Purchased
by F. E. Campbell


CHAPTER ONE - THE COLLAR AND THE CHAIN 

The countryside was a DELIGHT, and so were the little towns with their 
streets shaded by sycamore, maple, and oak. Upstate New York is beautiful in 
the summer. Anne Menton trod the accelerator as she pondered the big delight 
toward which she dove. She knew only vaguely of her Uncle Hilton, but if he 
had willed her an old house on one of the shaded streets, she was prepared 
to be grateful. Her mind dwelt lovingly on curtains and drapes and ancient 
oak. 

17 Maple Wood Drive was all she hoped, and the bright young man who opened 
the door was more than she had bargained for. He was altogether too neat and 
shining for Maplewood Drive. His smile gave the impression of waiting just 
for her. 

"Mr. John Lennox?" 

"Miss Anne Menton?" 

They laughed together and shook hands. John Lennox's voice was undiluted New 
York. "lively area, eh? Magnificent old house. You're a lucky girl, Miss 
Menton. May I call you Anne?" 

"Of course. And that makes you John. Am I late?" 

"Right on the button. Anyone tell you you're a damn good looking girl?" 

"A lot of men have. I get spoiled. But never mind me. I'm so damn excited 
about this house." 

"Of course. But how about a sherry before we start the tour?" His eyes 
sought hers engagingly. "You did say you were unmarried?" 

"I said that in my letter. " Anne accepted the drink, preoccupied, her eyes 
roving. "Why, the place is furnished!" 

"Your uncle lived here during his last years. " Lennox laughed. "I gather he 
changed housekeepers regularly. I wish I'd met the old boy. The office 
handled his affairs. 

If her Uncle Hilton had enjoyed his last years, Anne Menton would not 
complain. She drank the sherry faster than was polite, then followed John 
Lennox into wonderland. 

"It's all too perfect." Anne was breathless. 

"I knew you'd like it. You'd have to be a clod not to. Think you'll take up 
residence?" 

"It would be an awful drive twice a day." 

"I suppose it would. But don't let's be negative. There's still the garden, 
the garage, and the downstairs basement. Not a termite in sight. The garage 
is newer than the house, but it is attached. There's a door to connect. 
You've parked your car on the super driveway out front, so you've had a look 
at that. There's some very fine shrubs... " In her mind, Anne was already 
calling in her dream house. She supposed she would become accustomed to 
ownership, but the thrill would remain. She followed her guide, only half 
registering his realtor-like enthusiasm. The summer sun was a benediction. 

"Even the basement has been done over. No mildew, no funny smells. The whole 
downstairs is developed. Would you mind amusing yourself down there while I 
make a phone call? Be with you in a jiffy." 

Downstairs was a bonus: clean, new, functional. But it was nothing to linger 
over. When she came to the last closed door, she saw only that it was 
slightly bigger and a lot heavier than the others. She turned the handle in 
blithe unconcern and went inside. 

In times to come she would know this moment as the division of her life. 

There were five of them: naked girls, each staring at her with a different 
expression. The concern she saw in each matched Anne's own as she beheld the 
iron collars on the slender necks and the chains trailing to the wall. Each 
nude girl could come six or eight feet to approach her, but that was all. In 
a panic, she turned back to the door, but it had closed behind her with a 
solid click. The sounds of John Lennox and his phone call had vanished on 
the other side. Anne faced a smooth surface: no handle, no knob, no lock, 
nothing! 

"Welcome to the club, honey." 

"Did he get you with the legacy trick?" 

"He's the smoothest operator. I really fell for it!" 

Anne turned. Her heart was thudding painfully. The three exclamations had 
been cruelly graphic. There was instant disillusion. The collars and chains 
upon the girlish necks were more eloquent even than the words. 

"You mean, what you're saying--" 

"That's right, we were all kidnapped--and now you too!" Dreams die hard. 
Hope lingered. Anne Menton looks from one to the other of the naked 
captives. All were young and beautiful. All were captive to their chains. 
Her question faltered. 

"You mean Mr. Lennox is some sort of swindler--I haven't inherited the 
house? Why would he do this? Why are you chained and naked?" 

The laugh was short and bitter. "White slavery, that's why." 

"We can't escape this chain and collar--we simply can't." 

"Buyers come every evening and take girls away. None of us have been here 
for more than four days." 

"I can't believe a word of this!" Anne blurted out, clinging desperately to 
reason. "They don't have white slavery any more. How did you get to be 
without clothes--and those collars on your necks?" 

"You'll believe it when somebody buys you, sweetheart." 

"We have to collar ourselves. He's got the damnedest system. See that open 
collar on the wall? It's waiting for you." 

"That's ridiculous! Why would a girl put that on herself?" Anne's question 
was answered in vivid simplicity by one of the collared maidens. The girl 
turned to display a bare back cut and wealed by a vicious whip. The white 
skin bore a lattice of scarlet and purple to evoke Anne's gasp of dismay. 
The captive's warning was passive in resignation. 

"I refused, just the same as you. Look what it got me! In the end, I did it 
myself anyway." 

"But you've been flogged!" 

"Yes, and it hurts worse than anything you ever dreamed. Don't fight it. 
There's nothing any of us can do." 

"He traps us one at a time. It's so damn simple I could scream." Five pairs 
of sympathetic eyes stared at Anne, and she stared back, trying to believe 
what she saw and what they said. The whole thing was just too bizarre, as 
far removed from 17 Maplewood Drive and the nice Mr. Lennox as the North 
Pole. It was some sort of game--it had to be! 

"We'd like to save you from being whipped," the young voice said urgently. 
"But if Jenny's back won't convince you--" 

"Honey, we've all stood where you stand now. Lennox has a continuing process 
going. Each new girl faces what you face and makes her own decision." 

"You mean you all voluntarily chained yourselves?" 

"All except Jenny. We're not stupid." 

Anne let the implication slide. Her first shock over, she was now looking at 
her companions with a more sympathetic eye. Their stark nakedness had 
repelled her at first glance--so many breasts and patches of pubic 
fronds--but if they had made themselves bare under duress, well, that was 
different. She beheld them now for what they were: nice girls who probably 
worked in banks and offices and stores, each of them a different 
personality. Their varying expressions held one thing in common: compassion. 
These girls had stood where she stood now, each reacting in her own way. In 
her they relived their own dilemmas. Her voice still faltered. 

"I don't think I can possibly do what you say. It's against everything I 
am." She paused, distressed. "Look, I'm still free. Can't I do 
something--get you loose?" 

"Can you think of anything?" 

She could think of nothing. She was as impotent as they themselves. The only 
purpose of their collars and tethers was to prevent them from laying in wait 
for John Driscoll and then jumping him in unison. Apart from the humiliation 
of the metal band and its links, they were as free as she herself. Anne 
turned back to the closed door, searching for a finger hold, then beating on 
it in a desperate anxiety of anger. 

"It's no good, honey. Undress, put your things in a pile by the door, then 
lock that collar on your neck, and let's sit and talk. You being all upset 
isn't doing any of us a bit of good." 

It was all so plausible, so easy for John Lennox. It was as though she would 
hand her naked body to him on a plate. Anne's whole being rebelled against 
such passive surrender. After awhile Lennox would open the door and there 
she would be, naked and chained, awaiting his pleasure. 

"I can't do it! There's no way I can do that to myself," she said, looking 
from one compassionate regard to another. "I know you mean well, but it's so 
wrong. We have to fight!" 

Behind Anne's back the door opened. She turned and backed away. It was the 
same John Lennox but with a difference. The difference was a long, slender 
riding crop. His smile was as bright and cheerful as before, and so was his 
voice. 

"The girls didn't manage to persuade you, Miss Menton?" Beneath his regard, 
Anne felt almost silly in her clothes and freedom. Somehow John Lennox 
contrived to make the five naked girls seem normal and she the anomaly. Anne 
found herself forcing her voice to fight her battle. 

"This has gone far enough, Mr. Lennox. Free these girls and allow us all to 
go home. I personally would not press charges." The pain was exquisite as 
the crop sliced Anne's bare legs beneath the hem of her dress. It was an 
agony such as she had never known. She found herself doing an absurd little 
dance. Her demand was equally futile. 

"Don't do that! It hurts horribly. You have no right!" 

Anne danced to a rain of shrewd blows upon that part of her most bare. The 
male voice remained casual. 

"Anytime you wish to undress, Miss Menton, please don't mind me. And there's 
also the collar, of course." 

She flew at him, trying to claw his face, but the crop beat down her 
reaching arms. Anne Menton had never known such bitter, awful pain. Sobbing, 
she backed away until stopped by the wall. The man and the crop stood 
between her and the door. 

"Well, Anne?" 

"I've never stripped naked in front of a man--never! Please don't make me 
now." 

"Your companions could say the same. Now strip!" 

"But why must you have us naked?" 

"Because I'm going to sell you, you silly bitch. The buyer wants to see what 
he's getting. Take those clothes off--now!" 

"But couldn't I do it when--you know, at the time, if it's really, 
necessary?" 

"Ah, we progress! Stop arguing. You'll strip in the end, you know--just like 
the others. I don't mind your back being bloodied. Whipped girls sell very 
well." 

It was hopeless. John Lennox had an answer for everything. He also held the 
crop and possessed male strength. Anne no longer thought of escape, only of 
preserving herself from pain. But to be naked like the rest--for this male 
and even the girls to be able to look at her bush and her firm, ample 
breasts--was just too unreal. Wanly, she pleaded, "All right, but please 
don't watch, okay?" 

"I will watch. You will strip. Remember, don't sulk. I will not tolerate 
pouts and petulance." 

Anne faced defeat. The girls had been right. She could have saved herself 
wealed skin if she had passively accepted what she now must accept anyway. 
Under the amused stare of John Lennox and the commiserating glances of the 
captive girls, Miss Anne Menton removed her clothes. She tried to do it 
without shrinking or theatrics, but she could not control the pink of her 
cheeks and its spreading tide. Making herself totally nude before six people 
was simply unthinkable, but she did it manfully, refusing to think or meet 
with the watching eyes. Without waiting for the inevitable command, she 
picked up the open collar and its chain. She fitted it resolutely around her 
neck and pressed it shut. It closed upon her throat with a click to make her 
wince. 

"Congratulations, Miss Menton. Allow me to wish you a satisfactory sale." 
Lennox picked up the discarded clothes and shoes, then left his inventory of 
female flesh to their own devices. The door slammed shut. 

Anne fought down her own hands which sought to cover her most private 
parts--parts of her person she had never dreamed of displaying in public. 
Dim lights and sheets had seemed natural to the occasion. But now she had 
been left nothing--nothing at all! 

"Don't feel bad, honey. We're all girls together. That bozo's just a fact of 
life. We have to put up with him." 

Anne fingered the snug collar around her neck. It made her feel helpless. 
She could go nowhere and do nothing. The chain mocked her. If there truly 
were purchasers, they could view her as they pleased. She could stand or sit 
or face the wall. She could not win. 

"The mattress is yours, honey. Roll it up and sit on it the way we do. At 
night it's enough to keep your hips off the concrete." Anne obeyed. She 
hated to think the crop had made her docile, but its agony had been 
devastating. Miserably, she conceded, "I guess I owe you all an apology. I 
should have listened." 

"Don't feel bad. In the end it will make no difference. All six of us will 
soon be sold. For each of us that sale is the bottom line. Our life starts 
then. What's gone before doesn't count now." Anne sat as suggested, her 
fingers still busy with the band upon her throat. She had not tested either 
the chain or the collar, but why should she bother? If she was free of them, 
she would only be back to square one again. 

For something to say, Anne asked, "Who buys us?" 

"All kinds. There was even a woman. I wish she had bought me. I'd sooner be 
a lesbian's slave than belong to most men. They're mostly middle-aged and 
paunchy. Lennox himself is the only heart throb, the son of a bitch! I bet 
he's making a fortune out of us damn- fool girls." The speaker snorted in 
disgust. "I wish I had V.D. You can bet your boots we're all going to be 
fucked to a frazzle." A dismal feminine voice added, "Unless we get bought 
by a kook. Then it's not his prick, it's his whip. We don't have much to 
look forward to." 

The six girls talked. Anne could well understand their state of mind. 
Unconsciously, it would become hers as well. The girls had been transported 
back in time to a Babylon slave market. There would be huckstering over 
their disposal. Sooner or later, a man would lead them away. Cash would 
change hands. If they demurred, they would be whipped. Taken to their new 
home by their new owner, they would spread their legs and accept the thrusts 
of his phallus. What else was there for a girl who was a slave? 

Lennox served a meal and exchanged the covered pail they were obliged to 
pass around in lieu of plumbing. The food was good and the coffee hot. John 
Lennox was his usual cheerful self. His manner seemed to indicate normalcy. 
Six chained and naked girls in his basement was no big deal to him. He joked 
and winked impartially. Gnawing at a chicken leg, Anne discovered herself to 
now be one of the girls. They were all equal; there was no seniority. They 
managed wry humor as they ate and drank to the music of their chains. It was 
impossible to move without evoking response from the links by which they 
were tethered. 

"If I ever get out of this, I'll never take my clothes off again." 

"For sure I'll never put a collar and leash on another dog." Anne realized 
that six together was better than one alone. They sustained each other in a 
situation so desperate she dared not think ahead. But their eventual fate 
was in all their minds. They were naked girls waiting to be sold. Their 
plight was an excerpt from fiction that had become wickedly real. A man 
would buy them, and what then? 

The most articulate of the six summed things up bleakly as she sipped 
coffee. "We've been stolen out of life. We've been robbed. We no longer have 
a husband, children, a nice home, or neighbors. The best we can hope for is 
to be somebody's pet, kept safely chained and ready for his use. It could be 
a woman too. A woman came and bought a girl a couple of nights ago. I'm not 
sure which I would prefer. Women can be such bitches, and there's only one 
reason they would want us." 

There was an established ritual at the end. Each girl pushed her plate and 
cup as far towards the door as her chain permitted. Lennox took no chances 
of being jumped by his angry inventory within the limits of their tethers. 

"We pass on to each other what we have to do," a captive mourned. "The 
bastard has everything figured. He could keep us like this forever if he 
wanted." 

"He must sell four or five of us every week. I wonder if he ever runs out of 
girls." 

"He'll trip himself up sooner or later. But that won't help us after we've 
been sold." 

Anne wished she had something useful to say, but she could think of nothing. 
Adding lament to lament was a useful release, but that was all. She longed 
to tear and rend and scream. Instead, she played with the hated iron circlet 
around her neck and fingered its links hopelessly. When the first buyer 
came, she was glad for the diversion. 

He was a dapper little man who had made money but never made a girl. Anne 
could almost feel sorry for him that he was forced to purchase one. He 
peered at the six nudities, entranced. 

"Up girls, on your feet. Show yourselves." Lennox was brisk. He used his 
crop as a pointer, but it also spelled out disobedience. "You've got a good 
selection to choose from tonight, Mr. Pilsner." Hating the subservience, 
Anne did as the rest. She stood and gazed at Mr. Pilsner without interest. 
Mr. Pilsner was a very dull little man. 

"Good. Now turn around." 

Mr. Pilsner surveyed the assorted back and buttocks with approval. He made 
an obvious comment. "Some of them have been whipped, Lennox." 

"Had to--keeps them in line. The marked ones hold the most interest for 
some." 

"And the most trouble." 

"Get yourself a whip, man. No problem." 

"Could you turn them around again?" 

Six bare backs turned to become twelve breasts and a half dozen bushes of 
pubic curls. Feminine hands clasped themselves demurely behind bare backs. 

"Spread those legs apart, girls. Liven it up." 

"You appear to have them well trained," Pilsner ventured doubtfully. "Could 
you get each of them to say something to me?" The pointing crop picked Anne. 
She blushed and fought to control her voice and what it said. She made her 
response factual and cold. "Good evening, Mr. Pilsner. My name is Anne 
Menton. I have been kidnapped and chained here against my will. And I am 
foolish enough to disobey. The whip compels me to obedience." 

John Lennox's eyes narrowed. But she had said nothing Pilsner did not 
already know. The pointer moved to the nudity at Anne's left. One by one, 
the girls gave their verbal tributes. When the last pale voice died, Mr. 
Pilsner made his choice. 

"That girl there." 

"You like the whipped back, eh?" Lennox was amused. 

"I'm supposing it taught her to be sensible." 

"That it has. " Lennox tossed the chosen maiden a key. "Unlock yourself, 
then come here and bring me the key." 

Slowly and fearfully, the purchased girl obeyed. Anne could tell she was 
scared and had no wish to leave her five companions. Handing back the bit of 
metal which had spelled release from the collar, her eyes roved in an 
agonized search for an impossible rescue. "Turn around, and put your hands 
behind your back." Handcuffs glinted and clicked. The merchandise was safe. 
Lennox wasted neither words nor time. "You can tie her to suit yourself for 
transit, Pilsner. I expect you'd like to do the binding in your own way." 

"Yes, I would. Thank you." 

"She's yours now. Grab a handful of hair and bring her along." Anne stifled 
laughter. Pilsner was obviously embarrassed. But he manfully grasped a 
handful of the maiden's hair, and the trio then departed. The door was 
slammed shut behind them. 

"I wonder how he'll treat the poor kid." 

"He looks harmless. I can't imagine him doing--well, you know." 

Anne realized they would never know each other's fate. Chained in this room, 
they were merchandise, but once through the door and with a man's hand in 
their hair they were enslaved, their lives sundered. With the others, she 
arranged her chain and sat back on her rolled mattress. Which of them would 
be next? But it didn't really matter. Nothing mattered any more at all. 
There was only escape, but they would never have the slightest chance of 
that. 

From the start there was never a doubt as to Joshua Bristow's choice. Anne 
knew. The big man--heavy and hearty and unabashed--allowed Lennox to put the 
five girls through their paces, but after the show was done he immediately 
pointed out Anne. "That one there. Hell, Lennox, she stands out a mile." 

It was impossible to repress a thrill. Anne remembered stories of slave 
blocks and bidding. This was much the same. Evidently, Lennox had a one 
price policy which the buyers already knew. She and her owner exchanged 
stares. Joshua Bristow was not what she would have chosen, but there was 
vigor and life in him. He was a man who could undoubtedly get all the girls 
he wanted, middle- aged as he might be. He was not buying her as a last 
resort. No doubt she would learn the answer. Between them in that stare had 
emerged a strange rapport. 

Unlocking her collar and letting it fall, Anne wondered about the girl who 
would wear it next. She handed Lennox the key and passively turned her back. 
She shrank from the thought of handcuffs, but as they were clicked coldly 
around her wrists she saw their convenience. She was now more helpless than 
she had ever been. A huge hand grasped her hair. There were no goodbyes. 

In the office, she stood quietly to one side as Bristow wrote the check. The 
huge amount was devastating but imposed its own thrill. If a man valued her 
that much, how could she not be flattered? Anne's fingers were busy with the 
metal on her wrists. It was something new to play with. 

"I got me some string, Lennox. Nothing like good twine." 

"As you wish, Bristow. Handcuffs go along with the sale." 

"Okay, we can click 'em on her in the car. Don't you worry, little girl, you 
ain't going to get loose. When Uncle Josh ties a gal, she stays tied." 

It was easy to believe. Anne bit her lip as her wrists were crossed and 
swiftly bound. The twine cut. Strand after strand of it took her into a more 
certain helplessness. She could not restrain her gasp. "That hurts horribly! 
Please don't make it so tight." 

"Supposed to hurt, gal. Ain't got you safe if it don't." 

This was the way it would be now. No one would pay attention. She would be 
used as desired and might as well save her breath. A loop of twin around her 
elbows evoked a squeal. 

"You don't need to tie me there," Anne said. "I'm no escape artist." 

"Shut up, kid. We do this my way." 

Anne kept quiet. The twine bit hard and would bite harder still. It hurt too 
bad to even think of wiggling. No doubt that was the reason for its use. A 
girl bound with twine would cherish no hope of escape. For her, freedom was 
only a word. Mute, she was pushed to the garage and the waiting car. 
Neighbors would see nothing. Lennox's trade in girls was perfectly planned. 

The entwined maiden had expected to be a bound bundle in the trunk, but was 
pleasantly surprised when her owner's hand aided her to the front seat and 
the handcuffs clicked on her ankles. 

"It's dark, Lennox. She ain't going to give me no trouble. All anyone can 
see is bare shoulders. May as well talk to the gal now that I got her." 

It was an expensive car, the seats cushioned to absorb painfully bound arms. 
The handcuffs on her ankles completed her helplessness. As they slithered 
silently out into the road and down the avenue, Anne kissed escape goodbye 
and turned her attention to the man behind the wheel. Bristow picked up her 
foremost query instantly. His guffaw was derisive. 

"Sure, honey, I'm going to fuck you first thing and get it off your mind. 
Can't have you worrying about will I or won't I. You'll get it good. What's 
the next question?" 

"How long will you keep me prisoner?" 

"As long as I want. Don't get no ideas, though. I can sell you in a dozen 
places. Might even make a dollar." 

Bristow had the engaging quality of the brutally frank. Anne was only 
frightened of him in the female sense that he was much bigger than she. She 
was willing to believe she had drawn as good a prospect as Lennox's prison 
room might provide. 

"You're taking me farther out in the country," she pointed out. "I expected 
the city." 

"Oh, I'm a city guy all right, but I got me this little place where I can do 
what I want. You ever been tied naked to a tree?" Bristow laughed at her 
discomfort at the question. "Of course you ain't! Silly question. But you're 
going to be now. I got a liking for such stuff. Ain't nothing better than a 
pretty gal, but she's a damn sight prettier along with a bit of rope." 

"Is that why my elbows are tied so horribly?" 

"They hurting?" 

"Of course they're hurting--they're hurting bad." 

"Well, that's real good, honey. You had a lot of fucking?" Anne sensed he 
was trying to shock her. She made her answer casual. "About the average, I 
suppose. It's hard for a girl to avoid it these days." 

"But you ain't no pushover?" 

Anne picked up the anxiety in his tone. She laughed. "Gosh no! But would it 
matter? Or did Lennox sell me as a virgin?" 

They shared a chuckle. "You're taking this mighty matter-of- fact, young 
lady. Get kidnapped often?" 

"I've been wondering about myself too," Anne admitted slowly. "I ought to be 
howling my head off and going berserk, but this twine you've got me tied 
with hurts so bad I don't want to move. And as for howling, I don't seem to 
want to. I think what's happened to me is so impossibly awful I'm numb. Now 
you're going to rape me?" 

"Take another look, sweetheart. Did you get beat up?" 

"Well, no," she vehemently added. "But Lennox whipped me when I refused to 
undress." 

"But he stopped when you undressed?" 

"You're trying to tell me I haven't been brutalized, and I suppose you're 
right. I expect I'll do everything you say, and for the same reason. I'm 
scared of what a man's hands can do to me. I'm afraid you've bought a very 
tractable girl." 

"I've bought a very rational girl." 

"Thanks! Now, if you don't mind, what about that tying me to a tree bit?" 

"Don't have to be a tree, honey. A man can tie a gal to most anything. Don't 
suppose there's a damn thing some gal ain't been tied to at sometime." 

"To keep her prisoner?" 

"Partly. Mostly, though, it's for the visual effect. Keeps you from getting 
bored too. You may find you love it." 

"I can't see much to love about it," Anne said indifferently. "But I don't 
suppose it will hurt more than my elbows do right now. " 

"Go easy on the nagging. I could get tired of hearing about those elbows of 
yours." 

They drove for awhile in silence. Anne, chagrined, realized she was crying. 
She couldn't touch her tear-stained cheeks or anything else. 

"Caught up with you, eh?" Bristow's dry comment held a touch of sympathy. 
"Poor little girl--kidnapped and cruelly bound, on her way to be raped. I 
can guess how you feel." 

"It's all happened to me just today." Anne was now sobbing in earnest. "It's 
just too much--" 

"Go ahead and cry. I'll use a kleenex when you're through. Crying is good 
for a girl, so long as she doesn't overdo it. Look, honey, I may whip your 
ass, but you've got my word that I won't knock you around." 

"Thank you. I expect you're being kind." 

"Oh, I'm a real bastard," Bristow snorted. "I've bought me a naked girl, and 
she wants to go home. Do you realize I haven't touched those lovely tits of 
yours or that beautiful bush?" 

"I expect you'll get around to them." 

Bristow slowed and dabbed at Anne's wet cheeks. His touch was surprisingly 
tender for such a big man. "You tired?" he enquired amiably. 

"Yes, but that must not interfere with your pleasure." 

"You're talking about fucking, ain't you? Girls get haughty as hell when 
they talk about it, like they're really doing a big favor for the guy." 

Anne tried to shift, but only gasped in pain. "Well isn't it?" she asked 
doubtfully. "It's everything a girl has to give. When you take it from us by 
force, we feel robbed." 

"Guess you got a point there. I'm still taking it, though. Got to keep you 
gals from getting uppity. Don't take much kindness to get a gal to thinking 
she's on top. I've had to whip every girl I ever had. Not for meanness, but 
just so she stays in line." 

"You won't really have to whip me, will you?" 

"I think I got me a sweetheart. If that guy Lennox had assessed you right, 
he'd have upped your price. He's no businessman. Oh, and about you being 
tired, I'll put you to bed when I get you home. The rape can wait. There, I 
made us a rhyme." 

Bristow was a puzzle. Anne found herself guilty over liking him. Surely no 
girl should like a man who held her in the condition she was in now. She was 
bound, naked, and in pain. Even if the rape was delayed until the next day, 
it still awaited her. She didn't yet hate this man, but perhaps she would. 
She believed herself lucky he had bought her. Bristow was better than a 
timid or sadistic man, or a lesbian woman. He was reassuringly male and 
uncomplicated. It appeared, too, that his enjoyment of her body was not 
urgent. At first she had felt cruelly vulnerable in this tight bondage, but 
most of the menace had dissolved. Only the pain was left, but she had been 
forbidden to mention it. 

"Go to sleep, honey. We've talked enough for right now." The car rolled on. 

Anne Menton slept. 

 CHAPTER TWO - COTTAGE CAPTIVE 

The scene was idyllic, a magic blend of trees and shrubs, green grass and 
blue sky. Anne Menton saw herself as the only serpent in Joshua Bristow's 
Eden. In such a setting a naked girl was an anomaly, especially when she was 
tightly tied to a tree. When Bristow made a promise, it was kept. 

Anne had slept in a cell, handcuffed to a cot. At breakfast she had worn the 
same circlets on her wrists. 

"Handy, eh?" Bristow asked, chuckling as he clicked them tight. "Prudent but 
painless." 

"I can still run." 

"Not with me around, you can't." 

They had found an easy camaraderie. Anne was thankful that repartee oiled 
the frictions of her slavery. 

"Are you going to keep me handcuffed all the time?" she asked pertly. 
"Shouldn't my legs be ironed too?" 

"Don't kid yourself I don't have a set," Bristow advised. "We'll get around 
to 'em. But today it's the tree. Remember the tree?" 

"I didn't really believe it, but, okay, you have a tree, and you're going to 
tie me to it. Is this how you're going to keep me around, by tying me up?" 

It was a modem cottage on a sizable acreage. Anne realized she could be kept 
here indefinitely without anyone's knowledge. Hopefully, she looked to 
Bristow for his answer. 

"Hell, girl, there's a dozen ways I can stop you from taking a powder on me. 
Give me time--you'll sample 'em all." 

"Please don't do something horrible with me, like a dungeon or a dark 
closet. I couldn't stand that." 

"I got 'em, honey, and if you rile me enough, you'll go inside." Bristow 
surveyed his new possession paternally. "But I don't aim to be treating you 
that bad. It's really all up to you." 

"I'll remember what you've said," she said soberly. "And now... the tree?" 

Bristow had chosen an eight-inch trunk. His first act was to unlock one 
cuff, back his naked prize against the tree, and then lock her wrists again 
at its back. 

"In case someone comes along and unties you, you'll still be safe." 

"Then why the rope?" 

"Hell, never mind why! It pleases me, that's why. After I've had you for 
awhile you'll understand." 

It was the strangest of sensations to be thus exposed in the shadowed 
sunlight beneath the tree. The handcuffs were a shattered hope. She could 
never escape handcuffs. Anne had nurtured a secret notion of wriggling free 
from rope. Given enough time alone it might have been possible. 

"Disappointment, eh?" Bristow read her mind. "No wriggling loose. " He 
chuckled at her blush. "You'll still be here when I come to get you. Now 
let's do a little fancy weaving job." 

It was fancy for sure. Rope was tugged tightly into every female contour she 
possessed. Anne flushed a deeper hue when two strands split her nether lips 
and nestled themselves wetly inside her most tender and secret place. It was 
the only time she demurred. 

"Is that necessary, Mr. Bristow? Do you have to? I won't be a bit more 
secure." 

"Goes with the ensemble. Keeps you awake to being what you . are." 

Anne pouted silently as the tension of the ropes welded her nakedness more 
and more firmly to the tree. Cuffed hands behind the trunk would have been 
enough to compel her to stand there at Bristow's pleasure, but these cords 
were something else again. Every feminine curve of her was tightly 
strictured: her middle, a carefully crisscrossed bind around her breasts, 
strands over her shoulders. All were tugged thoughtfully tight. The strands 
within her vaginal lips were no exception. They were ruthlessly tensioned 
back to the trunk. His work completed, Bristow cut shorter lengths of cord 
and used them to cinch his work so as to leave neither space nor slack 
between girl flesh and that to which she was bound. He stood back and 
admired what he had done. 

"Pity you can't see yourself, Anne. You're a pretty picture." 

"I can't twitch. I can't even quiver. Is that what you want?" 

"You're perfect. Never took the time to do a job like this before." Anne 
moved her head fretfully. It was the only motion she could make. "I guess 
this means something to you," she conceded wearily. "I wish it did to me." 

"Give it time, honey. You may come around. Either way, that's it." 

"I'm going to hurt terribly after awhile. Even now, when I breathe. Is that 
what you want for me? Honest, I'm trying to understand." 

"Your breasts are magnificent. The rope frames and accentuates them. Sure, 
you'll be hurting more all the time. Take it as part of the deal." 

Anne already knew about her breasts. They seemed to her the most prominent 
feature of the scene. Rope made them arrogant and thrusting. Beneath them 
her rib cage was sharply defined by the bite of strands indenting her waist. 

Slowly, she said aloud, "All the time you're gone you'll be thinking of me 
here like this. Will it give you a sense of power--an erotic thrill?" 

"Both. You're getting the idea. It's what I paid for. You're an expensive 
hobby." 

"I could suggest a way you could save money." 

It was one more bit of wry humor shared. The two of them seemed to gloss 
over the grim facts of her plight and end in a chuckle. Anne was both 
annoyed and thankful. 

"I'm onto you," Bristow said. "Don't think I don't know. You're taking this 
better than most girls would. You've got a coolness about you." 

"I'm not frigid, if that's what you mean." 

"You know it's not. But I'm testing that out this evening. While you stand 
against that tree, I want you to know your famous rape scene is scheduled 
for later on today. Maybe you'll get a wet snatch from thinking about it." 

Anne knew he was closer to the truth than he supposed. But she countered 
with, "That's a ridiculous word for the part of me you mean." 

"Snatch? Name a better one." 

"Sure, I know they all sound either silly or indecent. Call it what you 
like." 

"How about a cunt? There's a snap to it." 

"If you wish." 

Anne could well believe it a word Bristow would frequently use. From him it 
would not be vulgar, merely a jocular reference. She shrank from asking him 
to call it a pussy. Pussy had served well enough up to now, but its day was 
gone. Her life now would be starkly explicit. Right now her nakedness was 
staring, bare and shamed, straight at this man who had bought her for cash. 
Bound into immobility, Anne was discovering how much of feminine speech 
depended for emphasis on a shrug or gesture with a free hand. She had been 
robbed of body language and was painfully aware of the loss. Words left her 
lips, but seemed a dull and stilted semblance of free expression. But she 
was no longer free. She supposed that in time she might get accustomed to 
the loss. 

"Doing some thinking, eh?" Bristow patted her cheek. "You've got the time 
for it. I'm leaving now, and you won't know when I'll return. You can keep 
tabs on the sun for the time--it's all you've got." He studied her face. 
"Look, I don't want you getting frightened. There's nothing here to be 
frightened of. You're just a tied up girl waiting for her owner to come 
home. Savvy?" 

"I'll be frightened. I can't help it. I don't want you to go away and leave 
me like this. I'm sorry." 

"That's the way it is, sweetheart." 

Anne's back was to the cottage, so she had to strain her neck to watch his 
departure. Bristow was soon out of sight and sound. His captive shook her 
head in disgust and frustration. She tensed and strained, but could not 
move. However, because of the handcuffs on her wrists, Joshua Bristow had 
left her arms unbound, perhaps from a sardonic mockery. But Anne's fingers 
could play with the steel circlets on her wrists, they were the key to her 
condition. If she could free her hands, she could free the rest. But the 
metal bands were snug to the point of hurting. She could finger them 
fretfully and find a bitter frustration in this locking of her hands. But 
rope would have hurt more. It was a consolation. 

She knew her enemy was time. The hours would be slow. It seemed impossible 
that she would not be discovered by someone, but the cottage was at her 
back, and trees and shrubs kept her from seeing or being seen. After a 
blushing debate with herself, she essayed a scream and a pitiful cry for 
help, but her voice lost itself in a pale wan echo in the foliage. Anne did 
not cry out again. There was something frightening in its futility. 

The naked captive girl was certain Bristow would be envisioning her thus and 
getting his jollies from the vision throughout the day. She realized he was 
more complex than he seemed. She had expected to be kept his prisoner in a 
locked room where she would always be available for use. She had not dreamed 
of a bondage such as held her now. But she wryly admitted to herself that, 
until the pain of the cords bit at her in real earnest, this tree in the 
sunlight was preferable to the locked room or a barred cell. She longed to 
struggle but felt sure she would endure longer if she did not. 

Roped to her tree, only Anne's mind could rove. She assessed her chances of 
rescue and concluded them nil. She had been neatly extracted from her world. 
Her vanishing would be utter and total, just one more girl who had 
mysteriously disappeared. It would be cynically assumed she had run away 
with a man. Ruefully, she realized how close to truth this was. But the man 
had run away with her, that was the difference. In the end, the results 
might be much the same. 

Was Bristow a mystery? Probably not. But how long would he keep her? And 
what then? Anne was puzzled and annoyed by her failure to hate him. Her fear 
of him was minimal. They laughed together with surprising ease. It was 
because there was so much of him and all of it so intensely male. Little Mr. 
Pilsner could never have evoked the same feelings in her. But Joshua Bristow 
had about him a reassuring strength. A girl in Bristow's arms would be 
comfortingly protected. That the girl might at the same time be tightly 
bound as she was-bound right now was a new concept in Anne's life with which 
she had yet to cope. She could guess her fixture to the tree was only a 
beginning. She recalled her bindings in the car. Obviously a girl could be 
confined in many ways. Using her imagination, Anne could think of many ties 
in which Bristow could keep her in a helpless captivity. There was even the 
slightest of excitations in the thoughts. 

To the naked girl, the sun moved more slowly than the insidious pain of too 
tight rope. Anne's breasts and shoulders felt it first. She found herself 
taking shallow inhalations against the cut of cord, but every stricture in 
her flesh slowly exacted its toll. It was not agony, but here and there the 
rope burned and scorched to become a ceaseless nag. Resolutely, she turned 
her thoughts elsewhere away from the hurts. They was a part of her day. 
Bristow had promised it. It was as simple as that. 

Bristow returned to find his captive girl asleep. Anne was so closely woven 
to the tree so as to make sleep an easy possibility. She could not sag or 
fall. Her head bowed forward in surrender to her need, that was all. Her 
owner stood, quietly drinking in the loveliness he possessed so totally, 
noting the indentation of rope in flesh and the limp hopelessness of 
helpless hands. 

"Still here, eh?" 

Blinking back from slumber, the woven girl managed only a single word. 
"Please!" 

"Hurt bad?" 

"More than I believed possible." Awakening awareness prompted a pathetic 
plea. "Please untie me, Mr. Bristow." 

"Okay. I'm a bastard, giving you this on your first day. But you sure do 
look sweet, like every ill-used heroine that ever was. It's going to hurt as 
they come off. Sorry." 

"I don't mind, just so you set me free." 

Thoughtfully, Bristow unlocked the handcuffs first. But when the tied girl 
sought to raise her hands to her face, she instantly desisted. The motion 
hurt too much. Listlessly, she allowed her arms to remain limp. As each 
stricture was peeled from her flesh, Anne acknowledged its parting with a 
moan or a gasp of indrawn breath. When the last rope was taken from her, she 
looked down in wonder to see herself still bound by scarlet lines and bands 
upon her skin. The effect was bizarre. When she sought to step away, she 
stumbled and would have slumped to the ground had not Bristow swept her up 
in one effortless gathering and carried her away. Anne did not struggle, and 
she did not demur or question. She was content in the most pleasant pain she 
had ever known. She would wear some of her rope bums for a long time, but 
she did not care. 

"Brought home some stuff to eat. It's good. Bet you'd like a drink and bath 
first." 

"Could I? Oh, thank you!" 

Bristow dumped his wealed burden on the couch in the lounge. He mixed drinks 
and handed hers with a flourish. Setting his own aside, he said, "Something 
else I bought too. Man's supposed to bring a gal something." 

Anne was too tired to even think of protest. She sipped gratefully and 
watched with true curiosity as Bristow fitted and locked the irons upon her 
ankles. "I'll be giving you a good deal of freedom at times," he said 
without apology. "These are a bit of insurance I'll have on you." 

"Of course." 

"Don't bother you none?" 

"They're a lot better than being tied up. Thank you." 

"You're one in a hundred. Most girls would blow their top." 

"I'm too tired and tender for top blowing, and I'm grateful you untied me." 
She kicked a shackled foot to make its links jingle. 

"Honest, I can understand what you've just done with my feet. These things 
you've locked on me seem very practical." Anne glinted over her glass and 
added, "For people like us." 

"Think you can walk to the bathroom?" 

"Sure. I have to learn sometime." 

Bristow followed her hobbled progress. More than once his hand steadied her 
arm. Once again they found themselves sharing laughter. He drew her bath and 
told her gruffly to take her time. 

For Anne it was another new dimension. The shackles joining her feet made 
what seemed a tremendous clatter on the enamel of the bath, but she felt 
grateful for them. They had brought her privacy and a limited freedom. She 
considered hobbling across one of the surrounding fields with her feet thus 
joined. The idea seemed ludicrous. She turned her attention to the array of 
bottles and flasks. It would appear Joshua Bristow liked his girls well 
scented and perfumed. Perfume would be appropriate to the act still to come, 
but she refused to think of that either. Victorian maidens could blush and 
swoon all they liked, but she would not. 

Anne had been captive only two days, but she found it strange and exciting 
to be walking on her own without watching male eyes. Her steps were short 
and wary, but she would adjust. She revelled in a relative freedom. She had 
refrained from draping a towel around her hips. She was certain Bristow 
would snatch it away. She had been sentenced by life to be a prisoner. She 
had also been sentenced to being at all times naked. It was useless to 
revolt at what she could not change. 

Bristow was ready for her in the kitchen. Everything smelled good. Anne 
realized she was hungry, but her owner was ready for her in more ways than 
one. "Here, sweetheart," he said cheerfully. "These won't stop you from 
eating." 

She held out her hands and watched the metal lock them close. Once more she 
knew it useless to complain. She would wear the handcuffs as pretty 
bracelets. 

"Got to strike a happy medium for you," her owner confided as they took 
their places at the table. "I can't ever let you forget you're a prisoner. 
If I let that happen and you got rambunctious, it would be worse for you 
than wearing what I've got on you now. Get the idea?" 

"Sure, I do. Thanks for explaining. Maybe everything will make sense to me 
in time. I've never been a captive before. What's the right word for 
me--slave girl?" 

"Pick your own name, honey. As long as I've got you, I don't give a damn." 

Anne ate busily. But she was female. Soon she asked, "Mr. Bristow, may I ask 
questions?" 

"Fist off, drop the mister bullshit. Call me Josh." He grinned across the 
table. "Ask all you want. I don't have to answer." 

"Well, suppose I displease you in some way--not that I'd do it 
deliberately--would you punish me?" 

"Took you awhile to get around to that. I've been waiting for it." 

"Well, would you?" 

"Sure, I would. Figure it out for yourself, honey. If you break the rules, 
you pay the price. Call it discipline." 

"But what form would it take?" 

"Eh?" Bristow looked startled. "Hell, girl, I'd whip your ass." Anne 
blushed. She was trying hard not to be aware of chained hands and ironed 
ankles. Now another, more personal part of her anatomy had been sprung upon 
her. 

"Isn't that simply a figure of speech?" she asked doubtfully. Bristow 
guffawed. "You won't think so when I lay a crop across your pretty little 
rump." 

Anne gulped and swallowed. She had asked for this--it was her own fault. 
Better to let sleeping dogs lie. But she was under a feminine compulsion to 
know why. 

Blushing harder, she asked, "That would be my punishment, would it? You'd 
whip my bottom?" 

"And your back, and any other part of you I fancy. Between you and me, love, 
there's no end of ways to punish a gal. Don't worry yourself until it 
happens, though. Behave yourself and maybe it won't happen at all." 

Anne knew she must be content. Punishment was a possibility she had to 
figure on in anything she did or failed to do. It was best to know. "I don't 
see you as a man who'd be mean to me for the sake of meanness," she asserted 
forthrightly. "In the context of being a prisoner, I feel safe with you." 

"And so you should. Finish your supper." Bristow winced in make-believe 
lewdness. "We got things to do." 

She allowed herself to be led to a bedroom. Surprised, she watched the 
unlocking of her hands and feet. She stood totally free--naked but free. 

"Get on the bed and spread yourself out. You and me--we're going to do this 
right." 

Anne gazed in dismay. It was more a couch than a bed. There were no covers, 
only a smooth surface. At each of the four corners there waited a strap and 
buckle attached to a very short chain. The intent screamed aloud. Anne swung 
back to face the man who would soon ravish her. 

Eyes wide in urgent appeal, she pleaded, "But you don't need this! It's 
theatrical. I'm not so silly you have to tie me down." 

"But that's the way we do it, honey." 

"But it's horrible--demeaning. The way I'd be strapped out would be obscene. 
Josh, we're both mature adults. Can't we do this sensibly?" 

"What you mean is do it your way--the good old suburban way. No, honey, we 
can't. That'd kid's stuff. You've been calling it rape all along, so, okay, 
you get strapped down and raped. I'd have thought it would ease your 
conscience." 

"I don't feel guilty. Why should I?" 

"Damned if I know, but you've got a honey of a blush." 

"Well, after all-" They stared, Anne exuding vibrations of hastily and 
outrage, and Bristow complacently amused. 

"Go ahead." He motioned to the couch. "Get spread out there." 

"I refuse." 

"In that case, try that cupboard over there. Bring me what you find." 

Anne half guessed, but had to be sure. A cold hand grasped her spine as she 
beheld the solitary item the open door revealed. She had no experience with 
riding crops, but it looked wicked. She reached in and grasped its limber 
length as she might grab a snake. It was unthinkable it could be used to cut 
her skin. But this was undoubtedly what Bristow meant when he spoke of 
whipping her ass. Disgustedly, she let the hateful thing drop. Petulantly, 
she turned to Bristow. 

"Very well, I yield. You don't have to use that thing on me." 

"Oh, but I do!" Bristow laughed at her startled disbelief. "You forgetting 
about the very thing you were asking? About getting yourself punished?" His 
tone remained entirely amiable. "Well, that's what you've just done. You've 
disobeyed and you've questioned my methods." 

"But they're impossible orders." 

"You just agreed to them." 

"Well, yes, but under duress. But I did not agree to being punished as well. 
That's altogether too much." 

"Best go get the crop before you get in any deeper." 

She had trapped herself, boxed herself in. She had nowhere to turn. Bristow 
would refute her easily. Anne wondered why Bristow didn't use his superior 
strength to strap her down as he desired. Presumably, he had some sense of 
order. Her disobedience must be punished to uphold his rules. In a fine 
flare of injustice, Anne once more grasped the crop and turned to offer it 
to the waiting man. 

"On your knees, sweetheart." 

She had read of such nonsense. Sulkily, she obeyed, holding up the crop for 
him to take. 

"Now kiss it. Remember, you're kissing what will mark your skin." 

Anne kissed the rod by which she would be chastised. It was like going back 
in history a hundred or a thousand years. Once more she humbly offered it to 
the male at whose feet she knelt. This time it was accepted. 

"On your feet." 

They stared again. This time Anne's breasts were heaving in apprehension. 
This game had become vividly real. Shamefully, she realized she had not 
feared intercourse with this man, but she desperately feared the crop he was 
bout to use on her bare skin. 

"How do you want me? I mean--" 

"Hurts more when you're bent over, girl. But let's be merciful this first 
time. Lay on the couch--face down." 

She was naked on the couch and that much closer to what would happen to her 
in the end. She looked back over a bare shoulder. Bristow's answer to her 
look was terse. 

"For fucking you get strapped down. For whipping your rebellious little ass, 
well, let's see how you handle it." 

When Anne saw the swing of her master's arm, she buried her face in her 
hands and closed her eyes. The sudden agony of the crop across what Bristow 
had called her ass was as unbelievable as all the rest, but she had resolved 
against surrender and tears and screams. Anne gritted her teeth and held 
tight for the next blow. When it came, it sliced her cheeks viciously. She 
moaned and gasped, but did not scream or move. She could rise and beat her 
fists against this huge man who was so intent on whipping her skin, but to 
what avail? She had lost a battle she should not have fought. It was best to 
take her medicine. After the fifth cut across her flesh there were no more. 

"Let you off easy. Only five strokes." 

"Thank you." 

Anne was angered by her gratitude. But five was a small number. She had 
expected more. She did not know how she would have borne them, but she no 
doubt would discover that another time. If she had been punished once, she 
would certainly be punished again. "What do you want me to do now?" she 
asked humbly. 

"Like I told you to begin with, honey, spread 'em. Not you've got a hot ass 
to rest on." 

He was being deliberately uncouth. He had a gift for it. Without a word, 
Anne obeyed. It was the hardest thing she had ever done to rest most of her 
weight upon her scalded bottom and spread her legs obscenely wide. But she 
did it, closing her eyes so as to shut out the offensive sight of her 
exposed sex. 

"Open those eyes. I want you with me in what we do, not off in some female 
haven. Let's get your cunt accustomed to fresh air." First Bristow drew her 
feet apart and buckled each ankle tight. Anne felt certain her Ups must also 
be separated by the stress. Obediently, she extended her arms for the 
buckling of her wrists. Loss of hands and feet left the cruelly exposed girl 
a modest latitude. She could move. Nothing hurt. Anne twisted against the 
chains, testing her limits. She gazed up at the smiling man who had made her 
helpless. 

"Well?" 

Bristow pointed. Both his finger and voice were stem. "Don't you dare say 
it, honey. You come out with that old 'hurry up and get it over with' bit 
and I'll turn you over and whip your ass again." He sat beside her on the 
bed. "There's never going to be any hurry up between you and me." 

"I hadn't even thought of saying that." Bitterness entered her tone. "You 
must be getting a wonderful sense of power out of having me like this." 

"Sure am. What about you?" Bristow's hand reached down to the apex of her 
spread condition. "Easy way to find out." 

It was the first time Bristow had touched her in such a way. Anne Menton had 
wondered at his forbearance, but there was nothing ordinary about him. Now, 
as his big hand cupped her waiting sex, she inhaled in an involuntary gasp. 
She had steeled herself for this torment, but it was still potent. 

Stiffly, she said, "I don't suppose it's bone dry, but I don't think it 
means a thing." 

Bristow exhibited a palm glistening with her most female secretions. His 
grin was infuriating. "You're right, honey, it ain't dry. It's damn good and 
wet. If you want to say it don't mean nothing, I'll take your word for it." 

Anne had a fleeting vision of her associates at the office. Suppose they 
could see her now! They would not believe their eyes. It was hard enough for 
her to comprehend her own plight. She could imagine rape perhaps, but not 
this leisurely shaming of her sex. The man beside her on the bed made a 
gruff demand. "Want to talk, sweetheart?" 

"What on earth would we talk about--with me like this?" 

"Same as if you were sitting in a chair." Bristow was unperturbed. 

"Don't tell me you've bound me in this obscene posture to hold a 
conversation." 

"Sure, why not! Have a little foreplay while we chat." His surprisingly 
light touch traced mischief across her nipples. 

"Please don't feel you have to do that." 

Even to herself her words sounded stiffly spinsterish. Bristow swept them 
into limbo with a short barking laugh. "You girls are quite something when 
it comes to a bit of pleasure. Do you realize how ritualistic you are? 
Dinner and wine His place or yours. He cops a feel. You surrender elegantly 
on his bed." 

"It isn't like that at all!" 

"You tell it then." 

"Well... " Anne floundered. "I don't want to talk about it." 

"I bet you don't. I bet you too that none of the guys who fucked you ever 
had the enterprise to tie you down." 

"I should hope not!" 

"You hope! Shit, girl, you're responding." 

"No, I'm not! I told you that means nothing." 

Anne flushed and shifted petulantly beneath the male fingertips. But she 
could evade nothing Bristow could do. Angrily, she realized he was filching 
her female responses. Her body would betray her. She stared at the ceiling, 
evading his regard. 

"Look here, Anne Menton, do you realize you behave a lot more like a woman 
when I tied you to the tree this morning? You weren't the least bit prissy." 

"That was different." 

"How?" 

"You were fastening me so I couldn't escape. A prisoner expects that. There 
was nothing sexual there. " 

"That's horseshit, and you know it." 

"I wish you'd stop what you're doing." 

"Doing what? Say it!" 

"Teasing my nipples. It excites me." 

The male fingertips continued their silky frictioning. Bristow was jocularly 
sardonic. "Doing you a world of good, honey. You're getting all pink and 
bothered." 

Anne's response was an irritable tugging at the four tethers holding her 
helpless. Her plaint was as flushed as her features. "I hope you realize 
you're being damned unchivalrous." 

"Got you where I want you. That's what you're really saying. What's happened 
to that cute kid I've been sharing laughs with?" Anne was lamenting her too. 
She had handled the kidnapping and the binding so well. Now she was blowing 
a valuable rapport because of sex. Sex always spoiled everything. It was a 
messy affair a girl never coped with well. There had been intercourse in her 
life. She had been pierced often enough. Occasionally, there had been some 
pleasure in the act. She could guess at Bristow's caustic disposal of a word 
like intercourse. Chained down as she was now, it seemed an effete 
affectation. 

The fingertips had gone. Bristow was emerging from his clothes as a 
magnificent chunk of male. He had no reticence about anything. He waved his 
rod in her direction. "See what I've been saving for you, love." 

His lingam was the biggest she had seen, but Bristow was the largest male of 
her experience. Anne was not afraid of what he would thrust inside her. 
Guiltily, she knew her sheath had readied itself for its reception. Looking 
at the male organ to which she was subject, she stiffly said, "Proud of it, 
aren't you?" 

Bristow entered her slowly. Instantly, she knew he would be a gentle and 
competent lover. Tensing at her chains, she knew too how right this man had 
been. Being chained spread-eagle as she was added mightily to this moment. 
She would strain feverishly at her bonds throughout their coupling and would 
find joy in their denial. Miss Anne Menton knew herself possessed by a 
master. Only once in their union did Bristow speak. 

"Fight, sweetheart. Fight with everything you've got." 

Anne fought in ecstasy. 

It was not over. Bristow stayed inside her belly, mingling their sweat, 
resting on his elbows so that his weight was not oppressive. 

Anne's lips kissed him back in a passion tinged with shame. But a girl could 
not become a frigid spinster simply because she had been kidnapped and sold. 
Kidnapping had nothing to do with what was happening to her, other than to 
yield her a magnificent lover. She closed her mind to everything but the 
moment which was now. Soon the shrewd, wise motions within her body would 
begin again. 

There was no end, but with Bristow why should there be? Anne knew herself 
owned by a giant, and giants are strong. She writhed in total abandonment 
against the leather bands strapped around wrists and ankles. She flexed and 
tugged and gloried in the manner she was held. She discovered a pagan 
pleasure in this spreading of her thighs and invasion of her crotch. It was 
a splendidly satisfying rape she hoped would never end. 

The night lengthened into a hot, panting eternity. Anne had no memory of its 
end. When she woke in the morning, she was still strapped and chained and 
spread wide upon the bed. But she could shift enough within the tolerance of 
her fastenings to ease her aches and comfort her wealed bottom. She would 
have drifted back to sleep if her master had not appeared. 

"Ten-thirty, pet. Time we were up and around." 

Bristow unfastened her feet, confining them again in the leg irons of the 
day before. Then her wrists were unfastened, and she was lifted erect. 

"Take a bath, kid," he said, slapping her bottom and kissing her cheeks. 
"But move that little butt. I'm making coffee." 

Anne was glad of the absence of post-mortems. Words could spoil something 
they would cherish. In an urgency she did not bother to analyze, she tripped 
twice over her chains on her way to the kitchen. 

Bristow was busy at the stove. His sardonic query was tense. "Feeling 
guilty?" 

"Oh, sure. Go ahead and laugh." 

It was their only mention of the night before. Anne resisted the temptation 
to tell this man he could have possessed her far less expensively if he had 
courted her in the conventional fashion. No matter the approach, men and 
women always ended up in bed. But she saw pitfalls and was aware of 
uncertainties within herself Would she always be chained down for their 
couplings? 

"Wondering what to do with you today, honeybunch." 

"Do you have to do anything with me? You've chained my feet. Isn't that 
enough?" 

"Come off it, sweetheart." Bristow openly laughed at her simulated 
innocence. "You can't run, for sure. And you have to take short steps when 
you walk. But you'd be out on the road thumbing a ride thirty minutes after 
I'd gone." 

"Oh, all right. Haven't you got a long chain or something? I don't relish 
being tied to another tree." 

"Sweetheart, you've got nothing to say about it. Don't go getting ideas." 

Anne flushed, angry with herself in allowing their intimacy of the night to 
engender unwarranted hopes. Bristow was right. She was still his captive, 
and there was his thing about chains and ropes and straps and girls. She 
could not expect to change their deep- rooted fetish overnight, and she had 
best give him no inkling of such an intent. 

Sincerely, she said, "I'm sorry, Josh. I was out of line. Do what you like 
with me." 

"That's better." 

"This is terribly new to me. It hasn't been a bit easy." Bristow took her 
apology for granted. She was a female thing subject to whims, her own as 
well as his. "I want these days of yours to offer us both a bit of spice. 
I'm going to contrive some of them so you think and maybe actually have a 
chance at escape. This way we won't either of us get bored." 

"Isn't that dangerous? For you, I mean." 

"That will depend on how dangerous you are yourself, Anne my girl." Bristow 
grinned amiably. "Keep me on my toes. Ain't nothing worthwhile without a bit 
of risk. " He mused and nibbled toast. "I won't give you clues. You'll have 
to figure your chances yourself." 

"I'm wondering if I should say thank you." 

Anne took her wonderment into the sunlight with Bristow's hand on her arm. 
"Get you out into the sun and air while the weather holds," he said 
practically. "There's a few old buildings. Place was once a farm. There's a 
shanty on a bam and some bits of sheds. Someone must have kept some big dogs 
once--there's a kennel." Anne immediately saw the heavy mesh and more recent 
construction, and guessed how she would spend her day. There were three 
heavy new padlocks on the equally heavy wire door. 

"These on you first, sweetheart." 

She accepted the handcuffs on her wrists as a matter of course. When her 
master opened the door, she clinked her way into the cage. She turned and 
watched the door close upon her imprisonment and the padlocks snap. Today 
was not one in which she was likely to escape. 

"Bit easier than yesterday." 

"Yes, thank you." 

They stared. Then laughter once again claimed them, banishing formality. 
Anne clasped fingers full of wire mesh with chained hands and joked, "I'd 
bark and beg for you if I knew how." 

"Maybe you'll learn. Practice this afternoon. I have to run now, sweetheart. 
I'm late already." 

Anne watched him go. She sensed a sort of husband and wife thing about their 
relationship. But that was absurd. Wives were not kept cuffed and ironed in 
cages. The thought lingered. A married pair, prone to mischief, might well 
think up something like this. She set the thought aside as pure whimsy, then 
looked around at what there was to see. It was little more than the day 
before. She could see a bit of the old bam and one of the sheds. No doubt 
she would make a more intimate acquaintance with them before long. She had 
no wish to be bound in or to see these ancient relics of honest toil, but 
what she did or did not want would count for nothing. She had no desire to 
be locked in this kennel, but there she was, caged as one of the puppy dogs 
it had once confined. 

Idly, the captive girl made a tour of her meshed prison. It was a short 
tour. The kennel run was about eight feet by fifteen--heavy mesh on three 
sides and above. The top was only inches above her head. The fourth side was 
the wooden frame of what she supposed would be called the dog house. Proper 
entry was from outside where she could not go. But from the concrete up 
there was an orifice by which the hounds had come and gone. She supposed she 
could find shelter by wriggling inside if the weather turned bad. At the 
moment it held no allure. 

What Anne did next was a routine duty, a foot-by-foot inspection of the 
wire. She tugged and pulled, but found no weakness anywhere. She reached up 
and swung her weight from the mesh above, but nothing gave. This 
entertainment exhausted, she sat drearily and leaned back against the wood 
of the shelter. She was a caged bitch. She rolled the term over in her mind. 
If she got the chance, she would spring it on Bristow. 

She knew so little. She would learn more of Bristow, but as of that moment 
he remained an enigma. How many girls had he bought and made captive? Or was 
she the first? Would he truly give her chances to escape, and would she 
perceive them? Three days ago she had been free. This was unreal. 

She saved sex until last. She refused to deceive herself about the 
cataclysmic effect on her of Bristow's good-natured virility. He had taken 
her into a realm she had not previously entered or even suspected. He had 
conquered her utterly. But it was a sexual vanquishment. When the leg irons 
had been replaced on her ankles, she returned to being simply a captive 
girl. She suspected her incarceration in this cage, handcuffed and ironed, 
might have a greater significance for her captor than the act of love. 
Speculatively, she toyed with the handcuffs on her wrists. But they were 
only pretty bracelets which stopped her from doing certain things, the same 
with the leg irons on her ankles. Neither held more significance than that. 
She remembered her writhing within the grip of chains upon the couch, but 
dismissed her thrill as purely sexual. It had nothing to do with being 
handcuffed in a dog kennel. 

Anne was secretly pleased with the way in which she had adjusted to being 
owned. She was not so much a captive as a possession, less a prisoner than 
prize. True, she was allowing her sale after first being kidnapped to give a 
semblance of legality to an outrage utterly beyond the law. But it shifted 
Bristow's purchase of her into a realm of logic she could not defend but 
which was very real. 

The purchased girl was so absorbed in silent debate it came as a shock to 
realize she was no longer alone. Beyond the wire mesh a boy and girl stood 
surveying her in curiosity and delight. They were eleven or twelve years 
old, obviously rural. The boy made verbal his discovery. 

"Look, Jinny, it's a girl! And she ain't got no clothes on." 

"There's supposed to be dogs in that there cage, not girls." Jinny appeared 
to be an adherent to convention. "She didn't ought to be in there. What's 
them things she's wearing?" 

"Them are chains, silly. Betcha she's a prisoner!" 

"She's bare naked, Albert. You shouldn't ought to be looking up between her 
legs like that. Best we go. You know we ain't supposed to be here." 

"You're a fraidy-cat. Hey, miss, what you doing in that there cage?" 

It was a situation she had hoped for, but now that it was here Anne found 
herself shamed and apprehensive. These rustic urchins were not the rescuers 
she would have chosen. In any case, they couldn't cope with either the 
padlocks or the wire any better than she herself. She chose the other 
approach. 

"If you'll go and get your father to come get me out, I'll give you some 
money." 

Albert snickered. "Gals what's naked don't have no money." 

"And they're not respectable either," Jinny said. 

"Ain't no way I'm telling Daddy we been over here. He'd whup my ass." 

"We been told to stay away," Jinny confirmed. 

"Well, if you won't tell your parents, will you tell the police I'm here 
like this? You could phone--" 

"We ain't having nothing to do with no cops," Albert affirmed decisively. 
"Daddy don't like cops neither." 

"There's a reward." 

"We don't want no reward, and we don't want our butts tanned neither," Jinny 
retorted vehemently. "I bet you been a real bad girl." 

"Why don't you stand and come over to the wire?" Albert suggested 
lecherously. "Can't see you proper like you are now." 

"You ain't supposed to see her at all like she is," Jinny reproved. "Come 
on, let's get outta here before we get in trouble." 

"Ain't never seen a growed up gal naked, and neither have you, Jin. Now's 
our chance to get a good gander at this one's tits and pussy." 

Anne's spirits plummeted. She could understand why these children wouldn't 
help, but they might not easily go away and leave here alone either. She 
felt like a goldfish in a bowl under their prurient curiosity. Crouched as 
she was, most of her interesting female parts were shielded by arms and 
legs. She shrank from the exposure of facing them against the wire. Firmly, 
she said, "Why should I? You won't do anything for me." 

"She's a bad girl," Jinny warned severely. "She wouldn't be in that cage and 
all chained up if she hadn't done something. Let's go" 

"Aw, stow it, Jin. I ain't missing this chance. Guy who owns this place is 
away all day. She can't do us no harm in that cage." 

"Them's handcuffs on her wrists," Jinny said sagely. "It's police that got 
handcuffs. They'll be coming back for her, and we'd best be gone then." 

Anne's mind had been busy. There was no sense in being ashamed and prissy 
about anything any more. If her nakedness was a useful weapon, then why not 
use it? "I'll come and stand by the wire if you'll promise to call your 
father or the police," she offered unhappily. 

"Okay, come on over," Albert said. "It's a deal!" 

"Albert, that's real bad, and you know you can't--" 

"Shut up, Jinny! You come on over, miss. Don't pay no attention to my dumb 
ol' sister." 

She knew it was a forlorn hope, but it was all she had. The children would 
probably renege, but they might easily indulge in unguarded speech which 
others might pick up. Listlessly. Anne stood, then clinked her way to the 
wire. Facing the young avid eyes, she raised her arms and clutched the mesh 
at a level well above their heads. 

Jinny and her brother stood, wide-eyed and slightly awed. The intensity of 
their regard made their subject blush. What the three of them were doing was 
obscene. 

"Ain't the way I figgered," Albert said breathlessly. "She's a lot better. 
You aim to grow up like that, Jinny?" 

"She's awful beautiful, all right--all those things she's got that I don't. 
Gosh, I don't think we oughta be looking." 

"Bullshit!" Albert declaimed grandly. "I want to suck them tits. You don't 
mind, do you, miss?" 

"Yes, I do. Anyway, you can't get in here, and I can't get out, so forget 
it." 

"Don't need to, miss. You press hard against the wire and your tits will 
come through." 

What a wretched pass to come to! There would be no coping with this perky 
child. Disgusted, Anne let her arms fall and turned away. 

"You're being silly," Anne chided. "Forget the whole thing. Just go. If Mr. 
Bristow catches you here, you'll be in trouble." After a moment's hesitation 
Albert turned and started walking away. Jinny followed him out of sight. 
Anne's sigh of relief had scarcely left her lips when the two children 
returned, dragging a garden hose. Triumphantly, Albert said, "You going to 
do what I say, or do you want a long cold shower? With this here hose I can 
spray you long as I want." 

Anne moaned inwardly and knew herself without defense. Caged and chained, 
she was totally at the mercy of this brat. No matter where she went within 
the confines of her wire prison, the cold jet would find he flesh without 
hindrance. She would spend the rest of her day soaking wet, her hair a mess, 
and puddles of water everywhere. Urgently, she made her simple plea. 

"Please don't do that. It's not fair. It would be a cruel thing to do." She 
turned to Jinny. "Please don't let him--please!" 

"Get your tits through the wire, miss. That way you stay dry." Albert 
leered. "Won't hurt you none. Bet you've had your tits sucked lots of 
times." 

It was total defeat. Anne guessed if she chose the hose, the only way she 
would stop its spray would be to give in to Albert's demand. Either way she 
would face the shameful humiliation of yielding her breasts. Hating 
everything, she resumed the total exposure of her pose and pressed hard 
against the mesh. First one nipple and then the other made its intrusion 
through the narrow space. She had to wriggle and thrust shamelessly to 
achieve the desired position, but it proved more easily done than she had 
supposed. 

"Come on, Jinny. One's for you." Albert was elated. 

It was all the bad words she could think of. Anne stood rigid and soiled as 
avid lips and demon tongues used what she offered through the wire. She 
wished her nipples would refuse to respond, but they betrayed her as usual. 
It was as though they reached out for the torment of the tongues. As though 
to punish her more, excitation took possession of her loins and spread in 
mounting heat until she could not control her gasps. Sensing victory, the 
children doubled their efforts. In the throes of exploding into unwanted 
climax, Anne broke away and turned her back as spasm after spasm shook her 
to the core. She felt hideously shamed before the wise young eyes. 

"Come back, you! Come here!" 

Anne scarcely heard and did not heed the angry young command. She retreated 
to the wooden wall and crouched against it in a useless effort to hide her 
nakedness. She felt degraded and doubly bare. To protrude her nipples again 
through the wire was unthinkable. 

"You better get back here right quick." 

"You better do as he says, miss." 

The prisoner in the cage scarcely heard her tormentors. The suddenly icy 
spray caught her unaware. Anne squealed in shock and outrage. Striving 
uselessly to shield herself with chained hands against the jets and sprays 
Albert aimed at her, she faced the children indignantly. 

"I did what you wanted! You're being cruel!" 

"You didn't come back when you was told. Now you get it." 

There was no sanctuary, but the nude fugitive from the hose sought every 
recess of her cage in vain, like a trapped animal seeking safety. Wherever 
she went the water followed until her hair was soaked and she trod in 
puddles with hobbled feet, over which she constantly tripped. In 
desperation, Anne boldly faced the source of her distress, thinking to shame 
them or stare them down. But Albert changed the spray to a fine hard jet 
which actually hurt her face, her breasts, and her sex, all three of them 
the most obvious targets a boy could be expected to choose. With a sob of 
outrage, the soaked girl turned her back. 

"You little assholes! What the hell are you doing!" 

The male bellow stopped the jet instantly. When Anne turned in surprise, the 
hose was expanding its flow into the opposite corner of her cage without a 
guiding hand. Albert and Jinny were in full flight. A burly, black-browed, 
middle-aged man stood in their place and stared in amazement at the dripping 
nude behind the wire. "Please turn that awful hose off." 

Dazed, he departed. The water stopped. On his return he retrieved the hose 
and set it aside. 

"Them little brats give you trouble, miss?" 

"Yes, I'm soaked. Everything's soaked. Could you please get me out of here?" 

"You mean, outta that cage?" 

"Yes. I don't suppose you can do anything about the padlocks, but you can 
cut the wire." 

"Gosh, miss, that's Mr. Bristow's dog kennel!" 

"I know, but he doesn't have any dogs in it--he has me!" Anne's visitor took 
stock of the situation. He seemed obtuse and certainly cautious. "Wouldn't 
do no good," he pointed out doubtfully. "You'd still be handcuffed and with 
them things on your feet. I don't have no key." 

Anne had never felt less alluring or more miserable. While she talked, she 
was sluicing water from her skin and wringing out her hair. Wherever she 
trod there was water. Her only friend was the hot summer sun. Desperately, 
she pleaded, "Please help me. Couldn't you find some tools?" Hopefully, she 
added, "I've been kidnapped. I'm being held a prisoner against my will." 

"I ain't messing with Mr. Bristow, ma'am. No way!" 

"Well, will you call the police for me and tell them I'm here?" 

"Calling lousy cops is something I wouldn't never do. Cops is trouble." He 
smiled ingratiatingly. "You're drying out real good, miss. It likely won't 
be long before Mr. Bristow is back." 

"There'd be a reward if you help me." 

"Yeah, I bet!" 

Anne had never heard more explicit disbelief. She had only one card left to 
play. She put it on the table. "If you get me loose, I'll be very nice to 
you. I'll let you do whatever you want with me." 

"Hell, miss, my old lady does that! And it don't get me in no trouble with 
the neighbors. You got mighty pretty tits, but I best be going." 

"Please! No! Don't leave me in here like this. Please help me." Anne's 
urgency lost itself in the summer air. Dejectedly, she watched the father 
follow his children. It had been an ugly interlude, nothing more. Her 
objectionable visitors could so easily have been her liberators. Their blunt 
refusals were hard to understand. Bristow evidently had influence. 
Dolefully, she returned to the business of getting herself dry. Being 
handcuffed did not help. In an hour the kennel and its captive were back to 
normal. 

The prisoned girl wondered if she was two-faced in having striven so hard 
for freedom from Bristow's captivity, yet been so glad to see him on his 
return. Immediately after he opened the door she was in his arms, sobbing 
out her story of abuse. 

Joshua Bristow was amused and unconcerned. He patted Anne's bare back 
comfortingly while noting the hose and the pools of water. "I'll get ahold 
of Rennick and make sure he keeps his kids away from here," he said grimly. 
"I'll make damn sure of it." 

Anne perceived a pitfall. "I suppose I ought to confess that I tried hard to 
persuade them to set me free. Is that bad?" 

"It's natural." 

"Will you punish me?" 

"Think I should?" 

"If you want. I mean, I'll understand." Nobly, she added, "I expect you 
should." 

"You want me to. Think I don't know?" 

Anne nestled closer within his big arms. "So, all right, I feel guilty." She 
sniffed. "You've got me so turned around I don't know where I'm at." She 
sniffed again. "If you'd set me free but wanted me to stay, I'd be glad to. 
Honestly, I would. I wouldn't run away-- not ever." 

Bristow did not answer. But Anne felt him tense and instantly divined the 
fault in her offer. She sought to mend the flaw. "Okay then, keep me 
handcuffed. I don't mind handcuffs. The leg irons too if they please you." 

Bristow carried her to the house. 

 CHAPTER THREE - SEQUESTERED GIRL 

Anne's punishment was simple. Soft bandages encircled her wrists and were 
pulled tight. By them she was suspended from the kitchen ceiling, her toes a 
foot above the floor, while Bristow made their dinner and talked. 

"An hour of that should just about cover your crime, honey- bunch." 

"Thank you." 

Anne gasped the simple acknowledgement. This stress was new to her. It was 
frightening in its utter simplicity. She had found a simple thank you a 
useful way to cover an awkward hiatus. Her feet were still reaching for the 
floor in disbelief at its denial. She looked up at her suffering wrists and 
knew them lost. Almost her greatest shock was to be thus punished in the 
kitchen of the cottage. "Tortured in a Kitchen" flitted through her mind 
like a newspaper headline. 

"Hurt, sweetheart?" 

"Yes! Oh, yes--my arms!" 

"Gets worse. But you'll get used to it." 

It was crazy! Out of this world! The trite exclamations remained silent on 
Anne's tongue. She wanted to suffer in silence, but Bristow wanted to talk. 

"Every wife ought to be hung up in her own kitchen once a week," he said 
expansively.. "They'd do some heavy thinking." 

"I'm not your wife." 

"Might as well be. I'm thinking of that offer of yours." 

"You didn't accept it, not even when I said that about the handcuffs and 
things." 

"You always miss the point, kid. Handcuffs are wonderful if you want to get 
out of 'em, but if you wear 'em like bracelets you can take off anytime, 
they got no magic left." 

"It's hard for me to talk to you, Josh, hung like this. Words come out in 
gasps. But what you're saying is you want me always trying to escape, but 
that I'll always be chained so I can't." 

"Sort of--like a prisoner looking for escape." - "But then you punish me, 
like now. Josh, this is awful." 

"You asked for it, remember?" 

"That was because I was so happy to see you. Oh, Josh!" 

"You don't get those little toes of yours back on the floor until your 
hour's up." 

"Yes, I know. I'm sorry." 

The suspended nude was aware of the kitchen clock, but wished it was not 
there. Its hands seemed to scarcely move. She was already feeling sorry for 
herself and would feel sorrier. She was totally unprepared for what Bristow 
did now. Without preamble, he unzipped his pants, lifted her higher, then 
lowered her slowly upon the impalement of his phallus. Anne was too startled 
to speak, and when she found words, she did not utter them. Apart from what 
she felt within her crotch, her wrists and shoulders sang their own song of 
joy. Bristow absorbed her weight as though it was a feather. Slowly, he 
raised and lowered her to his desire. Shamefully, Anne's bare legs rose to 
encircle the male, her thighs clamped hard. She wished she had her hands, 
but they were still somewhere above her head and would come no lower. She 
closed her eyes and went on a journey into a rose-colored land. 

She did not wish it hadn't happened, but when her owner was done with her, 
it was doubly hard to once more hang suspended on her own. It was a beastly 
punishment she must not earn again. 

Its nagging stress was an unceasing travail. Bristow washed his hands and 
returned to his culinary affairs. 

"I bought me a slave," he said nonchalantly. 

"You've got one. Look at me!" 

"A guy doesn't figure a girl he keeps chained and hogtied is going to fall 
in love with him." 

"I haven't!" Anne's hot denial floundered. "I--I... well, I don't know what 
state of mind you've got me in, but you ought to be grateful." 

"You'll be wanting a baby next." 

"That's silly. If it's any comfort to you, I can say for sure I'd escape 
right now if I could." 

"Never pay no attention to what girls say when they're being punished." 

"Oh, you--you--" 

"Real bastard, ain't I?" 

"Josh, please let me down!" 

"No." 

"If you understood girls the least bit, you'd know I didn't mean that about 
asking to be punished." 

"Then why'd you say it? Just took you at your word." 

"Take me at another word--let me down." 

"Uppity as hell, just like a wife. Want me to crop your little ass again?" 

"I don't care!" Anne bit her lip. "That's all you think about. You think 
whipping my bottom cures everything." 

"You sure it don't?" 

"Yes, I'm sure." In a sudden panic, she exclaimed, "Josh, no! Please don't. 
I'm sorry if I irritated you. I'm not feeling all that happy myself. I've 
been hanging like this for hours and hours." 

"Twenty-five minutes to be exact." 

"Well, all right then, twenty five minutes. But you're going to whip me--I 
can tell." 

"Thinking about it." 

The suspended girl felt appallingly bare. The last thing she wanted was the 
riding crop--that and being hung up in the kitchen like a side of beef. 
Bristow brushed close as he moved back and forth, but kept his hands to 
himself. She had displeased him and waited uneasily. 

"Crop your ass in a minute, honeybunch. You don't mind waiting--you ain't 
done nothing." 

He would pile on the suspense. Of course she minded the waiting, but could 
think of nothing to extricate herself from the contretemps. Busy with his 
hands, Bristow continued his reflections. 

"You mean to tell me that if you get loose sometime, you'll come in and get 
my supper instead of running like hell?" 

"Not if you use that crop on me I won't." 

"You trying to bargain?" 

"Josh, the way you've got me, I couldn't bargain about anything. But, sure, 
I'd love to make you supper if you didn't always put me in the wrong. I'm 
sorry I like you. I apologize." 

"Got you mad, eh?" 

"If you keep on getting the best of me this way, I'm going to cry. Have you 
any idea how frustrating this is to be hung up and simply dangle like 
some... some thing!" 

"Rough, eh?" 

"You know it's rough. Josh, please, can I say I'm sorry and then we can 
start over?" 

"No." 

Anne sniffed. She was going to get her bottom cropped for sure. What she had 
to worry about now was how many strokes, but she dare not ask. She wished 
she could carry off her punishment and its pain and indignity in a fine 
haughty disdain. She would probably swing like a pendulum under the blows 
and feel more ridiculous than when he had cropped her derriere that first 
time. Silently, she vehemently exclaimed, "Oh, shit!" 

Left alone, Anne knew where Bristow had gone. He returned, flexing the hated 
instrument between his hands. He cut the air and laughed at the flash of 
apprehension across her face. The naked girl tensed and held her breath. 

"Ain't telling you how many, love." 

The pain was atrocious. Without conscious volition, Anne found herself a 
puppet on a string, dancing a jig to the tune of agony. She leaped and 
writhed, drawing and lifting herself on the tether from above, raising and 
kicking her legs. She did not want to do these things, but suspension 
bestowed logic. Her feet could not touch the floor anyway, so what did it 
matter? Bristow watched in glowing admiration until the naked girl relapsed 
back into passively hanging by her wrists. 

"Damn good show, Anne. Should have you hanging every time I crop your seat. 
Marvelous action." 

"I'm so ashamed." She was trying hard not to cry. 

"Nothing to be ashamed of. You hurt, so you kick and hop around. Let's try 
it again." 

Anne steeled herself, but it was useless. When the scald cut at her again, 
she danced the same dance to the same tune. Secretly, she knew it helped. It 
was as though her contortions exorcised the demon of the crop. She closed 
her eyes and readied her courage for number three. 

It did not come. 

When she opened a cautious eye, it was to see Bristow busy at the sink. He 
appears to have forgotten her. 

Desolately, she pleaded, "Please don't drag it out. Josh. Don't torment me." 

"Two's enough, honeybunch. You've had it." 

"Oh, Josh!" Anne was incredulous. "Thank you! Oh, thank you! I expected at 
least six." She shook her head against tears. "I'm terribly grateful." 

"Give you the other four if you want." 

"Oh, Josh...!" 

"Thought I'd ask. Ain't nothing like a girl getting her bottom whipped to 
pass the time. First thing you know, your hour's going to be up." 

Anne looked at the clock. Still ten minutes to go. The sixth part of one 
hour stretched out interminably. She felt a compulsive need to fill the 
vacuum. Her shoulders and wrists were complaining urgently. Inconsistent, 
she faltered. "If you wouldn't hit me so hard, I'd ask you to up the time. 
One every couple of minutes would keep me from thinking and wishing." 

"Sorry, love, only one speed." 

She might have known! Bristow would never allow her to set the pace. 
Everything would have to be on his terms. She bit her lips in chagrin and 
wished she had kept quiet. 

"Well, reached a decision yet, pet?" 

Anger and loathing of her suspension got the best of her. Anne almost spat 
out the retort. "Very well, do it." 

"Crop your ass? On my terms?" 

"Yes." 

"Gal, you're crazy!" 

"I'm just so sick of hanging up like this." 

Bristow shrugged and motioned with a hand. "I'd let you down now, 
sweetheart--you've done pretty good, I'd say--but I can't let you fox me. 
Understand?" 

"Oh, sure, I always understand. I'm a very understanding girl." 

"And sarcastic to boot. Well, honey, you asked for it." 

In the two-minute intervals between the blazing pain, the suspended girl 
surprised herself and Bristow by the diversity of gyrations she contrived on 
the end of the rope. There was no freedom for her and no release, but she 
filled each of the crop's pauses with acts and sounds of which she would 
later be ashamed, but at the moment speeded the hands of the clock as 
nothing else would. It took five wicked strokes, but when the crop ceased 
its impacts on her skin, the hour of her penance was over. When her feet 
were back on the floor and her hands untied, she threw her arms around the 
man who had punished her and sobbed out her pent-up emotion on his shirt. 
She had lived weeks in the space of an hour. 

When Bristow took his slave girl to bed, he handcuffed her left wrist to her 
left ankle. It stopped her from doing nothing except escape. They laughed 
over it a lot, then made their love. Bristow took Anne into new and hidden 
enchantments. When they slept, she did so with her wrist and ankle still 
joined. If a chance to escape had ever existed for her, it was now gone. In 
the morning he broke the news. 

They were in the drowsy aftermath of sleep when Bristow abruptly asked, 
"Ever hear of Hetty Coppick?" 

"No. Should I?" 

"One of the world's richest women. Got a lot of character." Anne sensed 
disaster. Her female instincts were bombarding her with messages of alarm, 
but she kept her voice even. "What about her, Josh?" 

"I'm lending you to her for awhile." 

"Why? I'm not a lesbian. And anyway, are you tired of me?" 

"You're going to get a course of training." 

"Josh, what on earth!" Anne tugged at her fettered hand and foot. "It's 
this, isn't it? I've not been able to relate to ropes and chains the way you 
want?" 

"Can't expect too much of you, sweetheart. You've done pretty good. But 
Hetty's place will get you on track in a way maybe I can't." 

He sounded forlorn. Anne longed to comfort him and find comfort herself. She 
sensed an abyss, something to be repulsed. She was sure she could never get 
either a master or a mistress she would feel for the way she felt for this 
huge man. "Please!" she begged. "Don't send me away to someone else. I want 
to be here with you, but if you don't want me any more, then set me free. 
Give me back my freedom." 

"No. And I don't want to hear any more about it. I bought you-- you're 
mine." 

"Then keep me." 

"I own you. I'm loaning you out to be trained. It's that simple." The 
quaintly cuffed girl knew herself on treacherous ground. "What is this 
Hetty's place?" she asked doubtfully. "A whorehouse or a jail?" - "You hit 
it close, honey. It's a jail--a real honest-to-goodness jail." 

Anne stared in disbelief. "It can't be!"; "It can if you have enough dough, 
and Hetty has it. She's like me. She sees girls the same way I do--in ropes 
and chains and pretty cages. She'll be an education." 

"I don't want an education. I want to be your girl, right here and now. Tie 
me up every day and be happy with me." 

"Sorry, love." 

Anne gazed miserably down at the shining steel linking her wrist and ankle. 
It seemed impossible that such trifles could dictate her life, but it was 
so. A handcuffed girl could never be free save by the grace and sanction of 
whoever held the key. Her longing for freedom was now thrice as strong in 
light of what Bristow said. But freedom itself was more remote. She 
shivered. 

Bristow bridged the awkward gap with words. "Hetty calls her place the 
I.S.G." He chuckled. "Stands for Institute for Sequestered Girls. Suppose 
it's as good a name as any." 

"But the authorities! She can't keep her own private prison!" 

"She's doing it, sweetheart. Owns a heap of land. Got her jail right in the 
middle, far from any road. Nobody bothers Hetty Cop- pick." 

"But the imprisoned girls! She can't possibly--" 

"Sure, she can. Gets them the same way I do--and for the same reason." 

"It sounds horrible. Josh, don't send me to a place like that." 

"You need the experience. It won't be forever, honey." 

"Keep me with you, please! Or set me free. I beg of you, Josh." 

"Honey, let it lie." 

"Josh, I'm being abject. I do whatever you tell me. I'm getting so I think 
the handcuffs are fun." Anne gazed at her owner. "It's the other thing 
that's bothering you. It's the way I've come to feel about the big guy who 
owns me. The moment I said I wouldn't run away, even if I was free, that's 
where I blew it. Josh, that's truth, isn't it?" 

"Sure, sure, you're probably right." Bristow was embarrassed. "But don't 
knock the I.S.G. It could give you a whole new perspective." 

"No, it won't. I'll hate every moment, and I'll always be trying to escape." 

She saw his nostrils flare and his eyes light up with interest. His tone was 
one of relief. "That's it, honey. You just spoke the key word. Slaves and 
sequestered girls are supposed to want to escape. 

They're supposed to always try to escape every chance they get. That's what 
makes this whole thing valid--what ties it together." Josh paused heavily. 
"This love business ain't in the picture. I'm real sorry." 

They went to breakfast in a somber mood. Bristow cuffed the limp wrists and 
ironed the unprotected ankles, defeating a period in which Anne might indeed 
seek to make a run for the freedom she had offered to reject. To Anne, the 
I.S.G. was as much a presence on the table between them as the food itself. 

"Phoned Hetty last night, sweetheart." Bristow made no pretense of forced 
cheerfulness. "She don't spend all her time at the I.S.G. She may not be 
there to meet you. But she's got a couple of females who run the place like 
clockwork. The work's all done by the prisoners, even the clerical stuff. 
The clerk's leg-ironed same as I got you. Hetty's set up the damnedest 
penalties for escape attempts." 

"A real fun place." Anne's voice was bitter. 

"Best be polite for the two girls who are in charge. They're not bad 
lookers. Don't rile them none. Hetty calls Them all sorts of names, like 
wardresses, instructors, jailers, disciplinarians. You take your pick. She 
brought them in from some real correctional institution. Them and their 
natty uniforms set the tone for the place. Gives me the shivers." 

"What do you think it'll do to me!" 

Bristow ignored the bitterness Anne put into her words. "Hetty is having you 
picked up. I think she's got a special vehicle," he informed tonelessly. 
"Everything is patterned on the real thing right from the start. It's so 
perfect it's more real than real." 

Anne could not fail to note the deference bestowed on Joshua Bristow by the 
smartly uniformed female with the van. She called him sir with marked 
respect. She was introduced to the new feminine convict as Wardress Charity. 
The name seemed incongruous. Charity was a quality the lady did not exude. 
But she treated her new charge with impersonal efficiency. She unlocked one 
cuff and handed her hesitant prisoner a white T-shirt. 

"Regulation dress, Anne. It's all you'll get." 

Anne knew it instantly as a tease. It accentuated an almost indecent 
exposure of her breasts. It was tight and stretchy, and was emblazoned front 
and back with the I.S.G. logo. It's principle affront to whoever wore it was 
its coy failure to entirely hide the girl's pubic bush. Tugging it down, 
Anne realized her sex would be frequently on view. The handcuff was now 
replaced on her wrists, and she was ready for transport to serve her 
sentence in this strangest of all convictions. 

"Don't look so glum, sweetheart. It's going to be all right." Bristow was 
again his gruff hearty self. He kissed her soundly and patted her still bare 
bottom. "I'll be keeping tabs on you with Hetty." Embarrassed, he left her 
alone with Wardress Charity beside the van. 

"In here, young woman." 

When the side door of the van slid back, it revealed a backseat well back 
from that the driver occupied. Seated on it was a girl wearing the same 
T-shirt, the same handcuffs, and the same leg irons as Anne. In addition she 
was gagged, her eyes wide in questioning above the soft leather band across 
her lips. Her leg irons were clipped to the floor of the van, as were the 
handcuffs on her wrists, with a longer chain which allowed her to raise her 
hands knee high. Beside her, on the floor, there awaited a second set of 
such fixtures for Anne. 

"I'm told you're a sensible girl, Anne. Gags are regulation during transit." 

The tone was crisp, the muting object already in Charity's hand. Feeling 
utterly condemned and without hope, Anne obediently opened her mouth and 
accepted the blunt rubber prong above her tongue. She clamped her lips as 
directed for the tightening of the soft band by the buckle at the nape of 
her neck. She knew this loss of her last freedom as her introduction to the 
Institute for Sequestered Girls. Her shocked eyes found sympathy mirrored in 
those of her fellow convict on the seat. 

"Please sit beside Jennifer, Anne. The company will be pleasant for you 
both." 

The step was beyond the tolerance of the leg irons, but the shortfall was 
compensated by a pair of unexpectedly strong hands from Wardress Charity. 
The now mute prisoner was hoisted and thrust upon the seat beside the 
helpless Jennifer. A moment later her leg irons were similarly clamped down 
with the center link of her handcuffs snared by chain so as to compel her 
hands to a demure resting in her lap. Anne had never in her life felt more 
impotent. They could traverse city streets and none would guess the cargo of 
the van. The wardress patted a bare thigh reassuringly. 

"You two lovebirds are quite safe. Take it easy and relax. The ride takes 
about an hour, and I'd advise you to spend the time contemplating your new 
status as prisoners. As of now, you're starting a new life. I'll advise you 
also to forget notions of escape. There will be no escape for either of 
you--not ever." 

The dictum was easy to believe. Anne tugged at her tethers. Her gaze sought 
the girl beside her. They exchanged expressive shrugs of silent 
helplessness. Both tried to speak, but made no sound. But for what they had 
to say a pair of shrugs said it all. Charity laughed at their discovery of 
hopelessness. She started the motor. Anne thought of the cottage and 
Bristow, and wanted to cry. Jennifer's cheeks were already stained by tears. 

It was indeed a time for thought. One shocking realization followed another. 
Anne knew herself a convicted convict. She knew also the girl beside her had 
been snatched from life as she herself had been. Both of them were chained 
and gagged in the same way, shockingly helpless. It would be possible for 
Charity to park the van outside city hall, and they would simply sit there 
mute and immobilized to await her pleasure. If this was a sample of I.S.G. 
security, it was for sure they would never escape. 

Silent communion was frequent between the two ironed girls. They shared a 
similar condition. Each could pull her hands back enough to hide her pubic 
hair, but their nipples laughed at subterfuge and proclaimed themselves 
flauntingly against the friction of the T- shirt's elasticity. Anne wondered 
if her companion was as accustomed to nudity as she herself. She would have 
chosen honest nakedness in preference to the scanty scrap she was forced to 
wear. 

Escape was a thing she need not consider. There would be none. 

The van imposed the implacability of a prison, and she already felt the 
awesome isolation from the male. She might never see another man and would 
not again know the wonder of a male between her legs or the hot thrustings 
of passion. She knew convict girls used their fingers, but even that could 
easily be denied if she was chained in certain ways. She was robbed of life. 
Anne wondered if Bristow really understood the sterility to which he had 
sentenced her. She doubted that he did. All he would understand was that 
I.S.G. would keep her chained and bound until she recognized the condition 
as normal. Even that posed a question: Would he take her back? She wished 
she knew. 

The approach to the Institute for Sequestered Girls was discreet. The van 
turned off the road onto a sparsely graveled track. It was not until they 
approached the wire fence around the stark brick building that a sign 
proclaimed the three words and nothing more. Within the wire there was a 
high brick wall and a heavily barred gateway. It was opened by a black girl 
whose feet were hobbled. She saluted smartly as they passed. Charity stopped 
the van at the main entrance and detached her charges from the van floor. 
The tone was still briskly impersonal. 

"Out you get, girls. Straight inside." 

They could not disobey. They were helpless. But before passing into the 
shadows, each newcomer looked wistfully back at blue sky and what little 
they could see through the bars of the closed gate. The prison possessed 
them. There were other barred doors which Charity unlocked and clanged shut 
with obvious relish. Each metallic sound lowered Anne's spirits one more 
notch. Eventually, they stood before a desk in an austere office. 

"Two live bodies, Amity. Sign here." 

It was absurd and frightening. The woman who signed the slip was almost a 
clone of Charity herself. She sat back and surveyed the new arrivals. 

"Give you any trouble, Charity?" 

"None." Charity chuckled. "They didn't have a chance. Want me to remove 
their gags?" 

"No. We don't need them cackling. They always say the same things. Keep 
their mouths strapped through reception." 

It was the first false note. Prisons did not gag their inmates. For the 
rest, it was much as Anne had seen before on TV. A bored girl, also with 
hobbled feet, took their pictures, front and profile. Next they were taken 
to a bathroom where their handcuffs and tiny T-shirts were removed. They 
soaped themselves as Charity sluiced them with a hose. While they used the 
rough towels to dry themselves, Charity instructed them further on the 
I.S.G. 

"Leg irons are permanent. You'll find you can't fight much with hobbled 
feet. For sure you can't run. Act up, and I'll use the crop on your pretty 
skin. At I.S.G. we expect instant obedience. What's more, we get it!" 

Anne was sure they did. A girl as helpless and vulnerable as she felt now 
would be an idiot to rebel and get her skin marked up by the crop to no good 
purpose. She had noticed the wicked instrument hanging from Charity's belt 
from the start. It would always be there, waiting. The iron bands around her 
ankles felt as though they weighed a ton, and they were there to stay. She 
toweled vigorously and wiped away a tear, then slipped back into the I.S.G. 
body stocking and held out her hands to be once more joined. Next came 
disinfecting and finger printing. Both were ridiculously unnecessary, but 
each in their own way diminished her further as a person and reduced her to 
a mere number. 

"And now the cells." Charity made the announcement as though announcing 
costly gifts. "Come along." 

A passage. One side a wall, the other side a row of six cells. Three sides 
of each was masonry. The fourth, opening to the passage, was heavily barred, 
as was its door. Charity opened the first of the narrow confinements and 
motioned Jennifer inside. Slamming the door behind the dejected girl, she 
admonished, "Don't dare touch that gag. Wear it until I take it from you." 

The wardress marched Anne to the last cell in the row and repeated the 
formula. The chained and gagged maiden stood mutely within the tiny space 
and watched herself locked in. Charity nodded noncommittally through the 
bars. Anne felt desolation settle like a pall. 

There was a narrow cot, a washbowl, and a toilet, all depressingly 
institutional. It took all her willpower not to tear away the gag, but the 
crop of Charity's belt was still vivid in her mind. Instead, she took such 
short chained steps as the cell permitted. She clutched the bars and tried 
to look beyond, but there was nothing to see. Defeated, she sat upon the cot 
and wept. 

It was Amity who unlocked the door. She and Charity were by no means alike 
except in age and strength, but the uniforms made them twins. She used the 
same impersonal authority. "Come here, Anne. Turn around." 

It was such relief to be rid of the gag, the prisoner could not forbear a 
polite thank you. Breathlessly, Anne waited. 

"Your hands." The handcuffs were taken from her wrists, and then Amity 
tersely commanded, "Off with your shirt!" 

Naked, the prisoned girl was turned about, her arms grasped, and her wrists 
crossed behind her back. The explanation was factual. "I am tying your hands 
with cord, Anne. You have already been told you will be kept helpless, but, 
with the new girls, we try to avoid them becoming morbid by the use of 
various restraints and mild punishments. For instance, this afternoon you 
will be whipped." 

"But I haven't done anything! Why--" 

"Exactly. Our punishments at I.S.G. are not conventional." While the captive 
girl stared bleakly at the illogic of her future, she bit her lip against 
the cunning tug and stricture of the cord as it wound and bit unkindly into 
her wrists. When it was knotted, she knew she could never free her wrists 
from its authority. Pushed back, she turned and waited in passive 
expectancy. 

"Hurt?" 

"Yes." 

The wardress nodded, pleased. Anne had not poured out a dammed up torrent of 
protest. Adopting an easier tone, Amity became conversational. 

"Naked, bound, and chained! Do anything for you?" 

"It makes me wish I was free." 

"Yeah, I suppose. You've already had some of this." 

"Yes. I was purchased by Mr. Bristow." 

"You still belong to him, Anne. Miss Coppick's not here to explain that end 
of things. In the meantime, you belong to Charity and me. You will address 
us both as 'ma'am.'" 

"Yes, ma'am." 

"You'll think we're mean, but we won't let you get bored." Amity eyed the 
bound nakedness speculatively. "This affair of yours with Mr. Bristow--where 
did you get to with him?" 

Anne wanted to say it was none of Amity's business, but was suddenly 
overwhelmed by the enticement of a feminine ear. Tearfully, she told her 
sorry tale. Ending pathetically, she said, "I suppose it's no use asking you 
to give me back my freedom." 

"You know it isn't. Anne, that guy's an asshole." 

"No, he isn't." 

"You ought to be damn glad to be among girls. There's not a prisoner in the 
I.S.G. over twenty-seven. Charity and me, we're in our thirties. The news 
isn't all bad, you know." 

"I'm not a lesbian, and I honestly do wish Josh had kept me with him at his 
place. I'm sorry." 

"Don't be. We'll use you as a lesbian if we wish. We'll use compulsion so 
your pretty little conscience will stay intact. Does being whipped do 
anything for you?" 

"It hurts, that's all. Sometimes it hurts terribly." 

"Well, you're still new. Bristow only had you for a few days. He gave up 
easy." 

"Anyway, I wish he'd take me back." Anne twisted painfully against her 
corded wrists. "If it's at all possible, please tell him how I feel and that 
I'll do anything--anything at all." 

"Honey, girls have been doing anything at all for men right since the 
beginning. It never changes a thing. Men are still assholes. Did he keep you 
naked?" 

"Yes, always." 

"Much the best. But we'll put the little stocking over your tits once in 
awhile to maintain appearances. Miss Coppick thinks those jerseys are cute. 
How's it feel the way I've got you? Your breasts are so vulnerable." 

"Well, yes, they are, aren't they?" 

"Sure. It's part of the hands behind the back thing. Does wonders for any 
girl. Keeps them respectful too. Right now we're both thinking how I could 
pinch those pretty little tits until you howl and you couldn't stop me." 

Anne twisted defensively. "But you aren't, are you? Oh, please don't! I'm so 
mixed up now." 

Amity laughed. "Okay, I won't. Not right now anyway. By the way, you'll be 
given your hands sometimes. You'll be given work to do after we get used to 
each other. The leg irons will keep you behaving. Did you notice that girl 
with me in the office?" 

"The typist with her ankle chained to a ring in the floor?" 

"You saw her, eh? It's a sample of how we use the girls. If you can type, 
you'll most likely sit there yourself. But I.S.G. is not a big place. At the 
moment we have fourteen girls here. That's about the average." 

Fourteen girls, all robbed of their freedom, without even the privileges 
accorded slaves. Anne saw the desolation of the young lives and shivered. 

"It's not as bad as you see it right now, Anne. We let you share a cell 
sometimes, and there's a slow turnover of the girls themselves. Miss Coppick 
doesn't keep them forever.' "You mean, she gives them back their freedom?" 

"Hell no! Don't get excited, honey. She passes them around as gifts to 
deserving friends." The wardress grinned at the disbelief on her prisoner's 
face. "Before I wipe that look off your puss, I want you to stand at 
attention. Face me. Make it stiff and stick your tits out." 

It was demeaning but easy to obey. Anne did as she was told, blushingly 
aware of breasts and hair and female curves. She also adjusted her features 
to a respectful attention. 

"That's better. Should have put you at attention in the first place. A girl 
like you is an absolute cunt-heater standing like that. Does a lot for me, 
and I don't mind admitting it." 

"Thank you, ma'am." 

"You're welcome." Amity nodded in approval. "But about Miss Coppick. It's a 
damn nice idea when someone on their birthday or at Christmas gets a crate, 
and when they open it there's a naked girl inside, neatly trussed and 
gagged. By the time she's ready to be a gift, the girl is well broken and 
behaving. Often they are glad to get into that crate. Means they got another 
shot at the merry-go- round." 

"But what on earth would anyone do with a girl?" 

"Hell, I'd suppose you knew. Miss Coppick's got a lot of friends. Some of 
them share her interests. Mr. Bristow, for instance." Amity's eyes twinkled. 
"Or me and Charity. She doesn't send girls to senators or congressmen." 

"But I still don't--" 

"It won't happen to you, honey, not unless Mr. Bristow gives the word. But 
there's a lot of folks around who already have a girl chained or in a cage 
or somewhere around the place. It's more common than you think. All you need 
is money, or a job like mine." 

"But aren't any girls ever released?" 

"Chin up, honey! Chest out, knees stiff! That's better. How the hell can you 
release a girl? Figure it out yourself. Set her free, and the first thing 
she'd do would be go and raise a stink with the cops. " 

"But girls get old and--" 

"We haven't got that far yet. Maybe the time will come when there'll have to 
be a compound for the middle-aged and up. But that's way off. You've got 
more immediate things to worry about. Think about the whipping we're going 
to give you as your welcome to the I.S.G. We give it to every new 
girl--you're no exception. Bye for now." 

Under the spell of authority, the bound and naked girl continued to stand in 
the stiff and revealing pose Amity admired. But, realizing she was again 
alone, she now relaxed and for a change leaned against the bars of the 
locker door. Amity's visit had given her things to think about, but had 
changed her condition not at all. However, it had been a human communion 
from which she took heart. The cords deep in her wrists seemed less punitive 
because of the woman who had put them there. Even though it hurt, Anne could 
not refrain from twisting her crossed wrists in much the same manner as she 
forever sought freedom from the steel cuffs. It was an instinctive animal 
reaction, like pacing the bars of a cage. But the way Amity had bound her 
taught a new lesson in helplessness. There was something intimate about the 
cords that handcuffs lacked. Handcuffs in front came close to freedom. They 
were largely symbolic of a condition. Even behind her back she had been able 
to wriggle and stretch to contrive useful motions. But this was not so with 
Amity's rope. Her crossed wrists had no leeway at all. They rested above the 
curve of her bottom and this was the end of it. If she insisted on trying to 
free herself, it was no more than a means of circumventing the ennui of 
imprisonment. 

The captive of the cell wondered why she was not more apprehensive over the 
promised whipping. She had no doubt she would receive it. Amity had made no 
idle threat. It was not that she was accustomed to such a punishment. She 
had no idea if it would better or worse than Bristow's cropping of her 
bottom, the weals of which were still vivid on her skin. It was significant 
no one had commented on them. Evidently, such marks were commonplace at the 
I.S.G. Half ashamed of such presumption, she knew she hoped to carry off the 
infliction with prideful insouciance. If the strokes were not too hard! But, 
since it was a punishment she could not change, it was best not to dwell on 
it. Its time was close enough without anticipation. 

The only bright spot Anne could see was the recognition of Bristow's 
possession. It obviously set her apart. She would hurt no less for it. 
Perhaps they would be harder on her because of it. With her they would be 
working towards a change of heart, or of understanding, or of whatever else 
they chose to name Bristow's demand upon her psyche. Anne could envision no 
change in herself at all, other than to become more humble and servile 
beneath the whip. But that was not what Bristow sought. Determinedly, Anne 
assessed the effect upon her now of this tight binding of her wrists behind 
her back; She shrewdly guessed the binding was not by chance. But, try as 
she might, she could raise no erotic excitation at all. She remained a tied, 
chained girl who wanted out. It was Charity who eventually smiled at the 
waiting prisoner through the bars. Her tone was almost arch. "Guess we got 
ourselves a bit of unfinished business, Miss Menton." 

"Are you speaking of the whipping I'm supposed to get?" 

"Well, well, all cool, calm, and collected." 

"I'm sure you'll soon cure me of that, ma'am." 

"Oh, I sure will. Have you been whipped much?" 

Anne turned and wriggled her hips. "I got these marks. They were put on me 
with a riding-crop." 

"Yeah, I noticed. What I'm giving you will be higher up. Balance you off 
nicely. I'm curious, though. Why aren't you pleading not to be whipped?" 

"Because it wouldn't do me any good. Or would it?" 

"Sure makes a difference, those few days of being a prisoner you've had. 
You'd be surprised the way the new girls carry on-- tears, howls, threats. 
But mostly they plead for mercy. When it's their first time, they're scared 
shitless." 

"There's an informality about your speech now, ma'am, and with Amity," the 
tied girl ventured timidly. "I'm grateful for it. Is it because of Mr. 
Bristow? I mean, his owning me." 

Charity was amused. "Yeah, I guess that's partly it. But Miss Coppick wants 
every girl to get started off with stem authority. If we talk informally to 
you now, it doesn't mean you'll hurt less. In fact, we intend to give you a 
real bad time." 

"But why? What I mean--" 

"Honey, there are girls who are like punishing a log of wood. Then there are 
the opposite who go into screaming hysterics just from a promise. But you're 
one of a rare breed. I bet it's the reason Mr. Bristow bought you. It's as 
though you were especially made to be punished. Make any sense?" 

"Not really. I'm afraid I'm terribly ignorant." 

"You won't be when the I.S.G is through with you. But you're one of those 
girls who radiates sex even when they're thinking about boiling potatoes. 
But you're shooting off other vibrations too. It's like you're saying, 
'Please whip me, please whip me.' I know it's not what you're really 
wanting, but I'm telling you the way it is." Anne contemplated this picture 
of herself as seen by others. It was not reassuring. Her query followed 
naturally. "Does that mean you have to punish me twice as much as the 
others?" 

"It's not a case of have to, honey. It's a case of us wanting to. You're 
like a delectable dish we long to eat; we don't want plain bread." 

Anne sought a rationale. Somewhere in this jungle of reactions was the one 
Bristow wanted. If only she could find it! Hesitantly, she asked, "These 
punishments aren't really punishments at all, are they? Aren't they hurting 
me just for the sake of hurting? I mean, hurting me gives you or someone 
pleasure." 

"You're getting warm, honey. Bristow never tell you that?" 

"I messed things up with him. If only he'd given me a bit more time!" 

"Don't fret, Anne. The I.S.G. is going to do its best for you. By the time 
Miss Coppick is through with you, you'll be that idiot's dream girl. If I 
were you, I'd say piss on him and take Amity and me." Charity laughed at 
Anne's bafflement. "Look, honey, we've got work to do." 

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I talk too much. Please take me to where I get whipped." 

Charity's pleasure was evident, and so was her puzzlement. Her voice held a 
touch of awe. "Anne, what you just said; don't you understand how remarkable 
it is? There's not another girl in the I.S.G. who'd ask to be punished in 
just that way." 

Anne let it lie. She knew herself in the current of a stream of events she 
could not halt. Charity's grasp of her bare arm was actually comforting. 
What did it matter if she was being led to a place to be hurt? At this 
moment the two of them were girls together. "There it is, honey. Our 
punishment room." 

Even without words, the place proclaimed intent. Anne looked around the big, 
well-lit room and knew she should be afraid. There were two different kinds 
of stocks, ropes from pulleys, two posts, and around the walls were rings 
and chains. There was a table and a bench. All screamed of pain for girls. 
But dead center, as though awaiting her arrival, was the post against which 
she would be whipped. 

Charity untied Anne's hands and allowed her a moment in which to rub the red 
indentations Amity's cords had left. Casually, she suggested, "I bet you 
know where to put your wrists." 

Anne knew. She went to the post and stretched out her arms to either side. 
The metal cuffs were correctly placed. She put her wrists into each and 
stood tensely while the wardress clicked them tightly around the 
uncomplaining skin. 

"A girl can be locked facing the post as you are, Anne, or she can have her 
back to the post and face me." 

The fastened girl got the message. Aghast, she demanded, "You really mean--" 

"You guessed it. A girl's breasts can be whipped the same as her back." 

Anne sighed. She supposed she was the lucky way around. For her breasts to 
be whipped was an unthinkable horror. For the moment she concentrated on her 
back. It felt outrageously bare. She flexed her arms, and the metal cuffs 
bit back and laughed at her thoughts of escape. Quivering, she wanly said, 
"I'll try and not make too much noise." 

"Make all the noise you like, Anne. This place is used to it. Shall we get 
started?" 

"Yes, of course." 

"Twenty strokes. I'm telling you the number so you don't panic." It seemed a 
lot. Compared to Bristow's five or six, it loomed horrendously. But Anne had 
never heard of a flogging of only five lashes. It was hard to think of what 
she was about to receive as anything less than a flogging. It was a beastly 
word, but she could not rid her mind of it. 

"Hold your breath, honey." 

She would never know if it was good advice or simply a taunt, but Anne held 
her breath, then expelled it in a gust of agony as her back became aflame 
with fire. It was a different pain from the crop. But what did that matter? 
It was all she could do not to scream. She heard her own voice, a most 
polite voice, exclaim, "I can't stand it, ma'am! It hurts so bad! Please!" 

The second stroke cut short her plaint. It was as though she had not spoken. 
The anguish of it thrust her breasts hard against the upright, which split 
them asunder to either side. Feverishly, she tugged hard at her ironed 
wrists. From her lips there came a wailing cry of pure pain. She heard her 
voice again. "Please! No more! Oh, please!" 

The thong streaked her bare shoulders, snapping beneath a bare raised arm. 
Anne's armpit screamed its indignation at an infliction never before known. 
Charity's voice came through a mist of desolation. "You see, Anne, you say 
you can't handle it, but you handle it well. Here is number four... and 
now... number five. There, you have received one quarter of your allotted 
punishment. 

The whipped girl thrust her forehead hard against the wood and sobbed. She 
would make no pretense of heroism. What was the use? She knew now she could 
not carry off this welcome whipping with insouciance. It was unbearable. It 
was cruel. It was everything it should not be. But if she had endured one 
quarter of her punishment, might she not survive? In the face of what she 
had already borne, she would be forgiven nothing. In the pause Charity was 
now permitting, Anne whispered, "Please, ma'am, isn't there something I can 
say or do? This is too awful." 

"Nothing, Anne dear--nothing at all." 

It was implacable. She was ironed fast, a prisoner of the post as she was a 
prisoner to the I.S.G. At that moment Anne caught a glimpse of what prison 
meant to the fourteen girls. All were sentenced, and for none was there the 
faintest hope of escape. They would go their chained ways from day to day, 
bearing their stripes and knowing, as she now knew, there was nothing they 
could do or say. They were condemned. 

"The marks of a whip across a virgin back are very lovely, Anne. I'll space 
yours as best I can, but there'll be some overlap." The lash sought Anne 
anew with its excoriating venom. She was moaning steadily, flinching and 
yelping as each blow found her flesh. Sometimes Charity deliberately cut a 
fresh mark across the already streaked bottom. After number fourteen had 
impacted her innocence, Anne unashamedly screamed again and again. 

It was finally over. The whipped girl had lost count. All she knew was that 
the blows had ceased. She stood against the post, using it for support, her 
arms outspread but dragging at the irons. Against the greater anguish of her 
back and bottom, Anne was in no mood to heed the plaints of her wrists 
within the steel. Panting and sweating, she sought to collect her wits and a 
returning awareness. She moved slightly in surprise as female fingers traced 
her wounds. 

"You have a beautiful smell, Anne. It is the smell of pain, but each girl is 
different." Charity's voice was an entrancing whisper. "Now don't fight." 

In passive uncaring, the naked whipped maiden felt the shackles open and her 
arms fall. She was turned around, and the handcuffs were relocked upon her 
wrists. She now had her back to the post, facing her wardress. Suddenly and 
shockingly, she remembered. "No! Oh, no, no, no! Charity, not my breasts!" 
Anne's plaints trailed off into a long moan. 

Charity laughed. It was a silvery laugh out of keeping with the room. She 
kissed two captive nipples and two captive lips. "Hush, child," she 
admonished. "You have had your punishment." 

It was not possible--it just wasn't! But it was happening. Still in her daze 
left over from agony, Anne left the separation of her legs and the hot face 
hard pressed within her within the apex of her thighs. Charity was kneeling, 
and her seeking mouth was making its clearly felt course towards her 
prisoner's sex. Anne moaned when two lips met two lips. They were very 
different lips, and one pair had a tongue. Thereafter, she simply moaned. 
From time to time, her ironed wrists tugged--that was all. 

It was new and was filling her with disbelief. It should be a man, not 
Charity or any other female. Anne moaned and tugged. But agony had taken her 
far along a road, and Charity's tongue and lips were much skilled. As with 
the pain, the helpless nudity surrendered herself to the hungry mouth eating 
avidly within her crotch. She was helpless, her arms stretched wide. The 
post claimed her. She belonged to Charity. Nothing mattered any more. 

When the prisoner of the I.S.G. came back into the world, she was alone. She 
raised her head and sought to retrieve her hands, but they were still held 
fast. Accepting this as a matter of course, she allowed her mind to roam. 
Anne wondered if what had just been done to her made her a lesbian. She felt 
guilt. She should have hated every lick of the female tongue, but she did 
not. Desperately, she longed for Charity to come back and do it again. 

Charity returned. She was smiling quietly. Without a word, she blindfolded 
the maiden whose arms were held outstretched. Anne was in total darkness 
when the whisper and the kiss came. "You're the most delicious little 
prisoner the I.S.G. has ever had, Anne." Then there was a silence and 
another hungry mouth. Anne tried to close her legs, but they were drawn 
apart. She did not try again. She knew this fresh mouth was not Charity's. 
When it was done with her, there came another and another and another. In 
her darkness, the ironed nudity trod her own golden road into the sunlight. 
Anne was aware of making sounds and of pain in her wrists. But she did not 
care. The magic of the mischievous mouths possessed her totally. 

It was glory, glory, glory. 

 CHAPTER FOUR - PRISON 

The I.S.G. did things right. The exercise yard was perfectly patterned with 
its dauntingly high wall and heavily locked doors. But there the resemblance 
to the real world ended. Since Charity and Amity were the sole authority, it 
was obvious that fourteen healthy young women could overpower them with 
ease. Guns would be useless; you do not kill your assets. Quaintly, each 
girl was well aware of her value in Hetty Coppick's world. Control was 
maintained, therefore, by ejecting each inmate into the yard naked, ankles 
ironed, and wrists cuffed behind her back. The nudity was so they could be 
more easily whipped into submission should they prove difficult. 

It was Anne's first meeting with her fellow prisoners. She was quickly 
surrounded as a new focal point of interest and bombarded with questions and 
advice. From the melee she retained vivid impressions. Each girl was a 
Playboy centerfold in shape and features. They had all been kidnapped in 
various ways, except for the two who had been sold directly to Hetty Coppick 
by stepmothers who wanted them out of the way. Several had been abducted 
with a view to immediate sale. The rest had been neatly extracted from their 
world by Hetty Coppicks' own organization. All had been indoctrinated into 
lesbianism, and several coyly admitted to having been taken to the 
punishment room the previous day and compelled to silently feed upon the 
outspread nakedness of a new girl shackled to the post. It had been done to 
all of them. Animosities were pointless. 

Anne was surprised by the ease with which she and the rest adjusted to their 
nakedness, their ironed feet, and cuffed hands. They moved, talked, and 
sought each other out with the greatest of ease and naturalness. Some had 
been Hetty Coppick's prisoners for as long as two years. None expected ever 
to escape. She met and talked with Jennifer with whom she had shared the 
van. But she was just a girl like all the rest. Because of the brevity of 
contact with each other, each girl existed in a sterile isolation Anne found 
daunting. They were given this hour in the sun each day, but their only 
other sharing of each other came about from whatever lesbian antics the 
wardresses devised. 

There were no rebels, no dark whisperings, no plans to scale the wall. The 
girls were conditioned by their irons. They were at all times kept helpless 
by some sort of metal bond they could not sever or unlock. Their punishments 
were by caprice. But this too had become commonplace and undeserving of 
comment beyond humorous allusions. The girls of the I.S.G. were examples of 
tenacious survival. Anne was forced to wonder to what degree their enforced 
lesbianism contributed to their cheerfulness in an unnatural confinement. 

Hetty Coppick appeared to be the girls' favorite topic. When in residence, 
she prowled the passages in an inexhaustible satisfaction with her 
possessions. She gloried in her prisoners, studying their every motion, 
their tricks of speech, their attitudes. Each prisoner was, for Hetty 
Coppick, a storehouse of eroticism. Exhibiting some small trait of 
personality could earn a girl any one of many punishments. Hetty Coppick 
could be inflamed by the toss of a head or the motion of a hip. She worked 
out her erotic arousal upon girls who often did not know in what way they 
had offended or appealed. All the girls agreed it was far better to get 
their mistress excited than to sit tied in a cell alone. 

When the recreation was over, the girls were returned one at a time to 
whatever fate the I.S.G. had in store. Anne was left until last. It was 
Amity who led her from the yard. 

"Feel better or worse, Anne?" 

The convict girl knew it was not a silly question. She answered 
thoughtfully. "It told me of the hopelessness of getting out of here. The 
effect of that wall is devastating." 

"Want to go back to your cell?" 

"Gosh no!" 

Amity laughed at the emphatic negative. "Want to work in the kitchen?" 

"May I! Yes, please." 

Anne realized how far she had fallen to make working in a prison kitchen 
something to be desired. Willingly, she allowed herself to be led on her 
short hobbled steps to where a couple of other convict girls were performing 
domestic duties without visible evidence of enthusiasm. One ankle of each 
was shackled to a ring in the center of the floor by a chain only long 
enough to enable them to perform their allotted tasks. Without fuss, Amity 
unlocked Anne's leg irons, confining her now by a single chained ankle. The 
handcuffs went also. The new girl at I.S.G. was ready to go to work. Amity 
patted a bare bottom and departed. 

"Welcome to the chain gang." 

"Watch out we don't tangle. With three girls we spend half our time walking 
back and around." 

They were a genial pair, but cynical from long imprisonment. They gave Anne 
potatoes to peel and warned her that none of the kitchen cutlery would sever 
their chains or influence their locks. Their names were Doris and Natalie. 
They told Anne not to bust her ass. 

It was better than the cell. There was no denying the fact. Anne's spirits 
brightened. She suspected the I.S.G. was aware of the hazard of morbidity 
and hysteria with girls incarcerated too long in the isolation of a cell. 
Such imprisonment was, in itself, a punishment. Hetty Coppick's problem 
would be to keep her girls in suitable subjection without diminishing their 
personality. She would need her girls very much alive and very much aware 
for them to provide entertaining screams or the doe-eyed appeal of extreme 
discomfort. But, through all these speculations, Anne was vividly conscious 
of the metal band locked around her ankle. It did not hurt--it inhibited 
nothing except escape--but it had a personal quality as though it was 
someone who watched, someone who would snub her back into submission if she 
transgressed too far. For the second time since her captivity, she felt an 
erotic heating within her loins. If Bristow had been available, she would 
have admitted it to him. He would be pleased. In the LS.G., it would be 
commonplace. Sex hovered insidiously in every cell. The punishment room 
reeked of sex, as did the yard full of naked girls. 

"You're wearing your jerseys," she complained to her companions. "Why am I 
naked?" 

Doris sneered. "Does it matter? Amity just probably forgot." 

"Everything they do is designed to throw us a curve," Natalie explained 
helpfully. "Nothing stays the same. Punishments are purposely inconsistent. 
But don't you ever dare complain." 

"Get your little ass cropped." Doris chuckled. "What I sit down on has got 
so tough from being beat, it doesn't hurt all that bad any more. I haven't 
told them that, though. Best not make admissions." 

"This Hetty Coppick," Anne ventured. "I can't see how she gets her money's 
worth out of this place. The girls don't cost her much, but the prison sure 
must. She doesn't stand and gloat at us through the bars, does she?" 

"I've had her do that to me," Doris admitted. "Girls and iron bars are real 
potent for her--the girl on the wrong side, of course. " 

"She's forever experimenting," Natalie added. "Almost anything that holds a 
girl helpless or makes her a prisoner, even if it's the smallest thing like 
thumbcuffs, turns her on. She'd get a charge out of the way the three of us 
are now, chained by only one ankle while we prepare supper. She kept one 
girl in a strait jacket for a whole week once. Out in the courtyard there's 
a short pillar about five feet high. Your ankle gets chained to it by about 
three links. So what are you going to do? You simply stand. If you fall or 
try to get down, you end up hanging upside down." 

"Ever hear of a guy named Joshua Bristow?" 

Both girls laughed at the simple question. "Sure, we have. We used to call 
him Hetty's boyfriend. They're two of a kind. They likely don't get married 
because they're both so filthy rich." 

"But does he ever come here?" Anne was suddenly tense. "Does he come looking 
at us through the bars?" 

"Sure. Hetty gives him carte blanche. After he's looked us over, he picks a 
girl and takes her to the punishment room. It's the usual thing there. We've 
all had the works. There was a story he wanted to take a girl home with him, 
but Hetty refused because she was afraid he'd let the girl escape." 

"When was he last here?" 

Natalie shrugged. "Can't be sure. A few weeks maybe." Anne had a momentary 
vision of herself tightly bound within her cell and Josh Bristow surveying 
her helplessness from beyond the bars. It would be the ultimate frustration. 
But she resolutely set aside the vision and with it the memory of her 
magnificent master. It was Bristow who had sent her to the I.S.G, and she 
had no assurance he would get her out. His power over her destiny was 
awesome. Truly she was owned. 

"We may as well tell you straight, Anne, this place builds a defensive 
mechanism in most of us. It's good old sex. But it's more than the normal 
thing. We can't get the normal. Men have been taken from our lives as though 
they did not exist. First, it's the lesbian thing, which we all accept 
sooner or later. But there's something else. Do you get the hots when you're 
whipped?" 

There it was again. It infiltrated everywhere. Anne caught sight of 
Bristow's logic in sending her to the I.S.G. Diffidently, she shrugged and 
admitted, "There's been odd moments when there's been a flash of something. 
But mostly it simply hurts and I just hate it." 

"Well, okay, honey. What you have to do is enlarge those flashes of 
something into pure pleasure--erotic excitement, if you like. You don't have 
to worry about frustration. There's tongues all over the place." 

"I'd a lot sooner have a man." 

"So would we all. But in prison you do the best you can with what you have. 
Honey, I don't say we all enjoy being whipped-- we don't--but we find enough 
sexual excitation in it to make the sort of whippings we get bearable. We 
don't often get well and truly flogged." 

"It felt like a flogging to me yesterday." 

"You're building a resistance all the time, Anne. Stop doing that. You 
absolutely must. Look, each of us are chained here by an ankle. How's it 
grab you?" 

Admission was still an embarrassment, but Anne made one. "Yes, all right, I 
felt it, and I'm still feeling it. If I had pants on, they'd be hot." 

"Good for you! Hold on to it." Natalie chuckled. "I'd offer to cool you off, 
but we're not supposed to be happy in the kitchen. If Amity or Charity 
walked in while we were at it, she'd whip us to bits." 

"You said the whip didn't bother you?" Anne accused questioningly. 

"So, all right, it hurts bad when it's hard enough or you're scared. I'd be 
scared for fear I'd get put in isolation." 

"Isn't that what our cells are?" 

"Not half as bad as the real thing. You're in the dark. I go nearly crazy 
after an hour." 

Anne was grateful to the kitchen and the girls. She was even grateful for 
the chain on her ankle. She was learning from all of them. More importantly, 
she was learning about Bristow and what she must become to get him back. But 
it was puzzling and disturbing as to why he bothered with her when Hetty 
Coppick had a prison full of girls whose libidos were erotically attuned to 
his tastes. Why hadn't Hetty made him a gift of a maiden who adored being 
bound? Anne shrugged it off. It was all too new and too impossible. Anyway, 
men were crazy with their notions. But she was owned by such a man. She 
kicked her chained ankle purposely for effect. The resultant glow in her sex 
was reassuring. 

Anne's meeting with Hetty Coppick held elements of humor. The days had 
passed and she was becoming accustomed to being a prisoner in the I.S.G. She 
had not found happiness, but Amity and Charity had given her such a mixture 
of pain and pleasure so as to make life bearable. It was the I.S.G. receipt 
for life in the I.S.G. Without it, the prison would have destroyed them all. 

The two girls with hobbled feet surveyed Anne through the bars. One held up 
a key. "You've been picked for a present. Gosh, you're lucky." The key 
unlocked the door. 

"You're not going to fight us, are you, darling?" 

Of course she would not fight. To be picked for a present was the same as 
being paroled. Almost. At the very least she would escape from the prison 
and its dreariness. For Anne Menton, a dazzling hope sprung into life. "Who 
am I being given to?" she demanded excitedly. 

"We don't know that. They never tell a girl. We have to tie your hands and 
arms. Please don't make a fuss." 

"I won't, honest. How do you want me?" 

The two girls took away her irons. "We have to give back the keys." They 
tittered. "Now put your hands behind your back. Oh, we almost forgot! First 
take off your jersey. You have to be naked." The naked prisoner stood 
trembling while she was bound. The girls were skilled. No doubt they had 
tied girls before, or been tied themselves enough to know. Anne's hands were 
placed palm to palm and tightly bound, then her elbows. Her elbows hurt, but 
she did not complain. A collar was locked around her neck. 

"The collar is just for effect, darling. I expect whoever you're going to 
has a thing about collars. Everyone who owns us has a thing about something. 
Gosh, look at the way your tits stick out! We must have done a good job with 
your arms. Do they hurt a lot?" 

"Yes. Aren't they supposed to?" 

"Well, I guess so. Anyway, you look gorgeous. When you stand up out of that 
box--" 

"Box!" Anne looked bewildered. 

"For shipment, darling. You get shipped in a box. Come along." It was nice 
to walk without her feet being snubbed, but bound elbows imposed their own 
discipline, dampening optimism. The littered storeroom did not help, and the 
wooden crate was heavy with intent. 

"In you go, dear. We'll help you over the hump." 

Standing within the confines of the box, Anne felt foolish and bewildered. 
The straps by which she would be immobilized were plain to see. When they 
were tight upon her nudity, she would not bounce around. On another box a 
gag waited for her mouth. "What the hell are you girls playing at!" 

The demand was startling; the voice was new. The bound girl in the box 
turned in alarm. Standing in the doorway was the figure of an extraordinary 
woman. It was easy for Anne to guess her name. "This isn't the girl, you 
idiots." 

The two maidens thus addressed looked at each other in dismay. "But you said 
the new girl, and Anne here is the newest." 

"Don't be ridiculous. I said Pugh, not new. The Pugh girl's the redhead. Go 
and get her." 

Hetty Coppick stared at the nude captive of the box. Her look was keenly 
appraising. "So you're Josh Bristow's girl, eh? Here, let me give you a hand 
out of that crate. I'm not going to untie you; you carry joined elbows 
well." 

Anne was helpless enough to be glad of Hetty's strong arm. When they stood 
apart, they exchanged appraisals. Hetty was amused. "My hairdo is Arabian. 
Nights, that is. The scarlet basque is Frederick's. I forget where I got the 
black fishnets. I'm an unconventional woman. You'll get used to it." 

"How do you do, Miss Coppick? My name is Anne." 

"My, my, aren't we formal? I know about your name. You look like a nice 
girl. Why the hell can't Josh handle you?" 

"Oh, he can handle me," the bound girl assured earnestly. "I'm afraid the 
problem is psychological. I fall short someplace." 

"Oh, that!" Hetty was amused. "Men are absurd. But he sent you to the right 
place. I'll whip some knowledge into you. Enjoying the I.S.G.?" 

"Well... not really." 

"Don't look so scared, dear. Sure, I bite, but not right now. You've got two 
nice breasts." 

"Thank you. I'm afraid they're sticking out, but that's because of--" 

"Yes, I know. Nice effect, dear. I like it. But about your breasts--you may 
wish you didn't have such dowsers by the time I've whipped them both." 

"Well... " 

"Sure, I know. That's a hard one to answer. Josh didn't shave your cunt, 
eh?" 

"No. Should he have?" 

"Suits some girls if they've got a neat slit. You'd be okay. But it's sort 
of a shame to get rid of that verdant bush. Josh whip you?" 

"He called it cropping my ass." 

"Oh, sure, I should have guessed. Josh dearly loves a neat, tight bottom, 
and you've got that in spades. I'm going to enjoy you. What have the girls 
done to you so far?" 

Anne was searching for answers when the two trustees returned with Miss 
Susan Pugh, the redhead whose destiny was to be a gift. She was as naked as 
Anne, and bound in the same way. Her eyes were shining. 

"Hate to part with you, Sue my dear, but it's in a good cause. You're not 
likely to hurt any less where you're going, but you'll get loved a lot more 
than I have time for." 

The mistress kissed the departing prisoner and pushed her down within the 
crate. Hetty waved grandly to the waiting attendants. A sad small voice came 
up from below. 

"Thank you for letting me go, Miss Coppick." 

Hetty winked at Anne, who had a distinct feeling the departing prize might 
be less happy than she now supposed. Anne moved forward and peered into the 
crate to behold a fate which might be hers one day. Miss Susan Pugh had 
become a gagged and well- strapped bundle of breasts and limbs and hair. 
Anne wished her well, then stood back for the closing of the lid. 

"Homer's going to warm her butt first thing before he screws her," Hetty 
said sagely. "Never did get around to giving the sweet thing the attention 
I'd have liked. Ah well, she'll have a good home, and there's no way she'll 
ever escape." She waited until the two of them were alone before saying, "I 
should do something to you just so we can get acquainted. Make me an offer." 

To Anne, Hetty Coppicks' insouciance held pitfalls. "You mean I should be 
punished?" she asked hesitantly. 

"Sure, we can call it that. Actually, I'm simply being a bitch. I'd like you 
prettily gasping with pain as we talk. Suggest something." 

It was a royal command, but it was the last thing the still tied slave girl 
wanted. "Were you thinking of whipping me?" she ventured. 

"Another time. Something simple for now. I'm kinda pooped." Anne sighed. She 
suspected she would be sighing a lot from now on. "There's a pillory in the 
punishment room," she offered hopefully. 

"Hmmm... That doesn't really hurt. You wouldn't be doing any gasping for 
about ten hours. But it's a kind thought." 

"You could sort of suspend me until I was just on my toes." 

"It's an idea. I've got a better one, though. Been hung by a single hand 
yet?" 

"No, I'm afraid not." 

"Well, don't apologize, honey. You're about to give it a try. Come along. I 
can just about handle that." 

Anne wondered if she would ever adjust. They threw you curve balls, but 
expected you Jo field them with bright competence. She was going now with 
this extraordinary woman to be given pain as though the pain was a light 
snack handed to her on a plate. Her arms were still bound, and her elbows 
were hurting. She was never in a position to argue. She supposed that what 
Hetty Coppick was about to do to her was reasonably humane by the standards 
of the I.S.G. But a free girl would be having hysterics or calling the 
police. She thought of Susan Pugh in the crate. Her elbows would be hurting 
too. But Anne Menton would have gladly changed places. 

"Are you picking up anything at all from the things we do to you here at 
I.S.G.?" Hetty sounded forever cheerful. "Do you ever get hot pants?" 

Anne plunged. "I hope you won't punish me, but I don't feel the way you're 
thinking enough to matter. Mostly I simply hurt and want to go home. Would 
it be any use asking you to give me my freedom?" 

"What bothers you most?" 

"Being in prison." 

"I take that as a compliment, dear. I've tried to do a job on the I.S.G. 
Looks authentic, eh?" 

"It is authentic. I'm a convict girl." 

"Well, here we are." Hetty Coppick gazed around the punishment room with 
approval. "Everything's ship-shape. I have to untie you. Are you going to be 
sensible?" 

"I'm always sensible. It usually gets me so I hurt." 

"That's right, Anne dear. It's going to hurt now. Just look at your lovely 
wealed skin, and you haven't been tied up that long!" The naked girl stood 
in what she hoped was a suitably passive pose, offering bits of herself as 
requested. "This is what I mean about prison," Anne explained diffidently. 
"Escape is so impossible with all this stone and brick and iron bars we 
don't even try. Whatever you tell me to do, I'll do it like a zombie. I 
never used to such a doormat." 

"You mean like now, Anne?" 

"Yes. I just stand while you tie me so I'll hurt. It's absolutely unnatural. 
I'm ashamed of myself." 

"Yes, dear, go on." 

"I'm scared you'll punish me for talking like this. But I really am trying 
to understand this whole thing. But you're going to hang me up like a hunk 
of meat in a butcher's shop. I won't be me. I won't be Anne Menton at all. 
Am I making any sense?" 

"Anne my dear, what you're saying is simply a realization you're an 
imprisoned convict girl. That's all. All you've lost is freedom. You're 
still you, and it's the same with the others. If you want to fight, you 
should do so. Martyrdom wouldn't sit well with you. Go berserk if you want. 
Amity and Charity and I can handle tantrums. You'd be surprised." 

"So I'll never ever be free again?" 

"Don't play that tune too often, love. It gets tedious." 

Anne watched her hand and then her arm raise up. There came a tug at her 
shoulder to make her raise up on her toes. It was extremely uncomfortable. 
She felt sure she looked silly. 

"Needs a little something," Hetty mused. She thoughtfully looped Anne's left 
ankle and right wrist, drawing them together behind her back to leave her 
tottering on a single set of toes, supporting herself from above by one tied 
wrist that was already hurting. She gasped in dismay and saw Hetty's eyes 
light up with pleasure. 

"That's about right," the owner of the unique prison judged, surveying with 
approval the maiden ensemble she had created. "Not rough enough for you to 
scream. I'll get me a chair." 

Anne was much preoccupied. She doubted her capacity to provide chatter or 
bright response. It was the same old story. She hurt and was sure she would 
hurt more. All of her was stressed, and where the rope bit hard her flesh 
complained. At the moment it was taking all her concentration to affect a 
balance. In some ways this was worse than straight, honest suspension. 

"You look beautiful, Anne." 

Hetty's tribute was undoubtedly sincere. She was being cruel to a naked girl 
in her power, but there was no cruelty in her voice or her enraptured 
regard. She beheld this strained, stressed girl as something ineffable 
others would not see. She settled herself comfortably in her chair. 

"Be interesting to strap a dildo inside you," she said affably. "Girls are 
quite wonderful in their possibilities. I always try and make my girls 
understand how wonderful they are. Not easy when they're as prison-conscious 
a you." 

"Please... please don't." Anne was gasping. Not for Hetty's pleasure but 
because she could not help it. "This is awfully difficult. I'm not sure I 
can cope." 

"You're coping just the way I wanted, dear. Trust Hetty Coppick when it 
comes to getting responses out of young females." 

"I'm not that young, and I'm hurting, and do you think you could let my foot 
back down on the floor?" 

"No, don't be silly. If you get querulous, I'll whip you. We can leave the 
dildo for now and have ourselves a nice talk." 

"Yes, Miss Coppick, and thank you." 

"Address me as ma'am. I suppose you're thanking me for delaying the dildo. 
Well, don't bet you won't get it. Ever had one up your pretty little dooey?" 

"I'm afraid not." 

"Nothing to be afraid about, love." Hetty beamed. "Now what we'll start off 
with is your impressions of my I.S.G. Come on now, I don't care how you gasp 
and stutter, but come up with something." The naked girl, standing on one 
foot, arm raised high, longed to scream, to beat her fists, to shout 
rejection, but Anne Menton knew herself in the hands of a mistress of pain. 
Hetty would demand get her pound of flesh. Unhappily, Anne blurted out, 
"It's a prison, ma'am, and it scares me. The way you've got me fixed now 
scares me." 

"Why?" 

"Because you could keep me like this longer than I can bear." 

"What would you say to thirty minutes?" 

"Probably I can make that. I'll sure try." 

"Don't have much choice, do you?" Hetty commented dryly. "How about all 
day?" 

"I expect I'll lose consciousness, and the rope around my wrist would cut 
off circulation. My hand's getting numb already." 

"Well, I'm not going to tell you how long you're there for, my pretty little 
innocent. What I'd like now is your guess about me and my I.S.G. Take your 
time." 

Sure, there was lots of time, and all of it would hurt. But this was what 
Hetty wanted. Incongruous as such conversation might be, Anne knew herself 
stuck with it. But she could think of little to say that could not get her 
punished. But that might be the name of the game. How could she know! Hetty 
was still an enigma. Miserably, Anne told the truth. 

"Ma'am, if I was free, I guess I'd say you were a woman who liked possessing 
girls who had to do what you wanted, girls you can do anything you like 
with. The I.S.G. does something to a girl. It's sort of monolithic. We feel 
entombed in it. But this is just me. I don't know about the others." 

"Think you'd be more interesting to me if I didn't keep you in a prison?" 

"I don't know, ma'am. I think we'd be more interesting to ourselves." 

"Even if you got punished more?" 

"Well... yes, I suppose so." 

Hetty laughed in delight. "Don't worry, I'm not making you an offer. Look, 
I'll tell you about me. It's simple. I adore girls. I think girls, during a 
few years of their lives, are simply gorgeous. But not when they're free. A 
free girl is a pain in the ass with all her notions and the value she places 
on her cunt. But, think of it, in my own private prison I possess 
twenty-eight breasts--no, it's twenty-six with Susan gone. I've got 
twenty-six breasts of all shapes and sizes and textures, and thirteen 
pouting little cunts to go with them. Staggers the mind, don't you think?" 

"Yes. I'd never thought--" 

"Money does it. I'm lucky. But it's a lot more than flesh I want. Girl flesh 
is sweet, but it could become cloying if there wasn't something else. That 
something else is power. The twenty-six breasts have to do whatever I want 
every day." Hetty paused and sighed with pleasure. "Power enables me to 
train these sweet bundles of animosity, resentment, and down-right hatred 
that walk handcuffed through the main gate of the I.S.G. to begin their new 
lives. Give this a bit of thought. Aren't the inmates who've been here 
awhile a lot nicer young women than when they came?" 

"We're scared not to be what you call nice." 

"But you couldn't say they were broken?" 

"The prison does that to us. Like I said--" 

"See! What you've just said justifies the I.S.G.!" Hetty Coppick exclaimed 
triumphantly. "Painless conversion. My prison works." The half suspended 
nudity perceived the points. Under happier circumstances, she could have 
agreed more readily than now. "The way I am now isn't a bit painless," she 
complained. "And I've been whipped." 

"So what! Bristow cropped your bottom." 

"Well, yes, he did, but he was a man, and it was all so different, and he 
used to punish me outdoors, and there wasn't all this brick and stone." 

"You suffer from claustrophobia, dear?" 

"I don't think so." 

"I'd whip it out of you if you did." Hetty's tone became earnest. "Honey, 
any time you feel down in the dumps or can't handle things, you get word to 
me and I'll come give you a good thrashing. Works wonders, cures all your 
girlish troubles." 

"Ma'am, would you be willing to let my foot down flat on the floor and whip 
me a little instead?" Anne asked wistfully. 

"Didn't think I was being that rough on you." Hetty's eyes became shrewd. 
"You're not making a good deal, you know. Did your little whatsit get hot 
from what you ask?" 

The naked girl, enduring her strange conversational punishment, blushed. She 
knew if the mistress tested, her hand would come up wet. Her own horrified 
reaction to mention of the dildo had sparked a tiny fire which was now 
burning with a greater insistence. Even as she uttered it, her reply sounded 
silly. "Yes. I'm terribly sorry. " Hetty was delighted. "You little idiot, 
what's there to be sorry about? I'll have to phone Josh." 

"No! Please don't--" 

"Why the hell not?" 

"Well, I'm not sure I know, but--" 

"Anne, you're ridiculous. But I like it." 

The punished girl was unsure if she had won or lost a point. She quavered. 
"I'd be so awfully grateful if you'd let me down, even just for a rest." 

Hetty Coppick was always unpredictable. Smiling at some thought of her own, 
she did as her pained prisoner asked. She loosened Anne's ropes, then 
resumed her seat to watch as the surprised girl stripped away her bonds and 
rubbed her new weals. What happened then may have surprised the mistress 
herself. Tears welled from the slave girl's eyes as she threw herself at the 
feet of the seated woman. Clutching Hetty's knees, she sobbed, "Thank you! 
Oh, thank you! I'm so grateful." 

The mistress stroked the bowed head, playing with the silky hair of the girl 
who was one-thirteenth part of her possessions in the I.S.G. She patted the 
bare shoulders but said no word. Anne sobbed happily. 

The two of them found a feminine communion without words. It was a moment 
Anne would remember. When she had sobbed her way into silence, she found 
herself about to express more thanks, but changed its triteness for 
something she thought more suitable. "I really mean that about being 
grateful. I think you've been kind. I won't mind if you punish me some 
more--honest. " 

"That's what I'm going to do, sweetheart. Up on your tootsies. " Anne rose, 
wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. "I'll try and not be silly, 
ma'am." 

"Doesn't it occur to you that you're absolutely free? There's not a rope on 
you." 

"Yes, but I hadn't thought about it--not like that." 

"Why don't you put up a fight? Run for it?" 

"You'd beat me in a fight. I bet you know all the holds." 

"You can't be sure of that." 

"Suppose I did win? There's still all those bars and doors, and there's 
Amity and Charity. They'd put me in solitary for a month." Anne made a 
hopeless grimace. "I bet I'm a disappointment for you, ma'am." 

"No, you're not. I see in you what Josh Bristow saw. It's there. You're a 
honey of a slave girl." 

"I never saw myself that way, not when I was free." The prisoner thought 
back to a time, eons past. "I always saw myself as contentious and likely to 
argue. That day when John Lennox captured me was not a bit easy. I wanted to 
fight." 

"But you did not fight?" 

"Only because he had a system with me and the others that made fighting sort 
of silly, like looking for trouble." 

Hetty laughed again. "All of which goes to show you as a sensible girl. How 
shall I punish you now?" 

Anne was uncertain. She liked Hetty, but that made her feel guilty. Surely 
it was wrong to like a woman who held you in prison. She spoke without 
thinking. "Why is it called punishment in the I.S.G.? 

Mostly, it's not punishment at all. It's hurting a girl to get her 
reactions." 

"And you react gorgeously, dear. How about standing you in the stocks?" 

"That's the same as the pillory, isn't it? You said it didn't hurt enough." 

"See, you're being sensible again, reminding me I'm inconsistent. But you've 
been hurting the way I've just tied you--you made quite a fuss--so now we'll 
have something different. But first, there's something I really must do. 
Just a moment." 

Anne had never used a dildo. But she could certainly recognize one. The 
simulated phallus her mistress held was enormous, and there were also 
straps. Hetty laughed at the expression on her captive's face. "Don't look 
so thunderstruck, sweetheart. There are actually men this big, you know." 

"I don't believe it." 

"Well, let's hope you never find out. Here it is, and there's some lubricant 
to make it easier. Don't bother with the straps. I'll tighten them up on 
you. Go ahead. I'll watch." 

"Oh, please!" Anne looked disgustedly at the things she held. She longed to 
hurl them against the wall, but she did not dare. "Please don't look. I'm 
going to be so terribly embarrassed. It's like... well, it's like watching a 
girl while she's--" 

"Do it, and stop arguing." 

Hating all she did beneath the watching eyes, Anne anointed the huge head of 
an object now highly personal. Then, feeling herself one immense blush, she 
separated her labia with one hand and advanced the male thing towards 
herself in the manner of a threatening weapon. She felt the postures imposed 
by what she must do unflattering. She longed for privacy. When the huge 
make-believe penis made its first penetration under the hesitant pressure of 
her hand, Anne was more than ever sure she was attempting an impossibility. 
But, catching Hetty's enraptured stare, she twisted and turned the offensive 
weapon, changing angles and applying more lubricant, until indeed the 
penetration within her sheath became a firm reality. Then, inch by inch, it 
buried itself within her. 

At the base of the dildo was a pad or shield. When this pressed against her 
widely spread lips, Anne fumbled with the straps. But Hetty joined the fray 
and tugged and pulled until the prisoner of the I.S.G. stood erect with her 
loins and hips harnessed and a band tightly strapped around her waist 
between her legs to nestle within her crotch. 

"Looks good on you, Anne. Stop worrying. How's it feel?" 

"I don't think I can walk." 

"Nonsense! Give it a try." 

Anne discovered she could walk. She also discovered she would not walk far 
without coming to an orgasm. But she completed the circle and came back to 
stand before the woman by whom she was owned. "You girls!" Hetty scoffed. 
"You could take an elephant if you had to." She chuckled ribaldry. "I've 
always felt sorry for the suburban wife who never gets more than four 
inches. I've tried them all out in my time. None of them's as exciting as a 
good girl's tongue." 

Once more, Anne was hurting. It was not real pain, but the harness was most 
intimately strapped within her flesh. It was tight, tight, tight. It 
compressed and constricted her concave belly to cause her hips to weave in 
an exaggeration of a streetwalker's seduction. The strap holding the male 
thing tight within her was cruel in its severity. Feeling some verbal 
response was expected, she quavered. "If you hadn't made me do it, ma'am, I 
would not have believed it possible. I feel all sort of funny inside." "So 
you should. You'll have a few orgasms before you get unstrapped. Now what 
are we going to do with you?" 

"The pillory, ma'am." 

"Ah, yes. Well, that's easy. Hustle your butt over there and get into place 
when I lift the yoke." 

Without enthusiasm, Anne did as she was told. Under the Coppick hands, the 
yoke rose like a huge, inviting jaw. The naked girl placed her neck in what 
seemed a tiny half circle. She arranged her hair, then adjusted her wrists 
within the waiting slots. The yoke was lowered to encompass the three parts 
of herself Anne Menton surrendered. The fit was snugly perfect as though 
made to measure. Hetty snapped the lock. "It was made for a girl, Anne. It's 
useless for a man. Not that I'd want one. Getting any sensations?" 

"It's tight, and I'm helpless." 

"I can see that, you little idiot. I mean down below." 

"I'm afraid I'm going to have an orgasm." 

"No use being afraid of it. You'll have a good many before I'm through." 

The nude in the stocks was still trying to test and sample a new punishment. 
It was not a punishment that hurt yet, but after hours and hours she knew it 
would. It was demeaning to stand thus exposed and so utterly helpless. It 
was also scary in its division of her person. By far the largest part of her 
was sundered and lost to sight. It was somewhere in back and most shockingly 
vulnerable. Hetty's last question seemed inappropriate in view of the 
monstrous phallus imposing waves of erotic sensation one after another. How 
could she separate them? Anne felt certain her harnessed hips were behaving 
outrageously back there where she could not see. What Hetty had done to her 
had taken control of her senses beyond her ability to stem the tide. She was 
beginning to gasp. 

The impact of the flagellum across her buttocks cracked like a gunshot. Its 
agony was instant and horrendous. But it flowered Anne's loins into full 
blossom. Within the pillory's grip she writhed and twisted and tugged as a 
series of involuntary spasms tore at every part of her being, wracking her 
into agonized ecstasy as though she was in an act of coitus with the 
implacable engine into which she was fastened and tightly locked. 

The sounds of the captive's undesired ecstasy gradually stilled to bring 
silence to this room of punishments. As Anne's gaspings and moans quietened, 
Hetty Coppick's eyes shone brighter and her contemplation of the beauty she 
had created more intense. When her prisoner in the stocks returned to an 
interest in things within her limited range of vision, she found her owner 
sitting comfortably where they could converse. 

"Nothing like a good crack across the ass to take you over the top, dear. 
Was it a good one?" 

"Wonderful. But I'm so ashamed." 

"Oh, for Pete's sake, what now?" 

"Well, all naked and fastened like this--it's like that in back there isn't 
me at all. It was like all those sensations were by proxy. But that's so 
silly." 

"No, it isn't. I find that interesting. "Hetty was pleased. "There's 
something about the pillory other girls haven't managed to explain the way 
you've done. You're a good girl, and don't say thank you again or I'll whack 
your ass." 

Anne was vaguely comforted, and with Hetty in full view her bottom and the 
rest of her was safe. She could not even look at the woman in the chair 
without straining her neck against the smooth and polished clutch of wood, 
but it did not hurt. Not hurting was what counted in the I.S.G. She was 
still very much aware of the dildo within her sheath. It would work on her 
steadily, never allowing surcease from its insidious frictioning of her 
innermost secrecy. It possessed her in much the same manner as did the 
stocks. But as long as it was inside her belly, she would be unable to 
differentiate its sensations from the other more subtle heat with which 
Hetty was concerned. No doubt there would be other impacts of the limber 
strap upon her innocence. 

"Be patient, dear. I'll beat on your bottom some more, but not right at this 
moment." It was as though Hetty read her thoughts. "I think that's the 
nicest thing about the pillory: it leaves a girl so open back there to 
absolutely everything." 

"Yes, ma'am, it sure does." 

"What would you like to talk about, dear?" 

The kindly query was one more surprise. Hetty was full of them. The helpless 
prisoner took instant advantage. "I've been wondering how long you'd like to 
keep me at the I.S.G. Have you any date in mind for my return to Josh 
Bristow?" 

"Good god, girl, you've only just arrived. You'd best forget about Josh for 
the time being. You're not ready for him. In any case, I've a good mind to 
convert you. Girls are wasted on me. Not that I have anything against Josh; 
he's rather a dear." 

The girl with neck and wrists tightly clasped knew herself no closer to an 
answer and certainly no closer to freedom. At the I.S.G., freedom was 
abstract. No girl prisoned more than a month any longer believed in it. The 
I.S.G. was forever. Anne shivered within the embrace of the wood. 

"You're bored with me," Hetty accused. 

"No, I'm not! No, really!" 

The denial tumbled out of captive lips in urgent haste. To call Hetty 
Coppick a bore was nothing short of lese majeste. Pain would follow. 

"I'm nothing but a silly old woman prolonging her youth by feeding on 
helpless girls she keeps in a cage." 

"Oh, please! You're putting words in my mouth. I never even thought such a 
thing." 

"Perhaps a few strokes with the crop, dear?" 

Anne might have known! Hetty was baiting her. She was having her fun. Anne 
was locked in the pillory to provide the essential female flesh. Woefully, 
Anne agreed. 

"Of course, ma'am--if it would give you pleasure to crop me." Hetty got up 
and kissed the captive mouth. "You do come up with all the right answers," 
she commented. "Now, when you came up with that answer about cropping you, 
did you feel the heat?" There had been something--something engendered by 
helplessness and the shamed request to be beaten. She and Hetty had reached 
rapport. Undeniably, there had been a flare beyond and apart from the 
dildo's thrust. Wanly, Anne admitted, "Yes, there was something--something I 
couldn't help." 

"Still there?" 

"Yes. Talking about it keeps it alive. Please, I'd be so grateful if you'd 
take out all that dildo from inside me." 

"Don't be silly. With it in you, the crop will bring you to another climax." 

"But it's so huge, and I'm bent a bit into this thing. It keeps me in a sort 
of dither." 

"Good. The crop is exactly what you need. On the other hand, I have the 
flagellum right here. It makes the loveliest splat when it contacts. Okay by 
you?" 

"Yes, ma'am." 

The flare struck again. This conversational gambit was doing it. Anne 
shifted from foot to foot uneasily as her mistress disappeared from view. 
Anne became shrinkingly aware of that portion of herself back there waiting. 
She gasped. Exploring fingers were busy testing the harness on her loins. A 
strap was tightened, then another. She could swear the dildo advanced an 
inch. 

The flagellum was a burst of fire. The yoked girl cried aloud in shock. It 
was hard to believe so much pain came from a strip of leather eighteen 
inches long. The harnessed loins weaved, and the slender hips were eloquent 
of pain. Hetty paused for the pain and heat to take full effect within the 
writhing nudity, then struck again. The feminine nakedness, held fast in the 
pillory's grip, yelped anew and moaned its advent into climax. The woman 
with the strap stood back to admire her work, then walked slowly around and 
around the implacably held slenderness of the girl she herself had locked 
within the stocks. Hetty knew herself the most fortunate of women. She 
always prided herself on her awareness of wealth. To own a prison full of 
girls was, she felt certain, unique in the history of the world. She drank 
in every nuance of what she now beheld in sight and sound. Anne was 
rewarding her owner lavishly with gasps and spasms, with moans and 
writhings, with the twistings of prisoned wrists and captive neck. The girl 
was a most satisfying subject deserving of permanent captivity. But Bristow 
was a friend, and anyway, she owned a dozen more and would be getting 
others. The I.S.G. was designed for fifteen female prisoners. Hetty's own 
heat flared at the thought. Each girl she arranged to have abducted was lush 
and loaded with response. They were douce with the original sweetness of the 
first Eve who was the mother of them all. 

As Hetty slowly circled the preoccupied maiden she had whipped and brought 
to climax, her mind drifted back to the first time and the first girl to be 
led, chained, from the van into the stark newness and sterility of the 
I.S.G. The atmosphere was stringent with the odors of mortar, cement, and 
paint. The contractors had finally left only the week before. Amity and 
Charity had been its only life. She had borrowed one of the uniforms in 
order to blend into the scene and watch the making of a convict girl. 

June Travers had been a natural. She had been the first in the great 
experiment, and Hetty had found it hard to pass her on as a gift. She was 
still an inmate: inured to captivity, only slightly petulant in punishment, 
cleansed of any notions of escape. June Travers never mentioned freedom any 
more. Outside, prior to being sequestered, she had been arrogant and 
demanding, as lovely blondes are apt to be. Society adored them, and they 
allowed themselves to be adored. For June, the handcuffs and leg irons had 
come close to being traumatic. She ceaselessly tugged and kicked at the new 
metal she was forced to wear on wrists and ankles in a sulky conviction she 
could get them off or someone would unlock them for her. She had also been 
much preoccupied with striving to stretch her prison jersey down to cover 
her silky sex. It was not that she was unduly chaste, but she knew it a 
marketable asset which should never be uncovered free of charge. With its 
aid, she intended to marry well. Had Hetty Coppick not sequestered her, June 
would certainly have achieved her goal. 

The leg irons had snubbed June Travers at every step from the van to the 
desk. She had been gagged for transit, but when her mouth was freed, so also 
was a torrent of haughty indignation. She mentioned the police, prison, 
penalties for kidnapping pretty girls, her father and family, and there was 
also a boyfriend or two. The real crux of her concern was that no one 
treated June Travers like this and got away with it. 

Hetty smiled at the memory of the young blonde's face at the crop's first 
cut. Hetty had aimed at the lower curve of the twin cheeks revealed beneath 
the tight jersey. She had slashed both of them with a most satisfying splat. 
For a moment, June had stood, frozen in disbelief at the pain, the 
indignity, and the outrage of her flesh. All the emotions crossed her blonde 
features one after another. After that had come the striving to appease her 
weals with hands joined and no longer her own. For a minute or more June 
Travers had become an untidy motion picture of kicking legs and hands, 
striving to be in two places at once and, above all, to tug her jersey down 
below where it was prepared to go. The three uniformed women had watched 
their first recruit in keen delight. This was what the I.S.G. was all about. 

"If you will free me and allow me to go, I will forget this outrage." 

June had surveyed them from her twisted posture in trying to comfort her 
wounds. She had a vivid scarlet line across each cheek. Obviously, she saw 
nothing quaint in her use of an old cliche. For good measure, she had added, 
"And if you use that horrible thing on me again, I'll make sure you regret 
it." 

Hetty had used it again, and June had stamped an angry foot, jangling her 
shackle. "Stop it!" she demanded. "I told you not to do that. What is this 
place, a madhouse?" 

Hetty smiled as she recalled how the three women had explained to their 
first captive what the I.S.G. was and what it would expect of its inmates. 
She remembered how lovely June had been when they stripped her and fastened 
her to the whipping cross. It was not until then that the outraged girl had 
faced reality and her own situation one to merit prudence. 

"You're not going to whip me, and all bare like this? Don't be absurd!" 

For Hetty, June's progression had been sweet. The girl had listened in pure 
dismay as they explained the reason--or lack of one--for the whipping she 
was shackled for. there had been the maiden protests, merging into howls of 
anger and shock until they too died and Hetty found herself possessed of a 
sobbing nude, hugging the wood for what protection it would give, gazing at 
the uniformed women without seeing them through a haze of tears. It would 
not be correct to say June Travers was broken, but it was the first step. 
Today the same girl was a mature young woman, reconciled to lifetime 
captivity, accepting the I.S.G. logic of unearned punishment and making the 
best of it. Hetty resolved to give the dear girl a whipping or some other 
punishment before the day was done. It had been a long time. 

Anne Menton stirred restlessly to claim her owner's attention. The pillory 
was difficult, holding her so she could neither stand nor sit. She must 
remain bowed in humility in front, and bent and vulnerable in the back. She 
could not read Hetty's thoughts, but doubted they augered well. One more, as 
she so often did, she thought back to freedom and the utter improbability of 
what was happening. She could almost feel her owner's speculative regard 
encompassing her fleshly curves, unnaturally postured by the stocks. Quite 
probably the woman was judging those parts of her exposed nakedness, her 
curves and crevices, into which the flagellum could be snapped for maximum 
effect. Anne was uncertain which was worst, the flagellum or the crop. 
Abruptly, the mistress demanded, "Do you remember a girl named June Travers? 
You should have met her in the yard." 

"She's a blonde, about twenty-six?" 

"Right. I think you'll find her interesting. I'll be right back." The naked 
girl, clamped within the wooden yokes, knew herself indeed a captive 
audience. She waited without patience for whatever the show might be. Anne 
had little hope of it not hurting. When the blonde captive clinked her 
shackled way into view, there was the faintest exchange of raised eyebrows. 
It was all they dared. 

"I'm putting June through her paces for your benefit, Anne. You should be 
flattered." The mistress consulted her watch. "I'll leave you alone together 
for a few minutes. You have permission to talk, and I won't be listening on 
a monitor." 

The locking of the door was emphatic. It sounded like Hetty's admonition to 
be good girls while she was gone. June Travers turned her attention to the 
wistful features of her pilloried companion. "I expect she'll torture me a 
bit for your edification when she comes back," she said casually. "I'm sorry 
I won't provide drama. I'm sickeningly well behaved." 

"Isn't there ever any hope of getting out of here?" 

"I've never seen one, and I've been here longer than any other girl. " June 
clinked her handcuffs and kicked at the chain connecting her feet. "We're 
always ironed like this. It's part of our dress, like these obscene little 
T-shirts. If someone showed us a way over the well, we couldn't take it." 

"But why? What does she get--" 

"Hot pants! Power! Lesbian homage! I see she's got a dildo up inside you. " 
June made an expressive gesture with chained hands. 

"I could easily unstrap the harness if you wanted, but it's best that I 
don't." 

"She'd whip us to bits, I know. No, never mind. But thanks anyway.' "I can't 
get you out of the pillory. I'd need a key." 

"I'm sure she didn't bring you in here to let me loose," Anne acknowledged. 
"Do you know what she has in mind?" 

"See how we're owned? We're dependent on any whim she has. We're helpless. 
We're always helpless." The blonde girl laughed. "Sure, I know what's on her 
mind. She's going to hurt me while you watch and see how beastly humble I am 
and how I ask for more. It's nauseating. But what you'll be doing is seeing 
yourself a couple of years from now. " 

"But I already obey." 

"Well, okay, you're obedient, but you'll have to watch me anyway. I can tell 
you right now I'm not a bit proud of the things I'll do." 

"She makes you do this often?" 

"Sure. I'm nicely broken. I don't act broken, but I am. Scared little new 
girls get the picture of what's expected of them. I've never thought it 
helped them much. I think it scares them more." 

The sound of the lock was the beginning. The nude captive of the pillory 
watched, enthralled. At the first sound, June fell to her knees, legs wide, 
and extended her arms forward and up while she bowed her head. It was Anne's 
first glimpse of ritualistic submission. 

"Watch this girl, Anne. She's a honey." Hetty unlocked the cuffs from the 
extended wrists and sharply ordered, "Strip!" 

It was so easily done. The covering scrap slipped over the bowed head 
without a change of pose. June had a beautiful body. In exquisite 
immobility, it awaited its mistress's command. 

"The trapeze bar, dear." 

The response was instant: a flash of blonde, the rattle of chain. In 
moments, June had lowered the fatal bar and stood, paying it the docile 
tribute of her wrists within the looped straps at either end. Hetty's smile 
was enigmatic as she buckled them tight. 

"Do you want me to whip you, June?" 

"Oh, yes, ma'am, of course! Please whip me hard." 

Anne recognized a superb performance. The absurdity of what they did and 
said turned both participants into actors, each in command of her own role. 
Hetty was glowing. "June dear, I'd like you to tell Anne what I will do to 
you and why. I won't fully stretch you yet." 

The blonde statue was breathtaking as it stood taut with arms held high. Its 
voice was warmly informative and without a tremor. "Our mistress will whip 
me, Anne. I am naked and available to her whip. I cannot get away. She does 
not whip me for a fault, but because it pleases her to whip my naked skin. 
Since it pleases her, it pleases me." 

"Wasn't that sweet!" Hetty looked around for approval, but neither of her 
charges could clap. Anxiously, she enquired, "Anne, are you sure you have a 
good view of June being punished?" 

"Yes, ma'am, thank you. I can see fine." 

She had been whipped herself, but never witness to another girl's agony. It 
was still the craftily fashioned leather of the flagellum that would mark 
the waiting back and bottom. Hetty became fluid motion as she swung. The 
slap of leather filled the room. Across one of the curved lower cheeks of 
the strapped girl there sprang to life the rapidly reddening imprint of the 
limber instrument in her mistress's hand. The lovely nudity tensed, tight 
and erect. It gasped. Then, slowly, the blonde head turned and smiled back 
over a bare, pinioned shoulder. The tone was unconcerned. 

"Thank you, ma'am. You do it so well. Please whip me again." Hetty planted a 
similar imprint on the other cheek of the pliant girl. Then, abruptly, she 
lowered the captive arms and set them free. Her voice was honeyed. "Anne 
will wish to know what we do now, June dear. Explain." 

The freed hands sought the punished cheeks, but they did not linger to 
comfort them. They fell to hang passively as their owner intoned brightly, 
"That's one method of whipping me, Anne. Now you will watch another as I 
voluntarily bend and touch my toes to stretch the skin of my bottom so the 
flagellum will hurt me more. I must not move." 

It happened. Without order and without bonds, June bent and touched her 
toes, knees stiff and bottom reared to show a peeping pussy in its crease. 
The flagellum struck once and then again. But the punished girl moved not at 
all until her mistress ordered. "You did well, dear. Now the bench. Tell 
Anne about the bench." The hurt girl's speech was even and controlled, but 
Anne could see the hurt in the blue eyes as one more humiliating recitation 
ran its course. "I have been punished with the flagellum, Anne. Now our 
owner will use the riding crop. Because it hurts me more, she is kind enough 
to strap me to the bench so I do not disgrace myself. She is very kind." 

Once more the pliant positioning, and the zestful tugging and buckling of 
straps. When it was done, June lay horizontally with rump obscenely reared. 
Her strapping into the desired postures was a punishment in itself. Once 
more the eager young voice spoke. 

"I am strapped so I cannot move, Anne. I am stretched much more tautly, and 
my pussy may receive the crop as well as my bottom cheeks. I am sure it must 
protrude." Without pause, she turned to the waiting woman and innocently 
requested, "Please crop me, ma'am." 

So quaint a term: crop me! The wicked wand sliced air and cut its scarlet 
across both cheeks. The pain must have been atrocious, but the voice was 
still controlled. "That was magnificent, ma'am. Again, please?" 

Hetty's eyes gleamed. She cut again, then turned to the head and hands 
protruding from the pillory. "She's wonderful, isn't she? Think you'll ever 
do it this well?" 

The question was rhetorical. The immobilized girl had a fleeting vision of 
herself in several years time. Mechanically, she responded, "She's amazing. 
I couldn't possibly--" 

"Now, June, I want you to pick you next punishment and explain it to dear 
Anne." Hetty's tone was vibrant with expectancy. 

"Well, ma'am, there's the horse. It hurts terribly right from the start. We 
could pull it over to where Anne could get a good view. " 

"Capital idea! Here, I'll give you a hand." 

Anne watched, her own dolor forgotten, as the contraption was pulled and 
pushed for her benefit. It was very close. Above it dangled a rope and hook. 
She watched in genuine admiration as the naked girl about to be tortured 
stood tautly erect, her back to her mistress and her wrists crossed ready to 
be bound. While Hetty busied herself with cord, June conversationally 
explained the mechanics of what she was about to suffer. 

"It's a pedestal on a base, Anne. You can see. There's a crosspiece on which 
I sit. My feet are tied way out to either side so all my weight rests 
squarely on my crotch--or my cunt, if you prefer. Then our owner will hook 
my wrists and raise them to make me bend and sit in the most painful 
position, that's all. If you look at the bar on which I must sit, you will 
see why it's such a terrible punishment." 

Anne looked and quailed. It was actually a plank on edge. The edge might be 
two-inches wide. It would be a horrible perch on which so sit without 
support of hands or thighs or anything at all. Breathlessly, she watched 
while June's shackles were cast aside and replaced by leather anklets. Each 
anklet had a ring. Then, quite undramatically, the mistress placed a box on 
each side and the girl about to suffer pain stood on them, facing the 
pillory with its watching head and futile hands. Searching the lovely face, 
Anne could detect no signs of apprehension. June's features were serene. But 
there was now a difference: she no longer smiled. 

"Let yourself down gently, dear. I want you properly placed." The mistress 
was intent and absorbed in what was obviously a labor of love. "Here, I'll 
guide your pretty pussy as you sit." 

The blonde girl didn't say a word. She had done this before and would do it 
again. When she caught a glimpse of Anne's stricken gaze, she returned a 
glint of a smile. June was going to suffer pain, but she was totally 
composed. The girl in the pillory's clutch envied such control. 

Hetty peered and positioned the sentenced flesh. Satisfied, she ejaculated, 
"Now!" In two swift flashes of speed, she anchored June's feet tautly to 
either side and hooked the bound hands. The naked girl now sat full astride 
the plank's edge, her features reflecting its cruelty. All that remained was 
for the tractioning and positioning of the bare bound arms. As they rose, 
their owner bent forward until her lower lips were precisely on the wicked 
edge. Hetty nodded, satisfied. She backed away to where she could watch both 
girls. 

"I can't describe this pain. It's too terrible." The statement left June's 
lips in a pained monotone, interspersed by gasps of pure anguish. "I am 
close enough for you to see how my sex is crushed. I can't move--I simply 
can't move." the hurt young voice trailed to silence, but suddenly revived 
in haste. "Thank you, ma'am, for allowing me to show this punishment to 
Anne." 

The scene was grotesque, yet possessed its own terrible beauty. Anne could 
not move. She was forced to look at the lovely body and bowed head of the 
girl astride the so-called horse. June was wracked and wrenched, and the 
softness of her crotch was penetrated by the compulsion of her own weight 
until her pubic bush itself seemed bisected by the relentless wood. June's 
bare legs, tautly stretched to either side, were a ballet dancer's split. 

The tableau would have been silent had it not been for the labored breathing 
of the horsed girl. Anne longed to cry out against what she saw, but dared 
make no sound. She supposed she too might one day sit as June now sat. The 
thought diverted her concern to the same place within herself to make her 
aware of a rising tide of heat as though the strapped dildo was the horse 
and she shared June's agony. To her horror and disgust, the pilloried maiden 
realized the sight of June's stressed posture had sparked a flame. She 
shifted uneasily, but the flame continued to grow. Sight of Hetty's amused 
gaze mantled her in shame. But the enemy within would not be denied. Anne 
blazed into climax and added her own gasps and moans to those of the 
punished girl. She writhed and heaved against the pillory but scarcely 
moved. 

"Wonderful, Anne! I'm so pleased you're responsive. I abhor cold wenches." 
Hetty smiled indulgently. "I'll just add a final touch." 

It was useless to protest. Anne endured the savage slice of the crop across 
her buttocks, incorporating its effect with that of her orgasm. The two were 
surprisingly similar. In a guilty curiosity, she realized the dildo was not 
entirely to blame for her fleshly response. Even if it had not been for the 
prong and its straps, she would still have discovered this terrible heat 
from beholding the sufferings of another girl. But it was not June's agony 
alone. There was also the exquisite picture before her eyes, a picture she 
must observe since she was powerless to move. Anne stared and stared, 
knowing the insidious heat was gathering again. 

"Can't have Anne climaxing herself to death, June." Hetty's voice was 
heavily amused. "I'd better dismount you." 

"Thank you, ma'am." The young voice was still in control. Hetty took her 
time. Having disposed of June's foot tethers and lifted her wrists from the 
hook, she lifted the still bound girl to slide her from her painful perch 
and gather her in her own arms to stand her erect. "You okay, sweetheart?" 
she asked anxiously. "Yes, ma'am, thank you." 

"I'll get your leg irons back on." 

The naked June stood, hands still tied behind her back, while her feet were 
fettered once again. The ironing was as casual as the replacing of a pair of 
shoes. Snubbed steps were endemic to the I.S.G. When the rope was peeled 
from her wrists, she immediately proffered them for the metal cuffs. Safely 
handcuffed, her hands sought her crotch and tenderly massaged that part of 
herself punished by the plank's cruel edge. 

"Oh, damn! Give me your hands. " Hetty unlocked one cuff and handed June the 
I.S.G. jersey. "Forget this. Put it on." 

June obeyed, her hands once more joined. "I'd keep you girls properly naked 
all the time. Damn shame to cover the breasts and bodies I've collected 
here. But it gives us something to take off when you're going to be 
punished, and those jerseys don't cover your cunts. Well, not often." 

June stood, awaiting orders. She caught Anne's sympathetic eye and smiled. 
Her own ordeal was probably over. It had been a routine infliction of pain 
for Hetty Coppick's pleasure, but Anne was still tightly locked in the 
pillory and might stay there for a very long time. The mistress patted the 
wealed bottom and kissed the lush young lips. "Run along, June dear. Pick up 
on whatever you were doing." 

Obediently, June took her short, snubbed steps to the door and disappeared. 
Anne could hear the clink and rattle of shackles down the passage. She knew 
she had witnessed something remarkable. 

"I'll whip you into coming just once more, dear. It's such fun!" 

The mistress's blithe announcement made Anne long to scream. Hers was the 
very essence of helplessness. Hetty could use her as she pleased while she 
herself simply stood. For Anne, the pillory had become a live enemy, holding 
her with ease for the cut of whips or the thrust of prongs. She could 
imagine it sharing Hetty's laughter. But indignation was no counter to the 
glow within strapped loins. Anne guessed what she felt now was what she was 
intended to feel: the knowledge of being owned and used and punished for a 
whim. Thinking of her total dependence on her mistress's will flamed her 
heat again. She knew herself on center stage--that for Hetty Coppick and 
Joshua Bristow she was their greatest wish come true. She had become a girl 
punishment could inflame. Simply, she said, "Thank you, ma'am," and let it 
go at that. 

It was the flagellum. Anne realized the whack of its impact must give the 
mistress pleasure. It hurt bad with its own beastly kind of hurt, but not as 
bad as the crop. She separated her feet and braced hard against the 
prisoning yoke. Perhaps the immense dildo deep within would come to her aid. 
Too many strokes from the flagellum could drive her heat away. But did it 
matter? She was a girl owned. 

The crack of Hetty's blows across the innocent skin was shrewdly spaced, 
each successive impact catching a girlish writhe at is crucial point, 
inflicting not only pain but also the eroticism Anne had come to recognize. 
It took only seven blows to cause explosion of the heat and to spasm the 
captive girl in such ways as to bring a contented smile to Hetty's face. 
Hetty stood, the supple strap dangling from a careless hand, and drank deep 
of maiden suffering and maiden joy. The maiden herself was far distant in 
the multi-hued land which claimed her at such times. Her bottom blazed. 

It was a gorgeous incandescence. 

 CHAPTER FIVE - GIFT GIRL 

Anne Menton trod a strange path: her cell, the room of punishment, the 
exercise yard and its brief communion with others. Sometimes there came a 
special summons to Hetty Coppick's own imperial splendor in an apartment 
widely divergent from the rest of the prison in which she housed her captive 
girls. There would be an hour or a night in which Anne would ply the lesbian 
craft the I.S.G. taught. Then back to the little cell and the bars. She was 
always chained. No girl was allowed freedoms from which to engender ideas 
and hopes. For the girls of the I.S.G. there was no hope. It was the 
paramount lesson the prison taught. 

Each girl knew herself a plaything. They were the pretty playthings of 
Charity and Amity too. The mistress did not spread herself too thin. 
Moreover, she was not always in residence. But each girl was punished every 
day regardless. It was the rule. If the path of pain led to Anne being 
suspended naked by her thumbs, that was her hard luck. Tomorrow it would e 
one of the others who hung as she hung now. 

Anne had sobbed her way through the first hour. It was a hateful thing to do 
to a girl. She had never become inured to it. She hung limply now, her toes 
a few tantalizing inches above the floor. Her head was bowed in hopeless 
resignation. If they left her hanging long enough, she might lose 
consciousness. But she was still alert to every agony. She dared not move. 
The slightest motion added to the torment of her thumbs. 

"This girl is suffering a most charming punishment. As you can see, she is 
suspended by her thumbs." Hetty's voice had the conversational cadence of 
the lecturer. "Take not of how exquisitely she resigns herself, Stacey. I am 
very fond of Anne." 

The girl was young, not yet twenty. She was naked, her hands crossed and 
tied behind her back. She was obviously being given the grand tour of the 
I.S.G. by its proud owner. She stared in pure horror at Anne and Anne's 
predicament. 

"We give each of you girls a diversion such as this each day, Stacy," the 
lecturer continued, "it fights morbidity and makes you more content with 
your cell." To the suspended nudity, Hetty said, "Stacey is new. I just got 
her today. I haven't whipped her yet, but I'm sure she'll enjoy it." 

Anne's heart bled for the novice. It was so wrong that bright-eyed nubile 
flesh in the flower of its youth should be put in prison and daily punished. 
Stacey's only crime was to be a beautiful girl. The suspended girl could 
guess what was to come. 

"Dear Anne, I think it would be nice if you told Stacey how happy you are to 
belong to me. You can add a few details about the pleasure of hanging by 
your thumbs. She'd like that." 

Anne doubted the youngster's pleasure. Stacey was little more than a nymphet 
and obviously scared to death. She remembered June. Today it was her turn. 
Concentrating her will against agony, she made her tone bright and 
welcoming. 

"Hello, Stacey. You'll love the I.S.G. Please don't be frightened. Our 
mistress is charming. I'm glad to belong to her. Any girl who is owned and 
put in the I.S.G. is lucky." 

Anne hoped she hadn't laid it on too thick. These ritualistic confessions 
were absurd. No girl could taken them seriously, but they pleased Hetty. She 
glowed beneath their tribute. Anne now recognized and expected the heat 
within her sex engendered by this total submission to the woman by whom she 
was owned. There was no self-interest in what she said, her feet would not 
reach the floor a moment sooner no matter what her humility. It was part of 
being a prisoner to the I.S.G. You went along. For this false cheerfulness 
her thumbs would hurt neither less nor more. 

"You see, Stacey. Isn't she a delightful girl? She bears no animosity for 
what she suffers. She is glad of it to please me. Isn't that right, Anne?" 

"Of course it is, ma'am. I'm hurting terribly, but it's a privilege to give 
you pleasure. Please don't let me down. I wish to hang here for as long as 
you wish." 

It was rubbish. But it was the I.S.G. Wide-eyed in disbelief, Stacey looked 
from the woman to the suspended girl. Her plea was tremulous. "I don't 
understand any of this. I think it's horrible. Please let me go. Please 
untie my hands." 

Hetty took the young bare arm. Her grip was firm. "Come, dear, let us walk 
slowly around Anne's lovely nakedness and observe the way it's enhanced by 
her punishment. See how firm and high her breasts become and how flat her 
tummy. See the slight separation of her thighs so we can see her lips behind 
the hair. Would you like me to free your hands and give you permission to 
play with her?" 

"I'd like my hands free." The young eyes were suddenly hopeful. "But I want 
to go home. I don't want to do anything to that poor girl." 

"But, darling, you're a prisoner. You won't ever go home again." The young 
captive wept. Anne knew how she felt. Any words she herself now uttered 
would sound hypocritical. But she caught Hetty's eye and did her duty. "Come 
and rest your cheek against my breasts, Stacey. Cry all you like. I don't 
mind. There was a time when I cried too. All the new girls cry. It's all so 
strange to us, and we haven't yet discovered how lucky we are to be owned. 
Honest, I can't imagine a life in which Miss Coppick didn't own me." 

It was allowed to happen. Anne's breasts were suddenly wet with tears as the 
newly sequestered maiden dried wet cheeks against first one and then the 
other. It was cruel to the noosed thumbs, but the cause was kind. Stacey had 
no arms, but availed herself of flesh on flesh. When her sobbing ceased, she 
was led away. The last the suspended Anne saw of her was crossed, bound 
wrists with fingers feverishly working for release. 

After leaving Anne suspended for two and a half hours the I.S.G., in the 
person of Amity, decided she should not be bored by simple incarceration in 
her cell. She was handcuffed and leg-ironed as always, but with a 
difference. She had hung, and now she would stand. Her arms were raised and 
her wrists attached to a bar above a crosspiece. There was no strain or 
stress. She simply had to stand there with arms raised and captive fingers 
playing with the bars while she surveyed an empty passage. 

"Makes for a bit of a change," Amity suggested slyly. 

"I'd a lot sooner sit on the cot, Amity. Please let me sit down. I've had a 
rough day." 

"You've had a rough couple of hours, that's all. Don't be so fussy, dear. I 
could just as easy have you stand on tiptoes." 

"All right! I'm sorry. I'll be grateful for this. Thank you very much." Anne 
and her wardresses had reached the familiarity which tolerates latitudes of 
teasing. "I'll enjoy the view through the bars. " 

"You could also enjoy a sore ass," Amity warned. "You look real sweet like 
that, and it doesn't bother your tender thumbs. Was that real rough on 
them?" 

"It's awful! You know it is! Please, Amity, don't hang me up like that for a 
long, long time." 

"Gave you a wet cunt, honey?" 

"Oh, that! You always harp on that." The cuffed girl discovered she could 
partially turn without hurting. She did so to the rasp of chain. Anne 
sniffed. "You've got me conditioned. You keep telling me I should get hot 
when I'm punished, so now I do. I refuse to be responsible for my 
secretions." 

"Spread 'em, honey. I'll show you." 

It had become a familiar ritual, a joke between them. Anne flushed but did 
as she was told. She flinched and gasped only slightly as her puss was 
palmed. Amity came up with the usual exhibit. "Look at that, sweetheart. 
You're positively wet." 

"No, I'm not. It's only damp, and you had to rub a lot to get that." 

"Make you homy, honey?" 

"You're always making me homy and then doing nothing about it. It's most 
unkind, and the way you've got me handcuffed now I can't touch a thing." 

"If I tell your mistress you want to play with yourself, she'll make sure 
your hands are behind your back for the rest of your life." Amity shook at 
admonitory finger. "Be thankful you're mostly cuffed in front." 

"Oh, I am--really! Amity, what's the program for tomorrow?" 

"Never you mind." 

"Well then, can I have a girl in with me tonight?" 

"Sure, you can--if you both want to stand the way you are now all night." 

"Amity, don't be mean!" 

"Or I can put a girl in with you and make you both wear locked gags." 

"Forget it. Sorry I asked." 

"You're welcome, dear. Got to go now." 

Pouting, the prisoner watched the wardress depart for as far as the bars 
allowed. The cell was still ringing from the clang of its door and the 
snapping of its lock. Fastened as she was, the door could have remained open 
and she would have been a safe captive. No girl ever wriggled out of 
handcuffs, especially as tight as Amity clicked them on young wrists. 
Turning to more comfortably thrust her breasts against the bars, the captive 
Anne supposed she was still being punished. She had not been given back her 
jersey and was still naked from suspension. She shrugged. What did it 
matter? The jersey was only a tantalization anyway. But Anne felt like 
shedding tears. Her cot looked inviting, but it was as far distant as the 
Statue of Liberty. She rubbed an itching nose against a bar. 

Anne had lost count of her captivity. The days had turned to weeks and the 
weeks to months since that happy day she had driven to her make-believe 
inheritance and John Lennox's bondage. It was incredible that her life could 
be so sundered. She did not deceive herself, nor did the I.S.G. deceive her 
either. Her real life was gone utterly into limbo. In its place was this 
stark building with its chains and bars. The only reason every girl in it 
was not in screaming hysterics or a morbid bundle of unresponsive flesh was 
the humor of the wardresses, the constant changes of punishment, 
interspersed by the quiet serenity of their individual cells, and their 
frequent contact with the mistress herself, the woman who owned them. They 
were owned as surely as a farmer owned his domestic animals. 

Anne had come to realize that the I.S.G.'s preoccupation with her sexual 
responses and secretions were an individual attention not given to others. 
She knew, too, this was because of Josh Bristow and what he was. But he, 
like her former life, had partially dissolved with passing time. If she 
allowed her mind to dwell on him, she felt again the yearning for his great 
virility and the safety of his arms. But Hetty Coppick's prison diminished 
everything except the flesh and the pain of the girls behind its bars. She 
had just asked Amity about tomorrow's pain. She was more concerned with it 
than with Josh Bristow. It was far more certain and immediate. Probably by 
now Bristow had forgotten her and she belonged entirely to Hetty and the 
I.S.G. The naked Anne sighed and changed tension on her wrists, shifting 
pressure from a bar from one breast to its twin. She had become an 
experienced and professional prisoner. She bent with the wind. In the I.S.G. 
a girl did what she could to find comfort in her chains. 

Time had long ceased to matter, except in punishment. It may have been one 
hour or two before the girl against the bars heard the steps and Hetty came 
within her limited view. Hetty was amused. Her first act was to playfully 
pinch a nipple Anne had allowed to protrude beyond the bars. "You've got 
lovely breasts, Anne. Boy, have you ever!" 

"Thank you, ma'am." 

"Always polite, always careful not to get your little ass switched. How'd 
you like to be released from prison, darling?" 

Anne tensed. Hope flooded, but she fought it down. Hetty would never let her 
go. This was a bit of Coppick humor. Dutifully, she exclaimed, "Yes, please! 
But it won't ever happen." 

"How do you know it won't?" 

"It simply doesn't, does it? Not for any of us. You've got us for life. 
Please don't tease me." 

"You're forgetting something, love." 

Hope flared again. It was silly, but Anne couldn't help it. She remembered 
Sally and the box with the straps. Dully, she asked, "What am I forgetting, 
ma'am?" 

"My birthday presents." 

Anne knew it a dream, but such a beautiful wonderful dream. Dazed, she 
asked, "Me?" 

"Why not!" 

Hetty was enjoying herself. Here was power! She had Anne aquiver with hope, 
a hope she could fulfill or dash futile to the ground. This was the stuff 
for which the I.S.G. was made. A lifted eyebrow accompanied the question. 
"What would you give to be free, Anne?" 

"My life... anything!" 

"Don't be absurd. You can't offer your life. You might as well stay here. 
I'm prepared to make you a prize for a very lucky person. I hate to part 
with you." 

Anne was no longer passive in her bonds. She stirred and shifted within the 
tolerance of the steel around her wrists. "But are you going to? Do you 
really mean it?" 

For answer, Hetty reached up and unlocked one of Anne's cuffs. The tired 
arms lowered gratefully, but the order was immediate. "Put them both through 
here." 

Tightly handcuffed once again, Anne felt a return to normal. At least she 
was getting no worse off. She watched Hetty unlock the cell door. Despite 
doubts, her pulse was racing. She dutifully hastened hobbled steps after 
Hetty's beckoning hand. It led her to the room and to the box. 

"Remember Susan, honeybunch?" 

"Yes! Oh, yes." Anne was almost breathless. "You're making me a birthday 
present? Are you really?" 

"Happy?" 

"Yes! Oh, yes." 

"Whoever it is may beat the tar out of you." 

"I think you're teasing. I don't think you'd give me to anyone like that." 

She was suddenly enveloped in loving arms. She was kissed and kissed again. 
"Like I said, I'm giving you away," Hetty said breathlessly. "If you want to 
come back, you'll have to let me know." Hetty paused for effect. "Don't you 
want to know where you're going?" 

"Of course I do." 

"It's Josh Bristow's birthday. You're my gift." 

Anne was still chained, but she fell to her knees at Hetty's feet and 
clasped as much of her mistress as handcuffs allowed. She was crying with 
relief and happiness. The mistress played tenderly with the hair of the 
bowed head. "You've been ready for quite awhile," Hetty said. "But I've 
waited for his birthday. He hasn't the faintest idea of what he's getting. 
Here, let me unlock those expensive bits of jewelry." 

Handcuffs and leg irons fell before the key. Anne stepped into the box, 
placing the various bits of herself where she supposed they should go. When 
Hetty finished strapping her tight, she could move only her head. "It's 
going to be spooky when you put the lid on," Anne said without a qualm. "Oh, 
Hetty, you've made me so happy." 

"I'll have Josh loan you to me for an occasional weekend," the mistress 
promised dourly. "Keep you knowing what a lucky girl you are." 

"Yes, please. I don't want ever to lose sight of you." 

The lid closed upon Anne's ardent declaration. In semi-darkness, unable to 
move, the still captive girl wondered if it was Hetty who was pounding in 
the nails. But the nails did not matter. What mattered were the straps. They 
held her motionless. She had forgotten to ask if they were to prevent escape 
or to act as safety belts upon her journey. Pulse pounding, the naked 
captive knew she had been picked up and carried from the room. She was not 
even gagged, but then perhaps Hetty had forgotten. 

There were motions and sounds. She and her crate were being carried and 
transported. Now she could at last anticipate the strength and ardor of 
Bristow's arms. Soon she would be held in them. He was certain to insist on 
something dramatic like whipping her, but Anne did not care. Whatever would 
please him she would give. That she had no choice in anything did not 
matter. Anne refused to consider it. She had belonged to Hetty and would not 
belong to Bristow, that was her life. It was a life delightfully free of 
decision. 

The rumble of the vehicle by which she was transported made a fitting 
accompaniment to dreams. The crate shivered excitingly. Anne found a zestful 
anticipation in the surprise on Bristow's face when he raised the lid. But 
perhaps he already knew about Hetty's crates and their helpless nude 
freight. But it did not matter to Anne Menton. She was going home. 

There were stops. The strapped girl remember the distance. It was not a 
short ride. She wished she could sleep, but in her excited state that was 
impossible. Finally, the vehicle stopped in finality. There were appropriate 
sounds. The crate, with her inside, was picked up and carried, then 
deposited with a thud. There were voices, but Anne could not pick up what 
they said. Then a silence in which she and her crate were allowed to sit. 
Anne was breathless in the dark. But soon she sensed a presence. Someone was 
standing close. Suddenly a tool was being used and nails screeched as the 
lid was levered up. Anne blinked in the sudden light as her covering was 
wrenched entirely free. In amazement and dismay she stared up into the face 
of John Lennox. 

* * * 

Anne's hands were tightly tied behind her back. Her ankles were bound. She 
had been dumped like a sack of com into an ample armchair. Across from her, 
John Lennox also sat, appreciatively sipping a martini and viewing Anne's 
nakedness with approval. "You're just as beautiful as before," he said 
warmly. "But why not--it hasn't been that long." 

"Hetty didn't give me to you," his prisoner said decisively. "How did you 
manage to get me?" 

"Does it matter?" Lennox shrugged diffidently. "A simple matter of 
diversion, a holdup in which no one was hurt." 

"Hetty Coppick will jump on you like a ton of bricks!" 

"Perhaps. If she finds me--or you." Lennox winked over his glass. "There are 
a lot of ways of killing a cat, you know. I expect to have you safely sold 
ahead of the hue and cry. By the way, would you like a drink? I'm afraid I'm 
a rotten host." 

"Yes, I would." 

"Have to hold it for you. But I'm sure you're accustomed to the no-hands 
principle." 

"You don't have to keep me tied this way. Can't we talk in a civilized 
fashion without me being helpless?" 

"Bet they didn't have you running around loose at the I.S.G." 

"You know everything, eh?" Anne glared up at the handsome smiling face as 
she hastily gulped alcohol. "If you don't turn me loose, you're going to 
have both Bristow and Hetty Coppick jumping on your tail. I'm no longer just 
a stray girl." 

Anne's kidnapper surveyed her flushed nakedness with a kindly eye. "I like 
you. I think you're a nice girl. If I can manage the time, I'll fuck you 
before I pass you on." He laughed. "Should be a nice change from that 
lesbian preserve." 

"Don't be beastly. I don't understand how you know--" 

"It's my business to ferret things out, Anne. That's how I make my living. I 
saw this wonderful chance to sell you all over again-- getting you free of 
charge, of course. You're a profitable young woman. But I like you. I'd keep 
you myself I could afford it." 

"You just said you got me for nothing." 

"Ah, yes, but think what I can sell you for! That's what counts." John 
Lennox smiled and sipped again. "I like the way I've got you tied. Suits 
you. You make a lovely picture." 

The tied girl twisted uncomfortably under John Lennox's stare. A man hadn't 
looked at her nakedness since Bristow. It was as though she had reserved a 
store of blushes for just this occasion. She used one now, not because she 
wanted to but because John Lennox's regard was warmly personal and inclined 
to dwell on her more obvious assets. He was an attractive man, just as she 
was an attractive girl. It was a pity things were not different. Lennox was 
easy to like. She did not hate him now as she felt she should. In spite of 
his outrageously nefarious method of making money, he was likable. He had a 
way about him. But the ropes he had bound her with were tight and hurting 
and made her feel untidy. She so ardency longed to possess her limbs once 
more. 

"Mr. Lennox, it won't hurt you to untie either my hands or my feet. I'll 
still be helpless. Please?" Anne made her plea as earnest as possible. 

Lennox nodded. "You said that well. Everything about you is perfect. Tell 
you what, let's go to bed for an hour. Then I'll put you downstairs with the 
others until the buyer arrives. I'm pretty sure he'll take you." 

"You've still got a basement full of chained girls?" 

"Of course. Got to have an inventory, you know." 

Anne swallowed hard. She made her words as ugly and brutal as possible. 
"Fuck me and sell me--that's it, eh?" 

"Of course! What else is there?" 

"It had hoped... Oh, never mind." She blinked back a tear. "Get on with it. 
Fuck me and chain me and be damned!" 

"You miffed!" Lennox sounded surprised. "Not all that bad, is it?" 

Of course it was bad! She wanted to be loved, not used and sold and kept 
under restraint. But he was a man and would not understand. Stiffly, she 
retorted, "I'd assist you in my rape, but you've still got me tied so I 
can't move." 

"Oh, for God's sake!" Lennox came closer and started untying her ankles. 
"Look, sweetheart, be as mad as you like, but there's what we do. First, we 
got upstairs and have a comfortable fuck. Then we got downstairs, and get 
you a chain and collar. Going to behave?" 

"If you call me being a subservient worm behaving, yes, I'll behave. Oh, and 
thanks for untying my feet. It feels good." Anne sneered. "And I suppose 
it's practical, considering what you'll make me do with them." 

Lennox laughed at her sulkiness. "You really are cheesed off," he conceded 
genially. "Come on, I know you can walk now, but I'm going to carry you to 
the bridal bed." 

To be picked up and carried by a man was a pleasant sensation after months 
of female breasts and buttocks at the I.S.G., but Anne was determined to 
give Lennox no satisfaction. She was indeed miffed by his effrontery in 
kidnapping and selling her twice. It was probably some kind of record. Her 
hands were still tied behind her back so she lay passively in the strong 
male arms and gazed about her wistfully at the mellow hold house she had 
once supposed was hers. "Do you own this place?" she asked irrelevantly. 

"Yeah. Had it willed to me." He chuckled. "Same as you." Anne let it pass. 
When Lennox tossed her on the bed, she crossly reminded him, "I hope you've 
noticed my hands are still tied." 

"Sure, I noticed, and they stay tied, sweetheart. You won't be the first 
girl to get herself fucked with her hands tied behind her back. Damn good 
way to have a girl." 

They would never set her free, none of them. It would always be the same. 
Even in this so-called act of love she was to remain bound. Ruefully, Anne 
was thankful for the softness of the bed into which she could bury her 
helpless arms. She lay still on them and watched her very temporary owner 
undress. John Lennox had a good body was unquestionably virile. Anne Menton 
spread her legs and paid her female tribute to the male. She was angry at 
how much pleasure she received. It was wrong. It was shameful. But when it 
was done, she was glad to discover it would start all over again. She wished 
she had her hands, but supposed a kidnapped girl had to be grateful for what 
she got. 

"You're good." Lennox looked down at the ravished nudity with approval. 
"Like I said, I'm going to be sorry to sell you." 

"Don't sell me. You're good too. Keep me." 

He laughed. "Thanks! I didn't know you cared. Wouldn't be much of a life for 
you, sweetheart--always collared and chained down there with the inventory." 

"At least I'd have company when you weren't ravishing me." 

"Rape to ravish, eh! I've been promoted." 

"Go ahead and laugh," Anne sniffed. "But I wish you wouldn't sell me. I bet 
you don't have to. Aren't I worth more than a bit of cash?" 

Lennox laughed down at her earnestness. "You girls!" He shook his head. "You 
can get a man feeling guilty so damn easy." 

"Well, so you should, the way you've treated me--and what you're going to do 
with me now." 

"But, sweetheart, you're only one of--well, quite a number." 

"That makes it worse. Please give me back my life. You easily could." 

"No, I can't. Don't you see? If I let any of you girls loose, I'd be in jail 
the rest of my life." 

"I wouldn't tell. I'd be so grateful." 

"You think that now. You'd think differently in a week's time. We're both of 
us trapped. No matter how much I wanted to let you go, I wouldn't dare. It 
was the same with Bristow and Hetty Coppick. Sorry, sweetheart." 

She saw his point. That point was her true prison, far more than rope and 
chain. Her plight was hopeless. With Lennox's cautious grip firmly on her 
arm, Anne was led downstairs. She wanted to weep for this lovely old house 
which had been both a lure and a prison to so many like herself. If only she 
could be alone in it with John Lennox! 

The same dreaded door opened. The same eager young faces faced her. They 
wore the same collars and bore the same tethering chains. She shook the male 
hand away from her bare skin and marched to the closest empty space. 
Disdainfully, to a surprised maiden, she requested, "Put the collar on my 
neck, please. Then untie my hands and give Mr. Lennox back his piece of 
rope." 

Lennox nodded. It was quickly done. The door thudded shut to leave Anne in 
the company of three naked girls she had never seen before. She fingered the 
metal band around her neck to find it securely locked, its chain equally 
unyielding. 

"I'm sorry, but he'd have whipped me if I hadn't made the lock snap. " It 
was the hesitant apology of the girl who had done as asked. "He seems 
terribly strict about obedience. I've only been here a couple of days. We're 
all chained just the same." 

Anne kissed the distressed lips, laughing. "I've been here before," she 
informed. "You're right. John Lennox is free and easy with his riding crop. 
I've had a few stripes myself." 

Her hands went back to her neck. There was something compellingly symbolic 
about the iron collar and its links. Locked around her throat, it made Anne 
less than a person. Until she was sold, she was much the same as an animal 
in a zoo. She was on view, and those who viewed her were made safety the 
collar and its chain. She was not ironed to inhibit escape. The locked door 
did that. But she was ideally restricted for inspection. She should have 
kicked Lennox while she had the chance. 

Learning her status, Anne was gazed upon with awe by her three fellow 
captives. Each was a" naked as she herself, each hungry for information. 

"He won't really sell us, will he? He's just fooling, right?" 

"He's given me a couple of awful licks. He won't really whip us bad the way 
he says?" 

"He hasn't done you-know-what to us yet. But he's sure to do it, isn't he?" 

"Has he done it to you?" 

Anne did her best. Only half of what she told them was believable. Her stock 
fell. None of the three had been there more than four days, but all had 
witnessed sales of girls now gone. Here, surely, was something Anne should 
know. 

"Do the buy us because of our pussies?" 

"Or do they torture us?" 

"You must have been sold. What happened?" 

Anne was still striving to cope with the feminine onslaught when the door 
opened and Lennox returned, his set features spelled bad news. Without 
preamble, he snared one of Anne's wrists with a handcuff and unlocked her 
collar. Within a minute she had been dragged up the stairs and out into the 
back garden of the beloved house. She was being led by the half of a 
handcuff in Lennox's hand. If she struggled, it hurt. She did not struggle. 
Without understanding, she found herself sharing her captor's perturbation. 

"Hetty Coppick's figured it out," Lennox whispered urgently. "She's on her 
way. I can put her off by allowing her a free search." He chuckled. "Maybe I 
can sell her a girl." 

"But this?" Anne rattled the cuff on her wrist. "What are you doing with 
me?" 

"There's a bit of woodland back here. I'm going to have to take a chance. 
Come on--quick!" 

Anne ran with him. Afterwards she wondered why. But run she did, as though 
spurred by the same urgency. She supposed her compliance arose from fearing 
an enforced return to the I.S.G. with its punishments and solitudes of a 
cell, its female curves and female scents. Given time, she might prevail on 
Lennox to keep her for himself, or maybe set her free. Careless of 
abrasions, she kept pace with the man who intended to sell for a profit." 

"Good enough. You can scream. Nobody will hear. Back up, sweetheart. This 
tree will do fine." 

It was swift and wickedly final. Anne's arms were dragged around behind the 
trunk, the handcuffs clicked on her unresisting wrists. She had become as 
much a part of the tree as one of its branches. "Someone will find me." She 
was breathless. 

"Nobody ever comes here, not even kids." Lennox was totally assured. "And 
anyway, they couldn't unlock you without a key." 

"But how long?" Anne had visions of the dark. 

"Damned if I know. Couple of hours maybe." Lennox kissed her but only on the 
cheek. "I'd best run. She could come by any time." 

The male vanished rapidly in the trees. The female leaned back against the 
tree trunk to which she was attached. She had a suspicion she would become 
very tired of the slender maple before her handcuffs were unlocked. At the 
best, she faced a couple of hours of boredom. At worst, she could be found 
by some unsavory creature far less to be desired than Lennox or Hetty. She 
tested the cuffs about her wrists uneasily. They were plenty tight. She need 
chafe no skin in trying to slip out of them. She looked around. It was a 
pretty scene if a girl was only walking through. At night it would harbor 
goblins and strange sounds. 

Resolutely, the prisoner sought optimism. After months of brick and concrete 
and bars, she was in open air, alone in a sylvan glade. It was not exactly a 
glade, but the word sounded good and the spot was certainly sylvan. In 
addition, she was less restrained than was the case at the I.S.G. There was 
also the hope of working on Lennox in a way she would never dare with Hetty 
or Bristow. Sure, she was helpless and naked in a lost bit of woods, but her 
predicament held more hope than a prison cell. Compared to her cell in the 
I.S.G., where she had been handcuffed and leg-ironed and locked behind bars, 
this was almost freedom. The handcuffs on her wrists were a mere trifle. 

After an hour, Anne knew the handcuffs were not to be ignored. They held her 
with her back to the maple more surely tan a coil of rope. It was 
frustrating and infuriating to be kept prisoner by such a trifle, but, in 
spite of knowing better, she had abraised her skin by tugs and twistings and 
by one panicky mindless surge against the steel. But she was securely held. 
Lennox knew what he was doing. 

Anne knew, with absolute certainty, she did not want to be sold. She knew 
also the paucity of open options. If Lennox sold her, it was unlikely she 
would find another Bristow or I.S.G. Terrible as the latter may have been, 
it still possessed concern for the prisoners it held. The fact she faced was 
that unless she could escape she was doomed forever to ropes and chains and 
bars. As she stood against the tree, she was a hopeless prisoner. She had to 
escape-- she absolutely had to! She could recall no chance she had missed. 
There had been no chances. 

There had been no sound. But, suddenly, she was not alone. Anne gasped and 
gazed at a gamin face, blue jeans, and sneakers. She guessed their owner 
might be thirteen. She was gazing at her discovery in absorbed delight, her 
voice breathless. "Gosh! Jeepers! My name's Jenny. What's yours?" Scarcely 
waiting for an answer, she stated the obvious. "You don't have any clothes 
on. Oh, wow! I bet it was bandits, huh?" 

For the captive of the tree, the youthful summation was as good as any. 
"Yes, it was bandits. There were two of them. I'm sure glad you came along. 
I was afraid." 

"Oh, I often walk here. " the young eyes were alight with enthusiasm. "I've 
always had a dream about finding a girl tied to a tree by villains. It's 
that sort of place, isn't it?" 

"I'm afraid I'm not tied; I'm handcuffed." 

"Really? Oh, boy! Say, before I get you loose, would you mind if held your 
breasts for a moment?" 

"Help yourself." 

"You are helpless." Jenny's hands were worshipful of Anne's captive breasts. 
"I bet they raped you before tying you up. Did it feel good? I've always 
wanted to be raped." 

Since Jenny mainly answered her own questions, they were easy to cope with. 
Anne was unconcerned with what the child thought. It did not matter. Jenny 
spelled freedom. If Jenny could not cope with handcuffs, she could at least 
carry a message and summon help. Anne had been hoping for Lennox's swift 
return, but that was now the last thing to be desired. If he came at this 
moment, he would be compelled to kidnap Jenny to stop her from advertising 
his activities. No doubt a thirteen-year-old, washed and brushed and 
stripped, would find a ready market, tense in breathless hope, the 
handcuffed girl endured the small exploring hands so enamored by mature 
nudity they now cupped the captive sex and played in awe with the lushness 
of a pubic bush. "You should hurry and get me loose," Anne suggested 
urgently. "There's always the chance they may come back to... well, you 
know, do it to me again. Then, if they catch you--" 

"Oh, wow, wouldn't that be something! But I don't think I want to be 
fastened to a tree all night like you are. I expect I ought to look at your 
handcuffs." 

Anne felt Jenny's fingers exploring the steel as they had explored her sex. 
The teenager was enraptured with every facet of her find. Anne cursed the 
handcuffs heartily. If only Lennox had used rope, she could now be free. 
Jenny could have dealt with rope. She was about to give hasty instructions 
about getting the police when her possible rescuer came around the tree to 
face her with shining eyes and an exuberant exclamation. 

"Gee, aren't they beautiful! I mean, the handcuffs on your wrists. So tight 
and shining, and I bet you couldn't get out of them in a hundred years." 

"No, I can't. I'm afraid you'll have to get the police. They'll have a key, 
and I'll need to tell them my story. Please hurry." Jenny was scornful. "You 
really want the cops? They'll see you all naked with your breasts and stuff. 
I don't figure we need them." 

"But how--" 

"I read a book, and I saw it on TV. There's a way of doing it with a bobby 
pin." 

"But I don't have--" 

"I do! Just you wait a minute while I go to work." 

It was impossible. I couldn't possible happen. Anne was breathing heavily 
and thrusting back to give this mere child all the slack she could. Hope was 
agonizing. She felt the busy hands upon the steel. The captive of the tree 
knew if Jenny got her free, she could fondle her breasts to her heart's 
content. But not here! 

"It has to be a flat bobby pin, and that's what I've got." Jenny's voice, 
absorbed, came from the rear. "There's a little space you push it into and 
it does something to the lock. Oh, wow, here's the space!" 

Anne looked at her had in stupefied amazement. That a brat of a girl could 
give it back to her so easily was wonderful! 

"I'm working on the other one. " Jenny's preoccupied voice held all the 
assurance of the very young. "It's a good thing I didn't have the round 
kind. Ahhh, there you are!" 

Anne rubbed her wrists with a thankfulness beyond words. She was free, free, 
free! She poured out heartfelt thanks as Jenny returned from her work. The 
youngster was engrossed with shining steel. 

"Jenny, you're wonderful! Oh, thank you!" 

"Oh, that's okay. See! This is the way it's done. Can I keep the handcuffs?" 

"Sure, you can. They aren't mine anyway. You're welcome--" 

"She is not welcome. Those handcuffs are mine." John Lennox snatched the 
cuffs from a surprised hand and grasped Anne's arm, all in one motion. "And 
I'll soon have them back on a girl who's mine too. Stop struggling, Anne. 
You'll only get hurt." 

It was a short engagement, but undoubtedly one of the decisive battles of 
history. Lennox had thrown Anne to the ground and had his knee in her back 
ready to again lock her wrists when Jenny picked up a dead tree limb and hit 
him on the head. The brand broke, but the impact was enough to stun. 

"That'll show him!" Jenny said without a qualm. "Come on, the path is over 
here." 

The two girls ran. 

Reaching a road, they paused for breath. Jenny had retrieved her handcuffs 
and was fingering them lovingly. "I'm going to put these on Christy 
Fetlock," she said with firm conviction. "I'll pretend it's just to fun, but 
I'll fix her to a tree like you were. I can charge the boys--" 

"I wouldn't play with those awful things," Anne cautioned. "They'll only get 
you in trouble. Look, I'm still naked--" 

"Those guys sure did have a time with you." Jenny was palpably envious of 
rape. "Stole your clothes as well as your money, huh?" 

"I'm afraid so." 

"Well, my folks are out for awhile, and our house is just up the road." 
Jenny giggled. "Mom would throw a fit. She'd think your were a slut! Let's 
run before anybody sees us." 

They ran once more. For Anne, each leaping stride was pure joy. Yesterday 
she was behind iron bars. 

But now Anne Menton was free. 

 CHAPTER SIX - SWEET LIBERTY 

Everyone was kind: Anne's neighbors, her co-workers, her friends. With only 
the slightest lifting of eyebrows, they accepted her jumbled admission that 
there had been a man, and that she had been very silly, and that it was all 
over, and that she didn't want to talk about. She knew herself fortunate to 
so easily pick up the pieces of her life. 

Anne at no time seriously considered going to the police. She felt certain 
Hetty Coppick and Joshua Bristow were above the law, and that John Lennox 
would have removed all evidence from the lovely old house. The girls, the 
collars, and the chains would all be gone. Lennox would have reverted to 
being a reliable young man in real estate. Anne had no belief she could get 
the best of him. 

But she wrestled with guilt. She could have filed her story with the 
authorities and let them bury it at will. She could have done her duty. Anne 
told herself that if she truly believed she could free the girls of the 
I.S.G., or those others who bore Lennox's collar and chain, she would have 
done so. But in her heart and in the dark of night she faced the truth. 

The truth was she loved three people with the strangest kind of love a girl 
could know. Within herself she accepted shame and confessed absurdity. She 
would be horrified to be again imprisoned in the I.S.G., but for Hetty 
Coppick she felt only a heat of passion. Or was it devotion? She did not 
know. For Joshua Bristow, she felt only what she called plain old love. With 
Josh it was simple. If she went back to him, it would be to a different kind 
of imprisonment than the I.S.G., but equally implacable. Sure, she could now 
feel heat at the thought of being ironed or bound. She knew herself eligible 
for membership in the strangest of clubs. But she now had freedom. And 
freedom was best. 

John Lennox was something else again. Anne curled up inside at what she saw 
as silly feminine infatuation with a male of the right age, a male who was 
far too good looking and far too insouciant to be trusted. Moreover, he was 
a man who made his living kidnapping pretty girls and selling them for 
profit. She had no doubt that if she allowed herself within his reach, she 
would soon wear the weight of his collar and chain, facing a dismal future. 
But there was something about John Lennox--something she could not name. 

Being brutally honest with herself, Anne faced up to her own carnality. With 
Bristow and Lennox she had made discoveries about herself and sex she hade 
never dreamed of before her first kidnapping. If their virile maleness made 
her slave to their phalluses, so be it. She saw it only as a fact of life, 
complicated by there being two of them, dissimilar types but possessing her 
in an erotic enslavement each in his own way. 

Somewhere in the mix was Hetty Coppick. There was nothing enigmatic about 
the owner of the I.S.G. Hetty simply got what she wanted. She was one of the 
lucky ones. But her Institution for Sequestered Girls was frightening. The 
impossibility of escape from it was daunting, dissolving hope and courage. 
Anne frequently relived its chains and bars. In spite of her affection for 
its owner, she knew she could never be dragged back there except in a state 
of screaming hysterics. 

The I.S.G. had put its mark on her. So had the two men. Anne now felt 
separate and apart from her friends and the girls who worked around her in 
the office. Often she would pause and assess the girls who did as she did 
and sat as she sat, their fingers busy and their minds elsewhere. She 
discovered a faculty for seeing them naked and in prison. She speculated on 
how they would endure what she had endured, wondering if they had ever been 
pierced by a phallus the size of Bristow's, and about the shape and nature 
of their pubes, the neatly pantied little crotch planted so demurely upon 
their office chairs. Erotic thoughts came naturally to girls their age, but 
not from the Olympian height of her own experience. She could view them as 
children in the craft of being female. 

Anne Menton was lonely. It took a little while for this knowledge to become 
concrete. During the first part of her freedom she had, figuratively 
speaking, kicked up her heels in a joyous abandonment to movement and 
motions unrestrained by chain or cord. She found herself striding out beyond 
her normal span in defiance of leg irons no longer locked upon her feet. She 
delighted in the stretching of her arms and reaching up to top shelves 
without the snub of handcuffs on her wrists. It was a happy time of 
rediscovery of a freedom she had never recognized until it was lost to her. 

It was about ten days after her escape when she became aware of being 
watched. She told herself it was silly, a suspicion shared by all pretty 
girls who walk in loneliness. There was nothing she could put her finger on 
or go to the police with, but she knew she was being watched. The man or 
woman would turn away when she stared back. Her car had been recovered from 
wherever Lennox had abandoned it and had been restored to her by a bored 
policeman. Now, when she drove alone, there would be a car in suspicious 
attendance at a discreet distance. She never saw its driver. Anne assured 
herself it was all her imagination, and perhaps it was. But it led her to 
revive an acquaintance with George Simpson. 

George was the model young clerical type, entirely correct and completely 
bland. Anne had amused herself with him before being kidnapped. Now she 
didn't tell him he was an experiment and a prospective presence. George 
himself was too polite to mention her long absence. It was an unexciting 
reunion. 

Her adventures had robbed Anne of inhibitions. Even the ordinary pretenses 
with which we clothe our sins and mask vulgarity seemed not worthwhile. She 
was still thinking in the unreigned directness of her owners. On the third 
dune and dance George paid for, she asked, "George, don't you want to sleep 
with me?" 

She would think of him from then on as "poor George." The man simply 
blushed, and she felt tense. "I would have got around to asking you," he 
said stiffly. "I didn't realize I was being that slow." 

"We only live once, George. Let's make it my place, okay?" 

"Very well, Anne." She realized George was bracing his courage. Probably he 
was debating whether to ask her to marry him before or after. "When did you 
have in mind?" 

"Right now." 

She could see it was a blow. George was not a self-starter. To George, the 
trial balance would always be vital. Quite soon they would have computers 
named George and Cedric and Hilary. Mischievously, she informed her escort, 
"I've got hot pants, darling. I need to be fucked." 

She saw him flinch, and it made her feel like a bitch. What she was doing 
was most unkind. But if George could take her to the rainbow land where her 
captors had taken her with such ease, then maybe she should marry him and 
enjoy his security, along with her own glorious freedom. She blamed her mood 
on the wine with dinner. 

"You don't have to get down in the gutter to talk to men," George said in 
offended dignity. "We are not all animals." 

"You should be," Anne retorted. "Women are. I learned a lot while I was 
away." 

"So I've noticed." In spite of promised delights of a woman's body, George 
was still stiff. "I'm not sure I approve." 

"We can call the fuck off, darling. I'm sure I can find someone else." 

"Anne, I don't want you talking like that, and we won't call anything off. 
You know I'm in love with you. You're simply way ahead of me." 

"Then let's get with it right now, George. Gives us lots of time." She 
pinched his cheek. "Don't forget we both go to work tomorrow." 

Anne thrust guilt aside. She was testing one world against another. 

It would be so lovely and easy and safe if George should win. Immediately 
after arriving at the apartment, she lost no time in mixing a drink. George 
ran true to form. 

"You don't have to get me tanked, Anne. I can manage." 

"But perhaps I can't, darling. I'm only a girl, you know." 

"You're a very wonderful, very special girl," George said with deep 
sincerity. "And I'm certainly not going to hold you to your--" 

"Stop being so fucking noble!" Anne complained. "Down that drink and start 
undressing me. I want to be stripped and fucked!" George downed the drink. 
He obviously needed it. But its potency was not enough. "I think it would be 
much nicer if we both undressed ourselves. One of us could use the 
bathroom." 

Anne thought of Bristow. She did not bother to answer George. She tossed her 
clothes in all directions and leaped onto the bed. Without a pause, she 
arranged her nakedness comfortably, lifted her knees, and spread herself 
invitingly. "Here I am, George. Stop wasting time." 

George Simpson gulped. His shocked gaze found refuge in her smile. He 
studiously ignored Anne's blatant offering, his focus centering above her 
breasts. Relentlessly, she probed again. "If you'd like to tie my hands and 
feet, I won't mind." 

"Tie?" George was floundering in a plethora of mischievous femininity. "Why 
on earth would I tie you? I've never heard of such--" 

"Lots of people get a charge out of tying up a girl. Just thought I'd 
offer." 

The naked George was not displeasing. However, his equipment was no more 
impressive than his convictions, but what it lacked in dimension it amply 
made up for in rigidity. Anne had heard somewhere that the small ones were 
best. Presumably, she would soon know. But, upon his return, George had 
found himself confronted by his hostess's pubic hair and her neat 
appurtenances thereto. He appeared mesmerized, staring in a trance-like 
fixation. 

"Isn't she a sweet little thing, George? Put your hands on it." George did 
not move. He remained rigid in more ways than one. "Don't just stand there, 
George. Play with me." 

"Play with you! " This was a term he understood. "But I thought we were 
going to--" 

"George!" Anne laughed in comprehension. "You've never seen one before, have 
you? Go on, put your hand on it." 

"Why would I do that?" 

"You're supposed to want to. George, haven't you done this before?" 

"Not really, I'm afraid. I was waiting until! got married. I mean, you and 
me. Can't be too careful, you know--disease and all that." 

He was just a big bashful boy, a puppy dog who had only sniffed and wagged 
its tail. Anne's heart went out to him, but mischief still provoked her. 
"George, you're a virgin. Why didn't you tell me? Gosh, this makes me the 
luckiest girl! Leap on me and ravish the willing maiden." 

"Ravish? I'm not sure--" 

"Fuck me!" 

"Anne, you shouldn't... " They stared at each other, miles apart. Then, with 
a gesture of do or die, George plunged to his doom. But the waiting girl saw 
his features convulse and the spasm rack his pale maleness from head to toe. 
She felt his hot ejection on her groin. 

"I--I'm terribly sorry, Anne." He was bereft. 

"It doesn't matter. Don't worry about it. Here, I've got a towel." 

They dabbed and sponged in silence. George's maleness shrank in shame. Anne 
fled to the bathroom. When she emerged after her shower, George was gone. 

Anne knew she could make a funny story out of it, or she could shed a tear, 
or she could even try again. But she did none of these things. George 
Simpson was simply a tiny chapter in her life, as embarrassing to herself as 
to him. She knew she could get other, more virile and enterprising males, 
but she had gone that route before. There would be nothing to learn, and she 
found herself loathe to enter a relationship which might mature into 
something more than carnal fun. 

So what was it she wanted? Anne knew she wanted Bristow. Her feeling for the 
big man had remained constant throughout her time at the I.S.G. It was 
constant still. Half the time, she devoutly wished she could be rid of the 
feeling, but the other half she longed for him desperately. Under this 
compulsion, she made the phone call. "Hello, honeybunch." 

"Josh, how did you--" 

"Just figured. Time's about right. You coming back?" 

"How can I! Josh, the way you use girls--I'd have to be crazy to enter life 
imprisonment." 

"Hetty gave you to me." 

"But none of it's legal!" Her voice rose to a wail. "Oh, Josh, you make it 
so difficult. What would you do to me?" 

"Same as before. Hetty says you're okay now." His chuckle reached over the 
line. "Hetty sends her love. Says she'll take you back any time I say." 

She was breathless at the sound of Bristow's voice, and she was annoyed by 
her breathlessness. She was already considering how easy it would be to go 
to him and offer her wrists for rope or chain. Heat flared at the thought. 
Hetty was right: she was conditioned to give Bristow pleasure, and he would 
concede neither conditions nor terms. He would demand only total surrender. 
As though reading her thoughts, his voice continued. 

"Figure it this way, girl: if I was a pauper, you could cook and wash and 
mend. But I'm rich, so you don't do any of those things. Sure, you could do 
them, but they wouldn't be valid. You'd feel and look like a fool. Rich 
men's wives are simply high-priced whores. I will make you a lot more than 
that." 

Anne was suddenly aflame, wondering if she had heard right. "Josh, did I 
hear you right?" She was absurdly breathless. "Did you say wife?" 

"Sure did." 

"But you never said--" 

"You never asked." Bristow sounded impatient with a minor item in their 
discussion. "Look, I'll get around to marrying you when I'm in the mood and 
have the time." 

"It doesn't take long. Josh." 

"Don't nag. When are you coming home?" 

"If I come, would you chain me and tie me and put me in the dog cage--all 
that?" 

"Of course. What else?" 

"Then I'm not coming." 

"Enjoying yourself the way you are?" She heard him snort in derision. "When 
was the last time you got your ass warmed and your cunt fucked?" 

"That's got nothing to do with--" 

"It's got everything to do with this phone call. You're horny. What you need 
is a good rape scene with all the trimmings." He was right. But there was no 
way Anne was going to admit it. At any rate, not yet. With Joshua Bristow, 
she would always be fighting to keep some small portion of herself alive and 
conscious. It might not be possible, but she had to try. Cautiously, she 
suggested, "Why don't you come and visit me? We could talk." 

"You know why. The girl comes to me, and on her knees. Understand?" 

Anne understood. She was talking to the man who had been her master. 
Probably she should mind her Ps and Qs--just in case! Stalling. she 
enquired, "I suppose you know about John Lennox?" 

"Sure, I know. Got there after you'd escaped. I kicked his ass and Hetty 
took his girls. He's likely out hunting for more now." 

"I think I'm being watched and followed. Josh, would that be him?" 

"Hell no, that's me! Had a tail on you the whole time. If you don't have 
enough sense to come back here, I'll simply have you picked up. But Hetty 
and I both figure a bit of time off the chain will do you good." 

"Josh, I'll go to the police." 

"Sure, sure--just like you've been doing." Bristow's tone was heavy with 
derision. "Hell, girl, I'm offering you a face-saver. If you don't come back 
on your knees, you'll arrive some other time like a trussed-up turkey." 

For moments Anne was speechless, hunting for the right words to vent her 
anger. True, thoughts of being repossessed by the master flared her loins. 
But she was becoming accustomed to this I.S.G.- sparked reaction. But she 
refused to give way to what she saw as a feminine weakness. So they would 
give her a bit of time off the chain? Bristow would have her casually picked 
up? Or she could choose to be trussed up like a turkey. In fury, she 
snapped, "Thanks for nothing!" She then slammed the receiver down hard. 

She was instantly sorry. Bristow's voice was magic, and becoming Mrs. Joshua 
Bristow was not something for a girl to slam receivers down on in a moment 
of pique. She realized his offhand mention of this intent had changed her 
life. What did a bit of rope matter compared to such a dazzling prospect? 
She thought of phoning back but pride forbid. 

Bristow did it for her. When she answered, he cheerfully said, "Hiya, 
honeybunch!" Anne could picture the sardonic curl of his lip as he delivered 
his terse message. "That'll cost you, sweetheart. Twenty hard ones first 
time you show." This time it was he who cut them off. 

Anne was panting. Now there was apprehension and vexation mixed with her 
fury. Bristow's promise of the twenty strokes was as real to her as if she 
was getting them within the hour. Men simply had no consideration for girls. 
He had used his masculinity to lead her halfway to surrender, then made the 
act of returning to him on her knees doubly impossible by a promise of an 
unkind punishment. Had she returned to Bristow days ago she would have 
expected to be sure of it. But this formal sentencing was simply the last 
straw, the stripping her of face and pride. It would also be abominably 
painful. She would have loved to kick herself in her loins for the heat 
engendered there by the thought. Men--bah! 

Anne's shadow was now only slightly more obtrusive than before. There was a 
man and a woman, taking turns. No doubt their employer had told them of her 
awareness. It also occurred to the semi-fugitive that Bristow's concern 
might include a watchful eye against her being kidnapped by someone else. 
She had laughed about being kidnap prone, but she did not laugh now. If John 
Lennox was still in operation, she would be a prime target for abduction, 
and he had a score to settle for her escape and the knock on his head. Anne 
felt certain she would get whipped there too if he laid his hands on her. 

Chagrined and still angry, Anne accosted a watcher and spat out a demand for 
him to tell John Bristow hello. But the man had seemed genuinely surprise 
and muttered, "I'm afraid you've got the wrong man, miss." Then he turned 
and walked away. The incident left her puzzled. If they were not Bristow's 
folk, then who were they working for? She saw Lennox was a real possibility, 
but did not rule out Hetty Coppick. Fond as she might be of Hetty and her 
two wardresses, Anne shrank in horror at the thought of an enforced return 
to the I.S.G. She wanted no more of prison, and she would undoubtedly be 
whipped there too on arrival. There was also the possibility of some other 
sinister agency having an interest in her body and making plans to possess 
it. She felt ill-used and more than a little fearful for her hard-won 
freedom. 

Her work suffered. It was hard to concentrate. Miss Livy, the supervisor, 
had a talk with her. But while she listened, Anne was seeing a mental vision 
of Miss Livy naked in suspension, her pubic hair blatant and her breasts 
stretched tight. There were scarlet lines. It was the same with her 
co-workers. A girl would suddenly lose her clothes and starkly stand in a 
punished pose as they spoke of office gossip. Anne tried the movies to take 
her mind off her captivities, but found the heroines insipid and the heroes 
posturing buffoons. Bristow would make mincemeat of the whole lot. Desperate 
to come to grips with an elusive readjustment to life, she phoned Hetty 
Coppick. 

"When are you coming back to us, dear?" 

So matter of fact! So assured of compliance! Anne was both repelled and 
intrigued. Tartly, she demanded, "Aren't you afraid I may go to the police?" 

"Don't be silly, Anne. That's the last thing you'll do. We've kept your cell 
for you. No girl has been locked in there since you left." 

"But why do you want me back? You gave me to Josh." 

"Seems you don't want Josh, dear. You haven't gone to him. You easily could. 
Another year at the I.S.G. will get you nicely conditioned as my gift on his 
next birthday." 

"You mean, be a prisoner for a whole year! " Anne was aghast. "Why not, 
darling? It still wouldn't make you the oldest inhabitant." 

Anne knew herself talking to another world, a world into which she had 
integrated more than she knew. Hetty Coppick's voice was insidiously 
maternal, its affection undoubted. The errant girl asked the fatal question. 
"If I came back, what would you do to me?" 

"Whip you first thing, darling." The love in Hetty's voice was unmistakable. 
"Then you'd simply carry on where you left off." 

"All those punishments...?" 

"Conditioning, dear--rehabilitation. " Anne Menton knew she could never get 
the best of Hetty Coppick. The older woman's voice was already generating an 
erotic heat which made the prospect of a return to prison--Hetty Coppick's 
prison--entirely plausible. But the bedeviled maiden thrust the heat and the 
visions from her mind, and reverted to the main motive of her call. "Please, 
Hetty, what should I do about Josh?" 

"Go back to him." 

"But he's promised to punish me!" 

"Of course he has, you little idiot. What else do you expect?" 

"Well, yes. I wouldn't mind just the once, but it's going to go on and on 
and on. He'll keep me chained and caged all the time." 

"He'll also marry you." 

"Yes, I know. That would be marvelous, but he'd still keep me chained in a 
cage." 

"How lucky can a girl get!" 

Anne was close to tears of frustration. But she heard the mistress chuckle 
and recognized a change in tone. "Sweetheart, you have to realize something 
about yourself, something I thought you knew but did not want to admit. I 
think you do know it in your heart." The maternal chuckle came once more. 
"Anne, you're a submissive. You're a natural. You're the most kidnappable 
female I've ever met, and I've met a lot of girls. You're not really safe 
walking around the way you are. Somebody is going to pick you up. You have 
no idea how easy it is to pick up a girl. I've done a lot of that too." 

There it was again: pick her up, like a bundle of laundry. She refused to 
countenance the word submissive as applied to herself. On the other hand, 
why was she phoning Hetty if she was so damn self-sufficient? Weakly, she 
demanded, "Who do you want me to go to, you or Bristow?" 

"I gave you to Bristow; you are his. Hustle your butt back there, and let 
him beat the tar out of you and iron you so you'll never be free again. Damn 
it, girl, stop worrying!" The line went dead. 

Submissive! Kidnappable! Easy to pick up! The words and phrases tumbled 
about in Anne Menton's mind in an angry mix. If they were true, they were 
true only because of her original kidnapping. If John Lennox had not 
snatched her from life, none of them would apply. They were valid now only 
because of her captivities. The punishments and imprisonments of the I.S.G. 
had changed her. She knew they had. But she was still not a doormat to be 
trodden on. Thinking of John Lennox sparked resolve. Anne Menton picked up 
the phone. 

"Well, well, so it's my missing merchandise." John Lennox sounded as 
insouciant as ever. "Drive on down. I'll whip your ass." Anne's sex flamed 
fire. But this was now something to be expected. Acidly, she enquired, 
"Surely you don't offer that as an inducement?" 

"To you, yes. If you start out now, I can have your back and behind a nice, 
even scarlet before I take you to dinner." 

"Do you seriously suppose a girl you'd just whipped would go out to dinner 
with you?" 

"Why not, sweetheart? Or do you prefer the collar in my basement? It's still 
there waiting for you." 

"Can't you ever be serious about anything?" 

"You know I can." Lennox's voice became serious. "What can I do for you, 
Miss Menton?" 

Once more the fury of frustration. Anne did not know what John Lennox could 
do for her apart from taking her in his arms and making romantic love in the 
bedroom of the dear old house. She fell back on her usual question. "If I 
came, what would you do with me?" 

"I told you: whip your ass, then take you to dinner." 

"But after?" 

"Fuck you, of course." 

"Yes, I'm sure you--" 

"Don't pretend you don't want it. You want it so damn bad--" 

"All right, so I want you to fuck me." Anne's voice became plaintive. "But 
after all this... what then?" 

"The collar, the chain, and the basement." 

"You'd sell me?" 

"You're worth too much to keep." 

"Surely you don't suppose I'll drive down into that prospect?" 

"You've phoned, haven't you? What else?" 

Anne knew it time to call a halt. John Lennox was impossible. But he was 
also a voice from that other world where she was more at home than in the 
apartment and the office. Surely the dolt could realize, couldn't he? "I've 
been through an outrageous adventure, and all because of you," she 
complained. "I can't talk about it to just anybody, and I need to talk about 
it. I'd think you'd feel grateful I haven't gone to the police." 

"Oh, I am--believe me." 

"Then why can't I drive down and have dinner and a talk without all the 
other nonsense about being whipped and sold?" 

"Simply because you're you, sweetheart." Lennox laughed companionably. 
"You're so eminently whippable and saleable I can't resist." 

Once again Anne slammed down the receiver with emphatic force. She had made 
three calls, and not one of them had treated her as a grown woman. Come home 
and be whipped like a naughty girl-- that was the substance of what each had 
said. Then, as a sort of consolation prize, they had offered her life 
imprisonment as well. She picked up the receiver and slammed it down again 
as though all three were listening. 

The following day, a Friday, she was walking to the elevator after parking 
her car in the underground garage when she was grabbed from behind. There 
was no reeking rag, only two rough strong hands. Anne screamed and fought, 
but was slowly being dragged to a waiting car when lights came on, focusing 
on her struggle. A horn blared. Her assailant vanished as quickly as he had 
come. The car with its lights drove past her crumpled figure without 
stopping. A tattered and bruised Anne staggered to her apartment, a sadly 
frightened girl. 

Anne doubly locked her door. She made herself a drink. She did not phone the 
police because the more she considered the incident the more convinced she 
was the assault had been an act. Someone wanted to scare her. Someone wanted 
to scare her and prove how easy it could be to kidnap her any day they 
chose. Had that someone wished, she could now be tightly bound and safely 
gagged in the trunk of a car. It was humiliating. It was infuriating. It was 
frightening. She felt wickedly alone. 

Anne reached her decision in the night and, having made it, slept. In the 
morning she held to her resolve, rejecting pros and cons and second 
thoughts. Driving her little car in the direction of Joshua Bristow's summer 
house, she was quivering with excitement. She would see him again and hear 
his voice, and they would talk like civilized people. She would not grovel 
on her knees or make abject surrender. Hungry for his arms as she might be, 
she would not throw away her liberty. She thought of Bristow's dog cage and 
Hetty Coppick's cell. She could almost feel the handcuffs on her wrists. 
Anne shuddered. There would be no more of that. 

Anne was well aware of risk. To place herself within reach of Bristow's 
hands was a shocking hazard. With the greatest of ease, he could grab her 
and subdue her utterly. Within minutes she could be bound or chained and 
safely inside his cage. Bristow would probably inflict all three to reaffirm 
authority, and there was also her inevitable rendezvous with Bristow's whip. 
But she steadfastly refused to believe he would treat her thus. He would 
desire subtleties, and he had spoken of marriage. Surely a prospective bride 
did not discuss her marriage from behind the bars of a cell! Or did she? It 
was entirely practical. Angrily, Anne shifted on the seat as though to 
dislodge the small fire burning in her loins. 

Nothing about the cottage had changed. Bristow, when he stood in the open 
doorway, was very much Bristow: sardonic, amused, wary. 

"Took your time about coming, eh? Began to think I'd have to come and get 
you." 

"Hello, Josh." 

They stared, each of them waiting. It was less a lovers' meeting than a 
deployment to battle. In a manner Anne could not define, she knew the big 
man held the initiative. 

"Hello, honeybunch. Aren't you forgetting something?" 

Anne drew a deep breath. This was it! "If you're thinking of me groveling at 
your feet, please forget it, Josh." 

"Never mentioned groveling. How the hell do you grovel! Just a plain simple 
kneel is all I ask, sweetheart." 

"There's nothing plain or simple about a girl kneeling before a man. It's 
total abnegation." 

"My, my, such big words!" 

"Well, I'm certainly not kneeling on your doorstep!" 

"Come and kneel inside. Nice and private." 

"Josh, if you'd only leave me a little pride! Well, I'm staying out here 
where I'm safe." 

"Hell, girl, you're not safe out there. I could pick you up before you got 
to the gate. Want to try it?" 

Anne's breasts were heaving. She wanted the big man's arms around her so 
damn bad. But in love, not to make her captive. She was painfully conscious 
of his sardonically amused regard. He was making her feel like a naughty 
little girl. He had a gift for it. She used some of her small store of 
ammunition. "I'd hoped we could have a talk. I mean a sensible talk." 

"Sure, let's do that. But get on your knees first. Here, you can put these 
on yourself." 

Anne caught the handcuffs Bristow tossed. Their shining steel felt smoothly 
familiar. They sent a shiver up and down her spine as well as feeding her 
fire. She tossed them back "If putting me in chains is all you want," she 
said disdainfully, "we might as well not bother. You're making me sorry I 
came." Bristow laughed at her dolor. "I could really make you sorry, and 
don't you forget it. I'm not a guy to stand on my own doorstep and take lip 
from a snippet of a girl like you." 

His words fanned the fire between her thighs. Anne shivered. She did not 
want to be dragged, fighting and kicking, through the door. He was being 
more impossible than ever. She was about to deliver a broadside when Bristow 
consulted his watch. "Aimed to take you to lunch," he said gruffly. "There's 
a decent place down the road a ways. But first you've got to get on your 
knees and snap on them cuffs." 

"You surely don't imagine I'm entering any restaurant with handcuffs on my 
wrists!" 

"I'd take them off by then. Like the bended knees, they're symbolic." 

Bristow's maleness was reaching out. Anne could feel it. If only he would 
settle for less than unconditional surrender, she could be in his huge, 
comforting arms and feel safe. But was the lunch a compromise or was it 
bait? She had to know. 

"After we've had lunch, what then?" 

"We come back home and you get the whipping I promised. Twenty strokes, 
wasn't it?" 

He was so damn casual, so self-assured, as though being terribly whipped 
after lunch would not hurt and was something a girl would look forward to. 
Anne felt herself forever taking deep breaths, seeking patience. She took 
one now. Her tone was bitter. "I suppose you'd whip me naked?" 

"Only way to have a girl." 

She was holding on tight. She must not stalk away mad. But she also must not 
sink to her knees and grasp Bristow's legs while rubbing her cheek 
comfortingly against his pants. The urge was nearly irresistible and let 
what happened happen. She looked into his knowing grin, then enumerated. 

"I kneel. I handcuff myself. Then you take me to lunch. When we return, you 
make me naked and whip me twenty strokes." Anne's tone was one of disbelief. 
"Is this really your offer?" 

"Yes, it is." 

"Goodbye, Josh." 

"Bye, honeybunch." 

Anne Menton turned and walked to the gate. Her legs were trembling, and she 
momentarily expected two huge arms to pick her up and sweep her back into 
captivity, but she reached the gate in safety and a small but persistent 
disappointment. Turning to look back, she found Bristow gone and the door 
closed. She was sure he would be laughing and expecting her to return and 
accept his terms. She assured herself Josh was being mean in not taking her 
by force, as she knew he could have done. But that would have made things 
too easy for her and give her something to complain about afterwards. It 
would relieve her of decision. Why the devil hadn't he been chivalrous 
enough to do his masculine thing instead of insisting on her total 
abnegation? She sniffed angrily and got back in her car. 

Anne's hand was trembling as she started the motor. Her emotions were 
jangled and she shivered with cold. She had not expected Bristow to affect 
her thus. But he had been like a powerful shot of a potent drug. All the 
yearnings she had cherished for him the I.S.G. had beset her compellingly. 
She was certain he knew and felt the same way himself. But he was so strong, 
such a Rock of Gibraltar. Above all, he was so sure of his dominion over 
her. It was scary to think that if Josh did not want her for himself, he 
would certainly return her to Hetty Coppick to keep her, as it were, in the 
family. She was most terribly owned. 

It took Anne a slow fifteen miles before she turned the car around and 
headed back towards Bristow's cottage. It took all her courage to walk back 
up the path to his door. When no one answered her repeated rings, she walked 
around back to the garden patch where Bristow, following some ancient rustic 
ritual, grew vegetables. She found him busy with a hoe between rows of 
rutabagas. She would have preferred a more stable spot on which to kneel, 
but she passed one by and must now make the most of the damp rich soil of 
the garden. Without a word, she knelt ahead of Bristow's hoe, bowed her head 
in submission, and extended her arms for the ironing of her wrists. When 
metal clasped them and clicked tight, she made no sound, but her breathing 
was fast and her heart thudded hard enough that surely the man must hear. 

"Okay, sweetheart, up on your feet.' They wasted few words. Anne was clasped 
most satisfyingly within two strong arms. She was lifted and soundly kissed. 
She did not know she wept until she felt a tongue lick dry her tears. If the 
handcuffs felt as comfortable as the arms, she refused to be annoyed. If her 
fire had been rekindled by what she had done, well, good luck to it! She 
nestled against a sweaty shirt and sniffed her master's scent. 

"I'm glad you came back, sweetheart. I want you bad." Were there ever 
sweeter words? If there were, Anne had never heard them. In a muffled voice, 
she said, "I want you too. Oh, Josh, I've wanted you so bad!" 

"Seems like we've both got it made, honeybunch." 

The breathless girl rested her cuffed hands against the male chest beside 
her cheek. Liberty seemed a much overrated commodity and her concern with 
freedom almost deviant. Comfortably, she admitted, "All that time at the 
I.S.G. I thought about you every day, and I was so mad you sent me there." 

"Good place for a girl who needs her fire lit." 

"Mine's burning like crazy, Josh." 

Josh Bristow picked her up and carried her to the cottage. Anne Menton was 
content. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN - WHIPPED & CAGED 

"Do you ever forget I bought and paid for you, Anne?" Bristow slid his car 
into the vacant space in the restaurant parking lot. "Sure, it ain't no way 
legal, but it used to work in the old slave days." 

"For the first month, sure, I did. I thought of you as my owner. But you 
sent me away, and Hetty sort of took your place." 

"Hmmm, give me those hands. Guess it's time." 

She had not dared ask. If Josh Bristow wanted to take a chained girl into a 
restaurant, she had decided not to complain. But Anne extended her hands 
gratefully and watched the shining steel fall away and be slipped into her 
owner's pocket. Arm in arm, they walked in to lunch. 

"Talking about Hetty, how about us driving over to see her tomorrow? I got 
me a notion." Bristow mused thoughtfully over the salad. "She'd be glad to 
see you." 

Anne was about to retort that Hetty would be so glad she would lock her in a 
cell with every possible chain locked on her. But it would sound ungracious, 
and Hetty had more sense. Instead, she asked doubtfully, "You mean I have 
freedom of choice?" Bristow laughed at her doubt. "Sure, but with me holding 
the power of veto." He chucked her under the chin. "Don't sulk. There'll be 
times when we actually agree." 

"Okay. Let's go see Hetty. But please don't let her lock me up." 

"Don't trust her?" 

"I'm fond of her, Josh. But I'm scared of the I.S.G. She's created a 
monster. The I.S.G. gets hold of girls and doesn't let go. When I was in 
prison there, I used to feel the buildings made prisoners of us all, Hetty, 
Amity, and Charity included." 

"That's the place Hetty wanted, and it's what she got." Bristow speared a 
roll. "I was aiming to take you over to have you whipped." 

Anne froze. "But you're going to whip me when we get home, aren't you?" 

"Sure, that was the deal, but Hetty's got the post and the manacles and the 
whole bit. Amity or Charity will make a better job of those twenty stripes 
than me." 

So Bristow was fond enough of her not to want to do the actual whipping of 
her back! Anne got the message. She glowed, but was wise enough not to put 
it into words. Instead, she tried to be casual. "I think that's a lovely 
idea," she enthused. "Thank you." 

"You mean that?" 

"Of course I do." Anne twinkled across the table at her owner. "I'm not 
saying I want to be whipped--I don't--but I know I'll get the twenty strokes 
you've sentenced me to, so we go to Hetty's place, and I get them there 
along with all the spine-chilling subtleties of preparation." 

"She got that good a ritual going?" 

"The mere sight of that post thing curls me up inside." 

"Huh! You just said it was a lovely idea." 

"Well, it is. It won't hurt me a bit more than if you whip me here, and 
we'll all be glad to see each other." Anne widened her eyes in appeal. "But 
please. Josh, don't leave me in the I.S.G., not even overnight. Hetty's 
prison scares me more than being whipped." 

"That bad, huh?" It was Bristow's turn to grin across the table at his 
possession. "Shall we go to the I.S.G. right after we've eaten, or do you 
want me to take you to the cottage and fuck you some more? Could put in the 
rest of the day at it if you wanted." 

"I'd like to be fucked." 

He was delighted by Anne's forthright admission, but his response was 
vintage Bristow. "In that case, honey, I'll take you right over to the 
I.S.G. I can fuck you anytime, and it's better if you're laying on a whipped 
back." 

Anne expected the heat. It was becoming predictable. But she was unprepared 
for the intensity with which it now possessed her loins. It was as though 
its incandescence formed her words. "Josh, you've made me so damn horny!" 

"Wouldn't have doned once." 

"It's your fault," she pouted. "You and the I.S.G. started a fire between my 
legs, and I can't put it out. When you say something like you just did, it 
bums me up." 

"So don't knock the I.S.G., sweetheart. Did you a powerful lot of good." 
Bristow reached across and patted her head. "Watch out you don't ever need a 
refresher course." 

They understood each other. Both were pleased. Anne still wanted to know 
about the afterwards which was probably the whole of her life. Would Bristow 
keep her a firm prisoner? When would he marry her? There were so many 
questions, but she was sure this was not the time to ask them. Questions 
would seem like quibbling. She had made her choice. The seeming freedom of 
the restaurant was a chimera. Reality lay with the handcuffs in Bristow's 
pocket. Soon again they would be locked around her wrists. 

* * * 

It was a beautiful, wonderful, shivery ride, during which the eyes of man 
and girl met often in amused awareness of each other's thoughts. The girl, 
in anticipatory dread, was envisioning the I.S.G.'s whipping post more often 
than she desired. Each minute took her closer to the pain of Bristow's 
sentence. Bristow himself was vicariously enjoying the quivers of 
apprehension she could not hide. Both were equally aware of the tight 
handcuffed wrists held sedately in her lap. 

For Anne, the real unease came with the sign with its blatant lettering: 
Institute for Sequestered Girls. Hetty Coppick's conceit was all the more 
deadly for its ambiguity. "That sign ought to read: Abandon hope all ye who 
enter here," she said to Josh with certainty. "Even though I've got you on 
my side, I'm still scared. Look at it: a monolith of stone and brick! 
Grrrr!" 

Their welcome was warm enough for any girl: hugs and kisses, then drinks in 
Hetty's lounge. The handcuffed girl felt sure the older woman knew of 
Bristow's intent to marry her. There was a glint in Hetty's eyes. Women 
sense these things. The warmth of the highballs was matched by the fervor of 
catching up on gossip. Their mission was not mentioned. 

Charity and Amity took over. There were more greetings and more hugs. 
Tenderly, they took her cuffs and stripped her naked. Each held a bare arm 
as the small procession wound its way past bars and gates and doors down to 
the lower room where Anne was to be whipped. It was solemnly done, and it 
had been prearranged, for there were girl prisoners in the cells they 
passed, watching in wonder the state of confusion in which they had no part. 
When they caught Anne's eyes, there was sympathy exchanged. 

It was exactly as she remembered. The grim structure was waiting. It seemed 
endowed with life, its open manacles bidding her welcome, inviting the 
slender wrists for which they were expressly made. The wardresses had the 
naked maiden back against the wood and were lifting her arms before Anne 
grasped their intent. "But I'm the wrong way around!" 

"No, you're not, sweetheart." Hetty was complacent. "You've been sentenced 
to twenty. That makes ten for each tit." 

The awfulness of what was to be done to her gave Anne strength to break from 
restraining hands and fling her nudity at Bristow's feet. Her plea was from 
the heart. "Josh, don't let them! Please not my breasts! Don't have them 
whip my breasts!" 

His big hand caressed her hair. His words were for Hetty. "Made a deal with 
the girl. Never said nothing about her tits. We'd best pass on that one." 

Hetty's laugh was derisive. "Chicken! The little darling's got herself under 
your skin." 

"It's my skin," Bristow said gruffly. "If she gets out of line, I'll send 
her back to you quick enough. But right now I don't want her with a pair of 
purple tits. We're catching up on our loving, and I want her front in good 
shape." 

"What you want is a well-wealed little ass to bounce on," Hetty retorted 
callously. "You're not being all that kind to the sweetheart, you know. 
Using my special tit whip will hurt her a lot less than twenty on her back 
and rump." 

"Another time, Hetty." Bristow lifted Anne to her feet, one arm pressing her 
to him at her back, his other hand gently patting her bottom, soon to be 
whipped. "Can't figure why you didn't whip her tits when you had her here, 
if whipping them means that much." 

"Pure thoughtlessness," Hetty admitted cheerfully. "If you won't go for her 
tits, how about her cunt? Just five to warm her up? We can use the same 
little whip." 

Anne listened to the exchange, her flesh crawling, but finding comfort in 
the strong arm and patting hand. The scared girl wanted to add her own 
protest, but she guessed it could do more harm than good. She guessed there 
was a chance Hetty was teasing, but she most passionately did not want her 
breasts whipped before their lovemaking when Josh got her home. She snuggled 
close to the big man as Hetty complained. 

"Damn it, Josh, it wouldn't hurt you to let me have a little fun! I love the 
child too. She's the most whippable wench I've ever had here." 

"Hell, you got a dozen others," Bristow grunted. "Line them all in a row and 
you'll have twenty-four tits to snap away at. But there'll be no 
tit-whipping for Anne today." 

"All right, you big bear. Will you loan her to me for a weekend sometime?" 

"How'd you like that, honey?" Bristow tightened his grip. "If you want me 
to," she whispered weakly. 

"She's fond of you all, but the I.S.G. gives her the willies, Hetty. Damned 
if it don't make me shiver myself. Give the little sweetheart time to get 
tired of being reamed and she'll be glad to spend a couple of days with 
you." He gave one final pat to Anne's bare bottom. "Get yourself against 
that post, girl, and be sure you get turned the right way around." 

Anne was certain no girl had ever approached a whipping post with greater 
gratitude. On the way she paused to kiss Hetty's cheek and whisper, "I 
really do love you, but I'm just so scared." Then, with a flash of bare 
skin, she sought the waiting wood and thrust her much discussed breasts hard 
against the rough surface. Without pause, she raised her arms and placed her 
wrists within the manacles. It was suddenly all very familiar. 

"She's a sweetheart, Josh. You're a lucky man." 

Heat burned anew as Charity and Amity clasped the metal bands tight. Anne 
was now helpless, like a slender white bird with widespread wings. But she 
could not fly. She could not do anything except stand still to be whipped. 
She flexed her wrists within the tight circlets. She flexed her arms. 
Strangely, all she felt now was relief. 

"The girls will give her ten apiece," the mistress informed her male 
visitor. "They've each got their own style. Amity, you may as well start 
honeybunch off. Remember, all the pain you can manage, but no blood." 

This was it! The pinioned nakedness clenched her teeth and thrust hard 
against the rough surface to which she was attached and from which she could 
not escape. She heard the snicker of sound as the thong cut the air, then 
gasped as it impacted across the center of her naked back. She supposed the 
agony was no worse than the times before. But it always seemed worse each 
time it was done to her. With number two Anne emitted a small cry of 
desolation but bit it back. She knew that if they had now been whipping her 
breasts, she would be screaming for the lash to stop, stop, stop. But this 
was different. Bristow had sentenced her to these twenty strokes, and she 
had returned to him with that knowledge. In a sense, it was a pact. All she 
was concerned with was not to scream too loud. But that was hard, hard, 
hard! 

"She marks beautifully, Josh. Look at those lines." 

"Everything about her is beautiful. " Bristow was breathing hard. Amity had 
moved down to Anne's bottom, but the pain was no less. With each stroke the 
tip of the thong snapped across a writhing hip with a venomous bite. From 
one side, then the other. The nakedness could not shield itself. It could 
not escape. 

"My two girls are so clever with a whip," Hetty said, sounding breathless 
herself. "See how Amity has the darling's motions figured. She cuts the skin 
perfectly every time." 

The words came to Anne through a fog of agony. She was losing count, but 
Amity was still whipping her. That meant she was not yet halfway. Yesterday 
she had sat sedately typing in the office, and today this! If the girls 
could see her, they would not believe it. She would not believe it herself 
if the pain did not tell her it was true. She had allowed this to happen by 
her own choice. She must have been crazy. But for Bristow she would submit 
her flesh again and again. She knew herself an idiot who deserved what she 
was getting. Cut wrists added their quota to her sum total of anguish. "Just 
one up between her legs, Josh? It won't kill her." 

"Oh, all right." Bristow was peeved. "Damn it, Hetty, you sure do nag a man. 
But one and only one!" 

"Your last stroke, Amity dear. Make her open up her legs and straddle as far 
back as she can." 

It did not matter. Nothing mattered. She was hurting so much now that the 
thong up within her crotch would blend with all the rest. Anne shifted back 
as far as her manacles would permit. She spread her legs and held her 
breath. The slash, when it came, was awful, awful, awful! It was far more 
horrendous than she had hoped. Over and above the sounds she herself made 
she could hear Hetty's exultation. 

"Just see the way the darling thrust against the post! And look at her kick! 
She'd do a dance for us if her hands weren't held." Anne looked back 
fearfully to see the whip change hands. It was now Charity's turn to inflict 
her ten strokes. The whipped girl knew she was only halfway through. One by 
one, the three women kissed her cheeks and assured her she was wonderful. 
Anne was fastened too tightly to kiss them back, but she turned and caught 
Bristow's eye. What she saw there was better than a kiss. 

"Ten to go, love. Give them to her slow, Charity." 

Slow or fast--did it matter? Anne supposed slow was best, but it dragged out 
her agony. Hetty's comments were a mirror she could not see as Charity 
etched fresh scarlet between Amity's ridged weals. 

"The girl would make a fine dancer. Watch her movements after each stroke. 
The bands around her wrists confine, but she gets the damnedest mileage out 
of those writhings. I've never seen anything more exquisite." 

"Yeah, she's special." Bristow sounded awed. 

"I whip a lot of girls here, but this one's in a class by herself." Hetty 
also sounded reverent. "Tell you what, Josh: Buy yourself another girl from 
Lennox, and sell Anne to me. Come on, be a sport!" 

"Hell no! You buy your own." 

"I've been enjoying those three I took from Lennox. I'll trade you all three 
for this little lovely." 

"Not for your whole damn flock, woman. My god, I'd have to build a prison 
myself!" 

"Charity, you're slipping. That last stroke was weak. Give it to her again." 

It was all too crazy. To be loved and whipped, and by the same people at the 
same time! Anne was able to look back over a bare shoulder and see her 
audience, but she could also see Charity and the flashing whip, so she 
contented herself with the sounds and motions of anguish and the cheerful 
voices coming to her from another world, a world in which there was no pain. 
All she was concerned with was the knowledge that the cutting impacts would 
eventually stop. Ten sounded like so little, but they went on and on. 
Because her arms were raised and spread, there were moments when the lash 
tip snapped home within the hollow of her armpit. She was exquisitely 
postured for the thong. 

When the twentieth stroke had left its mark upon her skin and Charity had 
cast aside her whip, Anne was so deeply immersed in pain she supposed it was 
just another pause in the punishment to which her master had sentenced her. 
But as her responses slowed, she ventured a hesitant glance. Those who had 
given or watched her pain had discreetly tiptoed from the room to leave her 
alone, still shackled to the post but free to vent emotion without eyes to 
see or ears to hear. Thankfully, she rested, allowing her ironed wrists to 
take some of the stress. Against the whip, their pain seemed minimal. 

Anne waited in weary thankfulness for release. She had paid her dues, but 
this standing in her bonds was a ritual thing everyone seemed to enjoy. Even 
she herself found a comfortable relief in remaining where she had received 
her pain, but with the pain now gone. She tried to blank out everything from 
her mind except for the ecstasy she and Bristow would enjoy when they got 
home. She could almost succeed in this except for the one small cloud of a 
question mark. What would Bristow do with her now? She was back to square 
one. 

The coffee was so very good, as were the sandwiches, the cake, and the 
company. It was just the three of them: Anne, Bristow, and Hetty. It was 
like an intimate coffee clatch with herself as the center of interest. Anne 
had recoiled in fear from the I.S.G. jersey offered when she had been 
unshackled from the post. She had seen it as a return to prison. But they 
had laughed and told her to stay as naked as she was. The whip marks on her 
skin would visually enhance their social hour. Anne did not mind. Grateful 
to be done with punishment, she made certain her motions would adequately 
display her weals. Now that they were etched in her flesh she had become 
proud of them. Within her sex the fire reminded her it had not been 
quenched. 

"So what do you do with her now, Josh?" Hetty asked. "If you're only going 
to punish the poor child everyday, you might as well leave her with us. I 
can do it for you." 

"Never give up, do you?" Bristow emptied his cup and handed it to the 
waiting hand. "I'll have a refill. But, no, the little sweetheart is not 
coming back her for awhile yet. She and I have a lot of screwing to do." 

"Just keep her on a chain so she's handy for when you come home, eh?" Hetty 
laughed. "How delightfully domestic. Watch out that the little darling 
doesn't fox you into letting her loose again." 

"What do you mean again? Never did let her loose. It was that young asshole 
Lennox who let her get away." Bristow laughed. "Should visit and see if he's 
built up another inventory." 

Anne was becoming accustomed to a listening role in conversation. The coffee 
and food were heartening, and she was finding a mischievous pleasure in 
turning this way and that to let her companions enjoy her multicolored pain. 
So far as the big question went, she could leave that to Hetty's prodding 
and probing. 

"If you ask me, Josh, this fool notion you've got about marrying Anne is 
pure bullshit. What do you need to marry her for? You've got her. You can do 
whatever you like with her, same as me and my convict girls. If you marry 
anybody, it ought to be me." Bristow's laugh was unflatteringly loud. 
"Hetty, you need a man like a fish needs a bike! These little tricks you've 
got cooped up give you everything you need. You don't need a man." 

"A girl gets a hankering for a strong arm and a shoulder to cry on. That 
doesn't mean I'd give up my little sweethearts." 

The whipped, naked girl sat happily, nobbling and sipping. Before the food, 
she had felt depleted, but she was now on a rising tide. She listened to her 
companions' repartee in an amused awareness of hearing an old tune often 
replayed. They may have been chattering for her benefit. She could care 
less. For the moment Anne was content. 

* * * 

The sun was warm. The nude girl in the cage sat crouched in a corner, idly 
debating if it was worth the trouble of trying to rid herself of the ropes 
by which she was bound. Anne was finding it increasingly attractive to sit 
and snooze against the wall. Getting herself untied was by no means freedom. 
The cage door was heavily locked. She suspected the kennel's original canine 
occupants also would have slept. But they, of course, were not subject to 
Bristow's admonition. 

"I'm tying your hands behind your back, honeybunch, and then I'm tying your 
ankles. I'm using nice soft rope, and I figure you've got all day to get 
loose. I'll expect to find you walking around when I get back." 

"But, Josh, you know I never manage to get loose from any of your ties." 

"Want me to give you an incentive?" 

"Not really. I can imagine what it would be." 

"Okay, sweetheart, no handcuffs or chains, but I'll expect to find you loose 
and hanging on the wire when I get home." 

Anne knew the pleasure it gave Bristow to find her in that pose. She had 
memorized a list of the poses and postures which gave him an erotic thrill. 
She was no longer annoyed to find herself in a sexual arousal over them too. 
It had become a fact of life. This was reality. That other time, long since, 
was now only an anemic facsimile. 

On the day after Anne had been whipped and brought back to the cottage from 
the I.S.G., she and Bristow had discussed the unmentionable in a manner 
impossible back when Lennox had first kidnapped her. Now, carelessly naked 
and with her back attractively striped, impeded only by a pair of handcuffs 
on her wrists, they had discussed her disposition while they ate a very late 
breakfast. 

"Damn it, girl, if we keep screwing like last night, there'll be nothing 
left of either of us," Bristow had boasted. "You okay, honey?" 

"I'm more okay than I've ever been in my life. Oh, Josh!" 

"Whipping not bothering you?" 

"You rubbed the pain away in bed. You can have me whipped everyday if that's 
my reward." 

"Huh! Don't ever knock the I.S.G. It turned you into a real live girl." 
Bristow dragged over her joined hands and kissed them. "What I want to pin 
down right now is how you're going to feel if I use you the way I did 
before. We could call it punishment for a day." 

"It's okay with me. I understand it now. I'll even enjoy some of it." Anne 
pouted and shrugged. "I suppose I'd prefer being a free girl, but I honestly 
don't know what I'd do with myself if I was. Am I crazy?" 

"Not in my book. The world out there doesn't count." Bristow wrinkled his 
nose at her in a wry grin. "There'll be times when I'm mean and it will 
hurt." 

"So, okay, you'll be mean, but sometimes it rains out there, or the 
supervisor is mad at me, or the car won't start. " Anne twinkled at her 
owner. "It all evens out." 

"I'm going to marry you, but in my own time. I don't want to be nagged about 
it. Okay?" 

"All right, it's a subject I'll keep quiet about." 

Their understanding had been tremendously comforting. Anne had seen it as 
similar to the way other girls lived and planned after the engagement. But 
she and Bristow evidently did not bother with such frills. He would use her 
as he pleased, and when he was ready he would take her to the altar, quite 
probably still handcuffed. She laughed at the vision. What happened to her 
after the wedding was something she refused to be disturbed about. 

On the first day Bristow had tied a very naked Anne to a tree and left here 
there for the day. It was understood that if she could get free, she could 
do as she pleased about staying as his prisoner or going back to her life in 
the city. It added spice. Anne had not managed to get loose. Her reward, in 
bed, had been so much more than satisfactory that she had pleaded to be tied 
to the same tree again and in the same way. But this her master had denied. 

"Got to keep you on your toes. I get a charge out of you having just the 
faintest chance of freedom. It's rough out there where I go everyday. 
Thinking of you trying to escape gives me a kick." Bristow squeezed her 
tight. "Coming home and finding I've still got you is the best part of the 
day." 

Anne was in love. Secretly, she was enraptured by the prospect of being wife 
to this big man who took her so much for granted because he had bought and 
paid for her. But since this was something she must not talk about, she 
endured the punishments Bristow thought up for her in an amused 
anticipation. The second day had been spent handcuffed to a derelict tractor 
out in the yard. She had felt certain someone would come and there would be 
a fuss, but this had not happened. She had still been handcuffed and 
helpless on her master's return. Secretly, she had been glad about that too. 
The third day was now. 

Once Anne would have been frantic to free her hands and free, but now it did 
not matter. If she did not struggle, the ropes did not hurt. Had it not been 
for Bristow's obvious wish for her to find a limited freedom within the 
cage, she would probably have been content with her bonds and quietly slept 
the day into oblivion. She had got accustomed to being tied up, and since 
her nights were strenuous, she would have preferred the bite of rope to the 
travail of striving for a freedom in which she did not truly believe. The 
padlocks on the door mocked her, and she did not wish to escape from Bristow 
anyway. 

It was an hour since she had been bound and locked in the dog kennel for the 
day. Ann knew that it would be wise to start her fight against her bonds 
before drowsiness overtook her completely. Bristow would probably be able to 
tell if she had or had not tried to free herself. She had little expectation 
of not paying a penalty at the end of the day. But she would at least show 
willingness. 

The captive's hands were crossed behind her back, neatly and tightly tied. 
She could find neither slack nor knots; her seeking fingers found only air. 
So much for her hands! The bound maiden knew she could never free them 
unless she could fray the rope against an abrasive edge. To do that she 
would need her feet so she might explore the cage. Unhappily, she drew up 
tied ankles within reach of the searching fingers of a tied hand. It was an 
unrewarding effort. She would have preferred to sleep and stay tied. 

Her ankles were a disappointment. The naked girl had truly expected to untie 
them, not immediately but within an hour or so. However, with them too she 
could find no knots, and the cords were bowstright tight. Pinkly fuming, she 
struggled to her knees to seek more scope, but the knots still mocked from 
where she could not reach. In a desperate contortion, she fell over on her 
side and lay there panting and angry. Thoughts of spending the whole day in 
such a painful, profitless pursuit were banished. Bristow could come home 
and find her still tightly tied and punish her all he liked for her failure. 
Anne assured herself she did not care. In the meantime, she would sleep. She 
edged her nakedness awkwardly to her favorite corner and crouched in such 
comfort as a tied up girl might find. She would nurse the fire between her 
thighs and dream. 

"Look at that, would you? Beauty bound and caged! Damn pretty picture." 

The habitually cheerful voice of John Lennox jolted the sleeping prisoner 
into full awareness. Anne stare in disbelief. 

"I'm making the morning delivery," Lennox continued brightly. "Bristow's a 
good customer. He deserves the best of service." Anne blinked and tugged at 
her tied hands. Regarding her with interest through the wire mesh was the 
owner of the voice and a naked girl, the girl was Jenny. Her hands were tied 
behind her back in the same manner as Anne's, her mouth was most adequately 
gagged, and a rope leash ran from its encirclement of her neck to Lennox's 
hand. She did not look the beast bit frightened. 

"Figured you'd enjoy company, Miss Menton. Very considerate man is Joshua 
Bristow. I'm putting Jenny in the cage with you." 

"You can't. Look at these locks." 

Lennox held up three keys. "I'm flattered by the trust, and I won't abuse 
it," he assured with unusual seriousness. "You're nicely trussed, and I 
could pick you up and have you sold by evening, but I don't think Bristow 
would be too pleased. Don't think I'm not tempted, though. You really are a 
dish." 

Anne watched him leash Jenny to the mesh, then use the three keys. She 
thrilled to the realization of her owner's power. If Lennox respected it, it 
must be potent indeed. When the metal cage swung open, she made her tone as 
casual as possible. "While you're inside, you may as well untie me, if you 
don't mind." 

"I do mind. Last time I meddled with you it cost me a lump on my head and 
the only three girls I had in stock." 

"I'm not asking you to let me out, just let me loose." 

"Sorry, love. You and little bright-eyes here can likely manage something." 

"You really are a bastard, John!" 

"Alas, yes." His ready agreement oozed mock sorrow. "What I need is the love 
of a good woman to reform me. Like I said, if you weren't so damn expensive, 
I'd marry you on the spot." 

"Doesn't it occur to your conceit that I might say no?" 

"The thought had crossed my mind." Lennox grinned confidingly. "But all I'd 
have to do is whip you until you say yes. Simple, right?" 

Anne sighed. It was simple and so true. If he took her now, tied as she was, 
he could do as he pleased with her. She sighed again. It was easy to see how 
the total ownership of a girl could be achieved. Thought of Lennox carrying 
her away as a bound and naked prize inflamed her heat. Anne longed for a 
devastating retort, but since none was there, she watched the white slave 
dealer removed Jenny's leash and push her inside the wire. The child was 
obviously aching to talk, but she couldn't make a sound. The three padlocks 
clicked home most chillingly. 

"Supposed to be a nail on a tree over here." Lennox looked around. "Ah, here 
we are!" He hung the keys on the trunk where they would mock the inmates of 
the cage. "There, that little job's done. Prime merchandise and prompt, safe 
delivery--that's the ticket." 

Anne struggled back up on her knees. With this young man nakedness never 
seemed to matter. If he could now see her pussy, well, good for him! Bare 
skin had long since ceased to be a shameful novelty. The man and the 
prisoned girl stared without illusion. 

"I'd best be going." Lennox lingered awkwardly. "If I stick around, I'll use 
those keys again and do something I shouldn't Bye for now, you devastating 
temptress." 

The first thing to notice about Jenny was her marked skin. The child had 
been cruelly whipped. The second realization was of Jenny's budding 
womanhood. She was young, but all the contours were in place and proclaiming 
their identity. The girl made an innocent nude. Item three was Jenny's 
ardent desire to speak. Her head shakings and eye rollings were so vigorous 
as to make Anne laugh. 

"All right, Jenny, get yourself down to where my fingers are and maybe I can 
undo the buckle. I'm just about helpless myself. 

The youngster obeyed with alacrity. A couple of minutes later her mouth was 
free and so was her tongue. "I thought you escaped, Miss Menton." 

"I was recaptured. Never mind now." 

"That buy Lennox--boy, he was made about that knock on the head! He 
kidnapped me and whipped me half to death." She giggled cheerfully and 
turned around. "Look at the marks on my skin! I thought I'd die." 

"Gosh, Jenny, it's all my fault. If you hadn't helped--" 

"Ain't nobody's fault except that Lennox guy. Jeepers, Miss Menton, you've 
been whipped something awful too!" 

"I'm afraid girls in our situation often get whipped, Jenny." 

"Well, it's sort of nice when it's over," Jenny said surprisingly. "I had 
the most marvelous come! I used to get real juicy when Daddy whipped me, but 
it was nothin' like this." Jenny produced her gamin grin. "This whole thing 
is a real gas!" 

"I'm glad you think so. But look, you live so close. Your father--" 

"Oh, him!" Jenny was disdainful of parental help. "Daddy will figure I've 
run off with some guy. He won't even bother to look. Say, Miss Menton, did 
you get put down those girls and get a collar around your neck?" 

"Sure, I was chained to the wall down there and treated like a piece of 
merchandise." 

"Golly, I never had so much fun! Those girls were real upset about the whole 
thing, though, they said I was a homy little tramp. " Jenny's eyes glowed. 
"Wasn't it a real pussy-perker when guys came to buy you? Oh, wow!" 

"I didn't enjoy it the way you seem to. Jenny, do you think you could work 
on my hands and get them loose?" 

Jenny appeared not to have heard Anne. Her voice became dreamy. "When Mr. 
Bristow came and bought me, I was so proud, and the other girls were all 
jealous, especially when I told 'em how rich he is. " The young voice became 
faintly anxious. "He will give us lots of money for doing this, won't he?" 

"I don't think so. Why would he? He owns us. Jenny, about my hands--" 

"But my hands are tied too, Miss Menton, the same as yours." Jenny was away 
in dreamland. "Say, what you just said, is that right? I mean, that he 
really owns us and we have to do what he says. Wow, that makes me homy as 
all get out! " The youthful-eyes beheld enchantment. "If he owns us like 
that, he can screw us all he wants." 

"Well, yes, but you're far too young to--" 

"I'm not either!" Jenny was indignant. "I've been screwed lots at school. I 
mean, god, I am fifteen! Has he screwed you?" 

"Yes." 

"I bet he's got a big one!" 

"Well, yes, he has." 

"Gosh, you're so lucky!" The nymphet sighed ecstatically. "This is a hell of 
a lot better than Daddy's place. Will he fuck me this evening? I mean Mr. 
Bristow, not Daddy." 

"I have no idea what he'll do." 

"You're jealous, I can tell." Jenny was delighted. "Every time Mr. Bristow 
sticks it into me means one less for you. Right?" 

"Jenny, please stop drooling and untie my hands. I'm sure you can." 

The excited teenager reluctantly turned her attention to their bonds. 
"You're a lot more clever than me," she affirmed. "Untie mine first, okay?" 

"Oh, all right. Hunch down where I can reach. My ankles are tied to I can't 
stand." 

"I'll untie them for you first thing," Jenny promised. "Isn't this fun!" 

Anne made no answer, but sent her fingers to their task. It was by no means 
easy. She was thinking of using her teeth when the first strand fell loose. 
A few minutes later Jenny was free. 

"Oh, Miss Menton, you're so sweet, and I'm so grateful." Jenny kissed Anne 
exuberantly. "Now I'll untie your feet." 

It was good to see the ropes peeled away to leave behind only the red ankles 
which might last for an hour. Gratefully, Anne got to her feet and stretched 
her legs. Then, taking her motion for granted, she turned her back to her 
companion and extended her still bound arms, fingers wiggling for attention. 

"I'm not going to untie your hands. I like them the way they are. You look 
so sweet and helpless." 

"Jenny!" 

"Don't shout. You have to be nice to me and do what I say. If you make a 
fuss, I'll pinch your nipples." 

"Jenny, please?" 

"It's not the end of the world, you know. If I don't untie you, I'm sure Mr. 
Bristow will when he gets around to it." 

"But I untied you!" 

"Yes, and I'm so grateful. If you're not grateful for me untying your feet, 
I can always tie them up again--tighter. " 

"Never mind," Anne said hastily. "I really am grateful about my feet. If you 
don't want to untie my hands--well, never mind." 

"I sort of kicked myself about not playing with you that time I had you 
handcuffed to the tree. Remember? It's going to be lovely to play with a 
full-grown girl who has everything the proper size. Wouldn't you adore me 
playing with you?" 

"Not really. I'm not sure if Mr. Bristow would like--" 

"We don't have to tell him." 

"I would anyway." 

"Spoilsport! Here, I'll show you." 

It was useless to run, and a kick would bring reprisals. Sulkily, Anne 
allowed her nipples to be grasped by a pair of avid thumbs and fingers. It 
was something she hated. Bristow, yes! But with this bundle of mischief, 
decidedly no! Irritably, she said, "I know you can hurt me, Jenny, but 
please don't. I've never hurt you. We need to be friends." 

Surprisingly, she was kissed and her nipples released. Young hands 
transferred to her hair. "Down on your knees, Miss Menton. I can make you, 
if you won't do it." 

Jenny was so young, but her hands were compelling in the captive hair they 
held so cunningly. Against her will, Anne did their bidding and found 
herself staring at a bush of maiden fluff and a pair of plump, tight lips. 
"Go on, Miss Menton. You have to. You can't get away from me, I've got you 
tight. " The hands shook the unwilling head commandingly. "You can't tell me 
you haven't eaten pussy before. Everyone tells me mine is delicious." 

Anne's wrists were chafed in their futile revolt against Jenny's dominion, 
but she knew herself helpless. Her hands were as tightly crossed behind her 
back as when Bristow had tied them. She supposed she could do what Jenny 
ordered, but her maturity rebelled against coercion by a nymphet little more 
than a child. She played her last card. 

"But, Jenny, you're forgetting! We-re both of us owned. We can't do this 
thing you want unless Mr. Bristow tells us to. If we do, we'll be terribly 
punished." 

"How terribly?" The hands shook hard again. 

"Ohhh, please, Jenny! That hurts! He'd whip us both." 

The hands relaxed a trifle. "Yes, but how hard and how many?" 

"Hard is all he knows. Oh, Jenny, nooo! He'd give us a least twenty each." 

The hands fell away. "Oh, shit!" Jenny's voice mourned relinquished joy. 
"All right, Miss Anne Menton, you may as well stand up. Here, I'll help 
you." 

Anne silently gave thanks. It would have been disastrous for Bristow to come 
around the corner and find her busy between the nymphet's thighs. She 
consolidated gain. "We have to remember always that we don't own ourselves 
any more. We long to Mr. Bristow. Even if we are free--the way you are 
now--we can only do what he's told us to do. Don't forget there's other ways 
of punishing a girl besides the whip. How'd you like to hang by your wrists 
all afternoon?" 

"Honest? He would do that?" 

Anne sighed again. This fifteen-year-old was an erotic experience. The damn 
girl was hungrily quivering with sensation. Even though there was something 
appealing about Jenny, she would have preferred to be the only prisoner he 
owned. Wickedly, she wondered if this glowing child might not be sloughed 
off on Hetty Coppick. The I.S.G. was just about right for Jenny. Crossly, 
she retorted, "Yes, he would! It's no fun either, not the way you think. A 
girl simply hangs and hangs and hurts and hurts. All you long for is to get 
your feet back on the ground." 

"Jeepers, I'd like to try it sometime. I don't weigh as much as you, so it 
wouldn't hurt so bad, would it?" 

"Jenny, you'll get punished enough. Don't go looking for it." 

"You sound like a mother hen clucking away," Jenny reproved. 

"Want me to untie your hands?" 

"Gosh, yes, would you?" 

"No, I won't, but I thought I'd ask. You really do want to get loose, don't 
you?" 

"Why wouldn't I?" Anne complained petulantly. "I spend most of my life tied 
up or handcuffed. A little freedom in the cage here would have been nice. 
You just tail till you've been tied up for weeks and weeks." 

"Oh, yummy! Is that what Mr. Bristow will really do--tie me the way you were 
when I came?" 

"Of course he will. It's his thing. That's why he bought us." 

"But he'll fuck me as well, won't he? He won't be silly like you and think 
I'm too young?" 

"I really don't know," Anne said wearily. "You'd best take the matter up 
with him yourself. After seeing what he's got, you may not want--" 

"Oh, wow, is it that big!" 

"Bigger. It's enormous." 

"But he gets it up inside you, Anne." 

"Well, yes. I suppose--" 

"That's okay then." The teenage voice had lost its anxiety. It became 
confidential. "I've been surprised what I've been able to take up there. I 
mean things, not just guys." 

"All right, so you've got a big thingummy. But remember, Bristow will do 
what he likes with you regardless." Anne looked at her exuberant fellow 
prisoner with wry concern. "Jenny, if you get a chance to escape--" 

"But I don't want to escape. This whole thing is so cool!" 

"Sure, I know! You're horny. But suppose you weren't! Look, Jenny, are those 
three padlocks all snapped tight?" 

"Sure, they are." Jenny tugged and pulled demonstratively. "See? No way out. 
But if there was, I'd let you go and stay in the cage myself for Mr. 
Bristow." 

The child could not be defeated. There was about Jenny a healthy 
concupiscence, the treatment for which could be only satiety or a sound 
thrashing. Anne would have chosen the latter for a youngster who was mean 
enough to keep her tied for pure mischief. She looked at the glowing young 
curves and was once again jealous. She had hear that such nymphets had an 
irresistible appeal to older men, and it was Bristow who purchased the 
little so-and-so. Anne devoutly wished John Lennox had sold her to someone 
else, or had kept her collared and chained with the other girls but whipped 
her daily. 

"You think I'm pretty and you think I'm got a nice body Mr. Bristow will 
like." Jenny made it almost an accusation. "Isn't it lovely being naked? 
Girls ought to be always naked. We're so much fun that way. Gosh, you're 
groovy with all those curves and breasts and your hands tied behind your 
back! Having hands tied behind the back really does something for a girl." 
Jenny's eyes sparkled with visions. "I'm going to ask Mr. Bristow to let me 
look after you--keep you well tied and properly punished and well behaved. 
That would be such fun!" 

"Don't you dare!" 

Anne was surprised by her own vehemence. She was annoyed. Jenny had picked 
up her concern and would be encouraged thereby. Outrageous as the moppet's 
inspiration might be, Anne could well envisage Bristow picking up on it. The 
piquancy would appeal to his sardonic humor. Right now he tied hands told 
her all too clearly of Jenny's competence to fill the role. Jenny might not 
be too cruel but she would be merciless. The child was laughing at her now 
in delight. 

"You're scared he might do it, aren't you, Miss Menton? I think it's a super 
idea." 

"Don't be silly. It won't work." Anne wished she did not always sound cross 
with this girl. "You'd have to be free, and you don't think Joshua Bristow 
paid all that money for you just to let you walk away whenever you want." 

"But I wouldn't. I love it here." 

"You'll have a hard time convincing him of that." 

"Not after he's fucked me and found out how nice I am." The precocious nymph 
turned dreamy eyed. "I've just had the most wonderful idea. If Mr. Bristow 
is scared of me taking a powder, all he has to do is lock those 
things--don't they 'em leg irons?--on my ankles and then I couldn't run." 
She grinned happily. "But I sure could do everything else." 

"Ask him to send you to the I.S.G.," Anne suggested in desperation. 

"What's the I.S.G.?" 

"I'll tell you if you'll untie my hands." 

"I won't untie your hands, Miss Menton. You look so sweet with them behind 
your back and that sulky expression. Look, if you won't tell me, I'll pinch 
your nipples until you do. You're awful dumb, ordering me around as though 
you had your hands." 

It would pass the time, and if she could get Jenny sufficiently... ! The 
older girl learned her bound arms back against the mesh and told of her time 
as Hetty Coppick's convict girl. Jenny listened, enthralled. 

"But, Miss Menton, if you had to eat all those women in that place, I don't 
see why you can't eat me." 

Anne moaned inwardly. The girl had a one-track mind. He main interest 
centered between her legs. Wearily, Anne repeated, "I've told you, Mr. 
Bristow--" 

"I don't believe that any more. I bet he wouldn't mind at all." 

"Yes, he would. It depletes a girl, and he doesn't want his girls depleted." 

"I don't know what that word means. But you're going to do it for me, and 
right this minute--unless you want your tits hurt." Anne gazed around the 
cage, she tugged at her still tied hands. She was helpless, Jenny could hurt 
her as she pleased. Resigned to the inevitable, she surrendered. Her concern 
now was to get the job over before Bristow's return. "Have it your way, 
Jenny." Her tone was joyless. "I'll do it for you. You don't need to pinch 
my nipples or pull my hair." 

"I will if I want." 

"All right, I know you can. But I'm asking you, please don't. I've decided 
to do it for you. I thought you'd be pleased." Jenny surprised her captive 
with a repentant kiss. Her hands pressed down on bare shoulders. Anne knelt 
between the teenage legs and again confronted the teenage sex. Hands 
clutched her hair demandingly and thrust her face hard into the redolent 
crotch. She went to work. 

"You girls enjoying yourselves?" 

Josh Bristow's voice was the knell of doom. Anne moaned desolately and 
fought back against the hands in her hair, hands that now fell nervelessly 
away. Hair was in her mouth, and when she guiltily turned to face her owner, 
she knew herself suffused by a blush to end all blushes. Jenny was a frozen 
statue, stricken in dismay. 

"Hungry, eh? Couldn't wait for supper?" 

"Oh, Josh, I--I'm... " Anne trailed into silence. What could she say! She 
had been caught in the act. Bristow would have no choice but to believe what 
he had clearly seen. An outburst of plaint and accusations against her 
fellow prisoner would only demean her, it would be far better to be 
punished. But Anne was certain her punishment would be dire. Jenny had 
stepped away, but the guilty girl remained kneeling where she was. Anne 
bowed her head in shame and because she could not meet Bristow's eyes and 
see the hurt in them. 

"It's my fault, Mr. Bristow. I made Miss Menton to it. I pinched her tits 
until she didn't have a choice. She didn't want to one bit." 

"Well, well. That's a good honest confession from a young pullet. Tell me 
more, young lady." 

"I didn't think it was bad. Us girls eat each other all the time at school, 
and sometimes the teachers... " Jenny paused uncertainly. "But I guess it's 
different with gentlemen. I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Bristow." 

Kneeling, blushing, bereft, Anne wondered if teenage ingeniousness cold save 
them both from Bristow's wrath. Most probably it would save Jenny but not 
herself. Josh would consider her old enough to know better. He would never 
have experienced the agony of pinched nipples, so he would not consider them 
an excuse. Anne Menton felt friendless and alone. Bristow's voice came 
heavily. 

"And you're going to be a lot sorrier, young woman. You have to learn you're 
owned. I bought and paid for every bit of you, particularly that facility 
Anne was so busy nibbling." 

"You mean my cunt, Mr. Bristow?" 

"You don't have to use four letter words around me, Jenny my girl. I don't 
admire 'em." 

"I can call it my pussy, Mr. Bristow." Jenny was yearning to please. "If you 
want, I'll call my boobs breasts and my tits nipples." 

"All them things you've just mentioned is going to be mighty sore if you 
don't shut up. " Bristow was eyeing the bright-eyed moppet in dour 
amusement. "I'll get around to you and them nice parts in good time. But 
first I'm going to deal with Miss Honeybunch who's kneeling there and 
feeling so sorry for herself." 

Two pairs of feminine eyes followed their master's movements in anxious 
concern as he dealt with the three locks and opened the gate. He beckoned to 
Jenny. "Over here, my pretty." 

Jenny's delight was dampened when she was turned around and thumbcuffs 
snared her thumbs. It was obvious they were a convenience with which she was 
not acquainted. She yelped as they clicked shut below her knuckles, and then 
twisted and turned her slender nudity in an effort to get a good look. "Mr. 
Bristow, those things hurt!" 

"Good!" 

"But I can't get my hands apart!" 

"So I noticed. Now get yourself over to the back of the cage." Sulkily, the 
nymphet did as she was told, her hands and fingers working in disbelief at 
tight clamped thumbs. Bristow turned his attention to the still kneeling 
penitent. "For Pete's sake, girl, get up on your feet. Or are you waiting 
for little Miss Muffet to stick it in your face again?" 

Flushed and untidy, and hating the whole affair, Anne obeyed. She stood and 
looked at her owner in mute questioning. Bristow noted her still tied hands. 
"Little Jenny refuse to untie you?" Little Jenny embraced martyrdom eagerly. 
"I'm afraid I was real mean to Anne, Mr. Bristow. I was enjoying a 
full-grown girl having to do what I told her. I really am sorry." 

Bristow ignored the gush. He beckoned to Anne with a terse thumb. "Outside, 
honeybunch." 

Anne stood and watched Jenny secured by the three locks once more. Jenny 
herself took the opportunity to get in one more plug. 

"Even if you left the door open, Mr. Bristow, I wouldn't run away. I like it 
here." 

"That's real good, little girl. Let's hope you enjoy what I'm going to do to 
your little ass." 

Despite her own impending punishment, Anne felt sorry for the young features 
on which apprehension had replaced ebullience. Poor Jenny had much to learn 
about being owned by an exceedingly masculine male. She herself had no doubt 
about impending pain. Her mind was busy speculating in what form it would be 
dealt her cringing flesh. She did not have a leg to stand on. Bristow took 
her arm and led her from the kennels to the cottage. 

"I wish I could make you understand how desolated I am by what you saw. 
Josh." 

"Tough going, eh?" 

"I'm not trying to get out of being punished. I know you have to punish me. 
I did what I did with my eyes open, so I'll take my punishment the same way. 
But I wish I could get you to understand." 

"Twenty more strokes on your back and bottom about cover it?" 

"Sure, whatever you wish. I won't complain." 

"Sweetheart, I understand more than you think. I was standing there out of 
sight and listening to the two of you. You're not going to be punished, but 
little Miss Muffet is. I'll tan her ass but good." Bristow's arms were 
refuge after the storm, safe harbor from the gales of unkind chance. The 
girl with tied hands nestled within their embrace with a great thankfulness. 
Over and over, she whispered in the male ear, "Thank you, oh, Josh, thank 
you. I was so scared." 

Anne Menton was kissed and kissed again. She would have endured a hundred 
Jennys for moments such as this. It seemed only natural and proper that she 
be picked up and carried to their bed. Bristow seemed more immense and 
ardent than ever. Anne was grateful with the gratitude of a much loved 
kitten. She belong to this huge man and she gloried in the belonging. She 
have been ravished several times before she remembered her hands were still 
tied behind her back. But tied hands did not matter any more than anything 
else mattered. Miss Anne Menton was tremendously content to be loved by Mr. 
Joshua Bristow. It was not until they had slept that conversation resumed. 

"Thought the kid would be company for you, honeybunch." 

"Josh, you're sweet. But, honest, I could do without her." 

"She's young, she'll learn. You can teach her." 

"Not with my hands tied and hers free." 

"Wasn't figuring on that. Won't happen again." 

"Josh, there's something else you're not figuring on. That little girl is 
going to push her cunt in your face every chance she gets. She isn't just 
fifteen the way you think. She's every woman since Eve, and with all their 
guile. I bet she's already married to you in her mind." 

"Nah, she's just a kid. I'll let you whip her ass." Bristow chuckled. 
"Nothing like whipping a girl's ass to get acquainted." 

"Josh, please! Jenny's a menace. I'm scared of her. She's simply aching to 
spread her legs for you." 

"Jenny? Hell, that little girl's had a few feels copped on her twat at 
school, the rest is talk. Damn it, Anne, my cock's bigger than she is." 

"She'll adore every inch of it." 

Bristow gave his female possession a more serious attention. "Look, 
honeybunch, you're seeing what ain't there. There's no way that little filly 
can take all of me." 

"She can and she'll love every inch. I didn't think I could take you either, 
but you showed me different. Remember?" 

"You're different." 

"We're both females. Josh, get rid of her... please!" 

"I paid a lot of money for that little trick." 

"She's not worth it; she's trouble." 

"Hell, you're just jealous." Bristow guffawed, then kissed Anne's nipples. 
"Begrudge a man a piece of tail?" 

"Don't I give you all you need?" 

"Honeybunch, that ain't the point. No matter how a man loves his own girl, 
he's gong to look elsewhere once in awhile. Men are made that way." 

"I think it's horrible. If you stick your thing inside that little mink, 
don't ever expect to do it to me again." 

It was not until the bitter words were out that Anne realized the enormity 
of her offense. She would have recalled them gladly, but they had been said. 
The silence could be felt before Bristow darkly enquired, "What was that you 
said?" 

"You heard me, Josh. I'm sorry now I said it. I was hurt and angry. I guess 
I still am. I expect I earned a punishment?" 

"You sure did." 

"I love you, Josh." 

"Any girl who loves me has to put up with stray tail." 

"Jenny isn't stray. You bought and paid for her. Jenny is permanent. She's 
as much yours as I am." 

Bristow kissed her nipples, then her lips. Anne did not respond. They lay 
there naked in their bed, encompassed by waves of female hostility. He 
chucked her under the chin. "You sure are mad, honey- bunch. You're piling 
up punishments in a lovely blaze of self-righteousness and martyrdom. You 
want to be hurt so you've got something worthwhile to cry over." 

"So, okay, I'm a masochist." 

"Think of that little gal out there in the cage, and with thumbcuffs behind 
her back. She won't be feeling any too happy right about now." 

"What she's thinking about is your cock and getting her little ass tanned 
the way you promised. Both those things are meat and drink to Jenny." Anne 
sniffed. "Why don't you send her to the I.S.G.?" 

"We ain't married yet, sweetheart." 

"We're not likely to be if you keep buying yourself hot little whores." 

"How'd it be if I send you to the I.S.G.?" 

Anne froze. She knew herself hopelessly in the wrong. She was maligning 
Jenny, who at worst was only a mischievous nymphet, and she was piling up 
punishments for herself in a masochistic orgy or resentment. She could not 
punish Jenny so she would punish herself. Her hands were still tied behind 
her back. She knew if they were free, the would have long since been around 
her master's neck and she would be sobbing contrition on his chest. Anne 
longed for her hands with every fiber of her being. She was desperately 
frightened of Bristow's threat of the I.S.G. If he became convinced of her 
need for another imprisonment there, she would certainly get it. Thoughts of 
chains and a cell while Jenny was here to beguile her beloved was just too 
much to bear. Her sincerity was as humble as she could make it. 

"Josh, please forgive me." 

"I can forgive you, honey, but you still have to be punished." 

"I accept that. Punishment I understand. But don't stop loving me." 

"That I won't. But the way you've acted over this little filly puts a crimp 
in things. I'm sending you back to Hetty Coppick." Anne Menton went berserk. 
Forced by bound hands to flop and flounder like a seal, she threw her 
nakedness upon the man who owned it and implored, "I can't bear it! Josh, 
don't punish me more than I can take. Please don't send me back to the 
I.S.G. and keep that little bitch here to climb all over you while I'm in a 
cell." 

"Sweetheart, the I.S.G. ain't that bad." 

"It is! Whip me instead. I beg you, Josh." 

"Damn it, girl, don't take on son." Bristow was as disturbed as Anne 
herself. "Talk of crawling all over, what do you call this?" 

"My hands are tied. I can't love you properly." 

"Honeybunch, you've earned a punishment. You're going to get it. Sounds 
simple to me." 

"But please not there!" Anne searched for the ultimate agony. "Josh, whip me 
and have your little girl there watch me get it. I'll hate that so damn 
bad." 

"Nice idea, but you're presupposing Jenny's all bitch and I'm all bastard. 
You sure you're right about that?" 

Anne ceased her ineffectual attempts to embrace her master. She rolled back 
on her bound arms in defeat. Was she indeed making too much fuss over a 
punishment that would come and go? But the damage was done. She had spoken 
the wrong words, and Bristow had sentenced her. But her most bitter gall was 
knowing Jenny would stay here and be the sole beneficiary of their master's 
favors. Sure, Jenny was in for a thrashing, but it would do no more than 
heat her sex for the act to follow. Bristow might consider the child too 
young, but Jenny would seduce him. Anne was sure of it. She wept. 

Bristow showed only male annoyance with her tears. He wanted them stopped. 
Grimly, he took the shortest course, and in the space of minutes Anne found 
herself suspended by her hands. Her toes were only inches from the rug. They 
could just as well have been a mile. She swung unhappily, knowing she was 
getting what she had asked for. When her master tethered a thumbcuffed and 
wide- eyed Jenny to the wall, Anne Menton's cry of bitterness was full. 

"Keep quiet, you,' Bristow ordered the nude nymphet. "Watch Anne get herself 
a thrashing. Your turn next." He selected a crop. "Both of you, just your 
ass. No big deal." 

It was briskly impersonal, the infliction of pain to teach a girl a lesson. 
As the whippy horror sliced away at her twin cheeks, Anne longed to keep 
still. But she swayed like a pendulum and kicked the air in ineffectual 
anguish. Her bottom had been cropped many times. But never with a delicious 
moppet drinking in each painful stroke. Her punishment was Jenny. 

Then the I.S.G. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT - THE SCARLET BREASTS 

It had been a matter of much discussion as to whether Miss Anne Menton was 
eligible was the I.S.G.'s gift to new arrivals, the ritual whipping. Hetty 
Coppick had lovingly drawn out the pros and cons with her wardresses while 
the handcuffed and leg-ironed subject of their debate stood meekly by. There 
was never a doubt in Anne's mind she would be whipped. It was simply a case 
of how many and how hard. 

"The poor darling's already been whipped a couple of times recently." 

"Yes, but on her back. Her front's still virgin." 

"Isn't Mr. Bristow being a bit mean to our sweetheart?" 

"I still think ten on each breast would be about right. We don't have to cut 
her skin." 

"Well, yes, and Mr. Bristow didn't leave any special instructions about how 
she's to be whipped." 

Anne wondered why she was not more horrified. They were going to whip her 
breasts! But she was numb with dejection. She could not deny the warmth of 
her welcome. Hetty, Amity, and Calamity had kissed and hugged her in 
delight. But none of their affection would save her a single stroke on 
shrinking flesh or make her chains weigh less. She bore now only the I.S.G. 
regulation irons, but they weighed a ton. 

"We must get her the hour alone against the post." 

"It will be a nice change for the darling to have her back against the post 
as though she was the wrong way around." 

A nice change indeed! They had brought Anne to the familiar room, stripped 
her of the prison jersey, then thrust her back against the post and shackled 
her wrists to spread her arms wide. They told her how beautiful she looked 
like that, and all three kissed her ardently before leaving her alone. One 
way and another she was a very mixed up girl. 

Above and before all other concerns, Anne was vividly aware of her breasts. 
They appeared to have doubled in size and prominence against the tug of 
outstretched arms. She could not move them enough to matter. They could be 
whipped at the convenience of anyone who wished to mark them. Hetty could 
talk all she liked about the little whip, but the girl at the post was 
deathly afraid of it. 

Disparagingly, Anne did all the usual shiftings and tuggings. She even 
indulged in a frenzied struggle to get free. At the end of it, she had 
changed nothing, but she felt better. She supposed she might get used to 
facing whoever whipped her. They would be face to face. If she wanted to, 
she could look down and watch the thongs splay out and caress the nippled 
curves she could do nothing to protect. This time there would be no fearful 
glances back over a bare shoulder. This time she was herself the most 
privileged member of the audience beholding her punishment. She wondered if 
they would allow her to close her eyes. 

The I.S.G. had repossessed her with the utmost naturalness. The punished 
girl felt the almost personal grasp of its stone and brick and bars. But 
neither Bristow nor Hetty had told her the length of the sentence she must 
serve. All she had to hope for now was Jenny's absence if and when her 
master took her back. Thoughts of the moppet moaning in delight beneath her 
master's thrusts were more than she could bear. She hoped Hetty's whip would 
excise the vision from her mind. 

The three women paid their prisoner the tribute of rapt attention. Anne 
could have no doubt she and the whipping of her breasts were something to be 
adored. She was shown the little whip. It was not as small and innocent as 
she had hoped. It was in a class by itself: nine braided silken thongs. 
Playfully, they frictioned it across her nipples to leave them erect and 
their owner panting. It did not occur to Anne to plead for mercy. It would 
have seemed a social gaffe. 

Charity braided the prisoner's hair, then tugged the heavy plait back down 
behind the crosspiece of the post and fastened it to leave Anne staring at 
the ceiling, her head bent tight back. The effect was to restrict her view 
of the proceedings and to further extend her breasts for punishment. She 
could move but very little. The leg irons were still on her ankles. She 
could not kick. 

"That's nice," Hetty approved judicially. "Charity, give one her breasts a 
stroke. I want to see how much she can struggle." It was done. Fire blazed 
upon Anne's left breast. She made an inarticulate sound and surged in 
involuntary revolt against the shackles and the braid, an ankle snubbing 
itself against its chain. 

"That's just right. Much better than having the little dear immobilized. She 
can move just enough. May as well continue on. Whip her slowly, go from 
breast to breast." 

Charity whipped as she was told. The girl whose breasts received the thongs 
was unable to see them impact on her skin. The plaited hair dragged her head 
back too compellingly for that. But she could see Charity and the wide sweep 
of the short lashes destined for her own flesh. Anne cried aloud her new 
fear. 

"My nipples! Oh, please don't cut my nipples!" 

The scorching lash stopped only long enough for reassurance. "We've tested 
the whip, dear. It absolutely will not injure those pink little tits of 
yours. Not that they're so small any more. Breasts hate being whipped, but 
tits adore it." Hetty's voice was tender. "Carry on, Charity. A trifle 
harder than you've been doing." 

It was happening. The dreaded punishment was under way. Anne's whipped 
breasts bounced and burned as each stroke painted their scarlet curve with a 
fresh scald. She abandoned herself entirely to her pain. Anguish was all! 
Anguish was everything and she could escape none of it. Her wrists and 
ankles warned her she was struggling far too hard. Her stretched back scalp 
added its own complaint. But the nine lashes ignored them all. they splatted 
fire and bum and hurt in a regular rhythm upon and across the twin 
curvatures exposed to a penalty they had not earned. It was ironic, but Anne 
well knew this suffering as nothing more than the I.S.G.'s way of saying, 
"Welcome home." 

Ten strokes of a whip across each of a girl's breasts cannot last forever. 
Anne had lost count and had to grope her way back to a world without pain by 
herself after the last stroke had scorched and scalded its path upon her 
skin. The stress of her tugged back scalp made it hard to relax. For the 
same reason, she could not look down when she felt the busy fingers freeing 
her ankles from their irons. The ankle was noosed, then drawn high and off 
to one side to leave her strained upon a single foot, the girl with whipped 
breasts could guess what was intended. Gasping, she pleaded, "Don't whip my 
pussy! You don't have to whip my pussy!" 

The three women kissed and fondled their nude plaything. Lips were soft on 
tender nipples and harsh against a hot and fervid mouth. The pussy they were 
about to punish was wracked awry and unkindly stretched in blatant exposure, 
but feminine hands and fingers found it lovingly until its owner was 
breathing heavily and gasping towards climax. 

"Don't take her over the brink, girls. Let the whip do it." She was captive. 
She was owned. She was controlled. Even her climax to be nicely gauged with 
appropriate pain. Anne knew that in the owner of the I.S.G. she had a 
mistress par excellence. Gasping in the discomfort of a tractioned foot, she 
awaited impact of the thongs within and upon her most secret place. 

Anne climaxed instantly. The wet splat squarely upon her sex was more than 
stressed nerves and palpitating flesh could endure without a blossoming. 
Every inch of Anne screamed in an ecstasy of release. She mingled her own 
screams in with them as Amity cut blow upon blow within the same cleft of 
sex. Probably a dozen strokes were delivered to the damp, exposed orifice 
before the last of the spasms and moans of the orgasm gave way to genuine 
sounds of agony. When it became obvious the pain was fresh and new the 
whipping stopped. 

"Your second welcome to the I.S.G, dear. It's over." 

Anne wanted to peal delight and express a hundred gratitudes for cessation, 
but it was not until her plaint was freed and her had returned to normal 
that she managed a fervid, "Thank you! Oh, thank you!" 

"Why the thanks, sweetheart?" 

It was a good question. Anne realized the thanks were for ridding her mind 
of everything but the moment that was now. Her miasma of doubt and fear had 
been exorcised by the cut of thongs. Why not say thanks! Why not indeed! 

Anne's pussy throbbed and rekindled its fire when her tractioned foot was 
returned to normal. It was not until then she gazed down upon her breasts 
and was enthralled. She now possessed two scarlet spheres, the red and 
crimson interspersed with purple. There had been little overlap. It was as 
though the two breasts had been painted with a pigment she could not erase. 
The women spoke her thoughts. "Burn beautifully, don't they, darling?" 

"We should whip them everyday to keep the color." 

"Damn it, look at her nipples! I've never seen such beauty!" They left her 
there for the hour demanded by their rules. This time she did not struggle. 
Instead, she rested against the post and bowed her head in weariness above 
her scarlet breasts. Her second term of imprisonment had officially begun. 
Her outstretched arms ached and her wrists were chafed within their 
shackles. But it did not matter. Nothing mattered any more. 

The memories and fears flooded back. Fastened as she was to the post, she 
could not sleep. Everything she did not want to think about returned. Wryly, 
Anne supposed her only relief from anxiety was to be constantly whipped. But 
that was silly. She wondered if Jenny was in bed with Bristow or locked in 
the cage. She had no way of knowing. 

It was Charity who once more ironed the whipped girl's feet. She unlocked 
the shackles to release the hands, but immediately handcuffed the 
unresisting wrists. "Like old times, love." Her fingers were strong but 
loving on a bare arm. 

The cell had not changed. Why should it! The barred door clanged shut at her 
back, the lock snapped. Anne turned and exchanged a rueful smile before the 
wardress blew a kiss and went her way. The convicted maiden did not bother 
to test the door or clutch the bars. In the I.S.G. she was ten times a 
prisoner. Such motions were futile. She clinked her way to the narrow cot 
and sat down, blinking back tears. This was day one, and it still had far to 
go. She lay down and was instantly asleep. 

Hetty brought the supper tray, letting herself into the cell but freeing no 
part of her prisoner. While the ironed maiden ate and sipped, the mistress 
probed. 

"You and josh make it okay in bed, honey!" 

"Do we ever!" 

"Keeps you mostly in that dog kennel place?" 

"It's a cage, and anyway, I'm always tied or chained." 

"Think he'll marry you?" 

"I wish he would. I love the big hunk. But now he's sent me back to the 
I.S.G. I'm not so sure. Oh, Hetty, I'm so unhappy. I don't see why Josh had 
to go and get that Jenny creature." 

"I've talked to Josh. Says he got her for you." 

"She's just a palpitating pussy. No man's safe with her." 

"Hmmm... haven't seen her. When you're through eating, I've got something 
you should see." 

The ironed captive clinked her steps dutifully beside her mistress. The room 
was familiar. So was the wooden crate. For a moment Anne's heart beat high, 
but the big box was firmly nailed down. It was not for her. When the two 
wardresses appeared with tools, she watched with little interest. What did 
one more new girl matter in the I.S.G.? When the lid was pried open with a 
screech of nails and Amity had struggled with internal straps, Ann stood, 
transfixed. The naked female standing bound inside the crate was Jenny. 
Dazed with joy, she read the scrawl in Bristow's hand which Hetty held for 
to see: "Life sentence. No remissions. Whip weekly." 

"Feel better, sweetheart?" 

It was pure euphoria. Jenny was bound tight at wrist and elbow. She was 
strapped into a gag which utterly defeated her obvious anxiety to talk. Her 
eyes were riveted in delighted amazement on Anne's scarlet breasts and 
striated loins. Anne's whole being was alight with happiness. But she 
pleaded the obvious. "Please don't lock her in a cell with me." 

For answer, Hetty proffered one more slip in Bristow's writing. What she 
read made Anne the happiest girl alive. It said: "I know you'll whip Anne's 
tits. But I owe you. She'll have to put up with it. Then send her back 
here--pronto!" 

"That pronto means he loves you, Anne." Hetty turned to Amity. "Leave the 
new one gagged, but take her for her welcome whipping. Bristow's tanned her 
ass, but he's left her back for us, and we can always turn her around." To 
Charity, she ordered, "Get Anne's leg irons off. She's got to get in this 
box." 

It was one of the awkward moments. Ruefully, Anne said, "I didn't want to 
come. Now I don't want to go." Manfully, she said, "But I expect he'll send 
me back to you sometimes--when he's mad at me." 

"I'll make certain he does, honeybunch. We'll whip you a lot better than he 
can. Get your little ass in that box." 

Anne got in the crate. She was kissed and kissed again. She sat down and was 
tight strapped. Miss Anne Menton was on her way to serve a life sentence. 

Bristow was waiting. 


THE END
