Diana
by F. E. Campbell


CHAPTER ONE - THE CHEERFUL PAIN 

It was variously referred to by the clientele as The Nunnery, the House, or 
The House on the Point. The Sisters had, from the first, named it The 
Citadel. Its architecture was Moorish, as befitted the climate. The girls 
spoke of it as "The House". According, to their backgrounds and temperaments 
they saw it as a holiday resort, a haven or a prison. Diana had known at the 
start it was a prison for sure. But now she no longer possessed any clear 
certainty about the place: other than the knowledge that if she could escape 
its walls she would still do so. 

Kneeling on the rug, as the girls must do in the presence of one of the 
Sisters, she looked up at a pair of kindly grey eyes, and tried to answer a 
question. "Yes, I suppose I'm happy, Sister Nona. But... but -" 

"That 'but' would be an amendment to such a statement from any woman 
anywhere, child." 

"Yes, I suppose so." Diana surveyed the disillusionments of womanhood and 
supposed all of them were short changed. "But, Sister Nona. I'm not a child, 
I'm twenty seven." 

"We have all been twenty-seven, dear." 

"Yes, of course." Diana was careful now never to be too contentious with a 
Sister. She was here to be punished, there was no need to ask for extra 
stripes. "But I wish I'd been 'taken' when I was younger." Her voice turned 
wistful. "Sister, is it any easier for the younger girls?" 

Sister Nona smiled knowingly. "They are able to shrug off their punishments 
with less feeling of outrage. But you've adapted remarkably well, my dear." 

"But I'm always getting punished?" 

"Every girl thinks that in her first year. You've only been with us seven 
months, child. I expect when you've been in The Citadel another year you 
won't get yourself punished at all." 

Diana wished she could share Sister Nona's optimism. But the House Codes 
were rigid, and behind them lurked the punishments. Even if she managed to 
please all the Sisters and to get along amicably with all the girls, there 
still remained the clients. The gentlemen were so demanding of feminine 
submission, they expected so much of a girl, so many things a girl did not 
want to do or to give, except maybe Tina and April, those two were 
incorrigible and mostly well ahead of their customers. Diana believed that 
if she had been 'taken' and well broken at the age of seventeen everything 
would have fallen more easily into place. But to have led a normal and 
prosaic life for twenty six years and then to be 'Taken'! There was so much 
mental baggage to get rid of and so much outrage to dissolve. She sighed and 
thrust away the memories of freedom which only got her into trouble. 
Diffidently, she raised bare forearms to exhibit the shining handcuffs tight 
on her wrists like chrome bracelets, wanly she asked: "Must I always wear 
these. Sister?" 

"Certainly for now. They don't hurt you." 

"No, but some of the gentlemen think it strange, especially the one's who 
only want normal sex." 

It was Sister Nona's turn to sigh. "I want you to stay away from that word, 
child." She shook the head that held a thousand memories. "If there is 
anything normal about sex no one here has discovered it. For most of our 
clients it's a game with ever changing rules. Try and not take it too 
seriously." 

"Even when they want to whip me or put me in suspension?" 

"Yes, especially at such times. You may be assured the tariff accommodates 
your discomfort." 

There was always an answer. The Sisters were autocrats. To refute any 
statement they chose to make was to invite the infliction of pain. Diana had 
found a show of humility a good safe bet, so with a smile of goodwill she 
asked. 

"Sister, I have to be punished. Would you like to do it now and get it over 
with?" 

"Diana, dear, that is exactly the sort of approach I want you to correct. 
Don't you see, child, you take the initiative." Sister Nona shook an 
admonishing finger. "You came close to giving me a directive. It will earn 
you two extra strokes... and I suppose I may as well give them to you now." 

With anxious alacrity, Diana placed herself in position. Fingers touching 
toes, knees rigid. Wryly, she conceded the convenience of being always 
naked. A naked girl was always ready and was well aware of her readiness. It 
was understood none of the girls would ever wear clothes again except by a 
client's demand. She clenched her teeth and accepted the two vicious cuts 
across her flesh from Sister Nona's cane with no more than indrawn breath 
and the spasmodic shivers she could not control. The cane did not hurt less 
with time but she was learning how to cope. 

"Thank you. Sister Nona." 

"You are welcome, dear. As I said, you are adjusting." 

"I really do try. Sister. I don't like to admit it but punishments do help." 

"Of course they do, dear, we are all of us children long after we think 
we're grown up. Let me see your bottom." 

Diana did a reverse bend and blushed, then winced as interested fingers 
traced the lines of her new weals. She was never short of whipmarks but the 
others were a week old and were beginning to fade. Perhaps, a year from now. 
her skin would be without blemish, but this she doubted... there were always 
the clients! 

"They are quite beautiful, Diana, your flesh etches exquisitely. You may 
kneel again." 

Diana sat back on her heels, her cuffed hands resting demurely in her lap. 
Her seat burned, soon it would burn a great deal worse. She kept her tone 
quietly respectful. "Sister. I earned punishment because of Mr. Florenza. Do 
you think I could be excused from servicing him in the future?" 

"Certainly not, Diana. All the girls take the rough with the smooth. We'd be 
in a fine old pickle if we catered to your antipathies. I know you dislike 
anything pertaining to the anus, but there are more difficult assignments. 
At this moment April is looking after Mr. Silvers, and you know what he 
wants!" 

Diana Knew, she also knew April. "But April likes it. Sister! I think April 
likes everything we do here, she and Tina." 

"And I expect you think they are the only kind of girls the Citadel should 
have. But there you're wrong. The client senses the resistance in you. he 
sees your whipmarks. You give him something April and Tina cannot: the sense 
of conquering, of possession against your will. Oh, and by the way and 
speaking of clients, I don't want you falling in love with that nice young 
Mi. Farrell. I've noticed your face after you've spent time with him. 
Falling in love always leads to trouble for the girl, I mean. We can't stop 
the men falling in love with you. and this doesn't matter much because the 
Citadel allows them to work out their fantasies with the actual girl they 
are enamored of, this is our service " Mr. Farrell wants to buy me. Sister." 

Sister Nona pursed her lips. "There, you see! You must have given him 
encouragement. Mr. Farrell cannot possibly afford you." 

"But girls are sold. Sister Nona, you've told me--?" 

"Only in cases where the girl is in some way unsatisfactory to The Citadel, 
even then the sum is enormous. We like you and have faith in your future 
here. The sum required for your purchase would stagger Mr. Farrell's wildest 
imaginings." 

"How much is it. Sister?" 

"That is not for you to know but it's in excess of half a million, it could 
well be in excess of a full million you have a quality...! But I can tell 
you arc- thinking of it in romantic terms of a ransom, and this you must not 
do. it only gets you and the client disturbed." Sister Nona smiled archly. 
"Don't look so forlorn. Many a Victorian maiden would have been thankful for 
the delicious intimacies The Citadel enables you to enjoy with this young 
man. If he waltzed you off and married you he could give you no more carnal 
delights than the two of you wallow in when he purchases a session." 

Diana flushed. The Sisters knew everything. It was like being a goldfish in 
a bowl. There was no use allowing her feelings for Mr. Farrell to get 
herself whipped. Compliantly, she agreed. "Yes, Sister Nona, I know you're 
right. I'm sorry. It's so easy to be silly - " 

"That's my girl! You're more sensible than you think you are. Now, as a 
reward. I'll let you take your punishment and, as you said, get it over 
with- I expect you have chores?" 

'Yes, Sister and thank you." Diana paused, awkwardly. "Do you wish to fasten 
me?" 

"I think not. It's only six strokes, dear, and you've gained such control 
since that first time I caned you." Diana arranged her nudity in the shaming 
posture of punishment. These six would hurt shockingly and she would prefer 
to be tied or strapped so she could not move. It was much easier that way 
because she could vent her agony against her bonds. But this way she would 
have to grit her teeth against the need to writhe and clutch her wounds with 
comforting hands. Any serious deviation from the approved pose would earn 
additional strokes. Six could easily become ten or twelve if a girl 
succumbed to the demands of her bruised flesh. She tried hard not to look 
back to see the cane and how close the Sister was to striking the first 
blow. 

"Not your thighs today, dear. Now, hold tight!" 

"Thank you. Sister." 

The cuts were every bit as bad as Diana expected. Inevitably some lapped 
each other and were shrinkingly abominable. It was hard to believe her 
stretched skin could remain intact as it was sliced again and again. But. 
over and over, she told herself: "Six, it's only six!', biting hard to allow 
only the smallest sounds of anguish to escape while her hips weaved within 
that small latitude The Citadel considered acceptable. Ruefully, she 
recalled her first caning without the comfort of bonds. She had disgraced 
herself appallingly and ended up with thirteen strokes instead of the six to 
which she had been sentenced. Unless a girl had been really bad the 
punishment was always six, it was a Citadel tradition. 

"There, Diana, another of the punishments you worry about. It's over and 
done with." 

Sobbing, the punished girl threw her nakedness at the feet of the smiling 
Sister and buried her face in the folds of fabric while she clutched Sister 
Nona's thighs in a terrible need of human contact. Choking out her broken 
"Thank you, oh, thank you!" she secretly knew her gratitude was for the 
cessation of pain rather than for the infliction of the pain itself. 

"Feel better, child?" 

"Yes, yes, yes! Oh, Sister...!" 

It was always the same, an involuntary flood of love for whichever of the 
Sisters who had punished her: a great thankfulness. Sister Nona's fingers 
caressed her hair and patted a wet cheek. When Diana's sobs died she was 
raised to her feet and turned about for the inspection and approval of her 
flaming bottom, the weals were gently patted and she was sent on her way to 
perform the tasks she shared with all the girls. The Citadel did not believe 
in idle hands. 

Phoebe was already busy with the vegetables. She was grateful for help and 
more grateful for company. Phoebe was very new to The Citadel and very 
young. She lived in a constant state of drama. 

"You've been whipped, Diana. Poor darling, look at your bottom!" 

"It was only eight with the cane, Phoebe." 

"But such marks... jeepers!" 

Diana glowed. Phoebe's continuing astonishments about The Citadel gave her a 
pleasant feeling of seniority. Phoebe's skin was as well striated as her 
own, but the youngster was still being strapped tight for her corrections. 
She had yet to face the agony of keeping still to receive them. Her 
admiration for the older girls was as effervescent as her naivete. 

"Diana, we're certain to be rescued, aren't we? We've all been kidnapped... 
the police are bound to find us-won't they?" 

"Don't count on it, Phoebe. I've given up hoping. This place has been here a 
long time." 

"Why do they keep you handcuffed, Diana?" 

"I think it's because I'm older. They think I need reminding of what I now 
am." 

"But, Diana, what are we?" 

"Expensive whores." 

Phoebe was unabashed. "I asked about that, but they said I was far more than 
that. They told me what I have to do is a sort of therapy for the clients 
-Darling, isn't it difficult to do things while you're handcuffed?" 

"Not really. I've got used to it. See, I can peel potatoes as well as you 
can." 

Phoebe giggled. "Everything's crazy. I just can't get used to being naked 
all the time and having my pussy showing." She giggled again. "I don't mind, 
not really, and I don't mind being screwed. But all those other things...! 
Jeepers, some of these guys are kooks!" 

"Don't let anyone hear you say that." 

"I will so! The things they ask me to do--! I don't care how the Sisters 
punish me!" 

Diana sighed. This nymphet might have few inhibitions but the one's she had 
would earn her a lot of pain. It would be compassionate to make her 
understand how things were. But that was impossible. Diana remembered her 
own first days and weeks and the punishments that seemed to merge one with 
another. "We all say what you've just said, Phoebe." She assured wearily. 
"But they break us down. They do all sorts of things to a girl besides 
whipping her." 

"They chain us in a dungeon, don't they, and leave us there until we promise 
to behave?" 

"Yes. But that's not the worst. Don't fight them more than you have to 
Phoebe." 

Diana remembered the Rack. She would not tell Phoebe about the Rack, it was 
too awful. When the Sisters had first stretched her on it she had been sure 
everything was all over. But it had not even started. Her belly was concave 
and her breasts almost flat above the stark outline of her ribcage when they 
started to tell her what they could do with the hateful thing, and what 
would be required of her when she was taken out of its embrace. They had 
stood, gravely, surveying her stretched nakedness, their hands exploring and 
testing for tension. When they turned the wheel again she had been convinced 
of broken bones and torn tendons. But carefully, notch by notch, they had 
tautened her to the ultimate stretch in which she still remained whole. Then 
they had gone away, leaving her with wrists and ankles screaming in the 
straps and her whole being in deadly fear. She had been suspended like that 
for an hour, resting on nothing but air, held straight and flat by the 
inexorable tractioning of wrists and ankles. Beside her, the controlling 
wheel mocked, resting on its ratchet, ready for one more turn... or for 
release. But she could not touch it. She had been unable to touch anything. 
At the end of thirty minutes the Sisters had visited briefly to listen to 
her promises and pleadings. Solemnly, they explained about her 
intractability and how it was best for her to remain as she was for the full 
hour. After they had gone she screamed and screamed, but no one came...! 

"Do they enjoy hurting us, Diana? I say, should I throw this one away?" 

"Yes, it's bad. I think they get a little amusement out of how we behave 
when we're being whipped. But I don't believe they like doing the more 
severe things. They just see them as something we need and which they have 
to do." 

"But, Diana, don't you or any of the other girls ever try to escape? They 
won't talk to me about it?" 

"We can't escape, and they're frightened. Look around every chance you get, 
and you'll never find a window that isn't barred or a door that isn't locked 
and we can be punished for even talking about escape. We're not supposed to 
think about it. After you've been here awhile, you don't." 

Phoebe tittered. "I'll make one of the clients fall in love with me." She 
asserted cheerfully. "Then he'll get me out of here." 

There was a delightful resilience about Phoebe Diana envied. The youngsters 
would endure the Citadel's training and emerge unscathed. But she gave 
warning. "You can forget that one too, Phoebe, all the clients have been 
warned. Most of them will report you if you really plague them for help. 
Then you're horribly punished. Trying to escape is the worst crime we can 
commit. They won't stand for it." 

"That means they're scared." Phoebe said shrewdly. "If they can keep all us 
girls frightened they've got a cinch." 

Diana sighed. It seemed every girl had to learn for herself, and she had not 
been any wiser than the rest. She recalled the escape attempt a week after 
her 'taking'. The escapee had been caught and publicly punished for all to 
see. No girl was allowed to NOT see. They were all paraded in front of and 
around the moaning nakedness of a girl who had broken the Code. The 
inflictions had, cleverly, been made to last several days without injury. 
The maiden who suffered them was now no different from any other of the 
Citadel's inventory, neither more or less happy than her companions. Girls 
had a remarkable capacity to adjust. 

"Don't try it, Phoebe. What they do to you is too awful." 

"See, you're scared too. I say, Diana, did you know they've got Felicia down 
in the vault room?" Phoebe giggled. "She slapped that horrible Mr. Giroux, 
and I don't blame her. But now she's being punished. Why don't you go and 
visit, she's all alone down there." 

The vault room was only half below ground level. It was a large and 
attractive chamber of ancient stone, a vaulted ceiling and numerous smooth 
stone pillars which may have been needed to support the masonry above, but 
which The Citadel used for the punishment of delinquent damsels. A day in 
the vault room was by no means the worst penalty a girl might earn. But to 
be tied exceedingly tightly to one of the pillars for a whole day was not 
much fun either. Sometimes the vault room held several doleful young ladies, 
all suffering from ropes too deeply embedded in their flesh and from the 
gags which denied the solace of communication. Visitors were encouraged, for 
it was most shaming for a girl to be viewed in such naked helplessness with 
all her femininity accentuated by strictures that bulged breasts out and 
tugged tummies in. The Sisters spoke of the vault room as a place of quiet 
meditation, but the girls bound to the pillars thought of little else than 
how they were hurting. 

Felicia cocked a doleful eyebrow and wrinkled her nose in greeting. The 
punishment gag prevented her enjoying the visit as she might have done. 
Diana had been tied to a pillar herself more than once so knew what it was 
like. Sympathetically she noted the unkind cords cutting Felicia's crotch on 
each side of the swollen labia beneath the pubic patch, and the pouting 
nipples on engorged breasts so strictured above and below their curves as to 
make breathing a painful necessity. It was all very familiar. 

Diana would have been tempted to take a chance and remove Felicia's gag had 
not the Sisters foreseen this truant compassion and circumvented it by a 
padlock at the nape of Felicia's neck. The girls all found that padlock the 
final frustration in a doleful day. Diana defeated the silence as best she 
could by a kiss and a cheerful but one sided conversation as she played with 
Felicia's nipples. This was a tantalising pleasure for the prisoner but the 
only gift a visitor could give. 

Diana dared not stay long. One more kiss and a pat on two flint hard nipples 
before she fled to groom herself for Mr. Swarthout's appointment, now only 
twenty-five minutes distant. A girl had to be immaculate and well composed 
as she knelt in submission to the man who would open the door of the room 
booked for his pleasure. The Citadel's standards of deportment at such times 
were extremely high. 

She did not dislike Mr. Swarthout. He was a nondescript type who was usually 
uncertain of what he required of a girl. He was always polite and sometimes 
unintentionally cruel. Diana suspected he was torn between a wish to whip a 
girl's nakedness for an hour at a time or to enjoy an uninhibited carnal 
romp in bed. The hour's steady whipping was forbidden by the Citadel's Code, 
and he felt the fun in bed far too ordinary to justify a visit to the 
Citadel and the high cost of their girls. However, he had an unfailing 
appreciation of feminine nudity, especially when it was fastened 
uncomfortably, and a little boy's prurient curiosity about its component 
parts. 

"Good afternoon, Diana, you are exquisite as usual." 

"Thank you, Sir. I'm glad you like me." 

The Citadel approved the title of 'Sir'. It implied respect without 
possession. The girls were instructed to make a warm response to male 
enthusiasm. With this edict in mind, Diana brightly added: "I hope you've 
thought of something really bad to do to me today?" 

"Well, not really... and you're only joking, I'm sure." Mr. Swarthout patted 
her submissive head. "But, to start, I think I'd like you to stand to 
attention with your hands clasped behind your neck. Oh yes, and your feet 
well apart please." 

If it was not for his hands, Mr. Swarthout could have been a voyeur but he 
enjoyed the prelude of mauling the girl's breasts and crotch. Diana stood 
rigidly as directed while he played out this overture to the main event. She 
had come to feel sorry for men in their eternal need to see and to reassure 
themselves about female nakedness: they feasted on it with a terrible 
hunger. 

"What do you say to a little suspension, Diana, before we... Well, just to 
start out with?" 

"Of course, Sir, if that would give you pleasure." 

' You always give me pleasure. You are a very beautiful girl." 

She turned to get the soft wide straps for her wrists. Every room was 
completely equipped for a girl's discomfort. But Mr. Swarthout's exclamation 
halted her steps. "Great heaven, girl who did that to your bottom?" 

'One of the Sisters, Sir. I was punished for bad behavior." 

"But it's so-?" 

"Yes, it's very fresh, Sir. I was caned only an hour ago. It hurt terribly 
but I know I deserved it." 

' You girls...!" Mr. Swarthout shook his head in simulated amazement at such 
submission. "Now I'll feel a brute if I whip your bottom on top of those 
marvellous stripes." 

"There are only eight of them, sir. and my back has not been whipped 
recently. I hope you won't whip me but if you want to I'm all here." 

"And very enticing too." Mr. Swarthout agreed cordially. "But those 
handcuffs...? I'll have to take them off." 

"Of course, sir that's as you wish. But please lock them on me again when 
you leave." 

"Why do they put 'em on you anyway?" 

"I'm not sure, sir. I think they're supposed to symbolize something I 
mustn't forget. Being handcuffed all the time tells me I'm not a free 
girl... I never will be again." She held out her linked hands, "I expect you 
have a key?" 

Mr. Swarthout produced a key and fumbled with. it. Any contact with female 
flesh caused him to breathe heavily, he was doing so now. "That's why I 
always ask for you, Diana, you're so sensible. Teenagers are a pain in the 
ass. Shall I buckle the wristlets or would you like to?" 

"You can get them tighter than I can, Mr. Swarthout and tight is best for 
suspension." 

"Wonderful girl!" Mr. Swarthout tugged and puffed. "I wish I was wealthy 
enough to purchase you. I'm damn sorry I can't." 

"I'm sorry too, sir." 

Diana was not sorry at all. A life catering to Mr. Swarthout's erotic 
notions would be less satisfying than the Citadel itself. The Citadel did 
offer certain advantages... But a pixie impulse prompted her to ask: "Would 
you marry me, sir or keep me as a slave?" 

"Well, I've never thought about that. Which would you prefer?" 

"Every girl wants to be married, sir." 

"Yes, I suppose they do. But wives don't play games, at least the one I had 
once never would." 

"I think I'd see it as an obligation, sir. We could go out and around 
normally but when we came home I'd revert and you could do what you liked 
with me." 

Mr. Swarthout was obviously seeing delectable visions. He even paused in the 
buckling of Diana's willing wrists. "Like I said, you're something special 
Diana. I wonder if I couldn't make a deal for you. I could manage a hundred 
thousand." 

'"One of the Sisters told me they could get many times that for me it's all 
so impossible--" 

"It's not impossible at all. There's so damn much money around. If I had a 
spare million I'd grab you quick." 

Diana sighed inwardly. To be sold to the right man would be every girl's 
dream, a dream with little hope of ever coming true. But Mr. Swarthout was 
not the right man. By the time he got around to the act of love he was 
always so excited by his small cruelties there was no satisfaction left for 
either of them. She clenched her teeth momentarily as the rope lifted her 
arms and then her toes left the floor. 

"It must be tantalising for you, dear, if your big toe is only an inch off 
the rug, far more so than if I raised you way up?" 

"Yes, sir you think things out so cleverly." 

"It's more intimate and you're just right to whip." Diana wished he wouldn't 
talk about the whip, it was bad enough when it actually happened. She knew 
this to be one of the bad, bad moments. To be hung by her wrists demoralized 
a girl especially since she was stark naked. It stretched her it hurt her 
wrists and arms and shoulders with a steady venomous hurt, and it exposed 
her, it exposed her cruelly. The men always told her how beautiful she was, 
hanging like this, but she could not see herself so did not know. All she 
visualized was a slender slip of female heavily loaded with breasts, 
buttocks and pubic hair. 

"Would you like your feet separated by the spreader bar, Diana, or would you 
prefer to arrange them yourself?" 

"I'll spread them apart for you, sir. I don't mind." 

It was true, she had ceased to mind. At the start of her slavery the male 
clutchings and pokings had invoked only loathing and resistance. But the 
punishments had corrected that, and Diana finally conceded that the erotic 
stimulus generated by even the most crass caress was a welcome interlude in 
a feminine world. She had learned that these absurd men deemed it a macho 
obligation to excite a girl and bring her to climax at least once during the 
time he spent with her. The girls had been taught to writhe and moan in a 
flattering response This manual excitation was apart from any more normal 
act of copulation they might essay as a grand finale before they went home. 
Dutifully, Diana opened her thighs in invitation to Mr. Swarthout's eager 
hand. Even this small movement made suspension hurt a little more but that 
was the name of the game. 

Conversation languished under Mr. Swarthout's frictioning palm and questing 
fingertip. He was uncertain where Diana's clitoris should be, so covered all 
the ground just to make sure. Her pantings, which had been simulated at the 
start soon became real. Her climax was sufficiently dramatic to appease any 
anxious male ego. Obediently, she sucked her own secretions from a masculine 
finger. 

"You respond so beautifully, Diana." 

"Thank you, sir And thank you for giving me pleasure." 

This was a "Submissive Session." The Citadel had names for everything. Mr. 
Swarthout liked his girl to be obedient and grateful for whatever pain he 
chose to give her. Other clients wanted the girl to resist all the way so as 
to excuse them in subduing her by force. Others preferred a stream of tears 
and pleadings. Punishments had taught Diana all the techniques. A rapport 
with Mr. Swarthout was easily achieved. 

"I think I'll hang you up like this every time I come, dear girl, it 
emphasizes everything you have. It's much the best way to have a girl." 

Diana longed to scream. Mentally, she gauged the kick to impact her heel in 
Mr. Swarthout's solar plexus. But the punishments had cured her of such 
feminine protests. It was best to smile. 

"Yes, sir. It excites me to know how helpless I am and the way you can do 
anything you like with me. I'm lucky it's you." 

"You really mean that." Mr. Swarthout oozed male conceit. "I'm going to whip 
you, of course, but it won't be too hard, not more than you can bear. I'm 
becoming very fond of you." 

Diana set her best sweet little girl smile on her face and remembered the 
Citadel dictum that the longer you could keep a client happily talking the 
less time he would have left in which to give you pain with the whip and all 
the gadgets the men were forever trying out on shrinking female flesh. "And 
I think you're nice too." She agreed. "When do you want to start whipping 
me?" 

This was another ruse. If you made it clear you did not want to be whipped, 
then that was the first thing they would do. But if you breathlessly 
implored this male attention it satisfied their ego to delay the stripes on 
and on to keep you in suspense. Sometimes they did not whip you at all. Men 
were babies to be mothered. 

"No hurry, dear. I'm enjoying you the way you are. I think it says little 
for a man if all he wants to do is whale away at a girl's body and leave her 
all marked up." 

Diana felt things were progressing well. No whip, not yet, and no gadgets or 
outrageous bindings to contort her into a painful bundle. Most of the 
clients were not what the Citadel called: "Whip Oriented", and this was just 
as well for the girl's skins had only just so much space for weals. But 
Diana knew this did not mean they hurt you less. Often they hurt you more, 
and made you do beastly things besides. The Citadel did not crater to men in 
search of a routine coupling. They saw 'The Act' as messy, vulgar, and not 
quite respectable. To them, the men who sought no more were unimaginative 
clods. 

"That's what I admire about you, sir, such a mature judgement." 

Mr. Swarthout was busy sucking and biting her nipples so did not reply. One 
arm was round the bare back of the suspended nudity, his other hand played 
reverently with her pubic hair His mouth went from breast to breast with 
strict impartiality. 

"Oh, Mr. Swarthout, that's so wonderful and makes me feel so helpless! Oh... 
oh... Oh!" 

' You enjoy that, don't you, dear." 

"You're so good at it, sir. You've got me all... all-and I'm so helpless and 
can't do a thing." 

Mr. Swarthout patted the hard taut muscles of her belly and wiped his chin 
and Diana's left nipple with a thoughtful hand. "I suppose the time's 
getting on, and I don't like whipping you in a hurry. I always think a good 
pause between strokes keeps you in suspense more; and it gives us a chance 
to talk." 

Diana watched Mr. Swarthout select the whip by which her skin would be 
marked. It was a moment from which she always got a thrill of fear. No whip 
was kind, and it seemed silly to feel relief about any one of them, but Mr. 
Swarthout's choice would hurt her less than most. She sighed thankfully as 
she said "You're always very kind." 

Mr. Swarthout played pleasurably with the supple thong while his eyes 
devoured the triced up nudity which, for this little time, was entirely his, 
he was aware of blessedness, privilege and good fortune. There were men who 
would give years of their life to stand where he stood now. "I'm a self made 
man." He said slowly, "And I've never ceased to wonder about this place and 
about you... When I was twenty I didn't rate, but I'd have given anything I 
had --! I'm middle aged now... I think a man always resents what he didn't 
get when he was young." 

"I wouldn't worry, sir. Isn't it good, the way you and I are now'? I've 
never thought of your age--don't you feel lucky about the Citadel, it gives 
you so much?" 

"It's given me you." Mr. Swarthout slashed the whip across Diana's bare 
shoulders in a sudden venting of whatever emotion he was trying to express. 
"That one was harder than I intended." He apologized. "I won't keep hitting 
you that hard." 

"I'm sorry I yelped, sir. It really did hurt. You caught me by surprise." 

"Nicked you under the armpit too, didn't I? A girl's tender there... I think 
it's wonderful the way your legs flash to express your pain." 

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to-" 

"No, don't be sorry! You're just too beautiful when I whip you, I don't 
suppose I can ever tell you how heartbreakingly lovely you arc. It's why a 
man has to be a gentleman I could whip you forever." 

"Thank you, sir. Like I said, I'm glad it's you." 

He struck her again, etching a second red line across her back below the 
first. Solicitously, he asked: "Should I leave your bottom alone this time? 
I mean, its just been...?" 

"Yes, its just been caned, sir. But I think you'd enjoy a few strokes, so I 
think you should." 

Diana felt awkward, now, about kicking with her feet to assuage her pain. 
But it honestly helped, so she compromised by making the action below her 
hips as sinuous and lascivious as she could manage. She was grateful to Mr. 
Swarthout for the second blow, it was definitely less cruel than the first. 
She managed a belated: "Thank you, Mr. Swarthout." 

Perhaps, instead of your bottom, there is something we haven't done up 
between your legs?" 

The hanging girl caught her breath. She had wondered how long it would take 
Mr. Swarthout to discover this normally forbidden delight. But, with her, 
the Citadel did not forbid. She was adult and should be able to cope. Her 
labia was plump enough to accept the sear of the thong, her pubic area fully 
developed and well bushed. She had no grounds on which to protest but she 
did venture: "It's an awful sort of pain in there, sir. But if you'd like me 
to I'll raise up one of my legs to give you access?" 

"'One leg? Is that the best way?" 

"Yes, sir, one leg at a time. You'll see. You can whip me from different 
sides or even from the front." Mr. Swarthout watched in fascination as Diana 
demonstrated with first one leg and then the other. He could not know the 
fearful cringe of her suspenseful flesh, all he saw was beauty and a 
revelation of the contour's of a girl's cunt such as he had never known. He 
choked down a wave of almost unbearable desire, and asked huskily: "It's 
something I want to do, Diana... terribly. You won't think less of me?" 

' Of course not, sir. I'm just a girl getting whipped. But please tell me 
when to lift my leg?" 

"I think now, please-?" 

It was not easy. But Diana had been trained, the punishments had conditioned 
her. To raise her leg up and out to reveal in sweet nakedness her ultimate 
feminine secret so that it might be whipped to please a man was the thing 
she wanted least to do. But, straining and gritting her teeth, she opened 
and revealed her crotch in contours she could suspect but could not see. The 
resulting kiss of fire drew from her dry lips a fresh wail of desolation 
more pitiful than Mr. Swarthout was accustomed to from his favourite flesh. 
His distress was real. 

"I say... Diana, I'm sorry. Was it that bad?" 

She did not hear. She was too busy straining at her straps and flailing with 
her feet as the pain burrowed deep. She envisioned her sex as cut and 
bleeding but was unable to look. Uncaring, she made her keening sounds of 
female anguish enough to cause Mr. Swarthout's cup of sexuality to overflow. 
He was genuinely perturbed. 

"Diana... please? I had no idea--?" 

"It's alright!" Her declaration was almost curt to stem his male concern. 
"I... I'm... Oh, I'm sorry! It's just I've never been cut with a whip in 
exactly that way before. The pain was... Well, maybe it was shock too. 
Please forgive me, sir." She writhed for more moments in silence, her toes 
reaching for, but never finding, the floor so cruelly close. Piteously, she 
asked: "Would you like me to raise my other leg now?" 

"Good heavens, no!" 

"I think I should, sir. If you don't mark me each side it will only bother 
you, and the Sisters may think I complained." 

"No. Really, dear, you mustn't-" Deliberately, and watching Mr. Swarthout's 
face, Diana raised her other leg, she raised it high and far, and for a few 
moments knew herself the stronger of the two of them. The man who was 
whipping her was completely under her spell. 

"Whip my cunt once more, Mr. Swarthout." 

He obeyed. It was unthinkable that he should not. The streaking lash was 
pure venom: fire and hot iron and the cruelty of ice. Diana gave a repeat of 
the previous stroke. It was simple. 

The man with the whip stared in reverent awe, much as Pygmalion must have 
stared at Galatea as his marble came to life. But this time there was no 
apology, only gratitude for a beauty most men could never behold. He drank 
it to the full, extracting every drop of this quintessence of the female 
until Diana's struggles ended and she hung limp and glistening with sweat in 
the nude helplessness he had ordained. 

"I shan't hit you there again." Mr. Swarthout said it with conviction. Then, 
under the compulsion of a flaring lust, added: "Certainly not today." 

"Thank you, sir." But she too was under the need of an addendum, so added: 
"I'm glad we did it. I think you needed to." 

It was a victory of sorts. Diana saw it as that. She had performed well. 
True, it was not the first time her crotch and her sex had been lashed. But 
Mr. Swarthout's cuts into her private place had hurt more than others, she 
did not know why and it did not matter. Now it was over and her belly was 
afire with an outrageous demand for sex. She wondered if Mr. Swarthout would 
lower her nakedness and possess it on the spot. She wished he would. She had 
received but few strokes and if she was to be properly whipped she had far 
to go. 

"It was only two strokes, but I shall not whip your bottom today, Diana." It 
was the ultimate magnanimity. "Thank you, sir. I really am grateful." 

"I will whip only your back, dear." 

Again, the impulse to scream. To have to say a polite 'thank you' for having 
her naked back whipped! But this was the Citadel, and the Citadel's whips 
were far more excoriating than the one currently in use by Mr. Swarthout. 
"That will be nice, sir." Diana said humbly, and felt a total idiot. 

"I can't help feeling jealous about you, Diana." Mr. Swarthout took careful 
aim and circled his thong around the suspended waist with what he would have 
described as a "moderate snap". His eyes were hot as he watched the naked 
twist and sway of the helpless girl and heard the controlled exhalations of 
her breath. "I don't want any other man doing this to you." 

"I don't want it either, Mr. Swarthout. But I have to do what I'm told." 

"Yes, of course, but I'm wondering if I can't make some sort of offer, an 
arrangement with the management?" 

"You could ask one of the Sisters, sir." 

Mr. Swarthout cut a red line across the base of Diana's spine. It came close 
to the highest of the welts left by Sister Nona's cane, but blossomed into a 
quite different streak of anguish which, with a glow of proprietary pride, 
he considered far more aesthetic. "Am I hurting you badly, Diana?" He 
enquired cheerfully. "Yes, quite a lot, sir. I'm sorry I can't keep still." 

"No, don't be sorry. Your motions are delightful." Mr. Swarthout made a 
leisurely circle of the hanging nakedness it was his privilege to whip. "I'd 
judge the marks you're getting to be only the three or four day kind. You'll 
have those purple cane ridges on your bottom a lot longer. Have you ever 
been bastinadoed?" Diana's tummy curled. Always there was one more pain 
lurking. "The soles of my feet haven't been whipped, sir." She informed 
brightly. "But it was done to some of the girls before I came. But it stops 
them walking...!" 

The conversation and the whip continued on. 

 CHAPTER TWO - THE NOVICE 

Sister Angela was never easily surprised. She watched the large denomination 
bills fall one by one on the polished surface of her desk with no more than 
alert suspicion. Her mild query left the Client relations surface unruffled. 

"But. Miss Winton, have you not found our sessions adequate? You have 
favoured us twice, I believe?" 

Gloria patted down a final strip of currency and closed her bag. "The 
sessions were wonderful." She assured briskly. "And this money... I'm not 
trying to be vulgar or offer a bribe. It's just a gesture. It's one most 
people respect." 

Sister Angela nodded slowly. These youthful enthusiasms made her feel older 
than she was. "The Citadel has never entered into such an arrangement." She 
said tersely. "And as for the two years... you'd condemn yourself bitterly." 

"It's something I want, something I can afford." 

Sister Angela took a second look. The girl had a quality, she was undeniably 
marketable. The names of a dozen men came easily to mind. Cautiously, she 
admitted. "You emotional tendencies are not unknown to us... Gloria. There 
are a pair of girls already on our staff. But they did not come to us 
voluntarily." 

"Tina and April. I know. You kidnapped them." Sister Angela enjoyed a brief 
vision of this brash and wealthy maiden stripped and hanging by her thumbs. 
Girls were such packages of impulse...! If you did not thrash them regularly 
they wore you out. "Ah, yes. You enjoyed them in a session, I recall. They 
are immensely popular." 

"I would be too." 

The girl was correct. Gloria Winton radiated the kind of sexuality men 
valued most, a quality hard to define but immensely valuable. Sister Angela 
quenched a startled protest, then watched in amusement as the nubile 
suppliant flung aside her clothes. 

"You are most adequately beautiful, my dear." 

In total self possession, Gloria Winton did a pirouette to bring herself 
into half profile, hands at the nape of her neck, hair cascading, breasts 
impudently pointing. Her eyes, coming to rest on Sister Angela's impassive 
features, sparkled in mischief. "I'm only twenty-two, Sister. I'll look like 
this a long time yet." 

"You bear faint whipmarks?" 

"They happened the last time I was here." 

"Yet I cannot see you as a masochist." 

"I think that's just a name, Sister. I don't have a name for what I am. I'm 
just Me." 

"You are asking for two years of imprisonment, without hope of escape, and 
for the pains and agonies implicit in submission." Sister Angela examined 
the posing nude, her tone was dry. "You have shown nothing of the submissive 
to me. In fact, Miss Winton, you come through as an assertive young woman 
with money." 

The change was indefinable, the grace with which it was executed was superb. 
With a melting fluidity the lovely nakedness achieved a breathtaking 
metamorphosis to leave the watching woman awestruck as she gazed down at a 
kneeling maiden whose nudity was partly hidden by her hair, whose hands 
rested demurely upon her thighs, and whose head was bent in the sweetest of 
submissions. 

"I am not free, Sister Angela. Please use me." 

The words were a husky whisper. They were followed by a deep silence, for 
there was no more to say. The woman looked down at the sweetest picture of 
submission she had ever seen, and was enthralled. After a long time the 
bowed nakedness whispered again. 

"This is Me, Sister, the other was not." 

Sister Angela sighed, knowing herself captured by a beauty she had rarely 
seen. Compassionately, she began the questions. 

"Dear child, we are not really Sisters of anything. It is just a term we 
use." 

"I know, You're the graduates." 

"No girl has ever escaped." 

"I know that too. It is one of my reasons "The clients are often cruel. 
You'll long to go home within the week." 

"And I won't be able to! Why does that bother you, Sister?" 

"Because I once wanted to go home. It was a long time ago." 

"I've thought about this." The bowed head rose and gazed upon the troubled 
woman with feminine sympathy. "I've thought of trial runs or a month's 
probation. But anything affecting the permanence or security of my 
imprisonment invalidates the whole thing. Don't you see, Sister, it's that 
which brings me here. I am offering myself to the Citadel because I know it 
will not let me go." 

"Child, there would be times when I would have to punish you." 

"Yes, I know. While I'm learning and adjusting." The mischief was back at 
the corner of the lush young mouth. "Spare the rod and spoil the girl! I 
won't complain." 

"You would always be naked. We have a girl here who has worn handcuffs for 
seven months." 

The young eyes sparkled. "Sister, you are tempting me." 

"You are not a nobody. You are Gloria Winton. You cannot easily disappear." 

"You know I can, Sister. All the Citadel girls have disappeared. You have... 
arranged things. I have already disposed of myself. If loose ends crop up 
I'm sure you'll cope with them for me." 

Sister Angela nodded. The Citadel was highly experienced with loose ends. 
This exquisitely submissive girl thing could easily vanish. It was in Sister 
Angela's heart to further admonish and warn and, if possible, dissuade. But 
there was a serenity about Gloria Winton that made quibbling seem 
hypocritical. Assessing possibilities, she asked, very simply, "When?" 

"Now. This moment." 

Sister Angela pressed a button. 

The girl who answered was naked, clothed only in handcuffs which she wore 
with the same grace as nudity itself. She knelt to receive instruction. 

"Diana, this is Gloria. Her surname was Winton, we can dispense with it." 

The kneeling girls assessed each other. Diana said a cheerful: "Hello, 
Gloria, welcome to The Citadel." 

"She is here at her own wish, Diana. I am passing her to you because you are 
older than the others. You can give her the tour and have coffee or whatever 
you want while you talk. You must give her a sensible and sympathetic 
explanation of how we live." 

"Yes, Sister Angela. Oh... I have an appointment in two hours?" 

"That gives you ample time. dear. I think it would be nice if you take 
Gloria into session with you. The client should be pleased with an extra 
girl, If he is not, you can have him use his key and Gloria can find her way 
back to me." 

"His key, Sister?" 

"Yes. Get up, both of you. Diana, your hands " Gloria, trembling from 
extremes of emotion, watched Sister Angela unlock the cuff from an obedient 
right wrist. As in a trance, but knowing what to do. she preferred her own 
to see and to feel the shining steel bite it in an implacable circle of no 
escape. She asked no questions, she was adrift on a tide she had no wish to 
stem. The girl to whom she was linked was watching her in sideways 
amusement. 

"There, the two of you can run along. Have fun." Sister Angela also was 
amused. She patted Gloria's flushed cheek. "I think what you're doing is 
rash and unwise. If you want me to unlock that bracelet, I will. You can 
dress and go home?" 

"Oh, Sister...!" Gloria Winton made an instinctive move to embrace the woman 
who was being kind, but was foiled by the weight of Diana's hand and arm. 
She did her best with the freedom she still had, her voice was husky. "You 
know I won't. But thank you, thank you... " She turned reluctantly away 
under the gentle compulsion of a tug upon her wrist. 

Diana was grateful. It was a change, and the girl was a delight. The Citadel 
had inured her to shocks and insights. Gloria was no more an enigma than any 
other girl, there was no mystery to unravel. "This is one of the rooms where 
we get punished." She explained with a hint of laughter. "It's not all that 
grim...! Come, sit beside me on this bench you can probably guess what it's 
used for." 

Gloria Winton mentally catalogued the devices designed to confine a girl or 
give her pain. She was shivering in a strange ecstasy beyond control. She 
was giving and receiving a bombardment of vibrations with her guide. In 
puzzled delight, she lifted her right hand. "Why these handcuffs, Diana?" 

Diana raised her own cuffed wrist wrinkling her nose ruefully at the silver 
band. "There isn't any why, not really." She said cautiously. "They're 
symbolic. They've kept them on me all these months because I fought them a 
long time after I was 'taken'. They're decorative and a constant reminder of 
what I am. Locking our hands together is Sister Angela's way of telling you 
the same message. With her it's part whimsy." 

"All the time always --your hands fastened together...?" Gloria examined a 
new concept, fascinated. 

"The clients mostly unlock them for me. That way I do get to stretch my 
arms. But they only do it because they want to fix me some other way." 

"I'm getting the most delicious sensations out of being handcuffed to you. 
Will they keep us?" 

"Gosh no! The client's almost certain to separate us when we go into 
session. The guy's name is Sands, he isn't young any more and he's a quaint 
mixture of benevolent uncle and Torquemada. He's quite charming... really." 

"You mean he may torture us?" Gloria was breathless. 

"Oh sure, but you never know. One session he had me just pose in front of 
him with my handcuffs. He's got a Thing about handcuffs. They've all got a 
thing about something." 

The new girl played with her prisoned hand, clenching it splaying her 
fingers, shaking it to make the single link respond. "Do you mind...?" 

"No, go ahead. Savour it. I know the feeling. I've played with my handcuffs 
for hours, never quite believing they won't come off." 

"But they won't, will they?" Gloria was almost anxious. 

"Nothing the Citadel puts on a girl ever comes off." The older girl grinned. 
"You have to hope that fire you've got burning between your legs doesn't get 
dowsed" 

"But. haven't you got one, the fire I mean? I'd have thought any girl?" 

Diana shrugged, she was always shamed and irritated by erotic response. "It 
happens to me." She admitted. 

"Never the way I guess you have it, but sometimes when I'm whipped in 
certain ways or my nipples are being punished. Mostly it's the guy... the 
one who's hurting me." She shook her linked hand in distaste. "And don't ask 
me why men like to hurt girls. That's the oldest question in the world." 

Gloria Winton giggled. "It's because they find orgasms too short. They want 
more, much more." Her attention wandered, "That's a pillory over there, 
isn't it--have you ever--?" 

"Yeah, I've stood in that damn thing for hours and hours--" 

"These men who pay, they do that to you?" 

"Gosh, no. They don't get in here. This is where the Citadel punishes its 
naughty girls. If you get to be locked in that thing you won't like it a 
bit. After an hour you'll promise anything to get out." 

"Hmmmmm... and there's the stocks for our feet, and there's the bar with the 
straps to hang us up by... Diana, I suppose you think I'm crazy?" 

"Yes." 

"Jeepers, just like that!" Gloria mused, "I expect to be sorry sometimes... 
but I just can't help it." Her gaze became searching. "Look, there just have 
to be ways of escape if a girl really wanted out...?" 

"No girl ever found one. But try. You'll get yourself punished horribly." 
Diana's voice softened. "Watch the clients, they tell on us. They're not 
knight errants, they're mostly middle aged, there's damn few tall dark and 
handsomes." 

"But you must have been walking around free, just handcuffed, when Sister 
Angela called and we've passed other girls on this tour, they weren't even 
handcuffed?" 

"Oh sure, the run of the Citadel is ours. They can't keep us chained or 
locked up because they want us to do the work around the place. I was in the 
kitchen when Sister Angela buzzed. But we can't get outside the walls. Maybe 
that's why they call it The Citadel." 

'They've got you all so frightened you don't even try." 

"Yes, I suppose that's so. But don't talk about escape, it upsets me, and if 
you talk about it to the other girls the sisters will get to hear of it and 
they'll punish you. It's not that they're cruel, it's simply because escape 
is a word best forgotten once you're inside. It bothers everyone." 

"Mmmmmm, I haven't noticed any girls being punished?" 

"I didn't want to show you. Dammit'... on your first day?" 

"You're sweet." The sensuous novice twisted in embarrassment- "But would you 
mind? Is there actually?" 

"There's probably one in the next room, there usually is " 

"Could we...?" 

Diana shrugged again. She stood up, shaking the linkage on their wrists. 
Laughingly, she warned: "You may be sorry -!" 

The girl stood in a cage, a three foot diameter of heavy mesh coming to a 
rounded cone above her head. She was naked, she was gagged, her hands were 
tied behind her back, wrists crossed and corded tight. Around her neck she 
wore a heavy collar, wide enough to tilt her chin. The collar held four 
rings, from each of which a leash tethered her to the framework of the cage 
with a sufficient tension to forbid contact with the mesh. She simply stood 
there, her body and feet free but denied advance or retreat. She was as much 
a captive to the collar as to the cage. She could not speak but wriggled 
herself invitingly and grinned above the gag. 

Gloria stood entranced. What she beheld was beauty to fuel her fire. Sensing 
enchantment, Diana held out a permissive arm and allowed her prisoner time 
and motion to enjoy. The girl in the cage shrugged apologetically. 

"She's gorgeous!" Gloria whispered the accolade in shy wonder. 

"She's frustrated to death." Diana reproved. "Don't you see, Gloria, the 
poor darling can't do anything." 

"Well, no. But she's-the whole thing-it's so beautiful." 

"From where we stand... Yes, it is." 

The caged girl flung her head from side to side to illustrate her tethered 
helplessness. She could reach the metal mesh only with her toes, the rest of 
her was denied contact. 

"It's bad enough to have to stand like that all day." Diana continued. "You 
get so damn tired and bored...! But the real punishment is the visitors. We 
can't touch her. She can't cuddle against the cage so we could play with 
her. Before they thought up the collar a girl could thrust her nipples 
through the mesh and then get her pussy where a finger could reach. But 
now...! Just look at the poor kid! And the gag! We can talk but she can't. 
If you ever get in there you'll hate every minute, and there'll be a lot of 
minutes." 

"No I won't. I won't hate it." The girlish assertion was reverent in awe. 
"If I could change places with her I would, right now." 

"Gloria, don't be silly. A couple of hours the way Terry is and your fire 
would be dead and you'd be wanting to cry." 

"Then I'd cry!" 

"No you wouldn't. You wouldn't know who was going to walk in to look at you. 
You'd hate being seen tearstained and messy and not able to do anything 
about it because your hands were tied fast behind your back. Honest, 
Gloria--" 

"Well, well, our voluntary recruit!" 

Diana turned. "Sister Nanette...! Sister Angela instructed me to-" 

"Yes, yes, my dear, I know all about it. How charmingly that handcuff joins 
you." Sister Nanette beamed at Gloria's startled attention. "I'd say you are 
one of the most lovely creatures we have ever possessed." 

"Thank you, Sister. I'm so... I'm--" A shy free hand sought to cover pubic 
hair but was, ashamedly, withdrawn. 

"You are embarrassed, dear. Get used to us gradually. We'll make a lot of 
allowances." There came a wide smile. "I overheard your wish to be inside 
Terry's cage. How very sweet!" 

"I'm sure you all think I'm silly." Gloria held up her pinioned wrist with 
Diana's attached. "But, so far, I'm loving every moment." 

Sister Nanette's smile was only faintly grim. "I'd put you in the cage, 
dear, I'm sure Terry wouldn't mind, but you and Diana have an appointment 
with Mr. Sands quite soon now. So Terry will have to stand out her sentence. 
Have you ever been whipped, dear?" 

"Not... well, not seriously." 

"It is possible Mr. Sands may wish to whip you, new girls are always 
exciting. I am sure you will have quite a vogue before the leveling off. Are 
you mentally adjusted to the idea of being whipped on your bare skin?" 

"Yes, I honestly believe I am." 

"The pain will come as a shock nonetheless. Diana can probably give you a 
few pointers. Diana, dear, what are Mr. Sands inclinations?" 

"He's a gadget man. Sister Nanette, and he loves to talk." 

"Hmmmmm, I never cared for gadgets, they are usually absurdly impractical." 
The Sister's lips pursed at distant memories. "But Mr. Sands is probably as 
good an introduction to The Citadel as any. Please remember that disrespect 
to a Client entails heavy punishment. Your status, now, is no different from 
any of our girls. You are not immune." 

Gloria watched authority depart. She could not deny an accelerated 
heartbeat. She raised an eyebrow at the girl to whom she was chained. "They 
all have an iron hand under the velvet glove, don't they?" She mused. "They 
almost have to. Should I feel scared?" 

"I always feel scared before a session." 

Gloria nodded. "It's the not knowing, and because they're men." Suddenly she 
beheld a vista of the two years of sexual enslavement to which she had 
sentenced herself, and repressed a shudder. "Surely a girl can soften 'em up 
a bit by wiggling her breasts and bottom?" 

"Try it, darling. It never did me much good. The more I stuck my tits out 
the more things they thought to do to them, and yours are so gorgeous!" 
Diana gently patted an ivory curve. "Come along and get your feet wet." 

Gloria Winton knew the fire between her thighs undiminished. The scary cold 
fingers on her spine could not quench its flame or the excitement of heart's 
desire. The girl standing naked in the cage nodded and shrugged. Gloria 
smiled back, then turned to obey the tug upon her wrist. 

"I am overwhelmed," said Mr. Sands heartily. "Such a plethora of 
pulchritude! I am honoured." 

Mr. Sands was obviously not overwhelmed at all. He was a cheery bustling 
type, blandly middle aged and polished smooth. About him was an air of neat 
brisk competence. He was neither short nor tall. Diana always felt he would 
describe himself as 'Just right.' "Isn't Gloria lovely. Sir. She's just 
arrived." 

"Indeed yes!" Mr. Sands bent and palmed the Citadel's latest pubic patch and 
the labia below. "Beautiful, beautiful...! We must think up something 
special and those handcuffs! Charming, charming...! "He patted a virgin 
bottom with a damp hand and enquired, solicitously, "Are there any small 
tortures you particularly enjoy, my dear-the whip perhaps? Or do you dislike 
everything?" 

While Gloria was seeking a diplomatic answer to an impossible question, Mr. 
Sands discerned her quandary and hastened to add: "You don't know, do you! 
Mow silly of me to ask. He beamed expansively. "I'll relieve you of all 
decision. We can simply have a charming threesome together." 

"Thank you, sir." 

"I'm going to strap Diana to the bar, Gloria. I don't see why you can't 
remain attached." 

It was very simple. Diana placed her wrists where they must go. The handcuff 
on her left was pushed as far up as it would go to leave space for the strap 
by which her arm would be raised. Both girls watched the buckles tugged 
tight. When the motor whirred and the captive arms rose. Gloria's right hand 
rose too. 

"A nice effect." Mr. Sands stood back to survey the twin nudities still 
linked by handcuffs so as to compel Gloria Winton to stand close to the well 
pinioned Diana and to raise her right arm to keep taut company with Diana's 
left. His eye was assessing unusual possibilities. "And now... A small 
prelude." 

Gloria looked at Diana's breasts, they were rising and falling rapidly in 
the suspense of expected pain, but knew her own equally responsive. In this, 
her first male encounter, Mr. Sands and the Citadel had placed her at a 
disadvantage. Diana was firmly anchored by both wrists stretched high. Her 
feet were still on the ground but she could do no more than stand and wait 
to be whipped. But Gloria felt silly and lost and surplus. She looked up at 
her right wrist and the encircling steel by which she was still inexorably 
attached to the nude girl awaiting the pleasure of her temporary master. 
Sight of the neat bond and its bite upon her skin flared her fire anew. But 
this was not as she expected. She swung around within the limited freedom 
she still had and protested. "Mr. Sands... sir. I'm still handcuffed to 
Diana...?" 

"Ah, so you are indeed." Mr. Sands agreed affably. "If you were to ask me 
nicely I might allow you to share some of her strokes." 

"But, sir, Diana's already been whipped." Gloria made an ineffectual gesture 
with her free arm and wished she did not have to hold the other one up in 
the air. "I don't think she wants to be whipped again today." 

Mr. Sands was entranced. Here was an unexpected piquancy. Smiling with 
pleasure he ran exploratory fingers up and down the older girl's tractioned 
nakedness. "Hmmmm, nice marks. When was it you were whipped. Diana?" 

"Five days ago, sir." 

"Feel up to another whipping now?" 

"If it would please you. sir. Yes... of course." 

"This girl's trained close to perfect." Mr. Sands informed earnestly. "Think 
you'll ever be as good?" 

Gloria was annoyed. This was not as she'd expected. Mr. Sand's whimsy was 
hard to cope with. She felt decidedly de trop. and fobbed off his question 
with an irritable: "I really don't know, sir." Then watched, in shivery 
fascination, as their client selected a whip. 

"You are a privileged girl, Gloria." Mr. Sands asserted busily. "To have 
both Diana and myself to start you off." He swung the snakelike lash, 
smiling at the startled girl with her one cuffed wrist. 

It was pure shock. Until the last moment Gloria had supposed Diana the 
target of the thong, but it Snapped around her own waist with a hair curling 
sound and the sear of fire. She cried out in disbelief and swung around 
defensively from her chained wrist. With her free arm she clutched her 
helpless companion, pressing breast to breast in a panting instinct for 
sanctuary while she glared across Diana's bare shoulder at the urbane 
gentleman who had administered the severest pain of her life. 

"Lovely action." Said Mr. Sands heartily. "Be a real shame to separate you." 

Gloria looked at him askance. This was all wrong. When a girl was to be 
whipped she should be tastefully and effectively bound, strapped, fastened 
to hold her immovable and immaculate while her skin was esthetically marked. 
She was not supposed to be quaintly cuffed to some other maiden already 
buckled into a proper and receptive immobility. Long nurtured concepts were 
shattered if she was able to dance a naked jig of twist and turn with but a 
single hand locked up above her head. She was about to gasp these obvious 
facts out to Mr. Sands when she, shamingly, realized his prior knowledge. 
Mr. Sands was deliberately placing her at this disadvantage to confound her 
preconceptions. He would enjoy her leapings and her tugging back against her 
single small band of steel. There was also Diana's wrist to consider...! 
Silently, to herself, she uttered a vehement, "Oh shit! "The band of fire 
around her waist burned warningly. 

"The essence of slavery is the unexpected, my dear." Mr. Sands explained 
happily. "Now, what I'd like you to do is detach yourself from Diana, make a 
convenient exposure of any part of your anatomy you wish, then ask me to 
whip you again." 

Gloria looked up her arm to the handcuff. She looked, woefully, at the whip. 
She thrust her belly tight against Diana's warm flesh, reluctant to leave 
the comfort of its heat. Then, with the greatest effort she had ever made, 
reluctantly, she detached her own cringing nudity and thrust out her bottom 
as best her posture would allow. Mr. Sands cut his whip squarely across her 
back. 

It was not fair, it was not right, it wasn't... it wasn't anything it ought 
to be! Chaotic protests found expression only in a wailing cry of shock that 
anything could hurt so much. Once more she sought the pathetic refuge of the 
girl who could not move. "Is that posture of yours suggesting I should whip 
Diana instead of your lovely self, dear girl?" Mr. Sands surveyed his 
captives with a self satisfied eye. 

"No!" The denial exploded as Gloria forsook the warmth of female contact and 
stood as far apart as her handcuff would allow. Her free hand was seeking, 
vainly, to assuage her wounds. Her voice was righteously plaintive. "If you 
wish to whip me, sir, would it not be more--?" She sought for the right 
word. "More proper to fasten me properly so I would know where I'm at?" 

"Well, I'll be damned!" Said Mr. Sands admiringly. "I bet you had a lot of 
money before they brought you here?" 

"That is my own affair, sir. I came to The Citadel by my own request." 

"Damned interesting-lovely body!" Mr. Sands examined possibilities. "Stick 
that bottom out again. This time I'll hit it." 

Seething discontent, and with a last vexatious glance at her handcuff, 
Gloria obeyed. Her instinct was to refuse, but her wrist hurt bad enough to 
tell her to behave, but even the pert curves of her outthrust derrieres 
spoke revolt. Mr. Sands struck it dead centre to evoke one more vocal 
expression of pain and dismay. "I know what your trouble is, young lady." He 
said, nodding wisely. "You've been getting hot pants out of the books and 
magazines where a girl gets tied to a tree or strapped the way I've got 
Diana: all neat and tidy and pretty, pretty. Being cuffed by one wrist to 
Diana and having to stick out your bottom offends your sensibilities." 

"I'm not a schoolgirl, sir." 

"Stick your seat out again, I'll give it another." 

"And if I refuse?" 

"Then I'll give it half a dozen." 

Gloria protruded her small rump and looked anxiously over a bare shoulder in 
time to see the swift arc of the whip and feel the scald of its caress. She 
leaped erect, rubbing furiously. "You're being deliberately unkind." She 
panted, "Making me all untidy and hurting me like this. That thing hurts 
unbearably." 

"Watch it, Gloria!" Diana's warning was whispered but anxious. "We must 
never be rude to a client--" Her words were lost. Gloria's attention was 
absorbed in watching Mr. Sands strap a leather band round her ankle, it 
boasted a steel ring to which he snapped a tether from above. A moment later 
the whipped girl's leg was high in the air to leave her standing on one foot 
and clutching Diana feverishly with a cuffed hand. 

"We can get rid of that for you now, dear." Mr. Sands unlocked the linking 
handcuff from both girlish wrists. "This should make a pleasant change." 

"But I--I--I can't stand. I'll fall!" 

"Well, possibly. But you do have your hands." 

Gloria teetered and clutched at Diana's secure helplessness for support. She 
looked at her raised foot in mute wonder that it was really hers. When she 
swayed dangerously, Mr. Sands chivalrously eased her nudity to the floor 
where it lay on its shoulders while its owner gazed askance at a tethered 
foot, now well out of reach and most firmly strapped. "This is ridiculous." 
Gloria gasped. "You have absolutely no right to humiliate me like this." 

"You look ineffectually charming, dear child." 

"I don't. I look horrible, and all twisted and indecent, and I feel silly. 
Please lower my foot." 

"Your foot will stay where it is, Gloria. But I'm curious about the one 
that's free. What are you going to do with it?" 

Gloria blushed. She was well aware of using the thigh over which she still 
had some control to shield her crotch. She was pressing it tightly against 
any of her several surfaces possible, none of which helped much against the 
indecent exposure of her vaginal lips. She looked up at her wildly kicking 
member as it sought a resting place her upside down condition denied. She 
did not answer Mr. Sand's question, her free foot was an embarrassment she 
knew not what to do with. Instead, she said protestingly, "I don't think 
you're being a bit nice... this is so unfair." 

Mr. Sands had fresh worlds to conquer. Without further ado he grasped the 
ankle of the foot in question and dragged it sideways to reveal, in all its 
pristine glory, the pussy and cleft of its owner. Thoughtfully, he placed a 
testing palm squarely upon the soft and swelling mound and its palpitating 
flesh. "Pleasantly damp and nicely warm." He commented kindly. "Would you 
like me to give this virgin place a stimulating massage?" 

Gloria was furious, she was also frightened. To be nakedly upside down and 
to be able to view this violation of her secret flesh was an untidy 
indignity without precedent in her books and visions of B & D. It would have 
been blushmaking under any circumstances to suffer this coarse intrusion of 
a male hand, but she felt certain she could have endured it in the proper 
Citadel spirit if she had been conventionally bound. She longed most 
ardently for strictures tight and numerous enough to rob her of decision. To 
have a free foot and two free hands was an embarrassment she had never 
foreseen. There was nothing she could do with any of them, she was a 
beautifully disorganized jumble of feminine impotence. She was chagrined 
enough to cry. 

"We did have that silken whip, quite a number of things...?" Mr. Sands was 
searching... "It's the special one, Diana. You know, they call it the 'tits 
and twat'." 

"The lower left on the rack, sir. It's half hidden by the 'cat'." 

Gloria tensed. She guessed instantly what such a whip was for. Shamed and 
scared, she pleaded, "I'm sorry, sir. Please forgive--" 

"Nothing to forgive." Mr. Sands assured her genially. "Everything's 
co-pathetic. All I'm going to do is whip your cunt." 

The crisp four letter word struck Gloria like a blow. It told her of 
unsuspected travails she had never even heard of. This kindly middle aged 
man was about to do things to her the lovely pictures and the exciting books 
had failed to mention. She felt certain some small measure of erotic fire 
would have heated her curly haired sex had she been spreadeagled in 
conventional helplessness. But, shabbily disposed of by a single ankle... It 
was all wrong. Inwardly, she cried out again and again, 'No, no, no...!" 

"You can keep your legs closed, dear." Mr. Sands conceded kindly, "But if 
you do I'll whip whatever other bits of you come handy. I won't stop, I'll 
just keep cutting away at you until you spread your legs--and I want 'em 
wide. Understand, real wide!" 

Gloria clamped her thighs together more tightly than before. The instinctive 
shielding of her sex earned a stripe across her raised bottom with the 
conventional whip to send her into a whirl of arms and legs seeking escape 
from a degree of pain far, far, beyond her wildest expectations. Wide eyed, 
she watched Mr. Sands go to the rack and select the shorter but more wicked 
stock with the hard silken thongs. "No," She pleaded desperately, "Don't 
whip me there and with that. Oh... please! Diana, tell him he mustn't. I 
didn't come here for that." 

Diana knew herself trapped. She did the only thing she could think of. 
"Please, sir, would you mind whipping me instead of Gloria?" She asked 
humbly. "This is Gloria's first time, and I'm sure it's a lot different from 
what she expected. And your session is really with me." 

Mr. Sands beamed. "You would like me to whip your breasts with the special 
whip, dear?" He asked helpfully. 

"Yes please, sir, I'd like you to whip my breasts instead of Gloria's 
pussy." 

"Hmmm, that word 'instead'. I'm afraid the 'instead' bit is out. Gloria gets 
her cunt whipped regardless." 

"Please, sir, it's all so new for the poor dear?" 

Gloria was shocked. Here was a reality beyond her envisioning. That a girl's 
breasts and sex could be whipped...! It did not seem possible. But she could 
not allow Diana to make such a sacrifice. Her voice came, brokenly. "I'm 
sorry, sir. I'll do whatever you tell me. You mustn't whip poor Diana on my 
account." She allowed her free leg to separate itself and to swing far to 
one side, baring her sex to a degree she had never before attempted. 

"There, is that how you want me exposed, sir?" 

"Well, well, two heroines!" Mr. Sands was vastly entertained. "I see no 
reason not to whip you both. I do have some amusing appliances in my bag... 
But perhaps We can use them later." 

It took an immense effort of will for Gloria to keep her leg extended. She 
was not yet quite open enough for Mr. Sands, so he pulled her free member as 
far out as pleased him, which was as far as it would go, then patted the 
inside of the thigh in approval. Running his finger up and down the soft 
flesh he enquired: "I don't suppose you've been whipped just here, dear?" 

"No sir, I'm afraid I haven't been whipped much at all." 

"But, in coming to the Citadel, you do expect to have your skin well 
marked:" 

"Yes, sir, of course. It's just that I--" 

"You were expecting stylized and photogenic bindings- Is that it?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Now, would you like me to start to whip your pretty little cunt and get it 
over with?" 

"I'm scared, sir. I know I'll never be able to hold my leg way out like 
this. The first time you hit me... there, I'll go crazy." Wistfully, she 
asked: "Wouldn't you like to tie it that way so I can't?" 

"Charming, charming! And so practical." Mr. Sands ran the silk thongs across 
the maiden slit he was about to punish. "But, no. It will be an icing on the 
cake for both of to observe what that delightful leg does for itself. I 
suspect it is a very versatile leg." 

Gloria moaned inwardly. This obscene and disagreeable cruelty was going to 
be done to her and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Her suspended 
leg mocked, it made her as vulnerable as a hundred feet of rope might have 
done had Mr. Sands wanted to use such a satisfyingly conventional method of 
rendering her helpless. She was play, now, to emotions which made her angry 
with her own stupidity in surrendering herself into captivity and furious at 
the enforced humility of calling this silly man 'Sir.' She longed to tell 
Mr. Sands to smarten up and let she and Diana loose so they could all go and 
have coffee like a trio of human beings. But these were dreams. She looked 
up at her pubic triangle and wailed dismally: "Please don't whip me there, 
Mr. Sands. Please whip me properly--" The small special whip cut her short 
as it cut her flesh. Instantly, Gloria Winton became a puppet on a string. 
Her leg flailed, her arms sought an expression they could not find, one of 
them tried to reach up to comfort this fresh wound in a place no wound 
should be. It succeeded only in fresh strain and a new posture of indignity. 

"When you speak of being whipped 'properly,' Gloria, you raise an 
interesting point." Mr. Sands separated the distressed female legs and, 
himself, tenderly rubbed the reddening path of the lash in his victim's 
crotch. "There, that's what you're trying to do, isn't it! Feel better?" 

The whipped girl answered only by a choked sob. Her hands now covered her 
face in shame. Blandly oblivious to feminine pain, Mr. Sands continued. "A 
girlish bottom is the spot most suited for corporal punishment: the cane, 
the crop, the whip... or even a good resounding strap. A maiden back 
striated by the whip is superlatively lovely. But these portions of female 
anatomy have become hackneyed, they are routine to a point of boredom." 

"They hurt terribly, sir." Diana ventured timidly. 

"Well, yes, I suppose they do. But it is an unimaginative pain." Mr. Sands 
was warming up to a favourite topic. "But if you take the same girl and turn 
her round you find yourself with a vista of fresh and provocative delights. 
Since most damsel delinquencies are of a sexual nature we are now able to 
make the punishment fit the crime. If she has indulged in a coupling we may 
whip the place of penetration. If she has dallied with flirtation, what 
could be more fitting then to whip her breasts! These twin curves and buds 
are a constant provocation as she augments their contours rather than 
confining them. For gluttony and intemperance there is the sweet soft belly 
which implores the lash fully as well as those conventionally approved areas 
on her other side. I trust you both see my point?" 

The embarrassed silence was not one of consent. Mr. Sands sighed and, in an 
absent minded manner, took a hearty swing to splay the silken cords wide 
across Gloria's exposed sex. He stood and watched her frantic gyrations with 
a clinical eye. Diana watched, too. She was unhappy in her strapped 
helplessness and more concerned for Gloria than for herself. She felt Mr. 
Sands had let them both down. It would not have hurt him to indulge his 
notions in ways less likely to disorganize a novice. Knowing the request out 
of line, she hesitantly asked. "Couldn't you whip me, sir? And let Gloria 
watch?" 

"Very well. Open your legs." 

The five strokes sweeping up into her crotch from below taxed all Diana's 
strength of will to keep her thighs well apart to receive them. It was 
equally difficult to be brightly grateful with her "Thank you very much, 
sir." She relapsed into silence and heavy breathing. 

"That was all my fault." Said Gloria wanly. 

"It was nobody's fault." Mr. Sands explained expansively. "Just a matter of 
cause and effect. You two girls are a delicate instrument on which I could 
play simply by provoking your feminine sympathy for each other. You, Gloria, 
could now ask to be whipped so Diana was not." There was another gloomy 
silence. 

"You are both sulky and feel ill used. If I was less experienced I would now 
harshly whip you both to restore animation and response." Mr. Sands beamed. 
"However, I am going to concede Gloria's wish. She will be dealt with 
aesthetically. You will change places." 

Gloria was forced to admire her client's neat disposal of female torsos. 
Diana was released and stood meekly to one side while the trapeze bar was 
brought down to where the warm moist straps could accept Gloria's 
reluctantly proffered wrists. Gloria knew she should have felt the familiar 
heat, but it was absent. She was still untidy and in disarray. Her strapped 
ankle was freed to fall with a thump to the floor while, at the same time, 
the bar to which her hands were strapped began its steady and compelling 
rise, taking her arms with it towards the ceiling. Hastily, she scrambled to 
her feet, looking up in wonder, gasping as her arms and body stretched until 
she stood tip-toe. Her wrists told her she was helpless. 

"Less offensive to your sense of nicety, my dear?" 

"Well, yes... Thank you, Mr. Sands." 

Gloria felt the fire, it was rekindling. Strapped and helpless, she was less 
free than before, her secret places no less vulnerable. But she was fastened 
in an understandable way and could be similarly punished. She was well 
aware, too, of the manner in which this semi suspension flattered her body, 
she was certain she looked exquisite. Looking down at her breasts she 
confirmed their response to the tensioning, and noted the hardening 
assertion of her nipples. This was better! Here was bondage with a capital 
'B.' She made play with her hands, splaying her fingers, clenching her fists 
against the straps. But the straps were as tight as any bondage could 
demand. Gloria rose higher on her toes, testing her helplessness. The deep 
exhalation of her sigh was of exultation. 

Obedient to a nod, Diana took Gloria's place on the floor and raised one 
foot invitingly. Mr. Sands strapped its ankle and raised it a couple of 
inches higher than before. Thrusting at the floor with hands and arms, Diana 
adjusted to the stress. Her free leg, bent back at the knee, made no attempt 
to hide her sex. The furry patch and the damp slit were simply there on view 
like all the rest of her. She looked up at Gloria's wide eyed concern and 
smiled. 

"I did make a purchase or two." Mr. Sands confided, "And since you're in 
this position it seems a pity not to use 'em." 

The girls exchanged glances as he went to his bag. Diana winked. This was 
the Mr. Sands she had promised. She had no doubt she was about to be hurt 
but it was a diversion. 

"They are not a bit glamorous, but I was in the stationers and there they 
were. Funny I'd never thought of them before." 

Diana wished he had not thought of them now. They were two medium sized 
paper clips about three inches long. Their bite, wherever be put them on 
her, would be cruel. 

"They're too severe for your nipples, Diana my dear. And, anyway, I have 
much nicer little bits of jewelry for them." Mr. Sands allowed his gaze to 
focus on Diana's exposed and open sex. "But with a little care... " The half 
suspended girl tensed. The mundane metal clips were familiar enough to know 
how wickedly they would bite female flesh-and such intimate flesh...! Her 
fists clenched in determination to 'be a good girl' as their genial 
tormentor separated the lips of her sex and worried a pair of open jaws back 
and forth into a contact he deemed properly aesthetic. Slowly, he allowed 
them to close. 

Diana screamed. She could not help it. She managed to choke back a second 
peal of pain but beat her fists on the floor in a tattoo of agony. Her eyes 
were widely imploring as she stared up at what was being done to her. 

"Quite severe, I imagine. Mr. Sands was now giving his attention to the 
opposite lip, the spring activated strip of metal finding its way well into 
the hot wet pungency of a female's secret place. "The final effect here is 
going to be remarkable... there!" 

Diana screamed again, she screamed more than once. Then lay with breasts 
heaving and her pain wracked features covered by her hands, she moaned 
steadily. 

"You see, Gloria, what perfect control the darling has. She is suffering a 
great deal of pain and handling it very well." Without warning, Mr. Sands 
struck the conventional whip smartly across the unsuspecting back of the 
girl with raised arms. "I'm sure you wish to share her travail." 

Gloria's toes left the floor. In involuntary anguish she lifted her nudity 
by her strapped wrists, kicking and twisting in shock. Mr. Sands stood back 
and surveyed his work with complacent satisfaction. Thoughtfully, he 
produced a camera and took pictures. Diana, moaning and writhing, choked out 
words she could not contain: "Please, sir... Oh please...! Mr. Sands... Oh, 
oh, oh...!" 

Mr. Sands appeared not to hear. With obvious intent, he turned his attention 
to Gloria's nipples, teasing them with skilled fingers and wise frictioning 
with the palm of his hand. As he worked his eyes met hers at close range. 
"I'll give you a preference, dear girl, the whip on that gorgeous bare skin 
of yours or some small discomfort to these sweet little buds? Which shall it 
be?" 

"I... I don't know." Gloria tore away from his hypnotic regard to stare in 
desolation at Diana's writhing nakedness on the floor and at the twin 
metallic horrors firmly biting the labia between her legs. Belatedly, she 
amended: "I think perhaps the whip...?" 

"In that case it will be your nipples, my dear. Just one moment--" The whip 
scalds were still potent on the tractioned girl as she watched the genial 
Mr. Sands rummage in his magic bag. She knew whatever she asked for would be 
wrong or cynically denied. She gasped in fear and fascination at sight of 
the exquisitely jewelled butterflies now approaching her breasts. 

"I suggest co-operation. If you struggle these little trinkets could be even 
more painful and less aesthetic. I am sure you are anxious for a proper 
placement--?" 

As in a trance, Gloria extended her right breast as best she could against 
the tug of her strapped wrists. The objects in her master's hands would have 
been innocently beautiful had it not been for the unobtrusive jaws and the 
hidden spring. A girl's nipple, even when engorged by friction, is not 
large: the tiny mechanism hidden by the bejewelled wings was made in 
proportion, properly affixed it would not be visible. The helpless girl did 
not wish to look but, in a fascination she could not control, she strained 
to watch her nipple become a gaudy butterfly. She managed to accept number 
one with no more than a gasp and a hasty swallow, but when number two 
nestled into her other breast and its jaws clamped closed upon the aroused 
innocence of its engorged bud of flesh, she moaned in a wailing cry against 
a punishment she had not sought. Upon her rapidly rising and falling breasts 
the two butterflies scintillated as though gorging on the nectar of a girl. 

Mr. Sands knew deep content, he sat back on a bench and enjoyably watched 
two naked girls fight their battle with the pain he had created. He was an 
artist resting after toil, reveling in this visible exposition of his gift. 
He consulted his watch and decided to extend the session an extra hour. 

* * * 

In the room which they were permitted to share for that one night, Sister 
Nona came to say good-night and to bestow gifts which encircled girlish 
waists, bisected the female crotch and compressed girlish tummies hard and 
tight. When she had kissed them and locked them in, Gloria fingered the 
metal shield curved and clamped immovably upon her sex. "It's a... A... It's 
a-?" 

"That's right, darling, it's a chastity belt." 

Gloria was still busy tugging at an immovable bond. "But why-why... in a 
locked room?" 

Diana laughed bitterly. "It's so we can't enjoy ourselves with each other, 
that's why! The Citadel wants us to keep our libidos intact for the 
clients." She held up her hands. "See, I'm handcuffed again. It's all part 
of a reminder." 

"We can't do a thing, nothing! It's so damn tight!" Gloria was still 
fingering her locked loins in disbelief. 

"This is the Citadel, darling. Come to bed." 

Gloria cried herself to sleep on Diana's shoulder. Memory of Mr. Sands 
attentions still burned scaldingly upon them both. 

Diana shed a few tears herself. 

 CHAPTER THREE - THE CANYON ROAD 

David Farrell now approached his sessions in a progressively potent need far 
beyond his original use of her as an attractive medium for the consummation 
of his art of Bondage. For him, Diana had become increasingly beautiful and 
more and more to be desired. His wish to bind her tight in the poses and 
postures which satiated his aesthetic hunger had in no way diminished as his 
love for her had grown. But was now a precious intimacy to be breathlessly 
shared in those limited periods during which the Citadel leased him her body 
and her limbs for cash. With hammering pulse, he now roped her stomach 
tightly to the upright of the cross to which her extended arms and well 
spread legs were already firmly strapped. It was his favourite pose for her, 
and one in which Diana no longer felt shame. 

"I wouldn't tie you like this, sweetheart, if you didn't say we should. I'd 
be happy just to talk--" 

"No, you must tie me." Diana was vehement. "A Sister might drop in, they're 
already suspicious of us. Besides, you love to tie me so I want to be tied. 
I think the way you've got me fixed is gorgeous. Do I look pretty?" 

"Ravishing. But why would a Sister--?" 

"They don't approve of love affairs. They nip 'em in the bud." 

"But how can they? I've paid!?" 

"They can alright. Darling, tighten my left elbow a bit more. It's like 
having you hold me. When a girl falls for a client she's horribly punished 
and they never sell her to him again. After she's been punished they never 
see each other again." 

David took a deep breath, surveying the Citadel's impregnability. "There has 
to be a way out of this, Diana? There must be?" 

"If you've got a million dollars." 

Irritably, he waved away the impossible. "I'm not a nonentity," He said 
without conceit. "I can pull strings and get access, but this damn place is 
impregnable. The Law just laughs when you mention the name, my Congressman 
says 'For Pete's sake forget it, that place is too embarrassing.' " David 
shrugged. "It all adds up to me having to get you out of here on my own 
hook." 

"That's not possible! Oh, David!" 

"Of course it's possible! Anything's possible." He looked at her broodingly, 
his well chiseled features clouded in perplexity. "It's something I have to 
do, and I'll do it. I want you." 

Momentarily, Diana wished she was not bound. It would be nice to throw her 
arms around him and whisper words of comfort. Then to try and make him 
understand the impossibility of her ever escaping. The Citadel had her. 
Instead, she said unhappily, "David, I'm a prisoner here and that's the end 
of it. Out there in freedom there must be a hundred girls you could be happy 
with without the danger of being killed." 

"They'd go that far?" 

"There's all sorts of stories about escapes. Someone always gets killed and 
the girls never get free." She saw the consternation on his face, so added 
quickly: "It's not that they don't treat us kindly, I suppose they do. The 
Sisters will always try and be kind before they have to be cruel. They 
reject clients who might injure us." 

"Real big of 'em." The male voice was grim. "And what's this punishment they 
hold over your head?" 

Diana made a restless motion against the timber to which she was bound. "Why 
talk about it, David. They whip us and chain us in a dungeon...! It's never 
happened to me that way so I don't know for sure." 

"But they have punished you?" 

"Yes, but only while they were training me and I didn't understand. I 
haven't been punished in quite a long time." 

"But you're always handcuffed when they send you in to me?" David scowled. 
"What d'you call that?" 

"Oh, David, that's nothing." Diana laughed. "I've been handcuffed so long 
it's become a sort of joke, and I'm so used to them--" 

"It's not a joke to me." The man pursed his lips. "Sweetheart, how badly do 
you want to get out of the Citadel?" 

"More than anything, but not at the expense of your life. David dear, we're 
like a husband and wife where the wife has been sentenced to prison for 
years and years. All they can do is look at each other through the bars. 
They don't talk about escape, they know it won't happen." 

Silence fell on the private room. Diana knew the thoughts churning in her 
beloved's mind. Pathetically, she made her words bright and coaxing: "David 
darling, wouldn't you like to whip me or something...? I'd love you to?" 

"Diana...!" 

"Well, you loved to once. We mustn't let falling in love spoil anything. I 
won't be like the wife who doesn't bother looking nice once she's married." 
She twinkled mischievously. "C'mon, do something naughty to me?" Feverishly, 
David tugged at knots and buckles and took her from the frame. On the floor, 
without thought of yesterday or of tomorrow, they made their love, using its 
physical delights to obliterate the agonies of frustration. For quite a long 
time escape was banished from their minds. When they came back into the 
world, Diana's first thought was eminently practical. 

"David, darling, you must tie me for whatever time we have left." 

"Because a Sister might walk in? To hell with her!" 

"So I won't get punished, David. You're forgetting I'm still here." 

"Oh, alright. What's the easiest?" 

"Don't snap at me, David. Tie my hands together and suspend me that way. It 
won't be for long." 

"Hell, no! That's torture!" 

"No it isn't, I'm used to it and it's nice and authentic." Coyly, she added: 
"And I look very pretty like that, I know I do." 

He obeyed her in the manner of the martyred male forced to a domestic chore. 
When Diana's feet were above the floor he took her weight in his arms and 
kissed her savagely. Her lips, her nipples, and then below where he had 
entered. Finally he stood back and drank in Diana's hanging loveliness. 
"You're the mast beautiful thing in the world." He told her huskily. "I 
simply have to "And what is it you have to do, Mr. Farrell?" 

Sister Angela's voice caught them unawares. She had entered quietly and 
stood surveying their consternation with amusement. She laughed. "But never 
mind telling me, I already know. Love is this world's least secret emotion." 

"Please, Sister, don't hold Diana guilty of anything " 

"Hush, hush, Mr. Farrell! Who spoke of guilt. It gives me great pleasure to 
see two young people happy together. I take it you are more than pleased 
with our Diana?" 

"Of course, and " 

"We are all very fond of Diana, Mr. Farrell. We want no harm to come to 
her." 

"Yes, of course. Sister, may I release her, it will only take a moment "No. 
Leave her as she is." Sister Angela's tone had resumed authority. "We find 
it desirable to keep these girls constantly aware of their status, and she 
looks very beautiful as she is. You don't mind your posture, Diana?" 

"No, Sister." 

"You see, Mr. Farrell, she is beautifully trained. We could not easily bear 
to part with her." 

There was a silence in which three people shared a single thought. Sister 
Angela broke it with a gentle statement of fact. "The poor darling must be 
punished, of course. You do understand?" 

David Farrell was angry and at a disadvantage. "No, I don't understand all 
this talk of punishments. I want to marry Diana." 

"I think you understand very well, Mr. Farrell, and so does Diana. The two 
of you have been discussing her escape." 

"So what!" 

"We cannot tolerate such talk. It unsettles the girls and causes them 
heartbreak." 

"So you punish them out of kindness!" 

"Don't be angry, Mr. Farrell. Share our problem. Most of the men who come 
here seem to be shockingly lonely. They become attached to one of our girls 
and think they have fallen in love. They then make the most absurd proposals 
of marriage, of escape, of purchase... It gets the girls all upset and at 
odds with themselves. We punish them to maintain perspective. We cannot 
punish the client, but where we must we blacklist them from the Citadel." 

"You'll blacklist me?" 

"Not at all." Sister Angela smiled placatingly. "We think you a desirable 
type, intelligent enough to listen to reason. Enjoy yourself with this 
charming girl and forget about talk of freedom for her. She no longer 
believes in freedom Do you, dear?" 

"No, Sister." 

"You see, Mr. Farrell?" 

"Diana can't possibly be happy here as a slave, or whatever you call your 
girls." David glared. "Look at her skin, there's whipmarks everywhere." 

"Mostly fading, Mr. Farrell. I assure you the adjustment our girls make to 
pain and captivity would cheer you up considerably if you could see it with 
an open mind." 

"Diana and I have a right to marry... " The rights and privileges of 
humanity are nebulous, Mr. Farrell." 

"Oh, for Pete's sake don't pontificate. Look, Sister, put it in your 
language. I wish to buy Diana. How much?" 

Sister Angela sighed. Overactive male glands had been a tribulation 
throughout her life. "If I believed you wealthy, Mr. Farrell, I would be 
prepared to quote a price." 

"Dammit,' Sister, I'm not a pauper." 

"Can you spare a million dollars?" 

"No." 

Sister Angela shrugged. It was always the same: the man with the million had 
other girls in other places, he did not buy from the Citadel. Gently, she 
admonished. 

"Diana is worth a million to us, Mr. Farrell. But the two of you touch me. 
You are what my mother would have called 'nice people.' I will use my 
influence to lower Diana's price. But I can see no hope of getting it below 
five hundred thousand dollars." 

David had never felt more ineffectual. Diana wanted to cry. She felt herself 
useless, hanging naked while a man and a woman bickered over her life. 
Brokenly, she said: "Go away and forget me, David, it's hopeless." 

"And leave you to be punished! No Way!" 

"They won't punish me severely this time. Ask Sister Angela." 

"They've no right to punish you at all." David turned angrily to the 
watching woman, "What will you have done to her?" 

Sister Angela shrugged. "A night or two chained in the dungeon, or a day or 
two tied to a post. Nothing drastic. Please don't let us deal in dramatics." 

"Dammit,' you're speaking of my wife!" 

"Diana is not your wife, Mr. Farrell. She belongs to the Citadel and the 
Citadel makes its own laws. Diana is subject to them, you are not. Perhaps 
you should leave." 

"Perhaps I should." David's voice was grim. "I'll let Diana down and untie 
her-" 

"Leave her as she is, Mr. Farrell. I have things to say to her after you 
have gone. She is suitably positioned. Kiss her and go." 

The Citadel and the authority of Sister Angela were heavy in the room. David 
Farrell conceded their victory. When he was gone, frustrated, angry and 
determined, Sister Angela turned grave eyes upon Diana's suspended nudity. 
"Falling in love is very foolish anywhere, my dear." She said gently. "Most 
of all so in the Citadel. There is no place for it here except in the 
sessions... If only these foolish men could be satisfied with the 
sessions... " Sister Angela paused, heavily, before asking: "I suppose you 
know this room is monitored?" 

"Not really, Sister." 

"Well, it is. The session was recorded. All things considered, you came out 
of it well. Mr. Farrell was immoderate, you were not. But you do understand 
you have earned a punishment?" 

"Yes, Sister." 

"It will not be severe, but you deserve something for failing to keep Mr. 
Farrell in line. You have allowed yourself to drift into an emotional 
involvement." 

"I'm sorry, Sister Angela, really I am. Perhaps it's best if you don't allow 
Mr. Farrell to come again." 

"That is a last resort. If we denied the Citadel to every moonstruck male 
we'd be out of business. If Mr. Farrell wants to spend his money we'll 
accept it. But he must be told of the monitoring. One word of what he would 
probably call 'rescue,' and the session will be terminated, and you'll be 
punished. If he knows he can get you punished it may keep him within 
limits." 

"Very well, Sister, but I'd much rather-" 

"What you'd prefer is of no consequence, Diana. I am now going to discuss an 
appropriate punishment for you with the other Sisters. In the meantime you 
may as well remain as you are." 

Diana gazed at the closed door in dismay. Closed doors were never good news 
in the Citadel. She might hang as she was a very long time before it opened 
again. That was the difference for a girl between the pains of a session and 
the disciplines of the Citadel. The former were a known quantity, they had 
an end, but the latter could drag on and on without seeming end. She cursed 
her own choice of suspension. It was ironic to think of David's fingers 
binding her wrists and hanging her thus. It had started as a pretty conceit 
to please him but to be left suspended and alone would soon become a 
torture. Perhaps this was her punishment! 

Diana knew there were worse things than to be strung up as she was. But 
suspension by her wrists was a constant and unremitting attrition on the 
courage of a girl, it wore you down with the pain and the total 
helplessness. If she was whipped like this she would lunge and writhe and 
dance and kick at empty air. But, for now, she knew it best to hang in 
passive resignation, any movement hurt her wrists or strained her shoulders 
more. 

It was hard not to feel injustice over her pending punishment. After all, 
David Farrell was a client, and she had been adamant enough in asserting the 
impossibility of escape. But she had said she wanted to escape: there would 
be her crime. The Citadel might make her pay dearly for the admission. 
Sadly, she reviewed the things they could do to her, and wanted none of 
them. Suddenly, the thought of freedom became an unbearable desire. To be 
able to do as she wished and not be punished...! For girls beyond the walls 
it was the norm, for her it was an impossible dream. She flexed her legs in 
the air and wanted to cry. 

The opening of the door came sooner than Diana had deemed likely. It 
disclosed a tousled head and a pair of pixie eyes which soon became two as 
Tina and April slipped into the room, a pair of naked nymphs on mischief 
bent. Eyes sparkling, they surveyed Diana's pained nakedness and rendered 
their own summation. 

"You've got yourself in deep shit, darling." 

"And all over a silly man... Ugh!" 

Tina and April were not twins but had a tendency to act the part. Their 
inclinations were so similar that clients were apt to employ the two of them 
as a single unit of pleasure. Their insouciant delight in most punishments 
had got them nicknamed 'The Masochist Marvels.' They were probably the only 
captives ever to defeat the Citadel, inasmuch as they were always a jump 
ahead in their joyous embracing of its rigours. The other girls viewed them 
with puzzled envy. They were much loved for being two rays of sunshine in a 
dark place. 

"You two always know everything." Diana said morosely. "Have you found out 
what my punishment's going to be?" 

"The Sisters are still nattering, and then they'll have coffee. You'll have 
to hang there a long time before we find out. We've come to give you an 
orgasm." 

"No! Please don't." 

"Gee, you're ungrateful. You'll probably be locked in a chastity belt for a 
month, so you ought to take it while you can." 

"Yes, I know. You're both sweet. But nothing's right for it." 

"Yes there is: you're helpless. So we're going to do it to you regardless." 

Never had feminine helplessness been more graphic. Diana could have kicked 
and writhed, but to what avail! And anyway, she had no wish to kick either 
of these douce damsels when they were trying to be kind. Ruefully, she 
looked down at the twin mops of hair as teeth and tongues took possession of 
her nipples and twin hands found mischief between her thighs. Soon she was 
gasping and, for a little while, forgot her punishment. After the explosion 
she hung limp and exhausted by the intensity of what the two nymphets had 
made her feel. 

"We're awfully clever with orgasms, darling." 

"We're the best." April giggled. "As long as there's no chastity belts 
around. Chastity belts are unfair to girls." 

"Diana, did you really plan an escape with that guy?" 

"No, we just talked about it. Darlings, how'd you like to let my feet down 
on the floor while we talk?" 

"Oooooo, we wouldn't dare." Both maidens contrived to appear desolated by 
regret. 

"Please...?" Diana wheedled. "Just for a few minutes? I'm so damn tired... 
Look, you can let my feet down to the floor and keep my hands tied up there 
helpless so you can raise me anytime -?" 

"The Sisters would find out, they always do--and then we're in deep shit 
too. Just imagine, all three of us hanging in a row." 

"And besides, we like you that way. You look yummy." Diana sighed, the twins 
were unpredictable, capricious, elfin. But they were a lovable pair and good 
company. In her present plight they were a diversion she did not wish to 
lose. "I'll come and tease you sometime when you're hanging up like this." 
She promised good naturedly. "Trouble with you is you enjoy it." 

"You other girls would enjoy it too, darling, if you weren't always thinking 
about escape and all the fun you used to have before you got 'taken'." 

"Why wouldn't we think about escape?" Diana mourned. "What else is there... 
except the next client?" 

"We don't think about escape, Diana. Do we, Tina? We wouldn't escape if they 
gave us the keys. We've never had it so good. Between us we had fourteen 
orgasms in the past twenty-four hours, we counted. 

"You're a pair of lecherous mink, and you must be made of rubber." Diana 
sniffed enviously. "I'm hating what's happening to me right now but you'd 
love it. You'd be so hot between your legs you'd be trying to reach each 
other with your toes. Anyway, I want to go home and get married and have 
three children." 

"You just think you want that. You'd hate it... really!" 

"Try me. I'd send my husband in here as a client to give you a report. 
Look... please! Let my feet down for just one moment?" 

The twins giggled and exchanged a lifted eyebrow communion. April said, 
slowly: "No, we won't let you down. We like to hear you beg, and you look so 
sweet and helpless... Would you like another orgasm?" 

"No, but thanks anyway." 

"Would you like to escape?" 

It was not raillery. The air in the room was suddenly electric. The twins 
were smiling mischievously... waiting! 

"Don't tease me about escape, please darlings... " Diana hoped they could 
not hear her accelerated heartbeats. "We shouldn't be talking about it." 

"The monitor's off. We made sure of that before we came." 

"So? I still don't want-" 

"We've known how to escape for a long time, Diana dear." 

They were looking at her with their bright, expectant young eyes, loving the 
sudden tensioning of her nakedness. Diana could feel the touch of their 
excitation. "I don't believe a word of it." She said flatly. 

"It's just a case of knowing the right door and the right time and where 
people are likely to be. There's quite a few doors, of course-it's quite 
complicated. But we worked it all out and we tried it and it works." 

"You're putting me on? To get out and then come back-?" 

"We told you, Diana: we know when we're well off. We I only searched for the 
escape route for fun-and just in case." 

"We'll let you out if you really want?" 

"Because we like you." 

"It's easy, Diana: when you know how." 

"We think you're crazy to run away from the Citadel. But we'll do it." 

Emotions crowded the mind of the suspended girl into a battlefield of doubt 
and fear. April and Tina were watching her in avid curiosity. For them, this 
was a wonderful game from which they would probably emerge unscathed. Diana 
asked the only question she could think of. 

"When?" 

"Now?" 

"Yes... oh, yes! But please don't tease -?" 

Tina went to the wall and the controls. Suddenly, Diana's feet were on the 
floor and April was untying chafed numb wrists. 

Giggling, they took her by the hand. 

* * * 

It was a canyon road, narrow, winding, and not much traffic. As yet, Diana 
hid in the bushes when she heard the sound of a motor. Her first need was to 
pick the right rescuer or to find the right house. She could smell salt in 
the air, and guessed that somewhere ahead she would find the Ocean and the 
Coast Highway. Had she been clothed and with money in her pocket her escape 
from The Citadel would already be behind her as a solid fact. But, naked and 
penniless, her freedom was tenuous and breathless, a tender growth to be 
nurtured by the utmost care. 

The cars were tantalising. By the time she had assessed them they were gone. 
A girl attired in nothing but the small towel the twins had gigglingly 
purloined had to be cautious. Hairy males, bikers, hippies... she would be 
fair game for them. What she needed was a nice respectable couple but she 
herself was not respectable. She would be viewed with suspicion, and would 
have to concoct some fiction about an unkind practical joke. 

The towel provided only the minimum of decency, it would not keep her warm 
in the chill of night. She was naked in a strange place without friends 
until she could find money or a phone. Ahead, perhaps a mile or two, would 
be a busy junction with lights and people and the police. Her condition 
would almost certainly involve her with an inquisitive officer and, if the 
tales were true, he would simply pack her up and return her from whence she 
came. 

Diana shuddered at thought of the reproachful Sisters and the waiting 
punishment. It was frightening to realise she did not even know David 
Farrell's phone number or address. Steadfastly, she repressed the nagging 
thought of having acted hastily and without wisdom. She was free! She 
repeated the word over and over: free, free, free! But, somehow, it carried 
no conviction. 

Here and there where the scrub thinned out below the road Diana had observed 
a boulder strewn wash on the canyon's narrow floor, in it was a trickle of 
water. Selecting a growth where she would be well shielded from view, she 
made her way to it and drank. Her throat was dry, not so much from exertion 
as from fear. It was while she was tidying her hair in the mirror of a tiny 
pool that a male voice made her apprehension real. 

"Well, well and very nice too!" 

The naked fugitive catalogued him at a glance. He would be an 
environmentalist, a student of Ecology or a left wing dilettante out on a 
hike. Early thirties, expensive outdoor garments, his features proclaiming a 
superior brand of discontent. He was surveying his good fortune with obvious 
masculine approval. His question was heavy humour. 

"Refugee from a nudist colony?" 

For a moment, hope flared. He was personable, he looked like money, his 
voice was educated. On the debit side his stature was adequate to best her 
in a struggle. It would be foolish to run. Barefooted on the rocks she could 
be captured easily. The only other option was to be positive and polite. 

"Gosh, I'm glad to see you! I need help." 

"You seem to be doing very well by yourself. Er, my name's Catley. Wilbur 
Catley." 

She could tell he was wishing the towel would slip or that she would take it 
off. Diffidently, she introduced herself, and added: "I've been kidnapped. 
I've just escaped." 

"Really...!" The one word contained volumes of disbelief. 

"Yes... really! Will you help me get to the City or a phone? I don't have 
clothes or money." 

"Hmmmmm, possibly. Best tell me a bit more. Why not the police?" 

It seemed pointless to be reticent. Diana told him, briefly, of the Citadel. 
Wilbur Catley was a good listener, but at the end of it was derisive. "Bit 
of a tall story, wouldn't you say?" 

At that moment the naked girl knew he would not be a friend. Defensively, 
she countered. "It's true." 

"Does this Citadel place have a phone number?" 

"I don't know it. It's private, not in the book." 

"Ahhhhh... I expect they'd be pleased to see you back?" 

"Yes. But I'm not going. Look, will you help me?" 

"Sure, sure!" He waved a placating hand. "Don't get in a snit." He sluffed 
off a knapsack. "There's something I want to show you." 

The moment Diana saw the cord she turned and ran. Wilbur Catley caught her 
in the first six leaps. With her face buried in grass and fallen leaves and 
a male knee cruelly in the small of her back, Diana flailed her arms 
uselessly until they were gathered, one by one, and tightly crossed and 
bound with the thin lacings that hurt and were far more deadly than rope. 
She was then lifted and placed on her feet. The ease with which Wilbur 
Catley had made her captive was disconcerting. Panting, she faced him 
angrily. 

"Don't take me back there." She pleaded desperately. "They won't give you 
money. You may even be in danger." 

"O.K., O.K. I won't At least, not right now." 

Diana, twisting uselessly at bound wrists, knew herself beyond quibbling. 
Her suggestion was forthrightly honest: "Untie me. Give me an old shirt and 
fifty dollars, and I'll... I'll? 

"You will anyway-sans shirt and cash. I've got you." 

"Wouldn't it be nicer if I co-operated?" 

"You will co-operate, or be thrashed." 

The tied girl knew the bitter humiliation of capitulation. "Alright then. 
When you've... done it, will you take me to a phone?" 

"Mmmmmm, maybe. Depends on how well we get along." 

It was not as Diana expected. She was picked up and carried along the dry 
creek bed to where a jeep and a tiny tent were secluded in the scrub. Once 
more on her feet, she watched him rummage for rope, then submitted to being 
leashed by her neck and tethered to a tree by a ten foot strand. "Sit or 
stand." Catley said tersely. "You can't get away." He fixed her with a 
sardonic eye. "And look, no hysteria, no screams, no pleadings and no 
threats. I'm going to fuck you to a fare-ye-well. I'd be crazy not to." 

Seething in the ambient female frustration of being physically weaker than 
the male, Diana bitterly fought the twine on her wrists and shook her head 
fury against the rope collar which constrained her for the convenience of a 
man. Her only weapon left was guile. 

"You don't need to be so rough with me." She stepped forward until her 
throat was snubbed. "This is absurd." 

"It's effective." 

"Look, you're civilised!" Diana faced her captor in puzzlement. "You don't 
have to do this to get a girl, you could get a girl anywhere, or rent one 
cheap--I've even offered... ;?" 

He nodded. "That's right. But don't you see the piquancy of this. You're in 
a sort of limbo. You can't go forward or back. If I use you for a few days 
or a week or two: what does it matter." 

He was infuriatingly right. Diana saw and understood his reasoning. It held 
but one tiny hope that when he was bored with her he might take her to a 
phone or give her a few coins. Capitulating again, she said drearily. "Yes, 
I understand. But do you have to keep me tied?" 

"Can you tell me any other way I can keep you around?" 

She could not. Vexatious as it might be, Catley had no option but to keep 
her securely bound. Unhappily, she offered: "I could give you my word, a 
sort of parole? No girl wants to be tied up all the time." 

"Horseballs!" 

"Do you want me to lay down now?" 

"Well, well, the final surrender, eh. No, keep standing. I want a good look 
at you." 

Diana watched, in shrinking dismay, as he went to a willow and cut and 
trimmed a switch. "You don't need that." She said unhappily. I'll do what 
you want-I've been trained." 

"Ah, of course! Your mythical Citadel." Catley yanked the towel from her 
hips and threw it aside. "Ah, ha! Real quality, aren't you, my proud beauty. 
You're a damn lovely female." 

She sniffed. "I know I am, but it doesn't do me any good." 

Catley cut a swift unexpected blow to worm the willow round one hip and 
across her recently bared bottom. The pain was atrocious and left the tied 
and naked girl gasping in indignant perplexity. 

"That's just to get your attention, sweetheart. There'll be others if you 
choose to be difficult." 

"You didn't need to do that to me. It hurt horribly." 

"Good! We now have a rapport. Now, one other thing-" When thumbs and fingers 
clamped her nipples and squeezed it was one indignity too many. 
Instinctively, Diana lashed upward with a defensive knee. The thrust, more 
accurate and more severe than she had imagined possible, sent Catley into a 
writhing grasp of his genitals while the tethered girl backed against the 
tree from which she could not flee. In apprehensive horror she blurted out. 
"I'm... I'm sorry... I didn't mean--" She got only a venomous glance, and 
was forced to watch as the man worked his way through male agony until he 
stood erect and grim faced. Mutely, Diana awaited the inevitable flogging 
with the whip. She could neither run nor fight and would have to stand and 
take it or cower in the dirt as he marked her skin. 

But the whipping did not come. The jeep yielded a hand axe, and with it 
Catley sharpened and drove stakes hard and deep into the ground. By the time 
the third wooden anchor had been pounded home Diana had divined their 
purpose. Desperately, she pleaded: "No, don't tie me like that. It's 
horrible. Look, I've said I'm sorry. You can punish me and hobble my ankles 
so I can't kick again?" 

Catley did not answer. His manner was grimly but complacently intent. He 
loosed Diana's tether and forced her to the ground where she had little 
choice but to sit and watch her ankles spread far apart and bound to the 
waiting stakes. "Just as well you kicked." Catley said with a return to his 
sardonic self. "I might never have thought of this." 

"Please, no. Not with my hands spread out and tied too...! Oh, please...? 
Let me sit like this with only my feet spread? I'm completely helpless." 

When he untied her ankles the distraught girl supposed she had won a 
concession. But it was only one more indignity. "Just thought of something." 
He told her tolerantly. "Here, I'll tether you to the tree again, and then 
I'll be gone a few minutes... Nice and private for you round the other side 
of the tree... D'you understand?" Seeing her look of incredulity, he added: 
"Best have yourself a pee or whatever. Night's coming and you could be 
staked out quite a spell." 

Speechless with chagrin, Diana watched him go. Once more he was hatefully 
right. Hating Catley and herself and the whole sorry mess, she retreated to 
the other side of the tree to which her rope was tied. Her prospects for the 
night made the act imperative. When her captor returned they had no need of 
words. Glumly, she sat down and spread her legs towards the waiting pegs. 
When each ankle was firmly tied her hands were freed and she lowered her 
back to the ground and spread her arms for the cords in Catley's hands. 
Drearily, she said: "I've been tied before, it's nothing new to me. But this 
is a beastly way to be fastened. If only you'd give me a chance I'd be a lot 
more obedient than you'd think?" 

Wilbur Catley paid no heed. Carefully he tied each of her wrists to a 
distant stake. When he was done she was not too cruelly stretched but could 
move but little. She was a female facility ready for impalement. 

"There you are." Catley said with deep satisfaction. "Now we both know where 
we're at." He grinned. "And don't think I'm not aware of good fortune in 
finding you. Quite likely the only such chance of my whole lifetime. This is 
the real thing, the way it should be. That emasculated farce of climbing 
into bed together is for the birds." 

"It's a lot more comfortable." 

"Hell, girl, you're supposed to hurt a bit-helps your secretions." 

"Look, Mr. Wilbur Catley, you've tied me so I can't move much at all sure, 
sure, I know why and what you're going to do to me. But you're not going to 
leave me like this all night, are you?" 

"I've got a nice heavy rug, kiddo. You'll be snug as a bug." 

Wearily, Diana pleaded: "I'm only a girl, and you've got me, and I'm 
helpless. But give me something to look forward to? Tell me you'll let me go 
in the morning--?" 

Catley stood and looked down at his prize. He had never felt more masculine, 
nor had his words ever seemed more reasonable. "I can't think of any good 
reason why I should do that, Diana. Can you?" 

"Decency... kindness?" 

"Abstractions. Quite unreal." 

She turned her head and wept. While she was thus engaged he searched for a 
pillow and, thoughtfully, positioned it beneath the cheeks of her bottom. 

The spreadeagled girl did not count the number of times Wilbur Catley used 
her body. He was immensely virile. But he fought a battle the woman always 
wins. Satiated and exhausted he crept to his tent and snored there in the 
dark. Unexpectedly, the naked girl helpless beneath the rug slept too. 

In the morning Catley granted her the welcome relief of tied hands, the 
tether on her neck, and the tree. Diana was too still and dispirited to 
fight or struggle. Without complaint she allowed herself to be freshly tied. 
He fed her with his own hands, not trusting her enough to free her own. In 
this intimacy she found the courage to ask: "Please let me go now?" 

"No." 

"I didn't mean without-" Diana sought for the right words. "I mean, have all 
the fun with me you want. I'll try and be nice to you. Then, after, set me 
free...?" Striving for a light touch, she added: "Maybe you'd give me a 
quarter so I can use the phone if I can find one." 

"If I gave you a quarter where would you put it?" 

She flushed. "You could let me have my towel back?" Studying her intently', 
her captor went off on a fresh tack. Cheerfully he explained. "I've been 
thinking. There's more to you than just a piece of tail. A guy who has you 
has options. At the worst I get a lot of free screwing, at the best I might 
make a lot of money." 

Diana listened while hope died. Her corded wrists and chafed neck told her 
plainly she could counter nothing this man might wish. All she could do was 
watch for loopholes. 

"It's a shame to waste those stakes. You look damn cute tied down to 'em and 
with a cushion under your little ass. I'm thinking of going down the road a 
way to the first phone and calling a few friends. They'd each be good for a 
hundred bucks to have a shot at you while I have you prettily spreadeagled." 

"Do it. Then let me go." 

"My, my, you sure do have a bug about freedom!" Catley's eyes narrowed. 
"Supposed I promised to cut you loose in return for a couple of good blow 
jobs, would you do it?" 

"Of course. Right now if you wish." 

Diana was suddenly enveloped in shame. Catley's opinion of her mattered not 
at all, but she did not wish to seem a whore. In mortification she sought to 
excuse her eagerness. "I told you about the Citadel. I had to do things 
there, all sorts of things. I was once as immaculate as any girl in town but 
when they 'took' me they taught me things... I was trained. I'm not an 
escaped whore but I'll act like one to please you if it will earn my freedom 
and twenty-five cents." 

He should have been touched, but was delighted. "I could likely round up a 
dozen men to use you after I'd had mine, of course. D'you think you could be 
nice to them?" 

"Yes, they'd get their money's worth." 

Catley nodded. His mind was obviously hard at work. "On the other hand," He 
said slowly, "I'm a good mind to tie you into a bundle in the back of the 
jeep and go and see if we can't find this place you're supposed to have 
escaped from. It can't be too far back up the road. You could guide me?" 

"No! No... oh please understand I daren't go back there. They'd punish me 
terribly." 

"If you don't want to guide me, I can whip you until you change your mind?" 

"I know you can. I think I'd die before I went back there. Can't you 
understand: that place is forever. You and your dozen men could all be 
through with me by this evening." 

"Yeah." Catley chuckled. "I'm almost inclined to believe you. But if we ask 
around a bit as we go up the road someone's going to know where this 
marvelous place is." 

"They'll half kill me, and then there's just years and years of slavery." 

"O.K. How about I take you home and keep you chained in my spare room? Your 
mouth and your pussy would make me rich in a year. It would be quite safe 
for me because you vanished long ago. Nobody's looking for you. Far as I can 
see you've ceased to exist." It was hateful and impossible. A bit of cord 
round her wrists and a rope round her neck delivered her into any of his 
notions. Conversely, a razor blade would grant her freedom. Diana had never 
felt more frustrated or furious in her life. But she knew for sure she was 
tired of this insensitive man. She had endured enough of him. In revulsion, 
she spat out. "Very well, I'll guide you back to the Citadel. I don't want 
to be an unpaid whore in your back room for the rest of my life." 

It happened, then, very quickly. Unleashed, she was on the ground watching 
her ankles corded to their stakes. Then Catley's terse command: "Get 
yourself loose." 

"How the devil can I?" 

"O.K., I'll untie your hands. Then try." 

Bemused and suspicious, Diana rubbed chafed wrists and then reached for 
ankles and the. stakes. But she was too competently bound. It was a case of 
so near and yet so far. Catley was pleased. "Good. You can keep your hands." 
He stepped forward. "Use 'em to unzip me." 

Catley had thought it out well. Her tie was neatly designed to enable her to 
service men with her mouth. Possession of her hands would enable her to do a 
better job and there was no way she could use them to free herself. If 
normal sex was demanded she was fastened in a manner to make it easy. All 
she had to do was lay back, her legs were already an open invitation. As at 
the beginning of a gigantic task, Diana unzipped the proffered pants and 
extracted the ready genital she must place within her mouth. It was while 
she was busy at her task she felt the axe. It had been kicked against her 
hip. When her master reached the throes of his carnal ecstasy under the 
skill of her tongue she clasped his limp hand and pulled him down to enable 
her to strike the flat of the axe hard against his head. Wilbur Catley 
slumped insensible at her side. 

But she was not free. She could not reach the ropes holding her ankles. Once 
again frustration brought the tears. If Catley regained consciousness while 
she was still bound helpless his anger would be a fearful thing to face. 
Desperately. Diana reached forward with the axe extended. By a series of 
small chopping blows she severed a cord, then another. Within two minutes 
she stood nakedly free. She could recall no sensation in her life that felt 
so good. It took another two minutes to steal a shirt and a pair of briefs, 
then to find the keys... In an almost drunken exhilaration she drove the 
roaring jeep up the incline to the road. In the pocket of the shirt was 
money she had taken from the man she left behind. It did not bother her 
conscience in the least. 

Diana considered options. She had no parents but there were a wealth of 
uncles, aunts, and cousins. There were also friends. But to any of these she 
would be an apparition from the dead. There would be endless explanations, 
there would be suspicion, and there might be the police. None would believe 
the police a hazard to her freedom. She rejected all of them to settle on 
the one male figure for whom she felt the greatest need. Somehow she must 
find David Farrell. With a phone book or a call to Information it should not 
be difficult. Her attire was barely respectable, both shirt and briefs were 
too large and her feet was still bare. But, in California, these 
deficiencies would raise few eyebrows. 

She had escaped! She savoured the word over and over. She was free. The jeep 
and the money in her shirt pocket made this freedom real. Naked and 
penniless she had been prey to anyone or any circumstance, the world is not 
kind to naked girls upon a canyon road. But now she had substance. The jeep 
conveyed a delightful sense of normalcy, it would moreover take her to 
wherever her love might live. Gleefully, Diana pressed her foot down on the 
accelerator and gratefully sniffed the moist salt air from the ocean just 
ahead. 

 CHAPTER FOUR - CHAINS OF LOVE 

For both of them it was a time of discovery. From the moment he had opened 
his door to discover a bedraggled but starry eyed girl upon his step life 
had changed utterly for David Farrell. The girl, flinging aside her 
coverings, had nakedly enveloped him in a world of femininity such as he had 
never known. He was certain it was a world from which neither of them would 
ever seek escape. For Diana Ramsay those first hours and days had opened 
vistas she had never before seen, and imparted a knowledge of herself she 
had not previously guessed. 

They had gone shopping. 

The list was long and was compiled with giggles, laughter and the making of 
physical love. Both of them were insatiable, but curtailed carnality enough 
to borrow feminine necessities from an intrigued neighbor so they could go 
hand in hand for groceries and glamour. Diana found something almost mystic 
in a return to panties and bra' and all the flimsy loveliness her contours 
flattered into vivid beauty. Satiated with the joys of being female, Diana 
gave her love one more address. Reaching the store, David Farrell had turned 
a quizzical regard upon his love and asked simply: "Why?" 

"Because you're You, darling." 

"But, Diana, after what you've been through...! There's no way." 

She kissed her finger and placed it on his lips. "Hush, my love. What we buy 
is because I want it. You didn't go to the Citadel to play pool... Or did 
you?" 

David looked into her sparkling eyes, knowing his too were aflame. "You are 
a remarkable woman, sweetheart." 

"Yes, I am." She twinkled mischievously. "I've been trained, y'know. You'll 
find me very satisfactory." 

They visited three stores and took home three boxes in a state of mutual 
ecstasy. When the contents of the boxes were dumped in a pile on the living 
room floor they sorted out the handcuffs, the straps, the crafted leathers, 
the leg irons and the ropes. David bemused in a happiness few men know: 
Diana triumphant in her female wisdom. Her voice was tender. 

"Possessing me must rob you of nothing, David." 

"But this isn't the Citadel!" 

"Yes it is. Yours and mine." 

"But Diana darling, you weren't into this before they took you?" 

"That doesn't matter." She grinned meditatively. "I suspect every woman is 
in it a bit without really knowing. Look, when you did things to me in the 
Citadel you never sensed me hating you...?" 

"I'm ashamed of some of those things." 

"Don't be. I gloried in them. Not because I liked the pain but because I 
could handle it and because it was you who hurt me." 

David Farrell was a sensible man. He recognized sincerity and humbly 
accepted love. To quibble about niceties of conscience or conduct would be 
an affront, a crass failure to separate gold from dross. Amusedly but with 
thumping heart he watched his love toss aside her costly clothes. Standing 
before him she offered handcuffs. "In front or in back?" She asked demurely. 

"Neither. Get me cord instead." 

Trembling, she obeyed. She turned and crossed her wrists above the curves of 
her derriere. Then stood, smiling dreamily, as her lover tied them together 
hard enough to hurt. Her voice was husky. 

"Cords are nice. They're intimate." 

"Hurt?" 

"Oh yes, nicely. Thank you, darling." 

"Can you get loose?" 

"No. Not ever." 

David took her savagely. Passionately they made love, on and on and on. 
Diana's bound hands deterred them not at all. 

In the evening they dined in style at Alberto's. Around Diana's neck was a 
gem studded collar, locked by a pendant padlock. They did not notice the 
envious attention. They saw only each other. 

Their lives gravitated into a natural routine, a rhythm. There was no 
economic need for Diana to work, so she did not do so. That time might come 
but for the moment she was absorbed utterly in her love. She found herself 
obsessed by a determination to give every inch and crevice of her mind and 
body to David. The Citadel had taught her of what men were driven to when 
they wives scorned what she now realised was a form of love play. If 
sometimes it hurt... So what! Pain was a small price for the adoration she 
beheld daily in David's eyes. Woman was designed for pain, she bore it much 
more easily than Man. 

It was understood they would marry, but not yet. To marry instantly would 
spoil something. They kept the thought of it as a small treasure still to be 
explored. In the meantime, and in these first days of liberty Diana savoured 
freedom to the full. Like a suburban housewife, she shopped and explored, 
glorying in sunshine and communion. She met David daily for lunch to tell 
him excitedly of small feminine pleasures and adventures. In the evenings he 
placed her in the bondage of rope and chain and strap. 

They denied a name to the room they converted into Diana's prison. It was 
simply, The Room. She was not always kept in it. Often she would watch 
television with her master, handcuffed and legironed, on the rug at his 
feet, or artistically and tightly corded to a chair. There was also the hook 
David screwed into a ceiling joist. With wrists bound and raised to it Diana 
could be made to stand prettily to be admired as a statue of alabaster. At 
other times her wrists were bandaged and she hung high enough her toes could 
not find the floor. They invented make believe delinquencies for which she 
must be punished. 

It was an endless honeymoon. In it, Diana found herself able to answer a 
query long active in her mind. A question first applicable to Tina and April 
but now relevant to herself. Did she have a new emotional need of the bonds 
and punishments placed upon her, by her own demand, by the man she was going 
to marry? How real was her need? How much of their carnal cruelties arose 
from the female instinct to immolate herself for love? Searching for truth, 
they abstained from her bindings for several days until Diana herself dumped 
the accoutrements into David's lap and wantonly requested a return to 
normal. From that time on. Diana's captivities and pains were not restricted 
to evening. But, here and there throughout the week. David would leave her 
in The Room so constrained as to make her thankful for his return at five 
P.M. 

Their week-ends were pure recreation in the car: driving far enough out of 
the city to make it safe for David to tie her to a tree and use his camera 
for endless shots of his Damsel in Distress. They giggled endlessly over the 
discovery of fresh places and fresh objects to which Diana could be 
tastefully and nakedly attached for the focus of the lens. It was a hobby. 
Some people collected butterflies or stamps. One Saturday they walked down 
the incline from the canyon road to where Wilbur Catley had held her 
captive. Nothing was there except the four stakes still driven in the 
ground. Shivering at an evil memory but fascinated by the macabre, Diana 
stripped naked and arranged herself for David to bind fast. Memories crowded 
as the cords tightened. For moments she knew a recurrent fear. To lay a 
ghost she insisted she be ravished as she had been violated in that horrific 
night. 

They experimented with bondage in the car. Diana would lay, naked and 
hogtied, in the trunk for fifty miles. 

or be bound hand and foot on the back seat to pray no one saw her nudity. 
Mostly she sat demurely beside David with her wrists handcuffed before or 
behind and her ankles ironed or bound. There were endless combinations. 

Gradually as time passed, Diana found herself more and more often wearing 
handcuffs. David had purchased her an expensive pair of sleek black steel, 
and she realised they were doing for her now what the Citadel had made them 
do for her during her imprisonment. Then they were a reminder of her 
slavery, now they were a reminder of her love, their friction on her wrist 
was the touch of David's hand. She wore them often, as another girl might 
bedeck herself with bracelets. They laughed about it a lot, both of them 
erotically enamored of this linkage of her hands. Unless David locked them 
behind her back Diana considered them akin to freedom. They delighted in 
endless discussions of this bondage that was the mainspring of their life. 

"I don't feel any need to understand it, David." 

"Between us that shouldn't have anything to do with it. You love to whip a 
girl and I'm a girl, and I love you. I don't mind the pain, mostly it makes 
me horny. It's not as though you're flogging me with a cat-o-nine tails." 

They gazed at each other in an amused dilemma. Diana tried again. "You're 
hesitant about doing it, darling, because you're a nice guy and keep 
thinking about chivalry. How about, every second day, I bring you a whip and 
a rope and say "Please"?" 

David Farrell raised her erect and took her in his arms. "You'd really do 
that for me? You wouldn't see me as a monster?" 

Diana laughed and broke away. Clinking her hobbled feet to The Room and 
back, she handed the worshipping man a bandage, a rope, and the least lethal 
of their whips. She kissed him lightly and said: "Do it right, darling." 
Then proffered her handcuffed wrists. 

They were utterly absorbed. Diana watching the unlocking of the cuffs and 
the bandaging of her wrists. David breathing heavily as he bound the girl he 
loved. As the tensioned rope drew Diana's bandaged wrists higher and higher 
they shared a smile in total understanding. When her bare toes could no 
longer touch the rug and her leg irons dangled in a loose loop between her 
feet the suspension halted. The posture was an old one to the girl, she did 
not struggle. Demurely, she said: "Girls are supposed to look beautiful like 
this, do I?" 

"Too damn beautiful for words, sweetheart." 

"And, hung up like this, I'm nicely available. You can whip any bit of me 
you want." 

David chuckled. He was standing back to admire his loveliest possession. 
"You needn't think I'm going to whip your breasts or that cute little cunt." 
He admonished. "You're altogether too foxy for your own good." 

"But you could, David dear. Look how helpless I am. Next time we go shopping 
let's see if we can find the right sort of whip for my naughty places." 

"There's nothing naughty about your breasts, you delightful idiot." 

"Grandma would have disagreed. She'd have called them saucy or wanton. I 
really think you should whip them just a little, dear?" 

David Farrell struck the suspended nudity a sharp slash from hip to hip. 
Then watched in wonder as Diana curled and writhed but made no sound beyond 
an. involuntary gasp at scalded skin. He knew he was the most privileged of 
men. "That's the proper place to whip you." He assured cheerfully. "Those 
are the most impudent curves of all." 'Mmmmmm, that hurt beautifully." 

"I suppose you'd like to be let down and ravished?" 

"Later, darling, not now. I think it most important for you to whip me 
properly. It will sort of break the ice. If you want me to spread my legs 
so's you can whip dear little pussy you'll have to take off my leg irons." 

"Stop it! You're driving me crazy. A man can only stand so much of that sort 
of talk. I'm not sure you don't deserve this " David neatly planted a 
splatting impact across the twin curves he had described as impudent. They 
responded by a line of scarlet blush while their owner kicked at the air to 
send her ankle chain into a musical protest. "I want you to remember you 
asked for this." He reminded grimly. 

"Yes I did, didn't I! And you're doing it so beautifully. I'm so grateful 
and I do love you." 

"I'm not sure you're not putting me on. You're certainly a crafty wench, and 
saucy with it, who's found a way to deserve what she gets. You've had a 
couple: what d'you say to a total of fifty?" 

"David, noooooo! Fifty like those! Oh, wow!" 

"Are you complaining?" 

"Oh jeepers... Oh, damn! Noooooo, I suppose not." 

"What does that mean, you tantalising mischief?" 

"It means couldn't we settle for twenty-five?" 

"You're bargaining, beloved girl. Surely you realise a Master can never 
bargain with his slave? Once he starts that"' he's lost." 

Diana gave one more kick at her chain before hanging limply passive and 
surveying the man with the whip with a limpid eye. "I expect you're right, 
darling. Go ahead and whip me. I'll comfort myself with the thought that I 
deserve every stroke." 

It was a beautiful game. Each was at the peak of sensitivity, savouring the 
quintessence of eroticism. Diana hovered in a gorgeous blaze of pain, David 
beheld before him the ultimate dream of everyman. When his whip had cut his 
love live times he lowered her nudity to the floor where they rolled and 
plunged and kissed themselves into satiety. Faying there in blissful 
content, Diana said, roguishly and without conviction, "Let's do it again." 

They were very happy. 

The Serpent entered their Eden on the evening of the next day. 

Since Diana was naked and constrained in the manner of their after dinner 
communion, it was David who answered the ring at their door. A murmur of 
voices beyond the casual rejection of the canvasser prompted Diana to 
tip-toe her hobbled path into the bedroom in a prudent retreat to leave the 
living room vacant for any visitor David might choose to invite therein. 
Leaving the door ajar, she listened. David's voice, stiff with male dignity 
came in loud and clear. 

"I cannot believe we have anything to discuss " 

"But indeed we have, Mr. Farrell. I do implore you to listen to what I have 
to say." It was the voice of Sister Nona. 

To the naked girl behind the door the shock was like a blow. This was the 
reality of a lingering premonition solidly lodged in a back crevice of her 
mind. Determinedly, she opened the door and minced her short captive steps 
back into the room. 

"Good evening, Sister Nona." 

"My dear, how good to see you! And so charmingly restrained, even the 
handcuffs!" She smiled archly at her hostile host. "But then, of course, I 
could have guessed." 

"I suppose you'd better sit down." David's invitation sounded like a heavy 
concession. 

"I'm not going back to the Citadel." Diana's assertion was equally 
uncompromising. "Oh, Sister Nona, why did you have to follow me here?" 

"It was where we knew you would be, child " 

"So, alright, you have something to say." David was terse. "Let's hear it." 

Sister Nona sighed. She had not expected cordiality, and the two of them 
seemed so young and so naive. "Rome wasn't built in a day." She smiled 
winningly. "And I didn't expect a warm welcome." Her eyes sparkled. "I am 
well aware of the intractability of young women in love." 

"In that case why not leave us alone." David was playing it heavy. "Don't 
delude yourself that anything you say will cause this girl to go back with 
you." 

"Mr. Farrell, you are a valued client. We hope you always will be. But this 
young woman belongs to The Citadel. You have not purchased her, and The 
Citadel will not relinquish its own. It is safest for you both that she 
abandon this folly." 

"That's a threat." 

"A warning. I don't need to tell you of the power and influence behind The 
Citadel. It would be most foolish to fight it." 

"Sister, I can't go back! I just can't-a lifetime of imprisonment...! Can't 
you understand, I'm free... free-!" 

"Are you, dear." Sister Nona was dryly amused. "Aren't those handcuffs on 
your wrists and leg irons on your ankles...?" 

"Yes, but!" 

"I know, I know! You are doing it for Mr. Farrell. But let us be honest. You 
would not be so eager a captive had it not been for The Citadel, nor would 
Mr. Farrell have fallen in love with you had you met elsewhere." 

"Nothing we do is any of your business, Sister " Their caller waved David 
into silence. "You have enjoyed a marvelous honeymoon." She said firmly. "We 
propose, now, one more week of your carnal bliss. Then, Diana, you must 
return to us." 

"I won't... I won't!" 

"We suggest, Mr. Farrell, you tail off this relationship by frequent visits 
to Diana at The Citadel. She will be at your disposal according to our 
policies. In your case we are prepared to make a financial concession. A 
gesture of goodwill. There need be no heartbreaking farewells." 

"Diana and I are going to be married." Sister Nona shrugged. "I suppose we 
could even concede that point. It does not matter to The Citadel whether 
their girls are married or single." 

"This whole thing is absurd." David looked around the room as though in 
confirmation. "You and your Citadel! 

The damn place should be abolished." 

"And yet, Mr. Farrell, you were only too grateful for the service we 
provide." 

Diana was fond of Sister Nona. She understood the implacability of the 
Citadel and blamed none of its malignancy on the woman sitting across the 
room. She longed only for an unanswerable defense of her freedom. "But, 
Sister Nona, you can't expect me to go back." She wailed. "There's the... 
the punishment." 

"What the Devil's that?" David demanded belligerently. "I escaped. Girls who 
escape or try to escape are punished terribly." 

"It is a deterrent." Sister Nona interposed gently. "Any House must have its 
Rules." 

David looked at Diana askance. "This damn punishment: what in Hell is it?" 

"I don't know. They never told us: only that it would be really bad. Ask 
Sister Nona." 

The Sister waved the punishment aside as of little moment. "The sentence is 
usually a week chained in the dungeon and a daily whipping of up to one 
hundred strokes total. They are not light. There are other lesser things... 
" 

"That's medieval." 

"Not really, Mr. Farrell. Punishments can hardly be designed for pleasure. 
Surely you realise The Citadel cannot tolerate escape. The girls must be 
made to understand it is unacceptable and best forgotten." 

"I'd have supposed it the only thing they ever thought about." 

"Diana will tell you differently. There are some who would not escape if 
they could. The Citadel gives them everything- " Sister Nona turned a 
searching eye on her former prisoner. "By the way, dear, just how did you 
manage to escape?" 

"I can't tell you that, Sister." 

"Ah, so there were others involved!" 

"I can't tell you that, either, and anyway you wouldn't believe how easy it 
was. It just sort of happened." 

"Hmmmmm. As it happens, we know how you left The Citadel, my dear. It is 
hard to hide things from us." 

Her stomach curling in a sickly dread, Diana watched as Sister Nona 
extracted something from her bag. Fearfully, she extended her cuffed hands 
and accepted the two photos. One showed April and Tina hanging naked by 
their thumbs. The second revealed the two of them astride the hated 'Horse,' 
its narrow brutal edge deep in their defenseless crotch. In both pictures 
their young heads were bowed in the weariness of pain. 

"They are being punished for your escape, my dear. When not employed as you 
see them there they inhabit the dungeon. Their penalty for aiding you will 
continue until your return." 

David snatched the photos from Diana's trembling fingers. After a quick scan 
he returned them to their visitor. "They mean nothing." He said tersely. 
"You could easily pose those girls for long enough to take the shots. They 
would have to obey you." 

Once more the Sister sighed. "Diana will believe even if you do not, Mr. 
Farrell. I think that, within the week's grace I have given you, she will 
return where she belongs." 

"Think what you like, do what you like: Diana stays with me." 

"Such nobility!" Sister Nona smiled in deprecation. "But has it not occurred 
to the two of you that, since we took her once, we can take her again?" 

"That's another threat." 

"The Citadel is very powerful." 

Diana was distraught and trembling. She fell to her knees and clutched her 
lover in distressful need. David's fingers caressed her hair in a familiar 
gesture of love. It was the Sister again who broke a lengthening silence. 

"Do me the small favour of freeing her hands please." When it was done, the 
now weeping nakedness was raised by gentle hands and fondly embraced until 
Diana's freed arms returned the endearment and tightened in a spasm of 
forgotten tenderness. For a long time the two females exchanged affection 
until the older whispered "The Sisters love you, dear, you know that. So do 
the girls. Now I kiss you good-bye. But please come back to us... please!" 

"Thank you, Mr. Farrell." 

"What the devil for?" 

"For listening. Remember, we value your goodwill. We want you as a friend 
and client. Above all, we do not want you hurt." 

David Farrell saw his visitor to the door. He had nothing to say except 
abuse, and Sister Nona did not rate abuse, so he kept silent. When the latch 
had clicked shut behind the departed emissary he returned to his love and 
gathered a tear stained Diana in his arms. 

Diana knew the heavy iron shackle locked on her ankle was a solid victory 
for The Citadel. So too was the long chain by which she was confined to the 
basic necessities of their home. Its links sang a mockery of her freedom as 
she walked in bored irritation within the limits they allowed. The rest of 
her was without restraint, but what she wanted was David Farrell, not the 
T.V. or the radio or the books... He had left her the phone, but she had 
called him twice already out of sheer loneliness, that was enough! 
Disconsolately, she threw herself into an armchair, crooked her chained leg 
over one arm, and relived their bid decision. 

"Don't you trust me, darling?" Her query contained amusement. 

"No, I don't! And you know why. Those two pictures got to you, and the 
threat about hurting me. I can see you being quixotic and traipsing off to 
that damn place to be a little heroine. I'm going to lock your ankle, but 
good! That way you don't have to make up your mind, I've made it up for 
you." 

"Thank you darling. No handcuffs?" 

"No. You'd best be free except to run." 

Diana was secretly glad but would not tell him so. Her mind had been a 
turmoil since the serpent had defiled their Eden. She had a claustrophobic 
premonition of dark forces closing in on their joy. She pouted prettily: 
"Darling, I'm going to be terribly bored." 

"You've been chained here other days - hands and feet?" 

"Yes, but that was you and me. This chunk of iron on my ankle now spells 
Citadel with a big 'C.' In this frame of mind I can't possibly just sit.. I 
want to go out and bash something or run five miles. I keep trying to forget 
Tina and April but I just can't!" 

"And thus the chain, sweetheart. Bear with it. Nothing's forever. Between us 
we'll figure out something." He had kissed her and hugged her very tight 
indeed. 

Diana kicked her chain. She was restless and at odds with the world. She 
tried to close her mind to the very real possibility of being once more 
kidnapped to be returned to The Citadel and her waiting punishment. She 
supposed she would survive the punishment: she was costly merchandise to be 
nurtured, not destroyed. But she was frightened of what she knew of an 
escapee's fate. She had little doubt she would suffer it even though the 
Sisters might feel affection for the erring girl who must be made to scream. 

She had never ceased to marvel at the ease by which she had been 'taken' 
that first time. She would be just as easy for them now. All girls were 
cruelly vulnerable. 

II was not until David had gone and she was alone that Diana had realised 
what an easy prey she would be right now to any man who forced the lock. She 
imagined herself running from here to there, her chained foot impeding every 
step until she was forced to the floor and bound. She could be taken to a 
waiting car in a box, a basket, or wrapped in a rug. She would be gagged or 
doped. No one would know. 

Her fears were heightened twice during the day by rattlings and bangings at 
the door. It was probably children or someone selling something but it sent 
her scurrying to the furthest link of her chain in an absurd but instinctive 
need to flee. When David returned home he was greeted by a wan and fearful 
maiden who clung and clung in an urgent need of male security. Recognizing 
the trauma of loneliness and the chain he took her out to dine. 

It was gorgeous and wonderful and everything the feminine heart adores. The 
discreet lighting, the almost tangible smell of money, the incredible gowns, 
of which Diana's own was not the least impressive. This was living! She 
basked in David's regard and the covert glances of a dozen men. The Citadel 
retreated into the darkness until an oddly familiar male voice made it once 
more all too real. "Miss Ramsay, I do believe! My dear Diana...?" Startled, 
Diana looked up into the beaming visage of the genial Mr. Sands. He was 
obviously delighted and surprised. Without hesitation he deferred to David's 
questioning regard. "My dear sir, this is unpardonable-, but may I join your 
table? I am alone." 

Diana had downed a cocktail. She giggled and nodded at her escort. "Mr. 
Sands is one of the nice ones." She explained. "He was always very kind." 

"I am grateful, sir-Mr. Farrell, isn't it." Mr. Sands was his usual 
redundant self. "I would not impose like this if I did not have something to 
impart." He paused for effect. "Something that could be of vital concern to 
you both." 

"Miss Ramsay and I are going to be married." 

"Ah." Mr. Sands contrived to make the small exclamation sound like a 
condolence for disaster. "Well...!" He directed his most benign beam back 
and forth between them. "I suppose that can't be helped. Young people do it 
all the time." He drank his cocktail at a gulp. "Since you share this, ahem, 
adventure I will share my remarks to you equally. I am inclined to prolixity 
so please be patient." 

They shared a smile. David was unbending, it was hard to remain annoyed with 
Mr. Sands for long. "You've got me all excited." Diana confessed. "What's 
the big surprise?" 

"First the gossip. I was at the... The Place, and was shocked to learn of 
your... your--" 

"I escaped." 

"Ah... Well, yes. Ha, ha, here we are, aren't we! Bright lights and not a 
dungeon in sight. I expect it's a nice change?" 

"Very! I'm not going back." 

"Ah...! Well anyway I was bereft. I had lost my favourite girl. I had to 
fall back on that well meaning little trick, Gloria. But she's not in your 
class, not at all. But she told me about you. I guess you left the whole 
place in quite a flap." 

"Did you see April and Tina?" 

"Indeed yes. I was privileged to witness their punishment. They seemed most 
uncomfortable and decidedly unhappy. I gathered they were in some manner 
delinquent in your escape. Gave you a hand, eh?" 

"Were they being beastly to them they're such darlings." 

"Well... that's not for me to say. Suppose we skip the twins, I'm sure 
they're a resilient pair, and get on to what I have in mind." 

"So long as it does not entail Diana's return to The Citadel." David said 
bluntly. 

"Of course! I understand your concern." Mr. Sands broke open a crusty roll 
with a considerable flourish. "How would you like to be free of The Citadel 
forever?" 

"I'm free now." Diana ventured, sensing more to come. "Ah, but only in a 
sense. I am sure you are aware of the hazard of... of... repossession?" 

"You think they'll kidnap me again?" 

"Well, my dear, isn't that what you're thinking too?" 

"Yes, I suppose so. They've already threatened "And coerced over those two 
young girls." David added angrily. 

"Ah, and there we have a situation in which neither of you can be happy or 
secure." Mr. Sands drank off another cocktail with the flourish of a master. 
"And that's where I enter the picture." 

They looked at him, acutely aware of vulnerability. "Are you going to bail 
me out?" Diana asked coyly. 

"Yes." 

If Mr. Sands had their attention before, he had it doubly now. He was well 
aware of being the kingpin in this drama of their lives and was prepared to 
enjoy it to the full. "I have often spoken of my wish to purchase you, dear 
girl, and have always lamented the immense value the Citadel places on your 
head Not that you aren't worth a million dollars but I simply did not have 
that sum free to part with." 

"That million dollars is nonsense. I'm not worth it." 

"My dear girl, the market determines your worth, not you." Mr. Sands was at 
his benevolent best. "There are those who will pay that sum." 

"What good does that do Diana, she isn't selling herself?" 

"No, she is not. But at this juncture The Citadel would welcome a sale. They 
are, in effect, selling something they do not have. It's pure profit." 

Mr. Sands had their attention. He radiated bonhomie. "I want you to consider 
this carefully. Suppose you got half of that million and The Citadel got the 
rest, there would emerge a bonus for you in that they would have 
relinquished title, they would have no further interest in you. No more 
kidnapping." 

"But someone...? Wouldn't someone have bought me?" 

"Precisely, dear girl. A Consortium of five friends have each subscribed two 
hundred thousand. I am one of them. The net result is the million to appease 
The Citadel and enrich you." 

"But that's crazy! Five men...?" 

"Not crazy at all. They already have the premises ready for you. You will be 
captive five days a week, tended by a lady's maid already employed. Your 
week-ends would be free." 

"But suppose I put in the first week, take their money, and refuse to go 
back?" 

"That would not be wise," said Mr. Sands. 

The girl and her love exchanged raised eyebrows in bafflement. Diana could 
not deny the accelerated beating of her heart. Mr. Sands had a way with 
him--and to be free of the Citadel...! She looked wide eyed at the intruder 
on their privacy and innocently asked: "What would be my duties? What would 
I have to do?" 

"Exactly what you are already trained for, my dear." 

"You mean... I'd be whipped. And... and... small tortures and... and sex?" 

"That about sums it up." 

"No deal." Said David decisively. "If Diana has to be whipped it's me who'll 
do the whipping." 

"A laudable sentiment." Mr. Sands agreed heartily. "She is a delectable 
subject. But there is a factor we must not overlook. Can either of you 
believe the Citadel has relinquished such a prize? When I was there I picked 
up certain hints indicating their conviction she would be back in their 
possession within a week or two. In that eventuality .you have lost her for 
good." 

"Mr. Sands, whose side are you on?" 

"I strive to be an honest broker, Mr. Farrell. I am counting facts as they 
exist. Diana is not a free girl. She lost her freedom when The Citadel first 
took her months ago. This pleasant evening and her escape are only a brief 
interlude you will not be allowed to prolong." 

"But you want her for yourself?" 

"As a member of the consortium, yes. I cannot, alone, afford her price." Mr. 
Sands bestowed an avuncular smile upon the girl he was bargaining for. "But 
I would enjoy her one day a week. A wise man is content with compromise." 

"This whole thing is nuts!" David glared from one to the other of his 
companions. "It's blood and thunder fiction." 

"I heartily concur." Mr. Sands agreed blandly. "But if you hope to keep this 
young woman exclusively for yourself you will have to house her in a cage in 
the vault of a Bank... and even there--!" 

Diana wanted to giggle, to weep, or to beat her fists against The Citadel's 
walls. She was being discussed as a property, and that was what she had 
indeed become. She realised this more clearly than David could accept. Her 
loneliness in the days when he was at work had told her graphically how 
vulnerable she was. Short of being locked in an impregnable prison, she 
would be an easy prey. Their home would not be safe, locks could be picked 
or windows broken. Evading repossession would make her as much a prisoner as 
in the Citadel itself. Feminine curiosity and two cocktails prompted a 
query. 

"Supposing your consortium buys me, Mr. Sands. What would my life be? Do you 
know?" 

"You would be a prisoner five days and nights a week. A different member 
would enjoy you each day. The premises include a cell, a dungeon, a cage, 
and the usual room full of... gear." 

"A pillory and a whipping post and such?" 

"Exactly. Nothing you are not already familiar with. When not in the company 
of the gentlemen you would be adequately controlled or made comfortable by 
the maid. She is a competent and likeable young woman with whom you would 
have to reach an understanding about obedience. She is averse to a recurring 
wrestling match." 

"Would there be punishments? I mean real ones like what's hanging over my 
head at the Citadel right now. If I did or said certain things would I find 
myself in trouble?" 

"Yes, there would be rules. Slapping faces would not be condoned, nor would 
attempts to escape." 

"But it doesn't make sense, Mr. Sands. I can just walk away any week-end and 
not go back?" 

"Mmmmmm, not quite." Mr. Sands patted her hand paternally. "You'd be on 
parole. If you broke that parole you would then be under the same threat 
from the consortium as you now are from the Citadel. Don't feel badly about 
it. Most lives are lived under varying compulsions." 

Diana sighed. There was an undeniable erotic thrill in knowing herself the 
carnal quarry of powerful forces. She toyed for a moment with the dream of 
David and herself alone on a South Sea Island, then jerked herself back to 
reality. "You're offering me a choice of two imprisonments." She said 
slowly. "You're telling me I can never be free. If that's so I might just as 
well go back to The Citadel right now. At least I know what it's about... 
And I always liked the Sisters." 

"But you're forgetting the week-ends." Mr. Sands insinuated gently. "Or 
would you prefer Mr. Farrell to visit you at The Citadel as a cash client?" 

"Oh... please... don't--!" 

"There is also the matter of the punishment awaiting you at the Citadel. No 
matter how fond the Sisters may be of you that penalty will be inflicted to 
its utmost severity. Believe me, I've known them a long time, and you've 
committed the unpardonable sin." 

"Alright, so I don't go back to the Citadel. How does your consortium take 
delivery of me?" 

"The young lady I have spoken of will call at your home. You will accompany 
her wherever or however she demands. You will be obedient. She will show you 
a photostat of our cheque and the memo confirming your sale by the Citadel. 
They will cease to be a menace." 

"Suppose we emigrate?" David asked disgustedly. "There's a profitable deal I 
could grab in Australia." 

Mr. Sands shrugged impatiently. "Supposing you arrived there which would be 
doubtful. It would simply entail a long and disagreeable journey bound and 
drugged inside a crate for poor Diana. Let us spare the dear girl. Please 
understand the Citadel spans the world and, for them, her captivity is a 
matter of policy. They would see a principle involved." 

"Can we think about this?" David asked wearily. "You can phone us tomorrow?" 

I wish you would say yes to us now. I would make a call...?" 

"Tomorrow." 

"Very well, Mr. Farrell, I am in your hands. So is Diana." 

They watched him go, their evening ruined. On the way home their car was 
forced to the curb. As the ether soaked pad was forced tight upon her face, 
the last Diana saw of her love was a seemingly lifeless bulk upon the 
pavement. It all, then, became very dark indeed. 

CHAPTEF FIVE - GOLDEN HANDCUFFS "These are the heaviest we have, dear. I'm 
sure you didn't expect the lighter ones?" Sister Nanette said solicitously. 

"No... no, that's alright, Sister." Diana lifted a tentative hand to the 
wrist on which was locked what seemed like fifty pounds of metal. Probably 
the shackle and its links weighed no more than ten, but every part of her 
nakedness was similarly held, locked and chained. Only her neck was more 
kindly fettered: no maiden throat could have borne the massive load by which 
her limbs and waist was tethered to the stone. The recaptured fugitive 
checked back complaint but enquired, diffidently: "How long will I be kept 
chained in the dungeon, Sister?" 

"You are not to know that, child." 

"And when will I be flogged?" 

"Daily. There are too many strokes to inflict on you at one time." Sister 
Nanette patted a bare shoulder and kissed a wan cheek. "It will make a break 
for you. It will get you out of this gloomy place for a while, even if it is 
painful." 

"Sister, will I be always heavily chained for the rest of my life... because 
I escaped?" 

"Of course not. Don't dream up such nonsense, Diana. You will endure your 
punishment and then go back to your handcuffs. I always suspected you 
enjoyed wearing them." Sister Nanette took the frightened nudity into her 
arms and hugged reassuringly. "Your punishment, when it is done, erases the 
past." She kissed dry lips. "Take comfort in that. Even when the pain is bad 
you must remember you are much loved here. We will be as glad as you when it 
is over." 

"And am I really to be flogged and... other things in front of the other 
girls... and maybe clients?" 

"Of course! It is not you alone who is taught a lesson." Sister Nanette 
hesitated. "I must leave you now, dear. I hate to see you in this place and 
so loaded with chain. You already know the loneliness of dungeons, we will 
try and ease it for you. No one wants to see you morbid or seeing ghosts... 
My poor dear girl, if only you had not been so foolish!" 

If only! Diana repeated the regret over and over long after Sister Nanette 
had gone and slammed the door bolts home with an intentional thud. But it 
was useless to lament. She had stolen her halcyon honeymoon and now she must 
pay for it. Obeying the dragging weight of irons she sank to the stone where 
she could dispose the heavy links for a partial easement of the punishing 
load. Dismally, she leaned back against the cold hard wall and changed her 
litany to How long? How long? How long...? 

They had reassured her about David, he was not dead. They spoke of him 
visiting her as a client but she wondered, within her own mind, if he would 
do so. Such a visit and its inevitable parting would be an agony for both of 
them. Vehemently, she vowed to tell him to forget her, to not waste his life 
in a love affair with a chained girl captive behind stone walls and iron 
bars. And yet...? Diana shrugged away the speculation, it was something to 
which she could not yet adjust. 

She had tried hard to drive away all thought of punishment. But it was 
hopeless, her thoughts always reverted so as to show her the fatal words in 
Capitals "The Punishment." She had dared to escape. Now she would be an 
example to all that escaping from The Citadel was something a girl must 
never do. In the past, escape had always hovered in the mind as a pale small 
hope. But now...? The chained and naked girl was positive that after The 
Punishment she would never think of it again. If, at this moment, she was 
offered the key to her irons and shown an open door she would reject both. 

Diana played with her fetters. There was nothing else to do, and their 
weight and implacability was almost amusing. They would have held a giant, 
or a dozen giants, secure. Locked on her nakedness they made her a very 
small and very helpless girl. The key to them had been hung on the opposite 
wall as a small grim emphasis. 

When, after a long, long time, the door opened it was to reveal a surprise. 
Gloria peeped in doubtfully, then entered all the way. "I've got 
permission." She said hurriedly. "Otherwise I wouldn't dare. You poor, poor 
darling! But, Mmmm you look simply gorgeous chained like that." 

"I don't feel gorgeous. Oh, Gloria...!" 

"Yes, I know. You're going to be punished. Or is this the start of it 
already? They put me in here one night but not with such heavy chains. It 
was groovy for the first hour. But after that... Wow! I say, darling, this 
place is really something." 

"Gloria, don't tell me you're actually enjoying it?" 

"Of course I am. That's why I came. That first time with you was a real bust 
and I wanted to go home. But since then my little pussy's been hot all the 
time. After what's happening to you I'm not even going to think of escape. 
I'll put in my two years like a good little slavegirl. Darling, this knowing 
there's no way I can get out of here is a real cunt curler." 

Gloria was a delight. Diana envied her. True, she found small eroticisms in 
the Citadel herself, and a consuming lust in bondage to her love. But the 
chains and the dungeon and the floggings were all too much. Her loins were 
as cold as the stone they must sit on. She doubted she would even play with 
herself. Her spirit and her life was gone. But she valued company. Half 
heartedly, she asked: "Have you earned yourself any punishments, Gloria?" 

"Have I ever!" Gloria Winton was suddenly starry eyed. She turned her naked 
back with a flourish. "Look what I got for kicking one of those idiots in a 
session! Twenty strokes, all hard, and all on my back because it hurts 
more." 

Diana viewed the fading stripes with an experienced eye. They must have been 
severe. She shivered. "Don't tell me you enjoyed every one, Gloria?" 

"Well, not really. I was secreting like crazy for the first few but then 
something went wrong and I screamed and screamed." She grinned confidingly. 
"I've discovered it's best to scream. It hurts less--I mean whatever you're 
screaming about, and the Sisters like it. When a girl screams it shows 
they've got her full attention. I say, darling, was it very groovy sleeping 
with that guy, the client you escaped to?" 

"It was the happiest time of my life. We were going to get married. Now 
they've 'taken' me again. I'll never escape now, not ever." 

"And you're going to be flogged and we all have to watch you get it. 
Darling, that's awfully tactless of me: sort of gloating. But, in case it's 
any help, I've asked about your flogging. They aren't going to use one of 
those awful Cat things with bits of metal and knots. You'll get the regular 
whip but laid on extra hard." 

"Gee thanks!" Diana could not repress bitterness. "And I only get a hundred 
strokes. Aren't I lucky!" 

She was enveloped in a wave of nude female. Gloria was contrite "Diana my 
sweet, that was mean, I should have shut up about you being whipped. Lay 
back, dear, and let me get at you. I'll make you happy?" 

"You're sweet, but no. I just don't have what it takes." 

"Once I get my tongue in your puss you'll love it, and I think we've got 
time... I can move some of these awful chains around." 

"My luck isn't in these days, Gloria. We'd get caught for sure. Then they'd 
lock chastity belts on us... and they're so damn tight! I hate 'em." 

"Gosh, you are in the dumps. Let me play with your tits?" 

"No. I'd just get excited, we both would. And you'd bump your head on all 
this iron I'm locked into and then a Sister would walk in because you've 
been so long." 

"You poor dear. Gosh, you're down!" Gloria surveyed the chained girl in 
feminine sympathy. "And I can't do much to help, can I!" She suddenly 
brightened. "Tell you what, I'll ask the Sisters to chain me in here with 
you for company. I'll tell 'em you'll get a trauma or something." She 
giggled. "Maybe they'll chain us both to the same wall." 

"That will be the day! They're dead against anything lesbian. We have to be 
kept potent for the clients." 

"Ugh! If they did chain me with you I suppose they'd have to unlock me 
whenever a client asked for me. Why don't we promote that idea with you? It 
sure would make a break, getting out of this awful place and all those irons 
Darling, if we're not going to play I expect I'd better go. D'you mind?" 

Diana lifted two heavily fettered wrists. "It's no use me minding about 
anything. Try and come again. And don't forget to slam the bolts as if it 
matters." 

Gloria's departure took away the sunshine, the light, and the hope. Without 
her blithe nudity the dungeon was bleakly cruel. Diana rested her head in 
her hands on top of her drawn up knees. She cried in spasms of grief for a 
long, long time. The dungeon did not care. She wept into the darkness and 
the night. Morning brought the twins. 

"They told us to bring your breakfast, darling." Said April. 

'They aren't going to flog you until this afternoon." Tina contributed 
cheerfully. 

"Gosh, those chains are beautiful Diana! It must be hard work to move. They 
never chained us that heavily." 

"Did that Mr. Farrell fuck you?" 

"We're terribly sorry you got caught again." 

"It's all our fault. We shouldn't have shown you that way out. If we hadn't 
made you escape you wouldn't have got taken again and you wouldn't have to 
be punished - Darling, that flogging or whatever it is will be quite 
something! Doesn't it crinkle your puss?" 

Diana held up a chained hand to stem the tide of teenage chatter. "No, it 
doesn't crinkle my pussy. I'm scared to death. But, darlings, what did they 
do to you? I saw some pictures...?" 

"Oh those!" April disposed of the pictures with any airy wave. "That was the 
worst they did to us-except the flogging, of course. We didn't like what 
those pictures showed at all. We didn't secrete even the littlest bit. It 
was just pure Ugh! They made us hang by our thumbs for hours and hours, and 
the same with that damn horse thing cutting our cunts. It was so we'd look 
tired and hopeless in the pictures. We sure did, didn't we." 

"Yes, you sure did. And they flogged you as well?" 

The twins turned. Diana gasped and felt her stomach curl. Both the lovely 
teenage backs were lividly striped with the weals of a whip cruelly used. 
Soon, hers would look the same. 

"We only got five a day for a week, darling, so it wasn't all that bad. But 
we didn't like it. Our pussies were dry as dust." 

"We both think we'd still be in the dungeon here if the clients hadn't kept 
asking for us. We're awfully "popular, y'know." 

"We're awfully glad to see you back. We both think that if they hadn't 
managed to capture you again they'd have whipped us some more." 

"I bet you'll miss Mr. Farrell fucking you?" 

"Or is he going to buy you in sessions so he can do it here?" 

"We don't like men. We think they're Ugh. We only let them get inside us 
when there's no way out. We always ask them to whip us instead." 

"And we can't escape now, not even if we wanted to. They've fixed those 
doors. They hurt us terribly until we told them how we managed. 

"We don't mind, 'cos we don't want to escape anyway. 

But it would have been nice for you." 

"Gosh no!" Diana shook her head vehemently. "No more escapes for me, not 
ever! They hurt too much." 

"We'd give you a lovely orgasm, darling, but they told us not to. If we 
start to nibble someone will walk in. Sorry!" They kissed and hugged and 
left it at that. 

Diana's flogging was well staged. The Citadel boasted an impressive main 
hall with a platform on which girls suffered for their misdeeds. Today it 
held no gear, only the dangling trapeze bar to which her wrists would be 
strapped. Striving for every nuance of sensation, the Citadel clothed the 
penitent in a white sheet which she must wear in her solemn walk to her 
place of execution. It drew some delighted Oh's and Ah's from girls who had 
never been flogged, and from the several clients who had paid for the 
privilege of watching a girl's back wickedly wealed. 

Diana herself wished she could have got drunk. She had been briefed in all 
she must do. None of it entailed help or force, she was on her own. She must 
be an obedient penitent who would offer her wrists to be bound and her 
nudity to be whipped. She was denied a gag. She was expected to scream 
lustily that novices might be properly impressed. 

Covered by the white sheet, Diana Ramsay felt her walk down the Hall and up 
the platform steps an interminable journey under the bum of many eyes. On 
the platform, Sister Angela waited with the whip. Reaching the appointed 
place, the delinquent girl must loose and toss aside the innocent white of 
her shroud to reveal herself in total nakedness. Then to place her hands 
through the looped and waiting straps and to watch while Sister Angela 
buckled them as tight as her strength could make them. When her bound hands 
and strained arms compelled Diana to stand upon her toes, the motor stopped. 
Stretched, as a statuesque nude, she obeyed the ultimate humiliation of 
confession. Her voice filled the Hall with the clarity of resignation. 

"I am to be flogged. It is because I escaped from the Citadel. I was well 
aware I should not do so. It is proper for me to be punished. Sister Angela 
will whip me. I counsel all of you never to attempt escape. Escape from The 
Citadel is not possible. You would always be brought back, as I have been 
brought back to be punished and to resume my life as one of all you girls." 

Sister Angela cut the whip across Diana's naked back much harder than Diana 
had ever known. The agony was very terrible and much greater than her 
courage could endure. She screamed shamingly to tell them it was too, too 
cruel, that they should cut her skin with lighter strokes she might bear 
with fortitude. But Sister Angela paid no heed, nor did the wide eyed 
audience. Diana writhed and kicked and hurt her wrists in ways she could not 
control. Sister Angela's whip wealed her again and again and again. Diana 
lost count. She almost lost consciousness but not quite. Two Sisters helped 
her walk back the way she came. They ironed her tenderly and left her alone 
in her dungeon to weep. Tomorrow it would be done to her again. 

Diana lost count of her dungeon days. It was somewhere between seven and 
ten. The Sisters took her away from it finally for fear of trauma. Diana was 
far too valuable to spoil, they wanted no personality warp or blemish. They 
moved her on to the next phase in what is done to a girl so foolish as to 
escape. Diana had long since guessed the things yet to be done to her. Some 
she had suffered before, others were a new excursion into pain. All would 
happen before she was granted her handcuffs and a return to work. It was 
during this time that the wounds of her flogging would partly heal. Her 
clients must see only the bitter remnants of horror. 

Diana did not often plead. She saw The Punishment as something inevitable to 
be worked through and endured in the knowledge it would one day end. But 
when she was taken to the small bare room she fell to her knees at Sister 
Nona's feet and wailed. "Please, don't put me on there... 

don't sit me on the horse!" 

"It is part of The Punishment, child." 

"But it is so awful! I've been told "Others have rested astride it for their 
day, Diana. So can you." 

"Forgive me, Sister." Diana got slowly to her feet, ashamed of her lapse but 
unable to take her eyes from the sinister structure designed to give her 
pain throughout the day. She had always wondered at the passive acceptance 
of prisoners as they walked to whatever fate their sentence had decreed. But 
she had been doing it herself, she would do it again now. To tussle with 
Sister Nona was unthinkable, and Sister Nanette was standing quietly by to 
render aid. She shrugged and said: "Please tell me what to do." 

They crossed her wrists behind her back and tied them tight. Diana stood 
quietly for it to be done, it was an old familiar resignation. Guided by an 
affectionate hand she stepped up on the bench and threw one leg over to 
stand astride the plank, on the edge of which she must rest her crotch. She 
watched in mute misery as the anklets were strapped tight and the ropes 
trailed off to either side and the waiting rings. Once more the hands were 
on her arms. 

"You must sit down, dear." 

"But it's just the edge! I... I can't!" 

"Yes you can, Diana. We'll position you. Rest your weight slowly, most of it 
will be on your feet until... until the end." 

It was hateful and obscene and made the punished girl feel silly. But there 
was not far to go. She lowered the cleft between her thighs to the edge of 
the waiting plank. Her hands were lost to her, she was dependent on the 
Sisters for support until her bound arms were raised high above her back to 
a hook already in readiness. Suddenly the Sisters were gone and her feet 
were whisked from the bench and out to either side, their tethers drawn 
tighter and tighter as the sisters tensioned her legs and thighs to anchor 
her firmly on her painful perch. Diana was panting and striving to cope with 
a new and different and awful kind of pain. "She looks so sweet. It is hard 
to believe " 

"Her arms a trifle higher, I think. She must lean forward for maximum 
effect. She must not sit back." 

They raised the sad bare arms that were already far too high. Diana's body 
obediently leaned forward to balance the stress. Diana tried but could not 
move. She was held in the precise posture in which the edge of the plank 
could burrow deeper and deeper into her cleft. She was sitting squarely on 
her sex, unable to shift, to move, or to seek easement. She moaned in a 
desolation of disbelief that this was happening. 

"Superbly horsed! The poor darling... " 

"It's an exquisite punishment for a girl. I've always found it fascinating. 
Such revealing stress...!" 

Diana moaned and shook her head in bitter denial. 

"You should have thought of this, dear child, before you ran away. We must 
leave you now. Do try and learn a lesson." 

The lesson was not hard to learn. In her wracked agony Diana knew she would 
never escape again. She was the Citadel's and so she would remain. The pain 
worsened steadily as though from some white hot instrument within her sheath 
spreading its venom to every nerve and crevice of her naked beauty. She 
moaned steadily without pause. 

The girl astride the horse lost count of time, there was no way of telling, 
and agony is deceptive. Diana believed she faded into unconsciousness for 
brief lapses as nature came to her aid with its own anesthesia. Unable to 
move, her mind roved wildly in vivid dreams and nightmares, all of them with 
the central theme of no escape, never, never, never! Her sex, impacted by 
her weight, was a flaming awfulness without any erotic comfort whatsoever. 
Sometime, after hours of lonely suffering, she had a visitor. It was the 
last one she expected. 

It was David Farrell. 

He was not alone but was flanked by two large men who watched him with 
respectful but wary eyes. Sister Angela was in charge. She too kept an 
admonitory eye on a young man whose face was lined and haggard with 
bitterness. 

"We know, Diana dear, you will not wish Mr. Farrell to see you as you are 
but--" 

"Go away... Go away! Don't look at me... Oh, not like this." The words 
poured out of Diana's dry lips in mortified shame. To be seen like this by 
David, or by any man, was a punishment in itself. How could David love her 
again after seeing her so bent and twisted and obscenely spread! "Don't look 
at me, David... please... please-!" 

"We deem it desirable for Mr. Farrell to see you in your punishment, dear." 
Sister Angela continued imperturbably. "Mr. Farrell, too, must learn his 
lesson. We must convince him our girls do not escape." 

"Please take me off this thing then." Diana turned a tear wet face toward 
her love. "Just to talk, that's all. You can put me back after " Her plea 
ended in a moan of anguish she could not control. 

"I asked to see you. I would have bought a session--" David's voice was 
infinitely bitter. "I had to know you were safe." 

"Mr. Farrell will always be welcome, Diana. I do counsel against a 
continuation of your love affair, it will give both of you only pain. But 
that is something for you to decide--" 

"What do I have to pay to get her off that contraption?" David demanded 
fiercely. 

"Please, Mr. Farrell!" Sister Angela sounded offended. "This is no attempt 
at extortion or ransom. The girl has been foolish and disobedient. She is 
being punished. Her punishment will run its course. I suggest you delay 
further visits until after that date. Punishments are shaming for a girl. I 
am sure Diana wants no audience during her suffering." 

"But look at her back! You've whipped her too?" 

"Yes." 

"What other horrors are you going to inflict on her?" 

"They do not matter. She will endure them and they will pass. It is best now 
you say good-bye. You can set your minds at rest about each other's 
continued existence. You may kiss her if you wish. But, please, no heroics?" 

Diana was glad her lover could not know the extra pain she forced her flesh 
to endure that she might turn and raise her lips to his. Their kiss was 
hungry, passionate, and short. When her visitors had gone and she reverted 
to her lonely miasma of pain, Diana could still hear, over and over, David's 
furious whisper in her ear. "I'll get you out of this somehow, someway--!" 

Her crushed crotch screamed more cruelly than before. 

* * * 

"We always fall back on the old tried and true remedies, dear." Sister Nona 
explained in a tone almost apologetic. "We have found peculiar contortions 
no more effective. You see, here... your thumbs-We don't strap your wrists 
but there's these small soft leather loops...! They're as wide as the thumb 
allows and they tighten below the knuckle of each of your thumbs... like 
this." 

"But, Sister Nona, isn't that fiction? It isn't really possible to hang a 
girl up by her thumbs--?" 

"Indeed it is, dear. Young girls are slender and not overweight, and there 
are no clothes...! You are thinking in terms of your thumbs being torn from 
their sockets. Rest assured, it won't happen." 

"But they'll never be any good again?" 

"Yes they will. Don't be silly." 

Diana, unhappily, watched the tethering of her thumbs at each end of the 
bar. She had already borne so much she had given up believing she could bear 
no more. The Sisters wisely nurtured her hope that each fresh punishment 
would be her last, and one day this would come true. But as she suffered 
each of them...! She wondered if any girl had ever screamed or moaned so 
much, or had so often flung herself at a Sister's feet and begged for mercy. 
And now, to hang suspended by her thumbs as hour followed agonized hour...! 
Her nights chained in the dungeon had become a strange and morbid surcease. 
Apprehensively, she watched the familiar sight of her captive hands rising 
up before her eyes, then the wrenching of strained shoulders and tensioning 
of breasts as her toes sought, vainly, to retrieve the floor. When the words 
spewed out of her parched lips to tell Sister Nona how impossible this was, 
that the pain was not bearable, that her thumb joints were being torn 
asunder, she discovered the kindly Sister had gone and closed the door. She 
hung nakedly alone. 

In all Diana's punishments there were two constants, pain and time to think. 
The Sisters explained how important this thinking process was to her, and 
Diana came gradually to believe this was true. Her first days of tribulation 
held mostly an agonized longing for David. But the searing shame she had 
suffered by him witnessing her travail upon the 'Horse' had told her clearly 
of the Citadel's sundering of her love. She belonged to The Citadel and that 
was the end of it. She loved him for his assurance of rescue but knew it was 
no more than wishful thinking. David might be strong and decisive but he was 
a pygmy matched against the Citadel's massive power. The Citadel would hold 
her slave for as long as it had a use for her. She wondered dully if the 
extremes of agony in her punishments had erased her capacity for erotic 
arousal in the lesser inflictions of the clients and the wanton carnalities 
of Gloria and the twins. She envied them the heat behind their pubic hair. 
Perhaps when her sin was expunged and she was once more only handcuffed...! 

A girl hanging by her thumbs has little cognizance of anything beyond 
herself and her pain, surprises are dwarfed by distress. But when Mr. Sands 
and Sister Nanette stood surveying her pendent nudity Diana knew a flash of 
hope. 

"My dear girl...! I have just been in session with our old friend Gloria and 
I thought...! Sister Nanette has been kind enough to allow me this visit. I 
have been greatly grieved--" 

"I was a naughty girl, Mr. Sands." 

"Well, yes, so I understand. The Sister has told me something of how you 
must expiate your sin." Mr. Sands was obviously entranced. "Really...! By 
your thumbs...! I had no idea!" 

The suspended girl remembered their last meeting. Again she was engulfed in 
shame. That evening had been joyous magic, now she was naked and tortured. 
Bitterly, she retorted: "I had no idea either," Then sarcastically added a 
redundant... "Sir." 

Sister Nanette pursed her lips. "You know better than that, Diana." She 
admonished tartly. "You must be made to understand that any punishment, no 
matter how painful, can always be made worse." Without ado, she clipped on 
each of the delinquent's nipples those small cruel metal jaws the girls all 
hated. "Perhaps these will remind you to be polite." 

Diana moaned but did not protest. All of her was hurting. It was as though a 
bit more did not matter. She had not deigned to move when her nipples were 
bitten by the tiny teeth. She looked down at them now on the tips of her 
breasts, perky and beyond her reach. Quite possibly Mr. Sands was getting an 
erection. "I'm sorry, Sister." She said humbly. "I forgot. I'm so hurting... 
" 

"Oh, please, Sister! Not on my account?" Mr. Sands was radiating his usual 
benevolence. "We must make allowances for her... discomfort." 

"It does not excuse sarcasm to a client, Mr. Sands. Diana's nipples are 
reminding her of this." 

"Ah, quite so. But perhaps I should not have inflicted myself. Seeing the. 
poor girl like this I can understand she is in no mood for conversation." 

She is not a 'poor girl,' Mr. Sands, she is only a foolish one." 

"Ah, no doubt. But I wonder? For the short time I am here? Could she have 
her feet lowered to the floor?" 

"No." 

"Ah, of course. I am being a nuisance. But perhaps...? Those things on her 
nipples...? As a favour to me?" 

Once more the Sister's lips were pursed in disapproval. But Mr. Sands' 
patronage was valued, and he was well liked. She removed the metal jaws from 
the suspended girl's breasts with the same firm competence with which she 
had put them on. Diana gasped a heavily indrawn breath and gazed down 
thankfully at two red and swollen rosebuds. "Thank you." She said dutifully. 
"Thank you both." 

"She is so lovely like that." Mr. Sands sighed. "But I have never known her 
anything but beautiful. It is a source of sorrow to me, Sister, that I 
cannot make an outright purchase of Diana." 

Sister Nanette laughed dryly. "You have mentioned it before. I am not 
certain, now, whether her value is enhanced or diminished by her silly 
escapade. The decision would not be in my hands. There is also the factor of 
her disgrace in the eyes of Authority. Being sold, for the large sums we 
demand, has always been considered an honor for the girl, and they usually 
approach their new slavery with optimism. But Diana's escape is a black 
mark. The Citadel is human, it may consider her unworthy, and in any case... 
I do not believe any figure under a million "Ah, dear me, what a pity." Mr. 
Sands surveyed the naked girl longingly. "I had hoped her fall from grace 
might have worked the other way and made her available for a sum I could 
manage." 

"You could leave a written offer to purchase Diana with Sister Cecelia, Mr. 
Sands. She would ensure it received attention. It might be refused but it 
would not be scorned." 

"I had been thinking in terms of perhaps half a million?" 

"I think I can safely say such an offer would be rejected." 

"Ah! Well, I suppose we must be realistic." Mr. Sands walked slowly round 
Diana's suspended charms. "My, my, you sure have whipped her, haven't you!" 
He worked his way round back to pubic hair. "But I can see no injury. I am 
wondering if the, ahem, Authorities desire a continuing severity of 
punishments for the girl? In such case I would enter into a pledge--?" 

"You misjudge us, sir. When Diana's punishment is done she will return to 
being our favourite girl." 

"Ah, indeed." Mr. Sands shrugged resignedly. "I must content myself with the 
occasional session with the dear girl. When will she be available?" 

"She is not to know that, Mr. Sands. I cannot tell you." Mr. Sands gave the 
suspended bottom a paternal pat and was gone. Sister Nanette nodded 
approvingly as though feeling Diana was doing the best possible thing in 
hanging by her thumbs. Diana relapsed into a limp acceptance of agony. 

* * * 

"Doesn't she look sweet in there." April enthused. "We've been locked in 
that little cage too, Diana." Tina assured happily. "It gets awful after the 
first few hours, all crunched up with your chin on your knees and your hands 
chained so they can't reach your pussy. How long have you been in there?" 

"This is the third day, there's been two nights." 

"You poor darling. They didn't keep us in there that long. Is it very bad?" 

"If they let me out I don't think I could move." Diana confessed wanly. "I'm 
so damn cramped and I hurt all over. It's a hateful little cage. It's far 
too small to hold a girl." 

"Would you like to get out, darling?" 

"Please don't tease." The nude captive pleaded. "Of course I want out. But 
look at the size of that padlock! And they won't tell me how long I have to 
stay in here. I asked Sister Nona yesterday if I could be whipped instead of 
caged, but she just laughed." 

"Suppose someone had a key, darling?" April held up a small metal object. "A 
key like this?" 

The captive Diana tensed against the bars, but her voice returned to 
resignation. "April dear, even if that key fits and I can't imagine how you 
got it, you mustn't let me out. We'd all be whipped... or something 
beastly." 

Tina held up another small scrap. "This one fits your wristlets, Diana 
dear." 

"You're teasing me." Diana tried, fretfully, to move but could not.. "Don't 
be unkind. But don't go away either, it's so good to have you to talk to. 
They've kept me alone the whole time." 

"If we let you loose will you eat our dear little pussies?" 

"Now I know you're teasing. But, yes, I would." 

"How about us nibbling you for five lovely orgasms? Would we have to tie you 
down?" 

"Don't be silly. We're all dreaming. And anyway, we wouldn't dare " 

"We'd dare, darling. We don't mind being whipped. We're always being whipped 
for something. Here, let's see if it fits." 

Diana watched breathlessly. She had hated that padlock steadily for two 
days, just as she had hated the metal round her wrists. She sensed 
vibrations. Tina and April were up to something. But, whatever it was, it 
could only lead to more punishment. "Even if you do unlock me I won't get 
out of the cage." She warned. "I'm too scared." 

"The Sisters will be so glad, darling. That's the way they want us. We're 
always scared, and terribly obedient." 

The padlock fell with a thud. The wristlets slid down Diana's bare legs to 
the floor. Despite denials she ecstatically stretched her legs out beyond 
the opened door. 

"Come along, darling." The twins each grabbed one of her ankles and dragged 
her from the cage. Once she was clear of bars and chains they fell upon her 
like ravening young she wolves, pushing her back to the floor, their mouths 
avid upon her breasts and between her thighs. It felt so good to be 
possessed again that the captive of the cage made no demur as she was 
femininely ravished. 

"Five orgasms." Tina said solemnly. "See, we promised. Now we have to give 
you a bath." 

"Is my punishment over?" Diana scarcely dared ask. "Never mind, darling. 
Just be a good girl." 

They bathed her, giggling over every nuance of femininity they could 
emphasise. No pubic hair or the lips below, no breasts and nipples had ever 
been more diligently soaped and laved. Before they were through with her the 
naked captive was panting with a lust too long repressed. "She's coming 
again, April." 

"Isn't she gorgeously horny!" 

'The Sisters will be so glad--!" 

Diana let them have their way with her. If they all got whipped or put in 
the pillory... so what! This glorious bliss was worth it. The punished 
delinquent could not easily realise her limbs were free, all of her was 
free! She was not trammeled by a single bond. She wanted to sing and dance 
and leap. It would be hateful to be bound again-but no doubt that would be 
waiting! 

"We have to paint your nips and your cunt, darling. You can watch us in the 
mirror." 

It was done. Her nipples and labia became outrageous. She was powdered and 
perfumed to a point of shame. Her hair was exquisitely arranged. The twins 
were enjoying her as they might have reveled in a freedom of their own. When 
they were satisfied they each took one of her unresisting hands. 

"Come along, darling. Be a good girl and trust us." 

The whole staff was there in the reception lounge. Several clients enjoyed a 
bonus by being present. They clapped on her entry and kissed and kissed her 
until she was breathless and her lipstick well smeared. Then Sister Angela 
made a speech, telling of how bad she had been and how good she was now and 
how they all loved her very much. Several clients made instant offers of 
sessions. Diana's heart was full, she wept with joy when Sister Angela 
announced the end of punishment. The girls dried her tears and applied fresh 
lipstick. The Ceremony of a return to the fold was not yet over. 

It was the most heart touching thing of all. Diana stood apart and waiting 
while Sister Nona opened the box. The breathless delinquent gasped at what 
she saw. 

"Hold out your hands, Diana." 

It was an easy command to obey. This was the moment most of all in which the 
punished girl said good-bye to agony. She proffered her wrists with a fierce 
hunger. 

"They are only gold plated, dear." Sister Nona apologised. "But they are 
going to look lovely. Are you sure you want to wear them? You don't have 
to?" 

Golden handcuffs! It was incredible! It was wonderful! It told vividly of 
love and of the Citadel's forgiveness. As Diana watched the sleek circlets 
possess and lock her wrists together she knew a great happiness. She saw the 
golden handcuffs as a pledge and as a prize, a bondage to wear in beauty and 
to flaunt in happiness. Quite suddenly she realised her loins were aflame 
with the old forgotten fire, her pussy was secreting and all was well again 
with her world. She held her cuffed hands high for all to see, her arms 
tensioning the single link by which her hands were joined. Diana Ramsay was 
happy. 

It was quite a long time before she thought of David. 

Obedience. 

"You will look back at the experience and draw your own conclusions. Diana." 
Sister Angela said equably. "You have had time. You have been a free girl 
for a week." She smiled down at the gold on Diana's wrists. "You love them, 
don't you." 

"Oh yes... yes! I hate it when clients take them off so I can be tied." 

"Tell me, dear, do you feel... brainwashed?" 

Diana sobered. "I don't so much feel it as know it's happened to me. And, 
anyway, I don't like that word. I've been punished to teach me a lesson, and 
I've learned--" 

"Yes, dear, go on." 

"It seems crazy but I'm glad I was punished. Sister Angela, is that being 
silly?" 

"No, dear, simply realistic. What else?" 

"It's a beautiful feeling of belonging. I know where I'm at. I didn't know 
before. And I don't think about escape, not ever. It's lovely not to even 
wonder about it any more." Diana pondered. "Escape seems such a silly thing 
now. I don't want it. I know I belong to The Citadel." 

"And The Citadel, Diana?" 

"It's sort of like a big Daddy, isn't it, Sister! And it's our home. Us 
girls have so much fun together--" 

"Even with the chastity belts?" 

"Well, yes... Oh, Sister Angela, I'm so happy. I'm going to try and make 
myself like Gloria and the twins." 

The Sister laughed. "An erotic little masochist?" 

"They're not really that, are they. It's a sort of erotic love play that 
never ends for them. I'm a little like that now--" Diana broke off, then, 
sheepishly, asked: "Sister, for a little while...? Could I be given clients 
who'll help me develop, to whom I can respond?" 

"Very well, dear. For a little while." 

"I think it's something that should be taught, if it can be taught. Can it, 
Sister? Oh, and thank you, thank you...! 

"There is a session awaiting you now, dear. It's why I've asked the 
questions. It's your Mr. Farrell." 

Diana tensed. She looked at Sister Angela appealingly. "Please...? Must I? I 
don't think we should see each other any more." 

The other Sisters and I have discussed this, Diana. We think your affair 
with Mr. Farrell is something you had best put in its proper place yourself. 
It would be very easy for us to tell him you are not available. But he is 
here with his money, and we did promise him?" 

"I'm so ashamed--the way he saw me last." 

"On the horse!" Sister Angela laughed. "You're just being female. Go and 
give this nice man a wonderful hour or two and tell him what you've just 
told me. If you find yourself losing control just call me and I'll have you 
terribly punished right in front of him. If Mr. Farrell is thinking about 
marriage and babies he must turn his attentions elsewhere, not come to the 
Citadel." 

"Sister, I'm frightened. I don't want to." 

"It is our wish, dear. We have faith in your ability to handle it. One thing 
all us females must do is put our glands in their place. If we let them 
dictate to us we're lost. We become simpering little mink with a hot belly 
and spread legs. Diana, that's not for you." 

Diana felt that if Life was a person, that person would be watching her now 
with amused curiosity as she walked slowly to room number four where her 
love was waiting. It was a bitter thought that once she would have run. She 
could see only heartbreak in what she now must do. 

"Hello, David." 

She was instantly in his arms, held fiercely, kissed savagely, her hands in 
their golden handcuffs crushed against his chest. With a brief and fleeting 
memory of Sister Angela's injunction she sank to the floor and gasped in 
ecstasy as she was pierced. It happened without any will or intent of her 
own. It just happened. 

"David, do something with me." In happiness Diana was glimpsing disaster. 
"Hang me up. Tie me in some way you love." 

"Hell, no! I didn't come -" 

"You must. If you don't we'll be right back on the floor." 

"What's wrong with that!" 

"You know what's wrong with it. David dear, we have to talk. Look, if you 
want something easy, I'm already handcuffed, hook them up above my head so 
I'm on my toes. Please... right now!" 

"That will hurt." 

"I don't mind. Do it. I want you to." Diana saw the longing flame in his 
eyes, and pressed her advantage. "It's the only way we'll talk sensibly, and 
we've got to talk, we've got to!" 

"I've wanted you so damn bad--" 

"David, you just must not go away hungry. Do the things you love... We can 
talk as we go. And I want you to whip me--" 

"Diana, stop that--!" 

Diana smiled her female wisdom at the man she loved. Provocatively she 
proffered her locked hands. "Please...?" 

"Gold handcuffs! Good gosh, sweetheart, have you been promoted?' "Not 
really. I think they were to make me feel better after my punishment. I love 
them." She gazed at David's dubiety with an amused eye. "They work the same 
as any others. Hurry. Hang me up." 

David obeyed, but absently as though his thoughts were elsewhere. When his 
love was on her toes he looked up at the golden bonds. "They're cutting. You 
should be tied." 

"I told you, I don't mind!" The naked girl shook her head impatiently. "If I 
don't have pain I'll be back on the floor. Now whip me, anyway you like." 

David sighed but his pulse was thudding. In adoration of her beauty he 
walked round the loveliness of the naked girl who wanted her wrists to hurt 
because she loved him. Angrily, he exclaimed: "Diana...! Sweetheart... your 
back!" 

"Yes, I know. I was flogged. It was part of my punishment for escaping." 

"But that was way back -!" 

"Yes, but they healed nicely. What you're looking at is marks, not scars. 
Don't worry about them, whip me anyway." 

"No! No way -!" 

"Between my legs then or my breasts? I know you want to?" . 

"Of course I want to. But the thing I have to do first is get you out of 
here." 

"You know that's impossible. I don't want to talk about it-" 

"That's because of the way they punished you. They've... they've broken 
you." 

"So alright, I'm broken. But I still belong to The Citadel and I can't 
possibly escape. You've been trying, haven't you?" 

David shook himself disgustedly. "Oh sure. Hell, I've been knocking at doors 
and making phone calls ever since they kidnapped you. All I get is laughs or 
shrugs or fatherly advice." He chuckled bitterly. "Some of the bastards give 
me phone numbers as though all I'm after is a piece of tail. Good gosh, I've 
got a book full of numbers... " 

"David darling, use one sometimes. ! won't mind, I'd be crazy to mind... 
with me in here." 

"No, I'll come here every week until--" 

"Until what!" Diana looked at him tenderly and shifted from one foot to the 
other. The handcuffs were indeed hurting her wrists but it was a nice hurt 
she adored. "David, you can't get me out, and you can't possibly afford this 
place every week, not the way they charge. You should not come at all-and 
don't ask if I've stopped loving you. David... right now! Whip me!" 

Her toes were suddenly off the floor, her legs clamping his hips as they 
strained and panted their way to orgasm with her nakedness close held in 
strong male arms and her handcuffed hands still tethered above their heads. 
When they at last uncoupled and stood free, sweating, breasts heaving, Diana 
again demanded. "There! I suppose we needed that. Whip me now." 
Provocatively and enticingly she spread her wet thighs. 

David looked at her with hunger unappeased. As though in desperation, he 
sought a whip and slashed hard up into her crease. Diana gasped and wailed: 
"Oh, darling...! Please more, more, more!" 

The man whipped the girl to the extent of his carnal need. Each blow was cut 
up into the loins of a female who opened her legs again and again as in 
invitation to the phallus, not the thong. But it was the leather she 
received in stroke after cruel stroke upon her wet sheath until he who plied 
the whip threw it aside and once more took his prize, thrusting hard into 
the swollen and inflamed lips he had so wantonly thrashed. 

"Feel better, David?" Diana grinned ruefully. "I do." Dazedly, he looked 
upon Diana's scarlet loins. "I went crazy...!" He shook his head to clear it 
of the mists of lust. "But I'd do it again... You're a witch." 

"Thank you, kind sir." 

"But not 'till next time. D'you want me to whip you like that every time I 
come here?" 

"Yes please." She chuckled. "It would be a marvelous aphrodisiac in old 
age." 

"Hell, it's marvelous now. I'm ready again, just thinking about it. The way 
you act--!" 

Diana raised a wicked leg and cocked a saucy eye. "You want?" 

"Of course I want. But you're wealed enough. What I want most is you out of 
here." 

They were instantly sober. "That's not going to happen, David." Diana said 
forthrightly. "What we have to decide is whether we can stand these sessions 
" 

"Stand 'em! Of course we can stand them." 

"I don't think we can, or that we should. We'll only torture ourselves over 
an impossibility. David, I have to say it: You should find another girl." 

"Did they whip you into saying that?" 

"Maybe they did. But it's really The Citadel saying it for me. David, 
darling, I'm a prisoner here and I always will be. I've had to face this. 
Now you must." 

"I'm going to get you out." David affirmed doggedly. Diana shrugged. "If you 
can!" 

He looked at her searchingly. "They really have broken you--" Before she 
could reply she was once more gasping from the tongue of the frustrated male 
who was on his knees and drawing to his lips the scarlet patch of thigh and 
crotch he had so recently whipped. His face buried in her pubic hair, David 
Farrell's hands possessed the round cheeks of his love's derriere and drew 
them hungrily to his desire. Diana was helpless and did not protest. Soon 
she was moaning... 

"You see." Diana said wearily after a long time. "You can do what you like 
with me. If I was free I'd belong to you utterly. But I am not free. This 
whole thing is hopeless, it will break our hearts. David, please...! I can't 
be ravished like this every week and walk back into slavery and be happy. 
It's no good for you either." 

"I want it. I'll buy sessions. They won't allow you to refuse a session, 
will they?" 

"I don't know. I expect I'll find out." 

They gazed at each other, each realising what Diana had said. Then, without 
another word, David Farrell turned and left the room. Diana, still hanging 
by her handcuffed wrists, did not call after him. 

"It's my masochist day." Diana looked up into Sister Angela's wise and 
sympathetic eyes from where she knelt at the feet of authority. 
Deprecatingly, she added: "I think I made a mess of it. You'd better punish 
me." She grinned ruefully. "I feel like that. I mean, sort of guilty and 
with a bad mark. Will you whip me, please?" 

"To rid you of your guilt?" Sister Angela laughed. "You've been whipped too 
much already." 

"There's still my breasts?" 

"If you did not whip your breasts during your punishment, child, we will not 
whip them now." 

"But, Sister, I let him ravish me, over and over again! I feel like that 
carnal little mink you were speaking of." 

"So?" 

"I loved every moment. I'm ashamed of myself." 

"So you want to be punished?" 

"Yes please." 

"I won't whip you. So what else do you suggest?" 

Diana discovered she was unable to suggest anything. The Rack and the 
Pillory and the Horse all sent her to shivering. She wanted to be whipped 
because of the human communion entailed and because it set her fire to 
burning bright between her thighs. Again she was ashamed of herself: she did 
not want punishment at all. She was becoming as erotic as Gloria or the 
twins. She confessed this piece of self discovery to Sister Angela. 

"Excellent! Now, since you've discovered that much about yourself, I will 
whip you No, don't stand up." 

Trembling like a novice, Diana backed away, still on her knees, while Sister 
Angela selected a cane. Beholding the wicked slenderness, her tremors 
increased. She wished she had kept quiet about her conscience. 

"Extend your arm, dear, palm nice and tight. You must keep it like that 
without moving while I strike it three times. Then we will do your other 
hand the same way." 

"But, Sister-!" 

"This will make you feel a lot better and won't add any marks where they'll 
be noticed. I've always thought it undesirable for girls to entertain 
clients when heavily wealed." 

"But, Sister-?" 

For moments they gazed at each other, stricken. Suddenly they were laughing. 
In Diana's case the merriment was almost hysterical. "You're a humbug." 
Sister Angela declared cheerfully. "It's the sort of quasi nobility I 
indulged in myself at your age. Here, put this thing away. You don't deserve 
to be whipped. If I did anything to you I'd cram you in that little cage and 
make you feel silly and frustrated." 

Blushing, Diana obeyed. The cane felt cruel, she was thankful for being 
teased. Six cuts with such an instrument across taut palms would send her to 
writhing on the floor. Sister Angela was a dear. 

"If you wish, Diana, I'll lock a chastity belt on you for a week?" 

"It would be no good. Sister. I'm so sexually satiated, and ashamed of my 
pussy I don't even want to play with myself." 

"Not today, perhaps. But what about tomorrow?" 

"Not ever. Oh, Sister, you were so right about it. A man came to see me... 
and all we did was fuck. There, that beastly word! But it fits. We didn't 
make each other happy-" 

"I deduced that when I found you still hanging the way he left you." Sister 
Angela said, dryly. "Why didn't you call?" 

"I was angry and punishing myself. Oh sure, it was very silly." 

"Did Mr. Farrell admire your golden handcuffs?" 

"He was jealous of them. He thought I'd won them by climbing on some sort of 
bandwagon. I didn't want him to take them off." 

Sister Angela nodded. "We wanted you to have that session, dear. Goodness 
knows whether it's done you any good." She smiled. "But, apart from a tender 
pussy, it did you no harm." 

"Please, Sister...? No more...? David says he's going to keep on buying me. 
He says every week. But please, Sister, don't make me? It just tears me 
apart. It... it... Well, it sort of works against my Punishment. Each 
session would whittle away at what I learned." 

"Are you sure? Might it not strengthen you?" 

"If we got irritable and started hating each other, and I wouldn't want 
that. Please, Sister Angela, don't make me do another session with David?" 

Sister Angela took the troubled young face in her hands and kissed the 
troubled lips. "I'll think about it." She promised. "It's always possible he 
will not come again." She patted a wealed round bottom. "Now, run along and 
join the girls. You can show them your lovely scarlet patch, maybe they'll 
envy you." 

Pensively, the much whipped girl made her way back to the lounge. She 
fingered her handcuffs lovingly, they were far more precious than gold. 

As day followed captive day, Diana found herself counting them in 
apprehension. When the seventh dawned she could liken her state of mind to 
that of an unwilling bride. She wanted something and she did not want it. 
Furiously, she sought sessions and as much pain as the client was willing to 
give. It was when she emerged from the third of these that she was pounced 
upon by the twins with the injunction to keep silent, to do what she was 
told, and there would come a lovely surprise. Good naturedly, she yielded 
herself to their eager young hands. They were obviously highly excited and 
it was a welcome diversion. "We have to bathe you, darling." 

"And make you beautiful. And it's not for that nice Mr. Farrell either, so 
stop looking scared." 

Diana knew enough to ask no questions. April and Tina would let her in on 
their secret soon enough. In the meantime their bubbling exuberance was 
infectious. 

"Your whipmarks are fading nicely, darling." There were giggles. "And your 
pussy hasn't been whipped for a week." 

"You mean, some client wants to whip me? Someone special?" 

"You'll find out, darling. Come along, we want to soap your pussy and get 
you all excited." 

"Suppose I don't want to get all excited?" 

"You haven't a thing to say about it. You're handcuffed and we won't take 
them off, and anyway we don't have a key." 

"And we have to make a special job of painting your nips, darling. We have 
to get the aureoles just right." 

"And a super hair-do." 

Diana yielded her nakedness to them happily enough. They were highly skilled 
in female arts, their wise small hands were very comforting. The twins were 
an experience at any time, and in a bathroom or before a mirror...! "I am 
going to be whipped, aren't I?" Diana said complacently. "I can tell the 
signs. They like a girl sleek and lovely before they make her scream." 

The twins regaled her with giggles but no information. Soon, the older girl 
lapsed into sensuous pleasure under their erotic attentions. Something 
special was going to happen to her but what did it matter! If it was not one 
session it would be another. In The Citadel a girl's life was measured in 
sessions. Diana hoped that if David came it would be at a time when she was 
being used by someone else for the rest of the day. She watched herself in 
the big mirror while Tina and April worked their magic. 

"You can come along now, darling." 

"Gosh, you're gorgeous! You're so lucky." 

The girl was Diana's own age, expensive, soignee, too beautiful for her own 
good, and totally at ease in front of the five Sisters. Diana wondered if 
she was a novice awaiting indoctrination. Would that explain her own painted 
nipples and sculptured hair...? It seemed unlikely. "This is a remarkable 
day in your life, dear." Sister Nona appeared to be the Mistress of 
Ceremonies. "We have gathered here like this, Diana dear, to tell you the 
wonderful news. You have been sold." 

Diana stood transfixed. The twins giggled. The svelte young woman smiled. 
Sister Nona continued her stately prose: "You will be flattered to learn 
that there are those who value you enough to pay the sum of one million 
dollars for your person. The Citadel is pleased. We hope you will be too." 

The shock was devastating. Diana's reaction, instant. "I don't want to be 
sold." She wailed. "I want to stay here." No one paid attention. 

"We know this is a tremendous surprise, Diana, and we'll make all allowances 
for the shock." Sister Nona consoled. "This young lady has come to escort 
you to your new home. Her name is Amaryllis Huntington." 

"I mostly get called Amy." The girl grinned companionably at Diana's 
confusion. "I want you to call me that." Taking the shocked cheeks in tender 
hands she kissed their owner hard upon the mouth to impart a charge of 
sexuality more potent than the naked merchandise was prepared for. From 
Amaryllis Huntington there radiated a female aura beyond anything Diana had 
ever felt. It was exciting. It was comforting. For the first time, the 
bartered girl felt reassurance. "Is it you who's purchased me?" She asked in 
wonder "Sorry, but no." Eyes glinted and sparkled. "But you're going to see 
a lot of me anyway." The eyes were suddenly cold. "I'm told you're 
obedient?" 

"Yes, I'm obedient." Diana managed a wan smile. "Don't worry, I won't make a 
fuss." She held up her golden handcuffs. "Besides, I'm wearing these." 

"The Citadel makes you a gift of them, dear." Sister Nona announced grandly. 
"We know you love them, and they will be a memento of the affection we all 
hold for you." She turned to their visitor. "If you would like it, Miss 
Huntington, Diana could sit with you in the front seat, just as she is. It 
would be nice for you to talk. I can assure you she will make no attempt to 
escape." 

Diana saw the doubt flash into her escort's eyes. With wry humour she 
suggested: "You can tie my feet and put a collar on me. I'm sure it's hard 
to believe I won't run." She offered her best company smile. "And I won't 
mind, not a bit." 

There were tears and hugs and good wishes. Diana worked her own weeping way 
through all of it. The emotion was genuine. The nude captive knew herself in 
partial shock, and refused to contemplate the morrow. But she knew for sure 
that had her escort been other than this lovely creature at her side she 
would have been sorely taxed to make the parting. Someone would have had to 
tie her, and tie her tight. In a welter of emotion she accompanied Amaryllis 
Huntington to the garage and the waiting Rolls Royce. The feminine hand on 
her arm was neither harsh nor tender, it was simply there. She had been 
sold! 

In deference to a noticeable hesitancy in her escort's mien, Diana took a 
plunge: "Thanks for letting me sit with you. It's nicer than being hogtied 
in the trunk." 

Amy smiled. "The voice of experience, eh." She held open the door. "In you 
get, Diana. We travel in style." 

"Look." Diana insisted. "I want you to tie my ankles. You have to drive, 
there's no sense you being worried." She settled herself in the seat and 
stuck her feet out invitingly. 

"Alright, I won't deny I'm as nervous as you are." Amy admitted. "This 
really is for the birds." 

The rope appeared from nowhere. With it, Diana's ankles were most 
competently bound together. "You may as well lock my hands behind my back." 
She offered in a further burst of comradeship. 'Then you won't have to worry 
about me at all, I won't be able to do a thing, and I won't mind. Honest, I 
won't mind, and I'll be quite comfortable." She made a wry grimace. "I'm 
very experienced about being... fastened." 

It was quickly and easily done. Diana snuggled nakedly into the soft 
upholstery. There was something amusingly familiar about the whole 
experience. She felt one up on Amy. When the Rolls emerged into daylight and 
pointed its hood towards an unknown destination she asked, coyly, "Are we 
both crazy or is this happening?" 

"We're both crazy and it's happening." Amy turned a wry grimace to her 
prisoner. "You comfy?" 

"Oh sure, I'm used to being tied. Who are you?" 

Amy wrinkled her nose. "I don't know who I am, not really. Not any more than 
you do. Believe it or not, you and I are both in the same fix." 

"No we aren't. You're free and you've got a Rolls Royce. And you must be 
very rich to pay a million for me." Diana studied the lovely profile behind 
the wheel. "What do you want me for?" 

Amy tinkled laughter. "How about servicing me?" 

"Yes, of course. You won't have to whip me." 

"How about men? It's men who've bought you?" 

Diana guessed instantly. "And one of 'cm's named Sands?" 

"That's right, lie said you wouldn't be surprised. He also says he 
apologizes for the delay. Seems like you had to be punished first? Collies, 
you sure have been whipped!" 

"Yes, I sure have." Diana agreed absently. "But I don't see where you fit 
in. Are you one of the consortium who own me now?" 

"Gee, I love the way you talk of yourself as merchandise. That punishment 
must have been quite something." Amy spared an amused sideways glance. "And 
no, I'm not an owner, I'm a slave the same as you." 

"You're kidding?" 

"No I'm not. The Group has used me for several years my skin's as marked up 
as yours is. I belonged to just one of them originally but they found it 
more convenient to buy shares. I'm as well trained as you." 

"I don't believe it." Diana gazed at the girl and at the car. "You're no 
slave. What's to stop you driving off someplace to freedom?" She giggled. 
"You could take me with you." 

"There's no mystery about it, Pet. Suppose I stopped this car, untied you, 
gave you clothes and money, what would you do?" 

"Are you telling me you escaped and were punished... horribly, and now you 
daren't escape any more?" 

"That's what happened to you, isn't it?" Amy's laugh held only a tinge of 
bitterness. "Once is enough. But, anyway, the boys want a change, so they've 
bought you. I've been promoted. I get to look after you and run errands. But 
I'm willing to bet I'll end up in a room with one or the other of them 
anyway from time to time. Men are ridiculous the way they hunger for us and 
for change. If our boys had the money they'd buy a dozen girls." 

"Why don't they just kidnap one themselves? Why me?" 

"Because you're trained: broken if you like. You're passive and submissive 
and obedient and doubly desirable. So am I. Men are lazy, they don't want 
arguments or a full time wrestling match. We've been shaped into what every 
husband wants but never gets." 

Diana wriggled her helplessness in puzzlement. "But you seem so happy, so 
self assured? You can't possibly "Yes I can!" Amy grinned and imparted a 
flickering wink. "I live high on the hog, the whole consortium does, and so 
will you when they're not making you moan. They buy me everything a girl 
ever wanted and give me enough sex to keep any girl at home. I won't run 
away, I just won't! If I did they'd bring me back, and I can do without 
another of those punishments I thought I'd die." 

"But don't you want a husband and babies, Amy?" 

"Only at odd moments when I'm locked in a cage or something weird. Mostly I 
tote up what's in the bank. The consortium makes regular deposits for our 
old age." She giggled, "It probably starts around thirty-five. By that time 
though, we may get the job of training the younger ones they buy or pick up. 
I'm told that's the way that Citadel place got started a long time ago. They 
claim it makes millions." 

Diana was trying hard to sort things out. "You said you have to look after 
me, Amy? What's that mean?" 

Amy shrugged. "Well, look at yourself right now: you're looked after. I'm a 
sort of jailer, companion and lover, guide and mistress. I'm allowed to 
punish you at my own discretion, and I will too if you make waves." The wise 
eyes glinted. "Or do you like being whipped by a girl?" 

"Well... I'm not sure." Diana was ashamed to be too frank on short 
acquaintance. "Do you?" 

"I don't know either. I've only been whipped by men. Sometimes I get the 
most frightful hots out of it. Will you whip me sometime, Pet, when we get 
around to it? We need not tell the men." 

"Sure, if you don't get mad at me." 

They looked at each other and shared a laugh. Diana felt a comfortable 
warmth, her fire was perking. It was unlikely she would enjoy the five men 
who each owned a part of her but she would enjoy this girl. Their ages were 
compatible in a way the Sisters could never be. Cheerfully, she enquired. 
"The clients I've had to serve at The Citadel have taught me a lot. But 
these five men...? What will they do to me?" 

"Thinking of torture, Pet?" Amy shrugged. "That's what some would call it. 
But half the time they're kind. They're really five lucky S.O.B.'s. They can 
be whatever they like with us, kind or cruel or in between. But we must 
always be what they desire on that particular day. Once you get to know 'em 
it's not all that hard." 

Diana sighed. It all sounded very familiar. 

* * * 

The carpet would have cost a fortune, and the chandelier, and so would 
everything else. There had been a degree of austerity about the Citadel but 
there was none in evidence in the consortium's magnificence. From her first 
glance at the House and its grounds to the cocktail party now in progress 
Diana had been awed. Amy was right, if she did not get herself thrown into a 
dungeon she would live high on the hog. 

The Party was a surprise. It was in her honour. True, she was still naked 
and still wore her golden handcuffs. True, she carried a tray of drinks and 
sandwiches as did Miss Amaryllis Huntington. But she was on display. The 
Consortium was proud of its acquisition and wanted to have a look at its 
investment. The investment herself was scared by the presence, not only of 
five men, but also of five women, two of whom were wives. To Diana they were 
an unknown quantity. 

"Smile and be brightly obedient. Pet." 

Following Amy's light hearted injunction, Diana found herself scrutinized by 
a pair of sardonic middle aged eyes. "Golden handcuffs, eh! Don't they 
bother you?" 

"I'm used to them. I wear them all the time." 

"Hmmmmm... By the way, I'm Edwina Preston." A short laugh. "My husband's one 
of your owners--lot of silly nonsense." 

"It isn't nonsense to me, Mrs. Preston, it's terribly real." 

"Hmmmmm... Well, naked and handcuffed I suppose you don't feel like walking 
out the door. But I think that's what I'd do in your shoes." 

"I'm afraid I don't have the courage." 

"I can understand that. I've been looking at your back and your seat. 
Someone sure must have thought you a naughty girl. Or was it just part of 
the boys fun and games?" 

"I misbehaved myself. Er... these ladies? I'm not used to ladies like 
this... I mean, don't you mind? About me?" Goodness, no! Gets the idiot off 
my back. He can whip you and dear Amaryllis as much as he likes, I couldn't 
care less." 

So much for Mrs. Preston! Mrs. Henniker was less amiable. "So they got 
themselves another one, eh! I've no patience with you girls, you deserve all 
the thrashings you get. I'd give you one myself if they'd let me." She 
emitted a barking laugh. "Damn crafty of Stanley and the rest, this 
splitting you into five. Gives him an out. If I want to baste your bum he 
can claim the other four wouldn't like it. I've had my eye on that Amaryllis 
canary for quite some time. I'll nail her yet." 

"But we're not really free, y'know." Diana ventured. "Free enough to make 
assholes of five men." 

"If you could persuade them to give us our freedom...? We'd be forever 
grateful?" 

"Don't con me, girl. And the day I get that pretty little Amy I'm going to 
get you too--" 

"So glad to see you getting along so well." It was a male voice. Mr. Sands 
had appeared from nowhere. On his arm was a personable woman of 
indeterminate age. "Ma; I present Miss Florence Emory." 

Mrs. Henniker fixed Miss Emory with a basilisk glare. "You come to get your 
ass whipped?" 

"Miss Emory is a guest." Mr. Sands suggested gently. "She has been curious 
about our menage." 

"Huh!" Mrs. Henniker selected a drink and a sandwich from Diana's tray and 
drifted off to other prey. 

"I do hope you're happy, Diana my dear?" 

"Oh yes, Mr. Sands. And thank you so much for buying me." 

"Look here, why can't I get in on this act?" Florence Emory demanded. "How 
about I change places with Diana? You wouldn't mind, would you, dear?" 

"Calm down, Florence." Mr. Sands cautioned. "You don't want to be naked and 
handcuffed in company " 

"Who says I don't! It would be a real gas." She looked around expectantly. 
"Something I've never tried." 

"Maybe you haven't noticed Diana's back? It goes along with the rest, 
Florrie'." 

"Oh, I've noticed it alright, so has everyone else. Did you give her all 
those whipmarks?" 

"Er, no. She acquired them elsewhere for a serious lapse in conduct. You 
would not enjoy having your bare back whipped at all." 

"How d'you know I wouldn't? Brrrr, it makes me all shivery, just thinking 
about it. Honest, I wouldn't mind trying it once?" 

"Diana, explain to Florence how impossible " 

"You wouldn't like that kind of a whipping at all. Miss Emory. It's more 
awful than a girl can bear." 

"How d'you bear it then?" 

Diana blushed. "We're tied or strapped, or fastened some way so we can't 
move... and naked, of course." 

"Hmmmmm, what other kind of whipping do you get?" 

"Just a lighter one. They don't hit us such hard strokes as the ones that 
wealed my back." 

"That kind give you hot pants?" 

Diana blushed again. "The first few do: and there's the afterwards " 

"Look, Albert, you simply must and you never told me " Mr. Sands and his 
lady drifted away, Florence vehemently demanding. Diana suddenly felt tired 
and homesick and wanted to be back in the Citadel's lounge with the rest of 
the girls. Being a naked serving wench was an unexpected tax on the nerves. 

But there still remained the Tableaux. 

"But you've been promoted!" Diana exclaimed in puzzlement. "I thought I was 
the slavegirl?" 

"Don't take anything for sure. Pet. And don't worry about this affair. I've 
had it before. I know what to do. I also know I can take it. They know it 
too, damn them." 

It was a brief moment of intimacy. It would not last. The two female 
possessions of the Consortium exchanged whispers and commiseration from wide 
and apprehensive eyes. "It's a Show." Amy explained. They want something for 
the guests who've probably been expecting a lot more than a couple of girls 
carrying trays, even if one of 'em is naked and handcuffed. Well, Pet, I've 
been elected. I didn't tell you in the car because I didn't want your first 
day to be upset. Anyway, it's going to be easy for you, you'll be one of the 
audience." 

"They're going to whip you?" 

"Yes, a sort of ceremonial affair. It will all be very pretty-pretty. That's 
why they call it a 'Tableaux.' I'm expected to put on a good show." 

The Consortium did things right. It was a good show indeed. Diana found 
herself breathless in the chosen room. The men were half bored, they had 
seen it before, the show was for their ladies, and the ladies were most 
definitely agog. Some were nervous, others obviously uncertain and in doubt. 
But all were curious. There was an air of hushed expectation as they 
arranged themselves around the walls of the bare stark compartment which 
boasted no more furnishing than a bar running from wall to wall at a height 
a girl might just manage to reach. 

Miss Amaryllis Huntington was superb. When the chatter died she walked 
slowly to centre stage, then turned to smilingly scan the avid eyes. In a 
warm friendly voice she informed, blandly: "I am going to be whipped." 

The indrawn breaths were audible, Diana's not the least of them. The room 
was utterly mute. 

"I am going to be whipped purely for your enjoyment, ladies and gentlemen." 
Amy might have been giving a report on the weather. I have not been naughty, 
I have earned no punishment. Bui it pleases my masters to provide this 
entertainment for you. It is therefore proper for me to be thus publicly 
punished." 

The group were enthralled. Here was a new experience in stark reality! 

"I will be whipped on my naked skin." Casually, Amy shed the expensive 
feminine things she wore. She did this daintily, striving for effect. She 
folded each trifle to make a tiny and pathetic pile upon the floor, crowning 
it with her shoes. Gorgeously nude, she smiled once more at the watching 
eyes. 

"I have a beautiful body. It has not been whipped recently, its skin is 
virgin for your pleasure. I will be strapped securely with my hands above my 
head, but the rest of me will be free to writhe. My feet will not be bound. 
Your interest may be enhanced by whatever motions I cannot control beneath 
the lash. If my legs kick it will be because the pain is so great I cannot 
keep them still." 

She had them captured, they were hanging on her words. Eyes flitted back and 
forth from her pubic curls to the serenely composed features of the 
exquisite nude. But Amy's words were nearly done. 

"From time to time I will spread my legs wide to invite a stroke of the whip 
upward between my thighs. It is hoped this may relieve any tedium you may 
feel in the more conventional whipping of my back." 

If sarcasm was there it was finely shaded. The eyes of the audience remained 
intent upon the girlish nakedness soon to be striped scarlet by a whip. Amy 
took a whip from the wall and set it. with an upturned box, beneath the bar. 
She looked up, measuring distance, and positioned herself as well. She 
dropped her small verbal bomb with mischievous enjoyment. 

"My owners have instructed me to request the pleasure of Miss Florence Emory 
to strap my wrists and to administer my whipping Miss Emory...? If you 
please...?" 

The spotlight shifted. Florence Emory giggled and blushed but managed to 
wriggle her embarrassment into view. 

"I've never done anything like this. Gee-whiz!" She grinned around, 
self-consciously. "I'd no idea " 

"I'm sure you'll whip me very well. Miss Emory." 

"Gollics, when I asked...! I mean, I never thought...! And that business 
between your legs Holy cow!" 

"I'll try and help as much as I can, Miss Emory." 

Scarlet faced, the would be whipper looked around in deprecation. "I bet 
I'll be just awful al it But I will try. Please make allowances." 

"If you can't, I most certainly can." Said Mrs. Henniker from the wings. "It 
would be a pleasure." 

"And now if you'd strap my wrists up to the bar, Miss Emory?" Amaryllis 
requested politely. 

With a sprinkling of "Oh dear " and Gee-whiz," Miss Florence Emory mounted 
the box and tugged determinedly at the buckles to imprison the two slender 
wrists Amy had helpfully thrust within the leather loops. 

"Please take the box away out of where I can reach it with my toes, Miss 
Emory." Amy directed in a bright but tremulous voice. "And will you please 
start whipping me anytime you like. I have been instructed to request you 
not to lash my breasts." 

It was too beautifully submissive for words. The strapped and naked 
Amaryllis was a sight to remember forever. Diana was sure she herself could 
never so impersonally play stage director to her own punishment with the 
whip. Amy was a cameo of perfection. Embarrassed but fascinated, Florence 
picked up the whip. 

"Make it hard, girl. Thrash her properly." Mrs. Henniker was right in there. 
"And stop looking so sheepish about it. You know you want to." 

With an awkward and ungainly swing, Florence Emory slashed the whip across 
the ivory shoulders of Miss Amryllis Huntington. She stepped back and 
watched in wonder the forming of a scarlet weal on bare and virgin skin. 
"Gosh, I'm terribly sorry." She exclaimed ridiculously. "Gee whiz, it's made 
a red line across--!" 

"Yes, it always does." Amy said demurely, "thank you. Please whip me again." 

Florence turned. Her face was a study. "If I hadn't seen this I wouldn't 
believe it." She said flatly. "Seems to me those marks are a bit much. I 
mean, I hadn't expected " 

"Stop dithering and whip the damn girl." Mrs. Henniker's demand held a 
sneer. 

With a wild and uncertain aim, Florence obeyed. This time it was the lovely 
twin curves of Amy's bottom which took the blow, the tip of the lash 
snapping across an unsuspecting hip. The slavegirl squealed and kicked 
against the unkind pain. Amy's nudity twisted and tugged against her 
strapped wrists. The cut had been severe. Diana knew all too well how it 
must have hurt, but was uncertain of the victim's contortions -no doubt some 
were expected!!!!! 

Florence Emory stood transfixed, drinking in both the pained nudity and the 
second set of weals, one across each of the impudent cheeks and another 
cruel upon a hip. Suddenly, she dropped the whip and turned to where Mr. 
Sands stood watching. 

"It's no good, Albert. I'm on the wrong end." Miss Emory bestowed an 
apologetic grin upon those present. "What I wanted was to change places with 
Miss Huntington." 

The atmosphere was electric. The guests were getting their money's worth. 
Mrs. Henniker was equal to the occasion. 

"Strap the silly bitch up alongside the other, Albert, and thrash both of 
'em." 

"That really was more what I had in mind." Florence was still apologising. 
"But I meant instead of Amy. You could let her loose, she hasn't done 
anything." 

"Please whip me some more, Miss Emory, you'll soon get accustomed to it and 
I'd be ever so grateful." Amy coaxed. She had an uncomfortable feeling of 
deteriorating prospects. "Give me a couple more strokes to sort of get 
adjusted?" 

"Oh dear. I don't think I can "She's chicken." Said Mrs. Henniker helpfully. 

"I'm not either!" Florence snapped indignantly. "It's just it's not my 
thing. But I sure wouldn't mind trading places." 

"And so you shall, my dear!" Mr. Sands was at his hearty best. "We all 
applaud your courage." 

"You won't like it one little bit at least I don't think you will." Amy 
interposed. "I'm sort of used to it, y'know -" 

"Florence has made a request." Mr. Sands declared firmly. "Her request is 
granted." He bent a stern regard upon the blushing masochist. "But, 
Florence, you'll have to remove your clothes." 

"Well, I expect I'll manage. Gollies...!" 

"And, once embarked on this adventure, there will be no retreat. You cannot 
say you made a mistake and ask for release." 

"Jeepers, it's so exciting, the way you say that." 

"Amy was to receive twenty strokes. They are now transferred to you." 

"Twenty...?" Florence was doing mental arithmetic. "Is that a lot?" 

"About nineteen more than you'll want." Said Mrs. Henniker. 

"Don't keep sniping at me." Florence reproved the older woman. "You ought to 
be grateful for seeing me naked." 

"You don't have half the figure of these two snippets." 

"It's a damn sight better than yours." Florence retorted, and began to 
undress. She was obviously embarrassed but determined. 

Diana's amusement was tempered by sympathy. She felt sure Florence was in 
for a shock. She no longer had the resilience of youth: her lovely erotic 
fantasy of a heated and palpitating pussy would evaporate somewhere around 
the third stroke. 

"With that nondescript bag of bones I'm damned if I'd take my clothes off." 
Mrs. Henniker announced with relish. "A few stripes can do it no harm." 

"Please, please!" Mr. Sands beamed at large. "Florence, dear girl, you have 
nothing to be ashamed of. I am sure Mrs. Henniker is joking " 

"No I'm not." Said Mrs. Henniker firmly. 

"So I will now ask you to free dear Amy." Mr. Sands declared hurriedly. "You 
can then take her place. Amy herself will both fasten and whip you. She is 
highly skilled. 

You will be in good hands." 

"For twenty of the best." Said Mrs. Henniker with further relish. 

It was strange to be part of an audience. Diana knew it was she herself who 
should be whipped. But the Consortium was being kind on her first day. She 
watched, as fascinated as the rest, as Amy was freed and Florence was 
strapped. Standing there nude and with her hands bound high. Miss Emory did 
not indeed have anything to be ashamed of other than in being no longer a 
girl. Her unusually heavy black mass of pubic curls drew instant comment 
from the redoubtable Henniker. 

"If you're going to whip her cunt you'll have to shave her first. You can 
sell it for wool." 

Florence Emory was undulating against the straps, savouring helplessness, a 
bare foot rising and falling. Diana could guess at a pussy heat beyond the 
norm. Florence was horny. Picking up the discarded whip, Amy caught her eye 
and winked. Apart from the task of whipping a nude woman she had much to be 
thankful for. The lash marks on her back and bottom burned fiery red. 

"I'm going to whip you now, Miss Emory, are you ready?" 

"Well . . well, yes, I expect I am." Florence looked back over a bare 
shoulder with a wide and fearful eye. Beholding the whip in a ready hand she 
hastily turned back to gaze at the wall and stand tense and expectant. 

Amy chose Florence's bottom, no doubt in sympathy. It hurt less on the 
curves of a girl's rump and was more apt to engender the right kind of heat 
than a cut across the back. It was a moderate blow. She dared not make it 
light. 

Miss Emory left the floor, the impact of pain contracting her muscles 
against the straps round her wrists. But she made no sound beyond the first 
startled gasp. Once more she looked back over her shoulder, this time in 
doubtful apprehension. Amy struck again, this time around her captive's 
waist. When the helpless nakedness ceased to writhe it managed to exclaim 
coherently: "I'd no idea! I really didn't have any idea "Eighteen more to 
go." Mrs. Henniker announced triumphantly. 

After the next stroke, across her shoulders, Florence Emory conceded fleshly 
defeat. "I'm afraid I can't stand it after all." She apologized timidly. 
"I'm frightfully sorry." 

"But I'm afraid you have to." 

"I'm sure they won't mind if I withdraw. Oh dear, I do feel so foolish--" 
Amy delivered number four. As the whipped flesh responded, its owner's cry 
was urgent. "Albert... please! I can't possibly A--L B-E- R -T...!" 

"I'm afraid Mr. Sands has left the room." Amy's regret accompanied number 
five. Florence abandoned the proprieties. She screamed. While she was still 
screaming Amy slashed five times in quick succession. Weals sprang lividly 
on pale flesh and Florence entered a world she had never dreamed of. When 
she panted her way into silence, Amy resumed her duty. 

"You have had ten strokes, Miss Emory. It's time to spread your legs. If you 
like, you can just hold one up and off to one side." 

"I don't like. It's quite impossible." 

Wise in female frailty, Amy clasped the helpless nude and used her palm 
skillfully on a wet puss. The friction drew an embarrassed retort. "I'm 
quite ashamed... It's so wet... Really! I don't understand." 

"Your pussy understands." Amy said gently. 

"Oh dear, I'm all burning up. Oh... really!" 

Amy resumed her stance. Obediently, Florence's right leg separated itself 
and rose... up... and up. The girl with the whip cut cunningly up into the 
breach, the thong bit with a wet splat. Florence screamed and screamed, but 
once again her leg rose to bare her secret place. Once more the thong cut 
deep into the softest flesh of all. 

There was a massive break in the ranks. Mrs. Henniker advanced determinedly 
and snatched the whip from Amy's startled hand. "Out of my way, girl, I'll 
show you how to do this. You're just tickling her up, she probably likes 
it." She drew back, measuring distance with a vicious eye. 

Florence Emory looked back in horror, her eyes wide in alarm. "Stop her, 
somebody. Stop her! She doesn't like me-" Diana was alarmed. Mr. Sands was 
gone. The blow Mrs. Henniker was about to deliver would do damage. The 
swing, already in motion, was of horrific force. Instinctively, she leaped 
and grasped an arm half way through its flashing arc. 

"You little bitch!" Mrs. Henniker was outraged. She turned her not 
inconsiderable weight and all her fury upon the handcuffed girl. "I'll cut 
you to ribbons!" 

"Hold everything!" 

Mr. Sands was authority. He had returned quietly to witness an entertainment 
far in excess of that planned. Mrs. Henniker was recumbent on the floor, 
Diana sat on her feet and Amy on her chest while she fought wildly flailing 
arms, one of which still held grimly to the whip. From the bar above. 
Florence was wildly swinging, twisting and heaving in a hopeless but urgent 
need of freedom. At sound of the male command the two girls reluctantly 
disengaged to allow Mrs. Henniker to rise, like a large and ruffled hen, and 
shake her whip at the Master of ceremonies. "I'll have their hides." She 
announced grimly. 

"They saved my life." Florence shrilled. "That cow was going to kill me." 

The two slavegirls kept a discreet silence. Each was aware of delinquency. 

"I want all three of them properly thrashed." Mrs. Henniker announced with 
finality. She was still smoothing and primping. "I'd have thought you'd 
teach 'em better manners. Slave girls indeed! They're a pair of hoydens who 
need the lesson I'll give 'em." 

Mr. Sands motioned for aid. Mr. Henniker was, fortunately, on the same large 
scale as his wife, who he now took by the arm. "Come along, Letty." He 
adjured firmly. "You get yourself any more involved and you'll have to join 
the club." 

"Keep her away from me." Florence was still tugging and pulling. "She's not 
safe." 

"It was a pleasure to have you with us, Mrs. Henniker." Mr. Sands said, 
suavely. "Good-bye." Having seen an irate wife and an amused husband to the 
door, he picked up the whip and pointed it at Diana. His command was terse. 
"Strap Amy up beside Miss Emory." 

It was easily done, the straps were there, waiting. There were also others. 
The bar would have accommodated half a dozen girls. Amy was entirely 
passive. The whip pointed again. 

"How many did Florence get?" 

"Thirteen, sir." 

"That leaves seven to go. Give them to her. Then give seven more to Amy." 

"But, sir, it was my fault -!" 

"Quiet!" Mr. Sands raised a forbidding hand. "Seven strokes for Florence, 
seven more for Amy. Do it!" 

"Albert, stop this! Unstrap me. A L B E R- T...!" Sensing inevitability, 
Florence turned her flushed face back to the wall and maintained a sulky and 
choked silence while six strokes of the leather etched her skin. When the 
sixth had fallen she looked back quickly and pleaded. "Only one left. Hit me 
as hard as you can... I want to know " Diana obeyed. The audience watched 
the result crimson and the writhing contortions in reverent awe. There were 
handclaps. 

"Now Amy. Come along, Diana, whip her. 

Diana whipped Miss Amaryllis Huntington with skill and finesse. The punished 
maiden stood quietly as the blows splatted on her skin. It was a superb 
exhibition of control. But on the last stroke she went wild in gyrating 
contortions of agony. Diana wondered if the display of writhing nudity was 
to vent pain or to give the audience a good show. It did not matter. It was 
done. 

But it was not done! Mr. Sands was just, his voice firm. "Release Amy 
please." 

When it was done and the released girl was rubbing her wounds and her 
wrists, the commands continued. "Amy, strap Diana in your place. Give her 
seven strokes, all of them between her legs. Her back is too heavily 
marked." Diana was resigned. She was getting no more than expected. She 
arranged herself, the straps were warm and damp from Amy's wrists. The whole 
thing was sadly familiar. With resigned courage she endured the seven 
painful cuts, giving as few motions and sounds as her hurt flesh could 
contrive. Everyone seemed pleased. She had longed to tell of having been 
recently whipped between her legs, but what did it matter! They could have 
chosen the soles of her feet or the palms of her hands...! She wanted 
neither. 

When she was loosed Diana slipped to the floor at the feet of the Master of 
ceremonies. Kneeling with head bowed she said, simply. "Thank you for my 
punishment, Mr. Sands. I deserved to be whipped." 

The indrawn breaths of admiration were as one. Mr. Sands raised her gently 
to her feet. "This is our new slavegirl." He announced grandiloquently. "I 
think she's marvelous." 

There was a round of warm applause. When it died, Florence's plaint was anti 
climax. "Isn't anyone going to let me loose?" 

"Why should we?" Mr. Sands asked blandly. "You're getting what you asked 
for." 

"I'm embarrassed. Albert, undo these straps." 

"No." 

"But I'm all naked and marked!" 

"So we noticed. Very nice effect." 

"Oh, A L-B-E-R T...!" 

 CHAPTER SEVEN - SLAVEGIRL SOLD 

"I always associated this cage with being a naughty girl." Amy shrugged and 
lifted her joined wrists. "Handcuffs always did go along with the cage, so 
they don't mean much, and you wear yours all the time anyway. This is 
smaller than a cell, and there sure isn't any privacy. But it's just as 
comfortable, even if the rugs are on the floor, and it's a helluva' lot 
better than being chained in a dungeon." 

"Well, we were naughty." Diana giggled. "I bet Mrs. Henniker is still mad at 
us. Will she be able to get us punished some more?" 

"I doubt it. We belong to men. Our five owners are probably more mad at Mrs. 
H than we are." 

"I'm sure glad you're in this cage with me." Diana confessed. "I hate being 
locked up in anything alone. But I don't see why you're in here. I thought 
you got promoted when they bought me?" 

Amy shrugged indifferently. "I did, but I don't think it will make a lot of 
difference, and I don't really mind. If they stop using me I'd be lonely." 
She laughed. "I'm afraid I asked to be put in here with you. If they hadn't 
said O.K. I expect I'd have unlocked the door and come in with you after 
they'd all gone." Amy parted with a wry grin. "Fact is I'm hungry for a 
girl. One female slave divided by five males gets awful lonely for a girl 
who's got the same equipment as herself. There's been times, when none of 
'em needed me, I sat with my chain and cried and cried." 

Two naked and handcuffed girls sat and assessed each other in discovery. 
Diana's heart was warmed by this discovery of girlish loneliness, so 
different and beyond the solitudes of The Citadel. The Citadel had tended to 
have too much female communion rather than too little. 

Gratefully, she said: "You're terribly sweet. I hadn't expected Amy, dear, 
can I? I mean, would you like...? I want to give you something and I haven't 
anything else to give." 

They held each other close, giggling over the sorting out of handcuffed 
arms. Amy put her joined hands over Diana's head and was able then to hold 
her tight with Diana's linked palms flat against two naked breasts. It 
became a meaningful embrace without eroticism. They had found each other. 

Sounds broke them apart. As they drew nearer they resolved themselves into 
the voice of Florence Emory. They were distinctly plaintive. 

"Albert! R E A L L Y...!" 

Mr. Sands reply, if he made one, failed to reach the cage. "Yes certainly I 
showed an interest. But, gollies...! I'd no idea. I do think you're carrying 
this a bit too far." 

The door opened. A bare and flustered Florence was propelled within by the 
authority of Mr. Sands male hand. Her wrists were crossed and tied behind 
her back, her cheeks were pink. When she saw the cage and its occupants she 
stood transfixed and wide eyed. 

"Good heavens! Albert, those two girls are in a cage. Albert, actually, in a 
C A G E!" 

"Keeps 'em handy, Florence. We know where they are." 

"And they're handcuffed!" 

"That keeps 'em knowing where they're at too." 

"Albert, you're not thinking of I mean... You wouldn't?" 

"Yes I would, Florrie." 

"Oh, R E A--L -L-Y...!" Florence exhibited all the signs of an exceptional 
dither. "You shouldn't take me so literally. All I said " 

"I know what you said. Florrie a remarkable experience... " 

"I wish to go home. Albert, untie me." 

"No." 

"Don't say it like that! You make me all goosey. And I don't want to go in 
that cage. They're lovely young ladies but I'm all bare and the way you've 
tied my hands I can't touch anything." 

"What did you want to touch, Florrie?" Mr. Sands was enjoying himself. 

"Don't be disgusting! If you untied my hands I could cover bits of Me... 
Really!" 

Florence Emory was a delightful humbug, but the girls in the cage could 
share some of her naive consternation. For Florence it was undoubtedly a 
case of too much too quickly. Her blush seemed likely to become permanent. 
She never ceased to tug and twist at her bound wrists. 

Two handcuffed maidens watched Mr. Sands unlock their cage. "In you go, 
Florence." 

"I refuse. I can't possible. I've got no clothes on!" 

"Neither have they." 

"But they're different." Florence surveyed the contours of the cage with 
unfeigned curiosity. "They're... They're--well, you know what they are!" 

"That's what you're going to be. Do you a world of good." Mr. Sands picked 
up his protesting guest and tossed her within the heavy mesh. His voice was 
crisp. "Amy, my dear, out you come. The Henniker has departed." 

Diana watched the exchange of her fellow captives. Florence stood, tugging 
at her hands, while Amy stepped into freedom and was relieved of handcuffs. 
The cage door snapped shut and was padlocked. Mr. Sands nodded encouragement 
and threatened: "If you untie her hands you'll both be sorry. He took Amy by 
the arm in an affectionate hand and led her from the room. 

"Well I never-" Florence's gaze roved her encirclement of metal. "I'm in a 
cage! We're both in a cage!" She shook her head in disbelief. "Like a couple 
of dickey-birds." 

"It happens to slavegirls all the time. Miss Emory." 

"But we won't be able to get out! I mean, we're locked in!" 

"I'm afraid that's the general idea." 

Florence's mental processes slowly digested imprisonment. "I'm sure you 
don't take Albert seriously?" She enquired warmly. "I mean, about my hands? 
You will untie them for me?" 

"I daren't! Honest! If I do we'll both be whipped." 

"Oh, surely not! Albert's just playing a joke on me." 

"While he's playing it, it's probably going to be very real, Miss Emory. Amy 
and I have been prisoners for ages." Diana spared a sympathetic glance. 
"You'd better reconcile yourself to being a prisoner too. There's never any 
way to escape." She laughed bitterly, "Believe me, I know." 

"You mean...?" Florence Emory's gaze roved wildly around her limited 
horizon. "You mean these men could keep me like this for days?" She surveyed 
the infinite. "Or weeks?" 

"Or months, or years! Yes, sure they can. They've got you same as they have 
me." 

"I only said how interesting it all was, and sort of sexy, and that I 
wouldn't mind trying...?" 

"So now you're seeing how slavegirls live." Seeking to offer comfort, Diana 
added: "You managed your whipping wonderfully." 

"I thought I'd die. Gee whiz, that hurts!" Florence turned about. "What are 
my marks like? Are they... sort of erotic?" 

"They're gorgeous, and whip weals on a girl are erotic, at least nearly 
always if they're not too cruel." 

"Someone must have been cruel to you? Gosh, the way your back's still 
marked!" 

"I was punished for escaping. Escape is something they just won't tolerate." 

Florence sighed. It was a visible deflation. "I suppose I may as well sit on 
the rug with you." She conceded. "But I feel so funny, being naked and 
having no hands. Are you quite sure you won't untie--?" 

"Quite sure. I'm handcuffed all the time, y'know. Do make yourself 
comfortable. We can make believe we're a pair of harem beauties awaiting the 
pleasure of our masters." Diana laughed shortly. "It's not too far from the 
truth." 

"Really?" Florence settled her nudity as comfortably as she could and 
contemplated Nirvana. Her voice was hushed. "You mean... those five men? 
They can do whatever they want with us?" 

"Absolutely." 

"You mean, one of 'em could show up any moment and take one of us to bed?" 

"Sure, or he could do anything else he wanted. These men aren't bastards but 
they get a charge out of hurting girls, giving us pain in erotic and sensual 
ways. It's not real torture, just half way there." 

"Oh gollies. I'm getting all goosey again. Jeepers, just fancy...!" Florence 
contemplated an infinity of erotic delights. She made an apologetic grimace. 
"I expect you've figured I'm an awful fraud. I don't hate it in this cage, I 
love it, and I don't really want my hands untied. I've never felt more 
horny. Wow!" 

"Being horny is part of the torture." Diana laughed. "They get us in the 
mood, then tie our hands behind our backs or lock a chastity belt between 
our legs. It's wickedly frustrating." 

"A Chastity belt!" Florence was beholding the ineffable. Honest? A thing 
that locks on us to put our pussy in a cage?" 

"Sure. But don't ask for one. They fit so damn tight they hurt. They don't 
even leave a crevice for a girl's finger. But they do look cute." 

Florence was visibly moved. She was seeing visions. "When will the first man 
come for one of us?" She asked breathlessly. 

"Probably tomorrow. I suspect we're caged for the night." 

"No you're not." It was Amy's voice from the door. 

"I've made coffee and a sandwich." She grinned at an entranced Florence. 
"You don't get untied. Diana will feed you." 

Diana thrilled. This was the lovely girlie, girlie feeling girls adore. She 
fed her captive and laughed at Florence's excitation. 

"I'd come in with you, Pet, but I daren't. I was told not to." She giggled. 
"Mr. Sands says I have to be firm with you both. He emphasised the 'both.' I 
think you can kiss freedom good-bye for awhile, Florrie. One of the men gets 
you for tomorrow." 

"A man! You mean, a man will take me... all naked and with my hands tied 
behind my back? Really and truly, a man?" 

"Aren't you lucky!" 

"I... Ohhhh... Oh dear! Ohhhhhh... Mmmmmm!" Her features damp and scarlet, 
Florence Emory made a shocking confession. "I just climaxed... and I didn't 
do a thing! It's never happened before." She shook her head in bewilderment. 
"I think it must have been what you said." They enjoyed her naivete, her 
mystification. Florence's discovery of herself had come late in life but was 
all the more devastating for the delay. They talked of it until they slept. 
In the morning The Consortium presented Miss Florence Emory with the 
ultimate thrill of all. 

I am open to offers, gentlemen. This is an auction. Please bid as you see 
fit. The slave's name is Florence." 

As usual, Mr. Sands was the M.C. He beamed from the podium and gestured to 
the trembling and blushing figure of a woman about to be sold into slavery. 
"Our merchandise is admittedly past her first youth but she is comely and 
immensely responsive. May I hear the first hundred thousand?" 

Diana was tethered to the wall by a collar and chain, that was all. She 
suspected Mr. Sands was being kind in allowing her this witnessing of 
Florence's disposal. 

Demurely, she stood trying to be inconspicuous. Amy stood to one side of the 
blushing merchandise. Amy held a whip. Already she had been obliged to use 
it twice to overcome Miss Emory's maiden reluctance to being sold. This 
resistance to her fate was causing the nude parcel to twist distressfully at 
her hands tied behind her back and to become, unwisely, vocal. 

"Albert... really! And please have my hands untied-I can't just stand here 
like this." 

"What do you need your hands for?" 

"Well... " Florence viewed the lounging group of prospective purchasers with 
an apprehensive eye. "I I -- Well, I could cover something." 

"For instance?" 

"My breasts... the way they're sticking out " 

"What about your pubic hair? Aren't you ashamed of that too?" 

"Oh, really! Albert, I'm sure these gentlemen would much prefer me clothed. 
And, anyway, you can't possibly sell me like this." 

"Two strokes, Amy, please." Mr. Sands requested blandly. "That's not a bit 
necessary, Albert Yowp Wowwwwwww...!" 

Florence danced and twisted under the two cuts with such vigor and pink 
animation as to evoke an instant response from the male audience. 

"One hundred thousand." 

The bid stopped the bound nude in her tracks. Florence ceased wriggling in 
pain and stared askance in the direction of the male voice. "Look, mister, 
if you want to pay that much you can damn well give it to me." 

Mr. Sands nodded curtly, Amy implanted one more scarlet line on an already 
well striped derriere, Florence pouted and relapsed into a sulky silence. 
"That's better." tie said jovially. "You will observe, gentlemen, the 
possibilities of entertainment with this delightful creature. One hundred 
thousand I am bid. May I hear the two?" 

Diana shifted uneasily against her chain. She looked down at her golden 
handcuffs and realised how frighteningly easy it was to convert any female 
anywhere into fleshly merchandise. Up to this point, Mr. Sands treatment of 
his erstwhile lady friend had seemed tongue in cheek, an amusing charade to 
be ended whenever Florence's tolerance for pain and shame had reached its 
limit. But now, looking at the intent faces of men, she felt the same sense 
of freedom lost which the implacability of The Citadel had imposed upon 
herself. Soon, Florence Emory would bid farewell to liberty in the same way. 
The bid of so huge a sum separated her from womankind and made her slave. 

"One fifty!" 

There could be no doubting Florence's fascination. She had ceased to 
struggle and was viewing the bidders with shining eyed enchantment. Enough 
money made anything plausible, and for such a sum...! 

"Two hundred." 

He was a lean executive type. Diana could envisage him impatiently taking 
time off from the office to acquire a slave, then hastening back into the 
fiscal fray. It was hard to believe such a man would find pleasure in the 
fluttery Florence. But men were absurd, all girls knew how absurd men were. 
She tried to shake off a presence of danger but the chill was there. The 
metal band round her neck was suddenly heavy and she wished it was not 
chained to the wall. But these occasional glimpses of hopelessness and 
helplessness were common to the slave, she knew them well. Shrugging against 
the mood, she returned her attention to the woman with bound hands and a 
blush. 

"Sold at two hundred and eighty thousand dollars." Mr. Sands' announcement 
held a ring of triumph as though he too was amazed at Florence's worth. He 
smiled benignly on an assembly which did not disperse. 

It was neat and businesslike. An anonymous man wrote a cheque while Miss 
Amaryllis Huntington corded the elbows of Miss Florence Emory, then slipped 
a gag between surprised lips and buckled it tight. Florence's subjugation 
was completed by a collar and leash by which she was led away in mute 
helplessness. She tried to turn to the two slavegirls she had so briefly 
known, but the stricture on her throat was admonishingly jerked. The last 
Diana saw of her was a pair of well trussed arms and wrists and a buckle 
tight over disordered hair. 

The sale was over. 

But it was not over. None turned away. Mr. Sands remained expectantly 
poised. 

"Twelve hundred thousand." 

The bid was terse and decisive, the lean executive type was wasting no time. 

Mr. Sands was at his most charming best, suave but gently apologetic. "You 
do understand, Mr. Kessler, the lady is not for sale." 

Kessler pursed his lips in a faint smile. "You bought her for an even 
million. I'm offering you a neat quick profit." 

"But, my dear sir!" 

"One million three?" 

There was a tense silence. Mr. Sands, with a seeming reluctance, motioned to 
Amy. A minute later Diana's chain had been replaced by a leash to her collar 
and her hands had been loosed and re-cuffed behind her back. She was led to 
the same exposure in which Florence had been sold. She was trembling and 
wanted to cry. This was too, too much...! 

"Gentlemen, you must make allowances " Mr. Sands was perturbed. "This young 
lady has had no inkling. In fact, I myself " 

"You have my bid, Mr. Sands." Kessler was adamant. "Yes, yes, but please 
remember, our consortium is under no compulsion in any case we would place a 
reserve--" 

"Very well. I can estimate your reserve. I bid one million four on the 
person of Miss Diana Ramsay." 

A with Florence, the motions were quick and incisive. 

Diana knew herself merchandise indeed as she stood passively while Amy 
joined her elbows and roped them tight. Her whisper was low and urgent. 
"Sorry, Pet, I have to do this. But don't panic... don't panic... I've got a 
hunch--" Diana never learned what the hunch may have been. She was hustled 
to the garage, quickly gagged, and as quickly hogtied in the trunk of a 
waiting car. When the lid slammed shut it was as though she had suffered a 
small death, a sundering of things held dear. Furiously she struggled but 
could scarcely move, the gag bit at her compressed lips, her beloved golden 
handcuffs bit her wrists under the tug of rope. Once more she was helpless 
on a tide she could not stem. Bitterly, she abandoned herself to tears. 

* * * 

"I'm afraid I'm a fraud, Miss Ramsay. I hope you'll forgive me, but I've 
enjoyed this whole affair immensely." Diana could forgive no one anything. 
She stood, dangerously, on feet still tied from the journey. They were no 
longer roped to her hands but, otherwise, she was still as helpless as when 
bound in the trunk. She shook her head impatiently against the brutal bite 
of the gag upon her lips. To have to stand like this, nakedly before 
Kessler's desk and Kessler's amused regard was shame indeed, especially with 
tear stained cheeks and untidy hair. 

"I'm sure you must be wondering." 

The bound lips managed inarticulate sounds, the trussed nudity wriggled to 
show discomfort and distress. The captive eyes gazed upon their urbane 
purchaser imploringly. 

"It's a bit of a long story, Miss Ramsay. It's one you'll find hard to 
believe." 

Kessler was suddenly much younger and much less the executive type. He was 
boyishly enjoying her breasts and pubic hair with a faint air of truancy. 
Diana suspected an immanency of apologetic rape. 

"I expect you're wondering where I got the money." Diana was wondering about 
everything. She had a great need of speech. Hopefully, she sent her head 
into motions indicative of a wish to be relieved of the gag. 

"You'd like to get loose, wouldn't you? And you hope I'll take that gag out 
of your mouth." Kessler was reading her with obvious pleasure. "But you'll 
have to be patient. I've never owned a naked girl before, and I'll admit to 
enjoying every moment of seeing you standing there, bound and gagged, to 
await whatever I decide to do with you." His regard became earnest. "Believe 
me, Miss Ramsay, for a man it's a magnificent sensation." 

Diana contrived a twist and a shake of her head eloquent of contempt. Then 
stood still because her elbows were hurting from the ropes. She had never 
felt more nakedly exposed. 

"It's an absolute storybook thing, and I don't suppose you'll believe a word 
of it." Kessler grinned amiably. "You really do have the most beautiful 
body--those breasts...! Even Playboy--!" 

The Kessler of the auction had faded. He had become a good looking young man 
amusing himself by toying with a bound and naked girl who could not even ask 
a question or make a retort. Diana was more and more hating the gag. 
Uncaring of how shameful she must sound, she made pathetic nasal sounds of 
pleading. 

"Well alright." Kessler had allowed her to exhaust her incoherencies. 
"Promise not to scream?" 

No head had ever been nodded more emphatically. Kessler grinned and placed a 
whip on the desk. "Just in case you don't behave." He cautioned. "And if you 
don't watch your tongue the gag goes right back in." 

Diana nodded briefly. It would be heaven to speak. She had no expectation of 
escape. She stood, tense and rigid, while the buckle was tugged and the wad 
taken from her mouth. Huskily from dry lips she said: "Thank you, oh thank 
you!" 

Kessler brought water and held it to her lips while she drank thirstily. As 
though reading her mind, he said: "I'm sure your elbows are hurting, and I'd 
untie them if they didn't protrude your breasts so beautifully." His 
fingertips fluttered across the taut twin curves. "You really are a 
magnificent piece of female." 

"Thank you." Diana said humbly. "If I promise to stick my breasts out the 
way you like, would you free my elbows, they hurt terribly?" She saw his 
incredulity, and added: "I'm a slave, y'know, I've been trained. I know the 
things to do." 

She heard the inhalation of his breath. "O.K. then, turn around." 

"I can't. My feet are tied. Or should I hop?" 

Kessler laughed at her earnest acceptance of helplessness. "You're quite 
something." He admired. "Hold still." 

For Diana it was a familiar agony, this peeling of indented cords from 
wealed flesh, but Kessler's exclamation was instant. "Holy cow! Oee-whiz, 
Miss Ramsay, I'd no idea--!" 

"Why do you call me that?" Diana was breathing gaspingly under the massaging 
of apologetic fingers. "I mean, so formal? Why don't you call me Diana? It's 
my name." 

"Eh? Oh yes. Well never mind. I say, am I doing you any good with this-?" 

"Oh yes, please don't stop. It's beastly for a girl: having her elbows tied 
together. And please don't worry about me getting loose now. I can't 
possibly get out of handcuffs." 

"That's another remarkable thing." Kessler was musingly intrigued. "A gift 
of golden handcuffs." 

"How did you know they were a gift?" Diana's suspicion was involuntary. 

"Well, weren't they!" He dismissed the question gruffly. "It doesn't matter. 
Look, just in case you fall over, how'd it be if I untie your ankles?" 

"Oh, would you! I'd be so grateful." 

"No shenanigans?" 

"No! Honest... really! I can't do anything with my hands behind my back. 
Even if I did act up you could whip me and make me stop." 

"Hmmmmm." Kessler sounded dubious of good fortune. But he knelt and once 
more dealt with knots and the red brands of bondage. "There...!" He seemed 
uncertain. "I suppose I should ask you to sit down?" 

"Don't ask me, tell me. I'm a slave: or have you forgotten? And is this O.K. 
the way I'm sticking out my breasts?" 

Kessler backed away, still holding the strands of rope. "Perfect." He said, 
almost in disbelief. "You're too perfect for words. Dammit, you're worth the 
money." 

Diana was still bewildered, but vastly encouraged by having her bondage 
reduced to handcuffs and collar and leash. She watched her new owner mix 
drinks at the bar, then gulped greedily as he held a glass to her lips. It 
gave her the courage to ask. "There's something strange...? This isn't just 
the way it seems? Is it?" 

"Eh!" Kessler chuckled. "How'd you guess? But are you allowed to ask 
questions?" 

"You must tell me the things I mustn't do. I'll obey you." Diana grinned 
confidingly. "I'm not being humble or crafty. Slavegirls simply try hard not 
to get themselves whipped." Persistently, she added: "Please tell me what 
goes? You can punish me after." Kessler positioned a chair. When she was 
seated he held the glass again to her lips and made her empty it before he 
returned behind the desk. "Ever hear of a young man unexpectedly inheriting 
a fortune?" He enquired casually. "How nice for you! And so you bought me!" 

"Well, sort of-" 

"It must have been a very big fortune? I don't think any girl's worth what 
you paid for me." 

"You're worth it. Like you said: you're trained." 

"Is that really why you bought me? You want a girl you can keep prisoner and 
sleep with and punish?" 

"Sure, why not!" 

"I'd have supposed a man would prefer a girl he could train himself. She'd 
come a lot cheaper, and he could whip her into his own kind of submission." 

Kessler was still enjoying her, she sensed his curiosity, and was puzzled by 
it. Provocatively twisting against her handcuffs, she asked, demurely: "Do 
you enjoy seeing me bound? Would you enjoy tying me so I couldn't get 
loose?" 

"Mmmmmm, it adds a dimension to your beauty." 

"Does it thrill you to think of hanging me up and whipping my naked back?" 
She twinkled, "And my bottom?" 

"You're putting me on, aren't you." Kessler nodded knowingly. "So, O.K., you 
want the rest of the story, and I'll give it to you. But it will be in my 
own way. Understand?" 

Diana was unsure of him. But said a respectful: "Yes, sir, I think I 
understand. Thank you." 

"So I inherit a fortune, never mind how much. It was enough to buy you and a 
good deal over." His voice had regained its incisive note. "You represent 
every man's dream. You're perfect. You've had me so damn sexually excited 
through this interview...!" He surveyed her wryly and shook his head. "I 
don't know why you're surprised at your value. You're exactly what most men 
dream about and never get." 

They sat and surveyed each other for moments of silence. Then, abruptly, 
Kessler said: "I wish to make a change, and to get you something... 
something to save a lot of words. I want you to sit just as you are." 

"Yes, sir." 

"That 'Sir' curls me up." He laughed down at her. "And I'm not going to 
trust you on this one. D'you mind if I tie you to that chair?" 

"Not at all, sir. I'm used to being tied." 

He stood in thought, then brightened. "Damned remarkable the way you can 
make a person helpless." He said as though making a discovery "Just sit 
still." 

He used the ropes he had untied. Now he wound them round her ankles, tying 
each one separately to a leg of the chair. The tie was tight and competently 
cinched. "Think that will keep you put?" 

"Yes, sir, I can't reach down there." 

The blindfold was a surprise but she did not demur. This man was likable and 
reasonably kind. It would be foolish to disobey a master who might be easier 
to live with than the Consortium. Diana sat meekly, but with breasts 
extruded, while her eyes were bandaged with several folds of soft stuff to 
preclude all hope of sight. It was a strange feeling she did not care for. 

"No more than half an hour, Diana. Can you handle that in the dark?" 

"Yes, sir." 

She heard him go, then sat in the dark, wishing and wondering. She made the 
usual exploration of her bondage, but could not reach her ankles with her 
wrists cuffed where they were. She could certainly not get out of the 
handcuffs, and the collar and leash on her neck did not matter either way. 
Diana deflated her breasts and felt silly at having to sit thus just because 
of a couple of bits of rope round her ankles. Ruefully, she reflected that 
slavery was mostly an endless frustration, an endless reiteration of 'I 
can't, I can't... Diana shifted uneasily. Perhaps Kessler had not gone at 
all but was quietly watching what she might do, or try to do. She believed 
herself alone but could not be sure. It was easy to people darkness with 
ghosts. But Kessler was not a ghost! He was male and he was young. Diana 
suspected his interest in her was more sexual than erotic. He would bind her 
enough to keep her securely captive. That was all. Somehow she could not see 
him marking her skin with a whip. But most certainly he would keep her 
naked, the adoration in his eyes for her nudity was a message she picked up 
loud and clear. Kessler might never set her free or give her a girl 
companion in her slavery, but he would be better than the five middle aged 
men who had owned her yesterday. Complacently, the bound girl tucked away in 
her mind the femininely romantic conviction that if her captor fell in love 
with her she would emerge triumphant. After all, why not! 

She sensed his return. He had made little noise on entry but he was there. 
Turning her bound eyes to the desk, she acknowledged: "You see, I'm still 
here. I haven't moved." She chuckled to please him. "I can't move. I did try 
but you fixed me good." 

The silence was longer than it should have been. It was hateful to be blind. 
Belatedly, Diana thrust out her breasts and tried again. "I've been 
thinking, Mr. Kessler. I'm so glad you bought me." She waited through 
another silence and added. "Honestly, I really am obedient, and I will try 
and please you." 

The naked girl felt scorched by eyes she could not see. She twisted her 
wrists within their metal bands. Hating the dark, she spoke again. "I guess 
you know I was owned by the Citadel and sold to the men you bought me from. 
There was a love affair in there somewhere... But that was hopeless. It 
seems silly now " Firm fingers dealt with Diana's blindfold. She blinked up 
at a man's intent regard. 

It was David Farrell. 

Escape. 

Diana Ramsay had no illusions about being tied tight against a post: 
sufficiently prolonged it became torture. Also, it was infuriating to stand 
erect and at attention like a soldier on parade. It seemed a mark of respect 
no naked girl in such a plight would wish to acknowledge. Tied tightly 
enough, she could not even lapse or sag when left alone. With tummy cinched 
and breasts outthrust she displayed her nakedness to the best possible 
advantage whilst unable to move an inch. 

It had been a stormy and tear splattered interview which ended in a hurt and 
angry girl sulkily backing her bare flesh against the wood and declaring 
bitterly: "Go ahead and tie me, but make a job of it or I'm gone." 

"If I do tie you it will be tighter than you'll like." 

"Who cares!" 

Such foolish bravado! Diana was regretting every word of an argument in 
which she had said nothing right. Now she was alone and bound against a post 
and within a room she had never seen before. She was in a strange house with 
a man who, himself, had become a stranger. She was also a prisoner, a 
prisoner in a way she had never been in any of her captivities. She supposed 
being tied to the post like this was a punishment. But a punishment for 
what! And, in any case, she had provoked it. almost asking for what she got. 
Fretfully, she tested her golden handcuffs for the hundredth time. They held 
her hands securely behind the post. If someone cut every rope she would 
still have to stand there, captive. But no one would untie a single cord. 
They would bite deep at every private bit of her until a man, as angry as 
herself, chose to set her free. It was not an enviable prospect and night 
was not far off. 

Diana knew herself beautifully tied, her shoulders criss-crossed, her arms 
strictured back. Her middle was a band of fire where the cinched bands of 
rope diminished her waist, and from these bands there were a couple of 
unkind cords cutting her belly and constricting the lips of her sex. David 
had been humane enough to keep them from entering the moist sheath he had 
loved, but they furrowed the female flesh to either side to bisect the twin 
curves of an innocent derriere and clamp it cruelly against the post. To 
make her exposure doubly shaming, Diana's feet had been dragged to either 
side and bound thus at ankle and at the dimpled knees to compel her to stand 
with her pubic bush marking the apex of well spread thighs, and feet which 
could support little of her weight. It was the bindings which sustained most 
of her balance and clamped her nudity to the grin bulk of timber which held 
her fast. 

Diana tossed her head fretfully and used her strength to exploit slack in 
search of comfort. But there was no slack, and comfort was a silly dream. 
From her shoulders down she was immobilized. She could flex her fingers and 
make motions with her head, that was all. Resentfully, she pictured David 
Farrell going blithely about his affairs in this new mansion his inheritance 
had provided. An even greater vexation seethed from an awareness of being 
prisoner. Her escape from The Citadel into David's arms had been a romantic 
delight, an almost fictional perfection of boy meets girl. But now he had 
purchased her as he might have bought a dog. He had arranged for her 
delivery, painfully bound and shamefully gagged, in the trunk of a car. He 
had exposed her nakedness to the gratification of a male friend she did not 
even know. Nothing had gone right, nothing! 

"David! Oh, darling...?" 

Diana's arms had reached, she had striven to rise in joy, but handcuffs and 
rope had held her nakedly sitting in the chair where Kessler had left her, 
blind. Of Kessler himself there was no sign. 

"Hello. Diana." 

The kiss on her forehead had been perfunctory, the tone of his voice 
uncertain. He had taken Kessler's seat behind the desk in the manner of a 
man alert to hidden hazards in a difficult task. 

"David, I'm all tied--?" 

"So I notice." He might have been speaking of the weather. "I knew you'd be 
in good hands with Jim Kessler." 

"Well, yes. I suppose he's nice. David, aren't you going to untie me?" 

"Not right now." 

It had been her first inkling of changed status, of something wrong between 
them. Bluntly, she had asked: "David, what's wrong? What have I done?" 

"Nothing... nothing." He dismissed the matter with an airy nonchalance. 
"I've simply bought a slave." 

"I'm terribly grateful-but could I be untied?" 

Testily, David Farrell knelt and freed her ankles from the chair, then 
resumed his seat and watched Diana's vexatious motions against the handcuffs 
on her wrists. "They're permanent." He said, as though stating the obvious. 

"Yes, I know. I wore them at the Citadel." She retorted irritably. "But this 
isn't The Citadel, it's You and Me?" 

"Is there a difference?" 

"D A -V--I--D...!" 

Diana got to her feet in uncertain indignation. Then, abruptly, sat down 
again. There was no use parading the carpet while her arms were handcuffed 
behind her back. The point was: what could she do or say! She felt silly and 
nude and ineffectual. Angrily, she asked the question uppermost in her mind: 
"Don't you love me any more, David? Weren't we going to gel married?" 

"You don't marry a slave." 

"David, stop this, it isn't funny!" 

"It's not intended to be, Diana. You're naked and chained, and that's the 
way you're going to stay the rest of your life." 

"Don't be silly. You can't possibly--!" 

"Can't I! The Citadel did." 

"Well, alright then!" She fluttered her shoulders in frustration. "I wanted 
to belong to you, to be a slavegirl you could play with. I still want that. 
But this... this, what you're doing, it frightens me. You could have done 
this to me at The Citadel." 

"I expect I should have continued with that." David Farrell agreed soberly. 
"As you said, our love affair seems silly... looking back at it." 

She had hurt his pride. Men were absurd. "That's not fair." She declared 
vehemently. "You had me tied up and blindfolded and I thought I was talking 
to someone else." 

"You thought you were talking to Jim Kessler. You mentioned how glad you 
were to belong to him." 

"David, you picked it up all wrong. You're telling it all wrong. Give me a 
break... please!" 

"I recall a couple of sessions I bought at The Citadel to visit you after 
your return there, after they'd punished you for escaping." David's voice 
was musing, coloured by bitter memory. "You weren't particularly glad to see 
me either time." 

"But, darling, the first time they let you see me sitting on that beastly 
'horse' thing. All I did that other time was tell you how hopeless it is to 
beat The Citadel." 

"It sounded to me like a cease and desist-" 

"David, stop this! Take me to bed. We'll both feel better?" 

He had taken her, savagely. Diana had lain beneath him on her chained arms. 
But the old magic eluded them, their coupling was a nondescript failure. 
Laying there with the man she had loved, Diana said, bitterly: "You might as 
well send me back to The Citadel or those men you bought me from. I think 
I'd prefer the Citadel." 

"Hell, you aren't getting sent back anyplace. I bought and paid for you, 
remember?" 

"It doesn't matter." Diana agreed listlessly. "I expect they'll kidnap me 
again. They're not likely to let you keep me. They'd honour the Consortium's 
purchase of me but they won't honour yours." 

"Wishful thinking?" It was a sneer. 

"I adjusted to The Citadel." 

"They damn well broke you, and anyway, you're half d masochist." 

"And you're a man who paid money to tie me up naked and whip me." 

It was then he had taken her down to the room and the Post. Gazing at the 
threat of its stark simplicity, she asked, flippantly: "For whipping or 
tying?" 

"For today, tying." 

"Do I get tied to it as a punishment for answering back, or to get you an 
erection?" 

"I don't know." He said it wearily as though not caring. "Maybe if I leave 
you tied to it long enough you'll get some sense." 

"While I'm getting mine I hope you get some too." 

They had stood and glared, each seeking a bitter retort they could not find. 
Then, breasts heaving, she had stalked to the post and thrust her naked back 
against the wood. 

* * * 

Diana Ramsay, bound to the post, guessed it past midnight before the light 
was switched on and David Farrell re-appeared. He surveyed her obvious signs 
of suffering, and said, in faint apology. 

"I couldn't sleep thinking of you down here." 

Frightened of words, she did not speak while his fingers tugged at knots. 
Thoughtfully, he unlocked one only of the golden cuffs, so that when the 
last rope fell away from wealed flesh Diana was able to slide, weary and 
helpless, to the floor as a pathetic bundle of punished girl. Without a 
word, David gathered her free hand and locked it back within its gold 
circlet. This time her hands were joined in front. In her dazed unhappiness 
she counted it a small victory. When he led her to their bed she fell 
instantly asleep in utter exhaustion, nor did he waken her until the sun was 
high. She made breakfast and they ate it without significant converse. 

"I've done the dishes, David. May I have a bath?" 

Diana took pains with her toilette. She was female enough to know the 
potencies of femininity. The perfumes and the cremes were there, she might 
as well use them as a weapon. Knowing herself beautiful, she asked in 
innocent simplicity: "Do you want to tie me to the post again?" 

"No, why should I?" 

"Sorry, I thought I was being punished." She hesitated. "David, what should 
I call you? I mean, is it David, or should I address you as 'sir'?" 

"Don't be silly. My name's David." 

"I just thought...? If I'm a prisoner?" 

"You are a prisoner and you will call me by name. Oh, and you will be 
tied-not the post but something." 

"Yes, of course. David, we didn't do very well yesterday...! Do you want to 
fuck me again now before you tie me?" Another hesitancy, and then: "I'd like 
you to?" 

"Sorry, not in the mood." He was still cross and male and insensitive, his 
mind far distant from love. His tone was abrupt: "About those handcuffs--" 

"Yes, David?" 

"I'll keep them on you all the time, back or front. But when you're tied or 
fastened I'll have to take them off." 

"Of course, David." Diana shrugged and grinned. "But don't worry, I won't 
fight. I'll always let you handcuff me." 

"Are you kissing my ass, or do you really like the damn things?" 

"I've got so I like them. I'd feel lost-" She paused uncertainly. "I told 
you, they were a gift." 

"The good old Citadel, no place like it!" His sneer was back again. 

"It wasn't the Citadel, it was the Sisters who gave me the handcuffs. It was 
them who had them gold plated." She held up the metal that joined her 
wrists. "Darling, don't let's argue about these. Don't let's argue at all. 
Maybe it would be best if you tied me up for the day... or whatever." 

The metal pole came down from above. It could be raised or lowered. At its 
bottom end a crosspiece contained the half circles into which Diana fitted 
her wrists to evoke a devastating snap as the heavy broad circlets closed 
upon them in a snug and steely grip. 

"A girl could never get out of these, David." 

David Farrell adjusted the tensioning of her bare arms to his liking. "It's 
the best thing I've devised for keeping your arms up in the air." He 
conceded modestly. "It's rigid and solid and exposes you without getting in 
the way of anything. Turn around, you'll find you can make a complete 
circle." 

Diana obeyed. Somewhere above and out of sight the pole would be oiled in 
its collar. It turned soundlessly, a broad shaft within a machined bearing. 
She could not shake it or extract any concession at all save to allow her 
the full circle turn to enable the captive girl to face any direction. It 
was a far more fearsome machine than the straps and bar by which a girl was 
usually secured to stand erect in full exposure. 

"It's wonderful, David, but sort of scary. It's so--so-so--well, it's a 
machine!" 

He grinned and pressed a button. "Try and turn now." 

"I--I can't. It won't let me. It's solid." 

"Damn versatile gadget." David was pleased. "It's my favourite pose for you, 
so you'll be standing in it a lot. "That's all I have planned for you at the 
moment. Nice and simple." He turned toward the door, but turned again. 
"Nearly forgot these. You need something to keep your mind off your beloved 
Citadel." 

Diana cringed. She hated the clipping of her nipples. To have to stand still 
with her hands high above her head while a pair of tiny metal jaws bit 
steadily at the pink buds on her breasts was a frustrating torment. She eyed 
the beetle-like horrors in David's hand with infinite distaste. 

"Oh, please, David, not those things, not my nipples!" 

"Where d'you prefer 'em then?" 

"I don't want them at all." 

"May as well have 'em on your tits, then. It's where they were made for. You 
going to hold still?" 

"Not much else I can do, is there." 

The naked girl stood still. She knew the clips of old. If a girl wriggled it 
was easy for their bite to be ill placed to inflict small injuries and 
perhaps draw blood. It was best to stand still and allow the beastly things 
to be properly positioned. She could move but little. Nonetheless, she 
extruded a breast to receive its punishment. She gasped as the serrated jaws 
took possession of her most tender flesh. Then, without comment, advanced 
its twin to be similarly decorated. 

"They look well on you, Diana. I always liked them." 

"Thank you, David." 

Breasts burning, Diana watched him go. The pain was hateful. She longed to 
plead again but knew it useless. Alone, she gazed down mournfully at twin 
torments she could not touch as they jutted perkily from her heavily nippled 
spheres. She tugged at her hands, they did not move, nothing moved except 
the impudent ornaments extruding from her chest, and all they could do was 
vibrate painfully. It would be best to stand very still, very still indeed. 

The nude girl, captive to her clamped wrists, wracked her mind in a seeking 
of reasons and of prospects. But there was only chaos. Everything centered 
on David Farrell, but he had become an unknown quantity. Until her sexuality 
had imposed its influence on him once again he would be unpredictable. If 
she had ever possessed power over him, it was gone! Perhaps he too was 
thinking hard, but in the interim would use her as a slave, or more 
accurately, as a prisoner subject to punishment. 

It was hard to think coherently against the relentless burn upon her 
breasts. Diana knew it a feature of the clips that they gave a girl no 
respite. They were like live things venting animosity on the tenderest of 
flesh. They would keep her in pain until she was exhausted but their bite 
would continue, on and on...! Resolutely, she turned her thoughts towards 
the subjugation of a man. 

Surely David must love her still! He must, he must...! But now there was the 
nagging query as to whether she still loved him. She could not deny the 
influences on her emotions of The Citadel and all those others who had 
possessed her in these past days. Nor could she close her mind to awareness 
of David's primary interest in her. He loved her bound, he adored her 
whipped, he was enchanted with her in chains. To a stranger he would seem a 
monster, but the Citadel had taught Diana the lessons of bondage in human 
affairs. Some men wanted endless copulation, others climbed mountains, David 
Farrell found life's greatest thrill in a naked girl constrained by rope or 
chain, or a device such as the one now holding her immobilized in his 
favourite pose. Somewhere along the way she herself had become infected, 
presumably by contact. Diana had long since ceased to deny the thrill, the 
quivering eroticisms, she found in the manifold restraints and punishments 
imposed by men. 

David and she were matched, wanting the same thing. Why then this discord! 
Obviously, in spite of their shared sensualities, they were as subject to 
emotions of pride, resentment, jealousy and guilt, as any teen-ager who 
believed herself the object of a grand passion. It may have been a mistake 
to plan marriage. Slavery in chains was a far more potent bond than a 
certificate issued by a Government Department. Diana understood the 
possibility of David Farrell finding a greater satisfaction in his purchase 
of her body and the placing thereon of the bonds from which he gained so 
deep an emotional fulfillment. She felt certain that, at this moment, the 
last thing he intended to do was marry her. 

Miss Diana Ramsay looked up at the apparatus by which she was compelled to 
stand, nakedly exposed, for the pleasure of a man. It was simple and 
immensely efficient. Clamped wrists were an innovation, they held her arms 
high with an exquisite implacability from which she drew the old familiar 
heat between her thighs. To be compelled to stand nude in this fashion 
because a man desired her thus was a turn-on strong enough to make her flare 
with desire. The knowledge that her desire would be denied simply doubled 
its intensity. Her ironed wrists made her a palpitating object of pleasure 
unfulfilled. 

When David returned he brought a chair. Sitting astride it with his arms on 
the back he gazed at the naked girl with unfeigned enjoyment. 

"Don't mind if I look?" 

"Be my guest. That's what I'm for." 

It was not a good beginning. Rapport between them seemed a thing of the 
past. Diana knew his intent regard was centering on the metal jaws biting 
her nipples. She longed to ask him for forgiveness and the removal of the 
hated clips, but pride forbid. In any case, he'd refuse. She was sure of it. 
She stood in passive nudity, bearing the incessant scald on the points of 
her breasts, and tried to survey a horizon above the head of the seated male 
who owned her. 

"Want those clips off your tits?" 

"Of course." 

"Why don't you ask?" 

"I'm trying to be a well mannered slavegirl, David. I'm sure you'll take 
them off when it pleases you." 

"Supposing I don't?" 

"In that case I'll just have to wear them, won't I!" 

"Do they hurt quite a lot?" 

"David, please...!" Diana stamped an ineffectual bare foot. "Don't torment 
me, don't taunt! I'll endure your punishments and try and be obedient. Isn't 
that enough?" He laughed at her temper. "They really must hurt. But they're 
too damn pretty to take off. Sorry 'bout that." Diana sniffed and moved 
resentfully against her raised arms. "Are you going to whip me, David?" 

"Why d'you ask?" 

"Well, aren't I fastened in the position for it? That's what this usually 
means." 

Unexpectedly, David Farrell lounged to where his slavegirl stood and took 
the metal jaws from her nipples, then frictioned the hurt scarlet buds to 
make Diana gasp in a mixture of agony and relief. Her response was 
heartfelt: "Thank you, David--" She gasped and swallowed. "Oh, thank you!" 

"Don't mention it." 

He had resumed his seat and his appraising stare. Cringing under the intent 
regard, Diana added, petulantly: "You took them off because you're going to 
whip me? Is that it?" 

"Hadn't thought of it. Not right now anyway." 

"What are you going to do with me, then?" The naked girl tossed an angry 
head. "Or should I have said 'to me'?" 

"I don't have to do anything to you at all, except keep you prisoner." The 
male voice was vexingly tolerant. "You're a very costly package of girl, so 
you'll never be given a chance of escape." 

"I'm flattered." 

David laughed, but there was no humour in the sound. "You're mad as a wet 
hen. If you got half a chance you'd run. Oh, and since you're so concerned 
about getting a whipping, I won't disappoint you. You'll get one alright." 

"How nice for Me!" 

"I plan to make it a ritual affair, something really severe, a sure cure for 
sarcasm." 

The ironed girl sniffed disdainfully but she was frightened. It was all so 
grim and humourless and wrong. "I gather I'm not giving satisfaction?" She 
asked stiffly. 

"You know damn well you're not. Who the hell wants a sarcastic bitch!" 

"I suggest you sell me, then." 

"You'd like that, eh!" He laughed shortly, "but, about your whipping, I 
thought we might invite Jim Kessler to watch you get yourself striped? He 
finds you fascinating, he'd be an appreciative audience to your agony. You 
could play to the gallery--" 

"David, stop this!" Diana could feel the start of tears. "Are we going to 
get married, or am I only a naked female you keep chained for your moments 
of B&D?" 

"The latter." 

Diana Ramsay wept. She allowed her tears to flood and, savagely, dried them 
against her raised bare arm. When the storm had passed she muttered. "Sorry. 
I'll try and not do it often. It's not every day I get a life sentence." 

"You don't have one now." The man's gaze was somber. "Say the word and I'll 
let you go. I'll give you clothes and money--you can go." 

The pinioned girl stood tense in shock, sundered by hope and fear and 
disbelief. She looked up at her ironed wrists and found no faith in freedom. 
But suppose...! Doubtfully, she retorted. "Have you any idea how cruel it is 
to say... to promise that?" "You'll get the whipping first, of course. Just 
a small return on my investment. The marks will remind you of me for at 
least a month." 

"Yes, of course...! And I'd try not to mind. I mean about being whipped that 
hard." Diana shook her head as though to clear it of doubt. "Do you really 
mean what you've just offered?" 

"You'll jump at it, of course?" 

"What else can I do. You don't want me anymore " 

"O.K., O.K., but I'm curious. What will you do? Where will you go?" 

"I don't know. Oh, David...!" The nude captive beheld little joy in freedom. 
She should have been in rapture but it had not happened. "Get a job, I 
suppose, and a place to live--" Dazed, she admitted: "It won't sink in. I 
can't comprehend." Then, anxiously: "But I'm so grateful, so terribly 
grateful... If I can make it up to you some way...? If you find yourself 
wanting a girl to punish...? I'll be willing... glad " 

"Thanks. But I wouldn't advise that." A silence fell between them until he 
added: "You'll be whipped tomorrow." 

"Thank you." 

Unhurriedly. David released her. While she stood rubbing her wrists and 
wondering what to do with unfettered limbs he casually suggested. "There's a 
simple and amusing little thing I got for you. I'd like to try it?" 

"Yes, of course -anything!" 

Diana refused to hope. Her mind was a turmoil which she thrust into neutral 
while she stood, naked and acquiescent, for the metal belt to be fitted and 
locked around her waist. She had expected pain but, except for being tight, 
it did not hurt. From the back of it hung a length of chain...? The 
handcuffs were different, perhaps they were not handcuffs at all. Two 
perfectly machined chunks of metal interlocking on the orifices ready for 
her wrists. Gingerly, Diana placed her hands for this fresh prisoning, and 
watched as the chain in back was brought forward between her thighs to rise 
over her pubic hair and pass through a ring in the front of the metal belt 
constricting her waist, from there it joined her hands, its last link 
finding lodgment as did her wrists when the two halves were made as one. 
There was an ominous click. 

"Not as comfortable as handcuffs but keeps you safer." David said 
complacently. "Try 'em out." 

She hated them instantly. It was as though molten metal had been moulded 
into a small rectangular chunk with her wrists inside. There was none of the 
latitude of links or the kindness of a cuff, her hands and forearms were 
clamped together at the level of her waist, and she could raise or lower 
them only as far as the chain, intimate within her crotch, and the ring in 
the belt would permit. Tugging at this strange bond, the slavegirl 
discovered she could gain a link or two only at the expense of discomfort 
within the lips of her sex. She stood with her elbows held in at her waist 
and her joined hands clamped and chained a few inches from her navel. "I'd a 
lot sooner have my golden handcuffs." She admitted ruefully. "But you're 
right, I can't do very much of anything. Are they to punish me or to just 
keep me helpless?" 

David Farrell shrugged. "Could be either. How d'you feel in 'em?" 

"Stiff and silly. I have to keep my hands right there as though I'm praying. 
Unless I pull the chain as far as it will go the metal hurts my 
wrists--there's no give." 

"I like 'em. The effect on you is cute. They make you look prim and proper." 

"I don't feel proper. I can't cover much." 

"Don't worry. The chain covers your cunt, and if you pull hard enough on it 
you can get your hands up into your cleavage." 

"I'm not complaining, David." 

"Good. You have the run of the house. You're free except for that pubic 
ensemble. Amuse yourself. You don't get whipped until tomorrow." 

"You mean I can just walk around?" 

"Right. You'll find you can't get out. No need to chain your feet." 

"But... David...?" 

"You'll run into a surprise or two. I'll apologize later." He grinned in his 
friendliest expression yet. "Run along. You're on your own." As though to 
compel her to initiative he turned and left the room. 

It was all crazy and not a bit the way it should be. Diana looked down at 
her ironed wrists, the ring and the chain, and thought wistfully of her 
beloved handcuffs. If she took a deep breath the belt round her middle 
warned of increasing discomfort. Hesitantly, but with a thrill of 
excitement, Miss Diana Ramsay walked through the open door. 

It was a lovely house. Her first steps took her to other rooms clearly 
designed for the discomfort and imprisonment of herself or other girls. But 
upstairs was luxury, a male luxury that, somehow, did not reflect the aura 
of the man she knew as David Farrell. But then... it was all so new even for 
him! The telephones she tried were dead, the windows too high or barred. The 
Pubic Ensemble controlled her with humiliating simplicity. When she entered 
the study, now partly converted into an office, she found herself face to 
face with Jim Kessler. 

He was sitting at a desk, obviously involved. Around him was a small 
computer, an I.B.M. two telephones and a great clutter of paper. His 
welcoming grin was without surprise. He was still the odd cross between the 
decisive executive and the likable boy. "Hello, Miss Ramsay." He said 
without embarrassment. "I'd like you to stand ahead of my desk so I can 
enjoy that harness you're wearing. I put a bit of thought into that." 

Again the sense of something wrong, of pieces that did not fit. With only 
faint shame and small resentment, the naked girl positioned herself for male 
pleasure. "I'm sorry- I didn't know--I thought!" With her metaled hands 
clasped between her breasts, Diana felt sillier than ever. 

"Not at all. You were supposed to find me. David's gone home." 

It took the bewildered girl but a few moments to glimpse reality. Her naked 
impotence no longer mattered. "You mean...?" She gazed around the room and 
at the smiling man as though seeing both for the first time. "David 
isn't...?" 

"Rotten trick to play on you, I admit. But there was a worthwhile motive. We 
wanted your reaction. Actually, the impact should be just as valuable to you 
too?" 

Diana looked from her harness to the man in the chair. "I'm lost." She 
admitted bitterly. "Can you explain it all without being too damn cruel?" 

"Simple! I inherited, David did not. It was some months ago, hence the 
functioning establishment. We thought you'd be suspicious." 

"Slavegirls aren't allowed suspicions, Mr. Kessler, they get us whipped." 

"Gosh, you're really cheesed off, aren't you!" Kessler grinned. "I won't let 
you sit down, you're too cock hardening the way you are. But I think a drink 
is in order. I prescribe brandy." 

The costly potion fired Diana's throat and her courage. "Which of you two 
idiots do I belong to?" She demanded belligerently. 

"Me." His eyes were keen for her reaction. "David and I have been friends 
since school. He got me interested in you and The Citadel just by his 
stories. It started out as a sort of ransom idea I mean, to get you set free 
so you could get married. I could afford it, and I got a charge out of the 
whole romantic fantasy " 

"All that money...?" 

He shrugged. "Seemed like a good investment. David got you as a wife or a 
slave, or maybe both. I got a vicarious kick out of the whole impossible 
adventure. Privately, I figured the money would never be all loss. If 
neither David or I wanted you, your resale value would be substantial." He 
grinned and winked. "If I could find the right Oil Sheik I might even show a 
profit. You really are a gorgeous piece of female." 

"Am I? Naked and... clamped in a harness-untidy." Kessler was amused by her 
dolor. "You're beautiful. You'll never wear clothes as long as I've got 
anything to say about it." 

"So, I belong to you!" The brandy was still at work. "What are you going to 
do with me?" 

"David tells me he set you free. I'll honour his promise. 

Forget the money." 

Diana's tug at her ironed hands was involuntary in surprise. She gazed 
searchingly into Kessler's amused regard. Her voice was weak: "I don't know 
what to say--you must be very fond of David-?" 

"Fraternally, yes. Don't get... ideas." 

"David said he'd free me quite soon...? But, tomorrow, I have to be 
whipped...?" 

"Right! He wants to make a real ceremony of it, a ritualistic affair. A sort 
of Grand Finale. Hate me all you like, but I go along with the notion." 

"Why should I hate you, Mr. Kessler? I'm grateful." 

"It will hurt like crazy, won't it!" 

"Well, yes, but--" Kessler leaned forward earnestly. "Look, Diana, my main 
interest in girls, in you, is still to take 'em to bed. But David's fantasy, 
the slavegirl thing, it reached out and grabbed me. I want a girl prisoner, 
I want her in bondage, I want to punish her...! Sorry 'bout that, but 
there's the truth of it." 

"Why free me, then?" 

He waved a deprecating hand. "To honour a pledge." 

"Am I being silly: I feel guilty... all that money and nothing to show for 
it?" 

"After you've been whipped tomorrow you'll probably feel you've earned it." 

"Oh, I expect I'll scream and make a fuss. But slavegirls get whipped all 
the time, we get over it and the marks fade. I'm so terribly grateful to you 
and David. I feel I want to give you something, something of... Me. Being 
whipped won't make me hate anyone." 

"You are quite remarkable." Kessler was gazing at her with both approval and 
admiration. "You probably don't grasp the tremendous import of what you have 
just said." 

"Thank the Citadel. They trained me." 

"Look, when you're free: Forget everything else and work for me? A plush 
apartment and a bigger salary than you've ever had. You give me a few days a 
week, a part time slave girl?" 

"Why, of course I will!" Diana was trembling at her involuntary outburst. "I 
owe you so much." 

"I'll treat you horribly. I'll keep you locked in that thing that's on you 
now, and there's lots more. I'll whip you--some nights I'll keep you over 
and have you in my bed. I'll fuck you until we're both exhausted." He 
chuckled. "Otherwise you can go home at five." 

"Mr. Kessler...!" Diana made her voice mischievously demure. "All you've 
done is describe one day in the life of a slavegirl." 

Mr. Kessler poured two more brandies. Both were large. 

* * * 

It was strange to have her hands. Diana knew she would not have them long 
but their freedom was nice while it lasted. Her mind was busy with her 
script, determined to give her best in this last enactment of her slavery. 
Soon, she would be screaming. But in the meantime, and afterwards... 
afterwards! Her nakedness was trembling with more than fear. 

It was the first room. The two men were waiting at either side. Head high, 
breasts pointing, Miss Diana Ransay walked forward to her fate. Standing 
beneath the facility to which she would be fastened, she intoned: "I am a 
slave girl to be whipped." 

She heard their separate gasps before the crisp voice demanded. "Why are you 
to be whipped?" 

"To give pleasure to my Masters." 

"Are you pleased to suffer this pain?" 

"Yes, I am pleased." 

"Raise your arms." 

The nude girl obeyed. Looking up, she beheld the metal column slide 
noiselessly down to greet her hands. The clamps at each end of the 
crosspiece were open. When they reached her level she placed her wrists 
therein. Her voice held infinite respect. "Please fasten me, sir." 

Diana winced as the metal possessed her. Without pause, she continued her 
prescribed role. "I will open my legs, sir, so my cunt can be whipped. 
Please tie them apart." 

It was done. Her arms were lowered an inch-they wanted to see her writhe. In 
the same monotone she requested: "Thank you, sir. Now, please whip me." 

Jim Kessler was aflame with passion. Diana's recital of the simple script 
was femininely devastating. He longed to impale the spread nudity fastened 
as it was. But that would come. He possessed this loveliness, and knew it 
the supreme moment of his life. Heart pounding, he watched the arm swing 
back and the thong cut the air before it cut the waiting skin. 

The weal was vivid. The girl who received it across the bareness of her back 
remembered David Farrell's promise of severity. The sear of agony taxed all 
her fortitude to remain mute. The screams she would soon utter represented a 
small reserve of comfort to be cherished. For as long as she could she would 
hold them in check and find relief in frenzied writhings against the bonds 
which held her securely exposed. The pain on wrist and ankle did not matter, 
the only thing that mattered was the whip. 

David Farrell whipped Miss Diana Ramsay in the mood of a man traversing 
Paradise yet soon to leave its gate. In this springing to life of the 
scarlet bars upon the flesh of the woman he had loved he was savouring the 
quintessence of male ecstasy. The contortions of the whipped nudity were an 
orgasm beyond all others. When the punished prisoner began to scream he 
glimpsed an endless climax to desire. 

Kessler was no hypocrite. He had been shown a new and vast panorama of 
sexual delight and was enjoying it shamelessly. This whipped girl straining 
against the bonds of his own devising bestowed an exciting dimension of 
beauty beyond anything he had dreamed. Of David's emotions he was less 
certain. The arm which, at that moment, bedded the leather on twin curves 
and slender hips seemed impelled by a frustration beyond the norm. He 
harboured a shrewd suspicion of his friend's traumatic discovery that the 
bondage of a girl meant more than love. David Farrell was besotted with the 
fantasy rather than the flesh. The excoriations he was etching on Diana's 
skin were but the fulfillment of a dream. 

Diana herself was drifting in a world of pain. The first strokes had 
awakened in her a surge of lust, doubled and trebled in intensity by the 
watching male eyes devouring her lunges and surgings against her prisoned 
wrists. This whipping cutting at her flesh was no worse than her Punishment 
at The Citadel. She would survive. While her skin was being scored by a man 
she had loved she concentrated on the single fact of an end, sometime the 
last stroke would snap across her nakedness and it would be over. Soon 
thereafter she would be free. As the fire within her loins died she replaced 
it with hope. 

The inside of her thighs was the worst. The whip upon that soft flesh was so 
tender and so cruel. David whipped her there with sudden unexpected strokes, 
not often, but enough to keep her always apprehensive of the next while her 
back and bottom received the brunt of her punishment and the mounting agony 
misted her consciousness into a single blaze of fire in which she heard 
herself scream or yelp or moan with the detachment of a stranger. She 
wondered why the sounds she made were not always the same. 

Diana did not comprehend cessation until David's arm was round her wealed 
waist and his lips hard on hers. His whisper was fierce. "I love whipping 
you. Do you understand...? I love it!" 

"Yes, I understand." Her voice was weak. 

His hand cupped her sex, the palm kneading the swollen labia, wetting itself 
on her secretions. A finger gently entered her sheath and ran its length 
testingly. "Here, right here... inside!" The male whisper was urgent. 

Diana tensed in desolation. Her plea was as urgent as his whisper. "No! Oh, 
David, no! Don't whip me in there!" She was panting. "Remember, you loved 
that place...!" 

David Farrell backed away and gave Miss Diana Ramsay the crudest stroke a 
whip can give a girl. The thong whistled up between her spread and well 
wealed thighs to bite into the cleft of her crotch and enter, with a wet 
sibilance, the secret place designed for love. As the girl drifted into the 
darkness she heard her screams from far away and knew that David was no 
longer there, not even to whip her. He was gone, gone, gone--and she was 
glad! 

* * * 

She supposed she was happy. A month had passed, and when Kessler asked if 
she was satisfied with it she assured him of felicity. But, in her heart, 
Miss Diana Ramsay was not quite sure. It was lonely in the apartment, and 
during the days when her master did not phone. But half her nights were 
spent with an ankle chained to Kessler's bed and her libido satiated by 
Kessler's lust. She wondered, wistfully, if those nights were not the best 
of her bargain. 

They had allowed her to keep her golden handcuffs. She took them to the 
apartment and sometimes wore them there when she was alone. On free days she 
walked the streets and the stores and spent Kessler's money. She knew 
herself in limbo. 

Jim Kessler had soon discovered her preferences in bondage. Diana adored 
being bound or handcuffed, but hated the stocks and pillory. She flared into 
horniness if her bottom was caned or cropped, but screamed without joy when 
her back was whipped. Kessler made certain she endured both. He loved her 
pout and sulkiness whenever he punished her in ways he knew she did not 
like. Diana did not complain. She often wondered if he was in love with her 
or whether their sexual feasts when her ankle was shackled of a night did 
not exhaust the intensity of his amour. But, anyway, it did not matter. 
Nothing seemed to matter much any more. She was a lucky girl. 

Because it was their thirtieth day they toasted it with brandy before her 
arms were bound. They shared a lot of these small intimacies, and Diana felt 
certain they would have spoken of love were it not so easily possible to 
mistake the erotic delight of a whipped bottom or fettered feet for the 
grand passion. With fire in her throat, Diana Ramsay asked, whimsically: 
"What must I suffer today, Master?" 

"Hands and elbows behind your back, sweetheart. And stop pouting. I'm well 
aware of your sentiments about your elbows. Today I've got a new clamp "Oh, 
Master, those irons...! They're so damn... final!" 

"I'll leave your feet free. You can roam the house." 

"I'll be in agony-" 

"No you won't. And I'll hang the key high on the wall here where you can't 
reach. But you'll know it's there." 

It was understood that sometimes the slavegirl must protest. Whether it was 
real or feigned, they both enjoyed it. Diana placed her hands behind her 
back and endured, in a haughty silence, the clamping of her wrists. But, 
between her legs, the fire was smoldering. It burned higher as Kessler 
compressed her arms and fitted the new casting above her elbows. It had been 
cunningly contrived to accommodate angles. It was heavy. The sound and feel 
of its closing caused the naked girl to emit an involuntary: "Mmmmmmm...!" 

"Like it, Diana?" 

"Of course I don't. It's unsporting. There's just no way I can get loose. 
With rope there's hope!" 

"You love it. I can tell. Good-bye." 

Kessler had kissed her and patted her puss. He might return in an hour, or 
she might have to stay clamped as she was until midnight. Diana cast a 
wistful eye upon the inaccessible key, then kicked a chair to the bar. 
Standing on it, she managed to awkwardly and painfully pour another glass of 
brandy. Drinking it was a problem, but she had managed it before and would 
again. Fortified, she faced her day. 

The iron on her arms was heavy, the fit was snug. She was captive for sure 
and need waste no effort in trying to get free. With her fire burning warmly 
she went downstairs to the rooms holding the machinery of a girl's pain. 
They held an endless fascination. Walking from one to the other with 
unshackled feet was a titillating exercise in itself. Reaching the end of 
the corridor she noticed the ring in the stone. It should not have been 
there. Why would a girl be chained there! In curiosity, she backed up and 
fingered the metal circle with ironed but inquisitive fingers. 

The panel opened so easily Diana stumbled backwards through the false wall. 
Ahead of her was the light from barred cells which did not exist when the 
panel was closed. A girl could be prisoned here forever and no one would 
know! The captive heart thudded painfully. 

"I'm so lonely. I'm so glad you've come, Master." The greeting was from one 
of the cells. It was the voice of Florence Emory. 

"But, darling, he bought us both, and he's kept me here ages and ages, and I 
can't get out, and he doesn't fuck me very often--" Florence Emory was 
naked. She had lost weight and was more attractive because of it. Her ankles 
were chained, her wrists were chained. There was a chain from her collar to 
the wall but it was long enough to allow her to grasp the bars and gaze 
delightedly upon deliverance. 

"He's really rather sweet and he fucks so well. I've had the most wonderful 
time in this cell... and being tortured and whipped and everything." She 
gazed earnestly at Diana. "But I'll be awful glad to get out of her and go 
home. I mean, enough's enough!" 

"But, Florence, I don't have any keys." 

"They're on the wall behind you. He hangs them where I can't reach, just to 
be mean. Please hurry." 

"But, Florence, he's got these things on my arms, and behind my back--!" 

"You can manage. Use your nose or something. Then pick 'em up off the floor. 
Then I can unlock you." 

"But I don't need to be unlocked." 

"Of course you do." Florence's chains were rattling in excitement. "C'mon, 
hurry! Get me free before he comes back. He'll whip us both if he catches 
us." 

""I thought you liked being whipped and chained?" 

"Well, so do you!" Florence retorted heatedly. "But please do hurry. Don't 
just stand there!" 

It was soon done. A naked Florence, freed of all restraint, hugged and 
kissed with fervour. Diana remembered her own keys on the wall and, because 
Florence's urge for escape was contagious, allowed herself to be made 
similarly liberated. 

"The only reason I want to escape is because he doesn't know when to stop." 
Florence apologized while they were searching for feminine garments and 
money. "He's been absolutely sweet, the way he's kept me chained... and in 
that cell--and every few days he takes me to one of those rooms to be 
tortured-he's so clever." 

Diana sighed. It would take a long time to explain, and the discovery of a 
second naked female in the house was food for thought. She enthusiastically 
admired Florence's whipmarks, and found garments with which to cover them. 
"And he's got the yummiest gadgets for a girl!" 

"Florence, are you quite sure you want to escape? I think you'd better let 
me lock you back down there?" 

"Well... " Florence's resolution wavered. "I simply must do some shopping 
and go to the Bank." She brightened. "I can always come back and see how he 
punishes me for escaping." 

"Florence, you're an idiot. He may not want you back." 

"Gosh, I never thought " Florence was obviously thinking now. "Darling, if I 
let you chain me back down there will you promise not to tell?" 

It was quickly done, and with an easy conscience. Florence belonged in a 
cell, it was the best place for her. Diana hung the keys back on the hook 
with the feeling of something beginning to jell. 

"But, darling, those... those clamp things...? You're free?" Florence was 
peering, pinkly and anxiously, through the bars. "I quite forgot--" 

"But I didn't, Florence. Bye-bye." 

"But he'll punish me for letting you loose!" 

"I'm sure you'll enjoy every stroke, dear." 

Diana let the panel swing closed. It did so with a satisfying thud. Florence 
was safe, she could spend the day with a wet puss in erotic anticipation of 
punishment to come. Thinking hard, Miss Diana Ramsay went upstairs. 

Jim Kessler's slave was female and jealous. Florence Emory had been chained 
down there the whole time. The knowledge reduced Diana to the status of 
hired help. She dressed, she called a cab. At the apartment she told the 
driver to wait while she packed a bag. She put the golden handcuffs in the 
handbag she carried. The fare would be a lot of money. But she had no need 
of money...! In her first conviction in a long time, Miss Diana Ramsay 
carried her suitcase to the waiting taxi. 

It was a long ride. Diana had time to think. One by one, she ticked off a 
mental list the names of men: Mr. Sands, David Farrell, Jim Kessler, the 
Consortium-all were gone. None of them bequeathed her a sense of loss, her 
freedom was not of chains but of emotions. Her emotions were frayed and 
would need to heal. With an amusement, almost of nostalgia, she looked down 
the canyon slope to where Catley had staked her to the ground and ravished 
her. But girls were resilient, they came back again and again. Their cunts 
were endlessly replenished.. She paid the driver and tipped him 
contemptuously: he was a man. Standing atop The Citadel steps, Diana 
surveyed the view. There was no sign of life. She was alone. Without haste, 
she stripped, naked she fitted the golden handcuffs on her wrists and 
tightened them one notch too tight. It seemed only proper they should hurt. 
Resolutely, she rang the bell. 

"Hello, Sister Nona, I've come home." 

Their hug was endless. Nona was Diana's favourite. She gave the sister her 
golden key. Her voice was emotion charged as she pleaded: "Sister, Nona, 
don't ever set me free." 

"Darling child, we have heard -We have been so worried...!" 

Soon, there were all the Sisters in the conference room. They clucked over 
the naked handcuffed girl like joyful hens. 

"Dear child, you belong here. We love you." 

"Ridiculous men! They are absurd!" 

Diana exuded love through misty eyes. "I'm so ashamed of it all... I want to 
be punished." 

"The darling wants to be punished, to be cleansed. Diana, dear, we know how 
you must feel. Of course we'll punish you." 

"The thing is, she was bought and paid for." Sister Cecilia was the 
practical one. "Is she free to come back to us?" 

"Of course she's free!" 

"She's told us those men don't matter. The Consortium sold her properly and 
they're satisfied. Mr. Sands told me." 

"We should never sell girls, not girls like Diana. We don't need the money." 

"Look at the darling-in the handcuffs we gave her!" 

It was warm and affectionate and very comforting. Diana sipped coffee and 
nibbled sandwiches and was glad she'd remembered the golden handcuffs. It 
seemed incredible that she had once sought escape from this feminine 
felicity. She knew herself in a semi hysterical mood of abnegation but did 
not care. 

"They punished me those men. And they fucked me and fucked me. I want April 
and Tina to give me fifteen baths before you punish me." 

"Of course, dear. The little imps will love it." 

"And, in that punishment you gave me when I escaped, I hated the 'horse' 
thing worst of all, so can I have it?" 

"Of course you may." 

"And if Mr. Sands or David Farrell want me for a session, will you tell them 
I'm not available... please?" 

"They shall never have you again, Diana." 

It was a gorgeous feeling, its effect more potent than brandy. The twins 
ravished her delightedly in the bath, fingers, tongues and lips. Scented and 
immaculate, Diana Ramsay was delivered to the private office of Sister 
Cecilia. Even her golden handcuffs gleamed. 

"You are undoubtedly our most beautiful girl, Diana. Our fees for your 
services will be doubled. We will make you exclusive. It will lighten your 
work load." 

"Oh, Sister...!" 

"You are also our oldest girl: still a child but mature." The senior 
Sister's features were grave but her eyes twinkled. "I am impressed by your 
wish for the purification of Punishment. You possess wisdom." Sister Cecilia 
actually smiled. "When your punishment is done with you will return to your 
duties for only four days a week, in the remaining three days you will be 
elevated to The Sisterhood as a novice. If your deportment warrants, and I 
am sure it will, you may reach the status of full Sisterhood in a couple of 
years." The smile broadened. "I am your sponsor in this promotion, do not 
disappoint me. 

Diana Ramsay had no words. Instead, she wept the female tears of joy. The 
golden handcuffs clinked expensively as she dabbed at wet cheeks and tried 
to return The Sister's warm embrace. 

Sister Diana! 

It had a lovely sound. 


THE END
