Suburban Submission
by F. E. Campbell


CHAPTER ONE - GIRLS BEHIND BARS 

"That there man, mistah Coro, don' know what the hell he want, honey." 
Jollie surveys my stretched nudity without focus, her thoughts are 
elsewhere. She may only be thinking aloud but I sense a purpose. "What he 
needs is Me. I give him the best female action he ever had." She continues 
musingly. "But that asshole, he got his mind plumb set on youse two white 
gals. Men's nuts." 

I concur heartily. But I cannot say so, I am gagged. Bill knows I hate being 
gagged, so I get gagged a lot. I cannot remove the gag because I am 
suspended from two wide spread ropes to my wrists, and spread open by two 
more from my ankles to rings in the floor. I have been a naughty girl and, 
since I have been whipped so much, Bill has decreed this as punishment. It 
isn't much fun. 

"Mistah Coro, he frustrate hisself to death, honey, a'wantin' me and not 
knowing it. Thass the reason he so damn mean to yo'. Tied up the way yo' is 
ain't no way ter treat nice gals like yo' and that there Daphne. She likes 
it more'n yo' do-but just the same... " Jollie's voice trails away into 
thought. So does mine! As my Wardress she is not permitted sympathy, she 
must do what her boss man says. But a girl who is Bill Coro's prisoner in 
Bill Coro's jail can always hope. Jollie's become my only hope since Jason 
started acting so offhandedly mean. I belong to Jason, damn him, and if he 
had a lick of sense he'd get me out of here. 

"Yo' all's a'thinkin' ah should let you down, honey." Her eyes focus on my 
rope indented wrists and ankles and my stretched pussy and wracked 
shoulders. She tickles me between my open thighs to make me gasp. "Sposin' 
ah does, sposin' ah sets yo' free?" 

Jollie is pure gold, I don't think she's teasing. But I am gagged and can 
say nothing. 

"He be real mad at me fer awhile. But he got his Daphne gal', and Daphne she 
mostly love what he had me do to her. I don' think I git fired. I think I 
still keep me a job." 

Poor dear Jollie, she wants reassurance, and I can't give her any, I am 
gagged. Damn and blast all gags, particularly the one that's in my mouth 
right now!. 

"Yo' got yo' mistah Jason, Honey. Yo' two's the craziest pair o' lovers I 
ever see. When yo' gits that dum-dum alone yo' gives him the damdest bawlin' 
out before yo' let's him tie yo' up agin'." 

Will I ever! It's been the thought closest to me heart for the six weeks 
I've been Bill's prisoner in Stubbinsburg Jail. But I sure can't do it while 
I'm tied up naked this way, with my wrists on fire and my ankles hurting and 
my lips bound and gagged. 

"I thought 'bout this a lot, honey, whiles the boss man has me whippin' yo' 
little butt and yo' pretty back, and a'tyin' yo' up in all the mean ways he 
gits a hard outta'. Yo' don' belong here, sweetheart, yo' belongs with 
mistah Jason." She shakes her head in bafflement. "That man can be mean as 
he likes wif yo' and yo' eats it up. Yo' want I let's yo' loose?" 

I snort and nod. Even though it hurts real bad I strain and surge against 
the ropes tethering me in bondage. Damn the gag, she must have forgotten it 
stops me talking. Why, oh why, doesn't she take it from my lips! 

Jollie unbuckles the straps and tugs the wet rubber ball from my mouth. 
After I salivate I gasp over and over: "Oh, thank you... thank you... Oh, 
Jollie, I love you." 

It is strange and unbelievable that I am going to be free. First, the ropes 
from my ankles, then a box to stand on while my wrists are untied. Then I 
stand, naked, rubbing my wounds. I will do nothing to injure Jollie, even 
though it means getting tied up again. 

"Yo' is beautiful gal, Carrie. Yo' don' belong this dump." 

Jollie has made up her mind. I dress in the clothes she has brought, I take 
the handbag with money... 

"Second time, Honey...!" 

Yes, the second time she has done this for me. I had better not come back! I 
hug and kiss Jollie until we are breathless. I take the keys to Bill's car-- 
"Boss man, he's havin' his nap. Yo' git's outta' here fast. Here's the keys. 
Mistah Jason and mistah Coro kin' figure out how he git his car back. Yo' 
don' need to worry." 

I am suddenly bereft. This woman has whipped me and tied and chained me only 
as she must. For what she is doing she had earned my love. She severs my 
ardent arms and lips and takes me to the car. 

"Yo' stays with mistah Jason now, yo' heah!" 

I hear. The starter whirrs. 

* * * 

The apartment is unchanged. It had been tidy when Jason first kidnapped me, 
it still is. I remember that terrible time when I had done what I now do: he 
had not come home. This time he will. Joyously, I cook supper, I make myself 
naked, when I hear his key I handcuff my wrists. 

"What the hell, Carrie!" He surveys me askance. "Bill promised he'd keep you 
prisoner--" 

"Glad to see me?" 

"Hell, yes!" He sniffs my cooking and he sniffs Me. "Oh, Carrie, it's so 
damn good...!" 

It is several minutes before we finish discovering how good it is. Jason 
then examines my handcuffs and tightens them one notch. They are now very 
tight but I do not complain. I am home! I tell him what there is to tell. I 
am permitted to sit at table with him, and there we talk. 

I am extravagantly happy. To escape from prison must be one of the best 
feelings. It is hard not to bubble and sparkle too much: Jason would squelch 
effervescence with an iron hand. Poor Jason is in the quaint position of 
being glad to have me home, yet disapproving the act by which I am here. I 
clink my handcuffs, they are my badge of submission. 

"I was going to bring you home next week anyway, Carrie." He says this, 
frowning. Then adds, diffidently: "You'll never believe that now." 

"If you say so, Jason." 

"Huh, that's a non committal fob off." He eyes my visible whipmarks. "Was 
Bill that rough-?" 

"Yes, he was! I didn't dare tell you when you were down for week-ends--the 
two of you are such buddy-buddies. He promised to punish me horribly if I 
complained." 

"No faith in me, eh?" 

"But, Jason, it was you who put me back in Stubbinsburg Jail. Just because I 
was a bit rude to your holy Bill--" 

"O.K., O.K.!" Jason grimaces ruefully. "Actually, I owe it to Bill Coro to 
take you right back there. Letting you get away with an escape is like 
slapping his face." 

"Its needed slapping for a long time." I sniff disdainfully. "And as for 
going back there--that's out!" 

"You really think you've got anything to say about that?" 

I am suddenly trembling. I am not handling this well at all. I hold up my 
metal encircled wrists. "Jason, these handcuffs are my token of trust. I put 
them on myself, and you hold the key." 

"So, O.K., they're a part of our Thing." 

"Jason, if you take me back to Stubbinsburg I'll fight you tooth and nail. 
These handcuffs make it certain I'll lose. You'll tie me in a bundle and 
dump me in the trunk of the car. But I'll scratch and claw and kick and 
scream. And I won't like you, I won't like what you're doing." 

He looks across at me quizzically, my vehemence has amused my omnipotent 
male. It has made me flushed and pretty and the candlelight on the chrome of 
my handcuffs is diverting. Jason adores handcuffs on demure girls, or angry 
girls, but particularly on me. "So alright, sweetheart, you don't go back, 
not for now." He is the Grand Master being munificent to his naughty 
slavegirl. "I'll have a word with good old Bill about hanging you up all 
over the place like washing out to dry--and those whipmarks... good gosh!" 

"Bill doesn't understand girls, darling. He ought never to own any--" 

"Does any man ever really own a girl, Carrie?" 

"You own me, Jason. You know you do." 

"Well... in a way... I suppose--" My master is male, sentiment embarrasses 
him. I cover it up. "Right now Bill Coro owns Daphne. It's a different kind 
of owning, Jason, he keeps her restrained so she can't leave. It's like a 
farmer penning livestock, he owns 'em. Daphne's penned, or tethered... Bill 
owns her for sure. The only hope that girl has of freedom is in you or me or 
Jollie--" 

"Sweetheart, freedom is the last thing that girl wants." 

"Maybe. But leave her with Bill long enough and he'll spoil a good thing. 
He's a rotten Master." 

"But, Carrie, she expected to be whipped--!" 

"And she was prepared to be a good sport about something she didn't want. 
But when Bill whips a girl he doesn't know when to stop--d'you want me to 
stand up and show you my rear view again?" 

"Daphne's distressed? She wants out? Is that what you're saying?" 

"Bill doesn't love girls, to him we're just breasts and cunts and things, 
nice resilient surfaces to whip. He never told us we were beautiful or 
erotic or exciting. He fucked Jollie that time he had her chained, but he 
didn't desire us. 

I think he saw us as an object d'art which became pleasingly animated when 
inflicted with pain." 

"I'll have a talk with the silly ass." 

"If you could only persuade him to keep Daphne in bondage she'd be happy. 
That's what she wanted that first time she came here. It's all she does 
want. She accepted being whipped because she's adult and knows nothing's 
ever going to be a hundred percent." "How was she reacting? You were 
together...?" 

"We weren't together all that often. Bill was mean, he kept us in separate 
cages so we couldn't do the girl, girl thing. But there were times at night 
when Daphne cried... and I couldn't get through the bars to comfort her--and 
anyway, we were chained or tied... Your 'good old Bill' didn't often leave 
us free." 

"Humph... and where was Jollie in all this?" 

"Bill hired her as our Wardress, the damn place is a prison, y'know. She 
simply did her duty. I think instructing Jollie about our punishments went 
along with Bill's lack of interest in fucking us. Daphne and I were exhibits 
in Bill's Museum and Jollie was the Curator. She arranged us to Bill's best 
advantage. He had his own particular concepts about girls and pain--If only 
the twit had been satisfied with bondage... ! You've got me so's it excites 
me terribly--and, of course, Daphne...!" 

"Hmmmmm, I'll give Bill a call and arrange to return his car." My Master 
gives me a look as though seeing me for the first time. "What say we go to 
bed?" 

My leap up the stairs is positively indecent. The way I plant my foot on the 
bed is almost demanding. Jason hesitates a moment, flirting with chivalry. 
But he is a prudent man. I watch him shackle my ankle, my fire within rages 
to a fine heat. I am terribly, terribly happy. 

* * * 

Jason decrees my return to work. By some magic of his own he has fixed 
things with my office so my absence is unquestioned. I am very happy about 
my job. Being tied up all day in the apartment without Jason's company is a 
bore. It's marvelous with him around but all by myself it's blah. Those poor 
girls who tie themselves up in loneliness must be desperate. It appears, 
however, I have to be punished. 

"It's in the rules, sweetheart. What you did counts as attempted escape." 

Jason is right, but I am so happy I do not care. "Do you want me to fetch 
the whip?" I ask innocently. 

"Hell no, Bill didn't leave enough space. You won't be fit to whip for two 
weeks. I'll let you off easy: just the iron bands." 

Memory floods back. Jason will punish me by humiliation. Meekly, I ask: "Do 
you want me to fetch a wristlet-an anklet?" 

"All of 'em, love, the whole ensemble." 

I make my short but shameful journey, hoping against hope. But my hope is 
vain. Five fatal clicks and I am ironed: ankles, wrists, my neck! My 
fingertips search the metal bands, lingering at my throat. My protest is as 
shamed as my blush. "Jason, I can't go to the office like this, I simply 
can't!" 

"Of course not, darling, you can dress." 

"I don't mean being naked, I mean all this iron." 

"You have never been more beautiful, beloved." 

"To you, Jason, maybe. The office will think I'm a kook!" 

"Your punishment is to persuade them you are not." 

"Jason, darling, please... ! I'll blush myself to death." My Master's tone 
becomes meditative, and deadly. "Would you like to wear the wire belt too, 
dear girl? I recall your saying it was extremely painful?" 

Sometimes I know when to shut up, this is one of the times. In reproachful 
silence I dress. Nothing comes even close to hiding these compulsions to 
contrition Jason has locked on me. They will not come off, so I had best 
wear them with pride--If I can! Quivering in alarm, I kiss my amused Master, 
and I go to the Office... ! 

Why, why, why--Why do I submit! Don't bug me, I don't know. I don't know why 
Daphne's getting herself a palpitating pussy in Stubbinsburg Jail, I don't 
know why my fire burns brightly whenever Jason ties me up... ! But it 
doesn't matter. Even if I knew the answers they wouldn't change a thing. If 
a magician offered me a pill against all the Jasons in the world, I wouldn't 
take it. So everything that happens to me is my own fault... I suppose! 

This situation's delicious. I should get what mileage I can from it, 
including wet panties. A shackled slavegirl tapping a typewriter... Holy 
cow! The Office responds nobly. 

To Mr. Atkins, the Credit Manager, I am now "Convict Carrie." 

To Mr. Higginbotham of accounts payable I am: "Shackled Susan." 

The girls giggle and decide on "Fettered Fanny." 

Nobody believes my explanations but they enjoy my blush. Nobody fires me for 
conduct ill becoming a lady. I go home, jubilant. 

Bill Coro is on the mat. 

I consider turning and running, but I have to face him sometime, and Jason 
will soon be home. His eyes glom on to my iron bands. His opening gambit is 
vintage Bill. "That was unsporting, escaping the way you did, talking Jollie 
into disloyalty. I want you to come back with me and finish your sentence." 

"I don't have a sentence, I've been pardoned. Your car's in the garage 
downstairs, go on home, Bill." 

"Jason's far too lax with you, Carrie. You need discipline." 

"I get all the discipline I need right here, Bill. Go on back to 
Stubbinsburg Jail." 

"Aren't you going to ask me in? I am a friend of Jason's-?" 

What else can I do, but I'm scared. There's a look in Bill's eye... He wants 
me, wants me bad! I think it's because I belong to Jason. I shrug. I unlock 
the door and we go inside. I mix cocktails... frightened the idiot's going 
to pounce. If he tied and gagged me tight and quick he could have me in his 
car and away before Jason shows... Oh, shit! 

The drink pacifies the big lump. "Don't you have a little ritual you go into 
about now?" He asks conversationally. 

"I'll pass on that one today, Bill." I take a big gulp of my screwdriver. 
"That little act's for Jason only." 

"You strip, you handcuff yourself, you cook supper...?" 

"You've seen me naked, Bill, it's no big deal." 

"It is for me, Carrie, you're very beautiful, especially in handcuffs." 

I look at the clock. "Jason will soon be home. If he wants me to strip for 
you I'll do it. Forget the handcuffs." 

"Don't trust me, do you?" 

"Hell, Bill, why would I! The things you like doing to girls... ! Jason 
can't even whip me for a couple of weeks until I heal up from all the weals 
you had Jollie put on me." 

"I'm going to get you back, y'know." 

Plain old fashioned fear grips me. This fatuous fool means what he says. If 
he can buy me or kidnap me he will. I shiver at a vista of the rest of my 
life in Stubbinsburg Jail. Changing the subject, I enquire casually, "How's 
Daphne?" 

"Daphne's sitting astride the wooden horse, Carrie. She's sitting on the 
sharpest edge there is. Her feet are tied way out to either side and her 
hands are tied behind her back. She's going to sit like that until you go 
back with me." There is a cold hand on my spine. What Bill has described is 
pure torture for a girl, a screaming torture I wouldn't wish on anyone, and 
her pussy's sitting on that sharp edge because of me! This bastard isn't so 
dumb, he's found a way I can't laugh off. If only Jason was here! If only-!" 

"Daphne started to scream before I left, Carrie. I had Jollie gag her. 
That's the way she is." 

"It will kill her-!" 

"You know it won't, Carrie. You've sat on that thing yourself." 

"Never with the thin edge! You'll ruin her, you idiot." Furiously, I begin 
preparations. Getting supper puts him at a disadvantage. It is also possible 
he is lying. Surely, even he would never torture Daphne like that! And if he 
did--Jollie would take her off the horse as soon as he was out of sight. I 
refuse to panic. 

Jason is wonderful, I adore him! He disposes of bumptious Bill in short 
order. First thing I know, I'm naked and handcuffed, Bill is on the phone 
getting Daphne off the horse, and then we sit down to supper. The dinner 
conversation doesn't please me overmuch, but at the end of it Bill leaves. 
He carries with him Jason's lecture on the proper care and treatment of 
slavegirls. With Bill gone, the peace and quiet of our apartment is pure 
bliss. 

"Sorry about the week-end, darling." 

I am sorry too. I am to be a peace offering. Jason will be a guest, I will 
be a prisoner in Stubbinsburg Jail. It is for the last time. 

"It sort of rounds the whole thing off." Jason muses aloud. "I'll make sure 
you're not abused. What I want is for you to find out how Daphne feels. If 
she wants out, I'll get her out. I'm disappointed in old Bill. Away from 
girls he's rational--" I sigh. But it is in a good cause, and with Jason 
along... ! And, after this wooden horse affair, I'm worried about Daphne. 

It is so good to belong to Jason again. A reckless happiness possesses me so 
that I wear every one of his irons in outrageous defiance of convention. If 
he told me to go to the store naked, I expect I would. My euphoria is such 
that I can even eye the wire belt without curling up inside--or maybe the 
smallest tremor! 

"Jason, darling, I thought you'd thrown that thing away." 

"No you didn't! Now, let's see if you've put on weight." 

"What! In that lousy jail of Bill's! But, Jason dear, do I have to-I am 
wearing all the iron?" 

"No one can see this. C'mon now, up with the arms, in with the tummy." 

I hate the thing but, after Stubbinsburg, I am prepared to view anything 
Jason does to me as a relief. I position my nudity for what used to be a 
punishment. Jason tugs the wire deep round my middle, I gasp, the padlock 
clicks. 

"I'd say you've lost a pound." Jason pats my bottom affectionately. "Looks 
damn good on you." 

I don't pretend I'm anything but ridiculous about Jason. I don't have to put 
up with what he does to me, I could leave anytime. But I recognize my 
enslavement, I don't want to leave. I want Jason and I'm willing to put up 
with what I have to just to keep him. But it goes further than that. I can't 
kid myself that I don't get hot pants out of most of my tortures. For 
instance, right now: he's locked a wire round my middle that's a small 
nagging agony. I can't get it off, so it's a part of him I have to carry 
round all day. Each hour of pain is Jason reminding me of who I belong to 
and, dammit,' it keeps me constantly sexually aroused... and I'm a secretary 
with phones and a typewriter... ! 

We argue amiably about the journey back to Stubbinsburg, with me fighting a 
rearguard action and not really caring about losing. It is decided I can't 
possibly just sit in the front seat with Jason like other females do. Hell 
no, we're going to have a slice of nostalgia with me neatly trussed. Jason 
regretfully concedes the gag, he wants someone to talk to. A gagged girl is 
poor company. 

When Saturday morning comes we decide I can be tied up a lot more desirably 
in our apartment than down in the buildings underground garage where there's 
other cars and other people. Jason has laid me down on the seat and tied me 
down there in the past but he has to keep looking over his shoulder. Anyway, 
I find myself in a better mood than I'd expected. With Jason along and 
somewhere on the premises I may find Stubbinsburg Jail faintly bearable, 
besides there's Daphne! My banter is tinged with only light dolor. 

"Darling, not my elbows, I've asked you before--" 

"Alright, alright, I won't cinch 'em any more--" 

"But you've already got them touching! You don't seem to have any idea how 
it hurts." 

"I've got a lovely neat job, sugar. C'mon to the mirror." I am indeed well 
tied. I turn and twist and find myself as pleased as Jason and feeling a bit 
of pain doesn't matter all that much. I tell myself I am absurd... But, 
gosh, it's neat! "You see, you're proud of it too." 

Jason never misses a chance to jibe. I must be kept in my place. But I now 
yelp in a fresh concern. "J--A--S--O--N... N--O--O--0--0... not between my 
legs!" 

"It only starts between my legs!" 

"It only starts between your legs--" 

"And ends by cutting my pussy in two--!" 

"If you're talking about your cunt, Carrie, why don't you say so?" 

"You know I hate that word. But, anyway, I don't want a rope through 
it--wow... ooops!" 

"Sweetheart, there's no way I'm not going to crupper you, it completes the 
ensemble. Stop beefing." 

"You'd beef too if--J--A--S--O--N--... ! That's too tight round my tummy!" 

"It has to be. Dammit' girl, there has to be an anchor for the one that cuts 
your cunt--" 

"But I don't want my cunt cut--See, you've made me say it! Ohhhhhh... Oh, 
it's so awful when I walk. Jason... please?" 

"Lovely! Let's go to the mirror again." 

"You'll have to carry me. It hurts too much to walk." 

"If I do, sweetheart, it'll cost you." 

I walk to the mirror. Jason is right, the effect is stupendous. I now have a 
fourteen inch waist and the rope disappears inside me. I also have two 
erotic hurtings. My plaints are my secret weapon, trying to hold the line. 
What has been done to me now is lots. 

Jason disagrees. His query is infuriatingly casual. "How about the beetles, 
darling?" 

He is not talking about the boys who sing. He speaks of two expensive little 
clips he has made in the simulation of a pair of big beetles. Snapped on my 
nipples they look frighteningly real and bite worse than any bettle ever 
knew how. They were supposed to be for my punishment only, but he finds them 
far too cute to resist. Once he gets to thinking about them it is only 
rarely I can talk myself out of their clutch. But I have to try. 

"But, Jason, I haven't done anything to deserve them!" 

My protest does not rate an answer. He rummages them out of a drawer. 

"But, Jason dear, you're only taking me to Stubbinsburg Jail, not to visit 
Torquemada!" 

He eyes my breasts speculatively. They way he has me tied causes them to 
intrude on the landscape. 

"Besides, I don't want them. I don't want those little horrors on my tits." 

Taking great care, he clips one on each of my nipples. Fuming, I stand 
still, and gasp at the appropriate moments. I now shut up. Once he has them 
on me there's no way he's going to take them off until he'd ready. I can see 
his point. So long as I'm not wearing them they're neat. 

We descend to the garage. I am wearing shoes and a cape, nothing else except 
my bonds and beetles. I hurt in several places and am most outrageously 
horny. People in the elevator sense something odd, but I smile at them 
brightly. Against the material of my cape, the beetles friction gleefully, 
my breasts bum. I am certain that, with every step, the rope under my crotch 
and within the lips of my puss cuts deeper. Even if I wished to escape it 
would deter me from running. Jason helps me settle in the car and ties my 
ankles. He has a bit of rope left, so he ties my knees too. He looks, 
longingly, at my lips but does not produce a gag. 

When we are nicely on the road I use my freedom of speech, it is all I've 
got. "Jason, do you realise that since the first time you kidnapped me long 
ago I never get to ride in a car unless I'm tied so tight I can't wiggle?" 

"So what, sweetheart! Proper way to have you." 

"What are you going to do to me when we get there?" 

"Nothing. I'm simply delivering you to Bill for the week-end. You're in a 
delinquent position with his authority, remember?" 

"Jason... Nooooo! He'll whip me to pieces!" 

"No he won't. Whatever is done to you has to get my O.K." 

I am mollified, but my ropes are tight and I've never been more helpless. 
Bill looms ahead as a waiting Ogre. I try and voice instinctive fear. "Be 
careful with him, Jason. He's got the hots for me in some queer way of his 
own. He wants me for keeps. He'd got a fantasy about keeping me chained in 
that jail of his forever." 

"Well, don't be rough on him, I'm not treating you much better." 

The beetles on my nipples prompt me to agree but I heed them not. Fervidly, 
I burn bridges. "I can't explain it, darling." I admit slowly. "But you can 
do anything you like with me and I won't mind-leastways not when it's all 
over... ! But whatever Bill does to me just curls me up." 

"Quite a compliment, sweetheart." Jason is thinking hard. "How about I take 
off your beetles?" 

I touched him! Now he's touched me. I am quite absurd. "No, leave them on 
me. You wanted them on my nipples, so I want them too." 

"Don't they hurt, sugar?" 

"Like fury. Leave them alone." 

We drive awhile in silence, it is one of those pregnant one's. After a few 
miles my master's voice, studiously casual, changes my life. "Will you marry 
me, Carrie?" 

Oh shit! I can't hug him, leap around in joy... or kiss! This is absurd! No 
girl, receiving a proposal of marriage, was ever more handicapped, all I can 
do is tremble in my ropes. Weakly, I exclaim: "Ohhhhh, oh, Jason...!" And, 
as an afterthought. "Yes... yes, of course!" 

"Good!" He lets a mile go by before he says: "The engagement will last six 
months in which I will be very mean to you." 

It is my turn to say: "Good!" I do so vehemently. 

"You'll be free to back out--" 

"Good!" 

Jason drives off on the shoulder, stops the car and kisses me very hard. 
"You're a very sweet little girl." He says thoughtfully. 

Maybe it's just as well I'm tied, it's not all that good in the back seat! 

Stubbinsburg doesn't look any better than I remember, the jail looks worse. 
Hollywood could put Bill's jail to good use in a horror movie, it has that 
brooding look of ill intent to nubile girls. But Bill is beaming. Bill's 
beam doesn't light up his second hand jail but it shows he's pleased to see 
us, especially me! 

"Come back like a good girl for your punishment, eh Carrie!" It's Bill's 
idea of a hearty greeting. 

"A mild one." Says Jason firmly, "Very mild." He strips away my cloak to 
reveal me in all my shame. "Bill, this delightful creature you see here, so 
neatly packaged, has consented to be my wife." 

I instantly pick up Bill's vibes, they are heavily negative. They don't 
impinge on Jason, he is not a naked girl teetering on tightly bound feet. 
"Wonderful, wonderful!" Booms Bill as he pumps my master's hand. He then 
kisses me. It couldn't have happened if I wasn't tied this way. I feel 
foolish while Bill approves my beetles. 

"What d'you say to a real good whipping for Carrie to celebrate her good 
fortune?" 

Jason sighs. I hope he is beginning to understand his idiot buddy. His tone 
is patient. "Carrie won't be whipped this trip, Bill, you can think up 
something else." 

"But there's nothing else with the same... zing!" 

"Look, Bill, we've got things to talk about. Give Carrie to Jollie for the 
time being." 

My adoration for Jason grows--so crafty! 

Jollie accepts me, disapprovingly maternal. She unties my ankles and knees, 
then eyes my beetles. "Yo' want she go on wearin' them things on her tits, 
mistah Coro?" 

"Give them to me." Says Jason. 

I moan prettily as they come off. My Master pockets them. "Mild discipline 
for her, Jollie." He instructs tersely. "We'll be with you in an hour." 

As I am led away I catch sight of Bill's face, it is thunder and lightening, 
his vibes strike me like blows. 

"Yo' damfool gal, I like to get mah ass eat off, lettin' yo' loose... now 
yo's back." Jollie shakes my arm admonishingly as she leads me into the 
gloom of bars. 

I tell her my news. I am heavily kissed but not untied. "They don't tell me 
nothin' special for you, honey." She says thoughtfully. "Ah puts yo' in with 
young Daphne fo' awhile before ah gets mean." 

The cage door clangs behind me. When I see Daphne I could cry. Her slender 
nudity is crouched on the bench in the grip of just about every fetter 
devised, she is chained everywhere, loaded with links. In gladness, she 
strives to leap towards me but is snubbed. I have no arms but fall upon her 
with my mouth and breasts. We kiss and kiss, it is our only freedom. 

"I'm so glad, so glad... ! Oh, Carrie, you've no idea--!" Daphne's voice is 
choked with happiness. 

"Untie me, darling, the chains will let you." 

I kneel, quivering, while she desperately tugs at knots. Neither of us even 
think of punishment for this temerity, we want my arms. In five minutes I am 
free. As she works she talks. "Get me out, Carrie, get me out of here any 
way you can. I've had it!" 

"That bad? I thought you wanted...?" 

"I did, oh I did! I still want it, but I want it like you and Jason. Bill's 
way out someplace far away from us. Look at me!" 

I'd thought my weals were bad but hers are worse, Daphne is striped beyond 
any zebra's dream. I stand her up and feel between her legs: she is swollen 
and purple down there. 

"It was that horse thing he put me on the day you went--it was hours... I 
thought I'd die." 

I gather myself an armful of chains and girl. Kissing is not enough, 
frantically we make love. We could not do it if I was not free but I am 
free! It is glorious to have all my limbs. 

"And he hangs me up, he's nuts about suspension. Jollie hates it same as me 
but what can she do!" Daphne gropes at her chains. "Get me out of these 
things." 

"Darling, you're sure? Remember your longings? You wanted so much what you 
saw I had?" 

Daphne holds on to me so that the links of her chains are cold on my skin. 
"I know, I know, and I still want it, I want it terribly. But I don't want 
Bill, he frightens me. If it wasn't for Jollie I'd be scared into hysterics 
half the time. She talks him out of half the things he wants her to do to 
me." 

"Does he never use you sexually?" 

The poor dear shivers. "Gosh no! I'm just something to whip, something with 
pretty curves and a good screaming voice. He'll sleep with Jollie, but he 
sees white girls as something else again. He's got a terrible crush on you 
but not to take you to bed." 

I shiver, seeing myself loaded with chains as Daphne is, crouching dismally 
in a cage. It could so easily happen. Jason is our only link with the world. 
Her panic clutches at me and I am frightened too. In urgency, I tell her why 
I am here. She listens in dismay. By the time we have got each other into a 
fine old feminine dither Jollie's key is in the lock. 

"I best fix yo' some way mizzable." She tells me in a whisper as she gathers 
up the ropes with which I had been bound. She chuckles, "These here ropes 
don' matter none. You two musta' enjoyed yourselves." 

"Jollie, let us both loose now, and come with us? Please?" 

"Yo' got yo'self panicky, Miz Carrie." She chides. "Mistah Jason, he don' 
let yo' come to no harm. Yo' suffers a little misery fo' a couple o' days, 
that's all." 

Her strength is infectious. I am being silly. I give Daphne a final kiss, 
and allow Jollie to lead me from the cage. But this old jail, that once was 
so intriguing, gives me the shivers. I wish I did not have to suffer my 
'mild' punishment to salve Bill's pride and Jason's commitment to a friend. 
Anyway, without any further preamble Jollie leads me to the pillory and 
locks me within it's oaken embrace. 

"Ah's right sorry, Miz Carrie. 'Bout the easiest thing fo' yo' ah kin think 
of." She kisses me. "Ah' gotta leave yo' alone though." 

I am sure she is right, she is doing the best she can for me. But it is a 
hateful best and, in my frame of mind, frightening. The monster in which I 
am locked is in a room all it's own. Silence and loneliness grips me with 
the same relentlessness as does the wood itself. I look to either side of me 
and see my hands. I make them motion to me, it is all I can do. Presumably 
this horror was made for girls, it fits my wrists and neck like a glove. To 
think of escape is a waste of time. A little while ago a man I love proposed 
marriage to me and I accepted. But look at me now... ! Good gosh! 

I cannot see myself, most of me is out back somewhere. I shudder to think 
what could be done to it, I am helpless. I begin-my penance. 

The man who invented the pillory must have hated girls. A mouse could run up 
the inside of my leg! Anyone could walk up behind and do whatever they 
pleased with my body! My pussy and my breasts are very much available. I 
could be whipped, I am very conveniently fastened for the whip! All these 
thoughts are my companions as I stand, and stand, and stand. 

This is so shaming. It is a bit like being made to stand and face into a 
corner, only worse. There is no pain, only fatigue and apprehension and a 
bitter loathing of Bill. Why the hell should I stand naked in this 
contraption all day just to please him! Why, why, why! 

The silence and the loneliness are bad. I am forgotten. I am a naked girl, 
clasped in clamps of oak, while the omnipotent Male is free upstairs and 
probably sipping a Scotch on the rocks. I shed a few feminine tears and 
watch them splatter on the floor, the floor is about the only thing I can 
get an easy look at, anything else hurts my neck. The hours slowly pass, but 
I am wise enough about captivity to know they may be fewer than I think, 
they may not even be a single sixty minutes. 

When a man comes it is Bill. Implacably, the pillory holds me safe while I 
envision Jason dead upstairs and Bill in full possession of two naked girls, 
one loaded in chains and me like this! Bill chooses a reproachful approach. 
"You shouldn't have run away, Carrie. You do understand why you're being 
punished?" 

"Yes." 

"It's really a far easier punishment than you deserve." 

"Is it. How long are you going to keep me like this?" 

"I haven't decided. It should certainly be for a long while." His tone is 
earnest and sympathetic. 

"Please, Bill, can I say I'm sorry? I'll be ever so humble and I'll accept 
any humiliation you want." 

"You are being humiliated now, Carrie. I don't think it's near enough. If it 
wasn't for Jason... " His voice trails away. 

"Alright, if it wasn't for Jason, what would you do to me?" 

His answer is a snapper: "They always branded runaway slaves." 

The pillory becomes twice as malignant. Back where I can't see, a smoking 
iron could brand me a dozen times and I wouldn't see it coming. 
Instinctively I blurt: "Where's Jason?" 

"He's upstairs. He agreed I could talk to you alone." His voice becomes 
wistful. "Carrie, I don't see why you hate me?" 

"Look at my whipmarks... and Daphne's Bill, you hurt a girl too much." 

"But you need it, you're so disobedient. Can't you understand?" 

"No." 

"Then I just have to continue punishing you both until you get some sense. 
Jason doesn't want me to punish you properly. But I can continue to train 
Daphne... She's almost as lovely... " 

"Bill, forget this old jailhouse. Let Daphne and me go. Then come and visit 
us sometimes. We'd let you discipline me...?" 

"Carrie, you don't know how that hurts, telling me you belong to Jason, 
offering me scraps--" 

"Dammit, I'm sure he'd let you whip me, and I wouldn't mind... sometimes." 

"Sometimes! I don't want sometimes. Carrie, I've got more money than Jason. 
Why in hell would I--?" 

"Bill, right now I'm worried about Me. I'm locked in your pillory--in case 
you didn't notice. How long--?" 

But Bill has gone. I am alone. 

It is not a good feeling. Upstairs two men may be squabbling over which of 
them owns me--I shift and tug and squirm in frustration. I am sure Jason 
underrates Bill. He thinks Bill is a nonentity but he is not. Bill wants to 
own me... Me, me, me! And right now I'm locked in his pillory--Oh damn! 

I am owned. Jason owns me. I think of the six months before our wedding. I 
have no doubt Jason is going to be really mean in moulding and shaping me to 
his desire. I could tell the silly idiot I am everything he'll ever want 
right now, but would that be quite true! I am not entirely broken, I still 
display spirit and am apt to be contentious. I sigh. Perhaps I need the six 
months, perhaps Jason will teach me new submissions... ! No decisions, it's 
wonderful! 

But I am still held fast in Bill Coro's pillory! The big question now is: 
must I stand here all night! Such a punishment holds its own terrible logic. 
Bill would see it as less than I deserve. I shudder to think what he would 
like to do to me. For sure, we must get Daphne out of here. My next visitor 
is Jason, he is forthright and brisk. 

"Can you stand it, sweetheart?" 

"If you want me to. How long--?" 

"Too long. But you'll sleep with me tonight, that's a promise." 

My heart leaps, the pillory seems less unkind. But I have to ask: "But what 
about tomorrow?" 

Jason laughs. "You're right, he's an idiot. He's drawn up a list. If you got 
the works I'd have to take you home in an ambulance." 

"But something will be done to me? What is it?" 

"Right now we're bickering about tying your hands up behind, way up! It's 
the kindest thing I've been able to get him to look at but I'm still working 
on having you sit with your feet in the stocks--that's innocent enough... 
but Bill's sure got his own ideas." 

"Jason, we've absolutely got to get Daphne out of here, she's scared half to 
death." 

He nods, "Yeah, I know. But that's the toughest thing of the lot. She came 
of her own free will, and she's not owned... " He grins in amusement. 
"Something that could make things easier for her is Bill's idea of a girl in 
every cage. He actually means it--and with his money--" 

"But this place would hold a dozen... twenty!" 

"He could probably manage it, y'know. A bit of kidnapping, a bit of bribery, 
some real soft talk." 

"It shouldn't be allowed. Oh, Jason darling, if it wasn't for you... ! Oh 
gosh, I hate this thing, I'm so damn helpless!" 

Jason kisses me, he kisses me a lot. When his hand reaches between my legs 
behind I tell him: "No don't! It'll feel a lot worse after you're gone." 

"But you're damp, you want it." 

"Sure I do. But I think about the afterwards. I'm going to be made to stand 
here a long time, Jason, you know that." 

The man who will one day be my husband kisses me and goes away. 

Alone again, I have too much time to think. I think about Daphne and about 
Me. I'll probably get out of here tomorrow night or Monday morning. But 
Daphne... ? I make a stem resolve that if Jason does not get her released 
I'll phone the police after we get home. I don't care about 'good old Bill. 
He's no friend of mine. 

I also think about Jason as my husband. My conscience tells me no 
prospective husband, no man who loves me, would abandon me to the embrace of 
this pillory, my conscience has a fine Victorian ring about its declamation. 
Oh sure, I wish Jason had wrested me from this beastly structure. But, on 
the other hand, this is all my fault anyway. I have thrown myself at Jason 
shamelessly, other girls would have bid him farewell after their first 
whipping. And no one twisted my arm to bring me here this week end, I stood 
still while Jason tied me up. Oh shit! I twist and turn uneasily against the 
yoke. 

At Sunday breakfast I am the only one who is not moodily distrait. I am 
tastefully attired in handcuffs only and am allowed to sit at table. Bill is 
sulky. 

"Carrie deserves a real punishment, and she isn't getting it." Bill glowers 
at my master, but it is I who answer. 

"D'you think standing in that pillory until dark was fun! Try it yourself 
sometime, Bill." 

He seizes upon my reproach. "See what I mean, she's totally disrespectful." 
He gawps at me hungrily. "And she's so beautiful!" 

"The stocks." Says Jason firmly. "Her feet in the stocks, Bill, that's the 
most I'll go for." 

"But she's just sitting there--no pain at all!" 

Bill Coro wails as though being robbed. I expect he thinks he is. For some 
reason of his own he relates me to suffering. For the sake of goodwill I try 
to be politely slavelike. "But, Bill, don't feel cheated. I have to sit on 
that hard bench a long time, and that set of stocks stretch my feet so wide 
apart that's a punishment in itself--apart from being obscene." 

Bill switches on a mental vision of my pussy thus exposed. It pleases him, 
"O.K." He concedes. "But your hands will have to be tied behind your back." 

I look at my master and get a shrug and a wink. "It won't kill you, Carrie." 

"No, it will just make my day more miserable. It means I can't shift 
position, I can't do anything." 

"It's little enough, considering what you deserve. I'd had in mind hanging 
you up by your wrists, you look so lovely like that, and I've got some new 
wide wristlets of soft leather--" 

"The stocks, Bill! Remember?" Jason is crisp.- "Oh alright! But you're a dog 
in the manger, Jason. Carrie's so beautiful. You don't realise her 
possibilities. Look, you two can't possibly be serious about this marriage 
business, let me buy her from you, put an end to all this palaver. I'll up 
the ante to a hundred thousand?" 

"Oh, Bill...!" Jason is genuinely distressed. 

There is something alive and malignant in the room. I will be the only one 
to feel it but it is there--along with the silence of dismay. 

"Very well then!" Bill Coro is in the grip of his fantasy. "A quarter of a 
million?" 

My mind flirts with visions: a hundred whippings, endless days and nights of 
suspension, the barred cage and a hundred pounds of shackles on my limbs... 
! And forever naked! Perhaps, if I can give Jason so huge a sum, the price 
is right. 

"Drink your coffee, Bill." Jason says wearily. "You'll feel better. Carrie, 
when your punishment's through today we'll get back to the City, we both 
have to go to work tomorrow." 

Beloved Jason! It is the right note. Bill deflates. From the heights of 
Parnassus he reverts to Stubbinsburg Jail, his tone is of one who is denied 
Nirvana. "Well, at least there's one thing you surely won't deny me with 
her, Jason, those cute little clips on her tits?" 

"What, all day!" It pops out of me like an explosion. 

"Of course all day, Carrie." He is once more good old beaming Bill. "You 
were wearing some butterfly clips that first day I kidnapped you. I've 
treasured them, they look lovely on you. Please... ? Please...?" 

I look at my master. He shrugs. "Up to you, Carrie." 

Bill is a small eager boy, perhaps once I should be kind! "O.K., Bill. They 
hurt like blazes... but if they give you so much pleasure!" 

We revert to breakfast. I clink my handcuffs prettily for Jason's pleasure 
and, anyway, it's hard to eat a meal with handcuffed wrists without making a 
flashing display of chrome and a clink of links. I have a feeling of having 
lost a small battle in a good cause. The day will change this feeling but it 
is strong upon me now. Having disposed of my person for the day, the 
omnipotent males talk, I listen. Some of what I learn I do not like. I am 
getting off easy in my punishment because a price is paid. It is Daphne who 
pays it. Jason will take me home tonight but Daphne stays in Bill's jail 
another week. 

The Malignancy is still hovering. I want to speak of it and to plead for 
Daphne but I am afraid. I can tell they have made a decision. To buck it or 
turn petulant will only get me whipped. I console myself with cowardice for 
both Daphne and me it could be worse!" 

My philosophical resignation lasts long enough to get me in the stocks. I am 
allowed to settle myself on the bench and adjust my ankles while the yoke 
descends on them before my hands are tied. I try and bargain for handcuffs, 
but the boys decide they give too much freedom, crossed wrists tightly tied 
are best! So that's what I get. I make a great fuss about the indecency of 
my spread legs and stretched puss. It won't do me any good but may cause 
them to forget the clips. But the clips are not forgotten. Bill has them in 
his pocket. I might have known... ! They make great sport of clipping one on 
me each. Bill makes several tries to get his the way he wants he is a 
bumbling asshole and I could scream... ! 

"You see, Jason, she's so exquisite." 

Bill's proud as a peacock. You'd think he invented Me. I give brief thought 
to the quarter million, it frightens me. 

But the burn on my breasts drives it away. Jason's butterfly clips are 
wicked, and I have to wear them all day... ! Oh, damn! 

"Just look at that hair under her belly!" Bill exults as though he invented 
that too. "A curly cunt!" He savors his vulgar alliteration. "Gosh, what a 
dog could do to her like that! His tongue " 

"You were showing me those books upstairs." Jason is abrupt. 

Bill does not want to go, he finds my stretched indecent nudity entrancing. 
His fantasies become fertile with thoughts of what might be done with, or 
to, my sex while it is so handily displayed. It could be whipped, it could 
be delivered to the mercies of a canine tongue and snout, a banana or 
parsnip could be put to obvious utility, it could be shaved. He reduces me 
to a multi-purpose sexual facility. I am thankful when Jason leads him away. 

But this is lonely and I have no more freedom than I had yesterday in the 
pillory. If my wrists were not crossed and tied it would be a breeze. But, 
robbed of hands and arms, I cannot ease my seat, I cannot scratch my nose, I 
cannot remove the clips from my nipples, and I cannot play with myself to 
while away the time. After awhile the junction of my thighs begin to 
complain about the parting of the ways. I look down at my pussy and my Venus 
Mound peeps coyly back. It is surprisingly prominent. 

I am being punished. I have been bad. I am fixed like this to appease Bill's 
sense of what is proper. Before the day is done I will cry from pain and 
exhaustion. I look down at the butterfly clips on my nipples, they are very 
beautiful. Pert, pretty and provocative, they hurt like hell. I try and 
reach them with a bound hand, but cannot. Handcuffed, I could. But not tied 
like this! It is infuriating. They will bob up and down on my breasts all 
day, mocking me and hurting... 

The worst thing I can do is think. But that is what I do, and it's all 
negative: reaching out to manifest the malignancy as a batlike monster 
waiting to pounce. Bill's bid on me makes it real. No man bids a quarter 
million for something he does not intend to get. Jason will scoff, but I 
will be forever looking over my shoulder. If he gets me again Bill will not 
let me go. 

I find myself shaking my shoulders to make my nipples hurt more. The 
butterflies quiver and bob. They are my only company in this lonely penance: 
and since Jason had them made they are his as I am his, and I bear their 
bite because he said O.K. As a persistent nag of discipline they are far 
more effective than the stocks. 

Tonight Jason will take me home. No doubt he will bind me outrageously but 
he will take me away from Bill, and in my heart he will earn all the 
hosannas I can sing. The malignancy will fade as we leave this place: at 
least I think it will... I hope! I will be consumed by lust as I sit beside 
him in the car. I hope I gave no hint of it but I am consumed by lust right 
now-I suppose it's everything they've done to me! And I have to sit like 
this all day! Oh, shit! 

I think of Daphne and my lust fades. Our time was so short. But the door 
opens and Daphne is inserted by a dark hand. She is naked, her wrists are 
handcuffed behind her back. We make instant love, we are handicapped for 
sure but we manage remarkably well. "One week, darling! Put up with it for 
one week and Jason will get you out of here." 

"Not tonight? Not with you? Oh Carrie...!" 

"I tried. It was the best I could do. Can you bear it?" 

"I'll have to, won't I" Daphne looks at me in yearning. "If you only knew 
how I want out...!" 

I know. 

 CHAPTER TWO - DAPHNE 

I keep thinking of him as 'poor Bill,' which is damn silly. What I should be 
thinking is 'poor Me!' But Bill's such a pathetic bumbler, like a small 
plumpish boy who breaks all his toys in an excess of exuberance. Now that 
he's a large pinkish man his toys are girls, I'm his favourite toy right now 
and I'm scared to death he's going to break me. He could! It would be so 
damn easy! 

I cried the whole night Jason took Carrie home. I'd hoped he'd take me too, 
but all I got was thirty minutes with Carrie- and that was a gift from 
Jollie. Carrie with her feet in the stocks, and me with my hands cuffed 
behind my back. She told me about the deal Jason made with Bill: I have to 
stay here one more week. I could cry again just thinking about it. 

Bill's a heartbreak. He never does any of the lovely shivery things Jason 
does to Carrie. He never ties me up, never tells me to hold out my hands so 
he can handcuff my wrists, never buckles a collar round my throat... ! He 
manages to miss all the lovely 'me to you' parts of bondage, like the 
tugging of the cord a bit tighter before he ties the knot I can't reach. He 
doesn't tie me spread out on a bed and leave me to wonder if this is the 
time it's going to happen. What he does is so damn impersonal, he has Jollie 
do it. I am an interesting subject to be tortured under his supervision. If 
he gets a hard on out of having me hung up by my thumbs I'll never know. He 
has Jollie do the damndest things to me while he stands there, pop eyed and 
perspiring... He certainly gets something out of it, but all I get is 
pain--and now I'm frightened. 

Jollie keeps me going. She does the cruel things to me but she does them 
with love. But now she's telling me something all her own. "Honey, ain't no 
use kiddin,' there ain't no way mistah Coro's a'goin' ter set yo' free in a 
week, nor a month, nor a year. You's all he's got. He real hungry fo' Miss 
Carrie but he ain't goin' to get her, so for sure he's keeping a'holt o' 
yo.' Even iffen he had to hide yo' some other place he'll do it." 

I am still in the clasp of the hundred pounds of chain in which I have spent 
the night: wrists, ankles, neck... every bit of me is ironed in some way. 
Being caged is fun, being tied or handcuffed is fun, especially if it's your 
master who does it to you. But these relentless shackles, fetters, irons... 
! And they hold me helpless inside a locked cell... alone! Jollie forestalls 
my pleading. 

"I can't let yo' loose, honey. Mistah Coro he pay me so damn much fer this 
job. Ah can't lose it, ah jest caint." 

I have no money, I can offer nothing. We both know this and look at each 
other, stricken. I understand her dilemma, this is the most money ever to 
come her way. For Jollie I am prosperity. Unhappily, I ask: "What's he want 
you to do to me today?" 

"Ah gotta' spread yo' out agin' the bars, stretched real tight, offen' the 
floor." 

It is bad enough but could be worse. Bill will stand and enjoy my pain for 
an hour at a time. But my mind is still on Jollie and her need. 
Shamefacedly, I offer: "If Jason and Carrie and I pooled what we can, and I 
can borrow... Would that help?" 

She pats me in that comforting maternal way she has, then comes out, slowly, 
and sort of apologetic: "There's a woman I run into--" I am alert with hope. 
"Yes? Oh, Jollie...!" 

"It's sorta' crazy. I'm half ashamed. She wanna' buy' yo'." 

Nothing can be crazier than Stubbinsburg jail. In a few minutes my daily 
punishment will start. I'd consider an offer from Dracula. Breathlessly, I 
ask: "But, Jollie, how can she? Bill won't let me go." 

"Mistah Coro, he ain't gonna' know nothin' 'bout it. Ah gets mah money one 
dark night and ah delivers yo', tight tied and helpless, to this here gal' 
through the little door out back." 

"But why would she pay money for me?" 

"Thass the kicker, honey. Fust off she's a les', she'll eat yo' outta yo' 
mind, an ah 'specks she's a cross 'tween mistah Coro and mistah Jason-likely 
she's give yo' a bad time. She real fussy 'bout yo' bein' tied and gagged so 
yo' don' do no arguing." 

Out of the frying pan... ! I survey the incredible and compare it to my day 
bound to the bars with all my weight on the ropes. The unknown wins-at least 
it is female! My verdict is without hesitation. "Sell me to her, Jollie." 

We survey each other in wry amusement. Honesty compels Jollie to state the 
obvious. "We kin call it sellin' yo', honey, but what it really 'mounts to 
is ah gets bribed to hand yo' over to a kidnapper." 

"I don't care what we call it, get me out of here." 

"It gets me the money I needs, Daphne gal', and maybe this woman she treats 
yo' good. But maybe she don't--?" 

"I'll take the chance." 

"O.K., honey, ah sees what ah kin do. Can't be sure o' these kooks, but she 
acts real interested." She pats me tenderly. "Hell to be a woman, ain't it! 
'Specially iffen yo' got good tits--" It is not until I am alone again with 
my chains that I realise Jollie can do whatever she wants with me, she 
always keeps me helpless, and Bill's only around half the time... 

But what does it matter! 

I do not broach the thought when my day begins. I have been washed and fed, 
now I must be punished. In Bill's Stubbinsburg Jail a girl prisoner doesn't 
have to do anything to get herself disciplined. Jollie sets a box against 
the bars within the big cage, then relieves me of a great clutter of chains 
and metal so I may stand thereon. I press myself against the bars and stare 
beyond but all I can see is more bars... 

"Ah ties yo' middle real hard and tight, honey, so's it takes some weight 
offen yo' wrists." 

She does just that with several strands of rope. I feel bisected like an 
ant. Jollie stands on another box to tie my hands out high and wide, I shed 
chain as a faded rose sheds petals. When she says "Sorry, honey" and takes 
the box from beneath my feet, I sag, my ribcage and my wrists protest... 

"Can't make it no easier fo' yo', sugar." She drags one of my feet off to 
one side and ties it to a bar, then the other. "Sort of a mizzable' day fo' 
yo', but the boss man he'll be down to look yo' over." 

"Thanks, Jollie." 

I have nothing to be thankful for, but she's sweet and does not enjoy what 
she must do to me. Jollie takes her boxes into the passage and stands on one 
to kiss me and kiss me long. Then she locks the cage door, with me inside, 
and goes away. The punishment of naughty Daphne, who hasn't done a damn 
thing to deserve it, has now officially begun. 

Breathing emphasises my plight, it thrusts my breasts against the bars and 
makes my tummy think it's being cut in two. I am clamped hard against the 
cage, looking out into the passage. Anyone who walks by will have a 
wonderful view of my pussy, my legs are stretched enough apart to cause my 
sex to invite attention, wherever rope encircles me I hurt. 

Apart from thinking, about pain, I think mostly of Carrie. I envy her so 
much, Jason does the loveliest and most erotic things to her! That's what I 
want, that's what I hoped to get when I went to their place that first night 
and Carrie was tied in the middle of their living room floor and was so mad 
to see me. I wish Jason would keep me and Carrie both instead of just 
Carrie. He's a really gorgeous master for a girl. The thought of those awful 
things he compels her to wear under her clothes when he sends her to the 
office simply crinkles me up. Gosh, she's lucky! 

Bill allows my punishments to sort of mature before he comes to view his 
prisoner. That way I am properly dejected and forlorn and may even risk 
pleading for release. Bill likes that, he likes his female inmate of 
Stubbinsburg Jail to be abject and anxious to please. I suppose his refusal 
to have sex with us is our final defeat: it leaves us nothing to offer him. 
Today, it's the usual hour or two before he shows. 

"Good morning, Daphne." 

"Good morning, master." 

"Hurting nicely, eh! And beautiful as ever. Gosh, what a pity you don't like 
me." 

"I am respectful to you, master." 

"Yes... I suppose... " He bends down close to examine my blatant sex. "You 
have the most wonderful pubic hair." 

'Thank you, master." I have nothing to lose by being humble. 

He palms my Venus mound for a few moments, testing my pussy briefly with one 
finger. He then tweaks my nipples and arranges my breasts so they protrude 
beyond the cage with a bar for their cleavage. 

"Lovely, lovely!" Diffidently, he adds: "I suppose you know Jason wants your 
release next week-end?" 

"Yes, master, thank you." 

"Well, it isn't going to happen!" He is suddenly animated, and steps back 
away from the allure of my nakedness. "It's all very well for him, he's got 
Carrie: Carrie's the one I want, and one of these days I'll get her. But in 
the meantime I've got you, and I'm damned if you're going to get away." 

"Thank you for wanting me, master, but can't you love me a little?" 

He glares and is vehement. "Do you love me?" 

I fall silent in shame. I'd better watch this conversation, it could end up 
getting me whipped. I lie dolefully: "I do try, master." 

"Carrie doesn't love me either." He is petulantly aggrieved. "What the hell 
do I have to do to get affection out of one of you girls?" 

"Give us a little freedom, master, so we weren't always bothered by pain." 

"A little freedom to escape." His eyes rove my nakedness. "That's all you 
think of, getting away from me." 

It is true but I dare not say so. Instead, I say: "If you will untie me from 
these bars I'll kneel down and worship you, I'll do anything you want...?" 

I have lost him, we have failed to communicate. Bill makes an exclamation of 
disgust, glares at me irritably and goes away. This is about par for the 
course. My day stretches out endlessly: I hurt and hurt... I think, 
longingly, of my desk at the office, of my typewriter, of Carrie... ! Mostly 
it's of Carrie. I try and go to sleep, my head rests on a stretched arm. 

Instinct snatches me alert. She is examining me with the calm serenity of 
choosing a fur coat when money doesn't matter. She is svelt, and beautiful, 
and expensive, and deadly! She is not much older than me. "Good morning, 
Daphne." Her voice is silk. "You may think of me as Sabrina." 

"Good morning--" I am scared to death. 

She runs female fingers over all my erogenous zones. I tense, I shiver, I 
gasp. Her fingertips are disturbing. She laughs delightedly at my response. 
"There are times when I will be kind to you." She says casually. "But not 
always. Do you wish me to buy you?" 

"Yes." 

A trill of laughter. "Well, well, an assured little baggage! Tell me, d'you 
enjoy being tied like that?" 

"No, not by the man who owns me now." 

"But by someone else?" 

"I--I don't know... If I loved someone." 

Again the trill of laughter. "The eternal wish: to be loved!" She turns to 
the hovering Jollie. "Very well. I'll take her." 

I have been sold! 

But I am not untied. I await delivery. In a restless wish to be done with 
them I test my bonds. As usual, there is not the faintest possibility of 
getting loose or of escape. I am suddenly overwhelmed with a wish for 
freedom, to be my own girl again, to go to the office, to be done with 
punishments and being bought and sold. I fight my strictures in an anger of 
impotence. They hold me fast and I relapse into tears. 

Bill helps. He doesn't mean to but he bumbles himself into my knowing I want 
Sabrina. It is his second visit to ogle my female attributes and examine the 
tight bite of rope in my flesh. "You look very lovely like that." He 
breathes pleasurably, "I must have you tied that way again." His eyes rove 
further. "Your whipmarks are fading nicely." 

"Thank you, master." 

"You'll soon be ready for another whipping, Daphne." What the hell am I 
supposed to say! I won't ever be ready to be whipped again, not the way Bill 
does it--it's beastly, horrible, damn awful. But I try and show willingness. 
"I expect so, master, in a few days " 

"Hell, girl, you're ready now." 

"Maybe tomorrow, master?" 

He is placated. Tomorrow is not far off, in the meantime he has me nicely 
hurting. All is well with William Coro's world. He enjoys me for quite a 
long time, a bit popeyed, a bit pink and perspiring. But, damn him, 
completely omnipotent in Stubbinsburg Jail, in which I am a female convict 
under discipline. 

Jollie is marvelous. Her hand on my shoulder in the night absolves me from 
the suspense of wondering: the time is now! In quivering obedience, I stand 
while my chains slip away and are replaced by . rope: wrists, elbows, knees, 
ankles... I am tightly trussed. Before the gag goes in my mouth we kiss and 
kiss and I say 'thank you' many times. My heart is thumping. 

"We's gonna' be O.K., honey." 

The gag is a phallus thing, violating my mouth, buckling behind my neck. My 
only answer is a modest "Mmmmmmm...!" Jollie picks me up and carries me out 
back through the little door. Sabrina and a Mercedes are waiting. Jollie 
stands me on my bound feet, and I stand erect and naked while I am examined 
and the tightness of my ropes tested. 

"She's the same gal', maam, ah ain't cheatin'." 

"So I see." The silky voice is dryly amused. "A nice job of tying... she 
looks well in it." 

Jollie accepts the envelope and peeps inside. Two pairs of strong hands take 
possession of me and lift me carefully into the trunk. The lid slams me into 
darkness. As the motor purrs to life and the wheels turn, all I can think of 
is my desk at the office, I'll never see it again, never, never, never... ! 
I try to wriggle but cannot move. Jollie has bound me beautifully, an erotic 
warmth generates between my legs... and I have escaped from Bill! Relief 
wafts me into sleep. I have been tied by loving hands... 

Sabrina is methodical: A collar for my neck, from it a leash. She unties my 
knees and ankles. I try and help but it is mostly her strength that heaves 
me from the trunk, in silence I follow my leash. 

The bedroom is most obviously hers. I am surrounded and enveloped by money, 
money, money. Sabrina leads me to a huge mirror, she strips and stands 
beside me, posing and comparing, but seems satisfied with her purchase. She 
herself is lovely beyond centerfolds, a blond feline loveliness of lithe 
power. She leads me to the huge bed, pushes me therein, snaps my leash to a 
ring in the headboard and tells me-casually: "We will both sleep. I'll free 
you of the gag and the rope on your elbows. You will keep silent. If you 
make a fuss I'll punish you horribly." 

It is glorious to be free of the man thing in my mouth and the strictures on 
my arms, only my hands remain tied behind my back but the constriction on my 
crossed wrists gives me pleasure I wonder if she knows! I remain silent. I 
obey. The light goes as a warm nudity settles itself beside me, a strong 
naked leg reaches to possess itself of one of mine, thus linked, we sleep. 

The bath is on the same scale as the bed, we disport ourselves in it like 
children. Sabrina is beautiful, beautiful, and I am happy, happy and utterly 
bemused. 

"Not what you expected, Daphne?" She laughs gaily. "Don't be too euphoric, 
dear. In an hour I may whip you until you scream." 

"But I'm not tied, or chained, or anything!" I hold up free but soapy hands 
as though they are a curiosity, their wrists are wealed. 

Sabrina splashes me playfully. "That will be the hardest part of your new 
captivity, Daphne, I want total obedience from you whether you're chained or 
free. It's a lot harder than being goody, goody because you're handcuffed." 

"If you wanted to tie me now, I'd offer my hands. Honest, I would! Is that 
what you mean?" 

"Mmmmmmmmm... partly. But suppose you'd been free several days and my demand 
was unexpected and unwelcome, what then?" 

I sense pitfalls and chasms but, after Bill Coro, this is gorgeous. "I think 
you're trying to tell me something." I say slowly. "But I'll obey you. Right 
now, obeying you is the thing I want to do most, I'm so terribly grateful." 

"After Stubbinsburg Jail--" She wrinkles her nose. "I can well imagine. The 
place is a morgue for a single naked girl." She lathers my breasts for the 
third time. "But I'm capricious, I want you for a whipping girl, anytime I'm 
mad about something I'll take it out on you. How about that?" 

"Sabrina, do I have a choice? Are you telling me I can go away if I don't 
like what you promise?" 

"Mmmmmm... O.K. then, you're free to go. Dry yourself and run along. Do you 
want to?" 

"That's not a fair question." 

"Cautious, eh. You think you'd get downstairs and someone would grab you and 
you'd be punished?" 

"Yeeeeees... something like that." 

"Damn sensible girl! That's exactly what would happen." She massages my 
pubic hair with soap. "You'll see what looks like all sorts of chances to 
walk away, but I honestly don't think you can escape." 

"That looks after that, then. I won't even try." 

Her hand is now between my legs, frankly carnal. Her silken voice mocks. 
"But I could be bluffing, and you might be scared to find out?" 

"I don't think you're bluffing, I'm quite sure I'm your prisoner: and what 
you're doing is exciting me terribly." 

The hand is taken from my flesh, we revert again to childhood. "This place 
is called 'Mounthaven,' Daphne. It's an old Estate with a huge Park all 
around, and a wall. Even if you got out of the house we'd track you down Oh, 
and the servants! There's quite a staff, and they're accustomed to my 
eccentricities. Any one of them will report to me any request you make to 
them for help." 

"And I'd be punished?" 

"Naturally!" Sabrina splashes me playfully. "I'd welcome the excuse, of 
course. It's equally satisfying to punish a naughty girl as it is to whip 
you when you're innocent." 

We dry ourselves, Sabrina dresses. My own attire is scanty but most erotic: 
a silver collar round my neck, iron wristlets and anklets, a gem studded 
silver belt locked round my waist with a hanging padlock. The handcuffs are 
almost an afterthought, they are the expensive black kind, cunningly 
wrought. I hold out my hands for them gladly, thinking of Bill and his 
hundred pounds of links. "Just as a reminder, sweetheart." My owner says as 
she compresses them to the ultimate click. 

We go to breakfast. 

* * * 

Mounthaven is incredible: it is crazy, wonderful, terrifying, lovable, and 
much to be feared. I realise these adjectives are not for Mounthaven at all 
but simply for its Mistress, and mine, Sabrina Comstock. I can think of 
others but these are enough. Sabrina has kept my mind awhirl for six days on 
a scale from ecstasy to desolation. In the chaos events stand stark and 
clear. The first was that day at breakfast. 

"I want to keep you guessing, Daphne. Will you enjoy?" 

She is glorious. How easy it is for me to say: "Oh, yes, yes--!" I stop 
short, uncertainly: "Shouldn't I call you something: Miss... or Mistress... 
or, or-?" 

"You will call me Sabrina most of the time, that 'mistress' word is tacky. 
But if I am humiliating you in company you will use it. You'll learn the 
right places. Oh, and the keeping you off balance--sometimes I'll be cruel." 

I lift the handcuffs and shrug. "I'm past the point of no return, Sabrina." 
I grin. "I suspect I never had a choice." 

"Not after I saw you spread against the bars yesterday, Daph'. You're 
luscious and that raises another point, you won't often wear clothes." 

"I don't really want to." 

"I think I know where you're coming from, sweetheart. You're a bondage girl, 
aren't you? You love being tied up?" 

"Yes." I am suddenly shy. "It's a part of me." 

"And you're not too keen on the 'D' in B & D?" 

"You mean, being whipped, and sitting on that awful horse?" 

"Mmmmmmm... among other things." 

"I never thought about that part of it until I met Carrie." I admit slowly, 
feeling like a little girl. "I could see it meant a lot to she and Jason. 
But I got delivered to Bill, and the way he has a girl whipped is damn 
awful--I just don't know." 

"So, if I tied you to a tree after breakfast you'd get hot pants--if you 
wore any?" 

"Yes. If you did that to me I'd be terrifically aroused." It's at this point 
the maid shows up with more toast. Languidly, Sabrina tells her: "You can 
bring more coffee too, Allie Oh, and along with it, one of those thin 
canes." I tie up in an instant knot inside. Allie doesn't bat an eye. I 
suspect Allie's seen this all before: seeing me the way I am didn't raise 
her eyebrow. 

"I bought Allie over a year ago, dear. She likes it here." 

"But why buy a servant?" 

"She started out the same as you, Daph'. She just gravitated." 

My curiosity is piqued. But, is she free, Sabrina? Could she leave if she 
wanted?" 

"She could but she doesn't want to." 

I never got to ask my next question: Allie showed up with coffee and cane. 
She placed the latter ostentatiously across the table between dishes, and 
smiled charmingly at me. When she had gone, Sabrina was equally charming. 
"Your hands please, dear, for just a few moments." 

My heart thuds. I proffer my locked hands and watch them freed. As always, 
Sabrina's voice is silk: "If you'll kneel just here, Daphne please, and hold 
out your left hand." 

She is right! Off balance, that's me! When I saw the cane I thought of my 
bottom. But it is not my bottom! My pulse races as I kneel and hold out my 
left arm. I do not even realise I am free of restraint, Sabrina has me 
enthralled. 

The pain is terrifying, a new and awful pain, mixed in with it is the shame 
of a small girl disgraced. I have never had pain this bad in this place, it 
is something by itself apart from being whipped. It is not like being 
whipped at all. 

"Just your left hand for now, dear. I'll pour you more coffee." 

Sabrina is right, she has me guessing. I suddenly realise I am making choked 
gasps and nursing my caned hand tight in my right armpit. Ashamed, I resume 
my seat. 

"Hurt, dear?" 

"Abominably!" 

"A good word. Your hands--?" 

I give one good hand and one wounded hand to be handcuffed. I am back to 
square one, except for one hand that throbs like crazy. I say what I hope is 
the right thing: "Was that to teach me a lesson, Sabrina?" 

"Of course, dear. Did it?" 

"Yes. I'll never take you for granted." 

Sabrina smiles. 

The end of our meal thrusts another curved ball at me. She chucks me under 
the chin and says, offhandedly: "You're free to go, Darling. Run along 
whenever you like. One of the smaller doors in the wall is unlocked. I'm 
sure you'll find it." 

I pout. "Yeah, I bet! And get myself whipped?" 

"Darling, you mustn't be too suspicious. You don't have to go, but you can 
if you want to." 

I am not that dumb. I hold up my handcuffed hands "Like this, Sabrina, and 
naked! No way!" 

"As you wish, dear. You'll be whipped after lunch and now I've some things 
to do " I never really kidded myself. But, on the other hand! Anyway, here I 
am with the run of a mansion and a Park. My only handicap is one hand that 
hurts and handcuffed wrists... I make a timid tour, everything is splendid, 
splendid and makes me feel shockingly poor. Servants smile and I smile back 
but take no chances. When I venture outdoors I feel bare, bare, bare! 

Mounthaven Park is huge, it is also beautiful. There is something 
insidiously rational about fresh air and open spaces, first thing I know I'm 
walking along a little path and enjoying the scenery. Yeah, O.K., I know I'm 
being played with but it's sorta' fun! By the time I'm out of sight of the 
House I am believing in freedom, and maybe my one and only chance. It's not 
long after that I start to run. 

To run is fatal. Ghosts give chase, and goblins, and evil men, and Sabrina 
with a whip! The big old trees look down benignly at my fleeing nudity but, 
they too, harbour spirits and watching eyes. Soon, I think only of the small 
unlocked door. 

The handcuffs are infuriating, they slow me down, they hold my hands in 
limbo where a runner's hands should never be, but just the same I cover a 
lot of ground, old leaves are soft beneath my bare feet, the Park is silent 
except for my panting breath. 

In my self induced panic is a small severe voice telling me I am crazy to 
run from heart's desire. All my life I have desired the captivity of cords 
but now I flee! I flee from a beautiful woman who is probably as close to my 
fantasy as I can hope to get. But Bill has devastated my confidence, his 
whips, his jail, his irons were never what I sought, they gave me only fear 
and pain. He took away my freedom and gave me in return only a somber menace 
without love. Sabrina is adorable, but she too will whip me, my hand still 
throbs from the cut of her cane... I love these handcuffs and all else she 
has locked on me--but still... ! 

I reach the wall, it is of brick and stone, as old as the house, and far too 
high for me to climb, standing there in my slender nakedness and chained 
hands I am daunted. I see no door, and suddenly realise I know not the 
direction in which to search-left or right, and the wall is at least four 
miles in circumference... ! Dejectedly, I turn right and jog determinedly 
along the shadow of my prison. I am beginning to wonder if I should retrace 
my steps and pretend I have just been for a walk, or is it already too late! 

The doors are real, small heavily ironed timbers brutally locked, they mock 
my puny hands and bare feet. I estimate one about every half mile. I make a 
wide circle away from the main gate with its Lodge in which some staff 
reside. I am now plodding along, doggedly and without much hope, surely I am 
past my point of no return, if I am caught I will be punished! I don't know 
why I feel so sure of it, but I am sure. 

The next door is betrayed by a faint footpath showing no sign of recent use. 
The portal is as depressing as the rest but when I press its latch I find it 
oiled, I need no thrust of shoulder to push it open. Smiling at me on the 
other side is Sabrina Comstrock. 

"Hello, darling." 

"Hello, Sabrina." 

We stand and smile, but mine is false! I am trembling, I have not felt like 
this since I was a small girl caught stealing pennies. Beyond my owner I see 
a country road and fields... no sign of life. Simply and directly she 
enquires: "Are you going to struggle, Daphne?" 

It is my handcuffs who really reply. They say, unhappily: "No, I won't 
struggle, Sabrina." Then add, accusingly. "It was a trap, wasn't it?" 

"Of course, dear. You should have guessed. I expect you did but couldn't 
help being silly." 

I stand and look, stupidly and resentfully, at this lovely creature who owns 
me. I feel like crying. I don't want to be whipped, I just don't! It's so 
unfair--! I voice vexation: "You wanted me to get it out of my system, 
Sabrina, that's why...?" 

Her laughter trills. "You're so perceptive, darling, of course that's why. 
I'm so pleased. You'll be pleased too after you've been punished." 

"You'll have me whipped?" 

"Mmmmmmmm... among other things! Sure you don't want to struggle?" 

I shake my head, I watch her beckoning hand. The chauffeur appears from the 
waiting car I have not seen, he hands my Mistress cruel thin ropes. 

My handcuffs are unlocked and taken from me, I am sorry to see them go. I am 
turned around, my hands placed palm to palm and tightly tied. I stand, 
passive and unresisting, there is something inevitable about what is 
happening to me, I have no will to fight a force against which I cannot 
prevail. 

"Thank you, Ludlow, you can go." 

I hear the motor start at the same moment the rope slips round my elbows, it 
is looped again and again, then laced up tight with the now familiar pain, 
with the wracking of my shoulders and the pouting impudence of my breasts. 
Sabrina has me helpless. She ties a length of rope to the silver collar on 
my neck. I am leashed. 

"A pleasant walk, Daphne?" 

"Yes, Mistress." 

Sabrina laughs. "That slipped out. It shows how you think of me. Don't 
worry, you won't be punished for it." 

Sabrina leads me back to life imprisonment, tugging mischievously at my 
collar to remind me of what I am. My elbows burn under her cords, I am 
completely hers. Suddenly I am enveloped in a wave of lust such as I have 
rarely known. I am a captive maiden... bound! 

"You love it, don't you, darling!" 

Sabrina knows! But I am shamed by such transparency. My blush reaches almost 
to my breasts, compelling confession. "Yes, Sabrina, I--I can't help it... I 
feel so foolish." 

"Don't be idiotic, girl." Her reprimand is blunt. "Don't you see how lucky 
you are- how lucky we both are. Enjoy!" 

"But you're going to whip me!" 

"So what!" Sabrina gives my collar an impatient jerk. "You're not a child, 
and I'm not going to use a Cat-O-Nine-Tails with metal inserts on your 
pretty back. Grow up!" 

"I'm sorry. But Bill had me whipped so much "I'll whip you myself, idiot 
child! You don't think I'd forgo the pleasure of planting stripes on your 
delectable skin?" 

"Well... thank you--I suppose--" I bog down, uncertain of gratitude. 
Piteously, I start to cry. "Oh, Sabrina-!" 

Her arms are warm, her body compresses against mine as though she too is 
nude. My taut breasts with their hard nipples nuzzle themselves against her 
twins with a devastating effect on my libido. I flame with heat, my crying 
degenerates into hard small sobs against her cheek. Without thinking, I 
plead: "Love me... love me... " and her lips find mine to quench my grief 
while her hand reaches down... When it cups my mound with tender wisdom I 
shatter into a thousand orgasmic particles... 

"My, my, you needed that, sweetheart!" Sabrina is amused. "You were tensed 
up like a bowstring. Feel better?" 

"Yes, Mistress." 

"I told you not to call me that." 

"Please, Mistress, just for today-while I'm punished?" 

"You mean, I've a penitent on my hands! Why, darling girl...!" 

"Yeeeees... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have wanted to run away. I'm lucky you 
bought me, I know I am." 

Sabrina is magic, her laughter has dispersed my panic and most of my 
apprehension. I am absurdly abject, and want to be cuddled instead of 
punished, but even the punishment fails to dampen my happiness in belonging 
to this radiant female who holds my leash and gives it playful tugs as 
we-walk together to my fate. 

"That's sweet, Daphne. Things falling into place for you?" 

"They must have, I'm not frightened. Even if you untied me I'd still walk 
beside you." I turn impish, "You could still keep me leashed." 

"Delightful! But, Daphne, you're going to be whipped. Doesn't that bother 
you?" 

"Not as long as I'm with you. If I was with someone else I'd be scared to 
death, I'd be complaining about how my elbows hurt. But there's a rightness 
about belonging to you, I think that's why I want to call you Mistress." 

Sabrina gives me a sharp shrewd glance, I know myself assessed. Sabrina 
stops, she turns me round, she unties my elbows and then my wrists. I am 
free! She hands me the ropes warm from my flesh. "Coil these neatly, carry 
them." She tugs on my leash to emphasise control. "Feel like a wrestling 
match, dear? D'you want to test the two of us out?" 

"No, thank you!" 

She is watching me coil the ropes and rub the weals they have left in my 
skin. She knows she has thrown me a curved ball. "You're free, darling, or 
hadn't you noticed?" 

"I don't feel a bit free." I say slowly, puzzled. "And it's not the leash 
you're holding--and I'm terribly grateful, I was only being bratty about 
being untied." I look at Sabrina, hungrily. "May I kiss you?" 

"No. You've been a naughty girl, remember? Come along." 

I am a naked girl on a leash, walking demurely beside her Mistress. I seem 
to have nothing to say, and she is frankly amused, laughing at my collared 
obedience. When we catch sight of the distant house through the last of the 
trees, she stops and I stop too. I am enjoying the leash immensely. "You did 
say you love being tied, Daphne?" 

I am breathless as she positions me between two saplings, their boles no 
more than four inches thick. I surrender the ropes and watch my right wrist 
tied to one of the slender trunks, then my left wrist to the other. To make 
this possible I must stand erect and stretch my arms at shoulder level, that 
way I just fit. I wonder if Sabrina has tied girls here before. 

"I'll leave you the leash, darling, it has a nice effect." 

It hangs between my breasts. I cannot touch it, I cannot touch anything. 
Shyly, I respond. "Thank you, Sabrina. Is this where-I mean--is this how I 
get whipped?" 

"Daphne, you really must try and forget the whip, in between times... It's a 
fact of life, that's all. I don't even have one with me. So now I'm going to 
kiss you and let you enjoy your lovely, lovely bondage." 

Sabrina does more than kiss me. By the time I have to watch her walk away I 
am indecently aroused, homy as a girl can be. I am sure she is laughing at 
the condition in which she has abandoned me, but she does not look back. I 
dare not plead, but watch her longingly until she vanishes from sight. I 
then try and finish what she has started but in my condition that is indeed 
a forlorn hope. When my fire flickers back to normal I look around. 

It is a lovely Park, and Mounthaven is a stately pile of masonry, but the 
view is bland, no human is in sight, I am alone, so turn my attention to my 
two trees, in which I already feel a proprietary interest. They may be only 
saplings but they possess my hands as though they owned them. I make a 
tentative struggle which hurts my wrists but changes nothing, my trees do 
not even have the decency to shiver or shake a leaf. 

I am tied up! I repeat the phrase over and over, savouring its implications 
and remembering the years in which it was a dream thing much to be desired 
but unlikely to happen. Now I am tied for sure: not exactly trussed up but 
certainly not going anywhere. I gaze along the bareness of my arms to where 
the cords circle each wrist and are cinched tight by a stricture between my 
skin and the smooth bark. I twist and tug to make sure, but I will never get 
loose, not ever! Somewhere, Sabrina is laughing. Quite probably I am being 
taught a lesson. 

I enjoy! I am gorgeously helpless, erotically foxed, a true maiden in 
distress: except I am not yet distressed. For the first hour or so I think 
of distress only as a figure of speech, for the next period I regard it 
disdainfully as something to ignore, but as the sun sinks into late 
afternoon I become aware of fatigue and start looking longingly at the 
ground on which I cannot possibly sit, my tensioned arms complain, my wrists 
burn. I look down at my bare breasts and the leash from my collar which 
hangs between to remind me of Sabrina. Suddenly and ferociously I long for 
her with every fiber of my being. But I cannot leave the spot on which I 
stand, my saplings hold me as she intended they should, her cords cementing 
our union. As the day wanes I become increasingly apprehensive of the night. 
To stand like this on into the darkness... ! I shudder and start to cry. 

I shout into the gathering gloom, but the trees absorb my sad small sounds. 
I struggle in brief periods of panic I know I must contain. Ruefully I 
recall my first hot pleasure in this bondage, but I know now I am being 
punished. Sabrina has not whipped me but I know, for sure, I would prefer 
the whip to standing bound like this until morning or beyond. I am so 
tired... ! 

The dark of night brings fear, an atavistic reaction to sound or the 
mischief of the night wind. Because I can move so little I feel a chill and 
shiver in self pity. I try to sink to the ground but that is impossible. 
Fitfully, I fall asleep but am instantly awake as I slump against my tied 
wrists. How gratefully I would accept the whip if only I could be freed from 
this captivity. Sabrina will know this and will be amused as she lies snug 
and warm in the big bed I cannot share. 

It is a fearful moment when I see the shape and hear the breaking of a twig. 
My wrists scream as I surge against the cords. A girl's voice laughs at me 
in the night. "Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you." 

She is young and pretty, blue jeans and a shirt. She finds my nakedness 
intriguing and, without preamble, plays with my nipples as she speaks. "I'm 
Billie-Jo. I know you're the new one." She chuckles, "You were scared." 

I am so grateful for human contact I can think only that she may go away and 
leave me as I am. Her fingers on my nipples re-awaken longing, my voice 
chokes in urgency. "Please untie me, I've been tied like this so long." 

"You're being punished." 

"Yes, I know. But I've had enough. I can't stand any more." 

Her fingers are far too wise, so is her voice. "I bet you have, but what can 
you do about it! You're tied real good." 

Vehemently I declare: "I'd sooner be whipped than have to stand here the 
rest of the night." 

Her fingers pause. "O.K. then, ask me to whip you. If you ask real nice I'll 
whip you right away and get you untied." 

"Please whip me, Billie-Jo." 

"Gosh, you are cheesed off with this, aren't you!" While I stare stupidly, 
she produces handcuffs, snaps one on my left wrist, then frees the cords. 
"If you want to fight I'll hurt you." She warns cheerfully. 

I do not fight, but I gasp painfully as my arm is dragged behind my back and 
raised to where Billie-Jo can snap the other cuff to my right wrist before 
she unties that too. When both my arms fall into position at my rear she 
tightens each cuff to make me helpless. "There, that looks after that." She 
says gaily as she grasps my tether, "Come along, sweetheart." 

"But you haven't whipped me!" 

She chuckles at my absurd exclamation. "You're so silly. Can't you see, I 
don't even have a whip. You make a real honey to tease." She pulls on my 
leash, meekly I follow. 

We are very silent as we tip-toe to where Sabrina's nudity is discernable 
beneath the covers in the huge bed. A firm young hand in my hair compels me 
to the floor beside the bedpost, from which extrudes a very short chain and 
a very large padlock. Billie-Jo takes away my rope leash and replaces it 
with the padlock, my head is forced down lower, there is a daunting click. 
When I strive to rise, I cannot. I am chained to the base of Sabrina's bed 
by no more than eighteen inches of links, the padlock is heavy on my neck. 

"You've been naughty, so you sleep on the floor." Billie-Jo's whisper is 
close to a giggle in my ear. "If you make a noise or a fuss you'll be 
whipped. I'll give you one blanket--" I watch in flaming jealousy as 
Billie-Jo strips and slips into the big bed with Sabrina. But I dare not 
make a sound. Handcuffed and collared, I won't be comfortable. But this is a 
thousand times better than my two saplings. I twist sensuously on the rug 
beneath my blanket and go to sleep. 

Morning brings surprises. The principle one is this incredible girl shape 
into which I am strapped. It is a work of art and must have cost a fortune. 
It is of moulded black plastic in the hollow shape of the front half of a 
girl. There are circles for each of my breasts and, in some positions, I can 
look down and admire their ripe fullness resulting from constriction and the 
straps. There is also a blank space for a girl's sex. The plastic shape has 
no sex down there, but I do! It is well revealed. I have been told there are 
attachments... ! This gleaming, polished simile of a nude girl reaches from 
beneath my chin down to my ankles. My nakedness has been inserted into the 
voluptuous curves, tucked, pushed, pressed and strapped. There is a strap 
round the back of my neck, another round my waist, and one for each of my 
ankles. All have been buckled very tight, I cannot move. My wrists are 
strapped to the frame on either side. 

"It's so amusing, darling. You see this lever...?" 

I hate the lever. When Sabrina pushes it in one direction it turns me upside 
down. Another push and I am upright. One more and this blasted thing 
jackknifes in the middle to make my bottom stick out so outrageously she can 
reach out and tickle my pussy as it sticks out indecently behind. 

"I did promise you a whipping, Daphne." 

"Yes, Mistress." 

"And I didn't leave you out in the Park all night the way I should have done 
-and Billie-Jo tells me you said you preferred to be whipped?" 

"Thank you, Mistress." 

"What do you think of my 'Lady-flipper,' it's so versatile?" 

"I'm scared to death, Sabrina." 

"And so you should be! 'Lady-flipper' is so flattering to a girl, it can 
feature her bottom, her back, her breasts and her pussy. But don't worry, 
dear, you won't get them all today. And I'll use this lovely whip. See, I'll 
place it here where you can look at it while you're waiting. You do have to 
wait, y'know, I want a thoroughly repentant maiden. Bye, bye-" I am 
repentant now. I would do anything to evade being whipped. I look at the 
beastly snake-thing waiting to slice my back. But the straps mock me, I 
cannot move. Sabrina is going to whip me and there's not a thing I can do to 
stop it happening. Outrageously, the carnal heat spreads from my loins. I am 
not a 'tied up girl' I am a 'Strapped up girl,' but what's the difference! 

In the bath we did not mention Billie-Jo. Sabrina saw the jealous reproach 
in my eyes and laughed it away. "Just part of your punishment, darling, I 
told you there were more things than getting your pretty bottom whipped." 

"Yes, like being tied to two trees--" 

"You loved every moment." 

"Well, I did the first hour or two. But, Mistress, you're going to whip me 
now I just know you are?" 

"I did promise you one before you took your walk in the Park, dear, or don't 
you remember?" 

"I remember. I'm sorry. I'll try and not sulk." 

"You'd better! Sulking gets you extra." 

I do not want to talk about getting whipped, it is bad enough knowing it 
will happen. Quite suddenly, there pops into my mind a question I can never 
forget for very long. I give it voice: "Sabrina... What happens to me... 
after years...?" 

"Solemn thought, darling." She frictions my mound with her toes. "You have 
the most wonderful pubic thatch-" 

"Yes, but-" 

"Don't interrupt, darling. If you want a brutal answer, I'd say you'll be my 
prisoner for another ten to fifteen years. When you approach forty I might 
let you go." 

I suspect a twinkle in her eye, but the brutal frankness of what she has 
said carries conviction. It is so damn practical and plausible. I honestly 
don't believe I can escape, she's got me! The years stretch out, but with a 
happier vista than they did in Stubbinsburg Jail. Even strapped into this 
plastic mould the way I am, I'm happier about being whipped by Sabrina than 
I ever would be with Bill Coro. But, just the same... ! I look at that damn 
whip she's left for me to admire, and I shiver. 

The waiting time for my penance is maybe an hour. 

Sabrina kisses me warmly. "Enjoy the wait, Daphne?" 

"No, it's been awful. I'll be glad when it's over." 

"The wait's over, dear." She pats my bottom. "Your time has come." Her 
laughter is totally carefree. "What d'you say we start on your bottom, such 
a sweet round little bottom, it seems most appropriate?" 

"If you say so, Mistress." 

"A nice springy riding crop, darling, the whip's for higher up." 

"But, Sabrina, must I get it both places? Wouldn't one or the other be 
enough?" 

"You're quibbling, dear. That's naughty! You must never quibble with the 
woman who owns you." 

"I'm sorry... Oh, gosh!" Dismayed, I watch the approach of pain. 

"I expect you've worn clips on your nipples before, Daphne dear. I simply 
adore them--on you, of course! This pair really bite." 

"S --A --B --R --I --N --A --... P-L-E-A-S-E-... ! Please don't put those on 
me, not when I'm going to be whipped as well." My plea is a wail of anguish. 

"You are being taught a lesson, dear. You know that as well as I do." 
Sabrina sounds severe. "Now, accept the little darlings gratefully and tell 
me a nice 'thank you' when they're on." 

I can't move. My breasts are positively asking for what they are about to 
receive, they pop out from the plastic shamelessly. When I look down at my 
nipples I perceive them flint hard and about twice the size they should be: 
I can almost say to myself it serves them right. 

"I like to clip them on so they stick out perkily. That is the way you want 
them, dear?" 

"I--I suppose so, Mistress." 

"Do try and show a bit of enthusiasm, sweetheart. I'm going to a lot of 
trouble to make sure I get them on most painfully. Isn't it lovely that you 
can't move." 

The visual effect is lovely, the pain is not. I gasp twice but dare not 
scream. My breasts flame with fire. It takes a deep breath and all my 
fortitude to sweetly say: "Thank you for the clips, Sabrina." 

"You're most welcome, dear. We'll now move on to your bottom--or have you 
any other imprudent remarks...?" 

"No--Gosh gosh, no!" 

"I'm sure we can both think of a place for two more clips?" 

"I'll behave, Sabrina Oh, dammit, I will try. Jeepers, these hurt something 
awful, I don't want two more down there." 

I am suddenly jackknifed. I am looking at the floor. My bottom, if it had 
eyes, would be looking up at the ceiling. Sabrina tickles my pussy. "My, my, 
a saucy thatch! It may be sorry!" 

It is sorry with the first cut of the crop, so am I! I yelp and jerk in my 
first spasm of agony. I will never get used to being whipped, I just know I 
won't. Sabrina's tone is dulcet. 

"Did you feel that one a bit?" 

"It's awful! Please, Sabrina, I can't stand it." 

"Now five real fast, darling, it's like the first plunge in the pool--" I 
scream like crazy. The five strokes on my bare flesh ignite a flaming 
inferno which roars in an increasing crescendo with each blow. The plastic 
torso and its straps mock my struggles. I might bear this awfulness if only 
my derriere was not bent so cruelly, its skin so taut. The crop impacts on 
my female curves with a sound I cannot describe. It is a sound to tie knots 
in my tummy. 

"Love and pain, Daphne--" I am levered upright. I am wonderfully and 
beautifully kissed, and kiss back hungrily. A wicked hand reaches down to 
cup my lips so swollen from the crop. I gasp and pant in a pain I cannot 
tell from pleasure. If only she would keep me thus forever! 

"The poor dear thing has to have six more, Daphne dear. How d'you want 'em, 
fast or slow?" 

"Oh, slow, P--L E A S E...!" 

It is a thoughtless choice I regret. I am sure each slash is harder, each 
pause between more fraught with suspense. But I asked for them slow, and six 
slowly delivered cuts with the crop is what I get the spaces between are 
good for catching my breath and screaming. Oh damn, how did I ever get 
myself into this! 

"Daphne, you're so beautifully responsive, a perfect female subject for the 
whip." My owner's voice is warm with pleasure. "I can't ever imagine setting 
you free or selling you." 

I can't imagine it either! My bottom burns, I can't move, the clips on my 
nipples mock me with their assurance of continuing pain. I will never sit at 
my desk again or change a ribbon on the I.B.M. Dully, I wonder if Carrie and 
Jason will search. But, if they can find me then so could Bill, and I don't 
want that! My future is Sabrina. Maybe I'm lucky... ! But, gosh, I hurt! 
Demurely, I venture: "Thank you for caning my bottom like that, Sabrina." 

"I loved every stroke, darling." 

"Would I be punished if I asked you to take the clips off my nipples?" 

She laughs delightedly at my outrageous hint. "Yes, Daph', you'd be 
punished. Besides, you've still got to be properly whipped, your bottom's 
just enjoyed the hors d'oeuvre." 

I try to squirm within my plastic feminine shell, but it holds me strapped 
in lesbian love. I am replete and repentant with pain and want no more. I 
long to plead, but my clipped nipples warn me against the risk, I could 
easily acquire two more on the lips of my pussy. I whisper only: "Oh, 
Sabrina, I'm scared." 

"And so you should be, darling, I'm going to stripe that lovely back with 
the most beautiful etchings." 

The plastic mould snaps erect, and me with it. My arms and wrists are 
strapped in front to give the lash full access to my back. I grit my teeth 
and utter a small involuntary moan of despair. I am innocent but am about to 
be flogged. Whatever my reactions to the strokes may be, Sabrina will enjoy 
them. She will enjoy Me, I am a pretty pleasure slave for her delight. She 
will show me no mercy, perhaps I don't deserve any... ! 

It is always the same, the pain dissolves my courage. I manage not to plead 
as my back is cut and bitten by the thong, but my screams are urgent to 
evoke pity. If they touch Sabrina's heart I will never know. The impacts on 
my skin never lessen. She has a strong right arm. The straps binding me into 
the female shell have the decency to creak under my surges of agony, it is 
my only victory. 

"Feeling penitent and docile, darling?" 

The whip pauses long enough for me to gasp and blurt: "Oh, yes! Oh, 
Sabrina... Mistress... P--L E A S E... I'll do anything!" Even as I say it 
the words sound trite. The whip scorns them and stripes my back again. 

We do not count strokes, she will stop marking me when it pleases her. Why 
not, she owns me! I do not wonder why I do not hate Sabrina: I know! After I 
have paid my dues within these straps we will make love. She holds me doubly 
captive. 

Sabrina is unpredictable. When she stops whipping me she goes away. She says 
no word but leaves me sobbing and making shameful sounds. She also leaves 
the whip where it fills my horizon and tells me she will return to use it on 
me again. But, when she comes, she holds two more clips and I moan anew. 

"I can't resist you, darling, you're made for pain and anyway, they're so 
damn cute." 

My legs are not spread, but she burrows into the softness of my un-whipped 
thighs to bare my pussy and its cringing lips. With care, and an intent 
absorption, she positions the first of the tiny horrors and allows its open 
jaws to close upon me flesh. I squeal in shock. 

"N-OOOOH... ! Oh... O H-H-H-H H... ! Oh, Mistress, not T H E R E... O 
W-W-W-W, Ouch!" 

"Why, darling, is it that good! I'd no idea--" Sabrina's fingers busy 
themselves once more. My opposite labia is positioned for the small hungry 
jaws. When they close I go as crazy as the straps allow. 

"It's a really cute effect, darling. I wish you could see." 

"Take them off! Oh please, Sabrina, take them off, off, off!" 

"How delightful! We must use them on you again." Her tone becomes quizzical: 
"Have you a suggestion?" 

"Yes! Take them off and whip me some more instead!" 

"Darling, how delicious! I won't do it, of course, but that you should wish 
me to... ! It's an immense tribute to the clips, y'know." 

"I can't stand it! O--H--H-H--H... ! Oh please, not in both places?" 

"Wellllll... Just supposing I relieved you of a pair, which would you like 
to part with first?" 

She is teasing but I fall for it. "My nipples, my nipples...!" 

Sabrina flicks the clips on my breasts. "Darling... these!" 

Her playful finger is still flicking them when I pass out. 

 CHAPTER THREE - CARRIE 

It is typical of Bill Coro that he barge in of an evening when I am half 
suspended, and entirely naked, in the centre of our living room. I have 
forced myself into a sort of "Captive's trance" and Jason is enjoying my 
female attributes while he spares an occasional glance at the T.V. It is a 
quiet evening at home. 

I wish Jason didn't treat Bill as an old Buddy, but he lets him in and 
doesn't bother to cover me up. Bill speaks to him but looks at me. 

"That damn Jollie's let Daphne loose, they've both disappeared." He glares 
at us both. "What d'you know about it?" 

"Nothing." 

I improve on Jason's single word. "Serves you right, Bill, the way you treat 
a girl." 

He sneers at my taut nudity. "Would you say Jason's treating you kindly 
right now?" 

I blush and snap back: "Never mind us. Go hire yourself a chippie." 

"Look, Bill, search the place." Jason says wearily. "Daph' isn't here. The 
thing is: where is she!" 

Bill can't take his eyes off me, I have no doubt I look enticing. But, as 
usual, he has punishment in mind. "D'you let her talk like this, Jason? Look 
at her, tied up by the wrists, and impudent as all get out. She needs a 
thrashing." 

"It's the way I like her. For Pete's sake, man, stop looking at her cunt 
you've seen it before!" 

My cunt must indeed be potent. Bill has forgotten his mission. He breathes 
heavily as he surveys us both. He nods in my direction. "I want this girl. 
Look, Jason, I've forgotten what I offered you before, but I'll double it. I 
won't rest until I get her." 

"Forget it, Bill! Now, about Daphne: you must have a clue?" 

They natter but I do not hear. Bill Coro's offer for me is now half a 
million dollars. He has the money, so I have to take him seriously. With 
that kind of wealth striving to enslave me I've got a problem. Jason may be 
loyal, but it's so damn easy to kidnap girls... Some evening when I'm not 
alert--! He can use his money for bribes. Damn the silly idiot, I can't 
possibly be that exciting! Or can I--I am back on Bill's wavelength. 

"I'm bound to get Carrie one way or another, Jason-be reasonable--" 

"Forget it! That's enough. Bill, you'd better go." 

He goes, muttering. But our mood is spoiled. It is not long before Jason 
frees me and we sit together with a drink. I look at the T.V. but see and 
hear nothing. All I can think of is half a million dollars and the 
chloroform pad pressed against my face--it's so easy. I have become the most 
costly kind of merchandise. 

It happens quite soon, but not the way I thought. 

Jason allows me very few friends, all female. When I visit a distant address 
across town he lets me drive the car. I am within a few blocks of Dorothy 
Houghton's place when the police car flags me down. It is a quiet street, so 
I pull in to the curb and fumble for my papers. 

That was the end of normalcy, what began at that moment progressed into pure 
nightmare and beyond. A uniform, a gun pointed squarely between my breasts, 
a hard face and a hard voice. 

"Out of the car, lady. Keep your hands in sight. Take position." 

I've never been arrested, this is T.V. melodrama in which nothing happens by 
my own volition. By some weird magic my hands are against our car and my 
legs are straddled while trained hands probe every crevice of my person 
while other hands possess my keys and open the trunk. 

"Yeah, she's here, Sam." 

She is indeed! A frightened fifteen year old girl peers up at us above the 
gag which keeps her silent. She is most competently hogtied into a neat 
bundle, she cannot move. When the wad and the bandage are taken from her 
mouth she bursts into accusation: "It was her, that woman there, she done 
it!" 

The T.V. script continues. While I stand, speechless in horror, my arms are 
gathered at my back and my wrists feel the familiar steel, the clicking of 
the handcuffs as they make me captive to the Law has the sound of doom. I am 
now inserted, hind end first, into the back seat of the blue & white, where 
I sit in helpless indignity to be peered at while the girl, for whom I feel 
an intense loathing, is tenderly lifted from our trunk, untied, and 
generally made a fuss of. She points frequently in my direction and scowls. 
The boys in blue listen patiently, she is quite pretty, and usher her into a 
second vehicle just arrived. When my arresting officer and his mate join me 
and start the motor, he sums up my situation with terse precision: "Looks 
like you're for it, lady." 

I weep as silently as I can, and watch Jason's car as it precedes us down 
the street. 

I don't know how to tell about the rest. None of it was possible in relation 
to myself but it happened anyway. It happened over many days and terminated 
when I was popped into a cell in a prison to stay there a long, long time. 
No one liked me, no one came to my rescue, Jason had vanished. I refused to 
appeal to Bill Coro. I spent my days and nights in a strange mixture of 
tears and tumescence. 

From the first, I had to fight back a hysterical urge to giggle whenever I 
was handcuffed or locked behind bars. If the officers and the matrons and 
the rest of them only knew... ! For a girl who had sought bondage all her 
life I was getting it full measure. They dressed me in a neat little prison 
tunic and kept me restrained or contained as though I was valuable 
merchandise. In an effort to cut my losses I got what thrills I could from 
the manhandling and the woman-handling and the cuffs and bars. Except for my 
time in Court and the gloomy sessions with the grave faced men in the 
austere room, I was constantly aware of captivity. I was a pretty bird 
caged. 

As a person I was not admired. The lies that little bitch told about me made 
sure of that. But, as a female prisoner, I was admired a great deal. My 
breasts got a lot of male attention and my pussy was well scrubbed by the 
matron when she gave me the initiation bath. But there was never a wrong 
word or a hand in the wrong place. The premises were much pleasanter than 
Stubbinsburg Jail, implacable but bright and clean, rather like a hospital. 
My handcuffs were always removed when I was put in a cell so I could do the 
few things allowed, and I could hold on to the bars and peer through them to 
my heart's content. 

The disposal of my delinquent person, now distinctly criminal, was handled 
with dispatch. The Law had a good look at me and consigned me to where I now 
am: The Rainsville Security Institution for Women. It sounds innocuous but 
isn't. A girl in Rainsville knows she's a prisoner for sure, and for a 
helluva' long time. 

Being the way I am, I can divide my arrest and subsequent adversities into 
two categories: The dreary and the frightening on one side and the 
erotically exciting on the Other. The latter has etched on my mind a series 
of cameos, beginning with my frantic, but cautious, efforts to slip my hands 
out of the handcuffs as I sat in the back seat of the car after my arrest: I 
was a trapped wild thing that wanted out. It did me no good, of course, and 
I was ignominiously led into the Station to be booked, a chained captive and 
a bad, bad girl, probably dangerous. 

I liked the way they turned me around when I was to be handcuffed or when 
the cuffs were to be unlocked. They could have gone to my back, but no, my 
back must be turned for their convenience, and it was. In the course of 
being taken back and forth I got so I knew when to turn, so I did it for 
them and wiggled my hands, invitingly, for their attention. I baffled them. 
They knew there was something odd about me but couldn't place their finger 
on it. 

Locked in a cell, I could never resist the business of holding the bars and 
looking out. For most, it would be a profitless exercise, faintly pathetic, 
but not for me! I remembered all those pictures of forlorn maidens looking 
longingly at lost freedoms through their grids of iron and latticeworks of 
steel. Now, I was one of them! I suppose I was ridiculous, but I'd stand 
against those bars for hours, dreaming... and with a damp puss. 

My transportation to Rainsville Prison was a gala Day. I am sure some of my 
excitation showed and must have puzzled those who dealt with me. In the 
other context it's a sad day for any girl, but when they fitted the chain 
round my waist I knew it was something special. I positively trembled as my 
left wrist was cuffed, and then the other cuff passed through the big ring 
over my navel before it was clicked tight round my right wrist, held sternly 
in position by The Law. It was simple and ingenious, not a bit what you'd 
expect from authority: it also made me helpless. In the back seat of the car 
was a cuff for one of my ankles. They snapped it on me apologetically, 
explaining how some girls might do themselves an injury. I got the most 
erotic ride of my life and wished, longingly, that Jason could see. 

From the moment I'd beheld that damn girl in the trunk I'd sensed something 
wrong, something way, way out. Here at Rainsville that atmosphere 
intensifies, it is as though those who keep me captive are watching and 
waiting for something to happen. They've all had their look at the naughty, 
naughty Kidnapper: The Warden, the Doctor, the Psychiatrist, the Matron: all 
intrigued by a 'nice girl like me' kidnapping an innocent child for purposes 
at which they darkly hint. The whipmarks on my skin give them a delicious 
leverage for speculation. My weals are faded but still visible and I refuse 
to explain them. How the hell can a girl like me explain why she's been 
whipped! I long for Jason but he does not come. 

I think the erotic part of me annoys them, it shows as though I'm being 
insolent to their authority. They all take pains to explain that Rainsville 
may be modern but I must understand it possesses, in some dark depth below, 
the means to make delinquent damsels toe the line. The wardress who shoves 
me in and out of my cell put it most succinctly: "You gives us trouble, 
gal', we whips your little ass." After she has locked me in and gone away I 
was consumed by lust. 

Prison is limbo, I don't exist except to Me. In my cell I am vividly aware 
of my body, I am a girl-thing caged and held and alone. There is no one to 
talk to or touch, so I talk within my mind and touch myself with hopeful 
fingers as though seeking an erogenous zone previously undiscovered. But I 
ration my masturbations, they seem such a waste. What I want is Jason! I 
dream of Jason owning this cell with me inside-Mmmmmmm... ! 

A girl in Rainsville isn't allowed visitors her first month. But I get one 
after two weeks. Premonition defeats shock when I see Bill Coro beaming at 
me through the wire mesh. I take my seat across the divided counter and try 
to kill his grin. 

"Sorry, Bill, no dice." 

He wilts only slightly, and demands: "You mean, you like it in this place? 
Good gosh, Carrie-!" 

"It's better than that place you imprison girls in-and they haven't whipped 
me yet." 

"That can be arranged." His voice is full of hurt. "Dammit, Carrie, why 
can't you be reasonable, I'm in love with you." 

"No you're not, Bill, you just want a pretty girl's body to be mean with." 

We glare at each other in hostility. I find myself wishing I'd been more 
tactful. I am a girl very much in prison: Bill Coro is very rich and very 
free. Heavily, he drops his bomb. "I can get you out of here, Carrie?" 

A question is implicit in his statement. I evade it by denial: "Nobody can 
get me out, Bill, I'm here for years and years, unless that damn girl -?" 

"That's right, Carrie, she's the key I can turn." 

I am suddenly frightened. I am a prisoned prey with the hunter leering 
through the bars, a hunter with a key! Desperately, I plead: "Tell Jason... 
Please! Make him come and see me?" Feebly, I temporize, "Maybe we can work 
something out." 

The hunter waves Jason into oblivion, his words are slow with purpose: "You 
haven't been here long, Carrie. Maybe it doesn't seem all that bad, but it 
can get worse, a helluva' lot worse." 

"That's a threat, isn't it." 

He shrugs resignedly. "I suppose so. But you should understand I don't enjoy 
making it. I make it because I want you to come to me willingly. I want you 
to ask me to get you out of here and to promise to be my girl--forget 
Jason." 

"D'you think my promise would be any good?" 

"Yes, I'd accept it." He gives me his best Bassett Hound look. "I'd make it 
decent for you in Stubbinsburg--?" 

"Bill, you actually expect a girl to exchange this place for that moldy 
dismal Jailhouse of yours--?" 

"Alright then, I'll sell it. I'll keep you somewhere else. I'll let you pick 
the place?" 

"But I'll be a prisoner for life and you'll whip me regularly and keep me 
chained." 

"Well, you're Jason's prisoner, aren't you! You like what he does he's 
whipped you-!" 

"You know how it is with Jason and Me. Oh, Bill, it's no use trying to 
compare--" 

"You don't like me, eh? That's your trouble?" 

"It isn't you, Bill, it's what you do to girls, what you want to do to me. I 
don't think I can stand all that pain." 

"Oh, c'mon now, I'm not that bad!" 

"You covered Daphne and me in whipmarks Where is Daphne?" 

"How should I know!" He glowers. "I'd like to see her in there with you." 
His voice softens. "Look, I want you. It's a fact of life you have to live 
with. So, O.K., I'll give you time. You won't enjoy the time, but you can 
always end it by mentioning my name. O.K.?" 

"No, it's not O.K. Bill... please! Bill...?" My voice turns to panic. 
"B--ILL...!" 

But Bill Coro has gone. The steel mesh mocks. 

If my wardress has a Christian name, her prisoners do not know it. I call 
her Harris. If I wish to be placating or humble I can make it 'Miss Harris.' 
She must be treated with respect. Her manner is acidly informal. 

"You and me's going downstairs, kid." 

I have had to wait only overnight for Bill Coro's influence to reach out and 
touch me. But I ask, innocently: "What is there downstairs, Miss Harris?" 

"As if you didn't know!" She combines a sneer and a wink. "It's where we 
take our naughty girls." 

"But what have I done!" 

"You know that better'n I do, kiddo. You've made someone real mad. Come 
along--or d'you aim to give trouble?" 

I say, no I won't give any trouble, and I allow my arm to be grasped. 
Downstairs is about what you'd expect, everything about it is implicit to 
the punishment of girls. Whatever sunshine falls on Rainsville above does 
not penetrate this far below. Here is a place of tiny heavily barred cells 
and several bare stark rooms containing only ugliness. The hand guides me 
into one of them. 

"Get your clothes off. Miss Carstairs." 

I'd expected it, but it's still a hell of a shock. I don't know if they'll 
do anything to me here any worse than Bill would in his private jail, but 
I'm quite sure I won't like it, there'll be no comforting heat between my 
legs, and I'll never know what else Harris may have waiting. Dazed, I 
exclaim: "You mean, naked, you want me naked?" 

Her use of my surname is jeeringly satirical, it emphasises my lowly 
condition: "Don't tell me no one's seen you naked, Miss Carstairs?" 

"Well... no - " 

"Then strip! Get everything off. Gal's don't need clothes down here, and the 
heat's on, you won't get pneumonia." How different this is from Jason! From 
him I'd already be wet and trembling with eagerness. It would even be 
different with Bill! But from Harris! Everything about Harris makes me 
cringe. Obediently, I remove the sparse prison garb and drop it in a bag she 
holds ready as though I will never need clothes again. 

"Good!" She pulls the drawstring tight and puts the bag out in the passage. 
"You see that thing there?" 

I have been looking at 'That Thing' ever since I entered the dismal room. It 
is a whipping post, its intent screams aloud. Abandoning pretence, I 
unhappily ask: "Are you going to whip me, Miss Harris?" 

"Right on the bit, aren't you! Go and arrange yourself, you can figure it 
out." 

It is not hard to figure. A timber upright, horizontally across its top a 
shorter span, at each end of which is the chrome bracelet of a handcuff 
attached to the hardwood by a single link. I press my nudity against the 
post and insert my wrists within the open jaws. My heart thuds painfully and 
I'm scared. 

"It's a useful facility." Harris says as she cuffs my wrists tighter than 
she need. "A girl can be turned either way." The picture she evokes is 
devastating. To be fastened like this, but facing her! My breasts 
prominent... my sex... ! Facing either way, I'm helpless, totally helpless! 
She can always tie my feet if she wants to. Tremulously, I venture: "But it 
can't possibly be legal to do these things to a girl these days?" 

"Who said it was, Miss Carstairs!" 

"But this whole place?" 

"The little cells are for solitary. They came with the building. These other 
things have been... added." 

"For girls like me, who've been framed!" 

"Sure, for you! And any who make a nuisance of themselves upstairs." 

I am naked and delivered to a sort of torture. Harris's matter-of-fact 
explanations are frightening. No pity, no hope, no second chance -! I stop 
right there. For me there is an alternative. I can speak a name! I am not 
going to speak that name, but suppose I am tortured until I do! I voice the 
thought: "You're going to torture me, aren't you, Miss Harris?" 

"A whip isn't torture, girl, you'll just scream a bit. No one can hear." 

It is closing in on me. I have become a subject from whom a confession must 
be extracted by pain. I shiver, but not from cold, I test the cuffs and hurt 
my wrists, through my mind runs a fearful knowledge: I cannot win... I 
cannot win... ! 

"Any preference about whips, Miss Carstairs?" 

I look back over my bare shoulder. Harris has selected a wicked black thing 
that is, I suppose, as good as any--or as bad! In panic at the sight of it, 
I blurt out: "But please, Miss Harris, isn't there anything I can do or 
say--I don't want to be whipped?" "Guess you know the answer to that one 
too, kid. Looks to me like you're going to get that pretty back marked up 
again." 

I know the answer! I turn back and thrust myself against the post. Harris 
whips me methodically and viciously. Soon my wrists are bleeding within 
their metal bond. I scream all I can. Screaming helps. 

Harris has left me fastened to this post quite some time. The sweat of pain 
in which she left me has long since dried. My back smarts, my wrists are 
sore, I am terribly tired but I have to stand against this wooden horror 
with my arms outspread as though I'm greeting the sun, or some such fanciful 
notion. 

I cry a little and view my prospects, they are bleak. I have no future other 
than as I now am. If it is not the whip it will be something else. I long 
for Jason, he is my only hope. But Jason has vanished from my life! Bill 
Coro has devised something, I am sure he has, some rotten lie to take him 
away. So now I must make a decision, a decision based on a guess as to how 
much punishment Rainsville dare inflict on an inmate like me. Will it be 
more or less than what I can expect if Bill takes me back! I do not know the 
answer. I can suffer and suffer in the hope they will give me up in disgust 
and tell Bill where to go and put me back behind bars. It is a dismal 
appraisal of my state that any of their cells appear as a haven of refuge. I 
look up my bare arms to where the small metal circlets hold my hands safely 
imprisoned. There is no hope none! I can never escape! Hell, I could never 
escape from anybody. 

"A drink of water, Miss Carstairs. And you'd better pee before we go on to 
the next." Harris is nothing if not practical. She unlocks the cuffs and 
hands me the glass. 

"Don't try anything, Carrie, I could tie you in knots." Listlessly, I do 
what I must. I am tired and hurt and have no will to fight. But I have no 
will to suffer either, I am without conviction. Apathetically I will do 
whatever Harris wants. Perhaps somewhere deep inside she can feel pity. "You 
ride a horse, Miss Carstairs." 

I know instantly what she means, but say a sulky "No." 

"You're going to now. We got one waiting." 

She takes me to the next room, and there it is! Two high trestles and a bar 
between. "You're going to make me sit astride." I tell her bitterly. "I've 
read about it. Please, please, don't do that to me." 

It is as though I have not spoken. Harris crosses my wrists behind my back 
and ties them with thin rope. She loops each of my ankles, the ropes 
trailing. "Up on that box, Carrie, a leg on each side of the bar. Face this 
way." 

I do not move. It is as though I cannot move. Fear roots me where I am. I 
know little of this beastly thing she wants to do to me but, instinctively, 
I know it will be terrible. 

"I can easily summon help, Miss Carstairs. If I were you, I'd just be a good 
girl. It hurts less in the long run." 

Her dispassionate logic is insidious. I mount the box and place myself 
astride. The bar is hard against my puss between my thighs. From above, a 
rope is hooked to my wrists and they are raised enough to make me lean 
forward. "You can use this to keep from falling while I attend to your 
legs." Harris says helpfully. "Hold on." 

My ankle ropes are taken out to rings far away in the floor. Harris has to 
move swiftly in this anchoring of my feet. For a few moments I am scarily 
unstable. But then, in two heaving tensionings, my legs are drawn out tautly 
to either side and sit astride the bar without support. The pain takes away 
my breath as she tugs in the final adjustments which keep me from falling to 
either side, but also add a hard downward pull to anchor me fast and add its 
own compulsion to the weight of my body on my crotch. 

Fighting down hysteria, I gasp: "I can't handle this, I just can't! It's too 
awful!" 

"All the girls say that, Miss Carstairs." 

"But I've tried--I do want to obey you--" I gasp frantically, "But it's too 
much... no girl could--" 

"But they do, Miss Carstairs, believe me they do. And so will you." She 
consults her watch. "We got a good early start, so I can let you have a good 
few hours on this one." 

"I'll faint. It will kill me!" 

"No it-won't. But should you faint, it doesn't matter. You can't fall off. 
Oh... and I'll just tension your arms a bit more. That rope on your wrists 
is most important, it makes you sit on the most painful spot. You'll find 
you won't be able to move." 

I plead and wail while the final touches are added to my torment. Even in 
the first minute while Harris does her worst I know I have no fortitude with 
which to cope with this atrocity. When she nods brightly and leaves me to my 
fate I call after her in panic not to go, not to leave me like this: 
"Harris, Harris... Oh please. Miss Harris!" But it is to no avail. I am 
alone. 

The pain between my legs gets steadily worse. I cannot imagine that no 
injury will ensue. I cannot struggle, I cannot easy myself. My tractioned 
arms defeat me in everything. They keep me exquisitely poised upon my cunt. 
As an added bonus they wrack my shoulders. It is not long before I am 
glistening with sweat. I moan steadily. 

Harris will leave me here for hours, hours and hours, five at least. We have 
all day. As agony spreads from my crotch I realise Bill Coro never hurt me 
like this... nor Daphne! Soon I start to scream. A girl screaming in an 
empty room is frightening even to herself, but I do not stop until my throat 
hurts and my strength fails: I think I fainted several times during the 
afternoon. I existed only in a maze of pain during which one single 
determination replaced all others. When, somewhere towards evening, Harris 
came back to me I wasted no time. My voice was almost gone but I managed to 
whisper: "Please ask for Mr. Coro... Mister Coro... for Bill-" 

* * * 

Once more we gaze at each other through the steel mesh. Bill beams. I know 
only a dull ache of misery to match the distress between my legs. His voice 
is almost human. 

"I'm so glad you've decided, Carrie." 

"When can I get out of here?" It is all I can think of. Bleakly, I add, 
"Please stop them doing any more... things to me." 

"Of course, of course!" He becomes paternal. "But you are terribly 
difficult-" 

"I won't be difficult any more." 

"Wonderful!" He is the hearty old buddy. "Now, the papers to reverse 
everything are going to take a few days. I'm afraid you'll have to stay here 
" 

"Will they torture me?" 

"No, you won't be... punished. But, first, you and I do have to come to an 
understanding?" 

"We understand each other now. I'll do anything you want." 

"You sound so bitter, Carrie." He is eyeing me dubiously. "Are you quite 
sure you're ready?" 

Thoughts of going 'downstairs' again with Harris panic me. I become the 
humble supplicant. "I'm sorry, Bill. But I was tortured all day yesterday 
and I'm still hurting. Please forgive me." 

Humility is the key, Bill's beam returns. "That's a better tone, honey. But 
I wish you'd stop talking about torture." 

"In the morning I was whipped. In the afternoon I was tied, naked, 
straddling a bar for five hours." 

He has the grace to turn pink. "I won't do that to you, Carrie." He visibly 
battles embarrassment. "But I would like you to call me 'Master'?" 

"Very well, Master, I will." 

"Gosh, they must have hurt you!" He peers at me with fresh interest. "And I 
was thinking... about obedience, and things like that?" 

"I'll be humble and obedient, Master. I promise. I'll let you tie and chain 
me without complaining." For good measure, I add: "And whip me. I expect 
you'll want to whip me." 

"Well, yes, I suppose so. But I won't be cruel." His voice is warm in 
admiration. "Gee-whiz, honey, you really have improved!" 

"There's no mystery about Me, Master. Yesterday they went to work and broke 
me, that's all. I'll do anything rather than be taken downstairs again." 

"Carrie, I promise, I'll get you out of here just as fast as it's possible. 
I don't want you in here." 

"Thank you, Bill-Master!" 

"Bill will do for now, sweetheart." 

His step is jaunty as he strides back to freedom. Mine drag as I turn back 
to prison. Harris is caustic as ever. 

"Made a deal, eh!" She chuckles. "I'll let you in on a secret, Miss 
Carstairs. Most gal's don't last out the first day." She inserts me into my 
cell and locks me in. "Look, gal', you're in for a worrying wait. If you get 
bored, I don't mind taking you downstairs again?" 

"But why -?" Panic grips me again. "Bill promised?" 

"Hell, you like it, don't you! I don't mean rough as yesterday, but enough 
to keep you hot?" 

"I never want to go downstairs again." 

"You're going to get awful bored in this coop, girl." 

"So alright, I'll be bored." 

Harris nods complacently and leaves me behind my bars. I make one more quick 
survey of my wound, but can find or feel no injury. It is incredible that 
such agony should leave no malformation, but my pussy is still there and 
still responsive. Harris has a good thing going in that 'horse.' No matter 
how a girl may complain, she can exhibit no incriminating evidence. I sit 
down cautiously. 

My cell is a vacuum I share with anxiety. The days are endless and drive me 
to consider Harris's offer of mild punishments as a relief. But the eighth 
day brings the uniformed officers, the handcuffs, and the small bag 
containing my clothes. My hands are locked behind my back and I am once 
again inserted into a back seat. It is not what I expected. 

Bill Coro awaits us on a dirt track twenty miles up the road. I am extracted 
from the blue & white and handed over to him with quaint formality. He looks 
at me hungrily, the officers say a sheepish good-bye. In a ridiculous 
concern, I call after them: "I'm still handcuffed. Don't you need 
them--they're yours?" 

They touch their hats and grin. "It's O.K., Miss, they're paid for." They 
drive away. 

I turn to my new Master and say, with some sincerity: "Thank you for getting 
me out of that place, Bill- and I'll call you 'Master' from now on." 

"You're welcome. You mean a lot to me, honey. I'm happy 'bout you coming to 
me like--well-the way you are." 

"Handcuffed?" 

"No, I didn't mean that. I suppose I mean you're not screaming and kicking." 

"I made a deal, Master. I'll try and be what you want." 

Bill is embarrassed with happiness. He preens, and mumbles: "I've always 
known you're wonderful-Oh, Carrie-!" 

"Shouldn't you tie and gag me some way, Master? I mean, you are sort of 
transporting me?" 

"Yes, of course, I was getting around to it. I'm wondering about the front 
seat with me, or in the trunk?" 

"I've had both, Master." I manage a grin of reminiscence. "It's whatever you 
want, y'know." 

"I'll tie your elbows while we're deciding, honey." 

I am watching Bill rummage in the trunk of his car, sorting out rope, when 
the battered farm half-ton coasts to a silent stop. Its driver is a rustic 
type, well weathered. He assesses us with leering amusement. "You folks in 
trouble?" Bill is scarlet. I am sure he has never thought of this 
contretemps. But I have memories of a similar confrontation long ago with 
Jason: The confrontation is with myself. This stranger has seen the 
handcuffs on my wrists, because of them he will believe anything I say, but 
he will not believe a word from Bill. Here is freedom within my grasp! 
Bill's eyes upon me are wide with appeal. Like the dumb idiot I am, I 
respond brightly: "Everything's fine." Bill adds his piece with: "Sure, 
everything's O.K." Our farmer regards us severely. "The young lady's 
handcuffed. That don't look O.K. to me." 

Surely, oh surely I can have some sense and use this happy chance to get 
myself out of bondage forever! But I am in the grip of something I can't 
control. I turn my back to the half ton and wiggle my chained hands. "Oh, 
these! Is this what you're worrying about?" 

"Yeah, I'd think you'd be worrying too." 

I give him my best smile and giggle. "It's sweet of you to worry, but please 
don't. The handcuffs are a thing we've got going, and we've mislaid the key. 
But we're on our way home and there's a spare in the house. Please... ! I'm 
alright." 

He remains suspicious but intrigued. "This guy here, maam, is he a detective 
or something?" 

I laugh gaily. "Who, Bill? Bill's my husband." 

Matrimony is indeed holy! It makes my handcuffs respectable. All the better 
wives wear them. My farmer rescuer winks at us both and steps on the gas. 
Angry at my own intransigence, I watch freedom recede. 

"I say, Carrie, that's damn big of you!" 

"Yes, isn't it! I must be out of my mind. You'd best tie me tight and lock 
me in that trunk real quick." 

"You gave me your word, and you kept it. Dammit, Carrie, I owe you on this 
one. I don't want you hogtied in the trunk, I want you up front with me." 

"That's nice of you, Bill. But you'd better fix me good. I'm not sure I'll 
be so noble next time. You'd be safer with me under the lid." 

But, for this moment, Bill sees me as a paragon of slave virtue. Apart from 
the impossible thought of granting me my freedom, he is anxious to be 
magnanimous. He ties my elbows with care and does not make them meet. He 
immobilizes me gently and with love, apologising for the wad of cloth he 
must use as my gag. I open my mouth for it obediently. 

"I'll tape your lips, sweetheart. I've got some stuff that's absolutely 
clear, you can't see it a few feet away." 

Bill is a happy child again. I feel like a Barbie doll. Under his direction, 
I arrange my lips whilst he studiously plasters them with the latest thing 
in silencers for naughty girls. From the look and feel of it I can well 
imagine no one will notice. I try to speak but can't. My Master arranges his 
trussed purchase to his satisfaction beside him on the seat and climbs 
behind the wheel. He grins at me reassuringly as he starts the motor. I am 
on my way to a slavery that could last my life. Even if I was not gagged, I 
wouldn't know whether to laugh, cry, or scream. 

"We mast get rid of that tunic." Bill considers me gravely. "Actually, it's 
not all that bad: sort of the latest fashion for female prisoners. But you 
won't be wearing clothes from now on." 

We are in the familiar living room above Stubbinsburg jail. Bill has untied 
me and I stand before him as submissively as I know how. "Would you like me 
to undress, Master?" I ask politely. 

"Well, no. I thought we'd have a drink together and sort of get into a 
rapport. But, first... would you mind? I mean, I don't want you to undress 
yourself, I want to do it for you while you stand still?" 

"Of course, Master. If you need any help, buttons or clips or things, just 
tell me." 

Bill is not finding his heart's desire easy to take. I suspect I am too much 
too soon. Harris's torture changed me. I'm a bit shocked at Me myself. As he 
reaches for my prison tunic he is breathing as heavily as if he'd run a 
mile. 

"Three buttons, Master, on my left shoulder." 

"Thanks, Carrie. Ah, there they are!" 

Goodness knows, I've been naked enough before this man, but now, with him 
doing my undressing, I'm squeamish. Fortunately he's blushing too, so mine 
doesn't matter. Bill grapples successfully with my bra', and my panties 
simply push down. I raise each foot, daintily, for him to take off my shoes. 
Since Rainsville did not run to stockings, I am now naked. 

"Put 'em in the bag with your other things, Carrie. Then mix us the drinks." 

I flit upon these errands while my Master's eyes positively burn my skin. I 
serve his drink kneeling, and remain upon my knees. I sip demurely and ask: 
"Shouldn't I be chained. Master?" 

"Yes, you should. But that performance of yours impressed me, and don't 
think I'm not grateful!" Bill fixes me with a masterful eye. "Suppose I 
didn't chain you, suppose I left you as you are?" 

"But you'd want to whip me, wouldn't you?" 

"Not in the condition I'm considering, sweetheart. Suppose I did nothing 
worse to you than lock you in a cell or the cage?" 

"What good would I be to you then, Master? You've never wanted to fuck me, 
it was always the chain and the whip." 

"Suppose I've changed?" 

"We never really change, Master. Bondage is a part of us. I'm grateful for 
what you're thinking about, but if you leave me around loose I'm going to be 
tempted... ! Please don't tempt me, Master. If I try to escape and you catch 
me you'll punish me terribly." 

"Yes, I suppose I would." My Master sighs. "But it's a nice idea." 

"We're both grateful to each other right now, Master. I don't think we're 
safe to make promises." 

"Wise little girl, aren't you." Bill admires my nudity in silence, then 
concedes: "I've been looking at your back. That woman really slipped it to 
you good. Any use saying I'm sorry?" 

"I wouldn't be here like this, and I wouldn't be calling you 'master' if it 
hadn't happened, that and the 'horse,' Master. Please let's not talk about 
it, I'm all confused. I should have been free right now but I'm not, and 
it's my own fault. Anyway, I'm your property, you can do what you like with 
me." 

"Wow, that's a fine declaration! Like I said, you're really something. O.K. 
then, go get the handcuffs out of the drawer. Bring the black pair." 

I am blithely obedient. So far so good! Bill hasn't changed as much as I 
have but he's a more bearable Bill than before. I prefer the lovely black 
bracelets on my knees and watch them locked carefully on my wrists. The old 
thrill is back. They look gorgeous, and hamper me scarcely at all as I mix 
fresh cocktails. 

"You wear those things like they're a part of you, Carrie." 

I actually laugh. "They probably are. If I had a child it would be born 
handcuffed. Seriously though, handcuffs in front don't stop a girl doing 
much." 

"Can you see yourself escaping while handcuffed?" 

"Why not! The worst thing they do to a naked girl is to stop her getting 
dressed. They'd be an embarrassment, that's all." 

"Why are you being so damn frank, Carrie?" 

"I expect it's the drinks, Master, they make me feel deliciously slavelike 
and anxious to please. If you really want to stop a girl escaping you'd best 
chain her feet, that foxes us for sure." 

"Even then you can hobble." 

"Well, if we could hobble to a car we could make a getaway. But just to 
hobble... ! Gosh, we'd be easy prey to an avenging Master." 

We talk and talk. It is nice. It may not be nice tomorrow but it is today. 
Bill has not mentioned whipping me or hanging me by my wrists. I would like 
to think I'm promoted. But, of course, the time comes when he says: "I'll 
have to put you in the cage, Carrie." 

"Of course, Master. Do you want to leave me handcuffed?" 

"Sure, why not?" 

"I thought you might want me in something heavier." 

He is pleased with me, I can tell. But the jailhouse accepts me with its 
usual gloomy indifference. My nakedness does little for so much space, but 
the space and the bars are as daunting as ever for me. When I walk through 
the door of bars which Bill politely holds open and politely closes and 
locks behind me claustrophobia strikes me like a blow. I am a bird in a cage 
that is definitely NOT gilden. In a premonition of impending loneliness I 
turn back to the bars and plead, wistfully: "Please, Master, take me 
upstairs and fuck me?" 

"No." 

"Then fuck me here? I want you to." 

Perhaps he understands. My need is not complex. But he shakes his head. 
"Don't ask that, honey. If I want to sometime, I will." He frowns, puzzled. 
"Why d'you use that four letter word. I'd never pick you as a four letter 
girl?" 

"You're right, Master. I think maybe if you did it to me down here in the 
jail I'd call it fucking. If you took me upstairs to bed, even though you 
kept me chained, I'd think of it as making love." 

My Master reaches through the bars and chucks me under the chin. "You're a 
temptress, sweetheart. Watch out it doesn't get you whipped." 

I watch Bill Coro turn and leave a beautiful naked girl who has asked 
permission to sleep with him. Everything is normal, I am back to square one, 
even his mention of the whip. Morosely, I sit on the hard bench and play 
with my handcuffs, they are a beautifully expensive pair and look good on my 
wrists. Then I gaze around at all the bars, and long to weep or scream or 
throw hysterics. Most of all, I long for Jason, Daphne, or Jollie... and in 
that order. But I'm not going to get any one of them, am I! I'm not going to 
get anything except imprisonment. Oh, damn, damn, damn! 

The passing days tell me I am a pet. Pets are kept in cages, or on a leash, 
or allowed a limited range. I get a bit of all three. It's ridiculous, but 
Bill Coro and I have a relationship that flits back and forth between 
slavegirl and Master, and husband and wife. He even took me to bed with him, 
and it wasn't all that bad. But it seems to spoil something for him as 
though it leaves me soiled. I can't tell if it's likely to happen again. But 
he often takes me with him in the car, well trussed of course, but not 
always gagged. I think he's a lonely man and likes to talk. But he fobs off 
my questions about Jason, and I got myself mildly whipped once for being too 
insistent. But before I got strung up for punishment I learned of the police 
returning Jason's car, and of Jason making a couple of raids on Stubbinsburg 
Jail to make sure it didn't contain any girls. On his last one, so Bill 
says, they had a bang up row and now are no longer friends. Bill claims 
Jason has searched all over but finally given me up as lost. I only believe 
half of it, but I'm not going to get myself constantly whipped because of 
nagging. I can see how a nagging female can get under a man's skin. Maybe 
whipping us isn't a bad idea, it shuts us up. 

Bill used to be mostly brutal in his punishments, now he is quaint. His 
punishments reflect the affection he claims to feel for me. Right now, for 
instance, my hands are through the bars and handcuffed outside. I can't pull 
them back because of a bar between, but I can move them up and down at about 
waist level, though they do stop me sitting on the floor. This small penalty 
isn't that bad. I stand and look "through the bars a lot anyway, so what's 
it matter if I'm attached! Yesterday it was the same deal but with my feet. 
Sure, I could sit on the concrete but I like this better. 

I am mostly taken upstairs for meals. I am never given clothes but am 
usually handcuffed. We make an oddly domestic pair, chatting across the 
table. At other times I am chained beside his chair and he feeds me. None of 
these things have any relation to my behavior. I am unquestioningly obedient 
so there is nothing to punish me for. I do not try to escape because escape 
is impossible. I am glad of this. I don't want to go back to severe 
punishments. 

Mr. William Coro is in big business and must often leave me alone. He chains 
me in a cell or the cage and these times are the worst. I feel small and 
nude and helpless in this immensity of bars. If there was some real need for 
me to get out, like a fire maybe, I couldn't. Between the chains on my limbs 
and the lock on the door there's no way! I try and not think about it but 
I'm shamingly glad and grateful when Bill comes home. Even if he just leaves 
me the way I am it's good to know he's around. Like all pets, I'm terribly 
dependent on whoever owns me.. If money means anything I most certainly 
belong to Bill. He must have spent a fortune in bribes and lawyers to get me 
in and out of Rainsville. 

I am allowed to kid him about getting some other girls to keep me company. 
He likes the idea. He assures me I would remain number one even though every 
cell and cage contained a nude damsel with palpitating puss and clanking 
chains. If only Bill truly realised how easy it is to kidnap a girl I think 
it would happen. Selfishly, I wish it would. 

I also get after him about a wardress. He used to employ Jollie to attend 
his slavegirls, but now he looks after me himself. He likes it when I ask if 
his dignity isn't impaired by such menial chores as caning my bottom or 
locking a collar on my neck. He promises to 'look into it,' but that will be 
the day! 

He's really mad at Jollie. I think he'd like to give her a rough time if he 
knew where she is. I can understand his pique: she let me loose and then ran 
away with Daphne. She was not a good and faithful servant. But she was kind 
to me. I hint, archly, that I wouldn't mind some extra punishments if it was 
a girl who gave them to me. 

Chained, I think a lot, I have the time. I realise Bill and I are not the 
same as we were. The change may be superficial but it governs our behavior. 
I have chosen obedience and docility rather than an endless pain of 
punishments. Sure, say it! I'm broken. But all I've really done is adjust to 
captivity. Bill is different because I am now what he wants. He adores his 
demure slavegirl who calls him 'Master' and offers herself to be bound and 
chained. He is getting a tremendous sexual excitation out of my submission. 
But I cannot tell why he refuses to use me. That one time must have been an 
experiment for him, an experiment that failed to jell. So now he sublimates 
everything I am and do and say into his own brand of ecstasy. I wonder how 
long it will last. 

The days and weeks pass and I remain a prisoner. Never once had Bill given 
me a chance to escape. I would be bored out of my mind if it was not for the 
stuff he buys for me. It's not the gifts a man usually buys for a girl, its 
chains and clamps and sundry odd devices by which I am constrained. Some of 
them are beautiful and must have cost a mint, he sure must be rich! For 
beautiful Carrie in Bill's jail there are no silks and satins, but there are 
exquisitely wrought fetters, shackles, handcuffs and chains. Some are 
daintily light, others are not! It is the latter kind which hold me now. 

Today my lord and master is away on business and I am in the cage. Dead 
centre in the concrete floor there has always been a heavy ugly iron ring, 
to which I am now expensively attached by a great number of shining links 
from anklets and wristlets that might have been forged by U.S. Steel but 
finished off at Tiffany's. Their heavy strength is masked by a craftsman's 
skill. Separate chains run from each of my limbs. They are mockingly secured 
to the ring by equally implacable padlocks. 

"A different key for each, Carrie my love. You're really foxed." 

"I'm always foxed, Bill. Gosh, they're lovely! But you shouldn't spend all 
this money. Plain old iron would hold me just as well." 

"You deserve beautiful things." His voice is tender. "I like the contrast 
between their weight and the workmanship. They're not too heavy for you, are 
they?" 

Long ago I told him there wasn't any need to chain me at all since I 
couldn't get out of the damn cage anyway. But he didn't like it, and I 
understand why: pets have to wear whatever their master wants. Horses are 
haltered and dogs are collared, I've seen cats in a complete harness... ! So 
why would I be any different! Blithely, I reassure: "Oh, no, master. Just as 
long as there's not one on my neck." 

Sheepishly, Bill produces the collar. "It finishes off the ensemble, 
sweetheart?" 

It's so damn lovely I want to wear it. But with forty pounds of chain... ? 
"I'll have to carry the weight in my hands.." I tell him wanly. "Or else lay 
on the bench all day." 

I am allowed to examine the lovely thing before it is locked round my 
throat. When it clicks shut, Bill decides to forgive me the chain. "The 
effect's there." He muses happily. "I like it. We'll forget the chain. The 
other four sets keep you secure." 

"They'd keep an elephant secure But, thank you, Master, they're so lovely." 
I hand him the expected cliche, "I'll be sure and be here when you come 
home." 

Bill kisses me. This only happens when he is pleased. I am told to 'walk 
around.' While I clank around the ring, he watches entranced. "Gives you the 
run of the cage, Carrie. Just for frustration's sake I'll leave the door 
unlocked." He kisses me again. "You're so damn beautiful--!" 

"Thank you, master." 

So here I am! And Bill was right. I keep looking at that open door, and I 
repeatedly clank towards it until my chains snub me short. I can't even 
reach out and touch! It is one of the dull days, I sit on the bench and play 
with the shining links and finger my collar while I wonder when my master 
will return. But when he does come he is busy and preoccupied. I get kissed 
and told I'll have to stay as I am. I am still fastened in my lovely chains 
when I fall asleep. 

I am awakened by the breaking of glass. The sound is faint but has to do 
with Stubbinsburg jail. Nakedly, I sit up, but with care not to move my 
chains. There is menace in the sound in this depth of night and I look to 
the open door, this time wishing it safely locked. I have no wish to be 
raped by burglars or maraudering delinquents. When the silent shadow 
manifests itself the scream rises within my collared throat but is choked 
back by some female instinct warning me the ghost is no enemy but someone I 
know. Suddenly, I am irradiated by joy. 

The ghost is Jason! 

"Carrie, you are here! What the devil?" 

We hug and kiss crazily. I weep, I snuggle, I hug. Our whispers are urgent. 
"C'mon, sweetheart, I want you out of here." 

"But, Jason, I can't! I'm chained." 

It is cruel, it is frustrating, it is anti climax. In fiction the hero 
breaks the fetters with his bare hands but this is not fiction. A bulldozer 
might tear one loose, nothing less. Jason fingers them savagely while my 
heart thumps. 

"Any idea where the key is, Carrie?" 

"Bill has them. It takes a whole ring full to unlock me. Oh, Jason... I 
expect he's asleep upstairs." 

"He keep you like this all the time?" 

"No --it's so infuriating. Yesterday I was only handcuffed." 

"I'll go upstairs. If the bastard wakes up I'll bop him "The bastard's 
already awake, Jason. Why the hell can't you leave us alone!" 

A second ghost materializes as Bill Coro. He has slipped on shirt and pants 
and socks, and is glaring at Jason with bitter hostility. "I could have you 
arrested for breaking in like this, it's the third time." 

"Go ahead. You can explain Carrie at the same time." They are no longer 
buddies. They face each other like cavemen with me as the prize. 
Plaintively, I ask: "Would one of you please unlock me?" 

"You're staying right where you are, Carrie." Says Bill. "I'm taking her 
home with me." Says Jason. 

"She's mine. She's made a promise, haven't you, sweetheart?" 

"Well... to get out of Rainsville-" I find myself on treacherous ground. "I 
promised to be an obedient slave." 

"You were under coercion: It doesn't count. And she's not your sweetheart, 
Bill." Jason is furious. 

"Carrie and I have a pact." Says Bill doggedly. "I think she's honest enough 
to honour it." 

Bill has switched on one sad sixty watt lamp hanging from a cord. It 
spotlights a strange tableau, in which I wish ardently I was not chained. 
Jason switches his glare. 

"What's he talking about, Carrie?" 

"I was in prison, Jason. Bill got me out." 

"Hell, you're in prison now! Look at all that metal he's locked on you!" He 
snorts angrily. "I knew there had to be something going on. You couldn't 
just disappear." 

I get to my feet to fully display the manner in which I am made helpless. 
Maybe it will shame Bill into using the keys. Lamely, I venture: "I did give 
Bill my word, Jason... " I take a couple of aimless steps to effect the full 
metallic dolor of a damsel in distress. "I've been trying to keep it. Bill's 
been kind " 

"You've heard her. Get to hell out of my jail!" 

Jason's fist is deadly. My disputing owners become a vortex of flailing arms 
and legs. I stand in my chains and get hotter and hotter between my legs. I 
am ashamed of my arousal but this is the real thing. I am being fought for 
by two amorous males. Jason is very quickly the winner. Bill has eaten too 
many good dinners. "You've no right to come barging in here." He complains 
bitterly from where he sits, legs wide, on the concrete. "You can beat me up 
all you like but she still belongs to me and I've got the keys." He wipes a 
bleeding lip and looks pathetic. 

"With a pair of bolt cutters I'd have her loose in one minute flat." Says 
Jason forcefully. "I've got a pair in the car. If you value that expensive 
hardware she's wearing you'd better unlock it pronto " 

"I'd sure be grateful if one of you would set me free." I suggest without 
optimism. "Couldn't we go upstairs and talk? If you'll let me loose I'll 
make you both drinks... or maybe coffee?" 

My offer is not well received. I can imagine these two idiotic males 
becoming buddy, buddy again and blaming everything on me. They'll probably 
get their own coffee and I'll get whipped. Being a slavegirl is a thankless 
job. "What's this about his owning you?" Jason demands sourly. 

"He spent a fortune getting me out of Rainsville Women's Prison, and I did 
promise " 

"Dammit, girl, what d'you think it cost me to get you in there in the first 
place. If this asshole Bill had kept his nose out " Jason snorts again. 
"Hell, it was one of our experiments, and I had everything fixed with that 
fool girl " I raise my chained hands to my face and stare at my real master. 
"You... you... you put me in Rainsville?" 

"Sure I did." Says Jason. 

 CHAPTER FOUR - DAPHNE'S WHIPPING 

I adore Sabrina, I may as well admit I am besotted with almost everything 
she is. There are periods here and there while she makes me scream... ! But 
I am then so busy with my pain I don't have time to hate her. And afterwards 
the pain goes away... 

She may get to whip me today. But this is only a delicious possibility... 
hovering. It is the penalty if I lose this game, the game Sabrina invented 
for us, and for us alone. It is hide and go seek with me as the quarry. We 
play it in Mounthaven Park I must not get tagged! 

I have come to love this Park as much as does its owner. It is a beautiful 
place of greensward, trees and tiny ponds. It has an atmosphere ideally 
attuned to damsels in distress, and I contribute to this olde worldly 
atmosphere to the full extent of Sabrina's imagination. At this moment I 
stand, breathlessly, beneath an ancient tree, listening. If I can hear 
Sabrina coming, she is then too close for the comfort of my skin. If she 
catches me I have to yield her twenty strokes on my back and bottom. 

On the face of it, this diversion should leave us about even. I am allowed a 
half hour start in which to run and to hide. I am allowed to be home free if 
I can evade capture for the full four hours of the hunt. But I do have 
handicaps to offset the generous start. I am naked and with bare feet 
against Sabrina's clothes and shoes. My wrists are handcuffed behind my back 
but hers are free. This does not stop me running but it doesn't help. There 
is one other small outrage with which I must contend... 

"But you'll love it, Daphne dear. Come along now, step inside." 

"But, Sabrina, that awful penis thing!" 

"Lovely soft rubber, darling, can't hurt a thing." 

"Weeeeelllll, noooooo... Oh, Sabrina, I'll be having orgasms all over the 
place!" 

"Lucky girl! That's right, now the other foot. I'll ease him inside while 
you tug up on the panties. Keep your legs apart as much as you can." 

"But, Mistress, how can I run!" 

"You'll be surprised, darling!" 

She is right, I am surprised. Girls are really quite amazing the things you 
can do to us and we survive or even flourish. I would love this wonderful 
stretchy white encasement of my loins if only it was not locked upon me by a 
padlocked belt, and if it did not contain within its smooth snug fit a 
rubber phallus now deep within my sheath. Our hunt is not two hours old but, 
already, I have climaxed four times and want to go to sleep. I stand still 
now mainly because I want a fifth rising tumescence to subside. Running with 
this thing inside me is worse than being in the arms of an unusually potent 
male! If I cannot inhibit these orgasms I'll be too weak to run. 

What I seek is a good hiding place. Sabrina will search all the really good 
ones, so I have to find something inconspicuous. I could maybe contrive 
something if I had hands. But I do not have my hands, they are locked 
securely behind my back. Sometimes I twist and strain and have a look at 
them. It does no good, handcuffs do not stretch nor do my wrists shrink. 
Tentatively, I step out again, but my own potency is treacherous. On my 
fourth stride I blossom into number five. I am still gasping moaning when I 
hear the snap of a twig beneath a pursuing foot. I turn to run, but the 
spasms are still twisting my loins so I must stop and let them have their 
way with me. The intensity of sensation generated by the huge thing inside 
me compels surrender to its thrust. By the time I have finished clutching 
myself and gasping, I find I am looking at a pair of amused dark eyes. 

"Was it that good, darling?" 

"Oh, Sabrina... Oh, Mistress!" 

"I must try it sometime. I'm so glad it's made you happy." 

"It's made me happy five times. I'm worn out. Sabrina darling, can I 
surrender for just ten strokes?" 

"You've been told not to bargain. The penalty is now twenty-five." 

I am off and running. I honestly don't want twenty-five, it's a lot. I have 
a terrible premonition of defeat, but a girl must try. With my arms the way 
they are, and because of the enemy inside, I cannot run faster than Sabrina. 
I head for a clump of tree-trunks and start to dodge. 

"I'm bound to catch you, darling. You do know that, don't you?" 

"Maybe you'll sprain an ankle--" We circle warily, making occasional leaps. 
We are only a few yards apart. I want to surrender but pride forbids. Even a 
slavegirl must stand up for herself a bit. No doubt number six will herald 
my defeat, but in the meantime... ! 

"Well alright, I'll put it back down to twenty, Daph'. We could run round 
tree trunks all afternoon." 

"With a strap instead of a whip?" 

. "Daphne, don't you ever learn! You're now back up to twenty-five. I may 
even make them hard." 

"They always feel hard to me." I am panting. "Mistress, this isn't really 
fair, y'know. You're certain to catch me on my next orgasm." 

"Feel it coming, dear?" 

"Sort of. How about you wearing this thing for awhile to even things up? We 
could call a truce while we change over?" 

"Daphne, that's pure impudence. You are now up to thirty." 

My wail of anguish is genuine. Thirty strokes will leave me with a flamingly 
tender bottom. I am so intent on wording my appeal I fail to see the root, 
it trips me into a thudding fall into the leaves. To fall when you have no 
hands is a real shocker. 

"Oh, poor darling! Are you all right?" 

"Yes, Mistress, I think so." I twist myself to sit up on one bare hip. 
Sabrina's leash snaps on my collar with the sound of doom... thirty! 

"Gotcha'!" Sabrina is jubilant. She loves to win. 

"Only because I tripped." 

"Excuses, excuses! They're forbidden too, y'know." 

"Oh shit, does that mean I'm up to forty?" 

"You should be but you're not. I'm too kind hearted. Of course, you've got 
the whole walk home in which to make some more bloopers." 

I struggle to my feet. Handcuffed and leashed, I am quite helpless, my 
surrender had best be meek and total. But there is one thing on my mind. 

"Sabrina... Mistress, must I go on wearing this... thing?" 

"You mean the rubber dink? Yes." 

"But I'll keep on climaxing it's indecent." 

"I won't mind, darling, I'll watch. You've no idea how cute you look." 

"But it must be a couple of miles." 

"Mmmmmm, maybe. Good for two or three climaxes, wouldn't you say." 

"But they deplete me so! I won't be any good in bed!" 

"What makes you think you'll sleep in bed! Whipped girls sleep on the 
floor... well chained." 

"I'd be ever so grateful if--" My plea is cut short by a tug on my leash. 
Resignedly, I follow this woman who owns me. I had best relax and enjoy. 

Sabrina is adorable. We make sheep's eyes at each other as I am led to 
punishment I can almost feel the scald of her whip. But there is no absolute 
certainty I will receive it. She is capricious. She will not allow my 
sentence to stand in the way of forgiveness, or she may increase my penance 
to forty or fifty or stop after two! I will palpitate like a scared kitten 
until it is over. 

"Wasn't that fun, darling?" 

"Yes, Mistress, it was fun." 

"Glad I own you?" 

"Oh, yes... Oh, yes!" 

"Even with what's in store for you?" 

"Sure, why not! If you don't whip me for one thing you will for another." 

"Was that impertinence?" 

"Jeepers no! Oh gosh... Oh please!" 

"Oh alright. If I punish you more I'll have to think of something else. 
Thirty pretty marks on your back is enough for today." 

I walk beside my mistress in a strange content. I think it is the 
impossibility of escape that engenders my docility, but it is real. The 
leash links us, my punishments are a kind of sharing, Sabrina's total 
possession of me makes us akin to one. When she whips me I will wish for 
escape, but I do not wish it now. 

It is one of the strangest walks of my life. I try and chatter gaily but my 
voice falters as the friction within my belly works its magic on my most 
intimate sensitivity, soon my steps falter with my voice. Sabrina's 
imperious tugs upon my leash keep me in motion until the shaming moment when 
I explode and come to a full stop, uncaring for the whip or for command. I 
am enveloped in flame. Through an ecstatic haze I catch glimpses of 
Sabrina's amused scrutiny of my contortions. I think she gives me a few 
admonishing strokes with her crop but the pain cannot compete with the 
conflagration within my loins, they serve only as fuel to my incandescence. 
I moan and writhe myself into abject mortification. 

"Daphe darling, that was beautiful to watch." 

"It wasn't, Mistress, I must have looked awful, and now I'm all sweaty." I 
gaze at her piteously, "Please take these pantie things off and get those... 
things... out from inside me?" 

"Don't be silly, dear, we both enjoy your orgasms." She tugs at my neck. 
"Come along now, I'd judge the distance as producing at least two more." 

I stumble forward, I really have no choice. I feel hot and silly and 
petulant. "I don't want two more." I say sulkily. "Please, Mistress, 
please...?" 

"I know what you do want, dear. Bend over." 

I have brought this on myself. I could have kept quiet and saved the pain I 
am about to receive. I pull fretfully at my handcuffs and contrive to look 
pathetic. Sabrina will have none of this. "Stop being coy, Daphne, over you 
go." I bend down. Within me the rubber prongs protest, the panties stretch 
to receive two of the sharpest cuts of my enslavement. I wriggle myself 
erect and try to look forlorn. Hopelessly, I realise the couple of strokes 
across my taut buttocks have lit the fire of a fresh tumescence. 

"Stop looking sad, Daphne, or I'll give you some more. And stop worrying 
about your orgasms... who cares!" 

"But... Mistress " I let it die. Sabrina's crop hurts atrociously. Ruefully, 
I accept the fact of one more painful lesson. I step out briskly to keep 
loose the leash from the hand of this woman who owns me. I disgrace myself 
but once more on our way to the house and my more formal punishment. 

"We deserve a drink, Daph'. You probably need one." She is full of 
surprises. Sabrina delights in alternating me between joy and dismay. I 
remain handcuffed, but relieved of leash and panties and prongs, while I am 
bathed. Sabrina shares the bath with me and laughs delightedly at my 
helplessness. Then, in the lounge, I kneel beside her chair while she feeds 
me sips, of the cocktail she herself has mixed. I smell nice and feel good 
and am most anxious to please. 

"I've had the most delicious idea, darling." 

"Yes, Mistress?" 

I register dutiful attention but have to wait until we go downstairs to the 
punishment room where I will be striped. Even there I am lost. Nothing 
happens as it should. The straps on the trapeze bar await my wrists, but I 
am not led to them. Instead, my right ankle receives the weight of a massive 
shackle which clicks shut on me with positive venom. From it runs a chain of 
equal weight. A quick judgement tells me of a limited range. I cannot walk 
to the door or to the wall on which hang the small instruments designed to 
give me pain. My excitement mounts as my handcuffs are unlocked. 

"Curious, sweetheart?" 

"Of course I am." I stretch my arms deliciously and rub my twin weals. "What 
are you going to do to me?" 

"Nothing." 

Under Sabrina's direction I rattle around the diameter allowed by my chain. 
It is heavy and drags at my foot. So far as escape goes, I might as well be 
hogtied. Suddenly, I recall Sabrina's single word. "What do you mean, 
Mistress nothing?" 

"I'm not going to whip you. Daphne, you're going to whip me." 

She enjoys my open mouthed wide eyed stare of disbelief, then continues her 
tease. "Can you think of any good reason why I should not be whipped, 
darling?" 

"But... you're a Mistress...!" 

"So? There's nothing against a Mistress having herself whipped by a slave if 
she thinks she'll learn by the experience." 

"But it hurts terribly!" 

"Yes, I've sort of picked up that impression?" 

"But it's all wrong and I couldn't possibly!" 

"You can if I tell you to." 

We stand there, a younger girl and an older girl, staring. Sabrina is 
enjoying this immensely. I am not. I can feel fresh stripes. Stupidly, I 
ask: "But how...?" 

She goes to the wall I cannot reach and selects a whip. I accept it 
gingerly. Sabrina's explanation is neat and concise. "I trust you, Daph'. 
but I've relieved you of awful decisions with that chain on your ankle. The 
key to it is nowhere in this room. Even if you tortured its hiding place out 
of me you still could not get it. So you don't have to think of escape any 
more than of how cruel you can be to me while I'm helpless. When whatever 
happens is over and done with you'll still be shackled here safe and sound." 

"Mistress, I daren't. Being whipped hurts so much you'd half kill me after." 

"You thrive on being whipped, dear?" 

"But I'm a slave... ! I'm... I'm different. I can't bear it while you're 
doing it to me but I actually get a delicious thrill out of it no matter how 
I scream. I've always been that way. Back in the office I used to fantasize 
and dream before I got in with Carrie and Jason... It's those dreams that 
brought me to where I am right now." 

"You're terribly sweet, dear." 

Slowly, Sabrina removes her clothes. It is a deliberate strip for my 
benefit. It is more carnally exciting than to see her naked in our bed at 
night. Her eyes sparkle mocking my timidity. 

"You're too beautiful... You're my Mistress. I can't possibly whip you. 
Please, Sabrina, don't tease. You'll only get angry at me and punish me for 
sure." 

"I shall make you a better Mistress for having been whipped." 

"No you won't. You're perfect now. I love you." I clutch at a straw. "And... 
and after the first lash you'll order me to stop. What do I do then?" 

"Pay no attention, dear. Go on whipping me as though I was you." 

She is so beautiful and so sure of herself. Sabrina is reading my chaotic 
thoughts and enjoying every one. And why not! She has me safe with the chain 
on my ankle and my adoration. She will seem helpless and I will seem free 
but it will not be so. I will still be Sabrina's obedient slavegirl but, 
now, I will be terribly afraid. It is a most awesome thing for a slave to 
whip her Mistress. 

"Poor little slavegirl!" Her laugh is silver. "Come, stop agonizing. Here 
are my wrists-ready for their straps." 

She is holding out her bare arms to me as though in love, her eyes intent on 
mine. As though striving against a great weight, I drag my chain to where 
her slender nudity is now raising its arms to the trapeze. I wonder if she 
can hear or feel the thudding of my heart as I circle the straps and buckle 
each of them tight to hold her hands two feet apart above her head. 

"Do you want to stretch me, darling, or leave me enough slack so I can dance 
under the lash?" 

What a choice to place upon my shoulders! I know Sabrina mocks me, she is 
curious as to how I will handle this impossible dilemma in which she has 
placed me. Inadequately, I plead for mercy: "Whichever you like. Mistress- " 

"It's no longer what I like, stupid, you're the Mistress in this little 
production. Stop dithering." She grins back at me over a bare arm. "I'll 
give you an incentive, sweetheart, you blow this little job I've given you: 
and you're punishment will be reinstated and doubled... with a night in the 
dungeon thrown in. I know you hate the dungeon." 

She is right. To be chained alone in that black place all night simply curls 
me up-and sixty strokes as well... ! Resolutely, I press my finger on the 
control and do not lift it until my Mistress is in danger of standing on her 
toes. This simple act seems to me to have moulded her into the most 
beautiful thing in the world. 

"My, my, a decision!" Sabrina is delighted. "Tell me, Daph', why you want me 
just like this?" 

"Because it's so shaming to prance around when it hurts." I tell her 
practically. "A girl can't possibly stand still while she's whipped, then 
afterwards she's ashamed of how she's acted." 

"Thank you, pet. You really are precious. I'd sort of like to see if I could 
stand contemptuously still while my skin was wealed, you know, like the 
girls in fiction. But I expect you know best." She titters, "You've got the 
experience." 

So there I am! Naked, an ankle shackled, with infinite distaste I hold a 
whip. "Where... ? How... ? My voice falters over the silly hesitancies. I 
long, most ardently, to change places. 

"Shoulders down to my knees, darling. You know as well as I do." 

"Yes, but--?" 

"Think of the dungeon and the extra heavy chains, dear." 

Sabrina's curved bottom pouts at me impudently. I slash the whip across it 
hard. 

She is gorgeously human. Her muscles tense to raise her from the floor, she 
kicks at nothing in a silent expression of agony. Sabrina does not scream 
but her gasping gusts of breath are eloquent of shock. I stand there, 
stricken by the awfulness of what I have done. Slowly, the raised feet 
resume their duties, and her husky feminine voice comes to me in a whisper. 

"Thank you... ! Oh, Daphne, that was hard, wasn't it? I mean, you weren't 
being kind?" 

"It was hard, Mistress." 

I hear Sabrina's sigh of relief. She now knows the measure of her pain. 
Forgetful of my role, I stare fascinated as the crimson weal rises on the 
rounds of her flesh to mark the bite of my whip, the whip I cannot possibly 
use on her again. 

"Number two, Daph'--come, don't just stand there!" 

"I can't." The voice is mine, the words are automatic. "You know what it's 
like now, Mistress. I'll let you loose." 

"Daphne, don't you dare!" 

"But, Mistress--?" 

"You let me loose now and you'll be the most pained and unhappy girl in ten 
States. I promise!" 

"But I can't possibly hit you twenty-nine more times like that... you'll be 
all marked--" The whisper is gone, her voice is again imperious. "A whole 
week in the dungeon then, Daphne... day and night." 

I strike my Mistress again. Sabrina is stronger than I can ever be. She is 
imbued by a purpose I do not fully comprehend, but perhaps... ? An exquisite 
red line now etches her shoulders. I lash her nakedness with a savage joy I 
had not known I possessed. 

"Alright, Daph', you can free me now. You win." Her darling voice is choked 
by the screams she has not uttered and by the pain I have inflicted by the 
ten strokes now done. "It's worse than I ever imagined. I can't stand any 
more." 

I cannot tell by what feminine intuition I detect her ruse. Sabrina is 
testing her slave. If I free her she will be furious and reward me with the 
dungeon. Almost jauntily, I retort: "Sorry, Mistress, twenty more to go." 

Her laugh is as carefree as my cruelty. Her command vibrates passion. "Come 
and kiss me, you most perfect slave." 

I rattle my chain to where I can enfold her whipped nudity in my arms. My 
whip falls to the floor while our nipples harden and our breasts compress. 
We kiss ravenously for a long time before I pick it up. 

I learn about myself. Nothing has changed between Sabrina and I, but the 
impossible has become a wicked delight. I no longer care about the dungeon. 
If I end up in it, well and good! In the meantime I will have experienced an 
ineffable happiness in a way new and strange and never to be forgotten. 
Sabrina will sense my mood and may resent it: She may be shocked and hurt by 
her slave's inconsistence. But if she punishes me for this unexpected 
pleasure I find in whipping her I will not mind. I may even be glad. It will 
put me back where I belong. Freedom and authority are heady potions quite 
foreign to what I am. 

Ten more! I whip Sabrina's ivory flesh with tender cruelty: the terms are 
inconsistent but they are all I have. I shiver with sensory savagery as weal 
laps on weal and each of them is mine. The strapped taut nakedness of my 
Mistress flinches and writhes and makes erotic motions and sounds all its 
own. Even in semi suspension she achieves a lyrical fluidity of response. I 
choke with adoration for this woman who I whip. 

But there are other forces at work within us both. It becomes immediately 
evident those rubber prongs did not exhaust my femaleness. Within my crotch 
flares the familiar flame. Each cut I place on Sabrina's tender skin is like 
the bellows to a forge, the heat of lust impels my arm to swifter strokes 
to. paint more livid weals. When the second ten have left their mark I clasp 
her once again, straddling her helpless- hip, to explode instantly into a 
conflagration which draws from my fervid lips the moans and cries of a 
kindred agony. When I am replete from the frictions of our flesh I feed most 
avidly upon my love. In this moment she is mine, and her cries are louder 
beneath my tongue than beneath my thong. Soon I return to whipping my 
Mistress without a spoken word. 

I am drugged with power, a power thrust upon me and which I fear. It is an 
intoxication of sensuality in which I see my Mistress as no more than a 
lovely naked girl strapped securely for my pleasure. How gorgeous it would 
be to keep her thus forever, whipping and feeding on her in alternate orgies 
of intense sensation. Her hairy sex is as lush with secretions as is my own. 
When, between the whip strokes, she looks back at me her eyes are aflame 
with speculation and desire. She is picking up my vibrations and no doubt 
wondering if I can bring myself to stop her whipping at thirty strokes or 
whether I will whip her, on and on, in a feast of carnality I cannot 
control. 

But I love Sabrina. When the last lash of her sentence has left its scarlet 
line I throw away the whip, swirl my ankle chain, and take her in my arms. 
When my hand reaches for the control she whispers urgently: "No... not yet! 
Leave me like this... just a little while." 

I sense her need, she is in the throes of something wonderful, something she 
may never know again. Reverently, I clink away and take a seat upon a bench 
close by. I watch. 

Sabrina Comstrock is a beautiful woman. But now, as she stands by her own 
will in whipped nudity, she is more lovely than I have known. She is tired 
but the bar to which she is strapped allows no relaxing. She must stand, a 
little stretched and taut, while tiny droplets of sweat form in her armpits 
and trickle down her flank. Her breasts glisten, her concave belly is wet 
with the dew of suffering. Head bowed, she is delivering herself to 
sensation, to the vast relief of torture past and all bills paid. I cannot 
see them but I know her eyes are shining. Sometimes she raises one leg then 
lets it slowly fall. 

When the time comes for me to loose the straps around the pinioned wrists I 
am trembling. Sitting on the bench and gazing at the sweat drenched 
nakedness of the woman who owns me, I am fearful of the enormity of what I 
have done. The scarlet lines on Sabrina's skin are beautiful but it is I who 
put them there. Before I lower her arms I kiss her as a child kisses its 
mother. Then, when she is free, I fall to my knees and clasp her thighs and 
press my head against her pubic hair in the ancient supplication of the 
slave. 

We stay thus a little while, her hands resting gently on my head. But soon 
she raises me to my feet to cling and to kiss. Tumescence had died in each 
of us, we arc tired. Only love is left, but I am still quivering as Sabrina 
takes my hand and leads me to the door. 

"But, Mistress, my foot is chained!" 

We share a smile over this forgetfulness. Sabrina takes the key from the 
wall I could not reach. She unlocks the shackle from my ankle. I am free! 
She holds her finger to her lips to enjoin silence. We re-commence our 
journey to my fate. 

There is a rightness about the dungeon. For what I have done it is less than 
I deserve. Both of us are too choked by emotion to speak, but I know what is 
being done to me is not in anger or as a punishment. It is a restatement of 
what I am, a return to normalcy. I have whipped my Mistress at her demand 
but it is a terrible thing no slave should do... and I found joy in it! That 
joy and my guilt will now be cleansed. 

I am oblivious to my freedom. I bear no bonds but am doubly bound by what I 
am. I offer my hands and then my feet for their chains. Then I kneel for the 
collar to be locked upon my neck. Sabrina has chosen the heaviest of this 
dungeon's irons to tell me my tremblings were instinctively correct. The 
weight of metal is implacable on me as the last band clicks shut upon my 
nakedness. I am kissed lightly, my cheek is patted, then Sabrina is gone to 
leave me alone with the thud of the door and the slamming of its bolts. 

It is then I bow my head in my weighted hands and weep. 

The dungeon is not entirely dark. There is a high little barred window 
through which light filters in a pale apology for the sun. I see beside me 
the straw provided for a prisoner's rest. It is in keeping with the period 
and the desired atmosphere. I dispose my bare bottom on it and hug my knees. 
Short of lying down full length, it is the best compromise with discomfort I 
can make. The iron locked on me is an outrageous weight, unhappily I turn my 
collar and drag its chain to fall between my breasts and relieve my throat. 
I do not consider shuffling the few feet of movement it allows. I know its 
limits well. In a dungeon induced dolor, and knowing not how long my 
sentence here will be, I return to my weeping. In such circumstances tears 
are a girl's best friend. 

It may have been ten minutes or an hour before Sabrina releases me. My tears 
become those of joy and she laughs at them as she unlocks my irons and snaps 
my wrists into handcuffs behind my back. She is herself again, her weals 
hidden by the scantiest of fabrics, her eyes aglow. I still smell on her the 
pungency of sweat and musk. 

"I saved my bath for you, darling. We'll share it." 

"Oh, Mistress!" 

How inadequate are words. But we need them not. I am led to the steamy 
feminine heat of the sunken tub and its perfumes and a fresh sight of my 
naked Mistress and my work upon her skin. She soaps and laves us both most 
tenderly. It is as though I too wear weals. I have no hands but I do not 
need them. The steel on my wrists mocks my return to slavery. It bites me 
hard in a reminder of how brief my freedom had been and how unlikely it is 
ever to recur. If the shining chrome was sentient I would tell it of my joy 
in the tightness of its jaws. 

Our bathing is long and includes the ancient female rites which my cuffed 
hands impede but little. Both of us are highly skilled and ravenous. 
Replete, we are made more beautiful with the artful wisdom of my Mistress's 
hands. Our hair takes on a sheen it did not have before. I am taken and 
tossed upon our bed. 

"Want your hands, dear?" 

"If they were in front I could touch you...?" 

My foot receives its familiar shackle, my handcuffs are changed from back to 
front, my fingers fly instantly to the nipples I adore, my Mistress moans 
with pleasure. 

"I will never set you free, Daphne." 

"No, Mistress, never, never, never...!" 

It is all we need to say. 

 CHAPTER FIVE - CARRIE'S PUNISHMENT 

The enormity of Jason's vehemence sinks in slowly as I realise how sadly 
things have gone wrong for me. I belong to the wrong hero and am angry with 
both. Everything about our absurd trio is inappropriate and, locked in 
Bill's expensive hardware, I am as ridiculously helpless as I have ever been 
in all my slaveries. I long, most ardently, for Jason to gather me up and 
take me back to our apartment. I don't care what he does to me when he gets 
me there, I just want out of this mess I am in. 

"Unlock her. Bill, I'll write you a cheque." Jason's tone is incisive. 

"Like hell you will!" Bill is nursing a bruised jaw. "You don't have that 
kind of money." 

"I'll get it." Jason avers doggedly. "Unlock those chains, they must have 
cost you a mint, or do you want me to cut her loose?" 

"Absolutely not, Jason! Carrie stays chained. Go away and leave us alone. 
You're trespassing." 

"And you butted in where you'd no business. I had it fixed to get her out of 
Rainsville. I didn't need you or the way you threw your money around." 

They glare at each other. I shiver deliciously at their need to possess me. 
But violence is in abeyance. It is hard for Jason to resume fisticuffs with 
a man sitting on the floor, and Bill knows when he's well off. Jubilantly he 
repeats his winning theme. 

"That's as may be, Jason." He says sourly. "But it was me who paid and got 
her out of there. She might have been half dead by the time you got around 
to it. She and I made a deal. It's a verbal contract Carrie respects." 

Jason turns his glare in my direction. "What's he talking about, Carrie?" 

"He's right, Jason." My cheeks are flushed in this untenable plight. "They 
were torturing me in that... place. Bill came to see me and made me an 
offer. I accepted it: In return for freedom from Rainsville I'd revert to 
being his prisoner in this jail " My voice breaks. "Oh. Jason, don't you 
see, I didn't know! You'd vanished out of my life and I was a prisoner for 
years and years in a place where the wardress tortures girls for fun. If 
I've got to be forever punished I'd sooner it was here." 

"And so he's punishing you now?" 

"Not really. I'm just a prisoner. Bill hasn't whipped me or anything like 
that." I raise chained hands. "I can't call these things I'm locked in a 
punishment. 

"Most people could." Jason says grimly. "They must weigh a ton." 

I let my hands fall in despair. Jason is never going to understand, he has 
never known Harris and the disciplines of Rainsville. He can never 
comprehend the agonized despair that drove me to make my compact with Bill. 
I long to ask Jason to take me home regardless, but I am aware of Bill's 
kindness to me since he locked me back in Stubbinsburg Jail. Others might 
not see kindness in my chains, but compared to that bitch Harris... ! 
Lamely, I say: "We both know Bill's Thing, Jason. Bill wants his slave 
maiden captive behind bars and well chained... It's his fantasy." 

"So, O.K., he had Daphne. If he lost her that's his hard luck. He can find 
another girl. You belong to me. He acts as if you're the only female in the 
world." 

"So do you!" Bill says it with spirit but remains sitting. 

I shrink from the question I behold in Jason's eyes. "Look, Carrie, this 
promise thing? D'you really wish to honor it?" 

I bring tears to my aid and sniff out a muffled admission. "I know it's you 
I belong to, Jason and I want to belong to you. But that promise was a 
terribly serious thing. When I made it I could almost believe my life was on 
the line, and Bill's bent over backward to be nice to me-I wish he'd release 
me from the promise: that would be wonderful." 

"That will be the day!" Bill sounded adamant. My chains suddenly weigh two 
tons instead of one. "A deal's a deal." 

"Dammit', Bill, you're willing to keep the girl knowing she and I love each 
other?" 

"Don't you think I love Carrie too?" Bill asks weakly. 

"So, O.K., you say you love her. Have you fucked her since you got her out 
of Rainsville?" 

"Don't be offensive. You know my feelings for Carrie are far finer " 

"Oh, for Pete's sake, man!" Jason waves a disgusted arm. "Can't you ever 
grow up? Doesn't it enter your thick head the girl might want to be fucked?" 

"That's disgusting." 

"In this gloomy hole any girl would welcome a good fuck after a few days of 
nothing but bars and chains." For good measure, Jason adds a sneering: "And 
You." 

"I refuse to be provoked, Jason." 

"Then how does this hit you: Carrie and I are going to be married." 

"And have your honeymoon in Stubbinsburg Jail?" Bill matches sneer for 
sneer, then turns to me. "Is that true, Carrie?" 

"Yes. We were going to make a few experiments first " 

"Ridiculous!" 

"Jason, please try and make Bill understand?" 

"What Bill has to understand is you belong to me. Your promise was under 
duress, it doesn't count." 

"Look... please? Both of you! Unlock me and let's go upstairs. We all need a 
drink. I'll serve it, and we can talk... Everything will seem more rational 
than it does in this cell?" 

"The only rational thing I want to hear, Carrie, is for you to tell "Bill 
you're coming home with me right now." 

I turn to the owner of Stubbinsburgh Jail. "Bill, please, will you release 
me?" 

"No." 

I turn back to the man I love. "Jason, I made a promise." 

"To hell with your promise and to hell with this moth eaten Jail!" Jason 
turns and strides away. His last words filter back to me through the bars. 
"Maybe I'll come back next year." Jason has gone. I am sure he has gone 
forever. I bury my face in my chained hands and drench myself in tears. 

Bill lets me weep. After quite awhile he gets to his feet and says, 
awkwardly, "I'm still here, Carrie." 

"Yes, I know you are." I weep afresh. 

"I know how you feel--" He searches for appropriate words but ends up 
saying: "Thank you... I really do have to say a great big 'thank you,' 
Carrie." 

Poor Bill! We are all losers in what has just happened, and he's such a 
blunderer. But today he has gained some sensitivity. Without a word, and 
while I am still snivelling, he unlocks the irons from my wrists, ankles and 
neck. He picks me up and carries me upstairs. "We'll have those drinks." He 
says heartily. "And you can serve 'em, just like you said." 

For once. Bill has done the right thing. I mix our drinks, then kneel at his 
feet as we sip. My desolation over Jason's departure modifies to a dull 
ache. 

"Carrie, I can't tell you how I appreciate this." Bill's hand strokes my 
hair. "After awhile Jason will come to understand how you've done the 
honourable thing. I'm... I'm immensely happy with you." 

"Then take me to bed, Bill." 

I am ashamed of my demand but have an aching need of human heat upon my 
flesh. But Bill dismisses the whole idea with a shake of his head and a 
couple of negative clucks. 

"Please fuck me." 

"You're overwrought, Carrie. It's some sort of a reaction. I'm sure you 
don't want that at all. You're too nice a girl--" 

"No I'm not. Girls aren't as nice as you think they are. D'you want me to 
start calling you 'Master' again?" 

"Yes, please. And you are nice. You are!" 

"Thank you, Master. Would you like to handcuff me... or something?" 

"No, this is nice. Enjoy your freedom, Carrie, and don't talk about that... 
that... nastiness. Have another drink." I make the drinks and gulp mine 
gratefully. I speculate on making a dash for freedom. But he could catch me 
easily and he's trying his damndest to be kind... and there's still my 
promise! As from a long distance, I hear my voice: "But, Master, I need 
something... something!" 

"Give the drinks a chance, Carrie." 

"And then you'll chain me back downstairs?" 

"Just the handcuffs for tonight, dear." 

"Look. Bill, I'm desperate for drama after what's happened. I need some sort 
of jolt, shock therapy. If you won't fuck me, then I want you to whip me." 

"Carrie!" 

"I mean it, Bill. See, I've stopped calling you 'Master.' Please whip me 
terribly and then take me to bed." 

"Carrie, dear, you're not yourself. It's the drinks." 

I poke a bulge in his pants. "This isn't the drinks, Bill. It popped up when 
I asked you to whip me." 

"Carrie!" 

"It wants you to whip me--and you want to, I know you do." 

"Such talk! You probably deserve it-" Bill is going to whip me, I know he 
is! I've won some sort of battle but I expect it's just the alcohol. Anyway 
a good whipping will break this ice in which I am frozen, and will give Bill 
a huge erection so maybe afterwards I can persuade him... ! Hopefully, I mix 
our third drink. 

It is a long while since Bill has whipped me, I am well healed so he will 
enjoy a virgin back. His erection is my ally. 

"Do you really want to be whipped, dear?" 

"Terribly." 

We are both a little tipsy when we go down to the room where I will feel the 
lash. It is a very familiar room. The bar and the straps await my wrists. I 
am already naked. Bill goes to the wall to make his selection of a whip to 
suit our mood. I stand beneath the bar ready to raise my arms. 

It is then that Jason walks back into my life. He carries a massive pair of 
bolt cutters. 

"You again!" Bill's disgust is inadequate. 

"You keep an easy jail to break into, Bill." 

"Well, break your way out. Carrie and I are busy." 

"Just getting ready to whip her, eh." 

"I asked him to." I interject. 

"I'll whip you when I get you home, Carrie. In the meantime--" I am suddenly 
handcuffed, my arms behind my back, "In the meantime I've decided to be 
sensible. I'm taking you by force. That way you break no promise." 

"Look here, you--!" 

Bill is red faced, his arms are waving. Jason hits him neatly on the chin. 
Once more the man who purchased me sits stupidly on the floor. I am gathered 
into a pair of strong male arms, carried out of Stubbinsburgh Jail, then 
dumped into the trunk of Jason's car. He drops the bolt cutters in beside me 
and slams the lid. It is the happiest ride I have ever had. 

* * * 

I stand in front of Jason's chair. My hands are still cuffed in back but now 
my elbows are tied together with bands of cloth which compel them to meet 
and tell me I am a prisoner in disgrace. My ankles are tied, my knees are 
tied. I am very helpless and very happy. 

"You are an idiotic female." Says Jason. 

"I never pretend to be anything else." I can afford to be pert, I do not 
care how hard I am whipped, "thank you for rescuing me after all. I love 
you." 

"You are slightly drunk." 

"It's wearing off, darling, can I have another?" 

Jason mixes two and almost literally pours one down my throat. "You may need 
this, Carrie my sweet, you're about to get the whipping of your life." 

"Oh, thank you, darling! Mmmmmm...!" 

"It's going to hurt bad!" 

"Oh goody... and afterwards you'll take me to bed?" 

"You don't deserve it, but yes." 

We savour our situation. I am glowing with a great thankfulness that 
forgives Jason everything. I am also having to watch my balance, bound as I 
am I am inclined to teeter. I expect this is part of my punishment and I 
love it. "What the hell am I punishing you for, Carrie?" 

I giggle. Whatever turpitude I may have committed is now hazy in my mind. I 
do my best to defeat a too easy forgiveness. 

"Well, in that prison I lost faith in you. I thought you'd abandoned me." I 
pause perkily. "Then I made that promise to Bill. Then, when you gave me a 
chance to break the promise I didn't feel I should." I smile at Jason 
lovingly. "But mostly, you're punishing me because I want you to. Before you 
showed up the way you did I'd already asked Bill to whip me, and he was 
going to--" 

"What the devil did you want him to whip you for?" 

"Because I was so unhappy over losing you, and because of having to stay a 
prisoner in Bill's Jail for life." 

"You idiot girl! How would a whipping help?" 

"Because the pain of being whipped would take my mind off the whole damn 
thing." 

"Hmmmmm, makes a little sense. Feminine sense, that is. But why now?" 

"You love whipping me, so it's my coming home present to you, darling. 
Besides, I do deserve it a little." 

Jason is beautifully competent. Perhaps he, too, is a bit tipsy. My bonds 
vanish but are replaced by a new simplicity. My right wrist is handcuffed to 
my left ankle, my left wrist to my right. I am neatly bent over, I cannot 
walk. My bottom is undoubtedly in for a bad time. 

"I'm starting out with the crop across your seat, love." Jason informs me 
kindly. "I'd advise you to stand as you are and take your medicine. If you 
decide to flop on the floor I'll change over to a whip and let the blows 
fall where they may." 

"Thank you, Master." 

"Don't call me that! You're not talking to Bill. What am I to you?" 

"You're my lover, darling." 

It is long since I was whipped. But the searing pain across my bent bottom 
would have jolted me at any time. I jerk at my handcuffs and hurt my wrists. 
A couple more like that and I'll be sober. 

"Hurt, sweetheart?" 

"Intensely." 

"Good! But I expect we're both out of condition. Try this for size and let 
me have your comments." 

The second hurts worse than the first. I am wriggling ludicrously. I am 
blazing with pain and lust. I had overlooked the latter but feel it's too 
early to mention. Penitently, I plead: "Could you hit me a little bit 
lighter please?" 

"I'm afraid not, love." 

"Thank you, Jason, you know best." 

"My, my, something's done you a world of good, my girl! Now, let's get one 
well in under " I scream. I am indeed out of condition. The crop seems to 
cut me in two each time. I can by no means keep still but I do manage not to 
flop on the floor. Humbly, I suggest: "Best to gag me, Jason. Can't have the 
neighbors " 

"Control, sweetheart, that's the thing. I don't want to have to gag you yet. 
Here, bite on this." 

It is a chunk of rope, thick enough to extend my jaws. My teeth clamp on it 
gratefully in time to keep me mute when the crop slices me again. It is a 
wonderful, incredible and truly awful pain and I wonder why it has never 
seemed like this before. I expect it is because of my stretched skin and the 
rising lust of my need for a man. The blows devastate me and I am sure my 
bottom weaves back and forth as though prey to the wind. But when the tenth 
stroke has bedded itself in my flesh there comes a pause, the rope is taken 
from between my teeth. Instantly, I plead. 

"Jason, fuck me. Oh please... ! You can, y'know just as I am. From behind. 
I'll try and bend lower." 

"Carrie, where are your manners?" 

"Well, I can't help it. I need you so bad. I haven't had it since 
Rainsville. And now, getting my bottom whipped...!" 

"Hmmmmm, yes I see your point. It's a nice idea if it was not that you'd 
feel the crop twice as bad after." 

"I don't care. I want you to do it to me. Oh please, Jason? If you go on 
cropping me like this I'll have an orgasm anyway all on my own." 

"Ah, yes! Well, we mustn't waste it, Carrie-" I am impaled from the rear. I 
scream with joy and climax instantly. Jason withdraws. "We'll keep the rest, 
love. You may need it later!" 

The rope is again between my teeth. The crop resumes its cadence across my 
cheeks. Is it my fancy, or are the blows a trifle kinder than they were? 
Perhaps... ! But anyway, they still hurt horribly. 

"Twenty, dear, that's enough for your bottom. Here, I'll take the rope." 

"Oh, thank you, Jason! Ohhhhh, thank you, darling. I'm so glad that's over. 
Did I behave well?" 

"You behaved very well, and it's not over." 

"No, of course not, darling, you've still got my back to whip. But my 
bottom's grateful." 

"You're really something, Carrie." 

"It's just I'm so glad to be home with you. I think I could bear anything." 

"The whip on your back will hurt too, y'know." 

"Sure I know, and I don't care. Jason, if you're going to keep me cuffed 
like this for my whipping could I have a breather first? I mean be allowed 
to stand up and stretch?" It is done. I stand with a handcuff dangling from 
each wrist. Ecstatically, I stretch, I walk, I do all sorts of silly things 
before I put my arms round Jason's neck and kiss him passionately. With lips 
close to his ear I whisper: "I don't mind what you're doing to me. I adore 
you " 

"Want the same position, love?" 

"You mean, fasten me some other way to be whipped? No, darling, I've got the 
cuffs on and it's nice and simple. Even if I do fall you'll still be able to 
whip quite a lot of me- especially if you turn me over." 

The handcuffs click, my hands embrace my ankles, the whip cuts me from my 
shoulders to my waist. Bent like this I offer more of my back to be lashed 
than if I stood. Also, my skin is stretched. I scream with the shock of 
number one. 

"Sorry, love. Forgot your bit of rope." 

My teeth bite hard on the hemp. I wonder how many strokes Jason will plant 
upon my back. I have forgotten to ask and it is now too late. I bite 
viciously as my knees bend under the agony of number two. I have never been 
whipped vertically, it is a new experience in pain. I manage to absorb eight 
blows before I fall sideways to the rug and lay there with my legs doubled 
up against the tug of the cuffs. Numbers nine and ten streak my flank. I am 
relieved of my gag- "I'm terribly sorry, Jason. I mean, falling like this." 

"Don't worry, love, you're still enticingly whippable. Only ten more to go. 
I'll give you four more, then turn you over." 

"Darling, if you want to stand me back on my feet I really will try." 

"No, I'm pleased with you as you are. It opens new vistas." 

"Yes, I bet it does." 

"Bother you this way, Carrie? Cramps or something?" 

"No, darling. My wrists hurt when I struggle after each cut, but that's 
nothing new. That bit of rope's a real life saver." 

"You're handling this very well, pet." 

"Because I started out drunk, and I'm so glad to be home, and I'm terribly 
in love with you. Maybe tomorrow I'll return to my senses." 

"Don't ever do that, sweetheart, I like you as you are. Ready for the last 
ten?" 

I open my mouth for my gag. As the whip bites me I wince and tug in a whole 
new set of motions on the floor. Jason's whip finds my bare places easily 
and stripes them with skill. I am turned over like a piece of toast to get 
my other half marked too. My wrists and ankles are cut by the time the last 
lash has had its way with me. 

I spend a delicious day in bed. Jason released my shackle for an hour when 
he got up and went to work, then locked my ankle again when he kissed me 
good-bye. I am handcuffed. 

Jason and I spent an erotic night of lovemaking. My wealed back provided me 
with an endless replenishment of lust, my behavior was outrageous, leaving 
me exhausted to sleep and sleep after Jason had departed. Now I am awake 
again and every movement I make frictions my whipmarks against the sheet to 
a constant arousal. It is the same with the chain on my ankle. I 
deliberately move my foot to feel the drag and admonition of the links like 
my Master's hand upon my flesh. It is all gorgeously exciting and 
luxuriously comforting. I am an erotic package panting for Jason's return. 

I am ashamed of myself. Even quivering with desire, as I still ant, I look 
back at yesterday and wonder what my lord and master must think of me. My 
longing to be whipped so cruelly leaves me wondering myself: Am I abnormal? 
I shrug away the doubt. My forty lashes were a catharsis, cleansing me of 
Stubbinsburg. I am reborn. 

Reborn to what? I am adult. I cannot be a concupiscent kitten all my life, I 
don't think Jason kidnapped me and trained me for that. I am Carrie 
Carstairs, his slavegirl who used to go to work as he did every day. I think 
of the Office. I cannot imagine my job is still there. Then I reflect on 
poor Bill, and get myself into a dither of panic at thought of him breaking 
in on me while Jason is gone. I am beautifully helpless, an easy prey. For a 
few minutes my fretful tugs at the shackle on my ankle are not erotic at 
all. That metal band and those links could return me to a slavery I do not 
want. Thoughts of Bill's bars and bolts send shivers up my spine. 

After dinner Jason confirms my fear. Bill had actually sought entry but had 
been repulsed by the security guard who Jason had warned. It is a sobering 
bit of news. With Bill as a constant menace I will never be safe. I respond 
to this problem with feminine logic. 

"Darling, please marry me. Bill would respect that." 

"I'll marry you for other reasons, Carrie, not just to refute good old 
Bill." 

"But you did say you'd marry me?" 

"And I still will after the experiments. You did promise to go along, 
y'know." 

"Not another Rainsville!" My exclamation is a wail of anguish. 

"No, not that!" Jason considers while I tremble. "We'd best try and confine 
ourselves to the cute." 

I hold up handcuffed wrists, I finger the lovely collar locked on my neck. I 
kick the chain joining my feet. "Isn't having me as a slave like this enough 
for you, Jason?" 

"Mmmmmm, in its way. But. sweetheart, this bondage thing means something to 
me, I want to explore it all." He frowns in concentration. "If we're honest 
with ourselves we have to face the fact that most of what we do is in some 
way contrived, it operates within margins and limits. For instance: you were 
chained to the bed today but you knew when I'd come home and release you. 
And yesterday, that whipping you got was a feast of eroticism. It was not a 
punishment at all, and you were sure I wouldn't carry it too far... ? See 
what I mean?" 

I see what he means. I hadn't thought of it that way before but he's right. 
The bonds and bars of Rainsville or Stubbinsburg affected me in a vastly 
different way, they weren't a bit like what Jason does to me. I don't always 
like what he inflicts but I'm not frightened and I know there'll be an end. 
In that lousy women's prison I was always scared and there was never an end 
to anything. I put it into words. 

"You want me to experience realities and tell you of them?" 

"Yes." 

"You haven't asked me about Rainsville." 

"We'll get to it. Right now I'm ashamed of Rainsville." 

"Well, alright." I concede grudgingly. "But, Jason, why couldn't I do these 
things for you after you marry me? I'll still be your slave after the 
wedding, why can't I do the rest too?" 

He laughs at my simplicity. "Carrie my sweet, you don't really believe that, 
do you? A girl will do all sorts of things for a man before marriage that 
she won't even sniff at after the ceremony. Marriage changes perspectives. 
I've seen it happen-." 

"But, darling, I'd promise?" 

"And you'd weasel out of it. You'd feel, and quite rightly, it was not the 
sort of adventure a wife should engage in." 

Jason is right. I have seen it happen too. I sigh in resignation and clink 
the metal I wear, it is a nice sound we both enjoy. "O.K.. what's my first 
assignment?" I ask as cheerfully as I can. 

"Isn't it best you don't know, love?" 

"You mean, something will just happen to me, like the police finding that 
girl in the trunk of my car?" 

"Sure. That's realism. If you knew it was going to happen your reactions 
would be false." 

"So I'm in for a series of shocks?" 

" 'Fraid so, sweetheart." 

I let it sink in while I clink, unordered, to the bar. Then, kneeling at my 
master's feet and sipping, I probe again. "But, darling, you must know 
people... or have influence... or something?" 

"Oh sure. There's a couple of Clubs and a group or two I used to go around 
with before I got you. They're always willing to help." 

"Why did you bother with me if you already had them?" 

"For the same reasons I've just given. They're limited. They put on a show 
but that's all it is, a show. It's real enough while it lasts, but the 
distressed damsels know they'll go safely home when the evening's over. They 
have week-end affairs sometimes but they're up against the same limitations, 
no girl's experience is total." 

"But, Jason, how do they go about it?" 

He is pleased by my interest. I am intrigued. "Lots of ways, pet." He tells 
me complacently. "Maybe there's a stage and an audience. A girl from the 
audience can volunteer to get herself bound or whipped, or what have you. If 
there are no volunteers they draw lots for the victim." He laughs. "I never 
saw them have to do that." He grins down at my wide eyes. "Or they arrange a 
kidnapping on the street for a girl, or a rape fantasy, or an imprisonment. 
But, like I say, it's an arrangement." 

"It could be fun." 

"You have a date on Thursday." Says Jason. 

 CHAPTER SIX - FANTASIES 

Miss Winslow is addressing the Class. I stand beside her. I am both 
frightened and intrigued: conditions by no means strange to me, and nowhere 
as strange as the Class itself. They sit at desks in a schoolroom but they 
are all adult, mostly around my own age. The sexes are scattered but about 
equally divided in number. All of them gaze upon me with a proprietary 
expectation I don't much like. Miss Winslow herself is a willowy blonde of 
about thirty who does not look like a schoolteacher at all, but her voice is 
pleasantly modulated and compellingly resonant. 

"I am pleased to introduce Miss Carrie Carstairs." She informs her Class. 
"Carrie is a slave who has been placed in our care for discipline and safe 
keeping. She must not be injured nor is she to be allowed any total freedom 
from restraint. I am sure you will have noticed her feet are already 
ironed." 

Gosh, I would hope they do notice! The chain between my ankles is heavy and 
makes a frightful clatter as I walk. I suspect I won't be doing much 
walking- and I don't like the sound of that discipline. I sure hope Jason 
knows what he's doing with me. 

"Carrie will be our prisoner indefinitely." Continues my mentor. "She does 
not know the terms and conditions of her incarceration. But I can tell her 
now that much of what she must suffer with us depends on her own behavior." 
She bestows upon me a radiant smile. "Please do give the Class your comment 
at this point, dear." 

I feel a fool. Amongst this sophisticated lot, and considering my own 
faultless attire, my chained feet are an incongruity. But I must not let 
Jason down, so I stutter out what comes first to mind. 

"I think I've been sent here for a purpose, Miss Winslow. I promise I'll be 
a good girl." 

It gets a laugh, but not from Miss Winslow. "We presume your previous 
behavior has left something to be desired or you would not be here." She 
reproves me coolly. "Since, in our eyes, you are already delinquent I will 
ask you to remove your clothes." 

Oh damn! These people play for keeps. Standing before them like this, the 
last thing I want to be is naked. But I'm stuck with this deal, and there is 
a little thrill at work inside me which I can't ignore. Slowly, I remove my 
dress then pause. 

"You will retain only your shoes, dear. Our members enjoy feminine 
footwear." 

I sigh. I remove panties and bra'. At least, my chains will seem more 
appropriate now I am naked. I blush but stick my chest out when there is a 
slight round of applause. 

"Thank you, Carrie. Your hands please?" 

I am turned about, my wrists are crossed and deftly tied. I suspect Miss 
Winslow has tied a lot of hands. She uses only a few strands of cord but 
they are tight. I will not get loose. 

"I would like you to stand in the corner, dear, over behind my desk. You 
must stand erect and keep your breasts nicely out as you've been doing. Just 
look at the wall, you must not turn round." 

I'm going to hate this. It's too damn simple and I still feel an idiot. This 
is a punishment for small children. But there comes a small snicker of some 
sort of approval from the class. 

"You will note Miss Carstairs has been well whipped recently. I am sure the 
Class will share my enjoyment of her exquisite markings. Congratulations, 
Carrie, you must have been a very wicked girl?" 

If they only knew! This whole thing is crazy. But I say a demure, "Yes, Miss 
Winslow." and manage to stop myself from turning round. I just know I'm 
going to hate this wall. 

"I am now going to ask Miss Sally Becker to step out in front with-me." Miss 
Winslow intones. Evidently she feels I am well disposed of. There is a 
patter of eager feminine feet and a perky voice. 

"Here I am, Miss Winslow. Do you want me to undress for my punishment?" 

"No, dear. No need. I am going to cane your hands." 

"Oh, thank you, Miss Winslow!" The damn girl actually sounds pleased. My 
internal thrill speeds up and I wish I could turn round and look. 

"I will cane you slowly, Sally, to give you time to arrange yourself after 
each cut." The Mistressy voice drips honey. "We all know how much it hurts 
and how you need a few moments to compose yourself. But there must be no 
delays and no unseemly contortions. You are to receive three strokes on each 
hand. May I count on your co-operation?" 

"Oh yes, Miss Winslow!" 

I detect a quaver in the swift assurance. I'd quaver too if it was me. Miss 
Sally Becker's hands are going to hurt like crazy in a little while. Three 
cuts of the cane on each... Ugh! 

"We will start now, dear. Whichever hand you prefer. The arm well out and 
your palm nice and taut please." 

I can picture it. When the cane whirrs I wince. I almost match Sally's 
moaning gasp on impact. There comes a near silence in which Miss Becker's 
agonized breathing is the only sound. I picture her clasping her wound 
beneath a comforting arm. 

"You are welcome to hug your hand in your armpit, Sally. But only for a 
limited time. I think we are now ready for your other arm." 

Dammit', I've got to see this! I must. Looking at the lousy wall is torture. 
Following the sounds again I visualise the tableau and I wince and gasp 
where indicated. From the sound of it, the poor girl is really getting 
whacked. Abandoning caution, I steal a quick glance. Sure enough, the hurt 
beauty is bending forward, doubled over and with a hand compressed within 
the pit of each arm. I think there are tears but I do not look long enough 
to be sure. 

"If you hold your hand very steady, dear, I will try and not strike the same 
wound twice." 

Real white of Miss Winslow! The sounds and I do a repeat. When it comes time 
for the fourth stroke I hear a faltering feminine plea. "Please, Miss 
Winslow, this hurts a lot more than I thought. I'm not sure I can manage." 

"You'll manage, dear." 

"I was wondering...?" The voice has become girlish and pitiful. "Could I 
have just four strokes instead of six? Or maybe you could make them not 
quite so hard?" 

"Your caning has already been discussed by the Class, Miss Becker. It cannot 
be altered. I am sure you recall the terms and conditions of your 
enrollment?" 

"Yes, Miss Winslow. I'm sorry. I just hoped " 

"Your hand again please." 

More agony! The sounds are graphic. I forget my condition. I steal more than 
a quick glance at the picture of an adult girl nursing two wounded palms and 
trying not to moan. Slowly, she stands erect and extends an arm... When the 
cane cuts she yelps in dismay and falls, writhing, to the floor. Hastily, I 
return my gaze to the wall. Miss Winslow's voice oozes sympathy. 

"I am sure your hands hurt, dear, but we cannot possibly allow such 
behavior. You look very silly there on the floor, especially since you had 
only one more stroke to bear. Your lapse compels me to add to that: You now 
have two. If you do not immediately get to your feet and hold out a hand for 
the cane the number will be increased to three." 

I dare not push my luck and look again. Sally Becker is audibly weeping and 
audibly getting herself back into position for more punishment. From 
somewhere she gets the courage to take her two stripes. Her punishment is 
over. The Class claps heartily. If I had my hands I think I'd clap with 
them. The poor girl deserves it. 

"You may return to your scat, Sally." 

Miss Becker's steps are no longer jaunty. No sooner do they cease than Miss 
Winslow's voice comes crisply. "Yes, Miss Cooper you are raising your arm?" 

"Please, Miss, that girl... Carrie. She turned and watched." 

I shrivel in the awful silence. 

"Is that correct, Miss Carstairs?" 

Considering that twenty people may have witnessed my lapse there is no use 
lying about it. Meekly, I admit: "I'm afraid so." 

"You may turn round." 

This doesn't help much. The Class is positively gloating and enjoying my 
breasts and pubic hair. I'm in trouble! 

"Have you an excuse, Carrie?" 

"Not really... I just felt sorry for her." 

"Then we must now make you feel sorry for yourself." 

"Yes, I expect you must." 

I feel ten times naked. I am sure I look hangdog and guilty. I have never 
felt more helpless. With my hands tied behind my back like this I have no 
choice but to be a very obedient little girl. The whole thing's a plant, a 
trap I fell into, and I can guess what's coming. 

"Perhaps three on each of your hands too, dear?" 

"If you say so, Miss Winslow." 

"I like your attitude. You may turn about to be untied." 

Unhappily, I obey. Never have I less desired freedom. If only my poor hands 
could have remained bound! But then... ! It would be my bottom to get the 
cane and my bottom is not yet ready. 

"Considering you are a novice. Miss Carstairs, we will relieve you of the 
self control implicit in this punishment. It is a severe tax upon her 
fortitude in her first caning. Perhaps a couple of gentlemen from the Class 
will be kind enough to move forward the frame?" 

A frame is what it is. It's heavy and solid and loaded with gimmicks. It is 
adjustably versatile. I suspect it could hold a girl in any position 
desired. When I am fully prepared for my caning I am strapped to something 
like a cross, strapped immovably from ankles to neck. My arms are strapped 
down hard to a crosspiece out to each side. Needless to say, my hands are 
fastened palms up with the last strap positioned three inches above my wrist 
to leave each hand well extended and exposed beyond the frame. I look at 
them and realise how terribly they are on their own. 

"I must advise against clenching, dear. The stroke will be delivered 
regardless and hurts twice as badly on the back of your fingers or across 
your wrist. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, Miss Winslow." 

"I am sure you do, Carrie, you are an intelligent girl. Now, we will vary 
your punishment slightly, I will require of you a sincere thank you after 
each stroke. I am sure you can mange that." 

I am not as sure as she is. I am curling up inside. This thing holds me so I 
can't even quiver and there's my poor hands sticking way out in space! I 
realise these people are all playing roles the way Jason explains, and I 
expect their roles do limit them and they've got deadlines and no-no's. But 
I'm not! For me this is real and I don't know where it's going to take me. I 
feel like crying and asking to be sent home. But it wouldn't do me any good, 
they'd just laugh. What I'm scared of is maybe Jason fraternized with this 
bunch when they were being kinder to their girls. Without waiting to be 
told, I open my right hand and make its palm as tautly stretched as any 
old-time schoolmarm could have wished. 

"Thank you, dear, you're very sweet." 

The pain is excruciating. It's hard to believe any girl's hand could survive 
such a cut. I blurt out a frantic "One" while my other responses actually 
cause the frame to which I am strapped to quiver and groan on its own 
account. I evidently struggle so visibly as to prompt Miss Winslow to tug 
once more at the buckles and get them tighter another notch. From the feel 
of it I can't even vibrate. It's a good thing the final straps aren't right 
on my wrists or my hands would be turning purple. I open my left hand and 
cringe and wail and wince under number two. And I number it out loud, she 
isn't going to catch me that easy. 

"The real test for you is the repeats, dear." 

As if I didn't know! Oh, Jason, Jason, why have you done this to me! Only my 
head can move now as I intone "Three" and surge against the straps. It hurts 
so bad I'm in a mood to plead for mercy. But that didn't do poor Sally 
Becker any good and, who knows, it might get me an extra stroke. Up to now I 
have made my 'thank yous' most sincere, I hope I can keep it up. 

"We're so pleased with you, Carrie. You're a very lovely girl, most 
eminently punishable. I will now stroke your next hand." 

Stroke! What a word to use! It cuts my palm to send my head into the only 
motions I can make. I say 'Thank you,' I moan, I count number four. I hope 
'The Class' enjoys my face, it is twisted in agony, and I am sure every male 
has an erection at my expense. Five and six take their toll of me. Then I 
stand in the frame, strapped tight and sweating, my flaming hands limp at 
each end of the crosspiece. A pretty picture for the Class to enjoy. Miss 
Winslow kisses me and rubs my nipples. The trifling affection is strangely 
comforting. 

"Yes, Miss Spencer?" Miss Winslow recognizes a raised hand. 

"I have a confession. Miss Winslow." 

"Very well, dear. We are listening." 

My pain and my captivity here are against my will. But I feel certain I now 
witness a charade. Miss Spenser's eyes are shining as she recites an absurd 
list of transgressions. 

Miss Winslow holds up an amused hand. "That will do. Nancy dear. We accept 
your guilt, it seems more than adequate for a severe punishment. What do you 
think. Class?" 

livery hand is raised, including Nancy's. 

"Excellent! I am now going to ask you all to recognize Miss Carstair's 
superb performance during punishment." 

The handclaps are sincere. I blush with pleasure and exposure. I still feel 
my pubic hair the most prominent thing in the room. 

"Thank you. And now, if two gentlemen will move Carrie to one side...?" 

Two gentlemen move the frame and me as requested. Both have erections. 
Evidently I am to remain helpless but with a fine view of proceedings. My 
hands throb horribly beyond the straps. 

Nancy Spencer trips lightly to centre stage. I suspect her of a damp pussy 
and racing pulse. "Please sentence me to punishment, Miss Winslow." She asks 
blithely. 

A show of hands confirm the caning of Miss Spencer's derriere. She strips to 
display a neat round bottom. Nancy is an exhibitionist. She poses prettily 
for all to admire. 

"A slightly unorthodox posture for you, dear. Bending over has become so 
trite." 

Nancy Spencer has to sit on the floor and watch her hands and feet get tied. 
Then a chain loops her wrist ropes, goes down between her legs, then up to a 
hook lowered from the ceiling. Loss of dignity spurs protest. "But. Miss 
Winslow, it's my bottom that gets punished...?" 

"And so it will be, dear, just be patient." 

Nancy gasps when the rope tightens. This has the effect of dragging her 
hands down to her feet and then to raise both hands and feet up in the air. 
In a few moments her shoulders leave the floor and her bottom is elevated to 
a height convenient for the cane. Nancy is bent double, arms and legs 
strained up, back bowed, hair falling towards the floor three feet below. 
Distressfully, her head seeks a comfort it cannot find. Like a pendulum, her 
jackknifed nudity swings and turns... The Class claps. 

"Thirty strokes, Miss Spencer?" 

"Ohhhhh, oh, Miss Winslow, this is sort of awful. Couldn't I have just 
twenty?" 

"No. Remember your confession, dear. You are a guilty girl." 

Nancy gulps. I am sure this faintly obscene exposure of her person was not 
what she had in mind. As she swings I can see her plump pussy and some 
fronds of dark hair extruding themselves from between tight thighs. This 
distortion of her most private part will not be welcome. 

"Please then, Miss Winslow, not too hard?" 

"Hard is the only way, Nancy." 

The suspended maiden cannot control her swings and turns. She can struggle 
and raise her shoulders by her bound wrists but this in no way affects the 
invitation of her taut behind. Miss Winslow and her cane are well placed and 
waiting. When the twin rounds come into range she strikes. 

The awful pain of my hands diminishes as I watch. Maybe I'm as bad as the 
rest of them, but this Play enacted between Miss Winslow and Miss Spencer 
holds me entranced. I know it is contrived, yet Nancy's pain and her 
reactions to both anguish and indignity are vividly real. The only 
difference between she and I is that she asked for hers. 

The impact of the cane across Nancy's rump imparts motion to her suspended 
nakedness. This means a pause while the jackknifed beauty turns on its 
chain. No one begrudges the time. Nancy screams whenever the withe bites her 
pussy, but otherwise confines her plaints to moans and gasps and a few 
uncontrolled wails. Half way through the thirty strokes Miss Winslow cups 
the swollen pussy in an enquiring hand and exhibits her wet palm to us all 
no doubt to prove Nancy is enjoying herself. She then wipes the glistening 
secretions off on her victim's bottom and returns to caning it again. 

If I was a free girl I would not join this Club, livening brings me to stand 
before Miss Winslow's desk in her office. My ankles are ironed again, I am 
handcuffed and nude. I am being scrutinized by amused and speculative eyes. 

"It has been arranged for your stay with us to be short, Carrie. But we do 
want to give you a memorable experience." 

My throbbing hands in their chrome cuffs are all the memory I want, but I 
say a meek: "Thank you." 

"There are many things we can do to a girl." 

I just bet there are! But I'm scared. I keep quiet. 

"There are other situations than pain and confinement, dear." Miss Winslow 
smiles as though she loves me. "We are informed of a desire for you to be 
placed in conditions where the end result is not predictable, an open ended 
tribulation." 

Damn Jason, I can hear him chuckling. Primly, I say: "Yes, Miss Winslow, I 
understand." 

"It is now dark outside, Miss Carstairs. We are going to place you, just as 
you are, in the alleyway behind this house. You must find your way home as 
best you can. I am sure you will manage, it's only a couple of miles." 

The enormity of the thing holds me speechless for several moments before I 
explode. "Naked... chained!" 

"Yes, dear. But we will relieve you of the fetters on your feet. You will 
have a need to walk, and perhaps to run." 

"But handcuffed?" 

"A small piquancy, Carrie. Being handcuffed will remove the stigma of being 
merely a naked girl running around outdoors. It adds tone." 

"No! Oh, please... no?" I am overwhelmed by the shame of what they propose. 
"Please don't do that to me anything could happen...!" 

"Precisely." 

They don't care if I'm raped or murdered or abducted. I'm just the active 
part of an amusing experiment. Miss Winslow puts a crimp in my complaints. 

"If you make a fuss or embarrass me, dear, you will spend the night sitting 
in our stocks with your feet well spread and clamped, and tomorrow receiving 
punishments before the Class. In the evening you will find yourself outdoors 
anyway but with your hands behind your back instead of in front. Do I make 
myself clear?" 

Does she ever! I nod in dumb misery and suppose things might be worse... 
maybe I'll be lucky... ! I stand meekly while she unlocks the shackles from 
my feet. 

I am used to being naked, it has come to be my natural state. But the night 
air is cool on my skin as I stand and look at the brick wall and the closed 
door through which I have just been ejected. I raise my hands and examine 
the handcuffs locking them together. Neither that door or these cuffs will 
open. I'm in trouble. 

My first hazard is a large dog. It wishes to sniff my pussy and goodness 
knows what else. I am thankful for free feet with which to kick, and for 
hands cuffed in front so as they can lift a rock and let him have it in the 
ribs. Yelping, he departs. I feel this a promising start but pick up another 
rock just in case. 

I am half way to the lighted street when a dark shadow detaches itself from 
a cluster of garbage cans. It utters a startled but delighted: "Holy cow!" 
and grabs my arm. I knee him in the groin and bang my rock hard against his 
teeth. Then I run like crazy while he is doubled over. 

It is not a main street but it is well enough lit and there are a few 
pedestrians. What I need is a dime and a phone. I determine to be bold. My 
first contacts are women. One gazes at me in stark horror, then flees. 
Another sees only my handcuffs and pubic hair and hurries off to tell the 
police of an escaped convict. Another tells me I should be ashamed of myself 
and stalks away. Then I find a middle aged man who regards me as a gift from 
above. Fortunately I can run faster than he so escape fairly easily. Then I 
try knocking at doors. They open for a startled moment or two then slam. My 
prepared speech never gets used. But I decide to keep on trying. Houses seem 
my best bet and surely one of them will shelter chivalry. It is when I 
emerge from the gate of my seventh rejection I find the blue and white 
waiting for me at the curb. I leap gleefully into the back seat and gasp out 
the address of the apartment. 

But it is not going to be that easy. They are the usual pair and are young 
enough to appreciate my nakedness which they view with obvious pleasure. 

"What's the deal, lady?" 

"It's a party, and a silly joke that's gone too far. Please take me home." 

"Them handcuffs...?" 

"Oh, of course! They're part of the joke. Would you unlock them for me 
please?" 

One of them leans over the seat, unlocks one cuff, turns me round, and locks 
both my hands behind my back. I remember the T.V. and Rainsville, and assure 
myself this is just routine. But I still exclaim: "You don't need to do 
that... really! I'm telling the truth, and what can I do in this condition 
anyway!" 

"You'd be surprised, lady. If the officer who arrested you had cuffed you in 
back you might not be running around the way you are. What were you arrested 
for, maam?" 

"You're crazy. I'm not " 

"We'll read you your rights, maam just in case." 

Their politeness is scary. It means they can't comprehend my innocence-and I 
suppose I don't look innocent. With my hands where they are, I must seem 
like I'm flaunting my breasts at them. Oh damn, why couldn't someone have 
let me use a phone! I listen, woodenly, to my rights and plead to be taken 
to Jason and safety. 

But that's too simple for these two, they are not yet ready to relinquish my 
bare charms. I am a free strip. They report me and my condition in jocular 
fashion over their intercom and are instructed to take me 'down to the 
station.' The only good thing about the Precinct House is I get rid of the 
handcuffs and acquire a male shirt which hangs on me slackly but falls low 
enough to cover my pussy. I almost feel dressed. While I am rolling up the 
long sleeves I am told I must be fingerprinted. Meekly, I allow myself to be 
manhandled and inked. The result is inevitable. I am a criminal. I have been 
sentenced for kidnapping. I have spent time in Rainsville Woman's Prison. 
Everyone but me is elated. I am tossed alone in a cell. The clanging and 
locking of its door is my knell of doom. It curls me up utterly with too 
many memories. I fling myself down on the cot and weep in a storm of 
overtaxed emotion. My shirt is rucked up above my bottom but I do not care. 

"It could have been a helluva' lot worse, sweetheart. I got down to the 
Station pronto. You weren't in that cell long." 

"I nearly died... I was so scared. Oh, Jason!" 

We are in our familiar living room. I am gulping intoxicants like crazy 
while I sit naked at my Master's feet. Under some Pixie impulse he has tied 
my ankles together with rope so I can't walk. I do not mind, it feels nice. 
Once more I am engulfed in thankfulness. 

"Was the Club all that mean to you, Carrie?" 

"They almost cut my hands to shreds--that's all. Then tossed me, naked and 
handcuffed, into the street. Hell, they treated me real good." 

"Oh alright. I'm sorry. I'll have to be more careful what I get you into." 

"Don't get me into anything, Jason. Keep me tied up here. You can whip me 
every day and I won't complain. But these experiments... Ugh!" 

I hop my bound feet to the bar. Returning with my fresh drink I must edge 
awkwardly across the rug on my bottom. Jason is vastly amused. I manage a 
giggle myself. 

"They've given us what we expected of 'em, love. You could write a graphic 
story around each one-" 

"I don't want to write a story, I want to be your-slave. And don't try 
buttering me up." 

"O.K., O.K., be mad at me. I'll take you to bed in a minute and you'll feel 
better. I've thought of the cutest notion for your next little trip." 

"Piss on your next little trip.!" 

But it is very nice in bed with Jason. I forget easily. I lose the rope from 
my ankles and gain handcuffs on my wrists, all is normal. I sleep soundly... 
afterwards! 

My day is gorgeously domestic. Sure, I'm chained but I clink around with the 
vacuum and a duster and I cook up a storm. It's lovely and I wish it was for 
always. But I know it isn't. At least, not yet. When it is good and dark 
Jason drives me to the old School with the playing field and the goalposts. 
He has me wrapped in something dark so we're a couple of shadows flitting 
across the grass. He has made me carry the rope with which I am to be tied. 

Jason is trying. I am shivering with dread as I slip out of the cloak into 
total nudity and back myself against the post, but I have to admit I see 
fewer hazards in this bit of whimsy than in the others. I really do love 
Jason, so I refrain from nagging and snide remarks as he does the best tie 
job on me I have ever known. Secretly I am thrilled. But I keep quiet while 
I am bound. 

"Bon voyage my most precious girl." 

Jason kisses me, then is gone. I watch his shadow recede into the dark. I 
cannot stay angry at what he does to me. He and I share a destiny in which I 
am forever bound. I have pledged myself his slave. I close my mind to 
regrets over my foolishness in backing so willingly against this post, I 
turn it instead to a half rueful speculation about the night ahead. My pussy 
is perking busily, of that I am sure. So what the hell... ! 

I am tied in the fashion of Jason's most admired artist. I am woven 
artistically in rope. My hands are tied behind the post and my arms against 
it, the rest of my nudity is accentuated and defined by cunning strands 
sinking deep into my female curves to hold them motionless. My concave belly 
is well cinched as are my knees and ankles. Jason has even used two ropes 
from my waist to cut down into my pubic hair and bind my pussy, a strand to 
the side of each labia then under my crotch to the unyielding post, tight, 
tight, tight... ! Telling me I'm female. Perhaps during the night I may 
struggle but I believe it impossible for me to get loose. Dammit', I can't 
move! 

The roads are my enemy. There are people on those roads and I am afraid of 
what people could do to me while I'm like this. I am bound to the goalpost 
farthest from the road. Cars are unlikely to notice me but their headlights 
as they turn a corner often bathe my nakedness in pale luminescence for a 
brief moment, a moment in which I cringe but cannot move. I am exquisitely 
helpless and at the mercy of chance. I am Jason's pawn in this flirting with 
fate, and I think of maidens bound thus in ancient days as a sacrifice to 
some misshapen monster lurking in the night. 

Apprehension wears thin and I catnap. It is easy because I am so tightly 
bound. My head falls forward but nothing else sags. My goalpost holds me in 
tight arms of rope and some of my night's captivity slips away in dreams. In 
this last of them I awaken to company. 

He is a middle aged man of average stature, a bit thin, a bit tired, a bit 
worn. After my first flash of fear I see him as harmless. I use the set 
formula I have thought up for the occasion. "Oh, thank goodness you've come! 
Please untie me." 

Nothing happens. He stands and looks at me and I look back. Something odd is 
hovering... After a minute I try, louder: "I'd be ever so grateful if you'd 
untie me." 

"I heard you the first time," He says without reproof. "Say... that's a 
mighty fine tie someone's done on you! Mind if I look?" 

"I can't stop you, can I? Go ahead." 

He goes about it gravely, trying to insert his finger under the ropes but 
they are too tight into my flesh. He does not touch me in the ordinary sense 
of touching a woman, but he does show great interest in the bindings in my 
crotch and the criss-cross bands of rope from which my breasts are nakedly 
extruded. "Damn fine job." He approves in a voice as colourless as the rest 
of him. "Who done it?" 

"Some friends. They did it for a joke. I sure would like to get loose?" 

"I don't believe you." He says gently. "Weren't no friends and weren't no 
joke. Whoever tied you thisaway done it 'cos they wanted to, 'cos it means 
somethin'. I ain't a bit sure you want to get loose." 

"Oh, but I do!" 

I am telling the truth. I have been tied a long time and I sure would love 
to get one up on Jason. But I can understand this faded man's disbelief. I 
expect I exude a concupiscence to belie my words. I am in heat. 

"You're a damn lovely girl." 

"Thank you, but would you mind--?" 

"Stop fretting. I won't untie you. Don't want to spoil nothin' so 
beautiful." 

"Well, yes, that's nice of you. But have a real good look I honestly don't 
mind! Then untie me after?" 

He does not hear a word. This man is off in a reverie all his own, seeing me 
like this has sparked a dream. I cannot move but if I could I would be 
holding out my hand, he seems so lost. But he isn't going to untie me, I 
just know he isn't! 

He speaks again, heavily. "I'm a lot older than I look. I'm the caretaker of 
this here school... It's a damn rotten deal I have to wait 'till now to see 
you. I'm so lousy old... " It is as though he's talking more to himself than 
me. There falls a silence in which I feel I'd better say something. "I don't 
mind about you not untying me yet, I'm sure it's nice to look at me the way 
I am " 

"I don't have no words for it. Never ever expected " 

"If you'd like to feel or touch any parts of me I think you should. 
Please... I think you should?" 

He shakes his head. "It's too damn late. But you're mighty sweet, sweetest 
gal' I ever known, 'cept her." 

I wait, breathless, and am rewarded. He talks to me out of something deep 
inside. "Ever since I first remember I've wanted to tie up a girl like you. 
I mean, lookin' like you. and all naked. Seems like I was born with that 
dream in my mind. You bin' there always... " I begin to feel embarrassed and 
a bit uneasy. Bui he rambles on. "Every night I go to sleep I dream about 
it. about you I guess, though you wasn't born then. Always figgered I was 
the only one, and as I grew up I knew this was the most important bit of me. 
I mean it was the thing I wanted most in the whole world. But the older I 
got the more sure I became I wasn't goin' to get it--not that I didn't try!" 
He laughs disgustedly. "Got my face slapped plenty, and worse. So I just 
dreamt about my tie up girl and kept a lookout for pictures... In about 
fifteen years I found maybe twenty. Pretty girls tied up, or chained, or 
with straps... There was one with you in the pillory: historical, that was. 
And one with you behind bars and peering out... I was grateful for whatever 
I could find." He sighs, way off somewhere. "But I never did find a real 
live gal' who'd let me do it, not until I found young Margie and she was 
just a kid: seventh grade in this here school... " I'm beginning to wish I 
was untied for sure. This is creepy. He's a poor old coot who just might 
have a notion about keeping me chained up in the basement so's he'd have a 
pretty girl to look at and tie up and talk to. Nobody would ever find me. 

She was a sweet kid. Bright, Not like you, of course, she was too young. But 
she understood right off, I didn't have to explain nothin'. She even brung 
the rope for us to use. We'd go down the basement after school and I'd tie 
her every way from Sunday. I didn't have to tell her 'bout clothes neither. 
She stripped off first thing like she knew it was the only way. She sure was 
a lovely little thing. Sometimes she'd manage to come on a Saturday or 
Sunday or through the holidays. Lasted better than a year it did before her 
folks moved and took her to Kansas someplace. Never did find another, not 
'till you. And now I'm too old, too bloody old." 

"You're never too old." I say inanely. "When you let me loose I'll give you 
a great big hug." 

"I sure do envy the guy who tied you that way." He rambles on, bypassing my 
hint. "I ain't goin' to be a spoil sport. I know all about the both of you, 
even if we didn't ever meet. I'm leavin' you just the way you are. If you 
ain't gone by first light I'll untie you then." 

He rambles off towards the dark bulk of the school building, a sad old man 
who'd seen me as part of a dream. It takes me a few moments to realise the 
wet place on my cheek is a tear. 

Jason surprises me. He is not disappointed by my night oh the goalpost. He 
sees it as what he calls a 'human document.' He is intrigued by the old man 
and his dream. He even speaks of being charitable and giving the old buffer 
a chance to tie me up. For my part I'm thankful for an adventure without 
pain, whipmarks, or being frightened out of my wits. The interlude in the 
night left me feeling sort of creepy and sad. That poor old chap and his 
schoolgirl, he could have been lynched or jailed for life... and yet been 
innocent. 

"The next one's equally simple." Says Jason. 

I know I should put my foot down and say 'NO!' But my fire burns brightly, 
and that goalpost did give me a few thrills, and I suppose I've sort of 
promised. I notice, too, I'm never free any more, my hands or my feet are 
always linked someway... ! 

It's a posh part of town and a neat little park with lots of trees and 
shrubs, all elite and immaculate. Some have been railed off to form a small 
copse, inviolate. "We're not supposed to climb the rail." I protest. "It's a 
sort of preserve." 

We climb the rail and thrust through the greenery to the inevitable small 
tree. I shrug and hand over my cloak and shoes. I am now naked. Jason 
thrusts my breasts against the trunk, encircles it with my arms, then 
handcuffs my wrists on the other side. I am comfortably attached for a love 
affair with a tree. "See." He says proudly. "Simple as can be. See you in 
the morning." He rustles away like some nocturnal denizen of the night. 

It is very still. It is dark and eerie with a mysterious gloom. Someone 
wrote: "The night has a thousand eyes." He was right. There are strange 
small sounds... This would be a wonderful place for a murderer to dispose of 
the body I shiver. I tug irritably at my chrome encircled wrists. 

The principle is the same as the goalpost but I have more freedom. An 
expensive residential street runs close enough for my pale nudity to be 
spottily touched by headlights. My main hazard of discovery is by a 
patrolling cop. If I get yanked off to the Precinct like this again it's 
going to be awful hard to explain. I wish the young growth around me was 
more dense, there are chinks in my armour. But I suppose that's the name of 
Jason's game, isn't it. Oh shit! 

I'd better try and sleep. It stops me worrying and passes the time. 
Embracing my small tree, I lower myself down and wriggle and twist until my 
bottom is not cut by roots and rocks. I lean my bare shoulder and cheek 
against the bark and I clasp the four inch stem as though it was Jason's 
thigh. The handcuffs don't bother me much, they just keep me where I'm at. I 
think about getting married. I drowse away into a brief oblivion which is 
brutally shattered by the uncompromising approach of a large black blob, 
noisy and breathing hard. I wrench in terrible fear at my handcuff and cut 
my wrists. The black blob says: "Hiya, honey." 

It is Bill Coro. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN - GIRL PRISON 

Bill sure must have a lot of money. When he lifts my trussed nudity out of 
his trunk everything is different. This isn't Stubbinsburg. Everything 
smells and looks new. The car is in a garage so I can't look around. Bill 
carries me through a small door and I moan at what I see. 

"Been preparing this a long time " Bill says proudly. "It's new and clean 
and a lot more cheerful than my old Jailhouse. It's the lower floor of a 
damn nice house on an ultra respectable street with security on the whole 
development. Very private and exclusive. That asshole Jason doesn't know 
where it is and couldn't get in anyway." 

"I'm in love with Jason and I'm going to marry him." 

"No you're not, honey." 

So that looked after that! I now hang at the end of a rope dead centre in a 
cell. Bill was very kind and placating as he explained about how he'd been 
too kind to me and how it would be better now for me to suffer a bit to take 
my mind off Jason and The Great Change, the latter being that I'm a prisoner 
for life without any hope of escape, not ever. 

I can't help a few tears. I don't deserve this, it's just not fair. I'm too 
young to spend my life in a prison even if it is spanking new and has a bit 
of daylight. And Bill is such a fatuous ass: "You may not like this, honey, 
but believe me it's best. You really do belong to me and I want you to think 
about that and realise it properly while you're in this sort of welcome home 
punishment." 

He is busy bandaging my wrists, and you can bet he's told me how kind he is 
to use bandages instead of rope. The hell of it is I suppose it's true. 
Miserably, I ask: "What am I being punished for?" 

"It's really a sort of cleansing, dear, to get rid of the Jason influence." 

"Hanging me up by my arms isn't going to make me love you, Bill. I'll just 
hurt and think about Jason." 

"I won't listen to a thing you say, honey. I've reached the conclusion no 
man should pay attention to the way girls beef. Girls need a firm hand. 
There, I think those bandages make a nice neat job, won't hurt so much and 
won't stop the circulation." 

"Thank you, it's lovely." 

"You're being sarky. It is tight enough though...?" 

"Tight enough I'll never get loose. Do I also get hot irons and the Rack?" 

"Carrie, I wish you wouldn't talk like that. You know I adore you." 

"Is that why you hang me up by my wrists?" 

"There you go again, twisting my motives. I won't do anything to you that 
you don't deserve or helps you to take a good look at yourself." 

"Oh sure." 

"You're in a bad mood, so I'll make allowances. Come along." 

So here I hang, with my toes about three inches off the concrete. Even 
though my wrists are bound with bandages this isn't fun. I've had it before, 
of course, but it's a lousy way for a girl to spend her day. I look down at 
myself and I'm all drawn and stretched, and I look up at the lovely bandage 
job and the rope suspending me from the ceiling. It's not much of a view. 

Maybe if I'd acted more pleased about being imprisoned for life Bill would 
have given me the thirty cent tour. But as far as I can see through the bars 
there's quite a variety of cells and rooms around a central space. There's a 
post in the centre of that and I can guess what it's for. Some of the doors 
are solid, some are bars, others are half and half. Maybe I'll get to enjoy 
them all in rotation. It's an awful lot of prisons for one girl. 

Bill shows up again real quick. I make an instant offer: "If you'll let me 
down and untie me I'll do anything you want.". 

"You will anyway, honey, you have no choice." He beams. "I'm figuring on a 
nice surprise for you real soon." 

"You're going to whip me?" 

"Carrie!" 

"Don't sound so hurt, Bill. It's hard for me to be optimistic the way I'm 
fixed." 

"Don't harp on it, nothing's forever. If you promise to marry me you're a 
free woman " 

"I'll marry you right now!" 

"You're just saying that. I can tell. Dammit, Carrie, there's times when you 
make me feel you ought to be whipped." 

I am on the verge of sulkily telling him to go right ahead, but I'm in 
trouble enough, it would hurt like blazes to be whipped while I'm strung up. 
I expect I'll get whipped soon enough with my owner going through this fine 
big macho kick. And I bet the idiot figures I should have escaped from Jason 
and delivered myself back to Stubbinsburg jail to finish my life sentence. 
Oh boy... ! 

My poor shoulders! Oh shit, this is for the birds! And my poor arms and my 
poor wrists and my poor everything. I really must watch my tongue and not 
hurt Bill's precious feelings. Dammit, the twit's half right about this 
punishment, it's making me think more about me and how I hurt instead of 
mooning about Jason. It is also causing me to remember that promise I made 
to get out of Rainsvillc. I made it for sure. I'm not certain anything 
that's happened absolves me from it. Oh damn and double damn! Jason and I 
should have guessed Bill would have us watched and shadowed. That little 
copse delivered me back to him as a helpless little package. He is now 
looking at me hungrily through the bars, so I switch to humility. 

"I really am sorry, Bill, about... everything." 

"Good. But you'll still hang like that all day." 

"Well... maybe I deserve it. But, Bill...?" I turn on the pathos. "What do I 
have to do to become a trusty? I mean, if you're imprisoning me for 
life...?" 

"I'm not sure I can ever trust you, Carrie, not while Jason's around 
somewhere." 

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I know how you must feel." I turn on some more honey. 
"Then how about keeping my feet always chained? That way I couldn't escape? 
Gosh, Bill, I don't want to be locked in a cell for always?" 

"I'll give that some thought I was going to anyway." 

"Bill, if only you'd fuck me I think it would help. Maybe help you more than 
me?" 

"That's out! You know my sentiments." 

"Oh alright. But please don't whip me a lot instead?" 

"Hmmmmm..." 

"Please, Bill, let me down now... ? I really haven't been naughty. I mean... 
I really didn't escape, y'know. Or at least let my feet down on the floor so 
I can stand-that's still a punishment--" That's as far as I get. A bell 
rings somewhere. Bill departs. I listen like crazy and can tell a car has 
driven into the garage. There are voices and male laughter, starting out 
faint but getting closer. It is not long before Bill leads the way for a 
pair of heavily laden roughnecks. He opens the door to my cell to allow the 
burdens to be placed inside on the floor. One of them is Daphne, naked. The 
other is an older beauty I do not know, this one is clothed. Both are 
hogtied and gagged. It is not hard to guess they have just come out of the 
trunk of a car. They look up at me in silent wonder. The hoods depart. Us 
three females exchange stricken gazes while Bill looks after his employees. 
All of us are helpless, two are mute. When our kidnapper returns he is 
obviously in a seventh heaven of jubilation. 

"Well, well, well! No loneliness now in my little prison, and plenty of 
cells for all." 

No one says a thing. Bill stoops and unbuckles gags. The clothed woman gets 
her mouth working, then says in a cold controlled fury: "I am rich. I am 
influential. I will be instantly missed. You have no hope whatever, Mr. 
Coro, of getting away with this." 

"I already have." Says our Bill. 

"For only a few hours. Incidentally, Daphne and I are in considerable pain. 
Release us from this trussing." 

"It will do you good, Miss Comstrock. Sabrina, isn't it?" 

"For instant release I am prepared to be generous?" 

"I've probably got more money than you. You're just a rich bitch, I earned 
mine." 

Bill smiles down, Miss Comstock glares up. Daphne says "Hello, Carrie." and 
I say "Hello Daphne, sorry about this." Bill says: "That's enough out of you 
two, keep quiet." Then returns his attention to Miss rich girl. 

"I'm going to let you both loose in this cell with Carrie. The three of you 
can natter, it will save me a lot of talking. I'll leave you alone for 
awhile, but when I return I want to find your clothes and shoes tossed 
outside the bars, all of 'em." 

"Drop dead." 

"If your clothes are not out there you'll be hung up like Carrie and 
stripped, then whipped. Make your own choice." He cuts rope to leave only 
Daphne's ankles tied. Then leaves, slamming the door. 

"The son of a bitch! Daphne, untie yourself and get me loose." 

Daphne says, "Yes, Mistress, right quick, but my fingers are numb--" 

"It would seem we have lots of time, darling. Great Heaven, what I'm going 
to do to that man!" 

It is a busy few minutes. Questions and answers fly like bullets. 
Immediately she is free Sabrina Comstock says: "The first thing is to get 
this poor girl's feet back on the floor." 

"I don't think you'd better." I warn. "I'm being punished. 

"Nonsense!" Sabrina reaches up towards my bandages, but l am far enough up 
to prevent effective reach. It's tantalizing. 

"She's right, Mistress." Daphne offers timidly. "If we let her loose we'll 
all be punished." 

"Hmmmmm... " Miss Comstock actually chuckles. "Well, being a slave owner 
myself, I see your point. Discipline is so damned important. I'd do the same 
myself." She pats my cheek tenderly. "If it was just me I'd risk it but I 
don't want young Daphne whipped. Sorry." 

"I don't mind. I'm used to it. Just pretend I'm not hanging up. We can 
talk... We sure need to talk." 

"But, Mistress?" Daphne is distressed and has a loving hand on Sabrina's 
arm. "What Bill said...?" 

"Nobody expects me to strip for that bastard, do they?" 

"I think you should, Mistress. You're not used to this end of things but 
we're all prisoners, we can't get through those bars." 

"She's right." I agree. "Naked girls in prison always end up doing what 
they're told. There's not much choice." 

"Poor dear, you're in pain suspended "Sure I am, but I still know you'd 
better get those clothes off." 

"Absolutely no! I'm not a prude but I'm not going to bare my cunt for that 
jackass. I'll already be missed, the hunt will be on. We'll be rescued in no 
time." 

I can't bring myself to tell her we will never be rescued, that all three of 
us are in for life. Glumly, I repeat: "Undressing is really the wisest 
thing. Slaves are supposed to be naked... I haven't worn clothes for so damn 
long -" Sabrina sniffs. "Bill Coro and his money why, hell. I could buy him 
up and throw him away." 

It takes a little time for Daph' and I to convince her. I watch the lovely 
features take on the shadows of realisation. No slave girl finds her first 
strip-off easy, and Miss Comstrock is now a slave. For her it will be twice 
as bad, she has been a Mistress. Daphne's adoration of her is obvious. 

Sabrina Comstock strips herself naked in slow disgust. She is certainly no 
prude, she glories in her body, and I can sec why. It is one of the 
loveliest ever. Bill Coro does not rate any one of us three, and without 
ropes and chains he wouldn't have us. But he does have us, he has us good! 
Poor Sabrina... Oh, damn, damn, damn! 

We have a new girl. Tossing her clothes and shoes out beyond the bars where 
they cannot be retrieved is an act by which she sheds enough years to be 
truly one of us girls. Most of her authority goes with her clothes and I 
realise she is only a trifle older than me. I visualise the headlines about 
the 'Vanished Beauty.' Bill Coro sure does have his nerve. 

By the time our fortunate owner returns we have talked ourselves out, we are 
all fully informed. Three pairs of feminine eyes gaze at Bill through the 
bars in a way to gladden his heart. He produces handcuffs. "Stick your hands 
out between bars." 

Daphne sticks her hands out as ordered. When she retrieves them her wrists 
wear shining steel. But Sabrina sneers. "Good gosh, Coro, d'you think I'm 
crazy!" 

"No food or water for any of you until you do." 

Sabrina looks round at us and sees only defeat. We know we are slaves, she 
is not yet sure. Sulkily, she pushes her hands between two bars and brings 
them back in tight chrome. As though puzzled by a new and strange 
confinement she tugs and twists the single link which makes her now doubly 
captive. She stares her owner in the eye and hisses in fury: "You son of a 
bitch... you dirty lousy bastard!" 

"Hard words break no bones, Sabrina." 

"So you've got me naked and you've got me chained!" She glares jeeringly, 
"What comes next? Do I get fucked?" 

"That's not a bad idea." He says it slowly, meaning every word. I'm not sure 
whether I'm jealous or shocked. He won't fuck me but he's anxious to impale 
Sabrina. It's mental, of course, he won't so much be shoving his prick into 
Sabrina's flesh as into her money. It's strange what turns men on. 

"I'll make you a deal." She tells him with equal seriousness. "Cut Carrie 
loose and I'll spread my legs for you." 

"No deal, Miss Comstrock, I can take you when I please." 

"Sure, you can take me kicking and clawing or tied down so I can't move. But 
wouldn't you sooner have me willing? I'll even kiss your ass as a bonus." 
She holds up her handcuffed wrists. "With these on I surely can't cause you 
much trouble?" 

This woman has class, it radiates from her like an aura, she is also 
gloriously lovely. Bill knows a bargain when it's offered. He unlocks the 
cell door and beckons. When Sabrina is outside, he plays it safe with an 
extra pair of cuffs, one on her ankle, the other clipped on her wrist. She 
has to stand on one leg while he comes back in and cuts me down. Then the 
door slams and he carries her away. 

Daphne and I are shocked. I am terribly grateful for release but we both 
hate what is taking place upstairs. Mine is an expensive freedom and anyway. 
I'm still behind bars. I sit, exhausted, on the bench while Daph' tugs and 
bites at the bandages still binding my wrists, their knots have become 
costive under my weight and my struggles. I reassure her dismay by speaking 
my belief Sabrina has more in mind than my comfort, she will have a plan, 
even if it is only woman's oldest weapon of seduction. When my bandages are 
defeated I stretch in animal ecstasy and we speak of making love. But we do 
not have the heart for it. Instead, I clutch her tightly on the bench, our 
only comfort is the heat of our own girl flesh. 

It is a day of disaster. There is blood all over Bill's face when he tosses 
Sabrina back in our cell and hurriedly departs. Both her wrists and ankles 
are tight in handcuffs, she is crying hysterically. 

"I hit the son of a bitch with a chair." She sobs into her joined hands. "I 
can't let him do what he's doing to all three of us, I just can't... But 
he's so damn strong, and I didn't hit him hard enough... and the blasted 
chair broke to bits... We never got around to the fucking bit, but I'll get 
that for sure now, and worse." 

She sobs herself into a quiet acceptance of helplessness. Our hands and lips 
are gentle and compassionate on her lovely nakedness. Perhaps we are all in 
for it now all that blood! Oh, how we hate the bars behind which we are 
caged" We cannot run. We must stay here, three naked girls, awaiting 
judgement. 

Bill returns. He had washed away the blood, his head is roughly bandaged. He 
carries more bandages and tape in his hand. He opens the door and beckons to 
me. 

"I'm going to trust you, Carrie. Fix me properly." 

No threats. And anyway what else can I do! I rearrange his fumbling work, I 
tape and stick adhesive over several wounds. They are ugly but don't need 
stitches, it could not have been a heavy chair. As I wind the bandages I 
wryly reflect on their use. They were probably purchased to bind my wrists. 

"You going to behave, Carrie?" 

"Yes, I know I can't escape." I put the finishing touches to my work, I am 
proud of it. Bill looks heroic. "Tell me what you want." 

"Let's have your hands for starters." 

He handcuffs me. He must have bought the damn things by the gross. As he 
clicks them tight on me I venture, weakly: "Please don't be too hard on 
Sabrina. You know where she comes from and what she was. All this is harder 
for her than for me." I tug and clink my new cuffs. "I'm a slave and I've 
worn a lot of these, it's different with her." 

"I'll deal with the bitch, forget her. I'll deal with you too. But anyway, 
thanks for this bandage job, you've got sweet hands." 

"Bill, be kind to us. We don't have much to look forward to?" 

Handcuffed, I am again under control. Bill inserts me back in the cell and 
drags Sabrina out like a bag of potatoes. Our door clangs and we watch 
through the bars as Bill Coro hangs Miss Sabrina Comstrock up by her wrists 
in the cell next door. He suspends her the same way I was except there are 
no bandages. Sabrina is cuffed hand and foot and that is the way she hangs. 
She moans. 

"Master, her wrists will be cut to bits!" 

"Too damn bad, eh." He could not care less. 

"Master, use bandages on her. Whip me instead." 

"Can the sympathy, kid, and don't tempt me." 

He is not the old Bill Coro. He has had a shock. I am trembling when he 
beckons me from the cell. I start out to say: "Please, Bill, go easy--" But 
his finger admonishes silence. He is going to punish me, I know he is. Oh 
damn, what have I done... ! 

It is one of the solid doors. The small room behind it contains a pillory 
and a set of stocks. They are massive and solid and menacing. "She broke her 
word, honey." Bill says heavily, "And you didn't finish your punishment... 
I'm damn fed up with the way girls act." 

He unlocks my handcuffs and lifts the top yoke of the pillory invitingly. 
Meekly, I insert my neck, arrange my hair, then place my wrists where they 
must go. The yoke falls and there comes the solid snap of a padlock I cannot 
reach. 

"Look, kid, there's worse things I could do to you." 

"Yes, Master. Thank you." 

He goes away but soon returns with Daphne. She has not transgressed so gets 
off easy. She must sit on a hard bench with her ankles firmly clamped in the 
stocks. Her hands just stay handcuffed. For Daphne, it could be much, much 
worse. She looks at me and explodes. 

"Oh, Carrie darling, what a beastly way to fix you!" 

I wriggle unhappily and admit: "I'm not quite sure, Daph', but I think it's 
going to be better than suspension." 

"But you can't move, and you look so sad and pathetic with your hands and 
head on one side and the rest of you on the other." 

"I'll just have to put up with it. A lot of other girls have had to. You're 
not all that well off yourself, darling." 

"Well, yes. But if he leaves us here for the night I can probably nap, you 
can't." 

The prospect is too awful. In a small panic I wrench and twist. The pillory 
mocks my feminine strength and holds me fast. I divert my terror into 
sympathy. "But, Daphne, think of your Mistress! We're both better off than 
she is. Poor darling--!" 

"Her wrists were showing specks of blood when I left." Daphne shivers. "The 
way Bill's hung her up is pure torture." 

I am tremendously thankful for Daphne. It would be too awful to have to 
stand in the clutch of these baulks of timber all alone, and we have much to 
talk about. We are not gagged, and I suspect this an oversight Bill may 
correct, so we chatter while we can, and dispose our nudities this small way 
and that seeking a comfort we will never be allowed. Significantly, in all 
our talk, we neither of us mention escape. Escape is now something too 
remote and improbable to even talk about. We are slaves. After awhile our 
aches and tiredness still our tongues. I hate this wooden monster with an 
increasing hate. After a very long time Bill returns and unlocks my padlock 
and lifts the yoke. 

* * * 

I don't know what to call this relationship between Bill Coro and me. Sure, 
I'm his slave and he's my master. He owns me and can do what he pleases with 
my person. But there is more to it than that. He has known me socially. He 
has made deals over me with Jason. In the course of my forcible entry into, 
and my escapes from, his lousy Jail I have come to know him very well. He 
does not know me or any woman, he never will the way he goes about it with 
us. Poor Bill, he's so damned inept. But, absurd as this may be, there has 
grown between us some sort of relationship in which it is not hard for us to 
talk. He sits with me now in the small cell in which I have spent the night 
alone. My feet bears shackles, that is all. 

"Honey, I don't treat you all that good, do I?" 

"No, Bill, you don't." 

"I'd meant to leave you in that pillory through the night but I got to 
thinking--" He sighs heavily. "You've really been a damn good girl. You were 
keeping your promise when Jason yanked you out from under my feet. Honey, 
how 'bout you and me get married?" 

"Bill, you've got me already, and you've got this Thing about refusing to 
sleep with me...?" 

He nods. I think he'd have been shocked if I'd dumped a wedding in his lap. 
"O.K., Carrie, we'll let that slide. How'd you like to be a sort of Mistress 
over the other girls, with authority?" 

"How can a girl be a Mistress when she's chained herself?" 

"Would I have to keep you chained?" 

"Well... wouldn't you? Gosh, Bill, no girl wants to be a prisoner all her 
life. You must know I'd escape if I could, why else would you lock me in 
this cell or chain my feet the way they are?" 

"I'd sort of figgered on a bit more freedom for you after you get over the 
hassle of this last time I had to kidnap you--getting my own property back 
is what it really amounts to." 

"Bill, this freedom...?" 

"I'd thought maybe just your feet chained so you can't run and you'd be in a 
cell at night " 

"Well... thanks. I'll accept." I kick my shackles. "These are a lot better 
than that damn Pillory." 

"Of course, there will still be punishments if if--" 

"If I'm a naughty girl? O.K., I'll accept that too. It sort of leaves it up 
to me. But, Bill, on this Wardress, Matron, Head Girl thing, neither Daphne 
or I would be much good, we're both submissives. Who else but a submissive 
would be talking to you now. The girl for you is Sabrina Comstock, she's a 
Mistress for sure." 

"Maybe, but she's going to get broke down into a submissive." He glowers 
indignantly. "Hitting me with that chair...!" 

"But, Master, a kidnapped girl's desperate. She'll do anything--" 

"Not to me, she won't." He snorts. "That bitch is going to be taught a few 
lessons. I'll whip the ass off her--and in case you're bothered about it, I 
didn't keep her hanging by those cuffs. I gave her an hour of it and then 
hogtied her for the night." He chuckles. "Right now she's almost polite." 

"She's dangerous, Master. The whole country will be looking for her. You're 
playing with fire--" 

"Huh, that's just the way it looks to you, honey. But no one's going to find 
her here, nor you either. I'm going to fuck her until she whimpers." He 
laughs at a mental picture, "Maybe I'll bring in some help." 

As we talk I become aware Bill's interest wanes, he has something on his 
mind. I suppose it is the other girls who he has locked away somewhere I 
cannot see. But, in this I am wrong. He makes an excuse about a phone call 
and departs. I try the door, it is firmly locked. I suspect, for all his 
talk, I will never know very much freedom again. It is about mid morning 
when we get our next shock. 

It is the noise in the garage again. It is the same two men. With brutal 
competence they tie Jollie to the whipping post. They tear the clothes from 
her magnificent femaleness to leave her nude. They go away. Jollie struggles 
for awhile but her wrists are bound high above her head, she is helpless. 
When she concedes victory to the ropes she turns and sees me peering through 
the bars. She tries to wave but cannot, instead she nods and kicks playfully 
with one foot. She repeats the greeting twice more, evidently Daph' and her 
Mistress are visible in the same caged manner as myself. 

I am beginning to be impressed. Bill Coro now has four naked women subject 
to his will. He is kidnapping girls high wide and handsome and, quite 
probably, with impunity. But if he is caught... ! Strangely, I have no wish 
to see Bill Coro go to prison for life. He is just a bumbling idiot with too 
much money and a dream of girls... or is this another evidence of my 
submission. Most likely it is because I have worn his chains so long. Seems 
like a girl can get used to anything... ! Oh shit! 

When Bill makes his entry he is not an amiable man. He carries a whip and 
wears a look so grim I shudder. With his latest captive he wastes no time. 

"You let two of my girls loose." He pauses portentously. "You know what I'm 
going to do to you." 

"Yeah, I let 'em loose, and sure I knows what yer gonna' do to me, Mist' 
Coro. Ain't nothin' I can do 'bout it." 

Their words drift to our cells. Soon, too, does the awful whine and snicker 
of the whip. It snaps across Jollie's shoulders with a nauseating impact to 
send her into gyrations of bucking and heaving at her bound hands. She 
neither screams nor pleads. When the thong cracks across her firm round rump 
she does no more than thrust her pubic triangle and her breasts against the 
post to weld her flesh to the wood for whatever help she can get, it is 
sadly little. 

Thirty strokes, you brown bitch." 

I shiver at my owner's mood. I hope when he has whipped all of us enough he 
will return to being the bumptious idiotic bumbler who has held me captive 
in the past. Breathlessly, I watch the flash of his arm and the rising weals 
on Jollie's skin. Thirty strokes is a terrible sentence and he delivers them 
slowly with a heavy hand. Poor Jollie's motions are mostly with her head and 
the kicking of a leg. She expects what she is getting, she will not plead. 
But there are sounds, small terrible pathetic sounds the whip extracts... I 
wince with every blow. When Jollie has been striped thirty times Bill stands 
back. 

"It's for life this time, Jollie. Understand?" 

"Yes... I understand." Her voice is pale and sulky. 

"You can stay where you are awhile. Think a bit. Get your head space right." 

"Yes, Mist' Coro." 

Bill stalks away, victorious. Jollie rises on her toes to get a bit of 
slack, then shakes herself like a dog. She looks my way and grins, I could 
swear she winks. We are too far apart to risk talking, we could be 
overheard. 

When our owner comes and takes me from the cell Jollie remains with her 
hands bound high on the post. She must be hating the position by now, it 
keeps her taut, and she cannot know if there are not more strokes to come. I 
think she cries a little but why not! 

Upstairs is gorgeous. Looking at the immaculate kitchen I almost decide to 
marry this rich oddball who holds the key to my chains. But he has made 
coffee and sandwiches and I am suddenly ravenous. I forget all else except 
this lovely domestic comfort. I eat and drink like a pig. 

"Well, sweetheart, this is it. Just chained feet. You've got the run of the 
place." 

I almost stop eating. 

"Everything's barred or locked. If you tamper with a door or window a bell 
rings and you get whipped but good. When I'm away I'll have to fix you some 
way but I'll try and make it easy." 

"But, Master, you can't spend your life playing warden to four naked 
females!" 

"Don't aim to." He's really pleased with himself. "I got an office here and 
a phone-you won't ever get near that phone." 

"Of course, Master." Gosh, these sandwiches are good! "But if I'm free... I 
mean like this with my hands and not behind bars I can be kind to the girls? 
I could go down now and untie Jollie?" 

"Yeah, I thought of that. But if you act that way you both get whipped. If a 
girl's being punished leave her alone." 

He has covered all the bases. Seeking chinks in his armour, I ask: "I'll 
have a lot of time on my hands, Bill. What do I do with it?" 

"Talk to the gals. Make 'em coffee and a bite to eat like this here, and you 
can keep this place tidy and clean." 

"Do I get whipped if I don't?" 

Bill examines the idea. "Well, I 'spose you should, eh?" 

"Yes, Master." 

"I love the way you say that, honey. Butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, and 
all the time you're figuring how to get out of here." He laughs. "You're 
going to be one awful frustrated female." 

"Can I send a letter to Jason to tell him I haven't been murdered or 
something?" 

"Pushing your luck, kid. But, O.K. After I've read it I'll maybe mail it for 
you." 

"Thanks, Bill... honest!" 

When night comes poor old Bill is up the creek as to what to do with me. 
Resignedly, I suggest the cell. At least I can sleep well on the bench, it 
will be better than being chained someplace like a dog. He is relieved. He 
locks me safely inside and kisses me goodnight through the bars. This whole 
thing is nuts. 

My Master is like a kid. When he's got a surprise he can't wait to share it. 
He's almost starry eyed as he leads me to the room where he's got poor 
Sabrina Comstrock. My chain clinks more or less cheerfully beside him to the 
door, then he says: "Go ahead, go on in. I've got something to attend to." 

I am still taking my chained freedom with a grain of salt. It's lovely but 
I'm sure if I do something wrong I'll be chained in a dungeon with my back 
and bottom well striped. But I show willingness and go on in. 

It's a sort of table. Sabrina is spread out on it, well stretched into an 
'X.' She is gorgeously naked and her bushy sex stares me in the face 
pleading for attention. Her wrists and ankles are tightly bound to four 
rings. We stare at each other, assessing what is possible under the Law. 

"I don't suppose you dare let me loose, darling?" 

I shake my head unhappily and stoop to kiss her red lips. "I can't, Sabrina, 
we'd only be whipped or something horrible... " I sit beside her and wave my 
shackled feet. "See, I'm not really free." 

"But you must have some sort of deal? You're sleeping with the son of a 
bitch?" 

I explain my status. She is a mature woman, computing odds while I tell her 
of my privilege. "Good gosh, Carrie, you're a trusty?" 

"Yes, but it won't get us any closer to freedom." 

"Let's make the most of it, dear. Haul that damn pillow out from under my 
rump." 

I see it for the first time, a cute obscenity doubly exposing Sabrina's 
hairy slit. I pull it out. "I'm not sure I should do this." I quaver 
doubtfully. "It could get us both in trouble." 

"Well, O.K. Put it back in a few minutes. It will give my back a rest. That 
bastard's got me stretched so damn tight...!" She gives me a wry grin. "You 
know what I'm fixed like this for and that damn pillow! I'm going to get 
fucked to a fare ye well." 

I'd guessed that first thing. If ever any woman was an open invitation for 
the thrust of pricks Sabrina was right now. The pillow would be an added 
assertion of male convenience. I nod unhappily, "He's sort of funny about... 
what you said. He won't do it to me." 

"You offered?" 

"I thought it might be a way of getting around him. I never guessed he'd tie 
me down like this." 

"Oh, I'm being punished, sweetheart. Remember the chair? Say, is the asshole 
alone with us or are there others?" I was in the middle of telling her Bill 
was the only male when he comes back in. He sees the pillow first thing. 
"Put that back under her ass, Carrie." 

I do it. I am trembling. Suddenly I want very much to stay as I am. I don't 
want to be punished or go back in a cell. I should have known... ! But my 
owner has other things on his mind than a pillow. "Run along, Carrie." He 
tells me abruptly. "I've things to do." 

I slip out the door, knowing damn well what he's going to do to Sabrina. 
She'll live, of course, there's no sense getting maudlin over a girl getting 
herself fucked, it happens all the time. But just the same... ! 

I clank and rattle my way across to where I can see a bare arm waving 
through the bars. For a girl to have her ankles joined by chain may seem a 
little thing in her life but it sure does put a crimp on her mobility. I can 
walk but with cautious steps for fear of stubbing my toe in a link or 
stepping on the damn chain. I cannot run at all no way! And the noise I make 
keeps me shamed and very much aware of what and where I am. But the rest of 
me is free, and this is wonderful. 

Daphne is locked in a neat little cell with stone walls and a barred front. 
Her neck is collared and padlocked to the wall by a long chain which does no 
good except to tell her where she's at. If the door was open the collar 
would keep her prisoner, but the door is locked. Daph's a darling, she wants 
me to persuade Bill to chain her feet and allow her to walk around with me. 
I'd like that too but I bet he won't do it.-Bill Coro has a fetish about 
girls and iron bars, he believes we should spend half our life peering 
through them wistfully at our lost freedom. If someone handed him an iron 
bar on the street he'd hold it up against a girl for proper perspective. I 
think his underlying motive in kidnapping girls is the same as a collector 
of fine paintings: they are valuable, there is a tremendous pride in 
possession, and they are beautifully decorative. The picture hangs lonely on 
the wall, we languish in a cell same difference. 

Jollie is next door, she is still being punished. She stands forlornly in 
the centre of her little prison and holds one arm up in the air. She has to, 
it is chained to a hook in the ceiling. She is a mahogany Juno sentenced to 
an uncomfortable day because a man is mad at her. But she is still the old 
Jollie: "What ah'm gonna do to that mizzable bastard when ah gits outta' 
here...!" She grins. "You got promoted?" 

"Sort of. Oh, Jollie, we'll never get out of here." I shake at the bars that 
keep me from her. "It's all hopeless, look at the chains on my feet!" 

Jollie turns so I can view her whipmarked back. "Look what that son of a 
bitch done to me. I'm gonna' git him fo' sho', And it ain't hopeless, honey, 
nothin's hopeless. That there Mist' Coro he's just a man. Ah ain't never 
seen no man ah couldn't git around someway. Men don't 'mount to nothin'." 

I am strangely comforted. Jollie is more helpless than I am, and she is 
suffering punishment, but her courage is infectious. If I wanted a champion 
for my femaleness it would be her. Wanly, I look at her taut arm and the 
metal band biting her wrist. Even if I was in there I could not help. I am 
about to condole when there comes sounds and we are joined by company. It is 
Bill's two hired thugs. When they get close enough Jollie spits: "What you 
two fuckers want now! Ah'm gonna make yo' sorry enough as it is." 

Appreciatively they examine my breasts and pubic patch before turning their 
attention through the bars. 

"You just said it, coloured gal'. Had us a key we'd bang you too." 

It fits. I think of poor Sabrina with the ropes cutting her wrists and 
ankles and her belly concave from the pillow and the stretch. That chair 
really must have hurt Bill's dignity as well as his head but this is a 
horrible way to punish the girl who used it. I think it would be bad enough 
to lay still, scared to death, while three men raped you, but to be tied 
down the way Sabrina is and not able to move while you see one impaling 
weapon after another make its approach and enter your sheath-Ugh! 

They turn to rape me mentally with sardonic scrutiny. With my back against 
the bars I wonder if Bill has given them carte blanche. But their manner is 
simply offensively jovial. "Boss man keep you chained all the time, honey?" 

"She can still spread her legs far enough." 

"Won't do no runnin' though. Every gal' oughta' wear 'em." 

I sense a faint and guarded respect. They do not touch me. Evidently I am a 
perquisite of Mr. Coro only. They saunter away to where Sabrina waits. They 
knock and enter. A few moments later Bill appears and beckons. Obediently, I 
clink my shameful way across the wide expanse of floor. Passing the whipping 
post, I shudder. 

"Honey, I want you watching this, there's a lesson in it for you." 

"Bill, please... no! It's horrible." 

There is always a whip around somewhere. Bill picks it up and cuts it 
savagely across Sabrina's loins. She and I gasp and cringe in unison. The 
red line forms. 

"Every time you ain't watching, she gets another." Bill warns cordially. 
"You be a sensible girl." 

So I'm a sensible girl. What the hell else can I be! I try not to look at 
the exposed hairy triangle that is the hub and centre of what is taking 
place, but my eyes inevitably turn... It is a gorgeously plump and swollen 
vagina and there are secretions... Hastily I turn away. I try and offer 
sympathy with a glance but this naked woman tied down to the table will not 
look at anyone, her eyes search for sanctuary where none can see. Sabrina 
Comstock is utterly shamed. 

To myself I call it a plowing match. The men cut a furrow and plant their 
seed. Perhaps once might be bearable but this goes on and on until all three 
of them are exhausted. One of our visitors looks at me and says: "I could 
get it up again for her?", but Bill tells him to forget it. Raping is over 
for the day. 

But the day itself is far from done. It appears Bill's virile retainers are 
on a dual mission. When the door opens my admiration for my Master's 
audacity receives another boost. Out on the floor are a pair of girls. They 
can't be a day over eighteen. They are quite lovely with silken platinum 
hair and pleased expectant smiles. They are linked by a single pair of 
handcuffs on adjoining wrists and wear the metal and their joining with the 
unconscious grace of Siamese twins, and twins is what they are--identical. 

"Who the hell let them out of the truck?" Bill growls. 

One of his rapists looks sheepish. "Guess I forgot the door." He admits. 
"Ain't no harm done, they can't get out." 

"It was so dull in the garage and we didn't think you'd mind." The young 
voices are bright with goodwill and undismayed by what they see. "I expect 
we've been kidnapped?" 

"Damn right you've been kidnapped." 

"Don't it bother you none?" 

The twins beam. "You put something in our coffee, didn't you. That's an 
awfully kind way to do it. I mean... we aren't even bruised." They hold up 
cuffed wrists delightedly. "And these are so cute. Please don't take them 
off, we'd like to wear them awhile." 

They speak and act delightfully in unison. They are altogether too good to 
be true or are mentally retarded. It is Bill's turn to look sheepish. 

"Yeah, you're kidnapped O.K.." 

"White slavery or ransom? We haven't any money." 

"Just for me, actually. I keep girls for pets-look, kids, are you putting on 
an act?" 

"Oh, no. We're just so terribly thrilled. We think every girl ought to be 
kidnapped once-" They break off and peer into the room where Sabrina's 
glistening sex bids them mute welcome. "Oooooooo, are you going to do that 
to us?" 

"Not unless you're bad." 

"You mean we have to be naughty...?" 

I repress a giggle. I can't believe this is happening. Bill nods shortly and 
his henchmen melt away. Obviously their brawn is not required for these two 
sweet young things. A truck roars, a door bangs shut. Bill Coro's prison is 
back to normal. The twin's eyes flit around, missing nothing. 

"Girls don't wear clothes here, do they. Do you want us to take ours off?" 

Bill is aware of lost initiative, it is diminishing his pleasure. If these 
two now asked to be whipped, I think he'd cry. 

"Might as well." He concedes gruffly. "Stick 'em in a corner someplace, you 
won't be needing 'em again." 

Handcuffs impede them but little, their insouciant strip reveals lubricity 
of such luscious innocence as to get Bill Coro about three life sentences if 
he gets caught. "We hope you like us." They say anxiously. "We think we're 
nice." 

They are a lecher's delight. They delight me. Forgetting proper respect, I 
gasp: "Where on earth did you find them, Bill?" 

"We do an act round the Clubs." They look me up and down with approval. 
"Will we get to wear those groovy chains on our ankles?" 

Bill seems out of this. I speak for him. "I'm sure Mr. Coro will arrange 
some for you. He's our Master. He owns us." 

They spare Bill a polite but brief attention. "How'd you do. Our names are 
Sandy and Sue." Their interest returns to the bound nakedness on the table. 
"Shouldn't someone untie this lady?" 

"No. She stays. She's misbehaved herself." Bill has become heavily macho. 
"You can pull that pillow out from under her ass if you want." 

Their step is light, their fingers deft. The pillow falls on top of their 
clothes. Sabrina says "Thank you." with great sincerity. 

"Those men all fucked you." They giggle admiringly. "We know what it's 
like." 

My Master eyes me sternly. "I'm taking a shower, Carrie. Show 'em around and 
tell 'em the rules. Make lunch if you want. When you're ready you can put 
'em in any cell. Lock yourself in with 'em, I'll be along to let you out." 

"Can we untie her now he's gone?" The twins ask brightly. 

"You'll get whipped if you do." 

"He wouldn't?" They look more pleased than frightened. 

I point to Sabrina's scarlet line, entranced, they run exploring fingers 
along the weal. "You mean... Mr. Coro, that man... he'd put lovely marks 
like this on us?" Their eyes sparkle. 

"Look, leave me alone." Sabrina says wearily. "He's mad at me and I can 
understand why. It isn't much fun being tied down like this but it's better 
than being whipped, and that's what will happen to all of us if you let me 
loose." 

"Gollies... Jeepers!" They stand, awed by fresh vistas, and turn their 
radiance upon each other. 

Oh, Brownie...!" 

"Pinkie, darling...!" 

"You said your names were Sandy and Sue...?" 

They giggle. "Well, yes they are but these are our pet names. I'm Sandy, and 
one of my nipples is brown. See!" She pokes out a pert breast. "Sue's are 
both pink. So that's where our names come from." More giggles. "It's the 
only real way to tell us apart but we do have to be naked... or sort of." 
They spread their radiance on Sabrina and myself. " 'Course, that doesn't 
matter here where girls don't wear clothes. While we're here you'll be able 
to tell us apart." 

"Are you sure you understand?" I ask gently. "You're not just visiting, 
you're here for life. We all are. We're prisoners." 

This time they are NOT entranced. "You mean that guy won't let us go after 
he's had his fun! Gee-whiz, we've got a booking for next week...?" 

"You'll be kept in cells, and chained, and have things done to you like 
what's being done to Sabrina here. Sweethearts, you'll have to forget 
freedom." 

I watch their radiance fade as realisation takes hold in a dismal silence. 
Sue puts her head on Sandy's shoulder and weeps. It is a sweet 
undemonstrative shedding of tears which Sandy dries with her one free hand 
as they wet her skin. These two are heartbreaking to watch, they are so 
beautiful. When Sue's salt drops cease to fall Sandy reverses their position 
and has her own small storm of weeping which Pinkie ministers to with 
maternal love. They are out of this world. 

Sabrina and I watch as the twin's unquenchable radiance slowly returns. 
Urgently, she pleads: "Good! You've had your cry. Now run along a minute 
while I speak to Carrie." They nod. They make play with their handcuff, 
delighted by a new toy. They depart. Sabrina's whisper is exultant. "Carrie, 
we've got a hope. I had a chance to whisper in one of those bastard's ear 
while he... while he was" 

"But they're both Bill Coro's men, they won't?" 

"Yes they will. I offered a million cash. A cluck like that isn't going to 
turn down that kind of money." 

Hope flares within. Sabrina is too big a bite for Bill to chew. He should 
have used more judgement. Daph' and me and Jollie, we're nothings, he can 
kidnap us without making ripples. But the Mistress of Mounthaven... ! I kiss 
the poor soiled darling on the table. We agree to keep the secret to 
ourselves. Uncaring of consequence, I slack the rope round one of Sabrina's 
wrists to ease a hand slowly turning purple, then clink hurriedly after the 
twins. 

They are engrossed with Jollie, peering through the bars of her cell as with 
a sideshow at a fair. Half way across the floor I hear her voice. "Don' yo' 
worry none 'bout me, girlies, yo' watch yo' own little asses." To me, she 
adds: "That guy he's plumb crazy. He'll have every gal' in the State behind 
bars afore long." 

The twins are sincerely interested in Jollie's plight. They survey her 
stretched arm and shackled wrist. Their enquiry is polite: "Docs that hurt 
real bad?" 

"It's damn mizzable, honey." 

"Will he do that to us?" 

"More'n likely. Yo' best treat him real sweet." 

"And does he screw you too?" 

Their reference to the sex act has an innocence all its own, they are 
amoral. As yet. the world has not managed to soil their kittenish naivete. 
They do not belong in this place in the sense that Daphne and I belong not 
that we want to be here but bondage put its hand on us long before Bill Coro 
did. 

Poor Daphne, she has been ignored. Like visitors at a Zoo, we move on to the 
next cage where she is having a tussle with the bars in an effort not to 
miss what's going on. We bring her up to date. Our eyes meet and we shrug. 
We cannot yet tell if these girls will lighten our captivity or darken it. 

"Remember, Carrie, you promised?" 

I look blankly at their expectant faces. Their spasm of tears has wiped 
clean their dismay. With the quick adjustments of children they have 
accepted imprisonment and are avid for whatever novelties captivity affords. 
I can see in them a seething sensuality, anything erotic will intrigue them. 
I doubt if they have ever heard of Bondage but its connotations of enforced 
submission has them agog. They are intensely female. My memory clicks. 

"Oh, you want your feet chained?" 

"Of course. Those things are gorgeous, they make you yummy." 

"They also make a racket when you walk, and stop you running away." 

"We can't get out of here anyway." They giggle. "We've already tried but 
everything's locked tight." They hold up their linked hands. "We think these 
are really super, especially for twins like us. So we'd like those things 
you're wearing too... Please?" 

"I could get punished..." 

"No you won't. That silly big man will think we're real sexy with our feet 
chained. Besides, you've got them and Daphne in the cage has got them?" 

They are irresistible. I have a lovely vision of them wheedling Bill into 
some fatal mistake. I shrug. I have already discovered a cupboard full of 
metal and rope and leather to keep girls in their place. There are no keys, 
but every item is ready. When I open the door there is a peal of delight. 

"Owwwwww... Wow!" 

"Can we try everything?" 

If I was a prankster I could load them each with a hundred pounds of metal 
and then break the news about no key. Instead, I let them rummage and 
inspect and then choose their own shackles for their feet. I lock them on 
the all too willing ankles. 

"J don't have the key, y'know. Only our Master can unlock you. 

"We don't want to be unlocked, not ever. Oh, wow!" 

In adolescent excitement they take their first fettered steps. I can see the 
tragedy of this innocence locked in irons but they do not. Their handcuff 
compels them to swirl their chains together. When one snags her toe they 
stumble together and get back up laughing. They are as delighted to wear 
Bill's shackles on their feet as they would be if he gave each a mink coat. 
Soon they are walking with feline grace. They are very happy. I take them to 
a cell. When I am safely inside with them I add my touch of drama. 

"Listen to this sound, girls." I slam the door closed, its lock snaps shut. 
It is a sound I fear. "Now I can't open it. Only Bill Coro has the key. 
We're prisoners." 

Pinkie and Brownie are delighted. It is one more thrill. I must admit, 
myself, to the old familiar heat between my thighs as they go and push and 
pull at the bars to make sure I am not kidding. It is only then I remember I 
should have made a lunch. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT - NO ESCAPE 

Bill's doing things in style. In this imprisonment with him, and I've 
forgotten how many I've had, he has changed. He is kind to me and seems to 
have glimpsed some of the sensible ways for a man to act around a girl. In 
spite of my chained feet I'm a lot better off, and there's a silly sort of 
comradeship. I suppose it's simply that we've got used to each other. But 
I'm the only one he is kind to. 

We are all lined up to watch Sabrina whipped. 

We don't want to watch but we have to. Even Jollie has been released for the 
occasion. It is a quite military affair with Bill as the drill sergeant. I 
look down our short line of nude females at a variety of bonds, Bill is 
taking no chances. The feet of each girl are chained same as mine. With me 
that's all. But Jollie's hands and elbows are tied cruelly behind her back, 
there's a collar on her neck. Daphne stands beside me with her hands tied 
behind her back. I sort of get the idea Bill's used rope because it hurts 
more than handcuffs and, the way he ties, no one's going to get loose. Our 
cuffed and fettered twins stand between us all constrained only as I had 
fastened them, they are helpless enough. Their eyes shine in bright 
anticipation, they are the only one's happy. 

"I've told her what's she's done and what she's going to get for it." Bill 
is heavily macho. "She has the nerve to proposition one of my boys while 
she's getting screwed. A million bucks! Milady High and Mighty forgot about 
the family, a million's no damn good to a guy when he's dead." 

My heart sinks, a hope is shattered. Miserably I blurt out. "Don't be mean 
to her, Bill... Master. Any of us girls would have done the same." 

"And any one of you would have got the same as she's going to get." Bill 
assures me jovially. "What I'm doing is giving six girls a lesson, best you 
all pay attention." 

What the hell else can we do! We are all helpless. Sabrina is helpless too. 
When he leads her from the shameful room her feet are ironed, heavy ugly 
things to demean her. She walks in them with difficulty. To shame her more 
he takes her to the bathroom, every step a clank and rattle of big links. 
They are gone quite awhile. 

"Will Mr. Coro whip us after he's done with her?" The twins enquire 
hopefully. 

"Yo' watch out fer them little rumps." Jollie reproves maternally. "The 
first couple hots up yo' cat. After that yo' wishes yo' was dead." 

When Sabrina clanks back her dismal path to punishment she is crying. 
Reaching the dread post, she makes a stand. 

"Look, Coro, I may have a lot of money but I won't be able to stand the way 
you whip a girl. I'm no heroine, I'll break down. I just know I will." 

"Good." 

"I've done you no harm. You've taken everything away from me. I don't 
deserve to be whipped, not any more than Jollie did." 

"I'll be the judge of that. Get over to the post." 

"Must it be a flogging?" Poor Sabrina blushes. "Couldn't you hurt me enough 
by using a crop or something on my bottom?" 

"Don't want that pretty back marked up, eh." 

"I don't want to be marked up at all, but I know when I'm beat. Look, all 
I'm doing is asking for mercy?" 

"Maybe there's mercy in whipping you." Bill warns heavily. "When it's over 
you'll have gotten rid of a lot of that lady of Mounthaven stuff. Naked and 
chained you're no better than the rest of the girls I've collected." 

"Look, Coro, let me buy freedom for all of us? I don't care the price. A 
million for each of us if you want?" 

"Get your ass over to that post, woman!" 

Sabrina has said the wrong thing, I know she has. Desperately I say the 
wrong thing too. "Master... please! She doesn't understand. Whip me 
instead?" 

"Shut up, Carrie, don't you know when you're well off?" 

I know when I'm well off. I shut up. Sabrina takes a metallic step towards 
the post when Pinkie and Brownie make their pitch. "We'd love to be whipped, 
Mr. Coro. Miss Comstock's had a bad day, so if you'd enjoy whipping a 
girl...?" 

Bill is fascinated. Who wouldn't be! He has not yet had time to probe the 
full potential of his new possessions. He pauses to digest the offer. Eyes 
sparkling, the twins wait, breathless. 

"If you two are putting me on you're going to be sorry. I'll warm your 
little seats... Get on over." 

Bill's preparations are simple. He does not take Pinkie and Brownie 
seriously. They are already handcuffed together, so he drapes their 
wriggling nudities round the post and uses another pair of cuffs to join 
their free hands. They could play a limited 'ring around the Rosie' with the 
post in the middle. 

"Isn't this exciting!" Their exclamation is to each other. In delicious 
suspense they watch Bill select a suitably pliant instrument for the wealing 
of bottoms. It makes me cringe but their dual reaction is: "Oooooo, isn't it 
lovely!" 

I will never forget the expression on Sue's face when Bill cuts his first 
furrow. Her eyes widen, her jaw drops, she tugs against her sister with 
cuffed hands, then throws herself at the post. Sandy lifts her arms to 
enable her sibling to clutch the wood as though she was drowning. Indeed she 
is drowning, but in a sea of pain. Small bare feet beat a tattoo on the 
floor. 

Whilst Sandy is preoccupied with Sue's distress, Bill thoughtfully swings 
and indents a real shocker across her chubby cheeks. Two red lines flame up 
on virgin bottoms. 

These girls are delectable. We watch their performance enthralled as 
shackles swirl and slender wrists perform two tugs of war. They most 
ardently wish to embrace each other but they can't. They can only go round 
and round the post and get their feet entangled in their chains. Foiled in 
one dire need, their hands strive to comfort the hurt flesh of their 
derrieres. Since their fingers cannot reach, they strive to twist their 
bottoms to their hands. The resulting contortions excite me, and I'm a girl, 
goodness knows what they do to Bill. We are regaled with a feast of bottoms, 
pussies and pubic hair. 

"We didn't like that a bit, Mr. Coro, but thank you very much." 

As usual, the young voices are in unison. Anxious faces gaze at the big man 
with the riding crop. 

"How about I give you nineteen more apiece?" 

"We'd rather be screwed, if you don't mind." 

Bill is delighted with his acquisition. Chuckling, he takes from them one 
set of handcuffs. Free hands rubbing wounded bottoms, they return into line. 
Standing between us they thrust breasts to breasts and cheek to cheek. They 
also manage to mingle their pubic hair. Sweetly, they weep. 

"Well, that's the prelude." Bill announces cheerfully. "Now for the main 
event." He eyes Sabrina benignly, the mood has softened. "C'mon, honey, get 
yourself whipped and get it over with." 

Sabrina senses a favourable wind. Without a word she thrusts her breasts 
against the post and embraces it with bare arms. Bill crosses her wrists, 
ties them, then hoists them high and pegs them there. Sabrina is on her 
toes, she can evade nothing. She presses her forehead hard against the wood. 
I know how she feels. 

Bill Coro lashes Miss Comstock's bare back fifteen times. It is a far lesser 
punishment than she would have gotten an hour ago. I suspect, too, the blows 
are not as hard as he might have dealt. She does not scream but does all the 
other things girls do when they are whipped. We wince and pay our dutiful 
attention. 

"Leave her on the post, honey, put the others in their cells. Then come to 
the kitchen." 

"Please, Master, may I untie their hands?" 

"Oh, I suppose so, sweetheart." 

Bill is enjoying his dividends from female flesh, he is still absorbed with 
Sabrina's scarlet etched back. I motion and my charges obey. It would seem, 
whether I want it or not, I am a wardress. I hastily untie knots and am 
rewarded with kisses and ardent arms. Regretfully, I clang shut the barred 
doors, then rattle my chained feet upstairs. 

There is something wonderfully comforting about the popping up of hot brown 
toast and the bubbling chortle of the percolator. Bill scorns the modern 
devices for producing an innocuous brew, this coffee is for real with the 
brown fluid busily contained within the small glass bulb in the lid. With 
equal industry I butter and slice. Downstairs is a million miles away. Bill 
gulps and munches with a fine proprietary air. 

This is a scrumptious kitchen. It has everything and is a nice place in 
which to sit. I forget my feet are chained, I become a happy housewife. I 
think how nice it would be to be married and do this every morning. Not 
married to Bill, of course, not unless there was no one else... ! 

"This is damn nice, honey, I'm real proud of you." 

Bill beams. I ask about those down in the cells, they'll be hungry. But he 
waves their need aside. For the moment it is he and I. He wants no 
interruption of domestic bliss. He proposes marriage and I decline. This has 
become a recurrent ritual in our association, I have heard of girls being 
worn down into compliance by persistent attrition. But it does give a female 
a nice feeling of an ace in the hole. Timidly, I ask: "Bill, what on Earth 
are you going to do with all these girls?" 

"Just collect 'em." He says placidly. "It's like butterflies and stamps." 

"But you don't want to use us the way girls expect to be used--except 
Sabrina, and I think you fucked her only because you were angry." 

Bill waves carnality away, it embarrasses him. I suspect he had a puritan 
mother. "Forget it, sweetheart, I see more to girls than just cunts. If I 
want to screw I've got the twins, they'd be a panic." He grins at a vision. 
"Leave 'em handcuffed together and see how they act." 

"You'd all end up giggling." 

"Well, whatever. But anyway you look at it I'm a damn lucky man. This is the 
way it should be those old buffers in biblical days...!" 

"So alright, Bill, I marry you. What happens then? Do you turn the rest 
loose?" 

"Hell no!" He has become earnest. "If we were married I'd screw you and keep 
the rest for decoration and fun. You'd sooner it was them in a cell than 
you, eh?" 

"Well, yes. Would you keep me chained?" 

"Wouldn't figure I'd need to or would I?" 

I tell him no I suppose not, we share a laugh. Then, because of this warmth 
between us, I warn: "Bill, I'm scared about this whole thing, not for me but 
for you. Jason will know it's you who's kidnapped me. If he gives your name 
to the police they'll find this place and there's all Sabrina's connections. 
You could be absolutely crucified. Think of the headlines!" 

"I don't want to hear. Forget it." 

"Please let Jollie go, and the twins. Bill, don't you understand how awful 
it is for a girl to look down the years ahead and see nothing but bars and 
shackles and being whipped?" 

"Quiet, Carrie. One more peep out of you on that subject and you'll have a 
sore ass. Give me more coffee and talk about something else." 

I feel guilty. I have spoiled a mood. I feel my slave dependence on my 
master's will. It will always be there, I will never escape. So I say I'm 
sorry, I pour coffee, I slip bread into the toaster. My contrition is 
sincere. A slave is a slave is a slave. It is best left like that. 

The noise from downstairs is a shocker. Our world erupts. 

* * * 

"Bill, you're an absolute idiot." Jason's arm is round me tight. His two 
male companions are grinning from ear to ear and enjoying the finest 
assortment of female flesh they will ever see. Jason's tone is one of 
patient exasperation. "Dammit', man, you left clues all over the place. 
There's your main office, there's those private wires and a telex you've had 
installed here. You bought this property and you're on a tax roll. And your 
name isn't all that common--" In explosive fury, Bill lunges. There is a 
tangle of male exertions and then a bump as Bill's head hits the floor. 
While he is still groggily dazed Jollie picks up his feet and drags him into 
a cell. When she emerges she has keys, she slams the door. She unlocks the 
shackles from her ankles and hands Sabrina the key. She is once more the 
magnificent Juno of other days. 

"What did you do that for?" Jason is amused. 

"You folks will be goin' home." Jollie says placidly. "But I ain't. I'm a 
stayin' right here. I got a little bizness with that there mist' Coro." 

It is a precious moment, we try not to laugh too hard. 

Jollie is seeing visions, so are we. Sabrina's voice has regained the 
resonance of freedom. "Jollie. if you're going to do to that asshole what I 
think you are I want it permanent. Give me a statement of expenses once a 
month and I'll send you a cheque." 

"Sho' will, Mizz Comstock, and I'll give him back them fifteen belts he just 
give yo'." 

We sort ourselves out. Jason has me, Jollie has Bill. Daphne unlocks her 
mistresses ankles but leaves her own chained. She clasps Sabrina's legs and 
weeps in hysterical joy. This only leaves the twins. Pinkie and Brownie have 
kept track of events in wide eyed astonishment, they are vastly entertained. 
Their judgement is firm and a bit anxious. 

"We don't want to go home." They survey us all in faint puzzlement. "This is 
the most fun we've ever had." They shake their handcuffed wrists in 
admonition. "And don't anyone dare unlock our lovely chains." 

"You'll come with Daphne and me to Mounthaven." Sabrina Comstrock is back in 
the saddle, her voice rings with its old authority. "I'll keep your little 
bottoms warmed for the rest of your lives." 

"Oooooo, and may we... may we you know?" 

"I'll make sure you do." 

Starry eyed, the twins embrace. Their striped bottoms wriggle in delight. I 
almost wish they were coming home with me, but not quite. 

"Let's go upstairs." Says Jollie. "Ah sho' could use a cuppa' coffee." 

We go upstairs. 

Our ride home has about it the same quaint constraint as in all my previous 
rescues. "Does Carrie Carstairs return to bondage?" That is the question. Or 
does she marry her hero--or go back to being a steno'? There is also the 
possibility of her simply being a submissive little slave girl to dear 
Jason. Dear Jason gives me no clue so I go fishing. 

"Darling, my feet are still chained?" 

"Nice idea. I got a key from Jollie before we left." 

"And I'm naked--or have you forgotten?" 

"No one could forget you being naked, love. Your hands are free and there's 
a rug. But cover yourself only if you have to." 

"Yes, master " 

"You say that beautifully, Carrie, don't ever stop. I love you." 

"I love you too, master. Please marry me real quick." 

"Oh sure, but there's our experiments--we can't really count this Bill 
affair." 

"Bill would marry me right quick, Jason." 

"O.K. D'you want me to turn around?" 

Jason has me and he knows he has me and I'm glad he has me. So I say, a bit 
tartly, "No never mind. Some other time perhaps." Hopefully, I hint: "Those 
experiments... ? Darling, they're always disastrous?" 

"No, they're not. They are vivid memories we'll talk about for the rest of 
our lives." 

"I'd much sooner you kept me tied up in the apartment and whipped me every 
evening. Darling, wouldn't you sooner-?" 

"I'll do that too, between times." 

I sigh. I do a lot of sighing with Jason. It is the lot of wives but I am 
not a wife. 

In our underground garage we do a lot of giggling as to whether we dare risk 
me making a quick dash naked in the elevator. But Jason regretfully unlocks 
Bill's shackles from my ankles, gives me his sweater, and when I use the car 
rug for a skirt I am well covered. We make a short but breathless journey to 
our apartment and then leap straight into bed. My fire has never burned with 
greater heat. 

Jason gives me a message without words. He sardonically accepts my 
suggestion and ties me up every day and whips me every evening. The 
whippings are not harder than I can bear and are inflicted on me with a 
variety of instruments which run all the way from an old slipper and the 
palm of his hand to a whip of wicked thongs. But my daily bondage is 
something else again. I get tied but good. I am very pleased to see him when 
he comes home at five. I think Jason would like me to beef about getting 
what I so rashly asked for but I do not complain, nor do I mention marriage 
or the experiments. Both of us are waiting for the other to say or do 
something. 

I am happy. I belong to Jason. I spend lovely lazy days trying, without 
success, to wriggle out of his ropes and cords. He is giving metal a rest 
and I am glad. There is something warm and intimate in being bound and 
helpless because of the strictures this man I love has knotted me into. When 
I try to get loose it is to pass the time or to get one up on Jason if I 
actually succeeded. The rest of my bondage time I dream about Jason marrying 
me and about all that's happened since the day long, long ago when he tied 
my hands for the first time. I think of total escape from my slavery and a 
return to the office and a lonely freedom hardly at all. It is an abstract 
condition long past. I don't think I could return to it if I tried. I giggle 
often about Jollie and Bill. 

Week-ends I am rewarded for being a good girl. Jason takes me shopping and 
for small excursions in the car. These innocent delights are not without 
small costs to me in pain or some blush making imposition: A collar and 
padlock: A wire belt too tight round my middle: A pair of handcuffs with 
both cuffs locked on a single wrist as a massive chrome bracelet: A chastity 
belt to chafe me as I walk. Jason adores these things. I am always angry 
with myself but I adore them too. 

Today his mood is puckish. We are out in the car doing a tour of shopping 
centres and I am without pain or restraint. However, I am wearing a very 
expensive and very tight sweater through which my nipples are indecently 
visible. I am not allowed a bra'. This is the only garment or bit of 
clothing to keep me from total nakedness. Sitting beside Jason in the car I 
appear dressed and normal but am in a constant cringe of apprehension. There 
is not a rug in the car, no rag, no nothing, not even a Kleenex. I sit in 
the various parking lots, trembling, while my Master does his shopping and 
mine too. There are a couple of reasons for my sitting and waiting: there's 
no way I'm going to get out of this car naked from my navel down: but also, 
Jason has thoughtfully handcuffed my wrists to the steering wheel, one above 
one below, the linkage inside the circle. I am trapped. I have to sit here 
holding the wheel as though getting ready to drive. My heart thumps, my 
pussy palpitates. Oh damn! 

For the first few minutes I am busy. I try every arrangement with my hands I 
can devise, but there is no placement I can contrive to wholly shield the 
glint of metal from public view. My breasts are no help either, this sweater 
proclaims them gorgeously. But perhaps if someone does peer at me they may 
see my nipples on their twin curves instead of looking at my hands... ! 
Gosh, Jason thinks of the damndest things to do to me. 

At the end of thirty minutes I realise there is something wrong. At the end 
of an hour I am in a panic. That S.O.B. has gone away and left me like this. 
I am smack in the middle of our next experiment. I'm going to have to sit 
here and wait for something to happen. 

Handcuffs can be infuriating, these two little metal circles round my wrists 
control me utterly, they can keep me sitting here forever. I get a sudden 
flash of hope out of pushing my hands and arms down, one of them through the 
wheel itself, to turn on the ignition. Driving won't be easy but it is 
possible But Jason has taken the keys. In fury and chagrin I shed a few 
tears and look down at my pubic hair and bare legs. I may laugh about this 
tomorrow but not right now. 

The parking lot is busy. It is supervised by an elderly gentleman in a semi 
uniform. As time drags on and on and I sit and sit, attached to my wheel he 
looks increasingly often at our car. It is inevitable that he comes to see 
what's wrong. As I see him approach I pray he will come to my side where he 
can look at my breasts. If he goes to the right hand window he will be able 
to see my naked hips and hair and legs and anything else that shows beneath 
this tiny sweater. If he does this I am wondering how the two of us will 
cope with the shock. 

He comes direct to my window. It is open. I sigh thankfully and make a final 
arrangement of my hands and fingers. Perhaps he may not notice anything I 
hope, I hope, I hope! 

"Everything O.K., Miss?" 

"Eh... oh yes." I profess surprise at his query. "I'm just waiting for 
someone." 

"You been here a long time, maam." 

"I'm terribly sorry. It shouldn't be much longer now." 

My breasts have saved me, he did not look at my hands. He nods politely and 
departs. But now I am marked. If I am not rescued soon he will return. I 
debate making a frank admission and enlisting his aid. If it was only my 
bare pussy to explain I think I'd take a chance. He'd probably enjoy having 
a look and seeing me blush. But the handcuffs would disturb him. He would 
see them as having some criminal association. He'd have the police here in 
two minutes, even if it was only to unlock the damn things from my wrists. 
I'm just plain scared. 

There is never any doubt about the two women, their approach is purposeful 
and to the wrong door. They smile sweetly like female tigers, then look 
through the glass of the closed window while I sit in dumb misery and try to 
hide my hands. At the very least I'm going to be embarrassed as hell. Their 
smiles widen as they see my nudity. They whisper, they nudge. It is evident 
I meet with some sort of approval. One goes to a phone booth and makes a 
call. When she returns she nods affirmatively and unlocks the car door. 
Where the devil did she get the keys? Where, where, where... ? 

One gets in from each side. They say: "Hello Carrie Carstairs, You're 
everything we hoped." They crowd me between them on the seat and unlock one 
cuff then click both my hands safe behind my back. We drive away. As we 
slowly leave the lot one holds up a business card for me to read. It is 
engraved "The Alpha and Omega Club" and would not mean very much to me 
except that, discreetly, in the top corner there is a tiny coiled whip. 

* * * 

The spotlights are cleverly placed so as to leave no part of my nakedness in 
shadow except my face. It is good they have spared my head from the garish 
beams because, racked as I am, I must stare straight up or allow my head to 
fall back to stretch my throat and cause my hair to cascade towards the 
floor. Never before have I been bound in such grotesquerie. 

But I am not bound. My ankles and wrists are clamped to the widespread arms 
of this slender configuration of punishment on which I am draped. It is a 
pedestal on which my lower back is supported by a scanty moulding to take 
most of my weight, my shoulders overhang one end, my bottom stretches in 
space at the other. I am bowed down and out in all directions and my back 
would likely break if the metal sheath on which it rests was not so cleverly 
contoured. I am like a ballerina splayed wide upon the palm of her partner's 
hand high above his head. 

I am cruelly spread by the arms along which my arms and legs are neatly 
arrayed and to which they are clamped by bands of the same shining silvery 
metal as the pedestal itself. I suspect the finest steel for, no matter how 
I struggle, I cannot extract a quiver of response. I am exquisitely held to 
make my belly concave and stretch and flatten my breasts. The creator of 
this silvery armature to which I am moulded achieved his effect with the 
barest minimum of metal. From a distance I must look as though I have thrown 
myself thus in a moment of wild free abandonment of levitation. 

But the real crux of this strange bondage is my cunt. This silver rack 
places it in the utmost exposure. I cannot see it but I am certain its lips 
pout obscenely below the shining black fronds of my pubic hair in a more 
pronounced invitation to attention than any other part of me. There is also 
something sacrificial about the way I am held. I would suppose that, for 
rape, I am too much bent and bowed. But this is something I may yet discover 
I just hope I don't. 

I think this is a small stage. Behind, me is a black velvet backdrop, there 
are curtains to either side and there are footlights beyond which I can see 
only darkness and shadows hiding, I am sure, the avid eyes of the voyeurs 
for whose pleasure I am spread. My pedestal revolves very slowly. No one 
will miss an inch of me. 

They call themselves (Henna and Leona, which I suspect is not their names. 
They are terribly sweet in all they do to me. They are also immensely 
strong, or maybe its karate or something. From the moment they edged me 
between them in the car they have handled me as though I was a kitten. They 
are also delightfully frank. The Alpha and Omega Club is money, money, 
money. I may never know if I am being ogled or used by members or by 
clients, not that it matters. Hither way I will be having a bad time. (Henna 
and Leona seem to run the place but they do not relegate me to lesser 
mortals, they dispose me themselves as they see fit. They assure me they are 
into "It" and (hey will make sure my puss is often wet. I can guess Jason 
has arranged this whole thing for me but they refuse to tell me so. They 
radiate a compelling sensuality which arouses me to a degree I hope they do 
not guess. 

They come to me now after I have lain stretched upon this slender silver 
altar of discomfort for I don't know how long. They smile down at me from 
either side, their eyes alight with affection. Solicitously, they check the 
four clamps by which I am held. 

"Isn't she a darling!" A loving hand strokes my nipples. 

"He was right, she's got a quality." Another hand combs my pubic hair and 
does things to my pussy. "She can't move but every muscle of her responds." 

"She'll be wonderful to whip. Did you hear what Wannamaker said about her 
he's coming again tomorrow?" 

"Look," I say to them earnestly, "I'm not a novice at this sort of thing but 
I can't stand much more of this. Please unlock me." 

"In a little while, darling. We want you nice and fresh for this evening. 
You're going to be whipped. Aren't you lucky!" 

"I want to go home." I say dismally. "Please ask Jason to let me go home." 

"Your pussy says you want to stay right here." Leona rubs my secretions 
under my nose. "Don't tell us you're not enjoying this a little?" 

If I could move I'd wriggle in embarrassment under their amusement. Since I 
cannot move, I sniff. This silver cruelty on which I lay like an impaled 
butterfly has affected me. Most likely it is the exposure of my sex or the 
knowledge of watching male eyes. But, yes, my fire is warm beneath my pubic 
curls. "I secrete easily." I tell them testily. Do I have to promise 
something to get off this rack?" 

"No, Carrie, we'll take you off when we feel like it. In the meantime you 
are looking very, very beautiful. Now, as a small reward, we are going to 
give you a really expert orgasm." 

Expert is the word! These two know all about girls, their fingers and lips 
reduce me to a slender strip of struggling moaning female sensuality. The 
silver rack comes into its own. I can believe it designed for just this 
purpose or for my impalement by a man between my legs. A man probably 
watches from the shadows but I do not care. 

I am freed, then handcuffed, then bathed, then fed. Resting comfortably, I 
am briefed. All this is done with unmistakable love. Leona and Glenna seem 
so grateful for what I am, for ME! 

"Everyone loves to see a girl whipped, darling. You won't mind, will you?" 

"Of course I'll mind, it hurts horribly!" 

"That's just the right spirit, Carrie. We want you to put on a good show of 
struggling and appropriate sounds?" 

"That ought to be easy." 

"Well, dear, some girls like to be heroic. But the act isn't popular. We 
aren't going to whip you really hard unless you force us to in order to get 
you to respond." 

"I'll respond. May I scream?" 

"Yes, of course, but make it pretty... " Maybe I'll find out how to scream 
prettily. I am led back to the tiny theatre, my silver pedestal has gone. 
Tonight's show will be simply a naked ME. I am positioned dead centre 
beneath the bar to which my wrists are strapped. There is the whirr of a 
motor to lift me until my toes are six inches above the floor. The straps 
are wide and soft to take my weight but hanging like this is never fun, it 
just isn't. And when I'm whipped I'll dance and kick and behave 
disgracefully. But, of course, that's the idea of this suspension, the men 
will love it. I'd sooner be fastened so I can't do any more than writhe. 

Glenna and Leona are suddenly nude, they are to be my Whipmistresses. One 
holds a whip, the other a cane. If their strokes strike me with the same 
impact as their radiations I am in for a bad time. I would much like to see 
one of them whip the other, it would be a superlative performance. 

I am aware of motion. The gear from which I hang is slowly rotating. The 
audience will be denied nothing of the whipped girl they have come to see. 
To one side is Glenna, to the other is Leona. They will stand still while I 
am gently turned. As my hack and bottom present their nakedness mast 
conveniently they will strike. 

Miss Carrie Carstairs is now whipped. 

The show lasts quite a long time. Whilst I dance my jig of pain and kick the 
unoffending air my nudity is presented to each in turn to receive a weal 
from whip or crop. My back and bottom recognize the truth of the girl's 
promise: I am not being punished near as hard as is the custom. But they cut 
at me with an exquisite realism, to which I respond with equal fervour. It 
hurts like hell anyway so why not! 

When the girls take their bow and I hang, whimpering, there comes a round of 
applause. I am suddenly alone with my strained arms and burning wrists. But 
not for long. I am joined by the audience who mount the platform one by one 
so that, for a few minutes, they may handle, caress, or arouse me as they 
see fit. I hang helpless for their pleasure like a dress on a rack while 
glinting eyes search me from behind the hood which masks each face. There 
are a dozen of them, male and female, maybe couples, but each has their own 
brief possession of me alone. I am mauled, pinched, caressed and even 
kissed, my sex is played with 'till I moan. I can evade nothing and do not 
try. I dare not kick. When I am told to separate my legs I obey. While I am 
still gasping after my last mauling Leona returns and sells me by auction to 
the highest bidder from among the shadows. 

My purchaser is female. 

Glenna joins us on the stage and whispers what I must do. When my wrists are 
unstrapped I fall to my knees before my purchaser and kiss the hem of her 
dress, then I rise to turn and cross my wrists. I stand with outthrust 
breasts while she deftly binds my hands with cord. She collars and leashes 
me and leads me from the stage. 

It is a beautifully appointed bedroom. I can well believe these purchasers 
of punished girls are heavily aroused and wish to appease a sexual urgency 
before introducing their helpless maiden to whatever discomfort they have in 
mind. Along with some quality prints there hangs, discreetly, on the walls a 
few whips and crops and canes, the odd strap and some handcuffs: I had best 
be a well behaved young lady. 

My temporary owner disdainfully tosses her hood into a corner and fluffs her 
hair. I label her as a moneyed wife but bored. She is not much older than I 
and quite attractive. She clips my leash to a ring in the wall and seats 
herself in an opulent armchair, draping a sleek leg over one arm. As though 
by afterthought, she saunters to the wall and selects a whip which she holds 
negligently across her lap when she resumes her pose. I stand, leashed and 
nude and very much at attention. 

I tell her who and what I am. 

She is entranced. She sighs. "I envy you." 

Slowly, she removes her clothes, her eyes are on me all the time, 
unconscious of her own figure which really isn't bad. "You know what I'm 
going to make you do?" She asks diffidently. 

"You won't have to make me. I am highly skilled at it. Slaves have to be." 

"I don't want to untie your hands...?" 

"You don't have to. With hands I can play better but it's delightfully 
erotic with them tied the way they are." 

"I'm going to whip you after. Not real hard, but I've never whipped a girl 
and I want to." She grins sheepishly. "I've never done the other thing 
either. In both things you can tell me what I do wrong." 

She does nothing wrong. Neither do I. Her whip gives me only moderate pain. 
She then returns me to stock. I don't suppose she has owned me for more than 
an hour or so, I suspect her husband waits. 

I sleep between my gorgeous wardresses. I am leashed to the headboard of the 
huge bed, but the leash is long: I acquit myself well. The collar on my neck 
does not impede my dreams. In the morning they deal with me pleasurably and 
leisurely, then bandage my eyes. In darkness I am led to my fate. 

Nothing is familiar. I can only guess at the giggles and the nudgings and 
the guiding fingers on my bare arms. I end up kneeling on hands and knees. I 
am told to keep quiet and keep still. I listen to shufflings and giggles 
until my waist is clasped and circled in a manner to thrust it down to arch 
my back. As my middle goes down my bottom rears: I suspect it is in for 
another bad time: girls bottoms provide such marvelous entertainment for 
all. 

"That's lovely. Isn't she gorgeous!" 

"We're going now, Carrie, you can remove the bandage." 

Whatever it is round my waist, it holds me tightly just as I am. But my 
hands are free: I support myself on one and use the other to tear and fumble 
at the knots behind my neck... 

I am in a small white room. There is a window but I will never reach it. 
Except for me, the room is bare. But there is only half of me! It extends 
from the smooth surface of the wall like some hunting trophy on a plaque. 
The wall bisects me above my hips, presumably the missing parts of my 
anatomy are in a room next door. I can detect the lines in the wall where 
panels have been removed and replaced to clamp and hold me fast as I now am. 
I kneel on a low bench. 

I am inclined to giggle, but I am apprehensive of what I cannot see. I 
suddenly realise I have lost not only my bottom but also my pussy. By some 
standards, my best parts arc elsewhere. I can imagine them regaling a small 
audience of delighted lechers. My hands and feet have not been bound or 
chained, but I can see no way to use them to advantage, except perhaps to 
scratch my nose. After awhile my arms are going to get tired... ! After what 
seems a long time Glenna bustles back in. Her eyes are sparkling. I get 
kissed. 

"What do you think of it, darling?" 

"I don't understand it, and I feel so silly." 

"But you will, you will. You'll have visitors. I just popped in to make sure 
you're O.K." 

It is a man, hooded. Blandly, he unzips and thrusts his phallus at my mouth. 
When I clench my lips and shake my head he laughs and leaves. In less than a 
minute my bottom flames from a truly vicious cut from a cane or a crop. I 
scream. The pain is so bad I beat my fists upon the bench. In the other room 
my feet are active too. 

The next is female. She tells me bluntly how she will hurt me if I refuse. I 
do not refuse but it is terribly difficult held as I am. She helps by 
clutching my ears. It is so beastly I mingle my tears with her secretions on 
my tongue. 

This is so frustrating! I cannot do a thing. I wait in this posture of a 
bitch dog in heat. The visitors are well spaced. 

I reject two more men and am rewarded by a blazing bottom that hurts so bad 
I sob like a small girl who has lost all hope. I am still sniffing when I am 
joined by a smiling youngish woman who wastes no words. 

"You look so scrumptious, darling, I jus have to hurt you." 

I look at the serrated jaws of the little clips she holds and am bereft. 
"Please... oh, please!" I put my heart into the words. "Don't clip those 
things on my nipples. They hurt me a lot worse than you think." 

Carefully, she clips them on my nipples. I moan as the teeth bite. I could 
flail away at her with one arm but it would be futile. "I expect someone 
will take them off for you, darling, but I'm not going to." She assures me 
brightly as she watches my misery. "You can take them off after I've gone... 
but you'd just have to clip them on yourself again, wouldn't you!" After she 
has gone I take them off and hurl them against the wall, rather than wear 
them on my breasts I will take a punishment. 

I am still rubbing sore nipples and trying to do something with my hair when 
there are steps and another male erection is thrust beneath my nose. I view 
it with disfavour while I debate if my bottom can stand another lashing. It 
is then I notice something... Dazedly, I look up. 

"Jason... Oh, Jason...!" 

Jason puts away that part of him I know so well. He zips up and pats my 
head. "I've been giving glowing reports on you, Carrie." 

"Darling, get me out of here! Please!" 

He pats me even more tenderly. "Ah, my love, how glad I might be to take you 
home, but all you'd do is pester me about getting married... ? You know how 
you are." 

I think I am being teased but cannot be sure. In any case I am in full 
retreat. I shame myself outrageously. "I won't, I won't! I promise I won't 
even mention-Oh, darling, get me free...?" 

"But to take you home short of your time... I You would have to be 
punished--?" 

"Yes, Jason, anything! Whip me-anything. As long as it's you I won't mind. 
These places are so... so... " Jason frees me. I cling and wet him with 
tears of joy. He pats my wounded derriere to make me flare with lust. 
Fervently, I tell him: "You don't have to marry me, just keep me as your 
slave." 

"Perhaps I should brand you instead." 

"Yes, oh yes, I'd love that." I am absurd but could care less. 

Glenna and Leona engulf me in warm feminine approval of Me being Me. I don't 
know quite how it happens but I find myself dressed to go home. I feel like 
a fifth grader on the last day of school. 

"We love you, dear, and we had so many punishments for you." 

"You will whip her for us, Jason, when you get her home?" 

"And here's handcuffs for her. She can't possibly leave in nothing " With 
handcuffs dangling from one wrist I fling my arms around them both while I 
still can. After I have hugged Jason too, I demurely offer my hands to be 
joined. In this frame of mind I'd welcome leg irons too. 

"Send her back anytime, Jason, she's a beautiful subject." 

Jason promises to remember, and I say I'd love to come. I must be delirious! 

My Master leads me to our car. 

"Just in case you're worrying, sweetheart, that was the last of our 
experiments." Jason squeezes my knee as he drives out into the main street. 
"I didn't like seeing you in that position, or the thing they were wanting 
you to do. Sorry!" 

"I don't mind. So long as it's over." 

"You're a Trojan woman. I love you." 

"I love you, Jason, so terribly much." 

My Master hands me an envelope. In it is a cheque for quite a large sum. It 
is from the Alpha & Omega Club, for services rendered. 

"Make your bottom feel any better, darling?" 

"Gosh, Jason, it's so generous-and I didn't even know!" 

We journey in enraptured silence. I clink my handcuffs, he gives me sideways 
glances of approval. They are so loaded with affection I begin to hope I 
won't get whipped. But what the hell... ! 

"We'd better get a house and a dungeon, don't you think, dear?" 

I positively burn between my legs. "Oh, yes, Jason, yes!" I cannot get 
enough fervour into the words. 

"Just one small errand." Jason says hastily. "Go and knock at the door and 
give 'em this envelope." He halts the car at the curb and points to a gate. 

I am too excited to think of traps or practical jokes, but with my linked 
hands half way to the brass knocker I notice the bronze plaque: 'The 
Reverend Ian MacMurchie.' I pause and tear the envelope. In it is a marriage 
license for Jason and Me. It is beautifully official. I understand now why I 
am dressed, and very expensively dressed too! My heart bursting, I look back 
at the car. 

Jason is walking towards me up the path. He carries the tiny box with my 
corsage. He winks sardonically. 

I turn and use the brass knocker with an authoritative hand. It is not until 
I hear footsteps responding that I remember something. 

I'm handcuffed! 

I hope he's lost the key. 


THE END
