Tracy Trevor
by F.E. Campbell


CHAPTER ONE - SPREAD-EAGLE 

It was a minor skirmish with few casualties and neither victory nor defeat 
for either side. They were a daily event, their flexing of muscle, the 
assertion of a presence. With the final burst of fire, both loyalist and 
guerilla would retire to camp or foxhole to consider the profit potential of 
tomorrow's raid. The world's press was bored with them. There had not been a 
television crew in the area for a month. These insignificant bloodlettings 
received neither coverage nor comment. Absolutely nobody mentioned Tracy 
Trevor. 

It was hot inside the big tent. The girl standing before the desk was 
conscious of her flimsy shirt adhering to damp skin. But she was far more 
aware of an intermittent scrutiny from the main the chair who was thumbing 
through the contents of her wallet. He sat back now to bestow his full 
attention. 

"You silly twit, you could have got yourself killed." 

"That's my affair. I knew there were risks." Tracy's breasts thrust against 
the clinging cloth in their own admission of apprehension. "Your man had no 
call to arrest me. or tie my hands behind my back, or to bring me here. My 
papers--" 

"Yes, they're in order." The captain flicked the wallet with a contemptuous 
finger. "You're the bane of every mercenary, a freelance journalist who 
should have stayed home. Your hands were untied immediately after you 
entered this tent. You've got no beef. " 

"Then may I have my papers and leave?" 

"No." 

They stared, each aware of hostilities to come. "Very well then." The girl's 
tone was stiff. "If I can't leave, may I sit down?" 

"No. I prefer you standing. You're under interrogation." 

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Tracy's patience was strained. "Cops and robbers! 
Cloak and dagger! The whole lot of you behave like children. Give me my 
wallet and I won't bother you. I know where I left my jeep." 

"It's not there now; it's been confiscated." 

"Who on earth by?" 

"Me." 

His bland assurance loosed the torrent of Tracy's fury, but it was quickly 
halted by a soldier placing a slip upon the desk. Reading it, the captain 
exclaimed a hearty "Damn!" and got to his feet. "Look, Miss Trevor, I'm 
sorry. I'll be gone a few minutes. I'd best make you comfortable." He opened 
a drawer. 

Tracey Trevor viewed the handcuffs in fascinated distaste. She placed her 
hands behind her back in a motion of defense and, with vehemence, suggested 
several reasons why they should be put back in the drawer. The was never 
quite sure how it happened, but a minute later her back was against the 
center pole, her arms drawn back and the steel circlets tight around her 
wrists. Her protests were useless. She was alone. 

For the second time in a single hour Tracy's hands were in limbo. The 
soldier binding them with a cord out there among the trees had been a potent 
experience, vivid with a helplessness she had never before known. This was 
worse: handcuffs! She made experimental struggles and dragged a hand within 
view to observe the tight band of shining steel upon her wrists. She heaved 
a sigh of frustration. She and the pole were one. She was obliged to stand 
and await the return of the man who had fastened her with such outrageous 
ease. Surely she could have fought! But everything was so sudden. 

Tracey spent a little time assuring herself of helplessness. If she could 
leave the tent, she would be gone in a flash, but she was firmly prisoner to 
the pole and the bite of the steel. She stopped struggling and turned her 
thoughts to the captain. She could not place his origin. Mercenaries came 
from everywhere to Santos. Wryly, she supposed herself a mercenary too. She 
was looking a for scoop in the flesh and blood of others by which to make 
her fortune. Journalists were never killed in Santos, and they did not 
disappear, but most were men! She was suddenly aware of buttons missing from 
her shirt, the blatant V between her breasts a seductiveness she could have 
done without. She tried to lift a hand, but that was hopeless. 

She could have got some sort of a check for a story on this raid. She had 
been closer to bullets than ever before. She could have imparted the sound 
and sense of them through her typewriter. If he would let her loose, she 
still could. But why was she a prisoner at all? She could not be mistaken 
for a spy; that was too absurd. Or was it? She shuddered away a vision of a 
wall and a firing squad, with herself bound to a post. What a story! But it 
would not be she who wrote it. 

Tracy could not deny her fear. She had coped right up to the handcuffs and 
missing buttons, but she was now vulnerable in a manner she had never before 
known, and the captain had something in store for her. Why else had he made 
her captive to the pole of his tent? Why? 

"Still there, eh? And made as a wet hen." The subject of her thoughts was 
back and laughing at her chagrin. "By the way, my name is Matthew. You can 
call me Matt, or Mr. Matthew Marsh, if you feel formal. I'm a paid 
mercenary. I'm English. This is my - fifth war." 

He was undeniably attractive. She would had supposed him American, but such 
men got around. Sure enough, her was admiring the too low V of her cleavage, 
which she could not hide. She fought the quiver in her voice. "Thanks, I'll 
include the statistics in my story. Please unfasten me." 

Marsh laughed at her stiff informality. "Sweetheart, you know damn well I'm 
not going to turn you loose. Stop kidding yourself." 

Tracy knew. She had known from the beginning. Twist her wrists within the 
metal, she demanded with stark realism, "Very well. What will you do with 
me?" 

"Keep you around as a pet." 

"You must be kidding." 

Matthew shrugged. "Tell me why." 

Tracy was about to tell him why, but she realized she had no words. The 
captain had her for sure. He could keep her. Furious, she demanded, "A pet! 
What do you mean by a pet?" 

"You'll be handy to screw, and we can have some decent conversation. The 
local ladies aren't all that articulate, except over the price of a chicken 
or a dozen eggs." 

"But you can't keep me prisoner for such a purpose! You simply can't!" 

"Why not?" 

"Don't keep me asking me why not! It's just unthinkable!" 

"Then think about it." 

, "I am thinking about it. Haven't you a scrap of decency or chivalry? 
Keeping me chained to this pole while you ogle me and make impossible 
suggestions? And don't ask me why they're impossible--they just are! I'm 
sure this situation must be covered by the Geneva Convention." 

"Drop them a line sometime." 

"Oh, you--you... ! Let me loose!" 

"You may as well get used to the handcuffs. You'll be wearing them a lot. 
Handy little gadgets for girls." 

"They're not for girls at all. They're for criminals!" 

"This Santos war is a lot of isolated pockets. I'm in charge of one of them. 
The commander is a little tin god. That's why I took the job. You may as 
well be nice to me." 

"Nice! If that means what I think, forget it!" 

"You Janes get yourselves into these jackpots. You're not the first, you 
know. Then, when a guy grabs you, you howl blue murder." Matthew grinned. 
"Know what I think? I think you've all got a rape fantasy." 

"That's a rotten lie! I don't want to be raped. Unlock my hands." 

"You're getting a big charge out of me looking at your tits, the way they're 
half showing." 

"That's your fault. You tore--" 

"Sure, sure. In fact, just to be English, indubitably. It's always the man's 
fault when a girl gets what she wants." 

"Girls aren't like that at all! You don't know a thing about girls. Look, if 
you want to talk psychology, please free my hands." The captain came close 
and gather's Tracy's hair into a single fist, shaking her had in stern 
admonition. "Shut up about your hands. You'll be chained or tied all the 
time, so just lay off. Nothing more about letting you loose. Understand?" 

"You're hurting my hair!" 

"I'm breaking you in easy, you silly little twit. Come down to earth, why 
don't you?" 

For answer, Tracy turned and bit her captor's arm. She bit hard. When he 
back away, cursing and clutching the wound, she lashed out with a kick of 
her heel. 

What happened then was beyond all Tracy's previous comprehension. The male 
palm impacted her cheek to knock her sideways. She would have fallen had it 
not been for her fastened hands. Without pause, she was slapped in the 
opposite direction. Ears ringing, cheeks smarting, hands tugging frantically 
at relentless steel, she stared wide-eyed in speechless dismay. The words 
she finally uttered were heavy with outrage. "I'm a girl--a helpless 
girl--and you struck me!" 

Marsh held up a forearm on which there were her own teeth marks and slowly 
welling blood. He said no word, simply let her stare at what she had done. 
Shame-faced, she mutter, "I--I'm sorry. I was frightened. You hit me; 
nobody's ever hit me." 

Matthew Marsh shook his wound in her face. "First time I've been bitten. 
Let's say we're even." 

He returned to his desk and busied himself with papers. Tracy stood against 
the pole in the deepest shame of her life. She needed to save things, but 
the words were not there. Overriding all else was the knowledge of waiting 
to be raped. The captain was busy at the moment and could not spare the 
time. He would rape her when he got around to it. She watched him covertly. 
He was what men would call a good-looking bastard, there was also about him 
the unmistakable stamp of competence. The girl sensed his competence would 
extend to his taking of her body. 

If he actually took her by force! Tracy could not yet believe he would. 
There was about him a quality of the fastidious which would scorn the 
messiness of forced entry. But he had struck her! He had hit her hard. But 
he was also a mercenary, and mercenaries were not noted for compassion. 

Sometimes Marsh looked up from his work and smiled, but it was a preoccupied 
smile. His thoughts were elsewhere. His disinterest fueled her fury. If he 
desired her, he might at least show some sign. This casual handcuffing of 
her hands behind the pole to make her await his mood was an insult: the 
final and ultimate assertion of male omnipotence. Grimly, the helpless girl 
determined that when the awful moment came she would fight him tooth and 
nail. For the better part of an hour Tracy nursed her grievances. "Feel less 
like mayhem, sweetheart?" 

So he deigned to notice her! How bit-hearted could he get! Sticking to her 
guns, the handcuffed girl uttered an emphatic "No!" 

"Ah, well!" His tone clearly said it did not matter how she felt about 
anything; she was only a captive girl, part of the spoils of war and the 
perquisite of the senior officer. "Tracy, I'm going to free you. I want you 
to remove all clothing. I want you stark naked. 

She did not answer. She was the classic little girl refusing to play. But 
Tracy's heart was thudding painfully and her breasts heaving as she felt the 
freeing of her hands. When it was done, she stood away from the pole, 
massaging chafed wrists, tense and alert but making no effort to obey the 
orders of the man. 

"Get with it, girl. Off with those clothes." 

"I'm sorry, but I have to refuse. I know you'll hurt me, but what you ask is 
not possible, not for me." 

"Horseshit! Strip!" 

"Captain Marsh, you're wasting your time. You don't need me; you need a 
whore. I'm sure the closest town would prove--" 

"When you're naked, you will dispose yourself within those four stakes." The 
male directive came as though she had not spoken. 

"I'm sure you divine their purpose." 

The stakes would hold her spread-eagled for the act. Within the clutter of 
the tent, Tracy had not heeded them, but she did so now. Obeying instinct, 
she leaped for the door. Before she touched it, she was grasped and thrown 
to the ground. The voice of Matthew Marsh was exasperatingly patient. "I'm 
giving you a chance to do things, yourself. Be sensible." 

"Damn you!" Tracy sprang erect and faced her enemy. "You think sweet reason 
will prevail with the silly little twit! I know what you're thinking. Well, 
it won't work! I'm not going to meekly let myself be raped." 

"Damn it, girl, I can defeat you with a single blow." 

"If you want me bloodied and bruised, that's your affair, but I'm not going 
to be your complacent whore." 

"Whores get paid, sweetheart. This one's a freebie. " Matt smiled 
placatingly. "Strip and get yourself down there. I'm doing this to salve 
your conscience. If you're tightly tied, you won't feel an ounce of guilt." 
He cocked an eyebrow and looked at her quizzically. "Or will you?" 

"I refuse to lay on my back and be violated. And as for being naked...." 
Tracy Trevor glared defiantly. 

He did not strike a blow. He did not have to. His hands were frighteningly 
strong. As she was stripped and bound, Tracy had a vision of the ages. 
Nature wanted children. Nature had made the male strong to cope with female 
intransigence. The female was proportionately weak as befitted the recipient 
of the sperm. Everything appeared in good order. She and Matthew Marsh had 
simply gone back a million years. 

In quiet satisfaction, the man looked down at the woman as he slowly removed 
his clothes. The woman glared back, shifting against the cords holding her 
at wrist and ankle, widespread in the most blatant exposure a woman can 
know. Marsh's scrutiny was critical and specific. "You've got a good body, 
Tracy. Everything's about right." 

"Conqueror!" She scoffed. "Enjoy me." 

"Oh, I will! There's a pillow around here somewhere...." Tracy could not 
control the blush as the man who had bound her to the four stakes carefully 
arranged a pillow beneath her bare hips. He was very male and very muscular 
and far too close. If the skin beneath her pubic bush could blush too, it 
would be a fine shade of pink. 

"I'm going to gloat for a few minutes in the best traditions of villainy," 
Marsh said evenly. "You're a delectable dish the way I have you fixed. Give 
you a chance to tell that fantasy of yours; this is it." 

"I don't have such a fantasy." 

"Then tell about yourself. It's the chance of a lifetime." 

They both knew she had lied. This was indeed the fantasy Tracy had carried 
in the back of her mind for years. The stripping, the spreading, the 
binding--it all ran true to form. She had fought well enough in their 
struggle to make the tying of her first wrist elusive. But once it was 
snared, the rest followed so easily Matthew took his time, as though the 
binding of each female limb was a sacred rite. He even tied number one over 
again the interest of neatness and conformity. This was indeed it! Tracy's 
open sex, elevated by the pillow, was there for the male to ogle and play 
with as he played with it now, sending her into quivers and spasms of 
response beyond control. "You're gong to be very useful to me," Marsh said 
thoughtfully. "I've got ideas for the two of us. The fucking's a bonus. " 
The male's casualness and the female's helplessness robbed the act about to 
be performed of urgency. Tracy's explorations into the sexual coupling had 
been numerous, but left her with diminished interest. When asked, she would 
freely admit to a maidenhead long since lost. But now, staked out naked on 
the ground under the big tent, she asked herself what rape really was. A 
male, presumably hostile, had rendered her impotent. Decision had been taken 
from her. Soon they would copulate with a degree of success yet to be 
determined. The most truly shocking thing about rape appeared to be that had 
she met this man socially, she might easily have found herself in precisely 
this same posture but without the stakes and the ropes. There had to be 
something wrong with her reasoning somewhere, but Tracy could not pinpoint 
the fault. Her girlfriend, Effie, would have coarsely exclaimed, "Why, 
darling, you're only going to be fucked!" 

"These stakes were here already. They weren't just for me," Tracy accused, 
seeking to make points. "Do you do this often?" 

"A perquisite of office," Marsh admitted. "But only with girls on the enemy 
side. We make it legal by the supposition they have useful information." 

"That's beastly!" 

"No different than you. Miss Tracy Trevor." Marsh laughed at memories. 
"Being tied down the way you are really cheeses 'em off. But I've noticed 
after they've been taken by the fifth or sixth soldier, their enquiry as to 
how many more are waiting contains a ring of hopefulness." 

"Soldiers! You surely don't intend--" 

"Calm your hopes, love. You are exclusively for my own personal use. Mind 
you, if I fail to please--" 

"You're making fun of me. If I was as English as you say you are. I'd call 
you a cad." 

"Got a snappy sound to it. Okay, I'm a cad. Any of the boys tell you you've 
got the most enticing cunt?" 

"None had a front row seat the way you have. Look, get on with it, will you? 
Let's get it over with." 

"That's a really shocking attitude. What you need is a drink. I'm having a 
short one. You may as well join me. I can lift your head and sort of pour it 
down your throat." 

Tracy knew a ridiculous chagrin. Her rape was taking on some of the elements 
of farce. Her fantasy had not included a highball as prelude. She voiced the 
obvious. "If you'll untie one of my hands, I can do it myself." 

"Oh, come now! Honor would compel you to fight, and I'd have all the trouble 
of tying you down again." 

"I'll give you my word." 

"Fact is, love, I like you the way you are. If I free one hand, the whole 
picture loses balance." 

"You bastard!" 

"See, you're nicely relaxed. You wouldn't have dared call me that if we 
hadn't established a nice friendly relationship." 

"Cad! Bastard! Asshole!" 

"I take exception to number three. I find it offensively vulgar. " He shook 
an admonishing finger. "I'm afraid I forgot to mention this." 

The naked girl stared in unbelieving dismay. "This" was a whip. It flashed 
and sang a whining note as it bit her skin from crotch to knee, a girl's 
most tender flesh. As Tracy went berserk within her bonds, the casual tone 
still impinged her consciousness. "Vulgarity is never excusable. Don't use 
that word to me again." The colossal gall! The holier than thou! The pain! 
And to whip her in such an intimate place! Tracy's outrage was about to boil 
over into injudicious words. But her wrists and ankles were chafing from her 
brief agonized struggle. They cautioned prudence. She contented herself 
with: "Couldn't you have said something? You didn't have to hurt me. That 
was brutal." 

"Sure, I could have said something. You'd have paid no attention, though. 
This way you'll remember." 

There he stood, naked, strong, and male, the whip still held in a manner to 
daunt Tracy's courage. He was deliberately showing her the force beneath his 
seeming insouciance. The girl bound to the stakes picked up vibrations and 
knew herself possessed. She would be to this man exactly what he said: a 
convenience. 

"You'll be pleased with the mark on your thigh," Marsh informed chattily. 
"It's maturing well. Want one on the other to match?" He was not fooling; he 
was actually serious. Tracy saw his eye measure and gauge the cut of the 
thong to leave her wealed on the tender inside flesh of both her splayed out 
thighs. Never in her life had she been so cruelly exposed. Pain had excised 
sarcasm and the bitter rejoinder. Weakly, she pleaded, "Please don't! It 
hurts so terribly. You can't know how it hurts." 

"Just one?" 

There was something else. The naked girl sensed he would not make her as a 
punishment, nor would it be for the sake of cruelty. Matthew Marsh found 
aesthetic pleasure in scarlet lines on female skin. But that was silly. It 
had to be silly! 

The cut of the thong was swift, precise, and accurate. It had not awaited 
her tardy reply. The pain was worse. Tracy screamed. 

It was a strange tableau. The man was a statue, tense, absorbed, drinking in 
every sound-and motion of the writhing girl. The stakes and his cords held 
Tracy Trevor without a tremor. Anguish was driving the bound nakedness to 
the only response a prisoner can make, to seek the freedom in which these 
things could not done to her. Tracy knew it an involuntary reflex, but her 
struggles helped. She could not deny their sterile comfort. 

Tracy watched Marsh turn abruptly and pour the drinks. Her eyes were hurt, 
her silence sulky as his big hand cupped her hair and lifted her head. She 
drank avidly. When the glass was empty, he strained her head higher and 
tersely ordered, "Look." 

They had a wicked beauty. The girl who bore them stared in rapt fascination 
at the vivid line imprinted on the inside of each of her widely spread 
thighs. Surely pride had no place in what she now saw and felt, but pride 
submerged all other emotions. The weals of Matthew Marsh's whip were an 
accolade. When he allowed her head to fall, he entered and possessed her 
with an extraordinary skill. The glory Tracy discovered beneath his weight 
and from his long, shrewd thrusts was a wonder entirely new. But she 
attributed it to being stretched and tied outspread. No doubt the nerves and 
muscles and strained tendons were responsible for such an enveloping blaze 
of sensation! 

Shame was merciless. Tracy's climax left her enervated to the point of going 
instantly to sleep. Long afterwards, she blushed to think of her nakedness, 
still tied and spread out to male approval while she slept away the traumas 
of the day. When she woke, it was to find Matthew dressed and working at his 
desk. She was stiff and still helpless, the pillow still beneath her hips. 

"You had a good sleep. Feel better?" 

Was it possible to feel better after being raped? Obviously it was, but 
Tracy paid lip service to her mores. "I feel terribly ashamed, but, yes, the 
sleep was good. Can I be untied now?" 

"You answered that yourself, love. No, you can't." 

"Why can't I?" 

"Because I'm going to fuck you again, that's why." 

She had to be cautious. Marsh could be as vulgar as he pleased, but she 
could not. Tracy tried a reasonable complaint. "I've been tied like this for 
so long. It's hurting." 

"You'll get used to it." 

"If you'll untie me, I'll give you my parole." 

"You'll stay tied because I like you tied. There's no other reason, so don't 
look for one." 

"But I'm hurting!" 

"Chalk it off against the pleasure you got from being raped." 

"You son of a bitch!" 

Tracy swallowed words, but it was too late for the ones which would now get 
her punished. She felt ten times bare. Hastily, she blurted out a lame 
apology. 

"I'm sorry! I know I should haven't said that, but you say the most... oh, 
shit!" Then she plaintively said, "Please don't punish me this time. Give me 
a break." 

"You call me a son of a bitch and then expect clemency?" 

"Well... could we try mercy?" 

"Ask yourself, Tracy: do you deserve it?" 

He was playing with her. But it was a game she too must play, and by his 
rules. Angrily, she retorted, "Oh, all right, whip me!" 

"Sorry, never on request." Tracy knew he was enjoying every word. "Let's 
have rape number two instead, shall we?" 

Never had she been so utterly at the disposal of a man. It was infuriating 
and, as yet, she had no idea where it would eventually lead. Her best hope 
was for him to have his pleasure and tire of her flesh, then let her go. But 
what then? It could be a day or a year from now. Meanwhile, she would do as 
he pleased. In silence, she watched her master strip. 

It should have been anticlimactic, but it was not. It should have revolted 
her, but it did not. The only shame she knew was with her own actions in 
twisting hurtfully against tied wrists and ankles, not in search of freedom 
but to add ecstasy. For a long time, Miss Tracy Trevor dwelled in a land of 
exquisite pain, without wish for surcease or thought of anything except the 
phallus possessing her loins. From a distant past, Effie's exultant voice 
proclaimed, "I told you there had to be something! I told you!" 

She was not untied. It was a time when a man and a woman have no need of 
words. Marsh returned to his clothes and his desk. Tracy was content to 
close her eyes and dream. Her outrageous exposure now seemed normal. She was 
uncertain if she still ached or if the ropes hurt. She lay in a delicious 
limbo, a cheek against a bare bound arm. She no longer had to bother with 
decision. The loss of it felt good. 

Mr. Matthew Marsh raped Miss Tracy Trevor several more times before darkness 
claimed the tent. He slept the night away beside her on the ground, using 
her bare arm or bare breast as a pillow. It all became delightfully natural. 

Miss Tracy Trevor was not untied. Mr. Matthew Marsh quipped that bound was 
beautiful. 

She did not argue. 

 CHAPTER TWO - THE POLE 

The female prisoner of Captain Marsh of the Army of the Republic of Santos 
swiftly learned prudence. It was mostly a prudent choice of exclamations. 
There was little scope for it in act or motion. Tracy was forever bound or 
chained or fastened in some way. It had become a fact of life in keeping 
with his early assertion of keeping her around for his convenience. She 
supposed it a carnal convenience, since she was never allowed enough freedom 
to make their coffee. Captain Marsh kept his affairs in good order, and one 
of his affairs was certainly Tracy Trevor. 

Tracy supposed herself in good order with her back against the pole of the 
tent. Matthew had pulled her arms back and handcuffed her wrists to make her 
a part of his canvas domicile. She could stand or she could sit. The choice 
was hers. But her hands would remain behind the pole. Handcuffed wrists 
mocked her dreams of liberty. Over and over in her mind, she rehashed her 
loss of it. 

"Matt, you don't have to fasten me the way you've been doing. With you and 
your men, I don't have a hope of escape." 

"Hmmmm... Maybe, but don't sell yourself short, love. I prefer you 
fastened." 

"That word--fastened! It's only a polite way of saying 'tied up' or 
'chained.' Matt, I get awfully tired of being attached to things." 

"Until you get more attached to me, you'll have to put up with it." It had 
rested there. It still did. Each day, when he went about his military 
affairs, Tracy was fastened in some way to some thing. Mostly it was the 
pole, but the stakes were still there and were put to use also. There was an 
iron ring embedded in a cube of concrete buried in the ground, also used to 
imprison the girl. Humiliatingly, Tracy had spent time with one ankle 
attached to it by padlocks and an eight-foot length of links. It was the 
closest to freedom she had come, but it was the most frustrating of all her 
restraints. Tracy sighed and debated whether to slither to the ground and 
dispose herself to sleep in a cunning prisoner's expedient she had devised. 
But she remained as she was, playing with her handcuffs in a prisoner's 
eternal hope. To sink to the ground always seemed a measure of defeat. 

Matthew kept her naked. Risking punishment, she never ceased complaint. 
"It's not decent, Matt, and there's no need--" 

"No need to wear clothes either, love. Nice warm climate." 

"But men come in and out, and they all look at me!" 

"Can't say I blame 'em. You're something to look at." 

"But it's not right. They all want to rape me." 

"You still using that word& Can't you call it a good, honest fuck?" 

"What! And be punished for vulgarity?" 

Punishment had been a part of Tracy's life in the big tent. So far, it had 
been only one or a few strokes with a whip or a switch cut from some 
indigenous bush, but it had always sufficed to make her compliant and to 
tell her clearly of the awfulness of a sentence of ten or twenty strokes. 
Marsh had told her of other ways of punishing girls, but she scarcely 
believed it. It spoke of a world she did not want to know. 

Tracy's punishments were an understood thing between the two of them. She 
understood his point about the teaching of lessons, respect for whoever 
owned you, a deterrent against rebellion. The penalties he spoke of in 
connection with attempts to escape were beyond contemplation. But Tracy knew 
that if a chance of escape presented itself, she would grasp it, 
consequences be damned. So far there had been none. Fretfully, she tugged at 
her metal wristlets. With those things on her wrists, she could never 
escape--not ever! 

This was an outlying camp. If the captain was transferred to a more urban 
post, no doubt he would keep her prisoner in a room or a cell. She shuddered 
at such a prospect. True, she need not then be bound or chained, but this 
was best. She was sure it was best, even though more uncomfortable and she 
be naked. Often she nagged her captor about the duration of her captivity. 

"What's it matter, love? If a girl isn't serving her man, she's wasting her 
time." 

It was grossly unfair, but the whip handicapped all her arguments. If she 
offended or scored points, it made marks upon her skin. She wondered what a 
women's libber would do or say to Matthew Marsh, and how she would cope with 
the resultant stripes. Reluctantly, Tracy conceded the whip and the switch 
as potent factors in her own behavior. 

"But, Matt, doesn't a girl have any other use to you than to be fucked?" 

"None! Well, I suppose she's decorative, if you keep her naked. You 
certainly are." 

"Matt, tell me when you'll let me loose." 

"You mean that absurd condition you call freedom? That silly business of 
running around and being a nuisance, hoping some rich man with a big cock 
will marry you?" 

"Oh, Matt, you don't really mean that!" 

"Why else would I keep you in durance vile?" 

The literary allusions made him English, but they did not endear his captive 
to his precepts. Tracy tried again. "But, Matt, if you married a girl, she'd 
be glad to be near you and to sleep with you, and if you were kind to her, 
she'd obey you too." 

"Is that an offer? I mean, are you proposing?" 

For a moment Tracy considered a resounding yes, but it would cheapen her, 
and it was too absurd. She was constantly finding herself trapped by 
Matthew's easy familiarity which gave an illusion of being man and woman 
instead of master and captive. A lot of their time together was spent in 
normal conversation. She could not be forever pleading for release or 
complaining about the chafe of rope. The trouble with this casual intimacy 
was to make her captivity seem a quite normal state. Their repartee ignored 
the force and compulsion implicit in her condition. "Why would you need a 
wife when you have a slave?" Tracy retorted in vexation. "I bet if you did 
marry me, you'd still keep me chained." 

"Dramatic word for a pair of handcuffs, love." 

Tracy knew herself grateful for their easy conversation. It as a lubricant 
against the friction of force and punishment. Marsh was rarely cruel, but 
Tracy remembered his blows and his whip with simple fear. She adjusted more 
easily to the handcuffs, the chain, and the rope. How else could a man in a 
jungle camp keep a girl captive? The shocking fact was how easily captivity 
became a fact of life. 

The nude girl, relaxed against the pole, tensed erect as a soldier entered 
the test to lay papers on the captain's desk. This was a far too frequent 
occurrence for her taste. Each pair of smiling Spanish eyes left her feeling 
soiled and doubly naked. The men must surely know the reason Marsh kept her 
prisoner. She was probably the prime conversation piece of the entire camp. 
Or did these men have their own captive girls? It was not impossible. 

This man was not embarrassed as so many were. He did not hastily depart 
after a single appraisal. Instead, he slowly stepped close to frankly stare. 
The prisoner refused to cross her legs. It was the only motion of secrecy 
she could make, but it was one she scorned. She was naked. If this man 
wished to look, she could not stop him. Her integrity was best kept intact 
by immobility. Tracy spoke Spanish, but the soldier's English was passable. 

"You are most beautiful, pretty lady." 

"Thank you. Is there any need for you to stay?" 

"I stay and look." His liquid smile disarmed. "Is great shortage of cunts in 
war. Very bad for men." 

"Yes, I suppose so. Look, the captain will be back here any minute--" 

"Captain gone for one hour." The smile broadened. "But not to worry, I am 
corporal. I have much honor." 

It was hard not to twist and tug at the bands around her wrists. Tracy 
fought the urge. It would betray anxiety and might offend. The words she 
sought were negated by her visitor's next bland question. 

"You would like very much your freedom?" 

It might be a trap, but Tracy doubted it. Vehemently, she declared, "Yes, I 
want that very much! Can you unlock my hands." 

"I have keys." His tone was pompous. "I free you from pole, and you give me 
good fuck?" 

There it was, out in the open--blatant. But why did he bargain? He could 
easily take her by force, against the pole if he was so disposed. 
Cautiously, she asked, "If I do that for you, will you give me my clothes 
and my jeep, then let me go?" 

"You ask big price." 

"Aren't I worth it?" 

"All that for one small fuck? No way!" 

They stared, antagonists over the oldest commodity in the world. Tracy 
realize she had incautiously quoted a price she did not want to pay. She had 
never bartered her body for anything, but if the price paid for it was 
freedom, she would pay the price. Was this man's phallus any different from 
Marsh's? And he used her for free! Feigning indifference, she said, "I'm 
sorry. It's all I've got. if it's not enough, you may as well go about your 
business." The corporal held up a tiny key. "I use this, okay? We fuck, and 
I cuff you back the way you are now. Nobody knows." 

"I'd know, and I'd tell Captain Marsh." 

Tracy wondered if this man would use force. He easily could. She doubted he 
would go away unsatisfied, but he valued her goodwill. She belonged to the 
captain and he was but a corporal. She was unprepared for what was now 
offered. 

"I drive you in jeep to Santos City on the coast. We do much fucking while I 
keep you in friend's house. Then you go free. Okay?" 

Tracy sensed a trap. "Keep me?" she asked suspiciously. "You mean you'd keep 
me prisoner?" 

"I am not crazy. I know you'll run like hell first chance." 

"Then don't bother. Leave me alone, go away." 

"You like captain's cock? I show you mine!" 

The prisoner of the pole wanted to laugh. Had she been interested, the 
corporal's exhibit was nothing to sneer at. But she was not interested. 
Anxiously, she searched for the right tone. "Thank you. Your women are 
lucky. But I belong to Captain Marsh. It is best for both of us that we 
don't play around. I think you should go." 

"We both go. I take you." His teeth were a flash of white, his smile was 
brilliant. "I very sick of war. I no get paid like captain." Fear grasped 
Tracy with a giant hand. Far, far better to be Marsh's prisoner than the 
corporal's. But she tested cautiously. "It's my jeep we'll use. Will you let 
me drive." 

"You no drive. You handcuffed. I do driving." 

It told Tracy everything. The corporal would have to share her with his 
friends, and she could end up in a brothel. Why had Matt left her naked and 
helpless when this might happen? Tracy poured all the authority she could 
muster into her reply. "No, I'm sorry. I won't go with you. Get yourself 
another girl." 

"Ahhh, but she will not be white American." 

"I don't want anybody killed. Be sensible. Forget me." 

"You not want Captain Marsh killed? Then I unlock handcuff. We have good 
fuck, and I lock you back to pole. Is very simple, huh?" 

It was borne upon the helpless girl how all things are comparative. The 
unthinkable had now become the lesser of two evils. In exchange for a few 
shameful minutes, she could avoid bloodshed, perhaps save a life. Dully, she 
surrendered. "Very well, let's do that." 

The corporal's key freed her easily. It was demeaning to consider such a 
tiny object governing her life. It seemed impossible. Tracy stood, massaging 
chafed wrists, awaiting the pleasure of a Santos soldier. What happened, 
happened quickly. 

"You turn. I lock again." 

"But why? I thought we were going to--" 

"Is better you have no hands. I lock." 

It was a small additional cruelty, an emphasis on what she was. 

It did not matter. The naked sacrifice shrugged and turned to surrender her 
hands to the bite of steel on passive wrists. Absurdly, she heard Effie's 
voice cautioning, "I wouldn't do that, darling, if I were you. " But the 
ratchets clicked snugly to deliver her beyond decision. When cord circled 
her elbows to draw them together, her exclamation was angry. "You don't need 
to do that! I'm not going to fight. What you're doing hurts horribly, or are 
you one of those who wants a girl in pain?" 

No answer came, only the busy hands drawing Tracy's forearms close to bind 
them painfully with some slender thread of stuff designed to bite and cut, 
probably a leather lace. Tracy weaved pinioned shoulders. 

"Please don't! Don't tie my elbows. I've agreed to be nice." 

"You be very nice. Tied arms make sure." 

A loop circled her neck and was drawn snug. Tracy saw now it was a slender 
rawhide strip. The corporal tied its other end high on the pole beyond reach 
of Tracy's teeth. Desolately, she guessed the answer to her own question. 
"What are you doing? What are you doing with me?" 

The corporal grinned. He pinched her nipple hard enough to make her squeal. 
He went away. Tracy took a step after him, but her neck was snubbed. She was 
as much a prisoner to the pole as she had ever been. But ownership of her 
person had changed. She cringed at the sound of her own jeep as it pulled up 
outside the door. The corporal was elated. 

"We got for ride. You behave. See, I bring you serape." He unleashed his 
prize from the pole and arranged the gaily colored fabric over her 
shoulders. Tracy doubted it covered all it should, but it made her breasts 
respectable and hid the bindings on her arms and the handcuffs on her 
wrists. He lifted her bodily into the jeep and tied the leash from her neck 
to the armrest at her side. To a casual passerby, there would seem to be 
nothing unusual. Dully, she complained, "This isn't what we arranged. You're 
breaking your word." 

"A word is nothing, beautiful senorita, but you are much. I set you free 
when I tire of you." 

"Take me to the American Consulate and get money for me now." 

"I like you best to fuck. What is money--poof!" 

It was good to be out in the sunshine. There was an absurd normalcy about 
sitting by the corporal as he steered the jeep along the dirt track he 
preferred to the asphalt strip. He was in high spirits. "War is waste. Good 
girl to fuck is only victory." He bestowed a sideways glance of approval. 
"You very good girl. We have much good time." 

"My arms are hurting bad. That thin stuff you've tied my elbows with--" 

"Is best you hurt a little. Keeps you polite." 

"It keeps me ten times as helpless as you need. The handcuffs are enough. I 
can't get out of them." 

"Handcuffed girl do much wriggling. You no wriggle." 

It was true. Tracy did not wriggle. The jolting of the jeep kept her elbows 
hurting enough with voluntary motion. In spite of being in the open air, a 
mood of hopelessness had descended. She was being driven into slavery, she 
was sure of it. There would be no hope of rescue. Marsh would suppose the 
corporal had offered freedom and she had succumbed. Her abduction had been 
so simple and easy for the corporal that no one was likely to consider it. 
She would join the legion of vanished girls and be lost to sight. She had no 
faith in freedom after she had ceased to please this man who was stealing 
her jeep as well as herself. There would be another man, or perhaps even a 
brothel. She would never be able to flee. There would always be rope or 
chain. A girl could be held so easily in captivity. 

"I bring your clothes and shoes, senorita. You may wish to wear them." 

"You'll allow me to wear clothes?" 

"At special times only. You much best without." 

"Do I share your bed, or are you going to lock me up somewhere?" 

"In the city I will buy chain and padlock. It be very comfortable for you." 

"Look, I don't want to be a prisoner all the time. Can't you think up some 
way of trusting me?" 

"Captain not trust. Why should I?" 

Tracy flushed. What the corporal said was true. A man would be foolish to 
trust her. If her legs were ever free again, she would run. But that might 
never be. Her gaze followed the rawhide leash to where it made her captive 
to the jeep. Even if she was left alone, it would take her teeth hours and 
hours. Quite probably, she could never free herself at all. Tracy sighed 
unhappily and blinked back tears. 

"Prisoners have a right to get free if they can," she said wearily. "That 
doesn't mean you have to hurt them or keep them in pain the way you've got 
my arms." 

"You behave most well with tied arms. This I like, senorita." So this was to 
be her life, a callous painful bondage without hope. Her body used as a 
convenience. Matthew Marsh's possession of her was a delight by comparison. 
If she could return to it now, she most certainly would. She thought of the 
tent pole and most ardently longed for it. 

Silence claimed them. The corporal was busy with the rutted track, his 
captive sulkily preoccupied with pain and desolation. They drove into the 
guerilla ambush without warning. The jeep skidded to a halt against the 
felled tree. Bushes disgorged a motley crew of armed men, one of whom 
casually shot Tracy's corporal as though testing his rifle. From the way he 
fell and sprawled upon the dry soil, the bound girl had no doubt that he was 
dead. 

Tracy was grateful for her Spanish. She was treated as foreign merchandise, 
highly suspect. A discussion as to whether she should be shared among them 
and raped immediately was ended by the officer in charge. He untied her 
leash and helped her to the ground. He lifted viewed her bonds with 
approval. 

"You are America?" 

"Yes." 

"You are a spy." It was stated as fact, not a question. 

"No, I'm not. Please take me to the American Consulate." 

"They are spies too. You are now prisoner of the Revolutionary Force. You 
will come with us." 

Tracy felt certain her fortunes had gone from bad to worse. It might be 
better to belong to a single man than to a group of revolutionary 
visionaries. But at least she would test this man's compassion. 

"I am in pain from the binding of my elbows. Will you please free them? I 
will still be handcuffed and helpless." 

This time she lost the serape completely. It was tossed aside to reveal her 
in all her nakedness. Without a word, her captor cut away the corporal's 
rawhide stripes and peeled them from her skin. He examined her handcuffed 
wrists, tightening one of them a notch. "Thank you. I really am grateful." 

"It is nothing. I am Officer Perez. You will be treated as a spy." He smiled 
dourly. "We know of your love affair with Captain Matthews." 

"I am not a spy, and there was no love affair." 

"We know how to deal with such as you. We are sick of Americans. You have 
vanished. We make you vanish more." Perez smiled again. "My men behold your 
body. It is a very beautiful body. But they do not desire you as did this 
scum upon the ground." He was right. His men had examined her and gone about 
their affairs. There was something about this group of males she did not 
understand. Surely she was not going to be executed! But that would not 
prohibit rape Tracy almost felt slighted. But she did at least have freed 
elbows. She was still breathing deeply in relief. "What are you going to do 
with me?" she asked simply. 

"Take you to where you will be useful." 

Tracy asked no more. The rawhide was taken from her neck and replaced with 
rope. It was coarse. It chafed. The coil was handed up the only mounted man 
the troop boasted. He grinned and jerked it to emphasize what she might now 
expect. Perez placed his hand upon the steering wheel of her jeep. 

"This man will take you to where you must go. My men and I have business and 
have no time for you. Perhaps we may meet again." 

"But, Captain Perez, please! I'm not what you think. At least give me a 
hearing. Don't send me to prison." Tracy viewed her new captor in wide-eyed 
distress. 

"Your hearing may come, but for now adios, senorita." Perez waved his troops 
away. 

The captive girl had taken but a couple of reluctant steps behind the horses 
when Perez commanded a halt. He searched the dead body, took its wallet, 
then found the tiny key. He threaded rawhide through its loop and fastened 
it around Tracy's neck. "You cannot reach it, senorita, but it is there." 
For the second time he waved the naked girl and his horseman on their way. 

For Tracy it was a march of bitter memories. It was also the bitterest of 
humiliations. She knew it was a punishment for white skin and the hated 
Yankee. As she trudged in the dust to she knew not where she denounced her 
folly in ever coming to Santos. But it had seemed so simple and adventurous. 
The best she had received at its hands was her captivity by Matthew Marsh, 
and he had been careless enough to allow her to be stolen. He would never 
find her now. 

From time to time she and horseman exchanged glances. He always smiled, and 
she tried not too look hostile. She was alone in the semi-jungle. Almost 
certainly he would rape her. But she would not provoke him to inflict pain. 
The decision showed how far she had gone along a hopeless road, but Tracy 
did not care. Every particle of her being must be directed toward escape. 
Compared to freedom, a violating or two would count as nothing. She speeded 
her steps to bring her close. 

"Captain, you can get much money for me from the American Consul." 

The guerilla turned in the saddle and seared his charge with contempt. "I am 
not a captain. I just a soldier of liberation. I no sell you to Consul. I no 
sell you to anyone. You belong to people of Santos." 

"But I haven't committed any crimes. I'm not anybody's enemy." She took a 
desperate plunge. "Please use me, then let me go. I promise I'll be very 
obedient to whatever you want. But please don't take me to prison." 

The soldier's motions were deliberate. Tracy could well imagine he welcomed 
the excuse she had unwittingly provided. He dismounted. His horse fell 
instantly asleep. He went to a bush and cut and peeled a withe. The watching 
girl was totally bereft. The card Tracy had played was not a trump at all. 
It would buy her only pain. 

"No! Ohhhh, no! Don't use that on me. I mean no harm. Don't you understand! 
I'm so damn lost and scared." 

He seemed not to hear. He switched Tracy's naked skin with shrewd 
competence. The tether on her neck constrained flight. He was impartial as 
to whatever portion of her helpless nudity she turned his way. He cut at it 
with sharp, cruel blows to make her squeal and plead. 

"Don't! Please don't. Ohhhh, stop it! I promise I won't say another thing." 

"I give you ten. You will learn lesson." 

"Oooohhhh, yes! Yes, of course. Oooohhhhh, please stop!" Ten exactly, all of 
them scorching on her flesh. In sobbing disarray the whipped girl resumed 
her mortifying march. She would not test her guard's integrity again. 
Beneath her tears she knew chagrin that her nude body failed to enchant. The 
fact made her captivity doubly fearful, trebly without hope. 

The handcuff key, pendent on her neck, was a torment. Tracy guessed it was 
intended to be just that. It was a case of "so near but so infinitely far." 
Her joined hands could not reach it. During those times when her escort was 
absorbed in thought, she tried and tried to reach the rawhide necklace. Once 
she managed to crook a finger in its loop, but it accomplished nothing. She 
would wear it as the costliest of jewels, but by her own efforts it would 
never set her free. The horse clip-clopped along the path, and the rope 
leash imposed its authority on Tracy's neck relentlessly. The naked girl 
stepped forward determinedly to keep pace. To pause, or fall and have the 
loop tighten around her throat was a threat Tracy dared not face. 

The noise reached them upon the still jungle air. Tracy had been led behind 
the horse for several hours, and if the sound meant rest, she would be 
grateful. It was a faint rumble, and sometimes she could smell a waft of 
smoke. Soon the jungle thinned to reveal paths and a clearing. Then came the 
big open space and the ugliest building the handcuffed girl had ever seen. 
It was big and rectangular. It appeared to have been built of corrugated 
steel, now rusted. An insecure smokestack was the source of the smell. From 
a narrow door a burly woman stepped forward, arms akimbo, to await their 
approach. 

It was a very strange looking prison. 

 CHAPTER THREE - THE WHEEL 

The wheel was immense: twenty feet from rim to rim. Its spokes radiated out 
from the central hub and the turning metal shaft which motivated the dull 
rumble of machinery above. The vast subbasement and the slowly turning 
spokes were an antediluvian monster and its cavern, relics from some dark 
and distant age, which had somehow survived the vicissitudes of the Santos 
political scene. For those who made the monster creak and moan and the shaft 
revolve, the place was pure nightmare. It was also a place bereft of hope. 

Shackled to each spoke by a foot of chain upon her right wrists was a naked 
girl. Their concerted strength kept the monster grinding the sugar cane 
above them where they could not see. Laggards were encouraged by thoughtful 
cuts from the overseer's whip. Marisa was clever with her whip. It snaked in 
to weal a girl either fore or aft as pleased her fancy. A rebellious maiden 
was taken from her spoke, suspended by her wrists, and formally flogged for 
the edification of those who watched. There was very little rebellion on 
Marisa's wheel. 

To Tracy the sugar mill was man's darkest dream come true. When her wrist 
had been shackled to the spoke and a smiling Marisa had advised her to "be a 
good girl and work hard," the whole scene had the semblance of a dreary 
cosmic joke. But her captivities had taught her caution. She observed wealed 
backs and welted thighs, and resolved to earn as few such marks as might be 
possible. In the very nadir of despair she pushed and heaved along with the 
other nine girls who made up the requirement of the wheel. 

In the eyes of Santos, or whatever faction held the territory, each girl was 
delinquent. Their crimes ran from the purely imaginary, as was her own, on 
up to banditry. There was not a single murderess. Perhaps, in Santos, murder 
was too trivial to attract attention. Each maiden was imbued by a 
determination to escape. None ever had. Each was inhibited, not only by a 
shackled wrist but also by leg irons of a weight to make running away a 
silly dream. The links between their ankles in no way hampered their slow 
revolving of the wheel, but the almost musical clinking of the fetters added 
another touch of the macabre to a punishment already sufficiently bizarre. 

Four hours on the wheel, four hours off. A sixteen-hour day. The girl's 
resting place between her stints upon her spoke was a big bare prison room, 
heavily barred and possessing only the rudiments of plumbing. Marisa 
controlled them easily, taking one girl from the wheel at a time, their 
ironed feet rendering them docile. It was an efficient operation in which 
each girl was forever helpless, her skin marked only according to her 
behavior. They were allowed to talk. But what Tracy learned only accentuated 
her despair. 

It was a female place. There were men upstairs, but they never entered the 
cavern of the wheel. It was whispered that should a girl displease their 
mistress in excess she could be thrown to the mercy of the males above, a 
metaphorical tossing to the lions. Some chained damsels vowed their intent 
to provoke penalty as a break in the boredom of perpetual punishment. Tracy 
could well believe such a wish might easily arise. The twenty girls who were 
slaves of the wheel lived in an intense sexuality. Sex was all they had. 
Marisa tacitly condoned it. They ate and nibbled and licked to their hearts' 
content. Female pungency permeated the entire place. As she thrust against 
her spoke, each girl was regaled by the sweat and scents of the prisoner in 
front and the one behind, herself contributing to her neighbor's 
excitations. Marisa worked and fed them with a stem determination to keep 
the wheel turning. Her prisoners were remarkably healthy, and none were 
overweight. She whipped them impartially as they deserved. She was observant 
of muscles not doing their job when a girl tried to rest by leaning against 
her spoke and pretending to push. Such laziness was rewarded by more than a 
single stroke. Tracy had learned this lesson on he first day and had been 
diligent ever since. It was a well-ordered society in which all was 
understood. 

The girls' prison rooms were not in a dark dungeon. Light and air filtered 
into them through the bars. The same was true of the cavern of the giant 
wheel. Both sides of the huge space were open. The girls sweated from their 
labor, but not from suffocating heat. 

Marisa amused herself by compelling certain girls to offer their hands to be 
chained during their absence from the wheel. No one knew why. It was 
supposed these girls had a greater value to whatever power held the mill. 
Tracy was one of them. The overseer had gleefully possessed herself of the 
handcuff key from Tracy's neck and now locked the passive wrists during each 
four-hour period of rest. The other girls were envious of the handcuffs. 
They were a lot lighter and more attractive than the irons they were forced 
to bear. Tracy could not have cared less. She had grown used to them. Behind 
her back they made things difficult, but joining her hands in front, as 
Marisa did, discommoded her scarcely at all. 

The wheel was demanding. It had no momentum of its own. It had to be pushed 
and heaved every inch of the way. The ten naked girls worked as a team. It 
was simple self-interest that they fight the inertia of the wheel in unison. 
None dared shirk. At each start it took the heave of shoulders and the 
thrust of feet to get underway. After that a girl leaned against her spoke 
and pushed. Her shackled feet would be no impediment, but it kept them 
within the rim and told her plainly she was a slave. Tracy could think of no 
other word for their condition. 

Their isolation was frightening. They had been chained to the wheel because 
of an authority they had never seen. There was no lawyer, no appeal, not 
even a sentence. They remained Marisa's captives until a superfluity of 
delinquent girls enabled their release. But Tracy was soon warned that those 
whose wrists born chains were never given back their freedom. Several girls 
had been slave to the wheel for several years. 

Tracy was thankful for her Spanish. It made her one with the rest. But on 
each return to the spoke she watched the shackling of her wrist, she heaved 
and panted at the start. Then, as she pushed and clattered her dreary, 
never-ending circuit of the shaft, she was on her own, concerned only with 
evading Marisa's whip and the isolation of her thoughts. Her thoughts 
centered on Matthew Marsh. She had no other friend in Santos. She supposed 
him a friend even though he had been her original captor. There had been 
something between them. But where would he look? What clues were there for 
him to follow? Worst of all was the likelihood that he would believe she had 
run away with the corporal by her own wish. It would be so easy to assume 
she had bartered her body in return for release from the pole. So far as the 
Consulate was concerned, they had warned her that if she disappeared, she 
was on her own. It seemed she was sentenced to Marisa's whip and shackle for 
life. 

There came the day when Tracy was punished. It was as illogical as all else 
in Santos. She had done no wrong, but Marisa summed it up. "Got to whip a 
girl every so often. I been wanting to whip you ever since you came, but I 
can't whip you on the wheel; you work too well." 

"But I haven't done anything to deserve--" 

"The rest of 'em won't believe that. Seeing you stripped does 'em a heap o' 
good." 

Tracy had been taken to the spoke to be shackled and begin a shift. But this 
time was different. Her wrists were carefully bound together with many 
strands, off to one side a rope dangling from above. Two minutes later she 
was suspended, her shackled feet finding only air to tread. The naked girl 
was heartbroken by injustice. "Please, Marisa, I've worked so hard. I've 
tried to please." 

"That's because I whip your little cunt or ass if you don't." Marisa patted 
the young curves so soon to be wealed. "I think you're okay, honey, but a 
girl has to be whipped sometimes. You get yours this shift. Maybe I don't 
whip you again for a long, long time." 

It was hopeless. To stop the rhythm of the mill was like trying to stem the 
tide. If the mill believed she should be striped as an object lesson to the 
rest, then she would be striped. The suspended girl blinked through a haze 
of tears to watch another naked maiden shackled to her spoke. At Marisa's 
sharp command young female bodies strained to pit their strength against the 
sugar cane above. The wheel creaked into the motion that was their 
punishment. The clatter of ironed feet seemed a fitting accompaniment. 

The shackled girls looked at Tracy in sympathy as they pushed their way 
slowly around and around. Her nakedness was blatantly exposed. If they were 
so disposed, they could count each mark upon her skin. Half of the girls 
had, at one time or another, hung as Tracy now hung. They had paid their 
painful dues to the mill. If they were kept prisoner long enough, they would 
pay again and again. The rest of the captives gazed at her in awe, wondering 
what misdeed she had committed to rate such cruelty. 

Marisa extracted maximum Value from the flogging of a girl. The girl herself 
mattered little. She would still work her shift that day, shackling her back 
on the wheel was the best way to flaunt her wounds. What really mattered was 
the increased respect and more docile obedience the victim's screams would 
instill in maiden minds. For Marisa it was only one more working day. 

Tracy's wrists and shoulders hurt. They would hurt a lot more. There was 
something demeaning and shameful about being a puppet on a string. Divorced 
from contact with the floor, her helplessness was total, yet she could 
writhe and kick and contort. No doubt it was more interesting and edifying 
to have her able to do this than to be immobilized against a post or frame. 
In direct apprehension she watched Marisa go about her affairs. She was 
breathless when the overseer strode towards her with the whip by which she 
would be punished. 

Tracy's acquaintance with Marisa's whip had been limited to the short 
admonitory lash to remind her to do her duty to the wheel, the pain was 
sudden and awful and usually elicited a squeal of shock, but this was 
different. She was far more vulnerable, both front and back, and there was 
now a deliberate intent behind the impact of the thong upon her flesh. The 
suspended girl soon realized that where she received the lash was determined 
by the portion of herself she presented in her writhing. Marisa stood still 
and whipped her allegedly delinquent girl on whatever portion of that girl's 
person was convenient when the lash was due. After the first agonies, Tracy 
forgot pride. She screamed under the dictates of her pain. Nor could she 
keep still. It was impossible to remain motionless when she could twist and 
kick and raise herself against the hurt of wrists implacably bound. 

Tracy hung naked in the monster's cavern for the full four hours of her 
shift. With a keen eye for effect, Marisa spread out the flogging for the 
whole period. Five strokes here, ten there. Under the scald and scorch of 
the blows, Tracy lost count. She was far too busy with screams and evasive 
leaps which were usually disastrous inasmuch as they gave Marisa's whip 
entry to portions of herself she would prefer to hide. Her loins burned 
shamefully where the leather snapped within her most secret place. A 
suspended girl has no secrets. 

When her feet were lowered to the ground, Tracy sagged. She stood in pitiful 
disarray as her burned wrists were freed of rope and comfortingly locked in 
the handcuffs which had become so very much her own. She was patted and 
propelled to the prison room with the rest of the released shift. Her fellow 
captives proffered sympathy. It was all they had to ease the anguish of 
whipped girls. 

Pain exhausts. Tracy slept through her four-hour rest period. Beyond that 
there was no respite for a well-whipped girl. As Marisa shackled the captive 
wrist to the spoke, she whispered, "You put on real good show. Fine screams 
and kicks. You not be whipped again for long time." 

"Thank you, Marisa." Then, in an unusual seeking of confidence, she asked, 
"Marisa, how long will I be kept here to work on the wheel?" 

"Maybe not long." Marisa winked knowingly. "Maybe you get big surprise. Now 
you work hard like good girl." 

Had it been possible for a shackled maiden to follow the overseer from the 
spoke, Tracy would have done so. But she surveyed her chained hand in rueful 
resignation and saved her questions for another time. The wheel had already 
creaked its protest under female thrusts, so the whipped girl hastily put 
her shoulder to the spoke to add her young strength to that of the other 
nine. Marisa cracked her whip across laggard legs. The shift was under way. 

It was a couple of hours before the arrival of the officers. They were 
smartly uniformed and carried authority like a badge. Marisa accorded them 
great deference. There were volleys of Spanish which the noises of the wheel 
and the clatter of the leg irons prevented Tracy from hearing. After several 
revolutions, the officers' attention centered on her as she pushed her 
shackled way past their regard. They talked and nodded. Whatever their wish 
with her might be, she had found approval. Without stopping the wheel, 
Marisa led another girl from the prison room and shackled her to Tracy's 
spoke after Tracy's own wrist had been unlocked. The freed maiden was led to 
Marisa's office. 

"Your name is Tracy Trevor?" The tone lacked interest. "Yes." 

"You are an American spy?" 

"No, I'm a free-lance journalist." 

"You consort with rebels?" 

"No. A man named Perez kidnapped me from one of your own camps where Captain 
Marsh captured me and was holding me prisoner. Could I speak to Captain 
Marsh, please?" 

One man asked the questions, and the other filled out forms. Tracy's 
questions were ignored. Several forms later, Marisa produced the handcuffs 
and turned her prisoner around. 

"This girl has been recently whipped, Marisa." 

"I knew you were coming. This one's too sweet a morsel not to whip at least 
once." 

Humor passed Tracy by, but her companions laughed at the overseer's 
deprecating admission. "If she's that good, perhaps we can arrange a more 
formal whipping for her in the prison before...." The officer failed to 
finish his sentence. In total ignorance, the captive shuffled her leg-ironed 
way out to a waiting car and a prison wardress holding open the back door. 
As Tracy settled her helplessness into the plush upholstery, the last she 
saw of Marisa was a beaming smile. Tracy herself was not smiling. She was 
picking up bad vibrations from all concerned. Release from the wheel should 
have been joyous, but it was not. 

"Are you taking me to a prison?" she anxiously asked in Spanish. 

"Yes, at Madrez. You will be tried there. You will not go to the capitol." 

"Why should I be tried? What have I done? Should I not be clothed?" 

"I do not know the charge, but it is serious. You will be well guarded. As 
for clothes, what do they matter? You would be naked again soon enough." 

Tracy leaned back against her locked arms. The mill appeared to have donated 
her leg irons; they were still locked on her ankles. Escape was as 
impossible as ever. Sensing the girl's need to question, the wardress told 
her tersely to keep quiet and enjoy the ride. It was better than the cell in 
which she would soon be locked. The tone was neither kind nor cruel, simply 
bored with one more female prisoner. Tracy lapsed into silence, gloomily 
sensing the knell of doom. 

Madrez was notable for nothing, least of all its prison. Tracy had driven 
her jeep through the dusty, rutted streets back in that other world when she 
was free. There would be nothing good for her in this place. It was an 
excuse to keep her away from Santos and the U.S. Consulate. Here she could 
be sentenced to life imprisonment and no one would ever know. Tracy stood in 
the center of the narrow cell and gazed wanly at the barred door the 
wardress had just finished locking. She had been given no clothes, nor had 
she been released from her irons. The only concession to her need to tend 
herself was that her wrists were now cuffed in front. It was a small 
concession, but she was grateful. 

On the spur of impulse and out of loneliness, Tracy did something she had 
vowed not to do. She clutched at the bars with chained hands and pressed 
against the unyielding metal to view what was to be seen. There was a 
surprising view, a wide space, almost a courtyard, and what was taking place 
there was obviously for the benefit of those who wanted as she herself did. 
The big square was surrounded by cells, in each of them a woman, some 
younger than herself. It would appear that in Santos crime was the 
prerogative of the young, or certainly its punishment. 

The most bizarre object, catching Tracy's instant attention, was the head of 
a girl. It was alive. It moved. From floor level it looked around. It looked 
directly at the new girl but did not smile. It had nothing to smile about. 
To all intents and purposes it was a female head severed at the neck but 
endowed with life. The effect was frightening. Presumably, below the surface 
of the floor was a girl's body and limbs. They could be bound or free, it 
would make no difference. The girl would stand, sit, or kneel within a pit 
with shaped and sectioned planks making a cruel collar for her throat. If 
she was forced to stand thus for long periods, it would be a drastic 
punishment. It would appear that when Santos felt displeasure with its 
younger females it went all out in their punishments. Tracy shivered. 
Tomorrow it might be her own head down there on the floor. 

There was the inevitable suspension, but with a difference. A wide belt had 
been buckled around the narrow waist of a naked girl, her hands tied behind 
her back, her ankles firmly trussed. In the front center of the belt there 
was a ring, and within it a hook and a rope by which the delinquent was 
raised far enough from the floor to enable only fleeting contact by reaching 
fingers and toes. The punished girl was wickedly bowed back, but when her 
head fell low enough, she could reach and thrust with bound hands to affect 
a temporary correct imbalance and give her toes a chance to affect a similar 
motion. She had no real hope of easement, only a tantalization. The chained 
girl in the cell cringed with each ineffectual motion, seeing herself in a 
similar plight with a belt tight around her own middle. The vision was 
demoralizing. 

It seemed useless to switch focus. There was always one more girl suffering 
the displeasure of the state of Santos. The next sufferer lay stretched 
within the clutch of wood. Three planks had been ingeniously carved and 
drilled. Feminine ankles in one, her tummy in another, her wrists and neck 
within a third. It was a form of pillory. The top half of each section 
fitted upon bolts protruding from its mate. Each bolt was secured and 
tightened down by a washer and a nut to totally immobilize the captive 
maiden and instill within her breast a fear she could never be released, she 
and her wooden prison were one. 

There were other. But the whole shocking scene merged to become what it was, 
no doubt, intended to be. A grotesque object lesson to girls who had been 
bad. or who had incurred the wrath of someone possessing the power to put 
them where they were. Tracy wondered how many of them were guilty of 
anything except being female. She tried to tear away. But, when she turned 
from the bars, the beastly little cell was impersonally inhuman enough to 
turn her around again to seek a knowledge of shared misery with those others 
she could see in their chains and behind bars of their own. What was being 
done out there in the big space was fearsome, but it impelled a terrible 
fascination, a quality of the unreal as when, in a dream, you assure 
yourself this is not really happening. A single girl might have held more 
credence than so many. 

Could it be called a torture? Tracy was certain it would not be so 
described. It would be Santos discipline, and, after all, this was a prison! 
She and all the rest of them within these walls were lost. Tracy saw herself 
as on a steady downward path since her first captivity. How gladly she would 
now return to Matthew Marsh to be handcuffed to the pole of his tent. How 
much more preferable the cavern of the monster and its creaking wheel! How 
happily she would offer her hand to be shackled to the turning spoke if, by 
so doing, it got her free of what she now beheld. 

She could swear the man was pure Castilian, an aristocrat, his features 
finely chiseled and austere. When the wardress gave him entry to the cell, 
he waved its occupant to be seated on the cot. He radiated an awesome 
authority. Beneath his penetrating but lust-less gaze Tracy placed her 
cuffed hands on her pubic hair. She could offer him no greater respect. 

"I am the Don Enrique Martinez, the presiding judge at your trial tomorrow. 
It will be I who will sentence you." 

His words were as measured and cool as his features. The seated prisoner 
felt a child facing a person and a process it did not understand. "What am I 
guilty of?" she asked wanly. 

His brief smile gave him humanity. "You are guilty of nothing," he told her 
evenly. "I thought this was understood." 

"Then why am I chained in this cell?" 

Don Enrique shrugged. "You are a very beautiful girl. Perhaps you have not 
yet discovered the kinship between feminine punishment and beauty." 

"I don't understand, honestly I don't. Surely there must be something more?" 

"Indeed there is. You are American." 

"But that's--that's... Surely you don't imprison any American girl who comes 
to Santos. They said my passport was in order. You allowed me entry--" 

"You are also a spy for the C.I.A." 

"That's nonsense! Surely you know it is nonsense?" 

"Does it matter? You have been chosen." Don Enrique's motions were almost 
Gallic. "You must understand yourself as a victim of political expediency." 

"You mean one of those mock trials where I confess to everything and 
publicly thank Santos for punishing me?" 

"Something like that. But we will not ask too much of you. You will be 
condemned by witnesses." 

"All of whom will lie!" 

"What else? There is little truth in politics." 

"But why have you come to me in this cell if you cannot help?" 

"To assure myself and others of your suitability for the role you are 
elected to play. I find you an excellent subject." 

"Gosh... thanks!" 

"I wish also for you to understand the uselessness of making a demonstration 
in court. I can understand a certain stress, but nothing you can say can 
change anything." 

Tracy forgot pubic hair in the raising of her hands to emphasize handcuffed 
wrists. "Will you take me to court like this, and the leg irons on my feet?" 

"We would prefer not to. We prefer the image of an attractively attired 
young American woman. This will be arranged." Don Enrique repeated his brief 
smile. "As an inducement to cooperate, I draw your attention to these young 
women suffering out there beyond the bars." 

"If I don't do it your way, you'll torture me afterwards?" 

"Please don't distress yourself with histrionics," the judge deprecated. "I 
am sure you will be sensible." 

Tracy saw little hope of benefits in any direction. Santos possessed her and 
was starting to squeeze. She was flotsam on a tide already channeled. 
Dispiritedly, she asked, "Since everything is cut and dried with me, could I 
be relieved of these chains? I'm so tired of being chained." 

"Alas, no. You are no more unkindly chained than the rest. Routine handcuffs 
and leg irons can hardly be described as placing you in chains. Miss 
Trevor." 

"All right then, so can we dispense with the handcuffs and leg irons I'm 
wearing?" 

"No. You must wear them until your appearance in court. " Don Enrique 
sighed. "You also have a request for an interview with a Captain Marsh, an 
officer in our militia. This too must be denied. Believe me, Miss Trevor, it 
is for the best." 

"I suppose my trial gets televised and reported in the press?" 

"Of course. Publicity is of the essence." 

"I'll be made a Roman holiday. Is that it?" 

"You will be an admonition to the C.I.A. It is a pity you are not guilty." 

Tracy watched Don Enrique Martinez depart as he had come. Had she met him in 
happier circumstances he would have been a pleasant, kindly man. But the 
fact of him being what he was made her plight more desperate. So civilized a 
man consigning her to what awful punishment! Only then did she realize her 
failure to enquire what her fate was to be. He had not thought to tell her, 
and perhaps she subconsciously did not wish to know. But she would know 
tomorrow, and tomorrow was close. She kicked angrily at the chain linking 
her feet and raised handcuffed wrists to gaze upon them in disgust. Tracy 
debated whether to gaze through the bars again or lay down on the cot. She 
chose the latter and did not wake until morning. 

The woman was as civilized as the judge. She requested Tracy to allow 
herself to be bathed and dressed and sit still for a hairdo. An armed 
wardress would stand close by. 

The allure of being feminine again was irresistible. To be rid of nakedness 
and the shame of exposed breasts and pubic hair was excitingly wonderful. If 
it only lasted through the court proceedings, she would at least get that. 
Tracy's answer was a fervent yes. For a couple of hours she entered a world 
only females know. She emerged from it resplendent. Santos had done her 
proud. 

"Your name is close to being called, Miss Trevor. Let us go to the court." 

The woman who had prepared Tracy said goodbye. The wardress edged closer, 
but did not gasp an arm. "It is desired that we seem to be on good terms," 
she said soberly. "I hope I can trust you." 

Tracy did not bother to tell her companion how easy it was to behave herself 
when surrounded by walls, bars, passages, and hallways. There was nowhere 
for her to run. As usual, escape was not to be considered. There were no 
open doors or windows. Tracy walked to her trial and enjoyed the gorgeously 
sensuous sensation of clothes, nylons, and shoes, even of a necklace and 
earrings. In Santos, even before her first arrest, she had never been so 
expensively bedecked. It flitted through her might that she might make a 
more dramatic plea for justice if chained and naked, but she thrust the 
dream aside as fantasy. Nothing she could do or say would alter anything. 

The judge was fearful in his robes. He made no sign. The two advocates, one 
of them apparently her own, were equally impressive. Cameras were much in 
evidence. There began then a great deal of Spanish rhetoric and the waving 
of arms. Witnesses came and went. None bore goodwill to the prisoner. It 
taxed Tracy's Spanish to its limits to pick up half of what was said. But 
she followed her progress toward doom with mounting apprehension. After an 
hour of verbal and manual flourishes the trail of Miss Tracy Trevor came to 
a close. The jury, without leaving the room, pronounced her guilty. Don 
Enrique Martinez, her judge, pronounced sentence. As he looked down upon the 
defenseless girl, she saw a shadow of compassion cross the austerity of his 
face. Dispassionately, he condemned her to death before a firing squad. 

Tracy supposed she should have guessed it from the start. Santos needed 
drama and a pretty face. There would have been no drama evident in he 
vanishing within a dungeon. But this was the stuff the public loved, the 
public of any nation in the world. To them she would be guilty, a naughty 
girl getting her just desserts. The State Department would be irritated by 
her imprudence. They would send Santos a sharp note, making sure it was 
delivered after her demise. In a couple of days she would be forgotten. 

But Santos was not yet done with its pretty girl. Tracy was returned to her 
cell and relieved her fine raiment to be once more nude, then chained as 
before. The handcuffs were like old friends. She was also comfortably 
sedated to a point where she slept away the rest of the day and on through 
the dark. In the morning the wardress explained what was still desired of 
her, taking some pains to be sufficiently graphic about the tortures she 
would earn by failure to comply. It became understood between them that the 
condemned girl would do her best. There was more sedation. 

For the girl about to die, the whole affair took on the semblance of a 
dream. She was grateful for the drug. It blunted everything. In a purely 
detached interest, she followed all that was done, revolving over and over 
her mind the instruction. She most passionately did not want to be tortured 
indefinitely before eventual execution. Santos offered a decent death. She 
would do her best to accept it. 

They took away her leg irons, but left the handcuffs on her wrists. They had 
their place in what was to be done. They clothed her guilt in the innocence 
of pure white. A sheet, a shroud, a slip, she knew not what to call it, and 
it did not matter. But it had a clip to hold it around he neck. This was 
better than clutching it with chained hands. They used a comb to restore her 
hair to the glory of the day before. Tracy was now ready to die from a 
soldier's bullet. 

Faced with the immensity of the sunlit yard and the wall against which she 
was to die, the dream sequence took over to dictate her steps. She beheld 
the earners to either side. Her execution was to be well recorded. Her 
friend, Effie, would see it on TV and tell all present, "I told her not to 
go." To one side were six smart soldiers with their shining rifles and an 
officer with a silly sword. The cameras would have a field day with them 
too, before and after they lined up to shoot the bullet by which she was to 
die. 

But the next few moments were Tracy Trevor's alone. She had been told 
exactly what to do. She fixed her mind upon the instruction, refusing to 
consider death. With calmly measured steps, the condemned maiden walked out 
into the sunlight. Without pause, she continued slowly to the wall. There 
she turned to passively watch the deployment of her execution squad. When 
the order came for them to take aim, she broke the clip and let her garment 
slither to the sand. For a moment she stood still and naked, then slowly 
raised her arms and steel joined hands above her head to expose all of 
herself, most particularly her breasts, to the gunsights of the squad. It 
was but a moment until the order came to fire. But it was a moment every 
male present would remember all his life. The cameras whirred, missing 
nothing. In her death-defying pose, Miss Tracy Trevor was the most beautiful 
thing in all the world. Her whip-marked flesh gathered unto itself all the 
sunlight, reflecting it as an almost visible aura, a radiance. 

"Fire!" 

The volley barked. 

The nude beauty crumpled to the sand. 

Santos was pleased. 

 CHAPTER FOUR - LOVE STRIPES 

Tracy Trevor was prepared to concede boredom. It was heavily laced with 
gratitude and a great thankfulness, but boredom is still boredom. Four days 
standing nudely with back against and hands behind the tent pole of her 
dreams was probably a sufficiency of emphasis she should speak to her master 
about in the evening, simply on the basis that enough or anything is enough. 

But Tracy would admit to compensations. Being handcuffed with her hands 
behind the pole had given her time to think, above all to think in 
retrospect and the incredulity of being alive. There was also the lovely 
warm comfort of being where she wished to be in this most wonderful of 
worlds. Sometimes she spared a thought about freedom. But freedom had become 
too remote to waste much thought on. The handcuffed girl was willing to 
believe she would never be free again. 

Tracy Trevor's awakening from death had been puzzling. The face of Matthew 
Marsh, so close and so concerned, seemed unlikely. It would mean he must 
also be dead, and that was improbable. The other possibility was that she 
herself was still alive. But how could that be! She had seen the pointing 
muzzles fire! But she refused to be concerned. Matt was kissing her and 
being naughty with one of her nipples the way he used to. It was delightful, 
and if this was what it Was like to be dead, she was all for it. But after 
awhile her master's voice intruded. 

"Come on now, you're playing possum. Sit yourself up." 

"I can't. I'm dead." 

"Sit up anyway." 

She was on her cot in her cell. The door was open and there was not a 
wardress in sight. She was handcuffed and naked, but those inevitabilities 
were scarcely worthy of note. What mattered was Matthew Marsh. He was seated 
on the cot and had his arm around her bare shoulders while kissing her here 
and there in a preoccupied sort of way she did not mind. Tracy kissed back 
hungrily and demanded, "Why aren't I dead?" 

"Blanks in the rifles, that's why. Bit of a swindle. I'm afraid." 

"You mean they--" 

"Afraid so. You put on a marvelous performance. You'll be world famous." 

Suddenly she was against the wall again, arms making their insouciant 
invitation to death. The rifles crashed. With a moan of fear, the naked girl 
tried to throw her arms around the man, but as usual her handcuffs were in 
the way, so she grasped Matt's shirt with linked hands and nestled beneath 
his arm like a bird beneath a mother's wing. His arms gathered her 
overstressed nudity while she wept and sobbed in a terrible relief. 

The man allowed her to sob away the tensions and the fear. As her tears 
diminished but her clutch became more insistent, Matthew Marsh made his 
sardonic confession. 

"My idea, actually. I'm a real bastard. Got a bit of influence with the 
boys, so when I tracked you down to the sugar mill, I got this bright idea." 

"You mean you saw me shackled to that awful wheel?" 

"Well, yes, actually, I did. Took a few peeps when you weren't looking my 
way. That Marisa woman's not a bad sort." 

"That was hateful." 

"You mean me or the wheel?" 

"Both." Tracy burrowed more deeply into his masculinity. "I thought I was 
chained to that spoke for life." 

"Had to go to Santos for authority for your release into my custody. I 
propositioned them about the film." 

"If you're so buddy-buddy with them, couldn't you have got me the release 
without the custody bit?" 

"Sure, I could have, but I didn't want to. You don't imagine I'm letting you 
go! You belong to me." His arm flexed into a couple of hugs. "Anyway, I had 
this idea about the film." 

"I never knew. I thought it was all real. It frightened me to bits." 

"Sorry, loved, but it seemed best--proper way to do it." 

"Nobody worried about me." 

"Only enough to get the U.S. film rights for you. The jackals are clamoring 
for it." 

"But when they see me, they'll know it's fake." 

"They won't see you, love. I'll have you safely chained and far away. The 
rights and releases will be handled by an agent in Santos. The money will go 
into an account I've opened for you with Barclays." 

"What good will it do me if I'm a prisoner?" 

"Don't quibble. If you're dissatisfied, I can always send you back to Marisa 
and her wheel. That exercise is good for a girl's figure." So much feminine 
terror covered by so few words) Tracy was little concerned with anything 
except the fact of being alive and within the arms of a mercenary soldier 
who seemed likely to keep her his prisoner the rest of her life. Purely from 
habit, she asked, "Would you like to take off my handcuffs?" 

"No." 

"I didn't think you would. What are you going to do with me?" 

"Take you back to camp. We'll be there for awhile. I've got plans for you." 

"It's nice to be wanted." 

"You have the most lovely breasts." 

"Only just noticed them?" 

"Missed 'em while you were away." 

They slipped back into the old repartee and a mutual respect for her 
captivity. Freedom was a forbidden topic. Tracy could think about it, but 
Captain Marsh would deny it happening. Happily, she asked, "How do you get 
me out of this place?" 

"You can walk, or I'll carry you. Take you choice. You jeep is waiting 
outside. That jeep's had as many adventures as you." 

Tracy chose to be carried. It made her less naked and conspicuous. She was 
sure she was the envy of every girl who watched behind her bars. Before 
leaving the prison, she was given the white slip in which she had gone to 
her execution. She clutched it gladly. In Madrez, a naked girl in a jeep 
would attract attention. 

Tracy told herself that she was silly over her sense of homecoming. Effie 
cautioned her from the past with: "What you need is freedom. Never mind the 
heart throbs." But she put Effie aside and told herself her joy was a 
natural reaction from the sugar mill and the sentence of death. She gave 
herself to Matt with great abandon, earning an amused rebuke for 
inventiveness in the ways of love. She countered by saying that was all he 
wanted her for anyway. They were very happy. When her master produced leg 
irons, Tracy did no more than wrinkle her nose. If he had tied her ankles 
tight together, she would gladly have hoped. On the following day, when duty 
called matt away, she backed up to the tent pole and, without a word, waited 
to be attached. 

Tracy dreamed. She and Matt would get married and live a pleasantly suburban 
life back home in the U.S.A. Effie recommended this course: "It's safe, 
darling, but watch out for babies." There was the other one in which she was 
a deluxe camp-follower accompanying Matt from war to war. But she had that 
now, and if they went to enough wars, her master would certainly be killed, 
and where would she be then? The ideal would be to persuade him to abandon 
his battles and take her back to civilization. He would marry her, of 
course, and maybe she would not be handcuffed and leg-ironed all the time. 
She intended to speak to Matt about his methods of keeping her restrained. 
But she had to admit the only alternative appeared to be a cage in which she 
could be locked at his convenience, so maybe handcuffs were best. She had 
spent her new day on the pole debating such pleasant nonsense. Effie told 
her she was ridiculous for falling in love with a man who kept her naked and 
chained like a pet animal. 

Tracy could not entirely quench fear when soldiers came to place things on 
her master's desk. But she affected a carefree manner as she stood captive 
to the pole. She smiled when they smiled. None spoke. They took a hasty 
inventory of her nakedness and went their way. She had a feeling they had 
been lectured, and the failure of the corporal to return after he had stolen 
her was probably potent. She suspected Matthew subjected her to the ordeal 
out of some erotic notion he might cherish. Each encounter and the blatant 
ogling of her exposure generated a sexual thrill within herself. She hated 
to admit it, but it was true. 

Tracy wondered if Matt knew had glad she was to see him every afternoon on 
his return from doing whatever mercenaries did. He might easily suppose 
release from the pole her only reason for flinging her arms around him that 
brief time between being handcuffed in back and in front. Matthew Marsh 
remained a question mark to his captive. He told her little and trusted her 
not at all. Except in their lovemaking, she was always ironed. When Tracy 
complained, he opined that it was not safe for her to leave the tent, so 
what did a few links matter? His captive did not push. She had grown so 
accustomed to restraint between ankles and wrists that she could almost 
agree that it did not matter. But, deep inside, she knew it did. 

It was the fourth day. Immediately after her master entered the tent, the 
captive girl knew he was preoccupied. His kiss, the freeing of her hands, 
their embrace, and the joining of her hands where she could use them was all 
done by a man who obviously had something on his mind. 

"What's the matter, Matt? Have I done something?" 

He laughed at her easy acceptance of guilt. He took endless delight in what 
she said and in her attitudes. "Go pour us drinks," he ordered. "I'm bushed, 
and I've got some news." 

Tracy served the drinks, then knelt before Matt in the manner of his 
teaching. She was excited by more than her usual euphoria when released from 
the pole. "You've been promoted?" she prompted slyly. 

"No, nothing to do with Santos." 

"You've decided to set me free?" 

"Dreamer." He looked down with affection at her upturned face, her 
nakedness, her handcuffed wrists, and ironed feet. "I'll never let you go. " 
He laughed. "Suppose I did? Suppose I unlocked your hands and feet and gave 
you your clothes, what would you do?" 

"Make your supper." 

"And then?" 

"Take the clothes off and make love with you." 

"Yes, you're doing fine." 

"I guess we'd sleep. You'd best chain my ankle or wrist, though, so you 
don't worry." 

"But if I had set you free--" 

"I forgot that. Well, chain me anyway, just so I don't wander off and get 
into trouble." 

It was sweet talk, delicious probings. A big tease. They sipped and glowed. 
At the end of his glass, Marsh abruptly said, "Got a letter today." 

"Yes?" Tracy was acutely alert. 

"An uncle in England died. Scarcely knew him. Left me his estate." 

"Oh, Matt, I'm--" 

"Leave it at that, love. Nothing to be said." He mused somberly. "It's a 
sizable property, and the old boy modernized and lived in a pint-sized 
castle. Romantic but a trifle gothic. Probably draughty." 

"Ohhh, Matt...!" 

"You said that before. We'll live there, of course?' "We? Matt, do you 
really--" 

"Like I said, I refuse to part with you." 

Tracy wanted to ask if he would marry her and produce heirs, but it did not 
seem the appropriate time. Instead, she listened as he mused. 

"Thought I was at the end of the life. England's no good unless you've got 
money, so I got myself into a few wars. Sure, I know, I'll buy a bullet if I 
stay with being a mercenary long enough." He grinned down confidingly. "I've 
got to admit I'm not too unhappy about this legacy." 

Tracy was a girl and, consequently, thrilled. This was the stuff of romance, 
but she was also practical. "Matt, how on earth can you take me over there 
as a prisoner?" 

He enjoyed her excitement. "I seem to remember boxes people get strapped 
into when kidnapped in foreign parts." 

"Tie me up in a box! Oh, Matt, you wouldn't!" 

"Don't see why not. Maintains the status quo." 

"But if you want me. I'll go willingly. You don't need to crate me or put me 
in a box." Tracy twinkled mischievously. "Or you could let me dress and 
simply wear handcuffs. I don't suppose anybody would mind." 

The man turned upon her his most serious attention. "You'd really do that?" 

"Of course. Matt, it's a lot more comfortable than standing against the tent 
pole all day while you go off and shoot whoever it is you shoot." 

"You know I get a charge out of keeping you prisoner. I mean, apart from the 
obvious. I get a thrill out of those handcuffs you're wearing right now." 

"Sure, I'd have to be crazy not to know, and I don't mind. Honest, I don't." 

"Haven't you cursed me for leaving you fastened to that pole everyday?" 

"Why would I do that? I suppose I must sort of like it myself. I finger the 
cuffs around my wrists and dream. That pole is wonderful for dreams. Do you 
think we might have another drink?" She served his to him in the approved 
fashion, then made her own and knelt before him as a neophyte seeking 
wisdom. "We've fallen into a quaint sort of bind," he said slowly. "I don't 
know where we're going, and I'm not concerned. You and I will make you some 
way. But your image with me right now is of a captive girl who can't escape 
her chains. If you don't try very hard, that doesn't change a thing. I get 
an aesthetic value out of you in bonds. You are immensely enhanced by those 
handcuffs you're twinkling at me as you sip. It's a thing I refuse to deny 
myself." He paused. "Are you going to confuse this whole thing by talking 
about getting married? I can understand you might." 

"You have to know I want to marry you. But if you don't want to talk about 
it, I won't." Tracy glinted mischief. "You can always whip me if I do." 

"Hmmmm, I'm thinking of the trip we have to make. I want to keep this--call 
it an illusion, if you like--alive. Wouldn't it shatter the picture if I 
unlock you at the airport and lock you again at the other end?" 

"Not for me." Tracy wiggled comfortably. She would make him squirm to offset 
her time on the tent pole. She was being feminine. "But I can see it would 
for you. I'm willing to try a scarf over my hands, but I'd die under a cape. 
Please, Matt, no cape and no crate." 

"I didn't say a crate; I said a box with air holes." 

The merchandise to be transported wrinkled her nose in distaste. "All dark 
and stuffy. Tied up so tight I couldn't move. You'd have to gag me. I'm sure 
the airline would make a fuss about a talking carton." 

"Very funny." 

"Well, I only asked. Would I be clothed or bare?" 

"At the rate you're going, you might also have a tender bottom. "Thank you, 
kind sir. I'm so lucky." 

The man gazed at his ardent captive. He knew himself the luckiest of men. To 
reach this rapport after the relatively short time since he had first 
captured Tracy Trevor was phenomenal. He would not tell her, but it was hard 
not to yank her off to the closest Protestant minister. But he was half 
ashamed of falling prey so easily to the first white girl the jungle exposed 
to him. There was also the question of his ancestral home. To him it would 
be familiar ground, but to Tracy there would be aspects to shock her to the 
core. If he kept her captive all the way, there would be little sense in 
freeing her on arrival or shortly thereafter. There were features about that 
ancestral domicile to lend themselves specifically to what this girl meant 
to him. Soberly, he asked, "Ever been chained in a dungeon?" 

"Good gosh, no!" 

"If you knew you would be on arrival, would you still be a good little girl 
across the Atlantic?" 

Tracy cocked a perky eye. "Sure, if that's what you want." 

"Stop tossing my questions back at me. If I didn't want your reaction, I 
wouldn't ask. Knowing you were headed for a medieval prison, would you still 
go?" 

"Yes." Tracy's tons; became as demanding as his. "But we both know you've 
got me. If I wasn't willing, you could put me in the box." 

"Sharp, aren't you, love? Okay, I think I know where you're at. You're a 
sweetheart." 

"I need my head examined. May I get drunk to celebrate my dark future?" 

"One more only." 

They were extraordinarily comfortable together. Tracy glowed. In a fine 
feminine abandon she already saw herself as the Chatelaine of Matt's castle 
and hostess to the local landed gentry. With such a prospect she could 
easily put up with a dungeon for awhile. In fact, thought of a centrally 
heated dungeon especially for her own incarceration was generating heat in a 
place where Mother had taught her it was naughty. 

"His name was Angus Marsh, but he wasn't Scottish. He got his name from the 
castle itself. Castle Angus, or Angus Castle-- take your pick. We can look 
for origins when we're in residence." Matthew grinned down at the kneeling, 
handcuffed girl. "Have you any idea of the things I can do with you in a 
real ancient relic?" 

"Sort of." 

Tracy sipped. The drinks were engendering a potent warmth which, coupled 
with an overheated sex, was inducing a delightful euphoria in which 
everything was wonderful, including Angus Castle, and she was certain of 
being competently dealt with when her master got around to it. Despite some 
obvious disadvantages, the castle loomed in her future as a definite bonus. 
Resolutely, she ignored Effie's silent warning: "You're not going to like 
that dungeon or those chains." It was not Effie who was going to be Mrs. 
Matthew Marsh. With a philosophical air, she asked, "Will you tuck me in the 
dungeon?" 

"Why not! It would likely be a first." 

Tracy giggled. "It would be for me." 

"You used a vulgar word. How come?" 

Tracy was suddenly frightened. The last time had hurt a lot, and the awful 
word had slipped by. "I'm sorry," she offered lamely. "I expect I'm tipsy. 
Do you want me to stand and bend over?" 

"If you please." 

Tracy was a little girl again, setting aside her drink and getting up on her 
feet. Her handcuffs prevented embracing some part of he master. Robbed of 
this feminine resort, she positioned herself and bent to touch her toes, 
asking wanly, "Is this the way you want me?" 

"Excellent! Shall we say a mere five?" 

Tracy remembered in time not to say, "If that's what you want." Instead, she 
meekly said, "Thank you. That will do nicely." The cane hurt horrifically 
with a venomous personal hurting, as from Matt to Tracy. The bent nudity 
knew she could never keep still for all five if she had not been told that 
was all there was. It was most certainly enough. At the end of them, she 
fervently said, "Thank you, master." Mischief fled. She was anxious to 
please. "Have to cane you every so often, eh?" 

"I expect so." 

"Keeps our relationship intact." 

"If you say so." 

Tracy knew it was wrong the moment she uttered the simple words. They had 
sounded sulky and thrust his question back at him as though in doubt. She 
gazed up appealingly. What she beheld told her what to do. 

"Only five again, love. I hope you're learning from this." There was nothing 
she could do. he had her; she was owned. Handcuffed and leg-ironed, there 
was only one thing to do. Abjectly, she bent over and tightened the skin of 
her wealed bottom, consoling herself with the thought that these strokes 
were her own fault. Tracy absorbed their scorch, their sear, their 
frightening agony with the same fortitude. At the end, she tremulously said, 
"Thank you, master." 

"You're welcome. I love the way you Americans say that. I've got to hand it 
to you--you're quite marvelous, and you should see your bottom." 

Tracy wanted to cry and be comforted. But this Matthew Marsh was the one who 
had captured her and made her prisoner. She knew his purpose in the ten 
stripes he had placed upon her flesh was to keep her aware of her status and 
of his. She knelt and sipped, then said, "I know I deserved it. Thank you." 
Within he female mind she was saying, "Just you wait, just you wait!" 

"Feel more like a well-behaved prisoner?" 

"Ten strokes more. Apart from the way you punish me, I really am sorry about 
the way I boob." 

"You're welcome." 

The laugh they shared was genuine. The cane across her bottom had changed 
nothing. In a way, Tracy was glad of the stripes. They would keep her from 
blowing Matt's fantasizing. With a deep feminine wisdom she knew their 
importance to him and thus to her. 

"If you don't put me in a box. I'll have to be clothed before I get on a 
plane. Or do you know an airline that accepts nudes?" 

"The woman who outfitted you in Santos Prison will do it again." 

"You think of everything. What will I wear at Angus Castle?" 

"Nothing." 

"So convenient!" Inexplicably, Tracy shivered. A gothic hand had touched her 
spine. The castle would be as far from home for her as was Santos, and the 
sun would not always shine. But, light- heartedly, she added, "Will you 
bring me out of the dungeon on special occasions? I mean, will you be 
entertaining?" 

: "Thinking of yourself as a hostess?" 

"Why not? You can pop me back in the dungeon after the last guest has gone." 
Tracy made her tone serious. "We shouldn't make fun of any of this. It 
sounds wonderful and rich and exciting. You're terribly lucky." 

"It will rain, and the neighbors will be stuffy and wear tweeds and keep 
dogs and horses. There's a Jot to be said for Santos, you know, if they 
weren't always killing each other." 

"Stay here then. Don't go and claim your castle. I'll resign myself to the 
tent pole." 

"Oh, I'll go all right, and so will you, love, one way or another. I'm the 
last of the line. I suppose there's a duty." 

"I'd be glad to produce you virile sons to carry on the name." 
Affectionately, Matthew Marsh looked down at the girl he had just caned. Her 
bottom would be tender because of her punishment, but she still wished to 
give him sons. He wondered how well she would tread the thin line between 
slave girl and mistress, and how successful he would be in keeping that 
division clear and plausible in her feminine mind. He suspected the cane 
would be a constant presence. Abruptly, he announced, "I've some work to do. 
I want a change from those handcuffs. There's some rope and cord around 
somewhere." 

"Don't you want me to make your supper?" 

"Later. I want you tied tight for an hour." 

Tracy was aware of the need to accustom herself to his moods. She would have 
preferred to stay as they were, but it might be nice to be rid of handcuffs 
for a little while, and there was something delightfully personal about 
being bound by the man you intended to marry. The man himself did not have 
to be aware of her intention, just so long as she herself knew. Brightly, 
she asked, "How do you want me?" 

The handcuffs jangled to the floor. Tracy did a quick wide-warm stretch. 
When her master smiled in amusement, she did another. They felt good. Her 
mind was busy with the making over of Angus Castle when Matt ordered, "Turn 
and cross your wrists." She obeyed, and stood dreamily as the strands 
searched and bit and were deftly knotted. She wriggled and splayed out her 
fingers to show how well she was secured. 

"Down on your tummy, love. I'll help." 

Again, it was not a posture she would have chosen. Breathless, Tracy rested 
her chin in the sand while her ankles were tightly trussed. When ankles and 
hands were drawn together to bow and bend her backwards, she could not check 
the involuntary exclamation. "Oh, Matt, do you have to!" 

"Afraid so, sweetheart." 

"Isn't this what they call a hogtie?" 

"Right. First time, eh?" 

"Everything's my first time. Oh, Matt, this is terribly uncomfortable." 

"So I'm told." 

"Don't sound so pleased. Am I being punished or only immobilized?" 

"Striving for effect actually, love. You can stay as you are or roll over on 
your side. Either way, you look enticingly distraught." 

"It hurts and it's going to hurt worse." 

"But only for an hour or so." 

The captive sniffed and foiled over on her side. She was not sure she had 
improved her plight, but at least her chin was out of the sand. Tracy 
wiggled and twisted, the ropes bit back as though in admonition. Bitterly, 
she complained, "I'll try not to scream." 

"No screams, poppet. I have to concentrate. Be happy to gag you, though. You 
wear a gag charmingly." 

"Don't bother. I'll suffer in silence." 

It was infuriating to have her master so deeply absorbed at his desk as to 
be oblivious to her suffering. Tracy supposed suffering as good a word as 
any. She supposed she could endure the hogtie for the prescribed time. It 
would not be pleasant, but just to please Matt... The silence was her real 
punishment. She effervesced with things to say. The castle, their journey, 
to be boxed, crated, or led on a leash...! The tight bound girl had her own 
ideas about how she would walk upon the plane. But she could not be sure of 
Matthew Marsh. There were still dark depths in him she had not plumbed. If 
he wanted her in a box, then undoubtedly she would be boxed. From his voice 
she shrewdly deduced she had best keep quiet now if she did not want another 
mark or two upon whatever bit of her skin he thought convenient. For a girl 
to have her bottom bare and available was not all bad. Other portions of her 
were far more tender. Tracy settled herself to dream. 

"Feeling abused, Tracy love?" 

Matt's solicitous tone was a surprise. The single word of Tracy's admission 
was cautious. "Yes." 

"You can buy freedom for ten strokes, love." 

"You know what you can do with your ten strokes!" 

"Are you being vulgar again?" 

"Oops, sorry! I'm not at my best in the way you've got me." She raised her 
head and gazed up, wide-eyed in apprehension. "No, Matt, please don't. I've 
said I'm sorry." 

"This will make quite sure you're sorry." 

The streak of fire was up the length of her exposed bare thigh. The pain 
was, as usual, outrageous. She wanted to say that now she did indeed feel 
abused, but she did not dare. She managed a meekly sarcastic, "Thank you." 

"You're welcome." 

Tracy wanted to scream, to stick out her tongue, to beat at his 
imperturbability with her fists. But she did nothing. She would not give him 
the satisfaction of making what small motions his bonds upon her allowed. 
Her thigh burned with a nagging scald. The weal she would wear would 
proclaim itself blatantly. Ah well... 

 CHAPTER FIVE - RUSTIC RESTRAINT 

Tracy had forgotten its author but the quote was apt: "Where every prospect 
pleases and only man is vile." From where she stood with arms outstretched 
and bound to the five barred gate the demesne of Angus was indeed fair to 
see. Half woodland, half the sloping fields of farms, all tributary to the 
estate. Castle Angus itself presided benevolently over its possessions, 
blending into the scene as though it had grown there instead of being built. 
Fifteenth or sixteenth century--Tracy was no sufficiently up on such matters 
to tell. She shifted self-consciously against tied wrists and roped tummy, 
she knew herself an anomaly in such a scene, and was willing to bet the 
castle had never seen a naked girl tied to a gate in all its several hundred 
years. She had expressed herself forcibly to her feudal lord. 

"But, Matt, this is England. It's not the U.S.A. or Santos. If someone sees 
me, they'll throw a fit and call the police." 

"Nonsense. The sun will do you good." 

"You mean standing naked and tied to a farmer's gate?" 

"This farm is not rented. Not a cow or bull or even a sheep." 

"But the English go for walks. If one comes by, I'll die!" 

"The hazard lends a bit of excitement to your day." 

"Yes, I know, you have work to do. You always have work to do. This is all 
so lovely, and you haven't even shown it to me. Please don't tie me too 
tight again today." 

Matthew had tied her tight and gone his way. His nude possession stood 
against the gate, her arms spread wide and her middle tucked in, had enjoyed 
the rural scene for a couple of hours but was now bored. Tracy went through 
the squirming loose routine, but she found it useless and slumped as 
comfortably as possible against the cords on her wrists and the ropes around 
her middle. There was nothing else to do but dream. There was a lot to dream 
about. 

Tracy Trevor would forever remember the stewardess. After a few hasty 
glances the young woman had guessed what the carelessly held scarf 
concealed. Her eyes conveyed her knowledge to the girl with handcuffed 
hands. Between them flashed a tacit understanding that each knew the other's 
awareness. Tracy could not conceal her blush. If Matthew Marsh knew of the 
feminine exchange, he ignored it with a lordly insouciance. When his charge 
went to the rest room, the flight attendant cornered her and whispered 
hastily, "I'm so sorry. Have you been sentenced?" 

Tracy was proud of her quick response. "I'm afraid so. Two years for 
shoplifting." 

"How awful! You don't looked the type." Wide eyes dripped sympathy. "That 
man--your escort--is he treating you decently?" 

"Oh, yes, he's terribly nice. I'm supposed to be handcuffed to him. but he 
let me off. The way he's got me handcuffed now is much nicer and easier to 
hide. How did you tell?" 

"We get so many. We always give them the back seat. They're always chained 
together. I've never seen anyone cuffed the way you are. " There was an 
embarrassed pause. "Would you mind giving me a proper look? I've always been 
curious." 

Girl to girl. It was so easy and rather sweet. Tracy shook away the scarf 
and held out her ironed wrists for inspection. "I can't possibly get free of 
them," she explained. "And if I don't try, they don't hurt." 

"But they're so shiny and steely and curly, and you're only a girl!" 

"I shouldn't have taken the fur coat," Tracy said mendaciously "But doesn't 
it make you feel all goosey? I mean having them locked on your wrists, and 
that man having the key?" 

Tracy's reply was killed by the advent of another passenger. The scar was 
hastily replaced. Two pairs of girlish eyes smiled in shared knowledge. At 
the flight's end there was a whispered "Goodbye" and a whispered "Good 
luck." Repressing a giggle, the handcuffed girl wondered if she might get 
her sentence reduced for good behavior. Then turned her attention to the 
motley piles of Orientals asleep in Heathrow's concourse. It had all been 
fun. 

"What did I tell you. Went like a breeze. I can take you handcuffed any 
place I like." Matt was expansive. 

"Thank you for not putting me in a box." 

"You're welcome." 

They had made a fun thing of the North American expression of goodwill. 
Tracy pouted back at her master and demanded, "Now show me England." 

"You're still a prisoner, pet. Or have you forgotten?" 

"All right then, stick me in your miserable old dungeon. You can go off and 
have a marvelous time all by yourself." 

Tracy knew it was true, she had forgotten she was captive and on her way to 
a quaint imprisonment from which there would be no escape. At this moment 
she could scream and gain freedom, but she knew she would not do so. Tracy 
was not a bit sure of her reasons or motives for ignoring the freedom she 
had desired so recently. She looked at her escort and felt possessively 
proud. The warm steel around her wrists was comforting. She did not really 
believe in the dungeon, but if it awaited her, well, so what! She would 
prefer it to Santos Prison. Tracy, with her own feminine reasoning, felt 
certain she was going to be very happy. 

Blessing was indeed a blessing. Blessing had been general factotum to Uncle 
Angus and was prepared to offer the same service to the new lord of the 
manor. Blessing was of indeterminate age, and appeared to be an outgrowth of 
the mellow stone of the castle itself. If he suffered shock in the fact his 
new master arrived complete with a young woman of doubtful status, he gave 
no sign At a later date Tracy was to learn he had been a long procession of 
what he described as "little popsies" flit in and out from behind the castle 
walls. Uncle Angus had been a "proper old party, so he was," and the tribute 
paid with deep affection. 

Tracy sighed. There was so much, and all in so little time. She looked along 
the length of a bare arm to where Matt's cords nestled snugly around her 
wrist and around the top bar of the gate. She debated if it was worthwhile 
trying again to get loose. Not that she believe she could, but it was 
something to do and would be one up on Matt if she ever succeeded. But she 
thought, as she had often done, of what value such a freedom might be. It 
would be only getting the laugh on her master, and then meekly holding out 
her hands to be retied. The idea of flight was not in the cards. Where would 
she go? Who would replace Matt in her life? It was all a bit defeating since 
it removed a motive. Prisoners were supposed to be deeply concerned about 
freedom, but she had to admit to not knowing what to do with it. It pleased 
Matt to keep her prisoner, and she wanted to please Matt, so why chafe her 
skin? And anyway, she was too tightly tied. 

Tracy was not sure about the dungeon. She had expected to be chained in it 
for at least thirty minutes just to live up to an old tradition. But Matt 
had said nothing of doing this to her. There were several dungeons beneath 
Castle Angus, and another one up in a tower of the ancient building. He had 
shown her one of the three, and Tracy had shivered appropriately at what she 
beheld. She sensed a mystery. But she did not push. If she never entered 
another dungeon, it would be far too soon. To be chained and left alone in 
the one she had seen was a daunting prospect. 

Blessing had not absolved her from nudity. There seemed a tacit 
understanding between the two men, a knowledge of something she did not. 
Upon first beholding her nakedness, Blessing had complimented her on her 
figure. It was a quite frank and unashamed appraisal, leaving the captive 
girl feeling he had appraised a good many. After that he appeared not to see 
her from her neck down. He was the perfect butler, and Tracy's blushes soon 
subsided. But she had to say something. 

"Matt, this Mr. Blessing... and me all naked and handcuffed?" 

"Drop the 'mister, love. Blessing is Blessing. If he notices your breasts 
and little thingummy, he'll never let on." 

"But he said I was the most perfect female form he'd ever seen!" 

"What's wrong with that? Nice tribute, and he's right." 

"Well, how many female forms has he seen?" 

"I gather quite a few." Matt laughed. "Seems like Uncle Angus was quite an 
old gentleman. He liked his girls." 

"All you men like the girls." Tracy sniffed. "You're a chip off the old 
block." 

"In more ways that one, sweetheart. Seems like Uncle Angus had the finest 
collection of handcuffs in Somerset. Had a lot of 'em specially made girl 
size." 

"How nice for you. I'd rather not hear about it." 

They had explored the castle and the estate. Everything was to hand as 
though Uncle Angus was still their host. Tracy sat beside her owner in the 
land rover and kept her handcuffed wrists out of sight. To understand the 
broader Somerset idioms was learning a learning a new language. But she kept 
her hands demurely in her lap while the locals treated her with immense 
respect, only slightly colored by curiosity. Try as she would, Tracy could 
never rid herself of the conviction they guessed about the steel upon her 
wrists. 

On the second day Matt had excused his need to work and be absent from his 
captive maiden. It was no more than Tracy expected, and they discussed her 
disposition as casually as they might have discussed dinner. She had spent 
one awesome day chained by a single wrist to a ring in the wall of the Great 
Hall. There had been suits of armor for company, and much polished and 
gleaming oak. It was her first introduction to the smell of floor polish in 
an English home. By the time her master returned she hated hardwood and 
ancient relics with a passion. On her third day Matt had bound her 
implacably to a post of his four-poster bed, which so far she had shared. 
Today he had decided on the five-barred gate. Once more the captive girl 
looked at her bonds and snorted in disgust. "Well, well, what have we 
here!"- Tracy tensed and had an instant vision. He would be tweedy, florid 
of face, late middle age. She was right. A startled glance back over a bare 
shoulder confirmed her diagnosis. The burly figure was surveying her bare 
rear view with obvious approval. He bypassed the gate by climbing over a 
stile to stand where he could get a full frontal view of Miss Tracy Trevor's 
nakedness. Her retort was instant. "Go away. I haven't any clothes on." 

"So I notice." The tweedy type nodded approval. "And very nice too if you 
ask me. Knobby would have approved of you." He guffawed heartily. "I'm 
talking about old Angus, rest his bones. One of the best was old Knobby. 
You'd have done him proud." 

"I don't want to do anybody proud. Please go away." 

"I'll be damned! American! Old Knobby never went in much for Americans. A 
nice little shop girl who dropped her knickers was his choice. Mind you, she 
had to have a figure." 

"I wish you'd stop leering at mine and go away." 

"Leering! Was I leering? Well, I suppose there's a lot to be said for it. 
Haven't seen anything this good since Knobby got that smashing bit from 
Marks and Spencers." 

"It's not nice to stare at me the way you're doing. If you don't go away, 
I'll complain to Mr. Marsh." 

"Ah, the whipper snapper, eh. I take it he's the one who tied you to this 
gate." 

"Yes, he did. And he wouldn't want you ogling." 

"Ogling? Am I ogling? Thought I was past all that. You revive me faith, me 
girl." Tracy's visitor raised a knobby stick he walked with and rubbed the 
end of it between the captive girl's legs. "Damn lovely bush you've got. 
Haven't seen a bush that thick since Knobby got that Chinese girl from Hong 
Kong." 

"Don't you ever procure any girls of your own?" 

'Eh! Well, actually, no. Married and all that. Knobby had more sense." 

"If you were a gentleman, you'd untie me, instead of staring." 

"Eh! Ah, there you're wrong, m'dear. A gentleman never interferes. A 
gentleman tied you to that gate, and very pretty you look too, and no other 
gentleman is going to set you free. Belong to Knobby's nephew, don't you?" 

"Haven't you the least bit of chivalry?" 

"Big difference between chivalry and being a busybody." 

"Then please be a busybody and untie me. I'm tired of being tied here like 
this, and stop staring." 

"Huh!" The tweedy type viewed Tracy with disapproval. "You American girls! I 
can see why Knobby never bothered. By the way, my name's Mitchley, Colonel 
Mitchley. Imperial Army, of course." 

"If you've fought for freedom, how about giving me some?" 

"Nonsense. You're tied just right. I daresay you're enjoying tugging at the 
rope and giving your little thingummy an airing." 

"It's not a thingummy. It's--" 

"I know the other names for it." The colonel chuckled. "Had my hand on a 
good many in my time. I'll put it on yours if you get saucy." 

"It wouldn't hurt you to untie me. I'd just go back to the castle and get 
some clothes. I don't suppose Matt would mind." 

"Matt? Oh, the whipper snapper." The colonel guffawed. "If you wouldn't run 
away, what's the sense in tying you to this gate?" 

"Matt enjoys--" 

"Ah ha! He's not old Knobby's nephew for nothing. Knobby must have tied more 
girls to more things!" He looked at her searchingly "You letting yourself be 
tied up because you like it or because you want to marry the boy?" 

"It's none of your business. If you're not going to untie me, you may as 
well stop staring at my pussy and go away." 

'Huh, girls call it a fanny in these parts. Suppose I may as well keep up 
the old tradition." 

Colonel Mitchley's breath was redolent of expensive Scotch. His hand was 
nothing much, as hands go, it lacked sensitivity. But with her tummy roped 
as tightly as it was to the gate Tracy had no choice but to endure her 
visitor's digital exploration of her most private part. She admired the view 
of field and coppice while the Imperial Army did a spot of reconnoitering. 
"Nice, very nice." Colonel Mitchley approved. "You're a pretty little 
handful, and damned responsive. You won't mind if I dry this on your hip?" 

"Would it do me any good if I did mind?" 

The colonel blandly ignored her petulance. "My wife and I will be calling, 
and there's cocktails at our place once a month. Does the boy let you loose 
for social occasions or pop you in one of Knob- by's dungeons?" 

"I haven't the faintest idea what he'll do with me." 

"Don't have much to say about anything, eh? Well, that's carrying on where 
old Knobby left off. None of his little popsies had much to say about 
anything either. Not unless they wanted their little rumps caned. D'you 
enjoy a good scorch on the rear?" 

"You're a rude old man. Go away." 

"Being rude is all a chap can do when he's my age," the colonel complained 
plaintively. "But there was a time when I'd have given you a proper 
trouncing." His tone turned confidential. "I suppose you've seen those 
dungeons and playrooms old Knobby fixed up?" 

"No, and I don't want to." 

"Ahhhh... I expect the boy is waiting for you to ink your blotter before he 
shows you." 

"He's not a boy; he's a soldier every bit as much as you!" 

"Ah ha, that tells the story. You're in love with him." Tracy's blush was 
his answer. "I wish you'd mind your own affairs, and I still don't see why 
you won't let me loose." 

"You don't really want to be let loose, that's why," Colonel Mitchley 
reproved testily. "Because you're a female you think you have to ask. It's a 
sort of reflex like that Russian fellow with his dogs." He chucked her under 
her chin. "I hope this boy of yours invites me over some day when he's 
putting you through your paces." 

"You'd be disappointed. Matt doesn't torture me." 

"Couldn't say Knobby tortured his little darlings either." The colonel mused 
thoughtfully. "But some of what he did do certainly got their attention. 
You're altogether too demanding, the way you keep asking to be untied. No 
popsie of Knobby's would ever have dared." 

Tracy wriggled against her corded wrists. She was really shockingly exposed 
to this relic of another age. Her middle was too tightly belted to permit 
motion down below. She could not even deliver a good kick. She wished the 
colonel had not discovered her. On the other hand, he had been informative. 
For the sake of something to say, she enquired, "Did you play these silly 
games with Uncle Angus?" 

"Uncle Angus, eh! Yes, m'dear, you've got a wedding ring in mind. Don't ever 
use that word again. There's nothing silly about it. Nothing silly in the 
way you're tie right now." The colonel snorted. "The young fellow's done a 
neat job on you, and you know it. If you weren't tied up, you'd only be 
running around the shops and spending money." 

"I've got a right to do that if I want." 

"You don't have any rights. Get such nonsense out of your mind." Colonel 
Mitchley looked around vaguely. "Your bottom's wrong way around, but if 
you'd like, I can cut a switch or two and bring you back on course with a 
few cuts across your thighs." 

"Don't you dare! Knowing Uncle Angus doesn't give you the right to whip me!" 

"Hoity-toity. Temper, eh! What you need, young woman is a sound thrashing." 

"Know, I don't! Certainly not from you. If I need a thrashing. Matt will 
thrash me, and nobody else." 

"Hmmmm. I'll have a word with the boy and see if he'll let me have you for 
an hour or two. A good English cane across your bottom would work wonders." 

"He won't lend me to you, and the canes aren't English. They're imported 
from Singapore." 

"Do the trick, though, eh! Smarten you up no end." Colonel Mitchley's 
complexion turned slightly more florid. "One of these days...!" 

"I wish you'd go away and leave me alone." 

"Very well." The colonel's voice bristled with affronted dignity. "I know 
when I'm not wanted. But the day will come---" 

"No, it won't! Goodbye!" 

The retired military struggled for words but succeeded only in deepening his 
complexion one more shade of crimson. He harrumphed a couple of times like 
an irritated dinosaur. Pathetically, he muttered to the world at large, 
"It's hell to be old!" Then he stomped away. Tracy felt like a bitch. 

It was uncomfortable but exciting to wear clothes. However, a total absence 
of handcuffs, chain, or rope left Tracy feeling more naked than when 
actually bare. But, despite this mental hazard, she was thrilled to the 
core. Matt had made her his acknowledged hostess. If the county cocked a 
dubious eye, they did so when she was not looking. Miss Tracy Trevor from 
the U.S.A. was undisputed queen of Mr. Matthew Marsh's first cocktail party. 
She had been fearful of being a maid who served the drinks and wore a 
skimpy, revealing costume, but Matt had employed a professional staff for 
the occasion. For this one evening Matthew Marsh's feminine prisoner was a 
lady. 

Their prelude of discussion had been brief. "How do you know I won't run 
away or ask for help?" Tracy had enquired as her master took the handcuffs 
from her wrists. 

"You won't." 

So that looked after that! Tracy tried again. "What do I say if that sad old 
colonel talks about whipping my bottom?" 

"He won't." 

"I bet he's told everybody about finding me naked and tied to the gate." 

"He hasn't." 

"Uncle Angus seems to have had himself a time with half the - girls in 
England. When they see me, I bet they snicker to themselves." 

"Who cares! If they do have a quiet chuckle, it will be from sour grapes. 
Stop beefing." 

Tracy stopped. She was learning when to keep quiet and was willing to admit 
her teacher had been the cane. Her bottom was nearly always streaked. She 
sallied forth to do battle with the better element, and after two cocktails 
and several skirmishes discovered her adversary was not the tweedy type, 
where the women were motherly and the men yearning, but a young woman with 
the improbable title of the Honorable Crystal Maitland. Crystal had been 
often referred to in the London press as a "British beauty" or an "English 
rose." She was reputed to have been intimate with the Prince of Wales. At 
the moment she was giving her full attention to Matthew Marsh, a sure 
indicator that Uncle Angus had indeed left his nephew a lot of money. 

Jealously, Tracy watched. She could concede Crystal's undoubted charms, but 
not the fatuous manner in which Matthew Marsh wallowed in this unexpected 
female attention. The word "wallowed" seemed appropriate to the slighted 
slave. It was soon her own turn to be exposed to Crystal's attention. 

"I think it's so nice for a man like Captain Marsh to have a girl like you. 
The name is Tracy, isn't it? How sweet." 

"Like me! What sort of a girl am I?" 

"Well, we both know that, darling, but we need not go into it, need we?" 
Crystal was a lethal weapon. "Please don't feel awkward with me. If it's any 
comfort, I don't mind telling you Uncle Angus once caned my bottom." Crystal 
simpered. "But just the once. One must not indulge these ancient satyrs 
beyond a certain point." Tracy viewed the English rose with fresh interest. 
"You mean you bent over for him?" 

"Well, no dear. I let the old boy strap me down on one of those devices he 
has downstairs. I was actually rather fond of him, if only he'd kept his 
cane to himself, but I expect you enjoy being caned?" 

"Gosh no!" 

"You don't have to tell me, dear--I know. I found the pain tremendously 
stimulating. I'd have let old Angus have his way with me again if a girl 
didn't have to watch out for her marriageability. I'm inclined to think I 
should consider your owner. I could put up with him very well." 

"How considerate." 

"Don't be snarky. I'd let him keep you, dear." Crystal smiled confidingly. 
"Much better your bottom than mine, y'know." 

"Aren't you taking a lot for granted?" 

For answer, Crystal swiftly reached and captured Tracy's hand, pulling it 
forward to where they could both see the fading indentations of rope and its 
residual pink. "Gives you away, darling," she said sweetly, letting the hand 
fall. "That dear little wrist has been bound and chained a good many times, 
and you can't tell me it hasn't." 

"But that's none of your business!" 

"It will be after I've married the gallant captain. I've taken quite a fancy 
to him, and I'll love having a half interest in you." 

"I'll tell him everything you've said! You're--" 

"I've just been telling him. dear. You don't have to bother." Crystal 
chuckled. "Bit of a shock for the poor chap. I mean, confronted by the 
predatory female. But I do believe in calling a spade a spade I explained 
about how I'd enjoy having you around, properly secured and frequently 
whipped, of course." 

"You're impossible!" Tracy was outraged to a point of being intrigued. "I'm 
not sure I believe a word you say." 

"Yes, that's the way it hit him too. But you'll both come around in time. 
He's still digesting what I said. I'll buttonhole him again in a little 
while and give him another treatment." 

"You can't!" Tracy glared. "You simply can't. You're just trying to shock 
him and me to. I--" 

"Yes, dear, I know you want to marry him yourself, but men don't marry their 
slave girls. Why should they?" 

"I'm not a slave girl. I... I'm...." Tracy floundered. "Yes, darling?" 
Crystal's tone was saccharine. "Then what exactly are you?" 

Tracy's feelings were primal. She wanted to scratch and claw. The honorable 
Crystal Maitland possessed no more physical assets than she herself, but she 
was skilled in using them and the undoubted influence she held in this 
society. The two girls glared in confrontation. But on the surface they 
smiled the deadly smiles of cobras. "All you'll get out of Matt is a 
well-whipped bottom," Tracy warned. "And the sooner the better. You're a 
British pain in the ass." 

"Temper, temper! Come now, darling, it's so nice we understand each other. 
How'd you like to bet I whip yours before you whip mine?" 

Tracy was breathing hard. She was glad Crystal could not see her breasts. 
Their rise and fall would be a betrayal. She considered walking away, but 
that would spell defeat. On the other hand, she knew her status, 
sufficiently understood by this svelte menace to make her threats seem 
bombast, a blustering to earn her punishment. Swallowing pride and resolving 
to speak of this snooty bitch to her master, she said lamely, "You're taking 
an unfair advantage, and I think you're pumping me for information. Try and 
remember I'm the hostess here and you're a guest." 

"But hostesses have bottoms, darling, and we both know what bottoms are for, 
don't we?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

Tracy flounced away in fury, but that night when she sat naked on their bed 
and held out her hands for the cuffing of her wrists she sought to lay a 
ghost. "Matt, that absurd Crystal creature...?" 

"What about her?" 

"She said she intends to marry you." 

"Told me the same thing, love." Matt carefully tightened a cuff to make it 
snug. "She's an amusing piece of fluff." 

"She's not a piece of fluff; she's deadly." 

"Take her seriously, eh? And you're jealous. Well, well!" 

"Don't just say 'well, well.' You should avoid her like the plague." 

"Are you giving me orders?" 

"Oh, all right, I forgot. Do you want me to bend over?" 

"Ordinarily, I would, but apart from Crystal, you carried things off with a 
flair. I was proud of you, so no stripes on your bottom." 

"Thank you. I never want to be caned if I can help it." Tracy jingled her 
handcuffs, savoring their familiar steel again upon her wrists. She bestowed 
a rueful grin. "Matt, I'm scared of that girl. She makes everything sound so 
innocent, but none of it is." 

"Mmmmmm... well, yes. Goes after what she wants. Asked me if I'd let her 
strap you down and cane your bottom." 

"Matt!- She didn't?" 

"Sure, she did. Bare-faced about it. Said if I let her cane yours, she'd 
allow me to cane hers. Seems like old Uncle Angus--v "She told me. Matt, 
please don't ever let her--" Matthew bent and kissed the disturbed nudity so 
completely his. 

"Don't worry, love. Crystal won't get at your bottom--or your top. Forget 
her. Now, suggest something I can do with you tomorrow." 

"Drive me around the country roads. Handcuffed, of course, and behind my 
back if it would please you." 

"It would please me a lot. How about naked?" 

"Sure. Suppose we get arrested for indecency?" 

"I'll take a blanket along for crucial moments." 

The two of them slipped back into their chosen roles with natural ease. 
Tracy found herself bound to trees, to old wagon wheels, to a kitchen chair. 
Blessing viewed such antics as he observed with a benign eye. The captive 
girl knew it would be useless to ask him to untie her ever. Blessing was the 
master's man. Tracy even survived and emerged victorious from the ordeal of 
the honorable Crystal coming to tea. Matthew ensured she was hostess and did 
the pouring. He remained one jump ahead of this visitor throughout. 

"Delightful girl you have, Mr. Marsh. I presume you've released her from her 
chains to preside at tea." 

"You're right; she is delightful. I'm very fond of her." 

"Ah, well, if you like the type. I hope you thrash her frequently. She 
certainly merits it." 

"At my own discretion, Miss Maitland. I expect you'll be going to the horse 
show?" 

"No, I will not. I would prefer to borrow Tracy from you for the weekend." 

"She is not available. I'm sorry." 

"You're not sorry at all. The offer I made for her--mine for hers--still 
holds." 

"It's an offer I must pass on. But thanks." 

"Your Uncle Angus would be ashamed of you." 

"But I'm not ashamed of me. Please don't bother with Tracy and myself. We 
are perfectly happy in our own way." 

The conversation had been lengthy. Tracy had glowed throughout. The 
honorable Crystal had departed, ruffled and emanating hostile vibes. When 
she was rid of clothes afterwards, but before being handcuffed, Tracy threw 
her arms around her master and gave him fervid thanks. They had made love, 
their union secure. Crystal could go fly a kite. But the next day they met 
again. 

It was a new tie. Actually a preparation for whip or crop--or both! It was a 
smooth young trunk Tracy had to face, and thereto be bound, arms extended 
above her head, wrists tightly tied to the slender bole. When her middle was 
also tightly bound and cinched to the young tree, she knew herself helpless 
and terribly vulnerable. 

"Just right for whipping you, love." 

"But I haven't done anything! Oh, Matt!" 

"Keep you wondering, love. You're nicely vulnerable and well out of sight. 
Maybe old Mitchley will happen by and give you a few stripes." 

"Ohhh, Matt, please! It's awful being left tied to a tree so I can scarcely 
move, and all alone." 

"You love it. So do I. The way you complain, I suppose you think you have 
to." 

"Oh, Matt!" 

They had left it at that, each in their own way satisfied. Tracy had become 
resigned to being bound to trees and other outdoor facilities. Matt assured 
his prisoner they had. to take advantage of the English summer while they 
had it. This was not Santos. The captive of the tree wriggled and tugged and 
squirmed in her usual testing of her tie. Tracy had learned not to do this 
while her master was present. It simply meant more rope or a tighter tie. As 
usual, she discovered she could free no part of herself. She gazed back over 
each bare shoulder. Not wanting to view the bark all day, she set her cheek 
against it and delivered herself to fantasy. Soon her wrists would hurt and 
her arms start to tire. But until then... ! 

Crystal had not returned, so that was that. On the other hand, Tracy could 
not see herself any closer to being Mrs. Matthew Marsh. Her hints fell on 
deaf ears, and she was as securely kept in bondage as ever. Her master was 
always around in the brief periods when she was free. If she had wished most 
ardently to escape, she could not have done so. She wanly wondered if this 
meant anything. She was a prisoner and could be kept a prisoner for the rest 
of her life if Matthew Marsh so desired. There were times when she thought 
he did. 

Tracy was beautifully bound. Her master had taken time and trouble. Her 
raised wrists were firmly and prettily circled with snug strands, and her 
waist was cinched tight against the tree. She could reach or touch no single 
knot. But it was the same every day. and at night there was always a chain. 
She wondered why she had not been taken to a dungeon, but did not ask. She 
sensed the dark caverns below and the tower room above as factors in her 
future. Unless, of course... ? 

Matt had made it plain he would treat his wife little differently from his 
treatment of his slave. There would be plenty of rope, and the cane and the 
whip would always be around. But the anxious candidate for the position 
glossed over such trivia. It was not likely to be worse than what she 
endured now and secretly she was enduring her present tribulations 
remarkably well, even to the point of actual erotic enjoyment, of which she 
was secretly ashamed. She advanced her feet and adjusted her knees to 
contrive friction against her pubic hair on the rough surface of the tree. 
She was tied too tightly for her pussy to make contact, but if she wiggled 
enough... perhaps--and she was tied there for the day. When boredom got the 
best of her... ! 

"I knew I'd find you around somewhere. The weather's so lovely." Crystal's 
voice snapped the captive girl into tense wakefulness. "My, my, what a 
delightful way he has you tied! I couldn't do better myself." 

Tracy took a swift startled glance back across a bare shoulder. Crystal 
carried a riding crop and was flexing it back and forth in seeming 
anticipation. Her smiling regard was as sweet as ever. "What a gorgeous body 
you have, darling. I expect the mixture of mongrels in the U.S.A. produces 
those wonderful breasts and that exquisite bottom you're sticking out at 
me." 

"Go away, you're trespassing." 

The naked girl tied to the tree was cringing with every fiber of her being. 
She knew herself wonderfully bound for Crystal's use of the crop she 
carried. It was as though Matt had tied her thus on purpose. She angrily 
dismissed the thought. Crystal dismissed it further. 

"Don't suppose your master would have tied you like this if he'd known I was 
coming by. I'm so lucky." 

"Go away. Don't talk about masters and such, it's silly." Crystal's peal of 
laughter caused a blush to diffuse the tied girl's face and neck. "All 
right, laugh all you want, but what Matt and I do together is none of your 
business. If you have any decency, you'll go away and leave me alone." 

"What you're really saying, darling, is you don't want me to use this crop 
on you." 

"So, all right, I don't want you to use that crop on me. Please don't. It 
would be a rotten unfair advantage." 

"All's fair in love and war, sweetness." Crystal trilled laughter. "And that 
lovely little curved bottom is so sweet I swear I can see it quivering, and 
it's already so nicely striped." 

"Yours would quiver too if things were the other way around. Crystal, I beg 
you, please don't use that crop on me." 

"But, darling, you're so gorgeously helpless!" 

"I know I am. That doesn't mean you have to whip me." 

"But it seems so wrong to do. Matt must have tied you like this for a 
reason. You can't move much at all, can you?" 

"You know I can't! Ohhhhh, please!" 

Crystal thoughtfully stroked the bare skin of the bound girl with the crop, 
lingering lovingly on the curve of buttock and waist. Here was heart's 
desire. The bound maiden would scream delightfully. But she was a prudent 
young woman. Matthew Marsh might not approve of his slave girl being striped 
by other than his own hand. A quiet smile irradiated her features as she 
laid aside the crop and moved closer to the palpitating femininity tied to 
the tree. "Crystal, what are you going to do?" 

Tracy, casting another apprehensive glance back over a bound shoulder, 
surveyed the feline approach without faith in good intentions. There was 
something about Crystal's smile. She cursed her own helplessness. Matt had 
unwittingly delivered her to the enemy. When Crystal's fingers busied 
themselves with the knots around her waist, she demanded fearfully, "Why are 
you untying me? You mustn't. Leave me alone." 

"You love being tied, don't you, dear? I know." Crystal's voice might have 
been the hiss of a deadly snake. "Since you won't invite me to crop your 
bottom, I do have to do something. You wouldn't want us both to be 
frustrated." 

"Don't you dare untie me! Matt will be angry." 

"Try and stop me, darling." 

"You know I can't. Crystal, please!" 

Flushed and helpless, Tracy endured the peeling away of the bands cinching 
her middle to the tree. Even when they were gone she would still be helpless 
and at the mercy of a girl who might show no mercy. But it seemed evident 
she was not to be marked by the crop. This cynical British beauty had 
something else in mind, unless Crystal preferred the girls she whipped to be 
able to dance around under her blows. When the final strand fell away to 
leave Tracy held only by her raised wrists, she made one more disturbed 
protest. 

"Matt's going to be so mad! Matt and I are none of your business, Crystal. 
You're interfering. Where's this fine British politeness I've heard so much 
about!" 

"I don't have any, and you are my business. I intend to inherit you when I 
marry Matt. Just think, darling, I'll be able to whip you everyday. I'll 
make you come to heel. But at this moment...." The still tightly bound girl 
gasped. A female British hand was parting a pair of American thighs and 
inserting itself within the moist heat of transatlantic crotch. It cupped 
handful of plump sex and pulled back to make her victim edge her feet away 
from the tree to give access to a portion of herself previously welded to 
the bark by rope. 

"That's as far away as I can get from the tree," Tracy complained. "My hands 
are still tied up above my head, you know." 

"They're going to stay that way. darling. All I want is your pretty little 
fanny." Crystal giggled. "You call it a pussy as though it says meow. Now 
all you have to do is make the proper sounds while I do the work." 

It was hateful. But Tracy knew herself helpless and in the hands of a 
mistress of femininity. There could be little doubt of Crystal's intent. 
Tracy was going to get an orgasm whether she liked it or not. Her wrists 
complained against the drag of Crystal's demanding hands upon the captive 
maiden loins. There were adjustments, fingers searched. Mischievous teeth 
bit hard on a captive ear as the ancient rhythm began its inexorable play. 

She longed to fight, to wipe the rapture from her persecutor's face. But 
Tracy could do nothing. She was held by the rope above and the wicked hands 
below. Her motions were controlled and reprimanded by the small but vicious 
teeth nipping her ear. But in a little while nothing mattered and she began 
to moan as the hands busied themselves with her sex and the teeth and tongue 
invoked their own demand. If the honorable Crystal Maitland possessed any of 
the highly advertised British reserve, she was evidently giving it a day off 
duty. Tracy moaned her way to the inevitable climax. 

"I'm pleased with you, darling. You're responsive. I shall certainly insist 
on keeping you around." 

"Don't bother." Tracy felt soiled and shamed and moist and longed for a pair 
of strong male arms. "That was a mean advantage, using me like that." 

"I'll keep you prettily chained up in that tower dungeon where I can easily 
use you whenever I feel the need," Crystal assured blandly. "This is such 
fun. The poor man doesn't even know what I have in mind for him. Is he good 
in bed?" 

"You'll never know." 

"I'll bite your ear, darling, until you answer me properly. Biting a girl's 
ear doesn't leave enough marks to bother with." 

"All right, forget my ear. Yes, he's very good in bed." 

"I was sure he would be. You have that contented look. I'll bite your ear 
anyway to teach you a lesson." 

There was no escape. Crystal had her. Tracy made appropriate sounds while 
sharp teeth bit viciously. The pain was worse than a whip stroke. It was a 
way to discipline a girl peculiarly Crystal's own. 

"I'll tie you up again, dear, exactly as I found you. I don't mind whether 
you tell Matt or not. It won't make a bit of difference. You're only a slave 
girl, y'know." 

Tracy was too well aware of naked vulnerability to speak her mind while the 
ropes were again looped and tightened to weld her to her tree. Crystal 
spared no effort. 

"Ouch, that's far too tight!" 

"Good." 

"No! Please, Crystal, I mean it! You're cutting me in two." 

"Not so I can notice. You'll have to put up with it. Give you an idea what 
to expect when I really have you." Pleasurably absorbed, Crystal continued 
to tug. 

The tightly tied nudity maintained a sulky silence. It did no good to 
complain. The honorable Crystal had her for sure, and that was the end of 
it. But she yelped in dismay when a cruel thumb and finger pinched a nipple 
and a sultry voice enquired, "Ever had these whipped, Tracy?" 

"That's a horrible thing to even think of." 

This time the pinch was worse and the voice more silky. "I asked you a 
question, dear." 

"Okay, okay! No, nobody's ever whipped my breasts. It's an awful-- " 

"Nobody wants your opinion, dear. Just give polite answers when someone asks 
a question." 

Clamped hard against her tree, the naked girl, still flushed from orgasm, 
dared not reply. Crystal might still decide to use her crop on the 
beautifully available bottom and make excuses later if she must. Tracy 
realized she should give credit to the other girl for self-control. She knew 
herself a delectable morsel. Crystal read her thoughts. 

"I hope you are properly grateful to me for not cropping that lovely round 
rump you have." 

"I am. Thank you... really!" 

"Some other time perhaps?" 

It was the last thing the tied girl wanted to agree to. But her acquiescence 
was in benefit of prudence. "Yes, of course, some other time." 

Crystal laughed gaily. "I know you don't mean that, and you don't think it 
will happen, but we'll see! In the meantime, your manners have vastly 
improved since I arrived. Give your master my love." 

The bound nudity glowered after the retreating English rose. Tracy doubted 
it was chance which prompted Crystal to slash at inoffensive plants and cut 
them neatly in two with her crop. The damn thing would hurt abominably. 
Despite the heat she shivered. Off somewhere in the wings, Effie admonished, 
"You'd better watch out for her!" 

Effie's advice might be the best. But Tracy was increasingly aware of how 
little she could do about anything. Sure, she and Matt could talk, but he 
kept her plaints within the limits he desired. If she overstepped, he 
whipped or caned her ruthlessly, not many strokes but they hurt, Tracy 
noticed too how little real freedom he allowed. This could well be in 
keeping with whatever his master plane for her might be. But to be forever 
handcuffed or chained or bound left her with a vague unease, as though Matt 
no longer trusted her. She did not want a dungeon, but Matt's refusal to 
lock her away in one was also cause for disquiet. Was he saving whatever 
they held for some truly awful penalty she had to pay? Or was she being 
silly? Tracy simply did not know. 

But she remained certain on one single subject. If someone gave her freedom, 
she would not run away. She would wait and yield herself to her master on 
his return. Morosely, Tracy guessed the cause of all her melancholy. 

The cause was Crystal. 

 CHAPTER SIX - ROPED RAGE 

"She insists she's going to marry you," Tracy repeated stubbornly. 

"Nonsense." 

"No, really! She's terribly intent on it. She's dangerous." 

"You don't think I can look after myself?" 

"Not where females are concerned. Look, you'll punish me. I can tell from 
the look on your face." 

"That's a chance you'll have to take, love." 

"I don't want my bottom caned." 

"It was you who brought up the subject, pet, not me." 

"You men are so silly when there's a certain kind of girl around. You get 
all gooey and fatuous, and your egos show all over, and you simply fawn--" 

"Does this describe me?" 

"Well, no, it doesn't. But you did ask." 

"Very well. No cane." 

"Thank you. I've had the feeling you're mad at me about something. Why did 
you cuff my hands behind my back?" 

"A gentle reprimand. I'm sick of hearing about Crystal Maitland. If it 
bothers you to have your hands where they are, that's the reason." 

"Now I can't fix our drinks." 

"Yes, you can. T;.' e it stow. You'll surprise yourself." 

But., Matt, I'm almost certain to spill--" 

"In that case, you'll be almost certain to get your bottom caned." 

"Pig!" 

Tracy stuck out her tongue and went to the bar. These were understood 
latitudes, part of the game they played. She happily proceeded to perform 
miracles with glasses, ice, and bottles. It was slow and tedious, but 
exhilarating and just barely possible. That was the nice thing about 
handcuffs: she could never get free of them, but they did allow a girl to do 
a lot of things. Had she been bound with rope, her task would be impossible. 

"I enjoyed watching you do that." Matt accepted the drink so awkwardly 
proffered from just above the right cheek of Tracy's bottom. "Make yourself 
one. Same rules apply." 

"But I won't be able to drink it. I mean, I can't raise the glass." 

"I'll raise it for you. Get busy." 

It was good to be with Matt. He made everything worthwhile. Crystal might be 
storming the citadel, but Tracy was safe within its walls. If only Matt 
would hurry up and marry her. But that topic was forbidden. Tracy knelt and 
raised her chin. Her master lifted her glass to her grateful lips. It was 
the most wonderful feeling! 

She said, "Matt, I'm so happy with you. Why must you tie me up and leave me 
alone the way you do?" 

"Business. The estate keeps me busy. It will quieten down. I'll lead you 
around with me on a leash, if you wish." 

"I wouldn't mind. But, Matt, like it was today--I cam close to being flogged 
with a riding crop." 

"Crystal's not that crazy, love." 

"And that old Mitchley. If he's been younger--" 

"I like tying you these different ways outdoors. Gives a touch of spice for 
us both." 

"It would if I wanted to escape from you, but I don't." 

"I'm a lucky man, pet. I adore you." 

"'Then how about being a bit more prudent with me? If some rotten tramp came 
along and found me, well, we both know what he'd do." 

"I'm going to do it to you myself before too long." 

"But, Matt, there's all the difference in the world." 

"Thanks for the compliment, but do you remember our first time? I staked you 
out on the ground spread-eagle. What did you think of that?" 

"You know I loved it. What I'm saying now is I don't want to be--well, you 
know--by some smelly tramp." 

"Does you credit, love. Why didn't you use the word?" 

"Because you'd cane my bottom, that's why. Look, what word d'you want me to 
use? Please don't suggest 'intercourse' or 'sexual congress.' I'd sooner get 
my bottom caned" 

"Okay. There's no sensible word for it. I'll make an exception, and you call 
it a good honest fuck." 

"Thanks a million. So I don't want a good honest fuck from any rambling 
passerby." 

"It won't happen. Remember, you're tied on private property, and this is 
England." 

"You mean the English don't fuck on private property?" 

"Watch it, love. You're pushing your luck." 

The would-be wife found it delicious to thinly skirt the borderline of 
punishment. It became a contest between them to see if she could be trapped 
into imprudence. In the meantime, Tracy was tied to more objects than she 
knew existed around the estate. One of them was the ancient wagon in the 
distant field. 

"Remember how naughty girls used to be whipped at the cart's tail all around 
the town, love?" 

"I've read something, but I'd rather not know." 

"Very simple. Your hands tied to the tailgate, that's all." 

"Matt, please, not this far from the house." 

"What's the difference? It's only taken us a few minutes to walk here, and 
the cord's in my pocket." 

"All day long I'll be expecting to be whipped. That's the difference." 

"A few bits of cord around your wrists...?" 

"Oh, all right, I know you'll tie me no matter what. I suppose I stick my 
wrists into these slots?" 

Tracy watched the tight binding of her hands. It was very simple. All she 
had to do was raise her bare arms to set her hands a couple of feet apart on 
top of the cart's weathered tailgate. The slots were weathered too. That 
meant the relic had once been used for... 

. She shivered at the thought of standing as others must have once stood to 
be flogged without mercy through the town. Despite good intentions, she 
complained, "Matt, I'm getting bad vies. Must we--" 

"I bet you are." Matt laughed cheerily. "A lot of bad girls had their wrists 
tied where I've tied yours. This old thing was once used for that." 

"You're not going to have someone come and whip me?" She was rewardingly 
kissed, her bare bottom reassuringly patted. "You're being fanciful, love. 
Can't feel the vibes myself, but I can believe they're there." 

"Were the poor things naked, like I am?" 

"Mostly. I think it was a point of honor with the bailiff to his whip to cut 
away anything they might happen to start out with." 

"Ugh! It makes me shiver." 

"That will pass." Matt assured blandly. "This is an easy one. ALI you have 
to do is stand with your arms stuck out in front. You've had worse." 

It was true, she had. The bound and naked girl chided herself for 
ingratitude. Except for the weariness of standing, this would be easy. 
Immediately after her owner had departed, she tested the possibility of 
using her teeth on her bonds. She still hoped to get the last laugh on Matt 
one day. It looked easy, but it was not. Rather than continually hurt 
herself trying, she abandoned the project with no worse than chafed wrists. 
She strove for a macabre thrill from picturing her predecessors fastened as 
she was fastened, and to this very cart. They would have envied her the 
painlessness of her punishment. As usual, she felt ungrateful for the 
simplicity of her travail. 

Tracy pondered the anomaly: a girl like herself adjusting to this naked 
condition, this exposure, this confinement of her limbs. It was all quite 
incredible. It would once have seemed the direst of nightmares. Yet in her 
contact with Matt, who was now disappearing towards the castle, there had 
been nothing but affection and good- natured repartee. She was accepting 
this new condition as she had endured all else, partly because she had no 
choice, but also because of an awareness of something new within herself. 
Her existence upon a fine line between danger and security was understood. 
The greatest hazard she envisioned at the moment was another visit from the 
tweedy Colonel Mitchley or from Crystal Maitland. Of the two, she preferred 
the colonel. His interest in her was purely carnal, whereas Crystal's 
definitely included the stealing of Matthew Marsh. The most definite way of 
dealing with Crystal would be to marry Matt or, preferably, to persuade him 
to marry her. But Tracy had come to realize that before this much to be 
desired event took place she would be compelled to endure a series of 
travails and test such as confronted her now. If only they were being 
imposed upon her within the confines of Castle Angus she would be less 
concerned, but the British countryside seemed to reject the whole idea of 
naked girls and damsels in distress. In these quaint situations Matt 
contrived, she felt herself an affront to the dignity of centuries. 

The captive girl sighed. She looked up at the bare expanse of her arms to 
where her wrists were so securely attached to the tailgate of the cart. They 
were an exquisitely neat and tidy job, fully in keeping with Matt's best 
efforts. She found herself, fully in keeping with amusement, becoming an 
authority on such matters. She would now be as offended with an untidy job 
of binding as Matthew himself. She had, in fact, once drawn to his attention 
a sloppy slackness in a couple of strands and had received from him a wise 
and knowing smile in recognition of her awareness. Matt had been pleased, 
and Tracy had realized her suggestion of tightening a knot had indeed been a 
landmark in her life. There had been plenty of them, and there would be 
more. She flexed her fingers, she tugged and twisted experimentally, and for 
several moments savored the extraordinary condition of being compelled to 
stand exactly where she was by a few straps of rope. She wondered if the 
heat between her legs would have been as acute had Colonel Mitchley been the 
one to find her thus instead of Matt. There was something very personal and 
loving about the ropes with which she was now secured. They were a part of 
himself which Matt had left upon her. She wore them with an element of pride 
and would not have denied their erotic effect, but having splayed out her 
fingers and clenched her fists, she had about exhausted their potential for 
interest. Tracy turned her attention to the English countryside. Across a 
distant sward of grass a figure was approaching. In a mixture of disgust and 
apprehension, Tracy recognized the unmistakable contours of Crystal 
Maitland. The British beauty carried a riding crop and was decapitating 
small growths as she passed them by. The captive of the cart looked 
longingly at her hands and that of the needless friends which wedded them to 
the tailgate. There was no help for her; she would have to stand and endure 
whatever Crystal decided to impose, but she prayed fervently that Crystal 
was not there by the instigation of Matthew Marsh. If he had sent this 
cynical beauty to taunt and perhaps torment her, she knew she was going to 
be close to tears. Tracy awaited her fate, silently cursing Matthew's 
careless disposal of her nudity in an outdoor setting. She watched the 
steady approach of the girl with whom she knew herself at war, and noted a 
dog making forays to either side of the striding figure in the best British 
tradition. Crystal was simply taking the dog for a walk. If her destination 
was the maiden tied to the tailgate, well, so what? Crystal was making a 
bee-line for the helpless captive, so there was no doubt of her intention 
and of her knowledge of the cart itself. Undoubtedly, the honorable Crystal 
Maitland was far more aware of the assets and oddities of Matt's estate than 
he himself. Tracy fervently wished the British beauty was herself secured as 
she was secured, and that she in turn was free. It would be nice just once 
to have the upper hand. 

"Why, darling, fancy meeting you here!" Crystal's voice as heavily loaded 
with sarcasm. "Darling Matthew really does think of the most delightful 
things to do with you. You are getting the most amazingly innovative 
introduction to the English scene." 

Tracy would have given more attention to the cynical greeting, had it not 
been for the attentions of the collie dog. It was a magnificent creature of 
some stature, and had abandoned its hunt for rabbits. 

mice, birds, and whatever else in favor of her person. Its wet muzzle 
sniffed the air and then made a direct line for what it no doubt saw as its 
obvious and legitimate target. The bound girl was horrified. It was bad 
enough to have to deal with Crystal under any circumstances, but with a dog 
busily employing its snout and tongue in the obvious place at the junction 
of her thighs was something for which she was not prepared. She kicked out 
lustily and protested. 

' Get this blasted thing away from me. Crystal. I don't want it sniffing at 
me. Get rid of him!" 

"But, darling, you won't deny MacTavish his innocent small pleasure, would 
you? If you just stand still, you might both enjoy yourselves." Crystal 
laughed. "Don't tell me you've never enjoyed the attentions of a collie dog? 
They're really quite skilled, y'know." 

'Don't be beastly!" Tracy kicked busily and performed as much evasive action 
as was possible against her tied wrists. It was not much. MacTavish took the 
fullest advantage of his opportunity, even going so far as to growl 
menacingly when she landed a particularly effective kick in his ribs. 
"Crystal, you don't have to do this. It's indecent! I'm sure you don't like 
me, but there's no need to be objectionable. Please take the damned dog 
away!" 

The honorable Crystal totally ignored the plea. Instead, she leaned 
negligently against a sapling and surveyed MacTavish's industry with 
considerable approval. There could be no denying the collie's interest in 
this treasure fate had delivered to his tongue. Between kicks and twistings, 
Tracy caught glimpses of her tormentor's face and realized that this was 
possibly not the first occasion Crystal had seen MacTavish at work. She gave 
but scant thought to the origins of the quaint name by which the dog was 
labeled. MacTavish sounded solidly Scottish and definitely respectable, 
whereas the collie menace was neither. MacTavish occasionally gazed up at 
her reproachfully as though wondering what all the fuss was about. 

"You do wiggle delightfully, darling I wish Matt was here to see. You 
mustn't take on so about MacTavish. If you never have to bear any greater 
ordeal than the poor darling's wet snout, you won't have too much to 
complain about. You ought to be grateful that this is all I'm doing for you 
today." Crystal waved her crop and neatly cut a nettle in two. "I am, 
y'know, keeping this in reserve for emergencies, and of course, darling, it 
would be you who would be the emergency." 

Tracy fought down irritation and a touch of panic. Her situation was 
exasperating, but she knew the more she struggled and protested, the better 
pleased her audience would be. A sharp nip from MacTavish, as a reprimand 
for her latest kick, had a sobering effect. She was very much at the mercy 
of this girl and her animal. Hating compliance with all her heart, she 
nonetheless stood still and endured in a haughty silence what she must. But 
it was hard to maintain dignity and composure in the face of what was 
transpiring with that part of herself over which Matt had so often... but 
she did manage to maintain an even tone in addressing the sparkling-eyed 
beauty with the crop. 

"So, all right, you've got me!" She glared in thin-lipped loathing at the 
smiling nobility. "Whatever I do, I lose. So go ahead, what do you want to 
talk about?" 

"Why about us, darling! I can't help thinking how nice it would be if you 
simply returned to the U.S.A. and left me alone with Matt." 

"We can take that for granted," Tracy snapped back, trying hard not to kick 
at the collie's assiduous attention. "What else is new? I'm certainly not 
going back there just to please you. In any case, the suggestion is 
ridiculous. Matt won't let me go." She made an ineffectual motion against 
her tied wrists. "How do you suppose I'm going to go to any airport when I'm 
fixed like this? I wouldn't get anywhere before I'm picked up by a policeman 
for indecency. And anyway, I can't get loose." 

"Well, Tracy dear, suppose I let you loose, and I provide you with clothes 
and with a conveyance, and with a plane ticket." The honorable Crystal's 
voice was honey sweet. "What then? That's a pretty good offer, y'know." 

"Drop dead." 

"Darling, I wish you wouldn't fight me. Oh, and by the way, stop kicking at 
MacTavish. He doesn't like it. He is only doing what any self-respecting dog 
would do. Don't be so damn transatlantic. I'm sure you have collie dogs in 
America too." Crystal's voice became a wheedling plea. "Darling, you can't 
win here. I'm bound to get the best of you, one way or another. The whole 
scene is in my favor. Surely you realize this. I belong here; you don't. You 
ought to consider this offer I've just made. It's really quite generous. 
Eventually I won't have to make you any kind of offer at all. You will be 
glad to go, if you can. Have you considered the prospect of a permanent 
residence in one of those dungeons, either at Castle Angus or beneath my own 
dwelling? I do have you, y'know." 

Tracy was increasingly aware of fighting a battle on two fronts. Her own, 
with which MacTavish was most enterprisingly engaged, and the honorable 
Crystal's. In this argument she saw no hope at all of getting the best of 
her visitor. Her hope, of course, lay with Matthew, and he was far distant. 
She would tell him about this in the evening, but his opinion of Crystal 
would probably cause him to laugh the whole thing off. That she might be a 
menace to the welfare or the freedom of his own captive girl was something 
he was unlikely to consider. Admittedly, Tracy herself could see little 
possibility of Crystal making good any of her threats, but there was about 
the English girl an assurance that was disquieting. Tracy was forced to 
listen and could not turn her back and walk away as she would have longed to 
do. She was moreover now hotly conscious that the attentions of MacTavish 
were having their inevitable result. Crystal too was well aware that this 
was happening. Her gaze became more riveted and more intense and more 
definitely pleased. Tracy kicked at a furry flank and received sharp nip on 
he shin in canine admonition. 

"You really should be more kind to MacTavish. He is forming the opinion you 
don't like him," Crystal suggested equably. "You are going to have to deal 
with me as a fact of life, darling. You can't just brush me off any more 
than you can brush off MacTavish's obvious affection for you. The darling 
dog is doing his best for you, and all you do is kick him in the ribs. Do I 
detect certain tremors and a slight flush, dear? I'm sure you're not 
insensible to such a demonstration of affection." 

"You know exactly what is happening to me," Tracy retorted angrily, "I think 
you are a bitch to let it happen." 

"But Tracy dear, surely you're not suggesting I bring MacTavish's innocent 
pleasure to an end!" 

"Yes, I am! And for Pete's sake, hurry up about it!" 

"I suppose I could offer you an alternative, darling." Crystal's voice was 
once more sly. "If I did tether MacTavish off to one side, I really do think 
you should make some sort of amends. " She held up the riding crop for 
Tracy's distracted attention. "What do you say to twenty strokes on your 
cute little bottom with this instead?" 

There it was, the horror she had suspected since the beginning. It was now 
out in the open. The honorable Crystal did not carry that riding crop to no 
purpose or for no intent. For a moment the bound girl forgot MacTavish's 
attention and bestowed a stricken gaze upon the girl who for the moment held 
her enthralled. "That's a shocker of a punishment," she complained bitterly. 
"I don't see why you have to be this mean. You are just being unkind to me 
without any reason. You're just enjoying it, aren't you!" 

"Whatever you say, darling. We can just let MacTavish continue as he is 
doing. I'm sure he is good for another thirty minutes before he will tire. 
Can you last another thirty minutes?" 

Tracy knew she could not. An explosion was eminent, and the last thing she 
desired was an orgasm in front of Crystal's interested regard. She was by no 
means certain that she could control either her grasp or her motions into a 
frigid immobility. Her own potency and MacTavish's industry both worked to 
her disadvantage. She gazed bitterly at the cords deep within her wrists. If 
only... if only... if only... ! But it was no use wishing. She might as well 
be an army fighting a battle without weapons, but she still had to fight. 
Wearily, but with a degree of urgency, she yielded. "Oh, very well. Go 
ahead, whip me. that's what you wanted to do all the time, isn't it? Go 
ahead and get it over with, but get this damn dog away. Tether it to a tree 
or something!" 

Life is a succession of the unexpected. It was so now. With her usual 
careless elegance, the honorable Crystal snapped a leash on MacTavish's 
collar and led him to a tether. MacTavish quite obviously was both offended 
and outraged. He cast reproachful looks at both his mistress and his victim 
as he was led away. His victim herself was busily thrusting back against a 
rising tide which overflowed and blossomed into the inevitable at the 
precise moment when the honorable Crystal returned to view the audio she had 
created. At arm's length she paused while Tracy, uncaring of anything except 
the crescendo of her own released retreated into that world in which she 
would be entirely alone for the brief span of her gasping and choking 
acknowledgement of defeat. Crystal's eyes glowed. 

"Poor darling, you tried so hard, didn't you? You were going to stand still 
and cheat me, but you couldn't, could you? It's a pity MacTavish can't 
speak. You could, in fact, thank him, don't you, thank?" 

"Oh, Crystal, please go away. Just go away and leave me alone!" 

"But, Tracy dear, haven't you forgotten something?" The tormentor held up 
the riding crop, then flexed it thoughtfully between her two hands. 

"All right, use it on me. Get it over with. Beat me with it. Goodness knows 
I'm nicely positioned for it. Am I allowed to scream?" 

"Well, I suppose we can't expect any stiff upper lip from a former colonial, 
can we?" Crystal's voice was honey sweet. "I'm going to thrash you as hard 
as I can, so if you wish to scream, you might as well do so. There's no one 
to hear you within at least three fields, and I'm sure MacTavish won't 
mind." Crystal drew back her arm. The crop flashed in a backward swing as 
she balanced on the ball of one foot for maximum effect. Then, without 
warning, she did the unexpected. She dropped the crop on the grass and 
laughed gaily at the startled expression on her victim's face. 

"Not this time, darling. I suspect you're trying to trap me. You and I both 
know dear Matthew is still sufficiently infatuated with you that if he 
returned and found your bottom nicely ribbed with scarlet and purple welts, 
he might well feel some animosity towards my efforts, so I'm going to leave 
your cute little bottom as cute as I found it, beautifully unmarked except 
for what it's got on there already. I shall not leave my calling card today. 
I shall take MacTavish and discreetly retire, but as you stand here for what 
I'm sure is going to be a number of hours, I do suggest, dear, that you give 
some thought to my offer. It was extremely generous. Much worse things could 
happen to you than to receive a prepaid ticket back to your United States." 

In an agonized mixture of shame, chagrin, and thankfulness, Tracy watched 
the honorable Miss Crystal Maitland retrieve MacTavish. the disappointed 
collie dog. and her unused riding. Tracy made no inclination of the head to 
acknowledge Crystal's insistent wave of farewell. Instead, she stood in her 
enforced immobility at the cart's tail and watched her adversary saunter 
back the way she had come. It was not until Crystal was half a mile distant 
that she loosed the leash from MacTavish's collar. By then the collie's 
interests were diverted elsewhere. The maiden he had defiled was once more 
safe. 

Alone again, the tied up Tracy now had something to think about. It was not 
that anything Crystal had done or said was particularly new, but it was 
closer to a declaration of war than the English girl had previously come. 
The captive of the cart knew without doubt that she would have to in some 
way impress upon Matthew the gravity of Crystal's intentions. Her fear was 
that some drastic injury would have to be done to her own person before he 
would take the accusations seriously. Crystal had not whipped her today, but 
there was tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow... ! Miss Tracy Trevor sighed 
once more and leaned back wearily against her corded wrists and resigned 
herself to meditation, until her master once more loosened her bonds. 

"But, Matthew, it was horrible." Tracy was kneeling before her owner in the 
submission to which she was now fully accustomed, and she gazed up at him 
imploringly. "Please, darling, take me seriously. She intends to get rid of 
me, one way or another. All the time she was talking there was this beastly 
dog absolutely gorging himself upon my--my... almost eating my pussy alive! 
I couldn't do a thing except kick him, and then he bit me. She just stood 
there laughing. Then, when she saw I was about to explode, she made the 
offer of twenty strokes on my bottom if she took the dog away." 

"Well, I suppose we could call it a sporting offer." The master grinned. 
"You've got me quite excited. What did you choose, sweetheart?" 

"You know perfectly well what I chose. There's no marks on my bottom, are 
there? Or at least not any fresh ones. The damn dog didn't give me any 
chance to choose. By the time I told her to go ahead and whip me, I had 
exploded. Matt, I wish you wouldn't put me in these situations where I 
become a plaything for your neighbors." 

Matt tilted the rebellious chin and kissed her lightly on defiant lips. He 
was still flippant. "But you do have to admit you weren't bored. Wouldn't 
you much sooner have this little incident to complain about than simply 
standing there at the cart's tail all day all by yourself?" 

"No, I wouldn't! Please, Matt, don't tie me up outdoors any more. Something 
always happens. Look, you've never taken me into the dungeons yet. I still 
don't know why you're keeping them in reserve, but I think I'd a lot sooner 
you did something to me or with me in one of them than be subjected to the 
honorable Miss Crystal Maitland." Tracy pouted. "You men never understand 
how girls can hate each other, be mean to each other, and be jealous of each 
other. Suppose you came out to get me one day and found me gone. I could 
easily be kidnapped by someone else, y'know. They don't just have to let me 
loose so I could come back here. They could take me away with them and do 
anything they wanted with me. Is that right that Crystal actually has 
dungeons under where she lives?" 

"Afraid so, sweetheart. Her place isn't as ancient as Castle Angus, but it's 
ancient enough to have a facility or two like that. If I find you missing 
one of these days, that will be the first place I'll look." 

"I bet she won't let you in, or she'll hide me in some horrible secret 
place." 

"Gosh, she really has gotten under your skin." Matt gazed down fondly at the 
kneeling handcuffed girl. Tracy was wearing the simplest of the bonds he 
imposed. The shining steel was snug around her wrists. The chrome of leg 
irons was snug upon her ankles. The chain was short, but she could easily 
take the small mincing steps to the bar. She held up an empty glass and 
demanded, "May I have another, please? I'm still suffering from a surfeit of 
dog." 

The arm waved permission, then watched fondly as the chained girl made her 
cautious but graceful way to mix a drink. She wore handcuffs and leg irons 
exquisitely. She was now so accustomed to them that she freely admitted to 
feeling doubly naked without them. She had examined herself and frankly 
reported to her master the effect they had upon her. If he locked them on 
her wrists and ankles, it was an instant turn-on, the engendering of a heat 
which would smolder for as long as they impeded her movements. She secretly 
glowed as she mixed her drink, then replenished his too. She had reduced the 
fine art of motion while chained to an exquisite simplicity. She spilled 
nothing, nor she did stumble on her way back and forth upon her errand. The 
links between her ankles clinked musically, and she deliberately extracted 
from the single link between her cuffed hands the very maximum of metallic 
sound. Daringly, she reported. "So, okay, it's Blackbeard's den, or was it 
Bluebeard? Anyway, I'm willing to take a chance on what's behind that 
magnificent open door." 

"You may not like it, love." 

"I said I would take a chance. You're not going to torture me in there or 
something, are you? It's just chains or something, right?" 

"You'll find out tomorrow." He sipped quietly while looking down at the 
feminine beauty he possessed. Without portentousness, he said, very soberly, 
"I'm going to marry you sometime, y'know, and whether you like it or not, 
I'm going to do a great number of things to you and with you before that day 
comes. While we are sort of socially engaged, I'll take the opportunity to 
tell you how grateful I am for the way in which you accept your punishment." 

"Are they really punishments. Matt? I mean, I haven't done anything." She 
paused, groping for words. "I don't really see what you do to me as 
punishments, but I don't really know what it is I only know that it makes 
you happy and that I share your happiness. I'm surprised myself at how well 
I'm taking it. I'm probably crazy not to be in screaming hysterics, but I'm 
not. I sort of suspect I've found something with you that most girls never 
find at all. I'm sure it's something Crystal is jealous of and quite 
probably does not understand. She knows about the fun and games angle, I'm 
sure. She has to, since she has found me in the situation she has, but I 
don't think she ever mentally places herself in a similar situation. She 
would regard it as one to which she would be totally immune." 

"How 'bout I kidnap Crystal one of these days for you? It would do her a 
world of good." 

"Oh, Matt, would you!" 

The man laughed at his slave girl's eagerness. "You'd actually like that, 
wouldn't you, sweetheart? But I'm afraid it's not going to happen. I really 
don't have an excuse, and I also have the suspicion that if I did it, she 
would see it as an avowal of intent. I'm quite sure the honorable Crystal 
has sufficient fortitude to bear even the most severe punishment if she was 
assured of gain thereby, but don't let's talk about Crystal. Between you and 
me, she just does not exist." 

Tracy accepted dismissal of her concern. Matt could easily become irritated 
if she pressed too hard, and in spite of his future intentions for her, was 
quite capable of taking a whip to her bottom if she persevered too long in a 
direction he disapproved. Tracy slept with her master that night and behaved 
in a manner which once she would have considered deplorable and disgraceful, 
and of which her mother would most certainly not have approved, but which 
she herself adored and treasured every precious moment. When they slept, she 
slept beside him naked, but in only the barest essentials of restraint, the 
beloved handcuffs on her wrists. They would not have stopped her running, 
but she did not run. 

In the morning the open door with its bolted and riveted metal was as 
daunting as she remembered. Tracy stood naked before it and watched her 
master insert the key. She felt only a delicious apprehension and a feminine 
curiosity. She could not imagine that anything too bad was likely to happen 
to her that day, and most certainly in the tower room she was going to be 
very safe from Colonel Mitchley and the honorable Crystal Maitland. Crystal 
would never find her here. The door swung open. 

If any dungeon can be described as beautiful, this one was. Its walls were 
mellowed stone, its barred window was of extensive dimensions, giving an 
excellent view of meadow and coppice. The ray of chains, gyves, fetters, 
shackles, and even a ball and chain were no more than to be expected in such 
a place. There was also a center column most adequately appointed with 
devices by which a girl's wrists and ankles could be sufficiently held. 
Matthew Marsh laughed and looked at her inquiringly. "Want to make your own 
choice, love?" 

"Slaves don't make their own choices, master," she reproved severely. "And 
I'll remind you that at the moment I am not constrained at all. If you don't 
behave a bit more like a master, I'm going to turn around and run away." 

Matt laughed at her insolence. He was taking an increasing delight in his 
possession. Castle Angus was good for Tracy. She was responding to its 
atmosphere. No doubt the promise of eventual wedlock played a part in her 
emotions, but he was taxing her daily and in such ways as would daunt the 
courage of most maidens. Grumbly and mockingly, he said, "Very well, on your 
own head be it. Step over here, you lustful little letch." Tracy stood and 
quivered with every fiber of her being as metal bands sought her flesh. They 
were called an implacable, and in the hands of someone other than Matthew 
Marsh would have frightened her to death, they were also heavy. Quite 
obviously they were new. Each of them was as though fabricated to her 
measurements and snapped shut with the most awesome of sounds. First it was 
her wrists. She held them out passively while Matthew lifted the awaited 
links and fastened the metal shackles to join her hands. His tone was 
conversational. "Uncle Angus had these made. They're not my own. I gather 
his taste in girls was much the same as mine and therefore it's a sort of 
universal fit. What do you like of them?" 

"Oh, Matt, they're tight--real tight and beautifully snug. Gosh, master, I 
don't really believe this is happening. Me being chained in a dungeon in an 
English castle!" 

"Not your first time, love?" 

"But if is my first time in a dungeon. And it's my first time in this one, 
for sure. Matt, I don't see why they chained girls in dungeons. I mean, all 
you have to do keep me safe is lock the door." 

"A bit more to it than that, honeybunch." Matt was busy fitting metal upon 
maiden skin. "Some joker could have had a duplicate key to the door, y'know, 
or broken it down. But if I have you safely chained to the wall, it wouldn't 
do him much good, would it?" 

"Couldn't he have a duplicate key to the chains too?" 

"Well, he hasn't," Matt retorted gruffly. "I've got the only one. You're 
mine, remember that." . 

"But couldn't he rape me?" Tracy asked mischievously. 

"I can fix that too, if I want. You wouldn't get raped with your ankles tied 
together." He chuckled. "Didn't you ever read about those aristocratic noble 
maidens in ancient Egypt and Rome whose ankles were always fettered to 
ensure their chastity? It actually happened." 

"I think that's a marvelous idea. Fighting off her boyfriends is a girl's 
prime occupation these days. If her ankles were chained close together, 
she'd have the most convincing of arguments. You should suggest it to the 
social agencies. It would save no end of welfare." 

Matt grunted as he rose from shackling two willing ankles. "I could decorate 
you like a Christmas tree," he said dourly. "But enough is enough. I don't 
suppose you're going to enjoy what comes next." 

With heat smoldering hot within her loins, the captive stood with a beating 
heart as a metal collar circled the slenderness of her head and gentle hands 
rearranged her hair so that it could be snapped snugly tight around her 
throat. "It's tight!" she exclaimed in trepidation. "Oh, Matt, it really is 
tight, and it's heavy." 

"It's supposed to be." 

The ironed girl was taut and trembling as the tightness and the weight 
increased under the drag of a chain of many links which now attached her 
collar to the column. There was a ring halfway up the slender stone, and 
Tracy was leashed to it by ten feet of tethering chain, which dragged upon 
her heavily as she stood, and caused her to use her chained hands to clutch 
at it and relieve some of its demanding weight. 

"Go over to the window and see if it will run that far. See how it works." 

Tracy obeyed. Links clattered on stone, but she had no trouble in reaching 
the window and peering through its bars at the expanse of green which was 
England in the summertime. 

Breathlessly, she said, "Oh, Matt, it's wonderful, but I'm helpless, so 
terribly helpless." 

"Aren't you supposed to be?" 

"Well, yes, I suppose I am. Are you really going to leave me chained like 
this?" 

"Of course I am, sweetheart. You look delicious. You can't possibly get into 
any trouble, and nobody can rescue you." 

The captive girl surveyed her new condition. She wondered how many other 
maidens had stood thus chained, peering through the bars at lost freedom. If 
the stories about Uncle Angus were only half true, there had undoubtedly 
been a great many of them. Fear touched her spine when she realized how 
easily she could be kept, as she was now, for the rest of her life. No one 
would rescue her. The days would pass, then the months and years. Perhaps 
once some maiden had been kept in such captivity. She wondered if Uncle 
angus had left records of his pleasures. Desperately, she said, "Matt 
darling, I think you'd better go and lock me in. If I stay like this and 
you're here, I'm going to start to lose my courage and plead." She grinned 
mischievously. "But I'd sooner the weight of the chains than Crystal's 
company. Darling, thank you so much." 

Tracy had reckoned without the door. After the had been long and soundly 
kissed, and her bottom patted, and her master had departed through the 
portal, the massive oak and iron closed with a truly horrendous thud and a 
crashing of outside bolts which the captive girl suspected was entirely for 
her benefit. It was like a knell of doom. It she had been prisoner before, 
she was trebly prisoner now. She turned back to the window and clutched two 
of its bars with shackled hands. She realized that the view she had 
vouchsafed to hear would have to suffice for her entertainment through the 
day. There was a hard little cot she could sit on. the chain would allow 
that, even though it denied her passage as far as the locked door. But the 
lovely tower gave her nothing else but its own atmosphere. She could well 
believe, in fantasy, that she was kept company by a myriad of other naked 
girls who had stood as she now stood, and thought the same thoughts that 
filled her mind. Among the foremost of them was escape. 

The nude prisoner thought about escape a great deal as she peered through 
the bars at the view beyond. She knew that for she herself escape would mean 
something quite different than it probably had meant to Uncle Angus's 
chained girls. She herself wanted freedom, but a freedom with Matthew Marsh. 
If her chains were sundered, and the door unlocked, she would flea the tower 
room, but she would not flea Castle Angus. She would await the return of its 
master and the honor of herself, and once more yield to him. But she did 
most earnestly desire escape as an assertion of her own temperament, her 
personality, her independence. Ruefully, she wondered if any independence 
was left to her at all. She was totally engrossed with captivity and Matt. 
Crystal's offer of the day before was something not to be considered. In 
this, Tracy Trevor recognized her human need to fill in time. The thought of 
standing and looking out of the window all day seemed absurd. The tower room 
really offered nothing more than that single privilege, but her thoughts 
inevitably went beyond. If only she could once get the best of Matt, and 
greet him on his return at the end of the afternoon, smiling triumphantly 
and totally free of bonds. If she could then throw her arms, have free arms 
without impediment of chains or rope, around his neck, she would feel that 
she had proven herself and asserted her essential womanhood in a way he 
would be forced to respect. She told herself chidingly that she was being 
altogether too subservient, and she could blame this, quite truthfully, upon 
the heat within her sex, a factor she had never suspected prior to her 
captivity. But to totally surrender to this erotic stimulant was still a 
measure of defeat. She knew that she herself, and Matthew Marsh too, would 
wish her to retain a personality of her own and a feminine witchery and 
mischievousness by which she would constantly provoke him to punish her. She 
did not bother to analyze the necessities of the provocation, or to analyze 
the word punishment itself. It was as though any punishment, no matter how 
severe, was actually no more than love play or a penance she must endure 
before receiving her reward. Tracy suspected she would learn much more about 
these mixed up complexities, but at the moment was satisfied to see them as 
she did now. It was Matt's wish, and indeed it had been her own suggestion 
that had led to her being chained and standing looking through a barred 
window at an unfamiliar scene. Yet, within her belly, a fire burned hotly in 
memory. The fire was with her now almost all the time and she had no wish to 
extinguish it. Today her hands were sufficiently free that she could give 
herself satisfaction and surcease. She would not seek this relief. She would 
save all of herself for Matt on his return. Her nights with him were utterly 
and totally rewarding. To pleasure herself to pass the time within a dungeon 
would seem pure waste. 

Despite erotic thoughts, the hours dragged. The sun made its passage across 
the sky so that she would follow the progress of its shadows within the 
stone confine of her prison. No doubt other girls in this place had marked 
not only the hours, but the days and weeks by just this method of dividing 
day from night. She knew most certainly she did not wish to remain chained 
within these walls through the hours of darkness. She would be frightened 
and there would fall her a despair born of the absence of strong male arms 
and strong male scents. But, finally, the drag of the chains and a measure 
of ennui drove her to the solace of the narrow cot. She sat upon it and for 
awhile played idly with the links by which she was fettered. The collar was 
heavy around her throat. Constantly she sought the rearrangements of its 
chain tether for easement to its imposition upon her flesh. None totally 
relieved her of its inanimate animosity, but she did the best she could, and 
quietly dreamed away the hours of her imprisonment. Without volition, she 
finally slipped sideways and lay upon the hard, unfriendly surface and into 
slumber. 

She knew it was much, much later when she awoke, startled at the sound of 
the door. She sat up in anxious hope. If she had slept away a portion of the 
day, then was lucky indeed. If this was Matthew, then she was luckier still. 
She gazed expectantly, but it was not Matthew; it was Blessing, the butler. 

Tracy's association with Blessing had been fragmentary. He served herself 
and her master their meals, but his concern was not with the captive girl, 
but with Matthew Marsh himself, from whom he daily took his orders for the 
administration of the premises. However, they had seen enough of each other 
overcome Tracy's shyness at her nudity before the solemn regard of this 
dignified factotum. It was easy to presume that Blessing himself had seen a 
long procession of naked damsels flit through Castle Angus, and was no 
longer impressed. He was, in fact, quite oblivious, and whatever he might 
have thought of desired of Uncle Angus's succession of nudity, he kept 
strictly to himself. He surveyed the naked, chained girl now, without either 
interest or surprise. Instead, he handed her a letter. 

"I wrote it myself, miss. Got it over the phone from the master. I'll bring 
you in a couple of pails, one with a cover and one full of water. Later I'll 
be bringing you dinner. In the meantime, you'd best read what he has to 
say." 

She knew the news had to be bad. Anything that took Matt away from her was 
Bad and Matt was now due, but had not returned. Instead, she looked with a 
pulse-quickening instinctive trepidation at the missive in her ironed hand. 
She held it, blinking back the effects of sleep while Blessing placed 
against the wall the items he had mentioned. There was about both of them an 
intent she could not fail to comprehend. When the door was once more locked 
and bolted, she carried the piece of paper to the window and used the 
sunlight to illuminate what she must read. It told simply that Matthew had 
been detained in London overnight and she must make the best of her 
circumstances in the tower room. He acknowledged it would not be a pleasant 
experience, yet with a touch of his usual amusement, suggested it might be 
an enlightening adventure in imprisonment. He would be back, if not 
tomorrow, then certainly on the day after. 

The news was hardly cataclysmic, but the chained girl read it in mute 
misery. It fulfilled her fears arising from the implacability of the chains 
and the bars and the bolts slamming home outside the door. It told her too, 
in no uncertain way, that she would indeed spend the night as a prisoner in 
this place in which she had most ardently dreaded that experience. It was 
not to be hers! She fought down panic, telling herself that in this new 
acquisition of the estate and settlement of his uncle's affairs, such an 
absence was entirely normal. There might be more of them. It would have been 
preferable to have been chained upon their bed, but since he was not there 
to perform this function, perhaps the tower room was the next best thing. 
She shrank from having Blessing fumble with her buns. She was thankful she 
was not fastened somewhere out in a field where the butler would have been 
forced to retrieve her and in some way of his own constrain her through the 
night. Yes, undoubtedly, this was best. Either Matthew had had a suspicion 
of his own absence or it was pure good fortune she was so satisfactorily 
looked after while he was gone. She was quite sure he would be 
congratulating himself on her condition. If it was a satisfaction she did 
not share, well, that was her own hard luck. When Blessing brought her food, 
she did not impose upon either the butler or herself the dignity of pleading 
for her release. Probably, in any case, Blessing did not have the keys. 
Neither of them mentioned anything so indiscreet as freedom. He fed her, he 
bid her a polite good night, and then left her alone, and in the gloom the 
snap of locks seemed to the captive unnecessarily loud. 

The same performance repeated itself in the morning. Tracy had slept 
intermittently, shifting constantly against the drag of chains, or in the 
act of rolling over against the prod or thrust of heavy links. This was a 
true imprisonment. This truly was the chained maiden in her dungeon. If 
Matthew had wished to give her a taste of such a condition, he was doing so 
most adequately. Whether he had planned it or not made little difference. 
For Tracy, there was no escape. 

Blessing's food was good. It always was. her new status as a prisoner in no 
way diminished its quality. Despite dolor, the naked girl ate and drank 
avidly. Perhaps sometime during the day Matt would return and her travail be 
over. She was bitterly lonely. Blessing discussed the weather and studiously 
avoided either mention or glancing at her shackles. He was the perfect 
retainer. The old family friend. If it pleased the young master to keep a 
slave girl thus fettered, it was not for him to demur. Blessing was 
pleasantly noncommittal and in clearing up the breakfast things, assured her 
of an adequate lunch to come. Then once more Tracy was alone with her 
chains. It was not until approximately lunchtime that the honorable Crystal 
Maitland unlocked the massive door and entered. 

Tracy stared in amazement. A cold hand touched her spine, but Crystal was 
her usual insouciant self. "Thought I'd give Blessing the day off, darling. 
So I brought your lunch. Isn't that sweet of me? I rather suspect I shall be 
bringing you quite a lot of lunches, but I'm not sure they will all be of 
this quality." 

Misery engulfed Tracy like a tide, but she kept her features coldly composed 
while her visitor put down the tray and rearranged its contents for her 
attention. Her mind flashed rapidly through possibilities. The first thought 
was that Crystal could not possibly take her from this room. The chains 
would defeat the trespasser. But that hope was now defeated as Crystal gaily 
held up a key ring on which jangled several keys. "Matt hung these on the 
wall down the passage, darling. You see, I remembered where Angus used to 
hang them, so I knew where to look. I do hope you're prepared to be very 
polite to me." 

"What is it you intend to do me now?" Tracy's voice was dull and without 
emotion. She felt a trap closing upon her inexorably. "You're playing with 
fire, Crystal. Nothing good can come out of this. Matt still regards you as 
a friendly neighbor--why spoil it?" 

"He still will, darling. He won't be sure your disappearance has anything to 
do with me at all. I don't know what Blessing will choose to tell him, but 
Blessing is not going to see you and me depart from Castle Angus. Blessing 
himself is already gone." With Crystal any plan was certain to be neat and 
tidy. There would be no loose ends, no clues. The naked prisoner of the 
tower room drank coffee gratefully. She nibbled a slice of toast to give 
herself time to think, but she knew herself in the hands of a mistress 
indeed. Crystal's previous association with Uncle Angus, long before the 
bequest and their coming to England, gave her a tremendous advantage. She 
would be a jump ahead of Matt all the way. Desolately, Tracy thrust aside 
the unwanted food. Her demand was wary. "All right, Crystal, what now?" 

"I'm going to tie you up nice and tight, darling, and take you for a ride." 

"And if I refuse?" 

"Oh, but you won't refuse for long, Tracy dear. You see, I brought along my 
badge of office." Crystal exhibited the riding crop which had been looped on 
one wrist throughout. It was indeed her badge of office, and the girl who 
would be marked by it shrank cringingly at the sight of its limber length. 
Crystal's voice continued brightly with the scenario. "I'll simply whip you 
until you are agreeable to standing still while you are bound and gagged and 
generally debauched, darling. It shouldn't take too long. This thing hurts 
abominably on bare skin, and your skin is indeed very bare. You can stop me 
at any time by simply saying 'yes, you will.' In fact, you need not be 
whipped at all if you've got the sense to realize your helplessness. There's 
simply nothing you can do." 

Tracy stood up. She looked at her chains, lifted and fingered them, then 
looked at Crystal. She could think of no way out, and yet she shrunk from 
the humiliation of standing still while she was rendered into whatever 
helplessness the other girl intended. She would know only the bitterest 
shame in what was about to happen. 

"How about I give you one lovely stroke across the middle of your back, 
darling? That way you'll know it hurts and be in a position to make a 
judgement." 

It was so bizarre and yet so civilized. No voice was raised. The force of 
action was clearly defined. To request the wicked stroke just offered would 
be imbecile. She already knew what a whip felt like. A testing lash with the 
crop upon her skin would prove nothing. In the urgency of her need to stay 
where she was, in Castle Angus to be with Matt, she made an offer she both 
feared and hated. 

"Crystal, okay, you've been wanting to whip me since you first saw me. Why 
not get it over with? I asked you this yesterday. Whip me now, and perhaps 
you'll feel better. You can go away satisfied. 

I can't really stop you. I can rattle around a bit in these chains, but 
you'll have no trouble doing whatever you wish to me." Her voice became 
charged with emotion. "Please, I beg of you, please forget this nonsense 
about kidnapping." 

"It's not nonsense, darling. You'll soon find that out, and as for whipping 
you, I certainly intend to do that, but in my own place and in my own time. 
If you think I'm going to strike you up a bit and simply walk out of here 
and leave you with a tender pelt, you'd best think again. I have plans for 
you." 

For Crystal it was all so easy, but for Tracy it was one of the hardest 
ordeals of her life. She simply could not win. Had she been a novice in 
captivity she might have fought uselessly and endured the agonies of the 
riding crop, only to yield when the distress became numb and endurable. All 
she could do was surrender and hope that Crystal's plan in some way 
backfired, her real hope was that Matt would deduce the truth and hack his 
way into whatever recess in which Crystal proposed to imprison her. 
Passively, she allowed the shackles to be unlocked. They fell to the stone 
floor with a mocking clang. Almost miraculously, there was cord in Crystal's 
hand. Still leg-ironed and tethered by her neck to the pillar, Tracy allowed 
herself to be turned about, and hating her subservience. obeyed Crystal's 
instruction to put her arms behind her back. A few moments later it was too 
late to change her mind. Crystal's cords bit deep and brutally, and were 
knotted with skill. She was made more helpless still, as other cords circled 
her elbows and drew them close. She yelped in pain at the bite of the 
hostile strands. Crystal was showing no mercy, but her voice was silk. 

"I've got you, darling. Just think of it, one whole beautiful girl all for 
myself. Think of what I can do to you. Think how sorry you're going to be 
that you did not take my offer yesterday. You're going to be pleading for 
that airline ticket after I've thrashed you a few times. It's not just the 
crop I'll mark you with either. I've got a delightful collection of whips 
and straps. I even have an old-time Russian knout and a boers jambok. 
Crystal patted her captive's bottom reassuringly. "But I'll only use those 
on you when you've been a really naughty girl, and I don't expect you to 
ever be that. 

You're entirely too sensible. I love the way you're accepting the inevitable 
right now." 

"Do you have to tie my elbows that tight with such thin cord? It hurts like 
crazy!" 

"Don't question anything I do. sweetheart. I won't whip you for the first 
few mistakes you make. I'll simply correct you, but remember, no complaints. 
You can plead if you want. That will amuse me. But definitely no beefs. I 
think that's what you call it in American, isn't it, or was it Texas?" 

Next came the collar. It clattered to the floor as had Tracy's wrist 
shackles. She was free to walk her hobbled steps. Tracy shrewdly guessed 
that the leg irons would not be taken from her feet. With them clasping her 
ankles and her arms so brutally bound, she would be easy to control. 
Thoughts of flight would be purely silly, but despite reason and the 
rationale of avoiding useless pain, she still regretted her failure to 
fight. Not that there had been a chance, and now most definitely it was 
impossible. But Tracy felt ashamed by her easy acceptance of this new 
helplessness which was probably going to deliver her into a new slavery. 
True, Crystal was an unknown quantity. The traits she had exhibited to this 
time had about them an air of irresponsibility, but it was an 
irresponsibility coupled with a purpose. She saw Tracy as an enemy to her 
desire, and Tracy was in her power! 

"I don't need to cover you, dear. I'm sure you're hoping Blessing will be 
around and rescue you. I can assure you he's gone. I pulled rank on him, 
y'know. The lower orders in England are very susceptible to nobility. You 
are all on your own with dear little me." With Crystal's firm grip upon her 
arm, Tracy made her clattering descent of the stairway to the regions below. 
The links of her chain seemed outrageously loud as they traversed the big 
hall to the front door and those other steps which led to the waiting car. 

"I can't lift you into the boot, darling, so you'll have the privilege of 
sitting beside me. I'll blindfold you so you'll be entirely lost and you 
won't see any possible opportunities that might occur." It was simply done. 
The pinioned girl took one last farewell glance at Castle Angus and its 
surrounding gardens. All its windows seemed staring at her in reproof. 
Castle Angus thought she should somewhere have thought and not bee led away 
a helpless and naked captive. But that was fanciful. Well aware of Crystal's 
riding crop, Tracy stepped into the car and plunked herself on the seat 
beside the wheel. The bandage compressed her eyes and was made tight at the 
back of her head. Her pulse was racing in a mixture of fear and anger. Some 
of the anger was directed against herself. She should have convinced Matt of 
the menace of Crystal Maitland, but she had failed. Now it was too late. The 
car started and Crystal's laughter was close beside her. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN - CRYSTAL CRUELTY 

"I should have ridden over on a horse, Tracy dear, and led you back at the 
end of a rope. Y'know, the traditional style. You would have been naked and 
duty and helpless, and you would have had a fine view of the horse's hind 
end. But never mind, we have untold delights ahead of us." 

"Crystal, please. I have to ask you, don't do this. Let me go. Return me the 
way you found me. I don't care what you do to me, but don't kidnap me, 
please." Tracy's plea was vibrant with sincerity. "It is not even kind go 
Matt. He's going to be worried stiff over what's happened to me. All sorts 
of people are going to be accused of something they did not do. You're 
abusing a friendship." 

"Are you quite finished, darling?" Crystal's voice was deadly. "Oh, all 
right, give me the tried and true ritual. If I don't keep quiet, you'll whip 
me. I'm resigned to be whipped. You've surrounded me with prohibitions. I 
trip over them every time I open my mouth." 

Crystal laughed. "The answer's obvious, isn't it? Don't open your mouth, or 
if you do, let's talk about something sweet and innocent, like that lovely 
little patch of pubic hair you have. I really do admire its neat triangle. 
Or perhaps your breasts, they really are superlative. They're almost as nice 
as mine. I'll let you see mine sometime if you're well behave." Crystal 
snickered. "But, of course, you are going to see all of me, aren't you, in 
the course of your duties?" 

"What duties?" 

"Don't play innocent, Tracy. You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. 
There will be days when your breakfast, lunch, and dinner will be composed 
entirely of me." 

A dozen denials sped to Tracy's lips. She quenched them all. This so-called 
duty Crystal was taunting her with was no more than perhaps she should 
expect. Crystal was sophisticated. She had been around. She would delight in 
imposing this shame upon any captive. It would be a delightful emphasis of 
her authority. Tracy refused to play the role of innocence outraged. It 
would be fuel to Crystal's fire. What would happen was beyond her own 
control. Best, therefore, to suffer in silence and to fail to respond to 
feminine mockery. Tartly, she rejoined, "Yes, it certainly is a lovely day." 

"Ah, the haughty virgin! Are you a virgin, Tracy?" 

"No! Are you?" 

"Don't be insolent, dear. I'm going to start chalking things up against you. 
Should I give you the good old police caution?" 

"I'm quite sure anything I say will be used as an excuse to whip me." 
Tracy's voice was bitter. "Look, Crystal, can I conceive to think and ask 
for that ticket you offered yesterday? Goodness knows, this ought to be 
humble enough for you." 

"It's satisfying, dear, I will concede that. I'd have to ask for it on your 
knees if we weren't in this car. But, no, you had your chance, and I suspect 
now you are seeing it only as an avenue of escape. If I set you free and 
placed the ticket in your hand, you'd be back in Castle Angus within thirty 
minutes. Try another approach." 

The captive shrugged mentally. She had expected and received nothing, but 
this meant that Crystal desired her person for some other reason than to 
simply delete her from Matthew's life. The British beauty's constant 
reference to whips and riding crops left little doubt what this purpose 
might be. The honorable Crystal was going to enjoy herself at the expense of 
a girl who had no defense. 

Leaving the shelter of the car was a quivering suspense. Her captor's 
fingers resumed their clutch upon a bare arm while Crystal gave directions 
as to steps and doorways. "The servants have the afternoon off, dear, just 
as Blessing has. I got rid of them. They'll resume their normal duties, and 
you, of course, will be nicely out of sight. It will be only me who knows 
where you are. By the way, this house is not as old as Castle Angus, but it 
has almost as many facilities, and somewhat more sophisticated facilities. 
When we reach the door of where I'm going keep you, I'll take off the 
blindfold so that you may enjoy all the impressions and the vibrations which 
are waiting for you." 

The captive girl did not blink in sudden sunlight. There was no sunlight. 
The stone passage in which she stood was shrouded in gloom, although she 
noted that electric fixtures existed. It evidently pleased her captor not to 
switch them on. In front of her was a door, and she well understood 
Crystal's wish for her to absolve its implacability. It made the door to the 
tower room seem only a flimsy facsimile. Even Crystal's voice sounded awed. 
"Isn't it simply spine- crinkling, dear?" 

"Oh, Crystal, don't lock me in there. I don't know what's on the other side, 
and I don't want to know, but please don't open that door." 

"Don't get panicky, darling. There's no lions or tigers. Just a beautiful 
security, but there's something else I want to show you. Look!" Crystal 
turned and pressed a button on the wall. A panel slid noiselessly behind 
them to close the passage. "You see. Tracy dear, from the other side it 
seems just like another section of the wall, the end of the passage. There 
is nothing that this delightful dungeon exists on the other side. A search 
party, even if they had hammers, would not discover you. You can scream as 
much as you like. " The panel rolled back again, and they turned to the 
fatal door. Crystal took an immense key from a hook upon the wall and turned 
the lock. 

Tracy supposed it could have been worse. The stone chamber was large. It was 
illuminated at the moment by several shafts slanting downward from above. 
The windows were not visible from where they stood, and she was quite sure 
they would be heavily barred, but they allowed a modicum of light to 
infiltrate the dismal prison. With obvious enjoyment, Crystal demonstrated 
lighting effects by the use of a panel, again within the stone. By pressing 
a button, she could brilliantly illuminate the entire compartment or 
spotlight any part of them. On the other hand, Tracy was quite certain that 
if no electricity was used at night, it would be black as pitch. 

"Do take a look around, darling. I think almost everything is 
self-explanatory." 

Tracy obeyed. Her curiosity out-stripped commands. She knew herself in a 
place dedicated to punishment, but it was not a medieval place. Everything 
appeared of recent construction, and no doubt it was inspired by Crystal's 
own desires. Involuntarily, she exclaimed, "But, Crystal, surely I'm not the 
first one you've had in here!" 

"Oh, no, darling. I'm a bit of a sadist, as you no doubt divined. I've 
practiced with quite a few naked girls, some of them hired and paid for 
their pains, and others have simply filled their roles as old family 
retainers who yield themselves to the pleasures of the young mistress. By 
the way, I'm something of an orphan. Y'know I inherited this place just as 
Matthew inherited Castle Angus. You are in the hands of a totalitarian 
authority." 

"You mean you've actually tortured girls down here?" 

"The word is punishment, Tracy dear. A young woman of my social stature does 
not torture." 

"I don't see how you can punish a girl if she hasn't done anything wrong. 
Me, for instance. I've never hurt you. I've never done anything to deserve 
what you're doing to me." 

"Such sweet naivete! Darling, you still are terribly innocent in some 
things. Just being a beautiful girl is enough to earn and to deserve 
punishment. The world has been punishing beautiful girls for millenniums. A 
beautiful girl with breasts and a bottom like yours simply invites the 
sadist. Just looking at you, even with your clothes on, wets my appetite, 
and seeing you as you are now, so deliciously naked and tastefully bound, is 
a positive thrill. A girl as beautiful a you can expect nothing but pain." 

Tracy could not shrug away the cynicism. Her knotted elbows hurt too much 
for such a gesture. "I'm sure you can rationalize anything you choose to 
do," she said wearily. "So, all right, when do I get whipped?" 

"I have a few phone calls first. I'll just sort of attach you, if you don't 
mind, while I attend to them." 

"Would it make any difference if I did mind?" 

"No." 

Tracy was led to the opposite wall and backed against it. Once more a collar 
encircled her neck. This one was unduly heavy and harsh. Its chain, about 
the level of her shoulder, was absurdly short. Just a few links to no more 
than one foot in length. It compelled her simply to stand. Unexpectedly, 
Crystal kissed her prisoner's surprised lips. She flitted from the dismal 
chamber rather like to the departure of the last rays of the sun. The huge 
door slammed and thudded. The honorable Crystal Maitland's prisoner was 
alone with her thoughts. 

Tracy wanted to cry. She had been snatched away from Matthew too many times, 
and this last theft of her person was so blatantly outrageous, yet so 
hopelessly defeating. She could see no hope of succor. Crystal could do what 
she liked with her, and she no doubt would. As an automatic reflex, she 
picked at her leg irons, experimented with the brutal iron around her neck, 
and the experimental twisting with her wrists and elbows that the presence 
of Crystal had previously denied. Everything held tight. Her bondage was 
total and complete. She slumped against the cold stone in abject misery. 

The honorable Crystal's telephone calls took a long time. Standing in her 
naked bondage, Tracy tried to count the minutes, then abandoned them. What 
was the use? She was not going anywhere, and had nothing to look forward to. 
In fact, quite probably the longer Crystal took to return, the better off 
she might be. Unless Crystal was dealing in simply verbiage, the return of 
the mistress of this gloomy place could only spell pain. Tracy knew her only 
hope was that Crystal had exaggerated and was not as deadly as she seemed. 
After awhile, the captive girl became panicky at the thought of having to 
stand indefinitely as she now was. It would become wickedly tiring, and she 
could find no surcease whatsoever. Along with the compulsion of the chain 
and the collar and its hostile weight upon her throat, there was an ever 
increasing nag of anguish within her flesh more and more deeply with each 
passing minute. They were purely punitive. They were in no way essential to 
her helplessness. The leg irons and tied wrists would have been adequate. A 
tear of self-pity and despair actually did mark a rivulet down her cheek. 
Captivity is such that when Tracy heard the thudding of bolts, the turning 
of the latch, she was almost grateful for the return of the beauty who held 
her enthralled. "First off, I'm going to whip you, darling. I've been 
talking about it for so long I almost feel guilty in not having down it till 
now." Crystal's voice was ebullient with pleasure and promise. "Whipping you 
will be a nice way of us getting to understand each other and putting you in 
the proper frame of mind. You most certainly aren't in it yet. Sweetheart, I 
do hope you don't mind." 

Tracy knew the question rhetorical. "I know you're going to do it, Crystal, 
so it doesn't matter whether I mind or not. Please get it over with. I'm 
sick of hearing about it." 

"Darling, that's the wrong approach. And it's not for you to tell me to get 
on with anything. What happens to you is by my own choice of time and 
method. Your function is to simply scream, protest, talk about your rights, 
and what you're going to say to Matthew when and if you ever see him again." 

Tracy was given no opportunity to be anything but passive. Her feet remained 
ironed, her throat remained collared to the wall, only her arms and hands 
were released. The freeing of the cord from her elbows was an ordeal she 
bore gratefully. It hurt, but it was a joy to rub the weals within her 
flesh. Crystal stood and watched appreciatively as her captive solaced her 
indented skin with soothing fingers. 

"You mark beautifully, darling." 

"Thank you. I'm glad you like them." 

Crystal watched her captive's self-massage with a full understanding of the 
pain she had inflicted. The weals were deep in the flesh. 

Enticingly, she held up a length of the same cord she had recently loosed. 
"Ana now, darling, your hands, please. Extend them to be tied." 

There is always a final straw, the one thing beyond bearing. Tracy felt it 
now. Her blind anger at helplessness and submission overflowed. Without 
thought, her arm swung and connected with Crystal's cheek in a resounding 
thwack, which knocked the British beauty sideways to where she straightened 
up and stared in amazement at her rebellious possession. Tracy strove to 
follow up her brief advantage, but her leg irons snubbed her ankles, and her 
efforts to step forward and swing again were thwarted by the heavy metal 
around her neck. She was suddenly overwhelmed by the enormity of what she 
had done. She had no doubt that retribution would be swift and brutal. She 
backed against the stone, her arms and hands splayed helplessly against its 
surface, as though seeking sanctuary. 

"Wasn't that a mistake, Tracy dear?" 

"I couldn't help it. I simply could not help it." Tracy stared back. "You 
simply push too hard. Oh, Crystal, can't you be a little kind?" 

Everything was suddenly in slow motion. Crystal sauntered negligently to 
where she could obtain a whip. Without warning, her arm rose and fell, and a 
vivid streak imprinted itself across the maiden's thighs, which could 
retreat no more. The scarlet scald drove the victim to turn around and 
thrust herself against the stone to protect her breasts, her pubes, and any 
other parts of her most sensitive areas from Crystal's vengeance. But those 
parts of her still vulnerable were ample for the retribution Crystal would 
see as only just. No doubt she delighted in now having an excuse. The thongs 
sliced and cut in a bitter intent across the maiden back, the maiden bottom, 
and the maiden thighs until six vivid scarlet streaks bore testimony to a 
deserved penalty. 

Toward the last of the swift succession of strokes, Tracy heard herself 
scream. Pain had taken her into another world, a world in which she endured 
only from blow to blow, hoping each would be the last. The cut, the burn, 
the scald was unendurable, but what else could she do but endure? When the 
frightful impacts paused, she fearfully looked back over her bare shoulder 
to where the honorable Crystal stood, whip in hand, and surveyed her work. 
Their eyes met. Tracy's in mute questioning. Crystal's in gleeful 
satisfaction. The voice of the mistress was taunting. "Was it worth slapping 
my cheek, sweetheart?" 

"No." 

"Learn a lesson." 

"I suppose so. Oh, Crystal, do you have to be so mean?" 

"I could have given you a dozen. Perhaps I should. I hope you realize what 
you just had was payment for the slap. Your whipping has still to Come. Do 
you feel like turning around now and offering your hands?" 

"All right." Tracy turned and made the most submissive motion a girl could 
make. She extended her crossed wrists to be bound. She watched the cord 
bite, biting her own teeth against the anguish they would utter. Perhaps it 
was best her hands be immobilized, rather than having them earn her further 
punishment. Wordlessly, she stood, while the brutal iron was taken from her 
neck. In docile defeat, she allowed herself to be led to the open space 
where the true whipping to which the mistress had sentenced her would take 
place. Moments later she beheld her hands rise up before her eyes, and 
moments before that she was teetering upon her toes, tautly and painfully 
stretched for the bite of the thong to come. She had never felt more naked. 

In a mute plea for compassion, she stared fixedly at Crystal's amused 
regard. The mistress stood back, surveying her apprehensive and awaiting 
victim with approval. "I'll give them to you slowly," she said equably. 
"This is not the first time you've had a really truly whipping, is it?" 

"No." 

"But never from a girl?" 

"No." 

The two girls stared and drank each other in. There was no great difference 
in their age. Crystal was blonde; Tracy was brunette. One was clothed; the 
other was naked. The girl with the whip had an endless curiosity. "Don't you 
find it delicious, darling? I mean, to be whipped by a girl who, after all, 
is pretty much like yourself. 

It's just that I've got the upper hand. I'd say what we are doing right now 
is just a little bit unique." 

"Matt will hate you for this." 

"He'll never know about it, darling. Don't you realize what a beautiful 
position I'm in? You've disappeared, and maybe you'll never reappear again. 
Darling Matt can draw his own conclusions. He'll suspect me, but he can 
prove nothing, and little by little his suspicion will die. I shall carry on 
with him as I've always intended. Eventually, I'll wear him down, and 
everyday I will give you a progress report on my success in weaning him away 
from you. I'll even tell you the things he says. If those things reflect his 
deep affection for you. they will be that much more painful for you to hear. 
I'm going to keep you safe in this prison. Here in your chains you'll know 
that out there, somewhere in the sunlight, Matt and I will be living vivid 
and exciting experiences. They had a word for it, Tracy. What did they use 
to say... ? Ah. yes, that the prisoner languished behind her bars. Do you 
feel like languishing?" 

Tracy did not answer. Instead, she said, "Crystal, look, this is hurting 
terribly, and there's no need to keep me up on my toes. Please let my feet 
down on the floor. It won't stop you from Whipping me or anything else." 

Crystal's answer was swift and instant. A burning agony sliced across the 
white shoulders of the tractioned girl. Scarlet followed the impact. Tracy 
screamed. So great was her anguish and her fury that she raised herself from 
the floor by her wrists and kicked angrily at nothing in a venting of total 
frustration. By the time she had lowered her toes back to the floor the 
second stroke wrapped around her waist. When a third impact lapped her hips, 
she screamed again and flung her nudity into a paroxysm of anguished 
emotion, a futile struggle which stopped instantly the moment she caught and 
comprehended Crystal's enjoyment of the scene. It was not easy to stop, but 
she stood there stretched and on her toes panting and sweating with the 
pain, and with an apprehension of the certainty of more to come. 

"Tell me how it hurts, darling. I want to know. I want to hear it from your 
lips. Be a little bit explicit and a bit colorful, will you? And don't play 
sulky. You know what will happen to you if you do." 

The captive girl knew all too well. "It hurts more than I have words to 
tell. Surely you know, Crystal. It's awful! I think you're forgetting you're 
whipping my bare skin." 

"No, I'm not, dear. Bare skin is the only sensible way to whip a girl. 
Wouldn't we both look silly if you were fully clothed and I was beating away 
at a skirt and a blouse? Do be reasonable." 

"I can't stand this. It's too awful. Crystal, please send me back home--I 
mean, to America. You can see me on the place yourself and then you'll know 
I'm away. Please, please, please!" 

"I stop whipping you for just a couple of minutes, and here you go pleading 
and demanding and being sulky." Crystal's voice was petulant. "Really, 
Tracy, I'm ashamed of you. You've got such lovely stripes, and here you are 
making all this fuss." 

The lash bit wickedly again at its defenseless victim. There followed then a 
slow succession of blows which shrewdly cut into Tracy's most tender and 
vulnerable flesh. The mind of the punished girl became chaotic. She was 
writhing without regard to her wrists, which themselves cried out in 
anguish. The thong bit and scalded across whatever part of her she exposed 
by twists and turns, which evaded nothing. She heard herself scream, and the 
chain joining her ankles clashed and rattled, adding its protest to her own, 
or was it a cry of triumph that she was thus so securely held? The awful 
punishment gave no space for reason, leaving the heart suspended nudity in a 
conglomerate of emotions beyond rationale. Matt and Castle Angus had become 
a paradise lost which she would never see again. Crystal's mocking 
description of what lay in store was all too plausible. Crystal had her, and 
she could keep her forever. Tears started from her eyes. The salt drops 
found their way to mingle with beads of sweat from whipped armpits. Once 
more there came a pause. 

"You've had fifteen, darling. I hope you're not expecting me to stop?" 

Tracy moaned. There was nothing coherent she could say. She'd gone beyond 
pleading and was telling herself doggedly over and over that sometime this 
ordeal would have to stop. Crystal would tire, or feel some mercy, or simply 
be prudent enough not to damage the source of so much joy. Tracy supposed a 
girl could be whipped to death. Crystal would not go that far. 
Involuntarily, Tracy heard her own lips gasp their own appeal. "Crystal, no, 
no! Please, Crystal. not any more!" 

Unexpectedly, the lash snickered upward between the shackled legs and 
snapped in triumph across Tracy's shrinking sex to expend its force upon her 
belly. In vicious delight, the leather bit around one thigh and then the 
other. Tracy heard herself making animal sounds, inarticulate responses 
against an enemy with which she could not cope. Her wrists hurt bitterly. 

"Are you hoping I'll stop at twenty, darling?" 

"Oh, yes, yes, yes!" 

"That would leave you three to go, dear. If you'd be satisfied with that. 
I'll make them as vicious as I possibly can. I'm really being very kind." 

Tracy flooded with relief at even this faint possibility of the termination 
of the travail. If the three strokes yet to be absolved upon her skin were 
doubly or trebly powerful, so what? If it meant an end, she felt certain she 
could bear them gladly. Wearily, she said, "Whatever you say, Crystal. I 
can't stop you from doing anything. Whatever you say." 

Crystal dispensed with finesse. She sought no erotic female crevices or 
feminine curves. She simply flogged the girl. Taking her stance, she swung 
with all her vigor, twisting and bouncing on the ball of a single foot, to 
bring the leather, with its own terrible retort, to strike across the maiden 
back. There was no subtlety, no mockery--simply a deadly intent to inflict 
the maximum pain her arm could wield. One, two, three! Within her welter of 
the unbearable, Tracy made her own count. At the end of the three blows, she 
hung limply, gasping and glistening with sweat. Without mercy, the mistress 
mocked again. "Thank me, dear. Thank me nicely." 

"Thank you for whipping me. Crystal." The words were leaden, almost a 
whisper. 

"Can't you do better than that? Perhaps I should start over." 

The suspended girl raised her voice, reiterating her shame, he bitter 
humiliation, rendering upon this shining girl who owned her the final 
testament of her defeat. Crystal listened tentatively to the enforced 
delivery and nodded in satisfaction. 

"I suppose that will have to do," she conceded grudgingly. "I must give you 
lessons on articulation and deportment. You have so much to learn. Since I'm 
going to keep you, I may as well train you as a slave. By the time Matt and 
I get married, you'll probably be a well-behaved little thrall. Want me to 
let your feet down on the floor?" 

"Yes! Oh, yes, please!" 

It actually happened. Almost in disbelief, the prisoner felt the slackening 
of her tether and her heels touched the floor. She exhaled a tremendous sigh 
of relief. There came a sudden waft of feminine perfume, and two soft, warm 
lips imprinted an affectionate kiss upon the hot, dry mouth of the whipped 
girl. Two sets of girlish fingers gently frictioned two feminine nipples. 
Crystal was unpredictable. Tracy opened her eyes. 

Before she could formulate her thoughts to speak, Tracy saw her captor flit 
swiftly from the room. The big door thudded closed. She was alone again. 

Round one was over. Crystal had won. Crystal would always win. Moving her 
ironed ankles and twisting against bound wrists, Tracy knew she could never 
be anything but the loser in this captor and captive condition which promise 
to be her life from now on. She had no illusions about this British beauty. 
Crystal would intersperse her cruelties with flashes of affection. This was 
her nature. The naked girl found it a dreary prospect in which all she could 
hope for was to survive. She wondered dully what it was like to be a 
prisoner month after month, then year after year. It seemed probable she 
would find out. 

As the pain of her whipping receded, to be replaced now by weariness and the 
nag of cut wrists, Tracy's spirit revived. Surely things could not be as bad 
as they now seemed. By civilized standards, - Crystal's concept was absurd 
and impossible and not to be tolerated. 

Its chance of prolonged success would normally be small, but the wicked door 
and the sliding panel beyond sealed Tracy from the world, sealed her from 
life itself. And it most certainly divided her from Matthew Marsh. But 
surely Crystal would make a mistake. Surely an opportunity would come for 
her to flee beyond the door. Yet, surveying the possibilities, Tracy 
conceded them small. As long as Crystal kept the leg irons on her feet, she 
could not run and could walk only with the short, hobbled, captive steps of 
the condemned. In their own way, the leg irons were the key to her 
captivity. Without them restraining her eager feet, there might indeed come 
an opportunity, but with them locked solidly upon her, as they were now... ! 
Tracy Trevor nestled a tired cheek against a bare, weary arm and resigned 
herself to an inevitable wait. Crystal could be relied on to extract the 
utmost in tribute from every situation and to leave her now, standing bound 
and naked, would be fear too good a chance to miss. 

When Crystal returned, she made a slow circle of her naked prisoner, quietly 
assessing marked flesh. She was obviously a very happy girl. She uttered a 
single sardonic query. "Well?" 

"What do you want me to say?" Tracy asked wearily. "Do you want me to 
plead?" 

"Yes, please. You do it so well." 

The bound girl shifted hopelessly, knowing herself an endless source of 
entertainment for her captor. Hesitantly, she said. "Don't be mean. You've 
got me. I have to do whatever you want. I hate being whipped, so you've got 
an obedient girl on your hands. Can't you be a little kind?" 

The British beauty thoughtfully loosened the rope to allow Tracy's arms to 
fall back into their natural position. She untied the chafed, cut wrists and 
stepped back. Her voice remained as mocking as ever. "Want a fight, 
darling?" 

"No." 

"But, darling, you're free. You can fight. Come on, I'm ready. If there's 
any fight left in your system, get rid of it now." Tracy was busy massaging 
her wounds. She spared a moment to glance down at her fettered feet and to 
kick the links suggestively. 

"Crystal, you know I can't fight. You just want me to give you an excuse to 
whip me again." 

"As you wish, darling. Want to play?" 

Tracy had no illusions about the word. The honorable Crystal Maitland was 
going to extract from her the most abject tribute a girl can pay. Drearily, 
she said, "I'm an adult. I know what you're talking about. And I know you 
can make me do it, but I don't want to." 

"Kneel." 

So this was it! It would be a beginning and not an end. What she was about 
to do must inevitably affect her thoughts, he feelings, and what lay ahead. 
Abjectly, Tracy lowered her knees to the stone. Her eyes were wide in 
pleading, but she said no word. Instead, she watched the honorable Crystal 
Maitland shed her clothes. She was indeed a beautiful creature, a bright and 
feminine illumination in this dark place. As though hypnotized, Tracy stared 
at the shining pubic patch which now advanced steadily until some of its 
curly fronds tickled her nose. Two firm female hands clutched her hair and a 
female voice sardonically inquired, "Going to be a good girl?" 

"Yes." It was a whisper from within the pungent and perfumed crevice of 
Crystal's sex. 

"You're so sensible, darling." The hands tugged hard on captive hair to 
thrust a captive face brutally against the soft, wet lips swollen with 
desire. With a tiny moan of acquiescence, the girl with chained feet began 
her homage to the naked beauty to whom she was now thralled. 

The lips of the kneeling girl worked on past the barriers of shame, into a 
new world of curiosity--a heated, turgid, scented world in which two wet 
female orifices explored the depths of an erotic passion. At the end of it, 
dazed and uncaring, Tracy allowed herself to be led to a low wooden bench, 
and her back thrust upon the hard surface. Her arms were pulled ruthlessly 
up, spread out, and strapped to each of the top comers. It was not until her 
mind comprehended the clatter of metal on the stone that she realized that 
her feet had been freed of the leg irons, but before she could explore this 
phenomenon further. Crystal's avid mouth was hungrily eating its way into 
the pungent and palpitating crevice Crystal had so recently whipped. The 
strapped maiden moaned as she entered a strange new world. A world totally 
and utterly female, such as she had never before known. If Tracy thought of 
Matt as Crystal's tongue and Crystal's lips took her into a tumultuous real 
of tumescent sensation, it was only to see herself and Matt as strangers on 
a strange path, taking a divergent course. Tracy moaned constantly, and 
sometimes cried out loud. She marveled at the similarity of the sounds she 
had made in ecstasy to those she had made in agony. In her new world, pain 
and pleasure were divided by a very fine line. Her mind registered with only 
the faintest emotion, the relocking of her ankles within the irons. She 
would be given no hope. Crystal would best her at every turn, but the fact 
that her feet had been freed, even if only briefly, was a small spark she 
would treasure. Perhaps next time... ! Without demur, the chained girl 
allowed herself to be led through a door at the far end of the huge stone 
chamber, into a modern bathroom. Her delight in it was tempered by the 
realization of its emphasis upon the permanence of her condition. Within 
this facility, the honorable Crystal could keep her down forever. 

Crystal obviously enjoyed bathing her possession. Tracy was a toy, a new 
doll to arrange and control as its mistress pleased. Bathed, perfumed, and 
her hair tidied into a passable hairdo, Tracy found herself fitted with a 
leather collar which snapped snugly around her throat and possessed a ring 
to which a leash could be attached. 

"Another ordeal, darling. Quite a different one this time. I'm going to give 
you a really full first day before I put you to bed." 

It was as though she was mesmerized or possessed by a morbid curiosity. 
Tracy questioned nothing as she knelt within the apex of a triangle formed 
by two stout timbers. When her knees were on the cold stone, the adjoining 
of the wooden frame was a foot above her head. She noted that Crystal had 
not resumed her clothes. Perhaps she was trying to prove the point that she 
was the most lovely of the two. It did not matter. What mattered to Tracy 
now was pain. 

"Up with a little hand and arm, dear. You're going to have to lean a bit 
forward." 

It was an understatement. The captive had to bend low to accommodate the 
raising of her arm at the back. Crystal busily and competently bound the 
chafed wrist to the staunch wood. When it was tightly tied, Crystal's next 
command came as a matter of course. "Now the other one, darling." 

One had been bad. Two was terribly bad. Tracy's shoulders complained 
bitterly at the wracking backward tug on her arms. When both her wrists were 
firmly secured, her head was halfway to the floor. Her view limited to the 
stone. Only by exerting pressure and pain could she look elsewhere. But 
Crystal was not yet finished. She buckled a belt around the slender whipped 
mark waist, she tied a cord to the center link of the iron, then tugged belt 
and shackle together tightly to life the metal encircled ankles from the 
floor and raise them high against the small of her victim's back. This left 
Tracy teetering on her knees as her only means and pivot of support, apart 
from what small relief she could gain from her tied hands. 

"Isn't it ingenious, darling? You look so stressed and pathetic. You're 
quite lovely. I'm sure you'll find this wonderfully painful." Tracy's 
agreement was instant. "I can't stand this!" she cried in a voice raising to 
a wail of pure distress. "Crystal, let my feet back on the floor. Please, 
please, please!" 

"Don't be silly, darling. You know you're going to have to put up with it." 

"But I can't. It'll do my knees an injury. This whole thing is too awful for 
words. Ohhhhh, Crystal...!" 

"You won't be injured, dear. You'll think you're dying, but you won't. I've 
proved this with the other girls I've tried it on. And let me am you about 
putting on an act. All the poor darlings think of it somewhere in the first 
fifteen minutes. They pretend to faint. 

I easily cure this with the riding crop. They come alive the first whack. 
But, of course, you're much too sensible for such nonsense, aren't you?" 

"I'm not sensible at all. I'm hurting." 

"And so you should, dear. That's what it's all about. This little device 
you're attached to is an invention all my own. A girl looks so sweetly 
pathetic. It's the bowed head, of course. That gets the effect. And no 
matter how you try, you can't avoid a certain amount of teetering within 
tiny limits. Can you move much?" 

"You know I can't." Tracy demonstrated by rising against her bound arms and 
moving her head from side to side. 'Crystal, this is cruel!" 

"These exclamations of yours are the reasons I'm going to gag you, dear. 
I'll be leaving you alone from time to time like this, and your natural 
inclination will be to make quite a bit of noise, which will shame you and 
irritate me. That is, when I'm here to listen to it. I'm sure you won't 
mind." 

"Mind! Gag me! Of course I mind. Crystal, don't. Please don't!" The smooth 
leather was exquisitely expensive. Attached to its center was a rubber 
phallus. While Tracy was still staring in horror, it entered her mouth and 
was pulled tight. "Best to clench your teeth and lips, dear. It's more 
comfortable that way, and it makes it more effective. I'll just wait a 
couple of seconds while you do this." 

Tracy obeyed, not because she wished to cooperate but because she found 
herself agreeing with what Crystal had said. Tight-lipped was best. Strong 
youthful fingers buckled the silencing device tight behind bowed neck. 
Crystal went to some trouble to arrange the hair over it so that the 
imposition of the leather in no way affected the hairdo so studiously 
devised. Tracy shook her head in a combination of protest and wonder. She 
had never been gagged like this before. She tried to speak but could make no 
intelligible sound. Some small noises at the back of her throat were the 
best she could manage. She tried to scream, but the gag laughed at her 
effort. It held her lips tightly closed and filled her mouth with the 
offensive simile of the male penis. She felt certain no girl had ever been 
thus silenced and in such misery. At the expense of painful stress, she 
managed a sideways look up at her tormentor. 

"You're absolutely stunning, darling. That gag is the piece de resistance. 
It will give you the opportunity to quietly reflect without being bothered 
by your own moans and groans. That's right, dear, don't struggle--just slump 
in that gorgeous, hopeless helplessness. 

You'll look your best and be far more comfortable." 

The nearly helpless girl was in mild panic. The last thing she wanted was to 
be left alone in this semi-torture. She had visions of it becoming totally 
impossible to bear and of herself going into a state of hysterics. She 
struggled as frantically as she could to impart a knowledge of her stressful 
fears, but the motions were slight and drew nothing but admiration from her 
owner. Crystal's voice was brightly cheerful. "I'm going upstairs now, 
darling. You can stay here and think about the fact that what I am doing now 
is writing a sweet little note to darling Matthew, inviting him over for 
cocktails tomorrow. I'm sure he'll accept, and when he does I'm going to 
give him every opportunity to search the place. I'm going to let him talk to 
people who know the premises. When it's all over, he'll be firmly convinced 
that you are not here. He'll catch no glimpse or hint of you. I'll tell you 
when the cocktails start, and you'll thus know that he is in the same house 
and within earshot, if you could go out in the passage and scream. But you 
can't, can you?" 

It was all sweet girly-girl talk, but diabolical nonetheless. Tracy felt 
tears scream to her eyes. She saw them splash down upon the stone. She heard 
the thud of the door as her only hope of help or mercy removed itself from 
the scene. Her knees screamed mutely, as did her wrists and shoulders. It 
would seem that any guest of the honorable crystal Maitland would spend most 
of their time in suffering. The laughing taunt about Matthew would be the 
hardest thing to bear. To know her beloved was in this house, sipping 
cocktails somewhere above, would be a torment beyond bearing. But she could 
be forced to bear it, just as she now bore the agony of her bent knees. The 
punishment was almost fiendish, yet she grudgingly admitted it fell short of 
actual torture. Tracy knew not what to call it. For her, it was simply the 
imposition of another girl's will. A tribulation by which she would know 
shame and suffer pain from which she presumably would gain humility. If 
punishments like this were a daily occurrence under Crystal's care, she 
would be very humble indeed. 

Tracy was no novice to punishment, both for delinquencies and because of 
simple caprice on the part of the one who punished her. 

The capricious punishments were the hardest to bear. It was so now. But also 
she knew pain often defeated itself. The flesh rebelled and became numb. The 
wailing cry of distress trailed away and died into moans and then silence. 
The fine wicked agony of the first moments and minutes sewn diminished. The 
unbearable became, if not bearable, at least a condition in which her 
thoughts might rove. It was all a strange, incredible world, which had begun 
for her on the floor of Matt's tent when she had been staked, spread- eagle 
upon the ground. Then would come her time upon the pole and after that the 
prison in Santos. Madrez Prison had been a terrible introduction to 
imprisonment itself. Its agonies had been partly psychological. If the 
honorable Crystal had kept on as she had started, this fresh captivity bid 
fare to be the worst of all. Tracy sensed her survival would depend upon 
total subservience to the beautiful body which possessed her utterly. If she 
could save herself a single agony by being humble, she would do so, 
conserving her strength for that moment when her feet were freed. 

It went on and on. Tracy screamed into the gag and got what comfort she 
could from the inarticulate effort. She did not struggle any more. It hurt 
far too much. She relapsed within Crystal's bonds and silently suffered. 
When, throughout early evening, Crystal reappeared to check the bindings and 
gently pat the unresisting flesh, Tracy's eyes took over a mode of their own 
silent petition for mercy. It was never granted. She was there to suffer, 
and suffer she would! After awhile her shoulders gave up the battle as her 
knees had done and relapsed into numb misery. It was the same with her 
wrists. Tracy wondered how much a girl's wrists could stand, but it appeared 
they could stand anything. There was no limit to their adaptability. After 
what seemed many hours, but was probably no more than two or three, her 
ordeal ended. Her feet found the floor with a thud, and her arms returned to 
her with no more than weals upon her wrists. Tracy slumped inert upon the 
stone. All she wanted was surcease from pain. If only she could be left 
alone, but Crystal was insatiable. 

"And now bye-bye, dear." 

It was all so simple. There was no bed, and probably there would never be a 
bed with sheets, mattress, and pillows for Tracy Trevor again. It was the 
same bench on which she had laid for their lesbian love. This time there 
were no straps. Shackles encompassed her wrists and ankles in a way in which 
she could raise her head or shift her weight from side to side, there was no 
freedom. The leg irons were gone, but they were replaced by others equally 
implacable. Tracy would spend a night of helplessness, and she would long 
again and again for a normal bed. But once more what she must cope with 
could not be called torture. Once more it was a girl thing with which she 
would cope as best she could. Most certainly there would be no escape. It 
would be useless to even try. The shackles were very snug and their chains 
very heavy'. She had not noticed them before when she had been strapped down 
for their lovemaking. They had hung out of sight. Now they came into their 
own. They held Miss Tracy Trevor with an intimacy akin to love. 

"Matthew would enjoy you like this, darling." Crystal's fingertips lingered 
lovingly upon the erogenous zones to elicit appropriate sounds and motions 
from the helpless girl. They lingered lovingly on nipples and moist lips, 
both those above and below. Crystal was savoring the full glory of the total 
possession of a girl. No doubt she had savored it before, but this would be 
different. This one had been stolen from a man. 

The light from the unseen windows above the slanted slots was becoming dim. 
After a few exploratory tugs, the girl, left alone to sleep, abandoned any 
thought of struggling. Struggling was terribly exhausting and she would do 
well to conserve her strength Instead, she indulged in delightful fantasies 
of having the honorable Crystal in the same position she herself lay in. The 
same chains upon the honorable limbs, the same imposition of nakedness upon 
the honorable flesh. True, it was just a dream, but in the dream Tracy found 
the release of sleep. She was wickedly, terribly exhausted. 

Morning brought back both the light and Crystal's cheerful presence. It also 
brought the reminder of whipped skin upon a hard bench. The prisoner gazed 
up in cautious silence. 

"I can tell you slept well, darling. I wasn't too cruel, was I?" 

"Yes." 

"What did you say, darling?" Crystal fingered the inevitable crop. 

"Oh, all right!" The captive agreed in resignation. "Sure, I love sleeping 
chained and naked upon a hard bench. But I did sleep, so thank you for 
that." 

"Ready for another painful day, darling?" 

"I suppose so." 

"You're not exactly bubbling over with enthusiasm. But I suppose I have to 
make some allowances. You'll learn. Have you indulged in any thoughts about 
your slavery?" 

"I am not a slave." 

"Hmmm, perhaps not at this moment, dear, but by the time I've married dear 
Matthew, you'll be facing the facts of your new life, and you'll conform. 
You'll stop being haughty and become a well- behaved little slave girl." 

"If you say so." 

"Oh, I do!" Crystal bent and bestowed another of her vagrant kisses. There 
was a strange affection in the joining of their lips. The girl chained to 
the bench could well see Crystal becoming a habit. She had a way with her 
and possessed a shining radiance neither girl nor man could entirely ignore. 
Bitterly, Tracy could well imagine Matt falling victim to its charm, 
especially if he was without exposure to any other feminine influence. If 
Crystal was wise enough to avoid excess cruelty, it was quite possible, 
Tracy realize, that she herself would fall beneath her spell. This would 
come about simply by the loneliness of captivity and her need for human 
communion. In the dismal gloom of a dungeon, the honorable Crystal Maitland 
was a shining light. Sulkily, the captive girl allowed herself to be freed 
and fed and bathed. That Crystal chatted gaily throughout, in no way 
lessoned an awareness of captivity, but despite her sulks, Tracy found 
herself responding and wishing her companion was a friend instead of an 
enemy. 

"Well, can't repeat yesterday, darling. Have to go a bit easier." 

"Thank heavens for that, Crystal. Honest, I really will be grateful if you 
ease up on me." 

"Well, I don't suppose you'll be too grateful, dear. You see, I'm a wicked 
little sadist who is starved for a bit of sweet cruelty. I need you. 
Yesterday did me no end of good, and I can't possibly let you sit around 
today, can I? I mean, it would be such a waste, and I always say to my girls 
that it's far better that one of us be happy rather than both of us be 
bored. I do hope you agree." 

Tracy kicked her leg iron to remind herself not to do something silly. She 
was standing nude and otherwise free, facing her mistress. "Well, what's it 
going to be?" she asked dejectedly. 

For answer Crystal gathered two captive arms and peremptorily turned their 
owner around and crossed her wrists. In irritation and sudden anger against 
a return of such treatment, Tracy turned and leapt bodily upon the girl who 
was about to punish her. It was an unthinking, instinctive act. The two 
girls were close enough together that the leg irons did not matter. As they 
fell to the ground, Tracy wrapped the chain around one of Crystal's ankles 
to equalize their capacity to fight. In a sudden flush of exultation, she 
glimpsed a possibility of victory for the first time. If only she could 
subdue Crystal and extort the key to her shackles... ! Tracy fought savagely 
to turn the other girl about and capture her hands. 

They were evenly matched, but Crystal had an advantage. Whereas Tracy was 
seeking to subdue an able-bodied young woman, all the able-bodied young 
woman had to do was wrest herself free of the entanglement and subdue the 
shackled girl with a whip. Crystal fought viciously and savagely toward this 
end. She was, in effect, running away, disentangling herself. She had no 
actual need to fight. Once she was a few feet distant and had reclaimed her 
riding crop or whip, her star would once more be in the ascendancy. 
Eventually, in their writhings, she contrived to disengage her ankle from 
the clutch of chain, and sinking her teeth cruelly into her adversary's 
flesh, caused Tracy to scream and draw back sufficiently to enable 
disengagement. Once upon her feet. Crystal should have been mistress of the 
situation, but even as the agony of the bite was still vivid on her flesh, 
Tracy turned and leaped, not as her adversary but at the riding crop so 
invitingly close. Grasping it, she swirled around in time to slash Crystal 
across bare legs and then across bare arms, as the reached to grasp her. But 
that was the extend of her victory. Stepping back to avoid Crystal's fresh 
lunge, she tripped upon her chain and fell back to the stone. The crop was 
snatched from her hand and now used with vicious purpose upon herself. 
Crystal, laughing in delight at the situation, whipped in anger, but also 
with a shrewd determination to subdue. It was only moments before Tracy's 
voice came in a choked, despairing wail. 

"All right, all right! Crystal, stop! Please stop! I've had enough. All 
right. I quit. 

When Crystal regained her breath, she asked with her usual insouciant 
casualness, "Wasn't that a bit silly, darling?" 

"Of course it was silly. I don't know what made me do it. except I'm just 
human, and I suppose there was a last straw in there somewhere. Anyway, 
something snapped, and I fought you because I had to." Tracy's voice became 
resigned in defeat. "Go ahead, punish me. I know you will. I suppose by your 
standards I deserve it. Perhaps if you punish me badly enough, it will teach 
me a lesson. With these leg irons on my feet I don't have a hope!" 

"Well, that's cleared the air. darling, and I will say these fresh marks 
you've just gathered for yourself are enchantingly lovely. You wear them so 
well." 

"Am I going to get some more?" 

"No, darling. I've other things in store for you. I had contemplated a 
rather bland day for my sweet captive, but you sort of threw a wrench into 
that, didn't you? What I want you to do now is come here, turn around, cross 
your wrists behind your back, and then stand still. Can you do that?" 

"Yes, I'll do that. Like I said, I've had enough." 

There came now to Tracy a strange mixture of emotions. She clinked her way 
to her mistress as ordered, turned, crossed her wrists, and stood erect and 
silent as cords cut at them to once more make her totally helpless. They 
would be a prelude to something worse. But she could smell Crystal's scent, 
and knew that she herself exuded a female odor of her own. She was impelled 
by a wish to turn and. had she been able, throw her arms around Crystal in a 
passionate embrace. She knew it a carnal instinct. She knew too that she 
might never again be closer to the ultimate beauty in a girl than now. 
Crystal was quite something. She was also very nicely clad, and her 
femininity was escaping through the thin stuff over her dress. But it was 
too late for physical manifestation of any desire of any kind. Tracy chided 
herself for such nonsensical notions. She was a prisoner and Crystal was an 
enemy. If they felt physical attraction for each other, it was simply a fact 
of life. It was nothing to the glory she would feel if she could once more 
throw her arms around Matthew Marsh. Tracy clenched her teeth was the cords 
bit deep into her wrists. 

"There, I think that will hold you, you silly little revolutionary." Crystal 
laughed. "But it was really my fault. I should have been expecting it. I 
never labeled you as a pussycat. I suppose it's remarkable you did not rebel 
before. Looking forward to paying the penalty?" 

"No." 

"That's what I like about you: such a delightful girlish honesty." Crystal 
laughed again, a silvery tinkle of sound. "Darling, I fully expect you and I 
will fall in love with each other. I suppose I've been a little in love with 
you right from the start, and no doubt that's the reason I'm so mean to you, 
or just one of the reasons." Crystal's voice became more serious. "You see, 
darling, you and I could have a lesbian affair and it would in no way affect 
my feelings for Matthew. I could sleep with him in the night and be serviced 
by you every day. I'd pleasure you, of course. It would not be entirely a 
one way street. In fact, it would be interesting to discover if I could not 
divert your affection for your holy, holy Matthew. Suppose you fell in love 
with me? It could happen, y'know." 

"All right, Crystal, I know when I'm being teased. Have your fun." 

"Have you guessed what your punishment is going to be? Your hands tied 
behind your back is a clue." 

"No, I'm afraid Pm not well versed in the art of torturing girls." 

"Your arms are going to go an inch higher just for that little quip, 
sweetheart. You really are terribly thoughtless." 

Tracy kept silent for the several moments it took Crystal to pull a rope and 
hook down from above and tether the two crossed tied hands she had just 
knotted. In a few more moments, Tracy found her arms rising behind her back. 
When her hands were at the level of her shoulders, which were now bent 
forward in much the same manner she had endured beneath the wooden arch the 
previous day. Crystal's voice replaced the whir of the motor by which Tracy 
was now controlled. 

"It was called the strappado in old Italy. I think that's where it had its 
origin." Crystal's voice was sweetly informative. "Of course, it's actually 
nothing more than tethering your arms as high as I want them behind your 
back, and there's not a thing you can do about it. Savvy?" 

"Yes, I savvy." 

"Feeling just a trifle apprehensive, dear?" 

"Yes, that too. I hope I'm giving you your money's worth." The elevation of 
Tracy's arms was now inch by attesting inch. She glanced hastily and 
painfully back at Crystal's smiling features, but found no menace in them. 
It seemed that with each inch her hands went higher, her head became an inch 
closer to the floor. Surely Crystal was not going to raise her from the 
ground! Tracy recalled reading that such an act dislocated the victim's 
shoulder sockets and was agonizing in the extreme. 

"I'll stop for a moment, dear, and let you test this out. I want you to 
struggle. Try to stand up and look at me the way you just did. I found that 
immensely appealing." 

Why disobey? The end result would always be the same. Abjectedly, but in a 
curiosity all her own, Tracy obeyed. She twisted and contorted and 
straightened up enough to look back at the smiling face of her lovely 
inquisitor. But every bit of it hurt. It hurt far too much. After each 
effort she relapsed into the forward bend with her hands held high. Crystal 
amused herself by raising those hands an inch or two. then lowering them the 
same amount. She did this testingly, almost with a clinical interest in her 
victim's reaction. "What I'm trying to do, darling, is exert the maximum 
affliction with the minimum of danger. You see, darling, I do think of you, 
and when I'm away and thinking of you down here and suffering, I don't want 
your suffering to be dangerous. I want it be just enough to make you wish 
you'd been more sensible." Crystal laughed again. -'Want me to raise you all 
the way, darling? This isn't a silly query on my part. It's on the basis 
that if you hurt someone enough initially, then whatever they end up with is 
going to seem bearable. Want me to do that?" 

"No! Oh, no. Crystal! Please...!" 

"Just thought I'd ask, Tracy dear. It's what they do in the army, y'know. 
Being shot at becomes a pleasure after basic training." 

"Thank you, but I'd rather not, if you don't mind." 

A sly hand slipped between two maiden thighs and clasped two maiden lips 
below a maiden bush. "How about an orgasm then? Wouldn't you like a nice, 
lovely climax before I leave?" 

"No, I wouldn't. I don't want to be left all hot and untidy in this 
condition." 

"Well, yes, perhaps you have a point. I don't want you hot and untidy 
either. There's a quality of the immaculate about you I wish to preserve. I 
do it with myself. A hot and untidy girl is not even erotic." 

Two expensively shod feet came within Tracy's limited view. She conceded it 
was at least a change from the stone floor and her own pubic bush, which she 
had been forced to look at as the only attractions. A surprisingly gentle 
finger lifted a captive chin and two warm lips implanted an unexpected kiss. 
It lasted longer than it need have done. At its end, Crystal patted the 
well-wealed bottom of her slave girl and announced her intention of running 
a few errands. "You won't mind waiting for me, will you, darling?" The 
question was rhetorical. Tracy knew anything she might take exception to 
mattered not at all. Tentatively, she asked, "Crystal, I'd be eternally 
grateful if you'd let my arms down a couple of inches. I think it could bear 
it then, I'm not sure about now?" 

"You knew the answer to that before you asked, dear. It is a resounding no. 
I'll remind you again about these pleadings and demands. They are not 
acceptable. I'll give you a couple of cuts on the beautifully positioned 
posterior as a reminder before I leave." Bent as Tracy was, the two strokes 
were cruel. She yelped and shifted uneasily for fear there might be more. 
Her flesh burned and scorched as she heard the receding feminine footsteps 
to the door. Then the thud to tell her she was quite alone. 

Tracy's first feeling was of panic. She felt for certain her punishment 
would get steadily worse, and with Crystal absent she had no hope of help. 
She shifted her shackled feet and turned about to seek easement of her 
pinioned shoulders. Nothing helped. She ended up always in the same 
position. If she sought to change it, it hurt more. The humble head bowed in 
submission was undoubtedly the least painful tribute she could pay to her 
tractioned arms. She settled down to what she supposed was the penalty for 
talking out of turn. She hoped also the punishment would cover her revolt. 
She was not sure of this, but could only hope for the best. She realized she 
had picked up an incidental thrashing during the revolt itself. Maybe 
Crystal had taken that into consideration. She twisted the captive fingers 
held high above her head and kicked irritably at the chain between her feet. 
As usual, it was all hopeless. The best thing she could do was keep still. 
It was not a bright prospect for her day. 

It took only a little while to confirm Tracy's estimate of her plight. It 
would get steadily worse, and she would long more and more for the return of 
the girl who had thus fastened her. It was a frightening thought to realize 
how utterly she was in Crystal's power. If Crystal was to meet with an 
accident, she might easily die in this ill-lit stone chamber of punishment. 
She could never free herself from her present predicament. She would simply 
stand as she was now until she died. An involuntary shudder wracked her 
nudity. Resolutely, she turned her thoughts elsewhere. At the moment she had 
no reason to believe she need be morbid. Crystal would return. There would 
be some bright exchange of chatter, then hopefully a brief release before 
her punishment was extended into the afternoon. She had no reason to believe 
Crystal would waste any time in which a girl could be made to feel pain. 

The hours were slow. Tracy hoped they were hours and not minutes, but she 
could not tell. Tears came and fell upon the stone where she could watch 
them splash. They brought their own brief period of release, but a girl 
cannot weep forever. The tears dried along with Tracy's hope. She found 
herself breathing heavily and wanting to scream. If she wanted to, why not? 
She shrilled out a full-lunged peal of protest against this solitary 
imposition of another girl s will. The stone absorbed the sound in a manner 
to discourage a repeat. The stone would deal with her with the same finality 
as did the chain and rope. Dully, she wondered if Matthew had receive the 
invitation and would attend the cocktail party. If he did, then surely he 
would sense her presence somewhere in the house. Surely the vibrations she 
would exude would touch him and be a guide. Tracy allowed herself a 
beautiful vision of hammer blows upon the implacable door and the triumphant 
entry of the man she loved. Why not? she asked herself demandingly. Heroic 
acts were the function of the male, and goodness knows. Matthew was male 
enough for any maiden's dreams. But she most ardently longed to be back with 
her hands cuffed behind the tent pole in Santos. She would even have 
welcomed the four stakes to which her limbs had been spread and bound. 
Almost anything would be better than the isolation in which Crystal now held 
her. She knew life was all around, but it had been craftily excluded from 
this dismal chamber. Tracy wept anew. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT - THE UNKIND GIRL 

"You've been crying, darling. I can see the wet on the stone. Was it that 
bad?" 

"Yes, it was. It still is. Oohhh, Crystal! If you'll let me loose, I'll do 
anything--simply anything!" 

"You'll do anything anyway, dear girl. That's one of the drawbacks of your 
situation. You don't bargain. You simply have nothing to offer that I don't 
already possess. You're most valuable possession is quite simply you, and 
you most certainly belong to me. Want me to let you loose?" 

"Yes, yes, yes, yes! Oh, please, Crystal...!" 

"Gosh, what sincerity. And all you get out of it, darling, is another hour 
exactly as you are now. I do have to maintain some status as a mistress. I 
do hope you understand." 

Tracy understood all too well, but a period had been placed upon her 
penance, and she saw this as one small victory. One hour! Well, she supposed 
she would endure it and survive. Feeling a need to say something, she simply 
said, "Thank you, Crystal." 

The hour passed interminably. The stretched and stressed nudity of Tracy 
Trevor was certain Crystal was cheating. No hour could ever be this long. 
For some time now the captive's breathing had been labored in distress. Into 
it now was infused small, heart-rendering moans with the whimpering 
exhalations. It was a sad, frightened girl the honorable Crystal Maitland 
found on her return. "Don't be such a crybaby," she reprimanded severely. "I 
wish you could have seen what some of my other girls put up with. They would 
have thought this a picnic." 

In the relief of lowered arms, Tracy simply stood in panting thankfulness. 
As in all such punishments, there remained a lingering fear that all was not 
yet over, but for the moment she savored her release from pain, caring for 
nothing else, unheedful of what might come. 

"I like the effect of your hands corded the way they are. They can stay as 
they are for the time being. Besides, they will prevent you from making 
heroic gestures." 

"I don't have any heroic gestures left," Tracy said plaintively. "May I go 
to the bathroom?" 

"I'll go with you, dear, and make you look pretty. You're going to service 
me when you come out, and I do want you looking nice. " The bound girl 
shrugged. What did it matter? She was to have neither privacy nor freedom. 
She had become a Barbie doll, played with by her owner in sadistic 
curiosity. Crystal's fingers were firm upon her arms. 

Tracy's decision to maintain a sulky silence was defeated by her ebullient 
owner. Crystal's bright gaiety brooked no denial. In the course of being 
tended, the disgruntled captive found herself chatting animatedly with her 
captor. They were, after all, two girls together, strangely sharing the same 
interests. That one was prisoner to the other changed nothing. Until the 
next punishment came into view, they might as well have been a pair of young 
women walking down the village street. The fact that Tracy's mouth would 
soon be avid upon Crystal's tumid sex was, for the moment, irrelevant. A 
thought of this act she must perform reminded Tracy of a fire which had 
smoldered gently within her loins throughout her punishment. She was annoyed 
how by her fervid desire for Crystal. She longed to plead for Crystal's lips 
and tongue, but was wise enough to maintain silence. Crystal would do with 
her exactly as she pleased. It was wisest to remind Crystal of nothing. The 
girl with tied hands and fettered feet was rapidly learning the tricks of 
her enslavement. 

Crystal had provided a picnic lunch. They shared it seated upon the wooden 
bench to which Tracy had once been chained. There was nothing in the chamber 
not intended to either hurt or constrain the captives housed therein. 
Wherever she looked a girl would be reminded of past punishment or of one 
still to come. Tracy's prison was cruelly functional. But both girls 
disregarded the influence of their surroundings. Crystal fed her prisoner 
daintily and with care. She raised cups and glasses to the captive's lips 
and wiped them carefully afterwards. When, long afterwards, they were both 
replete, not with food but with the scents and secretions of each other, 
Crystal lazily complained, "Darling, we've used up so much time, and it was 
so gorgeous, but I really do have to do something with you. I mean, I can't 
simply leave you sitting around." 

"I don't see why not. My feet are chained, and I can't get out of the door 
anyway. Just lock me in and go about your business." 

"The total optimist!" Crystal laughed. "Well, why not? Let's say your lips 
and your tongue earned you a break. I'll come back before the cocktail party 
and be unkind to you. But, for the moment, come kiss me. You kiss 
gorgeously." 

The kiss was long. Halfway through, Tracy disengaged and pleaded fervently, 
"Give me my hands, Crystal! I want to put them around you." 

"How very sweet! Tracy, I adore you. Never mind your hands. 

I like them the way they are. You come back into mine." 

The kiss continued to a point of exhaustion until at last Crystal lovingly 
patted a well-marked bottom cheek, tweaked a pert nipple, and ran to the 
door. Dazed, the slave girl stood and watched the portal slam shut. She had 
never felt more lonely than at that moment. The honorable Crystal was a 
force. During their embrace and in the love play of an hour past, she had 
become aware of the strange dominion the golden-haired beauty wielded over 
her. As from the beginning, Tracy was quite unable to hate Crystal. Crystal 
might be a sadist, and indeed capricious, but she had touched her slave 
girl's heart. This in no way affected Tracy's determination to escape should 
the change arise, but she was aware of Crystal as a quite different presence 
in her life than on that day when her hands had been tied to the tailgate of 
the cart. The girl whose hands were still tied tightly behind her back lay 
down upon the bench and went to sleep. 

"Wakey, wakey, darling. No one told you to go to sleep." Crystal's cheerful 
admonition dragged Tracy back from dreams in which she had been held very 
tightly within Matthew Marsh's embrace. Still hazy from the slumber, she 
said in a half apology, "I couldn't get loose. Crystal, I tried and tried, 
but you tie so cleverly. My hands are still behind my back." 

"And so they should be, dear. Do you realize my first guest is only minutes 
away." 

"I hope you enjoy your party, Crystal. I hope you enjoy Matthew too." 
Tracy's voice trailed away and then burst forth afresh. "But please don't 
give me a running report. Just leave me alone down here. I don't want to 
hear." 

"No demands, darling. Don't you tell me what to do or not to do. I've just 
thought of the loveliest thing for you." 

Tracy was now awake and could not deny curiosity. She was alert enough not 
to plead. She could hope for the best and accept whatever it was with as 
good a grace as she could muster. Without optimism, she watched the 
honorable Crystal drag something from the shadows. 

"It's a safari cage, darling. Intrepid explorers used them to hold the world 
animals they wanted to bring back home with them. In this particular case, 
it's going to hold you." 

In her search, Tracy had noticed but dismissed the item as having no 
application to herself. It was silver colored and composed of unusually 
heavy wire mesh. She sadly realized it was exactly girl size. 

"You'll look so sweet, Tracy. As soon as I saw the thing, I knew I had to 
buy it. Don't worry--you're by no means the first occupant. Girls fit into 
it gorgeously, but none of them have been too keen on being inside. I admit 
it's a bit cracked." 

"Oh, Crystal, I can't get into that thing. There's not enough room." 

"Yes, there is, darling. I'll help you. You'll have to wiggle a bit, but 
you'll make it, and once inside you'll look absolutely gorgeous. I know you 
will." 

If there was one thing Tracy had learned in her captivity, it was never to 
argue with a mistress or a master except within those limits they themselves 
imposed. Her bottom was tender enough now; she did not want it caned or 
cropped any more. Dismally, she asked, "Now?" 

"Yes, dear, come along." 

It appeared the captive of the cage would have to enter it feet first. The 
mistress would support captive shoulders while captive legs did their first 
exploration of the new imprisonment. By the time her knees and bottom were 
well inside, Tracy realized she was lost. The cage was going to claim her. 
There would be no escaping it. With a final heave, Crystal thrust her slave 
girl's bare shoulders within the wire, then the head, and finally closed the 
sturdy door. With her face almost touching the wire, Tracy had no difficulty 
in watching and then hearing the click by which she was safely padlocked 
within her tiny prison. Awkwardly and unhappily, she wiggled around so she 
could sit. The loss of her hands within the tiny confinement was limiting. 
About the only possibility was to sit upon her tenderized bottom, hunch up 
her feet so that her knees connected with her chin, and twist her bound arms 
in an ineffectual demonstration of helplessness. Crystal's reaction was 
predictable. 

"Charming, charming. Oh, sweetheart, if only you could see yourself!" 

"What I'd see would be a bundle of tied up girl in a tiny cage, crouched up 
in a bail so she couldn't move," Tracy said without cordiality. "Crystal, I 
hope you realize I can't move." 

"You'd be surprised, Tracy. Just keep wiggling around a bit and be patient. 
You'll manage all sorts of motions. Of course, I do realize your hands tied 
behind your back the way they are is a bit of a handicap, but you look too, 
too sweet. I can't possibly bring myself to untie them." 

"Is there any need for all the padlocks on the door? I can't even touch the 
door. You could tie the damn thing up with string and I still couldn't get 
out of here." 

"Watch it, darling--no beefs, remember? You're role is the sweetly 
distressed damsel suffering her impositions with good grace. Think you can 
handle it?" 

"I suppose I have to." 

"Would it help if I took you back out and whipped you? I mean, give you a 
fresh perspective?" 

"No, thank you." 

, "You see what I mean, dear? You immediately adjust. The mere thought of 
having your dear little bottom whipped again has totally reconciled you to 
whatever trivial discomfort you now suffer." Crystal's tone was kindly 
patronizing. "Punishments are so good for girls. They cure all their silly 
notions. I do so look forward to the way you're going to be in a month's 
time." 

The caged girl knew herself on insecure ground. Best not to quibble. She was 
in a tiny cage, her ankles hobbled, her wrists tightly bound behind her 
back. Reluctantly, she conceded things could be much, much worse. She would 
ache from immobility, but would suffer no pain. Crystal's plan of discomfort 
for her evening was probably as good as she might expect. Sarcastically, she 
said. "Thank you, Crystal. I'm sure I'll be here when you come back." She 
supposed it would always be like this, one punishment after another with 
perhaps interludes of happiness in between. Idly, Tracy watched her mistress 
depart and close the door, and knew she would go from one penalty to another 
without hope of escape. The leg irons would ensure her continuing captivity 
from one penance to another. None of them severe enough to be honestly 
described as torture. They came closer to being a manifestation of Crystal's 
capricious authority. Tracy shifted awkwardly and unhappily. Hands would 
have helped, but she had no hands. Whimsically, she reflected she had 
nothing of herself at all. Crystal owned every bit of the animated girl had 
one been Tracy Trevor. Now, along with the cage, she would have to bear the 
knowledge that somewhere above, in the big house, Matthew Marsh would be 
exchanging small talk with Crystal and the rest of the local gentry. If 
Crystal was as good as her word, he would undoubtedly be making his own tour 
of the premises and might quite possibly reach the end of the passage beyond 
the door and thus be separated from her by only a few feet. But it would be 
a separation he would never realize. She herself would not know when he was 
there. It was too heartbreaking for words. Striving for comfort, Tracy 
separated her knees and nestled her face within their cleft. She could not 
sit erect, the heavy mesh was close above her head. Soon her knees would 
complain of their enforced bend, but she could not straighten them. They 
were already extended as far as they could go. She settled herself to wait. 

"Darling, it's all working out so wonderfully." Crystal was radiant and 
beautiful in the shimmering cocktail dress. She would grace any gathering 
and be its queen. She tripped lightly around the cage and its sad occupant. 
"Matt is such a dear. He's even better than I thought he was. All those 
adventures in those weird places where he was shooting people right and left 
have really turned him into an immensely attractive male. I can hardly wait 
to feel him inside me. D'you mind?" 

"Of course I mind. Any girl would mind. Oh, Crystal, I'm so tired of this 
horrible little cage. Couldn't you do something else with me?" 

"I could hang you up by your wrists, dear." 

"No, never mind. But thanks anyway." 

"I don't know how often I'll be able to get down and visit you, darling," 
Crystal said thoughtfully. "I get a delicious hottie in my panties seeing 
you in there and knowing what you're thinking. I really am being an absolute 
bitch, but I love it so much. In a way I sort of wish that Matt could be 
aware of you down here in your cage, but I can't think of any way to make 
this practical. Of course, if I was trying to coerce him into something he 
didn't wish to do, I suppose I could use you as a weapon. You know the sort 
of thing, Tracy. Every time he says no you get fifty strokes. If he was very 
obdurate over something I really wanted, I could put you on a bread and 
water diet." Crystal sighed. "Well, it's a beautiful dream. I can't see it 
happening, but if I have to do something like that to you in order to drag 
him to the altar, I will." 

Alone again, Tracy wondered if Crystal's own assessment of herself and her 
ruthless resolution was accurate. Somehow she doubted it. She did not know 
why. Goodness knows, Crystal's treatment of her had been ruthless enough to 
date. The questing fingers of her bound hands were constantly exploring 
whatever weals upon her skin they were able to reach. She supposed she would 
always be well marked. It would only take one whipping a week to keep her 
nicely striped. A girl could easily stand a weekly whipping without 
endangering her health, but she would probably become more submissive with 
each. It was so cruelly demeaning to be fastened in such ways that she was 
forced to stand and bear the scald and cut of leather upon bare skin. Tracy 
shuddered and tried to turn her thoughts elsewhere. It was useless to 
speculate. Crystal had her and that was the end of it. She looked down at 
the shackles on her feet. In the cage they were redundant, but they 
epitomized what she had become. Chains were for slavery, weren't they? And 
most certainly, she was Crystal's slave. Forcing herself against pain, she 
searched with almost helpless hands for the padlock on the door at her back. 
She was not sure why she did this, other than to emphasize exasperatingly in 
her mind the trifling bits of metal or rope by which she was held in 
captivity. Fictional pictures of captive girls usually showed them swathed 
in rope from head to toe and they were always able to wiggle loose. That is, 
if the hero did not arrive in time. But that was not for her and Crystal. 
Crystal did it better. 

On her second visit. Crystal was flushed with excitement and success. She 
strutted jauntily around the cage and its captive while she imparted her 
glowing report. "He believes you're here, darling. He practically accused me 
of keeping you around somewhere. It is positively pussy-perking to watch the 
way he looks and looks, and prowls and prowls. When he bluntly asked me 
about you. I simply told him to go ahead and search, and that's what he's 
been doing, getting more frustrated by the minute. He asked if I had a 
gazebo or a coach house, and I knew what he was thinking. The poor darling 
must think a lot of you, and I'm sure you're good in bed, and you really 
could make him an admirable wife if I hadn't decided to get there first. Are 
you mad at me?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh, darling, I'm so pleased. My hotties are getting hotter all the time 
thinking of you down here in your sweet little cage. I'm going to have to 
pop you in that cage again from time to time. There's a quality about 
it--something original--don't you think? There's a simply lovely cage out 
back of the house. It used to be a kennel for big dogs, but it's empty now, 
and you would so sweet inside." Crystal sighed in mock mournfulness. "But, 
of course, there's the servants. They would be bound to get to talking about 
the naked girl their young mistress keeps out in the cage, and it would get 
around the village and then on to Matthew. Oh well, we can't have 
everything." 

Dolefully, Tracy tried to capitalize on Crystal's good humor. "I'm getting 
tighter and tighter in here. Crystal. How about taking me out and putting me 
over there in the pillory? My muscles are going to start cramping if you 
leave me in here." 

"Don't spoil things, darling. If you keep complaining like this, I'm going 
to keep a tally and whip you when you come out. You'll go in that pillory 
soon enough--don't worry about that." Crystal made a dramatic gesture. "And 
now back to Matthew. What was it that King Chappie said: 'Once more into the 
breach, dear friends.' Always like that bit from Shakespeare, and whenever 
I've been pierced by a man, those lines come to mind. They're so 
delightfully appropriate. Bye-bye. darling. Bulletin number three to 
follow." Tracy listened for the snap of the lock. All she had now were 
futile hopes that Crystal would make a slip and Matt would discover her. If 
her hopes went unrealized, they had cost her nothing. She resumed her study 
of the metal circlets around her ankles. 

Bulletin three was long in coming, or perhaps the longer she remained in the 
cage the slower was the passage of time. Despite anger at what was taking 
place upstairs, Tracy's plight was such as to make any diversions welcome, 
and despite her bubbling report of victory, Crystal was nothing if not 
devoting. The captive girl turned her thoughts back to her former life 
before she had first been captured in the wilderness of Santos. It was 
indeed another life, and it seemed a million years ago now. The lock brought 
her back to life. Tracy looked and listened fearfully to strange new sounds 
in the opening of the door. "Let go of me, you son of a bitch!" The 
honorable Crystal Maitland's voice came loud and clear in anger. "That was a 
mean trick, following me down here. Let go!" Tracy's heart leapt in pure 
ecstasy. She gazed at the slowly opening portal and the extraordinary 
picture it revealed. It was of a disheveled Crystal Maitland held securely 
in the strong grip of Matthew Marsh. Crystal was flushed. Her dress was 
torn, and she was struggling defiantly against a hold she could not break. 
Inch by inch, she was thrust forward to a point at which Matthew caught 
sight of the tiny cage and the girl within. 

"Good gosh, so this is where you've been keeping her!" For a moment Matthew 
stood and stared in fascinated relief at his discovery. "You absolute bitch! 
You would have kept her here forever, wouldn't you?" 

For answer. Crystal kicked hard against her captor's shin with her lightly 
shod party shoe. It did little harm other than to spur Matthew's enquiring 
gaze around the stone walls and then to drag his prisoner to where chains 
hung invitingly. A few moments later Crystal was standing, flushed and 
panting, with her wrists shackled and a collar around her neck. Having made 
her secure. Matt wasted no more time. He went instantly to the cage. He 
examined the padlock, then turned demandingly to Crystal. "Where are the 
keys?" 

"I refuse to tell you." 

"In that case, Crystal, you will stay here for a very long time. Without 
keys I can't get either of you loose, not with a lot of tools which I'd have 
to get from the nearest town. Do you want me to do that?" 

"This is an outrage!" Crystal glared in hostile dismay at this sudden 
reversal of her fortunes. "Look, Matthew, if you free me, I'm quite prepared 
to forget this whole thing." 

"I'm sure you are." Matt's voice was bitter. "But I'm not forgetting 
anything, there's going to be a bill you'll have to pay." 

"I won't tell you where the keys are," Crystal affirmed with a faint air of 
triumph. "I refuse to discuss this matter further until you release me. I 
can tell you where the keys are to these chains you've got me fastened in. 
Do you agree?" 

"You know damn well I don't agree." Matthew looked searchingly around the 
huge chamber, then turned a fierce eye upon the loveliness held by her own 
chains against her own stone wall. "I'm not mincing words. Crystal. You've 
been playing for keeps, so I'll do the same. If you do not tell me where the 
keys are in the time it takes for me to count five, I'll begin by stripping 
you naked. Understand?" 

Crystal understood. There was that about this man, a force she could not 
overcome. The magic of her beauty was nullified by his purpose. Matthew had 
come to retrieve his slave girl and would let nothing stand in his way. 
Within her cage, Tracy's heart glowed in pure happiness. Her aches and pains 
forgotten in the small drama being enacted beyond the heavy mesh, through 
which she gaze at the honorable Crystal's blush and he frantic exploration 
of her fettered wrists and collared neck. The British beauty was listening 
askance as Matthew solemnly intoned, "One, two, three, four...." In his 
intentional pause after the number four, Crystal conceded. "Oh, very well. 
You're being absolutely beastly about this and making a terrible mistake. 
I'd be a lot better for you than this little snippet from Skunkhollow, or 
wherever she comes from." Crystal paused to sniff disdainfully. "The keys 
are on a hook just to the left outside the door." 

There were several rings and a great many keys. Matthew tried one after 
another until the cage door came open and he was able to extract his naked 
beloved from within the wire. It was a slow process and not without pain, 
but Tracy could have cared less. Her heart was thudding in joy. The feel of 
male fingers on her flesh was pure ecstasy. When her hands were untied, she 
threw her arms around her deliverer and clung as though to never let him go. 
They kissed, quite oblivious to the shamed girl chained against the wall. 
Crystal watched their passion with a fine disdain, but her fingers were busy 
wrenching against the metal on her wrists even though none should know 
better than she herself the impossibility of freedom without a key. After 
what may well have been the longest embrace on record, she coldly 
enunciated, "I'm still here, in case you've forgotten." 

They paid her no heed. For several minutes, the honorable Crystal simply did 
not exist for either the man or the girl he held so close. When they finally 
disengaged, Matthew wasted no time. He dangled keys invitingly, then said, 
"There's a small door at the side. I noticed it when we came in, and I can 
get the car there nicely unobtrusive. I'm taking you with us, Crystal. You 
can phone your butler from my house and explain you'll be away for awhile. 
I'm going to teach you a lesson." 

"Don't be ridiculous! I absolutely refuse. Anyway, you couldn't possibly get 
away with it." She paused, then lamely added, "In any case, I would most 
certainly sue you. I would go straight to the police." 

"Want to bet?" 

"You're an arrogant, unfeeling brute! I don't want to be taken to Castle 
Angus for this little snippet to queen it over me. I'd prefer to stay just 
as I am here now. Just go away and leave me. The servants will discover me 
after awhile. If you won't give me my own keys, then kindly leave them 
hanging where you found them." Matthew Marsh was a soldier. It took him very 
little time to complete his plan. He picked Tracy up and carried her from 
what she believed her prison for life, whispering to her, "Silly bitch--I 
knew she had you somewhere. You okay?" 

The girl in his arms was very okay indeed. Tracy as in a daze of happiness. 
She still wore the leg irons which had apparently become a symbol of all her 
captivities, but she did not mind. She would gladly have worn a hundred 
pounds of links if they took her into Matthew Marsh's arms. She clung to him 
with her own, in an ecstasy of freedom and her ability to use hands lost to 
her for so long. The passages were bare and the servants were upstairs. Even 
had they sought to intervene, Matthew would deal with them, his adoring girl 
had no doubt of it. Her head so close beside his ear, she had no problem 
whispering, "Oh, Matthew, I love you so much. I thought I'd never see you 
again." Matthew laughed and kissed her lightly, then deposited her in his 
car and went back to fetch his second, less amiable female burden. 

The honorable Crystal was flushed and fuming. She glared at him in 
unmistakable hostility, but with an equally unmistakable apprehension. The 
honorable Crystal was frightened. This was a new dimension of experience. 
She had inflicted captivity upon other girls, but that it should happen to 
herself was quite unthinkable. Her British nobility was seething in outrage. 
"Let me loose, Matthew, please. Stop this nonsense. There's still time 
before you go too far." 

Matthew paid no heed. He retrieved the cord with which Tracy's wrists had 
been bound. He turned his captive about, crossed her wrists, and bound them 
very, very tight. Crystal's response was predictable. "Matthew, that hurts. 
Don't tie me this tight. In fact, don't tie me at all." 

"Sorry, love. You let yourself in for this and you are going to get it. You 
high and mighty bitches need a dressing down. I'll enjoy whittling you back 
to size." 

Crystal was not stupid. She sensed in this man a power such as she had never 
previously met. The binding of her hands set firmly in her mind a 
realization that there was nothing she could say to get herself out of this 
predicament. It would run its course. She sniffed in high disdain and stood 
stiffly while her ankles were bound as tightly as her wrists. She considered 
screaming, but was well aware it would do no good, and it was a demeaning 
act no British beauty would deign to stoop to. The temptation was almost 
immediately taken from her. A large male hand inserted itself beneath her 
gown, clutched her panties, and wrenched them from her hips. For a moment 
she stood, stunned by this fresh outrage. Then she said the obvious, 
"Matthew, you don't intend to rape me, do you?" 

"With your feet tied, don't be silly. Open your mouth." 

"Matthew!" Flushed features looked back askance over a pinioned shoulder. 
"You don't imagine I'm going to let you stuff my own panties into my mouth, 
do you! I absolutely refuse." 

"They'd make a nice mouthful, love. C'mon, love. Stop playing Lady Vere 
deVere. Open up." 

Aristocratic lips clenched tight, aristocratic nostrils flared, a noble head 
tossed angrily. But, for Crystal, there was no respite. A hard finger and 
thumb closed her nostrils tight until she gasped for air through opened lips 
and became the beneficiary of her own panties within her own mouth. She made 
a fine collection of adenoidal sounds as Matthew bound his bounty hard 
behind her teeth and added another strip of clothe across rebellious lips. 
The honorable Crystal was now reduced to a pair of angry flashing eyes. Her 
anger was doubly heated for the reason that her captor had obtained the 
material for both the gag in her mouth and the seal across her lips from her 
own garments. Her gown was now most sadly tom. Matthew used the last key to 
cause the heavy metal of her collar to fall to the stone with a derisive 
clatter. He flung the trussed and helpless figure of the owner of the house 
across his shoulder, replaced the keys on the hook where he had found them, 
closed the door, and in the passage carefully slid home the secret panel by 
which Crystal's dungeon was kept secret from the world. Jauntily, he carried 
her to the car and grinned at Tracy's thankfulness to see him and his lovely 
burden. Without pause, he opened what the British call the boot and dumped 
the lady of the manor harshly upon his spare tire. Crystal writhed and 
glared, but the lid slammed shut and the nobility of her disfavor was lost 
in darkness. 

"Silly bitch, she was pretty damn obvious. I was damn sure she had you in 
there somewhere, and when she made some point of suggesting I take the 
ground tour of the premises, it was easy to figure that wherever she had you 
was very, very secret. When the party broke up, I simply went to an unused 
room, watched and waited, and followed her down to where you were. Simple!" 

"For you. darling. You're wonderful!" 

"Don't be soppy, sweetheart. You get too mushy and I'll whip your ass." 

"Oh. Matt, please do--anytime! Darling, don't be too cruel with Crystal. She 
was only in love with you." 

"And I don't want you defending her. She's behaved like a bitch, and she 
deserves the full treatment." Matthew's jaw set in brutal determination. 
"And she's going to get it!" 

Tracy kept quiet. She knew his moods, knew also that her bottom was by no 
means immune because of their love. Matthew would thrash it unmercifully to 
conform to his code. With this man her life would be far from dull. She 
spared a few thoughts commiseration for Crystal, but her sympathy was brief. 
Matthew was probably right about Crystal, and to interfere would only bring 
his wrath upon her own head. She nestled close against him and slyly said, 
"My feet are still chained, darling. Could you lip me the key?" 

"Leg irons become you, sweetness. Wear 'em!" 

It was what the chained girl had expected, but it was nice to hear her 
master put it into words. For Tracy, the leg irons fast upon her ankles were 
symbolic of so much. They were far, far better than any wedding ring could 
ever be. She knew she was compelled to wear them as an assertion of 
Matthew's authority. But she would take her short, hobbled steps in joy, 
delighting in the rattle of the links, The rest of her was free! Her spirits 
soared. In the same vain she demurely asked. "When will you marry me, 
Matthew?" 

"When I get around to it, pet. And remember, the subject is closed. Be kind 
to your bottom and keep quiet about such things. By the way, that silly 
bitch whipped you, didn't she?" 

"Horribly. You saw the marks?" 

"Yes. She'll get two for one." 

It was all very wonderful and as it should be. Castle Angus had never looked 
more grim or more loveable since she had first caught sight of it. Tracy was 
immensely happy. When she was carried within the ancient stone, along the 
great hall and up the stairs to their bedroom, she was quivering with 
excitement. Tonight it would be the real thing and none of Crystal's female 
simulations. Like a caveman, he tossed her on their bed as though he had 
triumphantly captured her from a rival tribe. Tracy lay, wondering 
speechless but uncaring, as her master bound her wrists behind her back. If 
Matthew wanted her tied, she would be content to be tied forever. 

"Just to keep you safe, honeybunch, while I attend to that silly bitch in 
the boot. You'll be more comfortable tonight than she will. I won't be 
long." 

Matthew was as good as his word. Whatever he had done with the honorable 
Crystal, it certainly had not taken long. His slave girl asked no questions. 
If Crystal was now in a dungeon in the bowels of Castle Anus, it was perhaps 
no more than she deserved. "I'm going to fuck you with your hands tied 
behind your back, love. You can blame Crystal. The way she had you tied when 
I got into that room gave me the notion. Men are susceptible that way. You 
looked very sweet then, and you look very sweet now." 

"I could be much nicer for you, Matthew, if I was free." 

"That's for later. But for now...!" 

It was better than it had ever been. Tracy did not know why, nor did she 
care. She was back where she belonged, and that was everything. Perhaps 
Matthew, from some deep knowledge of the conquering male, was aware of her 
reaction to bound hands, as she was most competently ravished. It was not 
really a stipulation. Matthew was the conqueror, and she his captive maid. 
It was all as it should be. But with bound hands upon which she was forced 
to lie, and with fettered feet, their coupling had discovered a new 
dimension of ecstasy. Soon Miss Tracy Trevor forgot everything except the 
man who held her close. For the umpteenth time since he had first captured 
her. Matthew Marsh transported her to glory. 

It was a long time before Tracy's hands were untied and the leg irons taken 
from her feet, but time no longer mattered. The recaptured slave girl was 
hovering somewhere between time and space, in a roseate ecstasy only girls 
can know. Then it started all over and went on for ever and ever. But this 
time Tracy had both hands and feet, and instinctively did for her master 
everything he did for her. If, in the morning, he awoke to a nail scratched 
back, that was as it should be too. 

The honorable Crystal Maitland shared no one's glory, nor had she any to 
impart. She was, in fact, more miserable and apprehensive than she had ever 
been in her entire existence. She was in a dungeon. It was a dungeon in the 
finest tradition. The honorable Crystal summed it up in a single word: 
"Horrible!" It had obviously not been used for a long, long time. The chains 
now tightly upon her wrists, ankles, and neck were old and rusted, and made 
the most dismal sound every time she moved. In a deference to humanity, her 
captor had left a light burning dimly in a corner by the vast oak door. It 
did no more than enable the noble prisoner to survey her plight and enable 
her to examine her irons. Irons would be expected in a place like this, but 
Crystal felt that the least her captor could have done was have them 
polished. She found their rust and grime deeply offensive, and was angrily 
certain her captor had planned it thus. She sat upon the luxury of a low 
wooden bench and wept bitterly. If Matthew did no more to her than inflict 
this single indignity, it was still far too much! Crystal in a dungeon and 
heavily chained--it was unthinkable! Her tears well in anger, self- pity, 
and simple apprehension least this be not all she would be subjected to. She 
tried hard not to think of the thing she had done to Tracy. She could now 
well envisage they would be inflicted over again on her own noble flesh. 
Even as she stared ineffectually at her tears, the chains upon her wrists 
clanked dismally. 

 CHAPTER NINE - THE MASTER'S TOUCH 

In the morning, Tracy accepted the reironing of her feet with an 
absent-minded lack of comment. The leg irons had become so much a part of 
her she would have felt lost and doubly naked had her master failed to lock 
her ankles. Her thoughts were absorbed by a continuing thankfulness and 
persistent visions of a sunlit future. Matthew was his usual somewhat dour 
self. He glowed in pride of possession, his eyes constantly lingering upon 
his prize. He still saw Tracy as his prize, just as one the day he captured 
her in the jungle of Santos. She would always be his prize. Perhaps after 
years he would relieve her of the leg irons, but most certainly not now! At 
breakfast he was thoughtful. When Blessing had tended their needs and 
returned to his kitchen, Matthew grinned across the table and remarked, 
"Hell of a lot more to old Angus's estate than I figured, and there's a hell 
of a lot more money too. I'm going to be damn good and sick of lawyers 
before I'm through." 

"But, Matthew, your Uncle Angus was so kind--" 

"I'm not complaining, love. Just stating a fact--a fact that will take me 
away from you quite often for awhile. I'm wondering how I can keep you 
safe." 

"But that's easy, Matt dear. Take me with you. I don't mind waiting around, 
and I won't run away. I promise." 

"Hmmmm... no. No, that spoils my fantasy of you, and I'm going to play that 
out to its end, if it ever has an end. Let's hope it doesn't." 

"What would you do with me it did?" 

"I could sell you to a brothel, or I could keep you around to help 
Blessing." 

"Matt, please don't ever stop loving me!" 

"Oh. I won't. You are the actual embodiment of my fantasy. You are my 
fantasy come true. That's why you're here, and that's why I'll keep you 
here. Your place is in or around Castle Anus." 

"But, Matt darling, I'm not safe alone. Look at the way Crystal just came 
and picked me up. I couldn't fight. I couldn't do anything. She just tied me 
up and took me away. Matt, it was awful! You better take me with you on your 
rounds." 

"No. What we'll have to do is tighten security, pet. By the time I'm through 
with her, I doubt you'll have anything further to fear from Crystal, and 
there's no one else who has their eye on you as far as I know. I'll give 
Blessing a briefing and keep you safely locked up." 

"Honest, Matt, I'll never try to escape. I just simply won't!" 

"Don't keep talking of escape, sweetheart. I know you won't escape, and I 
know you can't escape. That's the way I like it. I like to think of you here 
safely chained or locked up while I'm being lectured by those lawyer 
charmers. Stores up my lust, then when I think of you safe and waiting for 
our meeting, I generate some more. You are the most potent aphrodisiac. 
You're really a very lucky girl." Matt chuckled. "I wonder if the average 
suburban husband has the faintest idea of the glory awaiting him when he 
goes home at five o'clock if he had kept his wife tied up in the basement 
all day. I'll have to write a book about it." 

"What about today?" 

"Today is yours, love. Or, more properly. Crystal's. Today I begin whittling 
down her disdain for common folks like us." 

"Will I be able to watch, or are you going to lock me away somewhere?" 

"You'll be involved. Damn right you will! I won't cheat you of a single one 
of her screams, or would you prefer her gagged?" 

"Oh. Matt, it's all--all... I'm always in a dither." 

"That's good. I like you in a dither." Matt brooded quietly for several 
moments. "In fact, I do wonder how I'm going to bear it if we ever truly 
settle down and allow Castle Angus to take possession of us. I'm not a bit 
sure I was intended to be a member of the landed gentry." 

"But, Matt, don't you simply love this glorious place? I do!" 

"Most likely I'll be a bit of a bore after awhile. Doesn't affect you. I'll 
keep you busily involved in my fantasy. You're always a step behind and 
running to catch up, and that's not going to stop. But I can see myself 
getting bored--not with you but with this whole English scene. It's far too 
bland. It's pretty picture postcard stuff. 

I suppose that's what sent me to Santos and all those other horrible spots. 
I've never quite forgotten what the old German philosopher said: that man 
was meant to fight, that woman was for his recreation, and that all else is 
folly. Probably a bit simplistic, but he had something." 

"If you keep on tying me to trees and cart tails, someone's bound to pick me 
up sooner or later." 

"Doesn't that add a touch of spice? Don't tell me you don't find it a bit 
delicious wondering what's going to happen next." 

"Well, yes. If it was only for one day, I think I might get a giggle out of 
it, but if we keep it up day after day. then the law of averages--" 

"I didn't have much trouble retrieving you from Crystal," Matt said affably. 
"Actually got a bit of a kick out of it. If she hadn't been such a bitch to 
you, it might have been fun. Sorry about that, but I'll take it out of her 
hide." He looked at Tracy quizzically and asked, "How would you like her 
punished?" 

"I wouldn't. Just let her go. Wherever you've kept her overnight, I can just 
bet she's scared to death. It's probably all the lesson she needs." 

"You're too much of a sweetheart," Matt grunted, unconcerned with his slave 
girl's charity. "If I could put that damn little cage in the car, I would 
have brought it over here and bunged her in it, and see how she likes it. 
You didn't look a bit happy." 

"I wasn't. Oh, Matt, it was awful. I could scarcely move at all, and I 
couldn't get out. Everything she did scared me. She's such a contradiction, 
such a mixture of cruelty and affection." 

"Made you nibble her, eh? Don't bother to deny it--I can tell. Probably had 
a go at you, too, and you liked it? You know what you deserve." 

Tracy knew, but she also knew that Matt was glad to have her back, and he 
was enjoying the best of two worlds--Tracy Trevor's and Crystal Maitland's. 
She could well imagine the way his mind was working--the visions he beheld. 
That some of them would concern her did no more than flare Tracy's heat. 
Matt was going to get his pound of flesh, and she was obviously going to be 
witness to his manner of collecting the debt. When after the meal was 
finished Matthew picked her up bodily and carried her from the room, she had 
resigned herself to the passive role and was, in fact, beginning to enjoy 
the prospect. After all. Crystal had not behaved at all well. Mischievously, 
she said, "If you unlocked my leg irons, I could walk, y'know." 

"Nice try, sweetheart. I love you hobbled, and I love carrying you. You 
can't possibly win that one." 

Tracy had no wish to win. She was complacently content. She still had her 
arms, and she used them to her best possible advantage. On their way 
downstairs, she playfully nibbled Matthew's ear and receive no reprimand. On 
her feet once more, she stood trembling in an assortment of emotions as Matt 
fitted the huge key within the lock of the oaken barrier, behind which was 
the honorable Crystal Maitland. What she beheld evoked both a gasp and a 
giggle. She bit back the giggle. 

Crystal had been sitting upon the bench, and she had been fed, but it could 
not be said she enjoyed the meal. Wide-eyed, Tracy beheld half a glass of 
water and beside it a large dog biscuit. It was the dog biscuit that had 
sparked the giggle. Matt was being really mean, but there was a touch of 
humor in his meanness, although it was obvious Crystal had not caught sight 
of it. Crystal was both glad and thankful. Her night chained in Matt's 
dungeon had affected her deeply. She was by no means humble or penitent. but 
she was distinctly cautious and prepared to remain silent until spoken to. 
She rose to her feet at her visitors' entry, the rusty chains clanking on 
her limbs, a trail of links falling from her wrists. She gazed at them 
expectantly. "Ready for a floggin. Crystal?" 

The noble captive visibly flinched, but her voice remained that of a member 
of the nobility only slightly distressed. "Very well," she said icily. 
"You've given me a thoroughly horrible night, and now if you wish to expose 
me to your absurd humor, I suppose there is nothing I can do about it. May I 
suggest you release me immediately? I'm still prepared to overlook this 
whole matter." 

"See any ghosts in the dark. Crystal?" Matthew asked imperturbably. "There's 
supposed to be a few down here somewhere." 

"Kindly remove these chains." 

"Why would I do that?" Matthew asked innocently. "They look good on you." 

"Because!" Crystal stamped her foot in fury, to receive a metallic response 
from the shackle which clasped it tight. She was seeking for words forceful 
enough to make an impression on this granite man. "Do I have to tell you 
why?" she inquired haughtily. "If you don't remove them immediately, it will 
be the police who, will tell you why. Really, I'd have thought you had more 
sense!" 

"You haven't eaten your dog biscuit." Matthew pointed out with mock concern. 
"Don't you like it?" 

"I have no intention of eating the horrible thing. No doubt the police will 
use it as evidence." 

"Crystal, you really are one for the book. You talk like a Victorian 
heroine. The Bronte sisters would have adored you." Matthew shed his humor, 
his voice cold and even. "The first item on your agenda is to be whipped. 
You really should eat that dog biscuit. It'll stiffen your backbone." 

"I refuse to bandy words. You're being absolutely insufferable. You're going 
to regret this. I'll make sure of it." 

Tracy watched, wide-eyed. She knew she could influence nothing and had best 
keep quiet. She found herself strangely identifying with the girl about to 
be punished. What was about to happen to Crystal had been done to Tracy a 
number of times. At least she believed it had, although she could not guess 
what innovation Matthew might have in mind for the British beauty. He 
evidently did not regard her as of a privileged class, deserving of special 
favor. Tracy flinched in anticipation of what was about to take place. She 
stood breathlessly while Matthew relieved his prisoner of her chains, 
kicking the heavy mass of rustic iron to one side as it fell at captive 
feet. He grasped Crystal's arm and abruptly said, "Come along. " Crystal 
probably acted purely from instinct. She wrenched her arm from his grasp and 
attempted to flee. Matthew seized her party frock, the thing stuff shredding 
against its owner's frantic determination to evade retribution. Crystal 
slithered from the slender sheath to emerged clad only in bra and the still 
damp panties retrieved from her mouth earlier in the morning. Both these 
trifles fell victim to Matthew's clutching fingers and sharp wrench, as she 
continued her struggle for the door. When Crystal was clad in no more than a 
pair of nylons and high-heeled shoes, she again clasped her arm, shook her 
savagely, and flung her back into the center of the dungeon. "There'll be 
none of that," he Said gruffly. "If you wish to be foolish, I can play 
rough." 

Crystal was panting, holding one hand across a bare breast and using the 
other to partially shield both the other breast and her pubic patch. Finding 
it impossible to do both, she contrived to cover both her nipples with a 
defensive forearm and used the hand to clutch herself at the apex of her 
thighs. She held this absurd pose for several moments while she gazed 
fearfully around the leering stone on the four walls. Then, in desperation, 
she fled to the farthest corner and nestled her nakedness within its shelter 
to gaze only at the wall itself in the manner of a schoolgirl suffering the 
indignity of having to stand in the comer. 

"What are you doing over there?" Matthew asked cheerfully. "Damn poor view." 

"I'm naked. Go away!" 

"Your ass is showing." 

Absurdly, the English girl's hand sought her bottom in an ineffectual 
attempt to remove it from Matthew's interested regard. "This is 
intolerable." she informed no one in particular. "I see I was mistaken about 
you. You are no gentleman " 

"You're right. Crystal. I'm not." 

Tracy could easily see Matt enjoying himself. "Take those nylons off and 
kick off your shoes. I want you stripped." 

"I refuse." 

"Then I'll do it for you." 

"No! No. never mind." The panting girl sought an ally. "Tracy, are you just 
going to stand there and let him treat me like this?" 

"Sure, she is," Matthew said unfeelingly. "She's got more sense than to 
stick her nose into your affairs. If she gets to feeling too sorry for you, 
she gets to share your whipping." 

"Only a brute--" 

"Yes, I am a brute. Glad you noticed. Now. off with those nylons." 

Crystal divested herself into total nudity with a grand flourish of disgust. 
She distained hesitation, cringing, and the mock of purity she would 
probably have liked to display. She flung the last of her garments from her 
as an expression of the words she was too nervous to utter. Totally naked, 
she nestled even deeper into the crevice of the wall. 

"Don't be ridiculous, Crystal--turn around!" 

There was a long silence. After seconds had ticked remorselessly away, the 
denuded nobility cocked a dubious eye back over a denuded shoulder and 
enunciated, "Not until you turn and look the other way. I can't possibly--" 

"Do it!" 

It was the command of a master. Tracy thrilled to it. It evidently impinged 
upon the noble consciousness to convince Crystal that she had best no longer 
demur. With the same air of a triumphant flourish, she swung to face her 
conqueror. Even to the extent of clutching her hands behind her neck, 
thrusting out her breasts, making her tummy more than ever concave and said, 
as though hating every word, "There, I hope you're satisfied. I might have 
shown this to you properly and decently if you'd given me a chance. Now 
you've thrown it away. You can make me naked, but you can't make me like 
it." 

"Come here. Stop nattering and get off your high horse. Damn it, girl, try 
and be human." 

Matthew grasped the bare arm once more. This time his grip would not be 
broken. Crystal winched, but said nothing as she was led from the dungeon. 
Hobbled, Tracy made less progress and trailed behind to follow the captive 
girl and her new master to the forbidden door. At last, she would see what 
was behind its aged oak. It swung open on hinges adequately oiled. Within 
was one more immense chamber, well lit by daylight, supplemented by well 
placed lamps. Everywhere she looked there were things to make a girl shudder 
or evoke a chuckle, according to her mood. Crystal also scanned the 
abundance of accouterments and fixtures. Her pronouncement was forthright. 
"This is a torture chamber!" 

"Right." Matthew sounded as if he was giving a schoolgirl marks for 
observance. "And it's all yours. This way, love." 

Tracy took in the entire scene with some dubiety. Matthew could say very 
well that it all belonged, or was waiting for. Crystal. But, originally, it 
had been waiting for her. No doubt it had all been tried out on those who 
had come and gone before. There was nothing really grim or hideous. There 
was not even an old-fashioned rack. Tracy did not even know the application 
of most of what she saw, but she was certain, at the very least, everything 
would be, at best, uncomfortable. She did well believe that Crystal must 
have once seen this room and contrived her own stark chamber as a copy. 
Supposing Uncle Angus had brought her down here! There might be more to 
Crystal than she supposed. But, at the moment, the British beauty was 
standing stiff and stark in the center of the floor while Matthew tied her 
hands behind her back. When the last knot had been drawn tight upon crossed 
wrists, she said, as though cheated, "I thought you were going to whip me." 

"I am, girly. But don't expect any beautiful British ritual. There will be 
no roll of drums, no triangle, no whipping post. I'm importing this little 
notion from Santos. I saw it used there once." 

It happened very quickly. One moment Crystal had been standing, twisting her 
bound arms experimentally, and the next she was on the stone floor and 
Matthew was raising her bare untrammeled foot to affix it within a leather 
band and buckle hanging from above on a stout rope. Tracy watched the rope 
tauten and her rival's foot slowly rise, until Crystal's pert bottom was off 
the floor and her free leg flailing wide, seeking for support, while she 
herself lay upon her shoulders and pinioned arms. Her pubic bush proclaimed 
itself blatantly. Her efforts to hide or shield it were ineffectual. The 
honorable Crystal Maitland was exquisitely and cruelly exposed. 

"Matt, you can't possibly do this to me! It's absolutely obscene! You can 
see my--my-- " 

"Your cunt?" Matthew inquired pleasantly. "Yes, an excellent view. Not a bad 
little cunt, as cunts go. Nowhere near as good as Tracy's of course." 

"You're an unfeeling beast. I'm in agony." 

"No. you're not. You're just uncomfortable and damn good and shamed. You'd 
like to cover that little item between your legs, but I'm going to make sure 
you don't. It's on display, and there it stays." 

"But you said you're going to whip me. You can't possibly whip me like this. 
You've got me laying on my back." 

"Who said anything about your back, sweetheart? You've got a lot of other 
places." 

"Don't you dare!" 

With a sudden intent precision, Matthew cut the thong squarely within the 
cleft where Crystal least desired. She contrived a short leap up from her 
bound arms, kick in fury and shock, but her voice remained stiltedly 
British. "You mustn't! Don't you dare do that again! If you hit me there 
again, I'll die! Matthew, stop, stop, stop!" Matthew did not stop. Instead, 
he circled the distressed nakedness, watching with intent. When the 
contortions of the British nobility revealed a target, he struck with swift 
surety. The response was more shocked outrage. 

"Matthew! You didn't have to do that--it was beastly! You didn't have to hit 
me for emphasis, and when I said you didn't have any idea how it hurt. I'm 
sure I was right. I don't suppose anybody has ever whipped you." Crystal 
turned a reproachful eye upon her former slave. "Tell him I never whipped 
you this hard. Tracy. Make him understand he's going too far." 

Tracy miserably said. "I can't. Don't you understand, Crystal? I've been 
forbidden to speak while you're being punished, and I couldn't possibly say 
you weren't mean to me." 

The disheveled nudity upon the floor sniffed eloquently and came to rest. 
Crystal was well bedewed with sweat, and her breasts were rising and falling 
more rapidly than normal. She never ceased to tug at her bound hands, and 
while the whip paused, lay upon her one forearm to bring them into view. It 
was no doubt more comfortable. She stopped her low keening moans long enough 
to affirm. "Matthew, if you tell me what you want, I'll do it. I'll do 
anything. I can't possibly bear any more of this." 

"Right you are, sweetheart. The net job's a letter. You'll tell your butler 
you won't be home for a few days. Tracy and I will run it over and deliver 
it, give it the ultimate touch of respectability." 

"A few days!" Crystal stared askance. "You mean you're going to keep me for 
several days, doing these horrible things like this to me?" 

"That's the idea, Crystal. I'll untie your hands long enough for you to 
write the letter. You can stay with your leg up in the air. That will keep 
you in a reasonable frame of mind." 

"I won't do it. You can't make me." 

For answer, Matt cut a sharp snapping blow across one upturned foot, wealing 
it from toe to heel. Its owner emitted her loudest scream to date. It was 
followed swiftly by capitulation. "I'll write it! Oh, oh, oh!" Crystal fell 
silent except for her panting gasps, then wearily ejaculated, "Damn you, 
damn you, damn you!" 

Matthew had thought of everything: a clipboard, a virgin sheet of bond, a 
pen. He turned Crystal unceremoniously to untie her hands. Except for a 
brief pause in which to massage her wrists, the tethered beauty lost no time 
in busying herself with the pen. Matt scanned the result, satisfied. "Did a 
better job than I expected. The sole of your foot must really be tender." 

"Oh, Matthew, that's an awful place to whip a girl. Don't ever whip me there 
again. I'll do anything." The tethered beauty watched her master fold the 
missive and place it away in an envelope. Then, pathetically, she inquired 
hopefully, "You're not going to whip me any more, are you? I mean. I've done 
what you've asked.' "We made our bargain. Crystal. You wrote that letter 
because you did not want me to whip the sole of your foot again. I didn't 
say anything about stopping your whipping. It's really not half as bad as 
I'm sure you think it is. I may let Tracy talk to you about the punishment 
of girls. She's an expert. But not right now. You and I and the whip have a 
little ways to go." 

The dungeon brooded impartially upon them all: the man who whipped, the girl 
whose flesh absorbed the cuts of the thong, and the hobbled maiden who stood 
in a conflict of emotions and watched. To Crystal, it seemed forever. Once 
more she lost all count of time and immersed herself simply into pain. She 
had long since cast dignity aside. Her exclamations became more 
contemporary. The whipping continued, the snap, the impact, the screams, 
each followed in an ordered sequence. Crystal believe herself doomed. Tracy 
felt only a profound sympathy. Girl flesh is tender and may share another's 
wounds. 

Tracy was unsure about the shirt, but it did make the visible portion of 
herself respectable. She sat with Matthew in the car as he drove to deliver 
Crystal's fateful note. Her bare and shackled feet were comfortably out of 
sight. She was still trembling and was not sure if it was in sympathy with 
Crystal's whipped skin or with the implacability Matthew had exhibited in 
the infliction of his whip. Tentatively, she asked, "Matthew darling, you 
won't ever whip me like that, will you?" 

"Yes, I would." 

"I don't believe you. I think you're just being deliberately difficult. And 
anyway, I'd never give you cause to do anything so awful." 

"You never can tell, love." 

"What are you going to do to Crystal next?" 

"I've been thinking about that," Matthew said musingly as the little car 
sped past Honeysuckle and Hawthorne. "The thing that hurts Crystal most is 
shame. She's suffering it right now, laying on the stone with tied hands and 
her feet way up in the air. She loathes untidiness, not that she ever did 
anything to make nay place tidy herself, she always had servants. But that's 
a way to get to her. I'll use it." Matthew turned to the adoring girl beside 
him. "That doesn't mean I'm going to use the same things on you, pet. Gosh, 
for Pete's sake, hell, stop identifying with that silly creature! I don't 
want you looking threadbare the next several days." 

"Do I have to watch every punishment?" 

"Don't tell me you don't want to! After what she did to you . 

! Damn it. girl. I've thought of handing you the whip." 

"I don't want to punish her, Matt. Please don't make me. I'd much sooner you 
do it, if it has to be done. I'll watch if you want, but I'll warn you, I'll 
feel sorry for Crystal. I just can't help it." 

"Kind heart and coronets," Matthew mocked. "But I love you-- you're sweet. 
I'll have to think up the most special punishments for you." 

Tracy had to be content. She wished Crystal in some distant place and far 
away. Even a punished and tied up Crystal was still a menace in her book. 
She had sampled Crystal's imprisonment and glimpsed the determination behind 
the lovely facade. But there was nothing she could do. She knew herself a 
flotsam on a tide. She supposed that the essence of slavery, that she could 
influence nothing, certainly nothing in Crystal's favor. There might come 
other ways, but not with Matthew's determination that Crystal should pay a 
bill. She sighed and said, "Darling, I can't possibly get out of the car 
like this." 

"You don't have to. I'll run in with the letter and make sure it falls into 
the right hand. I'll play the country squire bit, that makes everything 
right over here." He chuckled. "I'd love to have her servants see what I'm 
going to do with her, but since that can't be managed, I'm going to have to 
be satisfied with just you." He glanced at her sharply. "And don't earn 
yourself a punishment. It's Crystal I'm after." 

Tracy nestled close. It felt so good to belong to Matt and to have his 
possession of her again. She was not sure Crystal deserved all she was going 
to get, but at least the British deserved something. 

If the whipping of the noble skin she had just witnessed failed to satisfy 
their master, well, there was nothing she could do about it, except to be 
grateful it was not her own. Being Mrs. Matthew Marsh was going to be 
exciting. She could very well be whipped or put in the pillory for the 
morning and then taken to a ballroom after dinner. Tracy surveyed this 
condition undismayed. She could hardly wait. 

"You're still learning yourself, love. It's been surprisingly little time 
since I first set hands on you. I couldn't be more pleased. I mean, the way 
you've adapted, the way you've picked up my thing and made it yours. Do you 
have one of your own that we could mingle in?" 

"Only you. Matt. You're my fantasy." Thoughtfully, she added. "How do you 
feel about a son--an heir for Castle Angus?" 

"Oh, I've thought of it. That's part of what I'm not certain about in this 
place. It demands so much. It imposes so many obligations. If you and I 
produce an heir, it's going to be well into the future. 

I want you for myself for a long, long time." 

"If our first try is a girl," Tracy giggled, "I bet she's born well marked 
or with a little set of leg irons on her ankles. Want to bet?" 

Crystal's mansion was formidable, and so were her servants, but the note was 
delivered and accepted, and they were on their way home before Matthew 
mused, "Y'know, sweetheart, there's something about this country and these 
big houses that sets its mark on you. I'm not a bit sure I could go through 
with this in the United States. There I suspect I would think it silly, or 
suppose the police might become involved, but here it's the most natural 
thing in the world to snatch Crystal out of her life, just as she snatched 
you. Do you realize that in this modem Tuesday afternoon you have witnessed 
the whipping of a girl? You stood and watched it happen in an old, old 
dungeon, beneath an old, old castle. It is all very gothic and absolutely 
right. I blame this atmosphere for my fantasy. You can blame it too. Every 
time you hurt, you can think of all the other maidens who hurt in the same 
place, in the same way centuries ago. I suspect the whipping of plebian 
bottoms has long been a sported pastime of the British nobility. I suspect 
many a British house maid has served the soup upon the sideboard while 
bearing a burning bottom." Matthew grinned and resumed his musing. "I'm 
often tried to find some significance in this somewhere. There almost has to 
be. But I'm damned if I can. I've read about it a lot, and for a man to whip 
a girl's bottom seems to be a universal wish. Most men can't afford it. I'm 
one of the lucky ones." 

"It's just because you want a girl to act the same as when she's having a 
climax." Tracy said with finality. "There's nothing mysterious about it. 
Matt. When you whip me or Crystal, you make an orgasm go on and on. Girls 
don't feel the same way about men. Girls are quite satisfied to have the 
male do what he does to them. Sure, they often wish he could keep on doing 
it a lot longer, and I suppose this is what he wishes too. We're simply 
greedy." Tracy paused a moment to think. "Probably the girl gets it because 
she's underneath. It's the man who does things to her. Except in cute 
loveplay. She doesn't do things to the male. She's on the receiving end. I'm 
sure that's the answer." 

They found the honorable Crystal as they had left her. She was pleased to 
see them. She omitted to mention it, she simply glared. Her unbound leg had 
fallen limply over her wealed bottom. Its twin was still tautly elevated, 
the bindings on her wrists were visible and still quite obviously intact. 
Matt wasted no time, but dragged from obscurity a strange framework shaped 
from round iron. To Tracy it looked like a cage but was far too open for 
such a purpose. Both girls watched with interest as he unlocked a padlock to 
disclose it as being hinged, one half of it falling away to the floor. He 
untied the recently whipped girl and, as though she was a doll, sat her 
within the hinged half with an abrupt admonition. "Keep still if you know 
what's good for you." He then slowly raised the hand he had freed, making 
certain that Crystal's ankles, feet, and legs were intruded within circles 
provided. Then, as he raised it further, she obeyed his nod of command 
thrust her hands and arms into similar circlets above. Matt snapped the 
contrivance shut to make it instantly take form and purpose. Its joining at 
Crystal's neck completed a neat circuit which became her collar. The padlock 
was reinserted and clicked shut to make the nude whipped girl captive 
without pain. Crystal simply sat erect, her neck held immovable by the metal 
collar and lock, her arms thrust through appropriate loops of heavy iron, 
her feet the same. She could withdraw nothing. She could scratch her nose or 
rub her feet together, but that was all. She glared up at a smiling Matthew 
and angrily demanded. "You don't intend to leave me in this thing, do you?" 

"Why not? It's neat, effective, and humane--a perfect restraint for spoiled 
young bitches like yourself." 

"I am not a spoiled bitch! I am the honorable Miss Crystal Maitland!" 

"That's exactly what I said. A few days in this neat little frame will do 
you a world of good." 

"A few days! You have to be joking! If I'm not home pretty soon, you'll have 
the police around your ears." Crystal turned her attention to Tracy. "For 
goodness sake, Tracy, tell this ridiculous man how impossible this is! Try 
and make him see some sense. Don't just stand there smirking." 

Tracy would concede a smile, but not a smirk. Not that it mattered. She was 
finding it difficult not to be amused by Crystal's predicament. She found it 
far more to her taste than watching the blonde girl whipped. This was indeed 
nobility brought low! Confidently, she exclaimed, "I'm sorry, Crystal! I 
can't. I belong to Matthew. I can't give him orders. You belong to him too." 
Crystal snorted and contented herself with a delightful vision of Matthew's 
slave girl once more in her possession and being rewarded for her failure to 
offer aid by a punished pelt. A naked Tracy, pleading and screaming, would 
be the very least Crystal was prepared to accept in retribution for the 
indignity she now endured. Matt sounded insufferably bored. 

"We'll be leaving you, Crystal. Give you a nice quiet time for reflections." 

"You can't possibly leave me like this. It's an outrage! Let me loose!" 

"So long, sweetheart. Be seeing you." 

Crystal watched them go. She had an urgent need of a dramatic gesture or 
word, but the frame defeated both. Irritably, she performed every motion she 
could discover with both her hands and feet. For a minute she resembled 
something caught in a spider's web. waving its appendages in a frantic but 
hopeless search for a lost freedom. When she relapsed into a quiet 
acceptance of her lot, she let her mind drift into pleasant visions, quite 
impossible but deeply satisfying, of Matthew Marsh delivered to her bound 
and naked. She would thrash him again and again until he became sufficiently 
humble to crawl and kiss her feet. So far she had only practiced such 
delights with females, but she was certain a male would respond similarly. 
It might simply take longer, but at this moment Crystal was prepared to 
devote as much time as need for to such a noble task. She sighed dolefully. 
It would never happen. It was a delight she would have to forego, but she 
compensated within her mind by continuance of the dream in which Matthew, by 
some miraculous strength, freed himself, reversed their roles, thrashed her 
soundly, then ravished her with such a fierce intensity she came close to 
climax within the frame. The honorable crystal always through of herself 
only as ravished. Nice girls belonging to the nobility are never raped. The 
word belonged to the lower classes, and they probably deserved it. From that 
point, Crystal continued to consider ways of punishing what she saw as 
Tracy's disloyalty. She was well aware of the effect on Matthew's slave girl 
of their lovemaking. Tracy had been passionate, avidly fierce. Crystal had 
entertained high hopes of a continuing relationship. She cursed her 
carelessness in the way she had allowed Matthew to follow her downstairs and 
reclaim his love. In spite of some obvious benefits, men were simply a 
nuisance. They interfered and diverted girls from their proper destiny. 
Crystal sniffed and wondered what it would feel like to be free. She strove 
to lean forward and ascertain if her pubic patch was as blatantly evident as 
she feared it was, but the collar held her erect. It was all defeating and 
demeaning. Someone would surely pay! 

Crystal through much of freedom, but very little of escape. Matthew would 
have to release her sooner or later, so escape was not vital in her plans. 
What she was concerned with was what she herself would do with freedom when 
it came. Probably the most sensible thing would be to obtain another girl 
from the same sources she had used before and vent her anger upon innocent 
flesh. But that would not be the same as venting it upon Tracy's guilty 
skin. She toyed with the idea of employing plug uglies to kidnap Matthew and 
deliver him to her as she had dreamed, but dismissed the delight as 
impractical. There would be too many involved, and the police could easily 
come knocking at her door. No, it was Tracy who would have to pay the bill. 

 CHAPTER TEN - LOVE ME ALWAYS 

"Off with that shirt, Tracy. You needn't think you're going to keep wearing 
it. And there's something else you've been getting away with too." 

Tracy unconcernedly divested herself of Matthew's loaned covering. It had 
been a pleasant change, and she rather suspected it had been becoming, its 
dangling tails creating a delectable and tantalizing promise of joys 
beneath. But, for her, nakedness had become natural. Once more nude, she 
extended her hands and watched them joined with the gleaming chrome of 
Matthew's handcuffs. All was back to normal. "You can't possibly keep 
Crystal in a whole week, Matthew. Somebody's going to come looking." 

"Well, maybe five days. What I ought to do is ship her off to that sugar 
mill in Santos." 

"Oh, Matt! I wouldn't wish that on any girl. It was awful." 

"If you're so damned sorry for her, how 'bout I send you back along with her 
to keep her company?" 

Tracy shuddered. She would never forget the sugar mill and the chain upon 
her wrists. She had no doubt that a day of hard labor in that dismal place 
might benefit Crystal immensely, but from the safe security of Castle Angus 
it was something not to be considered for either of them. Instead, she asked 
demurely, "You've got Crystal well looked after, what are you going to do 
with me?" 

"Anything in mind, love?" 

"You could take me up to London." 

"Could I now! Feeling your oats, eh?" 

"Well, what if I am? If I overstep the rules, you'll whip me to bring me 
back in line. I can't go wrong." 

Matthew laughed. She was a delight. It would be amusing to take her to the 
big stores and the jeweler. They would buy some sparkling gem large enough 
to fill her navel, though how it could be anchored there he did not know. A 
gem-studded collar for her neck would be an asset for her loveliness, but 
that would have to be made, it was unlikely they would find one in a shop 
window. Casually, he suggested, "How about tomorrow after I get little 
floosie downstairs nicely fixed for the day?" 

"Oh, Matt!" Tracy was ecstatic. "Will you really!" 

"If you behave yourself. I'm taking you up to bed now, but not to sleep," he 
chuckled lewdly. "See if you can earn yourself a trip. There's just one 
snag." 

Tracy wrinkled her nose at her lord and master. "You know perfectly well 
I'll give you good value upstairs," she said acidly. "But now you'll have to 
take off the handcuffs and leg irons. You only just locked the handcuffs on. 
Really, you men!" 

"Thoughtless, eh?" Matt chuckled at her concern. "You can keep the 
handcuffs. I don't think we've tried it that way. I take off your leg irons 
while we're enjoying ourselves, but I'm not sure I've fucked a handcuffed 
girl. Let's try it. The snag I was speaking of was how do I keep you 
handcuffed or leg-ironed on a trip to the city?" 

Tracy delivered her finest sniff. "That's your worry, Matt. After all, I'm 
only your slave girl. It's not for me to tell you how I should be chained." 

"I'd take you with the cuffs on your wrists," Matthew mused thoughtfully, 
"but that would just mean trouble. No use pushing our luck. What we need is 
something out of sight. How about a wire band around your belly?" 

"Wouldn't it hurt?" 

"Hmmmm, well, tight enough so you'd know you had it on--a constant 
reminder." Matthew kissed her and bit her left nipple gently. "I rather like 
the idea, so that's what it's going to be. You can think of arguments to 
dissuade me while we go upstairs. Come along." 

Tracy allowed herself to be picked up and carried. Her loins were on fire 
and her mind seethed in speculation. But it was not about the wire. 

* * * 

It was Crystal's second dismal night. If it had not been for the collar 
around her neck, she would have preferred to stay in the frame, but she 
endured release and the rechaining of her limbs without complaint. It was 
the same rusty, heavy, ugly chains as Matt had locked upon her the night 
before. She stood erect and angry as metal bit and locks snapped, contenting 
her only with reproachful glances, sighs, and occasional, "I wish you'd 
consider. You're making a terrible mistake." But, after an uncommunicative, 
Matt had gone. The honorable Crystal Maitland ate the dog biscuit. For her, 
it was bitter as gall as she remembered the advertisements boasting of 
benefits to canine teeth while her own had difficulty in breaking off 
anything to chew. She could not get the biscuit in the glass, so had to 
content herself with pouring droplets of water upon its surface on the 
bench. It was unsatisfactory dining. The covered pail was an affront she 
determined to remember all her life. Her collar and chain allowed her just 
enough latitude to reach it. Someone would pay for this! She assured herself 
in the best Victorian manner that no one could do this to Crystal Maitland 
and get away with it. Despite these impositions, the fire within her belly 
turned bright and strong. 

Morning brought only fresh apprehension, which was only partly allayed when 
it was Tracy and no one else who opened the big door. The slave girl was 
obviously uncomfortable about her errand, but she delivered a cup of coffee 
and a fresh dog biscuit with such panache as she could contrive. Crystal 
refused the dog biscuit. She could not possibly eat such an object with 
someone looking, but she drank the coffee gratefully. She suspected it was 
more than she would have got from Matthew. With the last drop gone from a 
tilted cup. she instantly demanded, "Get me out of here!" 

"You know I can't do that. I'm as much Matthew's slave as you are." Tracy 
smiled placatingly. "But I suppose prisoner is a better word for you. I'm 
terribly sorry about everything. I don't think you're going to like me. 
Matthew ordered me down here to do something nasty to you. He's going to 
inspect whatever I do, and if he doesn't think it's severe enough, then I 
get punished. Crystal, don't ask me to tie your hands together or something 
mild and silly, please." 

"The thing for you to do is get these chains off me and you can run away 
with me. We'll both be safe." 

"No, we won't. I don't have the key to these leg irons, even if I wanted to 
be a traitor, but I couldn't run with you. I can't run at all." 

"If I ever get my hands on you again, Tracy, you'll be sorry." 

"Bet it's not my fault! You seem to think Matt will do anything I ask. Well, 
he won't! He's a real man and won't take anything from us girls." 

"Well, what's the bad news? What are you going to do to me?" 

"I don't know!" Tracy wailed. "That's the trouble. I have to choose 
something. Why don't you help instead of just beefing all the time?" 

"I refuse to help anybody torture me. I'm not that stupid." 

"Well, I only asked. You know a lot more about this sort of thing than I do. 
If I just stuck you in the pillory or something conventional like that, I'm 
liable to be punished myself. Damn it, Crystal, I'm trying to be innovative 
without being cruel. Why can't you help? Mention a few things and we'll 
discuss them." 

"This is bizarre. You're asking me to be my own executioner. Go and tell him 
you can't handle me. He better come down and do it himself." 

"He wouldn't believe me. I'd get my bottom caned. Matt gives me five strokes 
every time he's displeased." 

"Well, go and get your five strokes then! But, for Pete's sake, have the man 
come down here." 

Tracy sighed. "How about the pillory?" she asked hopefully. "You only have 
to stand in it all day." 

"All day! Only! You're out of your mind." 

"Well, how 'bout those stock things, where you sit on a bench and stick your 
feet in the holes and they get locked in when the bar comes down?" 

Crystal was suddenly aware of possibilities. She suddenly realized, quite 
unwittingly, the girl whose duty it was to be mean to her had struck a happy 
chord. To sit, even though the bench be hard, was better than to stand. 
Grudgingly, she said, "Oh, all right. Hook me in that. Tracy, don't you 
understand how awful this is for me? I don't know whether I'm on my head or 
on my heels. I can't really believe any of it." 

"I couldn't either. Crystal." 

Tracy was cautious. She made the captive girl sit down and extend her feet 
for the heavy irons to be unlocked, but she left the captive wrists heavily 
shackled. No doubt Crystal could use that weight of iron as a weapon, but 
Tracy was wise enough to watch. She would not be caught napping. Sulkily and 
with bad grace, Crystal went to the machine in whose grip she would spend 
the day. She sat down and set her ankles in the slots with the air of 
someone about to be beheaded. Thankfully, Tracy lowered the upper half 
section and clicked the padlock shut. She had no key. Matt had the key, so 
Crystal would have to sit there and await his pleasure. She wondered if she 
should tell the captive girl the manner in which she and Matt would spend 
their day, but decided it was too unkind. She said nothing. It was Crystal 
who popped the question. "What are you two doing today?" 

"Matt's taking me to London." 

Crystal sat as though stunned. "You mean you two twerps are going up to town 
for a wonderful day and leaving me like this!" 

"Well, yes, but don't take on so. I mean, he will let you loose sometime. 
This isn't forever." 

The captive girl seated on the hard bench, her wrists still chained, her 
ankles firmly clasped and wide apart within the oaken beams, slowly digested 
the bad news. Determined to salvage any gain she could, she said petulantly, 
"Well, you're off to enjoy yourself, the least you can do is give me a 
little pleasure before you go." 

"Matt thought of that. I'm forbidden. If he should come down and catch us 
doing that, we would both be in a lot of trouble." 

"I'll risk it. Come along, don't quibble." 

Tracy sadly shook her head. Crystal was a handful, and she was thankful the 
captive girl was well secured. Crystal acknowledged this fact with a fresh 
demand. "Well, the least you can do is take this collection of old iron off 
my wrists. It weighs a ton." "I'm afraid you have to wear it, Crystal. Matt 
would not approve." Tracy stood and kissed two angry lips, which soon turned 
hot and moist and demanding. She tore away and fled, fearful of what she and 
Crystal might do together. She slammed the door with an eloquent finality. 

Crystal stared at the closed portal and the various facets of her 
confinement in disgust. But she did not stare long. Within minutes, the door 
opened and Matthew entered, followed by a visibly upset Tracy. Matthew 
circled the seated captive, then barked, "Damn it, Tracy, the girl's having 
a holiday like this! She can sit and dream, or go to sleep. You call this 
punishment?" 

"I thought it was," Tracy said lamely. "It's what they used to do to people 
when they misbehaved, isn't it?" 

Matthew wasted no words. He took the heavy metal links and hands from 
Crystal's wrists and threw them aside with a clatter. Both girls watched his 
every move with apprehensive eyes. "Hands behind your back, Crystal," he 
ordered roughly. "You can cozen Tracy, but not me. I want you uncomfortable, 
not going to sleep." Matthew more savagely tied the noble wrists. Crystal 
had the good sense to keep silent. Tracy watched in rueful dismay. The 
wrists crossed and bound were then drawn up by irritated male hands to a 
tether. Matthew drew down from the rear and from above. When this was 
tightened, Crystal's hands and arms rose and she was forced not to bend 
forward as was her natural inclination, but to sit erect. Her bare arms 
extended back from her shoulders at about that level. With her hands and 
arms thus pinioned, and with her ankles safely locked within the stocks, she 
was betwixt and between. The focal point of her new distress was her 
shoulders and her wrists. "I can't possibly sit like this all day," she said 
with desperate finality. "Matthew, be reasonable." 

It was the only protest Crystal made. Now it was her turn to watch in 
astonishment as Matthew demanded, "Touch your toes, Tracy! If we're going to 
town, we've got no time to mess around. You'll just get five quick ones." 

It would be bad, but was less than she had expected. Tracy did as she was 
bid. She touched her toes, stiffened her knees, arched her back, and rose 
her already wealed bottom invitingly. As the five strokes impacted her 
flesh, she did no more than sway her hips and sometimes bend her knees, only 
to instantly resume position. If this was all she had to suffer in return 
for a trip to London, she would suffer it gladly. The pain was fierce and 
brutal, but she endured, tight lipped, the entire infliction without 
protest. The irons had been taken from her feet in preparation for their 
journey. She wks entirely free. Ruefully, she considered the situation as 
coming close to childhood days in a century now past. The command of "touch 
your toes" was obviously as real for Matthew as for his grandfather. When 
her punishment was done, she stood rubbing her scalding cheeks and exchanged 
glance of commiseration with Crystal. She infinitely preferred the short, 
savage punishments she had received to what Crystal faced throughout her 
day. Matthew grasped her arm and led her once more from the room. 

Left alone, Crystal was close to tears. They were tears of chagrin, 
self-pity, and a genuine conviction that Matthew did not love her the least 
bit. He was treating her cruelly, she was ill used and her future bleak. The 
several days in which Matthew might keep her captive loomed as forever. She 
knew it useless to struggle, even if she defeated the ropes the oaken stocks 
would hold her tight, but the ropes laughed at any effort she could make. 
She would endure her standard punishment for the day. Most haughtily, she 
wished she had left Castle Angus and its occupants alone. 

As usual, there was no track of time for the stressed girl. It could have 
been one or two hours before the door once more opened. All Crystal knew was 
by the time she was deeply immersed in pain and longing to be free. It was 
Blessing. He moved forward with his dignified butler's gait to where he 
could view to the best advantage the punished nakedness now looking up at 
him with a faint hope. His tone was gravely concerned. "I'm distressed to 
discover you in this condition, madam." 

"So am I. Let me loose." 

"The thought crossed my mind, Miss Maitland. I fear you are in some sort of 
discomfort." 

"Blessing, I'm in agony. Please, let me loose." 

"Such is my intention, madam." 

Crystal glared in amazement. Hope flared. Blessing was too good to be true. 
She scarcely believed her ears. Fearfully, she asked, "You really mean 
you're going to get me out of this infernal thing and let me go?" 

"I do not entirely approve of the young master's activities, madam." 
Blessing was pompous and was going to take his time. "I fear he has spent 
too much time abroad. It would appear he is unable to distinguish between 
the lower orders and the upper classes. He should not have subjected you to 
this indignity." 

"Blessing, I love you. Please hurry." 

Blessing had never hurried in his life, and he did not hurry now. Perhaps he 
took his own carnal pleasure in what he viewed. He had seen many a naked 
popsie come and go in Castle Angus, but he had never before examined a 
stripped noble woman. Perhaps he was making comparisons. It was a full 
minute before he searched for and discovered the means of lowering the 
tether to relieve Crystal's pain. His fumbling with knots of the cords 
binding her wrists would once have brought angry admonition from Crystal's 
lips, but she had learned a lot. She maintained an electric silence while 
her hands were freed. Moving steadily forward in his task, as might a 
battleship or aircraft carrier split the waves in firm determination, he 
then unlocked the stocks and raised the lower bar. He did it with something 
of a flourish, as though returning Crystal's nude nobility was a moment to 
remember. "There we are, madam. I must say this incident disturbs me deeply. 
It may affect a breach in my relations with Mister Marsh, but I know my 
duty. A young lady of your quality should not be thus confined. I will 
escort you to the bedroom where you will discover suitable garments. I will 
then drive you home." 

To Crystal, Blessings's loyalty to the landed gentry was no more than was to 
be expected of him. Old Angus had confined his fun and games to females of 
the lower classes. Enforcibly placing herself within a dungeon, Matthew 
erred. No doubt, Blessing was right Matthew had been too long in foreign 
parts. The honorable Crystal rearranged all her thinking and herself. It was 
obviously absurd, at this juncture, to feel ashamed of being naked before a 
butler. Majestically, she declared, "I shall not forget this, Blessing. I 
appear to be quite without funds in this condition, but--" 

"Quite so, madam. There is no need of a gratuity. I am simply doing my duty 
Perhaps you may at a latter date be able to explain to Mister Matthew the 
distinction of our class system." 

"But you don't mind him messing around with young Tracy, eh?" 

"Miss Tracy is not of the nobility, madam. I'm sure she is an estimable 
young woman. I regard her favorably. We must be charitable to those from 
across the Atlantic." 

Crystal had massaged chafed wrists and exercised wrenched shoulders long 
enough. If she continued these pleasurable motions longer, she might well be 
accused of providing Blessing with a visual reward for his services. "Lead 
the way, Blessing," she said briskly. "What I need now is clothes." 

* * * 

For Tracy Trevor, the wire around her tummy was a delightful giggle. She 
stood in quivering excitement while Matthew solemnly measured and used a 
pair of pliers. Her bottom was burning in an intensity which would have 
distressed her had the circumstances been different, but which now simply 
added to her excitation. As the wire indented her tummy and Matthew slowly 
tightened, she became a very happy but trembling bundle of feminine 
anticipation of delights to come. By the time she had ejaculated, "Oh, oh, 
oh, Matt, that's awful tight," the pliers had been brought into play and the 
ends of the wire snipped off short. Matt's voice was caustically amused. 
"Just to keep you aware, sweetheart. I can't have London making you forget 
who you belong to and what you are." Tracy said nothing. The wire was 
tighter than she would have wished. In fact, she would have been happy not 
to have worn it at all. Looking down at her nudity, she discovered the 
offending item well imbedded in her middle to a point where unless she stood 
in front of a mirror she could not see it. She felt it tentatively and 
reached around to feel the twisted fastening she could never undo herself 
without help. But, impulsively, she swirled around and implanted a kiss on 
her master's forehead and brightly asked, "May I dress now, darling?" 

Walking with a wired middle was a new experience, a quite unforeseen 
embarrassment to a maiden whose waist was thus cinched. By some peculiar 
magic of its own, it compelled her hips to alternate in a peculiar 
fluctuation of response which Tracy was certain had the visual effect of a 
Victorian lady rustling her bussle, or the streetwalker's much publicized 
swing of hips. It was also the strangest of feelings and intensely sexual. 
She stopped and looked back doubtfully. "Matt, this is going to--well, it's 
going to make me go over the brink." 

"Excellent, when you feel it coming, I'll look the other way if you're 
embarrassed. I expect if you climax once, you'll climax twice. Give you 
something to look forward to." 

Tracy knew herself a feminine entity to which things were happening. There 
was an atmosphere of a pending portents. When Matt produced the handcuffs, 
she was not surprised, nor did she complain. They were evidently a token 
only, for he locked them in front to leave her a comfortable freedom. Since 
she was already dressed, they went instantly to the car. Tracy wiggled 
herself in comfortably, ignoring the biting wire, and clanked her handcuffs 
mischievously. "Are you going to have me walk around the city in these, 
darling?" 

"Take 'em off when we park the car, pet. By that time, the wire will have 
taken over. You don't have to worry about being a good little girl." 

Tracy was abundantly happy, but in her happiness as the car rolled through 
the English countryside, she spared a thought for her former mistress, now 
Matthew's prisoner. Tracy felt guilty about her own happiness in comparison 
to Crystal's travail. She had a vivid mental image of the tractioned maiden 
with ankles fast locked in the wooden stocks. It would be a bad. bad day for 
Crystal. Tremulously, she asked Matthew an obvious question. "Matt, what are 
you going to do about Crystal?" 

"Make her damn good and sorry for what she did to you." 

"I'm willing to forgive her if you'll forgive her too, Matt. She's in love 
with you, y'know, and girls do crazy things when they're in love." Tracy 
giggled. "You see, she doesn't really regard me as a person. I'm just 
someone from across the ocean who doesn't really count--just a pretty little 
feminine body to whip." Matthew grunted. "What you are, sweetheart, is a 
pretty little feminine something or other with a wire band around her tummy, 
handcuffed wrists, and prospects of a lifetime of slavery. Forget the 
honorable Crystal." 

"Matt, I wish you'd set her free tomorrow. Will you?" 

"If you're willing to serve the rest of her sentence. She's got four more 
days. They'd be rough." 

"Oh, Matt, you always twist things and get me into a situation where I've 
got to get my bottom whipped or something. I'll spend the rest of her 
sentence if you really want me to, but I do think it would be wiser for us 
both if you'd let her go. If you hurt her too badly, she's going to be enemy 
for the rest of our lives." 

"You two have got a love affair going, eh?" Matt's voice was gruffly male. 
"What did the damn girl do to you while she had you prisoner?" 

"You men always think that," Tracy said sulkily. "Just because I feel sorry 
for her!" 

Matt's silence was as sulky as Tracy's words. With a sideways grin to soften 
the impact, he enumerated, "Here's what she's scheduled for. Day one, hung 
up by her wrists plus twenty strokes. Day two, she spends in the little cage 
and gets another twenty strokes. Day three, she lays on her back with one 
ankle pulled high enough up to get her bottom off the floor, and she also 
gets another twenty. Day four, she gets what she's getting now, except that 
her ankles won't be in the stocks. She'll be standing up straight and her 
arms will be a lot higher up than today. She'll get awful tired of it by the 
time the day is done and then at the end of it the usual twenty." Matt 
laughed at the consternation on Tracy's face. "That ought to teach the young 
lady a lesson or two." 

"All right," Tracy said, "you can do those things to me, but let her go 
tomorrow morning or even this evening when we get home. Please?" 

The car purred on with its occupants silent. Matt was busy with his 
thoughts, and Tracy was trembling with the fear of having said too much. Her 
wire belt burned steadily, cautioning her to watch her words. 

The jeweller raised his eyebrow slightly at Matthew's requests. The collar 
and wristlets were easy, for the waistband and ankles, it was necessary to 
accept Matt's carefully taken measurements. Blushing throughout, Tracy was 
allowed to pick the jewels by which her person would be embellished. 
Delivery was promised at an early date, but for a sum which left the captive 
maiden shattered. If Matthew thought that much of her... 

But their day was not a success. Lunch was a mistake. It increased the 
tension of the wire around Tracy's tummy. She longed most urgently to plead 
for release, but there was something about Matthew's manner to deter. He was 
obviously heavy with thought, and his slave girl had no doubt it concerned 
both Crystal and herself. She made only one try. "Matt, this wire's hurting 
really bad, much worse than before. Please cut it off. Please?" 

"Sorry, love. Left the pliers back home, and anyway, the pain will do you 
good. Help balance things up with your dear little Crystal. You'll feel less 
guilty." 

So he was in a snit! Tracy resoled to allow the wire to cut her in two 
before she would ask again. But when Castle Anus came into view, she was 
tremendously thankful. But everything, including the burning agony of the 
wire, was obliterated beneath Blessing's factual account of his breech of 
trust. Blessing let them in the huge front door with his usual grave 
greeting, then lost no time in admitting his sin. 

Tracy held her breath, waiting for fireworks, but Matt said little. 

He absorbed the news as though half expecting it, dismissing Blessing with a 
curt, "I'll see you later." Then, turning to Tracy, he said, "Seems like 
there's two of you. Take your clothes off and bring handcuffs to my office." 

Tracy obeyed, hastening in her need to end this tension before it destroyed 
something good. When she presented herself, Matt was busy dialing. He 
motioned her with one hand and said curtly, "Handcuff yourself behind your 
back, and I want them tight. Remember, tight!" 

Tracy obeyed. She knew something was brewing, but could only guess at what 
it might be. She made the metal circlets tight enough upon her wrists to 
hurt, and hoped it pleased him to find them thus. Then she listened aghast 
while Matt quietly explained to the girl at the other end of the line that 
she, Crystal Maitland, would return to Castle Angus instantly, or a slave 
girl named Tracy Trevor would be punished constantly until she did. Matthew 
Marsh hung up the receiver and turned to survey the quaking nakedness with 
somber gaze. His voice was dull. "She'll come. She'll be right over." While 
Matthew peeled the cutting wire from her flesh, to make her squeal with the 
pain of it, he continued in the same quiet monotone. "She'll come and she'll 
suffer. There's only one reason a girl would do that: she's in love with 
you. On the other hand, you're willing to suffer for her. The fact is you're 
a couple of lesbians," Matthew announced as though the words were venom. 

"But. Matthew!" Tracy was distraught. "Don't you see, it isn't that at all, 
it's only common humanity. I don't want Crystal tortured and she doesn't 
want me tortured." She sought desperately for words to aid her plea. "Can't 
you see. you idiot, we're both in love with you. All you have to do is 
choose which one of us you want, and the other will have to make the best of 
it." She paused unhappily, then added, "I thought you'd chosen me...?" 
Crystal's face when she entered the office was a mixture of emotions. She 
was flushed and breathing heavily, and looked from one to the other 
uncertainly. She took instant note of Tracy's nakedness and her hands so 
tightly cuffed behind her back. Without preamble, she said, "Matthew, you're 
making a terrible mistake." "That may be." His voice remained flat and with 
little emotion. "In the meantime, strip and put these handcuffs on the same 
as Tracy has hers." He tossed the shining metal at the startled girl. "Go 
on, do it. don't stand there like an idiot!" 

Tracy Trevor watched in amazement as Crystal Maitland removed her clothes. 
It was as though the authority of Matthew Marsh had somehow doubled and 
trebled its impact. Both girls were totally subject to it and diminished 
accordingly, they were small girls obeying the harsh order of a relentless 
guardian. While a naked Crystal struggled awkwardly to handcuff her own 
wrists behind her back, both Tracy and Matthew stood in silent watchfulness. 
Each knew they were witnessing a moment neither would forget. When Crystal 
had punished her wrists in the same way Tracy had punished hers, she stood 
erect and without saying a word, contrived an immense question mark. 

"Are you both helpless?" Matthew's voice was a sharp bark. 

"Yessss." The reluctant admission was hesitant and loaded with expectancy 
until Tracy exclaimed, "Matthew, you're being mean. Neither of us have done 
anything. I don' see why you have to get Crystal back over here, surely you 
don't intend to punish both of us." 

The male authority swept aside her tentative plea. Matthew sneered, he asked 
quietly of Tracy, "Do you remember the sugar mill in Santos?" 

"Of course I remember it, no girl who'd ever been chained there would ever 
forget!" 

"Well, that's where the two of you are going." 

Tracy stared in disbelief. Already she could hear the grind of the gears, 
feel the heat of the climate and the sweating bodies of the chained girls, 
almost she could feel the shackle on her wrist as she toiled against the 
spoke. Before she could speak, Matthew continued. 

"It's easily done. I know a fellow with a plane. I know the bunch in Santos. 
Crystal will make a deposition in my favor, naming me to manage her affairs 
during her one month absence." He chuckled with his first genuine amusement 
in some time. "I'll arrange for the two of you to be chained to the same 
spar, so you can work away there and enjoy each other's company for the full 
thirty days, to which I am now sentencing you. then there'll be the 
evenings, you can enjoy yourself even more as you're chained in the waiting 
room to sleep." He chuckled. "By the time you return here, you will either 
be confirmed lesbians, or will hate the sight of each other. Either way, I 
think the experience will be good for you both. If there's one thing I 
detest, it's a lesbian, and I don't want one in Castle Angus." 

The two girls stared at each other in dismay, their hands busily twisting 
and tugging in a hopeless tussle with the steel upon their wrists. Quietly, 
in an effort at rationale, Tracy pleaded, "Do it to me, Matthew, don't do it 
to Crystal. That sugar mill is too awful, and she'd done nothing to deserve 
it. Matthew, please." 

Matthew ignored her words, grasping two bare arms, he propelled two naked, 
and distraught young women down to the barred cell, and thrust them within. 
He clanged shut the door. Through the bars his voice mocked, "I'll have a 
van here in about an hour to transport you to the plane. I'm really being 
extremely kind to you. You have the freedom of this cell and can nibble each 
other to your hearts' content, and just think of the fun you'll have in the 
sugar mill, close together all day long and then at night you can busy 
yourselves with lips and tongue." His laugh was bitter. "Don't bother to 
thank me, you can do that when you go back home after the thirty days." He 
clanged shut the door, ostentatiously locked it, and waved them as careless 
goodbye. A moment later, they were alone in a new and different captivity. 

"The son of a bitch! He's actually going to do it!" Crystal exclaimed 
distractedly. "What is this damn sugar mill?" 

Tracy told her as briefly as she could. It seemed incredible that that black 
horrific cavern could once again claim her body, arid that of this gorgeous 
creature who was as helpless as she herself. Quietly, she said, "Crystal, 
we're in deep, deep trouble." Two naked girls! Chained! Locked in a cell 
awaiting transport to a fate in which one of them could scarcely believe! 
They wrenched feverishly at the handcuffs in a purely instinctive fear. They 
looked at the bars and at the locked door. Then they stared fixedly at each 
other. 

The van would arrive in an hour. 


THE END
