Punished Puss
by F. E. Campbell


CHAPTER ONE - THE LADY ILENA 

This guy has to be crazy. He's crackers. He's gone around the bend 
somewhere. But the trouble is he's what Mother would have called a nice boy. 
If he hadn't captured me--that's what he calls it--and I had met him in a 
normal sort of way, I might've liked him. I suspect he's a bit too nice to 
have been interesting, but I really don't know him yet. I've only been his 
prisoner for a few days. I think the shock is as great for him as for me. Of 
course, he's a lot more comfortable on account of me having my hands tied 
behind my back. The suspense is the same for him as for me. Oh, damn, I wish 
I could get loose! I'd read him the darnedest lecture before I packed up and 
went home. 

I suppose I'm partly to blame. I keep kicking myself when I think about it. 
But the country is so beautiful around here, and I was so happy with the 
sights and scents along my walk that his smile from the car sort of blended 
naturally, so I got in beside him and let him point things out. It was while 
I was turned away looking that he slipped the pad over my face and held it 
tight while I kicked and heaved and slipped into darkness. 

Coming out of it was like you probably know: the hazy fuzz and the going 
back to sleep before you really wake up and realize something's wrong. With 
me, it was that I had lost my hands. It took me a little while to know where 
they were. They were tied behind my back. 

After the first struggle I lay still to take a deep breath and think things 
out the way you do when you discover the spare is flat or you've lost your 
passport in Paris. I was on a bed in a quite pretty bedroom: bright, 
cheerful, everything normal. I sat up and tried again in earnest. It was 
then that I got shock number two: I was naked. 

I am neither a shrinking violet nor a stripper. The shock was real. Since I 
had been kidnapped by a young man, I had to suppose it was he who had taken 
my clothes. They weren't visible. I blushed. I also noticed the big mirror. 

I was still woozy, but I stood for a moment and then went to look in the 
mirror. Except for untidy hair and the blush, I looked okay. Instinctively, 
I tried to get my fingers up to straighten a curl or two, but I couldn't, of 
course. So I turned around to have a look at the way I was tied. My wrists 
had been crossed and bound with thin rope. It was not the lovely thick stuff 
they used on the TV where the girl slips out of it in one minute flat. It 
was tight and thin and bit back at me when I twisted against its compulsion. 
It was the first time in my life that I had been tied. It was the oddest 
feeling. 

It wasn't until then that I thought of the door. I backed up against it and 
tried one tied hand to turn the knob. It refused to open, but then I had 
hardly expected it would. So I went back to the mirror and started to work 
in earnest on the job of getting my hands free. I know now how hopeless it 
was, but I didn't know it then. I worked up a pair of chafed wrists and a 
real sweat of anxiety in the blissful assurance that no bit of twisted rope 
was going to keep me prisoner. By the time I began to have doubts, I heard 
the door. I looked back over a bare shoulder at the same smile that had got 
me into trouble in the first place. 

It seems really silly now, but I did what I did almost without volition. I 
leaped for the nearest comer of the room and thrust my naked body hard into 
the angle, facing the wall. I knew for sure he must not see my breasts and 
pubic hair. I waited, trembling. 

"Charming!" He waited a breathless moment, then repeated his exclamation. 
"Yes--charming! You're absolutely perfect." 

The defense of my virtue fell a bit flat. I risked another look. He was 
actually sitting on the bed, enjoying the sight of my naked body. I tried to 
not let my voice sound the way I felt. 

"Untie my hands, please." 

"They have to stay tied. Are you feeling all right?" 

"Not with my hands tied like this, and without clothes." 

"You would like me to tie you some other way?" 

"I don't want to be tied at all, you idiot. Untie me!" 

This little exchange seemed to have got us off on the wrong foot. His tone 
was condescendingly patient, as though I had a lot to learn. "I expect you'd 
like an explanation, eh?" he enquired. 

"Yes, I would, but give me my clothes first." 

"They have been burned." 

"What!" 

"You won't be needing them any more, and the act seemed symbolic. As I 
watched them crumble in the fire, it was like the vanishing of your old 
life." 

I felt twice as naked. I tugged at tied wrists. I was scared. He seemed 
harmless but he wasn't There was something underneath, struggling to get 
out. I said the only thing I could think of. 

"All right, what do you want from me--sex?" 

"Not now. Maybe if you have to be punished." 

There was a clue there, I was sure of it. 

"I'm not a child!" I flared up. "You can't punish me. And, anyway, why would 
you want to? Look, let me go and we'll say nothing about this. I can wrap a 
sheet or something around me in the taxi." 

"How long do you intend to stand in the comer like a naughty schoolgirl?" 

"Until you give me something to cover myself." 

"That's silly. I undressed you when you were unconscious. I've already had a 
good look at your front. Now I'm seeing your back. What else is there?" 

He was right. I felt more foolish and more naked than ever, but my body 
hugged the crevice nonetheless. There was no way I could turn and face him. 

"I'm not going to walk around naked for you," I told him vehemently. "If you 
won't cover me up, I'll just stand here." 

"You'll get awfully tired." 

"So, all right, I get tired!" 

"I'll leave you alone for awhile. When I return, I'll expect you to stop 
being silly." 

He actually went out and locked the door. I did a quick assessment, standing 
again before the mirror and working like crazy at my wrists. Why hadn't he 
used force? He could handle me easily with my hands tied the way they were. 
He could have dragged me out of the corner and had a good look at all of me. 
He made no sense yet, but there was still time. I felt a bit like a tasty 
morsel being savored before being eaten. One thing for sure--I had to get my 
hands free. 

Still working away at the rope on my wrists, I went to the window and got a 
surprise. The scene was pleasant English countryside in midsummer, but the 
house I was in was unexpected. What I could see of it made it out to be one 
of those old places built like a castle after they stopped building castles. 
I suppose it was hard for them to think of a big house without battlements, 
so they put them on. I suspected the proper name for it would be a manor 
house. It was beautiful and looked like my kidnapper must have money. A man 
who could afford a home like this did not need to kidnap girls. My mind 
raced with conjecture, my hands twisting steadily against their bonds. 

There was a contradiction. It stood out a mile. My abductor was not the 
type. He did not fit the house. He certainly did not act like a kidnapper. 
His interest in rape was minimal, but he had committed a crime for which he 
could be imprisoned for most of his life. Thought of the power I would have 
over him if I ever got free gave me a thrill, but at that moment it was me 
who was the prisoner. I had yet to learn the duration of my sentence. Of 
course, I was still cherishing a hope that the whole thing was a joke and 
that I'd be back at the hotel in time for dinner. I was having no luck at 
all with my hands, so the hope was dim. His competence in tying me was 
another contradiction. 

The turning of the lock sent me scurrying back to my comer, but it did me no 
good. The way he grasped my arm was almost casual, and he was surprisingly 
strong. I was plucked from my crevice like a clam from its shell and pulled 
out into the room. My captor got between me and my refuse and turned me 
around to enjoy a full frontal view of everything I had been covering up all 
my life. When Be released my arm and stepped back to look, I turned my back 
to him and stood there, panting, but he was having none of that. I was 
whirled around again and given a thrust to send me sprawling on the bed. The 
voice that snapped at me now held authority. 

"Stay there! You can sit up if you want, but don't turn away." 

"You're shaming me." 

"Yes. It will pass." 

I sat up. It felt less wanton. But I was sure my breasts stuck out like 
beacons and my pubic hair was six inches long. The temptation to flatten 
myself face down on the covers was tremendous, or to make a run for the open 
door, but either way I would get his hands on me and I didn't want them. 
With me on the bed, my captor chose a chair and made himself comfortable. 

"My name is Christopher," he informed pleasantly. "Don't ever call me 
Chris." 

I glared at him. I wanted to scream or shed tears or beat my fists. 

I had never felt so vulnerable. 

"Your name is Priscilla Hendry. You will be called Puss. I will call you 
Puss until I think up something better. Oh, and you're an American tourist. 
I arranged to cancel your hotel and pick up your luggage. When I saw you 
yesterday, I knew you were the one." 

I didn't bother to answer. I just sat, wishing I could disappear. 

I had even given up twisting my hands against his cords. I felt lost and 
abused and far from home. I longed to weep. 

"I only came by this place a year or so ago," he volunteered 
conversationally, as though I would be interested. "We had been poor 
relations all my life, and then a dozen deaths inside a few years made me 
the last of the line. I inherited the estate and quite a bit of money." 

"Then you can hire a professional girl. You don't need me." I don't think he 
even heard me. He went on talking, dreamily. "My parents had known of the 
connection. They told me, never dreaming it would come true. As a kid, I 
used to build fantasies about knights and fair ladies. When I inherited all 
this and came to live here, I knew I had to make that dream come true." 

"But I'm not your fair lady; I'm an American tourist who wants to go home." 

"You're perfect--the raven-haired beauty of the legend." 

I sighed to myself. Now I was to become a legend! But I kept quiet. 

"The Lady Ilena was kidnapped by an ancestor of mine. He fell in love with 
her and got repulsed by her and her father, so he killed the old man and 
took the girl. He imprisoned her in a quite lovely stone chamber, high up 
where she had lots of light and a view. He was sure she'd fall in love with 
him." He paused. "The chamber is still there, unchanged." 

"Keep it. I prefer the hotel." 

"You've seen the last of that hotel, you know." 

I picked up a menacing tone in his voice. It was there, underneath, laying 
in wait for me. 

"That ancestor was an idiot," I told him bluntly. "And so are you. Why don't 
you sell this whole thing and emigrate to the U.S.? You might learn to grow 
up there." 

It was his turn to sigh. I expect his ancestor sighed too. Neither of them 
seemed to know a thing about girls. 

"I expect I'll have to do the same as he did. He punished Lady Ilena 
whenever she was rude or haughty or uppity the way you are now. He was 
certain he could win her over." 

"The guy was nuts!" 

"He kept her chained, of course. Not so she couldn't move, but just to break 
her spirit." 

"How long did he carry on this nonsense?" 

"For years. That's what made it a legend. Ilena died trying to escape. She 
fell from the window. The room's way up. I've had the window properly 
barred, though." 

I shivered. I could just imagine the poor girl and a nitwit like this 
Christopher guy. I shivered again. 

"Look, buster," I demanded, "you're not thinking of me to play this Ilena 
part, are you?" 

"You're here." 

That said it all. I could have cried in frustration, because at that point I 
believed all that was keeping me prisoner was my tied hands. If I could only 
get rid of the cords around my wrists, I thought, I could hit this 
dreamy-eyed ass over the head with a chair and go home. 

Resentfully, I said, "You can't possibly keep me prisoner for long. There's 
the police and all. Don't you realize what a risk you're taking?" 

"I've thought about it. It's a risk I'm willing to take." 

"And I'm bound to escape sometime." 

"You must forget about escape. I expect it will take a bit of time, but when 
you do, you'll be a much happier girl." He gazed at me wistfully. "I'll 
never allow you the slightest opportunity of escape. Like, now I'm not going 
to untie your hands. I want you to get the feel of being helpless." 

"You rotten son of a bitch!" 

"Quite soon I'll start punishing you for saying things like that. But it's 
still early yet. I know you're a bit put out." 

"I'm mad as a hornet! You're making me hate you. If you'd met me at the 
hotel, I wouldn't feel mad at you at all. We might have had dinner 
together." I eyed him hopefully. "We still could--if you wanted." 

"I'm not that much of a ninny." 

"Well, you want feminine company. I'm offering it to you." 

"I have it now. I have you." 

"All you have is a prisoner." 

"That's better than taking a girl to dinner and having her pick all the most 
expensive things she can find on the menu, then not even give you a kiss." 

"We're not like that. I bet you've never taken a girl out to dinner, have 
you?" 

"Never had the money--not till this happened." 

So I had a socially deprived malcontent on my hands! Or he had me. I looked 
at his nice smile, and the rest of him was nice too. I wondered how I would 
cope. I wasn't hating him yet, but I had met the English middle class with 
all their hang-ups. It wasn't going to be easy. In desperation, I slipped to 
my knees and begged. 

"Please untie my hands--please, please!" 

For a moment I thought I had him. He wavered. I was sure I looked pretty and 
appealing, head bowed and on my knees before my conqueror. I'd show him I 
was better than his rotten legend. I saw the battle in his face, but the 
wrong side won. 

"You have to stay helpless," he said. "I want you helpless. Every girl 
should be helpless for a year or two. It would do miracles for them." 

"That's silly. How do you come to be such an authority on females?" 

"I just know. And anyway, there's the legend. I'm going to follow it." 

"It doesn't seem to have done your ancestor much good." 

"If he'd had the window barred, it would've worked out. You'll see." 

The crazy asshole! I longed to slap his silly smile off his face. I longed 
for my hands. I was denied both, so I slipped him a real zinger. 

"All right, I'll marry you tomorrow. How's that? That'll save us both a lot 
of trouble." 

His smile vanished. He looked sad and deflated. "You're just saying that." 

"No, I'm not! Your Lady Ilena was hundreds of years ago. I'm different." 

"You're spoiling things. All you want is to get your hands free." 

From his point of view, I guess he was right. My problem was growing by the 
minute. I got up off my knees awkwardly. Everything's awkward when your 
hands are tied behind your back. I sat back on the bed. 

"What you want is to condition me over a long period of time," I said. "That 
must have been the thrill for your ancestor, and now you want to do the same 
with me. You want to break a girl down-- make her humble and abject and 
anxious to please." 

"Yes, of course!" His smile was drifting back. "I knew you would 
understand." 

"But look, if two of your cricket teams decided on the play and the score 
beforehand, there'd be no need to play the game. 

"You're missing the real point, Puss. You're talking pretty much as though 
you were free and had a choice. But you're not free-- you're a prisoner. I 
can even stop you from talking. I'll show you!" 

"Never mind." 

That was as far as I got. He must have had the gag in his pocket. I rejected 
his suggestion that I open my mouth. I kicked him in the stomach and fought 
all I could until he had me pinned down with a knee in my back. When he 
pinched my nose, I opened my mouth and he thrust something horrible inside, 
buckling the broad strap at the back of my neck. The band of soft leather 
clamped my lips, my mouth now full. He lifted me up the way I had been 
before and watched as I shook my head in a fury of rejection, making 
horrible little noises. I couldn't say a word. 

"You see! You really don't have much choice about things." 

I glared. 

He went to a drawer and returned with a slim yellow length of cane which he 
flexed back and forth for me to get a good look. 

"A supply of these was imported from Singapore just for you, Puss. Starting 
tomorrow, whenever you are deliberately rude or flagrantly disobey me, 
you'll get six stingers with this across your bottom. You've probably heard 
the English expression--'six of the best.'" I wanted to tell him that was 
for horrible little schoolboys, not for grown-up girls, but I couldn't say a 
thing. So I sniffed. A sniff can be very eloquent. 

"It will teach you to be what I want." 

I longed to kill him. 

"I'm going to take the gag away now. It was just a demonstration. 

I hope you don't make me use it. I want us to communicate. But in a moment, 
when you can talk again, watch what you say!" 

I kept still while my mouth was unstrapped. A lot of abuse had crossed my 
mind, but I wasn't about to utter a word of it. His rotten demonstration had 
sure enough had an effect of me. When I was well rid of the beastly thing, I 
even politely said, "Thank you." 

"That's better. We do have to talk. Oh, and by the way, there is also a 
whip. The cane is for your bottom and the whip for your back." 

"How thoughtful." 

"That's sarcasm. Don't use it tomorrow." 

He had used my first name twice. I decided to use his. "You know, 
Christopher, the girl you're trying to create will be an awful bore?" 

"Why?" 

"She'll be scared of saying anything that matters for fear of getting her 
ass whipped." 

"Don't use that word--it's vulgar." 

"Well, bottom sounds like diapers and Johnson's Powder." 

"Nonetheless, that's the word you'll use." He was still looking at my 
breasts, entranced, while I sat and fidgeted and gazed at the yellow strip 
he'd placed across his knees. "Aren't you curious about how I live here--the 
absence of servants and stuff?" 

"No." 

"I live alone. If people knock on the door and I don't answer, they go away. 
The place gets dusty, but I get someone in twice a year. You and I have the 
place to ourselves. You'll be absolutely safe." 

"You mean I won't get a chance at finding help. Christopher, you're being a 
real bastard with me. Don't you see--" 

"That's another word you won't use." 

"Why won't you give me a chance to like you, Christopher? The way we're 
going, I'm not getting to like you at all. You keep me frightened. Don't you 
realize you're robbing me of my life?" 

"Your life will be much more vivid here with me." 

"What--locked in a stone room with a barred window! And I get my ass whipped 
whenever I say a wrong word--oops! Sorry 'bout that." 

"You're not sorry; you said it on purpose." 

For a moment I thought I'd get it right there. I was picking up vibrations. 
This guy might see the thing on his lap as a punishment, but what he really 
wanted was an excuse to use it on me. He wanted to hear the splat of it on a 
girl's flesh and watch for the weal to come. I didn't see him as a sadist. 

"You're treating me like a kid." He was following a train of thought. "You 
talk down to me. You think I'm naive. You don't even try to look for the 
beauty that's in what I'm trying to do." 

"I don't think there is any. For you, maybe, but not for me." He was not 
displeased. "That's what the manuscript said. The Lady llena refused to see. 
No matter what was done to her, she remained haughty and condescending. I 
can't call you haughty, but you've got the American way of looking down on 
us." 

I passed on that one; I could see I was not going to win. So I asked, "I 
wish you'd take me out to dinner--it's time." 

"Don't be idiotic!" 

"It's not idiotic. If you'll take me out to dinner, I'll promise to come 
back here with you." 

"You'd blow the whistle on me, and I couldn't really blame you." 

"I'll make a promise not to. Besides, you'll be with me all the time." 

"You could simply walk away." 

"But I wouldn't. My promise is worth something." 

I had him baffled. He wanted to take me out, I could tell. He nodded slowly 
and said, "If I put something very valuable in your bag, I could accuse you 
of stealing it if you make a fuss. You'd go to prison." 

"Sure, you do that. It gives you leverage. By the way, do I still have a 
bag?" 

"I lied to you about burning your things. It made a good gesture. But I have 
them put away safely." 

"Wonderful! Is it a deal?" I could sense his conflict, so I added, "This is 
a lot more difficult for me than for you. I'll love the dinner. But coming 
back, I'll have to grit my teeth." 

Christopher sat still for quite awhile. My heart was thudding. Finally he 
rose and approached me. 

"Sit still. I'll get your clothes." 

I bathed and did my hair. I dressed. Clothed, I should have been confident 
and triumphant, but I was not. I found myself diffident and shy, like a girl 
on her first date. The glorious moment when Christopher untied my hands had 
been an ecstasy all too brief. I was trembling again. In his little car I 
was vividly excited and aware of freedom. 

"Isn't this nice?" I said. "Our first date. Thank you for taking me out to 
dinner." 

The poor chap was in worse shape than I was. He had had his dream safe. Now 
he was risking it all--and for what? So I asked. He thought it over 
carefully and answered haltingly. 

"Because I don't want to you to see me as... what you would call a bastard. 
I want you to see me as I am--a decent sort who can be kind." 

I stamped heavily on what I could have said. I wasn't going to blow things 
by accusing him. Instead, I said brightly, "This is a lovely countryside." 

"Yes, isn't it?" 

His trite remark told me what a job I'd taken on. By now he was probably 
regretting the freedom he'd given me. He was probably expecting me to leap 
out of the car and run. It's what I wanted to do, or maybe wait until we 
came to town and then go for the first policeman. But I couldn't see my 
promise as being done under coercion. I'd made it mostly to get my hands 
untied. In that light it was selfish, and I'd given my word without 
prompting. This going out for dinner was my idea. I couldn't see any way I 
should renege. It was crazy! 

Christopher had chosen a sizable and well patronized pub. Some of them have 
marvelous dining rooms. This one was super. Seated and grinning at each 
other across the white linen, we got back to normal. I had a whisky and 
soda, same as Christopher. It's no use asking for your favorite cocktail in 
these places. Mostly they've never heard of it and glare at you as though 
you're withholding foreign aid. But their food is magnificent, it really is. 
When we had eaten a bit, we both felt better. 

"Doesn't seem possible, does it?" Christopher was fighting anxiety. "I mean, 
after this you'll go back to Wyngate House with me." 

"Is that the name of that lovely old house?" 

"Yes. It's the family name too. I'm Christopher Wyngate. How do you -do?" 

We laughed. His offhand humor made him seem more human. 

"It does seem sort of crazy," I agreed. "Will you want to tie my hands 
again?" 

"Of course. You do understand, don't you?" 

I understood all right. Regardless of logic, whatever had happened to his 
Lady Ilena was going to happen to me. I had become a legend. Common sense 
didn't count. 

"Oh, sure, I understand," I said tolerantly. "Don't let's dwell on it. By 
the way, what was your ancestor's name--the one who started this whole 
thing?" 

"Randolph--Sir Randolph, actually. He was a baronet. The title is not 
hereditary." 

I would have liked to kick Sir Randolph where it hurt, but I listened to a 
brief, animated discourse on the Wyngate family. I'd have listened to 
anything that diverted my captor from his favorite theme. 

Christopher paused abruptly and asked, "Do you mind if I start calling you 
Ilena from now on?" 

"Be my guest." 

Before he could get going again on the fifth generation, there was an 
interruption. I liked the interruption. It was one of the nicer kinds of 
Englishmen, the sort with charm, good manners, and just so damn good looking 
he gets your heart to fluttering. 

With the ease of liking and being liked, he asked, "Where have you been 
keeping her, you sly dog?" 

"Ilena Hendry, Mr. Dick Travers." 

It was so frightfully British and correct. I saw eyes narrow in a memory of 
my new name, but nothing was said except the expected. 

"Sit down and join us, Dick. Ilena won't mind." 

Christopher sounded as though he really meant it. Dick Travers took a quick 
look around and said, "Frightfully sorry, old chap, but I'm meeting Diane 
Heselton." 

"Let's all sit together," I said quickly. 

The four of us chatted happily. Tension fled. But I soon realized we were 
not sorted right. I was palpitating over Dick Travers, and Diane was 
watering at the mouth over Christopher. Christopher was a catch all 
right--the house and all that money! There was a gleam in Diane's eye, and I 
was almost ready to suggest we trade places when I realized she was a 
platinum blonde and in no way eligible for the role of Ilena. Besides, 
Christopher wouldn't dare kidnap her; it was too close to home. 

After we had eaten, we retired to the lounge for coffee and brandy. These 
lounges are another anomaly of English life. Everyone there had a lounge of 
their own and a drawing room and a study and all sorts of place to sit and 
sip. But no, the hotel lounge was the place, so you adjourned there to try 
and impress each other by mentioning large transactions and dropping names. 
A recent visit to the south of France is always good for points. 

Diane Heselton ascertained I was American and consigned me instantly to 
outer darkness and snide jibes. But Dick Travers glinted my way frequently, 
and I glinted back. I was absurdly pleased to learn that he and Diane were 
not engaged. He was a lawyer. They call them solicitors in England. I could 
tell he was sharp. I could also tell that he was on to something. I expect 
Christopher and I were giving off vibes like crazy. Anyway, in spite of 
Diane, it was a very nice time. I had to wonder what they'd have thought if 
they'd known about me. 

The mood lasted us halfway back to Wyngate House. But by then Christopher's 
tension and my heartbeats clashed to a point where I simply had to put my 
hand reassuringly on his arm and say, "Please, don't worry. It's all right." 

"You'll really go through with it?" 

"I'm here, aren't I?" 

"You have to be very special." 

"Or very foolish." 

"I know. Most people would say that." He gave me a sideways grin. "You know 
I've been nervous. You had every chance to try and escape. But I never 
really doubted you." 

The big old house swallowed us up, but it was not a shivery place. I think 
the word for it would be benign. It was tolerant of human frailty. 
Christopher became the little boy again. 

"You can stay in that bedroom for tonight," he suggested diffidently. "I 
expect you're tired." 

I had to be puzzled about sex, so I bluntly asked, "Don't I have to yield a 
tribute?" 

He didn't get it right off, but then he was flustered. "Please don't talk 
about it. This is not the time." 

That was okay by me. When we reached the bedroom, I took the plunge 
instantly. Best not to think. Turning, I crossed my wrists behind my back 
and said, "There you are--tie my hands again." There was a pregnant silence 
before Christopher said, "I'm afraid you've forgotten to take your clothes 
off." 

"Do I have to?" 

"Yes, you do. You can't get into bed fully dressed." 

I was back to square one. Stripping myself naked didn't seem any easier the 
second time. "May I undress in the bathroom?" I asked hopefully." 

"No, do it here--in front of me. I want to watch. You can go to the bathroom 
afterwards." 

I thought of rebelling, but it was too late. I'd never have made it to the 
door. My heart pounding, I took off my clothes. I didn't do it with my back 
to him either. Being coy would make it worse for me and better for him. When 
I had put the last of my things in a drawer, I faced Christopher and 
stretched. I mean, what more could I do? I then went to the bathroom. 

Coming back into the room was bad. There he was, waiting. He was running a 
length of cord back and forth from hand to hand. Sight of it made me shiver. 
I had already offered myself to be tied, and it had fallen flat. Now I had 
to do it again, and this time there was something portentous and terribly 
final about the act, but I went to him, gritted my teeth, turned my back, 
and crossed my wrists behind. 

Nuts! Don't ask me to explain. 

While I was being tied, there flitted through my mind all the applicable 
cliches, like "walking the last mile" or "crossing the Rubicon" or "the 
point of no return. The one I sort of liked was "the prison door slammed on 
the hapless girl." Maybe I made that one up; I don't recall reading it 
anywhere. But, towards the end of being tied, I realized my breasts were 
sticking out prettily, and I was standing very straight and erect, and I 
probably looked very pretty and appealing. I felt absurdly feminine and 
delicious. I can't explain that either. 

"I don't want you wearing your wrists out, so I'll let you in on a little 
trick." Christopher held up pliers and a bit of wire. "I twist this around 
the knot and clamp it down. Fingers won't touch it. Takes a pair of pliers 
to get you loose." He put the pliers to work in back. He then turned me 
around, put the pliers in his pocket, and kissed me. "Goodnight, Elena," he 
said, and then went out and locked the door. 

I stood, alone and naked. I twisted my hands. It felt familiar and very, 
very hopeless now that I knew about the wire. I looked around the room. 
Everything was pleasant and normal except me and my tied hands. But they 
were not obtrusive. I couldn't see them unless I backed up to the mirror. I 
used them to turn off the light. It wasn't easy. It wasn't easy to get into 
bed properly either. I had to push back the covers with my feet, then insert 
them and my legs. I wiggled down. While my bound hands were fruitlessly 
trying to cover my nudity, I fell asleep. 

 CHAPTER TWO - CANED 

The morning found another me. There was no clock, but it was probably early. 
I lay there drowsily, no longer trying to free my hands. Christopher's 
demonstration with the wire discouraged me. I was tied to stay. In the new 
fresh sunlight I bitterly cursed myself for being such a gullible idiot as 
to ever let myself be tied again after being free. But that was the past. If 
there is a good thing about a girl having her hands tied the way mine were, 
it's freedom from decision. I lay and savored it. 

Christopher brought breakfast for both of us. He fed me mine. I was careful 
not to ask to be untied or set free. He seemed pleased with the whole thing, 
and I wasn't about to make him mad. He made me stand and walk around a bit 
so he could get the full effect of his creation. Yes, he made me do 
it--that's the word. If I didn't do as I was told, he could make me. It was 
that simple. 

I enjoyed being fed. It was amusing. We managed a bit of small talk without 
contention. At the end of it Christopher asked, "Would you like me to give 
you a bath?" 

It was a real zinger. He was grinning, knowing my thoughts, but it wasn't a 
lewd grin--just amused and curious. My angry negative died. I thought about 
tomorrow and the next day and the next. Sooner or later, I would have to 
give in. 

"Yes," I finally said. "Thank you. That would be nice. I suppose it's no 
good asking you to untie my hands so I can wash myself." 

"No use at all, Ilena." 

"If you'd give me my hands once a day, it would save an awful lot of bother 
for you." 

"It's not a bother, it's a pleasure." 

I'm was sure it was. So I'd have to get used to his hands on me. Such 
physical contact as we'd had up to then had not been unpleasant. His hands 
were not creepy crawly; they didn't make me wince. I let him follow me into 
the bathroom. I stepped into the tub and looked expectant. 

Christopher made a big thing of getting the water just right, then soaped me 
with a slightly vigorous confidence. He lingered a little on my breasts. 
When he moved down to lather my pussy, I asked him straight. 

"Doesn't this get you sexually excited?" 

"Yes." 

He was right--it did. I could see. Mischief prompted me to ask, "And you're 
not going to do it? I couldn't stop you." 

"I told you not to talk about it, so don't!" 

I shut up. I'd find out about my captor and sex soon enough. He was either 
stuck with a middle class complex or was saving it up for some grand finale. 
Anyway, it was easy to slip him another poser. 

"What about my hair? It'll need washing and fixing." 

My hair was worse for him than sex. Christopher was stymied. Irritably, he 
said, "I'll think about it, but not now. Maybe I'll learn how to do it for 
you." 

"Is keeping my hands tied that important?" 

"Yes." 

I knew it was so. I was fighting a fixation. I let it drop. I kept quiet 
while I was dried with a most expensive towel. When we got back in the 
bedroom and I stood, awaiting his pleasure, he said, in a faintly apologetic 
way, "I have a few things for you." 

I was sure he did. My spirits fell. I was mad about my hair. I wanted to 
look nice for him, and you know how a girl is about her hair. But I just 
gave him my full respectful attention. 

"I want you to get used to being tied." 

I stood like a dummy and watched him get rope from a drawer. I could well 
imagine Wyndham House had a lot of such drawers. "Your elbows, Ilena. They 
have to be tied." 

"What on earth for! They can't go anywhere without me." Christopher conceded 
me a smile and said, "Turn around." So I got my elbows tied. Because of 
crossed wrists, they couldn't be clamped tight, but he got them as tight as 
was possible. 

My response was immediate: "That hurts!" 

"I'll loop several strands around so as to spread the stress." 

"It still hurts. I don't see any sense--" 

"Shut up! You don't have to see sense. You just obey!" 

"Look, Christopher, I'm here pretty much by my own consent--" 

"That makes no difference. If it got you privilege, the whole thing would 
fall flat. Your elbows don't hurt that bad." 

I had to do another little walk for his approval. I felt stupid and awkward. 
Tied elbows made me walk funny, and my breasts stuck out shamelessly. If I 
was helpless before, I was ten times more helpless now. 

"See what I mean, Ilena?" 

"I suppose so." I fluttered my shoulders; it was all I could do. "If I ever 
get back to having just my hands tied, I'll be so glad I won't complain 
about them any more." 

"That wasn't exactly--well, never mind. Ready for the tour?" 

"Tied for the tour?" I quipped. "Yes, I'm ready." 

"You look very sweet." 

"I don't feel very sweet. But thanks anyway." 

"There's something else, Ilena." 

"Oh, shit, what next!" 

The exclamation slipped out of me without control. Christopher visibly 
winced. For a moment I wondered if this was going to be my first taste of 
his lousy "six of the best." 

"I've warned you about vulgarity," he tersely reprimanded. "Sorry! I really 
am. I'll watch it." 

"Please do. I want our time together to be enjoyable." 

I almost told him how he could make them more enjoyable for me, but I 
swallowed that too. Helplessly, I enquired, "What was the something else?" 

"Ah, yes! It will get you closer to the Ilena role. It's shackles for your 
feet, or call them leg irons, or simply chains--whatever you find most 
agreeable." 

I had to bite my tongue on that one too. Christopher sure does give a girl a 
lot of openings. Lamely, I said, "Don't let's call them leg irons--that 
sounds horrible." 

"I know what you mean." He opened another drawer and hauled out about a 
hundred pounds of links and iron bands. 

"What--all that! For just my feet?" 

"The chain between your ankles is quite long. Wearing them is actually no 
more than an affirmation of authority." 

"How nice!" 

"That was sarcasm. I wish you'd curb it." 

"Sorry again. Look, Christopher, you want to take me for a long walk so you 
chain my feet together--isn't that inconsistent?" My captor pursed his lips, 
no doubt praying for patience. I knew myself on thin ice. "Our tour will be 
leisurely," he explained. "It makes for a wonderful opportunity to get you 
used to restraints. You'll likely trip up a bit at first, but by the time 
we're through--" 

"I'll promise to behave perfectly if you don't--" My captor held up a 
warning hand. "Stop right there. Your feet will be chained, and that's the 
end of it. Stick one of them out." I obeyed. I watched the broad metal of 
the band as it was locked safely on my ankle. Then I thrust my other foot 
forward. I'd gone past any point of argument. 

Unthinking, I said, "Please hold on to my arm. I don't want to fall." 

"Yes, good," Christopher said quietly. "I want you to depend on me." 

It was an adventure. I fought yesterday and tomorrow in the excitement of 
walking with chained feet. It was like a party game. I was terribly intent 
and determined to carry it off. If you want to know why, I suppose it's 
because I'm female and Christopher was the only male in sight, and I wanted 
to show to good advantage. I took my first cautious step. The chain between 
my ankles rattled in approval. 

"There, you're doing fine." The hand that had held my arm now patted my 
bottom but hastily grasped above my elbow again as I trode on the swirling 
links. "Just take it easy," Christopher counseled. "I want you graceful and 
relaxed as you walk in chains." 

What the hell! The whole thing's crazy. I clinked along under the guidance 
of the male hand until we got to the polished hardwood of the passage. After 
my first few steps, I stopped in disgust. 

"Christopher, this awful clatter--the chain!" 

"So what? It makes noise. There's no one but you and me." 

He urged me on. And thus began my tour of Wyndham House. It was beautiful. 
It was mellow and benign. But it had seen too many generations come and go 
to care much about either of us. Old English houses have this impersonal 
quality about them. They are too big for intimacy. As though placating 
unseen gods, the English polish their floors and furniture until there is 
forever an odor of whatever polish they use. It greets you when you enter, 
daring you to leave a fingerprint on its hallowed oak. Ghosts walked beside 
us. I sensed Sir Randolph leering at me from the wings. 

Out of all I saw, three things remain vivid memories: the dungeon, the room 
for punishments, and the chamber I am chained in now. Christopher showed 
them to me in that order. When he pushed open the door to the dungeon, I 
hope he felt me cringe. 

"I'm not sure anyone was ever in here," he said doubtfully. "Bit gloomy, 
eh?" 

If I had possessed hands at the moment, I would have clutched him. The 
atmosphere of Wyndham's dungeon reached out tentacles to draw me in. But I 
had no limbs at all. I was just a helpless female body. 

"Oh, Christopher!" I gasped. 

"Gets to you, doesn't it?" 

"Christopher, don't ever put me in there--please!" 

"That bad?" 

"Worse! It's--it's a tomb. I'd die. It's full of ghosts." 

"Well, if you behave yourself... " That was as far as he'd budge on the 
dungeon. I guessed he was only holding it over me as a threat, but I was 
still frightened. The punishment room, in spite of its name, was a relief. 

"The room of punishment, Ilena. Maybe you'll never visit it." 

"You mean... a torture chamber?" 

"Does it look like that?" 

I had to admit it did not. There was a clutter of stuff I couldn't fathom 
and a few things I could. I hoped I'd never visit it, but I was sure I 
would. 

"You've just had this whole thing made," I accused. 

"That's right--brand new." 

"Waiting for me?" 

"Don't be morbid, Puss." 

"Well, you wouldn't have made it if you didn't intend to use it on someone." 

"Okay, you're right. But remember, this is a tour. You're not a candidate." 

"I bet I soon will be." 

"You said that, not me." He chuckled. "Guilty conscience?" Number three was 
the main course after the hors doeuvres. When my captor reverently opened 
the door to what he called Lady Ilena's chamber, I gasped in disbelief. 

It was pure beauty. The architect of Wyndham had found inspiration. The 
place was all mellow stone except for the huge barred window. Its ceiling 
was vaulted, its floor marble. In the center was a marble column, and from 
it hung chains. I was ready to bet they weren't the shackles fastened on the 
Lady Ilena. 

"I bet you had the hardware made specially," I accused. "Yes. It's very 
special stuff. Like it?" 

"The chamber is lovely. I see what you mean about it. You can't expect me to 
like the metal products." I paused. "They've been made for me, haven't 
they?" 

"Yes." 

"How do you know they'll fit?" 

"I got Diane to give me measurements. She could have been Ilena if she 
hadn't been blonde and after my money." 

So Christopher was not dumb. He had caught on to Miss Heselton's ploy. He 
had me curious. 

"You mean you brought her up here and told her about the legend?" 

"I didn't have to. The legend is well known around here. I told her the 
measurements were for a relative overseas." 

I doubted Diane would have swallowed it. But it didn't matter. What did 
matter was the shackles on my ankles. I would walk and stumble a long way 
with them clinking and rattling and chafing my skin. 

"Could I get my feet unchained before going back?" I asked pathetically. 

"You're not going back." 

My heart almost stopped. So this was it--the moment of truth, the place from 
where there was nowhere else to go. It seemed to have taken me a pitifully 
little time to get there. 

"One more day?" I pleaded. "Just give me one more day!" 

"No." 

I was getting used to Christopher's negatives. Dully, I said, "Very well 
then, I'll try and be what you want." 

Nothing is all loss. To be chained I had to be untied. The peeling away of 
the strictures in my skin gave a moment's hurt, but as I rubbed and 
massaged, the feeling was wonderful. I didn't want to stop. Christopher 
stood and watched, amused at what I was doing, intrigued by what I was. He 
was getting a real thing about me, I could tell. Helpfully, his hands 
comforted one of my elbows while I worked on my wrists. 

"Lovely marks. Better than bracelets." 

I looked at the weals. My retort was ungracious. "Well, if that's what you 
like." 

"Don't be angry. I want you to see their beauty the way I do." Grudgingly, I 
looked again. I had to admit the effect was vivid and erotic. My arms were 
etched with red circles. Christopher was so happy with them it was 
contagious. 

"All right, they're beautiful," I conceded. "I hope they go away. I still 
wish you'd give me one more day." 

"Lady Ilena was locked in here right away after she was captured. We'll stay 
with the script." 

"Even the suicide at the end?" 

"She was trying to escape. Now there are bars--" He broke it off, grinning 
at me. "You're just asserting yourself. I think you're as interested in what 
you're doing as I am. You wouldn't be here if you weren't." 

Damn him, he was right. I could have broken my word and been free. Nobody 
would have blamed me, not even Christopher. I stared at him. 

"You mean dinner last night wasn't just to please me? It was a test?" 

"Yes, and it worked." He chuckled. "And it was your idea." I had set my own 
trap, so I couldn't complain. But he'd been astute enough to use it. 
Christopher was growing in stature. There was more to him than just an 
ingenious boy. To cover chagrin, I clinked my shackled way over to the 
marble column and its shining attachments. 

"That's not for you today, Ilena." 

I turned. Christopher was holding a chain. Intuitively, I knew what to do... 
I held out my hands. Reverently, my captor snapped shut a broad wristlet on 
each of my hands. The chain linking them was as overly long as the one 
connecting my feet. Fastened, I held up my prisoned hands for us both to 
admire. Again I had to concede Christopher's point. They were beautiful. 

"Break you in easy, Puss." He was almost vibrating with delight. I thought 
surely he was going to do it then. But he had other ideas. "The bedroom 
helped you adjust. Now these chains... " Almost in apology for the delay, he 
added, "I'll put different ones on you tomorrow." 

"You've got an erection, Christopher." 

He blushed and changed position. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that. 
It's vulgar." 

"I couldn't help noticing." 

"Very well." His tone became pompous. "As of this minute, you start being 
liable to punishment." 

"Oh, Christopher--really! What does that mean?" 

"Whenever you offend me, you'll be punished." 

"You mean that 'six of the best' nonsense? I won't even known when I'm 
stepping out of line." 

"I'll type out a list of rules." 

He was so eager and concerned. I didn't have the heart to make fun of him. 
Besides, I wasn't all that sure of how certain he might be about caning my 
bottom. Mentally, I still thought of it as whipping my ass. 

"I guess that about covers everything," he said, picking up discarded rope, 
pliers, and wire. 

We stood, facing each other, feeling awkward. I had a hundred things to say, 
but I couldn't manage a single word. Defeatingly, my captor raised one of my 
chained hands and kissed it gently. He then left. The huge door- thudded 
shut. The outside bolts shot home with a crash. I had become the latest 
prisoner of Wyngate House. 

I stood as I was for quite awhile. My mind crowded with condemnation. I had 
been foolish. There was something about these chains on me that spelt 
forever. It was possible I had bartered my life. I made play with my hands 
to watch their links curl and reform and pull tight. There was a strange 
absence of fear. 

I clatttered over to the fatal window and clasped the bars. The view was 
sweet and comforting: pastoral, holding no menace, a charming English scene. 
I looked down. It was a long way to the bottom. Lady Ilena must have been 
desperate. I tried to feel her presence but got no vibes. The legend was 
really no big deal. That sort of thing must have happened to a lot of girls 
back then, and maybe it still does. Damn it, it happened to me! I should 
have been weeping, but felt more like hysterical laughter. 

The big bright chamber accommodated the huge oversize flat couch amiably. 
Lady Ilena might have slept on it. The thought held a thrill. A really 
lovely heavy rug was the only covering. It lay waiting for me in a crumpled 
pile. Yesterday I'd have thought of wrapping it around my naked body, but 
today I knew better. The couch was the only place to sit, so that's where I 
went. I played idly with the links of my chains. I twisted wristlets and 
anklets, but they were snug. If Diane Heselton had modeled for them, it 
would be a pleasure to see them fastened on her pretty white limbs, but that 
wasn't likely to happen. I sighed. 

The bands and their links held a certain fascination for me. I couldn't keep 
my fingers away. They weren't more comfortable than having my hands tied 
behind my back, but they gave me a lot more freedom. Still, they were only 
for the day. I got up and went to see what I might get tomorrow. There was 
quite a lot of stuff attached to the column--things to hold me tight or to 
give me as much freedom as now. Surveying the walls, I saw heavy iron rings 
imbedded into the stone all over. The vaulted chamber was versatile. It 
could hold me captive in a variety of positions. It was then that I noticed 
the narrow door. 

I thought of Pandora's box and Bluebeard's forbidden room. But what the 
hell! There was just one of those funny English latches you press down with 
your thumb and it won't lock. I used my thumb and peeked inside. It was a 
simply gorgeous modern bathroom. It had everything. I stood rooted, fighting 
a hysterical urge to laugh. It was crazy. Lady Ilena must have turned in her 
grave or gone green with envy. 

I went inside. Christopher must have enlisted more of Diane's aid. He could 
never have known about all the things in the cupboard and on the shelves. 
Everything was top quality. I was enraptured and spent the next two hours on 
my hair. It wasn't until I returned to the bed that I got the true sinister 
message. That lovely bathroom meant I need never leave this chamber again. 
If Christopher gave me a little food, he could just leave me there. Suddenly 
the metal fastened on me weighed a ton. 

I got to wondering about the chamber and others like it. They must have 
originally been designed as a convenience by which someone could be kept 
around handy for when they were needed, or to keep them out of mischief. I 
could just imagine the wife or the kids being popped in them at times, of if 
you apprehended a lawbreaker, he or she could be kept safe until the law 
arrived. They must have been a real convenience, like the pantry and the 
tool shed. But, of course, someone was bound to see possibilities of 
punishment, and that's where they became prisons. I was still in a giggly 
mood. I easily pictured an argumentative wife emerging after a few days and 
nights, then well behaved. 

But it could happen to me! And it was happening. 

I sobered. But what could I do then? Except for punitive appointments, the 
place was bare. I had to entertain myself--keep from going stir crazy. The 
only thing I could think was to take another bath. In the middle of it I 
heard the slam of bolts announcing Christopher's first visit. There was no 
lock on the bathroom door, so he came in and sat on the toilet seat, 
examining my soapy nudity with his usual enjoyment. 

"Glad you found the place. I knew you would. Nice, eh?" 

"It's a miracle! Oh, thank you, Christopher." 

"Needn't let it clash with the legend. The alternative's vulgar." 

"It must have cost a fortune." 

"Well, yes, but you're the only extravagance I've allowed myself. You're 
worth every penny too. Didn't I already bathe you this morning?" 

"It's just something to do. Christopher, what am I supposed to do with 
myself locked in here?" 

He gave that one a bit of thought while enjoying the nudity I no longer 
tried to hide. The best he could come up with was pretty lame. "Hmmmm... the 
lady Ilena made out." 

"I bet she didn't. I bet she went hairy, same way I will if you keep me here 
long enough. How about a radio?" 

Christopher was shocked. I felt guilty. A radio would shatter all illusions. 

"What about something to read then?" I asked hastily. 

"But it's out of character!" 

"This whole thing's out of character in this day and age. By the way, will 
water hurt these chains?" 

"It's okay--they're stainless steel." 

"They make an awful clatter in the tub. Won't they scratch the surface?" 

"I won't take them off." 

That was that. I knew finality when I heard it. 

Lamely, I ventured, "It's terribly lonely in here. It's solitary 
confinement--in chains." 

"So?" 

"I never thought it would be like this." 

"You haven't given it a chance. You've only been in here a few hours. You're 
thinking it'll get worse for you, but it could get better as you become 
accustomed to it." 

"It won't." 

"I've left that list of rules on your couch. You've broken a lot of them 
already." Christopher paused thoughtfully. "There's nothing like a 
punishment to offset boredom." 

Startled, I looked up. "You mean whip my ass?" 

"There you go! You see?" 

"Never mind. I'm not that bored." 

"But you are delinquent. Ilena, I've decided to give you your first 
punishment." 

He meant it! He was so damn solemn that I laughed. 

"Oh, come on! This whole thing you're trying to do is impractical." I saw 
his hurt, so I hastily added, "I'll go along with it and play it out with 
you if you'll place a period on it. How about a week? I can stand a week." 

"No." 

"All right, a month. That's more than most girls would go for." 

"No. I don't have to bargain, Ilena. I've got you. You can't escape. I can 
do whatever I want with you." He gave me a lovely hurt look and pleaded, 
"Don't you understand?" 

"Yes, I know! The legend! Oh, Christopher!" 

I got out of the tub and allowed him to dry me. He seemed to enjoy it, and 
he did it well. 

"We'll go to the room now." 

Yes, he was really going to punish me! I knew for sure I could never talk 
him out of this one. I was going to get my ass whipped. He gripped my arm 
and led me to my doom. It was an odd sort of contraption I couldn't quite 
figure out. Christopher kicked apart a couple of planks. 

"Step between these, please," he said. 

"I can't--I'm chained." 

With a gesture of irritation, Christopher knelt and unlocked the shackles 
from my ankles. For a moment he looked at my hands in indecision, then 
unlocked them too. 

Something snapped. I suppose it was my last straw. I didn't think. I leaped 
for the door and actually got out into the hallway before he caught me, 
dragging me back inside by one arm while I beat at him with the other and 
screamed. We had the most wonderful fight until I was exhausted. He had me 
flat on my face, his knee in my back, and an arm twisting painfully in his 
firm grip. 

"Give up?" he demanded. 

I yelped and gasped until I finally I said, "Yes! I'll do what you want." 

I scorned his proffered hand and got up by myself, feeling sheepish and 
tidying my hair. 

"I had to do that," I told him firmly. "I just had to. If you'd named a 
period, I don't think it would have happened." 

"I understand. But it doubles your punishment, you know." 

"Yes, of course." 

It was like a nightmare in which you do and say irrational things in a most 
rational way. I stepped between the planks. Christopher pushed them together 
to imprison my ankles in small holes. There was a lock. I stood, helpless, 
and began to shiver. 

The next was a pillory thing. Christopher grasped my hair--the lovely hair I 
had worked so hard on--and pulled my neck down into the waiting slot. I 
didn't argue about my hands. I put them in the appropriate places. A moment 
later the yoke was lowered and I was a fixture. 

"It positions you perfectly, Ilena. Struggle as much as you wish." 

As usual, he was right. My feet were clamped a foot apart. I was bent way 
forward to put my head and wrists in the stocks. The net result was to 
flagrantly expose my jutting ass. It was a perfect posture in which to be 
beaten. 

Weakly, I asked, "Can't I apologize or something--say I'm sorry?" 

"No." 

Oh, shit! Him and his negatives! I was quaking in suspense. The cute 
exclamation about getting my ass whipped was about to come true. I pulled at 
what I was fixed in, but nothing moved at all. 

"You started out with 'six of the best,' Ilena, but now you've doubled it. 
Are you ready?" 

Christopher rapped my bent, stretched curves with the cane. I was ready, of 
course. I didn't bother to answer. I was the most competently secured young 
woman in the world. I screamed. 

I was cut in two--sliced, scalded, flayed. The agony was worse than anything 
I had ever dreamed. I kept screaming without pause. 

I managed to get a few creaks out of the thing I was fastened in, but that 
was all my struggles achieved. I simply couldn't move. There I was with my 
bent bottom imploring another cut. It came before I'd stopped screaming over 
number one. I'd had two out of twelve. I knew I'd die. 

After the third stroke, I managed to plead, "Please stop! Oh, Christopher, 
not so hard! Please!" 

It was as though I hadn't spoken. Number four sliced me instantly, and I 
went back to screaming. Five and six followed with measured cruelty. My 
master's voice came to me through a haze of pain. "It has to be hard, Puss. 
It's no good otherwise." 

"But not as hard as this--not with me bent like this!" 

The caning of my bottom continued. The strokes cut me one after the other, 
and I did not die. I did not lose consciousness or anything comfortingly 
dramatic. I simply screamed and screamed. Quite awhile after the twelfth cut 
had scalded me, I continued to make sounds. I was quite uncaring when I was 
released. I stood, numb and sobbing, while Christopher locked his lovely 
chains back on my wrists and ankles and led me back to Ilena's chamber. My 
tears embarrassed him. I think my screams had unnerved him a bit and he felt 
ashamed. But he resolutely marched me back to my stone room, pushed me in, 
and slammed the door. I swear he makes those bolts crash on purpose. I flung 
myself down on the couch and sobbed my heart out. 

 CHAPTER THREE - HEARTBREAK 

As usual, my boy was right. If a girl is bored, you whip her ass. It's sure 
fire. I sobbed away my pain. I couldn't soothe my weals properly because of 
the way my hands were chained. But I did my best and discovered puffed, 
tender skin like you'd never believe. I didn't bother with the mirror. I was 
too cheesed off. I lay there and cried, then slept a bit and cried some 
more. The shock and pain of my whipped ass and the fact that he'd actually 
done it to me left me washed out. I didn't want to think. I just wanted to 
sleep and not dream. I was a sad little prisoner. 

You always feel better in the morning. I did. I went and had a bath. At this 
rate I'm going to be the most washed girl in the United Kingdom. I lay there 
and soaked my bottom. Before getting in the water I felt and fingered my 
wounded curves, one cheek at a time, with one chained hand. It was the best 
the chain permitted. I also backed up to the mirror to get a look. Holy cow! 
All that purple and scarlet out of twelve strokes! My poor little ass! It 
could happen again, and I was pretty sure it would happen again. That really 
bothered me. I didn't want to behave, but I knew I had to try. I also did my 
hair. I figured that if I was locked in here all the time, I could pass half 
of every day with bathing and doing my hair. My hair would be a real 
blessing. What a laugh that was! 

Next I went to have a look out the window. It was a lovely English morning. 
The scent of flowers came up at me in the heat. It was beautiful, but it 
made my imprisonment in the tower chamber twice as real. I ought to have 
been out there with the flowers. I clutched the bars and gazed between them 
at lost freedom. I know that's a hackneyed pose, but you just do it anyway. 

I was still there when Christopher arrived with breakfast. He looked at me 
uncertainly, not knowing what to expect. I suppose, having beaten a girl's 
bottom, you get varying reactions. I tried to be jaunty. 

"Are you sure Sir Randolph shared breakfast with the Lady Ilena every 
morning?" 

"How's your bottom?" 

I turned and showed him. His response was a magnificent erection he couldn't 
hide. Verbally, he said, "I hope it's taught you a lesson." 

"Oh, yes, kind sir, I'll be a good little girl." 

Christopher looked at me narrowly and said, "I'm not so sure." I dropped the 
banter and said, "It hurt something awful. Please don't ever do it to me 
again." 

He didn't answer, so I knew he would whip me again if it served his purpose. 
In a huff, I accepted the pain of sitting on the couch. My bottom didn't 
like it but what the hell! 

"You really took it well," he said soothingly. 

"I don't want to talk about it." 

"And you've adjusted so well to the chains. It's pretty to see you walk and 
do things with your hands." 

"I'm glad you're pleased." 

"You're angry. I don't want you to be angry." 

"I'd have thought you'd be pleased. Gives you an excuse to whip my ass 
again." 

"Puss, you're deliberately--" 

"Yes, I am. Sorry! I'm just blowing off steam. Did Lady Ilena get herself 
whipped everyday?" 

"I refuse to punish you when you're in this mood. Let's eat." We ate. I felt 
better. I drank two cups of coffee. Christopher was not all that happy with 
me. Contritely, I tried to explain. 

"It's the loneliness, Christopher--being locked up like this. I'm afraid 
I'll get morbid. Whenever you come, I'll try and make the most of the time 
you spend with me." 

"And being chained?" 

"I don't think the chains matter much. They don't stop me from doing the few 
things there are to do. What bothers me is so much of not knowing--not 
knowing what you'll do with me or how long you'll keep me a prisoner. I 
really do wish you'd give me a date to look forward to." 

"Lady Ilena didn't have a date." 

"In a way she did. Anytime she said yes, Sir Randolph would take her in his 
arms and waltz off to the church. He must have had halitosis or something 
for her to hold out like that." 

"We'll work that story out." 

"How can we! I've already said I'll marry you. We're not going any place." 

Christopher didn't have an answer. I could see he was getting angry. There 
was no use in me winning an argument and getting my ass whipped for it. 

Quickly, I said, "We're at cross purposes. Let's drop it. Thank you for a 
lovely breakfast." 

"There's a change for you today, remember?" 

"Oh, sure. What is it?" 

"If you're ready, you can go over by the center pillar." 

I clattered my chains across the stone, then turned to face him in the most 
submissive pose I could think of, head bowed, wrist shackles dangling. 

"You needn't look so hangdog, Puss." 

"Sorry, I thought you'd like it." 

It was simple: Christopher did it by installments so I wouldn't have a 
chance to dive for the door. He removed the shackles from my feet and 
replaced them with others that had no connecting chain. Instead, a far 
longer chain trailed away to the pillar. Each was individual. When he had 
treated my hands the same way, I stood there with four separate chains 
attaching me to the stone column. As usual, he stood back and positively 
gloated over his creation. 

"Gosh, Puss, you're gorgeous!" 

"If I weren't, I don't suppose I'd be in this fix." 

"Would you mind stepping around a bit?" 

I stepped around a bit. I clinked. I did several poses for him, hiding 
nothing of my nudity. Christopher stood, speechless with happiness. I'd 
never made anyone so happy in my whole life. His happiness infected me. 

Reaction came after he had gone. I stood for a moment against the column. I 
lifted my hand and examined the shining steel around my wrist and the chain 
falling away from it in a cascade of links. It was old stuff I'd seen 
before. It was an emphasis on my captivity and had a photogenic quality that 
obviously pleased my captor. Cautiously, I stepped out into the room. 

It was a good thing I had been cautious. My chains went taut and snubbed me 
all too soon, just short of the couch and way short of the door. The window 
was a forbidden temptation, and the bathroom door simply laughed at me. I 
tried this way and that, but only gained or lost a few inches. My captive 
status had taken a turn for the worse. The unkindest thing of all was that I 
had nothing but stone to sit on. I could sit and lean back against the 
pillar, but my poor bottom hurt something awful. 

That's how I spent my day. I got angrier and angrier, and then more and more 
anxious for Christopher to come. When he finally came with supper, I was a 
very subdued little girl and anxious to please. 

"Christopher, I thought I'd die." 

He had me do the posing again, then put me back in the everyday chains so I 
could sit on the couch. I drank thirstily and ate like a horse. By way of 
making conversation, we had a laugh over Diane Heselton. 

"They were the first to visit after I moved in--Diane and her mother. Very 
formal. I had to make them tea." Christopher sipped wine meditatively. "I 
could tell they were shocked by absence of servants, but the old lady's main 
interest was Wyngate House itself. She missed nothing--assessed everything. 
I bet she knows to a penny what the whole place is worth. Seems like there's 
a few old masters and a lot of Chippendale and Sheridan stuff. Very top 
shelf." He chuckled. "They're still doing that here--marrying their 
daughters off to the best possible advantage." 

I clinked my wrist chain for his benefit and raised my own glass in a 
fettered hand. "Don't tell me poor Diane wasn't right in there too?" 

"She was there all right. She's got lovely breasts, same as you, and she 
kept giving me-hints with them and showed quite a lot of nylon leg. Pretty 
much like a slave market except in my case it was me they were after, and 
the bids were all with what Diane had to offer. I might have fell for it if 
she hadn't been a blonde and I hadn't read the legend." 

"Did the poor girl know she was competing with a ghost?" 

"Not at the time. I've told her since. I've taken her out to dinner a few 
times. But I got Dick Travers to take her off my hands." Christopher sighed. 
"But, of course, he doesn't have Wyngate House." 

I went to bed early. There was nothing else to do. Christopher didn't offer 
to stay and played checkers or get under the covers with me. He wanted my 
imprisonment to be as real as possible, so he couldn't spend a lot of time 
keeping me company. I sensed that he'd like to, but was up against his fool 
legend. Serves him right! Serves me right too. 

Day three was the same as day two, only my chains were altered. I had to 
stand the whole damn time with a collar around my neck and a little short 
chain to the pillar so I couldn't sit down. I couldn't do anything except 
one single step until the collar snubbed my throat. I stood and stood. Boy, 
was I glad to see Christopher come evening! 

Day four I got to stand by the window. A long chain from my shackled hands 
to a ring in the wall. That was all. I could even sit down. I could 
certainly enjoy the view. I suspect Christopher was trying to make it up to 
me for the day before. I was really grateful. Isn't it crazy? 

Day five is right now. I'm caught up with the memories. I don't know what's 
going to happen tomorrow, but there is certainly a change today: no chains! 
Christopher must have read my mind. I was getting so sick of all those metal 
bands and links and not being able to move without a lot of noise, so I'm 
back to square one. My hands are tied behind my back and the knots safely 
wired. In a way it's not as much freedom, but I'm tickled to death about it. 
It shows how a girl gets conditioned. I don't like that. It scares me, but 
that's the way it is, and I'm busy thinking. 

I've got to get out of this beautiful stone chamber. I can't possibly escape 
in here--not chained. I have to get somewhere where there's half a chance. 
I'll play it morbid and see if I can't break Christopher down to give me 
some sort of change. 

"I cried a lot today, Christopher. It bothers me. It's morbid." 

He was instantly concerned. Men hate tears. They're scared of them. I could 
tell he was on the verge of saying Lady Ilena cried a lot too, but he had 
the decency to keep quiet about his legend. 

"But are you hurting, or worried about something?" 

"Just the loss of my life. I might as well be dead as locked in here." 

"I thought you said it was a lovely room?" 

"It is. I just don't want to spend my life in it without a break." I looked 
at him, dewy-eyed, and said, "Christopher, you have no idea how I long to be 
out in the sunlight--the sunlight I can only see through the bars." 

"Yes, well--" 

"And all day I'm so hungry for your company. I simply yearn for these little 
times when we're together. I'm just so lonely!" 

"Yes, but when you're a prisoner--" 

"But real prisoners in prisons are taken out for exercise, and all the girls 
eat together, and they work in the laundry and stuff. They're not lonely the 
way I am." 

Poor Christopher--he was looking irritated and angry the way he does when 
his legend is threatened. But men are suckers for sobbing girls. I had got 
to him. 

Slowly, he said, "I suppose I could let you walk around the house the way 
you are. No, that wouldn't do! Your feet would have to be chained." 

"I wouldn't mind a bit. That's so wonderful. Oh, thank you, Christopher!" 

"No, it wouldn't do." He waved the idea aside. "You wouldn't want to go 
back. You'd start this all over again. I'm sure of it. You'll just have to 
get used to being in here. I'll go easier on the chains." 

"A little sunlight--please? You can leash me and take me for a walk like a 
puppy dog." 

We both laughed over that one. He said that he would think of something for 
tomorrow. I could stop crying. 

The leash idea seemed to be entirely practical. With my hands tied behind my 
back and Christopher holding a leash to the collar around my neck, we could 
have the loveliest walk. No one was ever around. Nobody would see. I 
suspected this was what he'd do, but I was dead wrong. I got my walk all 
right, and my feet were free, but the walk was short, only as far as a clump 
of assorted trees on his own ground. It was a lovely, sunlit place with the 
light coming down in shafts through the foliage. 

"How's this?" 

"It's lovely. But how--" 

"I'll tie you to a tree for the day." 

It was not what I had wanted, but I wasn't about to be ungrateful. I said 
another "Oh, Christopher!" which didn't really commit me to anything, but it 
pleased my master. Breathlessly, I backed up against the tree he had chosen. 
Christopher untied my hands, and I discovered that I could cross them again 
behind the trunk. It wasn't until he had tied them back there that I 
realized I had missed a chance to run. 

"I'll clamp the knots with wire. Puss. No need to swathe you in rope." 

"Thank you, Christopher." 

He tied me enough--tummy, shoulders, ankles. I couldn't move much and told 
him so. 

"You're getting what you asked for, Puss." 

It was no use arguing. I tried to appear pleased and glad to be out in the 
air. I actually was. Christopher did his usual gloat and walked around the 
tree a lot to observe me from every angle. He's become a real connoisseur of 
a girl in bondage. Reluctantly, he went back to the house, with a promise to 
bring me a drink later. 

Being outdoors was wonderful, but for the rest I wasn't too sure. I couldn't 
move enough to matter, and the ropes soon started to hurt, so I didn't do 
much struggling. I just stood against my tree, very erect and very naked, 
and prayed there wouldn't be too many bugs. England has a lot of wasps and 
bees and things. It was a couple of hours before Diane Heselton showed up. 

Wow, what a shock! I could hear her coming, but I couldn't turn to look. 
Then, all of a sudden, there she was. She was standing right in front of me, 
her mouth half open, more startled than I was. My heart leapt. 

"Good morning, Diane. Boy, am I glad to see you!" 

"How on earth--" 

"Untie me--quick!" 

"But you're naked!" 

"That doesn't matter--untie me!" 

"Did Christopher do this? Is he insane?" 

"Yes, it was Christopher. Get me out of here, please!" 

"But you must be there for a reason." She looked bewildered. "Surely 
Christopher wouldn't--" 

"Yes, he would. He has. It's because of some damn-fool legend." 

"Oh, that!" Diane's laughter trilled among the trees. "Yes, I know about 
that. He's quite silly about it. Don't tell me that you are Lady Ilena!" 

"I sure am, and look where it's got me. Untie me--please!" 

"But you must have got into this by your own free will. I mean, there's 
nothing criminal--" 

"I'm just plain kidnapped. Call it what you like. He's kept me prisoner 
since the night we met. Oh, please get me out of this awful place!" 

"You look awfully pretty like that." 

"That's what Christopher says. Call the police." 

"I certainly won't! It would cause no end of scandal. But I have to admit 
I'm curious." 

I couldn't be sure of her. She was playing with me and taking her time. In 
fact, she was loving every moment of my helpless nudity. 

Doubtfully, she pondered, "I'm not a bit sure I should untie you. You and 
Christopher must have some sort of game going. I don't want to be a 
spoilsport." 

"It's my life. He's been keeping me chained in some rotten dungeon." 

"You mean that lovely chamber where that girl was supposed to have been 
imprisoned?" 

"Yes, you know it. How'd you like to be chained in there for the rest of 
your life?" 

"But you're not chained in there. You're out here--tied to a tree!" 

I realized Diane was not really being mean. She was simply obtuse and loyal 
to her class. I was an outsider and thus suspect. I struggled helplessly. 

"Look, I'm desperate," I pleaded. "I'll say something I suppose I shouldn't, 
but I don't have time for niceties. I know you want Christopher, and, well, 
I don't. You can have him. He's a nice guy, but off the beam. Let me loose 
and help me, and I'll be out of England on the first flight." 

We were suddenly two girls together, sharing a purpose. The wire and the 
knots defeated Diane, but she remembered the scissors in her purse. They 
were puny little feminine things, but she sawed and picked away until I was 
free. To me it seemed like a long time. I was scared Christopher would show 
up. I suppose it really only took fifteen minutes until the ropes were on 
the ground and my arms were around my savior. I was free! No more dungeons. 
No more chains. If Diane wanted Christopher, she could sure have him. Maybe 
she'd end up in that lovely stone chamber herself. 

We were well on our way when we remembered my nudity. Diane giggled a lot as 
she took off her blouse and skirt. She also gave me her shoes. On this hot 
summer day her bra, panties, and bare feet would pass with no more than a 
raised eyebrow. I was quite respectable, if you didn't look too close. 

"But I can't possibly take you home. What would Mother say-- arriving like 
this?" 

But Diane was equal to that too. It appeared Dick Travers kept a small 
country cottage. It was close by. It got used on weekends and for parties. 
Blushing, Diane admitted to having a key. 

I can't tell how good it felt to be free. I was getting a trembling reaction 
as I realized what I had escaped. Considering how silly I had been, I didn't 
deserve this, but I was getting it. I was genuinely thankful. 

"What's it like to be tied up that way?" Diane asked curiously. "Frightening 
and shockingly frustrating." 

She looked at me shrewdly. "I've heard there's an erotic kick to it." 

"There would be between two people who loved each other. I've never had a 
chance to try it that way. Right now I never want to be tied or chained 
again." 

She was still thoughtful. "I couldn't help noticing your bottom. Did 
Christopher do that to you?" 

"It's his idea of a mild punishment." 

"Punishment? What on earth for?" 

"Mostly sarcasms. He's drawn up a set of rules. I expect he'd show it to 
you." I had a sudden vision of this girl chained in the stone chamber as I 
had been. I couldn't help asking, "Diane, you're not taking Christopher 
seriously, are you?" 

"Nothing you've told me has changed my mind." 

"But suppose he locks you in there too, and puts chains on you, and makes 
you follow his rules?" 

Diane giggled. "He won't; my hair's the wrong color. Besides, I know how to 
handle Christopher. And don't forget my mother. She'd be on him like a ton 
of bricks." 

I shrugged it off. It was no longer my affair. Before slipping away to get 
some clothes and money, she showed me where things were kept. She also 
produced a package of that awful stuff the English drink and describe as 
coffee. She warned me not to open the door for anyone but her. 

I boiled the water and made the coffee. All the time I kept telling myself 
that I was free--that I was going home. I even found the coffee tolerable. I 
sat and sipped in a roseate glow of happiness. 

I was shocked back into terror by some solid thumping on the door and urgent 
pealings of the bell. I crept to the window and looked out. It was 
Christopher! 

I was really and truly frightened. I knew I couldn't cope with him. I took 
my coffee and sat in a comer where he couldn't see me through a window. 
Fervently, I prayed everything was locked. It was a spine-crinkling 
experience to know myself the prey separated from the hunter by only a 
flimsy kitchen door. I crouched and trembled while Christopher the predator 
went from window to window and door to door. He tried them all. I was 
petrified, like a fly in a spider's web. Even after the noise stopped, I 
stayed in my comer. I was positive if I peeked out the window, he'd be 
staring me in the face. 

Diane laughed it off. She said Christopher was bound to come there looking 
for me. He'd probably go to her home too if he dared broach the subject of a 
runaway girl to her mother. Anyway, she had brought everything the two of us 
would need, and she had also phoned Dick Travers. When he arrived, he 
listened to my story with a lawyer's attention, and we all drank more of the 
synthetic coffee. It was beautifully cozy, and my heart went pitter-patter 
every time I looked at Dick. His summation after my harrowing tale showed 
how strong the caste system still is in rural England. "You mustn't hold 
this against Christopher, you know." 

"Huh! He's lucky I'm not going to the police." 

Dick grinned knowingly. "They'd probably say it was your own fault. Are you 
sure it wasn't?" 

I wasn't sure at all, and he guessed it. Indignantly, I said, "He beat me. 
Diane's seen the marks." 

"But not brutally--not with his fists or a club?" 

"Well, no. It was some fool English thing he called 'six of the best.' " 
They absolutely roared with laughter. I watched them plying their 
handkerchiefs for several moments before stiffly enquiring, "Did I say 
something funny?" 

They explained, between chuckles, that to English ears it had indeed been 
hilarious. Seeing my hurt, they sobered and asked if I had ever read their 
Sunday newspaper, The News of the World. I had, and I began to glimpse their 
point of view. Jokingly, they assured me that if a girl longed to play the 
role of Ann Boleyn, she could certainly find a chap to play headsman and 
wield the axe. It would all be considered good English fun. 

Once again I shrugged it off. It no longer mattered. They could play their 
silly games, and I would be safe back in the U.S. It was a good feeling. It 
was decided that Dick would drive me to Heathrow. 

I was so happy. I was sure I was in love with Dick Travers, but there was 
nothing I could do about it except stay in England, and I was not about to 
do that. No way! Not with Christopher roaming around loose. 

As we drove along, Dick explained how he and Christopher had taken a shine 
to each other while working on the estate details. This was how he came to 
be so sympathetic. He was half apologetic for not going and punching 
Christopher's nose on my behalf. Seems as though Christopher had been 
talking about the legend even then and asking if there were no dark-haired 
damsels in the neighborhood. I've forgotten just where it was in his 
discourse that I noticed we were on the wrong road. 

"Well, how very silly," he said, pulling over to the side of the road. 
Almost before we had stopped, he said quickly, "May I have a look at your 
hands?" A moment later I was looking stupidly down at them myself. 

They were handcuffed. 

Dick Travers had been neat and quick; he had caught me by surprise. While I 
was still groping for adequate words, he thoughtfully clicked each cuff a 
little tighter to make them snug. 

In a very English manner, he said, "Frightfully sorry, old girl, but I owe 
it to Christopher." 

I wish I could have been heroic, but in that little car there wasn't room. 
When I tried to open the door, it wouldn't budge. 

"Please don't be angry with me," my companion pleaded with genuine 
compassion. 

"Take them off right now! Quick!" I held up my hands and had a good look at 
what he had fastened on my wrists. I had never seen handcuffs before. They 
reeked of police and thieves. My demand was urgent: "Get them off me--quick! 
They're horrible!" 

Dick was very patient. He went over the whole thing again. I gathered that 
there was a code--a holy bond. You didn't betray a friend or steal his girl. 
I fell back on a good old standby. "I'll scream" 

"If you think you must." 

I screamed. It was awful in that little car. I didn't do it again. "I expect 
you feel better. Shall we go now?" 

"Where?" As if I didn't know! 

"Wyngate House." 

"So you're a bastard too!" I was close to tears. "I thought you liked 
me--wanted to help me." 

Dick became the indulgent big brother, patting my arm and tilting my chin to 
kiss my sulky lips. My mind was computing my options like crazy, but I 
didn't have any options. Even without the handcuffs, I could be easily dealt 
with. I sat, fists clenched against steel bands, and fumed. Inside there was 
only terror. 

"You've worried too much. Nothing's forever. I'll have a word with 
Christopher and put him back on the rails. So will Diane." 

"Does she know you're doing this to me?" 

"No, but she and I will have a talk. What I'm really asking is for you to 
play along. Let Christopher work the thing out." 

"I refuse." 

"I know. That's why I got the handcuffs." 

"Where did you get the beastly things?" 

"You can buy them." 

"You got them for me--for what you're doing?" 

"Yes. When Diane phoned, I knew I had to." 

I buried my face in my chained hands and cried. After a strained silence, 
Dick patted me once more and started the motor. I couldn't do anything in 
that small space, so I just kept right on crying. I hope he hated every tear 
I shed. 

Wyngate House looked just the same, empty and waiting. It was now late 
afternoon. Dick Travers rang the bell a few times, but there was no answer. 

"It's just as well," he said thoughtfully. "I really don't want to get 
involved." 

"Dick, I beg of you--take me to Heathrow." 

He answered me with a tiny key with which he unlocked the cuff from my left 
wrist. In the solid stone portal there was a ring, a heavy iron thing, the 
use for which I could not fathom. A moment later I was firmly attached to 
it. 

Dick Travers kissed me and said, "Try not to hate me. Remember that you have 
two friends." 

He walked swiftly back to his car. I called after him, but he didn't return. 

 CHAPTER FOUR - THE TRIANGLE 

I was desolate--betrayed, shattered, frantic. I stood outside Christopher's 
front door like a parcel in the post waiting to be picked up. I looked at my 
handcuffed wrists and at the ring. In a frenzy of frustration, I beat my 
fist against his door and cried out my agony as though someone was 
listening. It was a cry in the wilderness, and it didn't help much. I would 
be there when Christopher came home, a delightful surprise. He would be 
please and relieved, and he would punish me terribly. 

After awhile I sat down. I had to hold an arm in the air, but it was better 
than standing. Against the massive bulk of the house I'd be scarcely 
noticeable. Sometimes I got up and examined the handcuff again, pulling and 
twisting, but I knew it was no good. I could never get free of the hateful 
thing. To be held captive by just a single wrist was too, too cruel. As I 
sat down for the fifth time, I was sure Wyngate House was quietly laughing 
at me. 

I sat and waited. 

By the time my master showed up, it was getting dark. I couldn't complain of 
the sincerity of my welcome. His face was radiant. After a long, breathless 
pause, our greetings sounded trite. 

"Good evening, Priscilla." 

"Hello, Christopher." 

He asked no questions, just gloated. I got up and shook myself like a 
ruffled hen. The handcuff dominated the scene. 

""Got a key to that thing, Puss?" 

"If I had, I wouldn't be standing here." 

"Of course. How silly!" 

"Dick Travers dropped it through your letter slot." Christopher opened the 
door. Immediately after he unlocked me from the ring I jerked the cuff from 
his hand and fled. I got quite a distance, screaming like mad, before he 
grasped the cuff again and nearly pulled my hand off. It hurt horribly. I 
was easily controlled with it on the way back. I didn't want a broken wrist. 
Christopher took me directly back to my stone prison. Safely inside, he 
unlocked my wrist. 

"Take your clothes off, Priscilla." 

It was too much. I fought again. I was completely free. If I could have 
found a weapon, I'd have hit Christopher over the head, regardless of 
whether he lived or died. I was fighting for my freedom and perhaps my life. 
I made lunge after screaming lunge for the door. Each time Christopher 
dragged me back, he contrived to strip away a bit of Diane's clothing. 
Finally, when I was nude and exhausted, he threw me on the couch. I lay 
there, panting. Nothing mattered. My conqueror snapped the chains back on my 
wrists and ankles, and left me along. I was back to square one again. He 
made a fine slam with my dungeon door and the clash of bolts. I was 
surprised at how many tears I still had. 

In the morning, I lay still, listless and without hope. When I walked to the 
bathroom, the clatter of my chains mocked me. I didn't have the spirit for a 
bath or my hair. I hoped I looked awful for him. If I could have thrown my 
breasts and pussy away, I'd have done so, just to spite this young idiot who 
had made me prisoner. When Christopher opened the door and brought in the 
tray, I was sitting disconsolately on the couch in the usual way. I was 
ravenous. 

I looked in disbelief at the cup off coffee and slice of bread without 
butter. 

"Is this all I get?" I asked." 

"That's all. You don't mind if I eat, do you?" 

Christopher brought himself just about everything. He proceeded to eat it 
with relish. 

"Why?" I asked lamely. 

"You have to be punished." 

"Yeah, I expected that. You're going to starve me?" 

"Prisoners about to suffer punishment don't get fed." 

I nibbled my bread and sipped my coffee. I could see there were no seconds. 

Morosely, I told him, "My bottom hasn't healed since last time." 

"It won't be on your bottom." 

My skin crawled. I didn't have to ask. I knew. 

"When?" I asked. 

"This morning." 

I finished my coffee and bread, then watched Christopher busy gorging 
himself. If my feet hadn't been chained, I'd have kicked the tray sky high. 
I wondered if I could get through to the "nice boy" side of him. 

"Christopher, I ask for mercy. Every prisoner has a right to escape, and I 
did have help." 

"Lady Ilena tried to escape often. She was always punished." 

"Why don't you punish Diane too?" 

"Because she isn't my possession." 

"But you would if you could?" 

"Of course, and she knows it." 

"Are you sure there's nothing between you two? I picked up vibes." 

"We're friends, same as with Dick Travers." 

"Diane would make a wonderful Ilena. She could shave her head and wear a 
black wig, or she could just dye her hair." Mischievously, I added, "Head, 
eyebrows, and the other place." 

"Blondes don't have much hair down there, not like you. Your pubic hair is 
gorgeous." 

"Please, Christopher, don't punish me--not something awful. Maybe put me on 
bread and water instead." 

"You'll be whipped." 

I cringed, feeling the bitter scalds. "That's pure cruelty," I said flatly. 
"I don't think Diane or Dick would admire you for it." 

"I've arranged for Diane to come and watch," he added hastily. "It was by 
her own request." 

I sat and stared, speechless with horror. Christopher meant every word. It 
was going to happen. 

"Why can't you show me a little mercy?" I finally asked. 

"It would be false to the role." 

"I bet the Lady Ilena didn't have giggling girls brought in to see her 
whipped." 

"We can't know that. And, anyway, Diane is not a giggling girl. She is 
sincerely interested in what you and I are doing. I had quite a talk on the 
phone with her this morning. She's really an intelligent young woman." 

I hoped Diane would marry him but good. They deserved each other. She'd 
snare him sooner or later. This interest in my punishment would be just a 
part of her ploy. 

"Marry her and let me go," I pleaded. "It solves everything." 

"You're just trying for freedom, Priscilla." 

"She'd let you whip her and chain her and lock her up. I'm sure she would 
return for Wyngate." 

"You're being rude." 

"Do I get punished for that too?" 

"Puss, you're thinking things can't get worse for you, but they can. They 
always can. There's always tomorrow." 

"Yes, and all the rest of my life. I know." 

Bleakly, we stared at each other. 

"You were a nice guy that day you picked me up and kidnapped me. You've been 
nice here and there since. We could have so much fun, but you're allowing 
the legend to turn you into a monster." Christopher picked up the tray and 
left me alone again. He didn't want to talk about it. Maybe I had scored a 
point. But he would still whip me--I was certain of that. 

I had plenty to think about. In a sudden desire for motion, I got to my feet 
and walked slowly around my prison--the bathroom, the window, and around the 
center pillar. The chain connecting my ankles swirled like a snake. I let my 
shackled hands fall limply, the chain between hanging in a loop over my 
pussy mound. I was getting over my first shock about Diane. With her 
present, Christopher surely couldn't go overboard in this punishment I must 
have. Or could he? Were they two of a kind? I shrugged. It was something I 
would find out for sure. 

I sort of savored this prelude to pain. It had an intriguing air of 
unreality. I decided not to fight when I was fastened. If I got Christopher 
all hot and panting, he would find it easier to lay on the whip across my 
back. If I was sweet and demure, it might touch his heart. In either case I 
couldn't escape, so I might as well make the best of it. 

When the time came, he entered the chamber and asked, "Well, are you ready?" 

I followed him like a lamb. I was certain it wouldn't be ordinary, and it 
wasn't. It was a triangle. 

"They used it in the old Imperial Army," he told me proudly. "Mostly out in 
India." 

I just couldn't resist asking, "Did Lady Ilena have one?" 

"Possibly. There are no records. Your feet will remain chained until I have 
secured your hands." 

"Of course." 

I lost my metal wristlets, but got some of leather in exchange. There is 
something compelling in watching oneself chained or bound. It's hard to 
believe it's really happening. I watched as the broad soft leather was 
strapped around my wrists. 

"Stand on the box, Priscilla." 

I stood on the box, wondering why he was calling me Priscilla instead of 
Ilena. But it didn't matter. Obedient to his command, I raised my arms and 
slipped my wristlets within the maw of a waiting hook. Removal of the box 
from beneath my feet left me gasping and stretched. Only my toes made 
contact. While Christopher unlocked the shackles from my ankles, I 
protested. 

"Christopher, I can't bear this! At least let me stand properly." 

He didn't answer. Instead, he grasped a freed foot and dragged it far enough 
to one side to strap it to one base of the infernal machine, then did the 
same for its twin on the other side. I now hung by my wrists, no contact 
with the floor at all, and my shielding thighs stretched obscenely apart. I 
could not look down to see, but knew my pussy was gaping widely. 

"This is cruel! Please, Christopher, let me down. You don't need me like 
this." I choked out the thought uppermost in my mind. "Does Dick Travers 
know you're doing this to me?" 

"No, only Diane." 

"But you mustn't let her see me like this. She would be embarrassed. It's 
obscene." 

"I'm seeing you, Priscilla." 

"Well, you shouldn't be. I shouldn't even be fixed this way. It's awful. I'm 
so stretched--" 

"To me, you look very beautiful." He made his usual leisurely tour of 
inspection. "If you're worrying about your pussy, you can stop. It looks the 
same as usual, just a bit more on view." 

"It's a lot more on view. Christopher, you're not going to whip me like 
this, are you?" 

"Yes." 

"But you don't need to. This is punishment enough." Christopher continued 
with his gloats. He had all of me on view so had a field day. "You've got it 
wrong," he said. "This is part of your punishment. You have to be taught not 
to run away." 

"Gosh, what girl wouldn't run away from this sort of thing if she got the 
chance? You're being terribly unkind." 

"It's for your own good." 

"Piss on my own good! I think you like hurting me. You're glad of an 
excuse." 

Christopher winced at the naughty word. He's absurd. Then I'll be damned if 
he didn't kiss me very gently and for far longer than he had ever done 
before. He repeated his thing about how beautiful I am, then patted my taut 
ass a couple of times and left me alone. " I twitched. It was the only 
movement I could make. I tried it again. It was really no more than a muscle 
spasm. I went berserk for a painful moment and got a creak or two from the 
triangle, but that was all. This was by far the worst that Christopher had 
done to me. Thought of yesterday's freedom was bitter gall. 

Diane sauntered in. 

We stared at each other assessingly. I knew she wouldn't let me loose, so I 
didn't ask, but there was a touch of pity in her eyes. She came and kissed 
me, then teased my nipples for brief seconds. Her voice was only faintly 
troubled. 

"This isn't my idea, Priscilla." 

"Was I just played with yesterday--to give Christopher an excuse to do this 
to me?" 

"Goodness no!" Diane looked distressed. "You have to believe me, Priscilla. 
When you and Dick left, I was sure you were on your way. If it hadn't been 
for Dick Travers's quaint ideas about loyalty and friendship, you'd be safe 
in the U.S. by now." 

I moaned at the thought of coming that close. Wanly, I asked, "Do you expect 
to get pleasure from watching me being whipped and hearing me scream?" 

Diane pinched my nipples hard in admonition and said, "That's self-pity and 
sarcasm, love. I'm here out of curiosity. You have to admit this whole 
thing's unique. My goodness, the way Christopher's got you tied!" Her hand 
slipped down and cupped my pussy. "Has the silly idiot shown any interest in 
this?" 

"No, not ever." 

"Something funny there. It's not that he doesn't like us, and he's certainly 
far from impotent. Well, anyway, you won't be having a baby." 

"I'm desperate, Diane. Can't you persuade him to marry you and let me go?" 

Diane giggled. "Well, not in time to stop what's going to happen. Honest, if 
I could, I would." Her gaze roved over my helplessness. "Will it hurt 
terribly? I've never been whipped." 

"You can't have any idea of the agony." 

"You must be all curled up inside--the suspense." 

"Of course I am. Diane, please let me loose. Let me go. You easily could." 

"Oh, darling!" She clasped me and kissed me. The human contact felt good. 
"You know I can't, and you know why. Please don't hate me." 

Christopher returned. He was carrying a whip. I looked at it bleakly. Diane 
looked at it within wide-eyed curiosity. My tummy held a hundred 
butterflies. 

"What have you girls been scheming?" 

I had nothing to lose, so I blandly lied, "Diane would like to take my 
place. She's curious." 

Big joke--they both laughed. 

"Got used to the triangle, eh?" 

"Being stripped like this is murder." 

"Should start to whip you then, eh? Sooner we start--" 

"I don't want anything to say about it." 

It was not a long lash. It did not wrap around me. It planted its full venom 
across my back. It was a new and explosive pain, but I clenched my teeth and 
closed my eyes. 

The whipping of Miss Priscilla Hendry had begun. 

It went on forever, but with Diane present it was a conversational whipping 
in which I got chances to stop screaming and pant my way back to mutter a 
word or two, aside from the pleading demands. 

"The darling's trying so hard, Christopher. You're whipping her so 
cleverly." Diane was breathless. "Really! I'm so grateful you asked me 
over." 

Sometimes I did not hear what was said--I was too absorbed with pain--but I 
remember once Diane came close and teased my nipples as I was whipped. In 
the middle of it Christopher chose to cut me up between my legs and plant a 
weal inside the softness of a thigh. It was a new and unexpected agony. I 
yelped and went berserk against my bonds. Diane stepped back in alarm. I 
moaned and moaned. In each was anger and terrible hurt. 

"Oh, Christopher, that--a girl's so sensitive in there." 

"One more inside her other thigh?" 

"Oh, of course!" 

I could do nothing that was not erotic for them. Every motion and sound as I 
was whipped must have been a delight. I was a gorgeous plaything in 
sufficient agony to make me interesting. I was a Barbie Doll endowed with 
nerve ends, all of them aflame. 

After centuries, Christopher announced a halt in my whipping. It was bad 
news. I had hoped it was the end, but whippings never end. They go on and 
on. 

"I'm off for a drink. You two can talk. But don't let her get to you with 
her pleas, Diane." 

I wondered if it was all prearranged. It didn't matter. I was still panting 
and whimpering when Diane voiced a naive puzzlement. 

"Darling, I'm sexually aroused," she purred, her fingers reaching 
tentatively for my nipple. "My pussy's wet. I'm hot and homy." 

"Seeing a girl whipped affects most people like that," I muttered. "It 
does!" 

"Why else would they sell those pictures and magazines in Soho?" 

"I had always thought of them as filthy and degenerate, but this isn't like 
that." She floundered for words. "This has a strange beauty. I'm not sure I 
can stand much more." 

"Oh, you'll stand it all right, Diane. It's me who may not stand it. I guess 
that I'm only halfway done." 

"Darling, before Christopher comes back I have to say this--" I cocked an 
eye. There was in Diane's voice something to ease my pain. Cynically, I 
retorted, "If you want sex, ask him." 

"Priscilla it's not that, although I wouldn't mind. And one day I will ask 
the idiot. This is crazy, but what I want most of all right now is to change 
places with you. I mean, I want to be strapped where you are and whipped." 

"Diane, you really must be excited. That's what it is, you know: unsatisfied 
sexual desire." 

"Is that all?" 

It was a question I could have asked myself. How would I know? My 
circumstances right then were hardly conducive to analyzing Diane's 
emotions. 

"I've felt these urges myself," I said simply. "This whole thing is 
intensely sexual." 

The poor girl looked disappointed, as though she had made a great discovery 
and I wasn't doing it justice. 

Defiantly, she repeated, "I'm positively on fire. I've never realized what 
lust was before." 

"Ask Christopher to whip you after he's had enough of whipping me." 

"I couldn't possibly. He'd think I was vulgar." 

"Who cares what he thinks! To Christopher, everything's vulgar. I bet that's 
the reason he doesn't fuck us: he thinks that's vulgar too." 

"Oooh, darling--that delicious word! Do you use it often? I'd never dare!" 

I was suddenly smitten by the obvious. Talk about psychological moments! 
This was it! 

"Diane, unfasten me. I'll strap you up in my place. You'll be waiting when 
Christopher gets back." I was breathless in suspense. 

Her eyes widened, her body tense and exuding a special radiance. "Darling, 
would you? And I'd have to be all bare! Oh, Priscilla, it's the most 
gorgeous idea." Her face suddenly fell. "But I can't let you loose; you'd 
escape." 

"So what?" 

"Oh, I can't! Darling, I can't possibly let you go. Neither of the boys 
would ever forgive me." 

"It would be the most merciful thing you've ever done." Diane made another 
transformation, brightening with inspiration. "Darling, I've had the most 
wonderful idea. I'll unstrap your feet and chain them together so that you 
can't run away. Then I'll free your hands so you can strap me up!" 

The little so-and-so! Chained feet would stymie me. Doubtfully, I complained 
to her. 

"You wouldn't want to be stretched and all naked the way I am?" 

"I would! I'm not a prude." Almost savagely, she wrenched her clothes away 
until she stood totally bare. "See! Am I nice? I know we English girls never 
seem as lovely as you, but will I do?" 

"Don't knock yourself--you're a beauty." 

I got a swift kiss and another shock. Diane unstrapped my feet, and I was 
once more able to teeter on my toes while she searched for chains. There was 
no shortage of the horrible things. She picked twin anklets joined by the 
shortest span of links. When she had locked them on me, I knew I wasn't 
leaving Wyngate House. Diane giggled. 

"I don't know where the key is, but I expect Christopher does." 

She stepped up on the box and lifted my hands off the hook. Diane's demand 
left me no time to savor my freedom. 

"Hurry, darling, before Christopher comes back--hurry!" 

She held out eager hands. It was all crazy, but I didn't stop to think. My 
chained feet made it hard to get up on the box, but Diane helped me, 
giggling all the way. In a couple of minutes I had her strapped exactly as I 
had been. She was panting and almost hysterical with excitement. I put the 
box away, then went and stood in front where the view was good. It was ah 
intensely female view. I was surprised to see her pussy wasn't gaping wide 
the way I had thought mine was. Girls are amazing creatures. Boy, was she 
ever exposed--wow! I blushed in retrospect. 

It wasn't easy for Diane. Her mind was on having her bare skin whipped. She 
had forgotten the stress of being strapped within the triangle and stretched 
in all directions. I knew what she was feeling so I comforted her. 

"I'll let you loose, Diane, if you want." 

"No! Oh, no, darling!" She was a real little heroine. "It's a lot worse that 
I thought, but I'll manage. Will I sort of adjust?" 

"When Christopher starts whipping you, you'll forget all about how you feel 
now." 

"Oh, darling!" Diane was breathless and starry-eyed. My mention of the whip 
had set her off again. She was in a real dither of heat and looked close to 
orgasm. "Oooh, thank you for doing this for me." 

"Do you want me to go or stay?" 

"Stay, of course. Sit on the box. I'm sure Christopher will let you watch." 

"Christopher will probably switch us back the way we were and punish me 
extra." I kicked my hobbled feet. "I can't even walk properly. You've made 
me a gift for Christopher. At least he'll be pleased about that." 

I went close and teased Diane's nipples the way she had teased mine. Face to 
face, I studied her expressions. She scarcely saw me, she was so far gone 
into sensations I was sure she'd be ashamed of tomorrow. Seeing her like 
this, I'm sure the British Isles would have excommunicated her or something 
drastic, but right then she could not have cared less. With the faintest of 
hopes, I went and searched for the key that could change my life. I was hard 
at it when Christopher returned. 

I stood and blushed like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 
Christopher stood too, frozen in disbelief. When he stared at me, I simply 
shrugged. I went and sat on the box, giving him a demonstration of how 
securely my feet were chained. He walked around to where Diane could see him 
and he could see all of her. I'll swear he flinched. 

"Oh, Christopher!" It was the best the poor girl could manage. "What the 
hell!" He looked from one to the other of us and back. "Would you girls care 
to tell me what you think you're doing?" 

"Diane wants you to whip her," I offered lamely. "She fixed my feet so I 
couldn't run away." 

"That's all?" It was sarcasm plus. 

I'll say this for Diane: She wanted to get me off the hook. Between panting 
and blushing, she babbled away enough for Christopher to get the picture. He 
digested it slowly. He tested my shackles to make sure he had me good. He 
kept looking at Diane's pussy, then away, and then back again. 

"You don't really expect me to whip you!" he demanded. "Of course I do. 
Christopher, you absolutely must." 

"You're making a vulgar spectacle of yourself. What would your mother 
think?" 

"She'd say it served me right. Don't be a spoilsport." 

"You have things twisted, Diane. Priscilla is being punished because she 
misbehaved. I have nothing to punish you for." 

"Come off it. Don't be so pious. You know you love to whip girls. It's your 
middle class background standing in the way." You might say Diane was 
fighting for her libido. She was coming on strong and rising steadily in my 
estimation. By all rights, her erotic impulse should have weakened against 
the pain of the triangle and Christopher's diffidence, but it had not. 

"You want something to punish me for, Christopher? How about this?" 

I sat and hugged myself. I was forgotten. Diane then opened her mouth and 
proceeded to earn herself what she most wanted. 

"You're a hypocrite, Christopher. You use the world 'vulgar' to get yourself 
out of things you can't handle. If you were half a man, you'd have fucked 
Priscilla and me a dozen times. But you're too frightened of our hot cunts! 
You've got wonderful flesh and blood girls, but you go chase a ghost in a 
legend. I bet, if you did have the Lady Ilena chained up in that room, you'd 
be scared to fuck her too. You're a fraud, Christopher! Isn't it time you 
grew up?" 

"Stop it!" 

Diane had scored heavily. The man who had us both in his power glared, his 
features flushed. 

"You don't know what you're saying," he said. 

"Yes, I do, you silly ass! Look, I'll make you an offer: Marry me. That will 
please Mother to no ed. In return, I'll dye my hair and let you chain me in 
your stupid room for half of every day. and you can whip me once a week. 
Wouldn't you say that's fair, Priscilla?" 

"It's very generous," I agreed. 

I had to be careful. I could neither fight nor run. Diane might want to be 
whipped, but I did not. I wanted them to settle it between themselves. I 
looked down at my fettered feet and could have wept in frustration. I got a 
sharp glance from Christopher. 

"Keep quiet, Priscilla. I'll deal with you--" 

"You can handle a helpless girl--big deal!" Diane wasn't yielding an inch. 
She really must have had a fire burning in her belly for it to have lasted 
that long. Quite soon she might be a very sorry girl. 

"I'm not going to whip you, Diane." 

"Coward!" 

"It's what you want, so I'll punish you by not doing it." 

"You'll never be a man, Christopher. I'm ashamed of you. I withdraw my 
offer. You can do without a woman. Buy yourself one of those inflatable 
imitations. The more expensive ones even have cunts. That way you wouldn't 
catch anything." 

"Stop it, Diane! You're being obscene." 

"I'd call this way of strapping a girl obscene. It was you who thought it 
up." 

"As a punishment." 

"Bollocks!" 

Diane was doing fine. She had already said nearly everything I had wanted to 
say. Christopher was furious. 

"You want to be punished," he said, "and I'll make sure you are--but my way, 
not yours." 

Poor Diane. If she hadn't been strapped so tightly, she'd have wilted. I 
suspected her glands were returning to normal. Her sudden query confirmed 
it. 

She shook her lovely blonde hair from her face and demanded, "What are you 
going to do to me?" 

Christopher did not answer. Instead, he unstrapped Diane's feet and shackled 
them together the same as mine. Then he freed her hands and said a 
peremptory, "Get out of here!" 

I guessed what was coming. I stood and held out my arms. The leather was 
warm from Diane's flesh as it was strapped tight on my wrists. In minutes I 
was back in the triangle and scared of what was about to happen. But there 
was nothing I could have done to prevent it. Christopher had both Diane and 
me helpless. Once a girl's feet are closely joined, there's not much she can 
do except claw and invite more punishment. It's humiliating, but we're 
simply not as strong as men. 

"Let's see, we were just halfway through with you Priscilla," our lord and 
master said pleasantly. "That right?" 

"If you say so." I twisted unhappily against the straps. "Couldn't you show 
a little mercy? I've had enough." 

"She's had more than enough," Diane said forcefully. "Forgive her." 

Christopher was no longer the smiling boy--the nice young man. I expect it 
was underneath someplace, but his command over two naked girls and the way 
he'd used the whip on me had been intoxicating. He was experiencing power 
and finding it good. 

"You both wish to be forgiven?" he enquired with deceptive suavity." 

"Yes, you can set us both free." Diane kicked a shackled foot in irritation. 
"I've had enough of this cruelty. I was foolish to have gotten involved." 

Poor dear. Her glands were indeed letting her down. Christopher's ironing of 
her ankles must have been disconcerting. It's one thing to ask for 
something, but quite different to have it forced on you. Christopher's voice 
continued reasonably. 

"But it's only a few minutes since you pleaded for the whip." 

"I was excited. It was silly of me. I've behaved foolishly in this whole 
affair. I should have let Priscilla escape. I will next time." 

"There won't be a next time." 

Diane picked up the sinister hint and petulantly demanded, "Take these 
things off my feet!" 

"You are going to watch Priscilla receive the second half of her whipping." 
Christopher's voice rolled sonorously. "You will watch in the full knowledge 
of getting the same yourself when she has had her last stroke. I want you to 
savor the anticipation. " His words became a sneer. "By then you'll be 
sexually aroused again." 

"Christopher! Don't be such a rotter. Anyway, I don't believe a word of it. 
Let us go. Please let us go!" 

For answer, Christopher found his whip and slashed it across my back. I 
screamed. I made the straps creak with my lunges. That was all. He lashed my 
nakedness again, with the same results. The second half of my whipping had 
begun. Diane sat on the box and watched in disbelief. Her shackled feet 
mocked us both. 

My screams grew weaker, but the blows across my bare skin did not. Through a 
haze of pain I saw concupiscence claim Diane once more. What she was forced 
to watch soon had her panting. She kept shifting on the box as though her 
pussy was on fire. I expect it was. Christopher's intoxication with the whip 
on female flesh almost had me unconscious before he decided I'd had enough. 
I was sort of hanging now--limp, head down, glistening with sweat. 

"Think you'll try and escape again. Puss?" 

"No! Oh, no!" I'd have agreed to anything. 

"Think you've learned a lesson?" 

"Oh, yes! Thank you for whipping me, Christopher!" 

Diane said not a word. She sat, striving to cope with inward tremors. 

"A master's work is never done," Christopher sighed in mock sadness. 

A minute later my feet were unstrapped and shackled together. Then Diane was 
raised from the box by the stern male hand. She seemed mesmerized. My 
whipped bottom planted itself, regardless of pain, where she had sat. Her 
warmth was a mere nothing compared to my own scorched skin. I actually 
needed to sit down, I was so weak. 

"You'll enjoy watching, Priscilla. It'll be a pleasant change." 

It was a familiar ritual. Diane went through it for the second time in a 
glassy-eyed daze. I could see how wet she was. I wondered if she could keep 
it up through what she was about to get. I almost forgot my whipped back 
under the compulsion of what I was privileged to watch. Stretched by the 
straps, Diane acquired an out of this world loveliness. Her glorious golden 
hair was carefully swathed and put across a bare shoulder to fall upon a 
breast. It was the first invitation to the thong. 

Diane did not scream as the leather bit her flesh. Instead, she convulsed in 
orgasm, making only the appropriate sounds. Christopher watched with 
neophyte curiosity. I hadn't done this for him. It was new. He stood, 
entranced, while poor Diane fought the straps in twists and lunges until she 
finally fell quiescent but gasping. He sauntered to the rear and struck at 
her bare skin again. 

Diane's second orgasm was instant. 

It seemed as cataclysmic as her first. As I watched her writhe and moan, I 
caught a glimpse of the pent-up forces of propriety in her rural life. The 
poor dear must have been a bundle of nerves and glands all screaming for 
release beneath her cool exterior. I wondered what her mother would say if 
she had seen her daughter then. 

It was an education for Christopher. He watched, breathless. I wanted to 
point out what he had been missing, but my whipped back robbed me of 
courage. I almost felt apologetic for not producing an orgasm for him. He'd 
be trying to figure that one out. I wondered if he realized what a jewel he 
had strapped there inside his triangle. Even an inept male would get results 
from Diane. 

Diane did not scream while she was whipped. It seemed to take all the lashes 
Christopher planted across her skin to absorb all her pent-up sexuality. She 
produced yelps and strange little wails when he lashed the inside of her 
thighs. But she did not scream once. All her agony was demonstrated in 
orgasms. Christopher did not always stop whipping her to watch. Sometimes he 
whipped her with a fiercer intensity, and she responded with an agony all 
her own. It was fierce and savage and female. I don-'t think Diane felt the 
whip except as ecstasy. I wondered if Christopher felt cheated. At the end 
of it she hung as limp as I had. 

I almost felt sorry for Christopher. He had wanted me, but he had not wanted 
Diane. Now he had us both. But surely he had the sense to let Diane go home. 
He was likely having a qualm or two about what Mrs. Heselton would say or do 
if she saw her daughter's back. I hoped the good lady did and would come 
looking for him. 

Having two female prisoners was almost hard work for this man who possessed 
us. Leaving Diane to hang within the embrace of the straps, Christopher 
picked me up and carried me to my personal prison. I was surprised by his 
strength, but too chastened by my punishment to utter a peep. I even put a 
bare arm over his shoulder. When he got there, he chained my wrists and 
ankles with the familiar shackles I had been prisoned in before. I suspect 
he was telling me something with them. But I just stood listlessly and 
allowed him to do what he liked. Boy, was I washed out with pain. When he 
went away, he even left the door open. I could not have cared less. 

It was not long before Diane arrived. She too was carried, her bare arm 
around Christopher's neck as intimate as she could make it. She was as 
exhausted as I was, and allowed herself to be similarly shackled. She did 
not say a word. When Christopher went away, he treated her to the loudest 
slam of the door and the most ostentatious crashing of bolts. I saw her 
wince. 

We stood and looked at each other's naked bodies, two chained girls in 
prison, terribly whipped and subdued. 

"Oh, Priscilla, I'm so terribly ashamed," Diane finally moaned. "Don't be. 
You never even screamed once." 

"I didn't mean that. I meant the other thing." 

I managed a laugh. "You discovered that you're a girl. That's all that was." 
I clattered across and took her hand. "Come and sit on the couch. If a girl 
has to be in prison, this is undoubtedly the best place of all. Let's enjoy 
each other. He'll have to send you home soon." 

"No, he doesn't. He'll keep me here." Diane pulled at her shackles in 
frustration. "I see what you mean about these things. Oh, darling, I've been 
such a fool." 

"But how can he keep you here? Your mother--" 

"He found out last night that Mother's gone on a visit to Minorca. She won't 
be back for three weeks. I bet he'll keep me prisoner the whole time." 

"You mean, you're hoping he does, right?" 

"That's what makes me ashamed." She managed a giggle. "I shouldn't be 
feeling this way, or having those shameful spasms over any of this--should 
I?" 

"Sure, you should. You're one of the lucky ones. All I want is to be free. 
Diane, I'm so glad it's you in here with me." 

"You don't think Christopher will be mean and separate us? I couldn't bare 
being in prison all alone." 

It happened naturally enough. I wanted to comfort her. I wanted the comfort 
of a warm body beside me. Our chains were long. I lifted my shackles over 
Diane's head and drew her to me, breasts hugging breasts. She clutched at me 
in the same urgent need. Our chains got in the way of everything, but they 
stopped nothing. Without even speaking, we were soon entwined as girls have 
entwined throughout the ages, feeding on each other with avid lips and 
hungry mouths. Our moans blended, and as we rolled we failed to notice our 
whipped backs. I discovered I was a pent-up volcano myself. Diane was 
inexhaustible. 

We went on and on in our age-old discovery. It was the first time for both 
of us. Without Christopher and his dungeon, I don't suppose it would have 
happened. At the end of several hours, it left us more exhausted than ever, 
but also very happy. We had rolled on our whipped backs and bottoms so much 
that we no longer cared. Diane had a gift for summing things up. 

"I would never have dreamed it would be like this!" 

I was tremendously happy to have her. I had expected solitary confinement. 
Now Diane would make my imprisonment bearable for at feast three weeks. I 
lay on the couch, lazily replete, watching my companion get up and do 
shuffling steps, making play with her wrist shackles to produce a lot of 
clink and clatter but not motion. It was the first time she had been 
chained. 

"What's it feel like?" 

"Darling, I simply don't know." Her cheeks were reddening. "It's having the 
same effect as watching you being whipped. I'm all aroused." She turned to 
me guiltily. "Should being chained do that?" 

"It's not the prime intention." I laughed at her. "Forget it. I'd tell you 
to come and lay with me again, but my mouth's just too damn tired. I'd think 
yours was too." 

"Well, sort of, but I would try--" 

"Diane, you wouldn't marry this asshole now, would you?" 

"Of course I would!" Diane's eyes were suddenly shining. "This has been so 
much fun, and if we were married, Christopher could whip me whenever he 
wanted and chain me in here." 

"What about me?" 

"I'd set you free the first day." 

"But I think he's figuring on keeping me like this all my life." 

"I'd set you free anyway. Besides, I'd want you at our wedding." Diane 
paused to consider. "I don't think you should have called him an asshole. 
It's not very nice." 

"What he's done to me isn't a bit nice." 

"But he hasn't done anything really naughty. I mean, not the thing--the 
really naughtiest thing. In that he's been a perfect gentlemen." 

I didn't bother to argue. Diane and England have their own ideas, and they 
can keep them! All I wanted was to be on the plane bound for the U.S. and 
feel the wheels start to turn down the runway. 

But that was just a dream. I watched dear Diane play with her fetters until 
she spoke again. 

"What do girls do with themselves in prison? I mean, what about you and me?" 

I managed a really bitter laugh. "If they're locked up by themselves, they 
go quietly insane. If they have company, like we do, they do what we've been 
doing, and they talk." 

"Is that all!" Diane flushed. "I don't mean what you and I did wasn't 
completely wonderful, but twenty-four hours a day--" 

"That's right. We can stretch it out a bit. We went at it hot and heavy. And 
we can always talk about the son of a bitch who's got us chained up like a 
couple of animals." 

"Oh, darling, Christopher's not like what you said. And we're not a bit like 
animals. I think we look sweet in chains." 

I sighed. I couldn't fight Diane's secretions. Bitterly, I said, "What about 
this other English gentleman? Won't Dick Travers miss you and be curious?" 

"Oh, I forgot. Dick will probably visit us." 

I sat up in alarm, suddenly aware of my nudity. If Dick Travers walked in, 
I'd be terribly glad but so covered in shame I would want to die. 

"How on earth can visit us?" I asked accusingly. 

"Well, darling, I'm not nearly as silly as you think I am." Diane wrinkled 
her nose at me. "When I found you naked and tied to that tree, I had to do a 
lot of reassessing about dear Christopher. I knew if he'd do that to you, he 
might do it to me. It was the loveliest feeling. You know, simply gorgeous 
suspense. I knew about the legend and the color of my hair, but with men you 
never really can be sure." 

"What's this got to do with Dick's visit?" 

"I'm coming to that. You're so impatient!" Diane's voice became dreamy with 
longing. "You see, I discovered I actually wanted to be kidnapped like you. 
I was anxious to get you out of the way so I could be next in line. I was 
making plans to dye my hair when everything went wrong. I mean, Dick 
returning you--" 

"Like an old shoe or a bad penny?" 

"I wasn't going to say that. I've become terribly fond of you, Priscilla." 

"I like you too." 

We did some kissing and made a lot of chain noises. I almost had to use 
force to get her back on track. She picked it up as though it didn't really 
matter. 

"When Christopher phoned and invited me over to watch you get whipped, I was 
in a real dither. I mean, there were so many more aspects to Christopher 
than I had thought. So I wrote Dick Travers a note telling him what was 
cooking, asking him to come and insist on seeing us both if I didn't get 
back home sometime tomorrow." She giggled archly. "I simply had to allow 
Christopher one night." 

"That means you can hope for rescue tomorrow evening." 

"Well, if you want to put it that way." 

"God, Diane, can you guess how much I envy you?" 

"But if I go, I'll take you too, darling." 

"Not against those two men you won't. You know how they stick together." 

"When I show Dick our whipped backs, he'll take us right out of here." 

"You want Dick Travers to see you naked?" 

Diane sort of halted in full-stride, blushing. "Well, Priscilla, you've had 
a good look at me, and so has Christopher. I don't suppose one more makes 
much difference." She brightened. "Besides, darling, one of them it almost 
certain to marry me. I'll exchange you Dick for Christopher." 

"If you can get me out of here, you can have both of them." 

"Aren't you a little bit in love with Dick?" 

"Maybe--if he'd come to America." 

"He won't do that, y'know. I think he's very happy with his life." Diane 
smiled encouragingly. "He makes quite a lot of money." 

"No one has enough money to make me stay in England." I held up my hands and 
shook my chain at her. "Look at us! This stuff belongs five hundred years 
ago. Today it's simply bizarre." 

"But it's not forever, darling." 

"Not for you. Oh, Diane, if only you could set me free!" 

"I will. I promise." She enveloped me in chain and warm skin. "I'll 
absolutely make Dick Travers get you out of Wyngate House." I added my chain 
to hers in a tangle of feminine love, but I could not believe in freedom. 

 CHAPTER FIVE - FETTERED FREEDOM 

Diane and I were happy together. I found myself viewing Dick Travers's 
impending intervention with concern. I had no hope he could or would 
persuade Christopher to release me. That was asking too much of fate and 
English mores. But I was almost certainly going to lose Diane. Her whipped 
back would win her freedom, and Christopher would have to let her go home in 
time for Mrs. Heselton's return anyway. But I said nothing about these 
fears. I knew I had to enjoy Diane while I could. Christopher brought us 
food but did not linger. Diane giggled and surmised he was ashamed of our 
backs. 

It happened in late afternoon. When Christopher came, he was alone. He 
ignored me but beckoned Diane. 

"I want to talk to you," he said, holding open the massive door for her. 

"I want Priscilla to hear what you have to say, Christopher." 

"I don't. Now come along." 

"Chained like this?" 

"Sure, why not?" 

Poor Diane. She was doing her best, but wasn't in much of a position to 
argue. But argue she did. "Christopher, I refuse to leave this prison unless 
Priscilla comes too. I don't want you keeping her locked up here alone." 

"You haven't a thing to say about it, and neither does she. Do you want me 
to drag you?" 

Diane looked from one of us to the other. She lifted fettered hands to view 
them with disgust. "All right, drag me," she challenged. "I'll be damned if 
I'll simply walk out." 

Christopher dragged her. It was frighteningly easy. It took only a brief 
tussle for him to get a grip on the links between her wrists. The rest was 
easy. When she fought and tripped on the chain between her legs, he 
continued to pull. The last I saw of Diane was a furious face, stretched 
arms, and her ironed feet trailing over the stone. The door slammed with its 
familiar sounds, and I was once again alone. 

I had expected to be alone, but it was horrible desolation just the same. 
The manner in which Diane had been mastered was a demonstration of the 
efficiency of our shackles. They had the deceptive appearance of being 
symbolic, but when it came to the crunch, anyone could handle us. I kicked 
at mine fretfully and sat sulkily on the couch. I was back to square one 
with a vengeance and a whipped back to boot. I had no expectation of ever 
seeing Diane again. 

Nobody came near me. Evening came, then night and morning, and I was still 
in solitary confinement. I clattered back and forth to the window. I bathed 
and fussed with my hair. I was scared. It's a terrible feeling being locked 
up like that. I had to suppose I was being punished or that Christopher was 
softening me up for something. About noon he showed up with food. 

We stared at each other like adversaries seeking a first advantage in 
speech. Keeping an eye on him, I started to eat. 

After a minute, he volunteered, "I sent Diane home." 

I had feared he might have just separated us and kept her locked up 
elsewhere. It was good news, but I just grunted at him. 

"She didn't want to go without you--made an awful fuss. Dick and I had to 
lift her into the car. We made her dress, of course." 

"Good for her!" 

"You're angry?" 

"I'm frightened. Christopher, I can't stand solitary confinement." He looked 
unhappy. "I've decided to have a talk with you, Puss." 

"You talk; I'll eat. I'm starving." 

"I mean, this sort of puts us back to square one--" 

"So I noticed." 

Christopher was finding it hard going. I didn't help. 

"I didn't plan for the way things have gone," he said hesitantly. "I planned 
for you and me. I hadn't the faintest idea about Dick and Diane intruding on 
our scene." 

"They don't seem to have done me any good. I'm still here, and I'm still 
naked and chained." 

"You're deliberately feeling sorry for yourself." 

"What girl wouldn't?" 

"Are you goading me to punish you again? I will, you know." 

"Sorry. Please continue." 

"With those two sort of hovering around it doesn't seem practical to follow 
my original plan. Lady Ilena and the legend are pretty well obliterated." 

"Wonderful! Marry Diane and let me go. The color of her hair is no longer an 
impediment. You'd both be very happy. Honest, Christopher, I'm not kidding." 

"Priscilla, I've decided to ask you to be my wife." 

Just like that! He had really slipped up on me. I looked at him, trying not 
to register emotion other than disbelief. 

"Well, aren't you going to say something?" 

"How would 'no' be?" 

"You're in a bitchy mood." 

"You have only to whip me to make me behave." 

"You're still mad about being punished?" 

"Christopher, you flogged me horribly, without mercy. How can you expect me 
to marry a man who'd whip me every day?" 

"At the start you offered to marry me. I know it was only an attempt to 
avoid imprisonment, but the imprisonment is still there." I was painfully 
conscious of the truth in what he said. If I sent Christopher away angry, my 
prospects weren't good. I was in one hell of a dilemma. 

To gain time, I said, "I don't see why you don't marry Diane. She's 
absolutely made to order. I'd always be a rebel." 

"I want you," Christopher stubbornly reaffirmed. "Like you Americans say, 
you've got under my skin. Shut up about Diane." 

"How on earth can we get married unless you set me free?" 

"I've thought of that. I can make arrangements while you still can't run 
away." 

"No trust at all?" 

"Should I trust you, Priscilla?" 

"No, I suppose not. Christopher, it's hopeless." 

"I'd willingly leave you as you are. You are very beautiful in this chamber. 
You were made for each other. But Diane and Dick have both agreed with you 
about you getting morbid and depressed. I wouldn't want that." 

"Where could you take me on our honeymoon?" 

Poor Christopher was flustered. "I hadn't even thought of it," he admitted, 
embarrassed. "Is it necessary to have one?" 

"Christopher!" I looked at my captor askance. "You'd never give me freedom, 
I can tell. You'd keep me chained some way around Wyngate House. You would, 
wouldn't you?" 

"Well, you'd run away--" 

"No, I wouldn't! If I made the vows, I'd try to keep them. I'd try to make a 
good life for us both. " I felt like punching his obtuse nose. "Damn it, 
we'd have all the makings here!" 

Stiffly, Christopher picked up the tray, his face betraying nothing. He 
slammed the door on me with the usual sound. I stood, naked in my chains, 
and looked at the closed portal for a long time. Now I had something to 
think about. Boy, did I ever! 

Christopher left me chained alone in my prison for twenty-four hours. He 
never came near me. I had to suppose that I was now down to one meal a day 
and a brief discussion which would send him away mad. Sitting and playing 
with my links, like a nun with her rosary, I analyzed my chances if I did 
indeed agree to marry him. There had to be a minister or a justice of the 
peace. I could appeal to him for help. But I was sure Christopher would have 
that base covered. My other chance would be to make a quick dash somewhere 
in the proceedings. But I'd probably be married in a locked room, or my feet 
would be chained, or something like that. It was so bizarre. 

Christopher had to win. Sooner or later, locked and chained in this chamber, 
I would agree to anything. But I decided that I would fight for whatever 
freedom I could chisel out of him. There was also Dick and Diane. Dick might 
be Christopher's friend, but surely there were limits to what friendship 
could stomach. I wondered how Diane would fight for me. She was my best 
hope. When, around midday, I heard the door being opened I was sitting 
tensely on the bed armed with resolution. 

It was not Christopher. 

But it might as well have been. It was another smiling young man who 
informed me gravely that he was the Reverend Eric Martindale, and that he 
would perform my wedding ceremony! He then came up with the most magnificent 
blush I had ever seen. I blushed too. Good god, what a situation! 

"Please don't be embarrassed, Miss Hendry. Christopher and I are old 
friends." 

Another old friend--that meant I was sunk. 

"Christopher has explained to me your unusual inclinations." 

The son of a bitch! He had me foxed. I held up my chains indignantly and 
demanded, "You mean these!" I kicked my fettered feet for the reverend to 
see the chain swirl. "And this!" 

"Well, yes, I know it is unusual." 

"Look, Reverend Martindale, I've been kidnapped, and I'm being held here 
against my will." I stared him in the eye fiercely. "You have a duty to get 
me freed or to go to the police and have them release me." 

"Ah!" 

It was the most noncommittal sound a man could make. I stood up and turned 
to give him a full view of my whipped back. My breasts were heaving, my 
voice vehement. 

"Christopher did that to me as a punishment for trying to escape. Please, 
Reverend Martindale, you must help me." 

"I have heard of such strange pleasures," he conceded with faint 
disapproval. "I cannot say that I approve, but to each his own." 

"But I'm a prisoner--a real prisoner. Help me!" 

"Quite so." 

That was the English way of saying they're embarrassed or don't want to 
answer. I put my heart into another plea. 

"Get me out of here--please!" 

"Er, quite so." He regarded me owlishly. "But I understand you have 
consented to be Christopher's wife, eh?" 

"Well, yes." 

"That's wonderful. I'm so pleased." The Reverend Martindale now had 
something solid he could cope with. "I'll just overlook these little 
idiosyncrasies of yours. Quite innocent, I'm sure. You seem to be a very 
nice girl." 

My idiosyncrasies! I wanted to blast him and set him right, but I knew it 
was best to be casual. 

"I'd be so grateful," I cooed with my best smile, "if you'd dissuade 
Christopher from having me constrained in any way through the period of the 
ceremony." 

"Well-" 

"I mean, I don't want to be married in handcuffs or chained the way I am 
right now." 

"Quite so." 

"Well, will you talk him out of it?" 

"I will do my best, Miss Hendry." The Reverend Martindale worked his Adam's 
apple up and down a few times, then bleated like a baffled sheep. "My reason 
for this visit was that, well, Christopher thought it best I should become 
used to your situation. I do agree, of course." 

"Quite so." 

He looked at me, startled like a man shot with his own gun. At the door he 
paused and looked back at my chained nudity. 

"Well, really!" he ejaculated, as if offended, then fled from the chamber 
and locked it behind him. 

I sat back down on the couch with my chains. 

Christopher didn't hurry. He let me sit and stew. When he did come, he 
looked in at me sheepishly. 

"I hope you didn't mind the visit," he ventured. 

"Oh, why should I!" I retorted bitterly. "I'm only naked and chained and 
held captive." 

"Martindale's not a bad chap. I'm sure he understood." 

"He understood what you wanted him to understand." 

We stared at each other. Then, for some silly reason, we laughed together in 
a genuine rapport. The Martindale incident was just too absurd. 

"Christopher, you're marrying me, but do you really love me?" I could see 
that he thought the question to be vulgar. I suspect he associated marriage 
with instant copulation. 

"You shouldn't ask such a question," he admonished as though I'd spoken of 
something nasty in the toilet. "I'm very fond of you, but I don't think you 
like me at all." 

"But I do like you! If only you'd set me free and stop punishing me for 
every little thing--" I had said the wrong thing. I'd put Christopher back 
on track. Hastily, I tried to change the subject. 

"Where's the church we're getting married in?" 

"It won't be in a church, Priscilla." 

"I will be wearing clothes or--" But he would not be diverted. He went 
straight to the nub. "You tried to persuade Martindale to help you escape." 
He eyed me sternly. 

"Oh, shit!" My exclamation was heartfelt.' "You must have known I would 
try." 

"I'd hoped you might not. You embarrassed him dreadfully." 

"Oh, all right! You've got your excuses. How many strokes?" 

"I don't want my wife marked any worse than you already are. Go over to the 
column." 

"And if I refuse?" 

"I'll drag you." 

I went to the column. I stood dejectedly while I was collared and chained. 
It was the six-inch chain to compel me to stand. Abjectly, I said, "I 
apologize. I'm sorry for what I did. Please don't leave me like this too 
long." 

"You'd prefer to be whipped?" 

"No, I wouldn't. Thank you." 

After this ridiculous exchange Christopher left me to stand. I had to wonder 
if he was in his right mind. Marrying me and treating me like this. Standing 
chained against the pillar isn't all that bad for an hour, but after that 
it's awful! I lifted chained hands to finger the metal band around my neck 
and its beastly short chain. The situation was hopeless--standing there, 
unable to run and having to do what I was told. Hell, why not! It was no 
crazier than any of the rest. 

Christopher released me when it started to get dark. I was petrified he'd 
leave me standing all night. I could kick myself at how abject and anxious 
to please I was when the damn collar fell away from my neck. I said the most 
heartfelt thank you and positively wolfed the food he brought. It was more 
than thirty hours since he had last fed me. 

"We're getting married tomorrow, Priscilla." 

I continued to chomp and, with my mouth full, said, "Isn't that lovely?" 

"Diane has selected you a suitable dress and stuff." Christopher coughed and 
looked awkward. "Simply in deference to the Reverend Martindale." 

"You mean, you'll take them away from me after he's gone?" 

"You're not wearing anything now, Priscilla. Don't be silly." 

I had stood too long against the pillar to argue, so I asked the big 
question. "You're not going to have me chained for my wedding, are you, 
Christopher?" 

"Martindale brought that up. I had intended to have you simply handcuffed, 
but he made such a point of it that you'll be free. However, the door the 
room will be locked. Please don't do anything we'll all regret. After all, 
it is our wedding." 

How crazy can I get! 

I felt better after the food. Alone again, wrists and ankles still well 
chained, I sat on the couch and contemplated my diminishing prospects. One 
by one, the doors to escape were being closed. If I made a scene at the 
ceremony, I'd be terribly punished afterwards, but I decided I'd do it 
anyway. I'd break one of them into defending me, and I could always refuse 
to make the proper responses. If only Christopher would have offered me 
freedom--but he had not. He was going to keep me prisoner even when I was 
his wife. 

I cried myself to sleep. 

* * * 

Diane was a breath of sanity. Christopher had allowed her to come up and 
open the door herself. She left it wide. I felt better. When, giggling, she 
unlocked my shackles, I felt better still. We adjourned to the nice bedroom 
and honest-to-goodness clothes. But when I was dressed, I felt odd. I had 
been naked too long. We giggled about that, and then Diane slipped me what 
really mattered. 

"Darling, when we're all gathered in the locked room, I'm going to pretend I 
have to go to the bathroom. When I have the door unlocked, you make a quick 
dash, and we'll both pop out and lock the boys inside. By the time they get 
out we'll be far away." 

My heart flooded with gratitude. No man had come to my rescue but a girl 
had. It also thumped painfully in a slender hope. It was slendered indeed, 
but it was all I had. I repeatedly hugged the girl who had been my fellow 
prisoner. We got flushed and aroused. Then I went with Diane downstairs to 
get married to a man who was probably insane. 

The men were impeccably dressed: white carnation, the whole bit. The 
Reverend Martindale gave me his warmest smile while scanning my person for 
restraints. He was obviously relieved not to find any. I caught his eye and 
said an honest thank you. 

I could tell Dick Travers was not happy. His lousy code had got him into a 
spot he didn't like. Briefly alone with him, I whispered, "Damn it, man, 
rescue me. Take me away. I don't want to marry Christopher." 

But Martindale was anxious to get the affair over with. Oozing goodwill, he 
commanded, "Now is the moment, everybody. Let us take our places." 

We allowed ourselves to be marshalled and positioned. He cleared his throat 
and got on with it. "Dearly, beloved, we are gathered here today--" Then 
Diane tossed her bomb. "I'm terribly sorry--" She blushed under disapproving 
male regard. "I'm afraid I have to go--oh dear!" In a burst of urgency, she 
demanded, "Christopher, the key--quick!" 

Christopher handed over the key. It was a tribute to Diane's superb 
performance. She snatched it and ran for the door. Immediately after she 
hand the key changed to the other side I leaped after her into freedom. 
Diane turned the lock and we ran to her car. 

* * * 

Pear Tree Cottage was exactly right. It actually had a pear tree in the 
garden and wasn't far from the sea. It was a recent purchase of Mrs. 
Heselton, so no one knew about it except Diane. It even had a garage. With 
her little car inside, the whole place was anonymous. We giggled on our way 
in the car and didn't stop when we got inside. We were two tremendously 
happy girls. And I was free! When Diane tore at her clothes, I did the same. 
We didn't have to speak. It was more than a reaction from tension; it was 
the instinct of girls together. We dived into each other's loins as into a 
perfumed sea. 

Hours later, when I awoke, I had lost my left arm, and Diane was by the bed 
pouring tea. In England tea comes on all occasions. It is a stimulant in joy 
and in adversity. I think it must be the water. Tea in England is quite 
different from tea anywhere else. I looked down my left arm and discovered 
its wrist was handcuffed to the rail of the bed. Diane giggled. 

"They're the pair Dick bought. I stole them this morning. I thought it best, 
darling. I hope you don't mind." 

I ought to have been good at adjusting by then, but this one had me baffled. 
I didn't say anything. I just took the teacup Diane had stirred for me and 
blandly sipped. I felt wonderful. 

Diane giggled. "I also stole your plane ticket. You don't have to go back to 
the U.S. for nine days. I want you to stay here with me." 

I wiggled the handcuff. "I'll stay. You don't need this. I wouldn't leave 
you now on a bet." 

Diane cocked an eyebrow. "I'll love you to bits, darling, but I don't want 
you tempted. If I keep you handcuffed, I've got you safe." 

I'd latched onto vibes. "There's something else too, isn't there?" I asked 
slyly. 

"Well, yes." Diane was blushing. "You know how what Christopher did to you 
affected me. It started me off on something I don't want to stop. I would 
adore having you as my captive girl." 

"I don't mind, Diane, if it makes you happy." 

I really didn't mind. I was besotted by this entrancing creature and 
terribly grateful to her. Compared to the ways in which I had been kept 
prisoner, a pair of handcuffs seemed a mere nothing. I could look on them as 
a symbol. 

"Do you want breakfast, or shall we make love again?" 

"Let's make love." 

We were outrageous. The whole thing was impossibly gorgeous. We fed on each 
other like hungry she-wolves. Somewhere in the scramble my wrist got 
detached from the rail and joined to my to her hand. I scarcely noticed. 
Boy, did we have ourselves a time! When I awoke again, I could smell 
breakfast. 

I discovered how handcuffed wrists don't stop a girl from drying dishes. I 
found out also how they stopped me from getting dressed. Not that I much 
wanted to get dressed. When Diane forbid the idea and announced her 
intention of remaining nude, I was quite happy. The U.S. was off on the 
horizon, but not quite over the horizon. I was breathlessly content. 

Diane and I laughed a lot over the three men we had locked in. They would 
get out of the window, of course, but not before we were well out of sight. 
Then they would look for us at Mrs. Heselton's house. After that they had 
nowhere to go. Diane summed it up. "They can stew for nine days. After 
you're safely away to the States, I'm going back and marry Wyngate House 
with its marvelous prison chamber." 

I looked at her with real concern. "You mustn't. Christopher's nuts. I mean, 
he's really around the bend." 

"I can handle Christopher. Mother will be so pleased." 

"He'll be terribly cruel to you." 

"I'll enjoy a little cruelty, darling. Don't forget Mother. She's my 
insurance policy. She won't let her little girl out of her sight for too 
long." 

"But the way he whipped us both--the way we were marked!" 

"Well, yes, but you saw what it did for me." Diane grimaced. "I suppose I 
ought to feel ashamed but I don't." 

"But marriage! Good gosh, Diane, what about love?" 

"There's no such thing, pet. It's just in the glands. You and I are as close 
to love as any two people are likely to get." She giggled again. "I don't 
pretend to marry him for anything else than Wyngate House and to get my 
bottom caned." 

Diane had changed delightfully. I had been good for her. She didn't seem a 
bit English any more. I didn't agree with her about love, but Christopher 
could get any girl feeling that way, so I didn't argue with her. I thought 
wistfully about Dick Travers, but he had never done me any good either. Men 
cased to matter in my mind. 

Diane and I had two ecstatic days together. When weren't making love or 
eating, we went for rides in the country. This meant that I had to wear 
clothes, which meant the handcuffs had to come off. Always before clipping 
them back on my ready wrists, Diane would ask, "Sure you don't mind?" I 
never minded. I wore the handcuffs night and day. But then it happened. 

There came a knock on the door. 

It wasn't like other knocks; it had authority. I stood on the landing above 
and peeked out, my ears alert. It was a policeman, a real old-fashioned 
English country bobby. He was frightfully polite. 

"Miss Heselton?" 

"Yes?" 

"We have been advised that you are holding a young lady prisoner here." 

"How absurd!" 

"I have a search warrant here. Perhaps--if you don't mind?" He stepped into 
the hall. 

I was in a panic. I was handcuffed and didn't have the key. To make things 
worse, my hands were behind my back. We had done it that way for a change. 
But there was only one way a policeman would view my condition. Frantically, 
I tried to think of a hiding place, but a cottage doesn't offer much. I 
plunged into bed and wriggled the covers up under my chin. I feigned sleep. 

"Ah!" It was a jubilant sound. They had done the rest of the cottage and how 
now come to me. The constable was bluff and hearty in his blue. "Perhaps if 
you could wake the young lady?" I pretended to come awake and view him with 
shocked surprise. "You are Miss Hendry?" 

"Why, yes--" 

"A friend--a guest?" 

"I'm a friend of Diane's. I'm visiting for a few days. What on earth--" 

"Quite so, miss. Would you be kind enough to show me your hands?" 

"I've washed them, if that's what you mean." 

"No, miss--just your hands, please." 

What a jackpot! I looked pleadingly at Diane. She was as scared as I was. 
Desperately, I retorted, "I don't have any clothes on. Would you be decent 
enough to leave me along with Miss Heselton for a couple of minutes?" 

"No, miss. You don't have to get out of bed to show your hands." It was no 
use. I knew it was no use. Disgustedly, I let him have it but good. I 
slithered out from under the covers and turned to give him a good view. I 
wiggled my captive fingers. "There, does that make you happy!" 

"No, miss, it does not. You appear to be a prisoner. It confirms our 
report." 

"For Pete's sake, man, do I look like a prisoner!" I turned back and gave 
him a full frontal view. "Diane and I toss a coin every day to see who wears 
these. It's a game we play." 

"I cannot believe that, miss. Not with your hands behind your back." 

Diane and I exchange distraught looks. "It's no use, Puss. He won't believe 
a word of it," she said miserably. "That son of a bitch Christopher--wait 
till I get near him!" 

"Perhaps if you'll make yourself decent, miss? I'll have to ask both you 
ladies to accompany me to the station and make a statement." 

Diane unlocked me. The constable looked the other way while I dressed. He 
then produced handcuffs of his own, horrible looking English things, which 
he cuffed onto my right wrist and Diane's left. We were marshalled to his 
car, a pair of felons facing penal servitude. 

Holy shit! 

The inspector was somewhat more broadminded, but he made us make a statement 
which we both signed. We accused Christopher of malicious intent. We were 
then consigned to a cell. 

I've never been in American prison or jail, but I had always supposed they 
were all bars, like on TV. But the horrible little box Diane and I were 
locked inside had no bars at all, just walls and a solid door. The door had 
a small square opening up top where they could look in and check on us. We 
couldn't look out. The window of the cell was way up, heavily barred, and 
the glass dirty enough to be opaque. We stood and glared at each other in 
desolation. It was the most awful feeling. Claustrophobic as hell. 

"The beastly rotten cad! If Mother hears about this--" 

"How can she help but hear about it?" 

We collapsed on the narrow cot and wept on each other's shoulders. They had 
given us back our hands, so we could hug too. We were still crying when the 
little square opened and someone peeped in. Sure enough, a few minutes later 
a constable appeared with a tray. On it were two cups of steaming tea and 
two small scones. We sniffed and dried our cheeks and said a pale thank you. 

"Cheer up, ladies. They won't have you for awhile yet." He was chuckling as 
he locked us up again. 

It was several hours before we were again in the inspector's office. 
Christopher was there with his best shy smile. Officialdom was crisp. "On 
the advice of our informant here, Mr. Wyngate, we are prepared to lay no 
charges." He glared up with an eye that spelled twenty years hard labor. "I 
can't say I approve of what I have been told, but it seems a personal and 
private matter in which there has been a misunderstanding. You are free to 
go." 

What a relief! I don't ever want to be arrested again. I was limp, and Diane 
was furious. 

"Thanks for nothing, Christopher! Goodbye!" 

"But you're both coming back to Wyngate with me." 

"Please find some dark smelly place and drop dead." 

"Aren't you curious how I found you?" 

"I figured it out myself. Mother used Dick Travers's firm for the title 
transfer. I'm surprised it took him this long to remember." 

"We thought it kind to allow you a couple of days to yourselves. You 
know--get it out of your systems." 

"Get what out of our systems?" 

"Oh, come, do I have to spell it out? Oh, by the way, did you know how easy 
it is to get into your cottage?" 

Diane and I freeze in silence. We awaited the bomb. 

"Some extremely valuable Wyngate heirlooms are secreted where you can't find 
them in that cottage. Do you want to be charged with their theft?" 

"That inspector in there would laugh you out of his office." 

"I've arranged for an anonymous stranger to call the police and tell them 
where they'll find the loot. There are small bags of heroin and cocaine 
hidden too. I think that might interest them as well." We got into 
Christopher's car. I longed to knock the smirk off the bastard's face, but I 
was trembling. I pointed out the obvious. "If you have us put in prison for 
years, you'll never get us. You've lost us both." 

"I'm betting you won't want .to go to prison." 

We drove in silence, computing our options. Halfway back to Wyngate, I said 
flatly, "No! Damn you! Have me arrested and be done with it. It's better to 
go to a real prison than to live my life chained and whipped by you." 

"Christopher, why don't you marry me and put an end to this whole stupid 
business? Let Priscilla go!" Diane pleaded wearily. 

Christopher's voice was quiet and assured. "You will both surrender 
yourselves to me when we get home--no struggles, no fuss. You'll accept 
imprisonment." He turned to me. "It's Diane's house the loot will be found 
in. She'll get double your sentence. Think what it'll do to her mother." 

I was still fighting angry. "Think what you'll do to us," I retorted. 
"You'll whip us terribly." 

"Of course. You deserve it." 

"And probably other horrible things." 

"There'll be other punishments, yes." 

"Keep your rotten punishments. I'd rather go to prison. You may as well let 
me out now. Stop the car!" I was panting and trembling at the same time. 

Christopher did not stop. My anger cooled and was replaced by fear. Wanly, I 
asked, "Diane, what do you think?" 

"Darling, he's got us. We don't have a choice." 

I remembered her mother. Christopher could not keep her the way he could 
keep me. I remembered also that Diane would enjoy some of the punishments 
Christopher would inflict. Into my morass of indecision he dropped another 
bomb. 

"I'll only keep you both for a week. You can go home to the U.S. on the 
flight you've got booked, Priscilla." 

"I can't trust you, Christopher. You would break your word." 

"No, he won't, darling," Diane said quietly. "Christopher, if you renege on 
this promise--if you hold Puss a single day after you let me loose, I'll go 
straight to the police and tell them the whole story. You're a kidnapper." 

Christopher laughed and nudged me jovially. "That suit you, sweetheart." 

"Don't call me sweetheart--don't ever call me that! Nothing about this whole 
thing suits me. I wouldn't even trust you to let Diane go in time to greet 
her mother." 

"If you'd ever met her mother, you'd be quite sure I would." Christopher 
laughed again. "Right, Diane?" 

"He is right, darling. Mother is not someone to cross." 

"Okay, Diane, make him promise not to whip us." I turned to our would-be 
captor. "You're unbalanced over that damn whip. You ought to watch it. You 
could have a dead girl on your hands one of these days." 

"Nonsense!" 

"But, Christopher darling, couldn't you punish us some other way?" Diane 
wheedled in her sweetest tone. "You really did go a bit overboard with that 
triangle thing. Our pussies are still stretched." 

"Very well, no triangle for either of you. For the rest--no deal." 

"Thank you, Christopher." 

"You're welcome, Diane." 

I didn't say a word. 

 CHAPTER SIX - FOREVER PUNISHED 

It was like a recurring nightmare. I wandered through it sulkily, 
resentfully, and not at all sure Christopher wasn't running a bluff about 
his family jewels and whatever. But I had become fond of Diane, so I 
followed her back into captivity. I knew that for her there was a thrill, 
but I wasn't in her class in the matter of erotic arousal. I was just plain 
angry--not only with Christopher, but also with myself. 

We were taken to the familiar bedroom and told to take off all our clothes. 
There was something obscene about us girls baring ourselves while 
Christopher watched, but we had gotten used to nudity. We stripped, then 
allowed our ankles to be shackled with the long chain that swirled as we 
walked. We were now back to square one with a vengeance. Briskly, our captor 
cuffed one of my wrists to the bed, then led Diane from the room. 

Being alone didn't help. I tugged at the cuff and kicked at my chain. I sat 
on the bed. I had been neatly disposed of. But I did not have more than half 
an hour in which to ponder recriminations and regrets. When Christopher 
returned, he wasted few words and less time. 

"Stand up, Puss." 

I stood up. My hands were joined and raised above my head. 

Next I was blindfolded. "You're not going to be hurt, Puss." His voice was 
almost kind. "You're blindfolded because I've got a surprise." 

Next I lost my chains. I wondered why he had bothered putting them on. He 
then raised my left foot and slipped it into something, then did the same 
with my right. I realized that I was getting some sort of panties, but these 
had weight. They were metal. He tugged and tugged until they were as high as 
they could go--harsh cold bands around the tops of my thighs and within my 
crotch. When the metal belt went around my waist, I began to guess. 
Christopher tugged and heaved. It seemed that everything had to be skin 
tight. Then the belt inexorably tightened until I shifted in unease and was 
on the verge of a yelp. Then came the click of a padlock. 

My ankles got their chain back. My arms were lowered. But the handcuffs 
stayed on my wrists. The blindfold was whisked from my eyes and Christopher 
triumphantly said, "There!" I looked down at myself in wonder. 

It was a chastity belt. 

I got two reactions: The whole thing was too damn tight, and it was also a 
thing of beauty. The female in me was thrilled. It was steel bands and 
silver mesh. I suppose the mesh was steel too. It hugged my loins as though 
painted on. It covered my pubic hair and followed my groin almost to my hip. 
A silver shield molded itself over my Venus mound. My pussy was in there 
somewhere, but a search with my cuffed hands failed to touch it. I looked my 
grinning captor in the eye and ejaculated, "You dirty rotten son of a 
bitch!" 

"I thought you'd like it, Puss. Better than being chained to opposite 
walls." 

I walked carefully around the room. The carpet deadened the sound of my 
linkage. At first it was a strange, impossible feeling until my flesh worked 
itself into its new bondage. After that it was simply as though a stem, 
forbidding hand clutched my loins. The mesh was a part of me. The metal band 
around my waist caused my hips to sway outrageously. Christopher capped it 
with his usual. "You're very beautiful, Priscilla." 

"The creation is beautiful, I admit. Must have cost you a fortune." 

"It did, and it's worth every penny." 

"Take it off." 

"You know I won't." 

I used my hands again. I was obliged to explore one cheek at a time, but 
they told me my bottom was completely bare. It could be caned or sat on as 
required. A quick feel and a blush told me I could also use the bathroom 
without impediment. Even when I bent way down, the metal shield followed my 
pussy back between my legs. As long as I wore this belt, my pussy was not my 
own. Christopher brightly said, "I'm so glad you like it. Come and see 
Diane's." 

It was not until Diane and I were alone with our silver-sheathed loins that 
full realization struck. The poor dear looked at me, absolutely bereft. 
"But, darling, we can't do anything!" 

"That's the idea. Nothing to play with but our tits." 

"That'll drive us crazy!" 

"That's the idea too. Come to the couch and we'll see just how impossible 
these belts are." 

They were impossible. They were impregnable. Our pussies nestled beneath a 
shield of steel. They were not ours to play with any more. Diane and I 
clutched each other and wept in frustration. At that moment we were both 
sure the belts were worse than being whipped. 

"He won't take them off. He told me so--not ever!" Diane wailed. "It's not 
fair, not on top of all the other things he's going to do to us." 

"Like what?" 

"We get whipped for sure." I felt her nipples harden against my own. "I 
don't know what else. He wouldn't tell me," she sniffed. "If I ever get to 
marry him, I'll have Mother make his life so miserable." 

That was good for a giggle. Then we walked around our prison to see if 
something might not loosen and give a bit of slack. Nothing did. At the back 
of each of us a padlock hung pendent from the belt. They looked cute, 
hanging above our rumps. We did not bother with them much. They were 
hopeless. They were there to stay. 

When Christopher brought our food, we ate ravenously, careless of the 
constriction around our tummies. The tea and scone in the police cell was 
all we'd had that day. He watched us possessively, once more the conqueror 
with two naked girls to do with as he pleased. 

"I take it you've given up the idea of marrying either one of us," I said 
bluntly. 

He shrugged. "Seems pointless now. My whole original idea has gotten 
properly mucked up. After I've punished you both and let you go, I'll kidnap 
another girl and start over." 

Diane and I stopped eating and stared at our jailer in disbelief. How 
crassly absurd can a man get! I blurted out what Diane would have found 
difficult. 

"You'll end up in prison, Christopher. Why stick your neck out? Marry Diane 
and you've got it made. She's everything you want except for the color of 
her hair, and she's willing to dye that." 

"I enjoy a little punishment," Diane said apologetically. "We could have 
such fun." 

"You're not the right girl." 

"But you're quite anxious to punish me along with Puss, aren't you?" 

"Don't prod at me. If I was keeping you, I'd teach you respect. Half the 
time you talk down to me as though I were a kid." 

He was hopeless. I started to eat again, but Diane was wound up. "And these 
things you've locked over our pussies--" 

"Don't call them things--they're chastity belts." 

"They're cruel. They might be okay for a laugh, but you're not going to 
leave them on, are you?" 

"Yes." 

"It's not asking much to let two girls in prison have a little pleasure. 
It's no picnic being locked up and chained, and you don't even want to fuck 
us." 

"Stop talking dirty. I've got gags that lock on, you know. Being a lesbian 
is horrible. Those belts will teach you both a lesson." 

We watched as Christopher picked up his tray and departed, a model of 
flushed male propriety. We winced at the sound of the door. 

"Oh shit!" I said heartily. 

"Mother will be so annoyed if the idiot gets himself put in prison," Diane 
mourned. "Then I can't marry him, and Wyngate House will stand empty." 

We collapsed on the couch and tried so very hard to make love, but it was 
just no good. Our pussies were in prison, just as we were. We didn't dare 
touch each other's nipples, so we slept. 

* * * 

"I'm not a bit sure this is any better than the triangle," Diane said. "I 
suppose we should have known." 

She looked lovely and appealing with her cascade of golden hair and her 
white body hanging limply from her wrists. There was only ten feet between 
us as we hung suspended, our toes just off the floor. I knew that in looking 
at Diane I was seeing myself. Christopher had left us like this to savor 
what we were about to receive. 

Dear Christopher had explained that, for starters, our bottoms would be 
caned. No particular number, just until he tired of slashing away. Our feet 
were free so we could kick. In the meantime, we could stay as we were, in 
suspended suspense. If the straps securing our wrists hadn't been wide and 
supple, it would have been torture. It came close anyway. 

"Our chastity belts will make his rotten cane hurt worse, Puss. Haven't you 
noticed how it sort of bunches your bottom?" 

I had noticed. The lovely thing imprisoning my sex was so damn tight that I 
was forever aware of its clutch. The cheeks of my ass were beautifully 
compressed for the cane. The silver mesh had left them discreetly bare. 
Christopher was going to have himself a time. 

"How many lashes does it take, Diane, before the pain stops being erotically 
exciting and you want to howl?" 

"The first half dozen for sure, darling. After that it's a sort of lovely 
awful mixture. It's a shame you have to just plain hurt." 

I didn't tell her there was a sexual heat for me too in the first couple, 
and in the bum when it was all over. I expect these responses are normal for 
any whipped girl. 

Wryly, I suggested, "When you finally marry the silly ass, you'd better buy 
a kinder whip so you can keep your glow an hour at a time. Does being strung 
up this way do anything for you?" 

"I'm afraid so--a little bit, darling. But I'll admit I'd be gratefully to 
get my feet back on the floor. I think it's the before and after that really 
perks my puss." Diane considered in momentary silence. "I expect I shouldn't 
ever tell Christopher. If he gets to know what gives me pleasure, he'll stop 
doing it." 

Who can tell about these things? All I knew was I was getting so I adored 
Diane more and more, and Christopher less and less. Most certainly I didn't 
want my ass whipped the way I knew was going to happen. I'd do anything to 
avoid it. Gosh, I felt so naked. It was then that Christopher sauntered back 
in with his beastly thin yellow cane. His tone was briskly cheerful. 

"Well, girls, ready for the cane?" 

"Christopher, I'll do anything at all to avoid getting my ass--my bottom 
caned." 

"You'll do anything I want anyway, Priscilla. You have no choice." Fire 
slashed my taut cheeks. "See what I mean?" He cut at me again, and the pain 
was bad enough to make me lift myself by my strapped wrists and kick like 
crazy. I was sliced again on the way down. My punishment had begun. 

Christopher had it good. I don't suppose in the whole world there was a 
young man endowed with such power over a pair of naked girls. He caned our 
bottoms to his heart's content, pausing here and there for effect and to 
raise our hopes. Then he would continue. Diane and I swung and twisted under 
the cane. We kicked and yelped and often screamed. It was a lot different 
from the triangle where we hadn't been able to move. It some ways it was 
worse. There just isn't any way in which getting your ass licked that can be 
good. Diane soon passed over her limit of tolerance so she hurt and howled 
the same as me. 

"You're behaving delightfully," Christopher said. "Such exquisite writhings! 
I particularly like the way you raise yourselves up by your wrists. Does it 
ease the pain a bit?" 

We did no bother to answer. We didn't dare say what we wanted to. We just 
continued with our pantings and moans. I never did manage to keep quiet for 
more than two strokes at a time. I'd will myself to clench my teeth and keep 
quiet and hang limp. But I could never keep it up. And anyway, what did it 
matter? 

Christopher did not go back and forth giving Diane and me alternate strokes. 
He varied his inflictions so we never knew when it was our turn. Half the 
time we were too busy hurting to watch. In one of his pauses he gave us bad 
news. 

"The cane is merely to warm you up, you know." 

We answered him with gasps and groans. 

"I'm not giving it to you too hard. You can stand quite a lot of this." 

"It's too hard and too long. Christopher, please!" 

"I'll allow you an intermission before starting to whip your backs. If you 
stay away from insults and sarcasms, I might even let your feet back on the 
floor for awhile." 

What the hell was there to say? I mean, the bastard had us. He had us but 
good. I didn't dare say a word. 

Christopher finally stopped caning us. If my bottom looked anything like 
Diane's, it was high time he did. Our seats were blazing, and our arms and 
wrists exhausted. It was pure ecstasy to get my feet back on the floor. I 
tried not to think about my back getting it next. 

"I expect you'd like to be alone to compare notes." The smiling S.O.B. who 
had caned us half to bits placed the cane on a box where we could not fail 
to see it, then cheerily said, "I won't be long." Through all of this I 
found it impossible to believe in going home to the U.S. I tried to comfort 
myself with the thought that the pain was only for a few days, and then I 
would be gone. But I put it to one side with my whipped back and turned my 
attention to my fellow captive. 

"Christopher really is a twit," Diane sniffed. She had been crying. 
"Darling, can you get loose? I can't." 

"I don't ever expect to," I said dolefully. "The idiot must have an 
inferiority complex a mile long, the way he doesn't trust us and never gives 
us the slightest chance of freedom. My seat's on fire in this damn belt. I 
suppose yours is too." 

"Well, yes, darling, but Christopher didn't use the cane on our bottoms 
nearly as hard as he could have. If he had, we'd be in screaming hysterics 
now--or unconscious." Diane flexed against her wristlets. "He's really being 
frightfully clever. He just takes us to the brink, but not over the top. 
That way he can make our punishments last much, much longer." 

"Don't give him credit. He's simply being a bastard." 

"Darling, don't be unkind. I know I've been crying, and I howled as loud as 
you, but I can look forward to when he marries me and we arrive at just the 
right amount of cruelty I can handle." 

"Sweetheart, he isn't going to marry you." 

"Oh, he just says that. I'll get him. After you're gone and I'm gone, and he 
can't find another girl to kidnap, he'll start thinking about me just handy 
down the road and come calling. That's when I set Mother on his tail. We'll 
be married in no time." 

"That's the same as putting yourself in prison for life," I warned. "He 
never knows when enough's enough." 

"But, darling, you forget--I'll be sleeping with him, and he'll be doing 
you-know-what to me. That'll tone him down and take the rough edges off. 
You'll see." 

Poor Diane! But, for all I knew, she might be right. Trouble was I couldn't 
believe in any of it. It was me who would stay a permanent prisoner in 
Wyngate House. I thought fleetingly of Dick Travers, but dismissed him 
because of the code. He saw me as Christopher's property and would never 
encroach, not even if he wanted to. Dolefully, I shifted from one foot to 
the other, flexing my raised arms. The way we were was better than 
suspension but still no picnic. And things would soon be worse. Christopher 
had returned. "Ready to be whipped, girls?" 

The son of a bitch sounded lull of beans. Christopher had matured a foot 
since he'd first kidnapped me. I could see how having a naked girl around 
all the time might do that. Now he had Diane too. For Christopher, Diane was 
pretty much the girl next door. The bastard had it all! 

"I'll give you your first fifty strokes standing as you are," he continued 
breezily. "I'll expect some top notch writhing." 

We watched him pick up the cane and replace it with the whip he would use on 
us. I felt my tummy tie itself in knots. He took a lot of care arranging the 
beastly thing for us to look at while we waited to feel its bite. Neither of 
us said a word. We simply stared and trembled. 

"For your second fifty lashes I'll suspend you fully. You're only nicely 
stretched now." 

The twerp was out of the door again before we'd gathered a thought to blast 
him with. After the slam of the door, Diane came out with the obvious. 

"I bet that thing's going to hurt." 

"Of course it will. Diane, didn't you hear? A hundred lashes! Two lots of 
fifty each! We can't possibly stand that much." 

"We'll have to. I can't get loose. Oh, Puss!" 

We stood in our stretched postures and viewed each other askance. 
Christopher was doing things just right to extract the ultimate cringe. I'll 
swear that blasted whip had a life of its own, looking at us with malignant 
complacency like a mesmeric snake. I longed for freedom as I had never 
longed before. 

Time passed. 

"Christopher's going to get us thoroughly tired before he whips us," Diane 
mourned. "He's really awfully clever." 

"So were those monks in the Spanish Inquisition." 

"He isn't that bad, darling. There's no hot irons or thumb screws or stuff 
like that." 

"Don't breathe a word of them, Diane, or he'll go straight out and buy 
them." 

"Oh, he wouldn't!" Diane was still thinking in wifely terms. "But, darling, 
what's keeping him? It must be hours since he first strapped us up like 
this. My wrists are still as tight as ever. I can't slip a thing." 

Diane was right. It had been a long time. I felt a wave of the prisoner's 
fear of something happening to your jailer so you stayed locked up as you 
were until you died. It's a terrible spasm of pure horror you have to tread 
on quick before it grows. But I was getting tired, and fatigue breeds 
visions, all horrific. 

"Priscilla, he won't give us a hundred, will he? He was only joking, right? 
Like leaving that beastly whip staring at us." Realization of our real 
punishment was slow in coming, but as the light began to fade, we knew there 
was something wrong. By the time the room was full of shadows and we had 
both shed fresh tears, we were sure Christopher was dead or enjoying a quiet 
laugh at our expense. The latter was the most probable, but we wished we 
knew. By the time it was dark, we were taking turns shouting for help, our 
vocals sounding eerie in the enclosed space. After awhile we realized we 
were the only ears to hear, so we fell silent. Sometimes we struggled 
hysterically, but that only hurt our wrists. We were foxed. 

When Christopher finally came, he told us it was nine p.m. We had been 
standing with our arms up for eleven hours. We were so glad to see him that 
we were prepared to offer everything, including love and devotion. He had 
really had us going. He listened to us babble our nonsense, quietly smiling, 
but he didn't loosen a single strap. 

Instead, he produced brandy. 

I wolfed all he would give me--great gulps on which I choked and came up for 
more. I was terribly thirsty, but the water came only as a chaser. On our 
empty tummies it was an instant drunk. When he had us properly looped, he 
confirmed our worst fears. "It'll help you sleep, girls." 

Our wail of anguish was in perfect unison. "Christopher, you can't! You 
can't possibly leave us like this!" 

"Why not? Surely you prefer it to being whipped?" 

"No, we don't! Undo our straps. Please!" 

"You mean, you wish to be whipped?" 

We knew we were being played with, but the possibility of being left to 
stand as we were all night was very real and just purely awful. Abjectly, 
full of brandy, I declared, "If you want to whip us, Christopher, please do 
it quickly. Then undo the straps." 

Christopher unbuckled our strapped wrists. We folded to the floor like two 
limp rags. The way we both thanked him was a disgrace to womanhood, but what 
the hell! We gulped more brandy and panted out our exhaustion. When 
Christopher chained our ankles, we scarcely noticed and couldn't have cared 
less. Locked in our prison, we sought the couch and each other. We fell to 
sleep instantly. 

When we were fed in the morning, we were all sheepish and ashamed. I hoped 
Christopher's arose from guilt. But Diane and I were both too lethargic for 
caustic comment. We allowed our hands to be chained with the heavy shackle 
and long span of links. I remember looking at mine stupidly and wondering 
why he bothered. 

Food worked its usual miracle. Christopher regained his aplomb. "Let you off 
your whipping yesterday," he said brightly. "You'll get it this afternoon." 

We shrugged. We were really cheesed off. 

"I'm going to have to remember the effect of standing with your arms up," 
Christopher assured us earnestly. "I've never had two more chastened 
maidens. Any time you get uppity--" 

"Go easy on us, Christopher," Diane wheedled. "You don't have to wear us 
out." 

"But there's so little time left now." He gazed back and forth at us 
earnestly. "And there's so many more punishments I've planned." 

"But why punish us?" I asked, protesting. "After yesterday and what you're 
going to do to us today, isn't that enough? Couldn't you go easy on us? 
We're only girls, you know--not iron maidens." 

"I don't want to hear it." Christopher injected steel into his words. "No 
complaints. No whining. Silence on the subject. Understood?" 

We shrugged again and looked down at our chains. He had us! "I'll be 
merciful. It won't be a hundred each, only fifty." Fifty hard lashes could 
kill a girl, but I didn't dare say so. We listened respectfully." 

"Enjoying your belts?" 

"You've just told us not to complain." 

"I take it you're not enjoying them. That's wonderful! I'm enjoying them. 
They fit you like a glove. Don't see why you couldn't wear them 
permanently." He chuckled. "Baffle the boys, eh?" 

"It ought to baffle you," Diane said wistfully. "If you'd take them off, I'd 
do anything you want." 

He sloughed off the question and picked up the tray. "I'll donate you this 
morning. Make yourselves beautiful. I do think a girl should look her best 
when she's whipped, don't you?" 

We did as we were told. I suppose we wanted to anyway, and our bathroom had 
everything. But as I bathed and all the rest I less and less liked the 
prospect of walking meekly to that other room to be whipped. I didn't want 
to be whipped at all. Yesterday had been enough. My bottom was still 
screaming. I voiced my discontent. 

"Diane, I just can't stand being whipped again. I don't see why either of us 
should." 

She looked at me in dismay. "But, darling, what can we do?" 

"You don't have to do a thing except distract Christopher. I'll do the rest. 
I'll take the blame." 

"But, Puss dear--" 

"When we hear the door, you bend over so all he sees is your scarlet and 
purple bottom. Will you do it?" 

"Yes, but--" I could ask myself why I hadn't used the weapon of my shackles 
before. But I knew why. Sure, I'd thought about it, but I'd never had the 
nerve. I'd never hit anyone in my life. I'd been certain I'd blow it and get 
myself horribly punished. But something had clicked in my mind. Now I knew 
for sure I could hit Christopher over the head. I was a girl with a purpose. 

It worked. 

Christopher opened the door I stood behind. All he saw was Diane's cruelly 
whipped bottom and the metal shield over her pussy peeping immodestly back 
between her thighs. When I clenched my fists and hit him with both ankle 
shackles at once, he fell like a log. 

Diane straightened up and gazed at what I had done. I was busy searching my 
victim for keys. I found only one, but it fit my shackles. Within a minute 
we were both free. Getting no help from my horrified fellow captive, I 
wrapped my leg shackles around Christopher's waist real tight, put in a 
couple of twists, then locked his wrists in what had been my anklets. My 
wristlets were far too small. It worked fine. 

I had figured this whole thing for maximum advantage. While I was still 
searching for a key that wasn't there, Christopher began to stir. I signaled 
Diane, and she ran to the bathroom. When she came back, she reeked of 
perfume. She must have poured most of it on her chastity belt. She was like 
a flower garden on a hot day, only more so. She carried a couple of damp 
face cloths. We lifted Christopher onto the couch and she arranged his 
battered head so it rested in her lap while she started to bathe away a bit 
of blood from a small cut. When Christopher came to, he found himself with 
his head and face in one of her best parts. I left them together for love to 
blossom, but I held onto the key while I went to dress. I wasn't all that 
sure about Diane in her present circumstance. I found our things and took my 
time dressing. When I went back, they were just as I had left them, except 
Christopher was fully conscious and very mad. 

"Christopher would like to be unlocked, please," Diane said innocently. "He 
doesn't like the way you've fixed him." 

"Good!" 

"You'll never find the keys to your belts!" he snarled. "I'll never tell you 
where they are either. And if you go away and leave me in this fix, I'll 
make you so damn sorry!" 

"You can't make anyone sorry, Christopher. Find yourself another girl, or 
get one of those inflatable rubber--" 

"If I ever get my hands on you--" 

"You won't! By the way, this whole idea was mine. Diane had no part in it. 
She's fond of you. It's crazy but true." 

"I'll make you so sorry, Ilena!" 

"You're hallucinating. You can call the rubber doll Ilena. Oh, and if you 
need help, I'm sure you can manage the phone. You can call your worshipful 
Dick Travers." 

"You're forgetting the stuff in the cottage and the police!" 

"I think you ran a bluff on us. I'm damn sure you'd never put Diane behind 
bars. I doubt if you could. You'd be laughed out of court." 

"Priscilla, I've loved you." 

"You loved Ilena--a dream. Forget it!" I raised my eyes to Diane's worried 
face. "Come along, sweetheart." 

"Are you sure Christopher will be all right?" 

"I'm sure. Kiss the spot and make it well if you want." 

She actually did it, then hurried after me. The poor girl was in a dither, 
but getting her clothes on was a tonic and so was the sunlight. We borrowed 
Christopher's car to drive home. Once there Diane had no regrets and got the 
comfortable feeling it would teach Christopher a lesson. We giggled about 
the way he was fastened and how I had the key. I asked to be driven to 
Heathrow right away. She could have the key at the last minute just in case 
Christopher hadn't managed to get loose. We were all giggly and excited and 
ready to go when Diane remembered our chastity belts. 

"No. Don't let's take our time. I'll wear mine back to the States if I have 
to." 

"But, darling, all that sitting! You'll be terribly uncomfortable." 

"I'll put up with it. I don't feel safe in England. I want out." 

"Priscilla dear, I've got a few tools." 

You know how it is. Diane meant well and was absolutely right. "Oh, all 
right," I said. "Let's try and get the damn things off. But don't take too 
much time." 

We stripped. Diane came up with the damnedest collection of pliers and 
screwdrivers and junk. We tried them all on that lovely mesh. It seemed like 
sacrilege. But the mesh and padlock laughed 'at-everything. I began to 
suspect they were made of some special steel. 

"Oh, bother!" Diane pouted in frustration, then brightened. "There's bolt 
cutters in the garage. They'll cut anything. Hold on." She was gone in a 
flash. I should've gone with her. If I had, it might not have happened. The 
moment was destined to be one of those "if only" laments. 

I suppose you've guessed. 

I didn't guess the way I should have. When Diane didn't come back, I 
supposed she was searching. Then, when too much time had passed, I went 
looking. I forgot I was naked. I forgot the chastity belt hugging my loins. 
I stepped blithely into the garage. A damp sweet pad covered my face and was 
held there by strong hands. I fought. Boy, how I fought! But not for long. 

I awoke in the stone chamber. It had been Lady Ilena's prison. It was now 
mine again. I was in no hurry to sit up. I would willingly have relapsed 
into unconsciousness. I knew I was in deep, deep trouble. As my head cleared 
I realized I was naked and the chastity belt had been taken from me. My 
hands were tied behind my back in the manner of when I was first captured. I 
got the impressions, one by one, and was surprised by none of them. 
Unhappily, I stood erect and looked for Diane, but she was not there. I was 
alone. I went to the bathroom, but she wasn't there either. The prison door 
was as implacable as ever. I went over and pushed with a bare shoulder, but 
it didn't move an inch. I tugged at my bound hands, but they didn't move 
either. 

I sat on the couch and fought tears. It was too, too cruel. If Diane and I 
hadn't bothered with the chastity belts, I would now have been on a plane 
and safely away. We had underrated Christopher's resourcefulness. No doubt 
he had a second key secreted away and had not been far behind. We should 
have been more cruel and fixed him good, but I would get no credit for my 
kindness. I was going to be punished most frightfully, I had no doubt of it. 
The U.S. had vanished into limbo again. Christopher would never give me the 
faintest chance of escape, not ever again. My hands bound behind my back 
were the first hint. They could not touch him. I twisted furiously against 
the cords, but it was only to vent my despair. I knew I could never get them 
free. 

I longed for Diane with a most urgent longing, but I knew she was gone, 
along with my liberty. I doubted she would cause Christopher much 
embarrassment. He could handle her easily. But for all I knew she might be 
locked up in another room same as me. Wyngate House was not short on places 
in which to lock girls. 

It was easy to guess my own fate. He would leave me alone here to stew 
myself into hysteria. I knew nothing for sure about anything except that I 
was going to be terribly punished. Christopher's hurt pride would ensure the 
worst possible whipping and god knows what else. I knew I shouldn't think 
about it, but what else was there for me to think about? Normal life was way 
off someplace where it didn't concern me. I wondered how practical it might 
be to try and take a bath with my hands bound the way they were. 

Christopher left me alone the rest of the day and all night. When he brought 
"food the next morning, I was laying on the couch and he could see I had 
been crying. He dried my cheeks with his own square of cambric, then held 
the cup of coffee to my lips. It never even occurred to me to ask to be 
untied. 

"Think you'll escape again, Priscilla?" 

"No." 

"No." 

Christopher fed me. I ate. He lifted the coffee cup for me again and again. 
In between sips, I asked, "Where's Diane?" 

"Safe at home--back to normal. I don't need her, you know." 

"Did you take off--" 

"The chastity belt? Oh, sure. Neither of you need them now. It's a 
pity--they looked nice on you. I may replace yours sometime for the effect." 

I ate steadily, plucking the food from his fingers or the fork like a 
squirrel. It wasn't long before Christopher asked the inevitable question. 
"Are you at all repentant for bopping me on the head?" 

"I didn't want to, honest, but I was so scared of being whipped again. I 
really am sorry." 

"How sorry are you, Puss?" 

"Sorry enough to kneel and apologize, if you want me to." 

"My, aren't we humble! Yes, I like the idea. Do it." 

Hating myself, I obeyed. It was utterly demeaning, but I knew I'd do 
anything to soften him up, if that was possible. I got down on my knees, 
looked up appealingly, and blurted out, "I'm sorry I hit you, Christopher. I 
apologize." 

"Is that all?" 

I swallowed hard. Memory of the triangle and suspension spurred me on. "I 
was a rotten little bitch to do that to you, I deserve to have my hands tied 
this way so I can't do it again." I swallowed once more and went whole hog. 
"I do apologize, and I promise I'll be a good, obedient prisoner." 

"Well, I suppose so. Sit back up here, Priscilla." 

I got back into place and opened my mouth for the next bite. While I chewed, 
Christopher sneered. "Buttering me up, eh?" 

"I'll do anything for you to avoid being whipped. I'll be honest about 
it--I'm frightened." 

"You figuring I'll whip you for revenge or to teach you a lesson?" 

"Both, I suppose. I can understand you want to do it, but, Christopher, I 
sure don't want it. Is there some way--" 

"I haven't even said that I'm going to whip you." 

"But you are, aren't you?" 

"You better believe it!" 

The American exclamation didn't sit well on Christopher. Half the time he 
was still the smiling boy, but I'd given up believing I could cope with him. 
I belonged on the other side of the Atlantic. I tried again. 

"Christopher, I ask for your mercy. Please forgive me. I'd offer my body if 
you wanted it, but you've said you don't. I don't suppose you know how that 
hurts a girl." 

"Oh?" 

"I mean it. It hurts terribly. I'm offering you all of me, and you couldn't 
care less." 

"You're offering it to avoid punishment." 

"Is that so bad?" 

"It's cheap and vulgar." 

"All right, Christopher, go ahead and punish me. I can't stop you. You've 
got my hands tied beautifully. I'm helpless." 

We stared at each other, at an impasse. He was the nice young man again and 
I was the silly girl who couldn't understand him. Without caring, I asked, 
"Christopher, what's ahead for us? Are we going anywhere?" 

"We were going to somewhere, but you spoiled it. Then Diane and Dick got 
into the act." 

"Am I sentenced to imprisonment for life? With regular whippings?" 

"I don't want to talk about it. I'll whip you this afternoon. I'll take the 
tray now, but I'll be back to get you ready." 

For something to do I walked around my prison. With my hands tied behind my 
back, I couldn't touch anything or do anything. I admired the chains hanging 
from the column. I went in the bathroom and admired my pubic hair and the 
marks the chastity belt had left on my skin. Then I went to the window and 
admired the view. Through it all I fought a sense of unreality in knowing my 
nakedness would soon be fastened some way so a pleasant young man could whip 
my bare skin for as long as he pleased. It was unreal, but it would happen. 

In a way it was a bore--anticlimactic. I let myself be led to stand before 
the odd looking set of stocks while my ankles were tied so I'd still be 
helpless when my hands were freed. Totally helpless, I fell to my knees, 
bowed my head, and desperately pleaded, "Don't whip me, Christopher! Please 
don't whip me!" 

He lifted me back to my feet. "Don't take on so," he reproached. "I've never 
seen you like this." 

"I've never been this frightened." 

The thing designed to hold me was just a post and planks, a set of stocks, 
but it only had holes for my hands. My neck wouldn't be imprisoned. 
Christopher opened it up. "I'm going to untie your hands, Priscilla. Will 
you put them in here where they belong?" 

"Yes." 

Christopher freed my hands. I immediately fitted my wrists into the waiting 
slots. He lowered the raised half to remove my hands from my sight and fix 
my arms well apart. I would stand. I could not go away. 

"Neat, eh?" 

"Very. Is this where I'll be whipped?" 

"Right! I'll leave you to get used to it." 

The hated wait with my tummy tying itself in knots. Alone and puzzled, I 
tested the thing in which my wrists were clamped. I could not move them; 
they were snug. I could not move the stocks; they were solid. I was held at 
the distance of my arms, unable to move forward or backward. But the rest of 
me was very free indeed. I was wonderfully exposed for the lash, but also 
able to writhe and kick most entertainingly to give Christopher an erection 
he would do nothing about. I wondered if a girl was expected to stand still 
while she was whipped! The whole thing was insidiously cruel in its 
simplicity. 

I stood there in my nudity, my arms stretching straight out to the stocks, 
then disappearing as though cut off at my wrists. I fixed my fingers to 
reassure myself they were still there on the other side. That just about 
exhausted my repertoire. There was nothing else I could do except shift my 
weight from foot to foot. 

There was no more chitchat. When Christopher returned, he started to whip me 
right away with those careful, widely spaced strokes which extracted the 
maximum effect in my body's response. I'm sure I put on a good show, but I 
was too busy trying not to scream, and after that too busy screaming to pay 
much attention. I didn't even notice the punishment of my wrists as they 
took the brunt of my lunges and surges and twistings. I screamed almost 
every time Christopher hit me. 

It was a cruel way to be fastened. There was something far more personal 
about it than suspension or the triangle. I stood there with my arms lifted 
and offered my body to be whipped. Christopher was right there beside me, in 
no way remote. It was like I stood passively and offered myself to his lash. 
We were so close. Sometimes he stopped whipping me long enough to run his 
fingers up and down my wealed back as though in wonder at what he found. 
Every so often he reached in from behind to cup his palm over my pussy, I 
suppose to see if it was wet. I didn't think to ask him for results of these 
testings. I didn't care. He had his usual erection. 

I'm getting knowledgeable about being whipped. After the first shock and the 
first screams, I realized I was not being whipped nearly as hard as 
Christopher was capable. It still hurt like fury on my bare skin, but it was 
not what I had expected. I had expected an all-out flaying and a bleeding 
back, but it wasn't happening that way. I got no comfort from it. He was 
simply making it last longer. He had been whipping me for quite some time, 
and I was nowhere near passing out. But I hurt like crazy! I was on fire 
from my shoulders down to my ass. He left my ass alone. I suppose he figured 
it had been caned enough. 

It had been a long time and I had been well whipped when Christopher set the 
whip aside to make another of his tests between my thighs. He was getting 
bolder at it, and I had to open my legs to help. I was grateful for anything 
that didn't hurt. When he spoke, it was the same old thing. 

"I'm going to release your wrists, Priscilla." 

I managed a pale thank you. I was really grateful. 

"I'm then going to-tie you. Are you going to struggle?" 

"Oh, Christopher, I can't struggle! I'm played out. I couldn't say boo to a 
goose." 

He lifted the yoke. My arms fell to my sides. I was limp and exhausted. 
Right then I was the most obedient female in the world. 

"I want you up on this table, on your back. I'll arrange you." 

I stumbled over and flopped. Even on my whipped back it was glorious. Peace 
and no pain! Sure, I was apprehensive, but I couldn't fight. Anyway, it 
wouldn't have done any good. I just lay there all sprawled out, and allowed 
my nudity to be pulled around and bound. Wrists and ankles were spread. It 
seemed strangely conventional. Then I wondered if he was going to whip my 
front. I longed to sleep. 

He pulled and tugged and looped. At the end of his efforts I was 
spread-eagle, with Christopher standing beside the table looking at me very 
strangely. When I caught on to what was happening, I laughed almost 
hysterically. 

Christopher was going to fuck me! 

We had another staring match. He was really worked up, breathing heavily. I 
told him what he should have guessed. 

"You don't have to tie me, Christopher--I won't fight you." 

"I want you tied." 

That was that. I realized he was seeing it as a punishment. He would rape 
me. No doubt it would teach me a lesson. By his code, no nice girl could 
ever possibly want intercourse or get pleasure from it. Any way you took 
him, Christopher was always a problem. 

I'm sure it was more difficult for him to remove his clothes than it had 
ever been for me, but he had nothing to be ashamed of. He had a good body, 
and tying me down to the table had kept his cock erect and rampant. Now that 
no doubt remained as to his intentions, I tentatively suggested, "It'd be a 
lot better for you if you untied my feet, Christopher. I'd still be 
helpless." 

"What do you mean, better for me?" He gazed down at my center of interest 
suspiciously. 

"I could help. A girl can, you know. Flat out isn't the best way." 

"Help?" The word obviously held no meaning for him in this context. "You 
don't have to be vulgar." 

I suddenly guessed. "Christopher, is this your first time?" 

He looked puzzled and testily retorted, "Of course it is! It ought to be 
yours too." 

My whipped back I was laying on cautioned me not to make further comment. I 
shut my mouth. I was then mounted by a grimlipped young man as though he was 
searching for stirrups and a saddle. Without pause, Christopher Wyngate 
thrust hard at the enemy. 

He missed. 

I didn't say a word. 

He rammed again, and I had to bit back a giggle when I thought of the 
Shakespeare quote: "Once more into the breach." His fourth jab got him 
inside me, but he proceeded to plow with some vigor that he slipped right 
out again. However, he was now experienced with my contours and well 
lubricated, so I was once more lustfully impaled. 

Christopher then immediately ejaculated. 

I wasn't surprised, but the consternation on his face as he climaxed was 
something to see. Manfully, he fought his battle against vulgarity, leapt 
up, gathered his clothes, and presumably went to the bathroom to wash away 
the stigma of his indiscretion. I lay there on the table, still tightly 
tied, with the terrible feeling that I was going to be blamed for the 
fiasco. When he returned, he was once more clothed and wore a scowl on his 
face. 

"Why did you do that, Priscilla?" 

"I didn't do anything. I'm tied, so I can't do anything." 

"You messed it up some way." 

"Oh, Christopher!" My voice rose to a wail. "If only you'd have told me what 
you were going to do, and if you'd given me a bit of freedom--" 

"And let you knock me in the head again!" 

"No! I could have told you things. I could have helped." 

"That's nonsense. All the girl does is just lay there." 

Poor little boy! I ached to be female and give him lessons, but a girl 
spread out on a table and tied down tight can't do much of anything. I was 
so damn helpless and frustrated. I felt a tear escape my eye. 

"Why are you crying?" 

The tears then came in earnest. Between sobs and sniffs, I said hopelessly, 
"We're so far apart, Christopher. We're not even in the same world. We don't 
talk the same language." I sniffed away a pause before saying, "I'm no good 
for you. Why don't you let me go?" 

"You could if you wanted." 

"Tell me how." 

"You don't want to know, and you needn't think you're getting away with 
this. You may as well stop crying." 

I realized Christopher wasn't being deliberately brutal, but he was way off 
somewhere, not seeing me as I was. Fear made me tense against the cords. I 
was in trouble. 

"You'll be punished," he said flatly. 

I unleashed my tears again. Nothing mattered. This was my whole life now. 
Through my grief I heard my master mutter, "It's no use crying. I'll be back 
after I think up something appropriate. You can stay tied." 

He left me because he hated the tears. He ran away from his failure to cope 
with a female. But I knew he'd be back, and I knew I was going to get 
another hateful punishment. Suppose Christopher to comprehend a girl's 
limits--just suppose! I wasn't even sure my principle whipping was done 
with. There might be some more to come. Now he was going to sentence me to 
something else. As far as I was concerned, my caned ass and whipped back had 
already taken me to the limits. But suppose I'd only just started! 
Christopher was seeing me as indestructible. I was just a pretty doll. 

I hadn't been tied just like this before. I wondered if he might have been 
careless--just one wrist was tied. I had a beautiful vision of tearing away 
my bindings and fleeing Wyngate House forever. I would avoid the tight 
little circle of friends and go straight to the police. They could put me in 
prison for being naked if they wanted to so long as at the end of it I was 
put on a plane to the U.S.A. I wanted to be in police custody, handcuffed 
and all. I was deathly afraid of England. I was sure that every road in the 
country would lead me back to Wyngate House and Christopher's whip. 

I spent my period of waiting for my next punishment twisting and squirming. 
But the cords won, as always. I was still spread- eagled and naked when 
Christopher returned. He wasted no time. He freed my feet from the table, 
but left each ankle circled with a trailing cord. These he pulled up and 
back until he could tie them down along with my hands. Can you figure it? 
I'd never been in such a position in my life. I was looking up face to face 
with my pubic hair. 

"Christopher, this is obscene. You, of all people--" 

"It's exactly what you deserve." 

"But I don't! I've been helpless--" 

"That thing between your thighs deserves it, and she's going to get it!" 

He was crazy! 

He was shaking out the thongs of a new whip I hadn't seen before. They 
looked cruel. I realized how beautifully I was positioned for what he 
intended to do. My legs were spread, my ass was off the table and curled 
back. My pussy was outrageously exposed, simply pleading to be loved or 
punished. I knew which it would be. I moaned. 

"Please don't! Oh, Christopher, don't whip me in there! I don't deserve it. 
I don't, I don't!" 

Christopher mounted the table and looked down into my most intimate recess. 
I could guess how my pussy looked to him. The whip in his hands seemed like 
a live thing--waiting! 

With an absurd self-righteousness, the idiot said, "I should have whipped 
you on this place long ago." 

Christopher Wyngate then proceeded to whip my cunt. 

I may as well say it--it's the exact truth. He aimed the thongs squarely 
into my most secret place, only a couple of feet above my eyes. I screamed 
in agony. Half the noise I made was in anger and outrage. I mean, the 
position was horrible. And then to be down inside my thighs made it even 
worse. It was the absolute pits, the very end. While I was preoccupied with 
pain and screaming, a female voice interrupted the punishment. 

"Stop it! Christopher, stop now! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. " 
Christopher stopped whipping my crotch. 

The angry female voice belonged to Diane. 

She stalked into the room like an avenging angel and wrenched the whip from 
my tormentor's surprised hand. She spared me a reassuring look. 

"It's all right, darling," she comforted. "Christopher's forgotten himself. 
He wasn't supposed to--" Christopher had got down off the table and was 
standing with his mouth agape. He seemed to be as shocked as I was glad. 
Diane still had the floor. 

"You promised you wouldn't be cruel to her if we let her stay your prisoner 
until the final day," she reprimanded. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, 
Christopher! Look at the poor darling- all tied up in a knot and covered 
with whip marks." 

"I did like you suggested," Christopher said sulkily. "I did that thing--you 
know, making love. It was a disaster." 

"But it was your own fault, you bastard! And you're whipping the poor 
darling's cunt because you didn't know how to fuck her! You incompetent 
clod!" 

"But it was you who advised--" 

"Christopher, you're impossible." Diane shook a warning finger. "Don't get 
ideas about tying me up and making me your prisoner again. Dick's outside in 
the car." 

"I promised I wouldn't--" 

"You're not to be trusted where whipping girls is concerned." Diane sounded 
like a stern stepmother. "You've been whipping Priscilla horribly, I can 
see. Come here!" 

Christopher actually obeyed her. He walked towards her like a zombie. Diane, 
the English lady, her certainly come into her own. When they stood face to 
face, she unzipped his pants, calm and unblushing. What popped out lived up 
to the highest male standards and female hopes. 

Possessively, Diane said, "Let yourself down on top of me. I'll show you how 
it's done." 

I was forgotten, still tied tightly. I had to strain like crazy to watch 
Diane's technique. She was full of surprises. She had arrived minus panties 
and was soon minus everything else. She took my baffled captor into her arms 
and proceeded to introduce him to sex in the way I might have done if I 
hadn't been tied up tight. It was a revelation. I don't know where Diane 
learned it all, but she was good. She was better than I could have ever 
been. But then, I didn't want Wyngate House! 

Diane coaxed and cautioned and wiggled her ass in ways I had to admire. 
Christopher became the instrument by which she pleasured herself. He was 
soon glassy-eyed and panting, but she held his libido in check my some magic 
all her own. Despite hurt wrists, I watched her come to at least two orgasms 
before Christopher had got started on one. She was exactly what Christopher 
needed, if only the idiot could understand. I forgot the bizarre manner in 
which I was tied. I felt so privileged to watch. 

I'm sure it was one of the most successful couplings in human history. When 
they both decided it was over, they sat on my table and panted their way 
back to normal. I didn't utter a word. I felt I was suffering in a good 
cause. I listened closely. 

"I hope this has brought to your senses, Christopher." 

Diane sounded complacently maternal, but she had really hit the nail on the 
head. Christopher made some odd sounds that might have meant anything. 

"We may as well get married right away now. There's no reason for delay. Do 
you want me to dye my hair?" 

"No, never mind. I've gotten used to it." 

I was being ignored in the most indecent posture of my life, but I didn't 
care. What I was hearing was the best news ever. 

"Don't think you'll be deprived, dear. For half of each week you can do 
whatever you want with me. But the other half I'm going to be Mrs.- 
Christopher Wyngate. Do you understand?" Christopher appeared dazed. I could 
see how Diane's introduction to sex had impacted on him in contrast to his 
fiasco with me. He was having roseate dreams of future bliss. Mechanically, 
he muttered, "Yes, of course. But what about your mother?" 

Diane giggled. "We won't tell her about the times when I'm your prisoner and 
get whipped and all that. The poor darling would never understand." 

"We'll have to make arrangements about our wedding." 

"I've already made them. I've got the licenses, and I've talked to the 
Reverend Martindale." 

Christopher shook his head in bemusement. He was not himself. He was awed 
and cowed and jubilant, all at the same time. 

"Diane, you're wonderful," he said reverently. "You're amazing!" 

"Yes, I am. Would you like to give me six of the best on my bare bottom now 
to seal the bargain?" 

"I couldn't possibly." 

"Don't be silly. Of course you can. We're as good as married, and I want you 
to do it. Here's the cane--I'll bend over." 

I was choking with laughter, my pain forgotten. This was priceless. Diane 
had got Christopher on the run. She bent forward and flipped up her skirt to 
reveal a bare ass and a peeping puss. Catching my eye, she winked. 

Christopher viewed the delectable goodies he disbelief. He had been seeing a 
hell of a lot more of me, but it wasn't the same thing. Diane was clothing 
this maiden sacrifice with a potent eroticism all her own. Christopher 
struck the exposed curves as though stroking a kitten. 

"Christopher, you can do better than that. We won't count that one." 

Inspired and admonished, Christopher struck again. This time he made a mark 
and got a responsive gasp. Each of his strokes became more severe than the 
one before. When Diane stood up after number six, she was red-faced and 
rubbing her welts in dreamy ecstasy. Her voice was like the cooing of doves. 
"Darling, I'm afraid we're going to have to do it again." 

"You mean, you want six more?" Christopher was out of his depth. 

"No, not the cane, silly. But it's made me frightfully homy. Let's get rid 
of these clothes. Just look at what my caning has done for you! Oh, 
Christopher, we're so lucky. We can do it in the same place." 

Diane lay on her back and opened her arms. Christopher entered them like a 
traveler coming home. He was as rampant as before. I had to wonder where 
Diane had picked up her skills. Could it possibly have been with Dick 
Travers? I watched another successful coupling. I wished they had untied me 
first, but I couldn't complain. 

They took a long time. I wondered if Christopher knew how lucky he was. I 
was hurting all over and wanting to be untied in the worst way, but I 
figured it wouldn't be long now. Not with Diane's star in the ascendancy the 
way it was. When they finally stood up, she positively gushed, "Oh, 
Christopher dear, you're marvelous- wonderful! I'm so lucky." 

The idiot was beginning to believe it himself. There was a trace of 
cock-sure strut about him. But Diane was looking at me. 

"Darling, we must do something for poor Priscilla. Look at the awful way 
you've got her tied. Will you untie her or do you want me to?" 

"Leave her as she is. She's being punished." 

"But, Christopher, you don't need Puss now. You've got me." 

"I don't to do things like that to you until after we're married." 

"But I don't mind." 

"I mind." The old Christopher was creeping back. "With you and me things 
have to be perfect. I won't cheapen a thing. I won't hurt you until after 
we're married." 

It was typical Christopher reasoning--crazy! But it was to Diane's 
advantage. I could tell she was fighting back retorts. Hesitantly, she said, 
"You're so thoughtful. I do love you for it. But we can't leave Priscilla--" 

"Yes, we can." 

"But I don't understand." 

"It's simple: Priscilla is being punished. Priscilla and her punishments 
have nothing to do with you and me." 

"But, Christopher--" 

"She has a couple of days of punishment still to go. Then you can take her 
and put her on that plane she's forever talking about." 

"But, Christopher--" 

"Until you're my wife it's none of your business, Diane." The poor dear was 
on thin ice, and we both knew it. But I wanted release so bad it hurt. I 
could hardly move. Anything I said from this awful posture could not 
possibly be taken seriously. The cords held me as nothing more than an 
exposed pussy. I could almost stretch and lick my pubic hair. 

"But what will you do to her?" 

"You can see what I'm doing. I'm not finished yet, and she's only had half 
her whipping." 

"But you'll injure her." 

"Nonsense, she thrives on it." 

That one was too much. I exploded. "I don't thrive on it--I don't! I hate 
it! I don't want to be punished any more!" 

Diane spared me a brief glance. "You see, Christopher, the poor dear's had 
enough. Besides, I want her at our wedding." 

"She can stay over an extra day." 

"But the way you're treating her, she'll belong in a hospital." They stood 
and stared. I could sense the old hostilities creeping back. But Diane had 
won so much. I dared not allow her to lose now. It would be too cruel. And 
anyway, her victory was mine too if I could hold out the two days. I hadn't 
believed in release before, but after what I had witnessed I could believe 
it. 

Two days. 

Weakly, I said, "Never mind, Diane. I'll manage the two days somehow." I 
swallowed hard and shifted against the cords. "I think it's wonderful about 
your wedding, and I want to come to it." 

Tension relaxed. I could feel sexuality take over again. All three of us 
were naked. Not that I counted, but Diane certainly did. 

She spared me another glance and said, "You're a sweetheart, Puss." Then, to 
Christopher, she said, "You can't possibly be too unkind. She's such a 
darling." 

"Oh, all right." 

It was a grudging concession, but he had made it. They gathered their 
clothes and went away. I could guess they had gone to the bedroom, but their 
exit caught me unaware. I was still tied, and my pubic hair still stared me 
in the face. It was too late to call out. I was still a prisoner, but with 
slightly improved prospects. I tried not to think of the two days, only of 
what would come afterwards. 

It was too much of a stress to even try and free myself, all stretched and 
doubled up while the two of them were having the loveliest time on a 
comfortable bed. I worked with my right wrist for awhile, long enough to 
prove that it was hopeless. I wondered about Dick Travers waiting in the 
car. 

It was then that he sauntered in. 

I longed to die--to be invisible, or cross my legs, and to cover my breasts. 
I couldn't do a thing except continue to be an obscene female object. But 
Dick was English, and the English will never admit to shock. He appeared not 
to notice my condition. 

"Nice to see you again, Priscilla." 

"Hello, Dick. Do you think you could let me loose?" 

"Untie Christopher's cords?" 

"Well, yes. Would you mind?" 

There is something insidious about the way the English talk. First thing you 
know you're doing it yourself. I added a bit of American graphics. "I'm 
hurting terribly, and I've been tied like this for so long." 

"Ah, yes. Where's Christopher?" 

"Upstairs in bed with Diane. They're going to get married." 

Dick brightened perceptibly. He really was a handsome chunk of male. He 
could have named his own price in Hollywood. "That's the most splendid 
news," he said, obviously sincere. "Diane will be the best thing in the 
world for Christopher. I gather he's forgotten that legend business and the 
Lady Ilena?" 

"Diane forgot it for him. Would you mind untying me?" 

"Ah, quite so. Mind if I speak to Christopher first?" 

I longed for America. An American male would have had me loose in seconds. 
But here was Dick Travers anxious to do the right thing with an old friend. 

Wanly, I said, "Don't you have any chivalry over here any more?" 

"Well, yes, but you must understand--" 

"You can't talk to Christopher while he's fucking his wife-to- be. Please, 
Dick, it would only take you a minute to untie me." 

"Quite so. But you really are Christopher's prerogative." 

"I'm a girl who needs help, and you're not man enough to give it to me. I'd 
think you'd be ashamed, seeing me like this." Dick dresses and looks a lot 
like John Steed in that old TV show, The Avengers. I almost felt sorry for 
him. He was so obviously torn between chivalry and friendship. I twisted and 
struggled to help him make a decision. Striving for maximum effect, I 
pointed out, "You can see what part of me he's been whipping. If you don't 
let me loose, he'll come back and start whipping me more. It's the only 
thing he knows to do with a girl." 

"But surely he and Diane--" 

"Diane seduced him." 

Dick was visibly shocked by my choice of words. He and Christopher were 
buddies. He would not free me. Disgusted, I accused, "If you read of a girl 
being as frightfully whipped as Christopher is doing--and on her bare 
cunt--you'd be nauseated. But you're leaving me tied, even though you know." 

Christopher and Diane walked back in, arm in arm. They were dressed. It was 
suddenly old home week. Nobody seemed to notice me. 

When they were about to leave, still chatting, I exclaimed, "I'm still tied! 
Please--someone untie me!" 

But they were gone. 

I cried. Why the hell not! I had watched three happy people leave, but I was 
still tied indecently and ready for my pussy to be whipped some more. 
Anybody could do what they wanted with me. I was helpless. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN - UNSATISFIED SATYR 

When Christopher returned, he was still under the influence, a bit dazed, 
beholding visions of a naked Diane. He appeared to notice me for the first 
time. 

"Hello, Priscilla," he said mechanically. 

"Hello, Christopher." 

Absurd! But the whole thing was absurd, especially the way I was fastened. 

"I'm really glad about you and Diane," I said sincerely. "She's perfect for 
you." 

"Eh? Oh, yes, she's wonderful." 

"Christopher, I'd be terribly grateful if you'd untie me." 

I don't think he heard a word I said. He wasn't really seeing me either. I'd 
have to be careful what I said to him. 

"I just know you'll be both be very happy," I said brightly. "I want to wish 
you happiness." 

"Thank you. That's very kind." He managed to focus on me at last. He 
thoughtfully added, "That's a marvelous way I've got you tied--very 
original." 

"Yes, isn't it!" 

"I'll have to tie Diane like that after we're married." 

"I'm sure she'll love it." 

Having unloaded that bit of nonsense, we simply stared at each other. 

"Christopher dear, please untie me for a little while. I need to rest and 
stretch. I won't fight, and I promise I'll let you tie me again." 

"All right," he said after considering. "But I'm going to whip you some more 
first. I like whipping you in that position, and you are being punished, you 
know." 

I thought it best not to argue, but I cringed in anticipation when he 
climbed on the table with his beastly little whip and took up position. 

Looking down at my open pussy, he said, "I had no idea girls were made like 
that--like you and Diane." 

I closed my eyes and tried to be brave, but it was no use. I handled the 
first few strokes okay, but then they got to me and I started to moan and 
yelp every time the thongs splatted into my crotch. I knew he could hit me 
harder, but it was still hard enough. I struggled and tugged without any 
real benefit. I was a helpless female package whose cunt was being whipped 
by a nice young man who was soon to be married to another girl. 

Crazy! 

The cutting little thongs seemed to bite and cut at me forever. But 
Christopher seemed to think he was doing me a favor. 

"There, that will do for now," he said. 

I was still panting, my loins scorching. I knew a great thankfulness when 
the absurd man stooped and tugged at my knots. When my feet were freed, I 
sort of unwound like a jackknife. It was glorious to lay flat out again. 
Christopher then untied my left wrist but not my right. I was still his 
prisoner. 

"I'm not sure I can trust you, Priscilla." 

"You can if I give you my word. I promise I'll let you tie me again." 

"None of this hitting me over the head when I'm not looking?" 

"I don't even have anything to hit you with, Christopher." 

He untied my right wrist and, as I massaged it, I said, "Thank you 
Christopher. May I go to the bathroom? I promise I won't be long." 

He was obviously relieved to see me come back and stand submissively before 
him. I was still comforting wounded wrists. I had no wish to sit down on my 
punished puss. He was still sitting on the table where I had been bound. He 
patted it invitingly. 

"Sit down, Priscilla. I want to talk to you." 

"Would you mind very much if I just stood? I hurt terribly down below." 

Christopher had the grace to blush. I'm sure he thought me vulgar for 
hurting where he had whipped me, but he didn't say so. 

"Diane says I'm unkind to you," he blurted out. 

It was the understatement of the year, but I submissively said, "Diane's so 
sweet, and she's very wise." 

"She says that what we did was no good because you were so tightly tied and 
it was my first time." 

"I suspect she's right, Christopher." 

"If she was right, then I shouldn't have punished you." 

My heart fluttered with premonitions. I excused my tormentor. "It's over 
now, Christopher. You've punished me, and I don't hate you or anything like 
that." 

"You're such a beautiful girl. I've been looking at you and Diane." 

My flutter became a thud. Christopher was working up to something. I looked 
down at his pants in disbelief. Sure enough, he had another hard-on. 

"It's from whipping you," he said apologetically. "It does it every time. I 
wonder--would you mind?" 

The politeness was another English thing. It doesn't matter whether you mind 
or not. They even use it instead of a good honest "Get the hell out of my 
way!" Now it was a command to lay on my back and spread my legs. My mind 
worked furiously, sighting pitfalls. If we did it and it flopped, I would be 
punished. If it turned out to be a winner, it would divert his attentions 
from Diane. But I was still Christopher's captive, so I had to make the best 
of it. 

"Oh, Christopher!" I gushed. "Of course I don't mind. It's so nice of you to 
ask." 

Crazy, crazy! 

I lay right down in his favorite place. I opened my legs and raised them up, 
holding out welcoming arms. I had decided I had best not let this one fizzle 
out. I might not have Diane's skills, but I would still work at it. My 
ravisher became naked in seconds flat. He was about to plunge into my vacant 
sex when he beheld my swollen, scarlet puss. His reaction was idiotic. 

"Did I do that?" 

"Yes. You're so clever. Never mind, though--come along." 

I think he felt momentary shame, but it didn't last. This time I was able to 
guide him within my wounded lips. He entered me with a tremendous sigh of 
fulfillment. Diane and I were getting the pent- up forces of Christopher's 
entire life. Feeling him inside me, I could almost believe his whipping of 
my sex had been all for the best. 

I had two allies: Christopher had enjoyed enough sex to inhibit premature 
ejaculation, and I was working with a whipped cunt. It was no time at all 
before I had a screaming orgasm, then another. Christopher was enraptured, 
his ego receiving the greatest tribute a woman can pay. We settled down to 
teach each other what we knew. 

It went on and on. It became incredible, going into realms and reaching 
plateaus I had never even dreamed of. At times we screamed together. When we 
returned from the stars, I went to sleep beneath Christopher's weight and in 
his arms. 

I remember him picking me up and carrying me to place me finally on 
something soft. I did not care. All I wanted was to sleep. I'd had a busy 
day. 

I was in the bedroom, the one I'd first slept in at Wyngate. I sat up 
gingerly, still tender between my thighs. I stood up and made an amazing 
discovery: I was not attached to anything and nothing was attached to me. I 
was a naked girl but totally free of bonds. I felt doubly nude and not too 
sure of myself. Escape never entered my mind. This had to be crazy, but I 
simply didn't know. I walked around and admired my wounds in the mirror. 
Then I went in search of Christopher. 

I didn't find him. I explored a lot of Wyngate House, but its owner was 
nowhere to be seen. Going back to the bedroom, I saw what I should have seen 
in the first place--a scrawled note left beside me while I slept. It was 
simple. It read: "You are wonderful. I want you." I was still pondering the 
implications when Dick Travers walked in. 

"Hello, Priscilla. Don't you ever wear clothes?" 

I hadn't noticed my nudity, I had become so used to being unclothed. 
Blushing and with my heart thumping, I retrieved my bra and panties from the 
drawer, then put them on. 

"Hello, Dick," I said coolly. "Is that better?" 

"Yes, thank you." 

"I'd have thought you'd like to see my breasts and pubic hair." 

"Please, Puss, don't be angry." 

He was right--I was angry with him. More than once he had a choice between 
Christopher and me, and he had always chosen Christopher. I mean, I am a 
female. 

"Has your master sent you over on an errand?" I asked frigidly. "You are 
angry. It just goes to show the difference between you Americans and us." 

"Viva la difference!" 

"You really don't understand." 

"The fact is, we understand you too damn well. You could have been a hero 
with me more than once, and each time you kicked my ass." 

I enjoyed his wince, but his next words grabbed me. "Christopher asked me to 
drop by, Puss. He's over with Diane." He tried to share a smile with me. 
"He's really smitten." 

"Good. They're made for each other. Did he say anything about me?" 

"Well, yes, but I'm puzzled by something. He left you free. Why didn't you 
pack up and run?" 

"I'm not really free. I gave him my solemn promise to let him tie me again 
after I've had a rest. I must have needed a rest, the way I slept." 

"I got the impression that something happened." 

"Sure, it did." I tossed him the note. 

"Well... " Dick looked at me assessingly. "I can understand Christopher 
writing this, but I'm glad to say he put himself under Diane's influence 
again. I think he wanted guidance. I added my own few words." Dick paused 
awkwardly. "Surely I don't have to tell you that I've never approved of what 
he's done to you." 

"But you never stopped him." 

Dick Travers waved away my resentment. He was a man with a mission. 
"Christopher sent me with a message, or are you too angry to hear it?" 

"I'm not angry. I like you. I suppose they's the reason why I'm angry." 

We shared a laugh over that one. "Christopher says he releases you from all 
obligations." Dick paused. "He wants me to take you over." 

I stood, tense in disbelief and wishing that I had heard this long ago. I 
let Dick have it brutally. "Does that mean it's you who'll be whipping me 
from now on?" 

"Priscilla, please!" 

"Okay, okay. Do you have a dungeon to chain me in?" 

"You're being deliberately unkind." 

I knew I was, but I wasn't sure what these two idiots might have hatched, 
and I was still gloriously free. I faced Dick boldly. "Well, what's the 
takeover?" 

"I should tell you first that Diane thinks it's a good idea. She's all for 
it." 

"Fine. Tell me about this good idea." 

Dick visibly squirmed. He was a nice guy, but what he came out with then 
left me gasping. "They both think you should be my prisoner instead of 
Christopher's." 

"How sweet of them. Why should I have to be a prisoner at all?" 

"They're afraid you'll run right off to the U.S. And so am I." 

"You're all absolutely correct." 

"Yes, of course, but that's the reason you have to be restrained." 

"You mean, you'd used force on me? Like right now?" 

"Yes." 

I was assailed by that awful impotence a girl feels when she knows a man is 
becoming determinedly physical. It's no fair that men should be so much 
stronger than girls, but Dick added an amendment that helped. "We all 
thought it would be nice if you and I got to know each other better. We 
haven't had much of a chance." 

"Fine. Invite me as a guest." 

He squirmed again. "We all agree that we can't trust you." 

I was winning this argument, but it could be leading me into losing the war. 
I liked Dick Travers. I had thought of him a lot while I sat chained in my 
prison. I had wanted him to play the knight errant, but he never would, and 
now I would have him to myself. Or would he have me? I wondered if it was 
worthwhile splitting hairs. 

Cautiously, I demanded, "This restraint business--will Christopher lend you 
his chains?" 

"You'll agree?" He was boyishly eager. 

"I didn't say that. I asked what you'd use on me to keep me around." 

"I'd be quite happy with a pair of handcuffs." 

"Would you now! Front or back?" 

"I thought we could vary it a bit." 

"Well, well! You'd actually unlock me sometimes?" 

Dick managed a pained look. "Could we dispense with sarcasm, Priscilla? I'm 
dead serious about this." 

"What about clothes? Or should I say no clothes?" 

"Do what you like about them. The way you are now would be a nice 
compromise." 

I sighed. My whipped sex burned. I was getting too much shoved at me too 
soon. I was glimpsing the possibility of flouncing off to America and 
leaving something behind I'd later regret. But something nagged at me. 

"We've all come to take Christopher and his legend and his chains and his 
whip as facts of life. We've gotten used to him, and Diane's almost the 
same. What is it with this place? And now you?" 

"We live here a lot in the past," Dick said slowly. "We grow up on stories 
of maidens tied to trees and rescued by the knight in shining armor. Among 
adults it surfaces all over the place." 

"You mean, there are girls chained up all over England?" 

Dick waved a tolerant arm. "I won't deny the possibility." He grinned at me. 
"But it's worldwide. Your own country has clubs for its devotees." 

I remembered things. Maybe I was being a bit naive. "But you!" 

I protested. "You're not a bit like Christopher." 

"Same background, though. I expect a bit of him has rubbed off on 
me--touched a latent spark." 

"You're all crazy! I'm as good as gone." 

"Just try." 

Dick said it pleasantly, but the steel showed through. He would willingly 
risk the crease in his trousers to keep me safe. I should have felt angry, 
but I'm female, so of course I didn't. I felt myself getting hot down where 
I had been whipped. 

Even though I knew it a partial surrender, I demanded, "Will you whip me?" 

"Only when you're a naughty girl." 

He was laughing at me, his eyes crinkling. I was picking up tremendous vibes 
and he was too. Suddenly I was wondering why I bothered with all these 
questions. 

Almost defiantly, I demanded, "All right, do it quick before I change my 
mind." I held out my hands. 

Dick did things graciously. He'd had the cuffs in his pocket, of course. He 
fitted the first one around my right wrist and clicked it snugly. I was glad 
to see they were the American kind and not those knobby English things. But 
then he turned me around and snared my left wrist to my hands behind my 
back. 

"Am I that dangerous?" I asked icily. 

"Get you used to authority." 

Dick tilted my chin and kissed me on my lips. It turned into a very 
leisurely kiss until I knew if I'd had arms they'd have been around his 
neck. It was the sort of kiss to tell a girl she's appreciated. Dick put his 
arms around me instead and held me very tight. It felt so good. This guy was 
miles ahead of Christopher. I wondered if he would fuck me now or later. Or 
if he'd be too much of a gentleman to do it at all. Strangely, I was not 
concerned. 

I was then overjoyed with the thought that I wasn't going to be whipped. In 
the space of a few hours my life had taken on a new direction. Sure, I was 
still dazed and still handcuffed, but, compared to the way Christopher kept 
me, this was almost freedom. I snuggled into Dick's car and didn't look 
back. Wyngate House was a beautiful old place, but Diane was more than 
welcome to it. 

Dick Travers lived in a dignified old house on a dignified old street in 
Rundle Town. But he could not take me there. He had servants and visitors, 
and a handcuffed American girl would be scandalous. We laughed about it and 
decided on his cottage in the country. I suppose, if you have to keep a girl 
prisoner, it was as good a place as any. But in talking of my captivity I 
found myself up against a strange quandary. I knew Dick and I were viewing 
each other with the idea of marriage. It hadn't been mentioned, but it was 
still there. It's always there between a man and a girl. But I also knew 
that if the handcuffs were taken from me and I was clothed, I'd make a quick 
dash for Heathrow Airport and the good old U.S.A. For me, Christopher had 
become England, and it was stamped with his malign influence. I wanted out, 
but I also wanted Dick. This led to the strangest conclusion yet. 

I had to remain handcuffed. 

I did not voice this conclusion, of course. The English are so damn reticent 
about things that matter. It was obvious that I should be a free guest, but 
Dick and I were boxed in. He simply had to keep me from running away, and I 
wanted to be kept from running. 

I twisted my wrists happily within the metal circlets Dick had placed upon 
them. 

Crazy, crazy, crazy! 

I am sure Dick could have coped more easily with a lion or a tiger. He could 
have put it in a cage and fed it daily, but, without actually seeking the 
responsibility, he found himself with a real live girl who he wanted to 
treat with kindness but had to restrain from doing the hundred yard sprint. 
I stood demurely with my hands behind my back and watched him sweat. It was 
delicious. When he had huffed and blushed long enough about bedrooms and 
bathrooms and the kitchen sink, I told him bluntly to put my hands in front 
so I could make coffee. 

He was delighted, but the whole business of me had become suddenly intimate. 
Changing my hands from back to front took on a blushing consciousness of 
male and female that would just about rank with changing my panties. Dick 
Travers unlocked and locked again the handcuffs on my wrists with sure 
decisive motions. But we were positively bombarding each other with 
vibrations at close range. This was something new for Dick. 

"Are you sure you can, Priscilla?" 

"Of course I can." I bumped the percolator and cups with a fine busy sound. 
"Handcuffed like this, a girl can do almost anything. You'll have to be 
careful." 

"I've never done anything like this before, Puss. I feel a bit of an ass." 

I should explain about the ass in England. Where it refers to a donkey, it's 
okay. But don't ever use it for what we sit down on. To do so places you 
beyond the pale. Cheerfully, I assured my nervous captor, "You own me now. 
You have to look after me until I escape. Do you like your coffee strong?" 

"Would you really escape if you had the chance?" 

I faced him squarely. "Right now, yes. See if you can change my mind." 

I watched his lips purse. I was a problem. But I was female and bitchy and 
determined to enjoy myself without mercy. "How are you going to dispose of 
me when you go to work?" I asked sweetly. "Or will you take me with you?" 

"I've thought about that. No, I won't take you to work. You'll remove those 
two scraps you're wearing. They'll be locked away with all other feminine 
garments. Your hands will stay as they are. You can do anything you want. 
You can even escape if you want to bad enough to confront the English 
handcuffed and nude." That told me a lot. Dick was holding me by a delicate 
thread, a thread I could break at the price of the most frightful 
embarrassment. He was clever. He was testing me. Brightly, I said, "I'm a 
good cook. How about I fix our evening meal?" 

"I had intended on taking you to dinner." 

"Like this?" I held up my hands. 

"I'll consider a parole arrangement." 

"You've got it. The coffee's ready. Would you like some toast?" We sat at 
the kitchen table, but not before Dick slipped me a cute little shock. He 
unlocked one cuff and snapped it to a ring in the wall at the level of my 
plate and cup. 

Casually, he said, "I have rings set at strategic places around the house. 
Don't suppose we'll use them much. This is just a demonstration. I'll 
release you." 

"No, leave it. I want to get used to these notions. I'll manage." I managed 
very well. I sort of had a hand and a half. I simply couldn't leave the 
table. I had a feeling this sort of thing wasn't going to last. It would 
become too much trouble, but I didn't say so. Delightedly, I was hugging the 
thought of being taken out to dinner. This was a definite promotion from 
Wyngate. 

"I find you quite remarkable, Priscilla. You're handling this so capably. I 
expect it's because you're American." 

"It's because after Christopher this is heaven." 

"I find it hard to believe that of Christopher." 

"You can see the marks on me. Ask Diane. She got it too. The idiot was 
forever whipping me. He had some queer notion that it was the sure way to a 
girl's heart. You ought to have him committed." 

"Diane will handle Christopher." 

I made my voice urgent. "Dick, please don't ever let Christopher get his 
hands on me again. I'm frightened of him." 

My free hand was patted. Dick gravely assure me Christopher would never 
possess me again. A warm coziness settled on the cottage kitchen. I was very 
happy. 

I hadn't been taken to dinner since the night I met Dick and Diane. I was 
hungry for the atmosphere and the normalcy as much as for the food. I'd be 
proud of my escort, that's for sure. But the getting ready--oh, boy! 

It appeared I was to have my own bedroom. I didn't argue then, but saved it 
for later. The grim English wardrobe was full of things Diane had sent over, 
and so was the bathroom. Having exclaimed over them, I strolled demurely in 
my handcuffs. 

"I suppose I should take these things off?" Dick said. 

"Yes, I think so. I can't dress with them on." 

"There's the matter of your parole. It's really a promise, isn't it? Would 
you mind?" 

Would I mind! I had to try hard not to giggle. Dick Travers the lawyer was 
peeping through. Without a trace of hysterics, I intoned, "I promise not to 
try to escape. I won't embarrass you through dinner. Afterwards, I'll come 
back here with you and let you handcuff me." I glinted mischievously. "That 
will be the end of my parole. After that I'll escape if I get the chance." 

English pubs have atmosphere. I wallowed in it. Their food is good. I gorged 
myself. I was in a constant stimulus of excitement because my hands were 
free. I was free all over. My pussy had stopped hurting and had become 
simply tender. I basked under Dick Travers's regard. I had it all. Quaintly, 
my promise was like the handcuffs, relieving me of decision. We had coffee 
in the lounge. This is an English institution, rather like a study in 
anthropology. The class frequenting these places is bizarre. Then we went 
back to the cottage for brandy. It was a perfect evening. Dick forgot to 
handcuff me. 

Bedtime stared us in the face. 

I was mean again, letting him flounder and enjoying every moment. Dick was 
obviously prepared for the event, but found it difficult in putting it into 
words. Up in my bedroom he managed to get started. 

"I've given some thought to the matter of you sleeping safely, Puss." 

"Yes?" 

"I first thought of just handcuffs and locking the door." 

"That would be nice." 

"But there's the window. I'd worry about you trying it and getting hurt. 
It's a fair drop." 

"That's sweet of you." 

"So I installed this chain. It's a bit crude--just padlocks--and on one 
ankle only. It shouldn't bother you too much." 

"I think it's wonderful." I looked at the long snake of links on the rug. 
There was no shackle. Dick had been right when he said he had borrowed none 
of Christopher's stuff. "I'll have to undress first, though, won't I? Once 
my ankle's locked I won't be able to." 

"Eh! Oh, yes, I suppose so. Would you like me to leave the room?" 

"Then I could jump out the window." 

We laughed over that, and he looked embarrassed. He had seen me naked 
before, but his inhibitions were still working. Forthrightly, I stripped. I 
did not do a tease; I simply undressed. Naked, I lifted my boot to the bed. 

"There you are," I said flatly. "Lock it." 

Dick was not a fumbler. I watched the links circle and the padlock snap. The 
bond was heavy and cumbersome, but served our purpose well. 

By way of rubbing it in, I said, "Thank you, Dick. It's lovely." 

"It's not lovely at all." He paused and looked at me with appeal. "I suppose 
I should say good night, Puss." 

"I don't see why you should." 

He got the message and was ready. He kissed me gently on my lips, a nice 
masculine big brother of a kiss, holding my bare shoulders. 

"It isn't easy, but I think it's best," he said firmly. "Good night, Puss." 

I let him get halfway to the door before I called out, "Dick! I don't want 
you to go." 

"Please, Priscilla!" 

"I'm frightened. I want you in bed with me." 

Dick Travers stopped and turned. I took a step towards him, but the chain on 
my ankle made so much noise I stopped, half ashamed. We both laughed. 

Meekly, I said, "I'm not really wanton, Dick. I'm just a little girl far 
from home." 

He looked at me longingly. After all, I was stark naked. The battle he was 
fighting was evident on his face. He tried to say or do something, but the 
English in him won out. 

Firmly, he repeated, "Good night Puss." 

A moment later I was looking at the closed door, but there was no click of a 
lock. I knew Dick was right. I wanted him terribly, but I was glad he turned 
me down. His parents and mine would approve of his nobility, and it made him 
doubly desirable. But I was frustrated. I kicked at the chain on my ankle. I 
walked around the room with the links trailing, finding a wry satisfaction 
in knowing what I would do with myself. I would go to bed. That was what I 
would do, and that was all. I sighed. 

I slept gorgeously. 

I awoke when Dick was unlocking my ankle. I did the quickest dash to the 
bathroom and then to the kitchen. I was determined to make our breakfast. 
When he got in the way, I pushed him aside. He had forgotten to cuff me, and 
I didn't remind him. I wanted to get things between us as domestic as 
possible. It wasn't until we sat down to eat that he remembered. 

"Damn it, Puss, I forgot your handcuffs!" 

I held out my hand. 

When I was safely attached to the wall, we both felt things were back to 
normal. Neither of us commented. We spoke of other things. The main subject 
soon surfaced. 

"I have to go to my office, Priscilla. I'm not too happy about leaving you 
alone." 

"I'm not too happy either, but just chain me and be on your way. What's the 
rhyme: 'Men must work and women must weep.'" 

"It's bit outdated, Puss. Any plans for the day?" 

I laughed. Dick was so delightfully proper. He could have saved a lot of 
trouble by asking me to marry him right there, but I'm sure he thought I 
wasn't ready, and he probably wanted another lawyer's look at me too. 

"What plans could a naked girl with her wrists cuffed possibly have?" I 
asked innocently. 

"I suppose we could do that parole thing again. Worked through dinner last 
night, and it would make your day pleasant." 

"No!" I was suddenly scared. "Can you imagine the agony I'd go through?" 

"That bad?" Dick put his hand over mine. "I'm willing to let you go free and 
take my chances. You don't have to promise a thing." 

"But don't you see that's cheating!" I was surprised at the vehemence in my 
voice. "It's like refusing to run a race for fear you'll lose. No. We 
started something, so let's finish it." 

Dick looked at me. For moments I thought he was going to refute our pact, 
but instead he laughed and shrugged. 

"I think you like wearing handcuffs," he accused. "Very well, Puss, you will 
stay a prisoner." 

Nothing had changed, and I was glad. I was still locked to the wall and 
eating my breakfast with one hand. I felt things were going my way. I was 
going to get Dick, I knew I was. But it would have to be his way. I wondered 
if he'd bring flowers and kneel, or whisk me off to the Reverend Martindale 
neatly handcuffed. Blissfully, I did not care. 

When it came time for Dick to go, I felt like a new bride faced with a dark 
abyss of separation. We kissed with fervor. He tried banter. 

"Nude and handcuffed, Puss. Think you're safe against temptation?" 

"I'll be here when you come home. I'm making dinner tonight. It will give me 
something to do." 

"Sure you want to? I was going to take you out again." 

"I want to. Dick, there's something--" 

"Handcuffs too tight?" 

"No, of course not. Has Christopher got a key to this cottage." 

"No." 

"But Diane has?" 

"Yes. She brought you here one day. Sweetheart, you don't have to worry 
about Diane. She's fond of you." 

"It's Christopher who worries me. Suppose he takes the key from Diane and--" 

"He doesn't know she has it. If you're bothered, I'll get it back." 

"I wish you would. I'll never feel safe otherwise." 

I got kissed again and my bottom beautifully patted. When Dick did it, I 
thought of it as my bottom, not my ass. The English grow on you. I watched 
Dick's car go down the drive, then commenced what I can only call an 
education. I did the beds. I washed the dishes. It was fun. If I had been in 
a hurry, the handcuffs would have been a bother, but I was in no rush. I 
wandered from room to room, dusting a bit, tidying. I phoned Diane, but 
there was no answer. Mrs. Heselton was not due back for a few days yet. 

Then I faced the void. 

It was bloody awful. I don't think the handcuffs or being naked made a spot 
of difference. It would have been just the same if I had been the new bride 
and fully clothed. I was confused by what must have confronted millions of 
others when their new husband went off to work and left them alone. 

Nothing! 

Right there I knew why girls went to work or cheated on their husbands. They 
simply couldn't exist in a vacuum. I knew it didn't matter with me. I was 
viewing it academically, but if I ever got married, I knew that I had been 
warned. A girl wants her man, but her man does not want her during the day. 
He's busy making money. I glimpsed a chasm. 

Christopher came about noon. I heard his car. I watched from a safe window. 
He knocked and rang at the door repeatedly. It was as though he knew I was 
inside. I felt like one of the three little pigs with the big bad wolf 
outside the door. Christopher could easily break the lock or a window. I 
shuddered. Christopher had simply whipped me too damn much. He had taken me 
far beyond tolerance. I wondered if he had Diane fastened some way in pain. 
Sure, Diane was different from me. Anyway, there was nothing I could do, 
fixed the way I was. After awhile his ghostly knocking stopped and he went 
away. 

I loved making dinner. A woman needs to be doing things, preferably for a 
man. I hadn't yet got to thinking about children. I think young women are 
natural slaves. If we have the hots for a man, we'll do anything he wants 
and a lot he doesn't want. I felt gorgeously sexy and superior in my near 
possession of Dick. I hummed and sang and clinked my handcuffs, entrancingly 
happy. I phoned Diane several times, but there was never an answer. 

Dick was enthralled. I expect he knew I could fuck, but that I could place a 
meal like this before him was a bonus he had not expected. I got kissed and 
patted and praised. I think it's a fact with a lot of young couples that the 
girl is primarily a sort of wall-to- wall fuck. She's always there, and 
she's supposed to be always ready, but if she can cook too, look out! And I 
could cook. 

We followed the same scenario as before. I no longer kidded myself that I 
wasn't waiting for Dick to ask to marry me. I damn near propositioned him 
myself. But with the English that would be fatal. Looking back, I suppose I 
might say that was the happiest day of my life. After Christopher had 
finished knocking at the door and gone away, there wasn't a dark cloud 
anywhere. 

We sensed a mutual agreement. My ankle would be chained and I would sleep 
alone again. The morning was a repeat of the previous one. I watched Dick 
drive away and knew a glowing pride of possession and of being possessed. I 
suppose this is what being in love is about. 

Christopher came about ten o'clock. 

He must have got hold of Diane's key. He opened the door easily. Uncaring of 
nudity and handcuffs, I fled out the back into the garden. Christopher 
caught me before I reached the back fence. He dragged me back into the 
cottage by my hair. I'd never felt so damned impotent. It was hateful and 
frightening. Once inside the cottage he gave me no chance at all, but got me 
down and knelt on my back while he tied my elbows together so damn tight it 
made the cuffs bite into my wrists in front. I remember sort of gasping. 

"Dick will kill you for this," I warned. 

"No, he won't. He'll think you got loose some way and ran for Heathrow. I've 
got you Priscilla, so you might as resign yourself to the fact." 

"But you're friends, and you're taking what's his! He wouldn't do that to 
you." 

"I was tricked into giving you up by Diane. She used sex to get you and Dick 
together, so you are rightfully still mine, Ilena." 

"You cheating bastard!" 

"Come on, Ilena." 

Christopher took me into the living room. We stood facing each other. He was 
triumphant and once more in command. I was dismally twisting my shoulders 
against bonds I couldn't budge. It was crazy. I was desperately frightened, 
but I held on to my faith in Dick. 

"Dick will check Heathrow. When he finds I wasn't on a plane, he'll come 
straight to you." 

"But you will be on a plane. I've arranged for a Miss Priscilla Hendry to 
use your ticket. The plane will have left before Dick can possibly get to 
the airport." 

I was clutched by icy fingers. I could see everything working out as 
Christopher desired. I looked down at my hands. They were pinched in tight 
against my tummy, the cuffs hurting. Christopher followed my gaze. "Have to 
leave Dick those, eh? He'll wonder otherwise. He'll have to think you've 
done a Houdini on him." I was tired from one struggle and couldn't hope to 
win a new one. I stood dejectedly while Dick's handcuffs were unlocked and 
placed conspicuously on the table. Then my hands were tied behind my back 
and the ropes around my elbows drawn up savagely. A tear trickled down my 
cheek, partly from pain but also from anger. 

"Christopher," I begged, "I wish you wouldn't do this. It'll lead to nothing 
but trouble." 

In some ways Christopher had grown in stature since he first kidnapped me, 
mostly in courage and decision and authority. But he was still the smiling 
boy, the nice young man. If I hadn't known what he would do to me, it would 
have been hard to be too frightened. But I knew. I could almost feel the 
whip cutting my skin. 

"The only trouble will be yours, Ilena," he told me cheerfully. "That sex 
business threw me off track for awhile. I'm ashamed of it. Now I'll simply 
add it to the list and do it to you when I want, and you'll damn well make 
it good for me or be punished. No sulks." 

"What about your happiness with Diane?" 

"It's still there. I realize now that it's something separate from what I 
feel about you. Ilena, I'm going to break you properly." 

"I'm broken now, Christopher. I'll crawl if that's what you want." 

He gagged me. I couldn't do a thing. He tied my ankles and dumped me in the 
trunk of his car, then slammed it shut. In the dark helplessness, I cried 
all the way back to my prison. My name was once more Ilena. 

In my stone chamber he chained my feet, but took the rest of the ropes to 
leave me free. His instruction was curt. "Use the stuff in the bathroom. 
Make yourself as pretty as you know how. I want you that way for punishment. 
Oh, and color your nipples scarlet." 

I was treated to the loudest door noises yet. I looked down at my feet. The 
chain between the shackle bands was shorter than it used to be. I could only 
walk silly little snubbed steps. I experimented by clinking over to the 
window. I was helpless. Looking out at the peaceful scene, I was tempted to 
disobey Christopher's order, but what was the use? He'd only give me more 
pain for my trouble. Hating him, I clattered to the bathroom and went to 
work on myself. I painted my nipples as scarlet as I could. I figured 
Christopher must have read it in some book. 

Because of my chained feet, I was carried to where I could place my wrists 
and watch the yoke come down and imprison them. I was now ready for the half 
of my whipping I had missed before. My ankles were left as they were. Any 
kicking I did would be quickly snubbed. 

"Remember you have half a whipping coming?" 

"Yes, I remember." 

Christopher struck me a savage slice across my bare shoulders. I was still 
choking and gasping when he said, "Like old times, eh?" 

"It hurts more than you can ever know. Please tie me some other way. If I 
faint and fall like this, I'll break my wrists." 

"So you have a good inducement not to faint." 

He lashed me again. I screamed savagely and heard the clash of links as my 
feet responded in futile kicks. Slowly, he struck my back again and again. 
For each blow I returned him the most horrendous sounds I could make. 

Pausing, he pleasantly enquired, "Want me to fuck you after you've been 
whipped?" 

Christopher's use of the four letter word was like another blow across my 
back. Sometimes I used the word flippantly, Diane giggled at its mention, 
and Dick would never use it at all--but it emerged from Christopher's lips 
as pure venom. His fixation about it being punishment had not died. 

"You can lay on your wounded back, Ilena." 

"Whatever you want." 

He picked up my toneless lack of caring and whipped me savagely as his 
reply. I have a blurred memory of writhing furiously and tearing at my 
locked wrists as I screamed against the whip I could not stop. 

In the next pause, while I was still panting and sweating, I was casually 
informed, "Not a spot of blood yet, Ilena. You make an awful fuss." 

"Try letting me whip you sometime." 

The remark cost me two swift cuts and a reprimand. "You're not broken, 
Ilena. How about saying you're sorry?" 

The asshole! But what could I do but obey? Abjectly, I muttered, "I'm sorry 
I was a smart ass, Christopher, but please stop whipping me. Please!" 

Two more searing flames scorched my skin. "I asked you to say you were 
sorry. You were not told to ask me to stop your punishment." 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." 

The pain resumed. Christopher was becoming an artist in hurting me all I 
could stand without keeling over. The pause helped, but it also gave him a 
chance to cut me down another inch. Fastened the way I was, there was no way 
I was going to get the female's last word. 

"You understand you're back to total imprisonment, Ilena?" 

"Yes." 

"Don't be afraid to speak. You'll only be punished when you're what you 
called yourself--a smart ass." 

"Thank you." 

"At least I'm getting you partially trained. You may now request 
intercourse." 

It's such a silly word. It took me a moment to catch his meaning. 

I knew what he wanted. "Please fuck me, Christopher." 

"Why should I?" 

"Because you're the best." 

He was just testing, playing with me. The whip continued to lattice my back 
with weals. Not until I got tottery on my feet did it stop. 

I still had enough wits about me to know what he wanted. "Thank you very 
much, Christopher." 

"For what?" 

"For whipping me wonderfully." 

I heard Christopher's sigh of utter felicity. He was on an eminence few men 
ever reach. I can imagine how erotic I must have looked with my locked hands 
raising my arms and sweat trickling down my flanks and my skin crisscrossed 
by the whip he had used. I was getting whiffs of my own musk and was sure he 
did too. "You've been whipped, Ilena. That's the beginning." 

"Yes, master." 

"Why do you call me that? You've done it before." 

"It sort of slips out. I suppose because it's appropriate. I wish I could 
tell you it was an endearment, but it's not." 

"What is it then? I like it." 

The bastard! Of course he liked it. Quite honestly, I explained, "You own 
me. I can never escape. I'm helpless. You can do what you like with me. You 
actually are a master--my master." 

"Hmmm, I suppose you're right." He unlocked the stocks to free my arms. He 
leaned against them to watch me gingerly feel for and rub my wounds. I was 
no longer conscious of being naked before a man. That had long since gone. 
All I cared for was to say the right words to earn myself as little pain as 
possible. Pleasantly, he asked, "Never hung by your thumbs, have you?" 

"I forget." 

"We'll do it anyway. Come along." 

I clinked behind him to the chosen room. I was told to sit on a box. I was 
given brandy--quite a lot of brandy. As I sipped it under his stem regard, I 
wondered if other naked girls down through history had felt this same sense 
of unreality while waiting for their torture as men examined their bodies. 

To rid my mind of visions, I asked, "Are you punishing Diane, or are you 
just keeping her prisoner?" 

"A bit of both. I fuck her a lot too. Still awhile before her mother comes 
back. We'll hold the wedding after her return." 

More incredulity. If it was a book, it would be called The Tortured Bride. 
Doubtfully, I ventured, "I'd be grateful for a visit with her, master." 

"With chastity belts?" 

"Yes, of course." 

"Are your thumbs ready?" 

"Could I have more brandy, master?" Hastily I added, "I'm not trying to 
delay, but none of--" I got the brandy. Christopher was enjoying me. He once 
more had his favorite plaything. As I drank I tried not to think about my 
thumbs. I was sure it had to be awful for them and for me. Christopher 
didn't look the part of a torturer. I don't suppose he thought of himself as 
that. He was simply playing with his doll. Knowing I'd best not push my 
luck, I finished the drink and stood up. 

"I expect you'd like to fix me, Christopher." 

It was funny, watching my thumbs noosed with soft leather bands. I suppose a 
cord would cut them off. I wondered if I'd ever use them again. We were 
standing close and I noticed his erection. After Christopher had whipped a 
girl, you could bet it would be there. Clutching at a straw, I whispered, 
"Wouldn't you like to fuck me first, Christopher?" 

"I'd like to, but I find it weakens a man's resolve." He remained absorbed 
with my thumbs. 

I did not tell him that was the reason I made the suggestion. Perhaps he 
guessed. Christopher was growing up. Soon he would know more about sex than 
Diane and I put together. My heart began to thump as my arms raised and the 
bar with my thumbs attached at each end went slowly up before my eyes. First 
came the stretch, then the unbelievable moment of realization, and finally 
suspension. My toes could touch nothing. 

I can't claim to be an authority on torture, but I suspect there is always 
that first shock of knowledge you cannot possibly bear such agony. It's like 
the first stroke of the whip. I heard my voice trying to be reasonable. "I 
can't handle this, Christopher. I can't, I can't! Please let me down--oh, 
please!" 

Christopher did nothing except admire me. He was very happy noting stressed 
tendons and concave tummy. He gave particular attention to my thumbs and 
found them to his liking. I stole a quick glance up, but what I could see 
appeared defeatingly undramatic. 

I swung gently back and forth. 

"Beautiful effect, Ilena." 

I moaned and moaned. I was scared to say anything. I was panting and 
sweating and becoming sadly aware that I could possibly stand what I was 
suffering. It was bad, but girls seem to be able to endure anything. 

"You'll be like that for quite awhile, Ilena. It might be best if you don't 
struggle." 

He was telling me! I hung as limp as a wet rag. Even my moans seemed to hurt 
extra, but I couldn't stop them. I wanted to scream, but I knew it would 
hurt a lot. 

"I'll drop by and visit you often, Ilena. I wouldn't miss seeing you like 
this for the world." 

I allowed my head to fall forward and closed my eyes. I didn't see 
Christopher leave. He pushed the door to remain wide open- in mockery, I 
suspect. 

I hung. 

Being alone in suspension is frightening. You feel sure you're going to die, 
or come apart, or something else too terrible to think about. And there's no 
one there to help. It becomes a case of simply enduring pain, a steady 
relentless pain you can't escape. 

Christopher came often, braving my pleadings which I poured out with a 
terrible vehemence at first, but which slowly died into lethargic silence as 
I weakened and realized their futility. There was no way he was going to let 
my feet down on the floor. I looked too lovely and was hurting 
satisfactorily. He dropped small conversational gems. 

"They once hung girls like this routinely when they were to be whipped. The 
ancients seemed to feel the two punishments complemented each other. But 
don't worry, I won't do that too you. It's a bit too much." 

"Thank you." Boy, was I humble! 

On another visit he told me how he disliked blood or incisions. He said 
anything as crude as branding me with a hot iron repelled him, or pushing 
needles into my breasts to see how many they would hold. He said the latter 
was a favorite with Roman matrons. They used it on slave girls who dropped a 
bottle or something. Seems like the bitches got together for tea and made 
the girl kneel in front of them. Then they would take turns pushing in the 
slivers of steel. Christopher told me these things in a sort of academic 
detachment, but he managed to infuse into the telling the faintest of hints 
that they could happen to me. 

I continued to moan and lost all track of time. All I knew was that my 
thumbs and arms were going to come off at any moment. I warned him about my 
impending loss, but he just roared with laughter at such a crazy notion. It 
was not crazy to me. 

I think I hung for about four hours. When Christopher lowered the bar, I 
went down with it to finally lay panting on the floor while he freed my 
thumbs. I was conscious all right, but I felt I never wanted to move again. 
I looked at my thumbs and started to cry. Neither of them would move. 

Christopher raised me, but when I tried to walk, I tripped on the chain, so 
he picked me up and carried me to my prison. Then I had to stand while he 
fitted the chastity belt on me and locked it tight. I took snubbed steps to 
the couch and sat down. The simple act felt wonderful. 

"Not bad for a return home, Ilena. If we ran through your punishments like 
this, you soon won't have any hanging over your head. " 

"Just life imprisonment." 

I must have looked really down. Christopher produced a bottle and glasses. I 
don't know what the stuff was, but I drank it anyway. 

I thought that if Christopher kept torturing me. I'd turn into a lush. While 
the fiery sniff revived me, he came up with an iron collar, a horrible heavy 
thing charged with menace. 

"Chin up, sweetheart." 

So I'd got promoted to being his sweetheart! I tilted my chin to allow the 
iron to circle my throat. It closed in back with a pendent padlock. It was 
brutally heavy. I thought it very unfeminine, but my master did not agree. 

"It completes the ensemble, Ilena. It needed balance." Cheerfully, he added, 
"It's only a punishment. I probably won't chain you with it, but you'll hate 
wearing it." 

"Thank you very much, master." 

Christopher's quick glance was suspicious of sarcasm. I wasn't sure of it 
myself. For the iron around my neck, I felt only instant hatred. 

"Watch your tongue," he cautioned. "There's a whip around here somewhere." 

I knew myself to be nothing, merely a Barbie doll with extra parts and 
bizarre equipment: chains on my feet, my loins sheathed in silver mesh, cold 
iron around my neck. Undoubtedly, I would be an obedient girl. 

"Yes, I'll watch what I say," I said meekly. "I'm sorry. I'll try to be what 
you want." 

"I'm going to let Diane stay with you tonight." 

I motioned to my steel mesh. "Yes, I guessed. Thank you." 

The chastity belt had become routine. I no longer expected to find joy with 
a girl. She too would be meshed as I was, but Diane might tell me things. 

I might have guessed. 

When Christopher thrust his fiance in with me and slammed the door at her 
back, Diane was a duplicate of myself. She had shackled ankles, sheathed 
loins, and heavy metal around her neck. But there was one other thing: she 
was gagged. When I came to unbuckle it, I found it firmly locked. It would 
not move. We stood and gazed at each other in desolation. I could imagine 
Christopher laughing beyond the door. 

We wrapped our arms around each other. Girl skin and willing lips felt good 
after what I had been through. After the embrace we turned each other around 
to examine Christopher's work. Diane was as well marked as I was, although 
she seemed proud of her weals. But our captor had missed the boat--he had 
forgotten to gag me. So I was soon asking questions and getting nods or 
shakes of Diane's head in reply. I told her my own story. What it all 
amounted to was Christopher having second thoughts. 

Sex had hit him like a blow, but then he realized he could use us at any 
time if he kept us captive. He had gotten me back, and he could punish and 
screw us to his heart's content until Mrs. Heselton came home. In the 
meantime, he was on top of the world. He had two lovely playthings to use as 
he pleased. And even after Diane was gone he would still have me. It was too 
much to consider. 

Diane was much happier than I in our current situation. Her fulltime 
imprisonment would end with her mother's return, but mine would not. She 
nodded that she would go tell Dick Travers where I was immediately after she 
was released. But in her eyes was a question I could not fathom. I sensed 
that my freedom might not be so easily achieved. Christopher was holding an 
ace up his sleeve. 

We had our hands, and in desperation we used them on our nipples. But this 
only drove us wild with desire. The steel mesh locked over our pussies 
mocked our frantic touching. At last, defeated and horny, we cuddled each 
other on the couch and slept. 

In the morning I lost Diane quickly. Christopher carried her away an hour 
before he brought my breakfast. He deigned to share coffee with me and chat. 

"Pleasant night, Ilena?" 

"That gag was cruel. You didn't need to--" 

"She loves it. You know she does." 

"Well, I don't." I looked at him doubtfully. "Do I have to be punished again 
today?" 

"Of course. I've thought up something amusing for you." 

I squelched sarcasm and asked meekly, "What is this one for, master? I've 
forgotten all the things that I must be punished for." 

"I've forgotten too," he said, laughing. "It doesn't really matter. You are 
my property." 

I shivered. He was right--I was his property. But there was one burning 
question I had to ask: "You know Diane will go to Dick and tell him about 
me. What then?" 

His nice young man smile beamed at me. "You don't think a place like Wyngate 
House doesn't have a hidden chamber or two, do you? There are sliding walls 
and panels and such. There's also a lovely dungeon no one can ever find." He 
laughed at the desolation on my face. "The more intense the search, the less 
desirable your accommodations will be." 

"Oh, Christopher, no!" 

"Don't fret. You'll soon be forgotten. I'll get Diane used to accepting your 
presence up in the stone chamber. I'll chain her in there with you 
sometimes, and without a gag so you can gossip." He grinned. "I'm not fussy 
about dungeons myself. I won't chain you in one any longer than Dick and 
Diane compel me to." 

My spirits sank to a new low. I could not pick a flaw in Christopher's 
reasoning. He had me. In a different way he also had Diane. Both of us were 
foxed. Idly, I wondered which of us he would fuck most often. At the moment 
he didn't seem homy about me. 

He took the chastity belt from my loins. It always seemed an indecent act, 
but I was glad to be rid of it. In its place I was handcuffed and got a 
leash attached to my iron collar. Then he freed my feet. I stood, wondering, 
captive only to the cuffs. Suddenly the leash was savagely jerked to bring 
me almost to my knees. 

"A reminder only, sweetheart. Any ideas about escape or giving me an 
argument?" 

"No. Oh, Christopher, please--I'm helpless enough. I'll do what I'm told." 

My captor was pleased. I was a good little girl, responding nicely. He led 
me from the house, picking up a bag on the way. As we crossed the garden I 
timidly ventured, "Haven't we done this before?" 

"Yes, but Diane messed it up for me that time. She won't mess it up again." 

The tree was still there like a waiting sentinel. Without an order, I thrust 
my welted back against its bark and waited in docile acceptance of my fate. 
When Christopher opened the bag, I was more interested in its contents than 
he was. 

"I can't imagine anyone finding you this time," Christopher said in a fine 
businesslike fashion. "But just in case, I've got this." It was a length of 
really heavy chain and a giant padlock. I had to raise my joined arms while 
it circled my tummy and was tugged tightly behind the tree. The lock 
snapped. 

"Discourages casual visitors from setting you free. Take some real tools to 
get you out of that. Tight enough?" 

"Yes, I'm very tight. Does it have to be?" 

"Struggle. Try and get loose." 

It was silly, but I had to obey. I pushed and pulled at the chain. No way 
would it go down over my hips. It was well imbedded into the softness of my 
middle, and there it stayed despite my clawing with handcuffed fingers. 

"That's good. Don't really need anything else." 

"I can't possibly get loose, Christopher." 

"Yes. Pity you have to be punished, eh?" 

I could feel it coming. I might have known. I lost my handcuffs. They were 
dropped in the bag instead of locking my hands behind the trunk of the tree. 
He then crossed my wrists and tied them with thin cord, the kind that cuts 
if you move. I didn't have to ask why. 

Roping me to the tree was a steady progression. I was already fixed to it 
immovably. What Christopher was doing now was only cosmetic and to hurt. 
Just the chain around my middle was nowhere near enough to rank as 
punishment, so then rope was tugged on me and into me everywhere. He even 
got a strand up inside my crotch on each side of my pussy. He also gave a 
lot of attention to roping my breasts, achieving a nice crisscross effect to 
make them stand out more tautly than they already were. There were ropes 
over and across my shoulders too, dragging them back and making it painful 
to breathe. By the time he was through with me I was wearing almost enough 
rope to make me respectable. 

"You look lovely as usual, Priscilla." 

"I'm sure I do. I don't feel lovely." 

"No gratitude? Perhaps you'd prefer the thumb treatment?" 

"I'm sorry, Christopher. It's just that--oh, never mind." 

"No, please tell me." 

"Well, don't you realize after an hour of this I'm going to be in agony? 
Every time I breathe a rope digs deeper." 

"Interesting. I'll keep track of that as the day progresses. I will visit, 
you know." 

"Thank you." 

"You look a trifle wan." 

"Oh, Christopher, do you expect me to be laughing?" 

"Well, no, I suppose we could say your dolor is a tribute to my skill. I'm 
flattered." 

"I suppose I'm here like this for the day?" 

"At least. As a matter interest to you, I'm having company. Diane and I are 
having drinks with Dick." He laughed as my face came alive. "I'll find an 
excuse to give him a tour of the house to make sure he knows you're not 
there. I've also told Diane of a particularly terrible punishment I'll 
inflict on you if she isn't a good girl. Incidentally, she doesn't know 
where you are." 

My brief hope died. I could picture the three of them enjoying a couple of 
happy hours while I kept company with my tree. By then I'd be hurting bad, 
but I didn't say a thing. What could I say that wouldn't get me punished? My 
face would tell Christopher what I was thinking. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT - NO ESCAPE 

After Christopher had gone and left me alone, I tried to shift in my bonds 
but couldn't move. I knew it wise to go easy on the chafing. There would be 
enough of it before evening. I made my nakedness as limp as the ropes would 
allow. I was completely alone. 

I was mad and frightened and altogether pissed off. Everything that mattered 
was so near and yet so far. If Dick only knew where I was! 

My thoughts turned to Christopher. Was he insane? Or was he just the victim 
of atmosphere and his own fantasies? I could imagine Wyngate House 
comfortably laughing at us all in its perpetuation of an age-old past. 
Irritably, I blew away a fly from my nose, then huffed and puffed at another 
on my right nipple. It was almost beyond range of my lungs, but when I 
dislodged it, another took its place. A naked girl tied to a tree in an 
English forest in summer can expect a few insects. I'd get my share, and I 
might as well resign myself to their interest in my skin. I closed my eyes. 
I wished I could sleep. 

I don't know how long it was before Christopher came. He cheerfully asked if 
I was hurting, and I said that I was, and that appeared to be that. He then 
checked the ropes with the avowed intention of tightening up any slack, but 
there was none, as I hadn't struggled enough. 

"Given up hope?" he enquired genially. 

"Of course I have. Everything's hopeless. Can't you see what it's doing to 
me?" 

"You look okay to me. In fact, you look very good." 

"Christopher, can't you see what it's like to have your life taken away? I'm 
hurt everyday--a little more or a little less--and I know I can't escape. 
Can't you understand?" 

"You're being dramatic, Puss." Christopher positively preened in front of 
me. "I've decided to be fair about myself. I'll fuck you and Diane equally. 
Should add a bit of color to your captivity, don't you agree?" 

"Oh, Christopher, that's not a bit English. What's got into you?" 

"It's the other way around. It's me getting into you girls. Should have done 
it from the start. You'd have felt differently." 

I hated to think he was partly right but he was. "All right then," I said 
defiantly, "get me away from this tree and fuck me now. I could use a little 
comfort. Please? Pretty please?" 

I did not get fucked. Christopher had used the forbidden word, but he wasn't 
at ease with it. I could sense myself close to getting punished. Beneath his 
bravado, sex was still vulgar. Still, Diane was probably getting impaled ten 
times a day, so I was looking at a satiated conqueror. I could kick myself 
for feeling jealous, but what he did do was surprising. With Diane's own 
skill, he started playing with my nipples. I stared in disbelief. 

"Christopher, don't! Please don't touch them." 

"Why not?" 

"You know what it does to a girl. It drives us up the wall. I'll get so damn 
horny!" 

"I'd like to see that." 

His fingers didn't stop their play. I couldn't move my nipples even one 
inch. I tried to look away and not think of what was being done to me, but I 
was soon breathing heavily and getting warm. "Your face is getting a 
far-away look, Priscilla." 

"So would yours if I did this to you. Stop it!" 

"I own you. I can play with any parts of you I like." 

"If you won't fuck me, then play with my pussy so I can climax. You've got 
me halfway there now." 

"You mean you wouldn't mind?" 

It was getting hard to keep my voice even, but I did my best. "It's a lot 
better than standing tied here all alone, Christopher--so long as you make 
me climax." 

"That's what they call an orgasm?" 

"Yes, that's what it is. Oh, please!" 

"Like this?" He got two fingers inserted into where my pussy was tied tight. 
He fumbled between my labia, but was defeated by his own ropes. By now I was 
desperate. 

"Untie me. Please, Christopher, we can have the loveliest time on the grass. 
When we're finished. I'll let you tie me again, I promise." 

"Go to all that trouble? Oh, come, you can't expect--" I climaxed right 
then. I suppose it was a lot of things conspired to take me over the brink, 
and I had wanted it so damn bad. I gasped and moaned while Christopher had 
the good sense to keep right on teasing my flesh. When I panted my way back 
to a conversational level, he had gone. 

I suppose it was a minor victory. It had at least made me lethargic enough 
to relax within my bonds and fall asleep. The ropes held me safe. When I 
awoke, quite a long time later, I found myself staring straight into Diane's 
agitated eyes. I was hurriedly kissed. Her message was a jumble to unravel 
later. 

"Darling, I guessed where Christopher had you. I brought a knife, but he's 
got you chained so I can't get you loose, so I'll tell Dick. I'm sure he can 
cope." Diane looked at me unhappily. "I suppose I should tell you: 
Christopher promised he'd brand his initials on you with a hot iron if I did 
what I'm doing." 

Diane's presence revitalized me. Christopher could brand me all he liked in 
some abstract future, just so long as Dick learned where I was. He would 
need tools for the chain. I assured poor Diane she had done the right thing 
and that I was willing to take the risk. She kissed me, still unsure of 
herself, and ran back to the house. But I was happy. 

Christopher had been too clever. He had outsmarted himself and underrated 
the affection of girls, as well as their courage. I admit the threat of his 
branding me was still there, but I didn't believe it would happen. Dick 
would make sure it didn't. I fell into a lovely haze of roseate dreams. 

I was dragged out of them by a common looking man with a common sounding 
English voice--most definitely lower class. Entranced, he was giving me a 
good once-over with appreciative eyes. I recognized him as a gardener I had 
seen from my prison window. "Name's Henry Ricks, miss. Mr. Wyngate sent me." 

"How do you do, Henry. I hope you have a key." 

My greeting had been satire, but the key in Henry's hand was real. He was a 
class-conscious man who approached a difficult task apologetically. "Been 
real kind to me, Mr. Wyngate has, miss! I hope you don't mind." 

"Just get me free of this tree, Henry, and I won't mind anything." Henry 
seemed too good to be true, but I was willing to use him. "It ain't quite 
like that, miss. Just a minute, and I'll show you." Even if there was a 
hidden kicker, I couldn't see Henry doing me any harm. When the chain fell 
from my middle and my hands were untied, I was euphoric. I gasped 
ecstatically. 

"Thank you, Henry! You're so kind." 

"Trouble is, miss, I got this here." He held out handcuffs. "You're supposed 
to wear 'em." 

It was a disappointment, but there was still room for optimism. I 
surrendered my hands without demur and watched them being cuffed. Poor 
Henry--the exercise of cuffing me had him sweating. 

"I'm very well behaved," I assured him, hoping for a chance to run. I 
couldn't picture Henry as a sprinter. 

"That's a lot o' rope he's got you in, miss." 

"Yes, isn't it? Do you have a knife?" 

"Ain't supposed to cut it, miss. Be needin' it again. Hope you don't mind me 
seein' you all bare." 

"One more won't make a bit of difference. Have a good look." It passed him 
by. Henry busied himself with knots. When he had retrieved enough rope from 
my lower half, he thoughtfully leashed my collar to the tree. 

"Just followin' orders, miss. I'm told you're apt to make a quick dash." 

My spirits fell, but hopefully I asked, "What did Mr. Wyngate tell you about 
me, Henry?" 

"That you was a thorough bad lot and I'd best take no chances." 

"You're going to take me somewhere, aren't you? Where?" 

"That's right, miss, and you'll find out soon enough." 

"Henry, have you ever owned a naked girl like me--had her all to yourself?" 

"You're kiddin', miss. Things like that don't happen to the likes of me." 

"They easily could. Take me, Henry--steal me away!" 

The poor guy! He found my proposition staggering in its concept. He stared 
heavily at my bare breasts, trying to think. I tossed another log on the 
fire. 

"You could have me all to yourself, Henry--do what you like with me. I'd let 
you." 

"Crikey, miss, that's just what Mr. Wyngate warned--that you ain't no lady, 
and that you'd bugger off first chance." 

"But you have me handcuffed, Henry!" I held my linked hands up for emphasis. 
"I can't run anywhere with these on--and I'm all naked." 

"Don't trust her--that's what he said, miss. Guess he was right. You ain't 
behaving well, miss. You're bein' real vulgar." 

"What! Because I offered to let you fuck me? Oh, Henry, come off it. You'd 
like to, I know." 

"That may be, miss, but Mr. Wyngate gave me twenty quid for this little job, 
and he's always treated me real decent." 

"Not half as nice as I'll treat you, Henry." 

But I had lost, I could tell from Henry's face and voice. I had lost out to 
good old English propriety and caution. My new jailer was faintly 
admonitory. 

"I wish you wouldn't talk like that, miss--not while we got this little job 
to do." 

I was free. It felt so good. But Henry picked up the ropes and grasped my 
leash. He gave a warning tug and said, "Now, if you'll come along with me, 
miss." 

What the hell else could I do! I followed where I was led. Henry's car was 
off the road and just inside the park. He raised the lid of the trunk. 

"If you don't mind, miss?" 

"You want me to get in there? Oh, no!" 

"You can climb in there yourself, miss, or I can put you in." I climbed in. 
Henry tied my feet and then my hands down to them. I became a neat package. 
The lid slammed. 

This was not my first such ride. In their way they're exciting-- the naked 
maiden desired enough to kidnap, her destination unknown. Since my hands 
were down by my feet, I sent my fingers searching for knots. I couldn't 
defeat handcuffs, but if I could get my feet untied, there might be a 
chance. I was halfway through the job and doing well when the car stopped 
and the lid was raised. We hadn't traveled more than fifteen minutes. Henry 
surveyed my work dourly. 

"Like Mr. Wyngate said, miss, you ain't to be trusted." He finished untying 
my feet and helped me get back on solid ground. He never let go of my leash. 
Henry looked around and said the obvious. "This here tree oughta be about 
right, miss." 

It might have been the same place as far a the looks. England is filled with 
bits of woodland they seem to have forgotten. Hope once more was shattered. 
I backed up against the chosen tree. A moment later the chain was tight 
around my middle. 

While I was being roped, I asked, "Did Mr. Wyngate send any kind of message, 
Henry?" 

"No, miss. Just said as how you'd understand." 

The bastard! I understood all right. He had set a trap, and Diane and I had 
fallen into it. When she triumphantly led Dick to the old tree, it would be 
as bare as his search of the house. Christopher would pretend to be amused, 
and Dick would be unsure, losing all trust in Diane's judgement. I would be 
tied in the new place all alone. I broached the latter subject. 

"This won't be safe, Henry. The wrong people will find me." 

"Ain't likely, miss. Nobody comes here." 

He was busy tugging at my ropes and making a good job of it, copying 
Christopher's pattern. Desperately, I tried again. "You're crazy not to take 
me, Henry. I don't want to be tied up like this. Take me home and I'll be 
ever so nice to you." 

"She'll tempt you like a whore, Mr. Wyngate said to me. Guess he was right. 
Anyway, I can't take you home on account of I got a wife and kids." 

I groaned inwardly but kept plugging. "We don't have to go to your place. I 
could give you a wonderful time here on the grass if only I was free." 

"It bet you could, miss. You'd run like hell." 

I abandoned my whoring and fought simply for salvation. "You don't have to 
tie me this tight, Henry. The ropes are hurting." 

"Don't trust her none, he said. If she ain't real tight, she'll get loose. 
And after them offers you made, miss, he was right, eh!" 

I thought that I must be getting old--losing my looks. First I was rejected 
by Christopher and then by his gardener. I fell back on the obvious. "But, 
Henry, the chain you've locked around my tummy would hold me. I can't 
possibly get it off. You don't need all these ropes." 

Henry paused in his work long enough to portentously announce, "You'd best 
shut up, miss. I've had about enough of your lip, and that's a fact." 

I shut up. I knew I was licked. Henry Ricks tightened his last knot and 
turned for the car. "I'll be sayin' good afternoon to you, miss. No hard 
feelings, eh?" 

I watched his little car feel its way through the brush that shielded me 
from the road. It was a lonely road, and I was beyond shouting distance. If 
I was not to die against my tree, I had to hope Christopher knew where I 
was. For sure I couldn't win. 

There began for me then the most haunting experience of my life. The 
afternoon passed without me being able to get any of Henry's work the least 
bit loose. The pain from his ropes slowly took over where the earlier pains 
had left off, but I had expected that. What I hadn't expected was the 
approach of night. I had been tied to the tree for hours and hours. 

When night falls in the woods, it's an eerie feeling. You naturally turn 
towards home and the light and warmth and friendship. But I did not. I could 
not. I stayed tied to my tree while the daylight sounds died and were 
replaced by purely sinister noises. Ghosts were lurking among the shadows of 
the trees. 

I was so damn helpless. As evening drifted into night, I had to wonder about 
Christopher. The other two couldn't find me, but he could, although he 
didn't come. I couldn't imagine he'd be mean enough to leave me tied and 
chained like that all night. I remembered his hints of an experiment. It 
would serve him right if, when he came in the morning, he found me a raving 
lunatic with my hair turned white. I almost wished it would happen. 

Gee, I wanted to move so bad, to shift a foot--anything! I played a game of 
excuses for his failure to show. This or that had intervened. Finally, in 
the full darkness of the moonless night, I had to realize he wasn't coming. 
I would stand the way I was until morning, and after that I didn't know. 

I had become a part of the wood, just like my tree. It had to stand as day 
became night and the seasons passed. I was possessed by an elemental force 
for which there is no name. It became easy to understand the ancients and 
their gods. For them the night was alive with mysticism as it now was for 
me. All over the country people were hiding from the night in their houses. 
They were afraid of the night. They closed their doors and minds against it. 
But I had become a part of it. The night and I were one. 

Dawn and the morning were small miracles I could scarcely believe. When the 
first ray of sun found me, it spoke of the night chill I had scarcely 
noticed. The air was hot again by the time I heard Christopher's car. He 
walked around me jauntily several times as though surveying the ruins. 

"Still nice and tight, eh?" 

I wanted to call him everything in the book, but I was scared and so very 
glad to see him. I'd have been glad to see Dracula. 

"Why did you have to do this to me, Christopher?" I asked meekly. 

"Bad?" 

."Of course it was bad. It was terrifying. I can't move." 

"Tell me about it." 

I wished he would untie me, but I could tell he was genuinely curious, so I 
told him as best I could about the night and the ghosts and how the ropes 
kept hurting me worse and worse. He seemed enraptured. I realized it was all 
right up his alley. 

"I'll put Diane out some night, see how it affects her. " He gave me his 
little boy grin. "Want to be untied?" 

The sudden thought that he might not untie me must have shown in the horror 
on my face. Christopher laughed and began tugging at knots. 

"Henry Ricks treat you okay?" 

"He was a perfect gentleman, except for tying me to this tree." 

"Diane tell you about the penalty?" 

"About getting branded? Yes." 

"Like the idea?" 

"I'm too played out to even comprehend it now. Could you frighten me with it 
another time?" 

He left the chain until last. It kept me from falling. When the padlock 
fell, I simply flopped down and lay on the grass, panting and thankful. The 
weals where the ropes had been peeled from me were almost raw. For a couple 
of minutes I was too stiff to move. Christopher availed himself of the 
opportunity to handcuff my wrists behind my back. I didn't care. I wasn't in 
a mood to attempt escape. All I wanted was sleep. When he dumped me in the 
trunk of his car, he tied my feet. That was all. He didn't bother to join 
them to my handcuffed wrists. I went instantly to sleep. 

When I awoke in my prison, the sun told me it was afternoon. The rope on my 
ankles had been exchange for the familiar shackles. My hands were free. 
While I had this much freedom, I bathed and did my hair. When Christopher 
came with brunch, I was more or less normal. 

"You're very beautiful, Priscilla." 

"You always say that--it's habit." 

"No, really, that's why I can't part with you." 

"It won't work, Christopher. Diane's going to get so damn jealous of you 
keeping me around." 

"I can deal with Diane." 

"Sure, you can, if you want her forever sulking and resentful-- like me!" 

"You're not always like that." 

I shrugged hopelessly. "I wasn't like that when you untied me from that damn 
tree this morning. I'd have done anything for you just because I was 
grateful to be untied." 

"But you aren't now?" 

"Christopher, we can't ever be natural. Most of my politeness is because I 
don't want to be punished." 

He thought about it while I ate and drank. I suppose I had to be grateful to 
him for not starving me. He could have. I wondered if he missed that trick 
or was simply being kind. He poured himself a cup of coffee and chuckled. 
"Diane and Dick had a fine time searching for you. By the time they'd been 
out in the woods for awhile, Dick was looking at her sideways. She was 
really mad at me, but I've whipped it out of her." 

"That poor girl is always getting into trouble on my account. She's going to 
tire of it, Christopher." 

"She loves every punishment," Christopher assured me complacently. "It's 
like a sponge, wiping away resentment. She howls a lot, the same as you, but 
always wants to be fucked afterwards." 

"How come you've got to like that word?" 

"It makes girls wince. Watch yourself sometimes. Delightful!" It could 
easily have told him right there what a first-class bastard he had become, 
but I didn't dare. I was always off balance with these switches between 
being tortured and pleasantly socialized. If I hadn't been naked and my feet 
shackled, I'd be like any other girl chatting over lunch. Christopher got me 
back on track. 

"I'm thinking of branding you tomorrow, Priscilla. I've got a craftsman 
making me the iron." 

"Thank you." 

"Was that sarcasm?" 

"I really don't know. But I was sure you'd want me to say something. If you 
want to know if I'm frightened or not, yes, of course I am." 

"I'll fasten Diane so she has to watch. She's really upset. Thinks it's her 
fault. Wants me to brand her instead." 

"Has it occurred to you that you don't have to brand either of us? Nobody's 
twisting your arm." 

"Have to maintain discipline, Puss." 

He was so damn happy with himself and his ownership of two girls. I tried to 
put a dent in it. "You started doing that by whipping us. It always makes us 
obedient. Now you've moved on to torture. Where do you go next?" 

He actually listened. "Yes, I know, and you're right. After you've been 
branded we'll all return to normal punishments. You may not believe it, but 
I'm very fond of you." 

"Then why press a hot iron to my skin?" 

"Because I want you to wear my initials all your life, Puss." 

"If that's the case, then you'd be branding Diane too." 

"I intend to." 

I wished I had kept quiet. With Christopher I could never be sure. When I 
had eaten everything in sight, I asked, "Do I get another punishment this 
afternoon?" 

"No. I want you to rest and think about tomorrow. I'll put Diane in with you 
before long, and I'll let you both talk." 

I didn't ask about the chastity belt or thank him, but I was curious. "Don't 
you want to fuck me?" I innocently enquired. "You can, you know. I belong to 
you." 

"I don't want you to ask that question, not ever," Christopher warned. "I'll 
tell you when I'm ready. Because of that you'll lose your hands for the 
afternoon." 

I turned and put my hands behind my back. I didn't much care. He cuffed me 
tighter than needed, but I didn't care about that either. Christopher picked 
up the tray and left abruptly. My cuffed wrists told me I'd best watch what 
I said. 

I don't know what girls do in real prisons. I don't think they get left 
along a lot unless they're being punished. About all I could do was sit and 
think about tomorrow. I knew that getting letters burned into my skin would 
hurt more than I could possibly bear. Towards evening Christopher came and 
sheathed my pussy with the steel mesh of the chastity belt. But he took off 
the handcuffs. An hour later he ushered Diane through the door. She was 
carrying the tray with our evening meal and walking carefully with short 
snubbed steps. Her sex too was sheathed and locked. The door slammed and we 
were two girls alone. 

Diane put down the tray and we adored each other with breasts, nipples, and 
lips. We could consummate nothing, but for the moment we were satisfied as 
we were. There are times when a girl needs a girl so bad, and this was one 
of those times. She wasn't worried about Dick. 

"He knows you haven't gone back to the States, darling. I told him 
everything. He'll be watching Christopher like a hawk. He'll get you out of 
here." She looked at me dolefully. "I'm terribly sorry about this branding 
thing. Christopher talks as though he's actually going to do it, and I doubt 
if Dick can rescue you in time. It was infuriating. Fancy being rescued by 
the man you love a day after you've been branded by the man you 
hate--wearing the wrong initials for life! It would be a constant reminder 
whenever you made love or shared a bath. Oh, shit! But at least I was going 
to be rescued. 

"I asked Christopher to brand me instead, darling." 

Since Diane didn't appear to know, I didn't tell her that she would get it 
too. It was bad enough me knowing without spoiling her night too. After we 
had disposed of the food, we fed upon each other's nipples. We knew it was 
crazy, but it was all we had. We called each other frustrated spinsters and 
tried to make a joke of it, but neither of us laughed much. 

* * * 

Christopher tied us to posts for our branding. He had decided on our 
shoulders, a C on one side and a W on the other. He was animated with 
pleasure in what he was doing, explaining that he would prefer the cheeks of 
our bottoms, but since he would be caning them regularly, he had decided to 
mark us higher up. We had nothing to say about it. He didn't break the news 
to Diane of her brand until after he had her safely tied. 

We were made to kneel and hug our posts, one of our breasts on each side. 
Christopher used straps and buckles so as to get us as immovable as 
possible. Our arms too were one on each side of the post, but these and our 
wrists he tied with cord. It was a savage tightness. When he was done, he 
could bum our backs to his heart's content and we wouldn't move that portion 
of us that mattered. 

I could tell Diane was thrilled by what was to be done to her. She wanted to 
bear Christopher's mark, whereas I did not. I wracked my mind to think of 
ways I could dissuade him, or at least delay it, but I could think of 
nothing. Hell, he owned me! If he wanted to burn his initials in my skin, 
why shouldn't he? 

Christopher was immensely proud of the two irons he'd had made for our 
marking. He held them for our approval, a C and a W. They looked innocent 
enough, but they were not yet red. He also had a can of spray he assured us 
would modify our agony, but having gone overboard on mercy, he placed the 
brazier squarely between us where we could watch the irons get red. He said 
he'd been reading up on it and the perfect brand was where the iron didn't 
have too much color. 

"Either of you girls want to be gagged?" 

"Yes, please," I said quickly. Diane elected to scream. 

The gag Christopher chose for me filled my cheeks and compressed my tongue. 
It also sealed my lips with a soft leather band. 

I felt better with it strapped tight. My agony could not shame me now. I 
would make sounds, but they would not demean. Diane and I spent the next 
half hour watching Christopher with the bellows and the brazier glow with a 
red intensity until the moment came for the irons to be thrust within an 
incandescence of the coals. 

"You'll be the first, Priscilla, as originally promised." 

I could not answer. There was no answer. I watched the fire and what it 
held. When Christopher withdrew the C, I closed my eyes. 

There are no words for it. A girl being branded is bearing the greatest 
agony she can ever know. As the smoking iron was held against my shoulder 
for the requisite seconds and the odor of my burning flesh smote our 
nostrils, I was glad of the gag. I screamed into it with every nerve and 
fiber of my agonized being. I screamed again and again. When I stopped 
screaming and the cooling spray struck me, I knew with terrible certainty 
that I still had the W to come. I hadn't moved. I still couldn't move. I 
belonged to Christopher. 

I heard Diane pleading for me--for Christopher to stop. She asked that he 
bum her skin instead--that it was all her fault. But our master's nice young 
man's voice was for me alone. "Only the W left, Puss. You're halfway 
through." 

I got the W. 

He held the hot iron close to my face first so I could smell it. He gloated. 
"I'm going to press it on you now, Puss." I screamed into the gag until I 
could scream no more. The aerosol sprayed my burns with cooling balm. I did 
not faint. 

I was branded. 

Poor Diane. She had been forced to watch me, and now it was her turn. 
Through a dull haze of agony, I watched the irons reheated and the first 
iron withdrawn. I heard her scream most vividly and smelled the burning of 
her flesh. I heard it all twice. Both of us now belonged to Christopher. We 
could never escape this marking of our skin. 

I'm a bit hazy about how we got back to my prison. I think we were both 
carried. The shackles on our ankles had never been unlocked. For some reason 
unexplained I was handcuffed. I think Christopher only possessed one pair, 
and I was the delinquent, after all. But chastity belts or not, Diane and I 
were still together. We held each other and sobbed. We used the can of spray 
Christopher left with us. It helped a little. After awhile we plucked up 
courage to look at each other's bums. 

Girls are crazy. We are absurdly erotic. The C and the W on our shoulders 
thrilled us to bits. A man had desired us enough to put them there. I 
suppose that was it. Or was it an overwhelming relief that the act of being 
burned was over and only the pain was left? I remember, an absurd resolve 
that if Dick could not tolerate Christopher's initials on his wife's back, 
I'd urge him to brand me with his own initials on whatever part of me he 
chose. 

Because I was handcuffed, l could put my arms around Diane. She held me 
close, and we used our lips on each other and then our fingertips. Whenever 
we felt the pain getting the best of us, we sprayed the brands again. After 
awhile it receded to an insistent ache. To boost our morale, we went to the 
bathroom and bathed and made ourselves as beautiful as we could. Cosmetics 
do that for girls. When we returned to the prison room, feeling more pleased 
with ourselves, the miracle occurred. 

The door slammed open with a crash. Christopher backed in under the threat 
of a pointed umbrella in the hand of a small, middle- aged woman whose perky 
features were masked in outrage. Diane's horrified exclamation told all. 

"Mother!" 

Mrs. Heselton did not seem dismayed at what she saw. Her gaze swept over us 
in a flood of disapproval. "Outrageous! A pair of strumpets! It appears I 
have not come a moment too soon!" 

"But, Mother--" Diane could have saved her breath. She was ignored. Her 
mother prodded the crestfallen Christopher with the umbrella, and sternly 
ordered, "Get these ridiculous mechanisms off these girls and fetch their 
clothes. Hurry!" 

Christopher appeared glad to depart. Mrs. Heselton turned her basilisk 
attention on me. "I suspect you're the American hussy. I'll deal with you 
shortly." She diverted her wrath upon her quaking daughter. "You should be 
ashamed of yourself, young lady. You and I are going to have a long talk." 

"But, Mother--" 

"Don't 'but' me. I shall insist on this outrageous young man marrying you 
immediately. I hope you are not yet pregnant." 

We dressed in blushing shame, careful that she should not see our brands. 
Under the threat of the umbrella, Christopher seemed totally cowed. Mrs. 
Heselton was a survivor of those women who had sent the English male out to 
found an empire. No doubt the poor fellows had been glad to go. Mother's 
next salvo was aimed straight at me. 

"I will personally drive you to the airport, you transatlantic baggage. We 
don't want your kind here." 

"But, Mother, it's not her--" 

"Silence, girl! Just wait till I get you home!" Diane's mother turned her 
wrath upon a sweating Christopher. "As for you, Mr. Wyngate, you will obtain 
a special license and marry my daughter without delay." 

Christopher made inarticulate sounds of assent. Mrs. Heselton was exactly 
what he deserved. I longed to laugh. Instead, I hugged Diane and she hugged 
me. We mingled tears. Mrs. Heselton broke it up with her umbrella rapping at 
my shoulder. "None of this American emotionalism here, my girl. I'll soon 
have you back where you belong. Come with me. Diane, you go straight home." 
She turned to Christopher. "And as for you, come with me!" She sniffed most 
eloquently as she grasped my arm. I nearly said, "Up your ass, Mother," but 
after all, I was getting a free ride to where I wanted to go. I began to 
feel happy. I never wanted to see England again. 

Mother was a stem and cautious driver. Our progress was slow. She explained 
George Washington's terrible mistake in not enlisting the aid of George II 
in drawing up the U.S. Constitution. I scarcely heard a word. I was busy 
writing off Dick Travers and trying to ignore my brands. Both were a part of 
England, and I hated the whole place. At Heathrow I was given twenty pounds, 
told never to bother "decent people" again, and set adrift among the 
Oriental and Asiatic occupation of England's major airport. I finally found 
someone who spoke English. 

Real joy claimed me when we were allowed on the plane and I got a window 
seat and saw all the familiar emblems on the huge fins: TWA, Pan American, 
Trans World, and the rest. I was so thankful I was American and was going 
home. The brand would remind me of the nightmare tomorrow. But I would not 
allow it to spoil this glorious moment. I beamed a smile at the man who was 
now sitting in the next seat, stowing his briefcase underfoot. 

It was Dick Travers. 

"Diane phoned." He beamed right back at me. "I just barely made it." 

Imagine my feelings! I mean, what the hell is a girl supposed to do? But I 
sure was cheesed off with England, so I asked icily, "Why bother?" 

"Ah, like that, eh?" 

"Of course it's like that--the way I've been treated, and you never even 
tried to rescue me." 

"Wanted the shining armor and the white horse, eh?" 

"I'd have settled for a lot less. I owe this freedom to an angry old woman 
who thinks I'm a tramp." 

Dick recognized the description and laughed. The wheels of our plane began 
to turn. I felt wonderful. 

"Visiting someone in the States?" I enquired. 

"Yes. A girl actually. I'm going to ask her to marry me." 

"How nice for you. Suppose she says no?" 

"Have to kidnap her. She's kidnap prone--experienced in that sort of thing, 
you know." 

"Silly creature! Don't tell me she's American?" 

"Well, yes. I'm emigrating there myself, you know--just for her." 

"She's not worth the sacrifice. Just think--no tea!" 

"She's worth every tea bag in England. She's a charming girl-- quite 
delightful. She's a bit put out with England and the English right now, but 
I think she'll get over it." 

I was able to say, "I doubt it. Anyone tell you this charming girl has been 
branded on the backs of her shoulders with the letters C and W?" 

"A mutual friend mentioned it. I intend to kiss the wounds every night for 
the rest of her life." 

"She wouldn't have had them if you hadn't been so slow." 

"I will atone, every day of her life." 

Dick was getting to me. The old magic was back, and he was so damn good 
looking. I was the envy of every stewardess. But, as I was female, I said 
huffily, "I do hope you enjoy your return flight tomorrow. You won't like 
the U.S.A. No dungeons, you know." 

I don't know how he managed it. I wasn't prepared, of course. 

My arm was simply resting on the seat, but its wrist was suddenly 
handcuffed, and I do mean tight. The twin cuff was clicked onto the armrest. 
This imprisonment of my hand was discreetly covered by a scarf. 

"Take that damn thing--" I suddenly paused. To make a fuss or vehement 
demands would attract attention. That was the last thing I wanted, and Dick 
knew it. Thin-lipped, I whispered, "Take it off, Dick. Unlock it." 

"No." 

I realized it was a bit late for another American Revolution. I was already 
captured. Urgently, I threatened, "I'll scream." 

"Please do." 

I did not scream, of course. As a matter of fact, the constriction around my 
wrist felt good. Old habits are not easily broken. I had been a chained girl 
for so long that I missed it. Instead, I hissed, "If you don't take it off, 
I'll show the stewardess." 

"And I'll produce my credentials as a volunteer member of the Sussex 
Constabulary, escorting a prisoner under arrest." Dick held a little booklet 
for me to see. For all I knew I might be authentic. After all, he was a 
lawyer. I wilted and looked down hurriedly to make sure my hand and its cuff 
was well hidden. 

"Oh, all right," I surrendered abjectly. "What do I have to do to get the 
damn thing off?" 

"Promise to marry me." 

"In that case, I'll be handcuffed for a long time." 

"Bit awkward for you, dear girl--restroom and all that." 

"I can wait." 

I was breathing heavily and staring straight ahead. But I knew Dick was 
smiling at me with his small grave lawyer's smile in a sideways grin, 
crinkling the comers of his eyes. I wondered if there was a place on earth I 
could go where a pair of handcuffs wouldn't grab me. I tested with my hand, 
but it was securely locked. 

"You'll have to free me when we land," I pointed out, laughing inwardly. "If 
you don't, I'll accuse you of kidnapping." 

"We both know you won't do that, Priscilla." 

Damn him, he was right! I could envision the kerfluffle. No way! 

But if only he'd let me have the last word. I'd been doing fine with the 
repartee until he captured my wrist. A girl in handcuffs is sadly 
handicapped. I sniffed and got huffy again. 

"Isn't this what you English would call being a cad?" 

"Indubitably." Dick slipped me the big word with satiric ease. "But all's 
fair in love and war, Priscilla." 

"I hope you realize I'm going to have to eat with one hand." 

"I'll be glad to help. Butter your roll, slice your meat." 

"Someone's bound to guess." 

"But they won't know for sure, will they? Help relieve the tedium." 

"You're treating me abominably, Dick Travers. I thought better of you." 

"Oh, I do agree, Puss." He was now giving me his full attention. "How would 
it be if I unlocked that cuff? Would you then agree to marry me?" 

I cocked my head, reasoning it out. "That's being smart ass. It's exactly 
the same proposition you made before, only different. Whether I'm handcuffed 
or not, I have no intention of marrying any man who's so slow in rescuing me 
when I'm in trouble." 

"No sense unlocking you then." 

"Ohhhh... you! Don't you realize how frustrated you're making me? Really!" 

"Sexually, I hope." 

I sniffed. "You'd be too much of a gentleman." 

"Not if we're married." 

I sighed. It was hopeless. This chitchat was getting me no place. I might 
have got the best of Dick Travers, but a girl can't talk back to a handcuff. 
This one on my wrist was laughing at me, I could feel it. I decided to just 
shut up. Then, next time he asks. I'd say yes to his proposal. Damn it, the 
man is so terribly sweet. 

I mean, what the hell else could I do? 


THE END
