Penitent Prisoner
by F. E. Campbell 


I - A Thief and a Beginning 

While I was getting my ride to the precinct station in the wire enclosed 
back seat of the police car with my wrists firmly handcuffed behind my back, 
I reviewed the whole damn fool incident and cursed myself for an idiot. Miss 
Jill Palmer, aged twenty-six, occupation secretary, and here I was on my way 
to prison! 

The store manager had about summed it up. "We get a lot of young women like 
yourself, Miss Palmer, who act on impulse. You say that had our clerk been 
more attentive and polite you would not have stolen the watch. But the fact 
remains you did do it. I will make a guess this was your first theft?" 

"Yes." 

"It may well be your last." The manager leaned back comfortably in his 
swivel chair behind his rich oak desk and did things with his fingers to 
make me want to spit in his face. But I wasn't doing any spiting, I was 
trembling. Jill Palmer was scared silly. 

"We make no exceptions, Miss Palmer, whenever we apprehend a thief we impose 
the full weight of the law." 

They must keep a policeman in the closet in this big stores. Mine arrived 
just at that point, a pleasant, bored younger man I might have liked 
elsewhere. Mechanically he did that reading my rights business and I saw his 
eye register the fact I was an attractive young woman. 

"You don't need those," I said firmly. "I've made a silly slip, don't let's 
dramatize it." 

No one paid attention. I was turned politely around, my arms gathered in 
back and the cuffs snapped clickingly upon my wrists. Right there was an 
all-time low in the story of my life. I burned with shame as I was led from 
the manager's office, and even through by a back door was observed by enough 
pitying smiles to make me long to die. When I slumped in the back seat of 
the waiting car I noted the absence of handles on the inside of the doors, I 
looked at the two policemen through heave wire mesh. It was as though the 
two uniformed men had made a sortie in the jungle and made the capture of a 
rare species to take home. 

When I was marched up to the desk sergeant my policeman fumbled with my 
hands and removed the handcuffs, tucking them back into his belt I rubbed my 
wrists and glared in mock indignation at such police brutality. When I had 
provided the desired statistics and had my handbag searched, the middle aged 
sergeant said, "You're a damned attractive woman, Miss Palmer. And you'll 
also a damned fool! Now I expect you'd like to use the phone." 

I used the phone and Ryan's laughing voice told me what to expect when he 
ransomed me. Ryan Norton is a big man with a wide open mind into which this 
escapade of mine would be duly filed. He promised he would be right around. 
In the meantime I was ushered into a very large cage containing an equally 
large assortment of females of all ages. In the half hour I was forced to 
spend with them I decided I preferred the prostitutes. 

When I was led forth for delivery to ray rescuer, I was the jungle animal 
all over again. Ryan was busily chatting with the sergeant and I knew 
instantly he was disappointed by the absence of handcuffs on my wrists. He 
greeted my as if we had just met in the park and, since it was well after 
dinner time, rewarded my delinquency by taking me out to dinner. The nice 
thing about Ryan Norton is he always knows what I am thinking and what I 
want. I said nothing but walked with him to the street enveloped in one huge 
Mush. I am in love with Ryan Norton. It complicates my life terribly. 

"I hope you got the full handcuff treatment and were locked behind bars, 
sweetness?" 

"Yes, I did. And, yes, I know you would have loved to see the whole thing. 
Maybe you can bribe the policeman to do a replay." 

"You suffered a temporary mental aberration, I suppose, sweetheart?" 

"Yes, I did! If you're going to tease I shall either weep all over you and 
wet your jacket or walk rapidly away. Which do you prefer?" 

Ryan clasped my arm and I knew I wasn't walking anywhere except with him. 

Ryan Norton had picked me up in one of those leafy squares where people feed 
pigeons. With total nonchalance he possessed himself of some crumbs from my 
bag and shared the sport. He was a large, handsome, well-dressed man who 
wore always a faintly amused smile as though he was one up on the rest of 
mankind. When he turned it upon me it became warm and interested and gave me 
feminine flutters. He then took my by the arm and led me to one of those Old 
Tea Houses where they don't give you much to eat and, without even trying, 
got us the best table in the place. 

In telling of Ryan and I it is best that I stand up somewhere and refute the 
image of a doormat or a possessor of round heels. I've done pretty well for 
myself at Sherwood's and have always refused to be an easy pickup. Until 
Ryan took my arm that day I would have firmly asserted my independence and a 
cool, distant treatment which kept the Male at bay. But his effect on me was 
like that in the department store where I slipped the watch into my bag. A 
temporary aberration or a latent weakness? I simply do not know. 

I am not shy. I studied him as we sipped our tea and found myself approving 
of everything. His hair was short by today's standards but under perfect 
control. He surveyed the world with detached approval but crinkles around 
his eyes were exactly as I would have ordered them. His lips were mobile to 
match the easy fluency of his conversation. By the time the management was 
indicating their need of our table, Ryan Norton said without concern, "If 
you don't mind, I'll take you home with me." That was the beginning! 

His apartment was in one of those towers by the park, it spelt money but I 
could not bracket him. I put his down as one of those men who easily find 
the price for what they desire. Ryan Norton got me for nothing. 

The apartment was furnished in good taste but there were pictures...! I'd 
never seen anything like them before. One would arouse no comment, but every 
picture in the place depicted a more or less naked girl in some dire 
predicament, bound or chained, but bearing her travail in calm serenity. 

"The oldest theme in romantic fiction," Ryan explained at my shoulder. "The 
damsel in distress." 

Each picture possessed its own strange beauty, a woodland glade or the 
turret room of a castle, one was strictly contemporary, showing a doe-eyed 
maiden embracing a youngish tree and with her wrists handcuffed on the wrong 
side of it, and viewing me with a sardonically raised eyebrow as though to 
say, "I'll bet you've never tired this!" 

Every picture as either in oils or pastels. I judged them costly. 

"A friend of mine does them specially for me," Ryan told me easily. "Do you 
get a charge out of them?" 

"A charge...? No, should I?" 

"Quite a lot of people do, including me. Every picture tells whatever story 
you care to apply." 

It was in my mind to coldly refute Ryan's taste in art but I looked further 
and realized there was nothing offensive in any of them. The damsels in 
distress all looked interested and gazed back at me with Ryan's own quiet 
smile of amusement, even though appearing in immanent danger of being 
devoured by a dragon. There was something classic about them like Chaucer's 
Canterbury Tales. 

"Care to try?" 

His question told me something. Ryan Norton used this pictures as an 
introduction. I had seen the magazines on the bookshelves showing the bound 
and naked beauties I had always turned my nose up at. Evidently my host was 
an aficionado. "Where would you get the dragon?" I asked flippantly. 
"Thanks, but no thanks." 

"I'm the dragon." 

"It's been very interesting," I said, a trifle nervously. "Don't you collect 
Ming vases or landscape etchings?" 

"Sorry, no etching. Would you care to sample the dragon?" 

"Sorry, no dragon. It's time I went home." 

Now we come to the place of the really crazy part. Me, the self-possessed, 
cool and collected, Miss Jill Palmer, found myself upon the couch, face 
down, while a man I'd only met a couple of hours ago studiously crossed by 
hands behind my back and tied them tight with what I later learned was a 
man's tie. It was firm and authoritative but, on the premise you had to have 
your wrists tied, extremely comfortable. 

I could have kicked, screamed and struggled but did none of them. 

There was a total absence of fear. I suppose this was the key. Ryan's 
fingers were like his voice, refusing negatives. When he commenced to remove 
my clothes, I managed only the trite, "No, you mustn't! Please don't do 
that. Stop it!" 

He had to snip some seams to get me naked without tearing things. He did it 
with quiet precision explaining they could be resewn. When he had me 
completely bare, he turned me over onto my bound arms, which sank into the 
soft couch without pain. I was making the tremendous discovery of being 
helpless, made so by the simply expedient of a piece of cord around my 
wrists. It did not seem possible but there it was! I soon desisted my 
twisting and tugging, knowing full well I could not free myself. It was an 
entirely new sensation. With perfect timing, Ryan left me to myself in the 
quiet room. 

I guessed I was being managed. This man would have no patience with 
hysteria. I could lay as I was or get up and walk around while I caught up 
with my emotions or they with me. With my hands bound as they were it was 
difficult to do a sit up but I managed it before swinging my legs to the 
floor. Then, in a conviction of imminent rape, I did another tour of the 
pictures, ignoring the sane admonitions of the other Jill Palmer, the 
business-like Jill who told me I should back up against the door, open it 
and run like crazy. I suppose the reason I didn't was fear of failure and 
what might ensue. When I heard Ryan Norton's approaching steps, I fled back 
to the couch and settled myself as he had left me. I was panting. 

"Had another look at the pictures, eh!" he said cheerily while eyeing my 
heaving breasts. "I suppose you know you're a beauty, I've never seen 
anything as good." In a easy continuing of motion Ryan Norton looped my left 
ankle to draw it up and over the back of the couch on which I lay, tying it 
somewhere I could not see. In sudden realization of awful exposure I went 
berserk. When I struggled myself off the couch to hang head down and bound 
foot up, he laughingly picked me up and put me back in place. I was hot with 
shame at his reproving, "Naughty, naughty!" 

I've always been pleased with the coziness inside my crotch. I have a nice, 
neat slit and a pleasantly contoured mound. Beneath a thick pubic patch. 
I've always hated the names for the innocent facility through which a girl 
pees. I refuted them now to plead, "Please let my foot down, this is 
horribly indecent." 

"You've nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart." It was as though he was 
reassuring a child. 

I am equally chagrined at the descriptions given to a successful coupling. 
It's something that shouldn't be talked about, something intensely private. 
If girls wish to state that they saw constellations and rainbows, they are 
quite welcome. For my own ravishing at the hands of Ryan Norton the word 
transcendent comes to mind. It was of a transcendent beauty and gentleness, 
coupled with Male skill to leave me utterly devastated and wet with sweat. 
After a while he left me alone. Neither of us uttered a word. 

I could not leave the couch, my foot was still tied to lift my leg and bare 
my secret. My arms were completely lost, I did not even think of using them. 
It seemed completely normal to use them to arch my back and lift my hips. 
When Ryan returned we did it all over again. 

On the following day I gave notice at my own apartment and moved in with 
Ryan. It was a sort of natural gravitation requiring no discussion. We had 
found something we desired. 

Once more I must affirm that the girl I speak of here was not the girl I had 
known for twenty-six years prior to that meeting with the pigeons in the 
square. The laughing masculine who was Ryan Norton possessed for my an 
almost hypnotic fascination. Not a wild excitement, not the conventional 
falling in love but a felling of Tightness when we were together and in my 
case a constant sexual excitation in wondering what he would next do to me. 
Ryan Norton was endlessly inventive. 

Ryan insisted I keep my job. He said I would be utterly bored if bound hand 
and foot and left alone all day in the apartment. Besides it would prevent 
my performing certain rituals. The first ritual was for me to strip totally 
naked upon arrival home. Then I was required to go stand in a corner and 
face the wall and stay there until he gave me leave to move. This latter one 
was hard to bare for I was palpation in every gland and nerve and a bundle 
ready to explore by the time my companion noticed me or saw fit to command 
me. The third was for me to address him as "Master" at all times when we 
were alone. Our behavior when we were out and around was beyond reproach. It 
was soon understood by our friends we were a young couple-likely to marry. 

Ryan added a grim note to the decor by hanging a pair of handcuffs, a whip 
and a riding crop upon the wall. He said they were a message to me and need 
never be used unless...! He left the unless bit hanging in the air to nag at 
me constantly in wonder if he would ever use them. I shivered at the thought 
but that, too, had its own fatal fascination, for I am curious and I am 
female and Ryan assures me females are ideally designed for pain. 

We spent the first Saturday on a tour of hardware stores. By evening Ryan 
had installed rings on every conceivable wall or floor to which he might 
wish to attach me with a pair of handcuffs we had acquired and a length of 
chain and a couple of padlocks for other portions of my person. It was 
tremendously exciting and I completely forgot who or what I was in this 
stimulation of my senses. Another rule was that I must always wear handcuffs 
or cord upon my wrist, they must never be free except when I went to work. I 
become an expert at doing things with handcuffed hands, I discovered you 
simply used two hands instead of one. They accompanied each other on ever 
task. It delighted the man I must call Master to make me wear one of his 
shirts on occasion and this would necessitate the unlocking of my handcuffs 
or the unbinding of my wrists so I could don the oversized covering, button 
it up and then offer my hands to be once more tied or cuffed. When Ryan 
discovered the shirt covered more of me than supposed, he cut it off short 
to reveal glimpses of my cleft and pubic patch. He also purchased the very 
tightest of tee shirts, which when worn along, accentuated my breasts 
outrageously and revealed my bottom and sex in total candor. We vied with 
each other to think up fresh adornments for the female body that was Me. 

At night we slept naked together in his bed but I was always handcuffed 
front or back according to his pleasure. I drifted into deliciously slumber 
with two male hands clutching me tight and often with his knee thrust upward 
between my thighs. In all this period of my beginnings it never once 
occurred to me to demure about anything. I offered my hands or feet to be 
fastened in whatever way my master chose and often offered a sarcastic, 
"Thank you" when it was done. There were times he would be deliberately 
mean, as for instance seated in his lounge I was instructed to go to the bar 
and mix him a drink and deliver it on bent knees. Ordinarily this would have 
presented no problem but upon making the request he had bound my ankles so 
tight together my toes thought I was a mermaid. It was an ordeal to surmount 
but I managed it by constantly placing his glass on the rug while I squirmed 
myself around on my bottom to gain perhaps a yard or less. If I spilled the 
drink or complained, I must do the task all over again. But no matter how 
taxing the tasks might be, I never disobeyed. Some female intuition told me 
the day I disobeyed would be the day Ryan took down those fearful objects on 
the wall. 

I used the handcuffs, the whip and the riding crop for balance. Sometimes I 
would really get angry at what Ryan required of me and had to compel myself 
to simmer down if I did not wish him to use the dreadful trio. I did not 
believe him capable of cruelty but I was equally certain he would not use it 
unless I touched in him some cord of humiliation or defiance he could not 
tolerate. As always I got sexual arousal at the thought. But my sexual 
arousals were no problem, they were appeased each night most gloriously. 

It was during the first part of this semi-connubial bliss I got arrested. 

Getting rid of the shivers and shakes attendant upon my time with the police 
took about half the period of our dinning. Ryan was attentive, kind and 
understanding to make me feel less ridiculous, less shamed and inclined to 
see a touch of humor here and there. He was his gravely amused self and just 
what I needed to get over my deplorable lapse from grace. It was not until 
the brandy he chose to mention the matter of discipline. Without preamble 
and as dispassionately as always he conveyed regret over the necessity of 
whipping me when we got home. 

Maybe my first real test had been when he tied my hands that first time. Or 
perhaps it was now when I was confronted with something I truly did not 
want. Passion is a sedative to so much but would not protect me from those 
things I had seen upon the wall. Ryan must have seen me tense and knew my 
thoughts. "You won't die, sweetheart, some girls like it." 

I tried evasion. "I can't stand anything that severe," I ventured timidly. 
"Surely there is something else?" 

"If you're frightened of the whip, there's always the riding crop, 
sweetheart." 

"I'm just as frightened of that. Oh, Ryan...! Please be kind to me, I've had 
the damnedest kind of a day." 

"All your own fault, love." 

"Well, yes, I suppose it is. But can't you be a little merciful, after all 
it is my first time." 

He listened then shrugged. "A weakness to be nipped in the bud, my pet. You 
and I will deal with it." 

It was about right there when I realized his implacability and the certainty 
of punishment, that the electric charges started to tingle my sex and tell 
me that things weren't all that bad and quite probably I'd make fresh 
discoveries about myself when the dread time arrived. I had a second brandy 
on the strength of it. 

Once again I have to wonder why I didn't turn and run. But there was the 
undeniable fact that I had lost my apartment and my home was now with this 
man across the table, a man who intended to whip my bare skin that very 
evening. My mind flittered across the possibilities of relatives or friends 
or hotels but I knew I would resort to none of them. I would go home with 
Ryan and be an obedient though frightened little girl. I took comfort from 
the fact Ryan also had a second brandy. 

It had been a slow, leisurely dinner. We made it ever more leisurely by 
lingering over the after dinner brandy. I did not know what my master was 
thinking but I was dwelling in disbelief over what was going to happen to me 
later. I knew I would not really believe it until it was happening. When a 
girl dispassionately considers the act of being whipped on her bare skin, it 
just doesn't seem possible! I looked at Ryan and I looked around the upper 
class restaurant in which we dined and wondered if the females present had 
ever received what I was going to get. But I shrugged that one off, there 
might have been a dozen of them who had men like Ryan. But then I was a girl 
in love. When we got back to the apartment I rid myself instantly of clothes 
and stood instantly in the corner with my nose shoved into the paint. I 
hoped Ryan could not see the tremors of my flesh. 

He let me stand a long while awaiting his cheerful, "Okay now, sweetheart, 
you can turn around." 

I kept thinking up pleas for mercy and rejecting them. I was already 
handcuffed and handcuffs inhibit thoughts of flight. What was beginning to 
concern me was the realization that if I could be whipped once I could be 
whipped twice or three time or ... In short, this was the beginning of my 
life with this man I loved. 

Ryan had always laughed over my tentative suggestions about playrooms, 
punishment rooms, or maybe a small sized dungeon. When I was given 
permission to turn and go to the living room, I found only a single rope 
suspended from above and, at the end of it, a hook. The hook quickly snared 
my handcuffs and the rope rose with alarming swiftness to raise me almost on 
my toes. I was about to protest the stress and strain when Ryan lowered me 
down an inch or so that I might stand in comfort with my heels resting 
firmly on the floor. 

"You can respond a lot better this way, sweetness," he assured me. "I want 
you to go through every contortion you can think of or can desire while I'm 
whipping you. Do you understand?" 

I told him, yes, I understood. But it was a lie, I did not understand at 
all. All I understood fear, pure stark, horrible fear! 

"The riding crop across your bottom and the whip for your back, my 
precious." The words were tender and alive with love. Ryan kissed the nape 
of my neck and I tried hard to drag my hands down to give him the tenderness 
of a touch but they would not come down, they were held above my head with 
the handcuffs biting unkindly at my wrists. From some distance I heard my 
voice saying weakly, "Must you ... oh, please...! " 

"I'm afraid I must, you silly girl." 

The first cut of the crop followed instantly. I was unprepared and the 
unexpected agony moved me to lift myself from the floor by my ironed wrists 
in a frustrated need to make clear to Ryan the absolute impossibility of a 
girl sustaining such agony. As though in reply to my unacceptable reply, he 
struck me a second time. Now it was the whip biting squarely across the 
center of my back to drive me once more berserk and leave me dragging at my 
tether and facing my master in disbelief in such cruelty and saying over and 
over, "No ... no ... no...! Oh, Ryan, don't hit me any more." 

He was very wise, he allowed me to pant my way back to some sort of 
rationale in which I made the mental adjustment of knowing I would be 
whipped and the need of coping with it without undue shame. I wanted so 
badly to make a good showing in Ryan's eyes that when, after a long pause, 
he slashed number three close beside number one, exerting every ounce of 
will I had, I confined my protests to kicking feet and eloquent gasps. From 
then on understanding each other, Ryan Norton whipped Jill Palmer with 
studied care until I realized we were progressing in the middle of a road of 
anguish neither too severe nor too lenient. In the midst of agony I knew I 
would survive. 

I got twenty strokes, ten on my bottom, ten on my back. When they were done 
I was sweating and my breasts heaving with the palpations of pain and there 
terrible apprehension of not knowing when it would be over. I was a properly 
punished delinquent who would think twice before stealing another watch. 

"There you are, my pet. Congratulations, you did remarkably well. He laughed 
at the sad spectacle I must have made. "You're nicely positioned, how about 
ten more?" 

"No! Oh, no! Oh, Ryan, please ... Not any more." 

There were no more. The rope came down, my handcuffs were unhooked from it, 
I was lifted and carried to our bed. What took place then was of a splendor 
for which I have no words. It wedded me to Ryan Norton forever. 

Females are carnal and that's why once awaken from pubescent modesty, we are 
insatiable. The male strength and the male rod subduing us not creatures 
filled with longing, a desperate desire that what had just been done to me 
could go on forever without end. My whipped skin rejoiced upon the sheet to 
tell me without shame I would long to be whipped and whipped once more, 
whipped and ravished I was fulfilled. 

I suppose my escapade with the watch and the resultant punishment should 
have made a division in our lives. But, if one was there, I was not aware of 
it. I went to work the following day and my sex was wet the whole time in 
speculation as to what my fellow workers would say if they could behold the 
weals upon my flesh. I longed cry aloud the glory of my love, to display 
myself shamelessly in nudity. Instead, I sat sedately at my desk and dealt 
with clerical matters of no import. Sometimes I shifted in my chair and 
pulled free the garment sticking to my skin to wonder if those who watched 
might understand. But no on watched. I alone had Ryan Norton and he was 
mine! 

We didn't mention my whipping. There was a sort of clean decency about 
avoiding the topic. It was done and we knew why it was done. It was up to me 
to make sure it didn't happen a second time. That sounds so simply now I 
could laugh. 

We were not hermits, Ryan often took me out to dine, but since my punishment 
a fresh authority raised its painful head and I must cope with it. Fresh 
from the bath on the night when we would dine out I was obliged to clasp my 
hands behind my neck, to stand erect while Ryan draw a wire around the 
narrowness of my waist and pulled it tight to noose my middle with an unkind 
band his pliers made secure so that even in the privacy of the ladies rest 
room it could defeat my efforts to remove. 

"Keep you on your toes, sweetheart, tell you always what you are." 

"Yes, Master." I was trying to feel beneath the indentation in my flesh but 
could not. "It's terribly tight, I think it's going to hurt." 

"Excellent reasoning, my pet, absolutely right. But it's not hurting too bad 
right now, is it?" 

I admitted to it being presently bearably and put on my clothes. At the very 
best the band of wire would extract from me the most shameful and wanton 
walk imaginable. When I stepped out my hips swayed back and forth to do 
credit to a cocktail waitress seeking business after hours. Between tears 
and laughter I strove for mercy. "Master, you'll be ashamed of me, I can't 
possibly walk except like a whore." 

"Nothing wrong with a good whore, sweetheart." 

"But I'll be scared to eat!" 

"Your figure wins either way, my pet. While we dine you can think how 
glorious it will be when I take it off." Pathetically, I asked, "Couldn't 
you take it off now, Ryan." 

"I could, but I won't." 

It was like being whipped, I handled it. There were moments I felt myself 
smiling over my predicament and wondered how many women around the room were 
similarly punished. I remembered stories about the old days when women were 
indeed punished with severe corsets of whalebone and steel. I remember 
reading of a girl's school where severe corsets were a recognized method of 
reprimand for bad behavior. I ate and drank determined to endure whatever 
suffering ensued. Ryan watched me from across the table with intent 
interest. I knew he could discern in my face every twinge and every bit of 
the thing he had cinched around my waist. Laughingly I said, "Ryan, you're 
impossible. You're enjoying every moment of this. You can tell I'm in agony 
and you're enjoying it." 

"Go to the rest room, my pet, see if you can take it off." 

I did exactly that but wished I hadn't. I had to do a lot of fumbling to 
reach the wire but only to discover it so deeply embedded within my waist 
that I could not touch it. And, anyway, what could I do without tools? I 
walked with my outrageous hip motion back to the table. The brandies after 
only helped a little and I shed a few tears. 

The wire band was only one of many delights. Ryan came home one evening to 
announce a purchase of some beastly little metal clips with which to ensnare 
my nipples beneath my bra. They were cleverly made in order for this to be 
possible but when I obediently stood with raised arms to accept this cute 
male notion and the hateful little things were attached to both my nipples I 
could not contain myself. "Take them off! Oh, Ryan, get them off me quick! 
If you leave them on I'll lose my nipples. Pleaseeeee?" 

Ryan picked up his opportunity. "But, sweetheart, the Code says I can whip 
you for such vehement protest. Are they really that bad?" 

"Yes, they're awful! Take them off! You can whip me when we get home." 

Ryan carefully rearranged my bra. The burning beetles beneath changed no 
contour of my breasts, no one would know their presence or what they did to 
me. My arm in Ryan's as we entered the restaurant, I met the waiter's 
welcoming smile as though my breasts were without agony. I was getting good 
at bearing pain and showing no sign. Only Ryan would know! All through the 
soup my eyes constantly locked with those of my master to reprove him with 
my anguish. But he smiled and passed the salt and the pepper and the crusty 
buns as though no beetles bit my breasts at all. The whole thing was so 
outrageous I sometimes shared his smile and even chuckled when he told a 
joke. In such ways are girls made into slaves. I adored him! 

On the evenings when we stayed at home, it amused my master to attach me to 
one of the rings we had so amusingly installed around the place. There was 
so many it was easily possible for him to compel me to sit or stand or lay 
against the rug. It became a matter of intent to Ryan to secure me by a very 
minimum restraint. Handcuffs were obvious, they made me stay in the selected 
spot, without discomfort but also without hope of freedom. One cuff around 
my wrist and the other locked within the ring. It was infuriation and 
frustration but if he didn't leave me in the one spot too long, it was also 
amusing. Especially in as much as I never knew what came next. I was in a 
constant state of disbelief that I could be made so helpless by so little. 

From the handcuffs Ryan graduated me to thumbcuffs which he discovered when 
rooting around one of those places that sells such things. Thumbcuffs are 
neat, small devices which treat the thumbs as handcuffs do the wrists. I 
never cared much for them, they seemed a bit of gadgetry. But with one of 
them locked to the ring and then to one of my thumbs, I stood or sat or 
lounged according to my master's will and in so doing discovered a fresh 
subtlety. These restraints were very much a part of Ryan, a part of himself 
he imposed upon me and which I must obey. As I disposed my nakedness in 
whatever posture chosen, I could never quite believe it was happening but 
could always bring home its reality by a swift motion in any direction. When 
I did this, the angry pain on thumb or wrist was like a part of my master on 
a part of me, a male hand from which I could not escape. 

In Ryan's seeking for the tiniest denominator, he considered my nipples but 
after a review of possibilities he rejected the idea. Ryan adored breasts 
and was reluctant to change their contours. An unbreakable threat knotted 
around my nipple offended him as much as it hurt me. With Ryan there were 
always compensations. 

A thing I disliked intensely but which made me as helpless any costly 
restraint was a piece of wire and a pair of pliers. The first time he did it 
to me I watched with interest his looping of the ring, the couple twists of 
the wire until his bland request to place my thumb within the snare thus 
made brought be back to the facts of life. "Ryan, darling, not wire! Wire 
hurts." 

"Trust me, sweetheart, when you start screaming, I'll stop right there." 

Needless to say, I did not scream. I was always fascinated by the things he 
did to me and even though I disliked the wire I watched it carefully looped 
around my thumb below the knuckle. The pliers were deftly used to create a 
perfect circle before they bit the ends to twist them into what was, as far 
as I was concerned, a lock. He then snipped the ends off short to leave me 
gazing in dismay at a neat and tidy bond my fingers could not fight. Of all 
the devices Ryan used to wed me to a ring, this was the most humiliating. 

He loved to tease. A favorite trick was to fasten my by thumb or wrist, 
usually the twisted wire, adjacent to the chair in which he watched 
television. I watched too, but in one of the commercials he would casually 
ask me to fix us drinks. I, forgetting my attachment, would leap to obey and 
almost loose my thumb. Sometimes I was so mad I cried but was always 
comforted by protective male arms and ended up sharing Ryan's chuckle while 
he mixed the drinks I could not reach. Mostly these situations left me 
sexually aroused. 

There can be no doubt that much of the enchantment of my relationship with 
Ryan arouse from my office situation each day. I left slavery each morning 
to return to it at five pm. I often wondered if anything was discernible to 
my co-workers at the office, if any of the tingling anticipations were 
evident upon my features. It was as though my situation with Sherwood, Inc. 
regenerated my spirit throughout the working day to return me each evening 
to a man possessing the magic by which I was transformed into a slave. 

It was during one of our adventures in good dining, me with beetles beneath 
my bra, that Ryan introduced me to Janice Webb. 

 2 - Submission 

I have always thought of a girl with red hair and green eyes as a witch but 
Janice Webb's came closer to auburn, which left me uncertain. Anyway you 
looked, Janice was a beauty and she knew she was a beauty. Yet, for some 
reason I could not yet discern she adopted a bantering tone of depreciating 
frankness which probably hurt either herself or the one to whom she spoke. 
When Ryan introduced us, she looked me up and down with deliberate 
insolence. 

"I suppose this handsome bastard keeps you chained up and whips you daily, 
darling?" Then, without waiting for my answer, "Mind if i join you?" 

The waiter rearranged us. The way waiters did things for Ryan Norton told me 
he must have Money. He said to me, "You have to take Janice with a grain of 
salt, sweetheart." 

"And take you with a grain of arsenic, my love," Janice Webb shot at him. 
Then, to me, "Where did he capture you, Miss Palmer?" 

She was a bit of a shock, like finding myself knee deep in family 
recrimination. I wondered if I could get away with playing the haughty Miss 
as though her references were meaningless but discarded the idea, it would 
be better to try and keep one jump ahead. "I'd rather you told me where he 
captured you, Miss Webb," I said with all the false sweetness I could 
muster. 

"Shut up, both of you," Ryan said without heat. "Janice, if you're going to 
sit with us, you can damn well behave yourself. I'll to the briefing." 

Janice kept silent. This told me she was still in love with Ryan. I was 
afire with jealousy. My master's even voice made his female audience mute. 
"I picked Janice up at a cocktail party, not so much different from the way 
I did you, Jill." His eyes flickered back and forth between the red hair and 
the dark brown. "She stayed my slave a couple of years before deciding I as 
unworthy of her submission, then she rented her own apartment and left my 
life. That's about it." 

"That's about half true," Janice confided to me in another burst of candor. 
"Actually it was he who kicked me out. Said I irritated him to death and I'm 
sure I did! It's probably the color of my hair." 

I should have felt de trop in the trio but I didn't. Janice did! Her next 
question was aimed to bring me down to size. ' 'Darling, I'll willing to bet 
anything you're in some sort of pain. What has the miserable twit fastened 
on you to give your eyes that far-away look?" Her own lit-up to observe my 
wince and the involuntary motion of my hand towards my puss where a couple 
of those lousy beetles were busy gnawing at its lips. She grinned. "Ahhhh, I 
thought so! No, don't tell me, I don't want to know, I was simply curious." 

"Curious enough to get your ass whipped," Ryan asked with deadly calm. 

Janice shrugged. "Sure, if you like. I haven't been marked since I last saw 
you. This evening okay?" 

"You can come home with us. I want Jill to see what a real one's like." 

"You'll be brutal, eh? Well, I asked for it." 

I sat through this exchanged uncertain whether to be entertained or jealous. 
But I suppose I would be jealous so long as Janice was in any room 
containing my master. But I was being silly. Janice had possessed him and 
lost him. Why should I not enjoy the spectacle of a girl getting something 
which lay in wait for me! I told the cat in me to shut up and go to sleep. 

Janice ignored The Male to give me the full confidence. "I suppose you 
dissolve into little bits beneath him in the bed? He always had that effect 
on me. It's a shame these women's Libbers don't understand what makes a girl 
tick. We're ashamed of it, of course, but we would go to the ends of the 
earth for a man who does what this son of a bitch does to a girl." Her eyes 
met mine in a fixed stare. "Isn't that so, darling?" 

"Don't pay too much attention to her, Jill, she's fishing. She wants to come 
back." I detected irritation in my master's voice. His words had hurt, I 
could tell. Janice sat still, digesting them, then rose. "You rotten 
bastard!" she flung across the table. "Keep your love, maybe you'll need it 
sometime! She turned with a flourish to march towards the door. 

I watched her go, genuinely disturbed. She had done nothing to deserve the 
unhappiness I knew she felt. I was about to turn an angry face to Ryan when 
a small miracle took place. Janice Webb was near the exit when she stopped 
dead and, without pause, turned around to stride back to our table and 
resume her seat, to meet our eyes defiantly and infuse her voice with 
bravado. "Sorry, I forgot. I have to be whipped, don't I?" She bestowed what 
I later came to call her auburn-haired smiled. "I won't renege. Now, let's 
talk about something else." 

I didn't talk about anything else, I was too new about all this to feel 
anything but embarrassment as Ryan and Janice, always in her flippant mood, 
recalled what they called "slavery." Janice had gained a sort of ascendancy 
and I wondered if her return to be whipped was anything more than a cunning 
ploy. Any girl desiring a man would take a whipping to get him. 

I almost forgot the pain within my crotch as I listened to the two of them 
talk, recalling an old captivity and its tribulations. I noticed Ryan tread 
hard on references to Janice's more exotic punishments. He didn't want me to 
know. I could not tell if he were pleased to have her company or only being 
polite. Janice was enraptured. 

The angrier I got, the more the beetles bit at my pussy lips below. I could 
swear they were laughing and feeding busily on my secretions. Janice was 
busy offering herself for any agony that would amuse the Master. She didn't 
do it blatantly but by subtle hints to anything Ryan said. I wished she 
would go away but that was not going to happen. I reconciled myself to 
playing voyeur for the evening, at that I could not have been more wrong. 

I knew Ryan enjoyed his grand exit accompanied by a pair of beauties for 
which other men envied his nonchalance of possession. It was not conceit but 
simply his own conviction in the rightness of the thing. In my master's 
eyes, woman was desired to pay homage to The Male. 

It was just that simple! 

It was not until Ryan unlocked our apartment door I realized a hurdle I had 
to cross. Janice had served her sentence and was thus exempt. True, she had 
returned with us to be whipped but apart from that isolated incident she was 
a guest. I was not! I paused in doubt over doing something I mostly adored 
but which, with Janice present, was something I longed to avoid. But I had 
caught Ryan's eyes and he knew that I was well aware of the unbroken ritual 
of my submission. He had the decency to give me a brief nod of approval 
before taking Janice out of sight. I quickly stripped naked to stand in my 
corner and face the wall. 

I had never been so burned up with shame and embarrassment. No doubt Janice 
had done this herself before my enslavement but that would not stop her 
scoring points. I knew myself in for a series of outrageous blushes and even 
felt one starting then when I was alone. 

I knew that corner in the wall like the back of my hand, I'd stared at it 
enough and wondered how long Ryan would make me stand her now. I knew he was 
forever testing my tolerance for the bizarre things he imposed and which I 
enacted with some amusement. My next dilemma was the biting beetles on the 
most tender part of me down below. They never let up but hurt me with a 
steady persistence not amount of shame would allay. I wondered if I dared 
take them off on the basis they were in the same category as clothes. But I 
was certain that would not met with approval. Miserably, I wondered if I 
would gain virtue in Ryan's eyes by leaving them where they were. I fought 
to keep my hands from the junction of my thighs, and got a wry amusement 
from the fact Ryan had forgotten to handcuff me or to give the handcuffs to 
me that I might do the job myself. He often does that then examines the 
steel circlets to make sure I had put them tight enough. Anyway, there I 
was, staring at that damned wall and listening to the cheerful chatter in 
the lounge. I could well imagine his majesty sitting in state while Janice 
served the drinks. I might easily have to stay like this for an hour. But 
with all my inward turmoil and the pain in my puss, I did not dare to break 
the pose, it was something so deeply-ingrained as something I could not 
escape come hell or high water. I settled to wait and after a while the 
chatter became muted and I sensed something in progress. If Ryan was inside 
her pants, I'd kill them both! 

I sensed being watched for signs of rebellion before Ryan's cheerful 
command, "Okay, sweetheart, you can turn around now. Come along we need an 
audience." 

If she had not been a competitor I would have conceded Janice the most 
beautiful female body I'd ever seen. Ryan had her half suspended, her wrists 
crossed and bound and then raised above her head enough to make her stand 
right there but not enough to make her inhibit motions, and the damned girl 
must have taken lessons because she sure knew how to pose. I wondered if 
Ryan had stripped her or if she had undressed at his command. Either way, 
she had arranged herself in an absolutely stunning posture. Viciously I 
wondered how long she'd hold it when the whip bit her back. 

"Oh, there you are darling," she said gaily, "I'd wondered what had happened 
to you. Doing the naughty girl bit with your face to the wall?" 

I wanted to say something catty but it wouldn't come. After all the poor 
girl was about to come into the whipping of her life and it was no time to 
bear malice. I ignored he query and addressed Ryan directly, "Do you wish me 
to continue to wear ... well, you know what? And where." 

"Damn, I meant to tell you to take them off," his grin was almost apologetic 
but not quite. "Since they're still on, you may as well wear them." He can 
be a real SOB when he feels like it. He hadn't forgotten, he was just making 
me feel bad about maybe suffering them unnecessarily. But I knew for sure I 
would have be punished if they had not been left in place. I said a brief, 
sarcastic, "Thank you." 

Our master now held handcuffs. He clipped one circle above the elbow of 
Janice's bare, raised arm then turned to me. I knew what to do, I always 
know what to do with Ryan, even without words. I knew he'd want my right 
hand so that's the one I raised and placed within the open jaws so obviously 
waiting. My master snapped them tight shut upon my wrist to say in a most 
sincere admiration, "What a couple you make! I'm not sure I've seen anything 
more beautiful anywhere. Just a moment, I'll get the camera." 

I hastily raised sulky lips, hostile eyes. Chained as I was I had more 
freedom than Janice and Ryan used this freedom to pose us both to what he 
thought was the best advantage. I figured we'd come out looking like a pair 
of lesbians. But what did it matter! Janice and I were captured on film a 
dozen times before Ryan put the camera away and fetched the whip. I felt 
Janice tense and did the same. We were both shockingly bare and it was a 
wicked-looking snake-like instrument a girl could feel just by looking. 
Janice was never short of bravado. 

"A ringside seat, darling, aren't you the lucky girl! Watch out you don't 
get bitten by the tip." 

We locked eyes standing so close, each girl seeking the secrets of the other 
while one of us awaited the first marking of her skin. When it came Janice 
distended her eyes and gasped in a sort of soundless disbelief. But, in 
typical bravado, held her pose, her eyes on mine becoming insolent with 
challenge to tell me I could never bear the whip as well as she. 

Along with all my other emotions I was afraid. This girl was being whipped 
with a terrible severity. Instinctively I shrank from the whining thong to 
stand in front and facing the punished nudity to which I was attached. My 
own whip marks, which had never been wounds, had faded away but the marks 
now being imprinted on Janice's back and across her hips would stay with her 
a long, long time. I couldn't not see them yet but caught horrified glimpses 
of a curling lash biting her armpit or stealing around her waist. I was sure 
I could never bear it with her stoicism. Little by little and stroke by 
stroke, her lovely pose dissolved. Her breasts heaved now with every stroke 
to accompany the gasping moans she could not contain. When her eyes caught 
mine now they were apologetic and, as blow followed awful blow, Janice Webb 
progressed towards her first terrible scream which told Ryan and I of her 
submission to his authority. Miss Janice Webb had had enough! 

I shared everything, I had to! I could no move away nor hide my eyes knowing 
the whipped girl's need, I moved the short distance up and, from beneath my 
own raised arm, beheld the work of The Master. Janice was exquisitely and 
wickedly marked from thighs to above her shoulders, no single stroke had 
strayed upon her breasts or heaving belly. There was no real amount of 
blood, only a trifling touch where the snapping tip had bisected an already 
vivid mark. Her entire body glistened with sweat, her female scent invaded 
us wave after wave to make our nostril flare and heat us with desire. 

Janice was allowed to stand. It was then I heard the fateful words I feared. 
"How about you, Jill, it's not a one-way street, you know?" 

What the hell could I do! Ryan had seen one of his favorite moments to make 
a test. Suddenly trembling I managed to say, "As you wish, Master. How do 
you want me positioned?" 

Ryan laughed and tossed the whip aside. I had never felt more grateful in my 
life. To have been whipped while chained to this vivid and vital creature 
would have been shame indeed! I stood in mute thankfulness as Ryan used the 
tiny key to give back my arm. 

That was my first encounter with Miss Janice Webb. 

As though my mutual consent we spoke no word of the girl who had come to 
Ryan to be whipped and who had left that evening with her smile of bravado 
on her lips. Between us two woman there had passed a message that we would 
meet again but I knew it would have to be by her conniving, it would not be 
my mine. I dismissed her from my thoughts as best I could, it was not easy! 

The following day Ryan told me that any girl sustaining a session with 
Janice deserved a good dinner. We would dine at one of our favorite places, 
the most expensive one! As usual there would be a small embarrassment.... 

That evening, when I was rescued from my shameful corner, it was to be 
bathed by my master, an act which gave him endless pleasure, and then to 
have small bells suspended above my knees and within the beginning of my 
thighs by a couple of those plastic bands which lock themselves and must be 
cut away to be removed. I was then told to walk around our bedroom. 

"But, Master, I can't, I simply can't." I was feeling the onset of a blush 
when only half way around the circuit. "The noise they make ... everyone 
will know...! " 

"That's up to you, sweetheart. You don't have to run, you know. I want you 
to practice walking with gracious dignity as you will when you hold my arm. 
Go ahead, you don't have to blush, I'm the only bastard present." 

I could not rid myself of the pretty silver bells, they would stay above my 
knees until Ryan chose to use a knife. I had no knife and he would make sure 
I did not get one. Cautiously I resumed my outrageous circling of the room 
and did a lot better than before. I was handcuffed as usual and held my 
joined hands high against my breasts. 

"You see, sweetheart, all you have to do is try. Come on now, I don't want 
you sounding like a church on Sunday any more than you do. If you embarrass 
me with those little things you'll also pay for it." 

Those bells were the damnedest things, I constantly wanted to giggled and I 
kept having visions of the dinning room wondering where the chimes were 
kept. But I knew I was stuck with them so I really worked at control to 
discover my real problem was their occasional contact with each other, a 
contact I could avoid by widening the distance between my thighs. Thank 
heavens the damned things would keep quiet when I sat down! 

During these excursions out to dine I had to wear clothes. It pleased my 
master to insure they were expensive clothes and most cunningly augmented by 
what he laughingly referred to as "custom jewelry." The first of these was a 
collar which might well be solid silver and have a lock I could never find. 
The wristlets were also of silver which mocked my seeking fingers and 
possessed a truly embarrassing feature of a length of silver chain which 
Ryan could impose or remove at will. Behold me then, proud upon his arm, my 
neck encircled by what was most obviously not a conventional choker. My 
wrists glimmering and there was the muted response of small bells beneath my 
skirt if I took too fast a step. At our table, secured from the hoi polloi, 
out came the little length of chain to which I must submit with a stern 
admonition not to hide them beneath the table but to keep them where our 
waiter would have no doubt as to me condition. Failure would bring penalties 
when we got home. 

There were always penalties to leave me erotically excited. Most were 
bearable and even those which were not left me, after they were over, with 
an absurd sense of well-being and a sense of victory in getting them over 
and done with even though I may have screamed while it was happening. Once 
more you will ask why I endured these shameful inflictions and once more I 
can only tell you of the heat behind my sex and my infatuation with this 
handsome monster I still adored. His ingenuities were endless. 

"You've been getting away scot free to the office." Ryan paused to watch me 
tense. "What you say we give the staff a treat?" 

The "treat" was the most outrageous bra I had ever seen, shinning cones of 
metal controlled by a chain. Needless to say there was a padlock! When it 
was fastened around my bust I knew I would inevitably be the cynosure of 
every eye, male and female both. Once more I was hot and red and certain I 
could not go through with it even though I found an erotic beauty in this 
armoring of my breasts. I heard my own protests without optimize. "Ryan, I 
can't, I simply can't, I'll be fired for sure." 

"Yes, you can, darling. They'll think you've been hiding your best charms up 
to now." 

"The girls will know there's something wrong, they will sneer." 

"So what! You'll still be the most beautiful female in the place." 

Lingeringly I fingered the most beautiful breasts in North America. Ryan had 
them on my truly tight, the tiny chains biting and indenting themselves 
within the softness of my flesh. After a while they would hurt! 

"But, Ryan, how do I get them off?" 

"You don't, sweetheart. There's one key and I hold it." 

I knew myself lost but was genuinely perturbed. "Ryan, how can I possibly go 
to the office like this, even if they are covered by my dress? Look, 
darling, put them on me when we're out for an evening. Don't send me out for 
everyone to stare at and snicker." 

"Stop complaining, sweetheart, you know you adore them. Any more beefs and 
I'll evoke penalties." 

I stamped a bare foot and tried to insert a finger beneath the metal edge of 
the bra. "Oh, damn you and your penalties," I wailed in real distress. 
"Ryan, darling, you're not using any judgment. Please don't make me ashamed 
of myself." 

"Would a whipping change your mind, sweetheart?" 

"No, it wouldn't! I'd sooner be whipped than go to the office like this." 

"But you do know you'll go, don't you?" 

I knew! I would go and bear the shame and make such excuses as I must. 
Ryan's threat of the whip was always potent in helping me make up my mind. 
As though needing reassurance, I asked, "If I do wear these terrible things, 
I won't get whipped...? " 

"Hmmmm ... you're bargaining, my pet. You know that's not allowed. No, I 
won't whip you this evening. There's something else and I won't tell you 
about it. Think about it while you sit in splendor." 

That was how I made my acquaint with caned hands. 

I lied, I blushed all sorts of nonsense but finally settled on the lie of 
having been persuaded to try something entirely new. Some accepted, some did 
not. I did my day's work in company with the two most outrageous breasts in 
all the USA. At five I fled for home but even there was forced to wear them 
as I stood in the familiar corner, surveying the wall. I could not get them 
off, they were a part of me, still tight locked over my own breasts when 
Ryan told me I could turn around and help him with dinner, refusing my pleas 
to unlock my metal bra and telling me to wear it in pride. I did so, I had 
to! When I felt below, I was wet! 

Had I created the impression that Ryan was remote, cold, concerned only with 
my subjugation? If I have, that is way, way wrong! In all these awful or 
amusing things he did to me, his hands or enfolding arms were never far 
away. He hurt be bitterly one moment then took me into ecstasy the next. I 
came to expect being hurt but still being loved. And loving in return. The 
loving was the important thing between us. All of these punishments I tell 
you of were most assuredly coincidental to evoke my yelps, my struggles and 
contortions only for moments or minutes. Ryan Norton never hung me up by my 
thumbs all night. He often laughingly referred to it but it was something he 
never did. I knew I was always being tested and found wanting, I came to 
love the role. 

On the night of the metal bra, we dined, did the dishes and then sipped our 
brandy as always. There was only the smallest of differences, it was the 
long, narrow expensive looking case which, when my master opened it, 
revealed the most shocking collection of riding crops, canes and straps to 
make any girl cringe and think of fleeing home to mother. I did all those 
things and added, "Oh, Ryan, don't use those awful things on me! I do try to 
please..." 

"Indeed you do, sweetheart, and these little things in here are one of the 
ways in which you will undoubtedly please me very much. Were those pretty 
little hands of yours ever caned in school?" 

"Of course not! You're thinking of Queen Victoria." 

He shrugged the thought away. "Actually, I'm thinking of you. I'm going to 
cane your hands." 

Imagine how I felt! I was half expecting some sort of punishment because of 
all the protests I had made over the bra which, incidentally, I still wore. 
But this was something new and once again the heat started to generate 
within my belly and I made the fatal error of being interested. "Ryan, 
darling, you mean you'd actually whip my poor little hand with one of those 
beastly canes in there?" 

"Yes, don't sound so unhappy." 

"But that could hurt terribly! I mean, you're not thinking of kid's stuff 
are you? You're going to use that long, thin yellow thing and all the 
strength of a man's arm. Ryan, have mercy, I don't want to loose my hands." 

"You're jumping the gun, sweetheart. Sit and sip a while and we'll talk of 
this and that and allow the caning of you hands to sort of simmer and sink 
into the background." 

My beloved eyed me in a friendly manner and suggested more brandies. 
Thankfully I complied. I was only handcuffed and thus relatively free. Both 
of us had long since ceased to regard the handcuffs on my wrists as true 
bondage, I was too adept and no longer irritated by them. I served the 
drinks and wondered if I could talk long enough and entertainingly enough to 
avoid this modern version of reviving an ancient punishment for young 
ladies. 

I worked hard as Scheherazade must have done with her caliph. And there was 
certainly one blessing about Ryan, he could certainly talk. But inevitably 
we came to that awful pause, that awful moment in which we both knew the 
action would begin. 

"Should we get it over with, sweetheart?" 

"Must you really do it to me, Ryan? I'll be honest, I'm frightened." 

"Indubitably I must." 

"Am I suitably attired, I mean, do you want something Victorian?" 

"I don't have anything Victorian, sweetheart. We will do the best with what 
we've got. Please select something from the case." 

There is was, extracting from me every possible sensation my libido might 
provide. I knew I should no argue more, and looked down into the case and 
selected the long, yellow horror I knew he wanted. "I've never done this 
before," I said as I handed him the beastly thing. "I'm afraid my education 
was neglected, you'll have to tell me what to do." 

"A pleasure, dear child, come let me unlock those handcuffs." 

I hardly ever lost my handcuffs, except for going to work, without 
trepidation, loosing them meant I was going to be hurt. I held them out for 
my master's attention while I tried to think of words to divert his purpose. 
None came, but the handcuffs fell away to leave me free, an illusive freedom 
in which I asked, "Thank you, Master. What must I do?" 

My heart was thudding like crazy. 

My master took the cane and flexed its yellow venom back and forth between 
his hands. I wondered about the people who grew these yellow canes and sold 
them Singapore, did they know their end purpose! Did they know they would 
cut the hands of girls? White girls ready to shed their tears? 

"I think it best you kneel, dear girl," my master said thoughtfully. "If you 
stand, the range will be all wrong." 

I knelt, feeling frightened, submissive and my usual adoration of this 
magnificent creature who took the trouble to possess me and mold me to his 
wish. Imprudently, I ventured, "Please don't hurt me more than I can bear, 
Master. I'm scared." 

"That will earn you one more stroke, you gorgeous innocent." 

"Do I hold out my hand ... or something?" 

"Yes, extent your arm, open the palm of your hand to make it taut. I want 
you to look sideways at that hand while it received what I am about to 
give." 

I extended my arm. I looked at the tautness of my palm, assured of male 
approval. When the cane beat downward, my world was shattered into a 
thousand pieces. With a cry of utmost agony I clasped my scorched and 
burning hand beneath its opposite armpit and leaned forward, destroying my 
master's careful pose, to find what little comfort there was to find. It 
took all my will power to avoid rolling and screaming on the floor. 

Ryan told me afterwards I made an exquisite picture of agony there as I lay 
upon the rug, nursing my injured hand. But at that moment I cared for 
nothing except the pain, and the pain was terrible. I heard my master's 
voice say gently, "And now your other arm, sweetheart?" It as too much, more 
than I could stand. I burst into tears for which I had only one uninjured 
hand to deal. I dabbed at my eyes and cheeks and delivered myself to the 
sounds of grief. 

After the few moments in which my master regarded me with that intent 
curiosity he employs at such moments, he raised me to my feet, clasped me 
tight in the ardent hold only lovers know and kissed me hungrily. He 
patiently held me close and used one free hand to smooth my hair, to caress 
the nape of my neck, to friction the damp smoothness of my punished skin. 
After a time, which for me was all too short, he suggested quietly, "And now 
your other arm, my dear?" 

like I said, I am in love with him. I straightened up upon my knees and 
dutifully extended my other arm for punishment. When it came 

I did what I should have done at first, I roiled in agony upon the rug, a 
wounded palm clutched tight within each damp armpit and tried to moan myself 
into an oblivion which would not come. This time my tears flowed without 
attention until they dried from some shortage at their source but not from 
tender fingers or the attention of a male handkerchief. For a long time Miss 
Jill Palmer was a pained piece of female without reason. 

It went on a long time. I cared for nothing except the pain, keeping my eyes 
closed to the world. Beside me a man stood with his cane but said no word. I 
knew he would return with my word soon enough. When he did, his voice held 
tribute. 

"And now the first hand again, you brave child." 

"I can't bear them. Master, but how many?" 

"One more on each hand." 

I held out my right arm and hand for the second time. 

My hands were numb for several days thereafter, it was my first glimpse of 
true punishment, telling me laughingly the whipping of my back had been 
child's play, an introduction to the art of punishment. It told me something 
else too, that girls were made to be punished. It came as natural a function 
for us as the bearing of children and not unrelated. But the agony of my 
hands changed nothing between my master and myself, I still adored him and 
he was more loving then ever. His thrusts within me through the night more 
potent than before. I was utterly and totally his. 

Ryan's next test of my tolerance was a public place. Not far from the 
apartment was a modest park, not large, not much used but heavily treed. We 
walked there together one evening in the twilight, me with permission to 
hide my joined hand if I so desired. On arrival we circled the small acreage 
to be confronted only with old men and old ladies walking dogs. None entered 
the trees, it was that time of failing light when the trees held promise of 
dark and convert acts. When we entered them, I needed the firm hold of my 
master on my arm. 

When we reached the place Ryan must have previously have chosen, it was dark 
indeed. We saw each other only a shadows and I beheld the selected tree with 
misgivings. 

"Off with your clothes, sweetheart, you know the drill." 

Undressing in an apartment was one thing, stripping myself in a public place 
was something else. But I did it without demure, I had promised myself I 
would do whatever Ryan wished, I was as ashamed of pleadings as he was tired 
of them. I took off my clothes and shoes and stood there, bare, to await 
instruction. 

Ryan unlocked the handcuffs from my wrists. "Back up against the tree, 
sweetheart, the small one. Put yodr hands behind the trunk." 

I knew it had been coming. My bare back felt the rough texture of the bark. 
I put my hands behind the slender trunk, knowing how I would spend the 
night. Ryan clasped the padlocks back upon my wrists, "You can sit down if 
you wish, dear girl, nothing to stop you. You can lean back against the 
trunk and sleep." 

No suggestion could have sounded more absurd, I was as far from sleep as a 
girl could get. I was alert and frightened and the darkness held a hundred 
eyes. I twisted against my handcuffed hands in the full knowledge of lost 
freedom. Determined not to plead I still managed, "Oh, Ryan! Ryan...? Oh, 
pleaseeeee..." 

Ryan Norton kissed me and left me alone. 

From the moment of entering the park I had guessed my fate. And that fate 
was so terrible that he heated my sex, making it moist although I could not 
touch it, my hands were secure behind the trunk, the familiar bit of cuffs 
upon each wrist. For Miss Jill Palmer this was square one in an entirely new 
adventure, and adventure I wished my master had not devised. I wondered if 
he realized the predators inherent in any park and what they might do to me! 
I set such thoughts aside, if I allowed them to accumulate I would panic and 
become hysterical and the only results of that would be chafed wrists and a 
fresh and terrible fear. I settled down to wait for morning, after a while I 
would lower myself to the ground and hope for sleep. 

It was a lousy feeling ... or was it! I was fastened naked to a tree in a 
public place, no friend was near. The hours of the night were still ahead 
and my master would think of me often through them as he awoke from sleep. 
It seemed unlikely I would sleep much at all. As usual I must test the 
quality of my imprisonment. I tugged and twisted at the familiar handcuffs 
and decided it was a waste of time. And what girl wanted chafed and red 
wrists, anyway! I well understood the subtle impotence of my master leaving 
me here like this, feet free, no ropes around my belly, no collar on my 
neck, just my hands behind the trunk! I wanted to jump up and down and 
scream, but it was not practical. I could not jump up an down, no way. And 
if I screamed, goodness knows what attention I might attract! A naked girl 
has to be extremely cautious in a public place. 

My nemesis took long enough to come. Premonition had warned me he would be 
certain to arrive. He was about my own age, decently dressed and without 
long hair. There was not much light but the eyes adjust and in the darkness 
of the night we assessed each other. I was sure it was a purely sexual 
assessment. 

"I saw the two of you come in here," my potential rapist said. "Then when 
that chap came out alone I was pretty sure I'd find something. Do you do 
this often?" 

"I'm afraid not, this is my first time. My name's Jill Palmer. How do you 
do?" 

"My name's Henry. I'm a pervert." 

There is nothing more disconcerting than honesty. I looked at Henry the 
pervert and all I could think to say was "I'm pleased to meet you. We're all 
perverts in one way or another." 

"No we aren't," said Henry. "I'm going to fuck you." 

I had taken that for granted from the first. I mean, what else! What do men 
do with naked girls? Certainly they don't fill out forms and ask silly 
questions. If rape was all Henry had in mind I was indeed a lucky girl. 
Striving for the correct tone, I inquired, "How nice. Do you find many girls 
among these trees to rape?" 

"It isn't rape, you know." Henry sounded earnestly concerned. "No, I ain't 
had that much luck. You're the first." Anxiously he added, "I hope you don't 
mind." 

A man this innocent had to be a kook. It behooved caution. 

"Of course I don't mind," I assured him. "I'll bet you're wonderful in bed." 

"We ain't got no bed," said Henry. "I'm going to do it to you standing up." 
Then, as though I might not understand he added, "It's what they call a knee 
trembler." 

"And you're good at those?" 

"Just know about it, ain't never had the chance before. I'm glad that guy 
fixed you this way, you can't get loose, can you?" 

It told a lot about Henry, that he hadn't bothered to examine the bonds. 
Fearful that he might be one of these fellows who slit a throat as a 
pleasant diversion from the mundane, I assured him that I could not get 
loose, I was entirely at his disposal. He did not bother to confirm my 
helplessness but slowly removed his pants as though savoring his good 
fortunate in having the entire night for the consummation of desire. I 
watched the proceeding without having much to say. 

I have always believed that rape was inherent in every male and female 
contact. Both parties thought about it though they did not act. When you 
considered it the bride at the alter was not that much different to myself. 
It is always presupposed she is hot with desire, but this is not always 
true. I was hot with desire but found it hard to name the response which 
made me so. Henry was one of those innocents for whom all women had a truly 
ridiculous sympathy. I longed to pat his cheek, to kiss him and send him on 
his way. As it was, he had me dead to rights. 

"Have you ever done this before?" he inquired anxiously. "It's not as easy 
as the ordinary way, you know." 

"No I haven't," I assured him earnestly. "Do you think we need bother?" 

Henry walked around back and examined the handcuffs on my wrists. "You can't 
get loose, no way!" was his comment upon returning to view. "I gotcha." 

I could not dispute his conclusion. I was wondering if it would do my any 
good to scream but I feared that Henry was one of those types who could 
become violent and I was so damned helpless! In the same conversational tone 
I agreed, "Yes, I'm terrible helpless and, yes, you've got me. What happens 
now, Henry?" Optimistically I added, "I suppose you wouldn't like to get me 
loose and let me go home?" 

"How'd I do that? No one undoes handcuffs except cops." 

We were both defeated. In the spirit of throwing my bread upon the waters, I 
offered everything I had to offer. "There's nothing else for it, is there 
Henry, you'll have to rape me. Please be gentle." 

Within the limits of his understanding, Henry was gentle. His plan of 
action, which he explained as we progressed, was to lift me up to be impaled 
upon his male organ. I told him to go right ahead with the project, 
explaining that I couldn't do much to help. But when it came to grabbing my 
hips to lift, Henry discovered that I weighted more than he had expected a 
girl to. I expect he had been filled with romantic notions and fiction in 
which the male simply threw the female around easily and casually. All he 
accomplished was to friction my bottom against the bark. Finally he said, "I 
see now why they call it a knee trembler. I've got to get down lower than 
you and then push up." 

I agreed with his analysis and said that I was sorry about all the trouble I 
was putting him to. I also added that he might consider going home now. 

"What, and leave you here, chained to his tree!" He seemed genuinely 
concerned. 

"My Master will pick me up before morning, don't worry." 

"Your 'master'! What's you mean, 'your master'? I'm your master and don't 
you forget it." 

"Of course you are," I agreed hardily. "Please carry on with raping me, I 
wouldn't want to miss anything." 

Pathetic! But deadly if rubbed the wrong way. That was how I saw Henry. He 
was obviously simple but a simpleton with a purpose. I watched him shuck 
down his briefs and wondered how he expected to impale any girl on what I 
now beheld. "It will come right on up once it touches you ... yours, you 
know what," he assured me earnestly. "I used to do it with little girls, so 
I know." 

I wondered what Henry's story was. He was clean and well dressed and didn't 
belong in that little park in the middle of the night any more than I did. 
But my time for conjecture was passed. Henry took my by the middle and 
leaned close against me as he heaved. I was by no means safe from his 
miniature exhibit but I wanted to get the thing over so I contrived to grip 
him around the waist with my legs while he took my weight. Strangely we made 
connection and his sigh of fulfillment blew Listerine breath hot upon my 
face. Henry was evidently hygienic and this was a comforting thing for a 
girl to know who is about to be raped. I was waiting to be entered when the 
damnedest thing happened, Henry began to pant and slammed away at me like a 
buck rabbit. I was not pierced, he had nothing to pierce me with. But he 
gasped his way to orgasm and expelled his semen on the ground. He did some 
more gasping but when I felt his grip loosening, I allowed my feet to fall 
and arranged myself as best a chained up girl can do. 

Still playing it safe, I tried to sound grateful, "Thank you, Henry, you're 
quite a man." 

"Do you really think so?" He sounded so damned pleased I felt sorry for the 
poor twit but I as still in his power, a fact which he demonstrated by his 
use of his shorts to wipe me off and to pat my venus mound as thought 
assuring it of protection. "Of course, I think so," I said earnestly. "The 
way you lifted me up you're so terribly strong!" 

The poor idiot had got his shorts tangled up and it was while he groped with 
them that rescue arrived. It was in the form of a lean and acid woman of 
middle age who put into one word just about everything worth saying, 
"HENRY!" 

Henry dropped his shorts. Standings in his shirt tails, he ejaculated 
painfully, "Yes, Mother?" 

"Don't you 'yes, mother' me, I'm ashamed of you. Wipe up that mess between 
the girl's legs and get dressed. To think that any son of mine..." She made 
a brief circle of the tree and me and was confounded by further outrage. 
"Henry, where did you get these handcuffs?" 

I suppose I should have let Henry take the blame, she would had felt 
more-likely she owed me help but all I wanted to do was get rid of them. 
"They're not Henry's handcuffs," I explained, "they belong to a friend of 
mine. Fixing me like this was his idea of a joke. If you can get them off, 
I'd be grateful." 

Mother love was vindicated. This unattractive woman not turned her spleen on 
me. "Ah, ha! I might have known! I know you kind, proper little harlots you 
are, standing there bare naked and not a bit of shame!" 

"But what else can I do!? " 

"Could never have happened to a decent girl, you probably asked for it. 
Henry, don't just stand there with your bare ass hanging out, get covered." 

"My shorts is tangled up, Ma." 

"Throw them away, there's no telling what this little whore may be infected 
with." 

I almost choked with indignation but bit back my words. I was still naked 
and handcuffed to the tree and in no condition to make enemies. I stood, as 
helpless as ever and watched Henry make himself decent. Satisfied, his 
mother took him by the arm and turned one last glare at me, "There ought to 
be a law about girls like you." They marched away through the trees and out 
of the park. I shivered but not with cold. Henry had frightened me and his 
mother left a bad taste in my mouth. The night was not half through and here 
I was still against the tree with my wrists still handcuffed behind it. I 
wondered what Ryan was doing. He was going to get a piece of my mind once I 
was safe away from this tree. My concern was obvious, if there was one Henry 
running around loose, there could be two. It was easy to envision by being 
possessed by a series of Henry's through the night. But I told myself not to 
be silly, Ryan might show up at any time. 

Ryan did not show. But heavy footsteps, heavy breathing and an unconcern 
with silence heralded the appearance in the gloom of a uniformed policeman. 
He was elderly and failed to be surprised at anything, failing to even make 
an exclamation at the sight of me. The impression I got was one of deep 
suspicion which I did my best to counter. 

"Oh, I'm so glad you've come, officer. Someone did this to me as a joke. I'd 
be every so grateful if you could get me off." 

He snorted without bothering to answer. He then made the same tour in 
inspection Ma had done. When he saw my handcuffed wrists he was on firm 
ground. "Stolen handcuffs, eh?" I could hear him writing in a notebook. 
"Indecent exposure and soliciting. That will do for starters. You'd better 
come along with me." 

I was about to tell him I couldn't go with him anywhere when he fumbled with 
my wrists and I realized that all handcuffs can be opened with similar keys. 
My policeman freed one wrist, turned me around, then snapped the empty 
circle back where it had been. I was still handcuffed but minus a tree, but 
scared as much by this ancient minion of the law as I had been by Henry. I 
managed only a, "Thank you very much. May I go now?" 

"You're under arrest, young lady. The only place you're going is the station 
with me. I'll think up a couple more charges along the way." 

"Please take me home. My husband will reward you. I expect you have tickets 
to policeman's balls..." 

Out came the notebook. "Bribing an officer in the conduct of his duty." The 
stub of pencil sped. "The reference to male genitals I'll have to look up, 
there's something in the book about it in the book somewhere." 

I wanted to laugh but there was something in the book about that, too. I 
allowed my Keystone Kop to lead me from the park and to the nearest call 
box. While he fumbled with the lock, I kicked him in the groin and ran. Boy! 
did I run. 

In the middle the night a naked girl with chained hands only can run 
unhindered. The streets were empty and, when I saw signs of life, I used 
back alleys. But my greatest hazard was our apartment. True, the security 
guard knew me, but did I want him to know what went on up in our apartment! 
I did not have a convincing enough story and, probably with the best of 
intentions, he would call the police. And, after that kick that landed on 
the law, I was probably on the ten most wanted list already. My dilemma by a 
member of the oldest profession, making a late call. I took a chance and I 
guess she must have seen everything at least once before and showed no 
surprise. She was, in fact, amused and donated her own quarter at the phone 
box. She told Ryan in no uncertain tone that he should pay more attention to 
his girls and forget the kooky stuff, there wasn't any money in handcuffs. I 
gathered she'd tried that, too. She stayed with me at the phone box until 
Ryan came with my raincoat and the key. He showed me the key but put it back 
in his pocket before draping my in my raincoat and giving my lady of the 
night a hundred dollar bill. Men like my master always know the correct 
amount to tip. He had also brought shoes so I would not have to walk 
barefoot through the lobby. Security gave us a polite good night on our way 
to the elevator. He must have seen something odd about me but gave no sign. 
Ryan could have walked into that lobby with a pink elephant if he'd wanted 
to. 

In the elevator I took a deep breath before my blast. But something went 
wrong and I was suddenly weeping my heart out against his jacket and 
nestling myself gloriously in his arms. The way the two of together again 
made everything worth while. 

It was two AM on a Saturday morning, we didn't have to worry about the 
office. Ryan changed my handcuffs from back to front and told me to make 
coffee, which I did almost singing songs of joy. When we drank it, he made 
me tell him every last detail of my narrow escapes. He loved it all in a way 
to make me realize the many faceted sources of pleasure he saw in me, 
listening with quiet intensity and making me repeat over and over whatever 
seemed to him to have significance until I wanted to pout and tell him that 
was all I was, a piece of female material to be risked, endangered and 
exposed to give him a thrill. But I never got anywhere with that sort of 
talk with Ryan. He would listen with that faintly amused smile of his and at 
the end ask if I wasn't being a little silly. And the way he said it I 
always did feel a little silly. So I laughed when he laughed. A little voice 
inside was telling me that in Ryan Norton I was getting exactly what I 
deserved. We were a beautiful foil for each other. 

Saturday was a day for lounging around. After the night Ryan had given me, 
it was understandable we both slept late then breakfast. He had to go to his 
office for two or three hours on one of the mysterious missions I never 
understood. He refused me permission to go shopping alone but kissed me 
instead and motioned me to a ring, one of those damned rings from which 
there was never escape. He had become much enamored of the wire and pliers 
and I stood there like a dummy until he was ready for me to place my thumb 
where I least wanted it. But I was always fascinated. I was fascinated now 
as he shaped the heavy metal into a circle and twisted it tight to deny 
escape. When the loose ends were clipped off, I felt as helpless as in a 
dungeon. But I also felt horny and suggested there were better ways for us 
to spend the afternoon then with me wired to a ring and he in his lousy old 
office. This lament earned me a kiss and a few pats on my bottom. I wondered 
why I allowed myself to be thus used. I hadn't put up a fight and he hadn't 
asked my permission. With Ryan a girl got no chance to talk about what might 
or might not be done to her. My punishments and tribulations and captivities 
just sort of flowed one into the other, the whole thing heavily lace with 
the sexuality of our time in bed. I shrugged it off and roughly examined my 
new wiring job. As usual it was perfect, I could hurt myself all I liked but 
could never get loose. The ring which I was wired was one of those cunning 
ones at the level of my waist. If I sat on the floor I would have to hold my 
hand over my head. I could kneel but who wants to kneel for an hour at a 
time! In the end I simply stood there, keeping my hand as still as possible. 
The hand I still had free wondered what to do with itself. A girl discovered 
the strangest subtleties and nuances in these impositions of another's will. 
I would stand here like this because Ryan wanted me to. He would think of me 
from time to time as his safe and secure possession. I would think of him as 
the man who was my master. It excited me tremendously. 

 3 Defeated Dominant 

I had not been standing with my wired thumb all that long before Janice Webb 
walked in. I learned later that she possessed a key. That was the how, now I 
learned the why! 

"Hello, darling, having fun?" The tone was catty. 

My search for a suitable retort was interrupted by two men in white coats 
carrying a sizable wicker laundry basket. I knew instantly I was going in 
that basket, I can't tell you how I knew but I did and my stomach curled up 
in knots over Janice's glory. "Going nice bye-byes, baby girl," he mimicked 
child talk with sinister overtones. "Nice ride for good little girl, all 
tied up." 

I didn't have a chance. Every time I got ready to say something or kick 
someone something happened to change my mind. First off I lost my speech. 
The two men had put the wicker basket down and opened it invitingly. One now 
held my free arm while Janice gagged me. It was my first experience with 
being gagged and long afterwards I realized that it had some merit as well 
as keeping me quiet. It stopped me humiliatingly myself with pleadings or 
threats I could not carry out, it stopped me screaming when none were there 
to hear. It was a pretty and expensive device against which I clenched my 
teeth until Ryan's former girlfriend pinch my nipple to make me open my 
mouth. I had been tugging like crazy at my wired thumb and hurting myself 
atrociously. When my mouth did what it was told it got filled with sponge 
rubber and a bitter strap to keep it there, a strap which buckled tight at 
the nape of my neck, and over this went a broad strip of tape sealed my 
rebellious lips. It was an immensely competent work which Janice patted 
approvingly when she was done. 

"There, there, darling, I know just how you fell. So much to say and no way 
to get it out. Never mind, you can tell me in due time." 

I longed to kill her. 

While the man still held my arm, Janice knelt and using some thin, cruel 
cord tied my ankles so damned tight that all I wanted to do was get my 
weight off my feet which had become immovable. Next she did the same for my 
knees, which I thought ridiculous for how can a girl's knees go anywhere 
unless she goes too. Then they turned me to place my hands palm to palm 
behind my back and, using some more of that hateful cord, Janice did a neat 
tying job on them also. Every time she drew a strand of it to encircle my 
wrists, it embedded deeply in my skin to become a band of fire. When the job 
was neatly knotted I had no more chance of doing anything with those hands 
than if they had been embedded in concrete. 

Janice had the decency to use a strap on my elbows, and it was a good thing 
she did for she made my forearms meet from my fingertips right on up to 
where the leather band compressed my arms in a manner to pull back my bare 
shoulders and protrude my breasts. She and her male helper chuckled over 
what they chose to call a "nice effect." I realized I was tressed like a 
turkey for the oven. Everything hurt and I could neither move nor speak. 

My oven was the wicker basket. I was gently placed therein, my knees drawn 
up beneath my chin and corded behind by neck to keep me doubled up and even 
more helpless (as if that were possible). The gag prevented me mentioning 
that all this did was hurt, it in no way rendered me more the captive. But I 
couldn't speak, I couldn't do anything at all! The lip closed down, it did 
not even have a lock. 

As I was carried from the room and to the elevator I realized how easy this 
had been for Janice. Her helpers were probably illegitimate warehousemen who 
believed the whole thing a joke. She had thought of everything and had left 
nothing in the apartment to tell Ryan where I had been taken. I wanted to 
cry in frustration but I hurt too much and was far too angry. After a while 
I could tell I was in a van and after fifteen minutes or so I was carried up 
some stairs. I was never so thankful as when Janice raised the lid, cut the 
rope from my neck and knees as she said brightly, "Welcome home, darling. 
You and I are going to have the most wonderful time. At least I'm sure I am. 
I'll leave you gagged a minute, dear, you do interrupt so." 

I hated that gag, it made me a nothing, a naked bit of female with 
apprehensive eyes and a longing to be rid of cord. While I sat in the 
basket, still gagged, Janice explained. "Ryan always goes to the office 
about this time so it was a perfect opportunity. Nothing clever about it, I 
just knew what to do." She smiled at me, much as the cat smiles at the 
canary. "The dear boy will think of me, of course, but I'll be just one of a 
number who might have taken you. He'll probably go roaring to my apartment. 
But we're not in my apartment. I've borrowed this little house just for you, 
darling, it has the nicest little basement all fixed so I can whip you to my 
heart's desire." She smiled as with the deepest love. "Aren't we lucky!" 

The gag stayed in my mouth while Janice gloated. My skin crawled at the 
thought of what she could do to me. Her voice confirmed, "I'm an absolute 
bitch, my sweet, quite merciless in love and war. If I thought you'd go away 
if I released you, I'd let you go pronto. But I know you'd run right back to 
lover boy's arms. Even if I wanted to, I can't trust you, you're female. 

I had never felt less female or less anything else right then. I hurt and 
hurt and couldn't say a word. I looked up at Janice with all the appeal I 
could muster and shook my head from side to side to tell her of the agony of 
the gag. "Yes, I know," she said, "I've suffered a little of this sort of 
thing myself. I'm sure you'll extremely uncomfortable. Consider it as a 
prelude, I'm going to make you much more uncomfortable than this." She 
smiled sweetly. "You may as well understand, darling, I've covered my tracks 
pretty well. It will take darling Ryan a long time to find you and there's a 
chance he never will." She sighed ecstatically. "Just think of it, 
sweetheart, a lifetime as the slave of Janice Webb." 

All the time I had been gagged I wanted to speak in the worse way but when 
she loosened the buckles and dragged the hateful thing from my mouth, I had 
nothing to say, she had said it all. I didn't have a single illusion left, I 
was in deep, deep trouble! 

"Don't you want to tell me about kidnapping and the police and all that 
stuff, darling?" Janice sounded concerned. 

"Why are you doing this, Janice?" 

"As if you didn't know, darling! You've got my man, this is my revenge. 
Maybe a revenge that will last for years and years and years." Her voice 
hardened. "I'll tell you this, Miss Jill Palmer, you're going to pay a high, 
high price for every hour you spent in bed with a man who belongs to me." 

I knew it was useless, knew I was lost! My one hope was Ryan. But unless he 
was a magician, I didn't see how he could find me, the city swallows 
kidnapped girls. Janice could secure me in this house she borrowed or bought 
or whatever and then go about her affairs in her apartment with all the airs 
of normalcy. I was lost to the world! 

"When I cut the cords, I suggest you don't try anything. Understand?" 

"Yes, I understand. But, Janice, I've never knowingly done you harm, please 
don't be cruel to me. I don't deserve it." 

Her answer was direct, two savage slaps directly on my cheeks. There is 
something about slapped cheeks that humiliates and demeans beyond words. I 
felt like about five cents and quite beyond hope. If I could not make this 
girl feel warmth for me, I was lost. 

"That was a slap from the palm of my hand, sweetheart. I've got straps and 
riding crops and whips. Maybe I'll paddle your bottom to show you which of 
us is boss. Would you like that?" 

"No." I said with total honesty. 

"Good! We do understand each other, don't we?" 

Janice first cut the cords away from my ankles and my knees so I could stand 
up with a little help from her. I had little hope for my wrists and elbows, 
they were her safeguard, they told her she possessed a naked girl to play 
with as she pleased. She pinched my nipples. "Stick out gorgeously, don't 
they? Have you ever had them whipped?" 

I did not answer, I hoped I was being played with. But Janice was feline and 
I'd never been quite sure. I stepped out of the wicker basket and stood 
before her in unintentional submission and agony. 

She stroked me lovingly as one might stroke a favorite pet, a kitten or a 
puppy, her fingers loving and soft on my skin, roving up and own my 
nakedness but not concentrating on my erotic parts any more than any other 
part. I could not believe that a girl with such a touch could be so cruel as 
she professed to be. Before long she had my fire burning bright and my hopes 
reassessed. It was then Janice Webb removed her clothes. 

The marks of Ryan's whip were still vivid on her skin, he had whipped her 
with male force as promised, as she had agreed to. It now appeared I was to 
be his surrogate. ' 

"Aren't they gorgeous, darling," she preened as before a mirror. "Think how 
proud you'll be when you look just like this." 

So that was to be the beginning! I was to receive what Ryan had given her. 
Janice's vengeance would be for the man who no longer gave her love but she 
would be looking at me when she held the whip. I refused to be devious or 
coy. "You're going to whip me to match, is that it?" 

"For starters, darling. Can you think of anything more appropriate?" 

Most of Janice's questions answered themselves. A terrible submission was 
forced upon me by her dominance over communication. All I could do was plead 
and beg but something told me that would waste my breath. Abjectly I 
retorted, "I'm sorry if I'm dull company, Janice, but you hold all the 
cards, I can't think of anything worth while to say." 

"Isn't it lovely, darling, no decisions. I make them for you now. Are you 
sure you don't want to beg?" 

"Of course I want to beg! I want to plead with you to show me mercy. I've 
never hurt you. Surely I can't be much of a threat, you've demonstrated how 
easily I can be dealt with and eliminated. I'm not an Amazon, I'm just a 
girl who a man took unto himself." I put all my pleading in my eyes. "My 
elbows hurt terribly. Would you mind...? " 

Janice took me on a tour, at the end of it I was truly scared. There were 
rings and hooks and cages, even a tiny cell with bars. There was a hoist 
were I could be lifted from the ground. She told me this had been a house 
were the owner had made a living from this sort of thing but had failed to 
be kind to the right policeman. She had bought it cheap. 

Janice choose the hoist, I had nothing to say about anything any more. She 
positioned me beneath the bar to the ends of which my wrists would be 
fastened. But first she bound my ankles and put a noose around my neck 
before freeing my elbows and wrists. While I was still rubbing terribly 
indented skin, she fastened wristlets tightly so all she had to do was lower 
the bar, place the wristlet's rings over the waiting hooks and then raise it 
up again. Before I had finished comforting my flesh 

I found myself standing on tip toe with hands and arms taut stretched above 
my head. As Janice untied my ankles she explained that it was only to give 
me a better opportunity to kick and cavort as she whipped me. That was just 
more of the same so I made no comment. But, oh boy, was I ever exquisitely 
exposed to whatever she wanted to do! 

She showed me the whip and made me kiss it. Janice really knew how to make a 
girl curl up inside. If she had given me the chance I would have sympathized 
with her in knowing what she had suffered once, and I would suffer now. Some 
way there had to be a means of getting to this girl. But as the first 
flaming stroke cut across my back I knew the time was not yet. 

"Please scream, darling, I want to know you're hurting." Her voice was 
almost kind. 

I wasn't trying to prove anything, so I screamed. I screamed every time her 
whip burned my back and sometimes in between. This was far worse then being 
whipped by Ryan, but, of course, it was intended to be. I had nothing to 
complain about except, why me? Why me! 

I screamed with everything I had. 

I had never been whipped by a girl before. In fact, that one time with Ryan 
was my only experience with a thong cutting my skin. Now I was at the mercy 
of a girl who seemed to have none to give. She was, moreover, feline and 
experienced enough to make me spread my legs so she could whip between in 
that most tender place most men forget. I knew myself possessed by a girl 
who could break me utterly if so disposed. In frantic panic I struggled 
against the straps to make the bar and the hoist creak with my frantic 
twistings. It was me against a female will that would run its course no 
matter what. 

"I bet Ryan never whipped you up in there, darling." 

"No, oh no! You shouldn't, you mustn't! Oh-h-h-h-h-h-h...! " 

Janice paid not heed. She could whip me between my legs either from the back 
or standing facing me so that, in a sense, I saw my own whipping taking 
place. I could close my legs or even lift myself from the floor by my 
strapped wrists but this was always defeated by the vibrant voice of she who 
held the whip. "Don't forget your breasts, Jill darling. Open up those legs 
again." 

The vengeful punishment went on and on. 

Being whipped in these secret places has a quality of horror all its own. It 
is utterly different, the skin far more tender and responsive. 

But when my thighs and loins were a blazing mass of anguish, Janice resumed 
her attentions on my back and the twin curves of my bottom. She whipped 
these latter one at a time with a riding crop which, when it lapped my hip, 
drew from me an even louder scream. Miss Janice Webb had Miss Jill Palmer 
utterly in her power. 

When Janice made me turn to face her so I could see the swing of her arm and 
sweep of the thong, I realized with dismay she was not using all her 
strength. To me the whipping was pure terror, beyond endurance but my mind 
registered the knowledge it could be much worse. Janice was hitting me hard 
but not nearly as hard as she might have done. But there was little comfort 
in what might have been or might still come, my agony was now! 

All things end. When the cuts of crop and whip ceased to weal my skin, I let 
myself hang, panting and sweating from the bar. And it was not until she 
grasped my hair, dragged back my head to kiss my lips, that instinct told me 
what to say. "Thank you, Janice." It was about as far down the ladder of 
self respect as I could go. 

"For future reference, darling, I want you to always remember I have not 
whipped them." The soft fingers of Janice Webb were upon my breasts and 
teasing my nipples. I would have never supposed I could respond with the 
instant flare she now evoked from my whipped skin. I truly wanted to express 
some gratitude for her having left my breasts alone. She could have easily 
whipped them, too, but I realized she was keeping them in reserve as a means 
by which I could be subdued and made pliant at another time. She would only 
need to threaten them and I would obey. Her voice was husky with an emotion 
I could not name but wondered how often she had used it on Ryan to seek her 
own advantage. 

"A glorious beginning, darling, let's both go and stand before the big 
mirror and compare our marks." 

First she hobbled my feet so I could neither kick nor run, a rope tied 
around each ankle and not much between. She noosed my neck and tugged it 
warningly. When she unstrapped my wrists I had no will to fight but watched 
miserably as she crossed them once again before my eyes and corded them 
brutally tight. She held my lease and tugged it from time to time. I was 
lead to stand beside her for our reflected images in the glass. My loins and 
thighs were scarlet, I noticed this first of all, hating it and its wicked 
ass most of all. It was a punishment given by a woman, Ryan would never whip 
me there, but Ryan would never whip me with such severity, not ever. After 
my first gasp of shock at the crisscross markings of my back and bottom, I 
was made to turn attention to the fading weals etched cleverly upon her own 
white skin. No one could doubt she had been well and truly whipped but her 
markings were not as numerous as mine nor did her loins flare as scarlet as 
mine, which would soon be purple. 

"I sort of got carried away, darling, you were such a glorious subject I 
could have gone on whipping all day. Let's say the cuts inside your thighs 
and up into your crotch were a bonus just from me." 

I felt utterly disheveled and disgraced, longing to do something about my 
hair but finding my crossed, bound hands far less useful that handcuffs had 
ever been. Janice was feminine, too. 

"Don't worry about your hair, my pet, I'll pretty you up from time to time 
but I want you to see yourself as you are right now. It's a pity Ryan can't 
have a look." 

Before I was led away, my mind registered an image of a sweat-streaked 
nakedness, hands bound for strict utility with no concern aesthetics, roped 
ankles and untidy damp hair. I felt myself a mess! 

Janice was a girl of infinite inventiveness. When we adjourned to the 
bathroom she made a quite presentable job of my hair and some modest makeup. 
She then produced a belt, a strap and a dildo, at the sight of which I 
recoiled and pleaded, "Janice, not that. It's a kid stuff, it's demeaning to 
us both." 

As usually I was ignored and the dildo turned out not to be a dildo at all. 
It was inserted within me in the usual way and strapped hard and fast at 
waist and crotch and then a pair of thin wires with tiny clips were lifted 
up beneath my bound hands to snare the nipples. The clips were not severe, 
they were not a punishment, their function was as a terminal for the wire. 
From this arrangement another wire with a thumb button control was available 
for Janice's pleasure. I could make half a guess as to what I was in for and 
instinctively reached a bound hand towards one of my breasts. 

"Naughty, naughty!" Janice reproved then pressed the button. 

It was not like anything I'd ever known, it was a total disorganization of 
mind and limb against which I had not defense. Whenever my bound hands 
reached for the wires or their terminals there came a jolt of electricity so 
powerful and so malignant I was reduced to a quivering bundle. When the 
current stopped and my consciousness again faced reality, Janice helpfully 
explained, "It has various intensities, darling. Let's call them good, bad 
and indifferent according to your behavior. Stand still, we're going to do a 
little drill. I want you to take the wires off your nipples. Or unbuckle the 
belt. Or anything you like that you think will get you free. Let's see how 
it works." 

I had already sampled how it worked and wanted no more. But knowing the 
compulsion Janice could use, I once more reached...! The results staggered 
me against the wall which, even when the current was cut off, supported my 
quivering nudity as I thrust against it in throbbing agony. 

"Come now, darling, it's over now. We'll move on to test number two. I want 
you to snatch the control away from me." 

It was the same only worse. Reason told me I could do it but the jolt of 
electricity I received from beneath Janice's thumb, disorganized and 
disoriented me to a degree beyond my own control of my own limbs. I was a 
groping, mindless recipient of pain while her thumb held that button down. 

"It's all I hoped it would be, darling," Janice assured me glowingly. "I had 
to try it to be sure and you reacted beautifully. Now we're going for a 
little walk." 

I was in a sort of whimpering daze as Janice dressed my as though I were a 
doll. The straps under the wires and the whole horrible outfit became 
invisible beneath the clothes she added. I no longer cared what I looked 
like but was assured I looked lush and desirable but a trifle preoccupied. 
My stunned mind suddenly got the import of what was taking place. "Janice, 
you can't take me out in public with that thing sticking way up inside me!" 

"I can and I will, darling." 

"But that thing you have to hold to control me, people will see it. I'll 
grab it away from you." 

Once more the awfulness. I screamed for it to stop and promised to be good. 

"You see, darling? Now just don't make any sudden moves. There are things 
you can try to do for rescue, but I'll know them, too, and I'll punish every 
one of them." 

What did it matter! Nothing mattered. I obediently held out my hands and 
watched them untied. I massaged the cord marks. I was led out into the 
streets. 

We had walked only a block before I gaspingly informed, "Janice, this is 
crazy, a girl can't walk with monster strapped inside. You know what it's 
going to do...! " 

"You're so lucky, Jill dear. No, don't thank me, I'm glad to give you so 
much pleasure." 

The rotten bitch with her sarcasms. I walked obediently at her side, fearful 
of every move until the orgasm claimed me and tore me apart while I still 
walked in a humiliating awareness of the red button beneath Janice's thumb. 
"That was number one, darling," said Janice approvingly. "I'm sure there'll 
be others, we'll count them." 

Perhaps I was a coward or perhaps the deadly thing within my sheath was 
indeed powerful enough to give me no choice. I walked a mindless path, 
conscious only of the eminence of unbearable agony if I did anything I was 
not suppose to. In vivid anxiety I was careful with my hands, I looked at no 
one as they passed, I walked very close to Janice and kept my hands were she 
could see them. I might as well have been blindfolded for all I saw. 

"Recognize anything, Jill, my pet?" 

I opened my eyes and looked around. Then my heart leapt. We were standing 
across the street from the apartment where Ryan and I lived, the apartment 
from which I had been stolen only the very same morning. There it was in all 
its normalcy, a huge building of steel and concrete and glass at the top of 
which was the place I call my home. 

"Take a good look, darling. It might well be your last," Janice suggested 
with warm sincerity. "Just think, Jill, so near and yet so far!" 

The lovely girl who had me so totally under control extracted every possible 
degradation of humiliation and yearning she could devise. From time to time 
she gave me the very briefest flash of agony to keep my predicament firmly 
in my mind. How incredible it would seem to Ryan that I should stand 
submissive across the street yet make no sound or motion to go to him. No 
one, not wired as I was wired, could possibility the totality by which the 
red button controlled my impulses. Brokenly, as last, I begged, "Take me 
away, please, please take me away...! " 

During the time Janice Webb possessed me, she kept me constantly wondering 
if the next hour would be pleasurable or beyond bearing. After leading me 
away from my last, long look at Ryan's apartment, the afternoon had slipped 
away to make her suggestion of an early dinner out, if not attractive, at 
least a period in which I need not hurt. 

The restaurant knew Janice, she got her choice of tables, not in a secluded 
corner but out where the crowd could be seen and ourselves be seen. 
Immediately we were seated, I implored, "Please, Janice, don't give me any 
more of those quickies. You've got me, I'll behave myself." 

I behaved myself. Observers saw us as two expensively dressed young women 
with much to talk about. Under the stimulus of food and wine I contrived to 
not constantly think of the bizarre control resting in Janice's lab beneath 
the table cloth as she ate. As the courses drifted by, she told me quite 
frankly, and with her usual bravado, of her varying love affairs and of the 
things Ryan had done to her. In a burst of honesty she admitted, "I don't 
suppose I would want him back half so bad if I hadn't seen him possessing 
you. Now, I'm going to get him back for sure." 

"What about me?" 

"You'll be out in the cold, sweetheart, same place I've been all these 
months. You'll survive, I'll lend you this dildo if the going gets too 
rough." 

It was an argument I could not so did not try. To keep me aware of 
vulnerability, Janice fished around inside her handbag and produced a 
clipping from a magazine, a sizable picture on fine paper with arty 
colorings to show a svelte and utterly naked young Miss flaunting at the 
camera four things to take away my breath. A sizable ring pendent from her 
nose, two more on her nipples and the largest of all nestling within the 
softness of her crotch to completely capture her sex. I stared in 
fascination at something I'd only vaguely heard about but never seen. I knew 
what was coming. 

"They'd look beautiful on you, Jill dear." Janice's voice had become a soft, 
feline purr. "I could have you ringed like that tomorrow if I chose. You'd 
be a proud little girl." 

"I wouldn't! I'd hate them. Oh, Janice, please don't keep me scared like 
this." 

"That isn't just ornamental, darling, they also make you delightfully easy 
to control. One of my fingers through any of them would make you marvelously 
anxious to please." 

"So does this awful thing you've got fastened inside me now, why would you 
want anything more? And anyway, you'll keep me handcuffed or tied up 
someway, I just know you will." 

"It's the aesthetics, darling. You'll have to admit they have eye appeal. To 
me they are warming to our cats." 

I thrust the picture back at her. I dare not be rude, I was still wired. 
Glumly I inquired, "What else are you going to do to me?" 

"Remember the cage I showed you, Jill, I think you should spend some time in 
it. There's nothing like time in a cage to give a girl a sense of being 
confined, much better than being in prison." 

"I don't want to go in that cage and I've never been in prison." 

Janice smiled at me in that way she has of making you think she loves you 
and you alone. Her voice was a purr. "I've come by a sort of little fantasy, 
darling. It would make a glorious little grand finale if I ever decided to 
part with you. I'd arrange a crime and all the evidence to prove you were 
the guilty girl." Her eyes were shinning. "It's a marvelous scenario where 
I'd weep and kiss you goodbye when they handcuffed you and took you down to 
the wagon. I'd devise something to get you several years behind bars, even 
with time off for good behavior. I'd come on visiting days and talk to you 
through the wire mesh you see in the movies. Would you like that?" 

I shivered. "It's horrible!" 

"Just a thought, dear. There's so many things an easily disposed girl like 
me can do to a girl like you. It's a strange situation when you come to 
think of it, I've got you under control by a battery and a few pieces of 
wire. I can keep you under control with handcuffs and bits of rope and such 
and you'd never, never have a chance to get free. But, if you did by chance 
or miracle, get free and reverse our roles, you could keep me just as 
helpless as I've kept you." She grinned confidingly across the table. ' 
'Think of it, dear, it's a solemn thought." 

If Janice was busy talking then I wasn't hurting. I consoled myself with 
this somewhat specious reasoning. I was pretty sure she'd do something 
horrible to me when she got me back to her house but I couldn't be certain 
about that. She would always keep me guessing, it was part of her fun. 

In my turn I said, "Well, I've got a fantasy, too. It's somebody I know 
walking up to us right here and now and saying they knew how I was fixed and 
would I like some help. How would that grab you?" 

Being seated at the table helped. I was torn asunder by the current to make 
me lean on my elbows and bury my face in my hands in the easiest gesture of 
defense I could make. Janice's finger on the button lasted only two or three 
seconds but it was enough to carry its message. "That's how it would grab 
me, sweetheart," she told me seriously. "I can also press the button and 
push it forward to keep it in operation even without my finger on it. If I 
was forced to drop it or it was taken from me, you'd be a very sorry girl." 
Janice had covered all the bases. 

It turned out to be the cage. On our arrival home I was told to strip and 
then turn around. The handcuffs bit my wrists to join them in a small but 
bitter bondage while Janice continued to hold the control. When my hands 
were safely disposed of, she removed what she laughingly described as the 
"electric treatment" and massaged my nipples to reassure me they were still 
there. 

"How many was it, darling, seven lovely orgasms...? " He laugh was almost 
infectious. It felt so good to be only handcuffed that I managed to grin 
right along with her, a grin I could not continue when she opened the door 
of the cage invitingly. 

"Hope in, darling, there's lots of room." 

"I can't. There isn't lot's of room and I'm handcuffed." 

"Would you like me to get the riding crop, Jill?" 

Hating myself I stepped inside. The small opening was in the top and when I 
had sat down inside and doubled my knees up under my chin, Janice snapped it 
shut and padlocked it. I said the first thing on my mind, "You don't need me 
handcuffed in her, Janice, I can't possibly get out." 

"If you aren't the best little beefer in the world!" she chided severely. 
"I'm going to have to institute a system of demerits for each beef you come 
up with. You get so many you earn something you won't like. How's that?" 

Dismally, I did my best. "Oh, all right, I'll try and shut up. And I'll try 
and say thankful every time I don't want to. Honest, Janice, I don't want 
punishments, I hate punishments." 

Maybe Janice was wise. The cage was an experience, it spelt confinement with 
a capital "C." I couldn't stretch out in it, I couldn't even kneel. I might 
have been able to turn myself around in it to get on all four if I'd had my 
hands but with them handcuffed behind my back I couldn't even do that. I 
could only sit with my head bowed down on my knees and think incredibly 
about getting out of bed with Ryan that same morning. It didn't seem 
possible that it had been so few hours. 

I thought about the office and me and that didn't seem possible either. This 
whole abduction and what I was subjected to because of Janice's jealousy was 
something no one except Ryan would believe. I thought longingly of Ryan, in 
fiction he would come charging through the door and rescue me. As things 
were, he'd be hunting in frustration to find me. I hope he'd tear Janice's 
apartment to bits in his quest. But Ryan wasn't like that, there was nothing 
petty about Ryan. But Ryan, in wishful thinking, I enjoyed delightful 
fantasies of what he would do to Janice if he ever discovered me and 
straightened this whole thing out. But they were fantasies, nothing more! 
There was something else I had to consider as I tried to shift this way and 
that to ease my bottom on the wire and to twist my hands helplessly inside 
their metal circles. Janice had possessed me less than a day but had 
subjected me to bitter and bizarre punishments and a tremendous amounts of 
pain. Had Ryan done these things, he and I would have spent a long time in 
bed after I'd been whipped, with me glorying in the agony of the back and 
buttocks on which I lay. If it had been Ryan who held the control of that 
beastly little gadget, he would have pressed the button only once and we 
would have spent the rest of the time in chuckles and giggles and a lot of 
"let's pretend." I would have been horny as hell all the way through. But I 
wasn't a lesbian and well Janice had tested my, what she called "Cat," 
repeatedly the palm of her hand had not come up as wet as presumably she 
desired. It might have been better for me if it had! 

I was told I had been in the cage three hours when it was unlocked for the 
girl who now owned me to escort me to her bedroom, a huge room dominated by 
a massive four poster with equally massive head and tail boards. It was soon 
evident the tail board had a special meaning for me. It was not a single 
tail board but several, all massive. Low down there were two holes, well 
apart and about the level of my eyes when I sat on the rug. A couple more 
were similarly spaced. I guessed their purpose. 

"I want you to sleep with me, darling, but not in bed, you haven't earned 
that privilege yet. So I'll keep you nice and close and nice and helpless. 
How's that?" 

I didn't beef but I didn't say thank you either. I obeyed her order to sit 
on the floor and then watch while she lifted heavy timbers to assure me an 
uncomfortably night. When she had opened up the bottom yoke she motioned 
invitingly and, since I was still handcuffed, I placed my ankles in the half 
circles then winced as the other segment was thrust down to clutch my skin 
tight and hold my feet in immobility. Only then did she unlock the handcuffs 
on my wrists, she was a very cautious girl. 

"And now your hands, darling, you know where to put them." 

"I knew all right but right then it was the last thing I wanted to do! When 
that waiting wood closed upon my wrists I'd be so helpless and uncomfortable 
I'd spend my night in tears. But there are for all of us times when we find 
our hands needing employment or a place in which to hide. I hesitated as 
long as I dared but then, in utter despair, fitted my wrists exactly as 
Janice desired then winced again as the wood fell and I knew them prisoner. 
Janice dealt with locks I could not reach then stepped back to admire the 
view. "Something to sit on," she suggested thoughtfully. "You look out of 
balance the way you are, darling. Just a minute." 

I knew I would hate the stool after I'd sat on it an hour but it was welcome 
now. Fastened as I was it took the concerted efforts of us both to get it 
positioned under my hind end. But once it was there it did improve my 
posture to where I could sit upright. It looked like another situation where 
I would not hurt if I did not struggle. 

"Helpless, Jill?" 

"Yes, I am. Is it necessary to lock me in this awful posture, wouldn't my 
feet have been enough?" 

"They would have kept you anchored, darling," Janice agreed. "But you do 
understand the principles of punishment, don't you, dear. It is not always 
just to keep you in one place. The idea is to keep you uncomfortably in that 
one place ... like now!" 

"I can't possibly sleep like this. I have bend forward to give you my hands 
and now I can't get them back. It's an awful position." 

"But don't harp on it, darling. I'd admit it's a position I wouldn't like 
myself, but it's you who are the prisoner, darling." She giggled archly. "I 
expect you're thinking your legs are so wide apart just to be obscene. But 
that's not true, we have to have them way out like that or you'd never be 
able to reach your hands into their proper place. See what I mean?" 

I understood perfectly, I'd been well aware of my pussy staring the bed in 
the face but had supposed it only to put me to shame, shame and I would be 
bedfellows for sure this night! 

I looked up at Janice pleadingly. "Please don't leave me like this? Please 
let me sleep in bed with you. You can keep me tied or chained, I won't 
complain." 

"You won't complain now, darting." 

Janice was right. I would not complain, I would not dare. I looked along the 
long columns of my arms to where my hands vanished into the wood and did the 
same for my legs. Since Janice had laughed in languorous content I stared at 
the heavy timber which held my wrists. After a long, dismal time I lay my 
head upon a imprisoned arm and tried to sleep. In the morning I wore the 
very latest in fashions for incarcerated young ladies. Handcuffs bit my 
ankles close together to make me about as helpless as anything else. When I 
left my chair I was obliged to either bop or crawl. Either way my ankles 
hurt so I didn't do either, not unless I was told! For sure, Jim languorous 
content I stared at the heavy timber which held my wrists. After a long, 
dismal time I lay my head upon a imprisoned arm and tried to sleep. 

During breakfast the next morning I wore the very latest in fashions for 
incarcerated young ladies. Handcuffs bit my ankles close together to make me 
about as helpless as anything else. When I left my chair I was obliged to 
either hop or crawl. Either way my ankles hurt so I didn't do either, not 
unless I was told! For sure, Jill Palmer was never going to escape. 

Janice sat across from me and glowed in pride of possession. She made me hop 
to the counter a few times to make me fetch a few things she wanted but was, 
for the most part, a gracious hostess. I constantly felt like shaking my 
head to see if I would wake up. I didn't ask what we were going to do today, 
I didn't want to know. 

"I have a kid sister," said Janice out of the blue. "I'm sure you'd like to 
meet her?" 

"No thank you," I said automatically. 

"She'll have so much fun with you, you'll simply adore you." 

My tummy was already beginning to curl up. Janice would not leave me alone 
with a child unless she were sure I was good and secure. And, goodness knows 
what a child might do to a naked adult I was already imagining things! 

"Her name's Pip which is short for something which doesn't matter, Janice 
continued. "I've already told her you mustn't be whipped, you had that 
yesterday. You'll find her an interesting child." 

"Good gosh, how old is this ... child?" 

"Twelve, just the right age to be curious. I remember I was very curious 
about big girls when I was twelve. You'll be able to teach the child all 
sorts of things." 

"Janice, pleaseeeee. I don't want to be left alone with some kid who doesn't 
know what she's doing." 

Janice laughed at such innocence. "I would have thought that damn sight 
better than having one who did. Teenagers can be beastly cruel." 

There was something inevitable about Pip. I knew she'd come and I knew I'd 
be left alone with her and at her mercy. I cherished the faint hope she 
might be agreeable to reason and set me free but that was wishful thinking. 
When she arrived, she wore a sweater far too small to display a pair of 
small, cone-shaped breasts of which she was inordinately proud. There was 
also a slit skirt, bobby socks and sneakers. Pip was the product of an age 
that probably knew more about sex than Janice and I put together. She took 
one look at me and then ejaculated, "Oh, goodie! Janice, dear, tell me what 
I can do to her." 

"I've written you a list." 

I was made to hobble to the center of the Irving room floor. There my wrists 
were handcuffed behind my back and Pip was made custodian of the key. As 
they said a hardy goodbye, I had a feeling she was laughing up her sleeve. 

"You can't get loose, can you?" said Pip in greeting. "What game would you 
like to play?" 

"I'd like to play that you are the knight in shinning armor who rescues the 
maiden in distress, I'm the maiden in distress. You let me loose." 

"Ha, ha, very funny." Pip had just told me all about herself. "How would it 
be I burn you with a hot iron? Sis is being mean, she says I can't whip 
you." 

My heart was thudding. I saw this seemingly innocent child as a greater 
menace than her sister. Quickly I said, "You mustn't whip me and you mustn't 
brand me. Those things aren't are that list you've got." I had scored a 
point but Pip was busy reading. 

"It says here I can cause you discomfort but I mustn't be cruel. I have to 
make you speak to me with respect." She mused quietly for a moment. "Would 
sticking needles in your breasts be a discomfort?" 

"Janice would be mad as all get out if you did that to me. Look, Pip, I'll 
be respectful and all that but please don't be too cruel to me. We can have 
fun without being cruel." 

"I don't see how. I read about those needles in girl's breasts in some 
history book. Roman women used to do it to their slavegirls. How would it be 
I call you a slavegirl?" 

"If you wish. I don't mind." 

"Show me your pussy. I've never had a good look at a grown girl's pussy. 
You've got such a wonderful patch of hair." 

I rolled over on my captive arms, I drew up my captive feet and spread my 
knees wide. What more could the little demon want! 

She made a close examination of my most intimate part and nodded 
thoughtfully. "It's bigger than mine, of course, and you've got a nice sort 
of mound there. How would it be if I push a dildo up inside and switch on 
the vibrator? The list says I'm allowed to do that and I'd love to see you 
pop." 

Dutifully I said my mechanical, "Thank you, that would be nice." Then I lay 
still while Pip found the instrument in question and inserted it within me 
with unexpected skill and expertise. I expected to be hurt but she got about 
ten inches of the beastly thing up inside me without pain. She strapped it 
tight before asking, "Are you ready, Miss Palmer?" 

I said, yes, I was ready, almost adding let's get it over with. But I 
remembered in time. Even with this nymphet I had best not be flip. I lay on 
my side to get off my handcuffed arms while the thing buzzed busily away 
within my sheath. Little bright-eyes had got herself a chair and sat close 
to watch my shame. It was a truly marvelous dildo against which I had no 
chance. It caused me to quickly moan and groan and make some motions of 
which I was ashamed before I blossomed and burst into orgasm in what I hoped 
was a satisfying grand finale to satisfy the little witch for who's pleasure 
I had been rendered helpless. 

"That was really something," Pip approved. "If I leave it inside you, turned 
on full strength, would you go off again?" 

"I don't know. Couldn't we do something else?" 

It appeared we could not do something else. The vibrator was moved up one 
more notch and little Miss Innocent resumed her seat, her eyes eager to 
behold me in that never-never land we girls enter when approaching climax. 
It was all shameful and beastly and I longed for 

Ryan. At the end of it all the object was withdrawn from between my thighs 
and we returned to normal. Normal for me was handcuffed wrists and ankles. 
For Pip it was simply, "What do we do next?" 

"If you wouldn't mind unlocking my hands...? " I tried tentatively. 

"You're not suppose to ask that, it says so here," Pip said severely. "It 
also says that if you ask me to let you loose too many times I can actually 
whip you. Go on asking, I'd love to use a whip on a real, live, fully grown 
up girl. Geepers!" 

"Please don't whip me." I knew how trite I sounded but I had to say it. "I 
don't think Janice would like you to whip me. Haven't you seen all the marks 
she put on me yesterday?" 

"Well, yes, but that only makes me want to put a few more on you, too. Those 
marks really are gorgeous. I really do envy you." 

"Well, I expect Janice would love to put a few on you, too, Pip. Why don't 
you ask?" 

"She wouldn't, on account of Mommy. Mommy wouldn't approve. Mommy doesn't 
see Janice naked anymore but she sees me. Sorry, no dice!" 

I wracked my small brain seeking something I could suggest that wouldn't 
hurt more than I can bear. Pip saved me the trouble. "She's got clothespins 
down here. Would you like clothespins on your nips?" 

I was keeping a tight hold on my senses, it would be all to easy to say the 
wrong thing or say yes when I should have said no. The hurt of clothespins 
depended on the skill with which they were clipped on the nipple, and 
anyway, it wasn't practical to leave them on too long. I explained all this 
but little Miss Innocent said she knew it already and why didn't I shut up? 
She went and fetched the clothespins while I wiggled aimlessly on the rug. I 
couldn't possibly get loose but it's nice to try. 

It's one thing to have your nipples clipped and they're there for the 
taking. It's quite another to have the ability to roll over and struggle the 
way I was with only joined hands and joined feet and nothing fastened to 
anything solid. I gazed at the little domestic demons Pip was examining and 
wondered if it was worth while to roll on the rug and put up a defense for 
the sake of two of my most private and tender places. My nipples are 
beautifully pink and I wouldn't want them purple ... no way! 

"I think I'd like this better if you were kneeling, Jill," the nymphet said 
thoughtfully. "Here, let me help you." She giggled. "You really are 
helpless." 

I knelt. I spread my knees wide as Pip directed. I wondered if perhaps she 
had done this before. Then I had to take a deep breath and stick out my 
breasts as far as I possibly could, arching my back and holding the pose. I 
was told that as each pin was clipped upon my nipple I must say a heartfelt 
thank you. If I could have killed the little so-and-so I would have done so 
gladly. 

"Thank you, Pip ... thank you, Pip." My thanks held all the sincerity I 
could manage. I looked down to behold the little wooden pegs bobbing happily 
as though a part of my breasts themselves. Each was firmly clipped upon a 
nipple and burning me hot and hard. Striving to keep my tone reasonable 
against the pain, I told the shinning eyed girl, "They mustn't be left on me 
too long. You can kill a girl's nipples if you leave them clipped too long." 

"That's for me to decide, Miss Palmer." Pip was suddenly very much adult. 

I endured the pain, trying not to whimper. It's a beastly sort of pain 
because it seems to have no end. You are dependent upon someone else to take 
them off but you are not sure she will or when. In the meantime you have to 
be careful what you say or she will, for sure, leave them biting happily at 
your tender spots. I knelt, I bowed my head in deep submission, I bore the 
pain. Little Miss Pip palmed my sex, easily accessible between spread thighs 
and said, "You're enjoying it, I can tell!" 

"I'm not, really I'm not. I can't help it if you get a wet hand." 

"It's not really our mouths that tell the truth, it's our pussy," she said 
most sagely. 

I knelt with the pins biting my breasts and bowed my head in what ! hoped 
was enough shame and submission to evoke sympathy in a twelve year old 
heart. All I got was, "You look very beautiful like that, Miss Palmer. But I 
expect you know. You're just doing it to make me feel sympathetic." 

I knew now there would be no mercy for me beyond what the list of rules 
imposed. But I would not get to read them, they were for Pip alone. I knelt 
there, longing to scream, while the little wooden things with their spring 
clip bit at me savagely as though alive. If I moved they bobbed jauntily as 
though alive. I longed to tear them from myself and grind them into shreds. 
I did not move. 

"You said ten minutes," Pip accused. "But I just looked on the list and it 
says I can leave them on you half an hour. What have you got to say to 
that?" 

"Whatever you wish, Pip, I have nothing to say about anything." 

For a terrible interval I feared she had picked up my words as sarcasm. A 
girl in the predicament can hardly ever say anything right. But suddenly a 
pair of youthful hands freed my breasts of wooden clips and young lips were 
busy laving and comforting my twin agonies. I gasped shockingly at the 
sudden release and flood of pain. I said a quiet and sincere, "Thank you, 
Pip." That was all. I was lost. 

There I was, naked, hands behind my back, getting glorious sensations from 
the young mouth and eager tongue which continued working on my hurt nipples 
well beyond actual need. I could well believe Pip found an older girl's 
breasts much to her liking. But she suddenly ceased to gaily declare, "I'm 
suppose to be doing things to you, aren't I, Jill? Let me look at the list." 

She ran her finger down the writing I could not see, then brightly inquired, 
"It says here, 'wire thumbs.' What's wired thumbs mean?" 

I explained about the pliers and the wire, keeping hope and relief out of my 
voice. Standing or sitting with my thumb wired to something would be a lot 
better than most things she was-likely to come up with. With a girl Pip's 
age I'd been deathly scared of those pins and needles and things. Pip cocked 
an eager young head and I could see an idea was taking hold. 

"But you're already helpless, darling. Those pairs of handcuffs...?" 

"Yes, the handcuffs make me helpless for you. But if you wanted to attach me 
to something so I couldn't hobble or crawl away, you could use that wire 
idea. It's one way of tantalizing a girl to bits." 

The word tantalize did the trick. The list told the nymphet where to find 
the wires and pliers. I didn't go hopping around while she was gone, what 
would be the use. When she returned, she faced a problem. "But, gee whiz, 
Miss Palmer, what do I wire you to?" 

She picked on the couch, it was out in the room away from a wall and its 
cushioned back terminated in heavy, ornamental woodwork with holes as part 
of the carving. Feeling not too unhappy about what I was about to get I 
watched her busily inserting wire and twisting it tight until the two ends 
which would hold my thumb stuck out invitingly from a solid wooden 
framework. 

"Golly, Miss Palmer, this is really going to be something! Please hop over 
here." 

I felt an idiot doing what this child told me but I wanted to stay from the 
sexual stuff Pip might easily have chosen. My thumbs might not like the wire 
but they were a lot more durable than my nipples or those lips down below. I 
hopped, hopped and hopped until I could back up into the desired position. 

"I'm just going to wire one of your thumbs, Miss Palmer, I can't be bothered 
with both. You'll hate it, won't you'll? Please say you'll hate it and that 
a single thumb was all she need bother with. It would hold me as well as all 
my thumbs and all my fingers. Carefully not to appear too pleased, I lowered 
my thumb into waiting jaws then winced as Miss Innocent twisted the bright 
metal into a circle and used the pliers to tighten it down. She was almost 
adept as Ryan. When she snipped off the loose ends I said, "There, you've 
got me! This is the most infuriating way of keeping a girl in one place." 

Pip was enraptured. She felt that she had made a discovery and that no one 
else had ever thought to fasten a real, live girl by her thumb to a couch. 
When her ecstasies subsided she remembered the list and once more consulted 
it. "It says here thumbcuffs. What's a thumbcuff?" 

I further enhanced the little darling's education but pointed out that she 
couldn't use the thumbcuffs and the wire at the same time. She considered 
this with serious concern before coming up with, "But couldn't I use them on 
your big toes?" 

I hadn't thought of my big toes and didn't want to. But the possibility was 
so obvious it was beyond denial. In a flurry of excitement she dashed off to 
get the miserable little things I knew all too well. This time, on her 
return, she went direct to a ring in the wall, no doubt intended for me, and 
practiced on it, inserting a single jaw and closing it tight. Surveying it 
approvingly, she opened the other jaw and slipped her thumb inside. Before I 
could utter a horrified warning she closed the small circle tight upon 
herself and became a prisoner. I stood there breathless. 

"It's almost as good as the wire on you and it's a lot easier," Pip said. 
She played happily with her now imprisoned hand for perhaps a minute before 
a startled look appeared upon her face. She made frantic motions then turned 
to me, "How do you undo the thing, Miss Palmer?" 

"You use the key. Pip, don't tell me you didn't bring the key?" 

"Of course I didn't, nobody said anything about a key. I thought there was a 
catch or something." In a frenzy of panic she tugged and pulled and rattled 
but remained as much of a prisoner as before. When she had hurt her thumb 
enough, she once more looked at me accusingly. "I bet you knew all the time, 
I'll bet you were hoping I'd make this mistake." 

"No, Pip, no! Why would I do that! Don't you understand, I've got to stand 
here like you've got to stand there until your big sister comes home and 
let's us loose. It's not my fault." 

Pip tried hard to digest the bad news but then went into another spasm of 
revolt, and when her thumb hurt bad enough resorted to tears of frustration 
and a tinge of fear. For a twelve year old the prospect of being chained to 
a wall all day is-likely to be daunting. I worked hard at hiding my 
amusement. 

No matter how amused I might be over Pip's predicament I knew there would be 
no laughter from either of us, we would be tired and bored stiff long before 
freedom came. And even then I would just go from this captivity to another. 
Even with only a wired thumb to keep me in a love affair with the couch, I 
was still handcuffed wrist and ankle and had less to be happy about than Pip 
who, if she wanted to hold her arm up in the air, could at least sit down. 
Comfortingly I advised, "You'll love this experience of being a prisoner, 
Pip, make the most of it. It will be very real for you while it lasts." 

"I don't want to be a prisoner, Miss Palmer." Pip stamped her foot in a 
temper. "You should have told me about the key, I'm real mad at you. I'm 
going to ask my sister to whip you real good when she comes back." She 
jeepers at me. "And, what's more, I'm going to get to watch, you see if I 
don't." 

"But, Pip, how was I to know you'd stick your thumb in there and then close 
the snap. Try the ring in the wall, see if it will move." 

The ring would not move any more than my couch. I had to look sideways and 
bent over to get a good view of my companion who, if she kept twisting her 
thumb as she was doing would have no thumb to twist. I told her not to 
bother about trying to get loose because nobody every got loose the way they 
do in books and movies. She stuck her tongue out at me before resuming the 
futile fight. 

"I don't see why you can't break that wire. I'll bet you could if you really 
tried." 

I longed for little bright eyes to have the wire and give me the thumbcuffs. 
It hurts too much to even try, I told her sharply. "You should know, it was 
you who fixed my like this." We bickered back and forth. Pip provided tears 
in which I almost thought I would like to join her. The child found it 
impossible to reconcile herself to her condition and I suppose this was 
understandable. I wasn't much enjoying my own prospects for the rest of the 
day either. I wondered if Janice would laugh the whole thing off or be angry 
with both of us. My future looked grim. 

There came upon us in the stillness of the house the small noise that caused 
us both to stand alert. It came again, this time the unmistakable sound of a 
key turning in a lock. Then there were heavy male footsteps and Ryan walked 
through our open door to survey us with grim amusement. 

"Are you two playing games or did I walk in on something?" he inquired. 

I could think of nothing but deliverance. Birds sang, rainbows filled the 
air, and I was instantly horny. Ryan took me by the shoulders and moved me 
so he could get a good look at the way I was fastened. He laughed when he 
saw the wire. Then he kissed me long and hard but then accused: "You must 
have told them about the wire, you like it so." 

"I hate it. Oh, Ryan, please cut it off. I've got so much to tell you." 

"Better make it good, sweetheart, if you weren't so well bound I'd wonder 
why you hadn't phoned." He kissed me again to make my pulse leap and feed my 
fire. "Damn it girl, I had a hell of a tune finding this place." He turned 
to Pip. "What's with you, young lady?" 

"Don't 'young lady' me, you big oaf," said dear, little Pip charmingly. "You 
were real mean to my sister. I hate you. Go away." 

"What? And leave you like that?" 

"I don't care, I don't want your help. Neither does Miss Palmer. Miss Palmer 
is a real nice girl and doesn't deserve you." 

Poor Pip! She was playing with fire and hadn't a clue. My master digested 
her juvenile tirade before producing the handcuff key he always carried and 
unlocking her from the ring. He then turned her around and locked both her 
thumbs behind her back the same way I was fastened with handcuffs. Without 
preamble he selected a suitable chair, seated himself, and pulled the young 
woman across his knees. When he lifted up her dress and thumbed down her 
panties, he got an instant response. 

"Don't you do that! Don't you dare. I'll tell Janice!" 

"Please do," Ryan agreed easily. "I suppose you know what I'm going to do to 
you. I'm going to spank your bottom." 

Pip's struggles did her credit but she was no more than a child and no doubt 
the thumbcuffs hurt. Ryan bared her pert little bottom and, holding her firm 
with one hand, proceeded to beat her bottom with the other. I watched in 
fascinated joy. 

Listening to Pip's wails and threats was deeply satisfying. I loved it and 
wished I was not still wired to the couch. I would have liked to get in real 
close and watch the pink and red rise up. Pip was a real precocious child 
who deserved what she was getting. But I'm a ridiculous female and it wasn't 
long before I was making a tentative suggestion, "Not too hard, Ryan, please 
not too hard. Pip wasn't all that cruel..." 

I might as well have spoken to the wind but I had given heart to the 
struggling maiden who now declaimed, "You heard what she says, you big lunk, 
she says I'm nice and you should stop hurting me. Ow-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w!" 

Ryan must have tired of the slaps or perhaps realized the bottom across his 
knees was not all that mature. He used the key again and a few moments later 
Pip was again standing against the wall with her thumb firmly secured to the 
ring, her other hand busy searching for the wounds. Her discarded panties 
lay upon the floor. With an outstretched foot she managed to snare them and 
drag them to where her one free hand could struggle to put them on again. 
She was evidently a modest child or perhaps believed the feel of fabric 
would be a comfort to her wounds. She considered silence the better part of 
valor but came up with a lot of hurt, accusing sniffs. My master came back 
to me. 

"You don't expect me to unwire you, do you girl?" His tone was sarcastic. 

"Please, Ryan, don't tease, I'm tired and my thumb hurts. You can see how 
tight the wire is, please let me loose." 

"Why all the handcuffs?" 

I told him all the whys and the hows to an accompaniment of disdainful 
sniffs from the wall. I made my story good, longing for his sympathy. I knew 
he was quite capable of leaving me as I was and going out to lunch. I 
overflowed with happiness when he cut the wire and unlocked both sets of 
handcuffs. I massaged my wrists and looked down at my red-ringed ankles in 
astonishment. "I'm free ... I mean I really am, I'm free," I said in a 
disbelieving daze. 

"I'm taking you to lunch. We'll dispense with hardware." 

"What about me?" demanded bright-eyes. 

"You stay where you are." My master took my by the arm and led me from the 
room. Behind us came a terrible wail of discontent but Ryan pretended not to 
hear. He can be terribly deaf when he wants. 

I directed him to the bedroom and the clothes closet. My master said he'd 
paid for most everything in it so I could help myself. I did. I was so 
damned excited I could hardly handle the zippers or get the panties right 
way round. When we were seated in the restaurant he captured my leg in both 
of his and played footsies with me all during the dinner. I was so 
overflowing with happiness I considered the absurd notion of intercourse in 
one of the restrooms. 

"Janice is an idiot," Ryan said soberly. "I know her habits and resources 
and where her apartment is and it wasn't too hard to trace things from 
there. Sorry I took so long but I phoned your office and they said you'd be 
back tomorrow." 

He was so gorgeously assured, so dramatically male without even trying. I 
was suddenly hungry and ate with relish but forgot everything I ate in my 
absorption with the male playing with my leg. I had no illusions, I was free 
for the moment but when lunch was over Ryan would reposes me in the 
strangest of captivities, a bondage of infatuation I could not break and had 
no wish to. 

We lingered long over lunch and returned to Janice's prison house instead of 
to our apartment. I didn't have to ask why, I knew! Ryan had been humane 
enough to bring back a hamburger and milk for the young lady still captive 
to the ring. Pip actually said thank you. Before we left her to go upstairs 
to the bedroom, her childish wisdom said it all. "I know why you're sticking 
around, you're waiting for my sister. Oh, damn, if I could only get to that 
phone!" 

I don't have to tell you what we did in the bedroom. When you consider I was 
doubtful I would ever have a man again all my life, it can be understood how 
I gave myself again and again and again. I could never give enough of myself 
to Ryan and he had so much to give. He whispered that this was just a 
beginning. More would follow in our own bed later on. But for now we had a 
job to do, and the beginning of it was to go down and gag Pip and then to 
bind her slender wrists with one of her sister's nylons. I sensed her fury 
and frustration. 

We stayed in the lounge and watched the youngster's furious efforts to free 
herself. It was something to do while we waited. Janice was on time, and 
hearing the lock, Ryan look up a position to cut off flight if she turned to 
run. But when Janice beheld her kid sister bound and gagged against the wall 
her first instinct was a sisterly rescue. But by that time Ryan had moved to 
fill the doorway. Turning in disarray Janice beheld me. She looked 
frantically around like a trapped animal, then slumped to moan bitterly to 
moan, "You son of a bitch ... you son of a bitch." 

The fact that she put up no fight but yielded herself passively was 
discredit to Janice Webb. She knew she hadn't a chance and would reserve her 
strength for when it might count. Eyes wide and voice hesitant, she said, "I 
suppose you want me naked. What's it going to be, the whip?" 

"Of course," Ryan nodded as though to whip this defeated woman was the most 
natural act in the world. "It will do for starters, you're pretty well 
marked already. Come on, off with everything." 

Janice looked around wearily. "Ryan, not before the girl, not in front of 
Pip." 

Ryan turned to me, "Did the youngster hurt you?" 

"Not really, just clothespins." 

"Then put them on her now." His verdict was final. 

The young buds were neither mature nor erect and their owner rebelled 
vigorously against Ryan's order. I was compelled to use all my strength to 
push her back against the wall in order to do to her what she had done to 
me. I could only guess if it hurt her more or less. I was thankful Pip was 
gagged. I remembered how the pins had seemed to me when on my own nipples, 
bobby jauntily. Young Pip was thrusting and churning against bound wrists in 
frantic efforts to dislodge intruders on her budding breasts. I turned away, 
I did not want to see. 

"Show us what you've got, Janice, my girl." Ryan's demand was harsh. Janice 
Webb shrugged hopelessly. She took a final look at her younger sister who 
would be busy with her clothespins for a long time to come. At her age, Pip 
would never believe there was no way to get them off. We left the child to 
fight the battle along. 

I had seen it once but it was new to Ryan. Listlessly, as though deep in 
thought, Janice disclosed her treasures, each one hurting a girl in a 
different way, none fatal. When we reached the hoist with bar Janice asked, 
as though knowing the answer, "Will this do?" 

At Ryan's curt nod, Miss Janice Webb began to remove her clothes. She did it 
with a sulkiness I understood all too well, no girl undresses rapidly when 
the whip is waiting for the final disclosure of herself. Totally bare, she 
reached up to the waiting bar and grasped it as though for support. She 
turned to look back at us across the bareness of her shoulder. "I suppose 
it's no use asking for mercy?" 

"Did you show mercy to Jill?" 

Janice turned away as Ryan strapped her wrists and used the hoist. Raised 
and taut, the fading evidence of her previous whipping was graphic on her 
skin. Despite what she had done to me, I felt sorry for the poor girl and 
was thankful Pip was not witness to her sister's shame. 

No girl is listless beneath the thong. Once again Janice displayed a 
determination not to scream. As the first lash marked her skin, she gasped, 
tugged at her wrists and flung her head in a motion of negation. A bare foot 
raised and lowered itself. Ryan knew what he was doing. I stood to one side, 
terribly conscious of being totally free without a bond of any kind. It made 
me feel a bitch to just stand there like that and have no part in either 
pain or punishment. But when Ryan paused after the tenth stroke had snapped 
across the bare white back I clasp the sweating nudity in my arms to weld 
our nakedness in the sympathy of understanding. When Ryan told me to get 
back out of the way I obeyed. Disobedience was something I didn't even think 
of. 

Previously Janice had screamed when her defenses broke. This time they did 
not break. She went through the same defensive motions with every blow, 
making the hoist creak with her struggled against the strap and filling the 
silence with her panting. On this occasion her feet became the most 
expressive part of her as they danced on the air. At the end of twenty 
strokes Ryan called a halt to ask, "Thinking of any more kidnapping, 
Janice?" 

The whipped girl failed to answer and earned another brutal stroke for her 
silence. It evoked another, "Yes, oh, yes! I won't do anything so silly 
again." He head bowed forward in defeat. 

Hearing this abject submission from a girl who had to believe herself more 
than nicely started on a series of punishments told me Janice a Trojan and 
my heart bled for her. I too believed this was only beginning. It was not 
until Ryan ordered me to follow him from the room that I had a glimpse of 
what followed. 

"Look, sweetheart, we're going to search the house and take every handcuff 
key or any other similar key we can find. Don't fail me now, look properly." 
We found them all. I was fond of the feminine instinct which lead to handbag 
and bra, there was one in each. Janice was a cautious young woman who 
believed in avenues of escape. There was boyish grin on my master's face 
when he led us back to waiting prisoners. He snapped thumbcuffs tight upon 
each pair of waiting toes, the big toe is the only one you can use, then 
freed the sisters to make their own discoveries. Janice probably guessed, 
Pip was the most vocal once the gag had been taken from her mouth. 

"What have you done with my sister!" Her demand was insistent. We told her 
where her sister was then left the house, locking the door behind us and 
everything in good order except two pairs of female toes. "But how will they 
ever get loose?" I asked, envisioning their plight. "Goodness knows," Ryan 
admitted cheerfully. "If a girl works on thumbcuffs long enough with a bobby 
pin, she can often get them off. And anyway they can hop around the house 
and feed themselves." 

"But they might be like that for days and days." 

"Let's hope so," said my master cheerfully as he took me home. I remembered 
to divest myself of Janice's clothes and go to stand in my corner and gaze 
at the wall paper. I was glad I did because we had agreed that my punishment 
for forgetting this rite was most outrageous. While my nose was glued to the 
crevice of the wall, Ryan used the opportunity to bind my hands behind my 
back with one of is neckties. He loved to changed the nature of my 
restraints and always complained that handcuffs and leg irons were too 
mechanical for love. I did not disagree. I had seen Janice whipped and 
wanted none of that myself. When I got permission to turn around we had our 
little time together in the lounge while I told him what she had really done 
to me and how he had rescued me from lifetime bondage. Ryan was much 
interested in the set of stocks at the bottom of Janice's bed. He took me to 
the bedroom and, using rope instead of heavy timbers, sat me on a low stool 
and carefully bound each of my ankles far apart and then my wrists to compel 
me to bend uncomfortably as with Janice. 

I immediately agreed this was the way it had been but added hopefully, 
"Please untie me now, darling, it's an awful way to leave a girl all night. 
Besides, if you leave me like this, you can't enjoy me." 

My master left me alone, bound tightly and hopelessly. But strangely I did 
not mind, it had been my master who tied the knots, not a jealous, 
frustrated woman. The ropes I could see around my wrists and ankles were of 
him, his hands upon my flesh, his will over mind. When he freed me at 
bedtime, I was as horny as all get out and offered my wrists for the 
handcuffs without being asked. We spoke briefly of Janice and Pip, 
envisioning them struggling with bound toes and hopping from draw to draw 
hoping for a key that was no longer there. But we did not waste much time in 
such pleasant fantasy. We had things to do! 

The office was a relief. Too much carnality and too many punishments make a 
girl jaded. I had sat all night in Janice's stocks, she had whipped me 
terribly, and in my turn I had watched her terribly whipped. The bondage and 
punishment to which my master subjected me in our apartment palled before 
such intensities of sensation. We hid nothing from each other, discussing 
this facet of our lives in total honesty. The result was something I did not 
expect. 

 4 Outward Bound 

"I'm an absolute bastard," my master admitted blandly as he unlocked my 
ankle from the bed where it had been secure through the night. "Aren't there 
times when you absolutely hate me?" 

"Of course not. I've adored the whole thing. Ryan, for Pete's sake don't get 
maudlin." 

"This Janice affair made me think of it. I as a real bastard to her, too. 
But I didn't find in her what I've found in you. I was forever wanting to 
whip Janice but with you I'm quite happy to handcuff you or tie your wrists 
with one of my ties. Is this a sign of old age?" 

I loved him so much. His groping with his own conscious were a part of the 
makeup of Ryan Norton. Where ever his mental probing went I would follow. He 
had opened for me so many doors and widened so many horizons I could only 
feel an intense gratitude along with the worship I bestowed. You would have 
thought we would have had enough sense to leave things alone, for me to 
return to sweet captivity at five pm each day and to suffer whatever 
impositions gave him an erotic thrill. The erotic thrills were not all for 
Ryan, I felt them, too! 

Quietly, my lord and master continued. "Janice was the first. I discovered 
her and myself at the same time. But she wasn't with it like you are. She 
was hungry for marriage and quickly scented the smell of money in my 
presence. Never ceased to hound me about going to the altar. I could whip 
her to a frazzle but when she got back to normal she would start right in 
again telling me I only whipped her because I loved her and shouldn't we get 
married so we could live happily forever." Ryan laughed. "It was the typical 
suburban dream. I couldn't open her mind an inch beyond the wedding ceremony 
and being whipped every Friday night. I don't know why she picked on Friday. 
Suppose it was because we didn't have to get up early on Saturday morning. 
Am I boring you?" 

I was far from bored, I was enraptured. What girl would not be by such 
confessions from the man she loved? He had practiced on poor Janice but made 
his dreams come true with me. I was lucky, lucky, lucky ... I jingled my 
handcuffs and said with a fervor not strictly true, "I'm never even worried 
about getting married, darling. I know how girls are about this wedding 
business and I know how you feel about it. Keep me as we are, don't every 
let me go." 

My master stroked my hair, he kissed me before giving me a slice of 
biography. "Sweetheart, you've just seen me as a guy who goes to the office, 
but there's a bit more to it than that. I actually am deeply involved in a 
great many things and this apartment is only a modest expression of whatever 
it is that's truly ME. There's something come up I can't very well ignore. 
It's in one of the new republics in Africa and I can either go there alone 
or take you with me. If I go alone, I can't very well leave you chained up 
in this apartment every day. If I leave you free to go to your office 
everyday, there'll be a dozen fellows wanting to take you to dinner and bed 
you afterwards. I want you with me. Will you come?" 

"Don't ask me if I'll come, darling. Tell me I have no choice." 

"Very well, you have no choice. I'll take you with me to Bottsvelt and Abu 
Hakim. Hakim is the only problem." 

"Why?" 

"Hakim was one of that breed who grew up under the British. He joined their 
army and rose to the rank of Sergeant. There's a couple more of these 
bastards who did the same. He speaks English perfectly and knows his power. 
He's understood to have a gigantic harem with a preference for white young 
ladies. He imported a troop of dancers from London not that long ago. They 
haven't been seen or heard of since. No one knows if they've had a chance to 
say yes or no to whatever he's offered. These black johnnies are sticklers 
for marriage. It makes them eligible for foreign aid and cloaks in 
respectability what is actually nothing more than kidnapping. I'm going to 
have to hold on to you night and day." 

It should have deterred me. It did not! I was thrilled by this glimpse of 
another world and the interchange of power between white and black. That 
Ryan was a power on our side left me quivering. I had thought he simply 
bought and sold things like a brokerage connection. But this was something 
else again! Danger was the spice. And, anyway, I knew Ryan would look after 
me. Very simply I asked, "When do we go?" 

"Tomorrow." 

I forgot all about poor Janice and poor little Pip mourning over their big 
toes. I wondered how long it would take them to use the telephone and endure 
the embarrassment of asking for help. But it was only a fleeting splash of 
amusement before asking Ryan, "What about the office, darling?" 

"Give them your resignation or ask for a leave of absence. I can always get 
you a dozen jobs, sweetheart, but I've more and more toyed with the idea of 
keeping you a prisoner around the apartment all day. But I haven't done it 
because I thought you'd get bored." He wrinkled his nose at my rapt 
attention. ' 'I suppose we could get over the boredom bit by importing 
Janice and chaining the two of you together. Think of how you could gossip!" 

"Don't you dare." 

We went upstairs to pack our things. 

Abu Hakim was too large and too handsome for anybody's good. He radiated 
power. But, sitting across the desk from Ryan and me, he exuded waves of 
good will and bonhomie. His English was indeed perfect but with a touch of 
strange accent that I could not place. His dark eyes lingered on me 
constantly with the broadest and frankest of smiles behind which I knew was 
speculation. My master knew his Hakim. The ruler of Bottsvelt enjoyed women. 

"You will be my guests, I have set an apartment aside for you? Treat it as 
your own." I guessed that was a royal command. Ryan treated it as such also. 
The apartment was splendid, matching anything in New York. When we were 
unpacked, I demanded, "I want to see his harem." 

Ryan chuckled. "You better pray you never do. I don't know where it is, this 
palace of his is a town in itself. There'll probably be a walled courtyard 
but the doors will be locked. Look out the window at the one we have access 
to, they spend foreign aid like water on these refinements." 

My chin was lifted by a male finger and I was kissed before a stern voice 
admonished, "Haven't you forgotten something?" 

I had forgotten! Sure, it was the excitement and the strangeness of 
everything. But I had still forgotten. Whimsically, I wheeled, "I'm sorry, 
Ryan, may I do it now and make things right?" 

"At a cost of raising your skirt and lowering your panties, dear girl, if 
you choose not to the account will accumulate interest." 

I positively threw my clothes on the bed, I couldn't undress quick enough. I 
was ashamed of forgetting the sweet ritual by which we reminded each other 
of what we are. In one continuing flow of motion I bent and touched my toes 
and straightened my knees to offer my bottom for whatever Ryan chose to 
bestow. I got two of the most awful strokes Ryan had ever given me. But I 
was so grateful for it being only two that I hugged my man in ecstasy before 
fleeing to the corner I had over looked. I stood there trembling, my nose 
almost glued to the crevasse of the wall. It was not really what I wanted to 
do, I wanted to drink in everything there was to see in Bottsvelt, but I had 
a burning bottom for company as well as intriguing visions of a very large 
black man and a very large white one. I am never allowed to play with myself 
when standing in the corner but it was hard to keep my arms hanging limply 
at my sides. I hoped I looked sweetly penitent enough to earn mercy. 

In my impatience it seemed like hours in that damned corner but I dared not 
break the pose. We both understood that breaking the pose was unforgivable 
and merited the most terrible of penalties. I had never broken it yet so I 
didn't know what the penalties were but I guess. When Ryan finally told me I 
could turn around he also told me I had been facing the corner for exactly 
thirty minutes. I took his word for it and asked him if he would like me 
naked or clothed. 

"Naked, of course, but there's going to be people knocking at the door, 
people we can't control. Make it something simple like a sarong, no panties 
underneath." 

All these black republics could not get rid of the British fast enough but 
after they were gone they retained all the British institutions so it was 
very hard to tell the before from the after what they called their 

"freedom." One of the institutions still revered was the British Tea. Ours 
was brought to us by an exquisitely nubile wench who was well ahead of me 
with the sarong. She was so fair of face and figure, even though dark black, 
I had to wonder if she were an inmate of the harem given temporary release 
to attend the VIP's. When I sat to be served the two strips across my bottom 
told me clearly to watch my P's and Q's. When the tea and cucumber 
sandwiches were dealt with, we went shopping. That night I was made to wear 
handcuffs in the making of our love. It was good to be with my master all 
alone and without benefit of clothes. Bottsvelt seemed utterly innocent. 

The next day it appeared Ryan was to take a short journey to inspect 
whatever it was he was making a million dollars out of. In deference to our 
exalted condition, I was invited to formal Tea with The Presence. I was 
delighted but got a word of warning from Ryan. "Look, sweetheart, I have to 
think everything is a hundred percent or I wouldn't have brought you here. 
But none this place is too far from the jungle. It's sort of a royal command 
for you to go to tea but don't give Hakim an inch, don't be charmed by a man 
who has got too damned much of it. I can feel his charm so I know you can. 
If you have the slightest reason to feel uneasy when I'm not around, go 
straight to the American consulate." 

"But, Ryan, why can't you take me on this trip?" 

"I'm told it's damn good and rough. And anyway you've got this invitation 
which, as I said, is a command." 

"It wouldn't be Hakim's way of separating us, of getting us apart?" 

Ryan shrugged. "It could well be. But it's more-likely his enjoyment of the 
female and the fact that you're new in town. You might even be able to see a 
wife or two but I doubt it." 

I felt deliciously scared after saying goodbye and watching Ryan's jeep 
disappear into the dust. I was Pandora and her box, Eve and her apple, or 
one of those maiden's Indian Rajah's had tethered to a tree as tiger bait. I 
knew my presence with my master enhanced his image with his black host, but 
that had been a function of the female throughout the ages, the better 
looking we were the more respect was tendered to our spouse. Ryan and I 
weren't married but I couldn't imagine anyone in Bottsvelt cared. 

Along I made a further and more minuet examination of our apartment. In 
doing so I found something to intrigue. It was a smallish picture but done 
in oils, an immensely competent piece of work which showed a huge yellow 
stone wall and against it, in stark relief, a naked white girl who stood 
submissively in chains which secured her by wrists and collar to the stone 
wall. The expression on her face was one of deep reverie in which she was 
forgetting her sad condition and seeing something far, far away. The effect 
was beautiful but Gothic. I would draw Ryan's attention to it on his return. 

There was a great deal of tea but very little party. This last British rite 
was for a trio only. Hakim, a magnificent black creature introduced as his 
wife, and Me. Hakim's lady spoke English as well as Hakim himself. I gather 
she had attended Girten and been the daughter of a prominent merchant, now 
deceased. She was without animation but pleasantly placid. When I spoke of 
the picture in the apartment, she looked at her husband but not at me. 

"It still hangs there because of nostalgia. Slavery once flourish in this 
land, but flourish no longer. There were many white woman bought and sold as 
slaves in Bottsvelt before the British came and even while they were in 
occupation. The British conquered by bending with the wind." 

I didn't believe a word but it was a story I could not find a point to 
contest. There was something about the girl in the picture and the way her 
hair had been styled that spoke of today and not of Queen Victoria. Hakim 
made a joke of it. "We men regret the passing of slavery. It was an 
institution working well for all." His eyes twinkled affectionately. "Once I 
would have purchased this delightful wife of mine but today was forced to 
court her and waste a lot of my valuable time. But I have no regrets." 

"He is a good man," said Mrs. Hakim with sweet simplicity. "I am told you 
also have a good man. We are both lucky." 

"But they are not married," said Abu Hakim indulgently as he sipped his tea. 
"Before they leave Bottsvelt I intend to make Mr. Norton an offer for her." 
He turned the full broadside of his personality in my direction. It had the 
effect of facing a very large camera. "Do you think him susceptible to an 
offer, Miss Palmer?" 

"But you've just told me slavery is at an end," I pointed out reasonably. 
"But, anyway, I'm not that kind of a slave, I'm terribly sorry but I'm not 
for sale." By the time I had delivered the last words I was trembling. I 
gulped scolding tea and wished it was scotch. Hakim was nothing if not 
direct. But the tone and our sitting there and drinking tea was so normal I 
could feel no menace. 

The two of them gazed at me with the curiosity accorded foreigners. Hakim's 
voice was teasing. "Ah ha, I have caught you in a contradiction. You have 
said there are no slave but then you add that you are not that kind of a 
slave. I have to suppose you are Mr. Norton's personal property, not his 
wife but something far stronger. You are his slave." 

I wondered how much he knew or if he was guessing. There was no use being 
impossibly prim. "We sometimes play with handcuffs, it's a pretty game we 
have but I'm afraid that's as far as my enslavement goes." I twinkled my own 
personality at him. "But you've got me really curious. You've spoken of 
purchasing me. How much would you pay?" 

"A million dollars. With both the Russians and the Americans giving us 
foreign aid we are not short of cash. And to what better purpose could it be 
put?" His smile was utterly benign. 

I was so shocked I came out with, "You've got to be kidding!" 

Hakim consigned my exclamation to the four winds with a simple wave of a 
large hand. ' 'No, believe me, I am not what you call 'kidding.' I would 
gladly pay one million dollars for your person. But what does it matter, one 
million or two, three million ... they are only credits in a bank whereas 
you are flesh and blood." 

It was while I was in a dither at discovering my intrinsic value that Mrs. 
Hakim entered the fray. "You have embarrassed Miss Palmer," she reproved 
gently. "Really, Abu, you've got all the young ladies you desire. There is 
no reason to make Miss Palmer feel like a piece of merchandise." She turned 
to me. "Perhaps Miss Palmer would like to come with me to visit our harem?" 
She laughed delightedly at the term. "We don't call it that now, it's known 
as the woman's quarters. We could enjoy ourselves and allow this great big 
man of mine to go about his affairs. Men are so terribly important with 
themselves." 

It was the term "woman's quarters" that did the trick. I was feeling 
overpowered by Abu Hakim's power and wealth. Three million dollars...! It 
left me shattered. I found myself saying thank you for the tea, of shaking a 
very large dark hand, and of smiling up into large dark eyes. And then being 
guided from the room by a gentle female hand in mine. I don't have much 
recollection of the passages and courtyards we passed but it eventually 
occurred to me we were in the holy sanctum of the harem protected by Islamic 
Law and the dictates of The Prophet. The first thing I saw was a young woman 
who might have been me. 

"This is Miss Jill Palmer, Jasmine," Mrs. Hakim's voice had somehow changed. 
"You know what to do." 

Other women came, enough of them to handle me easily while I was stripped 
naked, great care being taken with my clothes. I was left with nothing, not 
even shoes. Mrs. Hakim was still the great maternal figure but with a new 
aura of authority. "Jasmine will dress in your clothes, my dear. We have a 
wig to match your hair and she will be seen leaving this part of the palace 
and returning to your apartment. She will be seen to enter your apartment 
and shortly thereafter leave it again and head toward the center of the 
town. She will be observed there, too, but will gradually disappear. Your 
own disappearance will, of course, be final." 

Neat and tidy! They had thought of everything. Jill Palmer was going to 
vanish as though the earth had swallowed me. Hakim would be helpful and full 
of regrets and Ryan would be wondering and a stranger in a strange land. I 
wondered if Ryan had enough money to get the best of a man who would pay 
three million dollars for a girl. 

Mrs. Hakim stood back to let the younger women do the work, there were 
plenty of them. Hands gripped my arms while someone bound my wrists with a 
silken cord there was nothing cheap about Hakim! My arms were then raised 
above my head so I had no choice but to stand, totally naked, to let 
everybody have a good look. The rest of the women present all wore a good 
deal, I saw nothing of the diaphanous, gossamer harem costumes beloved by 
fiction. All of them made me feel very bare indeed. 

There was a big mirror and there was a girl helping Jasmine with my clothes. 
I was on display for reference. By the time they were finished Jasmine was 
indeed most remarkably Me. My heart sank dismally as I looked at her. There 
plan was going to work, I could not see how it could fail. My arms were 
lowered and suddenly a black enveloped my head, a black bag of some sort and 
was knotted around my neck. There were holes in it for air so I would not 
suffocate but I could not see a damned thing. It was the awfulest feeling! 
My hands were untied but only to be tied again behind my back, palm to palm, 
and very firmly. More silken rope looped my elbows and drew them close. I 
was bound carefully and cautiously and when they were done with my elbows I 
felt as helpless as I had ever felt. I knew the feeling, shoulders strained 
and stressed and breasts prominent, way out in front. My legs were kicked 
away and I was suddenly on the rug while more rope bound my ankles which 
were then drawn up and fastened to my wrists. I was hogtied! 

Four pairs of hands picked me up and carried my, an unresisting package of 
girl. After a while I was dumped into something smelling of oil. A canvass 
was thrown over my nakedness and the jeep departed with a flurry of gravel 
for parts unknown. 

I felt sure that I had let Ryan down, that I had been stupid and without 
caution, and that now I would pay for it. I lay there dismally in the 
darkness and felt terrible. Being hogtied is horrible. The silken cords may 
have helped a bit but very little. I was clamped and stressed and bounced 
around by the jolting vehicle in which I lay. I heard voices which meant at 
least two men. When I judged we were out of the city, the jeep slowed enough 
for a male hand to reach back and free my head from the black hood, an act 
for which I was immensely grateful. An African voice told me I was being 
taken to a safe place and had nothing to worry about. I was the property of 
The Ruler and would be respected by all. In the process of loosing the hood 
I caught a glimpse of the landscape. It was a sad, sad view, a little scrub 
brush and a lot of sand. A great deal of sand, indeed. I slumped back down, 
my face only partly covered by the tarp. It is very hard to raise yourself 
when you are hogtied. I lay in complete misery while the miles rolled by to 
separate me forever from the man I loved. I had no hope of rescue, Ryan was 
gone! This kidnapping made all other kidnappings seem mere play. 

There were a lot of miles and a lot of hours, each one an agony of 
discomfort and suspense. My facilities had become so numb from being cruelly 
bound and mental turmoil that I did not hear the truck until it was along 
side. Even as the two vehicles touched I could not raise myself enough for a 
good view and perhaps it was as well not. A youthful brown body leaped to 
stand astride my nakedness and shoot my escorts with a revolver, thrusting 
them out to either side. He then grasped the wheel and fought the jeep to a 
halt. When the canvass was dragged from me, I evoked a good many gasps of 
admiration and surprise from about a dozen young men who's uniform was 
nothing more than a similar color and style in shirts and pants. They were 
so heavily armed as to make me shrink at the sight of all that firepower. 
Someone had told me of guerrilla forces in the way out parts of Bottsvelt. I 
could see myself changing ownership right quick. 

They untied my ankles and elbows and detached my feet from my hands, 
standing me erect on the sand. I gloried in a fresh release but had to stare 
in horror at two dead soldiers and then, in wide-eyed questioning at the 
thirty year old man who led this youth group. I got the impression they had 
that blood-lust men get when they've shed the blood of another man and were 
looking for someone else to kill. Down below someone was thoughtfully 
hobbling my feet by tight bands around each ankle and a linking rope to snub 
each step I made. 

"We are the Army of Liberation," the leader informed me. "We make the 
search." 

They certainly did! They almost tore the jeep apart, looking for something 
they did not find. Then they looked at me questioningly. "You have no 
message? No paper? No cassette?" Suspicion brooded heavily. 

Considering I was stark naked and bound the question seemed silly. "Of 
course I haven't," I said tonelessly. "If you don't believe that you can 
search me." 

I should have keep my mouth shut. Their search was thorough. My hair and 
body orifices, front and back. For good measure I was compelled to bend down 
for the probing finger. They were disappointed. I couldn't understand all 
that was said but I think they debated torturing me for what I knew. There 
leader negated the suggestion and my heart warmed to him. But it was he who 
motioned his men back into the truck. They also loaded the contents of the 
jeep and the uniforms and arms of the two dead men. I was getting ready to 
be hoisted up also when I was told I could walk, that someone would find me, 
that I would not die. In pure panic at the ghastly prospect I blurted out 
the first inducement I could think of, "Don't leave me here in the desert, 
take me back to the city. Abu Hakim will pay three million American dollars 
for me." 

It was as though no one heard a word. The leader turned me around to examine 
the silken rope and seemed well satisfied with it. Without another greeting 
or fare-thee-well he got into the cap and the truck roared back in the 
direction from which it came. I stood there stupefied in disbelief. 

The disappearing truck was replaced by pure panic. I looked around to behold 
nothing but sand and two dead men. I turned to stride away from the gruesome 
remains of the killings and immediately tripped on my hobbled feet and fell. 
I was not hurt but I was more than ever scared. The leader's reference to 
walking must have been pure sarcasm. I couldn't walk, all I could do was 
hobble like a cripple. But this I did to get away from frightening reminders 
and seek whatever road we were following. It was there, all right, but 
nothing more than a vestige of the tracks of wheels. But where one vehicle 
went there might be two! In a terrible urgency I hobbled barefoot, following 
the tire tracks back the way I had been carried. 

The absurdity of what I was doing was soon apparent. My ankles soon chafed 
beneath the rope and, because of that rope, I made almost no progress. In 
any case how could I walk back a distance of tens, maybe a hundred, miles? I 
stood in indecision, a lonely, isolated, naked white girl in the middle of 
an African desert the name of which I did not even know. It would have been 
drastic enough if I had not been bound. With free hands and feet I could 
have at least tried to walk but I was totally defeated by the brutal humor 
of leaving my hands bound behind my back and then, with the same strange 
idea of fun, joining my feet with a twelve inch span between. It now 
occurred to me what I should have thought of in the first place. If I knelt 
down and leaned back, my fingers might the knots by which my feet were tied. 
I took a last, hopeless circle around and then, with a little sob of fear 
and frustration, knelt and sat back upon my heels, my fingers searching. 

I might have known it would be helpless. The knots were hidden within 
several bands on each ankles and secured there were my fingers could not 
dislodge them. It was wickedly frustration and had my plight been less awful 
and had the desert been less awesome I might have wept. But what I was 
fighting for was my life, this was no time for tears. I wondered why the 
guerrillas had not taken me. My body would have afforded them much sport. I 
could have been truly enslaved to be of value to their Cause. I got back to 
stand erect and this time to fight the silken bondage on my wrists. It 
laughed at my efforts. In desperation I turned and resumed the snubbed 
misery of what only the most light-hearted could have called a walk. I felt 
pretty certain I was going to die. 

This time I heard the truck in the distance, I turned to await its arrival, 
there was no use trying to run. I knew that whatever these men did with me I 
would be grateful for being saved from death. I could not imagine being a 
slavegirl to a band of guerrilla, they would have me on my back all the 
time. But so long as there was life within my body there was hope of rescue 
or perhaps purchase or barter in the customs of this strange land. The truck 
drew to a halt besides me and once again the leader and I stood facing each 
other in an unreasoning hostility. My feminine instinct was to fling myself 
upon his sweat-stained shirt and sob out my relief at what was at best a 
semi-rescue. I felt pretty certain they had come back for me and no other 
reason. 

His voice was a strange mixture of doubt and avarice. "You said three 
million dollars, American ... that Abu Hakim would pay?" 

"Yes." 

"How you know?" 

"Because he told me so. When he discovered I was not for sale he had me 
kidnapped. I suppose I was in the jeep because he was sending me to some 
safe place far from the city. But I don't know, I simply do not know." 

There was much chattering in the local language. I stood there nakedly with 
bound hands and joined feet and listened to what was probably the debating 
of my fate. Suddenly there was a flurry of activity and the jeep was brought 
forward. It's tank was filled with fuel from jeep cans from the truck while 
their leader once more started to bind my elbows. 

"Please don't tie me any more," I pleaded earnestly. "It doesn't do any 
good, I can't get loose, I can't run away, you've got me. That was torture 
being left the way I was." 

He actually listened, he shrugged and set the silken rope aside but within 
the jeep. Instead he picked me up and placed me besides the driver's seat 
then wedged himself in behind the driver's wheel. He stared fixedly at me. 
"Three millions dollars, American?" 

"Three millions dollars, American," I stated firmly. 

The man who, that day, became my third owner started the motor. 

We drove into night. The darkness explained why I sat exposed beside the 
driver. When we reached the city, he would cover me, it was easy. 

I think he sensed my eagerness to be sold. Little by little he extracted 
from me the full story. I considered promising Ryan would pay more than 
three million for me but believed this unwise. To these people The Ruler was 
supreme in power and wealth, none could or would out bid him. My fate was 
sealed. I was driven to a run-down warehouse in the slums and a thin 
mattress on the floor beside a post. To the post I was chained by neck, 
wrist and ankle, all fastened on me with padlocks. My dark companion assured 
me they were all subject to a single key. He gave me water and a pail and 
went away. After a short, sharp testing of my new bonds replacing my silken 
cords, I realized my helplessness so lay down on the mattress and went to 
sleep. It had been an exhausting day but, despite my terrible predicament, I 
felt relief. 

By the time the woman came I was in a panic. It had been twenty-four hours 
since my being chained to the post, I had drunk all the water and had no 
food. But she carried a basket and from it I fed ravenously and well. I 
drank hot coffee from a thermos. When it was done she stuck a needle in my 
arm and pressed the plunger home. As I drifted into darkness I was positive 
I had seen her somewhere before. 

I awoke to a pleasant sensation of warmth and was loath to move. I was in 
sunlight which meant I had slept through a night, possibly more. Besides me 
was a pail of water but when I reached for it my hand drew a length of 
chain. Startled and suddenly awake I gazed at my wrists, each was circled 
with heavy metal from which a chain ran back to the wall at my back. Weight 
upon my neck led me to reach up to feel the iron collar about my throat, 
boasting a chain of its own. My feet were free but when I scrambled 
awkwardly erect I discovered my hands and neck were fast chained to a heavy 
ring set deep within the stone of a high wall. That explained why I had been 
propped up in sleep, there was not enough slack in any of the chains to 
permit laying down. I was suddenly smitten by memory and backed as far from 
the wall as my chains allowed. With a gasp of dismay I realized the truth. 

I had become the chained maiden of the picture in the apartment. 

The wall was huge and massive enclosing a verdant courtyard, lush with 
greenery. From somewhere I could hear the sound of running water which 
reminded me to lift the pail and drink deep. When I put it back down I 
ruefully realized it was better to be chained as I now was then to have my 
hands bound behind my back as I had been. 

Compared to the day of my kidnapping, I was delightfully free. Curiously I 
leaned against the wall, standing erect and naked and arranged myself in the 
pose of despondency I had seen on the vivid canvass. Everything matched 
perfectly. The chains falling away from my nudity to the wall had the same 
loops in a similar confinement. I was that girl! I wondered if some artist 
had had a flash of premonition or if he had seen a girl as I was now. It did 
not matter, I was certain this was no more than a pleasantry of Abu Hakim's. 
Soon I would know. 

When Hakim came, he was not the smooth diplomat I had met at Tea. This was a 
near naked giant of a man clad only in a breech cloth. His skin glistening 
its ebony sheen, muscles rippling beneath to tell of latent power. He stood 
and surveyed his handiwork, obviously pleased. The size and nakedness of him 
was frightening. 

"And so my little bird has returned to her cage." His voice was different, 
more sonorous, colored by imagery. 

"Where is Ryan Norton?" 

His chuckled was deep throated. "Looking for you, of course, what else!" He 
surveyed me pensively. "He will not find you." 

We had said the essentials but there was more. Hakim squatted on his hunches 
as do most of the natives. "Sit down, Miss Palmer, I believe your chains 
permit." 

I had no thought but to obey. I arranged myself as I had been when asleep 
and realized I faced this man in full frontal nakedness. I did not cross my 
legs, such coyness would have made him laugh. 

"You think I want you to violate the sheath between your legs," he began 
slowly. "You are wrong, that is only a part of why I desire you." He paused 
as though to gather thoughts. "I desire white girls for a simple matter of 
revenge. You are not the first, you may not be the last, though of that I am 
not yet sure. You are an extremely beautiful girl, unusually beautiful." 

"Thank you." 

"My parents were black Africans, extremely poor. When the British came we 
licked their boots for bread. They gave us bread but only as one gives to 
beggars. I joined their army and made myself most humble for their approval. 
I hated them but they did not see my hate. They promoted me and taught me to 
speak the English you now hear. They also taught me of class distinctions, 
of what they call the 'lower orders,' and of how one was scarcely human 
unless attending one of their public schools. I learned. When they were gone 
I became what I am today. But I have forgotten nothing. It is my turn to rub 
noses in the dust. Have you ever have your nose rubbed in the dirt, Miss 
Palmer?" 

He needed no answer, he knew! Abjectly I asked, "What are you going to do to 
me?" 

"I think you know, Miss Palmer. You will be humiliated and degraded. 
Sometimes you will be punished, but there will be no hot irons or leaded 
whips. I will make you last a long, long time." 

I motioned with a chained hand. "The girl in the picture? She was real?" 

"You recognize the-likeness, I am sure. Yes, she was real. Her name was Mary 
Bestwick, typically English. I found her a delightful subject, she had been 
so pampered that she found any of my little amusements doubly and triply 
abhorrent. She's still alive. When I tired of her I sold her to a brothel. I 
understand she has made the owner a lot of money, I did not destroy her 
beauty, she was only in my possession for one year. I cannot yet tell how 
long I will keep you." 

The chains locked on me felt a ton, holding me forever. This African Prince 
would never let me go until I was a bedraggled hag and even then. ... 

"If I promise to be a pleasing slave to you, would you spare me ... the 
rest." 

"Love does not cancel out revenge." 

"It could, if you'd let me try. I suppose I'm a coward but I don't want 
those other ... things." 

"Good, that makes it more certain you will get them." He was no longer a 
colored potentate sipping tea. This man was black Africa in all its glory, 
filled with contempt for a white race which offered only bribes. I had 
nothing to say. 

"A girl of my own choosing will tend you and punish you. She is dark and 
powerful. She could subdue you with one hand. Her name is Chouala." Suddenly 
he turned and walked away. 

Chouala, when she came, was a relief. She wore only a white square, fastened 
attractively above one hip. I could well understand that against her lithe 
muscularity I would stand no chance. She spoke with husky resonance and we 
sensed a bond in the similarity of age. 

"I'm Chouala, will you obey me?" 

"I will obey you," I said slowly, knowing the admission the first of my 
humiliations. "What are the things you have been told to do to me?" 

She laughed with a touch of gaiety. "They are the things no girl desires. 
Think of everything you least want and you will have your answer." Her eyes 
have been assessing my nakedness. "You are as beautiful as me. I will not 
punish you with joy." 

It was a frank admission. I liked Chouala and wondered why Hakim had not 
placed me beneath the heel of a hard-faced harridan. But perhaps the 
harridan would have been too obvious. About Chouala there was a subtly. If 
she gave me pain I would be less prepared for it. I suppose I was already 
trying to please by asking, "When do we start? Right now or later on today?" 

"We do not start today at all. It is Abu's wish that you make a better 
acquaintance with the wall." She paused as though in memory. "I, too, was 
once chained where you are chained. I had done a bad thing and so must pay 
for it. I did not like standing and then sitting there with the wall 
possessing me, and the chains becoming heavier each hours. I, too, was 
stripped naked and was much ashamed to be thus seen by those I knew. By 
night the garden ghosts all came alive and I hid my face in fear. It is so 
simply a thing but a girl is not happy chained as you are chained. I know! 
Tomorrow I begin to inflict on you the beginnings of our ruler's wrath." 

In blithe freedom Chouala went away and left me to the mercy of the wall. I 
began to feel it as a living thing, a thing which would chuckle quietly at 
my back over any effort I made to rid myself of the chains and the collar. I 
wept in a terrible loneliness and made my chains sing a metallic 
accompaniment to the drying of my tears. I got up and stood a while, testing 
my linkage, but it became pointless and anyone watching would be amused. I 
sat down again without much comfort and began the telling of the links as 
with a rosary. Always they led my fingers to the iron collar around my neck, 
its weight a constant remainder of what I had become. Over and over it sang 
its gleeful song of my new captivity, forever, forever, forever! I rattled 
my wrist chains angrily in futile rebellion. 

Night brought me no ghosts, the garden was utterly serene in the moonlight, 
a thing of beauty compared to me, a pitifully female thing anchored to the 
stone walls. By the silver shadows of the desert moon 

I fell asleep. 

It was a strange and terrible isolation as though the rest of the world had 
gone on and left me. From time to time I woke up, stiff and cramped, to 
rearrange myself and my chains for another try at sleep. When Chouala showed 
up in the morning, I was so damned glad to see her that I would have 
welcomed the hot irons and pincers. The wall had damn near got the best of 
me. 

Laughing, she forestalled my hungry questions, "Do not tell me, Miss Palmer, 
you are pleased to see me, I know. I was pleased to see anyone when I was 
chained like that. Come, our day begins." 

"Yes, I am terribly glad to see you. But what's that collection of iron 
you're carrying?" 

"It is for your feet, Miss Palmer, busy little feet that must not run. I 
lock your ankles." 

I watched her do it then asked her why the long span, it was long enough to 
allow me a full stride. "It is so you may start your work today, Miss 
Palmer. You will need freedom to move. If you chose to run, this chain will 
trip you more easily than a shorter one. You will see." 

It was like changing clothes, shackles on, shackles off. I did not loose the 
iron collar on my neck but I lost its chain, the harsh bands fell from my 
wrists with a clatter. I felt like spitting on the wall before we turned 
away. Chouala was right, my ankles had lots of chain but it was continually 
hindering, and endless irritation. I kept treading on it with my bare feet 
and it was easy to trip and fall. I was a source of amusement to anyone we 
met, servants and I presume wives or consorts or whatever Hakim chose to 
call them. They were of all ages and I noticed they showed my jailer, 
Chouala, an unusual degree of respect. 

"It is because I sometimes whip them," she explained blandly. "When any 
female within the harem displeases the ruler she is sent to me. There are no 
men within the harem walls so my strong right arm must do this work alone." 

"But don't they hate you?" 

"Of course not! They know it is the ruler's hand, not my own that marks 
their skin." Chouala chuckled. "The poor things are also very bored. Our 
ruler has so many wives that to be one of them is most frustrating. They are 
bored. When I whip them, it breaks monotony." 

No matter how I tried I could not handle the swirl of chain around my feet, 
it defeated me as badly as if they were tight together. 

"It is here you appease our ruler's memories," Chouala informed my brightly. 
"See, it is a very large chamber with a floor of stone which is very dirty. 
It needs to be scrubbed and washed." 

So that was it! I could well imagine Hakim chuckling at the thought of me on 
hands and knees trying to cope with this immense surface. A pail of water, a 
scrubbing brush and a bundle of rags was waiting. I knew they were waiting 
for me. 

"But Chouala, I can't possibly clean all of this!" I was appalled. 

"Yes, you can, Miss Palmer. I knew the exact time it takes to do this work, 
I have tested on many similar occasions. If you have not completed your task 
in the allotted time, you will be punished. It is very simple and very 
just." 

"It isn't just at all, it's horrible! Look, I've never done this sort of 
thing before, I'll be no good at it." 

"So now you learn, you are a lucky girl." 

Chouala and I looked at each other in perfect understanding. We liked each 
other but I knew with a terrible certainty she would punish me if I failed 
to conform. Dismally I looked around for help, my eyes coming to rest on the 
domestic items with which I was condemned to labor. 

This time I heard the truck in the distance, I turned to await its arrival, 
there was no use trying to run. I knew that whatever these men did with me I 
would be grateful for being saved from death. I could not imagine being a 
slavegirl to a band of guerrilla, they would have me on my back all the 
time. But so long as there was life within my body there was hope of rescue 
or perhaps purchase or barter in the customs of this strange land. The truck 
drew to a halt besides me and once again the leader and I stood facing each 
other in an unreasoning hostility. My feminine instinct was to fling myself 
upon his sweat-stained shirt and sob out my relief at what was at best a 
semi-rescue. I felt pretty certain they had come back for me and no other 
reason. 

His voice was a strange mixture of doubt and avarice. "You said three 
million dollars, American ... that Abu Hakim would pay?" 

"Yes." 

"How you know?" 

"Because he told me so. When he discovered I was not for sale he bad me 
kidnapped. I suppose I was in the jeep because he was sending me to some 
safe place far from the city. But I don't know, I simply do not know." 

There was much chattering in the local language. I stood there nakedly with 
bound hands and joined feet and listened to what was probably the debating 
of my fate. Suddenly there was a flurry of activity and the jeep was brought 
forward. It's tank was filled with fuel from jeep cans from the truck while 
their leader once more started to bind my elbows. 

"Please don't tie me any more," I pleaded earnestly. "It doesn't do any 
good, I can't get loose, I can't run away, you've got me. That was torture 
being left the way I was." 

He actually listened, he shrugged and set the silken rope aside but within 
the jeep. Instead he picked me up and placed me besides the driver's seat 
then wedged himself in behind the driver's wheel. He stared fixedly at me. 
"Three millions dollars, American?" 

"Three millions dollars, American," I stated firmly. 

The man who, that day, became my third owner started the motor. 

We drove into night. The darkness explained why I sat exposed beside the 
driver. When we reached the city, he would cover me, it was easy. I think he 
sensed my eagerness to be sold. Little by little he extracted from me the 
full story. I considered promising Ryan would pay more than three million 
for me but believed this unwise. To these people The Ruler was supreme in 
power and wealth, none could or would out bid him. My fate was sealed. I was 
driven to a run-down warehouse in the slums and a thin mattress on the floor 
beside a post. To the post I was chained by neck, wrist and ankle, all 
fastened on me with padlocks. My dark companion assured me they were all 
subject to a single key. He gave me water and a pail and went away. After a 
short, sharp testing of my new bonds replacing my silken cords, I realized 
my helplessness so lay down on the mattress and went to sleep. It had been 
an exhausting day but, despite my terrible predicament, I felt relief. 

By the time the woman came I was in a panic. It had been twenty-four hours 
since my being chained to the post, I had drunk all the water and had no 
food. But she carried a basket and from it I fed ravenously and well. I 
drank hot coffee from a thermos. When it was done she stuck a needle in my 
arm and pressed the plunger home. As I drifted into darkness I was positive 
I had seen her somewhere before. 

I awoke to a pleasant sensation of warmth and was loath to move. I was in 
sunlight which meant I had slept through a night, possibly more. Besides me 
was a pail of water but when I reached for it my hand drew a length of 
chain. Startled and suddenly awake I gazed at my wrists, each was circled 
with heavy metal from which a chain ran back to the wall at my back. Weight 
upon my neck led me to reach up to feel the iron collar about my throat, 
boasting a chain of its own. My feet were free but when I scrambled 
awkwardly erect I discovered my hands and neck were fast chained to a heavy 
ring set deep within the stone of a high wall. That explained why I had been 
propped up in sleep, there was not enough slack in any of the chains to 
permit laying down. I was suddenly smitten by memory and backed as far from 
the wall as my chains allowed. With a gasp of dismay I realized the truth. 

I had become the chained maiden of the picture in the apartment. 

The wall was huge and massive enclosing a verdant courtyard, lush with 
greenery. From somewhere I could hear the sound of running water which 
reminded me to lift the pail and drink deep. When I put it back down I 
ruefully realized it was better to be chained as I now was then to have my 
hands bound behind my back as I had been. Compared to the day of my 
kidnapping, I was delightfully free. Curiously I leaned against the wall, 
standing erect and naked and arranged myself in the pose of despondency I 
had seen on the vivid canvass. Everything matched perfectly. The chains 
falling away from my nudity to the wall had the same loops in a similar 
confinement. I was that girl! I wondered if some artist had had a flash of 
premonition or if he had seen a girl as I was now. It did not matter, I was 
to drag myself and my chain from this devastating imposition, but that was 
silly. I could not run. I could not walk well. No friends, even Chouala 
would not be my friend if I rejected the ruler's wish. I kicked a chained 
foot and watched the chain links clatter on the stone. With a sob of fury 
and despair I sank to my knees and dumped the scrubbing brush into the 
water. Abu Hakim's revenge was underway, for goodness knows how long I would 
bear the brunt of the animosities he could not forget. 

My first realization was my hands. I'd looked after my hands but now they 
would become rough and calloused. I wept for them. Next was my knees. This 
was a hands and knees infliction and nothing was provided to kneel on. I 
made a few tentative swipes with the brush but its passage over the floor 
left only a ugly wet mess a rag would not cope with. I realized my total 
inexperience in this type of work. I don't suppose this sort of work was 
done anymore by anybody in civilized lands. Probably it was not done here in 
Bottsvelt. This huge expanse of floor might have been specially prepared for 
me. Or other punished girl like me. At that moment, if I'd been offered a 
choice of continuing with the brush and pail and rags or being whipped, I 
think I would have chosen the latter. I could not imagine Chouala being too 
cruel in her inflictions. I wet the brush and tried again but knew for sure 
I had been given an impossible task. Angrily I flung the brush aside and sat 
with my hands upon my chin to gaze down dismally at the abundant links 
awaiting their next opportunity to send me sprawling. It was at that moment 
Chouala jauntily reappeared, this time carrying a slim and wicked riding 
crop. 

"It is always the same, Miss Palmer. All you white girls think it impossible 
so you sit and don't even try. Now I show you." 

Chouala was nearly naked. She was instantly on her knees and the brush was 
swirling in its pool of water over wide, sweeping arcs of filthy floor. 
Pushing the muddy water ahead of her with constant strokes of the brush, she 
dried the surface with the rags as she went. Soon she had dealt with a 
considerable space, I would not have believed it possible. 

"You see, come, Miss Palmer, show me you can do it." 

I consoled myself with the thought that I would not have done it for anyone 
but Chouala. Hating every motion I followed her lead and pushed the wet 
brush with only slightly more conviction. Without warning my bent over 
bottom was suddenly aflame from her crop. I turned in dismay, sitting on my 
wounded cheeks but was given no time. The crop wrapped around my shoulders 
and waist and thighs. It found we where ever I twisted and turned. In an 
almost mindless anxiety to escape I plunged forward with the brush and rags 
and water and suffered the cuts and scorches of the riding crop until my 
performance was deemed sufficient. 

"You see, Miss Palmer, you did not realize how well you could do it. On my 
next visit I will bring a whip instead of the riding crop. Should you 
deserve it, it will make a pleasant diversion for you, will it not?" Her 
sarcasm curled me up. 

I was shamed by Chouala's easy competence and the rippling strength of sinew 
and muscle her nearly naked body disclosed. I was angry at my own ineptitude 
and drove myself with a fierce pride to win the admiration of a girl I could 
not hate. Over all was the shadow of the whip. I did not want to be whipped 
again! Chouala had things beautifully figured. 

As I worked I reflected on the incongruity of my jailer always calling me 
Miss Palmer. I knew it was done on purpose to emphasis the menial and 
degrading tasks of which I supposed this was the first. It was when I had 
completed half the floor and was wet and bedraggled with sweat and the 
splashes from my work that Abu Hakim chose to honor me, approaching silently 
until I heard his voice. 

"I say, that Chouala has given you some encouragement, Miss Palmer. You seem 
to have taken it to heart. Congratulations!" 

I turned to give him my attention but he motioned me not to stop. Burning 
with all the shame he could possibly desire, I continued with the swirling 
brush, the slither and rattle of my chains, and was shockingly aware that he 
was enjoying a full rear view of my femaleness. I could not believe I was 
anything but ugly from where he stood. I was positive my sex was peeping 
coyly at him and probably a few fronds of pubic hair. And that was not all 
showing! 

"I hope I give you pleasure," I said bitterly over my shoulder as I tossed 
dank hair from my face. "May I have you permission to rest?" 

"By all means, Miss Palmer. You may even stand erect, that, too, will give 
me pleasure." 

The black son of a bitch! I could have killed him. He had seen me naked but 
this was a doubly naked state. I stood there dejectedly, not knowing what to 
do with my hands until he instructed me to clasp them at the back of my neck 
and stick my breasts out for his attention. Apparently no filthy a girl 
might be, she still offers some males sex appeal. I obeyed, standing in the 
full mortification of a total frontal exposure until I could contain it no 
longer. 

"Perhaps you would like me to turn slowly for you?" I spat out the final 
humiliation, Sir!" 

Abu Hakim had brought his own riding crop. It cut me without warning to make 
me scream and turn my back which then received the next stroke and the next. 
Howling, my chains responding metallically, I turned again to face him as he 
had desired. I saw him eye my breasts and closed my eyes. But his voice was 
without anger. "You will now work diligently, Miss Palmer." 

"Yes." 

"No more sarcasms." 

"No." 

Abu Hakim, the ruler of Bottsvelt left me alone with my work and with my 
tears. 

Despite my innermost feelings I could not quench a thrill of pride when 
Chouala told me I had equaled the performance of the number two girl on her 
list. Chouala counted the hours and the strips. Most had been tardy and been 
well whipped. She did a thorough inspection and made me do several places 
over a second time. For this I was compelled to touch my toes and to say 
thank you for the burning received. Standing there with my pain, the only 
thing I could think to ask was, "Can I have a bath, please?" 

"I will hose you down. Miss Palmer, it is a service I always provide." 

"Please, there's no need. I can wash myself." 

"I said I will hose you down, Miss Palmer. Come, this way." 

It was a concrete wash house with drains in the floor and a vicious looking 
hose. It had the additional refinement of a chain hanging from above and at 
the end of it a wristlet, which, when it imprisoned my right hand, compelled 
me to stand well exposed and with one arm high in the air. The water, when 
it came, was of a force to hurt and trust me hard against my tether. No 
matter how I turned and twisted it followed me, and my ankle chains were 
bright and clean when it was done. The towel was rough, but what else could 
I expect! We were half way back on a familiar path when I stopped the swirl 
of my chain in sudden consternation, turning to my companion, I pleaded, "No 
the wall, not chained to the wall again tonight!" 

"And, why not, Miss Palmer?" 

"It's ... it's, well, it's so awful, the isolation and the weight of those 
chains and the long night. Please..." 

Chouala laughed at my earnestness. "There are worse things than being 
chained to the wall," she said, "Miss Palmer. 

There was something in Chouala's voice that told me of being an idiot. There 
were indeed worse things than bearing the weight of chains connected to a 
wall, a wall that surrounds a beautiful garden. I kept a sulky silence, then 
longed to have made no complaint as my arm was grasped and I was turned 
around. 

It was not in instrument of torture, just an old fashion pillory to imprison 
a maiden's neck and wrists, while the maiden stood and wished to be 
elsewhere. It was barely evening and the prospect of standing there until 
dark and then all through all the hours of the night without sleep, how 
could a girl sleep standing up, was more than I could bear. "Chouala, I'm 
sorry, I should not have spoken. Please don't punishment me with this. If I 
am to work again tomorrow, I must surely sleep." 

"Persuade me, Miss Palmer, humble yourself. Plead." 

Why did I not hate this vibrant authority, this lovely creature endowed by 
Hakim with such power? I did not know but surely somewhere within Chouala's 
makeup was the quality of mercy. As ordered, I sank to my knees, clasp her 
thighs to mumble into her sarong, "Forgive me, please forgive me. I should 
have known better. Please chain me to the wall." 

"You're upset, Miss Palmer, and all I've shown you is a little, simple 
pillory. There are other things which through the night would make you long 
for the wall and its chains." Chouala laughed down at my bowed head. "There 
is an anthill, or perhaps to hang by one ankle throughout the darkness. 
There are certain ladies of the harem who would welcome being serviced by 
you between their legs. They are most demanding and their flavor is not as 
sweet as mine. Shall I continue...? " 

"Please, no! I am a silly girl who wants to obey you. Please give me one 
more chance." 

Chouala raised me erect to turn me back the way we had come. I kicked my 
chain in eagerness as she laughed at my defeat. "You are right, you are a 
silly girl, Miss Palmer. But I have a weakness for silly girls so you will 
again spend the night against your beloved wall. Come." 

I felt emotionally soiled, diminished and despairing, wondering if Hakim had 
seen us through a window or would receive a full report from my jailer 
certainly the latter! The revenge of Abu Hakim was cleverly designed. 

 5 Punished 

I suppose everything is comparative. The punishment which today seems beyond 
bearing will be tolerable tomorrow. A girl enduring punishments for the 
misdeeds of her race is forever adrift in a welter of shame, uncertainty and 
resentment. Since I had committed no sin against Abu Hakim, I could be 
neither grateful for his whips and chains nor for their remission. I was a 
feminine package designed for a bizarre abnegation of the spirit. The only 
mercy shown me was Chouala, my jailer. The heat of sexuality we exchanged 
was the only spiritual comfort Bottsvelt vouchsafed me. 

I shuffled my difficult chained steps beside my jailer to the wall. The 
chains and the collar were waiting for me like old friends. 

"I'm being kind to you, Miss Palmer," Chouala whispered gently. "But a girl 
suffering your punishments must be allowed no victory, all you must ever 
know is defeat. Turn around." 

To prove myself, I obeyed, then stood erect while Chouala gathered my arms, 
crossed my wrists and tied them very tight behind my back. "You need not 
have had these tied hands had you not complained," she admonished severely. 
"Tomorrow you will be more sensible." 

"Yes, I will be more sensible." I positioned myself for the collar which she 
put on me. To either side lay the wrist chains which might have worn but 
which were now replace by bitter cord upon my wrists. Now the wall would 
offer less comfort than on the night before. Chouala kissed me and left me 
to the gathering dusk. 

Nightfall brought Abu Hakim, suddenly he stood before me as of the night 
itself. His voice was deep with satisfaction. "Your day. Miss Palmer. I 
trust you feel adequately debased?" 

"Yes, Sir." Boy, how I hated that "Sir." 

"My beloved Chouala gives me a good report. She has many deli in store. You 
will hate them all!" 

I had enough fight left in me to struggled awkwardly to my feet stand facing 
The Ruler, by hands behind my back, my neck collar in iron and my feet 
standing amid a swirl of chain. "I am glad hav' me as you see me know gives 
you pleasure. There is none in it for me. 

Hakim deep-throated chuckle dissolved my pretense. I was a naked girl he 
could whip or kill as he chose, it was that simple. My whole existence hung 
upon his whim. 

"In English there is a four letter word to describe the coupling a woman 
with a man. When you wish to plead with me, and it to be now, to penetrate 
you and plant my seed within, you will use word in making your request. You 
understand?" 

"I understand." I stood there silent. 

Abu Hakim turned and went away. 

It's beastly having your hands tied behind your back. A girl can do much of 
anything except constantly try to free her wrists. I v still struggling when 
I fell asleep against the wall. In the morning Chouala had no trouble making 
me do what she wished. I was the m obedient, bound maiden in Africa. 

In one of the wide hallways of the palace there stood a well-ex statue of 
the Ruler, cast in bronze and without the western dress. A Hakim stood in 
the fierce pride of his Race. It would seem apropos that he be naked and his 
phallus thrusting forward in triumph, instead he wore the breech cloth of 
his tribe and was thus a cons reminder of his presence and his work for 
Bottsvelt for all who I don't know why he desired this monstrosity in his 
harem but pe it infused awe in the younger wives. When I saw it, I shivered. 

My tribute to racial prejudice was simple and waiting. My feet w still 
chained, my wrists still bound behind my back. Chouala told to kneel and to 
face the statue. Her strong hands positioned me the convenience of a hinged 
wooden bar which was then brought and over to clasp me within the hallows of 
my knees. It was then p down hard to product a resounding click of locks. 
And there I was, once more captive, once more ashamed to kneel in obeisance 
to what might well be the biggest male ego in the world. 

Left alone, I sought the relief of sitting back on my heels. If a girl must 
kneel, that is by far her most comfortable posture. But the bar pinning down 
my knees then bit savagely in the bottom of my thighs with a pain that I did 
not wish to long continue. Once more I knelt erect, my hands unable to help 
me in the least, my knees already telling me of hurt to come. The statue 
leered down at me in African triumph. 

Within thirty minutes the pail and brush of yesterday seemed a holiday to 
what I must now endure. Everything was wrong, I could do nothing right. To 
kneel erect was my most practical option but my knees soon screamed in 
protest and my back hurt. In a repetitive ritual I fought the cords upon my 
wrists and sometimes, defiantly sat back upon my heels in the position by 
which my day might have been made tolerable. But the hurt of the cross bar 
soon urged me to kneel erect once more as Abu Hakim wished. Any thought I 
might have had of allowing myself to fall forward on my breasts and belly 
was negated by a series of small pointed blades thrusting upward from the 
stone. Miss Jill Palmer was neatly foxed. 

"Ah-h-h-h-h-h, my dear Miss Palmer, I am happy to see you on your knees. We 
make progress, do we not?" 

Hakim beamed down at my enforced submission. He expected the courtesy of an 
answer. I gave him one. 

"Sir, this is torture. It destroys my knees." 

"Scarcely torture, Miss Palmer. Discomfort perhaps. Do not those who pass 
pause to give you cheer?" 

"They dare not comfort me, they fear your anger." 

Hakim was pleased, his pleasure sweeping over me in waves I could feel. I 
suppose he was seeing in my kneeling nakedness the real or fancied slights 
he had suffered as a child. But a girl's suffering would never pay the bill 
he totaled forever in his mind. I wondered how many white maidens knelt as I 
knelt now. I wanted to expostulate upon the torture of the bar across my 
knees, but yesterday had taught me much. I keep silence and bowed my head as 
in shame. I know I made a picture to prompt erections in most men, if I 
could prompt one in The Ruler, he might incline to mercy. 

"You are exceedingly beautiful, Miss Palmer. I expect you know it and hope 
to touch my heart. Leaving you in beauty I will bid you farewell." 

Defeat and despair! My urgency caused my captor to halt and turn. "But, Sir, 
tell me of Ryan Norton. Will you not treat with him for my release. He could 
give you much." 

"Your Mr. Norton is being a nuisance to all. At the moment he is in 
Washington with your State Department, hoping to persuade them to curtail my 
foreign aid. He is what you would call a big pain in the place whereupon we 
sit. If he returns to Bottsvelt, I will have him killed." 

Black power strode from me in contempt, his power dwarfed a naked maiden 
doing penitence for imagined sins. But he had left me hope. If Ryan was 
pounding Washington, it meant he knew I was alive. As long as he knew that, 
he would not stop his efforts at rescue, seeking an Achilles Heel this black 
egomaniac might not know he possessed. For at least five minutes my spirits 
soared to dull the aching pain I could not ease. 

With the ending of my ordeal for the day, Chouala untied my hands that they 
might aid me in support with the lifting of the bar. When she unlocked the 
wicked pressure on my knee hollows, I felt sideways in an untidy sprawl on 
my breasts, utterly exhausted and wanting nothing more than to lay as I was 
forever. But soon the firm, strong finger kneaded at my wounded flesh in a 
gentle message to bring ease and gentle words replaced the bombastic 
declarations of pomposity the Ruler that spat at me. 

There was no fight left in me and Chouala had no need to bind my wrists 
again. She held my bare arm in loving authority as she led me to the wall. 
We no longer commented upon the swirling metal upon my feet, once more I 
leaned against the wall, collared and with shackled wrists. I dared not 
think nor ask about tomorrow. 

It began in curiosity and ended in horror. Several moments of the hour or so 
involved me will remain indelibly etched upon my mind forever. Chouala 
usually took my arm to lead me to where ever I must go but today he clasp my 
hand in sisterly communion, she evidently knew something I did not. The 
chain and irons were still upon my ankles but otherwise I was without 
restraint. Laughing and refusing information, she led me into nightmare. 

The palace was not short of walls. This one was of a different stone but 
still solid. It had been used as the backdrop for the erection of a platform 
reached by several steps. Massive and stark upon this small stage was a 
square block which I recognized instantly while my tummy turned somersaults. 
I turned to Chouala in despite appeal, "I don't want to die, Chouala! Why 
should I die, what have I done?" 

She placed a saucy finger upon my lips. "Hush, Miss Palmer." She beckoned to 
one side. "Look, behold what comes." 

It was a squad of eight soldiers and an officer. Behind it a van. Reaching 
the platform they surrounded it in military order and the van disgorged a 
large man wearing a black hood that hid his head. Next came a considerable 
amount of motion picture camera equipment. Cables were laid, lights were 
aligned. There were a couple of technicians, earnest young men, and a good 
deal of equipment I did not recognize. To me the most significant fact of 
all was the whole crew was neither black nor white. No native of Bottsvelt 
was present nor were the uniforms those of Abu Hakim's army. These were men 
from another place playing a role. After much waving of arms and much 
shouting I did not understand, the hooded man took his place besides the 
block to stand there in menacing immobility, his hands resting comfortably 
upon the shaft of an immense axe. The block, the axe, the man made a small 
tableau to chill my bones. The director pointed and Chouala gripped my arm 
and led me into the spot lights where I would play the stellar role. 
Centered to the camera's satisfaction, she turned me this way and that so 
the hungry lens may drink of my nakedness and my chains, then sat me in 
profile while she took my arms in the familiar gesture, crossed my wrists 
and bound them savagely tight. She took her time, thrusting me here and 
there to the best advantage of the camera's eye, which occasionally zoomed 
in to pinpoint one or the other of the restraints by which I was to be 
controlled in presumably the last hour of my life. 

A pair of the soldiers now took me from Chouala's loving hands. It was 
military and precise. In addition, one more of the soldiers stood forward 
from the ranks with a drum on which he proceeded to beat a tattoo of sharp 
sound to accelerate the pulse. My escort grasped my bound arms, one on 
either side and led me to the steps and then propelled me up to the platform 
with insistent hands, one even aiding the operation by lifting my unwieldy 
chain over the last steps I was to take. On the platform I was led to the 
block and a second camera which was hungry for the emotions of my face and 
for my bound nudity. At this point there was a pause in the proceeding while 
the young men ran to and froth while cameras were moved in close and lights 
reset to get a better view of a chained young about to die. I could neither 
run nor fight, I was beautifully immobilized for what would soon be done. 
But I was frantically twisting at the cutting cords and looking hopefully 
from left to right as if there might actually be a chance of rescue. I could 
not believe any of this, it could not possibly be true! 

The expressions on my face and the motions of the rest of me appeared to 
please. Quite probably the Ruler would have this film converted to video and 
marketed throughout the world for a profit. Since everything I did now was 
instinctive in dismay, the camera's whirled busily to garner the pathetic 
reactions of a naked girl about to lose her head. When the tattoo of the 
drum rose to a crescendo, one of the guards grasped a handful of my hair 
while the other thrust my shoulders downward so I must kneel, my bound hands 
showing awkwardly in view, and my ankle chain making a snake-like presence 
on the platform. I was suddenly lifted forward, my head drawn down into the 
hallow of the block and held tight so I could not move, nor could I see, my 
face being buried within the wood which soon would feel the hot drench of my 
blood. I struggled in revolt but scarcely moved. 

I suppose I made a pretty bizarre picture kneeling there with my head held 
down upon the block, my bare neck exposed for the sharpened steel, its 
slender nakedness enhanced by the dragging pull upon my hair as the 
uniformed man pulled as though to pull it from its roots. I heard the heave 
steps and thud of the axe moved from one place to another. The time must now 
be short but the cameras must be appeased and the young men were insistent 
in whatever they were shouting about. I knew surely now I was very close to 
death. 

Quite suddenly my head was freed and I was dragged back from the massive 
block to blink my eyes in the glare of lights. At a distance of two feet I 
was told to hold my pose, to kneel, head bowed as though awaiting the fall 
of the blade, bringing my head almost to the top of the block. The drum 
rolled in final frenzy and from the corner of my eye I knew the headsman had 
begun the horrific swing. When the blade of the axe buried itself into the 
wood where my neck had been but moments previously, I came close to 
oblivion. 

When Chouala repossessed me, her whisper was anxious, "It is over, Miss 
Palmer, try and relax." 

My mine was a jumble of relief and fear and indignation. "Why did you let me 
think I was to die? Why was I so brutally used?" 

She stroked my hair, rearranging it after the military grip. "It is for the 
cameras, Miss Palmer. The camera's needed your fear and conviction. I was 
instructed to tell you nothing." 

"But it was so cruel, I was so frightened!" 

"It was cruel, Miss Palmer, I'm sorry." 

With life still coursing through my veins I was not anxious to argue, 
especially not with Chouala. Everything seemed very good and wonderful 
compared to a few minutes ago. But I noted the camera had not been reloaded 
in the van. Everything was moved to another location near the wall. Chouala 
disclosed the bad news. "It is not over, Miss Palmer. While the crew is 
here, it is desired for you to die just once more. Please forgive us." 

"You mean really to die? This time they'll kill me?" 

"No, Miss Palmer, you will not die, you will live." 

Once more my pulse quickened in relief and a hazy sort of joy. Under this 
euphoria I said, under a sudden impulse, "Why don't you call me Jill, 
Chouala. Jill is my name, why don't you use it?" 

Chouala kissed me gently. "You know why I call you Miss Palmer and why I 
must not call you Jill. Best you be satisfied." 

Unexpectedly I was pushed inside the van and accompanied by one of the crew. 
Our journey was short. Waiting me was a man upon a horse, once more he was 
not a black, possibly an Arab. My hands were untied. A noose of rope now 
circled my neck at the end of a fifteen foot length leading to the saddle. I 
was told not to clutch the tethering rope but to walk in docile obedience 
where it might lead. If I tripped on my chain it would be part of 
authenticity. 

The song of the camera became ecstatic as I stumbled and tripped upon my 
chain at the end of the tether from the horse. What greater ignominy could 
there be then this! If my hands had not been free I would have sustained 
injuries, even a broken neck before I reached the gallows. But, using my 
hands, I managed to keep pace with the deliberately slow pace of the horse 
and rider, who's hands were heavy on the reins as he looked back to watch 
the frantic movements of my fettered feet. Before my shameful inarch was 
done, I realized the realism of my trips and falls were meat and drink to 
the busy lens. I was playing a part far better than had I tried. 

The horse and rider dragged me to stand beneath the bough and dangling 
hangman's knot. Then my neck was freed from the tether but my wrists once 
more crossed and bound behind my back in motions so familiar I scarce 
noticed them. There now ensued a tremendous turmoil of measurements and 
adjustments which I realized were designed to show me well and truly hung 
but not to kill! The soldiers stood at attention as would befitting the 
hanging of any lady of quality. The officer was stern, the drummer anxious 
to begin. The hooded man was once again in evidence. 

It was simple in its disillusion. A couple of heavily constructed boxes were 
kicked beneath the hanging noose and I was picked up to stand on one while 
the former headsman, now the hangman, stood on the other at my side. The 
camera focused until satisfied with a view which showed no sign of the boxes 
but concentrated on the upper half of the hangman and myself. When the drum 
once more rolled out its song of death, the heavy rope was adjusted around 
my neck, a heavy, brutal winding to make the perfect hangman's knot which 
lay heavy upon my shoulder, ready to string to life and break my neck during 
the drop still to come. The hangman and I gazed for moments at each other 
but I felt no wish to laugh. If someone made a mistake, I could still die 
horribly. 

Suddenly I stood alone, the hateful noose snug upon my neck and its 
attendant knot almost like a live thing, pulling at me with its weight. The 
cameras went around and around, carefully avoiding the box but catching 
every part of me, including a close up beaver shot of my pubic hair. Without 
warning the box was jerked from beneath my feet by unseen hangs. I fell. 

Someone must have taken precise measurements. But the time my feet struck 
the ground, the hangman's knot was tight against my ear and the noose very 
tight around my neck. The cameras got every bit of it, whirling frantically 
to record a maiden's death. But I do have to admit the waiting hands were 
ready to lift me once more on the box and take the noose from around my neck 
while I stood there panting and scarlet faced. The cameras were silent. I 
was actually given a swig of brandy before Chouala led me from the scene. 
I'm not sure anyone even saw us go. I had been a useful female body which 
had served its purpose. Chouala explained, "They will send which ever one 
turns out the best to your lover, Mr. Ryan Norton, to prove to him your 
death. Our Ruler wishes Mr. Norton to cease his agitations against our 
State." 

"But my head wasn't cut off!" 

"That will be faked, Miss Palmer. The young men with the cameras are very 
clever." 

I had very little room for optimism, my hands were tied, my feet her 
chained, and I was scared half to death, and presumably now faced another 
day of degrading labor. Thinking of what lay ahead, I could have used 
another shot of brandy. Innocently I asked, "What lays ahead now, Chouala? 
Another scrub brush?" 

Her hand squeezed my arm as though to reassure. "Today it is the stables, 
Miss Palmer. The palace has horses for state occasions. Today they will be 
put out to pasture while you clean what they have left behind." 

"You mean shoved manure!" 

"Alas, yes, it is the way with animals." 

Stable are stables all around the world, they smell disgustingly and their 
walls are decorated with assorted leathers. The five open stalls to which I 
was introduced were well littered with straw and animal deposits in such 
volume to lead me to suppose this ordeal had been laying in wait for me for 
several days. Chouala untied my hands but took a shackle from the wall to 
join them again with a twelve inch span of links and a heavy pair of 
wristlets of black iron as might befit a stable maid. 

"These are by order, Miss Palmer, they will annoy you constantly but not 
impede the work you have to do." She handed me a pitchfork, reminiscent of 
common concept of Satan. "This is a manure fork, Miss Palmer. You will use 
it and the broom to leave each of these stalls neat and tidy. The cart 
backed up to the far door is for you to fill." 

She gazed at me with some sorrow. "Oh, Miss Palmer, I'm am so terribly 
sorry." 

Chouala made a swift escape, not doubt not wishing to embarrass me by her 
presence while I made my first pathetic attempts to obey the orders of the 
day. The fork was a heavy, awkward, beastly thing and I had never done such 
work before, never even thought of it. It was a task for men, for strong and 
able men, not for a naked girl who's feet and hands are chained as though to 
handicap her in a race. Had it been truly needful for me to do this work, I 
should have been stripped of irons and allowed the simple nakedness. I was 
unconcerned with nakedness and never expected to be clothed again so long as 
Abu Hakim held me. I thrust angrily with the tines against a pile of horse 
shit. 

As the day progressed I delivered a labor's techniques and got my second 
wind. But when I started my efforts were pitiful and I was glad there was 
none to see. The most disgusting part of being a barefoot stable maid was 
the horse shit waiting for my tread. It was wet and slimy and penetrated up 
between my toes. The chain I must forever drag up and down between my feet 
was soon filthy, and I soon found the dislodging of these equine droppings 
doubled the first affront to my nose. I had to determinedly thrust from my 
mind the delectable vision of hurling the fork to the floor and going in 
search of Chouala to accept whatever punishment might result. Somehow I had 
to come to terms with this ordeal and see it out to the end. I was pretty 
sure Ryan would not be deceived by the pictures. There was something all 
together too artistic about them, more inspired by Hollywood than a harsh 
reality. Ryan would find me! I repeated the assurance over and over in my 
mind while I carried the load forkfuls of horse shit to the cart. 

"May I commend you industry, Miss Palmer, you are an industrious young 
woman." Hakim's huge form filled the doorway and I wondered how long he 
might have been watching me. 

I said an automatic thank you while continuing with my task. 

"You may cease work while I speak with you, Miss Palmer. Your labors seems 
to have disturbed a fine, fresh odor." 

"It's filthy. Those beastly horses...! " 

"You do not enjoy horses, Miss Palmer? That is a great pity. I am 
considering having you bound naked and well spread upon the back of a horse 
while the animal is turned loose in our pasture. I'm sure you are familiar 
with Lord Byron's famous poem with 'Mazeppa'? " 

Damn Lord Byron. Damn all horse. Damn everything in Bottsvelt. I looked at 
it's ruler despondently. "Does you revenge know no end? Does it go on 
forever?" 

Hakim's laugh was genuine. "But you have been making your payments for only 
a few days, Miss Palmer...." 

"Do you know what was done to me this morning with those damn fool movies?" 

"Ah, yes, I wrote the scenario for each. I was not present for I am only 
concerned with the end product which I am sure will encourage your Mr. Ryan 
Norton to seek solace with some other young lady who is still living." 

I passed it by. The less this bombastic potentate knew about Ryan the 
better. But dismally I said. "Is not this humiliation enough? Look at me. Am 
I not degraded enough to your taste? Have I not earned freedom?" 

"The horse shit oozes up between your toes, dear lady. How very charming! 
No, you will not be given freedom." 

I went back to work. No doubt I would pay a penalty if the cart was not 
filled by evening. I was cruelly tired, by back ached, and my skin was 
chafed by the needless irons. But it was as though I could hear Ryan's 
voice, "Hang in there girl, stick it out. I'll find you someday 

The only good thing about my day was the way I slept that night. I was dead 
tired and could care less about the collar on my neck or the shackles on my 
wrists. The wall had become my friend, my only privacy. Before drifting into 
sleep I wondered about the girl in the painting and what message the wall 
had for her. In the morning I was to find out. 

When I woke I knew instantly it was late. The sun was hot and I felt the 
instinctive tardiness of one who overslept. Then I blinked in pure 
amazement. Ten feet distant stood a naked girl, fastened to the wall as I 
was fastened. Unaware of her chains she was eyeing me with an amused smile. 
It was the girl of the oil painting in the apartment. 

"Hello, Miss Palmer. My name's Diana, I come from California. I am the 
prisoner of Abu Hakim. I've spent a lot of time against this wall and I'm 
told you admired the oil painting that artist made of me." She laughed 
without much amusement. "Well, here I am." 

"But where's Chouala?" I blurted out stupidly. 

"She left you to sleep." Another small trill of laughter. "I understand 
yesterday was a trying day." 

We could not reach each other, they had made sure of that! But we could 
talk. Diana told me, in a self-deprecating manner all her own, that she had 
been a slave to Abu Hakim for two years, having kidnapped from a tourist 
with the usual simply finality by which girls disappear. She told me frankly 
Hakim had broken her completely, wearing her down with ordeals such as I 
endured now. She had long since abandoned hope of escape or rescue and was 
reconciled to be what she laughingly described as "Hakim's whore." She did 
whatever she was told and accepted whatever punishments she must. 
Reflectively she said she had no future so never thought of one. She was a 
lovely female body to be used and she was white. It was as though she now 
fulfilled her destiny. 

It was strange and incredible, especially the careless manner in which she 
bore her bondage to the wall. About Diana was a lack of rebelliousness such 
as I was sure I still held. At the end of a long story which left me 
wondering as to the motives in placing her near me, she told me with utter 
simplicity of her errant. Abu Hakim required the ultimate abasement. If I 
refused to comply, Diana would be strung up and whipped while I watched. Her 
delivery of this message was as though it did not matter. 

"That's why you're here! You're to suffer that because of me?" I was aghast. 

"Our Master tells me you are reluctant to use a word." Diana grinned in a 
sort of comradely admission, her eyes suddenly mischievous. She patted her 
patch of pubic hair and explained, "I am told you are reluctant to use the 
vulgar word men love so much to describe what they do to girl down her 
beneath my hand." She spread her legs to reveal the tender lips and say 
regretfully, "I've often thought these things the curse of Eve. They're the 
cause of almost all females' troubles. I envy men that beastly cannon they 
carry in their crotch." 

Whatever else this lovely and strangely unreal girl might have said was 
terminated by the arrival of Chouala with my food. I ate it while Diana was 
taken from my sight, unbound, careless, docile in obedience. When Chouala 
returned she said simply, "You have the message, Miss Palmer. And now we 
begin another day." 

I had expected the horse. It was not the horse! Instead, I was led to the 
great hall with its ugly bronze of The Leader. But today we were unconcerned 
with him or the bar for a maiden's knees. Beyond the statue was a truncated 
column, its flattened surface thirty inches above the floor. I was invited 
to sit upon its top and to be careful to position myself for maximum 
comfort. This told me I would sit there for a long time. My now frankly 
beloved Chouala placed my hands, palm to palm, behind by back and tied them 
there with the thin cord which spoke of vengeance. But today that was not 
enough. Chouala's strength compressed my arms to make my elbows meet then 
bound them with strand after strand of soft bandage. 

"Not to restrict the circulation," she said with practical competence. "Your 
breasts are desired to protrude. You shoulders to be stressed and hurt. But 
your arms are precious, they must not be hurt." 

From this I got what comfort I could and waited disclosure of what my real 
punishment would be. I was accustomed to being bound, I was sure it would 
not be that. What happened then was, at first, a vast relief. She unlocked 
the irons from my ankles and set the pile of links aside. My feet swung free 
to make me long to leap and cavort with a freedom I had lost for a long 
time. But by the time I edged my bound nakedness from the column, Chouala 
would have grasped me and I would have earned a punishment. I sat in the 
docile submission to my slavery while I watched my jailer in a mounting 
curiosity. 

Two upright stanchions of metal, two or three inches in diameter, were 
thrust down into waiting holes in the stone floor. Had I not been seated on 
the column I would have seen little purpose but was was seated there and I 
knew they had a purpose. That purpose was ME! When they were screwed down, 
Chouala whispered, "Have you not guessed, Miss Palmer? I now bind the little 
feet." 

Even that would not have been way out or scary had it not suddenly dawned 
upon my that these vertical posts were far apart in relationship to myself. 
But someone had been careful in their measurements. When my left leg was 
lifted and thrust against the top of one of them, and my ankle firmly bound 
there, I realized I was about to be outrageously stretched in an exposure to 
humiliate me enough for a dozen of Abu Hakim's hang-ups. Chouala looked at 
me sorrowfully and said, "I'm sorry, Miss Palmer," as she dragged my right 
foot to its post and bound it there. Both bindings were very, very tight and 
beautifully symmetrical. My ankles were now fixed just a little higher than 
the level of my crotch. Bound as I was, it was awkward for me to pear down 
but I did my best and was shocked by what I saw. My sex was a blatant 
indecency, proclaiming its presence as though the pubic patch above was 
flying flag. The lips were not open but were separate enough to make me 
cringe in shame. Coming within the compass of my taut, stretched thighs, 
Chouala kissed me tenderly and played for brief moments with my nipples. She 
told me, "There are worse things than this, Miss Palmer. Try to remember: 
there is always something worse." She turned and left me to my day. 

When I had knelt in this same hole to page homage to the Ruler, I had 
attracted only passing interest, simply one more naked girl upon her knees. 
People smiled saw no reason to pause. I was offering nothing they had not 
seen before. But this was different! My sexual facility so blatantly exposed 
is a member of an international currency of flesh. It was also a part of a 
white girl painfully bound to expose herself in shame. I was examined and 
discussed. I expect I was compared to others. The sexual orifice of a girl 
has many shapes and placements according to its owner. Some are well within 
her crotch and show to best advantage when she bends to touch her toes to 
received the cane. Others hid coyly within a small forest of pubic hair 
while others flaunt themselves in full frontal exposure inviting 
penetration. Some have lips and some have none, some are plump while others 
are lean. In some the Venus mound would do honor to Venus herself but in 
others it was flat. I was not sure where mine belonged in these groupings. 
All I knew now was it was indecently exposed for all to see and there wasn't 
a thing I could do about it. 

I want to be dramatic and say I longed to die. But I had never more longed 
to live! But not like this with breasts pointing at all who stood nearby and 
my sex so stretched as to tell me of a fly who fed thereon, a fly I could 
not see but could mostly surely feel! Abu Hakim was in great form when he 
made an early visit. 

"Ah, Miss Palmer, I see you are like other girls, you have all the 
attributes by which a man finds joy." 

"Yes, Sir." 

"You are making discoveries of yourself, Miss Palmer, I am sure you have not 
previously realized how precious are your possessions." 

"No, Sir." 

"It seems to me," Hakim said thoughtfully, "what I am looking at and which 
you are offering so blatantly was the subject of a recent discussion between 
us. Am I correct?" 

"Yes, Sir." 

"Ah, yes, the matter of a word as I recall. A very simple word. Would you 
care to employ it now in a simple request." 

"No, Sir." 

The Ruler sighed. I was being difficult. His banter became more down to 
earth. "Perhaps you would like to be whipped, Miss Palmer." 

"No, Sir." 

"If I wished to be sarcastic I could remark that you may have swallowed a 
recording device," he suggested. "Are you sure, Miss Palmer, the whip might 
not loosen your tongue?" 

I broke down. I gave the ruler of Bottsvelt all his heart desires. I 
pleaded, I begged. I did everything he wanted of me except that single thing 
to name the disgusting act he wanted me to ask for. Why this act should 
disgust me with Abu Hakim but enthrall and delight me with Ryan Norton is 
something I cannot explain. Both were magnificent males. But I was just a 
girl, a naked girl who, at that moment, was hurting and intensely unhappy. 
Desperately I pleaded, "I cannot please you, Sir. I say the right things. I 
do not want the whip but if you wish to whip me I will try to mute my 
scream." I looked up at him, almost in rapport. "I'm sorry, Sir, I wish it 
wasn't like this. I wish I could talk to you as a girl in freedom." 

Abu Hakim, the Ruler, nodded and considered me in silence for almost a 
minute before he went away. 

It might not be torture but it was a beastly way for a girl to spend the 
day. I elbows protested more and more and my wracked shoulders pleaded for 
mercy. But my breasts projected jauntily out in front as though enjoying the 
whole affair. There was even an ache in my outrageously displayed crotch 
upon which my wide-spread legs imposed an unnatural strain. My feet, so 
firmly bound to the twin posts, had troubles of their own. I gave up trying 
to move, it was simply too painful. The binding of my arms prevented 
slumping on my pedestal but forced me to sit up straight as if blatantly 
proclaiming the arrogance of my breasts. It was a bad day indeed for Miss 
Jill Palmer. 

From time to time I closed my eyes, not to sleep but to close away the 
world. In the darkness I could hear the comings and goings and swear I could 
feel the intensity of their interest in my openly displayed sex. I think 
that no matter how many of these female facilities a man or woman may see 
they are always curious about one more. In my heart I was proud of mine, but 
not like this, not like this...! It had always given me comfort to reach 
down and clasp my small, warm mound, an intensely private act for private 
thoughts, having nothing whatever to do with inserting my finger to find my 
clit. I have no idea how many girls find this communion with themselves. 
That's the trouble with us all, we do not talk about ourselves or share our 
secrets. The whispered confidences of puberty, exchanged in the John, leave 
us only with an avid curiosity. 

Opening my eyes after one of these excursions into darkness, I beheld Diana. 

Diana was leaning against one of the posts against which my feet were bound. 
Her manner was as carelessly free as previously. There was only one changed, 
this time she was handcuffed. She laughed softly to see me blink my way back 
into her world. 

"You were deliberately dreaming, I know, I've done it often. I think I've 
sat on that damn pedestal the way you are at least four times. Everyone 
knows the shape and size of my pussy." 

There was so much to say, but fixed the way I was, nothing seemed 
appropriate. Stupidly, I asked, "You're handcuffed, why?" 

Diana laughed and jingled the chain on her joined hands. "I offended one of 
the wives. All the wives outrank me and can punish me at will. I suppose I'm 
simply a sort of sex slave, always available." Her voice tensed. "There is 
something I must tell you." 

"Not about Hakim again?" 

"No, about you." Diana held up her cuffed wrists as though to show me we had 
something in common. "They're going to play a dirty, rotten trick on you. 
Sometime soon you'll discover your chains are not locked properly and you 
can remove them probably at night against the wall. Naturally you're going 
to run like crazy and feel so grateful for the mistake someone seems to have 
made. They'll probably let you get quite a long way from where you started 
before they pick you up and return you to the justice of Abu Hakim. I expect 
he'll rape you as punishment. Goodness knows what he'll do." 

I was not as glad as I should have been. It was one more thing to worry 
about: terrible decisions, terrible punishments. I almost wished Diana 
hadn't told me. "How do you know about this, Diana, who told you?" 

"I pick up all the gossip, Jill. I'm considered safe. I'm as much a prisoner 
here as you are, perhaps more. Hakim's secrets are safe with me because I 
can't tell them to anyone. Sometimes Hakim makes a confident of me, knowing 
I can't pass it on. Such things amuse him, they keep us on the hook, always 
hoping." 

"But how will I know about. . . about this ... escape? They keep my feet 
ironed all the time, what about that?" My doubts became a plaintive wail. 

Diana was unperturbed. "You're leg irons are off you now, they'll be off you 
then, you can be sure of that. In fact, that may be your way of knowing, the 
time they take your chains from your feet." 

"What should I do when that happens? Diana, can you tell me what to do?" 

"Play it dumb but honest, darling. Don't get far from the palace, try and 
find someone to whom you will surrender. You can explain about the chains 
falling off and would they please put them on you properly." 

"They'll smell a rat." 

"Maybe, but they can't prove it. At least you won't have earned a 
punishment." 

"But they'll suspect you. Maybe they're watching us right now?" 

For answer the handcuffed beauty took my face in her joined hands and kissed 
my eyes, my nose and my lips. On my lips she lingered a long, long time 
until I was kissing her back with the same girl-hunger. Her voice was soft 
and very close to my ear, "I've giving up caring, Jill, but you need now. 
I've been broken and punished and trained so I'm simply a part of this 
place. My life is here, the only life I have. I get punished from time to 
time not these silly handcuffs, there's an absolute nothing. But I do get 
whipped sometimes or have to spend a few hours like you are now. The rest of 
the time it's pretty good. I've got a lot of freedom and this is really a 
pretty good place to live. 

"As far as my love life goes, Abu Hakim looks after that. Or delegates one 
of his men to look after me. I accept that, too. You'll eventually accept 
that, too, if you can't escape." She gave me one final kiss before flitting 
from sight. She left me hot and bothered and scared. 

Being freed was the worst torture of my day. I had been on that pedestal for 
so long without moving it had become painful to move. But Chouala knew what 
to expect and her firm, strong hands kneed my body until I could actually 
stand up without falling down. This has to be crazy, but I was actually 
relieved when she locked those damned leg irons back on my ankles. 
Remembering what Diana had told me, I took this return to chained feet as 
indicating the bogus escape would not be today nor tonight. I would have 
told Chouala of what I knew, but dared not. Chouala was Hakim's girl and 
might see no good reason why Diana should not be punished for her 
indiscretion. It's a damn funny spot for a girl to be in when you sort of 
love someone but can't trust them. 

Chouala and I made my metallic walk back to the wall where she chained my 
neck and wrists and told me she would bring me food later. 

I sat against my wall in that exquisite relief that comes after a day of 
being strictly bound. Joyously I pressed my legs and thighs tight together 
in a glorious contrast to their wide-spread day. It was the same with my 
hands and arms, I deliberately kept them from my back but stretched them 
gleefully sideways and up and down. While I was reveling in this uninhabited 
freedom the shackle fell away from my right wrist and clattered to the 
ground. 

I sat stunned. It was as though Diana had told me nothing and this failure 
of a lock to property hold its circle had come as a total surprise out of 
the blue. I looked at it and at my wrist. I picked it up and closed it as an 
empty circle but it would not latch, it came open again when I released it. 
Doubting the possibility, I tested the metal band around my left wrist. It 
only took a single tug for it to fall free in the same way. My suddenly 
freed fingers flew to my neck and the collar behaved the same way. I held 
its open half circles in stupid disbelief. I closed and opened it several 
times but it did not latch. I put it down and reached for the heavier band 
around my left ankles. It refused to open. I tried my right foot and mat, 
too, was still securely held. After fighting both AarHri a couple of 
minutes, I ceased the hopeless task and rested my chin in my hands to think 
this out. 

Everything was wrong. I felt the play thing of an invisible power. My hands 
and neck confirmed, my feet denied. Thinking ahead into the darkness, I 
wondered what chance a naked girl would have if she found a way out of the 
garden then shuffled her way towards a nebulous freedom with her feet 
solidly ironed. I could not imagine freedom with my ankles firmly anchored 
to their chain. I would make a lot of noise and from time to time I would 
trip and fall. If I found freedom thus, it would be a miracle. I did not 
bother to fasten myself again but left the collar and shackles were they 
fell. When Chouala brought my food and the pail of water for the night she 
laughed delightedly at the expression on my face. I'm sure it was something 
to behold, I was as baffled as any girl can be. 

I picked up the open collar as an exhibited. "It sort of ... well, it just 
fell off," I said shame faced. 

Chouala's voice was laughing as she asked, "And you did not run away, Miss 
Palmer? How very silly." 

"How could I run away with my feet still shackled?" 

"But you would have if you could?" 

I was being played with. 

"I ... I, well, I simply don't know. I'd be crazy to run away in daylight, 
I'd be caught and punished." 

"But after dark, Miss Paliner?" 

I knew my retort was testy and ungracious but that was too bad. "I simply 
don't know, Chouala, I simply don't know what I would do. Or how I'd feel. 
Except that I'd be frightened silly" 

For answer she knelt, produced a key, and unlocked the leg irons on my 
ankles. She removed one to open and close it several times to demonstrate 
its lose of potency then clasp it once again around my leg. She cocked an 
amused eye in my direction. 

"Now do the same with the collar and wristlets, Miss Palmer. I want to see." 

Wonderingly I obeyed to once more show myself as a helpless prisoner to the 
wall. But, inside, my heart was singing, "You can be free anytime you want, 
anytime you want!" I looked up at my amused jailer. 

"Okay, Chouala, what now?" 

"You eat you supper like a good girl. You wait as you are now, a model 
prisoner, until the dark. Then you run, you run very hard indeed." 

"Straight into a trap. Then I'll be punished horribly," I said flatly. I 
could never be sure of Chouala. She now did what Diana had done earlier when 
I was helpless, clasp my face in loving hands and kissed me earnestly. 

"Do you really believe I'd lead you into a trap," she whispered softly in my 
ear. 

"Chouala, I don't know or believe anything. Tell me what goes." 

"You go, Jill. You see, I drop the so formal 'Miss Palmer.' I now call you 
Jill, perhaps it is for the last time. Tomorrow you will be gone." 

The concept was so stupendous I could not comprehend. Diana had given me 
warning of exactly what was now taking place. But I knew that between this 
black girl and I was an affection, a growing love. 

And it was she who unlocked my chains and urged me to run into what another 
girl had called a trap. I was about to confront Chouala with the story of 
Diana but bit the impulse back. I could not betray the white girl from my 
own land, gradually I beheld only a single course of action. I would run, I 
would be caught, I would be punished. Then everyone would be happy but me. 

Bitterly I accused, "Chouala, it's crazy. Even if I'm free, how on earth do 
you expect me to escape from Bottsvelt? There's just no way." 

But I was talking to the wind. Chouala had gone. 

I hated everybody, most of all myself. I wore the chains while eating my 
supper. It was a relief to do something not requiring the searching of my 
soul. I was also hungry. When I set the supper things aside the African 
night was beginning shroud the garden in shadows and dark places and I knew 
I could not long delay decision. Supinely I could sit and sleep to await the 
morning and some fresh indignity or I could run into the unknown, into a 
hostile land in which I was no more than a naked white girl who had cash 
value. It wasn't much of a choice but I knew which one I would take. 

First of all it was glorious to stand, to walk away from the wall and look 
back at it in the darkness. For me to be totally free seemed strange, 
demanding correction. But common sense told me to get on with it! I turned 
and ran. 

Getting out of the harem gardens confirmed Diana. There was a door but it 
yielded to my touch. Outside, in the African night, was Bottsvelt, and I 
could not read the stars enough to know where I should run. Right there I 
wanted to go back. But when I turned to the door it had in some way latched 
against me and I was on my own. With a great sigh, born from the feeling of 
utter freedom so strange to me, I turned and ran. 

It was better than making love, better than orgasms, better than anything 
else in life to leap and speed nakedly through the night. I would skirt the 
village adjacent to the palace and hope to find the major city with ocean 
port and airport and perhaps passport to freedom. Perhaps I could bribe 
someone to take me to the US Consulate and wondered, even with a touch of 
humor, how many times I must be raped to lead me to that objective. It was 
all suddenly a glorious adventure. 

I had run a long way before the two horsemen converged upon me in the gloom. 
I saw them in agonized disgust but kept on running, just in case they had no 
interest in a naked girl speeding across the sand. 

But that was silly, they had an interest and that was ME. I cannot outrun a 
horse. I stopped, panting and, when they were close enough, demanded, "What 
do you want of me? If you will take me to the American Consul in the city, I 
will get you a lot of money." 

They either did not hear or did not speak English. One held me while the 
other crossed my wrists behind my back and tied them with the now-familiar 
agony I knew well. They then noosed my neck and tethered me with twenty feet 
of rope to one of the saddles. They mounted and headed back the way I had 
come. I had no choice but to follow. If I stopped or if I fell I got a 
broken neck. 

I cannot tell you the agony of spirit I suffered in that walk. Naked and 
bound I was marching back to punishment. I could envision Abu Hakim towering 
above my bound nakedness before falling upon my naked body and piercing me 
with a cry of triumph. That was the least and best I could hope for. If that 
was all I got, I'd be a lucky girl. 

I was not taking much stock in anything. I simply plodded one step after 
another and twisted my bound hands, displaying enough willingness to keep 
the tether from snapping taut upon my neck. Thus are slavegirls delivered to 
their Lords. 

I would guess we were half way back to the palace when the jeeps came 
swiftly out of the night. Two shots sent one horsemen slumping to the sand 
and the other jerking backwards out of his saddle. But both lay still on the 
sand and I was sure they were dead. But the gunshots and the jeep's noise 
frightened the horse and I was about to be dragged across the desert sands 
by my neck when one jeep cut off my horse. Someone leaped from the jeep and 
caught the horse's reins before it could begin its panic flight through the 
night. As it was I tripped and fell but was now helped erect by strong arms 
to find myself gazing in amazement at the guerrilla leader who had sold me 
to Hakim days ago. 

His voice was heavy with sarcasm, "Welcome to The Cause, Miss Jill Palmer. 
My name is Wesuto. You are my prisoner." 

 6 The Pill and the Ravishment 

The tent had none of the functional trappings of fiction. It was pitched 
with others in the sand. But there were no gorgeous rugs or cushions or 
divans. Everything was very western and of a strict utility. In this I 
supposed I could conclude the whip laying coiled like a snake at me feet 
while I stood erect, very bare with my back against the tent pole, was an 
item to be used. I felt as if I might never use my hands again, they had 
been gathered in behind and locked in handcuffs. Across the desk sat Wesuto. 

"Consider yourself the spoils of war. Miss Palmer." He had said when I was 
fastened thus. I had nothing to say about anything. Once more he spoke, "I 
can hardly expect to sell you back to Hakim a second time. Miss Jill Palmer. 
There are hazards to such transactions." I sensed decision in his desert 
eyes. "I have decide to keep you in the role of what is called a 'camp 
follower.' You understand its meaning?" 

"Doesn't it mean you've taken me as your mistress, your ... slave?" 

"You are technically correct, Miss Palmer." Wesuto toyed with a pencil, his 
gaze never leaving my eyes. "However I have in mind a somewhat wider use for 
your superlative qualities. I had a squad of stalwarts I call my Guard. I 
intend to share you with them. I will introduce you to them personally so 
you will not bestow your favors on the unworthy. I trust you see the logic 
in this arrangement." 

I could see logic from his point of view but not from mine. I said so 
forcibly, "You're not going to get any girl to say she wants to be ravished 
by a dozen or so men. I suppose I can put up with you, but not half your 
army." I lapsed into a sulky silence. 

Wesuto looked vaguely flattered but retorted, "You love me, you love my men. 
It is that simply, Miss Palmer. Be prepared to spread your legs upon 
demand." 

"You're being disgusting. I hope you don't mean what you say." I was scared 
witless. Here I was in a desert, the name of which I didn't even know, 
captured by a guerrilla, who was admittedly an attractive man, and being 
asked to say "Yes, I'd loved to be ravished by the members of your Guard." 
What it amounted to was that I had not yet made the mental adjustment by 
which such an acceptance of debasement would come within the realm of 
possibility. I shuffled the handcuffs behind the pole and said dejectedly, 
"Can I make an offer? Me for you alone?" 

"No." 

It was easy to see why Wesuto had obtained his present stature of being 
eligible for foreign aid in the same way as other African leaders. This man 
was truly democratic, sharing everything, even the body of a woman to whom 
he was attracted. He was attracted to me, I could tell. Damn it all, I was 
attracted to him. I was ashamed of myself. 

"Your answer, Miss Palmer?" 

"I don't see why you need an answer," I said bitterly. "All you have to do 
is spread-eagle me, tightly bound, and your Guard can use me at will. What 
more do you want?" 

"Much more, Miss Palmer. You will have the run of the camp but you will lay 
down and spread your legs upon request. Failure to do so with good will 
earns the whip." 

"Drop dead." 

Wesuto sighed. Men always seem to have something to sigh about in my 
presence. Without haste he came around the desk, unlocked my handcuffs, then 
turned me around to lock them where I could see them on the other side of 
the tent pole. I realized instantly what he had done. All my back was now 
available and cruelly vulnerable. I could shield nothing! True, I could sink 
to the floor and lay upon the sand but his whip would follow me even there. 
For Miss Jill Palmer there was no escape. Forlornly I pleaded. 

"Please don't whip me. I'm offering myself to you and I'll try to make you 
happy. I'll try to always have a smile. Can't you be satisfied?" 

My answer was the whip. It curled across my bare shoulders with the 
scorching fire I knew all too well. I did not scream, I would scream later. 
Perhaps Wesuto might feel mercy for a naked girl who took her punishment in 
silence. Who could tell! The next blow cut squarely across the twin cheeks 
of my bottom, lapping a hip to make me squeal at the bitter pain. After a 
while, when silence had bought me nothing, I screamed in angry and hatred 
and pain each time the thong found my flesh as Wesuto whipped me with a calm 
but terrible intensity. Soon I was upon the ground, spread out in agony 
against my chained wrists. But that was hateful and I scrambled back to my 
feet and ended up by clutching the pole with my handcuffed hands and 
thrusting my naked waist against it in a forlorn seeking of a shield that 
was not there. After quite a long while I heard my own voice saying, "Stop! 
Please stop. I will do what you want. I will lay down for your men. But 
don't whip me any more." 

All I had done was salve my conscious with pain. If I had agreed to become 
his army's whore on the first request, I would be diminished in Wesuto's 
eyes and my own. I had not counted the lashes on my skin but supposed that 
count was the tally of my virtue. From the burning pain I was certain they 
were numerous. I wept in a storm of freed emotion, my forehead against the 
pole, my chained hands clutching it in desperation, to catch my tears and 
acknowledge what I had become. I sensed Wesuto sitting back on the edge of 
his desk, surveying the nakedness he had conquered. I longed to scream at 
him in fierce denial, but he had conquered me. I could no longer bear the 
impacts of his whip. Tomorrow I would be docile in obedience. 

My new master thoughtfully unlocked my hands and drew me back away from the 
tent pole. With the same serious air, his intent bright eyes never leaving 
my face, he locked the cuffs back once more on my wrists in front, not 
behind my back. He led me, unresisting, to his couch to lay my whipped back 
upon the rough covers as though to tell me of the potency of lashed female 
skin in a approach to orgasm. Wesuto did his part, he was immensely virile. 
When he was done with me, I was limp and without will to fight, floating in 
an euphoria of sensations. 

Quietly he unlocked one of my wrists and closed the vacant cuff on the bed 
rail. Thus fastened, Miss Jill Palmer spent the night. 

In the morning I was fed, cleansed and watered for the day by a youngish 
male no older than eighteen. The boy was shy and fell instantly in love with 
my nakedness. The intensity of his desire was evident beneath the covering 
of his loins. But he was gentle and undemanding and I was grateful. He kept 
me handcuffed, but if that was all I had to contend with, I could care less. 
He cuffed me in front not in back and that makes all the difference in the 
world. I was then led back to my new master. Then began the unbelievable. 

There they were, twenty stalwart soldiers, standing erectly to attention to 
be inspected by the autocrat who ruled our lives. Wesuto, as he had 
promised, introduced me personally to each, giving them names and 
instructions to use me with great care. I gathered I had become an asset to 
The Cause and should be cherished as a continuing facility by which they 
might be ennobled, encouraged, and satiated. I clinked my handcuffs and 
said, "How do you do?" to each. I knew they longed to laugh but were too 
well disciplined. Looking at their immense virility, I had no wish to laugh 
at all. 

Wesuto wished to make the moment have a lasting impression. Since I could 
not possibly service all twenty of his guard at once, I was instructed to 
kneel individually before each man, working through the troop, and to bring 
out into the sunlight his throbbing phallus and to seal my dedication to its 
appetite with a kiss, a simple kiss from virgin lips. Obediently I knelt and 
obeyed, thankful it was no worse. I had expected to be laid or staked out 
upon the ground and entered by the entire force. But in deep humility I 
knelt and kissed each member. The Guard, having been given a taste of 
heaven, were then dismissed, each man striving to catch my eye in a male 
promise of virility. 

It had not been the defeat I had supposed. Strangely I sensed female victory 
in the adoration of these men and their need of me. When they had gone about 
their duties, Wesuto took me once more to the tent and once more ravished me 
upon the couch. I tried to please him, hoping he would regret his largesse 
in making me available, of not to all, at least to twenty potent men who he 
could cheat only by keeping me fastened in his tent, or riding beside him, 
chained, in his jeep. I found myself with feminine curiosity about the whole 
damned silly situation. 

There was no move to shift the encampment. The tent which had become my home 
along with Wesuto remained intact with me as its principle interior 
adornment. My hands had been taken around back before being cuffed, I 
suppose to enhance the view, and I was left to my thoughts. No mention was 
made of the Guard and Wesuto wrote letters and figured accounts at his desk 
with me in full view. I could have edged around the pole and shown him my 
back but my female isolation among a small army of males was lonely enough 
without restricting my own view. I noticed when Wesuto raised his head to 
look at me now, there was a small smile upon his face. I suppose I could 
have asked him what he was going to do with me but I suspected he didn't 
know himself. Frankly, he had picked me up purely by accident in a 
reconnaissance in enemy territory. 

By the standard governing my life during the past week, the tent pole was 
almost pleasure, nothing hurt. I was obliged to stand with my back against 
it but if I hadn't been fastened to the pole I would have been fastened to 
something else. Being fastened had become a fact of my existence. If often 
bitterly wondered how girls survived when not attached to something. 

Weighing them in balance, I decided there was not much to choose; being 
captive to Wesuto or being captive to Abu Hakim. Wesuto would have won hands 
down in such a choice had it not been for those twenty enormous men who I 
had paid homage and who were probably joking about the best way to spread my 
legs in their own tent. I suppose I had been shamed and humiliated so much 
that I was now not hysterical over my impending fate. Wesuto had a supply of 
the little red pills which had changed the face of humanity. He made very 
certain I swallowed one every night. This simply act, by some magic of its 
own, made the whole affair take on the resemblance of normalcy. I would 
become a sterile facility like most suburban wives. 

I moaned Chouala, missing her feminine presence and female consul. She may 
have been the instrument of my punishments but not the originator. I 
remained puzzled by her part in my escape and by Diana's warning. There was 
something wrong there but I couldn't figure out what. The horsemen who had 
captured me first might or might not have been Hakim's men. But they were 
dead. Wesuto was very much his own man and I wished most ardently he would 
keep me as his personal concubine and forget about his stalwart Guard. Since 
I had not yet been ordered to lay down for any of them I cherished a small 
hope that such events would never happen. 

Wesuto got up and refreshed himself with water, holding the same cup to my 
lips that I might drink. We were very close and face to face. "You are very 
beautiful, Miss Jill Palmer," Wesuto said in the very serious way he had 
about such things. "Why has no man married you?" 

There, chained to his tent pole, I told this leader of guerrillas the story 
of my life, taking the opportunity to explain how he could certainly sell me 
to Ryan Norton provided my sheath had not been penetrated by no others than 
himself. I explained how a white man might accept the ravishment of his 
woman by a single male but not by twenty-one. Gazing at him forlornly, I 
finished up with, "Why don't you sell me? You need the money and you don't 
need me. If you need a girl prisoner all the time, I am sure there are 
others who will give you less trouble than I." 

"I prefer you." Wesuto's simple declaration was the prelude to him unlocking 
the handcuffs and leading me to the cot. In what ensued I lost all sense of 
time but a great deal of it passed by while we were preoccupied with each 
other. With Ryan so remote, he had faded almost to a fantasy. I could almost 
contemplate becoming the possession of this dark virility who followed a 
Cause about which I knew nothing. In the quiet of satiety of aftermath I 
gently said, "Please don't give me to your guard. Master, keep me for your 
own." 

Wesuto did not reply but led me back to my pole and tethered me to it once 
more. I knew our union had been deeply satisfying to us both and my small 
flame of hope was fueled thereby. Wesuto returned to his desk and I fell 
silent in my dreams. 

Two days later the incredible befell. 

Wesuto and I had become almost domestic. He worked at his desk, I stood 
chained to the tent pole. Sometimes he unlocked me and took me to the cot. 
It was a peace too good to last. In response to a soldier's urgent summons, 
Wesuto went out into the sunlight and, straining to see what was taking 
place, I managed a fleeting glimpse of an approaching jeep with a large 
white flag. The jeep was making its way slowly and cautiously. I beheld it 
briefly and, since it was no concern of mine, lost interest and relapsed 
against my pole. I could hear an considerable exchange of talk in the local 
language but that was of no concern to me either. I became suddenly alive 
only when Wesuto returned and with him was an officer of Abu Hakim's army 
who held die arm of a bound and naked girl. It was Diana. 

Shocked in disbelief, I dared not speak. Diana, too, must have been enjoined 
to silence. She sent messages of anxiety with her eyes but spoke no word. 
The two men held the stage and surprisingly spoke in English. I soon 
realized the English was for our benefit. We were considered interested 
parties to an outrageous proposition at which no one laughed. 

Diana was naked but roped and corded in what I thought of in my own mind as 
"the traveling costume." Her wrists were bound, her elbows were bound, a 
rope tether was upon her neck, the other end of it held by the officer who 
was having much to say. I wanted most to talk to Diana but almost 
immediately the English being exchanged captured my attention. Everything 
said boiled down to one single proposition. Abu Hakim offered Wesuto Diana 
and several million dollars in exchange for me. I tensed against the pole 
and saw the white skin indented by the cords on Diana's wrists and the rope 
circling her elbows. She, too, was holding her breath. As though at a slave 
market, the officer took Diana by her arms and thrust her forward for 
Wesuto's attention, slowly turning her to display the entire female figure 
which surely needed no pointing finger, it was exquisite. With a flood of 
pity I realized she was trembling. 

The absurdity of enemy trading with enemy seemed lost upon us all. Perhaps 
that's how they do things in Africa. Wesuto heard his visitor out to the 
point where the officer paused for breath then, with equal politeness 
refused what was probably a generous offer. When Wesuto looked thoughtfully 
upon Diana's bound nakedness my jealously flared. But when he looked at me, 
I understood the motive for his refusal. Wesuto was in love with me or 
whatever passed among his type of guerrilla band for love. When I caught his 
eyes, they sent me messages. 

Hakim's officer was undaunted. He poured forth a fresh stream of reasons as 
to why the deal was good and Diana the finest of woman. In an excess of zeal 
he led the poor girl to the cot and was about to thrust her down to prove to 
Wesuto of her carnal ability. But Wesuto waved him away, even though his 
eyes did linger on the lovely nakedness offered for his pleasure. 

"Please tell you ruler I am most flattered by the offer. I find the girl 
most worthy. But my affections lie elsewhere and either Hakim nor myself 
have need of money so long as there is American and Russian across the seas. 
If you ruler cares to discuss our territorial differences, I will be glad to 
listen." 

Hakim's officer was doing a damn fine job and I expect was being defeated 
only by this strange rapport between Wesuto and myself. If I were a man I 
might easily chose Diana instead of me. Her blonde loveliness should have 
appealed to any black man. But Wesuto stood firm and told Hakim's officer 
that he should inform Hakim that Wesuto had satiated himself upon me shortly 
before their arrival, he was in no mood to sample Diana's undoubted charms. 
Wesuto suggested that, since Diana and I had a previous acquaintance, it 
would be kind to remove her bonds and fasten her to the tent pole the same 
way I was fastened to give us a chance to visit before she was taken back to 
the palace, a rejected bride. 

There was quite a silence after this, eyes meeting eyes and traveling 
beyond. It was broken by Diana's escort who very simply informed us all that 
in the event of Diana's rejection and return to Hakim's palace, she would be 
immediately executed. Males and females stood transfixed by the 
announcement. A swift glance told me that Diana had known all along, in part 
it may have accounted for her silence. I could see her swallow hard and a 
tear drop form and trickled from her eye. 

Wesuto must have seen it too for he now announced the he would consider it 
over night and give his answer in the morning. We two girls were to spend 
time together, safely fastened, but able to discuss freely and in private 
whatever course of action we preferred-not that any wish of ours would 
decide the outcome. I think he was simply being kind and giving us a last 
chance to have time together. The officer motioned in the air but there was 
not much he could do about it. He carefully supervised Diana's freedom from 
rope and cord and her attachment to the pole same as I. Satisfied, he 
consented to accompany Wesuto to where, presumably, male refreshment might 
be dispensed. 

Diana and I managed to kiss. It put a strain on our arms and wrists but we 
were accustomed to such handicaps. We kissed for a long time and mingled our 
tears on our cheeks. Diana whispered, "It may not be true. I don't see why 
Hakim would kill me. There's always the brothel for the unwanted girl." She 
laughed bitterly. "Quite-likely it's a ploy, he knows how it's going to make 
you feel and it puts Wesuto on the spot. Don't look at me as dead, I may not 
die at all." 

I envied her courage. I don't think I would have been so calm under such a 
threat. I told her so and told her further I would make Wesuto sanction the 
exchange. I told her of my brief time with the guerrilla leader and of his 
quality. She had no need to tell me of Hakim, my fate there was already 
known. Diana's whisper was suddenly urgent, "Isn't there any way we could 
escape, Jill? Haven't you seen a chance?" 

"No girl escapes from anyone anywhere," I told her bitterly. "You should 
know that best of all, Diana." 

When the sun went down so it would not burn our nakedness, Wesuto 
repossessed his tent and Diana and I were escorted to one of the jeeps 
sitting around the camp. Obediently we climbed into the only seat then 
Diana's right ankle was handcuffed to my left. Above the back of the seat 
was solid iron rail, my arm was thrust and under this useful anchorage and 
my right wrist cuffed to Diana's left. This gave us freedom of motion and 
reasonable comfort but made sure we would not leave our seat. We were given 
a single blanket to aid us during the night. 

The jeep had no key. It had probably been chosen because the desert offered 
no better location where we might be chained. Everyone seemed happy with our 
disposal. Hurting only at wrist or arm, the two of us managed to cuddle 
cozily to find as much comfort as there can ever be for girls safely 
chained. In unreasoning anger I affirmed, "I won't let you go, Diana, I 
simply won't!" 

"Darling, you're as helpless as I am. The men will make the decisions and 
we'll obey them, safely bound, of course." 

"It's ridiculous sitting here in this damned jeep. I'll bet they're 
laughing." 

"Suppose we drive away, darling? Can you handle the steering wheel with your 
left hand while I shift gears with my right?" 

For a moment I thought she was joking but she was not. Her voice was once 
more insistent. "A boy I knew once showed me how to cross the wires. If 
there's a pair of pliers in this tool box-" 

There were pliers. Diana slipped down off the seat in the darkness and 
fumbled awkwardly with her only free hand. We both cursed the handcuff 
joining our ankles which was as great a handicap as the one joining our 
wrists. But the two of us together managed a left and a right hand 
completely free, we also had two free legs but, since we could not leave the 
jeep, they were of little value. After fumbling a while and several "damns" 
Diana looked up at me in wide-eyed triumph. "I've managed it," she said 
anxiously. "Step on the clutch and I'll move the gear shift. Then I join the 
wires and the motor starts. 

Ready?" 

I nodded and clutched the wheel feverishly. Everything happened the way 
Diana promised. As I wheeled the jeep around she shifted gears for me once 
again as I wondered about the stupidly of men who left two young women 
unguarded in the night. As far as I could tell our departure went unnoticed. 
The guerrilla camp was in isolated desert. There were no roads but an 
endless number of tracks. Diana, who knew everything, pointed out a star I 
should follow and explained, "I never expected to be this free again. Oh, 
Jill, we're so damned lucky!" 

I trod more heavily on the gas. 

We figured we should reach the city before morning. The plan was to trade 
the jeep to any honest rogue we could discover who would give us enough to 
purchase clothes and hire a taxi to take us to the consulate. If we had to 
pay woman's oldest price, then so be it. Our pussy's were a treasure we 
would hang on to as a last resort. It seemed inappropriate to sing but the 
urge was there. 

It was really a shocking bit of country side. The desert is never really 
dark so we could see the inhospitable sand and stubby growths here and there 
in the low spots. We must have been running for a couple of hours when we 
saw the settlement, a scattered cluster of nondescript dwellings and some 
animal pens. By the time we saw it we were closer than I felt safe, so I 
swung our course away and it was at that moment the motor of our jeep died. 
In the fearful silence Diana calmly stated the obvious, "We are out of gas." 

It was the children who discovered us in the early morning, ragged urchins 
proclaiming poverty. They were accompanied by several men as nondescript as 
their shanties. They were obviously interested and walked around and around 
our jeep as though suspecting a trap. They gabbed a lot, their eyes 
constantly upon our breasts. It was when they elected a spokesman who knew a 
few words of English, we realized they were not blacks, they were some sort 
of Arab. 

"Ladies, you please step down from jeep." 

"We can't, don't you see we're handcuffed to it?" 

There preoccupation with our breasts and pubic hair had made them miss the 
obvious. They now beheld our chained wrists and burst into laughter at the 
sight. Diana and I sat motionless while wave after wave of desert laughter 
reduced us to an Arabic funny story. But these men were nothing if not 
resourceful. An urchin was dispatched to fetch a flat bobby pin, something I 
would have never dreamed existed in such a place. The linguist climbed up 
behind us in the jeep and devoted his attention to the handcuffs which made 
us prisoner. It was very close range so we were able to follow his every 
movement in breathless wonder as he thrust the sliver of steel up inside the 
narrowest of entries and a few moments later the notched cuff fell loose and 
my hand was free. He left the other cuff hanging untidily from Diana's 
wrist. He suggested that there was now no reason why we couldn't leave our 
once mobile sanctuary. Awkwardly we disembarked to stand there in close 
together with our ankles still joined. The dangling cuff was once more 
locked on me. We must have looked like naked contestants for the 
three-legged race at some school sports day. Impotently I tested, "You take 
us US Consul. We give you plenty money." 

"You naked, you have no money," the leader pointed out reasonably. 

"We will give you jeep for taking us to consul." 

"We have jeep. We take it from you. Jeep not yours to give." 

International communication died. Diana and I appeared at a dead end. We 
shuffled our prison feet and clinked metallically with imprisoned hands then 
shrank as from a blow when we heard, "We got you too." The leader wanted us 
to understand our plight fully. "You nice ladies, you worth much money. We 
keep!" 

They searched the jeep. They searched us as though disbelieving the obvious. 
Joined by others from the village they held a conference from which a 
decision emerged. "You belong Abu Hakim. We take you to him. He pay much 
money. Then he whip you good." This concise summation of our plight once 
more evoked the roars of merriment no doubt engendered by visions of 
well-whipped girl. There was much back-slapping and no doubt some 
calculations of possible profit. We were invited to walk with them to the 
huts. 

Girls can do anything they set their heart on. After the first few stumbles, 
Diana and I made pretty good time. It was a case of rhythm and coordination. 
Between us we had three feet and two hands. Apart from chafed ankles they 
got us to the huts in good order, there we were thrust within a small pen, 
obviously a temporary and easily moved and probably designed for two or 
three goats. We were told to behave but a twelve year old urchin was left on 
guard in case we decided to break free from our prison, an improbable act 
considering our condition. Before we were left along we asked how it was 
known we belonged to Abu Hakim. The answer we got was a shrug and a wave of 
a careless hand. "All things known in desert. We travel. We talk." There was 
lewd chuckle. "Where ever you go there is talk of Hakim, the Ruler, he get 
you for sure. No one take you to consul. We scared of consul. We take you to 
Abu Hakim-is much best." 

Alone, Diana and I looked at each other in dismay. For sure we were not 
going to escape these people whoever they might be. We kicked our joined 
ankles in a sharing of despair. Our joined hands didn't bother us that much 
but the joined feet condemned us to a jerky and stumbling walk. Under the 
stern eye of the urchin we sat ourselves down and leaned back against the 
walls of our enclosure. Food and water were provided us by other wide-eyed 
urchins. We were evidently too valuable to starve. 

After the food we were visited by the bobby pin expert who made an 
examination of a handcuff. "I make keys," he assured us earnestly. "Is best 
we have keys then handcuff very good." 

It took our nomadic locksmith quite a few visits back and forth between us 
and his tools and it took quite a lot of time but eventually and with great 
triumph he insert a crude looking handcuff key into the cuff on Diana's 
wrist and the cuff obediently opened when he turned it. We looked at him 
with increased respect. 

We spent the afternoon in deep dejection while the boy with the tools ran 
back and forth and apparently made several keys to ensure our handcuffs 
being available for a variety of uses. The watch was kept upon us through 
the night. Goodness knows, Diana and I could have easily broken through the 
flimsy fence. But what was the use? Instead, we went to sleep. It was the 
following morning that our real troubles started. 

We had been fed and watered early. There was now an air of expectancy in the 
way they looked at us. No time was lost in the opening of the fence and we 
were led to once again perform our three-legged act. We did not have far to 
go to where the horses and riders were waiting. There were two of them and 
our tummies did a flip-flop in awful premonition. We were invited to stand 
still while the handcuffs were taken from our ankles and handed to a rider. 
This left us handcuffed together and more than a little puzzled. Next was a 
length of rawhide rope, rough, tough, miserable looking stuff on which a 
girl's fingers would make no impression. One end of it was tight knotted 
around the link in the handcuff on our wrists, the other end snaking away to 
be fastened to the saddle of one of the horses. It was easy to figure what 
lay ahead. 

"We take you Abu Hakim," we were informed. "He know what to do with nice 
ladies. We get much cash. Is very good." 

"But we can't possibly walk that far!" I looked at him puzzled. "It would 
take days and..." 

"Long walk very good for nice ladies. Make very lean and slender for Abu 
Hakim." 

"But we're not fat! Look if you'll just take us to the American Consul, 
he'll give you more money than the Hakim every would. Please?" 

"No consul!" The negative was fiercely stated. "Nice American ladies proud 
now with handcuff and rope and fine, long walk." 

We surveyed him in disgust. More hang-ups! These people lived on revenge 
but, admittedly, had little else. I was marshaling words for a more forceful 
presentation of our case when hands were waved in farewell salutes and the 
horses started. We forgot our attachment and were jerked almost off our feet 
when the rawhide sprang taut to cause steel to bite our wrists. Disgustedly 
and without choice we took our first steps back to slavery. 

Things could have been worse. If we did not fight the tether, it did not 
hurt. Diana and I could walk side by side almost as if free. We got only an 
occasional glance and a big grin from our two jailers. Diana's whisper said 
the obvious, "We're not locked. If we could undo the knot around the 
handcuff, we could run." 

"We could if they weren't watching. And I'll bet that knot isn't easy." 

"We almost have to wait for night. Let's see what they do with us then." 

The "nice American ladies" walked and talked and planned. We could not 
conceive less than a hundred miles between us and the palace. At the rate we 
were going that meant at least three days of trudging behind a horse. If we 
were not in athletic condition now, we certainly would be. We gazed up the 
dismal landscape with disfavor. It's principle disadvantage from our point 
of view was the flat vista of sand and scrub upon which a fleeing girl would 
be visible for a mile or more. We really had little hope of escape but 
dreamed and spoke of it to keep up our spirits as each step took us closer 
to a fate we didn't wish to think about. 

"We'd best not be too gloomy about Hakim," Diana said soberly. "After all, 
it was him who sent me to be traded and if I'm rejected it's not really my 
fault-although it would give him an excuse to whip me if he's in a bad mood. 
I sort of figure the worse I'm-likely to get is a single punishment and then 
being sent back to the way I was, a palace slavegirl." 

"We absolutely have to escape," I said fatuously. 

Diana eyed me sympathetically. "You're scared about what he's going to do 
with you, I can tell. Don't let this rape thing prey on your mind. Hakim 
isn't any bigger down there than any other man of his size, though goodness 
knows that's big enough! It's silly to get all bent out of shape about a man 
piercing us. It's not that big a deal." 

"So, okay, I get impaled on a weapon as big as a fence post. But I actually 
did try and escape, I'll be punished for sure. Will he be satisfied with 
just whipping me? I can imagine horrible things." 

Diana reached over and patted my arm reassuringly. "That what a slavegirl's 
life is, sweetheart. We're forever wondering about this and that. And we 
don't have anything to say about it. Talking about rape, I don't see how 
these two bozos who are leading us on a string can possibly run the course 
without using us. Best not to fight." 

Had we been in a happier mood we would have laughed and gotten a kick out of 
being joined wrist to wrist by the handcuff but now it was a constant 
reminder of what we were, asserting its authority should we slow down or 
trailing on the sand for us to trip over if we accelerated our pace. 
Sometimes, I think just to be mean, the two riders prompted their horses to 
a gentle trot and Diana and I were forced to run. They never over did it but 
certainly kept us aware of being under control. Night brought the trap we 
had not foreseen. 

Diana and I should have known better. At night we got to sleep on the sand, 
still joined by one handcuff and still tethered by the same rope as in the 
day. It seemed remarkable that men would place that much faith on knots 
their fingers had contrived but so it was. Admittedly it took the two of us 
over an hour of tugging and biting to free our handcuff of the rawhide but 
eventually we succeeded and looked at each other in bright-eyed excitement. 
From where the two men slept male snore offended the desert night. We turned 
and ran. 

In joy we ran a couple of hours until, panting and weary, we called a halt. 
There was no sign of pursuit so we decided to hide in the sparse scrub our 
strategy in the morning. We were aware of the terrible vulnerability of two 
naked girls, their wrists joined with steel, alone in the desert with far to 
go. We agreed to think only of the positive. We went to sleep. 

I awoke to an awareness of something wrong. Within my limited vision I saw a 
pair of roughly shod male feet, following them up I discovered one of our 
escorts beaming down at me in seeming benevolence. His companion was there, 
too, holding the horses. "Nice American ladies have fine sleep. All ready 
for march?" 

Unhappily we rose and were told to perform our feminine toilet beneath the 
keen enjoyment of male regard. We were given a little water and very little 
food. The handcuff was then taken from us and stored away for future use. 
Each man then took a slender length of hide and eyed us purposefully. We had 
no fight, what was the use! Passively, we turned to allow them to cross our 
wrists and bind them tight behind our backs. It was so familiar, so 
hopeless. No doubt to teach us a lesson they also tied our elbows and paid 
no heed to our complaints. We then stood before them, a pair of well-tressed 
naked girl expecting rape. But no rape came, and we never knew why. But 
most-likely they considered enough time had been wasted in our delivery. 
They joined us now in a diverting touch of humor to cause them much laughter 
as they went about their agreeable task of gathering our hair and, in some 
clever manner of their own, cording it tight and joining these bizarre 
hairdos with three or four feet of tether we could never break. Then they 
tied the main lead rope from the horse in a tight band around my naked 
waist. Our shameful trek began its second day. 

It was tough going, between the pain of bound elbows and the tug of tethered 
scalps, this was vastly different from our almost carefree walk of 
yesterday. We would never know if we had been trapped into flight, but 
mostly-likely we had and thus provided our jailers with amusement during a 
boring ride. Our running away had given them an excuse for punishment, an 
excuse for which we now suffered dearly. Before the morning was half through 
Diana whispered urgently, "Look, darling, we can't endure this all day. If 
you're game to be raped, I sure am. Let's offer ourselves in return for 
getting rid of these bloody awful ropes and tied topknots. What do you say?" 

We called out to bring our procession to a halt. Then, by shaming words and 
shameful gestures we made our intent clear. I suspect the two guards had 
planned the whole thing, knowing the trap we must inevitably fall into. Our 
offer was graciously accepted. We were laid, side by side, upon the sand to 
the limit of the tether in our hair, and then most competently ravished by 
as scrubby a pair of rogues as we were every-likely to meet. When they were 
done with us our march resumed. No knot had been untied, no part of us 
freed. It was the ancient story, we had bartered something we did not own. 
Our bodies were already the property of our captors. We had simply been used 
and no doubt would be used again. The furious anger we felt dried up the 
tears we might have shed. 

We survived the day, slavegirls always survive, we are indestructible. 
Before dealing with the horses and making camp, our two jailers, under 
goodness know what compulsion, freed us totally. Diana and I were completely 
without bindings. We did not run, we did not even think of running. Instead, 
we sank down upon the sand, clutching at each other in unbelievable freedom 
and sobbing in wave after wave of emotions we could not name. But at the end 
of it we felt better and massaged at the chaff the rawhide had left within 
our wrists. Pathetically we implored the two men not to be so cruel to us 
again. We promised obedience and the use of our flesh. When darkness came we 
slept with my right wrists handcuffed to Diana's right ankle, a most 
ingenious coupling we could not defeat. 

In the morning our flesh was used again. Diana and I didn't much care, it 
had become a fact of life. We even got some enjoyment from our captors 
obvious enjoyment of us. Our techniques met with approval. "You nice 
American ladies give good fuck. We not be unkind today." 

Handcuffs clicked on Diana's left wrist and my right. Again we were tethered 
by bound hair which we could now feel with free hands but dared not search 
the knots. As though for emphasis the main tether to the horse was fastened 
to the center of the tether between our scalps but only after being brought 
down and under our cuffed wrists to make a constant admonition of behave 
yourselves or else! Hating ourselves we gave our captors complete 
submission. 

It took us one or two hundred paces in the resumption of the march for Diana 
and I to realize that if we wanted to keep our hair we had best control the 
tether with our cuffed hands. We gathered it up and held it tightly against 
the horse's pull. But having done that, walked in reasonable comfort, not 
even speaking of escape. Escape had become a dirty word. 

By night fall the country was changing, here and there were small trees. 
When we camped our captors took advantage of one of these to lay us on our 
backs, our feet out to each side of the trunk, and there our ankles were 
neatly handcuffed to allow us almost complete freedom to do anything but run 
away. I pulled on my right foot, the joining handcuff tugged on Diana's 
left. It was the same with her. Our guards got a good deal of amusement from 
this and our unhappy expressions. While they did the simple chores required, 
Diana and I pulled at each other and were inclined to share our captor's 
laughter at so ludicrous a tethering. From their point of view it was 
perfect, we would lay down to sleep comfortably and we would not get free. 
We were beautifully available for any carnal intent they might have and were 
all together a pair of well foxed girls. 

"This is for the birds," Diana ejaculated, half laughing. "Do you realize, 
darling, we have to sleep on our backs, we can't turn over." 

We slept on our backs. The following day we reached the palace of Abu Hakim. 

A mile distant there was a hollow and in that hollow trees. Diana and I were 
neatly disposed of by placing our backs against a trunk and now cuffing our 
wrists in the manner in which our ankles had been cuffed the night before. 
The slender tree was a perfect guard between our tethered arms. If we 
tugged, we tugged only against ourselves and against each other. We soon 
agreed it would be best just to stand still and wait while our two guards 
negotiated our return to prison. With flashing smiles they mounted but, 
before leaving, told us to be use and not to run away. They laughed at this 
as though hearing it for the first time. Diana and I glowered. When the men 
had departed Diana and I dismally discussed the many possibilities by which 
Abu Hakim might punish us. We had no hope whatsoever of forgiveness. 

With our backs against the tree and each of us looking in an opposite 
direction we-likened ourselves to prisoners of ancient Rome about to enter 
the arena and face the hungry lions. Diana and I tried humor but it just 
would not jell. About the only good thing on our horizons was the certainty 
that before punishment we would be bathed and fed. We sure did need a bath. 

The sound of the approaching jeep reached us before the vehicle became 
visible. Since our tree was below the general level our view was limited but 
the sound of the approaching motor grew in volume as it topped the rise. 
There it stopped to allow its driver to get out and track the soil in search 
of tire treads or whatever else the dusty surface might disclose. Whoever it 
was, was still too far distant to recognize, but as we dismally agreed, even 
if it was a rescuer, it would mean that Abu Hakim was once more' cheated and 
we would enter a new captivity elsewhere. The two pairs of handcuffs on our 
wrists made us a neatly packaged pair of girls for immediate delivery. We 
would get no chance to either fight or run. Even supposing it was a rescuer, 
he would not be likely to have a handcuff key. So where would that leave 
Diana and I? We were as owned girls as a man might own. 

I don't know exactly when I recognized Ryan Norton, perhaps it was when he 
swung athletically back into the jeep and started the motor. I couldn't 
really be sure and I couldn't believe it true but the jeep made steadily 
towards our tree and there was no doubt the driver had observed the white 
nakedness draped against its trunk. He stopped the jeep quite close and 
vaulted out of it with the same easy grace I had first recognized. It was 
the same Ryan I had always adored. He stood now, looking at my nude 
impotence with the amused grin I knew so well. His first remark was typical, 
"Haven't we met someplace?" 

I tired to talk but between being hugged and kissed and tears I managed to 
blurt out only bare facts, taking every thing for granted. Ryan patted my 
bare shoulder and moved around to look at Diana. They must have looked at 
each other for a minute in silence before he said, with feeling, "My, my, 
grade A quality. Hakim selling you, young lady?" 

Diana was far more reconciled to slavery than I, expecting nothing more 
beneficial than The Male, she shared only a small part of my excitement. But 
she was far more lucid and gave Ryan a brief synopsis of our plight, ending 
on the cynical note that if he desired to take possession he had best hurry 
up before the palace guard arrived to take us to their master. 

Ryan shrugged as though it did not matter then busied himself with the key 
he always carried. A few moments later two flushed and ecstatic girls stood 
in total freedom and I used mine to fling myself upon his glorious maleness 
and embrace him in a way I had been unable to embrace anyone since Hakim 
kidnapped me. Ryan's smell was exciting my senses to a point where, had 
Diana not been present, I would have demanded he take me were we stood. When 
I paused for breath Diana did the strangest and sweetest thing I had ever 
seen her do. Falling to her knees, she took Ryan's hand, kissed it and said 
simply, "I belong to you, Master, I will not run away." 

Diana's simple declaration affected me in a sudden understanding of how 
truly a slave Diana had become. Even from Ryan she did not expect freedom. 
He would take her and use her as all the others had done. I knew she was 
happy at our rescue but not half as happy as I. We piled into Ryan's jeep to 
enable me to get my next shock. 

"But, darling, you're going the wrong way, you're heading for the palace!" I 
must have sounded frantic with fear. 

"Sure we're going to the palace," he assured me. "I'm going to settle things 
with our black friend, don't worry, my presence here is known. Hakim is 
skating on thin ice these days and won't want an incident." 

Ryan was marvelous. I thrilled at my ownership of him and of having him own 
me. Diana gazed upon my ecstasies with an indulgent eye as though hugging a 
secret she would not tell. If she was scared of Hakim she showed no sign. I 
think some of Ryan's strength flowed into her as it did to me. 

When we reached our destination Ryan surprised me once again by linking me 
to Diana, wrist to wrist. It was a small and amusing bond which would bother 
neither of us, but it was still a bond and therefore held significance. 
Boldly, we marched towards the entrance and the guard, a large handsome man 
escorting a pair of trembling, naked and handcuffed young women, one of 
which must have looked half scared to death. 

My admiration for my master knew no bounds. Ryan Norton had what is best 
described as a "presence." People instantly knew he was someone who matter. 
We cut an easy path to where a black dictator was about to get the surprise 
of his life. I had to hand it to Abu Hakim, he took it in stride. He shook 
Ryan warmly by the hand, after all they were old business associates. He 
also kissed the free hand of each of us captive girls, his eyes appraising 
and approving the four breasts so recently his own property. 

"I was expecting you," he told us simply. "Not you, Mr. Norton, but these 
two young women. A pair of rogues were in her a few minutes ago seeking to 
sell them back to me, their owner. After I learned the whereabouts of these 
two charming maidens, I consigned this refuse of the desert to the gallows. 
By now they will be safely and well and truly hung. Allow me to send for 
coffee." 

I felt sorry for our escort but the coffee was miraculous. Coffee is 
probably the most potent symbol of our civilization. Diana and I gulped ours 
eagerly and asked for more while Ryan and Hakim sipped and enjoyed this 
tableau. The apposing sides were now face to face with each other but the 
war had not yet started. Abu Hakim smiled on us all. 

"I am indebted to you Mr. Norton for returning my property in such good 
order, you are a true and good friend." The old hypocrite! At that moment I 
could have almost loved his black majesty. But Ryan now took over. 

"Seems to me I own title to one of them, or have you forgotten?" 

Hakim was unperturbed. "Of course, of course, how silly of me! There are so 
many young women around my palace I do tend to forget. Had I possessed Miss 
Palmer somewhat longer I would have returned her to you far better trained 
than I fear she is now. I'm sure the servants can find the garments Miss 
Palmer was wearing when she first became our guest. I noticed you have the 
young ladies joined. If you will be good enough to separate them, I will 
send Diana to Chouala to be whipped." 

"She has misbehaved in some fashion?" Ryan's tone was bland. 

"Yes, I sent her on a mission. She failed me badly and disgracefully. Had 
she carried it out successfully, well ... never mind! When she has been 
punished, she will be reinstated as before." 

Diana and I gazed at each other dolefully. But she shrugged in resignation 
and extended her cuffed hand toward Ryan for release. Outraged, I dragged it 
back, and declared, "Ryan, you mustn't! We have to take her with us, you 
absolutely must! We can't leave her here to be whipped and tortured." I 
stopped, breathless, realizing I had dropped something of a bomb. 

Ryan was still quietly sipping coffee while Abu Hakim proceeded to mow me 
down by turning to Diana to inquire softly, "Am I in the habit of whipping 
and torturing you, dear child?" 

"No, Master, not since I was trained." 

"And the whipping to which I have now sentenced you?" 

"I failed in a mission, Sir. I deserve punishment." 

It was another world out of space and time. We had gone far, far back into 
human history and were witnessing the power of a potentate and the 
helplessness of a slavegirl who would be ready for punishment if she deemed 
she must. Ryan finished his coffee and placed the cup beside him on the 
table. He sounded unconcerned." 

"We seem overburdened with nobility," he suggested in an amused drawl. He 
looked directly at The Ruler. "Perhaps I might solve this small problem. I 
suggest, Sir, you allow me the privilege of purchasing the girt named Diana. 
I would value her as a slavegirl to the woman I intend to marry." 

Oh, wow! Confusion reigned supreme. The Ruler raised a quizzical eyebrow. 
Diana clutched my hand and squeezed it tight. I gulped more coffee and 
burned my tongue. 

"And what price would you suggest, Mr. Norton?" Hakim inquired softly. ' 'As 
you can see, she is of a superlative quality beyond rubies." 

"I would prefer you named the figure, Sir. I trust your judgment." 

I could have hugged Ryan to bits. But Abu Hakim was not slouch when it came 
to squeezing the last ounce of advantage from a situation. He needed money 
like a hole in the head, and he needed Diana about as much as any man with a 
few hundred slaves and wives needs another girl. Goodwill was so thick in 
the room, it seem revenge would be the only hurdle. I listened breathlessly 
and clutched back at Diana's grip. 

Abu Hakim took the stage. There was no other way of describing it. He seemed 
actually to swell in a manner to dwarf us all. His words took on power and 
portent. "How easy it would be for us to bicker, Mr. Norton. You could drop 
subtle hints about your State Department and foreign aid and I could 
retaliate by saying your State Department is impotent in Bottsvelt and to 
state my belief that foreign aid would continue even though I had all three 
of you executed within the hour." He beamed on us with deep love. "But such 
quibbling does us no justice. We are men of stature, you and I, Mr. Norton. 
As recognition of an old friendship and mutual profit, please allow me to 
make you a gift of the young woman known as Diana, the one presently so 
prettily handcuffed to your future wife. 

"And now some more coffee..." 

I sat breathless and overwhelmed. How easy it was to see how Hakim had 
carved his pathway to the top, there was nothing small about this man across 
the desk from us and his coffee was superb. I longed to hug him. I longed to 
hug everyone but Diana and I were still attached. As though by mutual, 
unspoken agreement, she and I clasped each other in a fervent hug, after 
which she stood erect to say to the beaming Ruler, "Thank you, Master, you 
have given me back my life." 

 7 Jealous Slave 

Diana is so sensible, she puts me to shame. At the hotel, waiting for a 
flight back to the good old USA and still a bit stunned by The Ruler's 
magnanimity, we sat and sort of caught up on ourselves. Neither Diana nor I 
were disposed to argue about anything my master desired. Ryan told us, 
without apology, to strip ourselves naked and wear the handcuffs he regarded 
as spoils of war. We threw our clothes aside in gay abandon and held out our 
wrists. The hotel suit had a bar and it was so good to once again serve my 
master his cocktail on my knees. 

Ryan told how he had traced me from here to there across the desert always 
finding me already gone. He expressed the opinion that Abu Hakim was a wily 
old fox whose gracious hospitality might be of short duration. It behooved 
us to go home. It was them that Diana started to be sensible. 

Diana knelt besides be, not to serve a drink, but in natural homage to a man 
she insisted on calling "Master." I knew she was getting something off her 
mind, something bothersome, so I went back to my chair and tinkled my 
handcuffs while I sipped. There was always a beautiful simplicity about 
anything Diana did or said. 

"What are you going to do about me, Master?" 

She was a new experience of Ryan but one he was going to explore. I knew he 
sensed something below the service but his voice was casual, "Take you home 
to the US, of course, what else?" 

"Do you intend to set me free?" 

"You're free now, young lady, what's on your mind?" 

I felt sorry for the poor darling, whatever she had to say was obviously not 
easy. She came out with it in direct and simple words. "I have been the 
prisoner of Abu Hakim for two years, Master. I was broken and I was trained. 
When that time was over I became a palace slavegirl." She paused and shifted 
awkwardly. "I found myself living a strange life of wealth and privilege on 
one hand and the pains and punishments of a prisoner on the other. As my 
punishments grew less I valued the palace more and more. That was my 
condition when I first met Jill." 

"You're trying to tell me something, sweetheart, don't be embarrassed." I 
saw Diana brace herself, she looked up with calm and steady eyes. 

"When you took me back to Hakim who was my Master and when we sat drinking 
coffee in his office it was in my mind to accept the whipping he decreed and 
to tell you all I preferred to remain Hakim's girl slave in his palace 
rather than to return to the mediocrity of my life in the USA. But with all 
the good will and affection showered upon me, I felt a frightful bitch at 
the mere thought of rejecting freedom that I couldn't do it, I couldn't say 
a word. I sort of drifted with the tide." Diana looked distressed. "Forgive 
me for feeling I have to say this, but you should know." 

Ryan looked judge-like. "Had you stayed you would, about now, be getting the 
whipping of your life." 

Diana motioned helplessly with handcuffed hands. "It would not have been the 
first time. Abu Hakim has had me whipped often. But it might have been 
months before I was whipped again." 

"Are you telling Jill and I you want us to send you back to Hakim?" It was 
as though Ryan saw reason in the wish. 

Diana's voice became urgent. Kneeling there before the master she possessed 
a tremendous audio and visual appeal. "I have no family. Before I was 
kidnapped I got up every morning and went to work and at five went home and 
went to bed. On weekends I would do the washing and clean the apartment. 
There were boyfriends, of course, and most of them managed to insert 
themselves within my sheath. None were even fractionally as potent or as 
skilled as Abu Hakim or those others into who's possession I have fallen. I 
wasn't going anywhere." 

"You hadn't met the right guy." 

' "There are no right guys for us nine to five girls. I watched my friends 
get married and did not want what I beheld in their changed lives. Am I 
crazy or ungrateful in preferring Hakim's palace to suburban and dirty 
dippers?" 

The three of us looked at each other and suddenly laughed in understanding. 
I knew what Diana was talking about but I was lucky. I'd gone up the ladder 
to make it worth while. Ryan was intelligent enough to guess. As usual he 
was amused. "You ridiculous child, you don't really want me to send you back 
to Hakim, don't tell me that. You've still got something on your mind. If 
you don't come out with it, I'll take a whip to you myself." 

"Yes, I know I shouldn't go back to the palace," Diana agreed slowly. "It 
destroys everything I was brought up to believe in. But I don't want to go 
back to the nine to five deal. We will you allow Jill to keep me as her 
personal slave?" 

Wow! I was breathless. Instantly my mind revolved about where to put Diana 
in the apartment. But Ryan was way ahead of me. "I have made arrangement to 
take possession of a sizable house instead of living in the modest apartment 
Jill and I had used." It was as though he were thinking aloud and seeing 
visions we could not see. "I've had changes made in this building by which a 
slave would be well housed." He raised a finger to the kneeling girl. "But 
you speak of slavery and that is what it would be. There are all the bars, 
the cages, the accouterments of slavery intended for the slave I love. If 
you were in that house they would be used on you. I won't accept you into 
slavery, you must ask Jill. I'm afraid she will say yes." 

"Of course, I'll say yes, what's wrong with that," I demanded in the blind 
acceptance of a great gift. "Of course, I want you Diana. Oh, Master, these 
things you've just said ... it's all so wonderful." 

"Sweetheart, you really want a slavegirl cluttering up our lives?" 

"Yes, I want Diana. Please, Master, let me have her?" 

Ryan laughed at my eagerness. I realized I sounded like a little girl but I 
was go damned happy and in these past few days had come to love the 
slavegirl who now knelt nakedly before the man I worshiped. 

"She's your, Jill, my pet. But if we get her, we'll keep her. You realize 
she's a beauty. What if I fall in love with her?" 

"If you fall in love with her I'll put her in a dungeon or a cage or 
whatever this new house has for such a purpose," I said vehemently and 
actually believed every word. 

"Supposing I fall in love with him." Diana's inquire was half amused. 

"I told you, you'll get yourself locked in a cell." 

Once more the three of us had reached accord and at the same time shared a 
chuckle at what me now beheld. It would be the strangest menage a trois any 
two girls had every entered. But once more Diana surfaced with Bottsvelt 
logic. "I don't want to be privileged. I want to be punished when I deserve 
to be punished. The rest of the time I will serve and make you happy." 
Diana's eyes roved back and forth between Ryan and myself but rested finally 
on Ryan. "Master, you and I must make a pact right now never to fall in 
love. If you use me, it will be because I have a beautiful body and you will 
use it with Jill's permission." 

"It's a deal, sweetheart. You'll have to educate your mistress in the 
frailties of slavegirls. I'm not sure she believes in them." He leaned 
forward to rumble the lovely hair of the kneeling girl. "Go fix me a drink." 

I didn't feel a bit jealous ... not really! 

The lovely house Ryan factiously referred to as "the prison" was a really 
honest to goodness thrill. Compared to our old, beloved apartment, it was 
palatial, not in any flashy sense but in immensity. And certainly in beauty, 
in location, and certainly in seclusion, which some houses contrive even in 
the middle of a big city. There was enough ground around it and enough trees 
to spark vagrant fancies. I was ecstatic but Diana was a trifle awed. It did 
not reek of dungeons or prison bars but both of us were sure they were 
there. We had the happiest of house warmings with just the three of us. 
Diana and I, for a change, leg-ironed instead of handcuffed. We got a little 
tipsy and kidded the poor girl about her duties in keeping the "prison" 
shinned and polished. For obviously reasons there would be no servants. I 
did suggest sending for Chouala but my master said we had imposed upon Hakim 
enough and should not push our luck. 

Whenever Diana and I were alone we spend our time in disbelieving 
reminiscing of the desert and Wesuto and all the men and women who had bound 
our hands or whipped our skin. Again and again we relived that hopeful two 
or three hours in the jeep when we were certain freedom was near. I even 
managed a bit of a laugh over that time I had sat upon the column with my 
feet so far apart. It seems that in retrospect most things become amusing. 

Our master refused to give us the grand tour of the new hour. He, 
laughingly, told us we would be all too well acquainted with its many 
attractions without rushing it, we would become familiar with everything 
which lay in wait for us but only in the context of punishment or the dire 
need of keeping us closely imprisoned. We didn't much care but the three of 
us face the first night in our new home with some embarrassment. Not so far 
as Ryan and I were concerned, we knew what we were going to do! But this was 
our first disposition of a girl who was not so much "our" slave as she was 
"my" slave. This suited me fine. I didn't want Ryan fooling around with her 
too much. But how could I possibly be mean to a girl I loved and who loved 
me. After dinner We had drinks and talked and talked until Diana laughingly 
told me I would have to make up my mind as to how she would spend her night. 
We had guest rooms in abundance. But did slavegirls sleep in bedrooms? I 
knew Ryan was enjoying my embarrassment. I comprised on one of the nicer 
guest rooms and took my slavegirl there alone with some assorted lengths of 
rope. This was to be a new dimension in our relationship. 

We had been naked all evening so there was no problem there. I pulled back 
the coverlet invitingly then fingered a length of cord with some misgiving. 
Never in my long experience with slavery had I bound a girl. Diana helped by 
turning her back and crossing her wrists behind then looking mischievously 
over one shoulder. "There you are, Mistress, what more could you ask?" 

I tied the slender wrists. Any one who had been bound as much as I would 
have to be a dummy not to make a fair job of it. I found my heart pounding 
in glee at this possession of a beautiful woman who I loved. Until, that is, 
Diana said, "Ouch. Not so tight, Mistress, if you're going to keep me tied 
all night." 

Her exclamation was actually one of approval and told me I was on the right 
track. I loosened nothing and knotted the cords severely where she could not 
reach. Since Diana would be in a position where she could view her bound 
ankles, I took much care to make sure the succession of loops were 
attractively close and tight. I knew about how tight to make them by the 
indentations in her skin. When I had her safely helpless she said a most 
demure, "Thank you, Mistress," and 

I helped her wiggle her nakedness between the sheets. I kissed her good 
night, feeling guilty over being so mean. But when I was half way to the 
door her voice mocked me. 

"I can get out of bed and hop around, you know. Supposing I got out of bed 
and found scissors or a knife?" Diana was laughing at me. 

Fortunately there was more rope, I used it to make a couple of circles 
around her neck which I tied so they could not tighten more. I slipped a 
long length around and through a bedpost but took its terminal and knotted 
it beyond where Diana could either see or reach. I felt pleased with myself. 
This time my slavegirl allowed me to go to my master who, if he was only 
half as impatient as I, would be about ready to explode. It was a sacred 
moment and Ryan and I treated it as such. 

In the morning I went to free my slave but found upon her bed only some 
lengths of rope and a brief note: "My hands could reach my feet so I untied 
them. Then I could find were you had knotted the tether to my neck. I untied 
that, too. Then I went downstairs and found a knife with which I cut the 
cord around my wrists. I'm terribly sorry, darling, I expect I should be 
punished." 

Ryan was delighted by Diana's escape act. I knew he regarded me as incapable 
of keeping a slave girl properly in her place. He believed, too, that I 
would tire of the responsibility and wish to be rid of this girl I loved. I 
also knew he was seeing what Diana and I did now as a glorious experiment 
between a couple of girls, each beneath the iron hand of his own authority. 
Diana might be mine but I knew she was his, too, and would obey him more 
readily than she might obey me. I glimpsed complexities. From the bathroom, 
bathed and beautiful, Diana shyly came to help me dress and to ask what 
punishment I thought proper for her disrespect. 

Ryan is a positive genius for such things. He told us we would not overdo 
anything but would maintain a happy balance in the authorities by which we 
lived. He endeared himself to us both by taking us shopping and spending so 
much money on us I realized more than ever the power and position of this 
man with whom I had lived in a modest apartment as though he were no more 
than the manager of a bank. On our first arrival at Bottsvelt long ago I had 
seen him as a "force" and felt the same thing about him now. Ryan did 
everything with that quiet assurance which only the very rich can use. 

When Diana and I were left alone, which was often, we explored the forbidden 
places of the house and were particularly intrigued by a small, neat barred 
cell which presented the atmosphere of waiting for an occupant. It was a 
cell to be lived in-this is if a girl had to be a prisoner. We laughed about 
it and filed it in our memories. But most of our time was spent in 
outrageous leisure, around the town and in the cocktail bars of the best 
hotels away from torn cats on the make. We wanted no men. For Diana I made 
up this deficiency in contact with the male by loving her constantly as 
girls can do, but would not allow her to love me in return. I belonged to 
Ryan, every bit of me! 

I laid down the law about that delicious standing in a corner on arrival 
home. Whether Diana wanted to or not, she was compelled to obey. Sometimes 
when the darling girl was thus cornered, I would hear Ryan's key in the lock 
and myself run like crazy to a corner of my own. Thus he would find two 
naked female backs and bottoms as his only greeting. But as he solemnly 
confided, did not feel cheated in the least. I was just so damned happy....! 

When Ryan and I spoke of marriage it was something in our future. I was 
still subject to his every whim and there was no moment of our time together 
in the house when I was not in some way controlled, even though it might be 
no more than handcuffs on my wrists or leg irons on my ankles. Sometimes he 
discarded them altogether and bound me with straps and cords and webbing in 
a hundred ways, but did this only Diana's absence. She would have to be 
bound or imprisoned in some other part of the house before he would subject 
me to the same slaveries I used on her. It worked perfectly because Ryan and 
I were alone together throughout the night, in late evening or early 
morning. Sometimes he would stay at home for a day and tell me to dispose of 
my slavegirl any way I would like so long as she was out of sight. It was 
then he imposed on me the more erotic pains and penalties of slavery. I 
adored him outrageously. Diana guessed what was going on but never said a 
word. 

Diana was the perfect slavegirl who knew her place and never said a word 
that strayed outside her limits. In those days when it was considered our 
house needed cleaning, I would leave in the morning along with Ryan when he 
went to the office, but first fasten Diana with leg irons on her ankles and 
handcuffs on her wrists. They were sort of an old story and could be called 
mundane. But it was hard to think of restraints which would allow her the 
freedom she required to do her work. It was understood that, when we came 
home in the evening, if we found her labors inadequate or shoddy, her bottom 
would be caned. Diana agreed to this with a small, shy smile and made quite 
certain her bottom remained virgin. At the end of the first thirty days we 
had not punished her even once. 

Learning my lesson from that first disaster binding of a girl, I developed 
techniques with rope and cord, not wanting to fall into the convenient rut 
of handcuffing her on every pretext. I now contrived to repeat that binding 
of the first night by securing her bound ankles to the foot of the bed where 
her groping fingers could not reach. 

After my first few fumbles Diana never got herself loose from anything I 
tied or anyway I tied her. She began to view me with respect. I also knew I 
would have to punish my darling but that was not so easy. Ryan had to whip 
me long before I got around to having to whip Diana. Somehow she learned of 
this and got around to use her knowledge to slyly point out how far too kind 
I was to be the owner of a slave. She insisted slaves have to be punished 
from time to time or they got out of hand, like now when she was telling me 
what to do. Since we were both always naked in the house I could not hide my 
whip marks from her interested eye and she badgered me until I confessed the 
sin by which I earned them and the pain I felt while they were applied. It 
was all a beautiful and wonderful miracle but underlining it always was the 
threat of whip and cord and chain. It was delicious! 

When my master punished me he had one unfailing recourse. It was simply to 
fasten me in whatever embarrassing position he devised and then threaten to 
bring Diana to view my shame. I think he did this to spark my pleadings and 
my frantic strivings against whatever of his fastenings held me helpless. 
But he never carried out his threats and I loved and respected him the more. 
When I envisioned Ryan marrying me, I wondered if a wife would lend herself 
to punishments so willingly. 

I adored the little cell and locked my slavegirl in it often all night. To 
keep her amused, I would use my new-found skill to bind her wrists behind 
her back and dare her to get loose. She never did but was always bright and 
cheerful in the morning when I came to set her free. The three of us always 
ate together unless some punishment of my slavegirl or myself stood in the 
way. When this happened, the unpunished girl could scarcely contain her 
curiosity to discover the fate of her beloved. 

We exchanged this information breathlessly and in full detail but never 
laughed over each other's sufferings. Thus it was that when I was obliged to 
spend the entire night in the pillory, Diana spent the day in town, allowing 
me to sleep. This freedom to get out and around keep us finely attuned to 
those days when we could not. 

Sometimes it was me who ended up in the little cell. I did not enjoy it the 
way my slavegirl did. If I was locked in there for the night, it was because 
my master was tired and needed sleep. If I was locked within during the day 
it was because I had given offense and must be punished. At such times Diana 
was given free run of the city and would not stand and mourn with me through 
the bars. I did my mourning all alone. 

To keep me properly tormented day or night, my master played the same trick 
on my as I did on Diana. He bound my hands behind my back and left me to get 
free as best I could. I never did get free and it was understood I probably 
never would, but the day long struggle filled the time and kept me from 
feeling too ill-used. His other trick, and this he used only as an extreme 
measure, was to put me in the cell, thrust my hands outside beyond the bars, 
and then click the handcuffs tight upon my wrists. Since there was a bar 
between, I could not withdraw but must stand there throughout the day or 
night, without hurting, but in an infuriating immobility. At other times he 
played the same trick but with me sitting on the floor but with my ankles 
sitting out beyond the bars. This last one was bad because he tickled the 
soles of my feet and I am ticklish. 

I often asked Diana about her feelings. I could not imagine how she could be 
happy as our prisoner even though a much loved captive. But as usual she was 
sensible and pointed out the pleasure she derived when we went downtown 
together, which was often, the joy she found in me and the pleasure she 
derived from association with Ryan, even though he took no part in her 
captivity. She insisted that what she had with us was so much better than 
the 9 to 5 she had previously known that there was no way that she wanted to 
go back or would go back. She assured me that if I ever set her free and 
thrust her outside our door, she would sit on our doorstep until I took her 
back in and punished her adequately for such disobedience. The darling girl 
was an endless miracle. 

The morning came when, after I had disposed of Diana, Ryan ordered, "Hold 
out your hands, sweetheart." It was such an ordinary request I thought 
little of it, preoccupied, I did as I was told and watched my wrists firmly 
handcuffed in the same way I'd watched them a hundred times before. If I'd 
noticed that Ryan, too, seemed preoccupied and absent minded, well, so what! 
He was a busy man, he had all sorts of deals under way and I knew a man 
never made millions without worry. 

"How about the little cell, sweetheart." Ryan called me sweetheart half the 
time and I was well acquainted with the little cell. Once more I did not 
even raise an eyebrow but followed him downstairs. When he unlocked the cell 
door and held it open for me, I did not even shrug in resignation but 
stepped unconcerned behind the bars, chuckling inwardly at memories of 
screen and stage in which the female lead did this same thing without doing 
a cut and run. I'd always wondered why they didn't turn and run, it seemed 
so inconsistent to walk so blithely into prison but they always did. And 
here I was doing the same thing. Had I thought about it, I'm sure I would 
have simply said that I was in love with Ryan and that was all there was to 
it. 

I was no more than curious when, having locked the cell door on me, he 
produced a bit of chain and a padlock. He fixed these tight upon the bars as 
an additional precaution. I was standing there inside my little prison, 
playing with my handcuffs and waiting to be told why I was there and what 
would happen to me. What I heard was a shock. 

"Jill, I have a deal under way. It could take a week or a month and I can't 
take you with me. I want to find out how a month's imprisonment affects you. 
You can tell me when I get back." 

"But, darling..." 

"Yes, I know, Jill, my pet, but you'll be well looked after..." 

I still had my feet so I almost leapt to the bars which I clutched urgently 
in the way prisoner's do to demand, "Who's going to look after me, Master? I 
don't want to be locked up inside this cage for thirty days, I absolutely 
don't. You're just trying to scare me, aren't you?" 

Ryan pulled one of my cuffed hands out between two bars and kissed it 
gently. "Diana will look after you. I'll set her free from where you've got 
her chained right now but I'll make her wear leg irons just so she won't get 
ideas. She'll look after you and the house very well and you'll probably 
enjoy yourselves." 

"We won't, you know we won't! Not with these bars between us. I won't be 
able to get out and she won't be able to get in. Oh, Master, please don't be 
mean." 

Ryan kissed my hand some more and rubbed it against his cheek until I begin 
to feel silly and maybe I was making too much fuss. Maybe it was an 
interesting experiment and when it was over and done with I might find 
instructive to look back upon. 

"But, Master, it's not right ... I mean, it shouldn't be me that locked in 
this cell with Diana running around free outside. It ought to be the other 
way around. I'm going to loose face." 

"Add a touch of piquancy to both your lives, sweetheart. Stop beefing." 

I stopped beefing while my hand being practically eaten outside the bars. 
Being told to stop beefing was always a signal to shut up and be quiet if I 
didn't want punishment. 

"But, Ryan, darling, are you sure it's safe to leave two girls along in this 
house, me completely helpless and Diana sort of half and half. I mean ... 
burglars and kidnappers and such?" 

"Bars on all the windows, locks on all the doors. Food and drink for a 
lifetime." Ryan intoned laughingly. "You don't have a thing to worry about, 
especially with Diana looking after you, she's in love with you. You're her 
mistress." 

"I'm nobodies mistress handcuffed and locked in a cell." 

"Didn't I say something about stopping your beefing?" My master's tone was 
suddenly ominous. 

"Oh, all right then, I'll shut up. If I'm stir-crazy when you get back, it 
will be your own fault." My voice was close to breaking. Its a rotten thing 
looking through bars at a retreating back. Previously I'd have a warm 
feeling about the little cell but now, standing in it alone, I felt ill-used 
and tearful and terribly naked. If Ryan allowed Diana to wear clothes, I'd 
die of jealousy. I rattled my handcuffs irritably. I sat on the little cot 
and wondered what on earth I'd do with myself locked in this small space for 
thirty days. 

Diana was inclined to giggle. I suppose from her point of view there were 
elements of humor I had not glimpsed. That I was obvious furious with the 
whole deal no doubt added to her mirth. "Stop cackling like a chicken," I 
ordered sharply. "Get me out of here somehow. I'm sure you must be able to 
find a key or something." 

"Something won't unlock anything, Mistress." More giggles. "Our Master 
gathered up all the keys and took them with him." 

"Get a hack saw or something and cut the bars." 

Darling Diana kicked her leg irons. "What, like this!" she demanded with 
complete reason. "I'd have to go to a hardware store to buy tools and I 
don't know anything about tools anyway." 

I was a shamed to say I wept. It was a little scary and wickedly humiliating 
but I came to the bars to be comforted. Bits of me were kissed and bits of 
me were patted with the same inadequacy I would have run into in trying to 
do the same for her. I would never keep a canary in a cage again. When my 
silly tears were dealt with, Diana held up her hands for my inspection. She 
was handcuffed the same as me. 

"Your Master put these on me last thing," she informed. "He said he didn't 
want you to be jealous and I could do the house work with them on as well as 
with them off. That isn't true but I didn't complain. We're a couple of 
girls in a fine old jackpot when you figure it out." 

"What about bobby pins or that trick the Arabs showed us?" 

"Oh, sure, I've searched the whole damn place and the only ones we've got 
are the round ones that won't go in. We must have been out of our minds not 
to buy some. Oh, shit! We could use the phone to get things delivered," she 
said thoughtfully. "But his Royal Highness gathered up all the cash and 
either took it with him or locked it in the safe." She giggled some more. "I 
can't imagine a delivery boy accepting me as payment, the chains would scare 
him out of his wits." She kicked a fettered foot thoughtfully. "I think 
we're stuck, darling." 

I was sure we were foxed, when Ryan does something, he does it right. Faced 
with the impossible, we surrendered to each other as sisters in distress and 
Diana came up with the American cure for all ills. She would go and make 
coffee. 

While my slavegirl departed on this simple errant I, the Mistress, paced up 
and down my cell with bare feet and a libido beginning to adjust. Diana's 
presence just beyond the bars had done wonders, I felt loved again. And with 
the love came the familiar heat. I no longer hated the handcuffs, they were 
once more pretty bracelets on my wrists. The flame between my legs declared 
itself and made me wonder how two chained girls could do anything about it 
when separated by prison bars. Every time I had an inspiration, I realized a 
chain or a bar would either wholly or partly deny. But maybe Diana would 
think of something...! I realized how totally dependent on my slavegirl I 
now was. 

I thought of Ryan. He would be thinking of me, too, and chuckling over my 
impotence. But I had to thrust his image from my mind or my fire would get 
out of control and I would have to use a finger, something I try hard to 
never do, a manually induced orgasm seems a terrible waste. But if I got 
through these thirty days without touching myself, I'd be lucky. 

Coffee cheered us up the way it always does. A girl holds a cup and talks 
and arrives at solutions which turn out not all that good when the coffee's 
cold. But anyway, it's nice while it lasts and Diana and I became almost 
cozy with her outside the bars and me inside. She brought down a chair and a 
TV table but I had to stand or kneel against the bars to be properly close. 

"Think of it, darling Mistress, thirty days without punishments!" Diana made 
her exclamation artificially ecstatic. 

I retorted with various sounds of disgust. "I'll willingly take a hundred 
lashes to get out of here," I affirmed vehemently, really believing I meant 
every word. 

"I've found a screw driver, some bits of wire, and a pair of pliers," Diana 
announced triumphantly. "They were in a draw and I brought a knife along as 
well. It won't do any harm to try." 

It passed time. Time would be my enemy from now on. We prodded and turned 
and twisted anything we could insert inside the big lock on the door and the 
smaller padlock on the chain. Both laughed at our efforts and after a while 
we both tired of hurting our fingers. No chained maiden in the darkest of 
dungeons was ever more secure than I! The trouble with all these attempts 
was their failure infuriated me further and brought tears I could not 
quench. Diana had thoughtfully brought one of Ryan's big, square white 
handkerchief which I used with an air of defiance and with satisfaction. I 
asked for books but my wicked master had locked the library and his office, 
there was nothing to read. Once more I could hear him chuckling. 

When night came I told my ex-slave she might just as well be comfortable 
even if I could not. Diana wanted to bring some blankets down so she could 
sleep by the cell down but I ordered her upstairs to her bedroom before 
nakedly disposing myself on a hard little mattress and counting sheep. I'd 
been sleeping naked for a long while but never got used to the idea which 
seemed always just a little bit naughty and had a tendency to heat the 
junction of my thighs. After the last cheep had jumped its fence I slept 
soundly until morning. 

There's not much to tell about being in prison. The bars laugh at you and 
tell of the vivid, colorful life out there where you cannot go. Being locked 
in a cage is a subtraction from existence. If Diana had been locked in with 
me things would be much different but she was outside the bars and our 
attempts at fleshly intimacy were so unsatisfactory we decided not to 
bother. Diana made us nice things to eat and each day we religiously did 
physical exercises with sit-ups and all those uncomfortable contortions 
which are suppose to keep a girl in top shape. I think we did them mainly 
for something to do rather than from any conviction of benefit. I found it 
hard to believe but eventually the time came when I had been locked in the 
little cell for seven whole days. My first week was behind me, I had only 
three more to go. It is amazing how a girl can reason herself into 
tolerance. But I suspected that if Diana had not been with me everyday, even 
though separated by the iron, I would have gone stark, raving nuts. It would 
have been solitary confinement. 

Disaster struck Diana and I on the eighth day. 

Breakfast was late. When I heard footsteps I went eagerly to the bars to be 
confronted not by Diana but by Janice Webb. My heart did a flip-flop while I 
stared in disbelief. 

"Hello, darling," she greeted me with bright assurance. "I had a locksmith 
get me into the back door and make me a key. You are now my prisoner." 

I just stood there, clutching the bars. Not that I could do much else and 
all I could think to say was, "Ryan will kill you for this!" 

"If you and I are still here in three weeks, darling." Her tone was 
sarcastic. "I keep in touch with events, we have mutual friends. I found out 
about him buying this house at the same time I discovered he was away on 
this business trip. I figured there would be no problem having a look. I 
expected to find you kicking around somewhere but who is that delightful 
creature upstairs? Oh, by the way, I attached her to a ring in the wall, no 
sense having her clutter up our cozy little chat." 

I was engulfed in the bitterness of defeat, knowing that anything I said or 
did would just be sound and motion. My master had thoughtless deduced me to 
a zero for this girl's amusement. Just the same I voiced my protest. "You 
have no right to do whatever it is you're going to do, Janice. You've no 
right to interfere with Ryan's life or mine. You don't even have keys to 
this cell, it won't do you much good looking at me through the bars." 

"Want to bet?" 

"Well, do you have keys, I'll bet you haven't." 

"Patience, darling, my locksmith friend is out in the car, I'll go and get 
him." 

It was a rotten few minutes while I waited. Whatever happened it was not 
going to be good. I longed for Ryan to appear and teach the silly bitch a 
lesson. But instead of that Janice was accompanied by an embarrassed male 
from whom I longed to hide my nakedness. About all I could do was lay on my 
belly and breasts on the mattress and watch proceedings. I don't know what 
magic locksmiths have but this one made short work of both the padlock and 
the cell door. He had a whole bunch of keys and funny shaped bits of metal. 
From his collection he was actually able to present keys to the padlock and 
cell door into Janice Webb's eager little hand. He paid not the slightest 
attention to my assurances that he would go to prison for what he was doing. 
He and Janice departed for the car. The short chain and padlock dangled 
inoffensively, holding nothing. But when I tried the door of my little cell, 
it was as solid as ever, firmly locked. I hated to admit it but Janice was 
right, I was her prisoner! 

Janice took her time. She was probably upstairs, making Diana unhappy. I 
knew she would gloat over us, having us in her power, the possession of girl 
who had to do anything she commanded and would get whipped anyway. I never 
longed to get out of that cell as badly as now! 

When she finally showed she was in no hurry, savoring every act and word to 
the full! Unable to bear silence, I demanded, "Well, are you going to let me 
out?" 

"For a price, darling, nothing is going to be free." 

"How much?" 

"Oh, come, Jill dear, you know I don't accept money. What I want is you. And 
you know what I'm going to do to you, don't you." 

"Whip me." 

"You're so perceptive, darling, but first there is a little matter of 
restraint..." 

"You're not going to get me any more helpless than I am! I retreated back 
into my cage where she could not reach. The act was instinctive. 

"Good heavens, girl, I'm not going to kill you!" Janice laughed at my 
defense. "There's no use your resisting, darling. If you choose to be 
difficult, I'll bring your little friend down her and whip her until you 
agree to be a good girl. How's that?" 

I groaned inwardly. It was so beautifully simple for Janice, neither Diana 
nor I could fight without getting the other punished. "All right," I said 
miserably. "What do I have to do?" 

What I had to do was give her my hands and loose one of the cuffs on one 
wrist for a moment while I turned around and she locked both behind my back. 
It was elementary, something a girl had to expect. I was told to stay the 
way I was with my back to the bars while Janice reached through and between 
to lock leg irons on my ankles. I now had the course for sure. I could argue 
about nothing. I was given permission to turn and watch her open the door. 

Poor Diana! When she saw the way Janice had me her face fell a mile. I saw 
her fist clench and pull against the ring which held her to the wall. I've 
never bothered to tell her about Janice, there seemed to be no need, not 
that it would have changed a thing. Bluntly, I explained, "I'm sorry, Diana, 
this girl's the family jinx and she's got us where she wants us." 

"She stole my man," Janice explained more simply. "I punish the poor darling 
whenever I get a chance. One day she'll be tired of being punished and move 
out. That's the time I move back in. My problem right now is what to do with 
you." 

"Let me loose and send me on my way, I don't like being a prisoner, either." 
Diana was doing her best. 

"Oh, come, I wasn't born yesterday-You're name's Diana, eh? Well get this, 
Diana, my little pretty, if one is good, two is better. If I enjoy whipping 
darling Jill, think how much pleasure I'll derive from whipping you, too." 

"Is that all you think about, whipping girls?" 

"Oh, no, Diana, but the whip is so nice to talk about. It has a beautiful 
menace, don't you think? But there's all sorts of other things I'm going to 
do to both of you. Let your minds run a bit, you'll be able to come up with 
ideas." 

"I don't know what there is between you and Jill but if you keep me a 
prisoner like this, it's simply kidnapping. If it takes five years, I'll put 
you in prison." 

Janice turned to me. "Spunky bit, isn't she? I'm sure she means what she 
says. Sometime you can explain the facts of life to her. And now, which of 
you shall I whip first?" 

"You leave my Mistress alone ... don't you dare touch...! " 

Diana bit her lip in confusion but Janice was sharp. "So that's the way of 
it, eh? Slavegirl to a slave. Well, I'll be damned, I didn't expect to 
unearth an treasure this rich. Oh, wow! What I'm going to do to you." 

Diana and I exchanged glances of desolation. It was not so much that Janice 
carried an aura of menace, she was gaiety itself but her whip would hurt and 
so would the other things she would probably think up. 

"Diana's never done you any harm, Janice," I said as reasonably as I could. 
"If you punish her, you're just being a bitch. I can understand your being 
mad at me but you shouldn't let it overlap onto an innocent girl. It's not 
fair to her." 

"But, darling, you're so wrong. It is a slavegirl's duty to share her 
mistress' anguish. I wouldn't rob the sweet thing of a single stroke." 

That about said it. There was no use arguing with Janice, not when she held 
all the cards. She had evidently done a complete tour for she now took us to 
one of the rooms that seems to hold a single purpose. It was furnished with 
a few ropes and pulleys and a whipping post and a strangely designed bench 
which, when a naked girl was strapped upon it, reared her rump up to heaven. 

"You'll be first, darling," Janice patted my cheek lovingly. "I think the 
whipping post. That hands up in the air bit has been over done. That 
exquisite slavegirl of yours gets the bench." 

For purposes of walking around, Janice had attached a chain between Diana's 
leg irons and her handcuffs to keep her hands at no greater level than her 
waist. It was evident Janice intended her to stand and watch my punishment. 
She would see her mistress and would know me fallible, sharing my shame. 
When it came time to fasten me, Janice sweetly inquired, "I'll have to take 
your handcuffs, darling, but your feet will stay leg-ironed. Are you going 
to fight?" 

I knew she could subdue me and I knew she would take it out on Diana. 
Abjectly, I muttered, "I won't fight. Tell me what to do." 

The whipping post was beautifully simple. It was stark and frightening and 
the strength of ten naked girls could not even make it quiver. On each side, 
at the level of my eye, there was a strap and buckle. When the handcuffs 
left my wrists I did not pause but positioned my hands within the leather 
loops and winched as Janice tugged them tight, so damned tight I realized 
how helpless I was going to be. When she had contrived the last notch into 
the last whole, she tucked the ends neatly in their loops and stood back to 
admire. 

"My, my, Jill, aren't you glorious! So beautifully vulnerable and naked and 
nothing more than just your wrists!" 

She'd described it well. Just my wrists! So simple, so innocent. I stood 
there with arms outstretch so I could look along the while columns of my own 
flesh to where they disappeared within the twice leathers by which I was 
held subject to her will. I wanted to scream in anger but that would come 
soon enough, with the pain. I looked at Diana's horrified stare and said, 
hopelessly, "I'm sorry, darling, I'm so damned sorry..." 

Why do I tell of being whipped by Janice Webb! I'm not sure I knew except 
for it being very much a part of my story. Whippings can be described as all 
alike. But they are not all alike. Each licks at a girl's skin with its own 
particular venom. The first slash Janice gave me was across my shoulders. I 
had been expecting it far lower down so it caught me unawares to make me 
leap against the straps and utter a shocked yelp. I longed to embrace the 
whipping post but that was forbidden by the straps. They were wide straps 
and compelled my arms to remain fully extended and thus expose all my 
nakedness for the pleasure of a girl who might have but little mercy. I felt 
terribly frightened and alone. 

"Tell me how that hurt, Jill dear." Janice wanted it all. She knew damned 
well how it hurt. There would also be a growing scarlet wound on my back as 
proof. While I was hesitating and trying to gather my thoughts against the 
pain, she delivered the second stroke of my punishment squarely across my 
twin cheeks and lapping both hips. It was a brutal blow against which I 
squealed and kicked my fettered feet in useless frustration, but I muttered 
shameful mouthing of humility in trying to tell of pain and anguish when all 
I wanted to was close my eyes and strain against the straps. I must have 
done fairly well for Janice accepted my humility and stroke number three 
wrapped around my waist only as part of what I might normally expect. But it 
was bad enough, a fiery scold to make me catch breath and then to scream. 
After that I screamed promptly after all of the fifteen strokes. I am sure I 
struggled and contorted to Janice's delight in an effort to withhold my 
scream but never quite succeeding. The whipping post allowed quite a bit of 
freedom, freedom to squirm and jerk and struggle, none of which did any 
good. Nothing helped until the final stroke and the ending of the blows. 

"Do you feel you have been well whipped, Jill, darling?" 

"Yes, I have been well whipped." My voice was a controlled monotone. 

"Don't I have a title?" 

"Yes, Mistress, I have been well whipped." 

"And I'm sure you don't mind telling us your innermost emotions while the 
whipping was going one? I'm sure your lovely slavegirl would love to hear 
such a confession from you." Her tone was silken and velvet. 

"I did my best with words, they didn't matter much, all Janice wanted was 
the shame and humiliation and I gave her enough of both to satisfy a sadist. 
I was trembling and bathed in sweat. 

Janice kissed and fondled me as I stood there with arms outstretched and 
wrists tight strapped. If I had wanted to respond I could not have done 
much, but the ardor of her touch told me she was close to ordering me to 
service her. But she had work to do, or at least what she would see as a 
stern obligation. She must now whip Diana so she gave me girl slave her full 
attention. 

"Are you going to be sensible, Diana, you saw how sensible your mistress 
was. I need the same from you. For a few moments your wrists will be 
unlocked and your hands quite free. Are you going to position yourself and 
let me strap you down?" 

Any girl could be excused from a hesitant affirmative to such a question. 
Diana was searching for evasions when our new mistress snap. "If you don't 
instantly agree, I'll thrash your beloved Jill to a fare-thee-well and you 
can't either of you stop me. Well, what do you say?" 

"I will do as you tell me." An agony of impotency hung heavy in those words. 
I saw my slavegirl's hands unlocked, the chain discarded, and her fettered 
feet grope for their position on the bench. Fitting her glorious contours to 
the bench, Diana reached to where her wrists were placed in the straps, one 
to each side. I watched the darling girl being cinched and buckled tight 
into a horrible position, hands and arms extended downward and forward, her 
waist unkindly cinched with a cruel strap, her knees hallows thrust forward 
to be secured by waiting clamps. And then the wicked strap exactly below the 
crease where her bottom joined her thighs, Janice tightened and tightened 
this again before pumping the lever which, like the jack of an automobile, 
lifted the pinioned bottom to extrude itself in utter innocent of waiting 
anguish. She was so erotically beautiful I longed to shed tears for us both. 

 8 Whipped Duo 

I wanted to hide my eyes. I longed for a miracle to grab my slavegirl and me 
and take us far from the venom of this jealous woman. But Janice's star was 
in the ascendancy, she was riding high. Having strapped Diana into the 
wicked curvatures which were a punishment themselves, she went to the rack 
on the wall and pretended to deliberate upon the weapon she would use to 
inflict pain upon the helpless Diana. She returned to us with a heavy, 
supple length of strap which she kneaded with her fingers in pure sensory 
joy. I noticed unhappily she also retrained the single thong who's weals I 
now wore! Janice was tremendously female and joyfully frictioned herself 
against the strapped beauty on the bench, fondling and kissing those 
available portions of Diana which took her imagine and were not strapped out 
of sight. Janice was in the cat-bird seat and whatever pleasure she must now 
forgo could be easily achieved after the lashing of the luscious curves now 
awaiting for her whip. Miss Janice Webb now had the two of us for sure! 

To anyone who has never been made helpless by bondage it must be difficult 
to understand the total compliance of a bound or strapped maiden to the 
demands of whatever circles her wrists, her ankles or her neck. In my case 
it was simple straps on my wrists. True, my feet were fettered but I could 
kick them to rattle the shackles and the chain but they were not 
immobilized, by hands and arms were. No matter what I said or did I would 
have to stand there to watch the whipping of my love. It would be like one 
of those nightmares in which you can see and hear everything but do nothing. 
I bit my bare arm as though to assure myself this was not a nightmare. 

Diana was compelled to kiss the strap and the thong, and to tell her 
mistress most earnestly how grateful she was for the pain she was about to 
received. Janice was glorying in power and sensuality, and I suppose you 
couldn't blame her, she had two naked girl exactly as she desired. One had 
already screamed and the second was soon to start. 

"This is going to hurt you a lot more than it will hurt me, Diana, my dear," 
she told the strapped nakedness upon the bench before she swung her arm in 
the first blow. Janice had chosen Diana's bottom for starters and it was the 
limber leather which cracked most horribly across the bare and tender 
spheres. But Diana was a veteran. She had never told me how many times she 
had been whipped but it had been many and of a diversity of intensity. She 
could not move, she could not flinch but she gasped and her head turned in 
revolt from one side to another. That was all! 

Janice was like a gourmet with his favorite dish, partaking of it slowly and 
with relish. Slowly she massaged the mark across the stretched skin, 
watching the scarlet form, but stealing glances at Diana's head, which was 
her prisoner's only form of expression. Delicately, Janice moved to a fresh 
position and a fresh stance, and this time the strap impacted with an almost 
frightening splat across the girlish back. Unexpected Janice turned to me. 
"You can take her place if you want to, darling. Would you like to 
volunteer?" 

It was a cunning question, designed to put both Diana and me on the spot. 
Diana would declaim her, "No, no, no!, " while I would see no decent reply 
save to agree. Happily I embraced nobility. "Yes, I'll take Diana's place. 
But only if you promise not to hurt her in any other way. Diana's innocent." 

It appeared I had set something in motion no one could stop. Poor Diana 
looked at me and shook her head again and again in negation while Janice 
freed her from the bench, being careful to lock the handcuffs once more upon 
her wrists before freeing her feet. She chained the poor girl as she had 
been before to play the role of spectator while her mistress suffered on the 
bench. Forlornly, and giving Janice every reproachful glance I could, I 
draped my curves upon the wood still warm from Diana's flesh. The clamps bit 
behind my knees, the waist band cinched me down and the straps around my 
wrist were secure. To strap my ankles was an unneeded extra but Janice did 
it anyway. When she was through fastening me I could see why Diana could 
only move her head. Even that required an effort. Then came the lever, which 
thrust a pad hard into my pussy to raise and stretched my already whipped 
bottom to its required exposure. At this point I caught Diana's 
grief-stricken eyes and managed a pathetic smile. I wanted to tell the poor 
girl that Janice hadn't killed anyone yet but didn't want to push my luck. 
When the strap cracked wickedly across my curves I knew for sure I'd bitten 
off more than I could chew. 

There is a strange comfort in being bound. I don't mean the erotic thrill 
that sometimes goes along with rope. I mean being divorced from decision, 
knowing that what is being done to you is impossible and beyond bearing but 
all you can do is scream. Whatever you are suffering will continue to happen 
regardless how you tug and surge against the straps. Straps are perfect for 
holding a girl while someone gives her what she knows she cannot possibly 
endure. The burn, the scorch, the scold, all urgently scream at you to move 
you bottom elsewhere, anywhere so long as it is out of range of the 
infliction. At times like this it is actually beneficial to be bound. 

Again and again I caught sight of Diana's face but I was too busy hurting to 
send messages of love or reassurance. The fact was I had nothing to reassure 
her about. Janice was punishing me horribly and all I was feeling was the 
burning, burning, burning, and all I was seeing was my lovely curves turning 
purple and black. I wouldn't sit down for a month! 

When Janice was through with me and unbuckled the straps, I tried to rise 
but nothing seemed worthwhile and I said to myself, "To hell with it," and 
relapsed back to the way I had been fastened. She arranged my arms to ready 
them for the handcuffs, it was as though she were handling a corpse, I just 
didn't care. I heard them do their click, click, click but could only do a 
mental "so what!" After she locked the leg irons on my ankles, she had to 
force me to stand erect and even had to give me a helping hand. A girl's 
bottom is a sort of hinge to all of her. It is close to being dead center 
and mine wasn't working all that good, it didn't want to do anything except 
hide away and die. 

For the rest of the day Diana and I were locked away in one of the bedroom 
and the two of us settled ourselves in a hot tub, forgetting we had no hands 
with which to dry. But we stayed in the water a long, long time and when we 
were finished we spread towels on the bedroom rug and rolled back and forth 
on them until reasonably dry. Taking turns we held a towel behind our backs 
to enable the other to rub against it. It was almost fun. And the hot suds 
had got my bottom to where it was only a steady burn instead of a screaming 
scold. But our day was not yet done. 

Later Janice performed an act of kindness, changing our hands from back to 
front. But I discovered it was so we wouldn't have to be fed. I was 
surprised she missed the opportunity to make us lap up our food from a plate 
on the floor. Anyway, we had a quite decent meal while Janice kept up a 
constant flood of conversation to which we suspiciously responded. We also 
had to listen to her graphic accounts of punishments still to come. Some 
were so terrible we had to hope she simply frightening us for fun. Poor 
Diana and I did a lot of looking back and forth across the table. I also 
thought about the chance to escape, but there weren't any. Every time I 
moved a chain bit at me and told me to be sensible. I couldn't even reach 
for the salt without knowing that I was a prisoner. We even had brandy in 
the lounge after Diana and I had been made to do the dishes. Oh, sure, a 
girl can do the dishes when she's handcuffed. If we had not also been 
leg-ironed we could have attempted an escape but Janice had us neatly under 
control, and in the lounge we administered to her needs and knelt before her 
like good little girls. I deliberately gulped down all the brandy I could 
contrive in my visits to the bar. I was pretty sure what was coming. 

Janice had chosen my master's bedroom and I hated her for it. But, of 
course, it had all the special equipment she desired for our further 
subjection. Diana and I each got an iron collar locked around our necks. The 
end of the long tethers were locked to ringbolts in the floor besides the 
bed, one on each side. Our hands were then once more changed from front to 
back so that when the time came for us to perform our task we were like a 
couple of seals flopping around on dry land. Janice was riding high on the 
euphoria of possession and brandy. 

"You will now service me, darlings. There is enough of me to keep both of 
you fully occupied. You can take turns with my pussy and I'll expect the 
rest of me to be competently dealt with. If either of you shirk, I'll whip 
you." 

Diana and I exchanged woeful looks while our mistress tossed aside her 
clothes and positioned herself in beautiful nakedness on the bed. She looked 
up at us from the bed and demanded, "Well, what are you waiting for?" 

I am sorry no one recorded our attentions to our mistress upon film. While 
we were busy doing our enforced duty, Diana and I must have appeared 
primarily as a couple of feminine bottoms, vivid marked and colored by that 
beastly strap. I knew my own ass was disgustingly black but the two 
exquisite imprints on Diana's curves were pure beauty. I almost envied her 
their possession. If someone's view of them had been solely from my bottom, 
they would have judged me a native of darkest Africa. 

I am sure Janice believed herself more than kind in allowing us to sleep in 
whatever posture exhaustion had caught us in. She had fallen into slumber in 
the small hours of the morning. Diana and I gave each other an understanding 
glance, shrugged, and then settled ourselves down right there. I'm sure if 
anyone had been there to see, we would have made a pretty picture of three 
naked girls in innocent repose. 

"I don't think I should whip you any more today, darlings," Janice mused at 
breakfast. "I'd love to, of course, but I must tempter justice with 
mercy-did I get that quotation right?" She gave us each her brightest smile. 
"I do want you two girls to come up with ideas. I don't want to hear you say 
you want your freedom, that out! But if there are any delightful little 
tortures you think I'd enjoy, don't hold back." She managed to make it sound 
a real concession. 

"I'm sure you'll know what to do with us, Janice," I told her dismally. "I'm 
not good at that sort of thing." 

"But if I decide, darling, it will hurt a lot more." The words held 
deliberate menace. 

"Very well then," I agreed wearily. "My I sit with my feet locked in the 
stocks? Is that an acceptable suggestion?" She pretended to make notes on 
paper then turned to Diana. 

"And what do you chose, dear?" 

"Could I stand with my hands above my head? It's very tiring and I hate it." 

Diana and I had apparently hit the right note. An hour later we were both 
fastened as we, ourselves, had requested. I sat on a hard little bench and 
looked up and down the length of my widely spread legs to where they 
disappeared into a bulk of timber. At any rate, my ankles were locked tight 
and there I sat. I felt silly and surprisingly helpless and was annoyed with 
the exposure of my sex. True, I could cover my pubic patch with my hands but 
Janice made this a no-no and promised dire punishments if she caught me 
doing it. I was also forbidden to cover my breasts in her presence. Poor 
Diana stood close by in a naked exposure, her handcuffed wrists roped well 
above her head but with sufficient kindness to leave her heels upon the 
floor. We were both kissed and assured of undying love before being left 
alone with a promise of frequent visits to make sure we were behaving 
ourselves. 

"I suppose it will be for all day," Diana suggested dismally. 

"I expect so," I replied. "Oh, darling, you're going to get so terribly 
tired, standing there like that." 

Diana managed a laugh. "And you're going to get damned good and sick of 
having your feet go off in different directions. I'm surprised she didn't 
fasten your hands behind your back, that would be real bad!" 

I suppose I have to say about Janice that she knows where to draw the line. 
I had been terribly whipped with that awful strap but Diana's innocence had 
been recognized and she had gotten off with just those two wicked weals. 
Tying Diana up by her hands in semi-suspension and locking my feet in the 
stocks probably appealed to Janice as a real kindness for which we should be 
grateful. I think Janice was always torn between wanting our love and 
delighting in torturing us. If the poor girl could have jumped into bed with 
Ryan, she would have had little interest in Diana or myself. True, she 
adored whipping a girl but it was not her number one priority. 

I had not been locked in the stocks an hour before I realized my mistake. It 
seems an innocent sort of punishment but I had forgotten my bruised, wealed 
bottom upon the hard wood bench. It was far from happy and prompted me to 
frequently raise it from the surface for a rest. This I was able to do by 
using my hands to lift myself up. But I found myself catering to my bruised 
behind at the expense of all the rest of me. Finally, in disgust, I let it 
know that it would have to damn well deal with the pain itself. Diana had 
watched my strivings sympathetically. But neither of us could help the other 
nor feel any the less used ourselves. We were a pair of slavegirls being 
punished and that was the simple fact of it. Our morning wore on, broken 
only occasionally by visits from our mistress who gave us water to drink and 
helpful hints on behavior becoming to slavegirls, to which we listened with 
seeming gratitude but with mental reservations. My own was of darling Janice 
tight strapped to that beastly bench and me busy upon her ass with that 
resounding strap! Where would prisoners be without their dreams! 

Prisoners are alert to sounds. I saw Diana tense and felt my own tummy 
tighten as there filtered through the open door the sound of angry voices, 
or should I say a voice! It was Janice. Our mistress came into view 
propelled forward by a large male hand grasping almost every hair of her 
head while five male fingers were firm upon her arm. Ryan Norton handled 
Miss Janice Webb with easy and obvious pleasure, a pleasure Diana and I 
instantly shared. It was one of those moments when a girl says she was never 
so happy in her life! 

"Let go my hair, you big lug!" Janice was pink faced and in a full flood of 
protest. "Who the hell do you think you are, pushing me around like this. If 
you don't let me go this instant, I'll kick you shins." 

For answer Ryan picked her up bodily, placed her face down on the floor, 
then put his knee in her back while searching around for something with 
which to tie her hands. A rope was nearby and a couple of minutes later Miss 
Janice Webb was beautifully immobilized with her wrists bound behind her 
back. He then stood her up and methodically stripped her bare, being careful 
to first remove her shoes as her most-likely weapon. His captive twisted and 
struggled in disbelief at near-helplessness, a disbelief I'd often felt 
myself. She continued verbally to get herself into deeper disfavor. "You son 
of a bitch, untie me this instant. You're a rotten cheat, you weren't 
suppose to come home for three more weeks." 

"You fell into my trap, I knew you would, sweetheart." Ryan was almost 
smirking. 

"You rotten bastard, you don't know how to treat a lady. Do you realize 
you've left me naked, not wearing a single thing!" 

"The better to whip your bottom, dear." Ryan patted one of her cheeks 
affectionately. He again grasped her hair. "If you can't stand still, I'll 
pull this out by the roots, you ridiculous female." 

Diana and I were starry eyed as we watched our rescuer march our dethroned 
mistress around until he discovered handcuffs. He then locked a single wrist 
to one of the rings in the wall and stood back to enjoy the spectacle of an 
angry young woman striving to tear the ringbolt from the concrete. When 
Janice had hurt her wrists sufficiently she desisted, she stood there 
glaring at us, pink cheeked and panting. 

"I'll have you all in prison for this, it's kidnapping." Then to Ryan alone, 
"Unlock my wrist and give me something to wear. I'll go home and never speak 
to you again." 

"It that a promise, sweetheart?" 

"Oh, you...! " Janice stamped hard with a bare foot then winced. "Ryan, 
you're impossible. You're cruel, you're unkind..." She burst into tears of 
frustration and buried her face against the wall. 

I got beautifully kissed and Diana got kissed, too, although just a bit more 
than her status called for. My feet got unlocked and I stood up, most 
gloriously free. I flung my arms around my knight in shinning armor and 
hugged and hugged and hugged. The kissing can be taken for granted. We then 
unlocked Diana and the three of us went up stairs, me feeling a bitch for 
leaving Janice face to the wall and crying her heart out. I suppose that 
since we both loved Ryan, I understood how she felt. I would have cried, 
too, in the spot she had made for herself. 

None of us needed the stimulus of alcohol. Ryan sent Diana to the kitchen to 
make coffee. She winked at me before she went. I'm sure she figured we'd do 
it right there on the rug. But Ryan sat down and I knelt before him so we 
could catch up on ourselves. My first thought was of my seven days 
imprisonment. 

"Did you leave me in that cell knowing that you'd be back in just over a 
week?" I demanded, but not too severely. "Gosh, I've never missed you so 
much." 

"I had heard Janice had been snooping around so I laid a trap I knew she'd 
fall for. Gives me a good excuse to cure her infatuation once and for all." 

"Don't punish her too terribly, Ryan, she loves you. A girl can't help 
loving." 

"A girl can most certainly help breaking and entering and whipping my 
slaves. I've a good mind to make her bottom as black as your's. Or would you 
like the job?" 

Apart from pique over being the bait in a trap, I was go gorgeously happy I 
didn't want to whip anyone, all I wanted was to go to bed with Ryan. I told 
him so but he insisted we should have coffee first. When Diana had served it 
and told my master how grateful she was for being rescued, Ryan Norton laid 
down the law. 

"Look, I don't want you girls feeling sorry for Janice. I'm going to punish 
her and punish her good. You'll find her in all sorts of situations around 
the house and none of them comfortable. I don't want either of you feeling 
sorry for her or letting her loose. Do you understand?" 

Our "Yes, Master" was in perfect unison. 

Ryan turned to Diana. "Run alone, sweetheart, and find a couple of pairs of 
handcuffs. Can't have you two running around the way you are now, you're a 
disgrace to slavery." 

I loved him so terribly. We fitted like hand and glove, not needing to talk 
much but satisfied to be together. Despite the condition the poor girl was 
in, I was still afraid of Janice, I didn't want her around. I let my 
feelings show. "Ryan, darling, must we have that woman in this house, even 
to be punished? She'll only cause trouble between us, she wants you so 
damned bad. Couldn't you just send her packing?" 

"Without a mark on her!" He grimaced at me. "And after what she's done to 
you! Come on, girl, have more sense." 

"Well, whip her bottom then, she certainly deserves that. And used that 
awful strap on her, she certainly deserves that too." 

"That's better, darling. We have to temper mercy with justice." Ryan had 
turned it backwards from the way Janice had quoted. But it appeared I had 
achieved no more than get her a whipped bottom. In thinking of Janice we 
have to remember she was a very beautiful girl with the loveliest figure ... 
and men are so terribly susceptible! 

The thought of Janice chained upstairs stuck in my mind. Why shouldn't it? 
Every time I sat down I remembered the terrible strapping she had given me 
on the bench. On the spur pf the moment but purely for fun I explained, 
"Darling, don't you realize the best thing for Janice would be an experience 
such as Diana and I have had in Bottsvelt with Abu Hakim." I simply had to 
giggle at the thought. "Why don't you make a fine gesture and send her as a 
gift to The Rule? It would compensate for Diana." 

I had no sooner got the words out than I regretted them but Ryan did not. I 
saw instantly they tickled his imagine. He, too, was seeing delicious 
visions of the irritating Janice beating chained fists against the stone 
wall and the solid chest of the huge Hakim. We could guess what he would do 
with her. 

"Marvelous idea, sweetheart, I'll give you points for it. Let me think a 
while. It can be handled more easily than you suppose." He chuckled at a 
thought. ' 'What say you and I go up to the bedroom now and enjoy ourselves 
a while with her compelled to watch. She's cuffed to the wall and nicely out 
of the way." 

"Oh, Ryan, no! That's all together too cruel, I couldn't bear it!" 

"Not half as cruel as sending her to Hakim." 

"Well, maybe we shouldn't do either. All I want is to get her out of this 
house." For the moment we left it at that. Having Ryan to adore and make a 
fuss over drove all else from my mind. But that night, while we occupied the 
huge four poster bed, it was Janice who slept on the carpet at the side, her 
neck collared and its chain locked to the ringbolt in the floor. I could 
sense her shame and did not blame her for curling up in a ball and hiding 
her face. But after an hour or two the sounds of our lovemaking proved just 
too much and Ryan and I found ourselves with an angry girl rattling her 
chain beside our bed and being cautiously articulate. 

"You think it's clever, humiliating me like this, well it isn't. It just 
shows what a rotten, brutal son of a bitch you really are, Ryan Norton. Now 
let me loose." 

We let the first volley pass. After all, we couldn't expect the poor dear to 
be pleased. But she used the time to prepare another broadside. "Arid as for 
you, you pretty bitch, you needn't laugh at me. He'll toss you over board 
like this, too, when he tires of those lovely boobs. Wait and see, you'll 
come crying on my shoulder." 

I lay in silence, wishing the damned girl any where but where she was. Ryan 
was exasperated but not yet angry. "For Pete's sake, Janice, will you shut 
up!" 

Janice must have detected a certain tone in his voice for she actually did 
stop her tirade and fell miserably to her knees to sit back on bare heels 
and consider the injustice of life. She deliberately made a lot of noise 
with the chain. She suddenly burst into a flood of tears. 

"Nobody loves me, you all hate me," she delivered with loud moans of woe. ' 
'I know what you're going to do, you're going to torture me. You're going to 
put me on some of those things downstairs. And I haven't really done 
anything, at least not much." Sniffs and sobs reach our ears in considerable 
volume. "Why don't you take me down there and stretch me on the rack or 
something so you two can have fun. I'd rather be stretched on the rack that 
have to listen to you two." 

"Careful what you ask for, sweetheart," Ryan advised. "Could be I'll do 
exactly what you ask." Softly be whispered in my ear, "It's an act, she's 
real good at it." 

"I heard that!" Janice was instantly up in arms. "You rotten bastard, 
telling her I'm a fake. I'm heartbroken and you know it. Ruining my life. Go 
ahead and torture me, I don't care." 

Ryan's humor is devastatingly male. I was melting in sympathy for the girl 
who wept so convincingly but his only response was a caustic, "Oh, dry up, 
Janice. If you make me get out of this bed, I'll whip you." 

The response was instant. In a pretty fair contralto, Janice dived right 
into the National Anthem which, when you consider it, is pretty fair 
competition for either erotica or sleep. My master allowed her to get 
through the first verse but then sighed and kissed my nipples before rising. 
I don't know where he kept the whip but it didn't take him long to find it 
and even less time to put it into use. Seeing his intent, Janice backed away 
the full length of her tether and weaved around from side to side in a 
ridiculously hopeless effort to avoid her punish. She squealed and contorted 
deliciously as each stroke marked her skin. But when her first scream filled 
the room with anguish, she once more curled up into a tight ball to offer as 
little of herself to the thong as possible. Ryan did not pause. I was still 
handcuffed on the bed and too scared to intervene. All I hoped was that he 
would consider the punishment he delivered now would be the one promised in 
return for my bruised bottom. At the end of the twentieth stroke he threw 
the whip aside and was about to join me on the bed when I could contain 
myself no longer and threw myself beside the weeping girl to comfort her as 
best I could. But my sympathy was short lived. I was picked up and threw 
back on the bed and the moaning Janice was unlocked and led from the room. I 
lay, nakedly shivering, to await my master's return. 

When Ryan returned he said nothing and I was too scared to ask. I knew my 
sympathy was an offense. With the greatest of ease he picked up where we had 
left off and I soon forgot everything else except him and how lucky I had 
been that first day he had kidnapped me. 

"Well, girls, I've got a bit of a work load today, but I want the two of you 
around. What you say I lock you in the cell." Ryan surveyed Diana and I 
across the breakfast table. "I think you'll be amused at what I have 
planned. Sorry about making you prisoners again but I don't suppose you'll 
mind too much." 

Diana impotently held up handcuffed wrists to chirp, "Wouldn't do us any 
good if we did ... Master?" 

Ryan let it pass, he was preoccupied. He allowed Diana to get away with 
murder, saying it was because she belonged to me and not to him. They were 
not in love but liked each other. Liking is the safest emotion of the lot. 

My slavegirl and I had intended to go shopping in the city but these 
interruptions in our lives by the man who owned us were common enough parts 
of our enslavement. If we had rebelled or been unhappy, Ryan would have had 
to keep us behind bars all the time. There was a real knocker of a dungeon 
way downstairs which none of us had sampled and had no wish to. Ryan said he 
was keeping it in reserve. If we thought he was serious about something, we 
were unfailingly obedient. 

We did our chores then followed Ryan downstairs. The little cells looked the 
same as ever. When, after we were safely inside, he turned the lock, we 
could almost hear it chuckle. We asked no questions and Ryan volunteered 
nothing. When he left us we both agreed that even if nothing happened at all 
the worse we were-likely to be in for was a boring day. But then we had each 
other...! 

Janice was not long in arriving. Diana and I heard her approach by way of 
intermittent protests and exclamations. They gained in volume as she 
approached our cell. 

"You didn't need to whip me like that, you rotten bastard." There came a 
paused filled with scuffling sounds. "Look, Ryan, don't be so damn mean. Why 
don't we call it quits and you send me home. I'll promise not to come back 
if that's what you want." 

Diana and I exchanged glances. Boredom fled. If Janice was to share our 
prison, we'd be in for a lively day. Feminine protest grew louder. "I can't 
help loving you, you great big lug, and all you ever do is be mean-so what 
if you have got them in the cell, the little bitches are probably eating 
each other. Why don't you let me look after them, I'd keep them in line." 

Janice was handcuffed and naked, angry upon her skin were the marks of 
Ryan's whip from the night before. Where ever she had spent the night it had 
left her spirit undiminished, her indignation at full flame. Ryan held her 
by her hair, controlling her easily, propelling her to the bars of our cage. 
She looked at us balefully. 

"So here's our little love birds. Gosh, some girls really have it good. 
Gosh, Ryan, I wish you'd turn me loose." 

What happen then left three girls very much surprised. Ryan thrust the 
protesting nakedness hard against the bars, raised her arms out of the way, 
then cinched her waist to a crosspiece with rope to compel her to face 
inward to our cage. 

"Look, Ryan, don't you tie me here where this little bitches can get at me, 
they'll pinch me to pieces." 

"Fortunes of war, sweetheart." 

"It isn't war, it's ... it's ... well, I don't know what it is but I don't 
want to be helpless where these two minks can get their hands on me. Ryan, 
have a heart." 

The poor girl couldn't struggled much. Diana and I watched with interest as 
her feet were spread apart and bound to the bars the same as her waist. Ryan 
then unlocked a cuff from Janice's wrist, raised her arms to slip the chain 
around a bar just above a crosspiece so it could neither fall nor be pulled 
any lower. It was then clicked back around the slender wrists. Miss Janice 
Webb was hard and fast against the bars of our cell, her breasts striving to 
protrude through to point at us as though in indignation, her belly indented 
by the vertical round iron. She was well and truly fixed and could only find 
comfort by thrusting her face between two of the bars which framed it 
prettily. She rattled her handcuffs in disbelief at they were there to stay, 
that her hands and arms could come no lower. She couldn't move the rest of 
her enough to matter but that didn't prevent her trying before she gave up 
and became articulate again. 

"Ryan, why don't you send these harem girls back to the desert where they 
belong. Keep me, I was so good to you. Honest, I'll bust my ass to keep you 
happy." She changed her tone. "See here, I didn't do any damage getting in 
here. I didn't do a break and enter, well at least not the break bit. I had 
a real expert look after the locks. There's not a bit of damage, and if 
there is you can send me a bill. If I ever get out of here!" 

Poor Janice, she was talking to thin air, Ryan had gone. 

Three girls, all prisoners. The little cell held us and accepted Janice on 
its guest list without a qualm. We stared at each other with varying 
emotions. I knew Diana was trying not to smile. 

"Go ahead and laugh! Big deal! I'm hung up like a picture on the wall just 
for you two." There was much tossing of untidy hair. "Oh, damn, I don't 
deserve this." 

Diana and I beheld sympathy in each other's eyes. Janice thought we were mad 
at her. But girls, imprisoned and punished, share a bond. We are sisters in 
distress. Our whip marks are the badge we carry of a club we did not wish to 
join. Without a word we went to the bound beauty against the bars and tried 
to comfort her. It was physically possible for us to untie her waist and 
feet but we explained we dared not do this. When Ryan returned she would 
just be retied and we would probably be whipped. Janice probably saw our 
point but only sniffed in disdain over the whole affair. It was only when 
Diana cupped her captive puss in a tender hand that our guest became 
prepared to view us with a more friendly eye. 

But she was still Janice and her voice was sharp. "You don't have to do 
that. The last thing I need right now is an orgasm." 

"Just enough to make you feel happier?" Diana coaxed. 

"Well, all right then. But don't take me too far. Good gosh, what a jackpot 
that bastard's got me into, I can hardly move." She did some more sniffing 
before asking, in a quite different tone, "Do you think I've got nice 
breasts?" 

We assured her of the superb loveliness of her twin curves. I added my 
efforts to Diana's by using my fingertips on the nipples of the breasts 
under discussion. But if I'd been in the same spot as Janice I would not 
have wanted an orgasm either, so we only took her far enough along the glory 
road to get her realizing things might not be so bad after all. She was 
probably uncomfortable but that was the common lot of prison girls. She had 
the most diverting way of switching subjects. 

"Look, Jill, I'm sorry about what I did to your bottom. That strap made such 
a wonderful sound I over did it a bit. Please ask Ryan to forgive me." 

"Isn't it me who should forgive you?" 

"Well, yes, but you're so sweet I know you will. What I'm worried about is 
Ryan, he's promised to whip me terribly for making your bottom black and 
blue, and I'm wondering if that isn't why he's got me fixed like this. I'm 
terribly available." 

"He whipped you last night, Janice, I expect that's it." 

"That was because he was mad at me, not the real thing." Janice paused. "I 
know I haven't treated you girls all that well but would you please put in a 
good word for me. Jill, you can tell him that your bottom doesn't really 
hurt and that it was all in fun?" 

"Janice, you know he'd laugh at me. Maybe fixing you this way is all the 
punishment you'll have." 

Janice was not to be consoled. I expect it was a guilty conscious which 
served her right. But still I couldn't help feeling sorry for the poor girl. 
Her worst fears were confirmed when Ryan came back. He was carrying that 
awful, noisy strap. Janice, looking awkwardly back over a bare raised arm, 
wailed, "You're not going to hit me with that thing! Ryan, you absolutely 
mustn't, I'm sure it hurts more than I can bear." 

"You mean you don't know how much it hurts?" 

"Of course, I don't! I don't let people whip me. You're the only one who's 
been that mean." 

"Wonderful!" Ryan's exclamation was fervent. "Now you're going to find out." 

The whole place resounded with the awful slap. Once more it was like a 
pistol shot in the confined space. Janice's eyes widened in shock and if she 
had been able to get any closer to the bars she would have done so in her 
frantic desire to get away from that leather strap. She didn't scream, she 
was conscious of our watching eyes, the poor dear was in one hell of a spot. 
Her voice was a whimper, "I can't bear it, I just can't! Ryan, that thing 
will kill me if you hit me again." 

Ryan hit her again. The strap crashed in complete contact with the available 
bottom. The sound was horrific and I knew just how it felt. When I was 
getting ready to plead on Janice's behalf, Ryan thrust the leather beneath 
the cords which bound her waist to the bars, patted the bottom curves he had 
just strapped, said he'd be back for some more after a while, then left all 
three of us to our own devices. Janice was busy moaning. 

Diana and I looked at each other and shrugged. Without words we resumed our 
erotic play with a lovely body against the bars. We could reach almost all 
of her and used whatever skills we had towards arousal. This time she did 
not demur, we soon had her panting and her moans changed from distress to 
desire. When she exploded against the bars, she was quite something to 
behold. I thought her head would go completely wild as her only form of 
physical expression. Her hair whipped back and forth in a mock imitation of 
a leather whip slashing at a girl. Diana and I felt proud. 

None of the three of us could kid ourselves that that was all Janice would 
get. The strap tucked against her skin told its own story. Twisting against 
the ropes and cuff, Janice became coherent. 

"See, I told you, he's going to do it to me and with that awful strap. Damn 
it, Jill, I'm sorry-I'd not idea...! " 

"You could have told my the noise and the marks," I said severely. 

"So, okay, I'm a bitch and I deserve what I'm getting. Look, I didn't scream 
with those first two but I'm sure I'm going to. Ryan's going to make me 
scream. Oh, shit!" 

I wondered if Ryan was doing this for me because of the terrible markings 
Janice had put on my bottom, or was he just irritated with her on general 
principles. I hoped it was because of me and not just because he enjoyed 
those pistol-shot cracks and the spreading stain of scarlet and purple on 
her skin. I dare not plead on her behalf, I was pretty sure that if I did I 
would end up in the same fix without doing her a bit of good. The fact is 
slavegirls can't do much about anything. We have to watch and wait and hope 
it won't hurt as much the next time. 

Throughout the day Janice kept her promise and screamed lustily with each 
impact, but Ryan never gave her more than two at a time so the poor dear was 
able to compose herself before the next visit. She was getting a pink mark 
on her forehead as she thrust it hard against a bar, went ever we tested she 
was very wet below. But we gave her no more orgasms, a girl need all her 
strength. She indulged in bouts of weeping and we dried her cheeks with our 
fingers, our nakedness being so complete we had nothing else. 

Somewhere around noon, Ryan unlocked the door and beckoned. When I went 
outside he unlocked my handcuffs and handed me the strap. "Your turn now, 
sweetheart." 

I held the beastly thing as though it were a snake. I had never held it 
before. It was heavy and supple and seemed almost alive. I shivered. "Oh, 
Ryan, I can't. I simply can't use this awful thing on a girl." 

Ryan is never short of answers, a girl doesn't stand a chance with him. "You 
can either use it on Janice, and use it hard, Jill my pet, or I'll hang 
Diana up and give her ten without stopping...? " 

I knew when I was beaten. I took a practice swing or two, still shivering 
and then let the vividly colored bottom Janice could not move have it hard 
and square across the curves. The noise was shocking, it seemed to me by far 
the loudest yet. Fascinated I watched the changing colors on the quivering 
skin. The owner of the bottom had screamed her scream and was now moaning 
pitifully. I looked at my master, hopeful of reprieve, but his grin and 
motion left me in no doubt about my duty. I swung again and Janice screamed 
and fought against the bars. My left wrist was then handcuffed to a 
crosspiece to leave me standing out in the passage with Ryan's punished 
former mistress. The cell door was locked again and there we were, all three 
of us in a diversity of distress which I am sure Ryan was chuckling about 
upstairs. I hate standing like I had to then, a girl feels so silly with 
only a single wrists in bondage and the rest of her free. 

But Janice had now caught her breath to indignantly proclaim, "You didn't 
have to hit me that hard, Jill. I think you're beastly unkind." 

I didn't bother to answer and I couldn't reach out far enough to touch. 
Janice didn't have much of a hand but she played it for all it was worth. 
"I'll bet he'll make you strap me again. Please, Jill, not so hard, give me 
a break." 

That was not the way of it. When he came back, he extracted Diana from the 
cell, unlocked her cuffs and told her it was now her turn to exact 
retribution. I guess Hakim must have been really mean to the poor girl 
before I first meet her. She's hard and cynical about punishments and laid a 
couple of really awful swats across Janice's hind end before she, too, was 
cuffed as I was cuffed and the door of the empty cell left open. Diana 
grinned. 

"I've been wanting to do that every since she did it to me." 

Through the afternoon Ryan compelled Diana and I to take over the punishment 
of Janice. We did as we were told, we had no choice. There was one time I 
tried to go easy on the already well beaten bottom. But my kindness was 
rewarded by my being hooked to the bars again and getting the strap cracked 
across my own rump. I was Ryan's slave and that was the end of it. I had 
best do what he said and pay no attention to Janice's reproachful looks and 
tongue. The afternoon wore on until Ryan wanted his cocktail before dinner 
at which point Diana and I were taken up stairs, normally handcuffed, and 
told to serve the master. I was to stay kneeling on the rug to sip with him 
and converse while my own slavegirl was sent to the kitchen. Nobody 
mentioned Janice. 

The next day I had one of those indefinable sensations of something wrong, 
something had changed or was about to change. I knew Ryan had Diana locked 
in the little cell, so when he hurried off on what he called a short, swift 
errand, I went downstairs and let her out. I was permitted to do this 
because she belonged to me. I asked if she'd seen Janice and then the two of 
us made an exploration of the house without finding even a trace of the girl 
who's bottom would be every bit as purple as mine. We could not find her 
and, when Ryan returned, I put it to him straight. 

"Darling, what have you done with Janice?" 

He consulted his watch and pretended to think. I can always tell when Ryan 
is having me one. "About now, sweetheart, that girl is probably kneeling at 
someone's feet at Hakim's palace, could be Hakim himself. She'll be safely 
ironed and wishing she had never made a nuisance of herself." He winked at 
me. "You don't have to worry about Janice anymore, she's gone." 

Guilt clutched me like a cold hand, telling me I had condemned a girl to 
life time slavery by a facetious remark. I had a mental picture of the 
tortures Hakim might inflict on a girl who's only fault was to love a man I 
also loved. And who loved me. Breathlessly I exclaimed, "You didn't!" 

"I sure did. She was shipped out last night, nicely tressed and strapped 
down in a wooden box. We had to gag her, too, she wouldn't stop talking." 

"Oh, Ryan...! " I was aghast. 

"Yes, my pet, something wrong?" Ryan was enjoying himself. 

"You know what's wrong," I said vehemently. "I know I suggested it but I 
didn't really think you ever would and I didn't really want you to. Oh, 
Ryan, that poor girl...! " 

"He won't treat her any worse than he did you, sweetheart, you came home in 
great shape." 

"Yes, but what about her life, her friends, her family?" 

"She did mention that stuff while we were strapping her down in the box," 
Ryan recalled reflectively. "I expect she'll soon be forgotten, anyway she's 
gone now and safe in Hakim's harem. I did suggest he keep her properly 
chained." 

"You didn't! Ryan, tell me you're just kidding." 

"Dead serious, sweetheart. Now let's stop talking about Janice. With any 
luck you will never seen her again." 

Sitting there, handcuffed on the rug, I was bursting to speak but I got the 
warning finger signal and swallowed my indignation. 

"I know how you're feeling, Jill." Ryan took my hand and drew me to 
himself.' 'It does you credit, but if you hadn't thought of sending her to 
Hakim, I would. It is so obviously the perfect solution." He kissed me 
gently before saying, "Had a few of her things gathered up and brought over 
here. Maybe you can use them." 

"Please don't make me." We argued back and forth and I soon picked up the 
fact that Ryan was having fun with me and probably had a surprise for me. 
The surprise manifested itself via a moving van and two white overalled men 
carrying into the room a large, square, heavy cardboard packing case. They 
evidently had their instructions, they nodded to Ryan and departed as 
quickly as them came. My omnipotent master stood there in lordly fashion to 
enjoy my curiosity. 

"Open it up, sweetheart, it's all your." 

Ryan had to help me do the opening job but when we tore away the last 
segment of the lid there rose up before my startled eyes the pert and 
smiling features of a girl, a young girl...! 

It was Janice's little sister Pip. 

 9 Punished Pip 

When we had both said our "good gracious, Pip, how did you get in there," 
and the more demure "Hello, Miss Palmer, isn't this lovely," I looked around 
for Ryan. But Ryan had quietly disappeared leaving me to cope with the most 
outrageous young nymphet I had ever met. 

"Isn't Mr. Norton wonderful?" she said girlishly. "The box was his idea. 
Shall I take my clothes off right away?" 

"No, you can't take your clothes off," I retorted, "What are you doing here 
anyway? And why did Mr. Norton put you in that box?" 

"To please you, of course! He's wanted this to be a surprise just for you. I 
don't think you're being a bit nice about it! We both thought you'd be 
delighted. Mr. Norton tells me Janice is going to be queen of a harem, isn't 
she lucky!" 

I began to see light. Ryan was clever. He was going to make an asset of this 
youngster. I found myself glad he had not included Pip as part of the 
consignment for Abu Hakim. In our previous encounter the child had held the 
whip and cord, but now it was my turn. 

"What do you know about Janice and Ryan and me, Pip? How do you suppose your 
sister came to make that journey over to Africa? Aren't you scared for her?" 

"Scared for her! Janice can look after herself, and I'll bet she got you in 
a bind before Mr. Norton rescued you. I'm not so that dumb." 

"Tell me, what was going on?" 

"I'll bet you were teaching my big sister a few lessons. I'll bet she got 
caned and whipped and all sorts of lovely things before she was shipped off. 
She'll get her bottom whipped there if she doesn't behave-I sure hope she 
does." 

"And you don't mind?" 

"Of course not. Janice deserves every stroke. I know she's terribly in love 
with Mr. Norton. He was just tired of having her messing around in his life, 
so he sent her away. She will have a marvelous time in a harem. I'll bet 
that oil sheik, or whatever he is, takes her to bed every night." Pip 
sighed. "Nobody's taken me to bed yet, but I'll bet that guy would." 

"Abu Hakim is an enormous black man. You'd be scared of him." 

"Do you think Mr. Norton would take me to bed if I asked him?" 

"Perhaps-if you ask him nicely." 

"Do I really have to ask him? I thought a girl got spread out and tied down 
to a bed before it was done to her?" 

Feigning reluctance, I said in my best school-mistress style, "Very well 
then, take off your clothes, Pip-let me have a look at you. If you've got a 
nice enough figure, I may be able to get Mr. Norton to ship you out with 
your sister." 

Pip daintily drew her sweater over her curls. The skirt followed. "Don't you 
think I've got lovely young breasts?" 

The nymphet was exquisite from head to toe, but I was not going to tell her 
so. My concession was grudging: "You'll do. Now turn around and let me see 
your bottom." Pip obeyed. "I see you've been caned-was it Janice?" 

"It wasn't a cane-it was a riding crop. She used it on me every so often 
whether I did anything or not." 

I made the lovely nymphet fetch the necessary cords. I could tell Pip was 
shivering in eagerness. 'Turn your back. Cross your wrists. Hold still." Pip 
was perfect, a dream of delight to make me wish Ryan was here to see. 

And it was then, as if on cue, that the master arrived. 

"I think we could do with something ... worse, my dear," he said, nodding 
sagely. 

"Yes, please. Something worse." 

Without a word, Mr. Ryan Norton took Miss Jill Palmer by the arm and led her 
from his office. Five minutes later I was suspended upside down, in all my 
nakedness. 

"But, Ryan, if I stay like this I'll die." 

"No, you won't. And stop worrying. A girl has been proven to stand at least 
an hour and a half of hanging by her heels. You're getting just one bare 
hour. At the end of it I'm going to whip that cute little bottom waiting in 
the other room-understand?" 

I didn't have time to answer before I was alone. Hanging upside down is 
awful! A girl is quite sure she is going to die. I pushed against the floor 
with handcuffed hands, then used them vaguely to see what I could reach, 
discovering I could bend double and reach quite a lot if it did me any good. 
But it didn't. 

Ryan left me alone the whole time. After I had been hanging there for five 
minutes, I most devoudy Ryan had whipped me. But he has suggested "something 
worse," and this was certainly it! 

I looked up at my unnatural nakedness. Nothing was right or where is should 
be. I felt awkward and less than female. In despair I bent up frantically to 
reach, with handcuffed hands, the moist lips which my spread legs made so 
wickedly accessible. My reaching finger momentarily finding its target but 
relinquishing it as I moaned in despair and my back cried out at unnatural 
stress. Allowing myself to fall limply back not my upside down punishment 
was worse than ever. I pressed my joined hands against my naked belly and 
tried not to move. 

All things pass. The door finally opens and I behold Ryan's expensive shoes 
before my eyes, so close to the floor, travel upwards to where his smile 
hovers above me. When I see the riding crop he carries, my heart sinks. Or 
should I say raises up towards my fastened feet! My master's cheerful 
greeting is typically Ryan, "Not dead yet, sweetheart, you're doing fine." 

"It's no fault of yours. I'm surprised I'm not dead. Please let me down. 
What are you going to do with that beastly thing?" Ryan's arm is swift, his 
aim is sure. I emit a startled cry as my bottom flames beneath the crop. I 
gasped, "Oh, please, you don't have to whip me as well. It's just not fair!" 

"It's the brute in me," Ryan said as his fingers traced the weals he had 
applied while his other hand cupped my lips so exposed for such attention. 
An upside down girl does not have a single secret left. "Want to do some 
more of those twists and bends, sweetheart? Adds a nice, sporting touch to 
whipping a girl's bottom." 

"No, I don't! Look, Ryan, do I have to beg and plead for you to let me down? 
I will if you insist." 

"You've been upside down forty minutes, dear girl. Twenty more to go and I 
think I'll slice you just one more. You're positively delightful in that 
position." 

"You called my Ryan. Any reason why I've fallen in your affections?" 

"You don't expect to hang me upside down and naked and whip me to boot and 
still have me call you darling, do you?" I asked bitterly. 

"Of course I do, dear heart. These aches and pains are for the good of your 
character. They strengthen and sustain your good behavior. To show 
contrition, I want you to address me properly and formally request me to 
whip your bottom and then keep still while I'm doing it. You can contort all 
you wish afterwards." 

"Darling Master, please whip my bottom, please whip it hard." They were the 
hardest words I'd ever spoken. 

While I had made my plea for punishment Ryan's hands had been upon my most 
intimate places. Suddenly they were gone and my flesh felt cold as I close 
my eyes to await the searing cut. I acknowledged its agony when it came by 
going utterly berserk in twistings and jerking, partly involuntary and 
partly to impress upon my master the cruelty of his crop. But in the midst 
of it all I opened my eyes to find myself alone. After thatT lost interest 
in my demonstration and hung limp and passive to await the pleasure of the 
man I loved. My flesh was screaming from the unkind cuts and I knew the 
twenty minutes I had yet to serve would seem like twenty hours. Tears 
trickled not down across my cheeks but across my forehead. I brushed them 
away with handcuffed hands. 

Hanging in my disgraceful penitence I refused to think of Ryan. I was angry 
with him and felt ill-used. There was something disgraceful and demoralizing 
about my present condition-and then the crop! Even if it had been only a few 
cruel strokes he had had no need to whip me at all. Deliberately I forced my 
thoughts elsewhere to the two other females now present in my life. Pip, I 
hoped, would be frustrated to bits and less starry-eyed when and if I 
finally got to her. I realized I did not even know where Ryan had got Diana 
imprisoned or what he was doing with her. Jealousy flared as I realized how 
easily available the teenager and lovely slavegirl were for my master's 
pleasure. For the first time I found myself wishing they were gone and far 
away. 

My master robbed my release of much of its drama by adopting a casually 
conversational gambit. As he was lowering me to the floor he mused, "I 
suppose you have a job to do on little bright-eyes, eh, sweetheart. The 
little so-and-so is ripe to be whipped, she wants it and needs it. Think you 
can handle her after a brandy or two?" 

My answer was a stark admission. "Maybe after some brandy, right now all I 
want is to turn them loose and send them home. And go home along with them." 
I cocked an inquiring eye. "I don't suppose you'd sanction that?" 

The man who held my future in his hands refrained from answering so absurd a 
question. He now had me laying limp and thankful on the floor while he 
unbuckled the straps from my ankles. I was then as free as he ever allowed 
me to be, simply handcuffed. I did not want to move but longed only to lay 
there in my sprawled out nakedness to pant my want back into the world. I 
was not allowed even that small mercy. Ryan picked me up and carried my to 
the lounge. 

Ryan has a marvelous empathy with girls, he knew I had enough so laid me 
upon the rug in the familiar spot from which I could look up to admire his 
nobility but went to mix the drinks himself and knelt to hand me a brimming 
glass. I gulped greedily to light a fire within my belly which told me I was 
still his slave. After a while I knelt humbly as a slavegirl should kneel, 
my brandy sniffer held within chained hands. It was probably nature, ridding 
me of needless problems which prompted me to say, "I'm sorry. Master, but I 
don't want to deal with. I don't mean right now but in the future. She'll be 
an endless nuisance and I'll feel jealous every time I looked at her." 

"I sent her sister to Abu Hakim. Can't cast the poor girl out on the 
street." I shifted unhappily on my wealed bottom and gulped some more brandy 
before saying, "I know I have to do whatever you want, Master, but I'm just 
telling you the way I feel. Please don't punish me again." 

I was not punished but my glass was refilled. My master was pleased with a 
new idea. "You're jealous of young, that means you're insecure. Look, Jill, 
my sweet. I didn't entirely plan this present situation but I find myself 
possessing three females, diverse, one of them almost juvenile-except 
mentally and sexually, that is." Ryan paused to sip, surveying me with an 
indulgent eye. "Let's drop bright-eyes for the moment and talk about you and 
I. We've been considering ourselves as good as married, haven't we, Mrs. 
Ryan Norton? But now you're not so sure ... am I right?" 

"I've just been hung upside down and whipped, I'm not sure about anything." 

My master nodded in agreement. "Now, since I possess the three of you, why 
shouldn't I add a touch of spice, a sporting possibility. How would it be, 
sweetheart, I tell each one of you to see how well you can please me in the 
next thirty days, the winner getting the trip to the altar?" 

"There would be no contest. That little mink I have to whip sometime today 
would win hands down. She's a bundle of untapped sexuality who can't wait to 
get you inside. She can outdistance Diana or I anytime even though we're 
both as good as I know we are. She'd be overjoyed if you married her 
tomorrow and set Diana and I free." 

"What's with this freedom business! I seem to have heard a lot about freedom 
lately." 

"Oh darling, I wish we could start again at the old apartment. We were so 
happy there, and I've never been that happy since. You've got three girls in 
your possession and that's two more than you need. Let me go, turn me loose, 
give me freedom." 

"You don't need freedom, you need your ass whipped." 

I choked back anger with disgusting humility. "I'm sorry, Master, I expect 
you're right." I gulped heavily of brandy. "I expect it's the punishment 
I've just had, it sort of left me upside down. But if you wish, I won't 
complain." 

"Thai's better! That's my girl. All you need is a bit more brandy." Ryan 
consulted his watch. "Tell you what, when we've finished our drinks, you 
attend to little bright-eyes, then at dinner I'll make the announcement 
about the contest and I don't want you worrying about teenage competition." 

Fortified by brandy, I went in search of. Ryan had evidently not gone near 
her and she greeted my appearance predictably. 

"Gosh, am I glad to see you. Miss Palmer. I'm bored stiff standing here like 
this." She visibly brightened. "I really think you should whip me now if 
you're not too busy." 

I ignored the implied sarcasm and turned her around to examine her tied 
wrists, which were still tied as I had left them but her wrists were red 
from her struggles. I grunted satisfaction but then remembered my own hands 
were still joined and it's very hard to use a whip with two hands instead of 
one. Making a hasty excuse I went in search of Ryan and was greeted by a 
preoccupied, "What's your problem, sweetheart?" 

I fluttered my shinning chrome at him. "I can't whip a girl while I'm 
handcuffed. Master. May I have free hands?" 

"Okay, but go and get me your ankle shackles. Not those silly police things 
but the real ones." 

"Couldn't you trust me just this once? I'll whip the girl and then come 
right back to be handcuffed. Pretty please?" 

"Not in the mood you're in," Ryan said sourly. "All this silly talk about 
freedom. Go get your shackles." 

I wished Ryan had trusted me. It would have been a good thing for young to 
see me completely free, she would have held me in greater respect. But I saw 
his point and lost no time in returning to him with the heavy anklets and 
larger links which left no one in any doubt about my status and effectively 
killed my inclination to attempt escape. Ryan locked them on me, patted my 
bottom, freed me from the handcuffs and told me to run along. I did not run! 
I clattered indignant, snubbed steps from The Presence. 

Release from the collar and chain, became her sparkling self. I was in a 
mood to untie her hands and tell her to run along home but I was also in a 
mood to whip her pretty bottom. Duty won. I took to the room containing only 
the heavy stocks designed to hold a girl's wrists at shoulder lever and 
compel her to stand at arm's length for whatever infliction she might be 
unlucky enough to get. When I stroked her naked young back she was quivering 
but agog with anticipation. 

"Gee whiz, Miss Palmer, I've never seen these before. I just have to stand, 
don't I! I mean, there isn't anything else I can do. Oh, wow, have I got 
butterflies." 

She looked sweet and innocent and very desirable standing there in slender 
nudity, her arms straight out in front and disappearing into the heavy yokes 
of the stocks. I went behind her. was not trying to get loose, she knew it 
was useless, she was really just feeling her helplessness. Her bright-eyed 
curiosity remained unabashed as she watched me approach with the cane. I had 
chosen the whippy yellow one and was holding it purposefully. She was silent 
and I had nothing to say. I was wondering if she had the courage to play 
stoic or would vent the pain I was about to bestow by such struggles and 
motions as clamped wrists might permit. I resolved not to be cruel but Ryan 
would expect adequate markings on the young skin. I took my stance and 
swung. 

Pip absorbed the first stroke by pedaling with one bare leg. It's strange 
how much comfort a girl gets by pedaling thin air. Apart from that conceded 
no more than a sharp inhalation. I struck her again with the same result 
except this time she used the other leg. I had given the nymphet eight 
strokes before realizing she was silently weeping. In revulsion I threw 
aside the came and clasp the naked girl in tender arms, kissing away the 
tears and uttering such endearments as maidens use in times like these. 

After a while she sobbed, "I'm so terribly ashamed, Miss Palmer. I didn't 
know it would hurt nearly so bad. Are you mad at me?" 

"I told you it would hurt more than you can bear," I said, cross with myself 
and the whole damn business of "welcome." 

"You don't deserve it,, I'm not going to whip you anymore." 

"Oh, but you must, Miss Palmer." I felt her stiffen in dismay. "It's sweet 
of you not wanting to but Mr. Norton expects me to be properly whipped, 
he'll be angry with you if you don't." 

Pip was right. I was trapped and without much choice. But in a way I was 
glad to see's tears, they said she was young and female and not the brassy 
little bitch she sometimes seemed. I retrieved the cane but kissed her hard 
before putting another scarlet weal across her rump. 

It seemed to me a dozen was enough for the tenderness of's twin curves so it 
was there I stopped and asked anxiously, "You all right?" 

"Yes, I'm all right, Miss Palmer. I'm sorry about crying but those hurt so 
terribly. And I'm sorry, too, about all that being a smart-ass. You were 
right, it hurts!" 

I wanted to use the kindest whip I could find, but that would not do, it had 
to mark's skin with the graphic evidence of pain. I comprised on a short 
single thong which would not wrap over and around the narrow youthfulness of 
her slender, naked back. Telling her of my choice, I received the humblest 
reply yet. 

"That's okay, Miss Palmer. I'm not going to be brave and silent and keep 
still any longer. That's kid's stuff. Please forgive me if I go a bit 
hairy." 

I could have forgiven anything right then. My mind was much preoccupied with 
Ryan's contest and a sudden realization of being in competition with Diana. 
Ryan would, in pure amusement, take full advantage of his sexual nature 
while withholding from her the prize we would all covet. My heart was not in 
my work but the work still confronted me and was emphasized by an anxious 
young eye stealing a quick glance back over a bare shoulder. I struck. 

Pip was not heavily fleshed, what she had was obliged to absorbed the 
leather which Diana or I would have found less painful. I knew each stroke 
was hurting as I struck and struck again while my courageous nymphet kicked 
and contorted to her heart's content. If anyone wished to whip a girl those 
stocks were certainly an excellent facility to fastening her in. I'd started 
out with thoughts of giving her twenty on her back but as the marks I placed 
upon her skin glared back at me, I reduced the figure to fifteen. She'd be 
well marked and maybe Ryan wouldn't bother to count. 

By the end of the first week was unquestionably the winner. She was a 
seething, palpitating package of sex. From somewhere she had learned the 
thirty-six positions and used them without shame. She had it made! 

Diana and I had shrugged the whole thing off, agreeing to let the best girl 
win. I knew she had pity for my reduced status from the prospective Mrs. 
Ryan Norton down to a naked girl trying hard to please a difficult master. 
If I could have thrown the whole thing overboard, I would have done so 
gladly. But Ryan kept me chained or bound and with a stem warning to enter 
into the spirit of the contest if I didn't want something a whole lot worse. 
As usual I was trapped. Diana was trapped, too, as she had unhappily 
confessed. 

"Darling, I ought to tell you that yesterday I asked your Master to give you 
back your freedom and return me to Abu Hakim." She paused to grin at my 
visible shock. "Yes, I know you think it's crazy but I saw a side of life in 
his palace you never did catch a glimpse of. like I told you that first time 
we talked, I pretty much had the run of the place and a pretty plush life, 
getting called to Hakim's bed only enough to tell me I was female. Darling, 
don't be mad at me. It's so much better for me over there than it could ever 
be here." 

"Well, what did Ryan say?" 

"He refused, of course. He also sentenced me to be whipped sometime in the 
future but I don't know when. Seems like I shouldn't have asked." 

Thoughtfully she kicked at her leg irons and clinked at the handcuffs on her 
wrists. "If it wasn't for these I'd be long gone. I'm just out of place 
here, I have been since the start." 

We kissed and hugged and consoled each other lavishly the way girls do. Her 
wish to return to Hakim didn't seem to matter since it wasn't going to 
happen anyway. It was then she planned the thought I hadn't even seen. "Jill 
dear, we're going to lose the contest for sure. So, OK, pretty little gets 
her man. But what's going to happen to you and me then? Do you want to put 
in your own plug for a return to Hakim along with me? If the two of us 
return there voluntarily, we'll get a warm welcome." 

I expect sour grapes were in there somewhere, but I popped the question the 
next time I was summoned to The Master. "Ryan darling, why don't you send 
Diana and I back to Abu Hakim? You don't love me any more, and little 
bright-eyes can give you more fun in bed than Diana and I can ever know how. 
Why don't you send us both back and get some business concession for the 
gift?" 

"No time like the present, sweetheart. An hour hanging by your ankles will 
tell you I love you for sure. Come along." 

It's hateful to be so abject and humble. But that's the way I get when I'm 
scared of Ryan. I sat on the floor without a word while he strapped my 
ankles to the bar and then hoisted me so high my hair brushed the floor. He 
then unlocked a single cuff and relocked my arms behind my back to make this 
punishment a little worse than the time before. 

"Thank you, Master," I mumbled, then added, for total humility, "I'm 
terribly sorry I was so stupid." Ryan nodded curtly and left me to my 
regrets. 

My cuffed hands and arms were a problem. Gravity was against any comfortable 
position. For starters I held them against the small of my back as though 
they were fastened there. I was wondering if my hour would seem as long as 
last time when the door opened and Diana came in, whispering urgently, "I 
can't help you, darling, we both know that. His Majesty has gone out on 
business and has got fastened some way in the bedroom and locked the door so 
I can't go in and look. Darling, I'm going to escape, I just have to tell 
you. I'm going to get out of here some way or other. Ryan scared the wits 
out of me this afternoon by taking me down stairs and showing me that 
dungeon he's always talked about. Seems like that's where he's going to keep 
the two losers in the contest. They'll be sitting there, chained, in dark 
isolation forever. I simply couldn't bear it." 

"He'd never do that!" 

"Don't be so sure. It would please that sardonic sense of humor of his to 
have a couple of naked girls in chains down there, knowing he could have a 
look at us any time and use us when he wished." 

I was in no position to offer guidance or consul. The poor darling contented 
herself by frictioning me between my legs and kissing me a lot, sitting 
beneath the rest of me but holding my head in her lap. She left as quickly 
as she came, explaining she had been forbidden to give me comfort. 

My punishment wasn't as horrible as the time before, I suppose it was 
because I knew I would not die. When Ryan let me loose I managed a weak, 
"Thank you, Master," and allowed him to help me to my feet. 

"You'll need another brandy, sweetheart. And while we sip you can examine 
something that should surely please your jealous little heart." 

Things happened swiftly. I was placed to kneel right up against my master's 
chair so he could hold a glass to my lips, my own hands still being locked 
behind my back. While he poured drinks at the bar I stared in amazement at a 
naked who's hands and elbows were tied as tight as anyone could get them 
behind her back. Her ankles were similarly bound, cord cutting cruelly into 
flesh. She was standing but holding her balance only with difficulty. 

"Isn't it wonderful. Miss Palmer? Mr. Norton says I'm too good to be wasted 
on what we do here. He's sending me out to join my sister with that big 
black man you told me about. I can hardly wait!" She bubbled away while 
trying to keep from falling flat on her face. "I'm going to be gagged in a 
minute and put in a box and shipped over there by plane-I'm so lucky!" 

"Well, do you feel any better now, sweetheart?" 

It was a question I did not get to answer and while I was still swallowing 
the delicious heat, Janice Webb walked in on us. 

We stared in disbelief. Even Ryan was shocked. "I'm not a ghost," Janice 
assured us cheerfully. "His black Majesty said I didn't have enough spring 
in my ass to keep my dofunny off the floor. So he's sent me back to you with 
his compliments and I can't say I'm sorry. I've never been reamed by such a 
monster in my life." 

Janice dominated the stage. Her eye fixed upon her startled younger sister. 
"Ah, there she is. I knew I'd find her here. That's a nice arrangement 
you've got her fixed in. I'll free her feet and if you can loan me a blanket 
to warp her in, I'll take her down to the car and warm her little ass 
properly when we get home." Janice turned her attention from the 
open-mouthed youngster to Ryan and me. "I won't bother you any more. I loved 
you terribly, Ryan, and that's my excuse for everything I've done. Please 
don't hold me here, it's far the best for and I to go home." Her voice was 
breaking but her chin was high. If I had had my hands I would have used them 
to comfort the poor girl but I couldn't even touch the brandy I so badly 
needed, all I could do was watch Ryan free's slender ankles and, in his own 
masterful way, escort the two sisters from the room. When he returned he 
held the brandy for my lips and finished the rest of the glass for himself. 

"Holly cow!" he said. "That's one for the book. That big black goat is going 
to wonder what goes-I shipped Diana back to him thirty minutes ago." He want 
for more brandy then kissed me hard before holding it to my lips. "And now, 
ye of little faith, I've a score to settle with you. Drink this down quick." 

I was in a trance of happiness, speechless and in the grip of events I could 
not control. When Ryan bandaged my eyes it seemed only in keeping with all 
the rest. And when he led me from the room and to the car I said no word, 
even at our destination I asked no questions but breathlessly awaited my 
master's pleasure. There was an elevator and steps and a passage and the 
unlocking of a door. The handcuffs were taken from my wrists, and I was told 
to stand still while Ryan fumbled with my right hand in a manner to make me 
more breathless still. 

"You'll hear me leave and close the door, sweetheart. Count to fifty then 
removed the blindfold." I was kissed and left alone. 

I was sure I knew! But I would not be certain until I got my eyes. Counting 
to fifty was one of the hardest tasks I'd ever performed. But when I dragged 
the bandage from my eyes I knew my guess correct. I was standing in the old 
apartment, the magic apartment were Ryan had first made me prisoner and we 
had explored our love. Everything I saw was gloriously familiar and spoke 
its own welcome to a slavegirl who had come home. 

I looked down at my right hand, the thumb of which securely wired to our 
favorite wall ring. It hurt deliciously, and I knew I would make it hurt 
even more in an escape attempt I knew would not succeed. I would stand naked 
where I was, dreaming my dreams until the man I was going to marry came to 
set me free. 

Janice and Diana were gone, seeking their own happiness in their own ways. 
Ryan's contest had never reached conclusion, but perhaps he had never 
intended it to. Only I was left! The heat in my loins was almost more than I 
could bear. As though to reassure myself of ecstasy, I tugged savagely at my 
wired thumb. 

The pain was delicious.
