her tether, her head in urgent motion 
revolting against her gag. Her ankle chain became a constant music in the 
room. She was cruelly helpless. 'Gina flashed her beloved a warning shake of 
the head and managed a reassuring smile, then turned her attention to the 
man who held the whip. "There's nothing I can do." She conceded wanly. "I've 
asked you not to whip my breasts, but if it's something you want to do and 
it gives you pleasure, I know you'll whip them. I can't stop you. Am I 
supposed to do something? I mean, stick them out or anything?" 

"You are everything I hoped of you, Lady Conant." 

"I'm just a girl who's been whipped more than she can bear." 

"Ah, but you have borne it! That's the important thing. And since my last 
stroke on your delectable skin you've staged a remarkable recovery." He 
probed testingly at her breasts with wise fingers. "I whip these one at a 
time. I've found it far the most humane and gets a much finer colouration." 

Lady Conant closed her eyes and leant her head back until it strained her 
neck. She knew this accentuated the thrust of her breasts, but it removed 
her face from the danger of the whip. Miserably, she wondered how long she 
could hold the pose. 

She had described the whip as 'beastly'. It was! Her right breast was 
enveloped in flame, a scorching burn through which her nipple rose in 
rampant response. And then the left, her chest afire until she screamed. 

"A delightful posture, my dear. Thank you." Enderby's voice glowed with 
pride. "But I really must insist you break it long enough to examine your 
mammaries. Please look down at them. For the moment we have a truce." 

Lady Conant looked down at her own breasts. Each was streaked by the special 
thongs, thin lines growing steadily more scarlet. Each burned atrociously. 
But they could accept many more such inflictions before they became a solid 
bruise. 

"I want you to look down for at least two strokes, dear lady." Enderby 
ordered pleasantly. "The effect should not be missed. On impact your breasts 
vibrate, they flinch of their own volition. It is quite remarkable. Do not 
fear for your face, I will whip your twins with skilled accuracy." 

'Gina hated his pedantic absorption with her body and its pain. But in a 
fascination she could not control she obeyed. There came a whistling 
sussuration in the air and her right breast took on a momentary life of its 
own. When the thin leathers fell away from the curved flesh they left behind 
a tracery of red. "Watch the marks form and take colour, my dear-just 
watch." Enderby's voice was worshipful. 

Lady Conant managed to watch the next impact on the left of her twin 
treasures. It was beautiful and it was frightening. Her nipples were 
traitors to her cause. She knew them hard as flint, outrageously stimulated. 
With a moan of despair and anguish her head resumed its pose. She did not 
wish to see more of her own agony. As the measured blows fell in cruel 
alternation she screamed and screamed. Her wrists screamed too. 

It was twelve on each breast. She might have known! But the whip was 
salvation. Looking down at her scarlet rounds she could hope there was no 
injury beyond the pain. No doubt the scald would fade in time. For the 
moment it was vicious. 

"I could have hit them a great deal harder, Lady Conant." Virtue oozed from 
Enderby's reminder. "Thank you-I do believe you-Thank you!" 

"I'm sure you'll live. Allow me to illustrate-" Once again the male hand on 
and in her sex. Once more the shameful licking of her own secretions from 
his palm. It amused him, let him enjoy himself. All 'Gina wanted was the 
cessation of pain. 

"And now the camera again." Enderby's tone was brisk. "You struck a pose 
there that shouldn't be lost. Head back, eyes closed. In profile it's 
magnificent." 

Wearily, 'Gina obeyed. It was easy and better than more pain. She had hoped 
to be released but that still might come. She closed her eyes. 

The gag was in her mouth before she could protest. She had not seen it 
coming, and was defenseless against the ball thrust hard behind her teeth 
and the straps buckled tightly to compress her cheeks. 'Gina had tensed into 
an alarmed alert, angry exclamations fell mute against the rubber in her 
mouth. She could not speak a word. 

"An angry woman is best kept silent." Said Enderby chattily as he tugged at 
the buckle behind her neck. "And I'm afraid you're going to be displeased 
with me." 

She struggled in instinctive revolt, gazing at him imploringly when he 
returned to view her distended lips making their pink wet frame around the 
brightly coloured ball she could not eject. He nodded, satisfied, and said, 
casually. "There's some unfinished business, y'know. I expect you'll be glad 
of a chance to watch." 

'Gina watched Enderby resume his interrupted whipping of Lynne Stacey, but 
she was not glad. Gladness had become abstract, it was not for the two naked 
girls strapped tight to provide a sadist with joy. She supposed what she now 
beheld was a mirror of what Lynne had watched in her own agony. The cruel 
red lines became vivid on the ivory skin, forever multiplying, seeking the 
zones as yet unmarked, crossing one another in their urgency to hurt. 

Lynne's arms were not spread on a bar, thus she could turn and twist more 
readily than 'Gina. Her body and legs flailed in a constant negation of what 
was being done to her. She was a puppet on a string, receiving the lash upon 
whatever part of herself she imprudently exposed. Enderby improved on this 
gyrating mobility by holding a whip in each hand and using whichever of them 
seemed applicable to the moment. Sometimes he, thoughtfully, exchanged one 
or the other for the cane. When Lynne was competently striped he paused. 

"Nice effect, don't you think?" He inquired musungly. "If you look at each 
other you see yourself." 

Both girls made imploring sounds behind their gags. They fell on deaf ears. 
When he commenced to whip again it was Lady Conant's skin to which he 
returned. "I'll alternate." He said cheerfully. "Keep you both amused." 

The whippings went on and on and on. To the girls it was endless. Enderby 
played upon their nudities with zest and equisite joy. Gags and wrist straps 
were a torment all their own. When he tired and went away he did not release 
them. They hung helpless in their bonds in a growing awareness of horror. 

 CHAPTER FOUR. JIMINEY. 

The two buildings had been made one by a brick structure connecting the rear 
of each. It had become respectably grimey from London fog and soot over the 
years, an anonymous link between the warehouse of "Thos' Ribling, Imports" 
at twenty-seven Bristow Street, and the austerity of "Robert Fonteyn, 
Investments" at thirty-four Prebendary Place. It was the premises of Thos 
Ribling to which Trixie Malone had been directed. 

With journalistic caution she checked the address. It was still on the slip 
of paper given her by Mrs. Diomedes, the imprint of the pen firm and 
decisive. "Damn place is a front, if ever I saw one." The older woman had 
said with Greek wisdom. "Start there. I'll buy your ticket." 

Esther Diomedes was not easy to forget. Trixie's mind was still alive with 
visions of herself as guest in the house in Bastigue. It was like a tape she 
ran over and over in search of hidden clues. Yet perhaps there were no 
clues. Two women sought Hammond Stacey and could not find him. The rest of 
it was in logical sequence.... 

Trixie Malone still hung suspended, naked and whip marked as Mrs. Diomedes 
had left her on the painful afternoon of Anaguara's Liberation. She wept and 
sobbed her way through the hours into the death of day and the gloom of 
twilight. As the shadows deepened in the room of pain she screamed and 
screamed again. But there was no response. Esther Diomedes had said 
'tomorrow' and tomorrow it was evidently going to be. Trixie's wrists had 
become numbed out but her shoulders remained a constant torment, as did the 
tantalisation of her toes. She could not sleep. When the real darkness of 
night enveloped her tied nakedness in the Stygian room she knew she would do 
anything, say anything, or be anything to gain release. Morning was a 
million miles away. It was then the man had come. 

He was neither heroic or brutal. It was late and he wanted to go to bed. He 
was one of the two who had cut her from the post. "No one's being kind." He 
told her indifferently. "If you hang 'till morning you'll have no hands." He 
chuckled. "But maybe you'll like what I do less." 

Trixie had no will to fight. She was weakened by suspension, bereft of hope. 
She allowed her hands to be tied behind her back without complaint. Her poor 
hurt wrists feeling the strictures of a fresh binding with relief as 
compared to what they had endured. Dully, she had said, over and over again, 
"I don't know anything ... Honest, I don't ... nothing...." 

He took her to another room and bound her ankles high up to a frame so she 
lay on her back uncomfortably upon her bound arms. Her feet were wide apart 
and stretched but her behind was still in contact with the floor. Her opened 
thighs were obscenely inviting, and when her jailer was satisfied with his 
knots he raped her with the same casualness as when he tied her hands. After 
he had gone she slept. She did not bother to try and free herself, she 
deemed it hopeless. Weariness and pain possessed her totally. Her bound arms 
were a handicap but sleep defeated them. 

Morning brought Mrs. Diomedes and her lash. She whipped Trixie between the 
legs with tremendous verve, going up and down the inside of each thigh with 
intent thoroughness, then splatting the thongs squarely upon the ravaged 
cunt and concave belly. After an hour of agony she tossed the whip aside. 

"Very well, Trixie Malone, you know nothing." There was no apology for the 
pain. 

They had shared breakfast and made a pact. 

The man who had raped her drove her to the airport. He was exceedingly 
polite. 

Trixie Malone sighed and wondered if journalism was worth the price. She was 
atrociously tender between her legs, her loins ready to flare back into 
agony at a touch. Wryly, she hoped her swollen labia would return to size. 
At the moment it felt like a melon between her thighs. She returned Mrs. 
Diomedes slip of paper to her bag and advanced determinedly upon "Thos' 
Ribling, Imports". 

A loading dock. Crates and boxes. A tiny unoccupied office. A scanty and 
nondescript staff. The man in the canvas apron eyed her knowingly and 
winked! "Mr. Hibbert, Miss. That there door with the brass handle. Go right 
on in. Don't bother to knock." She would remember afterwards that his 
Cockney voice had not dropped an aitch. 

To door, zinc covered against fire, its handle turning easily. The small 
barren room without an occupant...! The door closed shut behind her with an 
ominous click. Looking up desperately at the tiny window she found it 
barred. Heartily she cursed her innocence. 

There was another door in the opposite wall. Trixie tested it as well as the 
one by which she had entered. Both rejected her. She beat on both and 
shouted without response. Dejectedly, she upended a small wooden box and 
sat. Caustically, she wondered when the man would show up with the whip. 

It was not a man but a woman. Thirtyish. Passably attractive. Trixie 
labelled her as not one to hassle. No whip was visible but she carried thin 
rope. "D'you mind if I tie your hands behind your back?" She inquired 
brightly. 

A bizarre greeting! Trixie Malone replied in kind: "You might as well." She 
said ungraciously. "Everybody else does. I suppose if I make a fuss there'll 
be a couple of bruisers?" 

"Don't need 'em, love. I could handle you. But you're not going to be silly, 
are you." 

Trixie was not going to be silly. The Diomedes whip was still too vivid a 
memory. Resignedly, she turned and offered her hands. 

"That's a nice sensible girl!" The tribute actually held warmth. "Your 
wrists crossed, if you don't mind-My, they have been tied! You poor kid, 
someone's given you a bad time. Sorry 'bout this but it's a formality we 
insist on." 

In spite of the sympathy the new ropes were tight. Trixie Malone was being 
bound by a girl who knew her job. There would be no getting free, no point 
in even trying. But the fingers were feminine, their touch was not hostile. 
The girl who was being rendered helpless asked, listlessly. "You knew I was 
coming. Was it the Diomedes?" 

"We don't ask questions here, love." 

Trixie felt her freedom slipping away under the skilled fingers. She moved 
restlessly and complained. "I can't talk without asking questions. I'm lost. 
I don't even know why you're tying my hands." 

There was a chuckle from the rear. "Makes it interesting, Trixie Malone. 
You're a journalist, iree lance. In fact, so free no one's looking for you. 
My name's Jiminey, leastways that's what I get called. Excuse this 
blindfold, love-" 

"Another formality?" 

"Don't get sarky, dear. Take things easy." 

"I want to go home." 

"Of course you do, love. But you're not going." 

Jiminey's hand was gentle on her arm. Bound hands and blindfold made it easy 
to obey its pressures. The captive longed to cry. It was all hopeless and 
unkind. Esther Diomedes had made a fool of her. Ever since the soldiers had 
taken her to the Avenida Maturas she had become a thing, a pretty young 
feminine Thing for the convenience of others. A Thing to be punished or 
tortured to amuse sadistic whims. "If I do ask questions, will I be 
punished?" She asked unhappily as she took blind steps into a new captivity. 

"Yes." Jiminey chuckled. "I'm quite nice actually. But hurting you doesn't 
bother me a bit. I love to watch girls squirm." 

"Whipped, I suppose?" 

"Oh sure-and other nice things. Lucky girl!" 

"Mrs. Diomedes whipped me horribly. I'm still sore." 

"And I'll whip you too, love, if you need it. Isn't it lovely the way a whip 
curls round a girl's bottom!" 

"It's horrible. It hurts something awful." Trixie sniffed. "I can't be sure 
about you-whether you're putting me on." 

"Ask the rope on your wrists, love. This is real." 

There were odors Trixie could not identify. Most of them seemed expensive. 
Leaving the warehouse area there was good carpet underfoot. Then an 
elevator, going up. A passage and a door-opening! Sudedenly the grip on her 
arm was gone, the blindfold whisked away, behind her the door slammed shut. 
She blinked in daylight, and blinked again at what she beheld. 

Eyes! The eyes came first. Seven pairs of them, variously amused or 
indifferent: all female. Seven girls, four clothed, three stark naked, 
possessing one thing in common: the wrists of each of them were fastened 
behind their back. "You make number eight." Said a platinum blonde casually. 
"Welcome to our Club." 

Someone had spent a lot of money on the room. It was high above the street, 
huge windows heavily barred. A faintly oriental flavour from deep, deep rugs 
and a multitude of big cushions scattered here and there over a vast space 
of floor. A luxurious lounge with doors, presumably to convieniences or 
bedrooms. The girls were as scattered as the cushions. "My name's Bettina." 
Said the blonde. "Let's introduce you around." 

"Let's get back to back and untie each other's hands." Countered Trixie 
urgently. "Why on Earth are we all tied up?" 

There was laughter and bitter exclamations. The girls all wore their arms 
behind their backs with the ease of long practice. Rueful grins regarded the 
newcomer with comiseration. 

"See that whip on the wall...!" 

"The knots are wired, there's no way." 

"D'you want to get us half killed!" 

"Wear your hands behind you and be happy, love." 

"We've all had it, kid. So have you." 

"Just friendly advice." Said Bettina. "Can't blame 'em for being cheesed 
off. Jiminey must have brought you straight up. C'mon and say 'Hi' and rub 
noses." Her voice turned bitter. "It takes most of us a couple of days 
before we start kissing." 

The names impinged, then fell away to be sought for later. As the eyes 
assessed it became evident that only loveliness was captive. Each girl was a 
beauty. Trixie excused their pouts. 

"When we don't have clothes on it means we're being punished. It's a sort of 
extra disgrace...." 

The punishments were obvious in proximity. The delinquents bore them in 
quiet resignation. One was gagged, the buckle padlocked at the nape of her 
neck. Her only greeting was a wink. 

"Suzie talks too much." Said Bettina with mock severity. "And she talks 
back. See what its got her." 

"I kicked somebody's shin." Volunteered another bare maiden. "And see what 
it got me!" She turned to present Trixie with a view of jointed elbows 
clamped tight with strands of rope deep in punished skin. There were traces 
of purple. Her shoulders were wracked by the strain, her breasts tautened 
and exposed. 

"But that must hurt-wickedly!" Trixie was aghast. 

"That is sort of the idea, love. It nags at a girl all the time, never lets 
up. I've used all my tears already, that's the only reason I'm not crying." 

"And now there's poor Tulip." Bettina's snicker was deprecating. "Tulip 
argued about a second helping. We don't get fed much on account of our 
figures...." 

"I won't ask again." Said Tulip fretfully. "They think of the damndest 
things to do to a girl." She stood erect to display one of the smallest 
waists Trixie had ever seen. Around it was a metal chain, cinched cruelly 
tight and padlocked, its links pressing hard into inflamed flesh. "It even 
hurts to breathe." Tulip mourned. Then added with brave humour: "But I don't 
feel a bit hungry." 

"How-how long-?" 

"They locked it on me yesterday. Goodness knows when Jiminey will take it 
off. I'm being awfully polite to her." 

Trixie Malone looked about her new prison, bemused and disgusted with 
herself for being there. Her wrists were hurting again, the rope nestling 
into previous grooves in captive skin. Resentfully, she demanded: "But, tied 
like this-so damn helpless? How do we look after ourselves?" 

"You'd be surprised. We manage most things. Did Jiminey take your panties?" 

"NO-?" 

"She will. Then you can go to the John fairly easily." 

"But eating? How-?" 

"Cat and dog style. Jiminey wipes our faces after with Kleenex." 

"But to wash or have a bath, or fix our hair-?" 

"That's why I'm fitted with these, love." Bettina kicked a foot and tautened 
a chain to snub against the metal anklets it joined. "Sometime every day I 
get my hands untied so I can do the chores. With my feet chained I don't try 
anything silly-not after that first time!" 

Trixie looked at the gorgeous platinum hair and the loveliness it framed. 
She was still lost. "You mean you're one of them-sort of? Why is it you who 
wears a chain?" 

"Probably because I've been here the longest. Nobody seems to want to buy 
me, not at the price they ask." She grinned apologetically. "It's my hair, 
y'know. It makes me worth extra." 

It sank in slowly. Too impossible to be true. "I thought we were imprisoned 
like this because we'd made Diomedes mad at us." She said dazedly. "A sort 
of punishment, a getting even...." She gazed about the luxurious chamber in 
a growing comprehension. "But we're-slaves...? Slaves to be sold?" 

"That's right, love. Thos' Ribling at the back, Robert Fonteyn out front. I 
think we're just a sideline in something much bigger, but I suspect we're 
profitable. Some men spend millions for a girl." 

"But the police-?" 

"How are they to know! We mostly walk in the way you did. Usually we're 
shipped out in one of those crates you saw in the warehouse. They drug us 
and tie us tight and nail the lid down. When we wake up we're in Singapore 
or the middle East." 

"Don't tell me we're auctioned? I mean, a slave block and having to strip 
for the lustful eyes?" 

"Sorry, love, nothing so cute. A guy just drops in and looks us over, takes 
his pick and pays. We have to be outrageously nice to him if he singles us 
out, put on an act. If we don't we get a real bad time after. Jiminey won't 
stand for sulks." 

"We can't undress or anything for him with our hands tied." 

"The men like us helpless-does something for 'em. And, tied like this, it 
sticks our breasts out. If you're wearing clothes you may have to smile 
while the S.O.B. takes out one of your breasts and fingers it. We're 
expensive merchandise." Bettina's laugh was bitter. 'There's nearly always 
one or more of us being punished for something, so she's naked. I've noticed 
punished girls sell more readily." 

"Does the Diomedes woman come here often?" 

"Never heard of her. At least-I don't think-" 

The conversation ended with the opening of the main door. A man, a business 
type, foreign. Jiminey was in attendance. She flashed a warning shake of the 
head to Trixie Malone. Then went to the bar and mixed her client a drink. 

"I'd have a girl do it for you, sir. But we like to keep them tied." 

"Hmmmm...!" Drink in hand he stood looking at the platinum hair. "I'd take 
this one immediately if the price was sensible." 

"We believe it is sensible, sir." 

"I'm sure you do." His tone was sarcastic. He moved to the nude with bound 
elbows. "And this one?" 

"A million and a half, sir." 

The bound delinquent fell to her knees but gazed up adoringly. "Please buy 
me, master." 

"Stand and turn round." 

He examined the strictured flesh. The girl flinched under his probing but 
stood firm. The male hands roved over strained breasts and burrowed into 
pubic hair. "Nice." His voice was non-commital. "But her price-No!" 

Trixie Malone would never know why she was next. He stood before her like a 
visible threat, his eyes stripping her, leeringly amused by her visible 
perturbation. 

"That one is just acquired, sir." There was a faint anxiety in Jiminey's 
voice. Hastily she added: "And that reminds me-" To Trixie's horror she 
found herself relieved of her panties before male eyes. 

"Step out of them, girl!" 

She obeyed, blushing. It was absurd but the male was intrigued. "I suppose 
you know I've been kidnapped and I'm held here against my will?" She 
demanded furiously of the client. 

"Her price?" He was simply bored. 

"The same." 

"A million and a half pounds is too much. I would make it dollars....? She 
has some small appeal." 

She had been bid on! A man had offered to pay a million and a half dollars 
for her! Trixie Malone was dazed in disbelief. Wryly, she computed five 
hundred thousand for each tit and the same for her twat. "The police are 
looking for me." She lied bravely. "If you have any sense you'll go to them 
immediately you leave." 

"She needs a thrashing." The client commented absently. "What's she like 
naked? No, never mind! I can manage." As though accustomed to such tasks he 
opened the front of Trixie's garment, tugged away her bra' and exposed her 
breasts. Before he could finger them she kicked him hard on the shin. 

Seven fascinated gasps accompanied the client's yelp. 

Seven pairs of slavegirl eyes focused in admiration and comiseration. "Two 
million even." Said the client suavely, rubbing his hurt limb. 

"I'm sorry. The Organization's prices are always firm, sir. 

"Three million, in dollars?" 

"It would have to be in Sterling, sir. You are bidding quite close to our 
asking figure." 

"Hmmmmm...." He had lost interest, and moved on to the girl with the gag. 
"And this chatterbox...?" 

"I'd make allowances." Said Jiminey kindly. "You were new and hadn't been 
briefed. But Bettina tells me she did explain-" 

It was a room pregnant with punishment. Trixie Malone shivered. 

"Feel cold, dear? I think a girl always does the first time she's stripped 
naked by someone else. Sorry about tearing your clothes." 

"I don't deserve to be punished." Trixie proclaimed dismally. 

"Yes you do. Run along and pee. Hurry!" 

Trixie hurried. When she returned she asked, apologetically: "Must I be 
completely naked?" 

"You know the answer to that." Jiminey's appraisal of nudity was shrewd. 
"I'm going to raise your price. With some proper training you might turn out 
well." 

"But he offered three million for me-!" 

Jiminey laughed. "Can't help feeling proud, eh! Just wait and see what I 
finally get for you." 

Trixie was groping. "Then he gave all that money for the girl in the blue 
dress! Why-?" 

"Who knows!" Jiminey was amused. "Men are ridiculous: Maybe because her nose 
tilted. But she did have a lovely black bush-Or didn't you notice when he 
lifted her dress?" 

Trixie blushed. She had noticed! "And is she in a crate now, being shipped?" 

"As a matter-of-fact she's hogtied in the boot of his car. Heavily gagged, 
of course." Jiminey dismissed the subject with a shrug. "Look, dear, you do 
understand why I have to punish you?" 

"Yes-I suppose I do." The new delinquent conceded reluctantly. "But if I 
promise to do better next time-?" 

"No! You deserve it and you're going to get it. You'll do better next time 
for sure." 

"Y'know, I think he bid on me the way he did just because I was-well, 
awkward." 

"I think so too. But you still get punished." 

Trixie Malone sighed and asked timidly: "How many strokes with the whip?" 

"Who said anything about whips! Come over here." 

It was not a whip! Trixie Malone could name it but did not want to. Her 
wrists were still crossed behind her back in Jiminey's original binding. Now 
she was naked. Resigned to helplessness, she allowed hermentor to position 
her nudity as desired. 

"You won't like it, love. But I'll not let it injure you." 

Strangely, she trusted the assurance. There was something about Jiminey! The 
naked girl, postured for her punishment, stood quietly as the metal prong 
rose between her legs. When the head of the simulated phallus nudged her 
labia, Jiminey paused to annoint its thrust with lubricant. 

"Keep your thighs well apart, dear. Stand on your toes if you want, it won't 
make any difference." Her voice rose an octave. "Good gosh, someone really 
laced your cunt, didn't they! Poor dear little quim, it won't be ready to 
whip again for a week!" 

"Must it be whipped again, Jiminey?" 

"Not without a reason, dear. I won't look for one. Look, as this thing 
enters you, you're free to move to make it easier. I'll go slow." 

"But it's so huge!" 

"No it isn't! Don't be silly. If a boy wanted to push one that big up your 
slit you'd think yourself lucky." 

"No I wouldn't! I'd hate-!" 

"Just because it's metal! See, it's going into you beautifully. And don't 
get any fool notion about it coming out of your mouth." 

"Oooooo-Oh-Oh, Jiminey!" 

"Yeah, I know. Girls have been saying that since cunts were invented." 

It was the strangest impalement ever. The fingers of Trixie's bound hands 
fluttered impotently. Her loins had become sensitive to the gradual invasion 
of her sheath. As though to delay the final lodgement she raised up on her 
toes. Closing her eyes she twisted imperceptably and blushed at the instant 
response of her clitoris. The phallus nosed its passage towards her womb. 

"You've got him all, dear. He's way, way up inside. How's it feel?" 

"Oh-Oh!" Trixie was ashamed. "Oh, Jiminey, is it supposed to feel good or 
bad?" 

"That answers my question. You're in love with him." 

"But there's something-else! I can feel....?" 

"Oh sure. Life always hands us the kicker somewhere. Now I'm going to attend 
to what you say you can feel down there." 

The phallus appeared to have a base. It thrust imperiously on each side, 
compressing the tender and swollen lips as seeking entry. Under Jiminey's 
fingers the thrust was suddenly gone, but a moment later the naked girl 
yelped in dismay as serrated jaws closed inexorably on each of her labia. 
Cunningly they nestled within and without to close with a firm bite upon her 
most tender flesh, their spring harsh enough to anchor them forever but not 
strong enough for injury. "Oh, Jiminey-Oh please!" 

"Just to keep you from jumping off, dear. And, after all, you are supposed 
to receive punishment!" 

"Yes ... yes, I know! But it's awful-!" 

"You'll get used to it." 

"You don't need them! Oh, Jiminey, I could never possibly jump off or get 
away. That-Thing is so far up inside-" 

"Lucky girl. And you do need the clips. They make you a nice pretty 
fixture." 

"I'm so helpless! Oh-oh-!" 

"You'll probably have a few orgasms." 

"Oh no, oh please-I'll be so ashamed!" 

"Well, the clips will help you there, love. They prevent you wiggling. 
Without 'em you could pleasure your clit' all night long." 

"All night! Jiminey, you wouldn't-?" 

"Yes I will, love. You face a lovely lonely vigil on the prong, dear. That's 
your punishment. It could be worse." 

"I'll fall...! I won't be able to sleep....!" 

"You won't do either." 

"But to just stand and stand and stand! And all alone! And with this Thing 
up inside me! Oh, Jiminey, please don't leave me like this?" 

"Silly, girl!-You don't expect me to stand here with you?" 

"I-I-I suppose not." The erotically fastened girl was trying to orient 
herself to new dimensions. Her shoulders twisted in distress but instantly 
ceased their motion as it translated itself to the hungry jaws upon her sex. 
Trixie Malone moaned in the strangest sensations of her life. Shame closed 
her eyes. When she opened them she was alone. 

How strange a punishment! The bound girl supposed it cruel but could not 
disguise pleasurable sensations she most urgently desired to suppress. She 
was frightened of an endless stream of orgasms. The clamps bit at her with a 
steady burn, rewarding movement with agony. Perhaps, if she hurt enough, 
pain might quench the ardour of her flesh. But she would come to an 
involuntary climax: she knew she would! She could feel the orgasm mounting 
through every fiber of her being. Trixie groaned and jerked herself into a 
blend of agony and ecstasy she would always remember. 

Having spasmed and gasped in assuagement of her clitoris's response to the 
invasion of her vagina, the impaled captive settled down to her punishment. 
It was tantalising, it was a little frightening, it was peculiarly painful 
in a manner all its own. Trixie wished she had not stood upon her toes, it 
meant she had to stand on them still. Passionately, she longed for her 
hands. She wondered if they would be untied before she was sold-or after! 
Her sex was on fire with more than the bite of teeth. 

It was infuriating to have to stand nakedly without any visible bond. From a 
casual glance a passer by might assume she stood there with parted legs by 
choice. The compulsion of the phallus was hidden within her flesh but she 
must obey its dictates implicitly. Thoughts of releasing herself from 
impalement had to be rejected instantly. Trixie Malone was female, she 
wanted neither torn sheath or injured clit. Bitterly she desired to cry out 
against the injustice of her lot. Why her! Why such bizarre punishment! 
Loneliness settled on her like a pall and she started to cry. 

Trixie supposed hours passed, she could not tell. Her measurement of time 
now stemmed from the rhythm of her loins. She was young, she was healthy, 
her clitoris ignored the pain of serrated jaws set deep in swollen lips, or 
the ache of tired toes as they fought impalement's thrust. The hidden bud of 
sensitivity reveled in the friction its owner could not control. Try as she 
might, Trixie Malone's hips and limbs imposed involuntary betrayals of her 
determination not to climax again and again in an exhausting succession of 
orgasms. But the phallus won! Deep within her it had its way. She could 
scarcely breathe without a wantonly joyous response from her sex. After she 
had gasped and moaned her way through several orgasms she realized that 
these too were part of her punishment. The aftermath of each left her 
panting, her nerves screaming for surcease. But it was only a short time 
before the enforced union of thrusting prong and fleshly bud re-lit their 
fire. And she could do nothing, nothing at all! Her crossed wrists mocked 
her with their bonds. 

"How many times, love?" Jiminey's voice mocked her too. 

The prisoner emerged from her cloud of concupiscence in a flood of relief 
and hope. "Jiminey-Oh, Jiminey, let me down off this contraption-Oh 
please-!" She pleaded breathlessly. 

"How many times, love?" 

"Oh ... oh ... Seven-I think it's seven. Ohhhhh-!" 

"Hmmmmm, not bad! You've been there four hours." 

"It's four years. Please take it out of me-Please!" 

"You're there for the night, love." 

"Then just for a little while-for a rest?" 

"You're doing remarkably well, dear. You'll stay right where you are. But I 
will lower the stem an inch to get your heels back on the floor." 

"Thank you! Oh, Jiminey...!" 

"Gosh, you're in a dither'. You make me wonder if this is a punishment-" 

"It is! Oh, Jiminey, it is. It's awful. I daren't even twitch." 

"I'm going to give you a diversion, love. I'm going to cane your bottom." 

For Trixie, the shock was brutal. "But why? What have I done?" 

"You're being punished, that's all, nothing special." 

"But it will hurt-!" 

"Of course it will you little idiot. But it's part of what you get for being 
naughty. Don't take on so." 

"You mean you're going to hurt me terribly with a beastly cane and then go 
away and leave me like this!" 

"Gosh, you agonize! But, yes, that's what I'm going to do." 

The two girls surveyed each other. Trixie wished she could match her 
companion's smile. Instead, a tear trickled down her cheek. She sobbed: "I'm 
so tired ... and so helpless ... and when I'm not in agony I'm 
climaxing...." 

"A brisk caning of that cute little bottom will give you a whole new 
perspective, dear." 

"I don't want a new perspective. I want-" 

Fire laced the captive's loins. The thin cane wrapped around the twin 
spheres she could not move. But the shock and the burn were disasterous. She 
blossomed into the most explosive orgasm of them all, twisting on her 
impalement and crying out a paean of primitive passion. 

"Dammit, kid, I begin to envy you." With immense amusement the girl with the 
cane watched the agonies and ecstacies she had wrought. 

"No, oh no! Please, no-!" The naked girl was panting in successive gasps, 
her skin glistened, bedewed by pain and lust. She stood motionless, afraid 
of motion. Her head bowed, eyes closed. 

"That looked like pure pleasure. Arn't you going to thank me?" 

"Yes, oh yes! Thank you, Jiminey." 

"I don't think you even felt the cane, love. I'm a good mind to jack you 
back up that other inch or two." 

"Nuhnuh. oh no! I don't want-Oh it's awful-" 

Well, maybe you'll feel this one." 

Trixie Malone felt it. She screamed. Her shoulders twisted against her bound 
arms, but her hips were held by that which thrust within and the implacable 
jaws still kissed by tender lips. The burn spread intolerably. 

The cane cut with a solid thunk. Pain burrowed and spread. Trixie's screams 
lost all inhibition. So did her libido. She flowered into climax with a new 
intensity, her moans a mixture of joy, outrage and surprise. 

"If you're going to come every time I hit you I might as well throw the cane 
away." Jiminey was immensely amused. 

The girl with spread legs could find no answer. She was lost in sensation. 

"I know what the trouble is, it's your bottom. Too close to where it's at." 
Jiminey mused thoughtfully. "I'll get a whip and move up to your breasts." 

The naked girl tensed alert. Her eyes widened as she watched Jiminey 
exchange the instruments of her punishment. The thonged whip looked vicious, 
and her breasts were beautifully disposed for it. She could neither move nor 
shield them from its kiss. She groaned in defeat. "Jiminey, I'll do anything 
but don't whip my breasts....Whip me a hundred times somewhere else-but not 
my breasts! Not my breasts-!" 

She was very beautiful in her distress, an exquisite picture of a damsel all 
forlorn. Jiminey was a girl, and not unkind. With a small cry of 
comiseration she dropped her whip and gathered the punished beauty in her 
arms. 

 CHAPTER FIVE. FEMALE PACKAGE. 

"I recognize this as an historic ocassion." Enderby proclaimed with relish. 
His cherubic countenance beamed on the assembly. "I have asked Jeffers to 
snap a picture of us all. Please try and look appropriately aware." 

Jeffers clicked the shutter and withdrew. 

"Seven hundred years, I think you said, my dear? One may speculate as to 
whether the beginnings of Conant were as-unorthodox is perhaps the word-as 
what we are a part of now." 

Lady Regina Conant thought it un-likely. But she had said her bitter words 
and had best keep silent. Her flesh was lingeringly tender from the lash. 

"We must apologise to Mr. Ambrose for any embarrassment." Enderby was in 
fine voice and obviously enjoying himself. "But members of the Legal 
Profession are like the clergy: they get called to strange places and 
unusual circumstances." 

Mr. Ambrose had a long face, a bald head and dewlaps. He had stared steadily 
at Lynne Stacey's pubic hair since the introductions, only shifting focus to 
give equal attention to her breasts. "Not at all" He assured hurredly. 
"Enderby and I are old friends, Lady Conant. I am only too happy-" 

"I am sure you are." 'Gina said coldly. "What's a spot of torture more or 
less between old friends." 

"Oh come, M'Lady, Miss Stacey has not been touched." 

Lady Conant turned a studied regard upon the naked girl bound tight to one 
side of the huge fireplace. Lynne was tied fast at ankle, knee, wrists and 
elbow. She faced them unhappily, standing in precarious balance. To one side 
of her the fire glowed, within its red embers were metal rods....! She 
swivelled back to stare at the man of Law. "Not touched!" She exclaimed 
disdainfully. "She's covered in whip weak. It may interest you to know I am 
too. We have both been tortured. Those irons heating in the grate are for 
the purpose of branding Miss Stacey if I refuse to sign your documants." 

Mr. Ambrose kept up a warning hand. He sighed, shook his head and rose. When 
he withdrew the glowing metal from the coals Lady Regina Conant flung 
herself to her knees at his feet. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry-I forgot. I'm only human. Don't do that-please don't! 
I'll sign ... I'll sign anything." 

Enderby replaced the rod. He found a gag and buckled it tight within Lynne 
Stacey's mouth. "You were about to say you didn't mind being branded in a 
good cause." He adjured jovially. "I could see it in your eye. Let us leave 
the dramatics to Lady Conant here, she's damn good." 

"Enderby, let's get on with it." 'Gina looked up, ashamed of her surrender. 
Horrified, she saw him retrieve the iron. 

"Look!" He held the red heat to singe Lynne's pubic hair, a shining frond 
curled up in smoke, its odor assailing every nostril in the room. "I'll mark 
her once, one good deep burn. It will keep you sensible." 

"No!" 'Gina was suddenly frantic at what she had precipitated. She had no 
illusions about Enderby, he would enjoy branding either one of them. "Not 
Lynne, not Lynne! Brand me." 

"Very well, Lady Conant. Kindly bare your upper thigh." Enderby affected 
ennui "Do you wish to be bound?" 

"I'll-I'll try and keep still for you-" She tore at feminine trifles to lay 
bare the skin already branded with his whip. "Do you want me to sign the 
papers now, or after you've burned me?" 

"After will do. I can give you a drop of brandy." 

'Gina became conscious of the intent eyes. "I'm sorry about this." She said 
humbly. "And I know I'll scream, please forgive me for screaming...." 

"I have another gag." Said Enderby kindly. 

""No! Oh no-never mind." 

Enderby looked momentarily puzzled. He chuckled. "Y'know I think we've got 
something twisted." He admitted sheepishly. "Do you want to tell me you're 
happy to sign whether I brand you or not?" 

"Of course. I thought I made that clear." 

"Then why am I branding you?" 

"I thought it was because you wanted to, just like whipping us. And I don't 
want you to brand Lynne. You can brand me a hundred times if you'll leave 
her alone." 

"Hmmmmm,-greater love hath no woman...." He looked down into her wide eyes, 
and was for a few moments humane. He replaced the cooling iron. "Let us save 
harmless that lovely skin." He said pleasantly. "Perhaps another time...." 
He offered his hand. "Come, let us return to the table." 

"If you will sign here please, Lady Conant." Said Mr. Ambrose as though he 
had seen nothing unusual. "And on this line ... and on each of these 
seperate deeds...." 

There was a scratching of pens, the Principal and the two Witnesses. Without 
visible motion Castle Conant passed from 'Gina's possession into the hands 
of a body designated as: "The Diomedes Holding Corporation. Enderby poured 
brandy all round. 

When the Lawyer and his clerk had departed with their brief cases and Lady 
Regina Conant's signatures there came a hiatus. Enderby used it to remove 
the gag from Lynne's mouth and hold a glass of brandy to her lips. "A bit 
trying for us all." He admitted. When he turned to meet her eyes 'Gina could 
swear she saw sympathy in his. 

"What's it feel like?" He asked diffidently. 

"Like being stripped naked." 

He nodded. "Yes, I suppose so. Damned dramatic." 

"I signed away even the liquid assets and the cash, didn't I?" 

"Yes. Everything! As you said: you're stripped." 

"And now you're going to sell me!" 

"Yes. And Miss Stacey too." He shared her desuetude. "Damn rummy spot for 
girls like you." 

"I'm trying to let it sink in." Lady Conant said slowly. "It's not easy. 
Even if you set us free we'd have to get ourselves a bedsitter and look for 
a job as shopgirls." She shrugged in disgust. "Maybe the slavery you're 
going to sell us into would be better." 

"Keep that thought in mind. I can tell you honestly some of the girls we 
sell end up enviably." 

"Have you enough charity to sell us both together, and to someone who won't 
whip us to death?" 

"I've already spoken to Esther about that. I'm afraid you'll both have to 
take the luck of the draw. She still bears a grudge. And anyway, we don't do 
the selling. From here you go to a Dealer." 

"A slave trader?" 

"If you like. It's a very big concern. They buy and sell girls as a 
sideline. It works in with their other activities. "Am I allowed to ask my 
price?" 

"Hmmmm, I don't see why not. You're going on consignment, but we expect to 
net more than a million from you and an even million from Miss Stacey." 

It was staggering. Penniless but worth a fortune! And there was no escape. 
Lynne was already brutally bound, she herself could not best Enderby and the 
servants would be on the alert. She would only get herself brutalised. 

"Tempted to make a run for it?" He had read her thoughts. 

She faced him squarely. "Yes, wouldn't you!" She grinned. "Enderby, be a 
sport, can I have another brandy?" 

Enderby poured lavishly. Lady Regina Conant gulped thirstily. For the first 
time in her life longing for oblivion. Watching her with understanding he 
refilled her glass. 

"Here, they can relieve you of decision." 

'Gina eyed the shining chrome he had passed across the table. The handcuffs 
gleamed with a personal message meant for her. She felt the atavistic 
tingling of her spine and the prickle at the nape of her neck. Fascinated, 
she examined their mechanism. It was hard to believe they had been 
fabricated to encircle her wrists in a manner she could never undo. She 
essayed a laugh. "You mean, if I let you clamp them on me I'll have passed a 
point of no return-Crossed the Rubicon?" 

Enderby chuckled. "They could put your busy little mind at rest. Save you 
looking longingly at the window and the door. I'm not going to put them on 
you. I know you can't escape. Miss Stacey, neatly tied up over there, is a 
ball and chain you can't shake loose. But the idea's bothering you, so if 
you want relief clip 'em on yourself. It's quite easy." 

It was typical. Enderby would enjoy her shame. 'Gina cringed from the idea 
of handcuffing herself like a criminal. The act would seem absurd and 
bitterly humiliating. She finished her brandy, her gaze still on the chrome. 
She had no illusion. Slavery was the icy water and the cuffs were a way of 
diving in all at once and getting the agony over with. She picked them up 
and carefully fitted them on a wrist, tightening it notch by notch until 
snug. The other was more difficult but she managed. She held them up to 
admire, their single link a tantalizing trifle she could never break. 
Between the frame of her pinioned hands she smiled at Enderby. "There! You 
were right, there is a kind of relief. Now that I'm safely chained do I have 
to call you sir or Master or something quaint?" 

He was awed by her beauty and her cool insolence. Regina, Lady Conant would 
bring a fortune when the bidding was done. Enderby's cherubic features 
became wistful. "Call me what you please." He said absently. "I'll stop 
calling you by your title. You're demoted to 'Gina, that's enough. Damn the 
luck! If it wasn't for The Diomedes I'd buy you myself." 

She was flattered. Women would always be flattered by a man's desire, even 
when it carried a whip. Quietly, she asked: "What would my life have been as 
your slave?" 

"Chained luxury. Total obedience." He grinned. "That would likely mean you'd 
be whipped daily." 

"I don't see why. Whenever I've seen the inevitable here I've obeyed." She 
let her cuffed hands fall. She measured him with thoughtful eyes. "I think 
you could help us. Please...?" 

"I could marry you. But I'm not going to." He gestured in resignation. "All 
the dies are cast. Let things run their course. Dammit, 'Gina, we'll have 
another brandy " 

'Gina sipped gratefully. When Enderby held the glass to Lynne's helpless 
lips she asked, puzzled: "Why not untie the poor darling? She could serve 
herself." 

"Waste of time. She's nicely packaged. Just have to tie her up again." 

"But I'm free, or almost! Why can't Lynne be?" 

"Shipping time, dear girl." 

"You mean it's that close, the time's here-now?" 

"Much the best, 'Gina my love." 

She was surprised by her sense of shock, that when her drink was gone her 
world would collapse. "Then I have to be tied-like Lynne?" She was annoyed 
at sounding superior to her beloved. She blamed it on the brandy. "Why can't 
we both be handcuffed, Enderby? Now I'm wearing them they seem nicely 
practical. Since we're not to be trusted you could lock them behind our 
backs. We'd be helpless." 

"Not helpless enough. You'll see why." 

She would not provoke him out of his good mood. She would obey. But 'Gina 
was female. Her plea became urgent. "But I have to pack! There's a hundred 
things to do before I go-!" She broke off in confusion. "Enderby, don't look 
at me like that, it's awful." 

"How was I looking?" 

"Sorry for me, that's how! You're the doctor who knows his patient's going 
to die, but the patient's only just finding it out." 

"You're not going to die, m'dear. Far from it." 

"No. But I don't need to pack, do I? I don't need to do anything. I don't 
matter any more. I'm being born again naked!" 

Enderby found her realisations magnificent. He was a connoisseur of feminine 
distress and, obversely, of female courage. He said nothing. 

"I feel an idiot." Her grin sought his tolerance. "I've been acting as 
though I was still-what I used to be. I've gone blissfully on being Me. 
Sorry, Enderby. Oh, and you'll want me naked, won't you-I mean, naked to be 
tied?" 

"Thank you, my dear. You need apologise for nothing. Yes, I would like you 
naked." 

She reached for her dress. Then, blushing, held up her cuffed hands. "I 
can't. Not locked in these." 

"Yes you can. Tear what you must." 

She shrugged hopelessly. "That's a message, isn't it! Lynne and I arn't 
going to need clothes ever any more." She reached for her dress and yanked 
savagely. "A pair of naked slaves...! Oh, Enderby!" 

'Gina, who had been Lady Conant, stood passively and nakedly to be bound. It 
was not until her ankles had been knotted securely that Enderby unlocked the 
handcuffs. "You didn't trust me." She gibed. "You wanted me so I couldn't 
run before you loosed my hands." 

"Saved you another decision." He reminded her drily. 

She supposed he had good reason for tying her extra tight. 'Gina had seen 
the ropes on Lynne and had expected no less. Ankles, knees, then hands 
behind her back palm to palm. When rope looped her elbows she twisted in 
revolt. "Do you have to tie our elbows so they meet?" She protested. "They 
hurt brutally like that. Look at poor Lynne!" 

"It's the perfect control of a girl, m'dear. Keep still!" 

"You don't need it. It's just plain unkind. With our hands tied behind our 
backs we're helpless, we can't do a damn thing." 

"It inhibits." 

"Of course it inhibits! A girl's in agony. It hurts to breathe." 

"I can tie it tighter, dear, if you want to continue complaining." 

"Oh alright! Sorry I spoke." 

'Gina stood, straight and erect, while the ropes were positioned and cinched 
to perfection. Enderby was an artist. Each small tug rendered her more 
helpless. When he stood back to eye his work she exclaimed bitterly: "You 
said it, I'm a package!" 

"I have to gag you now. Good-bye, my dear." 

It was suddenly impossible and insane. Enderby had become precious. 'Gina 
looked at him entreatingly. "But won't we ever-?" 

Artfully, he slipped the rubber ball into her open mouth, buckling it 
firmly. "Yes we will." He told her gently. "We will see each other again." 

The crates were a shock. They seemed so tiny, yet they would hold a girl. 
The men who carried them in examined the whip wealed nudities with 
appreciation, then lost interest. They lifted Lynne into her wooden 
receptacle and strapped her down. The nailing of the lid was spine chilling. 

It was so quickly and easily done! The ropes and the gags were a splendidly 
practical preparation for the box. When her turn came, Gina was totally 
immobilised in moments. The crates had no inch of extra space for a naked 
girl. None was needed. She could not move. As the nailing of the lid 
hammered her into gloom she thought of an Egyptian mummy. Three small air 
holes were a small comfort to a naked girl who could neither move or make a 
sound. 

Lady Conant would remember the journey always as pure terror. Stripped naked 
in a box! Bound and gagged! Bereft of all possessions and sundered from a 
Hfe! Soon her body would be purchased by a man, with it would go her mind. 
If the man whipped her enough she would become his slave within her psyche 
as well as by her flesh. Two desolations were paramount: Conant was gone 
forever, and perhaps Lynne Stacey! What assurance was there that the two 
boxes in which they reposed were going to a similiar destination! To be 
robbed of the warm scented loveliness of Lynne was to be robbed of the 
greatest treasure she had ever glimpsed. 

Every thing hurt. The ropes were brutal and her jaws ached from the gag. No 
matter how the box was treated she remained wedged tight. She could well 
believe the men who carried her were having sport, they were far from 
cautious with their burden. But the motions and the jolts countered the 
claustrophobic horror of tight confinement. The sound of a slamming door and 
the rumble of a truck told her clearly that, wherever she was going, she was 
on her way. 

An appreciable time had passed before the collision sent the box containing 
Lady Regina Conant sliding forward and impacting joltingly against she knew 
not what. There was a great deal of muffled sound which suddenly became 
close as the truck doors were opened. Her small prison was manhandled 
gratingly, then carried, once more to be tossed hurredly onto a solid 
surface. There were shouts, the roaring of motors, the whine of wheels in 
soft soil, a spray of gravel rattled like hail. Then the shots, the crack of 
explosives. Whatever vehicle her box was now in it was moving at speed, 
great speed! In darkness. 

Something had happened! Something fierce and ugly at which the bound and 
naked girl could only guess. The shots were frightening, they meant a new 
dimension of captivity. The cherubic Enderby surely had no part in what had 
sounded like a small war! And yet-! 'Gina struggled furiously but did not 
move. 

THE END of the journey was like the first. Then a respite in which her box 
remained stationary and she could hear no sound When, at long last, a tool 
was inserted in the lid, 'Gina's heart was pounding hard enough to alarm 
even herself. With a screetch of nails the lid was torn away to reveal her 
nudity. Above her face peered down, a male face, strong ageless features, 
smiling....It was a face she knew. 

It was Hammond Stacey. 

Lady Regina Conant was suddenly Eve in an awareness of being naked. A moment 
ago it had not mattered. Now it did! Hammond Stacey made it matter very 
much. 

"Good evening, Lady Conant." It was the same amused vibrant voice she 
remembered. "I won't say I'm sorry to see you like this. You look 
delightful." 

'Gina clothed herself in a blush and, with his help, sat up. They were in 
her own bedroom at Castle Conant. Her eyes widened in disbelief, but a quick 
scan revealed everything as she had left it. 

"Bit of a shock, eh!" Stacey was enjoying her. 

'Gina could not speak. But with a few decisive motions Lynne's father cut 
away ropes, provided a rug, and unbuckled her gag. Aiding her from her 
coffin he held her close, his whisper in her ear a little less than 
fatherly: "You've had a bad time, little girl, I saw the marks." 

'Gina did not mind what he had seen. It felt good to be in his arms. The rug 
she had clutched above her breasts slithered to the floor. She did not move. 
"It was awful, awful, awful....!" It was all she could think to say. She was 
trembling. 

"It's over." His arms tightened. 

"But I'm home!" It was a miracle beyond comprehension. 

"And you'll stay here. Get dressed. You'll find me in the lounge." He was a 
crisp as she remembered. 

"But the servants-Enderby's servants? They'll-" 

"They'll do nothing. They're gone. We're alone except for my men. Most of 
your old staff will return tomorrow." 

'Gina did not question. Hammond Stacey was a force. She sped to her dresser 
and the bath, stealing extra minutes because of the man who was waiting. 
When she joined him she received a gift of frank approval and a question. 

"Where's that daughter of mine?" 

"Isn't she-?" 'Gina looked at him askance, flooded by guilt that he had 
failed to ask the same question. 

"No, she isn't! Damn! We've botched it somewhere." His voice was grim but 
incisive. "Was there another box like your's?" 

"Yes." 

Hammond Stacey considered implications, and shrugged. He would shed no tears 
over a partial failure. He went to the bar and got brandy for them both. She 
thought of Enderby: she had never drunk so much brandy in her life. "I'm 
sorry." She said wanly. "You got the wrong box." 

"Don't say that!" He glowered at her good humoredly. "Don't ever even think 
it. You're special." 

'Gina started to tell him, but he stemmed her flood of words with a wave of 
the hand. "I know-I know it all." He said bitterly. "Found out a bit late, 
but it's rectified-damn their hides! We're back where we started from except 
for Lynne." 

"But we're not! I signed away-" 

Hammond Stacey laughed at her bewilderment. His hand on her arm was 
comforting as he led her to the coffe table. "Look 'em over, 'Gina. I think 
they're complete." 

They were all there. Every document she had signed. She was still a 
chatelaine. Castle Conant had not changed hands. She flung herself at the 
father of her love and sobbed upon his male shoulder in an ecstasy of 
relief. He patted her gently and once more held her close....After long and 
satisfying minutes he refilled their glasses. 

"Like a lot of kids, really." Stacey said reflectively, eying her in a 
manner to make 'Gina feel pleasantly female. "There's legends grown up 
around the Diomedes woman and myself. We're neither of us the richest in the 
world, but we are force, each of us. We're opposing forces in an absurd 
feud." He gestured apologetically. "We could probably end it if we tried. 
But the fact is we both eryoy our bit of nonsense. Its become a game beyond 
the ordinary tolerances or making money-we've both got a lot of money. What 
we jockey for now is the ultimate coup by which we divert the resources of 
the other to ourself." He chuckled in honest amusement. "It was a satisfying 
game until she touched you and Lynne." 

"But, Mr. Stacey, you disappeared....?' 

"Two things, Lady Conant." He said drily. "You're a big girl now. To you I'm 
Hammond. Don't ever abbreviate it-Hammond! And I'm not going to keep 
tripping over your title. I remember when they called you 'Reggie' in 
Conant's office before he married you. Regina Wyant, wasn't it! Damn shame 
the way he died. The two of you had it all." 

"They said they'd kill you if we refused-?" 

He laughed. "Damn clever bluff. Let's give 'em credit. I had a plan going 
with this disappearance lark. But they turned it to their own advantage." He 
shrugged ruefully. "I owe you and Lynne a massive apology....But it was so 
beautifully authentic....! Like I said: Diomedes and I both deserve a good 
swift kick." 

"When I was in that box-I heard shots?" 

"Oh, just more of the same, 'Gina. We've each got our own little private 
armies: sound effects, mostly." 

"This Diomedes woman...? What is she really like?" 

"Damned impressive bit of female if she'd drop the Imperatrix syndrome. Not 
as old as she pretends. I've never seen her when she tries to be feminine, 
maybe she never does. If there's a man in her life no one's met him. But I 
wouldn't be surprised if she had a little girl somewhere in a back room." 
Hammond looked at his watch. "Speaking of little girls, it's time you were 
in bed. Run along." 

Obediently, and with a great thankfulness, 'Gina ran. 

It was glorious to wake in her own bed in her own room in her own Castle. 
'Gina gloried in every moment. Happiness flooded when the familiar face of 
the familiar maid brought familiar Tea, and the hands of someone to be 
trusted pulled back the drapes and flooded the room with sunshine. "I expect 
you were tired, M'Lady. I'll draw your bath." Heaven! 

"Mr. Stacey's waiting in the Breakfast room, M'Lady. And there's a man-" 

Hammond! 'Gina rolled the name over her tongue. Then thought of Hammond's 
daughter and blushed. Life was peculiarly complex. In love with herself and 
with the world she went downstairs. Stacey grinned his greeting and kissed 
her lightly. His companion was more formal, and with an old world courtesy 
lifted her hand to his lips. 

It was Enderby." 

"Believe you've met." Stacey said casually. 

'Gina wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she longed to be coldly insolent. 
She did nothing. 

"Please bear with me, dear lady." Enderby's cherubic features beamed 
benevolence. "I've been a perfect swine-" 

"Nice thing about Enderby-no illusions." Hammond Stacey's acknowledgments 
was drily caustic. 

"One does what one must, dear girl." 

A sententious Enderby was beyond bearing. Lady Regina Conant withered him 
with scorn. "You did not have to whip us half to death. There was no 'must' 
about it, you loved watching us writhe." 

"The fortunes of war-" 

She turned to Stacey. "This man hung your daughter and I up by our wrists, 
naked, and flogged us-just for pleasure. Then he got all ready to brand 
Lynne with a hot iron if I didn't sign those papers." 

"Ah, but I knew you would-!" 

Stacey muted them both with a raised hand. "Let us sit down." He said 
gently. "Mr. Enderby's hobbies are understood, but he happens to be of 
value-" 

"You'd sleep with the Devil?" 

Stacey smiled at her vehemence. "Churchill said that about defeating Hitler. 
In my world we find strange bedfellows." 

'Gina was not appeased. She flashed her fury at their smiling guest. "You'd 
do it again! I know you would. You'd love to take me downstairs, strip me 
and suspend me and whip me in all those beastly ways....!" Her breasts 
heaved. 

Enderby was unperturbed. "Is that an offer, Lady Conant?" 

Stacey quenched her explosion. "Our friend here is no hypocrite. It may be 
his only virtue, but let's be thankful for it. He's here for a reason, and a 
price. He's going to get us Lynne." 

'Gina checked her fury, a fury partly directed at herself for her failure to 
be more angry with her cherubic enemy than she was. Enderby was an engaging 
rogue whose unabashed admiration was disarming. He was admiring her breasts 
now as he toyed with toast. "He's sold her into some sort of horrible 
slavery." She accused undertainly. "He was going to sell me too." 

"Alas, I could not afford you myself, dear lady-" 

"Stow it, Enderby!" Stacey admonished. "We all know you should be hung, 
drawn and quartered. But, in the meantime, what about my girl?" 

Enderby beamed. Instead of being abashed by 'Gina's flushed regard he 
winked. "I am aware of the dealership...." He winked again at his unwilling 
hostess. "You referred to it as 'The Slave Trader', remember: The address 
where Miss Stacey was delivered. I know them and they know me...." His 
cheeks had the grace to show a trace of pink. "And there's the rub. In my 
somewhat, er, invidious position it would not be politic for me to take an 
active and visible part in the young lady's recovery." 

"Sure, sure." Stacey said gruffly. "You're playing both ends against the 
middle. So what do we do?" 

"I had thought of an inside job, a penetration ... Miss Stacey's release 
could be effected with subtlety-and no pointing of fingers." 

"At you, of course! That's understood. But, dammit Enderby, what's to stop 
me walking into this establishment and buying my own daughter. My money's as 
good as-" 

"Unfortunately, no. The sum involved would be in the region of one and a 
half million pounds sterling. Moreover you might be recognized. The final 
damper is the clients have to arrive most impressively accredited and 
vouched for. A simple subterfuge is best." 

"For you, I expect it would be. What's the drill?" 

"It requires the services of an intelligent and courageous young woman. 
Pulchritude is, I fear, mandatory." 

The silence could be felt. 

"She would enter the premises as an innocent who has been decoyed. She would 
bear a letter from me to-a certain person. There is a password....There 
would be a small sum for the greasing of palms. Miss Stacey would be on the 
street within hours. No bother. No bloddshed. No embarrassment." 

"No she won't." Stacey said heavily. 

Enderby affected to be obtuse. "Who-what?" 

"'Gina is not going into any lion's den." 

"But did I say-!" The round amiable features registered reproach, then 
beamed anew. "But you certainly have a magnificent idea there. I can think 
of no one better suited than Lady Conant-" 

"No." 

"She possesses every quality, plus a personal involvement." Enderby made it 
sound already finalized. "She could carry it off like a breeze." 

"No." 

"What would I have to do?" 'Gina asked." Enderby told her what she had to 
do. It sounded absurdly easy. 

"No. Absolutely no!" Hammond Stacey said firmly. "I love her." 'Gina said 
simply. 

"So do I! Lynne's my daughter. But I won't risk you-" 

"I love her very terribly-in a different way...." Lady Conant blushed. "I 
owe this to her. It's little enough." 

"It's outrageous! Enderby, you can find a girl-" 

"It would take time. I don't keep 'em on tap, y'know." 

Enderby fell back on mild reproach. He looked at 'Gina hopefully. "Miss 
Stacey could be back here by evening?" 

"You can drive me to this place yourself. Why don't you both come." Lady 
Regina Conant had made a decision. None disputed it. 

 CHAPTER SIX. SLAVE MARKET. 

"I've bent every rule in the book for you, love, and you're worth every 
twist." Jiminey sighed happily and rubbed her nudity against Trixie Malone's 
heated nakedness. "How d'you like my bed?" 

"It's as gorgeous as you. Please, Jiminey, untie my hands?" 

Mmmmmm, you're wonderful down there. John Willie did you no harm-probably 
did you a world of good. You're super." 

"Oh, Jiminey-and I thought I'd be ruined....! Jiminey, my hands ...?" 

"If you ask once more to be untied I'll put you back on the prong. Is that 
what you want, you little mink?" 

"I'm so grateful you took me off it, darling. I can't thank you enough. I'd 
still be standing there in the dark." 

"You're thanking me here in bed, you little sweetheart." Jiminey snuggled 
closer. "Are you ever! Dammit' I hope nobody buys you for awhile." 

"Raise my price too high. I don't want to be sold." 

"Hmmmmm, I can for awhile, and I will." 

"Jiminey, you don't run this alone? Who else is there?" 

"Questions can get you back on the prong too, love. Leave be. There's some 
House Rules I won't break, even for a tongue like your's. Get down between 
my legs again." 

Trixie Malone had given up thinking. She was adrift on a tide she could not 
influence. Jiminey had become a goddess-omnipotent! She had pleaded for her 
hands to be untied but was strangely content that they were not. Bound 
behind her back they emphasised her oneness with the woman whose scented 
thighs hugged her cheeks and whose female flavour was heavy and potent on 
her tongue. She glimpsed a wisdom in this tying of feminine hands. With 
their wrists crossed behind their back each girl in this place would better 
understand her slavery. At the moment she could not have cared less. Her 
punishment on the prong coupled with Jiminey's magic had made her wanton. 
She sucked and probed joyously. One day she might write a story-but for 
now....!" 

It was a strange interlude, born of an innate loneliness in both, and that 
peculiar chemistry of sexual attraction by which two girls pair off from the 
herd. It had been born in punishment, the minds of each now busy with 
expedients for its perpetuation. For a space in their lives they would love 
each other. 

"You'll still be a slave girl, sweetheart." Jiminey instructed slowly after 
she had gasped her ecstacies into oblivion. Don't talk about us. Not that it 
matters, the poor darlings are too concerned about being sold to care about 
anything. Bettina maybe...! Best she doesn't know." 

"What are they asking for Bettina?" 

"Five million. It's a bit steep. I may be stuck with her for life. Not that 
that matters either, she's a good girl." Jiminey mused in silence for a 
moment. "Maybe there's competition for her. There's a crate arrived. That's 
why I had to leave you awhile back." 

"You mean, some poor girl's waiting, tied up in a crate?" 

"Sure, it happens often. We'll unpack her in the morning." Jiminey giggled. 
"You were lucky, you walked in the back door. Now go to sleep. I'm pooped, 
and if you're not you ought to be." 

"Yes, I'm tired. A sort of Mmmmmm and Oooooo ... tired. Don't you want to 
tie my feet or something so I won't be naughty?" 

"You're already tied. Go to sleep." 

Trixie Malone went to sleep. 

It is a cynical axiom that when you look at a naked person you do not see 
their face. It was so with Lynne Stacey and Trixie Malone. They had seen 
each other once, clothed and formal. When the lid was pried from her box and 
exhausted girl saw only whipmarks and bare skin whilst Trixie gasped at the 
brutality of ropes and gag as the new merchandise was lifted from the crate. 
She saw the weals, too, but weals had become commonplace. After they had 
been etched upon her skin for a day or so a girl wore them with insouciance. 
If, for either, there was a whisper of recollection it passed. 

"Damn, I should have got to her sooner. Look at those elbows!" Jiminey 
bestowed a grin of complicity upon her companion of the night, then sliced 
away the embedded strands. Trixie recognized Lynne Stacey's moan. 

The inventory of tied girls evinced only a cursory interest in this addition 
to the stock as their Mistress cut free the cords on the newcomer's wrists 
and bound them again, this time crossed as were all the rest. "Less 
discomfort and you can't get 'em loose." She explained succinctly. 

"Mmmmmm...!" Lynne shook her head unhappily. "Oh, the gag! Bet you'll be 
glad to get rid of that." Jiminey's fingers were swift. There! Feel better?" 

"Thank you. Oh yes." The words emerged distorted from a tongue and lips too 
long in bondage. Captive eyes searched the room, drinking in their owner's 
fate. "Am I-alone? I mean, the only box?" 

"Did you have a twin, dear?" 

"Nunnuh, just something someone said." The denial was cautious. 

"And they told you what you are? What happens?" 

"I'm a slave. I'll be sold." Lynne's wounded arms were twisting against 
roped wrists. "Why are we all tied like this? You don't need to tie me. I 
won't be silly." 

"House Rules, love. You stay tied." 

"Could I a bath or something? I feel awful. I bet I look-" 

The discreet buzzer cut short the request. "Sorry darlings, that's my call." 

Jiminey departed in a metaphorical cloud of dust. When she returned it was 
with a man. Trixie's heart froze. Suppose she was the one! Her tied hands 
mocked her spasm of revolt. 

"There's a nice selection, sir." Jiminey informed brightly as though selling 
frocks. "They will obey you should you wish to examine-" 

He was youngish, heavily and darkly handsome, foreign. Trixie sensed 
arrogance. She managed a polite attention when his gaze roved her nakedness 
and her weals. "Whipped for cause or pleasure?" He inquired indolently. 

"She had trouble remembering, sir." 

The answer pleased him. It was one he understood. He probed her breasts and 
pubic bush, then abruptly swivelled his attention on Lynne Stacey. "How 
much?" 

"She has just been just arrived, sir. No price has been determined." 

"Set one." Politeness was not his forte. 

"She is in need of a bath, sir. In quite unsuitable " 

"She smells as a woman should! Those grooves on her elbows?" 

"Rope weals, sir. She was too tightly bound-" 

"I like the effect." He smiled sardonically. "And her smell. She's been well 
whipped too. Does all your merchandise have poor memories?" 

"Sir, there is Bettina-with the platinum hair....?" 

"And no whip marks! She must be insipid." 

"Or Dorothy, Dorothy's sweet-" 

His eyes swept Jiminey insolently. "I might consider you. Strip naked." 

"I am not for sale, sir. I'm sorry." 

"Sorry? I doubt it. If I buy you I'll thrash you daily. Strip." 

"Sir, please...! I really am not-" 

"For sale?" He smiled at her concern. "Do not delude yourself. Everything is 
for sale." He smiled at his sally. "Even I am for sale at a price!" 

"But, sir-" 

"I am amused. I will buy one of you. Take me to the main office. Don't 
pretend there isn't one. I have just come from there." 

"Sir, I am embarrassed-" 

"You will also be flogged if you do not do as I say." 

Trixie Malone was appalled. But Jiminey saw in his demand a way out of her 
dilemma, the front office was her ally. She smiled at all present. "Of 
course, sir. This way please." 

It was a relief from boredom. Comment varied. 

"Gosh, what a lark! I bet they sell her." 

"They won't, y'know. Jiminey's a treasure." 

"Wouldn't mind seeing her get whipped though. Think they'll let us watch?" 

"You're a lot of ungrateful twisters." Bettina declared angrily. If we've 
got to be prisoners we'll never get a better jailer." 

To Lynne Stacey it was delerium. Most of the night bound immovably in a 
wooden box, and now this! She hurt and ached. Her wealed elbows came close 
to being actual wounds. Her tied wrists were an aggravation behind her back. 
The ropes hurt, and she needed her hands. She had a compelling feminine need 
to arrange her hair and seek a bath. She did not share the brusk client's 
approval of her scent. She looked appealingly at the nearest girl: "Is it 
always like this?" 

"I don't know. I haven't been here long." Trixie omitted to sat where she 
had spent most of her time. "All I've discovered is it's best to do what 
we're told. But with all those whip marks you must have found that out 
already." 

"You're in luck, kid. I'm a working girl for an hour or two. Come along." It 
was Bettina, deprecatingly helpful. "See my lovely chain." She kicked a foot 
to set the links to clinking. "That's so I won't get big ideas when I get my 
hands back." 

"Bettina's a slave too, but she sort of looks after us." Trixie giggled. 
"They want so much money for her she's become a permanent resident." 

"I was flattered at first." Bettina admitted wryly. "Now I wish someone 
would buy me. But not that bastard who's with Jiminey now. Did you catch the 
way he looks at us-wow!" 

Lynne expanded to the sympathy, the hot water and the busy feminine fingers. 
It was a strange sensation to be lathered by another girl, to have the wise 
wet hand massage her pubic hair and between her thighs. "Why don't you untie 
me?" She suggested practically. "I could save you all this work." 

"It's forbidden, love. We'd both get whipped." 

"But I'd let you tie me again! Honest I would." 

"Yeah, I think you would, dear. You're sorta' sweet. But Mama knows best. 
Enjoy the maid service and be thankful." The soaped hand again became busy 
upon the Venus mound. "Like that, sweetheart?" 

"Yes, it's gorgeous. But please, not here!" 

"It's our only recreation, love. We've given up trying to hide it." Bettina 
giggled. "It's the one nice thing we can do without hands. Trouble is, most 
of the girls don't stay long enough for us to pair off." 

"And the girl you call Jiminey?" 

"She turns a blind eye. She thinks it keeps us docile-along with our hands 
being tied behind our backs. But she's given us a warning: If a Moslem buys 
us lay off. They don't approve." 

"Jiminey's a sort of wardress, isn't she? I don't understand this man 
wanting to buy her?" 

"It's happened before, sweets." Bettina's hands were agile. "Look, I'm going 
to do your hair like this ... You're really quite a package! And I'm dousing 
you everywhere with Chantilly. If that asshole reacts to woman sweat it 
should turn him off." 

"Oh wow!" Lynne Stacey sniffed doubtfully. "You sure? I smell like a red 
light girl. I'd think that was right down his alley." 

"Trust me, dear. If he moves your way I'll make a diversion." Bettina 
laughed bitterly. "Men are absurd. I suppose, basically, they buy us for our 
cunts. But Jiminey can promote a sale by marking us in some vivid and 
painful way. Or tying us so's we're in pain when he does his shopping. Or 
gagging us in some odd manner. It's simple merchandising: same as they do in 
the big stores." 

"But the girl in charge? Jiminey....?" 

"It's the lure of the boss-girl, the unattainable. If they'd just pop me in 
a cage with a sign "Not for sale" they'd all want to purchase me right now." 

"Bettina, I'm frightened, you seem so cheerful-" 

"Girls adjust to anything. You will too. Except for having our hands tied 
we're not badly treated. Jiminey whips us only enough to keep us from 
getting ideas, and to keep us polite to the clients. That's the biggest 
hazard: to stay smiling at the rotten twits while they feel us up or ask 
damfool questions like 'have we ever been fucked' or if we 'enjoy being 
whipped'." ' 

"Bettina, you said something ugly about them 'buying our cunts' ... Is that 
really all....?" 

"Don't agonize about that one, sweetheart. In polite society men marry a 
cunt and spend the rest of their life paying for it. In a way, this is more 
honest." 

"And that chain on your ankles! Can't you really get it off? I mean, when 
your hands are untied, like now?" 

"Hell no! They took me back into the warehouse where they've got tools and 
riveted the bands round my ankles. There's not a key or anything-no way! It 
would take hammers and chisels and things to get 'em off." She shrugged 
resignedly. "I've become quite good at walking with chained feet, even if 
the chain isn't very long. It's part of the policy of keeping us in line." 

They returned to the huge lounge that Bettina laughingly referred to as "The 
Slave Pen" in time to share the general consternation. The client had 
returned. With him, the immaculately attired faintly elderly figure from the 
front office some of them knew as Robert Fonteyn. He was definitely a 
'Mister', an aristocrat who displayed an air of polite impatience at being 
diverted from more important matters. With them was Jeminey, a naked Jeminey 
with bound hands and cinched elbows, her lips unkindly gagged. She appeared 
dazed and in shock, bitterly ashamed and unwilling to meet curious eyes. 

Lynne stood, one of a group yet feeling wantonly exposed. To stand bound and 
naked before the spit and polish of Fonteyn was like standing naked in the 
Bank of England or St. Paul's Cathedral. Her hands tugged constantly at 
their bond. She longed to possess them. When the finger pointed at her and 
the blatant voice declaimed: "That one too." she longed to die. There would 
be no way Bettina could rescue her from this. 

"You wish to, er, secure the young lady yourself, Mr. Mossadag?" 

The client's grunt implied confidence in the efficacy of his own methods. He 
beckoned, leeringly aware of her dismay. Cringing, she stepped forward 
beside the already packaged Jiminey, turning to present him with her bare 
arms. 

Fonteyn looked pained. No doubt, for him, this binding of girls was a matter 
for subordinates, not principals. He pointedly refrained from watching 
Mossadag's competence, and turned his attention to the girl with fettered 
ankles. "Ah, Miss Bettina, isn't it. I have been given good 
reports....Perhaps you would be kind enough to take over during a brief, er, 
interim? I believe you are familiar....?" 

"Yes, sir...." The platinum loveliness looked at Jiminey in comiserating 
dismay, at Mossadag with a flinch, and at Mr. Robert Fonteyn in bafflement 
"But, sir, you do understand? I'm a prisoner, like the rest?" 

"Quite so." Mr. Fonteyn sparingly relinquished a faint smile. "Let us say 
you are a valued prisoner. 'Trusty' is I think the term." 

"You mean I'm to look after the girls and and punish them if needed?" 

"Quite so. Your services will be assessed and valued." Again the flicker of 
a smile. "Egress from this apartment is not possible. The doors, as you 
know, open only inward. You will not be tempted. You must, of course, keep 
the young ladies securely tied." 

"Yes, sir. And these...?" Bettina hopefully extended a shackled foot. 

"They will not inhibit your duties, m'dear. Wear them." 

Lynne listened in amazement. The place was unreal. Yet she had no wish to 
leave it. Bettina would have been a sympathetic mistress: far more to be 
desired than the Master who was so busily and painfully tying her wrists and 
elbows. Once more she would not struggle, it would be too painful. When the 
gag was thrust before her eyes she obediently opened her mouth. Except for 
the pain the gag would not matter. She had nothing to say. 

When Jiminey's ankles were bound and she was lifted into the slender crate 
in which she herself had arrived it seemed no more than normal, how else 
could you so handily transport bound and naked young ladies through the 
cities of the world! It was not until her own ankles were tightly roped and 
she too was lifted into a second box provided by a cheerfully leering 
warehouseman that the tears rose to Lynne's eyes. When the lid was nailed 
down she let them flow. This would be a final good-bye to everything she had 
ever known. Helpless within the bands of rope, mute with distended mouth and 
buckled cheeks, the daughter of Hammond Stacey was carried into slavery. 

"It's all very ordinary." Enderby reflected. "Suppose it has to be. A 
perfect cover. The Robert Fonteyn facade on the other street lifts it into 
the ultra respectable." 

"Don't see why I can't raid it." Hammond Stacey suggested. "Clean the damn 
place out." 

"There's a considerable staff, all armed. Forget it." 

'Gina gazed from their parked car across the road at the fortress she was to 
storm. It was not frightening. The fear would start inside. "How long before 
Lynne and I walk out of there?" She asked. 

"Don't sound so doubtful, m'dear. Sometime before midnight, I'd make a 
guess. You'll have to trust this Jiminey girl. Obey her implicitly. She'll 
put you on the street, clothed and with money. Here's the envelope to give 
her. The only way you can blow this operation is to lose it." 

"I don't see why you can't just phone her?" 

"Because I can't hand her a thousand quid over the phone." Enderby said 
irritably. "And she wouldn't trust a call, it could be a test, a trap. Their 
organization is on the ball. It's you going in there that makes it kosher 
for her." 

Lady Conant put the envelope in her bag. She felt silly and portentious. 
Hammond Stacey's quiet regard was her only comfort. "Do I say good-bye or 
'be seeing you' or something?" Her voice was uncertain. 

Hammond Stacey squeezed and kissed her hand. "Say nothing." he said gruffly. 

"That's right." Enderby beamed. "Just trot your lovely self across the 
street and up those steps-and stop worrying, it's a cinch!" 

Lady Regina Conant crossed the street and mounted the steps. She did not 
look back. 

The enquiry and the door was as Enderby had said, so was the sad little 
room, so were the doors she could not now open. 'Gina supposed the girl was 
the same too. Brightly she followed her cue. "Hello, Jiminey. I'm Regina 
Conant. I'm supposed to give you this." 

"Oh, hello." 

The greeting sounded as off key as her own. The girl was a beauty. She 
accepted the envelope, examined it briefly, and put it away. "Arn't you 
going to read it?" 'Gina asked hopefully. 

"Not here. You won't mind, will you?" 

"No, I suppose not." 

"You do mind. I can tell. Just trust me, will you?" 

The girl was nice. 'Gina's heart warmed, her pulse slowed. She was attuned 
to what the girl now said. It was the first glimpse of the bizarre Enderby 
had promised. 

"I have to tie your hands, please." 

"Why?" 

"They all ask that. It's just because ... It's company policy, a formality." 

"Oh, alright." 'Gina proffered her hands, feeling folish. 

"Behind your back, please." The girl laughed chidingly. "You can easily free 
yourself with them in front." 

'Gina shrugged. It had been worth a try. She turned and crossed her wrists 
and felt them tied together with care and precision. She would not get 
loose. 

"Thank you." The girl sounded relieved. "You can turn round now." 

It was then 'Gina saw the shackles. "You Your feet-!" 

"Eh? Oh, my chain!" Bettina extended her foot in a familiar gesture. "Like 
it?" 

"It's lovely, but " 

"Yes, I know. I didn't ought to be chained, not when I'm in charge. But 
don't worry, I'm actually quite fond of it. I've been wearing it long 
enough. I can walk without noticing." 

'Gina shrank from the question, but the chain made it inevitable. "There's 
something odd Is your name really Jiminey?" 

"No. I never said it was." The lovely face mirrored 'Gina's concern. "Why? 
What docs it matter?" 

"But if you're not Jiminey you must give me that letter back." 'Gina fought 
to keep the panic from her voice. 

Bettina slid the envelope into her captive's bag. "There! Your stuff's all 
together. You won't get it back. You won't need to." 

"The letter! You must give it back." 

"But, darling, suppose I offered it?" 

"Oh damn! Of course! Look, you absolutely have to untie my hands." 

"I'm not going to." 

"And let me back out of that door." 

"I'm not going to do that either. If you look at it you'll see there's no 
handle this side nothing! It won't open for us. I'm as much a prisoner as 
you." 

'Gina fought panic. "This Jiminey girl? Where?" 

"She's been sold. We all get sold here, y'know, sooner or later. Eventually 
someone will like my hair and buy me." 

"But you're working for-Them!" 

"Sure. It's better than getting myself whipped. And I won't be any more 
unkind to you than Jiminey would have been. Jiminey was a dear ... I say, 
you're not going to be silly and fight?" 

"How can I, with my hands tied like this! Oh damn!" 

Bettina's hand was gentle on a captive shoulder. "You see how wise they are! 
If your hands weren't tied we'd now be in a free for all fight." 

"Oh, damn that! Look, P-L-E-A-S-E let me go! It's vital. There's more to 
this than you know " 

"Hold on, darling." Bettina clasped the prisoned shoulders and shook them 
admonishingly. "When you walked through that door your whole life changed, 
and there's no going back not ever!" 

"But I've got to! I must!" 

"We all have to. Out there is our life. But it's gone." She shook again. "I 
have to warn you, you're now subject to punishment. If you get too pushey 
about anything you'll be whipped, and worse. You've become merchandise, part 
of the inventory." 

"I'll pay anything. How big a bribe will interest you?" 

Bettina's laugh was genuine. "You poor dear! You don't get it yet. A million 
pounds would be good to me-or you. What would I do with it! I'm a slave." 

'Gina slumped, smelling defeat. Somewhere Enderby would be laughing! Or 
would he! It was possible he had not known. Glumly, she asked: "What will 
you do with me?" 

"Not much, sweetheart. Just act as escort. You don't join us in the main 
apartment. You go straight to the top. I sort of got the impression you've 
been sold." 

"What!" 

"It does happen, darling. Sometimes a girl only lasts a few minutes before 
she gets paid for and packed in a box." 

"But who'd want me? Who'd know?" 

"I'm only a slavegirl, dearl" Bettina looked in sympathy at the troubled 
face. "But you're something special, arn't you! I mean, on the outside 
you're not an ordinary pretty girl?" 

"Do I get to keep my title when I'm a slave?" 

"You're a slave now, love. But, come on, let's go and find out." Bettina 
giggled. "Take it easy. I don't walk too fast." 

Lady Regina Conant walked slowly into servitude. 

It was a pleasant office, redolent of wealth. Two men. "Here she is, sir, I 
do hope-?" 

"You have done well, Bettina my dear. It will be remembered." 

"Her bag, sir. I thought perhaps-?" 

"How thoughtful. Yes, of course! You may run along." 

It was a bad dream and in poor taste. 'Gina shared a sisterly glance with 
her guide before the self confessed slavegirl disappeared. Then faced the 
inevitable and shame! 

"Why, Mr. Arumin, what a surprise!" 

He was forty, sleek, perhaps Lebanese. As symbolic of money as the room. He 
had risen at her entry and would have kissed her hand if she had possessed 
one to offer. "Dear Lady Conant, how long it has been! The Consulate at 
Casablanca for cocktails, was it not." His English was florid. 

With her arms tied behind her back it is not easy for a woman to carry off a 
situation with flair. 'Gina tried. "And what brings you to London, Mr. 
Arumin?" 

"You." 

It was a frontal assault against which a tied girl had no defense. The 
second man bridged a gap. "How nice for you to have an old acquaintance. I 
am Robert Fonteyn, your host." 

"You mean you're the man who's had me kidnapped?" 

Fonteyn dismissed the charge with a wave of the hand. "Please do not speak 
of kidnapping. You have been-sequestered. And for an excellent purpose." 

"Me." Said Mr. Arumin blissfully. 

The older man looked pained at the blatancy. "Mr. Arumin does you the honour 
of wishing to purchase you, Lady Conant." 

Once again the captive was forced to recognize purpose in her bound hands. 
Had they been free she might have done something indiscreet. Instead, she 
said it: "Mr. Arumin is completely dishonest, a sort of respectable bandid. 
He flits around the world like a bird of prey." 

"You are too kind." Said Mr. Arumin. 

"I would advise you to watch both your tongue and your deportment, young 
woman." Fonteyn warned severely. "In the past hour your status in society 
has changed drastically." 

"Please allow me to be ransomed, Mr. Fonteyn." 

"Mr. Arumin has arranged your ransome, dear Lady Conant. You are most 
fortunate." 

"You mean he will release me to freedom?" 

"A quite new kind of freedom for you, Lady Conant." Arumin said heavily. 
"Mine." 

"I remember now. My husband offended you. Probably I did also." 

"Indeed yes." Agreed Mr. Arubin cordially. Your husband called me a 'wog' 
and you spoke of me as 'an insufferable boor'." 

"I am sure it was not the first time you had heard those terms." 

"Alas no. But this is the first time I have been able to purchase a titled 
lady who uttered them." 

She looked from one to the other of them in bewilderment. "But this all 
happened years ago-!" 

"I am an elephant." Said. Mr. Arumin." 

They were playing with her: cat and mouse. Arumin was enjoying it, even if 
Fonteyn was not. Arumin was not the simple soul he often aped. If he was 
bent on some sort of revenge she was in peril. She had heard stories: he was 
merciless. "What do you intend to do with me?" She made the question cover 
both men. It was Arumin alone who answered. 

"Thrash you daily. Or have you thrashed, if I am busy." 

The honest statement of cruelty hung heavy over the trio until Fonteyn 
dispeled it with inanity. "I would counsel implicit obedience to Mr. 
Arumin's wishes, Lady Conant." He counseled with hypocritical concern. 

"I will enjoy your screams." Said Mr. Arumin with deep sincerity. 

'Gina knew herself lost but tried again. "Mr. Fonteyn, will you allow this 
to happen? You are an Englishman! Surely you won't condemn me to torture!" 

"By 'lesser breeds beyond the law' " Quoted her new owner. 

"You are dealing in hyperbole, Lady Conant." Fonteyn's voice had become 
distant, remote. "I am sure Mr. Arumin will provide you with a good home, as 
do indeed all our clients with all our girls." 

"Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage " Kaliel Arubin was 
scoring heavily with his English quotes. He added heavily: "There is, of 
course, the matter of fetters...!" 

"Quite so!" Fonteyn had the decency to feel embarrassed. "What passes 
between our clients and their purchases is strictly between themselves. We 
would never intrude- 

"It is I who intrude." Arumin assured his host. "I must take Lady Conant 
home." 

The familiar words, now so false, brought tears to her eyes. 'Gina fought 
them back as she was led downstairs. She was half way across the sidewalk to 
the waiting Rolls before she realized the incongruity ... But the hand on 
her arm was of iron as she was thrust into the back seat. 

"Believe me, Lady Conant, in England a Rolls is above suspicion. Anything 
that takes place within is hallowed. If you scream it will be assumed you 
are a diva preparing for Covent Garden." 

It was infuriatingly true. Huddled in her corner, 'Gina's bound arms were 
not visible. Under her captor's eye she dared make no move. The ultimate 
symbol of respectability purred its expensive way through traffic and past 
intersections. The girl in the back seat could have been naked and blaring a 
horn, no one would have noticed. For 'Gina it was a final defeat, more 
chilling than if she had been bound immovably and gagged. "You see." Smiled 
Mr. Arumin, "You have joined the privileged classes. You are a lucky girl." 

The house in Belgrave Square was as massively correct as the Rolls Royce. 
The drawing room to which 'Gina was escorted was pleasantly and informally 
English. She suspected Arumin had bought the place furnished. A maid 
fluttered, dusky skinned, doe eyed, unobtrusive. 

"A Scotch and soda for me, my dear-and attend to Lady Conant's hands." 
Kaliel Arumin was expansively at home. 

The girl was silently efficient. Having obeyed both commands she departed, 
closing the door, and leaving the newly purchased woman gratefully massaging 
chafed wrists. 

"Thank you. I hadn't expected " 

"Of course not. Get yourself a drink." 

"Thanks, I'd rather not." 

"Get one!" 

The iron hand! It would be there somewhere. In this room Arumin was a 
different man. She sensed a change. 'Gina shrugged and went to the bar. Why 
not! It was her first act of subservience. 

"Please sit down and sip with me, Lady Conant. By the way, I am Harrow and 
Oxford, in case it matters." 

He was different! His voice had changed. The smooth wog had gone. This man 
was clean cut and crisp. She gulped her drink, suddenly thankful he had made 
her take it. 

"You understand the basics of why you are here?" 

"My husband and I offended you. Now you are going to hurt me." 

"Hmmmm, true! But only in part." Arumin'seyes were keen, studying her with 
enjoyment. "I wonder if you can realise the acute deliciousness of this 
situation. The wife of a scion of the British nobility, slave to a wog." 

"Must you keep using that word?" 

"Your husband's choice, not mine." 

"Very well, I apologise." 

"You did not apologise then." 

"So I'm frightened and prepared to be humble!" 

"Ah!" It was the exclamation of a man making progress. "You are a sensible 
woman. By the way, would you care to run screaming from the room? I will not 
stop you." 

"And be dragged back by a couple of bruisers! No thanks." 

"It is desirable to get the escape compulsion dealt with." 

'Gina sipped heavily, embarrassed. "Thanks, I'm sure you're right. If it 
wasn't for that tying of my hands this would be totally unreal. That Lady 
Regina Conant can-vanish! Her life cancelled out to-slavery! I am in a 
London house, a posh address. Outside everyone is free. But I am not. I'm a 
slave." She looked at Arumin intently. 

"Is that really what I am, the word you want me to use?" 

"Yes." 

"I mean, I'm not just a female receptacle for your sperm, a whore? You're 
not making me your Mistress-?" 

"No." 

"I'm here to appease your revenge and furbish your ego?" 

"Yes." 

His monosyllables left her little to say. She voiced the fear by which she 
trembled. "These punishments you are going to make me suffer? I have no idea 
how I'll cope." 

"It does not matter. Bound, you are without volition. The punishments will 
happen to you as an inevitability." 

"May I have another drink and your's?" 

"Yes. But first, strip naked." 

Lady Conant fought for control. This was the first of the tigers ... waiting 
for her everywhere, ready to pounce. Arumin would unleash them as he 
pleased. "Forgive a silly question." She said tremulously. "But what if I 
refuse?" 

"I press this button. Two men will come and strip you by force." 

"Thanks. It helps to know. Must I do it here in front of you?" 

"Yes." 

'Gina found herself oddly grateful to Enderby. Without his cruel exposure of 
her nakedness and the pain he had imposed on it she would have found what 
she must now do nearly impossible. Quietly and without complaint she removed 
her clothes. By some deep feminine wisdom she made the shameful motions 
before Arumin's eyes as gracefully erotic as she could contrive. Bare, she 
posed for him, hands clasped behind her neck in what she knew to be pure 
provocation. "I hope you feel you got your money's worth." 

"Your body would be a bargain at any price." 

"And my mind?" 

"Give me time and I will possess that too. Fill our glasses." 

She knew he studied her as she walked, her hips were truant. On the return 
journey it was her triangular bush. She felt scorched and tingling. 

He digested her whip marks. "Enderby?" 

"Yes." 

"A widow's lot is not an easy one, Lady Conant." 

"He whipped me purely for pleasure." 

"As I will too! Move your chair to face me squarely, then sit with one knee 
over an arm and manipulate yourself until you climax." 

"No! That's ugly-" She was bereft. "It's not what you-" 

"You prefer to be whipped?" 

"Yes." She said it sulkily. 

"In that case I must insist. Think of the caption: 'Lady Regina Conant of 
Conant Castle, Warwickshire, plays with her clitoris for the edification of 
a distinguished visitor.' " 

"I prefer to be whipped. Will it be done to me here, or is there a Place?" 

Arumin laughed, delighted. "Magnificent! In the noble tradition! You would 
not prefer to be whipped in the manner in which I will whip you." 

"You deliberately ask something I cannot do." 

"Of course! But you can do it. Stop being Lady Conant and give us both 
pleasure." 

'Gina gulped her drink. It was her only ally. "I have never performed such 
an act never!" 

"Even in the privacy of your bed?" 

She blushed. "That's quite different." 

"I will make the decision easy. Do it or spend the night suspended by your 
wrists." 

Even the thought was agony. 'Gina gulped again. 

"How how did you know....?" 

"That you are already experienced? I do know. Never mind how. Today is still 
young. You would hang alone for a great many hours on through the night. 
Your wrists would not be grateful....?" 

Lady Conant cocked her leg over the arm of the chair. Her fingers furrowed 
shining fronds, one of them entered a familiar sheath. She was surprised it 
was not dry. 

When her shame had run its course the room seemed inevitable. 'Gina 
suspected there would always be "A Room' or rooms. This one contained a low 
pedestal and a chair. She understood their function instantly. "I will tie 
you down only enough for a graceful extrusion." Arumin explained affably. "I 
wish this to be a chattily informal caning of your noble bottom. I don't 
want you red faced and bent double." 

Lady Conant positioned herself to aid him in the strapping of her ankles to 
each side of the vertical. When he had tied her hands she bent forward 
across the padded bar to facilitate their roping down to the ring. Arumin 
took some care in their tethering, forcing her to bend as he had promised. 
The pose was samefully childish. She felt like a little girl in a Victorian 
schoolroom. 

Kaliel Arumin lolled in the chair, toying with the willowy length of riding 
crop. "Better than a cane." He had interpreted her dubious expression. "Far 
more limber. Leaves a nice line." 

"Is this my life now?" 'Gina asked dully. "Punishments?" 

He ignored the question. "I am intrigued by captions." He confessed. "In 
every situation you create a picture to evoke Victorian cliches. I see them 
now. Tell me your favourite: "Naughty girl", or how about: "Delinquent 
damsel"? I rather like: "Waiting for the cane." Or perhaps: "A blushing 
bottom". And, of course, there's "Bared for a birching." 

"Why not write a book! I'm sure it would have a limited sale." 

"I'd have thought you too vulnerable for sarcasms." 

"Sorry, it slipped out. I'm sure you'll cure me." She turned to look at him, 
as her posture allowed. "Are you really going to beat me into total 
submission, so I'll crawl and beg? I know you can. I've no illusions about 
being heroic." 

Instead of answering, Arumin rose with feline grace and cut the slim half of 
the crop across her bent cheeks. By the time 'Gina had ceased to heave and 
tug at her bound hands he had resumed his seat. 

"Do I have to count-or anything?" The bent nudity asked pitifully, still 
gasping. 

"I would believe that must have hurt grieviously?" 

"Yes it did! I wish I could understand " 

"Why men are impelled to do this to girls?" Arumin grunted sardonically. "It 
is both a prelude and extension of the sexual ravishment. Simple, really." 

"But the act of love-!" 

"Nordics equate lust with love. They are in error. The two hungers are 
worlds apart." 

'Gina did not argue. Her breasts were still heaving from the pain. Her 
Master was watching them with pleasure. The leather pad thrust hard against 
her loins-if she writhed enough-! 

"I could whip you into orgasm." He said, reading her thoughts. 

"Please...." Her voice was trembling. "Isn't there something I can do or 
say-and be forgiven?" 

Arumin moved so swiftly she had no time to prepare. This time the crop cut 
into her lower down into the crease. She cried out against the horror of its 
pain, and fought furiously so that the pedestal creaked. 

"Beautiful, Lady Conant! Sublime!" 

After a long time 'Gina gasped and blinked her way back to face her 
executioner. "I'm not a bit heroic." She panted. "If you keep hitting me 
with that awful thing I'll just become a noisey messy something strapped to 
a post. Is that what you want?" 

"You could never be that." 

"I will be that. Already after only two " 

"You offer an alternative?" 

"I will give myself to you-in any of the ways....!" He nodded thoughtfully. 
"From Lady Conant the offer is generous and revealing." 

"Please take it." 

"But I have it already. I can use you as I wish. I can have you staked out 
and ravish you for days on end." 

The third stroke cut her protest as it cut her flesh. The pain of it 
destroyed thought, confounded reason. Lady Conant delivered herself to 
uninhibited acknowledgement. If he had to be a beast he could listen to her 
scream. Damn him! Damn Enderby! Longingly and in tears she thought of 
Hammond Stacey. How heavenly to be with a man who did not want to whip her. 
For her in the past few days normalcy had become almost aberrant. 

"But there must be something, some way-?" She moaned her plea, uncaring. 

"You could offer to make your body available to my male staff." He was back 
in his chair, his eyes avid on her struggles, amused. "They are numerous and 
virile. You would have a busy day." 

"You could stake me out for them too." 

"It would not be the same. There is a delicious subtlety in your making 
yourself subject. They might wish to tie you in various ways to add to their 
enjoyment." 

"Would they whip me?" 

"No. They would be grateful enough for the use of your loins. You would 
inform them of your social status. Absurd as it may be, your title adds to 
the allure of your cunt." 

The conversation was outrageous, preposterous, insane. Lady Conant, strapped 
to a whipping device, bartering her body with a Lebanese financier of 
dubious integrity. "If it will earn me my freedom I will do it." She said 
simply. 

'Gina heard his indrawn breath and knew herself on dangerous ground. "Am I 
that repugnant to you, Lady Conant-to make such a sacrifice?" 

"It isn't you! You haven't even got around to ravishing me yet. It's the 
whip. I don't think you men understand how terribly it hurts. No girl can 
stand being whipped every day--on and on....! Not even a masochist! It 
reduces life to something that doesn't matter. You've hit me only three 
times like this, and already I've almost torn my wrists apart struggling. 
It's involuntary, I can't help it." 

"Damned interesting, Lady Conant. Now, supposing you deliver your person to 
my men, how do you know I will release you afterwards?" 

"I don't know. I simply believe you would. That's instinctive too." 

"Hmmmmm, remarkable! And flattering. But they will not get you. It would 
constitute a sale by which you purchase freedom, and you are not for sale." 

"Please...! Oh please...?" 

"Lady Conant pleading to be raped and sodomised by a dozen men! I am 
priveleged to be a witness " 

Arumin cut his captive's bent bottom with savage accuracy to etch the fourth 
of his weals overlaying Enderby's inflictions. Once again the pedestal 
creaked and groaned its protest at the heavings of the naked girl it held. 
'Gina's scream filled the room with pain. 

"Could I offer you a drink, Lady Conant?" The Master was politely solicitous 
of his slave. 

"I can get you all the money you want to set me free. I know I can!" 'Gina 
panted. But she did not mention Hammond Stacey. "Please, please take money?" 

"You do indeed dislike the crop! Am I more skilled in pain than Enderby?" 

"Yes, oh yes! I'm sorry I'm not heroic, I can't be much sport for you, 
behaving like this." 

"You are exquisite." 

"May I have a drink? I'm sorry " 

He went away, amused by her perturbation and her predicament. 'Gina remained 
bent over the crosspiece and the pad. She could look down at her bound hands 
but could not reach them with her teeth, they were pulled almost to the 
floor, mocking her, telling her of impotence. The fresh wounds across her 
bottom mocked her too. She longed to massage and to feel but the wish was 
denied. Everything was denied. She was a prisoner, presumably for life. She 
tried to adjust her mind to the premise but failed. She thought of Stacey 
and Lynne and of Conant. All were gone! In the manner of her disappearance 
there would be no trace. 

"Have you experienced punishment before the Enderby affair, Lady Conant?" 

'Gina drank thirstily from the glass held to her lips. For the first time in 
her life she was willing to become tipsy. Hastily, she replied. "No never!" 

"But you had a lesbian relationship with Miss Stacey...?" 

"Must we speak of it?" 

"Yes, since I find it interesting." Arumin struck her again with cunning 
cruelty. "That last remark held a touch of disdain. It invited the stroke 
you have just received." 

Lady Conant panted her way back to speech. "Yes, Lynne and I love each 
other. We lived together." 

"And you constrain and punish her in various pleasantly feminine ways?" 

How could he know! The servants? More probably Enderby! Woodenly, she made 
her admission. "Yes. It was part of our love play." 

"I would like to buy Miss Stacey. I would enjoy you as a pair. I would fit 
you with chastity belts-damned provoking, I'd suppose." 

"The people who sold me to you will know where she is." 

"I already know her owner. I asked. To whip the daughter of Hammond Stacey 
along with Lady Regina Conant....!" Arumin sighed happily. "What more could 
man desire! I will see what can be done." 

"How many more strokes are you going to give me?" 

"We have all day." His tone was pleasantly casual. "Did I mention that when 
I have you suitably trained and humble I intend to marry you?" 

The pedestal strained and creaked against the blow. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN. THE GRANITE PHALLUS. 

Esther Diomedes descended upon thirty-four Prebendary Place like an avenging 
fury. Robert Fonteyn's defenses crumbled before her anger, the Diomedes 
name, the look in her eye. "My dear madam," He expostulated, "I have no 
association with Mr. Stacey, I have never met the man." 

"You had his daughter and you sold her....! Of all the idiotic...!" The 
Diomedes eye was withering. "Didn't you realise?" 

"I did not know the young woman." Fonteyn was stiff with dignity. "She was 
sent to us in the, er, prescribed manner, and immediately found favour with 
a client." 

"I want her back." 

"Quite impossible, I'm afraid." 

"Nothing's impossible." She eyed him as a cobra eyes its prey. "You know who 
I am, don't you?" 

"Indeed yes! I am hon ' ". 

"Honoured my ass! Who bought her?" 

Fonteyn scribbled a name and adress. Mrs. Diomedes eyed the slip with 
disfavour before putting it in her bag. "Huh, that idiot! I know him." Again 
she brought all guns to bear. "And you've purloined a fool of a girl I sent 
here: name's Trixie Malone. I'll be taking her with me." 

"Madam, I really cannot tolerate-!" 

Esther Diomedes casually spoke two names and several statistics. Her eye was 
firm. Fonteyn made a gesture of defeat but his voice betrayed cold distaste. 
"I do not make the acquaintance of these young women. However, if you will 
come this way...?" 

It was scarcely a meeting of old friends. Trixie's indignation overrode a 
greeting. "Look what you got me into! Make this old turkey have me untied." 

"I suggest a thrashing." Said the old turkey with his first show of spirit. 

"Later...." Esther Diomedes had the abstracted air of a woman doing swift 
calculations. "And Samson Mossadag bought another girl along with the Stacey 
wench?" 

"That was cruel!" Trixie burst out. "Jiminey was sweet, and you go and do 
that-!" 

"Ah!" Mrs. Diomedes fixed the vehement girl with a speculative eye. "Licked 
clits, eh! I recognize-" 

"Madam, I really must protest!" Fonteyn would fight his rear-guard battle to 
the end. 

"I'll take her as she is. Don't untie the little spitfire: may save a bit of 
bother these damn girls....! Throw a blanket over her, or something to get 
her in the car." Mrs. Diomedes chuckled as though having glimpsed a light in 
darkness. "Don't bother to dress her, she may not need clothes." 

Trixie Malone seethed with injustice. No one was honest, they were all a lot 
of twisters who appeared to regard her as a legitimate kidnap. But she 
followed her Nemisis to the car with moderate optimism. The great Outside 
must surely be better than Mr. Robert Fonteyn's slave quarters. The rug got 
her nudity to the Mercedes without any visibly raised eyebrows. Settled in 
the back seat she raised a question dear to her heart. "You can untie my 
hands now." 

"I'm not going to." Said Esther Diomedes comfortably. 

"But why? Arn't we sort of working together-! They never untie a girl in 
that damn place. Wait until I get to a typewriter!" 

"This Jiminey girl...? She any better looking than you? And Lynne Stacey? 
How'd you rate her?" 

"All three of us are the sort men want to screw. Look, about my hands" 

"They stay tied." 

"But I don't understand-?" 

"You will." 

Understanding dawned slowly. Sampson Mossadag lived in an outlying suburb in 
a sizable house with a sizable garden. It even sported a short driveway to 
the door. A bland yellowish factotum assured them Mr. Mossadag was 'Not at 
home'. 

"He is to me." Said Mrs. Diomedes grimly, and presented her card. 

"My apologies for the delay." Said Sampson Mossadag in his reception room. 
"My servant did not know." 

He was different. Less arrogant than in his purchase of slaves, more assured 
in the authority of his own domain. He wore a white robe which made him 
mystically foreign. Mrs. Diomedes was unimpressed. "Shove this girl out in 
the hall, eh! I've got something to say." 

Trixie waited in her rug and her bonds. There did not seem much else to do. 
She heard the drone of the Diomedes voice ... When the two emerged, she 
meekly followed the beckoning finger. 

The room was Gothic. Stone. Windowless. Its dimensions lost in gloom. The 
only illumination came from candles around the base of a low altar. On the 
altar itself there rose a granite symbol at which Trixie felt no inclination 
to laugh. It was of an exquisitely carved and wonderfully polished phallus. 
It was but three feet high, yet it dominated all that was visible. 

The two girls were naked, their wrists were crossed and bound behind their 
backs: probably the same bindings they had worn at time of purchase. They 
knelt reverently, one on each side and facing the altar. Their heads were 
bowed in submission with hair nestling on bare shoulders or falling beside a 
maiden cheek. On second glance, Trixie discerned the metal clamps in knee 
hollows and around ankles. Steel bonds unobtrusive in the flesh but 
compelling the seperated thighs and the humble pose. The girls could kneel 
erect or sit back on their heels, as they were now doing. But they were 
prisoners. They would be able to move but little in their supplicating 
homage to the granite god. 

It was a scene of a strange and terrible beauty. The two girls did not move, 
but knelt with the candlelight yellow and gold upon their skins, their 
breasts both illuminated and in shadow as they breathed. It was by their 
breathing they acknowledged a presence, not by words. 

"They pay their dues." Said Mr. Mossadag proudly. "Are they not beautiful!" 

Unsure of her social status, Trixie kept quiet. Esther Diomedes snorted, 
unawed and unabashed. "Mumbo Jumbo!" She dismissed the erotically lovely 
tableau with the wave of an impatient hand. "No time to waste, Massadag. 
Play your little games but I've got work to do. Let's get on with it." 

It was easily done. For Trixie Malone it was frighteningly easy. The master 
of the house pressed a button, the clamps deep in Lynne Stacey's limbs, 
popped up in release to leave her free. But her knees were too stiff and 
hurt to respond. She had no hands, they were still tied behind her back. An 
unkind grasp pulled her to her feet. As she passed she gave Trixie a shocked 
comiserating smile. It took no longer to relieve the new girl of her rug and 
force her to her knees to renew the picture. The clamps bit at the back of 
Trixie's knees and ankles. They were pressed home hard to make her 
irrevocably captive. "You turned out of some use after all, young woman." 
Said Mrs. Diomedes in farewell. "Don't suppose I'll be seeing you again." 
The ill assorted trio shuffled from the room. Bolts slid forcibly on the 
other side of the door. 

Trixie and Jiminey were alone. 

It was awesome, it was eerie. Trixie's knees hurt, her bound hands mocked. 
The shadows beyond the candles held a hundred eyes. She tried to shift 
position but could not. 

"We're supposed to keep silent." Jiminey whispered. "Oh, darling, you look 
so good. I've wanted you " 

"Jiminey," Trixie's voice was urgent. "This is all crazy-!" 

"You telling me! Mossadag is nuts. I think he's got other girls ... some 
sort of fool religion. Gosh, what I'd like to do to that old bastard, 
Fonteyn! Selling me! Into this!" 

"Jiminey, our legs...?" 

"You mean our twats twinkling in the candlelight? Yeah, I know. I can't 
figure it. There's some heavy sex hovering around for us somewhere. But 
Lynne and I didn't even get screwed. The big event's still to come." 

"This horrible granite thing-sticking up?" 

"We're worshipping it, sweetheart. Get the idea? What'shisname said 
something about brides. We're the brides of this big dink." 

"Jiminey-no!" 

"Hold it, silly! This is a symbol. I suspect we get the real thing in a more 
modified form. I'm wondering about his." 

"But, like this? Hasn't he-?" 

"Not even a feel precious. When he clamped me with my knees apart I figured 
I'd get friction up the hoop: but no! The rotten twit's fixed us so our 
little slits are crying for attention but they don't get any." 

"It's a sort of softening up?" 

Jiminey giggled dolefully. "I wish you could soften me a bit and having to 
look at you the way you are is driving me up the wall I mean, I can't do 
anything....! Oh blast!" 

"D'you think he doesn't know about girls tongues?" 

"He'll know, damn him! But he's obsessed with cocks. Look at the beastly 
thing, sticking up there laughing....! But, Trixie, look at it close. It's 
the most beautifully carved and polished! Must have cost a fortune." 

The naked Trixie gave Mr. Mossadag's monolithic phallus her full attention. 
Jiminey was right, it was superbly perfect. Her shiver was involuntary, 
annoying in its female response. The thing was cold stone. Why should her 
loins begin to heat! 

"Gets to a girl." Said Jiminey imperturbably. "Given a bit of time...!" 

They had the time. It weighed heavily on the bound and naked flesh in the 
shadowed chamber. They could not mark its passing or guess its end. Trixie 
twisted fretfully at the rope upon her wrists. The gesture of revolt had 
become an involuntary reflex, uncaring of the chafe. But the cords were 
still as tight as ever. Wherever the knots might be her fingers still failed 
to find them. With hands she might have eased the nagging hurt of this 
hateful pose of adulation for a thing she believed she loathed, but helpless 
her knees and ankles cried aloud their misery. 

They talked. At first with animation, then in intermittent gasps of 
confidence, sudden flashes of speculation. Finally there were only the moans 
by which they shared their pain. The hours passed them by. 

The clamps popped out of their sockets like toast from a toaster, tinkling 
to the stone. No one was visible but it had happened. Their feet were free, 
they remained captive only by their bound hands. But when Trixie sought to 
rise she could not, her knees were numb and without response. She toppled 
sideways, and was content to lay there savouring both pain and thankfulness. 

"It will be some lousy trick." Jiminey opined from beyond the candles. "Oh, 
sweetheart, we're so close we've just got to-" 

They were young. Their knees returned to life and to pain. But, stiffly, 
they worked. "Let's try the door first-" 

White wraiths in the shadows they sought te portal of escape but found it 
solid. Impassioned, they leant against its implacability in the assuagement 
of their need, kissing and thrusting until Jiminey could bear no more. 

"Come I don't care we've just got to!" 

"But if we stand back to back surely we can untie?" 

"No we can't. It's hopeless. The girls used to try when they thought I 
wasn't looking-no way!" 

They sought the light as though it offered warmth, slipping to the ground 
beside the altar, oblivious to the vast prong which now stood sentry to 
their love. Mouth to mouth, tongues probing pungent lips redolent of musk, 
they writhed under the necessities of their bound arms like sleek seals at 
play beyond a beach. They were prisoners finding such surcease as only 
captive girls may know. 

"Sacrilege!" 

The word boomed, filling the chamber with metallic sound. The voice was not 
human. "Whores!" 

It was such a voice as comes from androids in movies, mechanical. The naked 
girls tensed, frozen in their act of love. Wrists hard strained against 
confining cord, their lips still wet and swollen with desire. 

"Idolatry!" 

Both the white gowned and hooded figures could have been Sampson Mossadog, 
perhaps he was neither. They handled the squirming bound nudities with 
shaming ease. Wide eyed, the captive girls were carried to where a corner of 
the huge compartment began to glow from concealed light. Within this nimbus 
stood their fate. 

Moulded exquisitely in white plastic, the five foot high male genitals 
awaited their victims. But here was a Dali dream. Rising from their testicle 
base each phallus took a sharp bend sufficient to provide a shaped seat for 
a female derriere. It then resumed its vertical rise to complete the head, 
shaped in a monsterous fidelity. They were like white tree trunks ele 
mentally distorted. 

The motions were swift. Each nakedness was placed astride upon the moulded 
seat, legs were bent back and up, their ankles clamped, immovably as before. 
It was then Trixie saw the hollowed recesses where her breasts must go. 

The fit was perfect. Her seat brought her into frontal contact by which her 
twin spheres protruded naturally into the orfices provided. There came 
adjustments, thrustings, the fingering of controls ... Suddenly her nipples 
were seized in small vicious unseen jaws within and pulled sufficiently to 
make her gasp with shock and fear and flatten her chest against the plastic 
to gain what easement she could from the serrated teeth. She was cruelly 
captive, held aboard the bent phallus by only her ankles and her breasts. 
But held without the faintest possibility of escape or the easement of her 
plight. 

To complete the strange simile of a girl riding some legendary creature, 
Trixie's hands were freed, pulled strainingly around to embrace the plastic 
column and handcuffed at the level of her eyes. She sat astride her steed as 
though in flight, clasping its rearing neck with naked arms. 

"I think they've gone." Jiminey's whisper was urgent. "Oh, darling, what 
have they done to us! Have you got some beastly teeth grabbing your tits?" 

With equal urgency, Trixie Malone was exploring handcuffs and chafed wrists 
whilst striving against motion or a heaving chest by which the tension on 
her teats might be increased. 

"I sure have!" She gasped, cheek hard against smooth plastic. Oh, Jiminey, 
is this because we?" 

"I don't think it's because of any because at all. Maybe they like an excuse 
but we'd have got this anyway. No way they wouldn't use a thing like this 
when they've got it waiting." 

"Jiminey darling, it was good, so wonderful....!" Trixie was discovering 
that by clasping her phallus hard with pinioned arms she could reduce the 
strain on her nipples to a nagging burn. "Hold real tight." She counseled. 
"It helps a little." 

"I've never been hancuffed before, Trixie. Have you?" 

"Gosh no! And they're so tight....I can't possibly slip out of them the way 
girls do in books." 

"Wouldn't do much good anyway." Jiminey reflected morosely. "If they loosed 
our hands and feet we'd still have to sit here on these plastic dinks. 
Whatever holds our nips is inside where we can't touch." 

It was a contingency they need not consider, Trixie reflected ruefully. Her 
ankles were clamped tight and her arms were captive to the metal bands about 
her wrists. She and her darling would go nowhere, do nothing but sit and 
wait for whatever Sampson Mossadag might intend. It was un-likely this 
enforced ride would be an end. There would be something else....! 

There was something else. 

"Sweetheart, can you feel-?" Jiminey's voice was tense. 

Trixie jerked out of her reverie. Yes ... there was something! Slow and 
insidious a presence had come into being at the juncture of her thighs. Her 
exclamation was incredulous: "Jiminey...! Oh, Jiminey-" 

"It's not alive, is it?" The query held panic. "And there's nothing we can 
do....!" Trixie's plaint rose to a wail. "I can feel it now. It's it's 
Jiminey, darling....!" 

"We're going to get fucked." Said Jiminey succinctly. 

It was cleverly designed. There was no way the clamped and fastened girls 
could evade their fate. They were perfectly positioned. They would even 
instinctively aid their invader to lessen their hazard of injury from the 
relentless thrust. Trixie gasped and shuddered as the rising object nuzzled 
her labia, seeking entry. 

"That bloody Fonteyn!" Jiminey sounded close to tears. Anger, frustration, 
betrayal were vivid in her mind. "But I suppose I deserve this-the way I 
kept you girls tied and sold you off to those assholes with their millions. 
That smarmy old turd ... said I'd be a partner...." She squirmed, gasping, 
striving to test her enemy. 

Whatever it was the thing was sufficiently alive to have been a snake. Each 
girl's first reaction had been in concept of an inquisitive reptile, its 
nose scenting and seeking....! But the vision passed. This fruit of the 
phallus on which they were inextricably secured was mechanical, a 
sophisticated instrument of complex cunning against which they had no 
defense. Their vaginas were freely available, Oecoming slowly and moistly 
accessable to its searching head. 

"The damn thing's got secretions!" Jiminey exclaimed indignantly. "I'm damn 
sure I'm not this wet and wanting. Can you feel? I think it actually 
squirts." 

Trixie felt the lubricant. It was real. Without it the invasion might have 
resulted in injury. But there was more than jell: The thing itself was 
moving, slowly revolving to make more easy a passage un-likely to be 
hospitable. Somebody had thought of everything. 

"What we have to worry about now is how long." Jiminey contributed 
lugubriously. "I mean, does it know where to stop." She giggled sharply. "A 
revolving prick! I wouldn't have thought our owner had that much humour." 

The girls were young, vital, potent, bereft of control. When the head of the 
invader was well within their sheath there began for them the first sensuous 
response. Their breathing quickened, interspersed with gasps. Whether they 
wanted to or not they were being provoked into orgasm. The slowly moving 
plastic had found their sensitive bud and was frictioning it to arousal. 

"I can't stop it I can't! Oh damn and blast!" 

"Worse than my prong, darling?" 

"That was you, Jiminey. I didn't mind. But this this plastic monster-or some 
idiot I can't even see....Oh shit!" 

"Waste of love juice. I'm afraid we'll spend a lot of it, sweets." 

"But why doesn't he himself-? Blast it all what am I saying!" 

Jiminey giggled. "Maybe he can't. He's getting his kicks this way. I expect 
he's watching somewhere: maybe selling tickets." 

Trixie could not be cheered. What was being done to them now was such a 
waste of girls. Their love was sundered and replaced by nothing of value. 
They were female bodies for the amusement of a man. They would be lucky if 
that was all it was. The dark chamber and the candles spoke ominously of 
more sinister things. To spend their young vitality in mechanically induced 
orgasms, on and on and on....! She moaned at the thought, shifting 
uncontrollably to ease the passage of the weapon within her sheath-what 
choice had she! It was possessing her inch by inch and the small bud of 
flesh she longed to influence was playing traitor to her cause. Her breasts, 
no matter how she tried, had become a steady burn. 

"How far is your's in?" She asked inanely: anything was better than a pain 
filled silence. 

"I can't tell." Jiminey was aggrieved. "You can bet it will be too far. I 
say darling, how's your tits? Mine are giving me the devil, I can't keep 
still. Whatever's holding 'em won't let go." 

Talking helped. It was inane, pointless, often vulgar, usually pathetic, 
never far from tears. But it meant they were together. It kept at bay the 
chamber's silence and its shadows. It kept a girl from thinking of tomorrow 
and tomorrow....Tomorrows were all a slave girl had, and there was no 
comfort in them. 

The three girls were clothed in some gossamer stuff to make them emanate as 
ghosts from the gloom. Their feet were bare and silent on the stone. They 
carried whips, each different. 

"So beautiful!" Breathed one. 

"In such sweet misery!" Echoed another. 

"Let us whip them very hard indeed." Said the third. "I can hardly wait." 

"No, not too hard." It was a voice of authority. "Remember our Master's 
wish. Just look! One has been whipped terribly, the other not at all." 

"May I give that one her first stroke?" The voice was almost child-like. "I 
do so want to. I'll come first if I don't do it soon, I'm so excited." 

"They are not fully possessed yet. Shall we just watch while they get 
properly impaled and have their orgasms?" 

"Of course. But every time they orgasm whip them hard. It makes it so much 
lovelier for them. Remember?" 

"Have you climaxed yet, dear?" The tip of a thin riding crop traced the 
length of Trixie's bare back. 

"Drop dead." 

"Did you hear what she said!" 

"She doesn't like us." 

"What a pity we can't whip her breasts." 

"They whipped her back with skill. Trixie knew they could have hit harder 
but it was bad enough. She dared not move as the blows fell, but clutched 
the phallus to protect her nipples in the hated jaws. Moaning in her 
distress she pleaded: "I'm sorry! I am, I am, I am! Oh please stop whipping 
me-!" On the last word she climaxed in a flowering of sensation beyond 
imagining, sensation deepened and extended by the sudden flail of whip cuts 
by which the three girls paid tribute to her ecstasy. 

"I think the darling liked that." 

"She didn't, y'know. Probably her first time. Doesn't she mark sweetly. No 
more for now." 

"Will we be able to tell when it's all inside?" 

"I expect so. Look at their faces. The poor dears are trying not to show 
anything. They don't like us watching. But there's a sort of strained 
expectant look-" 

"You'd have a strained expectant look too if you were waiting to blow your 
orgasm and be whipped while you came. I don't think they've ever had it done 
to them as beautifully as we do it." 

"We can't help having orgasms like this. Please don't whip us because it 
happens." Jiminey had become poignantly humble. 

"Oh, we don't whip you because you have one! We do it then because it's much 
the best time-a girl sort of explodes. We know all about it, dear, we've all 
been fixed the way you are now on those lovely symbols. Isn't it gorgeous!" 

"No it isn't! Our nipples hurt like crazy there's something biting and 
holding them. We daren't move but when you whip us-" 

"Poor sweet thing, she's frightened. Let's whip her just a little so she 
won't be frightened any more." 

They whipped Jiminey. As the sharp stinging blows fell across her back she 
wondered why they should stop her being frightened. But they were right 
about the orgasm! Under the stimulus of the lashes she followed Trixie's 
example and climaxed shudderingly as their strokes intensified. She screamed 
in pain and outrage, but also from sensations she had never before known. 
Her chained hands clutched, straining to hold herself motionless as her 
loins flamed and her belly was enveloped in fire. For several moments she 
did not feel the whips but only a transcendant lust. 

"She'd be gorgeous to burn. Do you think I could ask the Master?" 

"Lovely to torture so responsive." 

"Darling, have you ever been tortured by girls?" 

"I've never been tortured at all, and I don't want to be." Jiminey was 
gasping her way back to coherence. "Please don't be unkind to us, we've 
never hurt you." 

"But you'd love to, wouldn't you!" 

"No I wouldn't. I think it's horrible." 

"We have the loveliest place a room! And there's all the nice things you've 
read about. Stocks and a pillory and a whipping post and a rack. They're 
just the beginning." 

Trixie tried to rationalise. "Have you had all those things used on you 
too?" 

"Of course." The quick affirmative evinced surprise. "They're terribly 
exciting. But it was a long time ago. Our marks have healed." 

Asking questions helped keep ihe next creeping orgasm at bay. "Is Mr. 
Mossadag your Master?" Trixie ventured. 

"Of course not. We don't know who the Master is. Mr. Mossadag just helps 
and, and does things....He provides the money to buy us with. I expect he 
bought you?" 

"Are you three girls drugged?" Jiminey asked bluntly. 

"Drugged?" 

"Pot, cocaine, hashish, uppers and downers....?" 

"She's thinking of our medicine. Poor dear, I don't suppose you've had any 
medicine yet?" 

Such drugged innocence was frightening. It might never know when to stop. It 
might not want to. "That thing inside us is getting terribly high up. I'm 
just-full. Can you stop it moving?" Trixie enquired politely. 

"Should we whip her for that question?" 

"No, I think it's alright. Trouble is we can't whip her in the proper 
places. I'm so tired of backs. The proper place to whip girls is between our 
legs and across our breasts." 

"You can whip me a little like that if you promise not to do it too hard. 
Want to?" 

Such an impossible incredible innocence! The punished girls fastened to the 
plastic replicas peered round their prisoned arms and managed to exchange 
glances of questioning dismay. But their attention was instantly diverted. 

"There! Like that. O.K.?" 

The willing victim had shed her diaphanous covering. Exquisitely nude, she 
widely parted her legs and leant back and slowly back until her wide and 
reaching hands found the floor beneath her head. She had become a perfect 
bow. Her sex and breasts were provocatively exposed. She appeared to be able 
to hold the pose without discomfort 

"Wouldn't you like to be tied, darling?" 

"Oh, don't let's bother for just a mild whipping. You're not going to be too 
unkind, are you?" 

"Well, since you've asked for it I think we ought to whip you properly." 

The bowed nakedness languidly resumed the vertical. "Won't you please just 
whip me lightly? If you won't I'm not going to play." 

"Oh alright then." 

Once again the backward bend. The girl must be made of rubber and without 
bones, Trixie reflected. And surely it was not possible....But it was 
possible. 

"You whip one of her breasts and I'll whip the other, darling." All three of 
the girls appeared to have forgotten the pair suffering punishment. 

It was done with care and loving accuracy. First, the taut breasts were 
lightly lashed from each side, then one girl whipped the pubic bush from 
between the widespread thighs whilst the other dealt her cuts alternately 
from side to side upon the waiting groins. The maiden being whipped moaned 
constantly, but it was a moan of ecstasy. When it was done she was weeping 
tears of joy and kissed, with ardent embrace and passionate lips, the two 
who had marked her flesh. 

"Isn't she sweet!" 

"Wouldn't you like to do that for us if you were free?" 

It was all insane, impossible, and should not happen! Trixie Malone thought 
back to the Avenida Maturas, the welded clamps, and all that had happened 
since. And it had not ended. It had no end. "I'm not as brave as she is." 
She ventured tentatively. "And I'm already hurting an awful lot." 

"She says she's hurting. Darlings, let's feel their tummies. If the lovely 
thing is right up inside we'll be able to feel." 

Small hands searched and kneaded what should have been soft abdomens, but 
which were now rigid with fright and the thrust of immensity within. "Yes, 
he's up in their bellies. He's up marvelously. Let's start whipping them 
again." 

"But why?" Both victims echoed the plaint. 

"Because now that he's way up you'll have the wildest orgasms, darlings, and 
need constant whippings to help you come." The explanation was delivered as 
to a fractious child. It was followed by a joyous slash across what was 
available of Trixie's bottom- 

"That will be enough of that." It was a male voice, enraged. 

Hammond Stacey strode into the bizarre scene like an avenging colossus. He 
was followed by two intrigued policemen. The three maidens greeted the 
advent with their usual enthusiasm. 

"Oh look, lovely policemen!" 

"They simply must arrest us and put us all in the same cell." 

"Will they whip us with a cat 'o nine tails?" 

"Officers, will you please handcuff us?" 

"Oh yes, we absolutely insist on being handcuffed." 

"We can lend you a pair if you're one short?" 

Trixie Malone wanted to howl in pain, laugh with joy and ask him if he 
really truly was Hammond Stacey. But, once again, her loins betrayed. 
Perhaps it was the blow from the crop, the excitement, the monster male 
symbol within her sex. But, try as she might, she could not quench the 
rising tide. Ecstacy flooded her being so that she whimpered in joy and 
orgasmed right before his startled eyes. 

She hoped he'd understand. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT. The Queen's Thighs. 

"I regard this as a privilege." Enderby beamed his most cherubic smile. "I 
am fully empowered to act in Mrs. Diomedes interest." 

"You know what you can do with Mrs. Diomedes." Kaliel Arumin said affably. 
"But I'll appreciate your opinion. Damn remarkable what can be done with 
these Nordic females." 

"I hold Lady Conant in high esteem." 

"So I gathered by the whip marks." Arumin acknowledged drily. "I'm indebted 
to you for-how shall we call it: breaking the ice?" 

"Mrs. Diomedes appreciates your position. She is prepared to be generous. 
She suggests you amuse yourself with Lady Conant to the point of satiety 
before the sale." 

"We're stymied, Enderby. I intend to make exactly the same offer to Mrs. D. 
for Stacey's daughter. As long as the poor child has a little skin left on 
her back I won't quibble." 

Enderby sighed happily. For him this was familiar ground. "Have you 
considered that Esther has considerably greater resources than yourself?" He 
insinuated gently. 

"I am a business man." Arumin said morosely. "I do not indulge in small 
private armies and ridiculous feuds. This Diomedes, Stacey vendetta has gone 
far enough. I am sure you've heard of the Mossadag debacle a fine concept 
wasted! Allow the Diomedes and Stacey to destroy each other. But, first, get 
me Stacey's daughter." 

"Has it occurred to you that perhaps it is a case of Mossadag yesterday and 
yourself tomorrow? Stacey is a Force." 

Arumin grunted. "Then why not Diomedes the day after?" 

"She is a power. Stacey cannot invade her as he did Mossadag or as he may 
invade you." 

"But she holds his girl. Isn't that a trump card?" 

"Not with Stacey. He'll be ruthless." 

"I gather he also desires Lady Conant?" 

Enderby winked. "I suspect an affair of the heart." 

"In that case I hold a trump card too?" 

"A card Mrs. Diomedes needs to complete her hand. Perhaps three million...?" 

"Tell you what, Enderby, let's demonstrate the merchandise. I rather flatter 
myself...!" Arumin pressed a button. 

"You rang, sir?" 

The minute simulation of a maid's uniform made the girl thrice naked. Her 
voice was respectfully subdued. Her attention was for her master, she 
carefully avoided meeting the eyes of his guest. A good expanse of her 
bottom was visible beyond the confines of what she wore. Enderby noticed it 
was heavily laced with purple. 

"Drinks." 

Enderby was enraptured. When the former Lady Conant knelt and proffered his 
glass he took it with a sense of awe. Her eyes were discreetly lowered but 
he was prepared to bide his time. 

"Show Mr. Enderby your cunt, m'dear." 

It was almost too perfect. Regina, Lady Conant stood respectfully before the 
cherubic gaze and lifted the trifle of a skirt designed to show as much as 
it hid. Her pubic bush proclaimed itself in unashamed profusion. With thighs 
parted sufficiently to enhance inspection the Conant cunt remained 
stationary for the delectation of the guest. 

"Nice, eh?" 

"The whole ensemble is superb!" Enderby was enraptured. 

"Kneel, girl. Out on the rug. Face us." 

Lady Conant knelt, clasped her hands behind her back and bowed her head. 
Arumin's domestic staff evidently knew its place. 

"Expose one breast." 

"It was easily done. The white globe and pink nipple shone in innocence. 
Across it could be seen several thin lines of scarlet. 

"Put it back. Now answer. What are you?" 

"I am your slave, sir." There was just the correct inflection of surprise 
over a fact so obvious. 

"For how long?" 

"For all my life, sir. You own me." 

"Who were you once?" 

"I was Lady Regina Conant. Now I'm your slave." 

"Why are you going to marry me?" 

"Because you wish it, Master, and because I have no choice." 

"Explain." 

Bare shoulders twisted, hair was tossed. The words were cautious. "By 
marrying you I endow you with my estate, all of Conant. Were I to refuse you 
would have me whipped and suspended until I became obedient." 

"Are you obedient now?" 

"Oh, yes, sir!" Sincerity was in every word. 

"You dislike being suspended?" 

"Yes, sir." The affirmative was almost vehement. 

"Tell our guest why you are obedient." 

"Sir, I am obedient because my Master has had me well whipped and has 
suspended me by my wrists until I have known I wish to obey him." 

"Why did you have to be whipped to come by that realisation?" 

"I am but a foolish girl, sir." 

Enderby glowed. It was beautiful beyond words. Here was Woman! Here was the 
Female in her proper role! Here was the answer to most of the world's 
discontent. He looked at Arumin and nodded in tribute. 

"Have you guilt?" 

"A salve girl is always guilty, Master." 

"Good! Do you deserve punishment?" 

"Oh yes, sir, indeed I do." The ardour in the female assurance rang true. 

"You may name an appropriate punishment." 

"Thank you, sir. Could I have my hands caned, please?" 

"Why your hands, child?" 

The lovely cheeks flushed. "My bottom has been so well thrashed, sir." The 
statement was pure apology. 

"And the number of strokes, m'dear?" 

"Three on each hand, sir, please?" 

"Very well. I am pleased. Go and find a cane and bring Nellie up from the 
kitchen to use it on you. Oh, and explain to Mr. Enderby about Nellie." 

"Nellie is the cook's helper, Mr. Enderby. My Master feels that by having 
her inflict my punishments I am more properly humiliated. I was a 
noblewoman, now I am thrashed by servants." 

"Thank you, my dear." Enderby felt reverent in the face of such total 
submission. He looked at Arumin with respect. "How the devil did you do it?" 

Arumin shrugged. "First, we are dealing with a high intelligence. Lady 
Conant wants no more of the whip than she knows she must have. Thus, she 
does what she believes is the less painful of two evils." 

"But she sounds sincere brainwashed!" 

"Time will tell about that." Arumin smiled reflectively. "I quickly 
discovered her phobia about suspension. You must have-?" 

"She is so exquisite like that." 

"I hung her by the wrists several times and found the results most 
satisfactory. Suspension is a promise she is never allowed to forget." 

"But she's more or less free! You let her walk around....?" 

"I encourage her to escape. Then punish her. Soon she will shun an open 
door." 

"You're crafty about the marriage. Just possible you might carry it off-if 
you own a clergyman." Enderby frowned. "We ourselves had the property 
legally transferred just when Stacey raided us for the first time. He 
recovered everything." Enderby smirked. "Looks as though you've got an 
opponent for the lady's hand. And her Castle." 

"At least I own her hand. I can shackle it." 

Bonnie was the word for Nellie. She was the typical product of an English 
kitchen. Neither beautiful or ugly she was incurably cheerful. She was, 
however, short on aspirates. 

"Want me ter' cane 'er 'ands, sir?" 

"Thank you, Nellie. Three on each. Quite hard please." 

"She'll Oowl 'er 'ead off, sir." 

"Then let us make a sporting offer: Six for silence, twelve for sound." 

Enderby feasted on the startled tableau: Arumin in smiling authority. Lady 
Conant tensed in dismay. Nellie intrigued and obviously of the opinion 
silence was impossible under her ministrations. "Should she sort of get 
ready, sir?" 

'Gina did not wait. She removed the few erotic trifles that had disguised 
her as a maid, then stepped forward to receive her punishment, gloriously 
naked but sadly striped. "Do you wish me to kneel or stand, sir?" 

"Stand. Nellie will adjust your arm." 

"A little lower, if you please, miss." Nellie tapped the bare arm with 
studied care. "I got to ger yer 'and where I can give it a good swish." 

'Gina was trembling. She had adjusted her mind to the rigour of six strokes, 
but to take them in silence! Unhappily, she opened her innocent hand, making 
the small palm taut in invitation to the cane. 

"There will be no unseemly writhings on the rug." Mr. Arumin admonished 
pleasantly. 

The cut, accurate and enthused, beat down the hand extended to receive it. 
'Gina' nostrils flared, breath fought breath, eyes widened as though seeing 
unexpected agony. But she allowed the punished hand to fall listlessly at 
her side and extended the other. That one, too, she coped with in control. 

"A woman beyond price." Said Mr. Arumin thoughtfully. 

Enderby was forced to agree, but silently. Lady Conant's acceptance of her 
caning was superb. Her eyes distant, her manner absent, she raised her arm 
time after time, then, wounded again, allowed it to fall inert and passive 
while its twin was similarly punished. When all six strokes had been 
administered she knelt before the man who had ordered them. 

"Thank you for having my hands caned, sir." 

"You feel your punishment adequate, m'dear?" 

"Yes, sir. But if you wish?" The sweet nakedness tensed in readiness to 
resume. 

Arumin himself was impressed. Reverently, his hand stroked the damp hair of 
his slave's bent head. "No, no, dear child. You were magnificent. You have 
had enough." 

"Oh, sir, thank you....!" There could be no doubting the sincerity of 
response. Lady Conant had become a slave girl grateful for her lord's 
approval. 

"I could give 'er six across 'er bottom, sir. I'm sure it wouldn't do no 
'arm?" Nellie offered hopefully. 

"Thank you. You may return to the kitchen, Nellie." 

When the servant had reluctantly returned to the mundane, Arumin fixed 
Enderby with a deadly eye. "Such a woman is beyond rubies!" 

"Shakespear, I believe?" Enderby said equably. "Most apt. But what we have 
witnessed would be wasted on Mrs. D." 

"Replace your uniform, Lady Conant." 

"Four million?" 

"Hold the uniform, m'dear, we may need you as you are." Arumin bent a severe 
regard upon the other man. "Five?" 

"Let us split the difference like old friends?" 

Kaliel Arumin sighed. It would have been hard to tell if in defeat or 
victory. The look he bestowed upon the trembling nudity held love. "You may 
put away the uniform, Lady Conant. Then, if you will be kind enough to bring 
rope and a gag....?" 

To 'Gina it was victory. In whatever prison she was now placed there would 
be Lynne. Her heart blossomed at the thought, refusing to think of the woman 
who would own them both. She left Kaliel Arumin without regret. The agony of 
her swollen palms was but a sample of her slavery within his house, and his 
terribly real intent of marriage was now removed. She would lose Conant once 
more to Diomedes, that was a foregone conclusion. But what did it matter! 
Wryly she recognized she was already thinking as a slave. But, dimly in the 
back of her mind, she remembered Hammond Stacey and smiled. 

"You wish to tie Lady Conant yourself, Enderby?" Arumin was unfailingly 
polite. 

"Ah, well thanks! Don't mind if I do. Damn pleasant sport, y'know." The 
cherubic features outdid themselves in bonhomie. "And now, Lady Conant, if 
you will stand quite still...?" 

Standing to be bound carried its own degradation. It reduced even a slave to 
being a Thing, an object. But the naked 'Gina stood straight and firm and 
placed her hurt hands at Enderby's disposal. He placed the palms wound to 
wound and tied her wrists with neat severity. When his several bands of rope 
forced her shoulders back and her elbows together she did not complain: it 
would have been useless. She had come to understand the practicability of 
thus keeping her in pain, she would be tractable, humble and willing to 
please. Once more her awareness of slavery was acute. 

"She can walk to the car. I can tie her ankles then." 

It pleased Enderby to leash her neck and lead her with the rope. In the back 
seat he used it to bind her ankles and her knees. Hurt and helpless she 
could give him no trouble. He held up the gag. "Should I use this?" 

"Please don't. I hate the thing." 

He pursed his lips, reflecting. "On the other hand it might save us both 
distress. Temptation-?" 

'Gina opened her mouth, refusing to argue or promise. The straps compressed 
her cheeks, the buckle creaked at the nape of her neck. "Lay down, please." 
The male command directed. When she obeyed they joined her wrists and ankles 
so she could not rise. Arumin threw a rug over her nudity. It was his last 
good-bye. 

Esther Diomedes was content. All in all, things were well in hand. Stacey 
had emerged into the open. She had his daughter. She had Lady Conant. Soon 
she would possess Conant Castle. Stacey was welcome to the two girls he had 
rescued from Mossadag, there was no profit in either. She chuckled at 
thought of his chagrin when he learned of her stealing Lynne from beneath 
his nose. Just a few hours....! Enslavement of Regina Conant was another 
feather in her cap. Stacey desired her! 

"I am curious." She said bluntly. "Use your skills. I'll tolerate a few 
gaffes but not many." 

Lynne recognized the logic of the arrangement. She shrugged a wry grin to 
where her naked love stood against the boudoir wall, collared and tethered 
in iron, her leash no more than twelve links. 'Gina could neither recline or 
walk away. She had to stand and watch. Lynne's own ankles were shackled so 
she must walk daintily. Her left hand was loosely chained to a metal belt 
around her waist, her right hand was free. From the House of Diomedes there 
were no escapes. 

"You make a mess, I whip her." Explained Mrs. Diomedes succinctly. 

"Thank you for letting me do this for you. I really will try " Lynne Stacey 
was aware of privilege but still felt silly. 

Esther Diomedes rose from before the huge mirror and stood regally at the 
younger woman's disposal. "You may remove my clothes." 

It was a daunting task. Lynne wondered if anyone had ever before beheld a 
naked Diomedes. It seemed un-likely. Yet, as she progressed with the bulky 
garments of another age, there began to emerge a figure of unsuspected 
quality. The Diomedes was forty-two but ageless. She possessed the lithe 
sleek muscularity of her peasant forbears. She was by no means slender but 
there were no extra pounds. Her nakedness was Amazonian but classic, a 
reborn Juno in the flesh, radiating power. Her slavegirl shivered. "Not bad, 
eh!" 

"You are very striking, madam." 

"Yes, I strike." There was a Diomedes chuckle. "The armpits? I shave?" 

The hirsute mass beneath each arm appalled. "I expect you should, madam." 
Lynne ventured cautiously. 

"You say yes or no. I don't want quibbles. We shave." She patted a massive 
pubic thatch. "And this?" 

"I could trim it with scissors and razer-and your legs." 

"Hmmmm. All of me then. We make me bare. Come, we go to the bath. Your 
darling will still be there when we return." 

Only the Diomedes was difficult, and that was mental. Lynne had performed 
these services for her beloved 'Gina many times. She shaved with skill and 
laved with gentle hands. Bereft of body hair the Grecian planes and curves 
were less awesome. 

"The chains bother you?" 

"No, madam. I have become accustomed to being-fastened." 

"Huh. The little beauty out there made you a slave, didn't she. Bit of a 
change for her now?" 

"Yes, madam." 

"If you behave I might let you whip her?" 

"But I don't want to. Oh, madam, that wouldn't be right for 'Gina and I-" 

"It would amuse me though. The look on your face-! And don't be scared of 
using that towel on my cunt. I'm not a pubescent little mink that starts 
gasping....Dammit, Hike the effect." 

"You have a magnificent mound, madam." 

"Say that again properly." 

Lynne Blushed. "You have a really beautiful cunt-" 

"That's better. I'm going to enjoy training you two. I should have enslaved 
you both right at the start and saved a lot of bother. Enderby was right. 
Crafty bastard...." 

Back at the big mirror, the mistress spread her thighs and examined the new 
condition below her belly and her arms without embarrassment. "Good. I like 
it. You've earned a credit, girl." She sat down, reflectively. "Look, here's 
the key. You know where the other stuff is. Go and fasten our English 
aristocrat the same as you, then let her loose from the collar. You can both 
work on the rest of me." 

Lynne was flushed in a strange shyness. She had never bound her beloved 
except in fun. But these Diomedes chains and belt were grim and very real. 
She locked them on the unprotesting ankles, waist and wrist with a sense of 
guilt, of truancy from her proper role. 'Gina picked up the vibrations and 
smiled at her with love. When the iron collar fell away from the slender 
throat, they swiftly kissed. Lady Conant was the first to speak. 

"Thank you for letting me help, madam." 

"Like your chains?" 

"They are very beautiful, madam. We neither of us expect ever to escape." 

"I saw you kiss back there." 

The silence seethed with slave suspense. 

"You'll be punished, of course. But not now. I intend to talk to you both 
about nibbling." 

"Thank you, madam." 

"Now get on with it. I'm curious as hell." 

They got on with it. Femininely wise, skilled in female lore, knowing each 
other's thoughts without speech, they worked upon the woman who was a legend 
in the world of wealth. Forgetting what they had become they fell into an 
intent absorption with their task, feminine Pygmalions inspired to create. 
The clink of their chains passed unnoticed as their movements became 
increasingly assured. 

"Madam, your lips. They should not be pursed, never. They are full and 
voluptuous. Moistened, and with this lipstick ... " 

"Your eyebrows ... May I shape them, madam?" 

"Very well. But remember my threat. It still holds. Make an idiot of me and 
you'll have the tenderest pair of rumps in London." 

"But, madam, you can watch us?" 

"I don't want to. I trust you both. Or maybe I trust the whip you both 
respect. "I want to turn at the finish and get the impact. Dammit, I suppose 
I'm simply a woman!" 

For a little while the two slavegirls were happy. They were doing a female 
thing they enjoyed, and while they pleased her Esther Diomedes was human. It 
was a lot better than a cell or a dungeon or chained to the wall. 

"I suppose Enderby and me, and that fool place with that fossil, Fonteyn 
came as a bit of a shock, eh?" 

"Yes, madam." 

"A lot in a little while, I expect. Difficult adjustment?" 

"Yes, madam." 

"You say those pretty little 'Yes madams' because you're afraid of 
punishment, and you won't mess up on what you're now doing for the same 
reason." The naked Juno pondered. "Does this thought of punishment bother 
you?" 

"We daren't forget it, madam. It's always there." 

"I understand that. But suppose we get you into a pattern of behavior in 
which you don't earn punishment?" 

"We are trying to be that now, madam." 

"How would six with the cane on your bare bottom every morning first thing 
help?" 

Esther Diomedes laughed at their silence. "Trying to think of something to 
say that won't offend me?" 

"Yes, madam." 

"But, seriously, isn't it a good idea?" 

"We are scared you are joking, madam." 

"I'm not. And don't stop your work because I've got you perturbed. Think of 
it: when you're punished you get something far worse than six with the cane 
on your ass. Sometimes something pretty had. If the six every morning 
prevent that wouldn't they be a boon?" 

"Yes, madam, they would. But-" 

"Good! That's settled. Don't let me forget. We start tomorrow. But you were 
going to raise an objection. What was it?" 

"We are thinking, Madam that, being slaves, you will wish to punish us in 
various ways for your own pleasure: nothing to do with our behavior?" 

The Diomedes guffaw was hearty. "I've got a treasure in you two. You think 
of everything O.K. then, I'm a sadistic bitch. But, just the same, starting 
tomorrow!" She left the rest unsaid, enjoying the flushed cheeks and lips 
trying hard not to be sulky. 

"Have you jewelry, madam?" 

"In the centre drawer." 

The girls banished thought of the cane on their behinds by immersing 
themselves in an orgy almost pagan. This woman who owned them was being 
reborn beneath their deft fingers. They fitted and discarded and fitted 
again, becoming breathless at what they achieved. 

"We think we have finished, madam." 

The nude Amazon rose and slowly turned.... 

It was a moment, a happening, a time for bated breath. After silent minutes 
observing herself in the glass Esther Diomedes ejected a hearty: "Well, I'll 
be damned!" 

The girls stood back on either side, entranced. Something pagan had 
occurred. Byzantium had been rebom within Mrs. Diomedes boudoir, Baghdad 
jostled it for space, and from the wings Cleopatra gazed in envy. The woman 
before the mirror had become exotic, her nudity bedecked with stones and 
metal, her hair a cascading monument to Greece. Esther Diomedes had become a 
barbaric queen. 

"Where the devil did you learn to do this!" Her voice was awed. 

"We're glad you like it." 

"Like it! Why, dammit, I'll never wear clothes again!" 

"You've always been beautiful and haven't known...?" 

"I'm still not beautiful. I'm magnificent." 

"And if you'll let us choose your clothes....?" 

Esther turned slowly to gaze upon the two chained girls. She was breathing 
fast in an excitement all her own. "Been meaning to do this for years. Too 
blasted busy. But maybe I needed you, you're the answer." She looked at them 
intently for a long time, pondering. Her handmaidens kept discreetly silent. 
"If this was a book I'd set you both free." 

'Gina and Lynne were breathless in sudden hope. 

"Don't look so starry eyed." She shook the immaculately lovely head of their 
creation. "I'm still a bitch. And now, for sure, I'll never let you go. If I 
had to weigh you down with a hundred pounds of chain I'd keep you." 

"We don't expect to escape, madam. We didn't do this hoping to be set free." 

"I believe you. But, dammit, I ought to give you something! Tell you what: 
well forget about that morning caning for the time being." 

Two slavegirls visibly brightened. "Oh thank you, madam!" They looked at 
each other, feeling a need for something more. "Madam, honest, we really are 
grateful." 

"Good! You can now eat me. I want to try that too." 

The silence was loaded. Two shocked slaves gazed at their mistress askance. 
She laughed at their stricken features. "What's wrong with that! You do 
it-at least you did before I got you. Why not me too?" 

"We're lovers. I mean-" 'Gina knew anything she said now would be wrong. 
"Try loving me." 

"Please, Mrs. Diomedes-" 

"Call me madam or mistress. You're a slave!" The Diomedes glowered. "Now 
hear this! You do as I say or you'll never touch each other again. I'll lock 
a belt over your cunts six tongues wouldn't penetrate. At night you'll be 
chained to opposite walls." 

Their desolation was piteous. 

"You'll take turns at me. I'll stand and you'll kneel between my legs. 
That's the way I see it. I may never do what you call 'come.' But we'll see 
how good you are at that too. I'm still curious." The Diomedes finger 
pointed, the Empress had favoured her slave. "You, Lady Conant, you first." 

Refusing to meet eyes, 'Gina knelt between the stalward thighs. Female musk 
was heavy as she raised her lips. 

 CHAPTER NINE. SEQUESTERED. 

"I'm terribly sorry." Said Bettina with genuine concern. "But what can I 
do?" 

"You can untie our elbows." 'Gina said hopefully. 

"Yes of course, in a minute." The platinum beauty was upset. "They've given 
me Jiminey's job and everything's difficult. I mean, I'm one of the girls 
really. And they keep my feet chained, it's awfully embarrassing with the 
clients." 

"Our elbows?" Lynne hinted firmly. 

"Yes your elbows....The thing is that the damn woman left a letter. I'm 
supposed to read it to you. Do you know whether you're both for sale again? 
I forgot to ask." 

"We're not for sale, Bettina. And don't worry. We won't be a bit of bother, 
not after you've untied our elbows...." 

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry. Just turn round a minute." 

Two slavegirls turned, exchanging a wry grin. It was not exactly coming home 
but Bettina was sweet. They heaved a concerted sigh as the bindings were cut 
away and peeled from their skin. 

"There, that better? Oh, and I have to do your hands. That woman says I'm to 
handcuff you instead of rope-she left the handcuffs. Do you mind?" 

"Did she leave the key?" 

"It's here somewhere, I know it is. Anyway, I've got the cuffs. Hold still a 
minute." 

"Behind our backs?" 

"Yes, I'm afraid so. But she did seem to think you'd be more comfortable 
than being tied. I haven't been handcuffed yet but I bet they are." 

"You can wear mine." Lynne giggled. 

"Don't think I wouldn't! You've got it better than I have. All this worry, 
and Mr. Fonteyn says I'll be punished horribly if I make a boob. I say, 
darlings, I've just noticed you're both naked. Does that mean you're being 
punished some way?" 

"She keeps us naked. I think it's you who's going to have to punish us. She 
said it was in the letter?" 

"Oh damn, I keep forgetting. There was something. Here, let me just 
finish....Isn't it cute the way handcuffs go click, click, click and get 
lovely and snug. Mmmmmm, your hands are looked after....You can turn round 
again." 

"Oh wow! Ouch....! Bettina, what the-!" 'Gina looked down at her breasts. 
From each nipple a small shining clip pertly protruded, its teeth well 
embedded in her flesh imparting a steady burn. 

"Now you, darling." Bettina looked at Lynne expectantly. 

"But I don't want-!" 

"That's a good girl. If you keep still and stick your chest out I can do it 
better." 

"Oh damn, they hurt! They're little beasts." 

"They are, aren't they." Bettina agreed brightly. "I've had to wear 'em 
often enough so I know. But it's sorta' cute the way they bob when you 
walk." 

"But what have we done?" 

"Nothing. That woman seemed to think you needed things to remember her by. 
She gave me the clips along with the handcuffs." Bettina looked at 'Gina's 
breasts solicitously. "Would you mind if I put them on better? I didn't make 
a very good job. They sometimes hurt more when they're not on right." 

"And they hurt like fury when they're changed." 

"Well, yes. But in the long run...?" 

Bettina was sweet. It was hard not to feel sorry for her concern about her 
charges and her unwanted job. She would probably exploit that sympathy, but 
still...! 'Gina stuck out her chest. "There they are, the only two breasts 
and nipples I've got. Go easy on 'em." 

"You're a dear." Bettina made swift adjustments and 'Gina exclaimed: "Ouch! 
Ohhhhh, Ouch!" The clips bobbed cheerfully in their new position. 

"Darlings, let me make a quick scan of this letter for you. Come in my 
office. Sounds good, eh. 'My Office'!" 

They followed, feeling nude and strange and helpless. The handcuffs felt 
unkind, but if you did not tug at them they did not hurt. They were resigned 
to the small torments on their breasts. They sat patiently while their 
lovely wardress read hastily. 

"It says she has to go away a lot and you'll be safer here because a man 
named Stacey may raid her home. She says you have to be punished a little 
every day...." Bettina paused. "I don't suppose you want to hear the list?" 

"Yes, we'd like to. If we don't know the suspense will drive us nuts." 

Bettina sighed. "Well, I can cane your bottoms every morning if you'd like 
me to?" 

"Of course we wouldn't like you to! Do we have a choice?" 

"Well yes. If you don't want the cane in the mornings you must have your 
elbows tied in the afternoon. Or be suspended in the afternoon. Or stand 
with that silly prong up inside all afternoon. And there's a thing called 
"The Horse" It's " 

"We know about the Horse, Bettina. Is the list much longer?" 

"You can stand in the corner looking at the wall....? It sounds a cinch but 
it's awful. I've had that too. And you must always be naked, and you have to 
wear those clips on your tits every second day, and there's a small 
compartment where it's pitch dark and they put mice in with you, and-" 

"We'll take the cane every morning." 

"It's six on your bare bottom-hard!" 

"We'll have to put up with it. Those other things-Ouch! At least our 
punishments will be over'and done with." 

"The letter says that when she's home she'll take you back. You both service 
her, don't you? I mean-" 

"We know what you mean, darling, and, yes, we do." 

"To make it easy and safe she's arranged for her car to drive right into the 
warehouse here. No one will see you." 

"And we can't escape either. That figures." 

Bettina looked surprised. "At the end she says she loves you both very 
much." 

Bettina saw their embarrassment and quickly covered it. "This escape thing." 
She said soberly. "I think about it a lot. When they promoted me I felt sure 
there'd be a way. But there isn't. I'm just as much a prisoner as you." She 
sighed wanly. "I'm a beautiful girl, I know I am. But I'm imprisoned for 
life. I'll never have a husband or children or anything. No money, no fun, 
not even fresh air." 

"Someone will buy you, Bettina." 

"Someone bought you, but did it do you any good?" Bettina sniffed. "I'm not 
even for sale while I've got this job." She laughed bitterly. "And, wouldn't 
you know! Just because I'm not part of the inventory there's been four 
offers-even at the price they want for me! Damn!" She shrugged hopelessly. 
"Blood fool men! It's because my hands are free but my feet are chained. 
They get an erection out of the contrast while I do my sales pitch." 

"But, Bettina darling, you don't get whipped or anything-the way we do." 

"I sometimes wish I did." She shook her expensive hair. "Sorry, kids, I'm in 
a spot of self pity. It gets to me. I've been here so long, and these chains 
on my ankles...! I'm terribly ashamed." 

"Don't be. You're gorgeous." 

"Are those things on your breasts hurting bad? I suppose I could take 'em 
off. Fonteyn never comes near and the chap who does-" 

"We're not going to get you in trouble, darling. Punish us the way you have 
to. We won't complain-at least, not much." 

"Thanks." Bettina looked at them forlornely. "I'm frightened of the word 
'punishment.' When they use it in relation to me I'm pretty sure they mean 
something damn awful. I know it's to keep me on my toes with the clients and 
making sales, and all that. But still-" 

They eyed each other ruefully: three captive girls! Two of them clinked the 
handcuffs they could not see, the other rattled her ankle chain beneath the 
desk. "I didn't show you the cage, darlings." Bettina's natural effervesence 
was reviving. "You absolutely must see the Cage." 

It should have been a birdcage, but for a very large bird. It contained a 
naked and sulky girl who instantly pitched her plaint. 

"Bettina, why do I have to have my hands tied in here? It's bad enough not 
being able to stand." 

"We've gone over that before, love." 

"That's horseshit about guys buying us just because we're locked in here. 
Nobody's bought me." 

"There hasn't been a client in yet, stupid." 

"Well anyway, I'm tired of sitting all hunched up. How about putting one of 
the other girls in for a change?" 

"Well ... I suppose...." Bettina turned. "Any of you others want in there?" 

"If you untied my hands." 

"Would I have to be naked?" 

"If I sit in there all day, could I be forgiven that whipping I'm supposed 
to get?" 

"You girls...!" Bettina surveyed her charges distractedly. "You're all-" 

"III go in there. I don't mind. I want to be sold." 

She was dark, petite, her breasts as perky as her retrousse nose and gamin 
face. She rose from the cushions on which she had reclined. "But if you want 
me naked you'll have to do it, I can't." 

'Gina watched, amused. She sensed the unutterable boredom in which these 
girls spent their days. In similar circumstances she might have volunteered 
for the cage herself. She-realized, disgustedly, that if the Diomedes was 
often absent she and Lynne could become the oldest inhabitants, lolling 
handcuffed and useless on the cushions like armless odalisques awaiting the 
favour of their lord. 

She fingered the metal bands upon her wrists. They were still strange and 
somehow foreign. She was still finding it hard to believe they could resist 
her fingers or that her feminine hands could not slip out of their grip. 
Rope was personal, never allowing you to forget the intent of the girl who 
had tied the knots, but the locked chrome had the impersonality of a 
uniformed policeman and carried the stigma of criminal association. But the 
Diomedes had been kind. A girl could remain handcuffed forever and, if 
passive in her metal bond, would bear no wound. But rope chafed. With rope a 
girl always believed that if only she tried and twisted hard enough ...! 

'Gina examined with faint curiosity Mr. Fonteyn's current inventory. None of 
them could have been in her outrageous captivity many days yet they were 
amazingly resigned. There was only a smattering of whip marks on their 
lovely bodies, and their features showed none of the animation of rebellion 
or escape. It was being bound: that was it! With hands tied behind their 
back day after day they had become docile. Bettina's casual good intentions 
would engender no animosity. Perhaps, after all, the management's policy, 
their choice of a captive girl for wardress was shrewd and born of a 
psychological study of youthful females in captivity. 

It was hard not to be piqued by the total lack of sympathy for the 
punishment she and Lynne bore so bitingly upon their breasts. No one 
noticed. The chrome clips shone brightly and thrust themselves out for 
attention but no one cared. The girls were bored with each other. Bored with 
breasts and bellies and pubic hair and the absence of hands through which 
they might have found communion. A group of men would have found more 
interest in each other, but these were girls at an ardent age, young and 
pulsing, emanating a sexual sensuality for which they had no audience. What 
they wanted was a male. They would desire him in the image of their own 
personal fantasy, but had already reached the point of being thrilled by the 
prospect of purchase, of being sold, of being taken from this place by a 
member of the opposite sex. No doubt the gaudy dream of a wealthy hawk eyed 
Oil Sheik prevailed. For one in ten it might come true. 

Bettina was a jewel. She was absorbed, at the moment, with the removal of 
such scanty attire as the small girl wore. It was sparse and provocative. If 
a client wanted to see what he was getting it was easy for the wardress to 
whisk the female attributes into view. 

"I don't mind about my hands, Bettina. I know you have to keep me tied." 

The reluctant wardress kissed the petite nude affectionately. "You're a gem, 
Wendy. I hope a handsome Prince buys you and you live happily ever after." 

"Maybe he'll buy you and the cage both." The sulky inmate was edging her way 
from behind the bars with serpentine wriggles. Cheered by a partial freedom, 
she exclaimed. "Gosh, Bettina, thanks for letting me out, thanks a lot." 

"It's not all that bad in here, Jennifer." An agile Wendy was already within 
her small prison. "Kinda' cute really. They must have used my measurements 
when they made the cage." 

"Isn't she sweet!" It was as though Bettina took pride in a well housed pet. 
"I wish the rest of you would be that cheerful." 

"What have we got to be cheerful about?" 

"Bought by some old geezer who'll whip my ass off!" 

"Screwed to death in a brothel!" 

"Oh, shut up!" Jennifer glared at her fellow captives. "It's bad enough to 
know it's going to happen, without harping on it. As for a whorehouse, they 
couldn't afford us, we're too high priced." She chuckled bitterly. "Boy, 
what they'd have to charge!" 

The afternoon drifted into evening without a sale. Not a single client had 
been ushered through the door that otherwise was fast locked. A still perky 
but disappointed Wendy was released from her cage. With night the girls 
paired off. Lynne and 'Gina paired off too. It would have been better with 
their hands but it was still wonderful. They refused to think of morning. 

But tomorrow came. 

"I've got to cane a pair of bottoms. Do you girls want to watch?" Bettina 
posed her question with an airy benevolence. 

"Bettina!" Lady Conant knew herself blushing. "Don't we have anything to 
say?" 

"Well, I thought you wouldn't mind. I mean, it's an awful drag for the poor 
kids just sitting around. No clients!" 

"It's bad enough to get my bottom caned, without making a Gala event out of 
it." 

"I could insist, y'know." Bettina once more looked upset. "But I don't 
suppose I will. I mean, if you both really hate the idea we can use one of 
the rooms?" 

Gina felt a bitch. Bettina had that effect. "O.K--" 

"O.K.!" She conceded grandly. "If it gives someone pleasure. Lynne and I 
aren't going to enjoy it either way." 

"I'll suffer in a good cause." Lynne agreed. She looked around at faces 
suddenly curious. "I bet some of you kids have never seen a woman getting 
her bottom whipped?" 

"Gosh, no!" 

"What on Earth have you done to deserve-?" 

"You don't mean you're actually willing to bend over and let Bettina beat 
your bottom!" 

"You see!" The wardress exclaimed proudly. "They're ever so grateful." She 
beamed impartially. "And I did have sort of an idea-about them getting in on 
the act." 

There was a cautious silence. 

"I mean, it's awfully hard to bend over and keep still for six cuts with the 
cane. I thought it might be nice if the girls took turns at holding your 
neck between their thighs....? You know, sort of a clamp or a set of stocks 
so you can't dither around." 

"We wouldn't dither around." 

"Well no. But the girls-!" 

"We promise not to pee on you." Said female encouragement. 

"And we smell real sexy down there." 

"I think it's a groovey idea." 

"Bettina, could I be untied long enough to give 'em a few swishes? I've 
never whipped a bottom." 

"No." 

"I'll let you tie me again. I promise." 

"You see, dears, the poor things are so enthusiastic. You're doing a real 
kindness." Bettina was once more starry eyed. She looked at the handcuffed 
pair with bright expectancy. "Which of you would like to be first?" 

The girl's skimpy skirt was just long enough to place 'Gina in semi gloom. 
The soft hot thighs clamped 'Gina's neck as a female vise. The naked bent 
over girl about to be caned fought away claustrophobia at the unexpectedly 
total control exercised by the fleshly stocks. As far as she could tell, she 
was helpless. Her small prison was redolent of musk. 

In the heated excitation of female scents and female flesh, 'Gina had 
forgotten the cane. It cut her bottom unexpectedly and without warning. The 
flash of fire sent her surging against the compulsions on her neck, rearing 
upward to compress the plump damp pudendum of her constraint. But the thighs 
held her easily. There was no escape. 

"Poor darling, that hurt her. Gee, she jumped." 

There were feminine giggles. In consolation Bettina stroked the captive 
nipples, still tender from yesterday's clips. 'Gina twisted in an unhappy 
realisation of untidiness. She must look ridiculous with her hands held 
awkwardly at her back, straddled legs, and her head buried beneath a skimpy 
skirt. She hoped Bettina would hurry up and get it over. The second swish 
hurt enough to stop her thinking, but she absorbed it without sound or 
struggle. 

"I daren't hit you too lightly, love, in case someone counts your stripes." 
Bettina apologised. 

"Just hit me quick and get me out of here." 

"She's ungrateful." Complained the owner of the thighs. 

"Let's turn her round so we can all see her better, and get rid of my dress 
so I can get a look." 

It was done, delightedly. In animation, the girls had become more beautiful. 
A red faced Lady Conant placed her neck in bondage once again, this time to 
mingle her own hair against a shining pubic bush. The cane sliced her bottom 
briskly in affirmation of Esther Diomedes love." 

"Gollies, that's made me horny." Said the thighs in pleased surprise. 
"Bettina, can I go in a bedroom with someone?" 

Two girls departed, hand in hand. If the captives knew nothing of lesbianish 
before, they knew it now. It was concomitant to the slavery of giiis. There 
were hushed giggles. 

"Could I, please? Before I go back in the cage?" Wendy pleaded. 

Lynne bent in homage to the sweet young nakedness who proffered her not open 
arms but open thighs. She gasped and trembled as the hostly feminine bonds 
clamped shut upon her neck. Wendy was small but strong. She moreover exuded 
a pubic perfume against which the captive knew she would have no defense. So 
potent were the vibes from the joyous nymphet that Lynne gasped in orgasm at 
the fifth stroke. Amidst reverent approval Bettina slashed number six with 
cunning wisdom to impact upon the pouting pussy impudently peeping backward 
from a captive crotch. Lynne screamed and surged and writhed so that Wendy, 
too, exploded with her in a constellation of ecstasy. 

"Maybe you should cane us all." Said Jennifer wonderingly. "If that's the 
effect I wouldn't mind-" 

The buzzer's warning held the urgency of rare use. Bettina looked flustered. 
"Oh damn, a client....!" She looked around appealingly. "Someone tell those 
two girls...." 

Wendy leaped for the cage, inserted herself with deft wriggles, and pleaded. 
"Lock me in ... Hurry!" 

Chained ankles are not conducive to speed but a flushed Bettina did her 
best. The padlock clicked its promise of captivity for the laughing child 
within the bars. The wardress clinked her way to the fateful door and rapped 
upon the panel her acknowledgement of girls ready to be sold. It opened with 
a flourish and a man strode grandiloquently through the portal. 

It was Mr. Arumin. 

There was about him an air of immense satisfaction, a man who had matters 
well in hand and knew where he was going. He patted Bettina's deferential 
bottom genially. "More beautiful than ever, m'dear. One of these days I 
really must buy you." 

"Thank you, sir." 

His interest roved the scattered maidens but came instantly to rest upon the 
cage. "Ah ha, what have we here!" 

"It's for naughty girls, sir." 

Arumin was enraptured. The vibrant bundle of mischief behind the bars looked 
up at him in an innocent homage to male superiority. "Please buy me, sir." 
Wendy's voice was sweetly dulcet. "I'm ever so nice." 

"You may consider her sold." Said Mr. Arumin with regal decision. "I will 
take the cage too." 

"But her price, sir!" Bettina had a sense of something missing. "Don't you 
want to know-?" 

Arumin waved a lordly hand. "I have just concluded a most satisfactory 
financial transaction, m'dear. Let us not quibble." 

It was then he saw 'Gina. 

There was mutual shock. Somehow there passed between them a pact of silence. 
A burning bottom was forgotten, a quick mental computation made. "I'll take 
that one too." Announced Arumin with elan. "I'm afraid she's not for sale, 
sir." 

"Nonsense! You are all for sale." He bent a fatherly regard upon his former 
slave. "Lady Regina Conant, I believe?" 

"Why are you here, child?" 

"To be kept in safe custody while Mrs. Diomedes is absent, master." 

"Hmmmmm ... her!" He turned to his guide. "You run a kennel service here?" 

Bettina squirmed. "Mrs. Diomedes is influential, sir-" 

"I know all about her." Kaliel Arumin dismissed his competition with an airy 
gesture. "Take off your clothes, please." 

"But, sir-?" 

"I wish to see you naked." 

"Of course, sir. But still-!" 

"I'm sure you've been naked before a man?" He was drily amused and enjoying 
himself. "I expect you have breasts and a cunt-possibly some pubic hair?" 

"Exquisite! Why have you not sold?" 

"My price was very high, sir. And now-" 

"Clasp your hands behind your neck and turn slowly." 

Bettina's breathing quickened. She wished her ankles were not fettered. 
Arumin's admiration was heady stuff. Obediently she slowly turned, thrusting 
out her breasts, biting her lips to make them red, suddenly glorying in her 
own loveliness. 

"I will buy you too." 

"Huh!" Arumin glared at the door without a handle. "We'll see about that. 
Get me out of here." Bettina rapped the signal. 

 CHAPTER TEN. THE SORTED SLAVES. 

It all happened with absurd dispatch. After the initial tension filled wait, 
in which Wendy cooed jubilation and wriggled gleefully behind her bars, 
Bettina sped distractedly to a mirror and the comfort of cosmetics and 
hairbrush, and Lady Regina Conant stood erect in shame at her involuntary 
submission, the door opened to admit a victorious Arumin and a Robert 
Fonteyn who looked somewhat more withered and imposed upon than usual. 

Lady Conant and Lynne Stacey were instantly gagged. They had things to say 
but would not say them now. Each recognized Fonteyn's wisdom in rendering 
them mute. He wanted neither reproaches or questions. Hating their distended 
cheeks and the bite of straps they exchanged their desolation from anguished 
eyes. Recognizing inevitability, 'Gina stood quietly for her hands to be 
re-tied and her elbows strictured. She ruefully thought of the painful ropes 
deep in her flesh as her 'going away costume.' Certainly they were conducive 
to docility. 

When Bettina's garment was removed and she stood expectantly nude there was 
a murmur of shock. The girls sensed drama. Wnen her hands were tied behind 
her back and her elbows drawn together by unrelenting bands there was a 
breathlessness as the captives beheld their impending loss. Her eyes 
sparkled when her purchaser spoke of her shackled feet. 

"Leave her chained. I like the effect." 

The two men from the warehouse were aware of privilege. Their grins were 
respectful but wide. They picked up Wendy's cage with her inside and carried 
the happy package through the other door. 'Gina's feet had not been bound. 
She meekly followed, not daring to again seek Lynne's stricken gaze. Behind 
her, Bettina's chain clinked joyously. 

Within the warehouse was a panel truck, its door wide open in invitation to 
its prey. The captive beauties were ushered within, the door was closed. Mr. 
Arumin's shipping was complete. 

"I did try." Bettina lamented. "But he wouldn't buy Lynne along with you. He 
said something about nibbling...." 

'Gina nodded. She understood. 

"I don't think I can get your gag off, darling. I would try but we'd only be 
punished. And anyway, you can nod or shake your head." 

"I wonder why they didn't gag us." Wendy queried from within her cage. 
"Gollies, I'm excited! Do they do that, you know, thing to us right away or 
do we get whipped or something?" 

"I don't know. Isn't that silly, I really don't. I've never been sold 
before." Bettina giggled. "We could ask 'Gina, she knows. But the poor 
darling can't say a word." 

"Can't you even guess?" 

"Ask him to whip you. I'm sure he'll oblige. I'd do it myself if I could. 
You're altogether too damn perky." 

"Wouldn't it be a lark if he's forgotten the key! I say, Bettina, what's it 
feel like to be tied up? I mean, after you've been sort of our mistress?" 

"I'd sooner have walked out with my clothes on. But since this is the only 
way I'd ever leave the place I'll take it and be thankful." 

"But suppose Mr. Arumin whips you?" 

"So he whips me! There's nothing I can do-" 

"Why do men like whipping girls?" 

"I don't know that either, they just do." Bettina pondered. "But there's 
females too ... I got horny as all get out using that cane on those lovely 
little bottoms this morning. As for you, you little mink...!" 

Wendy giggled comfortably. "Y ou've lost your chance. You can't get at me in 
here. Besides, you're all tied up." She paused in erotic reflection. "I've 
never had men do that, you know what, to me. Is it really as big as they 
say?" 

"Probably bigger." 

"You're kidding! It wouldn't go in." 

"You've got a surprise coming, kid." Bettina laughed ruefully. "The way you 
climaxed this morning I'd say you could probably accept anything Arumin's 
likely to have." 

"Do you really think so!" Wendy was intrigued. "But will he be able to do 
all three of us? I mean, a girl usually has just one husband?" 

"It will serve you right if he doesn't do it to you at all and whips you 
twice a day instead-" 

'Gina listened to their half serious banter. For each of them this was an 
adventure, cherishing hope. They would be seeing visions of marriage or 
escape or a lush and loving concubinage. The demeaning realities of slavery 
would be thrust to the back of their minds. She envied them their brief 
happiness. 

She thought of Conant. Esther Diomedes had delayed the signing of a second 
set of documents too long. The Castle was still her own. She wondered, 
wanly, if she would ever see it again and if Hammond Stacey was still in 
residence. He was her only hope. If only he could know her whereabouts and 
disposition! But how could he know! And to make things worse, Lynne would be 
sold to a slavery in which she would vanish without trace. In sudden revolt 
she struggled against her bindings to find relief in pain, relief against 
the most agonizing frustration of her life. 

And Esther Diomedes! Fonteyn had betrayed a trust, sold a property he did 
not own. Or had the Diomedes told him to sell her-for a price! She had no 
way of knowing. Bettina might possess a clue, but, gagged, she could not 
ask. Tears of helplessness fathered but she blinked them back. Hammond 
Stacey would find her. ... He would, he would! She must cling to that 
belief. In the meantime she would question her fellow slave, if she got the 
chance! If-if-if....! 

She knew the room, she had been there before, and suffered. It was a 
pleasant room converted to the discipline of girls. In it slaves were taught 
their manners. Mr. Arumin surveyed his purchases with approval, one in a 
cage, two still bound. Thoughtfully, he removed 'Gina's gag. She remembered 
her cue. 

"Thank you, master." 

How easily slavery returned! It possessed a girl. In it she found a strange 
comfort: she was owned and without decision. She had only to breathe, to 
scream, and to be beautiful and obedient. Sometimes her master would be 
kind. 

"I am thinking of a small introductory period, m'dear." 

'Gina sank to her knees, but gently he raised her to stand erect. "You are a 
practiced slave, Lady Conant. I want you to show these delightful girls the 
meaning of obedience." 

"Yes, master." 

"You will not like what I am about to do." 

"It does not matter, master. I am a slave." 

"You see." Arumin beamed at an enthralled damsel in a cage and a bound and 
bewildered beauty. "Lady Conant is most marvelously trained....And it took 
such a little time." 

"Master, why do you call a slavegirl by a title she no longer deserves?" 

"Because it pleases me. It emphasises your sweet humility. The mighty, now 
fallen." 

"Thank you, master." 

"I am going to suspend you." 

She caught her breath. She might have known! Arumin would truly repossess 
her, making her plead and be abject before a shocked Bettina and a wide eyed 
child in a cage. Woodenly, she did her best. 

"As you wish, master." 

He tilted her chin and kissed her in a way he had never done. Remembering 
his threat of marriage, she quailed. But his lips had been tender. Men were 
strange, they wanted so much of a woman, so much even of a slave. There was 
a lot about Arumin she had yet to learn. 

"I am going to take the ropes from your arms. When it is done you will offer 
me your hands to be bound anew." 

"Yes, master." Her voice was acceptance, without parody. 

'Gina stood. Or perhaps it was Lady Regina Conant who stood with a pleasant 
sensation of male attention to be untied. She moaned in sensual relief as 
her elbows were freed. When she could part her wrists she spent only moments 
in grateful massage before extending her hands. She watched her master bind 
them with care, several loops to spread the strain and hold her helpless, 
with her feet finding only air on which to tread. She wondered if she could 
bear it better now, or would it be as frighteningly awful as before! 

The room was well equipped. A motor whirred and tautened the tether by which 
she would hang. Her hands rose up before her eyes and beyond. She did not 
watch. When her toes left the floor she gasped and emitted the smallest of 
her moans. She looked at Arumin. He smiled in happiness. 

"And you, my dear?" The Master spoke to Bettina as to a child. "Have you 
been as you see Lady Conant now?" 

The girl with chained feet shook her head, nonplussed. "You mean you're 
going to tie me up? Hang me? Like that? Oh ... sir...!" 

"Should I not?" 

Through her own travail 'Gina beheld Bettina's distress, wondering if dreams 
were shattering around the feet of the lovely nudity whose words, when they 
came, were innocent. 

"I don't know, sir. I'm sorry, I just don't." 

"But you have feelings?" 

"Just frightened, sir." 

"Do you not wish to plead?" 

"No, sir. You bought and paid for me. I have to do what you wish." The 
lovely shoulders fluttered helplessly. "And anyway, I can't do anything...." 

"Will you be obedient as 'Gina?" 

"Yes." 

"I want you to tell me why. Is not your mind filled with thoughts of 
escape?" 

"I cannot escape, sir. We both know that." Bettina's voice gained assurance. 
"I would if I could." She hesitated. "I'll obey you because if I don't I'm 
sure you'll punish me, and you're a lot stronger than I am....Or do you want 
me to fight and try to get away so you'll have an excuse? I'm adult about 
such things." 

'Gina watched as another girl was made as she herself. Bettina's breasts 
fluttered under accelerated breathing. She made her own small sounds when 
the ropes were taken from her flesh. The holding out of her hands was 
poignantly beautiful, a sight to tear the heart. When her feet felt only air 
beneath their toes she moaned but one small moan and, looking at her 
companion in distress, smiled wanly in recognition of shared agony. 

For minutes the Master admired his nude creations. He found their taut 
stretched loveliness unutterably satisfying. Compared to these suspended 
girls money had no significance. For him they were the essence of life 
itself. Amused at a Puckish impulse, he attached a rope to the ring at the 
top of Wendy's cage and pressed the appropriate button on the wall. When the 
small barred prison was four feet from the ground it stopped, swaying gently 
as its occupant moved. 

"Are you weary of your cage, child?" 

"Well, sort of...." Wendy was being cautious. "Why have you hung me up?" 

"Do I not have a title?" 

Wendy giggled. "O.K. Master. Don't I get the same as the others?" 

"You wish that?" 

"Golly, no! It looks like a real drag. But what are you going to do with 
me?" She giggled again. " ... Master?" 

"Leave you as you are." 

Wendy wilted, feeling deprived. "I'm not just a kid, y'know. I'm every bit 
as female." 

"You desire rape?" 

"Not just like that! Jeepers!" 

"You are an impudent child. Stay in your cage and reflect. Perhaps after a 
few days...." 

Kaliel Arumin nodded cheerfully. His world was now complete. He left his 
three purchases alone with their thoughts. 

The room was suddenly very large, and very lonely, and bereft of hope. 

"He doesn't mean that, does he?" Wendy was indignant. "I mean, leaving me 
here for days?" 

"You're better off than we are." 

"Well yes, but what about when I have to pee?" 

"Maybe he'll throw in some sawdust." 

"It's not funny." Wendy was piqued by what she saw as discrimination. But 
she was also avidly curious. "I say, darlings, does that hurt much?" 

"It's awful." 

"Don't sound so mad at me, I only asked. Gollies, have you any idea what 
that stretch does to your boobs and pussies? Jeepers!" 

"We can imagine." 

"Can't you wiggle around and get loose?" 

"No." 

"But you haven't even tried." 

"It hurts too much. Just shut up, will you. It hurts to talk." 

Wendy sniffed, she turned her attention to her cage. Her efforts to explore 
its secrets with her bound hands set her to swinging like a pendulum. Having 
made contact with the padlock and hinges of the door with tied but twisting 
fingers, she exclaimed as though at discovery: "I can't get out of this!" 

"You weren't intended to, dear." 

"Isn't he going to-do something to us?" 

"Don't see how he can manage it when we're like this." 

Conversation languished and lapsed. Wendy contemplated a drab vista, the 
suspended beauties longed only for the floor beneath their feet. Hours 
passed in torment-or what seemed like hours. Heads drooped lower and lovely 
features became more wan. 'Gina wept silently. He had done to her the thing 
she hated most. She wanted to die but knew she would not. She made a 
resolution to be the most obedient slave in captivity. It was her only hope. 

Animation was restored by the arrival of Esther Diomedes. 

She did not come of her own volition but was escorted by two large and 
muscular retainers of The House. Strong as they might be, they had their 
hands full, Mrs. Diomedes was not a willing guest. She was swearing fluently 
in several languages, none of them English, and writhing her own muscularity 
in a prodigious determination to escape the hands upon her arms. But the 
hands were skilled and brutal. At the end of several minutes of intense 
stress the woman who owned an Empire hung suspended in a perfect 'X,' her 
arms spread wide from bands about her wrists, her feet tugged far apart and 
anchored to the floor they could not touch. 

"I'll have you killed for this." 

They paid no heed, but stripped her naked, tearing away the costly garments 
with which she had replaced her former shapelessness. Her magnificent 
opulence proclaimed itself to its finest advantage under the strain of a 
bondage more revealing than that of the forlorn maidens she faced at a 
distance of fifteen feet. 

The woman was as skilled as the men. While they held fast the protesting 
head, she used her instruments and her cosmetics to make the Diomedes 
features as magnificant as the panting torso. When she had perfected the 
face she moved lower to the breasts, the nipples, the taut navel and the 
sundered sex. When she was done the trio left their prey. The barbaric 
splendor of their creation glared defiantly at the man who now drank in her 
impotence with avid eyes. 

"Arumin, you'll die for this!" 

"But not now, madam."v 

"Alright, what do I have to pay to get out of this?" 

"Not a penny, madam. You simply do not get out." 

"Stop staring at my cunt. Let me down." 

"Your cunt will be used later by my men. I was estimating its capacity. You 
will stay as you are." 

"You son of a bitch!" She spat like a tigress caged. Suddenly she recognized 
the hanging nudity. "Where the devil did you get that girl? She's mine!" 

"But I have you, madam." 

"You polite bastard! How'd you talk Fonteyn out of her?" 

"Money. He felt sure he could reason with you." 

"I'll have the wrinkled old fart castrated. And as for you-!" 

"Madam, quite soon I am going to thrash you into some semblance of 
femininity." 

It was as though she saw him for the first time. The invective died, tense 
in her 'X' Esther Diomedes surveyed her captor in silence. After several 
minutes Arumin, satiated with sight of the embattled breasts and a pudendum 
that seemed to glower back at his regard, turned his back and went to where 
his purchases of that morning hung awaiting his pleasure. Nonchalantly, he 
lowered 'Gina's feet to the floor. 

Lady Conant said nothing, content merely to obey. She watched in silence 
while he untied her hands. While Arumin went to the cupboard she massaged 
her wrists placing her fingers in the deep weals in wonder. Beside her the 
slender nakedness of Bettina hung in punishment When her master turned back 
he carried a whip. He placed it in her hand. 

"You have the greatest privilege in this world, my dear. Use this lovely 
instrument on Esther Diomedes." 

'Gina looked at the wicked thing in wonder. She allowed her master to lead 
her to stand before the most impressive, and most helpless, nudity she had 
ever seen. "Whip her breasts and her cunt, m'dear. I doubt if she would feel 
it on her back." 

The two women looked steadily at each other, exchanging vibes. Lady Conant 
allowed the whip to slide from her hand to the floor. Her voice trembled. 
"I'm sorry. I can't do that. Mrs. Diomedes was not unkind to me." 

"You must." 

She fell to her knees before him, buried her face in her hands and wept. 
"Master, I cannot....!" She sobbed heartbrokenly, guessing her fate. 

The Master sighed and was about to speak when Esther Diomedes intervened. 
"Whip me you little fool. He'll hang you up again if you don't." 

"I cannot. You said you loved me." 

"I do. But whip me. You have no choice." 

"I have a choice." 

The girl called 'Gina walked back to where suffering awaited her body. The 
rope still hung from the pulley. It had been but a few 
minutes....Apatheticly she watched her hands re-bound, holding them out for 
her master's convenience, seeing the same strands bite the same weals and 
the same knots deliver her back into pain. When her toes left the floor and 
her shoulders shrieked protest she whimpered, that was all. 

"I doubt, madam, you have ever been woman enough to have orgasm?" 

She refused to answer. 

"You will have one now and you will share it." 

"The object being inserted within you, madam, was designed as a thing of 
humour, an immensity beyond the practical. In you it has found its destiny. 
Congratulations." 

"Pig!" It was all she would say. 

The ministering hands now bandaged. First the taut belly, then the belt, 
cinching the spread crotch between the thighs. Tight, tight, and tighter 
still. Before the dildo disappeared a switch was pushed....The bandages 
neatly diapered both dildo and Diomedes, making them one. A faint hum 
delcared its presence in the room. 

'Gina did not forget her pain, but she bore it as the price of entry to a 
theatre she would remember all her life. Bettina, too, was painfully intent. 
Within her cage, Wendy was pressed against the bars in wide eyed 
fascination. 

"Must you watch?" It was Mrs. Diomedes only plea. 

"We will all watch." Said Kaliel Arumin pleasantly. 

The battle between the naked Amazon and the vibrating enemy within her 
sheath was not instantly dramatic. Stoically the Diomedes eyes sought a 
horizon above her tormentor's head, she hung motionless refusing to 
acknowledge the presence of the buzzing weapon with which her cunt must 
cope. Arumin found a chair and disposed himself comfortably. 

It began with motions of the regal head, a tossing and twisting as at an 
irritant fly, a mane of hair was tossed fruitlessly. Then the hands, a 
clenching of a fist, the spreading wide of fingers that could reach nothing. 
Finally, a gasp and heavy breathing to set in motion the giant breasts. 

"Madam, surely you do not respond?" 

"Drop dead." 

The response became undeniable. The Diomedes might remain aloof, but her 
redundant femaleness was not immune. Within the framework of the ropes that 
stretched it wide her curves began their tribute to the invader of her 
loins. Small writhings, a jerk, a thrust, an easement of the hips....It was 
a symphony of the flesh testing its prelude for the crescendo still to come. 

"The batteries are guaranteed for many hours, madam." 

'Gina was thankful it was not her own sheath housing the frictioning horror. 
It would be bad enough to be obliged to climax before an audience. ... But 
that there should be no surcease ... that the agonizing ecstasy should go on 
and on without pause, dissolving her vitality in a langour denied by the 
cruel beginnings of a recurring cycle! 

Perhaps she was lucky as she was. 

"How many millions do you want, Arumin?" It was Mrs. Diomedes first 
concession, signalled by a mantling blush of chagrin. 

"None, madam. You are beyond price." 

"Take this thing out of me and whip me decently?" 

"All in good time, madam. Be patient." 

It was an enforced patience. When it was rewarded by heavings and moans that 
spoke vividly of screaming glands and frantic nerves, Mr. Arumin began, with 
care and precision, to whip the feminine attributes so wantonly displayed 
for his attention. With excellent timing, his lash flicked breast, buttock 
and thigh to accompany the growing pressures of the volcano within. When the 
volcano erupted with such violence as was to be expected from such superb 
flesh, his whip became more cruel and more searching. In the final spasms 
'Gina found her own hips working in a vicarious sharing of woman's eternal 
travail. 

It did not stop. The faint buzz continued, the whip became dominant in the 
pinioned woman's suffering, its weals beginning to etch the moist and 
glistening skin hot in a concupiscence it could not control. The Diomedes 
was obviously fighting to maintain a motionless indifference to her 
flogging, but her flesh betrayed. It jerked, it quivered, finally it writhed 
in uninhibited recognition of the unbearable. The eyes and the wet and heavy 
lips bore witness to the regenerating violence within the Diomedes cunt. She 
moaned only slightly but she moaned. For her, it would be an admission of 
defeat. 

It was at that moment Lynne Stacey entered. 

"Ah, Miss Stacey! Your father is well, I trust?" Kaliel Arumin was 
unperturbed. "Would you care to use this whip a little while on this 
magnificent flesh?" 

Lynne took the lash. Holding it diffidently, she asked. "Did you leave a 
letter-?" 

"With our poor worried Fonteyn? Yes indeed. Since you are here I take it he 
managed to let you find your father? Or was it your father who found you?" 

"He set me free and let me phone Conant, and here we are." 

"All is for the best." Said Mr. Arumin sententiously. "May I suggest her 
rump, it is a worthy target. The sounds of impact I have been getting have 
been memorable-" 

"Dammit', Arumin, is this your idea of a joke!" Hammond Stacey strode into 
the chamber with harsh intent but stopped in a grudging admiration for 
Arumin's bizarre tableaux. 

"Alas yes." Arumin made a deprecating gesture. "Not in good taste perhaps. 
But still-?" 

"Damned dramatic! Good heavens, isn't that the Diomedes?" 

"Our dear Esther is completing her education. She has just discovered she is 
female. Miss Stacey seems reluctant to use the whip....Perhaps you 
yourself...?" 

"Not my cup of tea, but thanks anyway." Stacey was trying not to smile. 
"Where on Earth have you got those girls?" 

"Perhaps if you turned round-?" 

With a cry of distress Lynne flew to her beloved. There were fumblings and 
flying fingers before 'Gina and Bettina stood free to thankfully rub wealed 
wrists. 

"I trust I may be forgiven a selfish indulgence?" Kaliel Arumin inquired 
anxiously. "They were so exquisite-" 

"I ought to punch you in the nose." 

"Ah yes, but I have been of some small service, surely?" 

"And you'll have an axe to grind." Stacey eyed the bland face sardonically. 
"Come on, man, what is it?" 

"I am thinking of purchasing Mr. Fonteyn's premises. I would value your 
goodwill?" 

"A bloody slave Market!" 

"Even after relinquishing Lady Conant I have an inventory of two." The 
Arumin voice became warm. "Lady Conant represents a loss. Perhaps someone 
would like to re-im burse-?" 

Hammond Stacey was in expansive mood. The Amazonian statue in flesh that was 
Esther Diomedes dwarfed all else. "I'll take her off your hands." He agreed 
amiably. "You're an outrageous rogue, but there's nothing wrong with a good 
rogue. Anything else?" 

"I would be honoured if you would attend my wedding." 

"You! Married?" 

"Do not sound so shocked. I am going to marry Esther Diomedes." 

The statue rocked and heaved. "Blast you both! Let me down. As for marrying 
you, you .royal asshole, you're dreaming." 

Arumin smiled. "The lady has yet to be persuaded. It is a task in which I 
excel. In fact, you behold our courtship." 

"The son of a bitch has got a torpedo up my cunt!" 

"There is no danger of conception." Arumin said blandly. 

Lynne and her beloved both tittered. The freed Lady Conant was hastily 
dressing. Bettina looked sadly around. "Am I still a slave girl?" She asked 
dolefully. "You're all so happy...." 

"Daddy will buy you, won't you, daddy?" 

"At cost price." Mr. Arumin offered magnanimously. "Her chain is included." 

"It's a deal." Stacey conceded. "But I don't know what to do-" 

"'Gina and I know what to do with her, Daddy. Don't worry." 

"I've got something in mind for 'Gina myself." Hammond Stacey said dourly. 

"O.K. You marry 'Gina and I'll have Bettina-Oh, Daddy...!" 

"What about me?" Exclaimed a plaintive wail from the cage. "Please let me 
out." 

"I forgot the key." Said Mr. Arumin regretfully. 

'Gina was dressed. She was not bound. In freedom she felt lost. With a hand 
on Stacey's arm she asked. "Conant? You stayed there? Is everything all 
right?" 

"I stayed there." His eyes met hers. "I intend to go on staying there?" 

"I want you to. Always." She giggled. "We can keep Lynne and Bettina in a 
dungeon. They'd be terribly happy." 

"Please, Daddy, can we?" 

"An excellent idea." Mr. Arumin approved. "For Lady Conant, might I suggest 
handcuffs?" 

"I wouldn't mind." 'Gina said demurely. "I feel a bit lost-" 

"I have a pair upstairs?" 

"Never mind." Said Hammond Stacey. "I have in mind a ball and chain." 

"Perhaps we might retire to the lounge and celebrate with libations?" Mr. 
Arumin suggested. "I have some fine sherry and a notable brandy." 

"Has anyone a key to these things on my ankles?" Bettina asked hopefully. 

"You have to wear your chain, darling, I insist. And I'm sure the key's been 
lost." Lynne declared firmly. 

'Gina glowed. The masculine arm about her waist was strong. In a satisfying 
intimacy the small group left the room. Mrs. Esther Diomedes orgasmed for 
the third time but no one noticed. 

The purr of the vibrator continued in the empty room. 


THE END
