Willow
by F.E. Campbell


CHAPTER ONE - BOUND BEGINNINGS 

Willow had named her Cherish. She had been christened Angela Roper, but 
Willow rejected something so mundane. She cherished the girl child who had 
come into her possession and named her accordingly. Willow never had doubts 
as to what she would make of Cherish. The shining eyed youngster was given 
handcuffs at the age of nine and wore them thereafter. Willow had had them 
specially made to fit a childish wrist and they joined the young hands 
tightly and snugly and could be opened only with a key that Willow kept in a 
safe place. It was the beginning. 

Cherish was delighted with the shining chrome bracelets. That there was a 
link between them mattered not at all. She wore them with immense panache 
and accepted without question Willow's assurance she was "one of the special 
ones" who, for at least the first thirty years of their life, would be 
always bound or chained in a fashion pleasing to their mistress. By that 
time Cherish lived in a beautiful world totally possessed and enveloped in 
the love of Willow. 

Their home was "Questings." It was a mellow old house just short of being a 
mansion. It possessed a fairish amount of Grounds in which Cherish played. 
It was on the outskirts of the village and enjoyed that particular privacy 
which is a privilege only English country houses enjoy. In the mind of the 
beautiful young child named Cherish there was never a thought of escape. 
But, as the child grew older, Willow watched her development with a cautious 
eye. There was not only the tiny handcuffs but there was also tiny chains 
for small girlish ankles. On appropriate occasions Cherish wore these with 
the same aplomb as she did the bonding of her wrists. Sometimes her hands 
were chained in front, at other times behind her back. This was done solely 
at Willow's sober judgment. Willow kept a great many shining chains and 
metal bands alone with ropes and straps in a big chest which Cherish was at 
liberty to explore. It was understood between them that some of these 
intriguing objects were for punishment only. Cherish accepted the principle 
of punishment because, as Willow patiently explained, "Punishment is an 
inevitable part of life. " She accepted without question the principle that 
a young girl must be punished from time to time and to stand up to her 
punishment with good grace. Cherish contrived to be a model prisoner without 
ever realizing she was ever a prisoner at all. 

Cherish beheld her owner as exactly that. She knew herself both possessed 
and greatly loved. Willow walked in beauty and exuded a serenity peculiarly 
her own. Her blonde hair was a foil for Cherish's raven bush. Since Cherish 
was kept mostly naked it was easy for the two of them to laughingly chart 
the growth of the youngster's pubic hairs into puberty and the beginnings of 
what rapidly became a thick and curly bush of silken fronds. When in the 
mood Willow would strip also and allow her young ward the freedom to play 
with her heavy triangle, strangely dark by comparison with the hair upon her 
head. From the moment of possession, Cherish had been trained and guided in 
the arts of female love. It came as naturally to her as did the handcuffs 
upon her wrists. The child fed avidly upon the nectar of the girl she had 
adored from the beginning. Unconsciously she played Galatea to Willow's 
Pygmalion. As Cherish grew into the assertions of adolescence, Willow curved 
them by judicious use of the treasures in the trunk. The trunk had always 
contained a thin, light riding crop. But when Cherish entered her fourteenth 
year, the whippy admonition was supplemented by a considerable collection of 
crops, straps and whips. None were overly cruel but all were immensely 
interesting to youthful eyes. It was a tribute to Willow's training that it 
never occurred to Cherish to ask why she wore chains while Willow did not. 
They were very happy. 

The captivity of the girl child, while almost total, did allow for an 
occasional walk with Willow through the village. On these occasions Cherish 
was relieved of whatever bonds she had been wearing and was allowed to dress 
in whatever pleased her fancy from the sizable store Willow provided. 
Sometimes the two of them drove through the English countryside in Willow's 
car and on certain memorable occasions had enjoyed a weekend in London. But 
on most days Questings satisfied their needs. Questings was a haven to which 
they always returned with an undisguised eagerness to place the metal or the 
cords once more upon Cherish's flesh. Along with the crops and whips Willow 
had purchased Cherish a magnificent but totally functional collar to be 
locked around the youth's neck on certain occasions. Cherish adored the 
beautiful band in its encirclement of her neck, she would have worn it 
always but was told sharply not to be greedy. In the world of Questings 
there was a time and a place for everything. Under Willow's laughing 
tuition, Cherish learned more than she might have done from any school. 
Willow was clever and Cherish adored her cleverness as much as her beauty. 
The child was forever a bright eyed admirer of the older girl who guided her 
destiny. 

By the time Cherish was sixteen the chains made for her became too small. 
They were lovingly draped upon a certain wall and replaced by others who's 
bands were larger and the links more heavy. Cherish was inordinately proud 
of everything the chest provided, even if it hurt! 

The matter of providing correctional pain for Cherish was something that 
Willow gave considerable thought to. In introducing her ward to the whip, 
she knew herself walking a thin, fine line. But her judgments were sound. 
Cherish's encounters with stripped skin did not take her far enough into 
agony for her to hate the hand that administrated the pain. If anything, her 
love for her mistress grew by leaps and bounds beneath Willow's firm 
guidance. They discussed its effect on a young libido. 

"Darling, it hurts so terribly I think I'll die." Cherish's young eyes gazed 
up at her mistress in a search for truth. "But when it's over I get the most 
wonderful feeling. It's the same kind of feeling I get when you've promised 
to eat me. You know, all gooey and quivering and hot up inside. It makes me 
forget about the pain you've given me because I'm a naughty girl. Is that 
bad? I mean, I'm suppose to keep on thinking about the pain, aren't I, so I 
won't be naughty again?" The limpid eyes because wistful, "You do still love 
me, don't you Willow?" 

Willow had taken the warm, slender curves into her arms and reassured her 
with lips and fingers and tongue. Willow found it very satisfying to cane 
the increasing curvature of the youthful bottom. She knew she would do it 
often and she knew too that Cherish would give her cause. 

Cherish's hands were tied above her head for her first introduction to 
positive pain. Willow knew the youngster could not possibly stand still for 
what she was about to inflect. It was Cherish's sixteenth birthday and the 
instrument she was planning to use was one of the new, longer, more slender 
riding crops which quivered like a live thing when you handled it and could 
be flexed double without injury. Its kiss upon girl flesh could be drastic. 
It was a day of discoveries for the sixteen year old teenager. Willow had 
promised that after she had been properly whipped, Cherish could try on the 
new handcuffs and the beautiful leg irons which were Willow's birthday 
present to her love. It was a day for shining eyes and breathlessness, of 
quivering expectations and fearful contemplations of the wand. Cherish had 
pleaded for her new handcuffs and promised to stand absolutely still with 
them upon her wrist while her bottom was whipped with the new and shining 
crop. But Willow had explained how impossible it was for a girl to stand 
still beneath such impacts as she was about to deliver. It would be much 
better for the delinquent girl to be securely bound and thus able to give 
her full attention to her pain instead of exerting willpower in a hopeless 
attempt to remain motionless. Willow was wonderful. Willow knew everything. 

When Willow had paused at the fifth stroke to admire the scarlet ridges she 
had imposed upon her darling's curves, Cherish was weeping. Cherish did not 
know if her tears were of repentance or of fear that her mistress might not 
love her quite so much. Cherish supposed naked girls being whipped were very 
much in disgrace. She wept copiously but tried not to make much noise. 
Having her hands tied up above her head made her terribly vulnerable and 
compelled her to wipe her tears away on the skin of her raised arms. But it 
was Willow who truly dried the evidence of both repentance and grief and 
held the quivering nakedness tight in loving arms to comfort it before the 
punishment resumed. Cherish did not cry again, she had passed a hurdle. And, 
even in her pain, felt herself tremendously adult. Cherish danced and weaved 
and twisted beneath the crop and realized the wisdom of the binding of her 
hands above her head. It left all of her open to the whip but she was also 
entirely helpless, she could evade nothing. 

Willow loved the girl-child often during her ordeal. Her arms were tender 
around slender shoulders and her lips loving upon the nipples of the budding 
breasts, the swelling curves of which were as increasingly evident as was 
the pubic bush growing below. Cherish knew that at sixteen she was by no 
means grown up but she was getting there and, when she had been whipped to 
Willow's pleasure, shining new handcuffs were waiting. 

Willow would always remember that day when Cherish's bottom had received its 
quote of the crop. She had taken the quivering girl in the shelter of her 
arms and uttered words of love which drew forth moans of ecstasy from the 
whipped girl. She had then released the young hands and watched with glowing 
eroticism coupled with amusement as Cherish ruefully massaged the weals of 
her bottom with a tenderness almost ritualistic in discovery. When Cherish 
was satisfied with this sensual massage, their eyes met in perfect 
understanding. Cherish offered her hands and gasped in pleasure as the new 
and shining bracelets were locked around her wrists. The fit was as if 
custom measured although they followed the same pattern as the commercial 
items of lesser beauty. They were also connected by only a single link. A 
girl wearing them would know herself constrained. 

"Oh, darling, they're gorgeous!" Cherish's delight was boundless. She held 
the lovely baubles up to view and invited Willow's admiration along with her 
own. Mischievously she twisted and tugged in make-believe seeking after an 
impossible freedom. She was rewarded by a musical tone from the single link 
contacting the bracelets and a reddening of her wrists under the harsh 
metal. 

"Want your leg irons, too, lovebird?" 

"Oh, don't call them leg irons, Willow. It sounds so... so rusty and heavy 
and ancient and not a bit pretty. But these are beautiful. These are 
marvelous! Oh, Willow darling, thank you, thank you, thank you!" To express 
full gratitude the captive maiden with her whipped bottom raised her joined 
arms to place them around the shoulders of her beloved mistress. It was 
accomplished with much giggles and laughter. And when it was done they made 
their love on the rug. 

Both girls had long ago discovered that handcuffs and leg irons stopped 
Cherish from doing hardly anything. She had developed a graceful freedom of 
motion within their clasp. It was only when her hands were cuffed behind her 
back that helplessness took charge. 

The restraints Willow imposed were varied. The handcuffs and leg irons were 
most convenient of all and were thus most often place upon the youthful 
limbs. Both girls came to recognize the special intimacy of cord and rope. 
It would be tugged tight and indented within the young skin. Cherish saw the 
cords as a part of Willow tight upon herself. If she fought or struggled 
against them they were the gentle authority of Willow's hand. Cherish never 
got loose. She often tried. 

There favorite place was within the grounds of Questings. There were 
numerous trees to shelter them from prying eyes. Within them a naked 
teenager could be securely bound and left to dream her dreams throughout a 
summer day. Cherish came to know the magic of the clutch of rope in 
solitude. She came to endure bondage in isolation for hours and hours before 
truly longing for her mistress to set her free. Sometimes her mistress 
taught the young eagerness a lesson and left her bound to her tree 
throughout the night. 

Cherish was brought up without contract with the Male. She read of them in 
books and saw them about the village and during their drives in the car. 
Without real explanation it became accepted between the two girls that men 
did exist but not within the world of Questings and most certainly not 
within the world of Cherish. Willow had some dealings with them because she 
must. There was the tradesmen and those employed to do repairs. Cherish 
never got to exhibit herself to any of them. When such males were in the 
vicinity, she was locked within a room possessing a high barred window 
through which she could not see or be seen. For additional security one of 
her wrists would be chained to the wall. 

She found this a delicious sensation rather like that of the captive maiden 
bound in ancient times for a dragon's dinner. But this was much, much 
better. The enemy was truly without the walls but could not penetrate within 
to where the bound princess shivered and quaked with delightful 
apprehension. Willow deliberately added to the shivers by factual and 
physical accounts of the difference between the sexes and that object 
possessed by man which could be thrust within a girl. It was understood as a 
fate to be avoided at all costs. 

The two females, one in the budding promise of womanhood, were insatiable in 
their hunger for each other. The teenager had grown up in the innocent 
acceptance of something she adored. For Cherish it was life itself, and 
endless regeneration, a vivid coloration of her life. She had no knowledge 
of females living without this incandescent joy. It was the only portion of 
their lives for which Willow felt guilt. It was a small guilt which she 
handled easily but it was there. In a few more years she might be cheating 
Cherish of her feminine inheritance. She herself eschewed men but she 
admitted that without the sustenance of the younger girl she would be 
casting curious eyes upon the male with whom she came in contact. Willow 
knew herself beautiful enough to attract men, any number of men. Incident 
after incident had proven this -- she had repulsed them all. Cherish thought 
they were sad, pathetic creatures beyond the pale. Willow possessed a 
fierce, protective knowledge of total selfishness; she would never let 
Cherish go. For the teenager there would never be escape. 

Up to this time in their lives escape was never mentioned. But Willow 
realized that in her growing maturity, Cherish might seek to explore or to 
break the bonds by which Willow held her, bonds of affection rather than of 
steel or cord. True, Willow would always employ the security of handcuffs 
and everything else within the big chest, but she saw this no more than 
prudent. She laughed at the old proverb, "If you love someone, set them 
free. If they return to you they are yours, if they don't there never were." 

Willow knew she could leave Cherish in total lack of physical bonds and she 
would never leave her side. Unless That "unless" was a nagging shadow in her 
mind. Neither girl could be certain of the effect of maturity upon Cherish's 
loins and glands. It was best, therefore, to entirely remove temptation. The 
handcuffs and the leg irons did this most effectively. Cherish never knew 
these thoughts within her mistress' mind. Had she known them, they would 
have seemed foreign and absurd. Run away from Willow... ! Never! 

Willow, within her own mind, reveled in the exquisite eroticism of her own 
creation, but she did not discuss it with Cherish. She knew Cherish was in 
love with it too, so there was no need to debate it as though it were 
something deserving of comment or outside the norm. Cherish lived her young 
life in a glow of erotic innocence, a continual sexual excitation. There 
would be no profit in belaboring a point so vividly manifest. In her own 
way, Willow was also innocent. She had been willed Questings and an income 
sufficient for their needs. She had never fought within the marketplace. She 
had discovered the genie of bondage within herself from books and pictures, 
all of them stirring within herself strange sensations. But it was not until 
Cherish had entered her life that the desire flowered and blossomed under 
the realization of the gift of fate once called Angela Roper. Here was a 
virgin matrix upon which she would create her masterpiece. Willow had been 
very young when this piece of fate felt within her grasp. In many ways the 
two girls had found their way step by step into lesbianism and the world of 
Sappho in a natural togetherness which had left the older girl gasping in 
wonder but gratefully thankful. Willow had never commented upon it as an 
anomaly or something to be pleased about. There was no need. 

The first whippings of the small and tender young bottom had filled Willow 
with a raging lust unsuspected until that time. She had been obliged to 
exert every ounce of will power to keep the small punishments she inflected 
on Cherish within reasonable bounds. Always the delinquent child must 
understand a privilege along with pain. When Willow observed a growing 
addiction she increased the severity and strength of her strokes. But this 
too was gradual. Cherish was a fragile growth to be nurtured and cherished 
as her name implied. Willow often rolled the single word over and over on 
her tongue as if to relish the sound, Cherish, Cherish, Cherish... ! There 
might be those to decry their love but none could measure its intensity. 

Willow felt she had handled Cherish's growing up process remarkably well. 
She had seen each tentative girlish question as a danger point, it meant the 
young mind was a work and might be looking beyond the boundaries of 
Questings. Almost always the questions were asked in slow, deliberate 
fashion indicating thought. The first of obvious. "You love whipping me, 
don't you Willow? I can tell." 

Willow had been prepared, "Of course I do, you silly little goose." She 
added gaily, "Whipping girls is fun, especially their bottoms. I think 
girl's bottoms are made to be whipped more than for sitting down." 

"Does it make you hot up inside... The way I was telling you about, all 
fierce and terribly wanting?" 

"Of course it does, darling. It makes me want to love you all the more. 
Can't you tell?" 

"Sure I can tell. Gee, we're so lucky, Willow," Cherish breathed heavily. 
"Why don't you whip me sometimes just for fun? And not because I've been 
bad." 

"All right. Bend over and touch your toes, and don't you dare move! 

It had been the most severe cropping of Cherish's bottom to date. The 
youngster's hips weaved back and forth beneath the slapping cuts of the crop 
but Cherish did not break the pose. Her fingers remained touching her toes 
and her bottom, even though sometimes in motion, remained protruded for its 
punishment. When Willow dared strike the girl skin no more, they made their 
most violent love at the end of which both girls were weeping with 
overcharged emotions and in satiation almost beyond baring. Sheepishly they 
plucked hairs from between their lips and grinned. 

"Oh, Willow... Willow...!" The younger girl could find no other words for 
what she felt. 

"Want it all over again, darling?" Willow tested. 

"Gosh, I don't think so." Cherish was gingerly fingering the burning weals 
her eroticism had invited. There was a far away look in her eyes. She was 
seeing visions as her finger tips explored the tender ridges. 

"You've never hit me that hard before, Willow." The words came forth not as 
accusation but as praise. Willow knew the child was growing up. 

There had also been the first time Willow had allowed her darling to remain 
bound to the tree out in the open throughout the whole of one night. She was 
certain she suffered far more than Cherish could possibly suffer out there 
bound tight against the tree. The two girls always slept together and bare, 
cold place at Willow's side was a night long reproach. But Cherish had been 
impertinent and deserved a reprimand. Willow remained steadfast until the 
morning. Even then she waited until the sun was well up before walking out 
to where the white nakedness was still roped cruelly to the ancient tree. 

"Had a good night, Cherish darling? Think you'll be naughty again?" 

Cherish indulged in no heroics. She was genuinely glad to see her friend and 
lover. She had been crying in the sad solitude of immobility. The tear 
stains had dried upon her cheeks for she could not touch them. Cherish's 
voice was broken in thankfulness, "Oh, darling... Willow, I'd thought I'd 
lost you. I've been thinking the most awful things; that you'd died, or you 
were ill, or you'd had an accident, or something. And there was nothing I 
could do." 

Willow kissed her gently, "So you thought you'd just have to stand here and 
slowly die. Oh, my poor darling, I ought to be whipped for doing this to 
you. Was it awful in the dark?" 

"Willow, you've no idea! I'm sure there were ghosts and goblins and all 
sorts of things. I've rubbed myself raw trying to get free." Willow teased 
the young exposed nipples until they were rock hard and demanding. Cherish 
was beginning to gasp when Willow asked, "How would you like to stay the way 
you are for the rest of today? Not through the night but until evening?" 

"If, if you want me to. Oh, Willow darling, so long as you do that to my 
nipples I'll say yes to anything. You know I will." The young voice became 
wistful. "Do you really want to keep her here all that time?" 

But Willow had learned what she wanted. Cherish was pliant to her will. Her 
loved one had said exactly the right words in exactly the right way. There 
was much kissing and hugging before Willow untied the ropes to reveal 
scarlet indentations of their captivity of girl flesh. She kissed them one 
by one and the two girls went back to Questings hand in hand and naked in 
the sunlight. 

Willow soon learned the unkindest punishment she could inflect was to 
deprive Cherish of her bed. They always slept together, welded in the night, 
their soft, warm breathe gentle upon the skin. If Cherish was expelled from 
this female heaven she became far more tearful and reproachful than when 
whipped. Even though Willow again and again assured her of an endless love, 
the casting out from between the sheets always met with wails and 
lamentations. If Cherish had been truly bad she was chained by one wrist to 
the bedroom wall, or perhaps the lovely ornamental collar was locked upon 
her neck and from it a chain to the ring, a chain far too short to allow her 
steps anywhere near the refuge of the bed. More tantalizing still was the 
handcuffs on the bottom of the far leg of Willow's bed which, when clicked 
tight around Cherish's wrist, kept the slender nudity expelled from Eden, a 
captive upon the floor who must be content with the blanket tossed to her by 
a supposedly angry mistress. A mistress who ruefully suspected her youthful 
captive of an awareness of her own desuetude alone beneath the covers. In 
the morning Cherish would tell her mistress how wickedly frustration the 
single cuff had been and how she would never be naughty again. The question 
of Cherish's naughtiness was never discussed but an understanding grew 
between them of the ways by which Cherish could earn a punishment whenever 
she so desired. Each girl also knew the hazard the youngster faced in being 
sufficiently delinquent to achieve her ends but not more than she could 
bare. A few strokes with the cane, even upon her taunt open palms or across 
the twin cheeks of her bottom was something much to be desired. There was 
also the business of being tied to the tree for a few hours, this also 
pleased the young girl. Cherish found in such punishments an infinite 
delight, a consolidation and cementing of the love of her mistress and 
authority. Cherish had no means of comparison but was quite certain she 
would hate such punishment if any other than Willow were to administered 
them. When Willow wished to be mean, she could laughingly tilt the younger 
girl's chin and assure her that, since she desired punishment so ardently, 
she was now sentenced not to pain but to immunity. Cherish's indignation at 
such time was such as to almost always earn her the desired punishment by 
imprudent remarks. 

One day, after retrieving Cherish from a long day tied to a tree, Will 
contrived a serious conversation. With her ardent young captive kneeling 
expectantly upon the rug, handcuffed wrists demurely resting in her lap, the 
older girl inquired, "Cherish darling, I do have to ask you this, have you 
ever felt you wanted freedom?" 

"I don't know what you mean, Willow," Cherish answered promptly. "Aren't I 
free now?" 

"You're wearing handcuffs, Cherish, and yesterday I kept you leg-ironed all 
day." 

"Well, why not, that's the way it's suppose to be!" 

The responses were perfect but Willow was curious. "Haven't you noticed that 
when we're around the village no one there is handcuffed? Haven't you felt 
this unusual?" 

"You're not handcuffed either, darling!" Cherish pointed out reasonably. "I 
guess people just don't wear handcuffs in villages and cities. It's just at 
home, isn't it?" 

Willow knelt and kissed the nude innocence she adored. She knew herself the 
luckiest of girls. Cherish was in the strange admixture of knowing nothing 
and knowing everything, everything that mattered. Willow wisely allowed the 
subject to drift away. She resumed her seat and watched while Cherish 
explored the lovely collar on her neck with fingers fettered by Willow's 
gift of new and shining handcuffs for her wrists. The child was totally 
absorbed, utterly content. The world Willow had contrived for her satisfied 
every need in her being. Cherish asked only a single question and that one 
was easily dealt with. 

"Willow, dear, why does everybody else wear clothes except me? Even you wear 
clothes most of the time." 

"They take their clothes off inside their homes, dear. You and I are lucky 
we don't have to go out and make a living. If we did, you and I would be 
clothed just like them. Isn't it nicer this way?" 

"I don't think I'd want to wear clothes, Willow. When I go to the village I 
feel so untidy." Cherish giggled. "What would happen if I took my clothes 
off on the main street?" 

"A policeman would put you in prison for indecent exposure. They've got 
silly laws about these things. Don't bother your head about them, you and I 
see this whole thing with clarity but they are all mixed up." 

"Miss Ponsonby doesn't take her clothes off either, not even when she visits 
us in the house. But she loves to look at me, she thinks my being naked is 
very nice, I can tell." 

Willow laughed. Miss Ponsonby was a relic of County society. She was an avid 
drinker of afternoon teas and called with a fair regularity as though 
supporting the whispered chuckles about her in the community to the effect 
that she lived on almost nothing except the tea, the sandwiches, and the 
small cakes provided by friends. Willow had yielded to the wicked temptation 
of exposing Cherish to the sharp attention to this angular spinster but had 
been surprised by the lack of shock. True, Miss Ponsonby had exhibited 
surprise, but at the same time she expressed approval and proceeded to 
recount some quite startling facts about her own childhood. 

"My parents were sticklers for keeping a girl well restrained," Miss 
Ponsonby explained with relish. "We didn't have handcuffs and nice things 
like those chains you have on Cherish's feet, not in those days. It wasn't 
all that warm in the houses in winter so it wasn't really practical to keep 
me naked in winter but they did so during the more temperate seasons. I was 
thrashed regularly once a week, whether I had misbehaved or not. On those 
occasions when I had been a naughty girl I received additional inflections." 
Miss Ponsonby visibly glowed with pride. "I am positive these early 
disciplines made me what I am today." 

Willow refrained from comment. Cherish giggled, a sound which Miss Ponsonby 
received as tribute and encouragement to continue her story. "We lived in an 
old house which had a good many dark corners. I remember particularly a 
compartment in the lower basement which, when the door was closed, was 
entirely black, no light at all. My father said that putting me inside with 
my hands tied behind my back built character, I am sure it did, but it was a 
correction I did not care for." Mildred Ponsonby sighed. "I regret to say 
that my parents passed away in an accident when I was only thirteen years 
old. The aunt who then took charge of me knew nothing about the rising of 
children and professed to be horrified when I reminded her that I had not 
been thrashed for several weeks and would she be good enough to bring me up 
to date." The visitor beamed at both the girls and their racked expressions. 
"Really, some people are ridiculous. I never did get on good terms with aunt 
Alice." 

"Did you enjoy being whipped, Miss Ponsonby?" asked Cherish politely. 

"Of course I did. I was a completely normal, healthy young woman just like 
yourself. It is a matter of some sorrow for me that I have never replaced my 
parents. I have not been whipped for so many years but the memory remains 
vivid in my mind. I must compliment you two on your admirable lifestyles." 

"If you ask Willow nicely, I expect she'd be glad to whip your bottom, Miss 
Ponsonby," Cherish suggested innocently. 

"Cherish! Behave yourself!" The last thing Willow desired was to whip this 
angular and mothball type attired in heavy tweeds and sipping tea with 
obvious relish. Willow was certain Miss Ponsonby's posterior would hold 
small allure. Apologetically she addressed her visitor, "I must apologize. 
Miss Ponsonby, Cherish is impetuous. But she means well. Please forgive 
her." 

Miss Ponsonby sniffed. "The child seems completely sensible," she said, "and 
her suggestion a kindly one." Miss Ponsonby fixed Willow with a steely eye. 
"I would be grateful if you would oblige me in the way the child suggests?" 

Willow found herself torn between laughter and aggravation. She directed a 
reproving glance at her shining eyed captive and promised herself that 
Cherish should receive the sound thrashing mentioned by Mildred Ponsonby. 
But that lady's eye was still fixed upon her in a basilic query. Unhappily 
she temporized, "I think it is Cherish who should receive the thrashing. Her 
remark was entirely outrageous." 

"But, Miss Ponsonby wants you to, darling!" Cherish was bubbling over with 
helpfulness. "May I please watch?" 

"You can watch if you're willing to be thrashed along with Miss Ponsonby," 
Willow assured with acerbity. "Really, Cherish, you should know better." 

"I take it you are agreeable to my request, Miss Blake?" Mildred Ponsonby 
was pressing an advantage. "May I say how grateful I am to you both? You are 
a pair of delightful young women. May I prepare myself?" 

Willow was flustered and wanted to giggle. Cherish was enraptured with the 
situation of her own creation. She took herself one step further, "Willow 
darling, you can take Miss Ponsonby to that room where you can tie our hands 
up above our heads. That's a gorgeous position for whipping girls and... 
ladies." She turned her sparkling regard upon the visitor, "You'll love it, 
Miss Ponsonby, it's terrible to be able to stand and not able to go away. 
But you'll have to keep quiet and let Willow whip your bottom." 

Willow swallow chagrin, after all, why not! If she refused it would plant a 
question in Cherish's mind. In a way, Miss Ponsonby was heaven sent in all 
she had told did no more than confirm Cherish's conviction that all was 
right with their world. She made the best of it with a bright smile and a 
cheerful, "Come along then, I'm going to be really mean to both of you." 

To fasten Cherish for her thrashing was the task of but a few moments. She 
was already handcuffed and her arms were raised to be tethered above to 
compel her to stand in sweet nudity and await the cane, the crop or the 
whip. If she was apprehensive, she showed no sign. Her whole attention was 
riveted on the unlikely figure being revealed as Miss Ponsonby divested 
herself of clothing. The spinster of uncertain age was unquestionably female 
but it was a femininity without appeal. When, breathing heavily, she 
extended her hands to be bound, Cherish continued, unwittingly, to compound 
her own correction. "Gee, Miss Ponsonby, you've ever so bony. You're not a 
bit like me or Willow. How did your breasts get to be that shape? Did you 
have an accident?" 

"Little girls should be seen and not heard," Miss Ponsonby affirmed coldly. 
"It would be kindly to remember not all women are as well endowed by nature 
as yourselves." 

"Cherish, do you want me to gag you!" Willow reprimanded. "If you can't be 
polite, you'd best keep quiet." 

"I suggest an additional ten strokes for the child," Miss Ponsonby affirmed 
sternly. "She's quite charming but precocious. You probably don't whip her 
as often as you should." 

Willow stepped back to survey her work. She was beginning to feel the heat 
and pleasurable excitement so familiar at such times. Cherish's girlishness 
was as heartwarming as ever. But it was the angularity of Mildred Ponsonby 
that attracted two pairs of curious female eyes. Willow had taken the 
precaution of tightening the tether to cause the woman who had requested to 
be whipped to stand stretched and taut in a manner which partly ironed out 
some of her physical defects. The result was not entirely attractive but was 
a distinctive improvement. It gave the spinster a little more form, it made 
concave a slightly protuberant tummy, it revealed the bottom about to be 
beaten as only a sad facsimile of her own and Cherish's pink and glowing 
cheeks. But it was undoubtedly a bottom and in the usual split segments. 
Willow felt certain whatever instrument she used upon it would hurt horribly 
and so doubtfully inquired, "Are your quite sure, Miss Ponsonby? I won't be 
mean and do it to you anyway, but if you would like me to untie you now I 
most certainly will." 

"Don't be ridiculous, girl. We are embarked upon a course, follow it. I 
plead no mercy." 

"I intend to whip Cherish first, if you don't mind," Willow stated firmly. 
"Her behavior has been atrocious." 

"Oh, darling, are you going to whip me real hard... Like I was grown up!" 

Willow wasted no time for more words. She selected a slender wand and sliced 
it neatly across both of Cherish's chubby cheeks. The child yelped, her 
cheeks pinkening, and used unshackled feet to vent her pain in a tiny dance 
of keen distress. Willow struck once more to plant another scarlet strip 
beside the first. Out of the corner of one eye she noted Miss Ponsonby's 
avid enjoyment of the scene and wished hardily she had never gotten involved 
in the whole thing. The last thing she wanted to do was thrash her darling's 
little bottom in a manner likely to satisfy this strangely erotic spinster 
now straining heavily at the ropes which bound her erect. 

"Magnificent wrist action," Miss Ponsonby approved heartily. "I do trust you 
will do no less for me. Oh, and by the way, a few across by back would do no 
harm. I am already feeling beneficial sensations throughout. Please continue 
with your thrashing of that delightful child." Willow knew herself boxed 
into a situation she did not desire. The three strokes already livid upon 
Cherish's bottom were more than she had wished to give. Under the 
semi-compulsion of Miss Ponsonby's eye she had hit Cherish far harder than 
ever before and harder than she wished to do again. The youngster was 
looking back over a bare shoulder in uncertain apprehension. Cherish had 
discovered in that three strokes more pain than she had ever known 
previously. But, if such agony was appropriate before visitors, then she 
would try and bare it without making a fuss. But Willow impulsively lowered 
the young arms and untied the tether and ordered, "Run down to my office, 
darling, and bring me that crop you'll find in the cupboard. It's the one 
with the white handle." 

The whipping of Miss Mildred Ponsonby had a particularly utilitarian 
atmosphere. The first strokes across a bottom by no means well padded evoked 
no sign or tremor. The spinster stood straining against the rope above but 
made no other motions, she accepted agony with an extraordinary control. The 
crop splatted and thrummed again and again into the flesh of the woman. It 
was not until Willow varied the application by a cruel stroke across the 
narrow back that Mildred Ponsonby made response. "That was magnificent, my 
dear, it hurt bitterly. May I please ask for more?" 

Cherish stood enthralled. Handcuffed she could not effectively rub the 
burning weals across her bottom but did the best she could, the motions 
unconscious in her absorption with the scene in which stroke after stroke 
impacted upon the sparse flesh of a bound and naked woman seemingly lost to 
sensation and awareness but dwelling within a world of agony to which she 
held a key. Becoming curious, Willow exerted more and more the strength of 
her arm to thunk home upon the aging flesh in an ever increasing crescendo. 
Noticing Cherish gaze at her cuffed wrists then up at the waiting tether, 
she caught her darling eye and shook her head and held a finger to her lips 
enjoining silence. As far as she was concerned Cherish had already received 
her thrashing. 

Cherish grinned and exclaimed, "Oh, darling, you do that so well. Look at 
those lovely marks. Won't it be lovely when I'm grown and you can whip my 
back as well as my bottom." 

Willow winked at her love and returned her attention to the quivering skin 
of a woman who wanted to be whipped. 

It had been a small incident leaving their lives untouched but the visit of 
Mildred Ponsonby had in some manner been a division, as though Cherish had 
come of age in sharing punishment with a woman old enough to be her mother. 
It solidified Cherish's conviction that what happened to her happened to 
others in the outside world. Everything was in order and as it should be. 
Willow felt only thankfulness, especially in the realization that having 
shared their unconventional activities it was unlikely Miss Ponsonby would 
mention them to anyone else. In fact, Miss Ponsonby continued her tea time 
visits in the same time spacing as before but now it was taken for granted 
that she and the two girls would, after the cucumber sandwiches, go down to 
the room in which it was convenient to raise a naked woman's arms above her 
head. On such occasions Cherish was tethered in the same manner as before 
but never thrashed. Her tethering was a concession to their visitor's 
seniority. It would seem improper for a teenage nymphet to waltz happily 
around while the spinster received her thrashing. The status quo was thus 
easily maintained. The two girls continued halcyon existence in Arcady until 
there came a knock upon their door. 

 CHAPTER TWO - THE MALE 

Brian Aiken was essentially a dilettante. He was one of those good-looking 
English types who take for granted the benefits of an inheritance by which 
they were endowed with ample funds to enjoy the good things in life and a 
pleasant old English house in which to enjoy them. Let it known he was an 
author, as yet unpublished, but engaged in several serious works. He 
attended social functions and contributed to local charities. He paid court 
to local young women without evidence of choosing any one of them as a wife. 
He was definitely English. 

He sat across from a disturbed and anxious Willow while stirring the tea in 
the cup she had just provided him. Brian Aiken was adept at inserting 
himself around tea time in any dwelling that caught his fancy. Willow 
ardently wish he had never heart of Questings. 

"She is a charming child, Miss Blake. I've watched the two of you in the 
village. I've listened to little bits of your conversation as you passed. 
There has been one or two social functions we've attended." He allowed this 
first salvo to quietly assert himself within a home where there was no 
welcome. "You are a most charming person yourself. 

Miss Blake. But it is within your Shall we call her your ward, I am truly 
interested. I wish to purchase her." 

Willow stared in disbelief. Aiken possessed a charm and was exuding it in 
her direction with considerable effect. The incongruity of his suggestion 
was therefore all the more shocking. 

Coldly she rejoined, "I'm not sure I heard you correctly, Mr. Aiken." 

"Yes you did. You heard me. I am offering to buy from you that delightful 
teenager who stays by your side like a trained puppy dog." 

"Don't be ridiculous. Surely you're not serious?" 

"I am deadly serious, Miss Blake. In a way I've spied upon you. I've put two 
and two together and reached a conclusion, a conclusion which makes it wise 
for you to give in to my request. I am prepared to part with a lot of 
money." 

"In England, Mr. Aiken, girls are not bought nor sold. The answer is no." 

Aiken nodded as though the subject was of very little interest. His eyes 
roved then settled once more upon a young woman who was trying hard to hid 
her agitation. "I imagine you could spend quite a few years behind bars for 
the way in which you have brought up Miss Angela Roper," he said quietly. "I 
doubt very much the authorities would approve." 

There it was, out in the open, the icy intrusion of the serpent into Eden. 
Willow often wondered what the law would do to her if her influence upon 
Cherish was blatantly exposed. She rose to her feet preparatory to showing 
her visitor to the door when Aiken barked, "Sit down! You can't dismiss me 
with a cup of tea," he sneered. "Where have you got the little cherub now? 
Locked in a cage? Shut up in a closet? Bound or chained somewhere around the 
grounds?" He allowed the inquire to trail away into menace. 

His question was answered by the cherub herself. Cherish walked in totally 
unconcerned but stopped aghast at the sight of their visitor. "Oh, gosh, 
Willow, I'm sorry. I thought it was Miss Ponsonby." She turned to leave. 

"Don't go," Aiken's command was firm. "My visit concerns you. Perhaps Miss 
Blake will be kind enough to explain." 

Willow was frightened. Even thought this man was immaculate in the garb of a 
country gentleman, and even though Miss Ponsonby had never spoken ill of 
him, his presence was strongly Male. Brian Aiken was a man and a man should 
find no shelter within the walls of Questings. Dully she informed, "Mr. 
Aiken is amusing himself at our expense, Cherish. He has just offered to 
purchase you. Just like that as though you are a bag of potatoes." 

Cherish giggled and said the wrong thing, "How much does he want to pay for 
me?" 

"I didn't ask him. Cherish, run along. Mr. Aiken shouldn't be seeing you 
naked and handcuffed, he'll get silly ideas." 

"Stay as you are child. In fact, come closer. I find your lack of clothing 
entirely appropriate. It would be wrong to hid what I see now." 

Cherish picked up the scent of trouble. She walked closer, holding; her 
cuffed hands in the familiar act of joining them beneath her chin. In frank 
simplicity she said, "I think you should go away. I don't like you and I'm 
not for sale." She turned to Willow, "You wouldn't sell me to anyone, would 
you darling?" 

"Of course not, sweetheart. Run along, I'll deal with this." 

Sensing the wisdom of obedience, Cherish disappeared. Between the man and 
the woman there generated an electricity which finally forced Willow to 
exclaim, "Why don't you go, Mr. Aiken? You're an intrusion here. You take 
for granted something you desire. It is not for sale. It can not be yours at 
any price. Please go away." 

Aiken sighed. Replacing his tea cup upon the tray in the manner of one who 
has done his best, his tone was civilized, "Very well, I'll leave. I realize 
my offer comes as a bit of a shock to you, I'll give you time to think about 
it." He paused, his manner gentle but his eyes hard, "But in arriving at a 
judgment you must remember this: I will have Cherish one way or the other. 
With or without your consent. With or without enriching you in the process. 
You do not understand it but when you told the girl to leave this room you 
had, in effect, said goodbye to her." 

"That is absolute nonsense, Mr. Aiken." 

"It may seem so now, but remember this: tomorrow, next week, next month, or 
perhaps next year, I will divert Cherish to myself. She will be held in my 
home in the same manner as she is held here -- naked and chained. I don't 
really mind how I acquire her but I would be happiest if you would name your 
price and I paid it. We would both be better off." 

Willow sat long after he had gone. She was trembling. The intrusion of the 
male had been devastating. She had no way of knowing how serious his threat 
had been. Perhaps it had been no more than a threat. Perhaps his visit had 
been an exploration prompted by curiosity. She gathered up the tea things in 
time to be invaded once more by Cherish's exuberance into the room where the 
male presence still hung threateningly in the still air. 

"Darling, that was a man!" Cherish made the exclamation as though in 
discovery. "What did he really want? He didn't want to buy me, did he? I 
mean girls aren't bought and sold like that." 

"He said he did. I told him to go away and leave us along." 

Cherish giggled. She did not share Willow's apprehension. Innocence still 
kept her within a feminine cocoon against the world. "Isn't that crazy! But 
darling, supposing he did buy me, what would happen? Would he lead me out of 
Questings at the end of a rope or something?" 

"He'd probably put you inside a box and nail the lid down," Willow said in 
sharp reproof at levity. "Hush, Cherish. I found the man distasteful. Don't 
let's talk of him." 

"You're scared, aren't you? I can tell. Oh, Willow, is something awful going 
to happen?" 

"Of course not!" Willow's jaw tightened, her eyes flashed. "I'd kill him 
before I'd let him take you from me. I'd kill anyone " 

"But, Willow darling, what would he want me for? What would he do to me or 
with me? Where would he keep me? It sounds so crazy." 

"I don't know, Cherish. But I wish he hadn't seen you naked. It's best you 
don't come barging into rooms unless you know who's inside. You're so 
terribly beautiful." 

"But, Willow, just supposing he did buy me and there was nothing I could do 
about it. Would he take me back to his home and push that male thing up 
inside me the way we've talked about? Does he want to do that to me so bad? 
I mean, it seems silly and untidy and a little bit disgusting." 

They let it go at that. It was an unprofitable subject which they were left 
uncertain about. They didn't know, if it was anything more than a joke. 

Cherish came to accept the male intrusion as evidence of how lucky the two 
of them were to be female and to live alone. She soon forgot Brian Aiken but 
Willow did not. For Willow Questings had acquired a ghost. 

Time heals all things but has the disadvantage of making its beneficiaries 
forgetful and careless. On a day hot with summer and the scent of blossoms, 
Willow, in pixie mischief, bound Cherish to the tree they had so often used 
for this mild punishment. There was no suggestion the child would be left 
there for the night but Cherish had indeed committed a minor offense and 
such a punishment was ideally suited to the season and the day. Cherish 
walked laughingly to her fate and backed against the familiar trunk and 
placed her crossed wrists behind its relatively slender trunk. She breathed 
heavily as Willow tied them tight. 

"Willow, darling, you needn't tie anything but my wrists. I can't possibly 
get them loose." 

The idea intrigued. Willow backed away, considering. Cherish looked very 
sweet and very helpless and exceeding naked. But it was a nakedness blending 
well with the surrounding scene. She was simply a naiad, a sprite of the 
woodland resting by leaning back against a tree. 

"All right, kitten, I wouldn't wrap you in rope this time but I am going to 
tie your tummy. If I don't you'll be sliding around and getting yourself all 
chafed." 

It was quickly done, strand after strand of the heavier rope indenting the 
young stomach and encircling the narrow waist. Willow used enough of it to 
make the appearance of a belt by which the darling child was held tight to 
the chosen tree. To impose the additional authority she always used she 
circled the several bands from each side and cinched them tight together in 
the small hollow of her beloved's back. Cherish was now tightly bound and 
well secured for her day of contemplation. The two girls kissed and said 
goodbye. Willow gathered up the unused ropes and walked dreamily back to 
Questings and a lonely day. She could never resist imposing these 
punishments on the eager child she owned, but even a few hours of the 
teenager's absence always made her wish she had chosen another punishment in 
which the child were closer to her side. True, she could always walk out 
among the trees and converse with her captive maiden. But it was understood 
this was something simply "not done." The helpless maiden bound to a tree 
was suppose to be very much alone. 

Afternoon was waning into evening when Willow went back among the trees to 
release her love and to hold her tight in an anxiety of desire. But Cherish 
did not stand against the tree. Cherish was nowhere to be seen. Upon the 
ground lay the scattered remains of the severed ropes by which she had been 
bound. They had been cut by a sharp knife. That was all. 

After her usual testing of the bonds and finding them without sympathy, 
Cherish ceased any endeavor to escape and entered the mood of the summer 
day. The air was alive with the perfume of growing things and the quiet hum 
of insects. In as idyllic a scene as could possibly be devised, warmed by 
the sun, she allowed herself to accept the drowsy content of the living 
things among which she must spend her day. Cherish always found a strange 
peacefulness when thus bound. It was as thought the cords and ropes were a 
key by which she entered a ancient kingdom of romance. She dreamed happily 
of Willow. 

The voice of Brain Aiken was as without emphasis as it had been in Willow's 
drawing room but it shocked Cherish into an involuntary surging against the 
ropes. 

"You make a lovely picture there, Cherish. Ever done any posing? I dabble in 
a bit of painting now and then. We might try it sometimes." He was suddenly 
standing before the tree and drinking in every curve and swelling of the 
captive nakedness. 

"You're not suppose to see me like this!" It was the first thing to enter 
Cherish's mind. Her voice was heavy with indignation and reproach, "Please 
go away, go away right now and leave me alone. Willow told you never to 
touch me, and I'm telling you too. I couldn't possibly belong to a man, I 
couldn't bare it." 

"I'm afraid you're going to have to." There was no menace in the voice, just 
a cool statement of the fact. "I intend to take you home with me. If you 
want to scream, please do. She won't be able to hear you out here." 

Cherish wanted very much to scream but knew it useless. Despite repugnancy 
she was impelled by a quivering curiosity. She was naked and helpless in the 
presence of a male, a male who could do terrible things to her and probably 
would if her got the chance. Vehemently she exclaimed, "I don't believe a 
word you say. I don't believe any of this stuff about buying me and taking 
me away. You're just a big tease and I think you're most unkind." 

For answer, Brian Aiken cut away the bindings. His sharp knife slid through 
the strands with ease. The implications of the sharp blade sent shivers and 
an icy hand up Cherish's spine. She made up her mind to kick him hard once 
she was free then run as fast as she could towards Questings. This man would 
surely never dare to pursue her within sight of its windows. But Brian Aiken 
put his knife away and proceeded to use his fingers to untie the knots which 
held her hands crossed behind the trunk. The touch of his fingers sent fresh 
tremors through the teenager's consciousness and if he wished to conserve 
the cord it could be only for one purpose. Somehow she must prevent him 
binding her again once she was freed from the tree. When her hands fell away 
limply to her side she turned and kicked with every ounce of her young 
strength. 

It was pathetically easy for a man twice her size. Aiken grasped the slim 
ankle as it flashed towards his groin and raised it, causing its owner to 
slump to the ground, kicking wildly but most ineffectually. 

"I intend to tie your hands behind your back. Cherish. Do you want to fight 
or are you going to be sensible." 

Cherish fought. She fought with every ounce of her strength and every foul 
blow she could devise. But in a few moments she was flat upon her face, a 
male knee firmly planted in her back and male fingers once more binding the 
slender wrists she could not keep from his grasp. Cherish beat in frantic 
anger at the ground with small clenched fists before they were gathered 
behind her back with ease. Aiken bound them tight, far tighter than they 
need have been. But Cherish did not complain. Instead she wept, wept not 
because of what had been done to her but because of the female's ancient 
weakness besides the strength of the male. It was humiliating and 
frustrating and in no way to be stood for. But the male had his way with her 
and in a few moments lifted her erect, brushed the grass and twigs from the 
bareness of her back and bottom and said cheerfully, "There we are, all trim 
and shipshape. Want me to tie your feet and carry you or are you willing to 
walk?" 

Cherish's willingness to walk was academic. She had no choice. Aiken grasp 
her hair in a strong male clutch and directed her as he chose. True, Cherish 
struggled for all she was worth, but a girl's lovely locks can be her 
enemies as well as friends, it was so now. Holding them, Aiken has as firm a 
control of her as if she was bound and chained in a dozen different ways. He 
led her forward to the outskirts of the woods where his car stood on a 
rustic dirt pathway. He lifted the lid of his trunk and deposited her 
within. Cherish cried out in fierce anger as the lid slammed down to encase 
her in semi-darkness. She kicked out and struggled to free herself from the 
cords upon her wrists. But all she achieved was to hurt herself and so 
ceased. She lay naked and wept in the vibrating darkness above the speeding 
wheels. She did not know where Aiken lived but what did it matter... ? He 
had her now! 

When the trunk was opened they were inside a garage. Cherish refused to 
scream or to plead but kept a solemn silence. She was lifted out and carried 
to what was obviously a workshop well equipped with tools. She felt certain 
none of them meant her well. Her captor's voice was unfailingly cheerful and 
polite. Cherish guessed the politeness was only part of the outward 
appearance he wished others to see, that he really didn't care about her 
comfort. But she supposed she should be glad that politeness was there. 

"Well, sweetheart, I don't have the accouterments your mistress obviously 
possesses, but I do have some interesting relics of the past. Be a nice 
change for you and they'll hold you tight enough." Cherish surveyed the 
rusted iron with distaste. Someone had obviously worked upon it to make it 
presentable. The wire brush had uncovered the bare metal Here and there, the 
gyves were as effective now as in the past century when they had been 
fabricated. 

"Pure change I found a size to fit," Aiken laughed at her woebegone face. 
"Someone, years ago, must have had a girl like you and made certain he kept 
her safe. I've simply inherited the relics and cleaned them up just for you 
I think I've got the inside of the wrist and ankles nicely smoothed out, 
they won't chafe. Now let's see how snug they are." 

"You needn't think of putting them on me," said Cherish flatly. "You sit on 
this box, it's good and solid, and you put one foot up on the anvil...." 

"Drop dead!" said Cherish with firm emphasis. "I'm not that crazy." Aiken 
produced the whip as if by magic from. Apparently he had thought it might be 
needed and had it ready. It sliced the air with a truly wicked whine to 
reinforce his question, "Do you want me to use this on you? I can you know. 
Very easily. If I have to. I'll whip you into any submission I desire. I 
suggest you don't be a little heroine and play the fool. That pretty back of 
yours need not be marked at all. At least not by me." 

In a way it was their first confrontation. There had been something of the 
comic in what that taken place before and in Aiken's vow of purchase. But 
now Cherish felt nakedly afraid. She knew about pain and about her limits. 
The whip Aiken now so carelessly held would take her far beyond her powers 
of resistance, it might even cut her flesh. Cherish knew nothing of the way 
of men. All she could hope for now was rescue by her mistress, Willow would 
surely think of something! But for now, prudence won the day. She sat upon 
the box and set her foot within the waiting circlet of ancient iron. When it 
was closed snug upon her flesh she demanded sulkily, "If you're a 
professional kidnapper I don't see why you didn't buy some decent things to 
hold a girl with, something that could be locked and unlocked. You have to 
rivet these things on me, don't you?" 

"That's right. You're an observant little trick, aren't you? But they do 
have the advantage that, once riveted on, nothing and no one can get them 
off. These are the real leg irons not the pretty things Willow used to join 
your feet together with." 

The solid thunking blows of the hammer took the naked girl beyond 
confrontation into a terrible reality of surrender. She thought again of 
flight but that was silly, she could never reach the door, and there was 
then the chance of being punished with the whip. The hammer was sure and 
true as it smashed the soft iron of the rivet. There were two of them and 
when the hammer had done its work with each Cherish knew her ankle was 
secured beyond any possibility of release except with the hammer and anvil 
once again. Despairingly she lifted her other foot, fitted it in the twin 
circlet from which the heavy links of the joining chain now dangled 
mockingly. When that also was secured she was told to stand up and walk 
around the room. She did so, partly from her own curiosity, and discovered 
that having worn Willow's leg irons she was at least half way prepared for 
these. But the metal Aiken had riveted upon her feet was double and triple 
the weight and made an outrageous clatter as she walked. The chain was long 
enough to give her unhurried movement but she could not run, she could not 
leap, she could not take a stride. Miss Angela Roper was hobbled by ancient 
irons which had awaited her across the centuries. 

"You may as well kneel for you hands, Cherish, that's about the right 
height." the Male said cheerfully. "I'm pleased about the fit, they're 
absolutely made for you." He laughed at her woebegone features. "Maybe I'll 
never take them off, irons become you. Seems I read that somewhere. Now hold 
still." 

Cherish held still. She was afraid to move. The hammer was a fearful thing 
and could crush her wrist with a single blow. But once again the two rivets 
were thrust into the waiting holes and battered down with blow after blow, 
each one accurate and true. When it was done, then the other hand. When that 
too was solidly ironed she was once more told to stand and to hold her hands 
in such a way as the man and she could examine the effect. The effect was 
more picturesque that Cherish would have believed possible. The iron was 
heavy but the links were longer than with handcuffs. This would probably be 
more than compensated for by the weight of metal. The naked girl knew 
herself helpless and in the power of a man. Before his gaze she was ashamed 
of nudity but could hide nothing. Unhappily she said, "Well, it seems you've 
got me. You've stolen me away from everything I love. I don't see what good 
it will go you, I'll never obey or be the way I was with Willow." She gazed 
down at her shackled hands and said somberly, "I know I can't escape, you've 
fixed me in a terrible helplessness. But I still don't have to do things for 
you. I won't love you. I won't even like you. You won't get any joy out of 
me the way Willow did." 

Aiken picked up the whip and passed the thong lovingly through one hand. 
"This little item says otherwise, dear girl. I won't use it on you now, I 
want you to think about it and remember it's always waiting. You've been 
sensible about putting your hands and feet on the anvil, be sensible with 
rest of the way. I don't want you stripped like a zebra." 

The transformation of her life impinged slowly upon the maiden mind but was 
still not evident in its totality. Cherish had far to go into the dark 
realms of male possession and male desire. She sensed them now only as 
dragons waiting in the dark. But it was not dark and as yet she had felt no 
pain. The shackles on wrist and ankles were heavy and implacable but neither 
cut nor chafed. If they did so it would be by her own choice. Because she 
had not yet been hurt she could still be impertinent. "So what are you going 
to do with me, Mr. Aiken? Send Willow a check? Sell me to someone else?" She 
made her tone as gay as she possibly could. 

"Cherish, have you ever been fucked?" 

The hateful word was strange but not entirely foreign, she had read it in 
books and had heard the word in some dim memory of childhood before Willow 
had possessed her. In complete innocence she asked, "What you're trying to 
find out is if some man like you has thrust inside me those prong things men 
have. Well, no I haven't been... fucked. And I don't intend to be. If you 
fuck me, Willow will never forgive you and she and I will hound you for the 
rest of our lives." Aiken laughed at her terrible sincerity. The teenager 
supposed she still possessed a will and the chance to use it. She evidently 
envisioned an early rescue by an irate Willow. Aiken was thankful for ample 
time. He had no wish to break this lovely thing he now possessed. Cherish 
was exquisite, a treasure beyond dreams. He wished to break her in gently. 
"Has it ever occurred to you that this act you so scathingly denounce could 
give you pleasure? Give you pleasure in the same way as Willow's tongue?" 

"But that's disgusting! That's horrible, fancy saying such a thing. Of 
course it won't give me pleasure. I'll hate it and I'll hate you." Cherish 
glared fiercely and rattled her chains in protest. 

"Well, all in good time." Brian Aiken's voice was gentle. "How old are you 
Cherish?" 

"I'm only sixteen and men are not suppose to push their things inside a girl 
who's only sixteen. I've read about it in the newspapers and in books so you 
leave me alone." 

The frightened girl said angrily, "I'm suppose to lay down and open my legs 
for you when that happens, isn't that the way of it? Well, I'm not going to 
do it." Sulkily she added with a touch of jubilation, "And, anyway, you've 
chained my feet together so you can't do it anyway. I think you're just a 
big fraud. Why don't you just take me back to Willow and we'll call the 
whole thing off." 

"For sure you've never been fucked, sweetheart," Aiken agreed soberly. "If 
you had been you'd know those irons on your feet don't impede anything. You 
can be fucked to a fare-thee-well without knocking loose a single rivet. And 
as for returning you to Willow, I'd be crazy, wouldn't I? Look at the way 
I've got you so beautifully ironed." 

"I'm sure Willow will pay you for them," Cherish said hopefully. "Or you can 
take them off before you take me home. I promise I'll behave while you do 
it." 

"I just bet you would," Brain Aiken laughed at her naivete. "No, I've got 
you and I'm keeping you. Let's go upstairs and have a drink." 

"I don't want a drink. Please take me home." 

"Look, sweetheart, that's a song that can get repetitious very quickly. Lay 
off it. I don't want to hear about you getting your irons stricken from your 
limbs or your going back to Questings. I've got you by right of conquest -- 
that's probably the way Willow picked you up years ago." 

Once more Aiken grasped her hair but this time he also steadied her arm as 
they mounted the stairs, her ankle chains making an loud racket from step to 
step. Cherish tried a different tack, "Don't you realize, Mr. Aiken, I'm 
only sixteen and I'm frightened to death. Honest, I'm scared. I don't know a 
thing about men and I don't want to. But I know what you intend to do to me. 
Please, please don't?" 

He did not bother to answer, why should he! Brain Aiken was suddenly glowing 
in the full knowledge of possessing a naked girl. That the naked girl was 
only sixteen years old impressed him not at all. They are supposed to be 
better when young and goodness knows Cherish was young enough for anyone. He 
was glad she had not fought. He would have found it distasteful to break her 
with the whip. That might still come but he would avoid it if he could. In 
the meantime, the feel of her silken hair within his grasp and the bareness 
of her arms within his clutch sent his pulse to racing. Here was the very 
essence of life itself! Here in this naked girl he was guiding up the stairs 
was every dream of man's desire. He thanked his lucky stars he had come 
across the two of them, Willow and her ward, and drawn the right 
conclusions. Cherish had been ripe for the plucking! 

"Willow is going to be terribly worried when she finds me gone. Are you 
going to phone and tell her what you've done?" 

"No. She'll call me. Ahh, here we are. Just knell on he rug before the chair 
were I'll sit and I'll mix the drinks. Next time you'll have to mix them but 
for this once, and seeing you're so young " 

"I don't drink alcohol, thank you. Please leave me out," Cherish said in 
formal affront. 

"You're going to drink some now. Cherish, whether you like it or not. And 
that's another thing, I don't want you constantly protesting that you don't 
do this or your don't do that. From now on you do always exactly as I say." 

"What if I refuse?" Cherish's voice was defiant. "I absolutely refuse, so 
let's get this over with right now. If you want to keep me prisoner the way 
I am now, well that's your affair. But if you want me to do nasty things or 
drink nasty drinks, I absolutely won't do it. If you have to whip me to 
death because of that, then you may as well get started." Aiken paused in 
his activities behind the bar. There had been a sincerity in the young voice 
he could not ignore. He wished he had demonstrated a less formidable whip. 
What he should have done was shown her something she could have borne but 
disliked, something with which he could have sensibly whipped her into at 
least the drinking of a drink. The whip he had chosen would mark her 
horribly. Hopefully he inquired, "Ever had your bottom spanked?" 

"Of course not, I'm not a child." 

"You're not, are you. That means you can very well drink this drink I've 
gone to the trouble to prepare. And anyway you're going to have to leant how 
to do these things because that will be part of your duties. I want my 
afternoon cocktail mixed and shaken and delivered upon your knees to me who 
will be your master. Get that, your master! Drink this and I don't want too 
much choking over it. It's only a screwdriver and will do you no harm." 

Cherish took it. It was her first conscious action with shackled hands. Her 
thoughts were racing. She supposed a drink could do no harm. If she became 
tipsy and fell over on the floor, well that was Aiken's trouble and not 
hers. She rather hoped it would happen. She gazed at the orange juice in the 
glass held by ironed hands and said, with deepest sincerity, "I hope I get 
drunk and throw up all over you." Cherish did not get drunk. Aiken had made 
the cocktail lean. Even after the second, which she was beginning to enjoy, 
Cherish was still steady and coherent. Coherent enough to explore the 
altitudes her captor would allow. "Do I have to kneel on the rug here like 
this all the time while you drink? What is it about men? You like your egos, 
you like a girl to butter you up and pretend you're wonderful. I know 
because Willow told me and I've read a lot of books. I think you're all 
weird." She took a deep swallow. "Look, you're aching to whip me, I know you 
are. So let's go and get it over with." 

Aiken was startled at the stark simplicity of her demand. The girl meant it! 
She actually wanted him to whip her naked flesh, to take her into whatever 
realm of male desire came next. Startled, he was forced to ask himself which 
indeed came first; to rape her or to whip her. Since she was forced by her 
irons to be compliant in either one the decision was hard to make. But he 
knew for sure he must never allow this nymphet to take the initiative. She 
might be sixteen years old but she had a shrewd and calculating mind. 
Sharply he retorted, "I'll decide when and how we do those things, not you." 

"Well, why don't you fuck me here on the rug? You could." Her voice held 
total innocence, butter would not melt in her mouth. 

"Because I've decided on another way, that's why," Aiken said almost 
savagely. The girl was going to be a handful and would have to be treated 
with care. He had always avoided allowing any girl or woman to get under his 
skin and make herself indispensable to the point where she could maneuver 
him into doing what she desired. He must continue this principle now. This 
girl would surrender her virginity in a particularly ritualistic fashion he 
had long desired. Quickly his thoughts flittered to Willow, Willow Blake, 
the girl who had everything, the girl who had possessed Cherish. He was 
determined to fuck her too but that desire was secondary to his 
determination to impale Cherish. Brian Aiken felt he possessed Miss Willow 
Blake and Miss Angela Roper in the hollow of his hand. He would exact 
humility, submission and obedience. By the time he was through with him they 
would not recognize each other. Their adoration would be for him alone. 

Gruffly he demanded, "Finish your drink, Cherish. We'll get it over the way 
you suggest, but I'm not going to whip you first. That would simply feed a 
delicious martyrdom you're building up inside that little mind of yours. 
What you're going to get is the think you call my "prong" up between your 
legs. Think about it, get used to the idea, make up your mind to enjoy it 
and be an obedient girl. He finished his own drink and picked up his naked 
slave. 

Fiction was Cherish's only guide. She had read enough of the rape of a girl 
without ever imagining it could happen to her. But it would happen now and 
in the manner of this man's choosing. She wished now she had not allowed 
herself to be so helplessly ironed. But had there been a choice? She knew 
there never had been one. She knew the condition she was now in was 
inevitable from the moment Aiken released her from Willow's tree. She could 
never best his strength, and now, secured by his shackles, she must do his 
bidding. Cherish hoped devoutly he would fastening her in such ways as to 
rid her mind of guilt about what would happen. 

It was as though he read her mind. It was a long, hard wooden bench the 
surface of which would clearly tell the girl fastened upon it what her 
status had become. With the weight of the male upon her added to her travail 
it offered no comfort. If, upon its surface she found joy, it would be 
derived from some interior source within her loins. Here upon this alter of 
hard wood lay the true subjection of the female. If she had pride left when 
this was done, then she had pride indeed! 

Brian Aiken lay his feminine burden down with extreme gentleness upon her 
back, he grasped her hands and drew them back above her head and fastened 
them in some unseen way. "I can handle you easily now, sweetheart. If you 
want to struggle, go ahead, now's the time. All I have to do is grasp one of 
your ankles and pull, you've had the course. How do you feel about it?" 

Cherish felt every emotion either possible or applicable. She was not sure 
that girls preparatory to being raped were suppose to feel anything at all 
except extreme anguish. And this anguish was supposed to relate to certain 
moral or social convictions, in what she had read of it there was very 
little concern about pain or the actual penetration of her body. What the 
girl was suppose to be concerned with was the disapproval of society. This 
disapproval was levied against her even though she had nothing to say or do 
with her predicament. Hastily she glimpsed that she and Willow were two 
girls far apart from ail the rest. Because of that her actions now would be 
far different from what the books foretold. She tugged to assure herself of 
the loss of hands and said, quite simply, "If you're going to rape me, Mr. 
Aiken, I suppose you might as well get on with the job. I don't seem able to 
do anything about anything. I could kick but what's the use, you'd only whip 
me." Cherish had forgotten the leg irons. She could not kick. She could do 
nothing but draw her feet up to where the linking chain came beneath the 
orifice within her pubic hair, the orifice so dearly lovely and so vividly 
described by "The Twat." It had many names but she and Willow had always 
called it her "pussy" and she preferred to leave it at that. When Brian 
Aiken positioned himself at raised knees, she was ready for the hard thrust 
which, strangely enough, was gently inserted between the moistness of her 
lips. She did not know how they had become so moist but there it was. Miss 
Angela Roper, the girl called Cherish, sighed and surrendered her vagina to 
male convenience. Slowly Aiken's immense prong slid with the warmth and 
wetness of her sheath. It was all pretty much as the stories had foretold. 
True there was the fierce, sharp pain of the sundering of her maidenhead. 
But it passed and was replaced by the slow and steady rhythm of the male 
questing within her belly. Cherish supposed there would be an injection of 
male semen and sometime, well in the future, she would have a baby that 
would be Brian Aiken's son. 

It appeared a girl did not become a potential mother too easily. There was 
no sharp or explosive climax immediately as supposed, instead there was a 
slow and incessant thrust and withdrawal, a twisting and thrusting from side 
to side and up and down, a total exploration of her womb by a foreign, 
blunt-nosed hard appendage from a male. It came as an irritating surprise to 
Miss Angela Roper that pleasure should ensue but it was not long before 
pleasure did indeed manifest itself within her loins. Her heat, never long 
dormant, flamed vividly and she heard her own voice cry out against its 
searing scorch. But was it her own heat or was it his! Did the male suffer 
these same delicious pangs of agony as she. No one had warned Miss Angela 
Roper of this betrayal by her own flesh. No one warned her that the male had 
the same power to possess and pleasure her as had the girl called Willow. It 
was not long before Willow was forgotten in this new tumescence, this new 
and unexpected frictioning of her deepest and most secret part, this 
planting the male seed which she would bare to maturity. Cherish could not 
believe it was happening. In brief moments she realized her wrists were 
hurting atrociously from her constant struggles. Her shackled feet were 
helpless, if she thrust them hard down in revolt she did no more than 
intensify whatever anguish or ecstasy possessed her femaleness. The male 
possession went on and on and on forever. But when it burst in an 
incandescence of flame and fire, the girl called Cherish knew herself 
freshly enslaved. 

Cherish was half asleep when she was carried she knew not where. When she 
awoke many hours later if was to find herself chained by one ankle to the 
foot of the huge bed in which her master slept. After a cautious exploration 
of her new helplessness she used the blanket discovered by her side and 
returned herself to sleep. She knew she could never escape this man, his 
chains would hold her forever, but most potent of all her bondage was the 
prong, the solid male rod by which her subjection had been made complete 
because of her own ecstasy. She would want it to happen again and again and 
again. And by his denial of this act Brian Aiken could mold her to his will. 
The girl called Cherish went back to sleep but she dreamed not of Aiken but 
of Willow. 

* * * 

The severed ropes and the bare trunk of the familiar tree came close to 
breaking Willow's heart. Recriminations flooded her mind in the certain 
knowledge she had delivered her darling into bondage by the stupid act of 
exposing the helpless girl out here in the woods. If she had kept her safe 
within the walls of Questings, she would have her now. But instead Cherish 
was in the possession of a man, a man who would do unspeakable things to her 
and who Willow well knew she could do nothing to counter or defeat. Brian 
Aiken was probably all ready handling those darling buds and that soft, 
warm, moist slit she had so long cherished as her own. It was too, too cruel 
and there was nothing she could do! 

Willow gathered up the severed short pieces of rope and returned to 
Questings. She had never felt so lonely in her life or more bereft. She had 
always known everything she valued was within the flesh and substance of the 
shining girl Brian Aiken had stolen. Without Cherish life was meaningless, a 
nothing, a void. Determinedly she went to the telephone. 

She should have guessed the response. The voice, cheerful as ever wasted no 
time but said instantly, "Good afternoon, Miss Blake. Were you inquiring 
after lost property?" 

Willow would have loved to claw his smiling face. She longed to scream and 
batter her fists. But it was best that she discover the strength of her 
enemy before she sought to attack it with her own. Briefly she demanded, 
"What have you done with Cherish?" 

The answer was instant and unconcerned, "Cherish? Why the dear child is 
standing against a wall to which one of her wrists has been tied with some 
special nylon cord I picked up. She'll be a busy little girl trying to get 
loose but she'll not succeed. Why don't you come and join her?" 

"Do you think I'm out of my mind!" Willow could easily envision the picture 
he had drawn, her poor darling naked and held in some frustrating fashion by 
a piece of rope. "If you're contemplating some sort of deal in which you 
want to rape me in exchange for Cherish, forget it! If you don't get Cherish 
back her immediately, I shall go to the police." 

There was a silence in which the listening girl could picture his quiet 
enjoyment of her defeat. "The police, you say, Miss Blake? Don't be silly. 
We both know you won't go to the police. There's really nothing you can do 
except what I tell you. If you want Cherish back you'll do exactly what I 
say." 

"All right. How much?" 

"Oh, come, it's not a question of money, I'm sure you understand that. The 
price is capital Y-O-U. The haughty Miss Blake will yield both her bottom 
and her front for my amusement. When I have enjoyed both to the full you can 
then go home." 

"Drop dead!" 

"Sorry, can't do that! In the event you decide to be difficult I want you to 
know your darling Cherish will receive periodic thrashings until you change 
your mind." There was short, hard laugh. "I want you to understand that when 
I say thrashing that's exactly what I mean. Your little darling is going to 
scream. I've purchased a most formidable array of whips and crops." 

"Mr. Aiken, you're a bastard!" 

"I couldn't agree with you more. I've never pretended to be a gentleman. I 
simply inherited a gentleman's estate. I intend to assure Miss Willow Blake 
and Miss Angela Roper leave these premises a pair of well whipped young 
women, taught a lesson that you at least, Miss Blake, richly deserve." 

"You're talking like a Victorian villain," Willow said crossly. "If you ask 
for something within reason, we might come to terms. This business of 
humiliating me and shoving my nose in the dirt isn't profitable to either of 
us." 

"You are quite wrong there, Miss Blake. I'm sure this is difficult for you 
to understand, but for me it would be a pleasure to do what you describe. 
There is an immaculate quality about you that positively implores a male 
hand." 

"Look, Mr. Aiken, that poor girl must be frightened out of her wits. You're 
being a cad, you ought to feel ashamed. You've had your fun, you've 
frightened us both half to death, now please send her home." 

"Dear Miss Blake!" The derisive tone was unmistakable, "You know I won't do 
that. The price of what you are asking is for you to come to me. I will 
soundly whip both your bottom and your back. I will then fuck you both till 
my heart's content. Only then will you return to your happy little female 
world with Cherish." 

Willow slammed the receiver down hard. The man was impossible! Aiken's 
demands went beyond reason, they would leave nothing of her intact. She 
would be reduced to a whimpering naked piece of flesh, soiled, used, 
discarded. Cherish would be whipped too, she was sure of it. She could not 
bare to think of rape. Willow understood rape as implicit in all she had 
said with Aiken but she could not put it into words nor accept it with her 
mind. She looked angrily at the silent phone and wondered what else she 
might have said. Thoughts of her naked Cherish bound against a wall, 
awaiting a fate which could scarcely be merciful, flooded her whole being 
with desolation. Willow Blake could not imagine herself walking to the 
domicile of her enemy and then yielding her person to his demands. She knew 
she was immaculate, she wished to be and to remain immaculate. Glumly 
considered the prospect of the police but soon cast it aside. They would be 
no help and would almost certainly see her as the villainess of the piece. 
Her separation from Cherish was bad enough already without a period of years 
with her yearning and eating out her heart behind prison bars. Brian Aiken 
had thought things out with shrewd competence. Unable to any longer endure 
the sight and temptation of the phone, Willow turned and left the room. 

The night was pure torment. Willow's bed was cold and empty without the 
vivid flesh of Cherish. The mistress tossed and turned in a constant 
turmoil. By morning the constant repetition of a vision of a sacrifice 
became less fearful than the day before. So what! She would go to Brian 
Aiken and would be whipped and raped. Then she would come home with Cherish 
and thereafter would make doubly assure such a disaster could never be 
repeated. Willow made a cup of coffee and drank it without pleasure. She 
then went to the phone. 

"I'm glad you called, Miss Blake," Aiken said equably. "I was just preparing 
to thrash your little darling. She's irresistibly sweet and I was in the 
process of fastening her in the most attractive way to receive the lash. She 
is indeed a darling child." 

"I thought perhaps you had come to your senses and would quote me some 
reasonable terms." 

"No. I'm still a bastard, Miss Blake. I intend to whip your bottom and then 
your back and then pierce your front. Or would you wish me to be more 
specific? There are a few four letter words " 

"No, you are explicit enough. If I come to you now can you do what you 
intend with me, or to me, and allow Cherish and myself to return to 
Questings this afternoon?" 

"Indubitably!" 

"I will leave immediately." 

Willow walked the considerable distance between the two houses. She could 
have driven but felt the tremendous need for exertion and expenditure of 
energy. Her pent up desire to kill or claw Brian Aiken was a constant 
compulsion in her mind. Willow told herself the only reason she did not plan 
such an act was it's very impracticably. And, anyway, if she killed the man 
she would be separated more surely from Cherish than by acceding to his 
demands. She wondered unhappily what it would be like to be wickedly and 
cruelly whipped as was about to be done to her. Willow was quite certain the 
whipping she had administer to Cherish had been mere child's play compared 
to what Brian Aiken would do to her. There would probably be blood and scars 
to last her life. The act of coitus, which she still thought of as rape, was 
too hateful to contemplate. She would endure it as best she could. 

The long walk brought perspective and courage, a courage rapidly diminished 
by confrontation with The Male. Brian Aiken's eyes measured her up and down 
and all around in a shrewd assessment of her femaleness beneath her clothes. 
His greeting was casually pleasant but he instantly reverted to his 
obsession. "I'd better give you a few drinks, Miss Blake. You'll need them!" 

"I have no need or wish to be intoxicated," Willow flashed fire at him as 
they stood together in the hall. "May I please see Cherish?" 

"Indeed you may. I knew it would be the first thing you'd ask. The little 
sweetheart is ready and waiting." 

Willow followed him up the stairs, her heart leaden within her breast. No 
girl ever had been more defeated than she was now. By shrewd maneuvering she 
had become the plaything of a man. 

Cherish turned wan features from the bed but her face came alive at the 
sight of Willow. Her greeting was apologetic, almost as though she blamed 
herself for her predicament, "Oh, darling, look what he's done to me! You 
shouldn't have come, I don't think we can trust him. " Willow stood aghast. 
Her beloved girl was spread-eagled upon the covers in total nudity. 
Cherish's teenage slenderness was tautly stretched towards each comer of the 
bed on which she lay. The implications of her plight were all too obvious. 
Dejectedly she added, "I can't get loose. Willow. I tried and tried. I can 
hardly move at all. And Mr. Aiken keeps telling me what he's going to do. 
He's done it once already and now he says he'll do it again to both of us. 
Oh, Willow, I don't think you should have come." 

"I've done my best to entertain," Aiken said in mock apology. "The youngster 
turned out better than I expected, she's really first class. I'm most 
curious to sample your qualities, Miss Blake. Is your maidenhead still 
intact?" 

"Don't be disgusting!" 

"No harm in asking. I got a good deal of pleasure from breaking the 
maidenhead you kept inviolate inside Cherish for so long. I doubt if the 
dear girl will miss it." 

"Don't be such an absolute bastard. You're positively gloating, watering at 
the mouth over a couple of helpless girls you've managed to compromise." 

Willow felt anger filling her to overflowing. "Look, let's get over with it. 
What do I have to do?" 

"First of all, take your clothes off. I'd have thought you'd have guessed 
that." 

This was it! This was a beginning which would also be an end to innocence. 
Willow knew her own maidenhead still intact but to plead with Aiken that it 
should remain so was a lost cause. She wondered what the breaking of a 
maidenhead would feel like. She would soon find out! 

"Mr. Aiken, I should tell you I have never in my life stripped naked before 
a man." 

"Good! A premiere performance! I am greatly blessed." Every word Aiken 
uttered was a mockery of modesty. 

"I see no reason why I should be entirely nude. You can whip my bottom while 
I'm fully clothed. I will arrange my garments for your convenience. As for 
whipping my back, I will arrange that too. Please don't force me to total 
nakedness." 

"Strip!" 

The single word told Willow all she needed to know. There was no mercy, no 
thought of maiden modesty or a background of years as a virgin. Willow knew 
herself, in fact, more desirable to his man in the condition she was than 
any other woman could be with the possible exception of Cherish, and if he 
had told the truth, he had already enjoyed the fruit of Cherish's loins. As 
though dazed and drugged, Miss Willow Blake reached for the fastening of her 
dress. She let it fall to the floor around her feet. She wore little less 
but delayed the final revelation by unfastening her shoes and peeling down 
the pantyhose from her hips. Logic told her this was not enough, it would be 
useless to plead now for her bottom was still fully clothed in panties. In a 
desolation of loss, she put her thumbs on each side of the waistband and 
pushed the scanty garment down and down and down... ! 

"A lovely bush. I'd not hoped for anything quite as beautiful," Brian 
Aiken's voice was almost reverent. "Ever noticed the way that lovely hair 
shines and curls? Perhaps, if you aggravate me enough, I'll shave them off. 
How would you like to have a naked cunt?" 

Willow ignored the vulgarity. She knew she was being provoked. Any response 
she made could be used as an excuse for punishing her beyond what was 
already promised. There still remained her bra. Under male eyes her loins 
burned in shame. She shrank from further exposure. Cherish was naked and 
unconcerned with her nakedness. Cherish was the only living person to ever 
see Willow in the nude. It had seemed natural between them. But now to match 
Cherish's nudity by displaying her own to the avid eyes watching every move 
was a thing almost impossible to do. Despairingly she looked at the man who 
held her in the strangest thralldom of all and pitifully asked, "Must I 
uncover my breasts. You're not going to whip my breasts, are you? My back is 
bare, you can whip it all you want without taking off my bra." 

"Take it off" It was one more male demand she could not ignore. Exposed as 
she had now been for several minutes, her loins and pubic patch freely 
delivered to watching male eyes, what point was there in quibbling now! In 
the manner of a person about to be tossed into a snake pit, she reached for 
the fastening of the cups which shielded the gorgeous curvatures of her 
breasts. Willow shed the scanty bits of nothing to fall atop her other 
coverings on the floor. Brian Aiken clapped his hands, "Bravo! There was a 
moment or two there when I didn't think you'd make it, when I thought I'd 
have to strip you by force." 

"If I could kill you, I think I would." 

Brian Aiken laughed, "And spend the rest of your life peering through iron 
bars, Miss Blake? You've got more sense. My whip and my cock are a mere 
trifle by comparison." 

"Yes, I understand." Willow's tone was dull and lifeless. Had it not been 
for Cherish bound upon the bed she would have longed to die. They assessed 
each other, Willow without hope and Brian Aiken in jubilation and pleased 
surprise at the beauty now revealed. The girl bound naked on the bed 
surveyed the strange scene without enthusiasm. Cherish knew what awaited her 
mistress. She thought of it with mixed feelings, remembering her own rape 
and her own response. She was still thoroughly ashamed. In a wave of anger 
Willow took the role of wanton. She cupped her breasts while steadfastly 
gazing into the eyes of the man who held her in his power. She played with 
her own nipples. Then her hands went lower to her pubic hair and as she 
searched therein she said, "I hope you're satisfied, here is all of me. I am 
naked, I can give you nothing more. Whatever happens now will be anticlimax, 
even this business of the whip." 

The naked Cherish was left alone upon the bed. She struggled in futile anger 
and frustration as her mistress was led from the room to a fate of which she 
was not quite sure. Cherish believed Willow would be whipped, believed also 
she would be raped. Cherish could not gage the effect of these atrocities 
upon the girl she adored above all else. But she was helpless. After a while 
her struggles faded and she accepted her immobility as an inevitable fact. 
She listened hard but heard no sound. 

As she was led to her martyrdom, the payment of Aiken's price, Willow 
thought of all the other situations she had read about, "Walking the last 
mile," or perhaps "the path to Tyburn Hill." There were others such as "Quo 
Vadis," and then also, "the Traitor's Gate and it's leading to the block and 
the man who held the ax." This was fanciful stuff. Willow felt ashamed. But 
never had a girl more surely gone to the deliverance of her virginity than 
she did now. That it must accompany a prelude of pain was nothing more than 
a tribute to man's egocentric need to dominate and to possess the female 
who's breasts and pubic hair had been designed for his delight. What she 
would endure now was Aiken's reaching out for the ineffable and the 
unattainable, the forbidden! She could have turned and run but it did not 
occur to her to do so. 

It was a room like other rooms, without furniture, completely bare. From its 
ceiling dangled a rope. Willow knew its purpose and allowed her wrists to be 
crossed and tightly bound. She supposed she was paying a price and should 
not consider flight or resistance. When she had walked across the fields to 
deliver herself, she had already made the decision to evoke neither. When 
her tethered wrists rose up before her eyes and then her arms, she stood in 
desolate acceptance of feminine fate. She knew other girls had suffered in 
the past. Bitterly, she understood herself as a tribute to male ego. When 
the whip sliced her flesh the male organ would rise in jubilation, later to 
expend itself within her sheath. She wondered if she would become pregnant 
and bare the child of this man so preoccupied with the whipping of her 
nudity. She closed her eyes. 

"Sure you're not looking forward to this?" Aiken, for once, sounded sincere. 

"Please don't make fun of me. Get on with what you think you have to do." 

The sear and scald of the first stroke changed Willow's life. She had dealt 
with pain only in the abstract and then only in very small inflections upon 
the skin of her beloved. This was agony in earnest. This was the male 
intention to make her scream, to beg, to plead for surcease. Willow clenched 
her teeth, trying hard to give no evidence of her disquiet. She knew she was 
now dealing with a new dimension of something only glimpsed in the past. 
When the second stroke cut her from shoulder to shoulder, she scream in an 
utter loneliness of pain. Willow was shocked in disbelief of an agony beyond 
reckoning. She realized she had overestimated her capacity to bare pain, her 
concern had been overawed by the threatened rape which had driven the 
whipping to secondary importance. But as Brian Aiken's thong sliced her for 
the third time and lapped around her naked waist, she exclaimed brokenly, 
fighting back the screams, "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Aiken, I hadn't dreamed 
it would be like this. I can't bare it, I simply can't bare it. Please 
forgive me." 

Willow could sense his joy. Here was his plan coming into fruition. Here was 
the haughty damsel brought to her knees and made to plead! Cheerfully he 
said, "I will forgive you nothing, Miss Blake, why should I. What you get 
now is no more than a thousand other girls have had from time to time and, 
let me assure you, it is far less than you may expect to receive yourself on 
future occasions. I am being kind." 

"I can't bare it. I'm sorry. Let me loose and we must talk about this." 

"Miss Blake, don't be silly. You're behaving like a child. You're panting 
and your breasts are heaving as though you were confronted with some major 
horror instead of just a whipping. Come, come, don't make me ashamed for 
you." 

Willow's voice became a moan. "I'm ashamed of myself. Don't you understand, 
don't you realize I'm surrendering, I'm telling you you've won your 
victory." 

"In theory, yes, I agree. But you're forgetting that in actual practice 
you've had only three strokes with the whip there are many more to come. I 
won't tell you how many." 

Willow drew a deep breath. She fought back panic. This must be the way a 
criminal felt when freshly sentenced, knowing there would be no escape and 
no reprieve, seeing only the bleakness of the years to come behind bars. 
That she believed this agony unbearable in no way influenced Brian Aiken's 
opposite opinion. She was a girl facing painful punishment without hope of 
mercy. She realized the bitter pain of her bound wrists, she had struggled 
more than she knew. In utter desolation she pleaded, "Please, please punish 
me some other way. Vent your spleen on me in a way I can bare." 

" Ah... Miss Blake, would you prefer that I whip Cherish rather than you? I 
would allow you to watch." 

"No... NO!" Willow was distraught. "Leave Cherish out of this, it's between 
you and me. Go ahead and whip me. I'll probably scream and most certainly 
loose consciousness from the pain, but go ahead if that's what you desire." 

Tugging at tied wrists, Willow looked back over a bare shoulder to watch her 
tormentor measure his distance and once more swing back his arm. Swiftly she 
turned away and closed her eyes. 

"Stop that!" 

The two words impacted within the room like a pistol shot. Brian Aiken 
lowered his arm and turned with a swift, "What the hell!" Willow turned in 
swift hope to behold the irate flushed features of Mildred Ponsonby. 

 CHAPTER THREE - FRAGILE FREEDOM 

The British spinster of indeterminate age was invincible. Miss Ponsonby 
pointed an accusing umbrella direct at Brian Aiken's chest. There can be 
little doubt that, had it been a gun, she would have pulled the trigger. 
Before the steely eyed displeasure of Miss Ponsonby's regard, the Male 
quailed, his arm lowered and the whip hung from nerveless fingers. 

"How the devil did you get in here?" he demanded angrily. 

"I walked in your back door, I had my suspicions. It appears I was not a 
moment too soon. Free that poor girl instantly." 

"That poor girl is none of your business. Stop pointing that umbrella at me. 
You can leave by the same way you came." 

"I will not leave without the two darling girls you have incarcerated. Where 
are they?" 

"I'm here," Willow said with wan thankfulness. "Gee, Miss Ponsonby, am I 
glad to see you." 

Brian Aiken's defeat may be ascribed to several factors. The unquestioned 
integrity of Miss Ponsonby's person, the threat of her still pointing 
umbrella, and the fact the still virile spinster had caught him in the 
wrong. A swift consideration of the facts told Brian he had not a leg 
to-stand on. Sort of imprisoning Miss Ponsonby along with the two younger 
women, there was nothing he could do. 

Lamely he started to say, "Look, the damned girl's enjoying it!" 

"No, I'm not! Don't you believe him. Miss Ponsonby!" Willow affirmed. 
"Please, oh please, let me loose. Let my arms down. I've had enough of 
this." 

"You heard the girl, lei her down," Miss Ponsonby demanded. "You ought to be 
ashamed of yourself, a grown man...!" 

Willow had never been more grateful in her life. When her hands fell to the 
level of her waist and she ran swiftly to the woman with the umbrella and 
held them out for release, she exclaimed brokenly, "None of what he said is 
true. He threatened to whip Cherish terribly if I didn't give myself to him. 
He kidnapped Cherish, she's upstairs tied to a bed." 

Miss Ponsonby eyed the bound maiden hands with disapproval, waving them away 
as through in distaste. "They may as well stay tied for the time being. Miss 
Blake. I'm ashamed of you for getting yourself into an absurd mess like this 
with such a man. I can not believe you had no other recourse." 

"But I didn't! But I didn't!" Poor Willow was distraught. 

"You could have come to me, you little idiot. I could have dealt with the 
matter properly. All a woman needs in such cases is a determination, a 
certainty she is in the right, and a good umbrella! I have all these, you 
had nothing to fear." 

"I'm terribly sorry...." said Willow. She felt like a small child 
reprimanded before the Class. "I'm afraid I never thought of burdening you 
with my problems." 

"Nonsense. I am indebted to you." The umbrella once more served to center on 
the male chest. "Mr. Aiken, I would now be obliged if you would lead us to 
the second woman you have so ill used." 

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to untie my hands?" Willow asked hopefully. 

"No. You can stay as you are, it will teach you a lesson. I'm going home 
with you and I'll teach you a few truths you appear to have overlooked." 

Her heart beating high with thankfulness yet feeling strangely shamed, 
Willow followed her captor and rescuer upstairs to the waiting Cherish. She 
wished Miss Ponsonby had untied her hands and allowed her to dress, but 
supposed a girl could not have everything. 

Events moved swiftly. Brian Aiken had evidently decided to put an end to 
hostilities for the moment and to give in to the beldame's ultimatum. 
Cherish's Joy as she was unbound knew no limits. "Oh, Miss Ponsonby, you've 
come to rescue us. Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" Then, turning to 
her beloved Willow, "Oh, darling, did he... Did he...?" 

"No, he didn't." Willow was able to tell the truth thankfully. "You are a 
disgusting man," Miss Ponsonby affirmed with certainty. "I am well aware of 
what you intended for these two unfortunately maidens. You are a lustful 
male creature who should be turned over to the police. You may be thankful 
for my mercy. Had you succeeded in your foul purpose of copulation, I would 
have hounded you into the ground. Come girls, we will leave this creature to 
his own devices, I will drive you home." 

"I'm afraid I'll walk awful slowly, my feet are ironed," Cherish said 
apologetically. 

"Free Cherish's feet instantly, you rogue." 

"Sorry, lost the key." Brian Aiken had retained some of his usual sardonic 
humor. 

"I'm sure you are lying," said Miss Ponsonby, failing completely to note 
that the leg irons were riveted, not locked, on. "But it does not matter. 
Cherish you can walk as far as the car. I'm sure. Take short steps. Here, I 
will hold your arm." The umbrella once more pointed, "Here you, walk in 
front of us. I don't trust you." 

A strangely sorted quartet made its way to Miss Ponsonby's waiting car. 

* * * 

Mildred Ponsonby was in her element. She took possession of Questings like a 
benevolent invading force. She retained possession of the two naked girls as 
a matter of course, making no effort to untie Willow's hands or unlock 
Cherish's feet. She marshaled her semicaptives into their own living room 
and took an authoritative stand using her umbrella as a pointer. 

"I shall not free either of you at this time. I am by no means certain you 
do not deserve punishment. Willow, turn around and let me see what that 
villain did to your back. Hmmmm... Yes." Miss Ponsonby's tone moderated. 
"I'm sure that must have hurt terribly." 

"If you hadn't come when you did, he would have given me twenty or thirty 
strokes like that." 

"The man is a cad, an absolute bounder. I'm sure he never went to one of the 
good schools, his family was a mere nothing." Miss Ponsonby sniffed. "And I 
take it that at the end of such an ordeal he proposed to inflect upon you 
that disgraceful male function, by which, in happier circumstances, a family 
is achieved." She sniffed again, even more disdainfully than before, "It is 
an impalement I have never sustained and I am only too thankful I have saved 
you from such a fate. 

Cherish was on the verge of blurting out her own loss of maidenhood when she 
caught Willow's eye and thought better of it. It would be as well to kept 
this disaster to herself. It was all too easily misinterpreted. Miss 
Ponsonby had obviously leapt to the conclusion that being bound spread out 
upon the bed and with her feet chained she had still been awaiting such a 
fate instead of being in its aftermath. Cherish joined her gaze with 
Willow's in regard of their rescuer. 

"What am I to do with you!" Miss Ponsonby demanded with relish. 

"You can untie us?" Willow suggested hopefully, motioning with her still 
tied hands. 

"And don't forget my feet are still chained," Cherish pointed out 
reasonably. 

"I am well aware of your condition. You both appear to have forgotten your 
nakedness. I have two bound and naked females on my hands and cannot trust 
them to look after themselves. I am by no means sure a good thrashing, from 
the proper hand of course, might not teach you a lesson. You have been 
outrageously careless in protecting yourselves." 

"I expect we have, Miss Ponsonby," Cherish admitted brightly. "If you would 
like to whip us a bit I'm sure neither Willow or I would mind." 

"Speak for yourself!" Willow said irritably. "For my part I don't wish any 
more of the whip than I've had already. Please, Miss Ponsonby, untie my 
hands and we'll have tea. This whole thing will seem a lot better once we're 
dressed." 

At the word "tea" Miss Ponsonby visibly brightened. To the British spinster, 
tea is a panacea for all ills. With ill grace she tugged at Aiken's knots 
upon Willow's wrists. A moment later the elder girl was free. No one 
bothered with Cherish, it appeared she did not matter. 

When Willow had hastily dressed and prepared the steaming brew, the three of 
them assembled in the lounge with a fresh sense of normalcy. Miss Ponsonby 
accepted her cup and saucer with an air of reverence. 

"You must have deadbolts installed in all doors and electric burglar alarms 
on each window." 

"Yes, Miss Ponsonby." 

"I do approve of keeping young Cherish properly naked and chained. But you 
should never expose her to hazards beyond these walls." 

"No, Miss Ponsonby." 

"Have you a gun, a pistol?" 

"No, Miss Ponsonby." 

"Get one." Miss Ponsonby pursed thin lips. "You don't have to kill him, just 
wing him in the shoulder or in some male portion of his anatomy," Miss 
Ponsonby conceded graciously. "I shall stay with you the remainder of today 
and through tonight." 

"Yes, Miss Ponsonby." 

"Ah, yes, thank you, another cup. You brew an excellent cup of tea, my 
dear." Miss Ponsonby sipped appreciatively. "There is, however, a matter 
which concerns me. You have behaved thoughtlessly and without care. I feel 
some punishment is called for. Some disgrace or discomfort which will mark 
in your mind a memory of this failure and a determination never to repeat. 
Do you agree?" 

From another woman this suggestion would have be outrageous, but from this 
virgin spinster it seemed normal. 

"I can't think of anything but to be whipped," Willow said disconcertedly, 
"and I've had enough of being whipped." 

"I'm sure you have. But there must be something. What would you inflect upon 
Cherish if she had been as remiss as you?" 

Cherish came instantly to the rescue, "She'd take my clothes off, tie my 
hands behind my back, and lock in the dark closet for the night. 

It isn't very nice, but if I've been bad " 

"Sounds a bit juvenile," Miss Ponsonby said. "But I suppose, in the dark, 
and for all night...." Willow kept silent. If she could appease and at the 
same time show her gratitude to this militant female, she would gladly 
endure the discomfort of the closet and bound hands. She shot Cherish a 
swift look of gratitude for diverting their guest from the more sinister 
enjoyments the two of them had often used. She could well imagine the horse 
or the tiny cage as having an appeal to this woman to whom they owed so 
much. 

"Very well then," Miss Ponsonby sounded cheated. "I will be satisfied with 
this modest imposition. As for Cherish, she deserves nothing. Responsibility 
lies entirely with you, Miss Blake, you will bare its cost." Miss Ponsonby 
sighed happily. "And now, if you don't mind, another cup of tea...?" 

For a sixteen year old girl, naked and leg-ironed, it is not easy task to 
act as hostess to a mature and acerbic spinster, but Cherish did her best. 
She maintained a discrete but tearful silence throughout out the ceremony of 
her beloved Willow being placed in punishment. The three of them had stood 
before the closet until Willow had looked from one to the other of them, as 
though seeking advice, but then slowly and with obvious distaste disrobed in 
front of Miss Ponsonby's eagle eye until she was stark naked. Willow 
shrugged, she turned her back to the waiting woman, she crossed her wrists 
and stood quietly while strong fingers bound the cord tight about them in 
implacable certainty of there being no release. Miss Ponsonby had then 
kissed Willow gently upon the forehead, patted her bottom and gently 
propelled her through the open door. She then closed the wooden panel and 
locked it with a firm, loud click and pocketed the key, eyeing Cherish 
disapprovingly as though daring her to interfere. 

The woman and the girl had gone away, leaving the condemned maiden to stand 
or dispose herself in the darkness as she pleased. One thing was certain, 
Willow would have plenty of time in which to contemplate her alleged 
deficiencies. 

Cherish dried her eyes with inadequate fingers and clicked her shackled way 
with Miss Ponsonby's firm grip upon her arm. Once more in the living room, 
Cherish asked, uncertainly, "Is there anything you'd like to do to me, Miss 
Ponsonby?" 

"You are thinking of punishment, dear child?" 

"Well... Yes, I suppose I was." 

"You are feeling sorry for your mistress and wish to shared her shame?" 

"Yes, I suppose that's it." 

"I find you without guilt. You will suffer no punishment." Miss Ponsonby's 
voice had become more kind, her tone more gentle. "You are feeling sorry for 
your mistress, I can tell, I can understand your wish to share whatever she 
must suffer." 

"Yes, I suppose I'm just a silly girl." Cherish gazed up appealingly. "But 
I'm wondering what you and I can do for the rest of the day. 

Would you like me to whip you?" 

"That is an outrageous suggestion." 

"Well, I only thought... I mean, I'm remembering that other time." 

"Thank you, but I prefer a girl considerably older. You are far too young," 
Miss Ponsonby acknowledged stiffly. 

"Well then, would you like to whip me... ? I mean, everybody seems to be 
whipping everybody or something. I only seems fair that I have something, 
too." 

"You are a dear, sweet child. I will consider your suggestion, but at this 
moment, no." 

"Well... I just I thought I should have something...?" 

"You may service me at bedtime." said Miss Ponsonby with the air of 
suggesting the vacuuming of a rug. "I am sure you are highly trained." 

They stared. Miss Ponsonby drinking in the youthful loveliness so totally in 
her power, and Cherish thinking sadly of her mistress bound and naked in the 
dark. She knew Willow would discover the night stretching endless... 

"What I would enjoy now is a tour of the premises," Miss Ponsonby said with 
decision. "I will examine those areas requiring reinforcement and you can 
show me any little punishment places possibly overlooked on my previous 
visit. But at this moment get me a pair of handcuffs. I like you in 
handcuffs." 

Cherish obeyed. She was a trifle disturbed about the tour but there was 
nothing she could do about it. She brought the handcuffs and asked, 
submissively, "Shall I hold my hands out or turn around and put them behind 
my back?" 

"These are entirely for effect, dear. You may hold your hands out and I will 
clasp them on your wrists. You look absolutely charming when you're 
handcuffed. The French have a- word for it, it is 'douce' and that is the 
way you look when thus constrained." Miss Ponsonby clicked the handcuffs 
snug around each maiden wrist and stood back to admire the effect. 
"Excellent, excellent, you are an absolute darling and never more so 
beautiful as when ironed as you are now. Come along now." 

Miss Ponsonby methodically made notes on locks and doors and windows. She 
was evidently determined no male should encroach upon this feminine heaven. 
Her interest then centered upon a room upon which she had previously been 
excluded. Cherish clinked doubtfully into the punishment room in a dutiful 
attendance. Miss Ponsonby sighed with pleasure. "I am unfamiliar with these 
things but I suspect this contraption is your simulation of the famous 
'horse'?" 

Cherish admitted it was indeed exactly that. Miss Ponsonby fingered, almost 
lovingly, the narrow surface designed for the punishment of a female crotch. 
"I'm am sure this is most painful to sit on." 

Once more Cherish agreed, adding her hope that she would not be required to 
demonstrate. Miss Ponsonby turned her attention to the little cage which 
always seemed to Cherish to be inviting an occupant. It did so now. 

"And this is for you too, dear girl?" 

"Yes. It isn't much fun sitting inside there either." 

"How absolutely darling!" Miss Ponsonby had almost become a girl again in 
her enthusiasm. "I do envy the two of you possessing all of these 
enjoyments. Darling, would you mind terribly spending a little while in this 
delightful cage for me?" 

Cherish looked down at her chained hands and feet and knew it stupid to 
refuse. She was still grateful to this astounding spinster for deliverance 
from Brian Aiken and was happy to lend herself to her visitor's pleasure. 
She would have preferred a light whipping to any of the instruments in this 
room. It would have hurt less and been over more quickly and possessed less 
possibilities of prolonged inflection. But with good will she clicked her 
way to the waiting cage and showed her temporary mistress the mechanism by 
which she could be safely imprisoned therein. Strong female hands helping, 
Cherish was neatly inserted behind the bars and the door closed and locked 
securely. Miss Ponsonby now had a second key in her purse and two firmly 
imprisoned young females. 

Cherish clutched the bars with her ironed hands and shifted for what comfort 
the cage allowed. She peer up and pleaded sweetly, "Please don't keep me in 
here too long." 

"You will stay there as long as I please, young woman," Miss Ponsonby said 
with only a mock severity. "What I am curious about now is the quality of 
this thing called the horse. It is truly that bad?" 

"It's awful." 

Mildred Ponsonby was a remarkable woman. With only a moment of hesitation 
she swiftly divested herself of the garments which might shield her loins 
and approached the structure designed for the punishment of the female sex. 
Cherish watched in amazed admiration as Miss Ponsonby, with the aid of a 
box, mounted the waiting frame, throwing her leg astride, then easing her 
weight down, then kicking aside the box. Miss Ponsonby gasped in 
acknowledgment of pain. 

"I see your point, my dear. This thing has great possibilities. My hands are 
free and I am thus adjusting and easing the suffering. But with a girl's 
hands tied behind her back, well... I'm certain the thing had infinite 
possibilities. I will speak to your mistress when she regains a state of 
grace." 

Virgin eyes sought the captive in the cage and asked kindly, "Or would you 
care to demonstrate it for me, my dear? I'd be most grateful. " 

"I'd rather not, Miss Ponsonby, if you don't mind." 

"Very well. I will not impose. You are a child and not subject to the 
punishments due a mature girl or a woman like myself. I will get a chair and 
read a while here while watching your responses to your confinement." 

"I'm not very interesting, Miss Ponsonby. I can't move enough to give you 
very much of a show." 

"I'm receptive to every nuance, my dear, every sigh, every motion of the 
head, every clinking of those handcuffs on your wrist. I'm sure you'll do 
your best for me." 

The darling child watched as her captor departed to obtain a chair. Cherish 
supposed things could be worse. 

To Willow Blake her punishment and present condition seemed absurd. She had 
felt only embarrassment and a touch of shame as she had stripped and allowed 
herself to be tied and locked into this darkness. With the closing of the 
door she stood uncertainly and drew slight comfort from the narrow band of 
faint light beneath the bottom of the door. She suspected that glimmer from 
the outside world might save a girl from hysterics. It was the only comfort 
the small prison offered. She knew the closet well and had not reason to 
explore. Having stood long enough, she lowered herself to sit and rest her 
bound arms against the wall. It was a sad captive condition but as much 
comfort as she could contrive. Her mind was chaotic with the congestion of 
events and, without even trying to free her bound wrists or test the 
solidity of the door, she contented herself with considering her overall 
condition in the fresh light of Miss Ponsonby's intrusion of her world and 
Brian Aiken's avowed intention of making her prisoner. For a quiet English 
countryside it was all too bizarre. 

The bound and naked girl now took a perverse pleasure in nibbing her weals 
against the wall or fingering them as best she could with bound hands. A man 
had placed them on her skin, a man who had, briefly, owned her totally with 
the avowed intention of rape as the grand finale of a terrible punishment. 
She was curious about this punishment. True, it had been cut short but this 
had left her inconsistently unsatisfied. She had in no way wanted the 
punishment but now felt a compulsive curiosity as to how she would have 
stood up to it. Girls had been whipped and survived, she supposed she would 
have been one more on an endless list. Yet, while it was happening to her, 
she had believed it could lead only to some disaster that could only end 
with her death or some permanent injury, or be reduced to a groveling idiot. 
That she underrated herself in these matter did not matter, she could only 
feel as she had while it was happening to her. 

Willow supposed she would follow Miss Ponsonby's advice and turn Questings 
into as much a fortress as money could buy. She was sure Brain Aiken would 
not take his defeat laying down. He would return to battle. Thought of him 
roving the parameter of her home sent a strange thrill, not merely of 
apprehension, through her being. Brian Aiken was the predator and she the 
prey. It was a strange and heart- fluttering thought. 

She was still a virgin. But the darling girl who was her slave was no longer 
intact, Cherish had been pierced, impaled, violated. But, strangely, had 
survived the ordeal with her usual cheerfulness. But rape can not be 
repaired. Forever now there would be between she and the younger girl the 
knowledge of Cherish's enlarged knowledge of The Male. Willow decided to ask 
no questions, they would label her as naive. She would allow Cherish to 
speak of her piercing as she wished and if she did not wish, then so what! 
But nothing was going to be quite the same. Brian Aiken had reduced both 
Cherish and herself to a common level, he had made them both captive, and 
each one of them would have served him equally. The difference in their ages 
mattered to him not at all, they were both girls and delightfully naked 
beneath his hands. Willow wondered unhappily if her authority over Cherish 
was now diminished. Cherish had seen her naked and bound and marked by a 
whip, it was hard to believe they could reestablish their previous 
relationship precisely as it had been. 

Willow sighed and amused herself for a few minutes by testing Miss 
Ponsonby's skill with cord. She was not surprised to find herself completely 
helpless, the knots were firm and the strictures deep within her wrists so 
she could only hurt herself by struggling. She reviewed within her mind a 
question she could no longer ignore. How did she truly feel about men? Did 
she hunger for a man? Did she have the need of a man's phallus piercing her 
sex? These were questions she had long been aware of but consistently 
ignored, her present condition thrust them hard at her now. 

Willow was well aware that Cherish in these same circumstances, even though 
tearful, would enjoy an erotic arousal. Her pussy would be wet and her eyes 
vividly alive. Willow wondered about herself but with hands bound tight 
behind her back she could not test other than to ask herself honestly how 
she did feel about Miss Ponsonby's hands upon her flesh and this 
imprisonment to which she had given in only to be polite or to show a 
gratitude for rescue. She could concede sensuality and a touch of amusement. 
No doubt the imprisonment would eventually become a bore unless she could 
sleep it away, but this she doubted. Willow knew that had she been 
vouchsafed hands she would play with herself to help pass the time, but she 
was totally robbed of all possibilities of friction. She contented herself 
with the understanding that under Miss Ponsonby's firm hand the punishment 
was definitely bearable. But had it been imposed upon her by Brian Aiken she 
would have hated every moment and would probably have been struggling 
furiously, although uselessly, to shed her bonds. 

Despite her seniority over Cherish, Willow was willing to concede a degree 
of naivete in things sexual. She had contrived with her adored child to 
create a halcyon paradise purely female, never experimenting beyond the 
boundaries of Questings or the village. Brian Aiken had been every bit as 
much a shock to her as he had been to the younger girl. Grudgingly Willow 
conceded envy for Cherish's rape. At least Cherish now knew what it was like 
and could adjust her thoughts and mind and life accordingly. If only Brian 
Aiken had had the sense to rape her first and whip her later, it might have 
happen! 

Willow now allowed her thoughts to toy with an amusing fantasy. Miss 
Ponsonby owned her now and had her safely captive in a dark closet with 
bound hands and a total absence of covering. She had Cherish even more 
securely in her power. The darling child's feet were firmly ironed and 
goodness knows what the two of them were getting up to while she sat alone 
in the dark! Willow could not stop herself from considering the possibility 
that this condition might lengthen. There females! If two had been good, why 
then should three not be better! Mildred Ponsonby could very easily keep her 
captive. There was no compulsion to release her when this punishment was 
done. Cherish was captive anyway and all Mildred needed to do was to inform 
her of an intend and make it real with handcuffs and leg irons and whatever 
else she chose. Mildred Ponsonby might well be ridiculous from many points 
of view but, without her clothes, she was distinctly female and exerted upon 
others of her sex the auras with which the female bombards the female. Just 
suppose... ! 

It was at this "just suppose.." point in her musings that Miss Willow Blake 
became vividly aware of being bound naked in a dark closet. It was as though 
previously she had been intoxicated by a euphoria of femininity. Now, in one 
more futile revolt against bonds, she fought and struggled and twisted, but 
to no avail. She considered crying out and asking for release but this would 
lower her in Cherish's estimation. She saw little choice but to sit out her 
punishment in the dark. Resignedly she lay over on her side, arranged her 
hands and arms as best she could, and went to sleep. 

* * * 

It was with relief the two girls watched Miss Mildred Ponsonby's car vanish 
down the drive way. Cherish summed it up, "I suppose we have to be terribly 
grateful to her but she really is a silly old trout and she kept me in that 
rotten little cage ever so long and she kept you in that cupboard far longer 
than she needed to this morning. I got up early and wanted to let you loose 
but she wouldn't let me. She suggested to me that you needed a lesson." 
Cherish sniffed indignantly. "She and her old lessons, according to her 
everybody needs to be taught a lesson. I wish she would teach that Aiken 
chap a couple." She giggled, "I bet if Brian Aiken had her along, he'd teach 
her a thing or two." 

Willow closed and locked the door. They would never know real security again 
but could only do their best. She led her darling child to the lounge and 
relapsed happily into the softness of the sofa. Cherish knelt submissively 
at her side, she was still handcuffed and still leg-ironed, it seemed most 
natural. Neither girl thought of release for her. After a long period of 
wonderful but silent communion. Willow laughed, "I've got a terrible 
feeling, darling, either you or I ought to be punished. I'm not sure which 
or even if it should be both of us. I can't get rid of the feeling of being 
a naughty girl." 

"Don't be silly, mistress," Cherish chided. "It wasn't anybody's fault 
except that so and so of a man, he did it to us both. You don't have to pay 
attention to Miss Ponsonby." 

"Yes, I do. Part of what she said was true, I should never have exposed your 
out there tied to that tree. It was asking for trouble." Willow paused for 
thought and then burst out, "Darling, I've never asked this of you before, 
but I ask it now. Please whip me." 

"No I won't do such a thing, you're being silly. Besides, whipping a girl 
hurts terribly, you wouldn't like it." 

"But, Cherish, darling, I'm not suppose to like it, isn't that the purpose 
of being whipped?" 

"Well... I suppose so. The way you whip me is absolutely darling and I adore 
every stroke, but I'm different, I'm a slavegirl. I have to be punished 
regularly. You know that as well as I do." 

Willow was silent in puzzlement. She could not understand this need she felt 
for corporal punishment. It had been the last thing she wanted yesterday, 
but today... ? Sensibly she realized what she truly wanted was Cherish and 
not the whip. The whip would simply be held by Cherish. But she sensed the 
with another woman holding the whip, the punishment might be more erotic. 
She was simply being selfish and deserved to be whip... There it was again, 
she always came back to it. Getting herself whipped by a female hand might 
prove more difficult that she anticipated. Cherish would not do it and even 
if Miss Ponsonby agreed it would spoil something between the two of them. It 
was Miss Ponsonby who was suppose to ask for her favorite term of "being 
thrashed." It was all very difficult. 

"Would you sit me on the horse for an hour or two, Cherish?" she queried 
hopefully. 

"No I won't. You're indulging some sort of masochistic feeling. Willow, I 
don't know what's got into you." 

"Neither do I, darling. I feel I have to be punished. I do wish you'd do it 
and get it over with so we can get back to normal." 

"Slavegirls do not whip their mistresses," Cherish pronounced severely. "If 
they did that then you'd have to punish me in return and there'd be no end 
to it. Don't be a silly mistress. Why don't you punish me, you'd feel 
better." 

Willow realized it was only exasperation with herself that led to her taking 
Cherish to the punishment room and seating her upon the horse. The younger 
girl made no protest, realizing her mistresses need for some form of 
physical expression. Cherish stood docile to be locked from handcuffs, then 
put her arms behind her back for her wrists to be once more joined. Then 
came the problem of the riveted leg irons of Brian Aiken, she could not put 
her legs straight down the sides of the horse. But Willow solved that 
problem by simply cutting off the leg irons. It took a while and a great 
deal of work with a hacksaw, but the iron bands were removed from Cherish's 
slim ankles. 

Willow was then helped astride the horse, each foot standing on a box placed 
on either side of the horse. Willow secured the ankles in leather cuffs, 
each of which had a rope attached. Cherish swallowed hard, fighting not to 
plead even as she felt the wooden triangle of the horse pressing lightly 
against her sex. When the boxes were taken away and the ropes pulled tight 
so that her legs were pulled away from the sides of the horse, there would 
be no way the naked girl could take her weight on anything except her 
tender, sensitive private parts. It would hurt terribly. While her hands 
were being checked behind her back and realizing her mistress' disturbed 
emotions, Cherish anxiously pleaded, "Dear, please promise you won't leave 
me here more than a hour. Maybe two?" 

"You'll stay there as long as I decide," Willow said with as much severity 
as she could muster. Quickly she kicked aside the boxes and drew upon the 
tethering ropes to spread wide the helpless feet of her darling girl and to 
embed deep within Cherish's cunt the cruel edge from which she would suffer 
the pain and punishment for which the horse was famous. Cherish gasped and 
emitted a tiny moan but then kept silent, her eyes steadfastly fixed upon 
the ground to suffer as her mistress might decree. Without a backward glance 
the mistress strode angrily from the room and the pathetic scene. 

But in the passage beyond conscious smote her heart and, with a cry of pure 
anguish, she turned and fled back to the straddled girl who's crotch bore a 
terrible punishment. Feverishly Willow's hands flew to their task and a 
minute later she eases her darling from her perch and gentle massaged the 
punished pussy with a loving hand. The two girls clung and kissed and clung 
again. Cherish understood and knew her mistress was aware. Slowly they sank 
to the floor and it was the mistress who now paid tribute to her slavegirl's 
engorged and swollen sex. The room soon filled with moans, but they were the 
moans of ecstasy. 

Much later, back in the lounge, the slavegirl seated her mistress upon the 
couch and, still totally free of bonds, fled to the bar and mixed two 
drinks, offering one to her mistress and shyly sipping the other as she 
knelt in proper humility at her mistress' feet. 

"Brian Aiken taught me about these," she explained. "They're nice, aren't 
they." 

It could never be the same. Willow defiantly reassured the fact in the 
silence of her thoughts. Brian Aiken has set his mark upon them both. She 
had always separated Cherish from alcohol, but the here the girl was 
enjoying a cocktail with obvious zest. She could punish Cherish but that 
would not be fair. Stubbornly, and reverting to a previous theme, she 
demanded, "Cherish, darling, I still want you to whip me." 

Cherish did not answer. She went away and returned with leg irons and 
handcuffs, giving them to the girl upon the couch as she demanded, "Put them 
on me. We'll both feel better if I'm chained." 

Willow obeyed, she snapped the leg irons firmly on the trim young ankles but 
set the handcuffs aside. "You'll need your hands," she said with decision. 
"I won't handcuff you until after you've whipped me, that will be time 
enough. Now let's enjoy these drinks." 

Of the two girls, Cherish was least affected by their contact with the Male. 
In theory she had lost the most but neither felt or showed awareness of the 
fact. Sitting at Willow's feet she was the same Cherish she had always been. 
Shrewdly she recognized her darling Willow's deeper involvement. Cherish 
supposed the three cruel cuts of the whip across the virgin back had 
affected Willow more drastically than supposed, but there was also the 
difference in age. Perhaps when a girl got over twenty her feelings towards 
the male were different from those Cherish managed to pass off with a laugh, 
and it was understandable Willow would feel a responsibility about the whole 
affair which Cherish did not share. In this matter of whipping her mistress. 
Cherish had already refused once and was now confronted for the second time. 
No doubt Willow saw the punishment as a cleansing her of the male contact, 
taking her back to normalcy in the same way the irons upon Cherish's ankles 
did for her. Cherish looked down upon her chained feet and drew from them a 
strange comfort. 

The whipping of Miss Willow Blake by her slavegirl was something they would 
both long remember. It broke a pattern, opening up fresh vistas of their 
relationship. Although both hated the admission, they could not deny it had 
come about from association with the male. Had it not been for Brian Aiken, 
neither girl would have dreamed of such an act. 

Cherish went about her task with ritual solemnness, doing everything as 
slowly as possible with the hope of Willow's changing her mind. Willow, 
herself, had become inert, simply allowing herself to be led and pushed and 
postured as her darling desired. She even allowed Cherish to remove her 
clothes in preparation for the whipping of her flesh. There was no need for 
Cherish to perform this service but it seemed in some way proper. When she 
was naked, Cherish led her to where her arms could be raised well apart and 
her wrists strapped tight in the age old posture of the whipping of the 
girl. 

"You're not going to like this, darling," Cherish said soberly. "Are you 
sure you wouldn't like me to undo those buckles? I will if you ask." 

"Whip me." 

Cherish was awed, sensing the unexpected. Willow's eyelids lowered and she 
had obviously entered some sensory realm divorced from the world, but 
Cherish exclaimed, "But darling, you're trembling and you're panting...." 
Cherish's voiced was anxious. 

The voice of the mistress was calm, even containing a hint of amusement, "So 
would you be darling if you were on the verge of being whipped." 

It was on the tongue of the slave to tell her mistress that she could not 
possibly whip her hard or be too cruel. But Cherish kept silent. Willow was 
fighting some battle of her own and perhaps, to her, this business of being 
whipped upon her bare skin by her own slavegirl must hold some purpose. 
Cherish said no more but, reluctantly, made her choice and selected the 
lightest of the wicked thongs available, it was one by which her own flesh 
had been marked often and she knew its limits. She struck the first blow 
squarely across her mistress' naked back. 

Willow did not move, she did not speak, she gasped in a small moan, hands 
clenching tight against the straps, but that was all. She stood a naked, 
helpless figure of exquisite loveliness ready to be marked again. Cherish 
looked at the thin, slowly forming line of white and pink and red responding 
to her slash. Below it were the marks of Brian Aiken's whip still heavily 
distinct upon the otherwise unblemished skin. 

"Darling, didn't that hurt?" Cherish asked in dismay. 

"Don't talk. Whip me." 

It was as though Willow was in the grip of a strange trance, her voice a 
monotone without expression. 

Cherish discarded the challenge to strike harder. It would be too obvious an 
effort to break a will. Instead she carefully governed the swift swing of 
her bare arm to plant the second stroke an inch below the first and with 
exactly the same force. Once more the same almost imperceptible tensing, the 
gasp and then the slow coloration of the wound. From somewhere Willow was 
finding a fortitude Cherish found hard to believe. True, the slavegirl was 
not striking her mistress with great force, but now, under a suddenly vivid 
curiosity. Cherish did something unforgivable, she drew back her arm as far 
as possible and cut with one swift and terrible stroke a grove across the 
naked back of her beloved. 

The results was shocking. Willow tensed in pure shock. The wound sprang into 
instant vivid live, causing the flesh to swell in a ridge of flame. The 
helpless nudity now soundlessly struggled in a paroxysm of agony as it had 
not done before. The straps around the slender wrists creaked in protest as 
Willow fought the pain, but Willow made not sound nor spoke a word. 
Overwhelmed by the enormity of her act, Cherish flung aside the whip and 
clasped her mistress in an embrace of anguish, clamping her lips upon the 
dry, parched mouth of the whipped girl and thrust her breasts hard against 
the familiar breasts of she who had no hands. Cherish was sobbing, "Forgive 
me, oh darling, forgive me! I don't know why I did that, I just don't know." 

There were no more words, only a fervent kissing and the clasp of two young 
arms and eager youthful upon the flesh of the whipped girl. Slowly the lips 
of Cherish sank down to the softness of Willow's throat and then below to 
the pink rosebuds of the breasts, then on and on until Cherish knelt before 
the legs which opened to receive her. The young mouth sought its familiar 
feeding place with a fresh eagerness and a hunger of repentance. The room, 
for a long while, contained nothing the but scene of the girls, one strapped 
helplessly, the other embracing the captive legs and thrusting her face hard 
within the pubic patch of the girl she called her mistress. When it was over 
Cherish continued to hold the pose and to nestle her head within the hot, 
wet thighs. It was a long while before the reluctantly rose and once more 
kissed the waiting mouth. By this time both girls had returned to something 
approaching normalcy. 

"You haven't told me to unstrap you darling?" Cherish pointed out, puzzled. 

"Of course, not. You haven't finished whipping me." 

"Yes, I have!" Cherish was vehement. "I ought to be whipped myself for ever 
allowing that silly impulse to run away with me. I'm not going to whip you 
any more and that's flat." 

"You liked it, didn't you? I bet you're as wet as I am." 

"Yes I did and I'm ashamed of myself. Oh, Willow!" 

"You've made amends, I've never been more wonderfully nibbled." 

"I hope this whipping business got the whole idea out of your system, 
mistress." 

"Well... sort of. How badly did that marvelous stroke mark me?" Cherish 
looked and gasped, "Oh, mistress, its glorious but its almost frightening. 
It's going to be ages before it heals and goes away." 

"Because it's from you. Cherish, it can stay there forever for all I care. 
Don't you ever feel guilty, I asked for it." 

Their emotional storms appeased. Cherish returned to her normal exuberance. 
She pinched each of Willow's nipples with mischievous tenderness and 
suggested slyly, "Why don't I leave you like this? There's no reason for me 
to undo those straps." 

She considered for a moment before adding, "Darling, I've got you, haven't 
I! I could keep you forever. I could reverse our roles?" 

"You could, you little bundle of mischief, but you won't. You'll see." 
Cherish pouted. "You underrate me, darling. Are you sure I wouldn't make a 
lovely mistress? I promise I'll only whip you once a week. But I'll have to 
keep you properly chained, how it be if I go and get the key for these leg 
irons you've got on me and put them on you? I can then easily handcuff your 
hands when I free your wrists from the straps." The slavegirl's voice was 
persuasive. 

"Go ahead, I don't mind. Treat me as a Barbie doll you can do anything with 
you like." Willow's voice had regained its vibrancy, the ordeal of pain had 
done its work, her laugh had become a joyous, "Go ahead, you little imp. 
I'll bet you'll make a rotten mistress." Cherish stuck out her tongue but 
was as good as her word. She clanked and clinked her way from the room but 
soon returned, her feet completely free, the shining leg irons dangling from 
one hand. With an air of tremendous superiority she clicked shut the metal 
circlets around her mistress' ankles, the shining chrome still warm from her 
own flesh. 

Willow looked down and thrust one foot forward to admire its bond. "Do you 
realize, darling. I've never been chained or constrained in any way, it's 
always been me doing it to you." 

"Well, now you can look forward to a real bad time." Cherish grimaced and 
teased captive nipples. "I'll never whip you again, I hate whipping you. But 
you are going to be the most chained up girl that ever was. I promise." 

"Enjoy your freedom, dear. It won't last. Gosh, it's strange to see you 
waltzing around without a single rope or chain or anything." Willow giggled 
as at some private thought. "But never mind, I bet I'll have you safely in 
irons before we go to bed." 

They were suddenly immensely happy, Brian Aiken forgotten, totally engrossed 
in their new and delicious game. 

"Well, now you've got me, what are you going to do with me?" Willow taunted 
teasingly. 

Cherish considered. She was suddenly aware of a tremendous weight of 
responsibility upon her shoulders. "I think I ought to dress," she said 
suddenly, "mistresses don't go around naked, do they. I ought to wear 
something." 

She got no help from Willow. The newly captive girl smiled a sly female 
smile and suggested, "You'll hate wearing clothes, darling, you're a slave." 

Cherish dressed, but then discovered the truth of Willow's statement. The 
garments felt burdensome, she could not imagine playing games while so 
encumbered. She took them off and returned them to their resting place, well 
aware she would have to bare the jibs and taunts of her new captive. 
Momentarily she considered gagging Willow but that would rob their roles of 
half the fun. Speech was essential to their relationship. Forthrightly she 
returned to the fray. 

The collar was exquisite on the slender neck. Cherish saw it as a work of 
art. It was her first true infliction on the girl she now possessed, 
something they had long owned and used only on herself. She clasped it snug 
and snapped the lock around Willow's throat with immense relish. From it a 
sliver chain looped down upon the rug. The slavegirl would not admit to an 
accelerated pulse as she unstrapped the captive wrists, it would now be so 
easy for Willow to fight. It was quite possible that, even with ironed feet, 
she could get the best of her former slave. But she had no need of fear. 
Once again Willow became extraordinarily meek and passive under the young 
hands. It was as if she had gone into the same trance under which she had 
found protection while being whipped. She laughed, "You're scared I'm going 
to fight, aren't you darling? Well, don't worry, we might as well see this 
thing through since we've started it." 

With a greater decision than she felt, Cherish possessed herself of the bare 
and captive arms hanging so limply and passive and clasped the metal cuffs 
around the willing wrists. Willow was not helpless indeed, far more so than 
was her want than with Cherish. Willow stuck out a mocking tongue, "You're 
scared of me, aren't you, puss? You're afraid I'll get the best of you. Well 
you don't have to be scared now, you've really got the best of me. I'm 
helpless. But remember, darling, from now on every chance I get to escape, 
I'll take it." 

The chained tether felt good in Cherish's small hand. She tugged it joyfully 
as if in the reigning of a horse. Willow followed without demure, a small, 
quiet smile upon her lips, her feet unaccustomed to the joining links, 
making short and careful hobbled steps to go where she was led. Their 
destination was the lounge, there Willow was told to knell where Cherish 
usually knelt, before the seat occupied by the mistress. 

"I'd mix drinks, darling, but I know you disapprove and I won't take unfair 
advantage," Cherish assured her prisoner. "But I think it would be nice to 
have something to sip while I admire you there on the rug so I think I'll go 
and make coffee. Be sure to stay right there on the rug. If you move I'll 
have to punish you." She disappeared gaily towards the kitchen. 

Cherish had no sooner departed than Willow did the obvious, she swiftly got 
to her feet and clinked her way to where she could back against a draw and, 
fumbling therein, retrieve the keys she had so prudently cached. Within two 
minutes she was free. She sat the leg irons and the handcuffs back in the 
draw along with the hidden keys then tripped lightly to her familiar seat to 
await Cherish's return and the coffee she would bring. Willow was enjoying 
the escapade hugely. 

When Cherish returned with the cups and handed her mistress the steaming 
cup, taking the other for herself and knelling in her accustomed place and 
pose, it was not until the brew was half way to her lips that she realized 
something amiss. It was a tribute to her enslavement that it had taken that 
long to permeate her conscious. The cup stopped half way and she exclaimed 
stupidly, "You're free!" 

"Of course, darling, what else would you expect, I'm a mistress." Willow's 
voice was honeyed and sweet. 

"But I had you all chained up...." 

"You did, didn't you. But you forgot I'm a mistress and a mistress has more 
than one set of keys. Let this be a lesson to you." 

The kneeling slavegirl gulped coffee as if in need of a stimulant. Her 
thoughts were racing but she must never let Willow see the relief she was 
feeling at this moment. Throughout her time in the kitchen she had been 
wondering what to do with so much beautiful nakedness totally dependent upon 
her as Willow had seemed to be. Willow never seemed worried or concerned 
about what to do with a chained Cherish. But with the roles reversed, 
Cherish found herself hard put to decide what to do with such a great 
quantity of girl. Defensively she accused, "That's not a bit fair. I think 
you cheated." 

"I gave you warning, darling." 

"Yes, but who ever would have thought...." Cherish gulped more coffee and 
cocked an inquiring eyebrow, "Will you whip me now?" 

"Of course, darling. I'm sure you'll agree your insubordination has earned 
at least a good whipping." 

Cherish's whole being flooded with relief and gratitude. Here was her 
mistress back, the old and familiar and all too beautiful one. But she must 
not be to quick to give up without at least a token resistance. "You're 
forgetting, Willow, I'm a free girl, I'll run away." 

"Go ahead, darling. I'll still be here when you come back." 

"Oh, all right. So you know I'll not run away. And you're quite right, I 
won't. But I feel cheated. It was such fun owning you." 

"You silly child, you would soon have been bored stiff with me. You would 
not have known what to do with yourself or what to do to keep me in 
subjection. Make yourself useful, go to the draw over there and get your leg 
irons. Leave the keys alone." 

Cherish obeyed. Her feet once more secured leg-ironed and feeling back to 
normal, she asked, "Why not the handcuffs?" 

"You forget, darling, you have to be whipped. I shall fasten you the same 
way you fastened me. It's much the nicest way to fix a girl to be whipped, 
you know." 

The old, familiar excitation repossessed them both as Cherish was led to her 
punishment. She made no more demur than Willow. With arms stretched high and 
wrists safely strapped, Cherished exclaimed, "Go ahead, whip me, beat me, 
make me cry." She sniffed pointedly and added, "I still think I've been 
cheated." 

This whipping of Cherish was within their Code. Willow had not started with 
the intent of severity, but when, after the third stroke, Cherish muttered, 
"I'm not a baby, I don't have to be treated like one," Willow found herself 
under the same compulsion to excess as had Cherish. Without conscious 
decision to do so, her whip swung in a full circle to cut cruelly across the 
teenage back the most terrible whip mark Cherish had ever suffered. Willow 
stood aghast at what she had done, hardly believing her eyes as they beheld 
the cruel and beautiful wound deepening its brand across her darling's back. 
Anguished in guilt, she dropped the whip and clasp her arms around the 
strung up girl to press her naked flesh against the swelling wound and then 
to stoop and kiss it gently. Circling the weeping Cherish she felt between 
her captive's legs and discovered what she sought. As though driven by an 
urgent need, she freed her slave from the straps, handcuffed the young 
wrists in front, and used them as a leash to drag the tear-stained slavegirl 
to their bed. Taking turns, they frictioned their wounded backs against 
covers far into the night. Man was forgotten, Brian Aiken faded into the 
mists of unconcern. The two girls had never been more happy. 

"I have kept an eye on him, he's up to no good." 

Miss Ponsonby sipped gently before replacing her cup. "I don't know whether 
you realize it or not, but he's watching this place. Brian Aiken sees 
Questing as his prey and you along with it. I'm thankful for the extra locks 
and the wiring of the windows. Take no chances." Cherish's mastery of her 
leg irons was never better demonstrated than when serving tea, it was so 
now. Having served her mistress and their guest, she helped herself to a cup 
and knelt in obedience to their will. Miss Ponsonby eyed her with approval. 

The news was disquieting. Willow accepted it and was grateful for the 
spinster's concern. "You don't mean he actually comes and tries to get into 
this house?" she asked anxiously. "We've never seen or heard of him since 
that awful day. Cherish and I are trying to forget him." 

"You must never make that mistake, my dear." Miss Ponsonby's declaration 
held an air of female triumph. "Remember he is a man and men are capable of 
anything, especially him. Should he approach close enough to be seen from 
the windows, you should call the police." 

"But he couldn't possibly kidnap us again...?" 

"Indeed he could!" Miss Ponsonby affirmed with conviction. "You are only 
little more than a girl and you keep Cherish properly chained, which indeed 
you should considering her status. Once inside this house that horrible man 
could get the best of both of you with ease. Believe me I do know men!" 

It was in Willow's mind to inquire where Miss Ponsonby had acquired this 
knowledge of the opposite sex but she thought it wiser to keep quiet. 
Instead she said, "Very well then. We'll keep our eye open. I don't 
understand why the man doesn't take a trip to the city to vent his lust upon 
the numerous women there, many of whom would be glad for his attention in 
exchange for a small sum of money." 

"Men are ridiculous, my dear. They get fixations upon us females and can't 
rid their minds of it until they have performed the carnal act which I'm 
sure they see as conquest, but which, in reality, is nothing more than 
relief of their glands." 

"I expect you're right," Willow said as she poured Miss Ponsonby's second 
cup of tea. "I've never been with a man so I don't know much about it." She 
laughed awkwardly. "I came very close to it that day you rescued us. I'll be 
forever grateful." 

Miss Ponsonby accepted her cup. But she was in full cry and in excellent 
form. "Men are beasts, my dear. It is a mistake to regard them otherwise. It 
is humiliating for us girls to realize our presence on this planet was make 
possible only by their cooperation, or should I say their carnal lust. I 
fear nature has erred somewhat in this situation. Men should be castrated at 
birth." 

Cherish longed to giggle but felt it not the time. She had an absurd vision 
of Brian Aiken clutching the place where his genitals had been before 
severance. He looked both shocked and somewhat pained before her vision 
faded. Coyly she said, "I read somewhere that all a girl has to do is kick 
him in those things, you know the ones I mean." 

"What's all very well," said Miss Ponsonby stiffly, "but how are you going 
to get him to stand still while you perform this act? No, the solution to 
this problem is to have nothing to do with them and, if they pester you, 
call the police." 

Willow had come to like the woman. Mildred Ponsonby was one of those many 
spinsters the wars had condemned to single lives and an element of 
loneliness, their men had all been killed. True, she could not envision Miss 
Ponsonby jumping into bed with a member of the opposite sex, the idea was 
incongruous. But still... ? She suspected that, confronted with an eligible 
male, Miss Ponsonby would snap him up with speed and thankfulness. It was a 
pity Brian Aiken was far too young. 

"I have a personal concern in this matter," Miss Ponsonby continued. "I have 
been advised of the demise of my brother in the United States. It appears he 
has left me a considerable sum of American Dollars and the custody of his 
only child, a girl of Cherish's age. I have been in touch with his lawyers 
and the girl herself and she will be arriving here shortly. I would 
appreciate any small kindness you can do her, I'm afraid I'm sterile company 
for a sixteen year old. I trust she can be cured of American dietary habits 
and of American discords which are universally mistaken for music." 

Cherish perked. "A girl my age! Oh, wow, isn't that splendid! Will you keep 
her feet chained the way Willow does me, Miss Ponsonby?" The visiting 
spinster flushed. "I've been giving this matter some thought, young woman. 
Naturally I consider it the proper treatment of a girl that age. But I 
anticipate some resistance and have no wish to resort to force. It is my 
hope I can introduce her here and allow her to assimilate the delightful 
atmosphere the two of you have so innocently created." 

Willow was amused. It would be a delightful diversion to cope with a 
teenager who, should she prove recalcitrant, could easily be send home. On 
the other hand, should she prove amiable... ! 

"Her name is Janet," Miss Ponsonby informed. "It is not a name I would have 
chosen, but we must live with what we are given." 

"You're probably have to do what she'll call 'whip her ass,'" Cherish 
offered innocently. "From what I've read, most American girls need their 
asses whipped." 

"Perhaps you may have read that sixteen years old nymphets should be seen 
and not heard," Miss Ponsonby retorted acidly. "Really, Miss Blake, I would 
have supposed you would have whipped this young girl sufficiently to instill 
a proper reverence for the rules of deportment." 

"Cherish is only trying to help. Miss Ponsonby. Any aid we might give to 
your niece will probably come from Cherish, who is a excellent position to 
offer guidance with demonstration. You do approve of Cherish's enslavement?" 

"Indeed I do! By the way, I noticed the little darling's back. You appear to 
have been unusually severe. It appears to bare a most graphic marking from a 
whip." 

It was on Willow's tongue to tell of the wound she bore herself but she 
killed the impulse. Equably she said, "There are times when and unusual 
severity is called for. But you will notice there is only the mark of a 
single stroke. I deemed it sufficient for her sin." 

"Ah, yes, quite so." Miss Ponsonby finished her third cup and returned it to 
the tray. "I was wondering, Miss Blake, if you might accommodate me this 
afternoon. I am all too conscious of an imposition on your tolerance, but I 
find myself in urgent need...." Willow's pulse raced. It was not with a 
longing to inflict pain but she freely admitted to herself the erotic of the 
swing, the impact, and then the rising coloration of the weal. She was also 
aware of an obligation. Unconcernedly she said, "By all means, this is 
something I understand, you have only to ask." 

"Oh darling, are you going to whip Miss Ponsonby's bottom! May I watch?" 
Cherish exclaimed imprudently. 

"I've have said before, little girls should be seen and not heard," Miss 
Ponsonby admonished, her face blushed. 

"But I watched last time?" 

"The circumstances were different." Miss Ponsonby turned to the amused 
Willow. "Would you mind, dear, I really do feel this is a private thing 
between ourselves?" 

Sensing Cherish's disgust but unable to do anything about it, Willow took 
handcuffs and led her darling to the ring with which every wall in Questings 
was equipped. There she snapped one cuff upon an unwilling wrist and the 
other on the metal circlet designed for immobility. Her voice was gay, "We 
won't be long, darling. You won't mind standing for that little while, will 
you?" 

Cherish minded! She had long ago discarded the stamping of a bare foot to 
demonstrate displeasure. She satisfied herself now with an pout and an 
irritable tugging at her linkage to the wall. She was soon alone to vent her 
displeasure upon the wall. 

Willow supposed it must be familiarity which prompted the thought of Miss 
Ponsonby having gained some pleasing curves since their previous time 
together in the room where girls are whipped. With being asked, the spinster 
had gone methodically to work in the stripping of her clothes until she was 
naked. She emerged from the process far more presentable than Willow 
remembered. Perhaps she had been dieting, or exercising, or perhaps it was 
the feminine influence at work within her since their first adventure in the 
whipping of Miss Ponsonby's bare skin. Whatever it was, the contours of the 
spinster below her neck belied the severity of her features above. Miss 
Ponsonby offered her hands to be bound as a matter of course. 

"You must not be kind, dear. I fear I am outrageously deserving of 
severity." 

Willow was far from kind. The marks of the previous whipping had vanished 
from the ivory skin, but she soon replaced them with fresh weals of scarlet 
hue. It took no more than a few strokes to engender within Willow's breast 
and within her crotch a scorching exhilaration in her task. Her arms 
flashed, the whip sang its jubilant song and the impacts paid tribute to the 
skill with which they were applied. Mildred Ponsonby moaned and gasped, she 
twisted, but she did not scream. By the time the twenty strokes had been 
etched upon her flesh, Willow was excited to a point almost beyond bearing. 
When she freed the woman she had whipped, the two of them automatically sank 
to the floor to assuage their mutual concupiscence. They did not bother even 
with the palming of their sex, each knew its condition. When it was done 
they addressed in silence, but it was silence not of shame but of satiety. 

"Thank you, dear. You are very, very kind." Miss Ponsonby's voice trembled 
with real sincerity. "I will not impose longer, but please remember my 
warnings. I do indeed hope to see you soon." 

Cherish had only an ungracious greeting for her love. "I think you're mean. 
I've been cheated. It wouldn't have hurt either of you to have let me watch, 
you could easily have chained me down there the same as here." She rattled 
her handcuff to indicate her displeasure with the metal bond. "I've had to 
just stand here, bored to tears, while you've been enjoying yourself. I hope 
you gave the silly old trout a good beating." 

Willow only smiled. 

 CHAPTER FOUR - LINKS OF CHAIN 

The magic of Questings regained its potency. The Male had been routed and 
all was well within the feminine heaven created by a girl named Willow. 
Neither she or her slave considered the miracle by which Questings had come 
into its own, they were satisfied to enjoy it as it was. If the rest of the 
world saw them as unbelievable and incredible, so what! 

It has been said that it is not the things we do but the things we fail to 
do that we later mourn. Willow found herself with an unsatisfied curiosity. 
A man had shamed her in nakedness and given her three terrible strokes upon 
her bare flesh with a whip, but that was all. It had been a fearful 
beginning to an ordeal about which Willow could only speculate. And the 
speculation remained to nag constantly at her feminine conscious. If Brian 
Aiken's purpose had been consummated, it would be easier now to banish him 
into the shadows, but as it was he remained an unknown quantity which Miss 
Ponsonby had brought vividly back to mind. Thoughts of Brian Aiken wandering 
the woods and keeping Questings under surveillance was at the same time 
disquieting and exciting. It was also flattering to the female part of her 
to know a man desired her to that degree. Inevitably this morbid curiosity 
led to an idea. 

Cherish wasted no words. "Darling, you must be out of your mind. Remember 
what happened to me!" 

"But this is not the same," Willow explained patiently. "I had you tied but 
what I want you to do with me is to padlock a chain around my tummy and then 
padlock it again around the tree. I'd be quite safe, he'd have to get a 
bulldozer to make me available." 

"I think it's a nutty idea." 

"But I want to talk to the man. Maybe I shouldn't but I want to. I want to 
see why he prowls around. I want to communicate. I'm not going to admit him 
to Questings and I'm damned if I'm going to visit him at his place. This 
makes a nice compromise." 

Cherish sniffed disapprovingly. "Naked, I suppose?" 

"I had thought about that but wouldn't it be far more plausible without 
clothes? If I'm fully clothed, I'm going to look a bit silly with a chain 
fastening me to the tree." Willow paused for thought before adding, "And 
anyway he's seen me naked, there's nothing I need hide from him." She 
grinned, "You know as well as I do how, after the first time, it doesn't 
seem so bad." 

"I bet you want him to fuck you. Men can, you know, even with the girl 
standing up. I've read about it. Don't be disgusting. It sounds utterly 
impractical." 

Cherish considered. It was unquestionably an exciting idea, disapproval 
faded into mischief. "But Willow darling, you might have to stand against 
that tree for hours and hours and he might not even come at all." 

"Miss Ponsonby says he does it everyday at the same time." Willow's voice 
became persuasive, "If we take a run to the hardware right quick we can try 
it this afternoon." 

"Sure we can. But what happens to me while you're chained up without any 
clothes on to a tree out in the woods. He'll know that I'm at home alone and 
come battering at the door. I'll be scared to death." 

"Don't let him in. If he becomes a nuisance, call the police. The other 
thing you can do is hide in the woods where you can see me but he can't see 
you. That way you could keep an eye on things." 

"With chained feet...?" 

"You'd have to be free for the afternoon. Darling, is what I'm asking so 
terrible?" 

Cherish shrugged, "Oh, all right. You'll never be satisfied unless I do and 
it would serve you right if he does manage to rape you standing up. You're 
being silly, I thought a mistress had more sense." 

The scented solitude of an English wood is unique. It lends itself to the 
fanciful imagination of a naked and chained maiden awaiting deliverance. 
There are historical precedents. Willow was aware of them and hoped she 
conformed to the true precepts of romance. She had blushed steadily for the 
first thirty minutes when left alone and panicked to the point of striving 
to free herself, a hopeless task. But the serenity of dappled sunlight 
through the leaves and the joyous sound of birds allayed fear and 
embarrassment, she settled down to enjoy what might well be an exciting 
adventure without risk. 

The chain was magnificent. It was far heavier then anything they had owned 
previously and the padlocks were formidable indeed. The links were heavy 
around Willow's slender middle and sufficiently snug to preclude any 
possibility of movement up and down. No male fingers would get her out of 
them. The same could be said of the chain circling the tree. Miss Willow 
Blake was firmly fixed to await conversation with Mr. Brian Aiken. The 
captive girl vanished from vision the disapproving features of Miss Mildred 
Ponsonby. 

It was a strange captivity, Willow's feet were free, her hands and arms were 
free, only the encirclement of her waist made her prisoner, but the clutch 
of links upon her bare skin left her no delusions about escape. Cherish had 
done her work far too well. From time to time the enchained maiden exercised 
the freedoms still remaining. She kicked first one leg and then the other, 
she stretched her arms up high and wiggled her hands. She was by no means 
the professional prisoner that Cherish was but she had an awareness of these 
things and found pleasure in this small exercise. Willow assured herself she 
was simply finding out how the other half lived. That falsehood brought 
comfort and she dozed sleepily. 

"Lovely! Truly exquisite!" The male exclamation brought Willow alert with a 
start. "Don't tell me you've been a naughty girl," Brian Aiken chided. "I 
suspect a ruse. You wouldn't, by any chance, be a bait in a trap?" 

Aiken was standing ten feet distant and surveying her with his usual 
over-interested scrutiny. Willow blushed and was well aware of the creeping 
red of this reflection of shame and embarrassment. But she had asked for it, 
this was exactly what she sought. "There's not bait and no trap," she said 
sharply. "I simply knew you'd be along some time and I want to talk to you." 

"Well, I'm honored. Talk away." 

Willow found herself irritatingly speechless. Her whole awareness was taken 
up with her nudity, which she now found was a mistake. She was terribly 
aware of her blush and was now awkwardly seeking to dispose her hands in 
some manner not seeming too coy. To clasp her breasts or to seek to cover 
her pubic bush would be purely absurd. Instead, she cradled her cheeks in 
them and demanded, "What I want to know is why are you pestering Questings? 
Why do you keep us under surveillance?" 

"I intend to kidnap you... Unfinished business, you know." 

"No, I don't know!" 

"A good thrashing and then a good fucking, in case you've forgotten. We had 
barely got started on the first when that old Ponsonby bat threw a wench in 
the works." 

"I would have thought a grown man like you would have been ashamed of 
prowling." 

"You're my first dividend," Brian admitted cheerfully. "But what a dividend! 
I presume you've arranged yourself for my pleasure. You do have the most 
marvelous breasts and pubic bush. I'm truly grateful. " 

"No, I was not arranged for your pleasure. This is one safe way of getting 
to talk to you. What must I say or do to stop you from constantly spying on 
us?" 

"Come over to my place and let me finish what we started. Simple!" 

"You know I won't do that. Be sensible." 

"You may surprise yourself, Miss Blake. Don't tell me you're not a little 
curious about what you missed." 

Willow snorted indignantly. Aiken took the opportunity to examine the means 
why which she was fastened to the tree. He traced the chain around her 
middle and then around the trunk, examining the padlocks along the way. 
"Neat idea," he conceded. "You're what a bank would describe as well 
secured.'" He checked his watch. "I suppose you realize I could hop over to 
the village and be back with bolt cutters inside an hour -- have you loose 
in no time." 

It was a possibility undreamed. In a panic Willow computed the possibility 
of Cherish freeing her in time. Her disquiet must have mirrored itself upon 
her features. Brian laughed, "I can see you haven't thought of it. But why 
would you, you're only a female? I can tie your hands, tether your neck, and 
then cut you away from that tree and lead you home. Just imagine dear little 
Cherish's shock." 

"I refuse to discuss what you've just said," Willow said. "Please be 
sensible and tell me how I can stop your prowling." 

"I've already told you. How would it be I wait for dear little Cherish to 
show up with the keys and then I take you along home with me? Take her 
along, too, if she wants to come." 

"That's ridiculous, it like surrendering to win a war. If you continue to 
make a nuisance of yourself, I'll call the police." 

"You know you won't. We both know you won't." Brian Aiken laughed easily at 
her disquiet. "I won't bother with cutting you loose today. It's an 
unsporting way to possess you. I mean you don't have a chance, do you? No, I 
much prefer you walking up to my house, knocking at the door and then asking 
me to finish whipping you and then to give you a good fucking." 

"That will never happen, you're an animal, go away." 

"It's a chance I'll take. You and your little sweetheart can think about it 
for a while. I've got lots of time, I've very much a gentleman of leisure. 
But I very much want to make repossessing you sporting event, this taking 
you here when you've been sort of chained as a piece of bait to catch my 
attention had no appeal. I'll keep watching and what you call 'prowling' and 
if I can pick up either one of you or both I'll do so. I would imagine this 
adds a bit of spice to your life, too!" 

"Miss Ponsonby is right, you're a cad." Willow unconsciously tugged at her 
chain bond, her fingers clutching the metal links as though in dire need of 
freedom. 

"I ought to pick up that old biddy along with you, but I'll play this cool, 
no sense over doing things." 

"Couldn't you give me a sensible answer to a sensible question, Mr. Aiken?" 

"Well, if you don't like my idea, we could alter it a bit. How about sending 
sweet, little Cherish to a terrible fate with me. I'm sure she'd come 
knocking at my door if you told her to. I'd want her naked and handcuffed, 
of course. Got to do these things right." 

Relief was aiding Willow's composure. Brian Aiken had not touched her and it 
seemed unlikely he was going to seek the means of cutting her loose. His 
threats and promises might just be words. Safe within the comfort of her 
chain, she considered him seriously. It was useless to continually affect 
exclamations of indignation. Perhaps if she indicated some faint interest in 
his outrageous proposal, she might provoke him into a worthwhile statement 
of intent. 

"I absolutely refuse to yield my body to rape," she told him calmly. "But if 
I had your word of honor that you would cease this predatory prowl, I might 
concede this erotic desire of yours to whip me. Not as cruelly as you did 
before but something within reason." 

"My, my, we are growing up aren't we!" Brian affected a genuine tone of 
admiration. "Miss Willow Blake attains grown up status by accepting the 
lash. Jolly decent offer, I must say!" 

Willow wished it a offer she had not made, her tongue had run away with her. 
She said, "I suppose your word of honor is worth something?" 

"Indeed it is, none better. But I haven't given it, have I?" He laughed at 
her serious mien. "You females really are amazing. There's something else 
you've forgotten, you know. How would it be I cut myself a few switches from 
the willow bush over there and proceed to give you your thrashing right now. 
What could you do about it?" Tears brimmed Willow's eyes. They were tears of 
chagrin and anger at herself for failing to realize this possibility. She 
was cruelly and wickedly vulnerable. If Brian Aiken carried out his threat 
there was little her hands could do to protect her. They could cup her 
breasts, the rest of her frontal nudity was his for the taking. 

Her voice was chocked by alarm, "You wouldn't do that to me! Surely you 
wouldn't whip my front, a girl's not suppose to be whipped on her front." 

He laughed at her naivete, his voice now mocking, "Then where would you 
suggest, Miss Blake?" 

Willow blushed anew and shifted uneasily within the chain. "Well, if we must 
talk about whipping me or any girl, she's suppose to be whipped on her back 
and bottom. Certainly not her breasts and belly or the front of her thighs. 
Really, Mr. Aiken, you're making me so ashamed...." Aiken did not bother to 
answer. Instead he strolled to the willow bush and cut a switch which he 
trimmed with his pocket knife as he returned. He then swished it back and 
forth through the air to test the cut and whine, and to chuckle at Willow's 
flinch. He held it up to view. "You find this of interest?" 

"I find it horrible." Willow was already having trouble with instinctive 
emotions. Her hands had risen to her breasts but she forced them down and 
compelled her voice to an even tone. "If you use that thing on me as I am 
now, I'll never speak to you again. Mr. Aiken, please...!" 

"Oh, and stop calling me Mr. Aiken. My name's Brian, call me that. I'll drop 
the Miss Blake and from now on you're Willow. If you wish to protect your 
breasts with your hands, I'll make not effort to stop you. I have no wish to 
mark up or damage such loveliness. The rest of your pretty person will serve 
my purpose very well." 

So this was it, this was reality! Willow cursed her stupidity in making this 
scene possible. She had foreseen none of the true hazards, relying far too 
completely upon the chain and padlocks. Within a few minutes Brian could 
whip her most severely and Cherish would not hear her screams. Brokenly she 
pleaded, "Please, I beg of you...." He cut with the switch squarely across 
the concavity below her ribs. The force of the blow was sufficient to break 
the switch in two and to elicit from Willow an involuntary squeal of pain. 
Her hands were firmly clamped upon her breasts. 

"You make a beautiful picture like that," Brian conceded as he tossed aside 
the broken wand. "Want me to cut another?" 

Willow stared at him through a mist of pain. "Of course I don't! Have I a 
choice?" 

"Not really. But I suppose if you agree to my original proposition I might 
consider letting you off this time. I'd admit I find your back and bottom 
fair more attractive for my purpose than what you're offering me now." 

They stared while a horrible realization entered Willow's mind. To be 
whipped from her breasts to knees with willow switches would be 
unquestionably better than a formal whipping with a cruel thong wickedly 
applied and then followed by an equally formal rape or active coitus, or 
whatever else one chose to call it. In a sober judgment a girl would be 
stupid not to invite the thrashing now rather than the dual anguish of total 
surrender in Aiken's house. But it was a decision no girl should be asked to 
face, she could not face it now. The blow still burned and the memory of its 
first fire was still vivid in her mind and in her flesh. 

Brokenly, she said, "I can't ask you to thrash me with these horrible things 
you cut from that bush. Maybe I should but I just can't have the courage." A 
sob punctuated the declaration. "All you can do is simply go ahead with 
whatever pleases you. I could ask for mercy but I don't think you know the 
meaning of the word." 

Aiken did the unexpected. Instead of fetching a second switch he cupped his 
captive's face in gentle hands and kissed her long upon her lips. When he 
had done with her, he stood back, it was then Willow beheld Cherish 
approaching the path and screamed in alarm, "Cherish, no, no! Back to the 
house, run, run, run!" 

All three of them were instantly aware of possibilities, Cherish not the 
least. She swirled around and fled. With a hoot of triumph Brian leapt in 
pursuit. Against the tree the chained Willow struggled and tugged and sobbed 
out her despair. The others were soon out of sigh but she had little doubt 
of Aiken's ability to overtake the teenage girl. Mental images of Cherish 
being dragged back by her hair, the keys extracted from where ever she hid 
them, and the two of them being led back in triumph by a man who could 
subdue a pair of naked girls with the greatest of ease danced before 
Willow's eyes. With her face buried in her hands, sobbing in desolation. 
Willow waited without hope. It was with a shock of pure gladness she heard 
Brian's voice and looked up to find he was alone. 

"That little so and so, she beat me to the house. Had a good start, of 
course! Didn't bother to try and break in, it's you I really want." He 
grinned at her. "The run did me good. Revived my proper spirit as a member 
of the gentry. I've decided not to be a complete bastard. I'll leave you 
chained here the way you are. You can think about my offer, it's the only 
one I'll consider. And you can think about the fact that I'm bound to pick 
you up one way or another. As a Victorian villain would pronounce, 'There is 
no escape.'" It was a reprieve. With a tremendous sincerity Willow said a 
heartfelt thank you. She added nothing. When he kissed her in farewell, she 
kissed him back. As she watched him go she was still as much a prisoner as 
ever. 

With the swift passing of euphoria, Willow faced one more shocking 
realization. Brian Aiken had gone but Cherish would not know this, Cherish 
would be afraid to leave the house. She would be as uncertain in her actions 
as Willow was in her captivity. The afternoon was already well advanced and 
it was borne upon the chained girl that she would almost certainly spend the 
night standing up nakedly with her belly locked against the tree. It was a 
frustrating standoff. She wondered if Cherish would think to phone Miss 
Ponsonby. It seemed a remote chance. Cherish would stand guard with the gun 
in a house threatened by no one. A storm of tears possessed the chained girl 
who bitterly, over and over, condemned herself for conceiving a plan so 
filled with weaknesses. After a while twilight came with its silencing of 
bird song and a mischievous night wind that Willow knew would be cold by 
morning. In the darkness of night the chained maiden wept anew, cursing the 
lovely chains and locks she and Cherish had purchased only that morning. 
They had kept her safe, but far too safe, they held her now as they would 
hold her forever. 

The captive of the tree could not count time. She knew the night would be 
endless and the possibility of sleeping in her upright state close to 
impossible but it was midnight when she heard the sounds of running feet and 
then, her eyes well accustomed to darkness, beheld her darling Cherish. They 
clasped each other in a paroxysm of ecstasy. The darling child was 
breathless. "Oh, mistress darling, I didn't dare come. I was afraid of that 
awful man. But he's just called and given me his word of honor that I could 
come and let you loose and he would not interfere. I wanted to believe him 
so bad I actually did and here I am. Oh, and darling, let me get those 
padlocks." 

* * * 

"You deserve exactly what you got," Miss Ponsonby said. "Really, Willow, I'm 
surprised at you, naked in front of a man and placing yourself completely at 
his mercy. I've never heard of such nonsense." 

"I feel silly about it now, myself," Willow admitted. "I never thought of 
any of those horrible things he could do, I just thought about him not being 
able to take me away. I'm terribly sorry." 

"And so you should be. When I think of all the things he could have done to 
you... ! Well, it's over now, there's no use dwelling on it. I must admit 
the man treated you better than I would have expected. I hope you don't even 
consider his outrageous proposal." 

Willow felt both silly and contrite. Had Miss Ponsonby not been their second 
line of defense against the predator male, she would not have mentioned the 
incident. But Miss Ponsonby was indeed a tower of strength and Brian Aiken 
was still very much a presence to be guarded against. Her protestations of 
innocent intent were interrupted by the spinster's surprising declaration. 

"I mentioned that niece of mine. They damned girl's out in the car. 

I decided not to bring her in without warning you." Miss Ponsonby drew a 
heavy sigh. "She was christened the sensible name of Janet but she tells me 
nobody calls her anything but Misty. Really... These Americans!" 

In instant sympathy for a girl far from home Willow turned to Cherish, "Run 
along darling and signal her to come in. You can do it from the door, 
there's no need for you to go outside." 

"I'm afraid Misty is Well, she's sort of attached," Miss Ponsonby 
volunteered with a trace of embarrassment. "I decided to start off with her 
training on the way. As a matter of fact I've got the child handcuffed in 
the boot." Apologetically she added, "It was only a short ride." Since 
Cherish was chained and naked, it was Willow and Miss Ponsonby who went to 
the car. Upon raising the lid of the trunk they were confronted with the 
pink and angry features of a quite delicious young woman who was reclining 
on a rug thoughtfully provided and who's hands were linked by shinning metal 
cuffs. Misty sat up, unabashed, and stated firmly, "This is an asshole of a 
way to travel. I don't see why I can't ride with you in the car, Aunt 
Mildred. Here, give me a hand." 

Two pairs of willing hands almost lifted the transatlantic import to the 
ground. Misty stood gazing around, totally naked, handcuffed and seemingly 
unconcerned. She gazed at Willow in frank friendliness and added, "This 
isn't the way I usually travel, it's Aunt Mildred's idea." Willow was 
intrigued. There was indeed more to Miss Ponsonby than met the eye. She 
wondered what arguments the spinster had used to persuade her niece into her 
present circumstances. It said much for the girl that she was not in 
screaming hysterics. Willow ushered her guests up the steps to Questings and 
on into the lounge. Misty and Cherish like each other instantly, it was love 
at first sight. Cherish was sparkling eyed, and Misty lost no time in 
pointed comment, "You've got her feet chained together. Is everyone in 
England as kooky as this?" 

"Don't use such offensive words, dear," Miss Ponsonby reproved. "I've tried 
to explain to you the proper manner in which girls of your age are dealt 
with in my home and here in Questings. Please avoid vulgar observations." 
She turned to Willow. "Perhaps Cherish could give Misty a tour of the 
premises?" 

The nymphets departed in a flurry of chain and broad smiles. Along, Miss 
Ponsonby brought her gaze to bear upon an equally smiling Willow. "I must 
say the dear child has taken to constraint far better than I dared hope," 
she said reflectively. "But I fear she had so far regarded it as an aberrant 
piece of humor. She probably thinks me Well, at least, unusual." She sighed 
and cocked an inquiring eye. "Willow, may I ask your help?" 

"Of course you may. You'd like Misty to stay here with Cherish. I know." 

Miss Ponsonby heaved a heartfelt sigh. "You are so understanding. I am so 
fortunate in having met you. Really, Willow, you are more than kind." 

"Not really. Misty will be company for Cherish and I will enjoy them both. 
You can visit your niece whenever you wish or take her back for visits in 
your home." 

"Ah, yes, of course." Miss Ponsonby cocked an anxious eye, "But I do trust 
the dear girl's coming will not impair the... well, the thing you and I do 
together." 

"Of course not. When we need privacy a pair of teenagers are no problem if 
they are properly chained. And I will make sure Misty and Cherish stay in 
the proper state." 

Miss Ponsonby radiated relief and gratitude. "That brings up a point. I 
don't want you to show Misty favors. And, above all, don't ever give her 
even a hint of freedom. Keep her chained at all times. I suspect her of 
being a bundle of mischief." 

"I've managed to keep Cherish safe for a good many years. Misty will be 
likewise safe here." 

"You have things so well in hand, my dear." Miss Ponsonby's admiration knew 
no bounds. "And now I am wondering... There has been so much stress and my 
nerves are so frayed. Do you think we might...?" 

"Of course. When the little darlings return we'll restrain them suitably and 
go about our business. Cherish will guess what we're doing and will probably 
tell Misty, but that's something I don't think we can avoid." 

The spinster once more heaved a great sight. "This whole thing has been a 
great strain on me, I admit it. What do you say, Miss Blake, to a cup of tea 
before we begin a whipping?" 

Willow was enjoying herself immensely. Tea flowed, accompanied by some 
cucumber sandwiches to which Miss Ponsonby was much addicted. A pair of 
protesting nymphets were handcuffed to rings in the wall and told to improve 
themselves with intellectual conversation. Misty pouted and Cherish stuck 
out her tongue. But that was their only protest. They, too, were obviously 
happy in fresh discovery. Willow and her guest, a woman about to be whipped, 
made a dignified exit. 

The marks of her previous whipping had not yet faded from the spinster's 
back but the manner in which she discarded her clothes clearly indicated 
determination and a fresh need. Once again Willow had the illusion of a 
younger and more curvaceous woman. When she spoke of it, Miss Ponsonby shyly 
admitted, "I've noted something myself." She blushed and set her curves in 
motion. "I'm terribly ashamed but, on the other hand, it's rather nice. I'm 
terribly grateful to you Willow, it's all your doing. And now, for today, 
I'm wondering if we could use that bench thing over there. I suspect I'm 
behaving atrociously, but it's piqued my curiosity." 

It was a reproduction of a Regency whipping bench which Willow had seen in 
an old print and caused to be recreated. The victim knelt upon the lower 
step then bent forward the full length of her body to expose a bent bottom 
and a cruelly vulnerable back. There were no straps, the female to be 
whipped was bound with rope or cord in what ever manner pleased the 
executioner. It had often held Cherish while her twin rounds were redly 
inflamed by the cane. But this would be the first serious use ever made of 
it. Willow explained its finer points and uses while Miss Ponsonby quivered 
in her own brand of sexual excitement, in which a fearful expectation was 
not entirely absent. 

It went as though rehearsed, as though both of them had reverted to times 
past and were performing their tasks under the eyes of a motley crowd. 
Breathing heavily, Mildred Ponsonby knelt upon the step then extended her 
full length, placing her arms to where they would be fastened. Her voice 
trembling, she said, "Dear Willow, I want you to tie me very tight. Don't 
try and be kind. Let us do this in the manner it was intended." 

It was a considerable chore to bind the naked spinster at ankles, knee, and 
wrists, but Willow wound her cords and tugged her ropes with satisfaction 
and amused wonder at Mildred Ponsonby's self immolation. When the female 
limbs were tightly secured, she turned her attention to the still narrow 
waist, cording it with several bands of rope and then cinching them down to 
force her victim's tummy hard against the wood, curve down the back, and 
extend the taught posture in a fresh cruelty of invitation to the rod. 

"Oh, dear," said Miss Ponsonby in obvious pleasure, "I can't move. Really 
Willow, you've done a magnificent job of binding me. Now I want you to whip 
me just as hard. Do whatever you wish with my bottom but I really would 
prefer lashes on my back." 

It was absurd. It was ridiculous. It was a strange mixture of cruelty and 
eroticism. Willow felt the familiar tingling in her veins as she selected 
the cane with which she would first mark the taught, stretched bottom 
invitingly presented. And to be given carte blanche in such a task! It 
offered opportunities and freedoms such as few people ever get, and overrode 
her usual caution in dealing with her beloved Cherish. Here, a naked woman 
had delivered herself for pain and would be bitterly disappointed if the 
pain was less than she could bare. 

Willow stepped back, measuring the distance. She noted the manner in which 
Miss Ponsonby's toes were moving nervously below the tight bound ankles and 
her fingers stretching as though searching above the equally securely tied 
wrists. No doubt it was the only motions the spinster could make in this 
terrible moment of acute anticipation. Willow swung the cane in the familiar 
arc to hear it cut the air with its own snickering cry of triumph. It 
impacted upon the bound bottom with a thunk all its own, a terrible or a 
wonderful sound according the point of view. The owner of the caned bottom 
had been gazing fearfully at the girl who held the implement of her agony, 
but now in one swift motion she turned to gaze upon the wall. But she made 
no sound. 

Willow found a breathtaking contrast between the two chained maidens happily 
chattering below and the bound woman suffering beneath her rod. But she had 
adjusted to the incongruity of Miss Ponsonby's desires, she caned, then 
whipped, then caned again with studious vigor, assessing each stroke before 
delivery and then watching its crimson line rise upon the ivory skin. The 
whipped nudity made involuntary anguished surges against its bonds but did 
not move. The ropes and cords creaked but did not move. The fluttering 
fingers and toes proclaimed their agony, there were gasps and small moans 
but that was the only sound, the only indication of Miss Mildred Ponsonby's 
self-imposed martyrdom. 

Questings was alive with female joy. 

 CHAPTER FIVE - MARKS ON NYMPHET SKIN 

Misty was aware of having entered an enchanted land. She was Finding an 
endless fascination in the steel bracelet upon her wrist and its tethering 
of her naked person to the wall. She could not quite believe in the fact of 
being thus tethered but Cherish's similar condition told her of it's being 
true. The girls stood ten feet apart and Cherish was tugging at her ironed 
hand in irritation. 

"It's not a bit fair," Cherish announced indignantly. "They always chain me 
here like this when their doing something amusing. You can bet they're 
having fun downstairs while you and I have to stand here with a wrist we 
can't use." She eyed her companion with a continuing interest. "Gosh, you're 
a pretty girl, you've got the loveliest figure." 

"So have you. I was just thinking the same thing." Misty's tribute was 
sincere. "Are you telling me that big girl has kept you handcuffed or 
leg-ironed or whatever all your life?" 

"Of course she has. It's only natural, isn't it?" 

"Not where I come from. I think you're all a bunch of kooks. But I'm getting 
a kick out of it. I've got a wet snatch." 

Cherish giggled. "And you'll probably have a burning bottom if you're not 
careful about being vulgar. Willow always canes me when I say bad words." 

"And you just stay here... ? You have to be nuts." 

"I love it here. I wouldn't leave Willow for anything. And, anyway. how 
could I leave Willow when she keeps me chained all the time? I'm so glad she 
keeps me chained, it saves me the trouble of making all sorts of decisions." 

"You mean. I'm never going to get let loose and put my clothes back on!" 
Misty was cheerfully disbelieving. "Boy, have I walked into something! I 
figured Aunt Mildred for a dried up old biddy with a cold cunt she never 
used. Now I'm not so sure." 

Cherish giggled and stopped tugging at her handcuff. "I'm not so sure what 
they do with that thing you've just mentioned, but I'm certain your Aunt 
Mildred is getting her bottom whipped. I only got to watch it happening the 
first time. Since then I get cuffed to the wall like this and miss all the 
fun. I'll bet you'd like to see it too." 

"Holly Cow!" Misty was seeing visions. "When I get to know the old girl a 
bit better. I'll simply ask. If I have to have the fetters, I might as well 
have the fun. Jeepers, Cherish, I was real cheesed off coming over here in 
the car, bare naked and handcuffed, but I think I'm going to like it. What 
happens to that lovely girl. Willow, what does she do?" 

"Oh, she's my mistress, she doesn't do anything except look after me." 
Cherish chuckled, "I've got a suspicion she's now your mistress, too. I 
don't think your Aunt Mildred was too keen on having a niece. It's not that 
she doesn't like you, but figure it yourself, she wants to keep you chained 
and a prisoner just like me. But, on the other hands, she loves to get her 
bottom whipped and comes over to visit Willow anytime she can't bare it any 
longer. With you here like me, we're all sort of doing the same thing." 

They were happy prisoners, radiating contentment Their occasional testing of 
the link holding them to the ring in the wall was more a gesture reassuring 
themselves that the incredible was true than any serious attempt to escape. 
Misty's entry into the felicity of Questings might have passed unimpeded by 
incident had it not been for her imprudent tongue. When Willow and Misty's 
Aunt Mildred appeared the first thing Misty said was, "Why, Aunt Mildred, 
Cherish tells me you've just had your ass whipped Oh, wow!" 

There was a stiff British silence, one of pure shock, broken at last by the 
acid tone of Aunt Mildred herself, "That was not a bit nice, Misty. I'm 
ashamed of you." 

"Well, you have had your ass whipped, haven't you? I mean, it's nothing to 
get all worked up about." 

No words were wasted. Miss Mildred Ponsonby sought the gaze of Miss Willow 
Blake. A message was silently exchanged. Willow unlocked the cuff attaching 
the exuberant niece to the ring and handed the half handcuff to the frigid 
aunt. She then possessed herself of Cherish in the same manner. On their way 
down stairs Misty's steps tended to lag and she was irritably tugged into 
tagging along. The other three members of the group advanced in an 
inevitable march to retribution. 

"I think the bench," Aunt Mildred pronounced. "The girl needs guidance. 
Misty, my dear, you are about to be taught a lesson." 

"Did I say something?" Misty asked in dismay, "I mean, all I asked was " 

"We know what you asked. Kindly refrain from repeating so offensive a 
query." Aunt Mildred was in the full flush of indignation. 

Cherish reflected ruefully it was her fate to be attached to walls by a 
handcuffed wrist. She accepted the imposition without demur, having little 
doubt she was to be royally entertained. She gaze upon the exuberant but 
mystified Misty with compassion, her own bottom tingling in sympathy. 

Misty was a perceptive young woman. She surveyed the waiting bench and read 
its intend all too well. In a voice still fascinated in awe, she inquired, 
"I suppose you want me to place myself on that thing?" 

"If you please. Immediately." 

It was hard to guess how much of curiosity lay in Misty's willingness to 
place herself for correction. But with nothing more than a glance at the 
watching eyes, she shrugged and knelt to arranged herself upon the wood 
still warm from the whipped flesh of her Aunt Mildred. Willow went 
immediately to work, aided now by a woman of experience. Aunt Mildred knew 
exactly how to tie and how hard to tug the knots. The handcuffs were allowed 
to stay on. They were, as usual, a convenience and only had to be roped into 
a position to hold the young arms as punishment dictated. When she-was fully 
stretched and tightly bound. Misty ejaculated, as thought just regaining 
speech, "Well, I'll be damned! I know what you're going to do, you're going 
to whip my ass!" 

"Perhaps you shouldn't use that word, Misty dear," Willow suggested gently. 
"Refer to it as your bottom or something equally innocent." 

"An ass is an ass!" Misty was standing by her guns. The first stroke had not 
yet fallen upon her waiting flesh. Cherish was in breathless anticipation of 
a spirit about to be tamed. 

"You are not only vulgar, Misty, but also personally offensive. Whatever 
Miss Blake and I do in our privacy is none of your affair and should never 
be spoken of in public." The spinster's features turned to Willow. "Really, 
Miss Blake, I feel Cherish has been indiscreet and deserves correction." 

"I've only got one bench...." 

"I am content to wait." Miss Ponsonby was feeling herself once more on the 
ascendancy. "A suspenseful wait will do Cherish no harm." 

The first stinging cut of the cane across the tight, young bottom delivered 
Misty into the reality of Questings. If she had doubted before, she did not 
doubt now. She squealed in shocked surprised and delivered an instant 
ultimatum, "You do that again and I'll pack right up and go back to the 
States." 

There came an amused silence during which Misty came by the full realization 
she was going no where. She was bent and postured for the inflection of pain 
upon her small, round rump. Her mind searched urgently for suitable words of 
surrender. "Couldn't I say I'm sorry or something?" she implored abjectly. 
"That hurt like crazy, you must have cut my ass in two -- oops Sorry!" 

"Would you care to rephrase that remark, my dear?" 

"Well... I suppose. I think you must have ruined my poor bottom. It will 
never be the same again." 

"You are about to receive correction, dear," Aunt Mildred informed kindly. 
"Please strive to comport yourself as befitting a gentlewoman." 

"I'm not a gentlewoman and I don't want my ass whipped again. Oh, hell." 

What Misty may or may not have wanted was now lost in the whirl and splat of 
the cane upon her flesh. Misty evidenced little concern with gentility and 
was vocal from the start. Her yelps and screams were interspersed with harsh 
comments from across the Atlantic, but these gradually diminished until the 
bound young woman ceased uttering words of cursing or pleading. In the hand 
of Aunt Mildred the cane maintained a steady rhythm of reproof, its sting 
and scald transforming the virgin skin to the hue of a crimson sunset. It 
was Willow who placed a gentle restraining hand upon an upraised arm and 
said, "Perhaps Miss Ponsonby, enough for this first time...?" 

The caning of Misty's bottom had by some feminine mystic made the trio one. 
From her chained ring, Cherish watched while the sobbing nymphet was 
released and comforted and kissed. Her tears were wiped from cheeks and eyes 
by the pure white of cambric in the surprising gentle fingers of her aunt. 
It was not long before Misty turned a shinning maiden eye and inquired 
meekly, "Is that all?" 

"It is all for this first time dear. Let us hope you give no cause for a 
second." 

"Gosh, no! That was awful. I wouldn't ever have believed...." If Cherish had 
hoped she was forgotten in the excitement, she was doomed to disappointment. 

"And now for Cherish," Miss Ponsonby announced with punitive relish. The 
darling of Willow Blake knew herself heavily out numbered and made no 
complaint as she was freed from the ring. Somehow she knew that even Misty 
would consider it proper that she receive equal punishment for a offense 
related to her own. Without a word she walked to the bench and assembled 
herself thereon, a picture of sweet loveliness to inflect breathlessness 
upon those who watched. 

"I've never caned Cherish's bottom as hard as you've caned Misty's, Miss 
Ponsonby," said Willow. "I wonder if you'd mind a somewhat more modest 
inflection?" 

"She is your child, you must do as you think best." Miss Ponsonby's voice 
was acid with disapproval. 

"I won't mind, really I won't." Cherish, still unbound, was looking back 
over a bare shoulder. There was already a rapport between she and the 
tearful niece of this formidable female. "I'm sure if Misty deserved it, I 
deserve it too. I'll try and not make too much fuss." 

"The proper British spirit!" Mildred Ponsonby proclaimed. She handed Willow 
the cane. "The warming of this child's derriere is at you discretion, Miss 
Blake. I leave her in your hands." 

Willow knew herself caught in a dilemma. She did not wish to cane Cherish at 
all, and would not have done so had it not been for Miss Ponsonby's 
insistence and the transatlantic eye seeking evidence of British justice. 
She solved her problem by handing the limber instrument back to Aunt 
Mildred. "I think you'll be more impartial with this," she suggested 
hopefully. "Please punish Cherish on my behalf. I'd much rather you did." 

Miss Ponsonby accepted the weapon with which she had proved herself so 
adept. She accepted it gracefully and then lent a hand in the binding of 
Cherish's nakedness. The task was completed in silence, even the girl 
sentenced to the rod made no comment. When the young loveliness was tautly 
trussed and Misty conveniently cuffed to the wall, the fresh drama of maiden 
punishment now began. 

There was now an unquestioned rapport among all present. The cane sang 
wickedly, the young bottom paid its scarlet tribute, and its owner emitted 
an appropriate gasp. But it was evident to all that the holder of the 
instrument of punishment was considering Willow's wish. The strokes had not 
been as severe as Aunt Mildred had delivered upon her own kindred flesh. 
True it was enough to inhibit Cherish's thought of asking for a harder 
stroke in sympathy with what she had seen bestowed upon Misty. With calm 
competence the Aunt continued her rhythmic retribution, the cane singing its 
gladness with each cut as crimson mounted upon defenseless flesh. Willow and 
Misty watched in fascinating breathlessness while Cherish gulped and 
swallowed, clenching her bound hands and striving not to scream. From Miss 
Ponsonby's point of view it was a most satisfactory ten minutes. 

Untied, the softly weeping Cherish was comforted and kissed by all and much 
adored. She was allowed to rub her bottom to her heart's content before her 
wrists were once more handcuffed in the front. Two sobered and handcuffed 
young nudities followed their mistress back up stairs. 

With Miss Ponsonby's departure in a wave of goodwill, the mistress of 
Questings surveyed her dual responsibility with only the faintest misgiving. 
Cherish was a natural submissive, the same could not be said for the new 
arrival. It was hard to place Misty in her proper category at this early 
date, but she was undoubtedly a bundle of mischief. However that was much to 
be preferred to a sulky acceptance or outright rebellion. Willow gave thanks 
for having the nymphet safely chained. Still under the influence of her 
caning, Misty had made no complaint at the ironing of her feet. But now, 
upon Willow's returning to the scene were the two captive maidens had been 
left kneeling in the lounge, the visitor from the one time colony reverted 
to form. 

"Has the old fart gone home?" Misty inquired without rancor. "She cramps my 
style. Golly, I'd no idea...." She grinned in apology for a near slip of the 
tongue and added, impudently, "I'd no idea the thing I sit on could possibly 
hurt that bad." 

"It need not happen again if you behave yourself." 

"I bet it will, though," Misty avowed without concern. "I say. Willow, you 
do handle things so well -- I mean the way you've got us caught in these 
chains and how polite you are to Aunt Mildred, and how sweet you've been to 
me since I got dumped on you. I say, she's not likely to come back today, is 
she?" 

"No, she won't be back today, maybe not even tomorrow. Don't you like her?" 

"Well, I don't exactly pretend to be in love with the old girl. Seems to me 
she should be on Mount Rushmore, along with those other stern old pricks -- 
oh, wow, I'm sorry. Am I suppose to watch my tongue in front of you too?" 

"I think you'd better. You can't possibly be rude to me and polite to your 
Aunt, you'd get us mixed up." Willow smiled affectionately. "You can use me 
to practice on. I mean being polite. I know it's not easy for you." 

"Well, it's this whole thing, it makes me worse than I am. At home I didn't 
use four letter words nearly as much as I do here. I'll watch it." Bedtime 
brought Willow her next dilemma. She wished to keep the two girls together 
for company but she was unwilling to forgo the ministrations of her own 
slavegirl in their own bed. How unkind would Misty deem it to spend her 
night chained upon the rug! But when they were assembled in the bedroom 
Misty solved the problem for them. 

"I've sort of got this figured out, Willow. I mean you and Cherish and not a 
man in sight, and the way you whip Auntie's hind end, it all sort of adds 
up." She giggled happily. "I bet you and Cherish nibble each other, don't 
you? If you want I'll nibble you too. I'm not dumb. I mean, at the school 
back in the states... Oh, wow!" 

Willow supposed she ought to reprimand such forward manners in one so young 
but Cherish was obviously under Misty's magic and she felt a touch of it 
herself. With a lack of concern she did not truly feel, she chained Misty's 
collar in the same manner as she had been chaining Cherish for years. For 
tonight at least she would be flanked on either side by willing hands and 
willing lips. There would be much sounds of swirling chain, but this was a 
music she had long adored. With wry humor Willow determined she deserved 
whatever hot young lips and probing youthful tongues might give. With only 
the slightest embarrassment she stripped to flaunt her nudity before 
transatlantic eyes. She could tell Misty was impressed and the fire within 
her belly burned more fiercely. To Misty she said, "Very well, I'll take you 
first." 

Questings slept replete with female joy. 

* * * 

To Brian Aiken Questings remained a pleasant challenge. He will by nature a 
dilettante with the means to indulge his fancies. He knew himself tarred by 
the same bush of bondage and the whip as were the girls. He ruefully 
conceded to himself an envy of their happy state with each other while he 
was entirely alone. From time to time in his bachelor career Brian had 
brought girls from the city to his home and played his game with them. 
Mostly they came for money. To find a true member of the Craft was a rarity, 
and in any case, such excursions into the erotic were always terminated far 
too soon by the terminating of a contract. Willow and Cherish had obtained a 
perfect union and if he could intrude upon it and divert some of their 
happiness to his own needs, he would do so. He was like a man contemplating 
a tasty dish and delaying the first mouthful in the joys of anticipation. 
Soon or later Questings would make a slip... 

Gossip informed him of the new arrival. But it was coincidence by which he 
cornered Miss Ponsonby in the pub. No doubt the same loneliness took both of 
them to this meeting place. Accosting her frankly but with courtesy in the 
bar, he could not be denied without causing something of a scene. Grudgingly 
the spinster allowed herself, armed with the appropriate beverage, to be 
maneuvered to a quiet corner where she admitted to her nieces arrival and 
disposition, adding acidly, "And it's none of your business, Mr. Aiken." 

"You're right, it's not." Mr. Aiken had been salesman once and was not 
unacquainted with temperament. He offered bait, "I'd be glad of your advice. 
You broke in on a scene I had carefully engineered. I cannot blame you for 
what transpired, you did what you though best. But you robbed me of the 
fruit of much endeavor." He smiled winningly. "I am not unaware of your own 
involvement in the esoteric activities at Questings. I'm sure they are in 
full floor now with the new arrival." He eyed Miss Ponsonby with his most 
flattering regard. "I can't help wishing you'd consigned this young woman to 
my care instead of adding her to a menage already complete?" 

"It would be most improper. You are a single man." 

Aiken sighed. "That single man thing again!" he said disgustedly. "It haunts 
a fellow like myself. Because we have no woman in our home we are regarded a 
bit odd and under suspicion. Actually, we're just like any body else." Once 
more his grave eyes searched hers in an effort to placate and evoke 
sympathy. "I really do wish you had allowed me to look after this maiden 
from across the seas?" 

"Don't be ridiculous. You would have whipped the poor girl quite 
outrageously and ravished her after. She would quite probably have offspring 
in the nine month period." 

Aiken shook his head as though in deep regret at bitter injustice. "You 
underrate me, Miss Ponsonby, I beget no babies and I would never destroy 
female loveliness by whipping it to death. That would be a waste." 

"In any case, you're suggestion is unacceptable. Perhaps now, if you would 
excuse me...." Brian made no move. His voice continued its quiet 
persuasiveness, "I understand your feelings. You and I have not met under 
the happiest of circumstances. I suspect you do not much care for men." 

"I most certainly do not. Men should be exterminated." 

Brian Aiken sighed, but he had been prepared for a rebuff. Things were going 
better than he had actually anticipated, they were still talking. Very 
softly he said, "I have no word of scandal about you, Miss Ponsonby. To the 
community you are a pillar of propriety." He paused for effect, smiling into 
the disturbed eyes of his companion. "But suppose a rumor went the rounds, 
and you know how it is in these country places, a rumor to the effect that 
you enjoyed strange and erotic pleasures, pleasures the vicar would 
undoubtedly frown on... Have you thought of this?" 

Miss Ponsonby sat stunned. "You would not dare! You could not be so 
base...?" 

"Indeed I could." 

They stared, assessing this declaration of war and its potential. Huffily, 
she said, "I suppose you want something. What is it?" 

"I want Miss Willow Blake." 

The lines were drawn. They understood each other. It was a tribute to Miss 
Mildred Ponsonby that Aiken's bland suggestion evoked no Victorian protests. 
She was calm and coldly alert. 

"In that case, why not call at Questings and discuss your wishes in a 
civilized manner?" 

"They would refuse to open the door to me." 

"And rightly so. I suppose you want me to act as an intermediary?" 

"Yes. Would it not be preferable to the spreading of an outrageous rumor, a 
rumor everyone would all too willing to believe?" 

Miss Ponsonby fixed him with an icy stare. "You are a cad, Mr. Aiken, and 
unprincipled rogue. But I cannot see how I can be of service to you. I 
cannot possibly tie up Miss Blake and deliver her to your loving arms. But, 
if you would be content with such a service, I would be willing to tell her 
of your wish. I consider it unlikely, but there is the possibility of her 
acquiescence to your desire." 

"Thank you. But I prefer the conquering male approach. What I would like you 
to do is to take your niece home, perhaps for a weekend, and then contrive a 
plausible manner by which she falls into my hands. With her in my absolute 
control I can dictate terms to our Miss Blake. I suspect, provided you show 
the proper concern, she will repeat her prior performance and deliver 
herself in payment of ransom. If it worked once, it should work again." 

Miss Ponsonby rose, stiff in indignation, in the manner of a British matron 
repelling the Roman hoards as had happened long ago. Her voice had a 
fearsome finality, "You are not a gentleman, Mr. Aiken. You are a cad and a 
bounder. You are a man without principle. I bid you good-day." 

Brian Aiken watched her go but there was a smile upon his face. He was far 
from displeased with the interview, it might well bear fruit. 

"The man is impossible!" Miss Ponsonby was panting from her hurried walk to 
Questings. "But it is best I acquaint you with his demands. We must, more 
than ever, be on our guard." 

Willow moaned inwardly. She supposed she had been expecting something like 
this. "It's typical of the man," she said. "Look, Miss Ponsonby, I know you 
won't approve, but how would it be I give in to his demands. Do you think we 
could get rid of him that way?" 

"No, of course not. To make a gift of a girl like you to such a man would 
simply be to add fuel to the fire. I told you before, you're too good for 
any man." 

Miss Ponsonby snorted her indignation, but Willow was soberly considering 
the possibilities. She was also hiding from her visitor her quickening pulse 
and own erotic curiosity at the situation now disclosed. After several 
moments reflection, she said quietly, "Please don't think badly of me, but 
I'm going to do what he demands. But I'm going to do it only on his 
assurance of his dissolving you and Questings from any further harassment. I 
believe us females are the focus of a good deal of male obsession. If I can 
erase it in this case I will have done something well worthwhile." 

The silence could be felt. Willow sensed, along with disapproval, her 
companion's relief at the possibility of being absolved from a truly 
terrible threat. They would, of course, be backing upon Aiken's honor. But 
she believed it possible that he might possess some sense of honor. Perhaps 
at the price of pain and shame she could appease Aiken and drive him from 
their lives. 

Quietly she repeated, "I think I'd better do it." 

"The nakedness and the whipping I can understand," Mildred Ponsonby conceded 
unhappily, "but the rape! Willow, dear child, you cannot possibly allow...." 
Willow was adept at placating female ire. She sent Miss Ponsonby home 
comforted and assured of deliverance from a male menace. So far as rape was 
concerned, she quickly assured the anxious spinster, she could talk her 
seducer out of such an intent. 

Brian Aiken's voice over the phone was comfortably polite. "I was sure I'd 
hear from you, Willow. I assume you've been visited by our indignant 
spinster?" 

"She's just gone home. Look, Mr. Aiken, I absolutely refuse to deliver Misty 
to you." 

"Do you now?" 

"It's absolutely unthinkable, I'm surprised you'd even ask." 

"A bargaining ploy, dear lady." 

"Very well. I will deliver myself to you." 

She heard his indrawn breath and he following exhalation of, "Ah- h-h-h-h... 
! You are an endless delight, Willow. I had scarcely expected so easy a 
capitulation." 

"You threaten Mildred Ponsonby, you threaten me, you threaten this young 
girl recently arrived here from the USA. If I can erase that threat by 
giving myself to your tender mercies, I will be glad to. But only by your 
giving me your most solemn pledge, your word of honor, to keep the bargain. 
I give myself to you for twelve hours. In return you cease to concern 
yourself with any of us. Is that a deal?" 

"It's a deal." 

Willow had little experience with men, but she believed his tone sincere. 
Abruptly she asked, "When must I deliver myself?" 

Brian Aiken laugher came delightedly over the wire. "How deliciously you put 
that, Willow my dear. You sound like a thousands legions surrendering their 
arms." 

"I am not a thousand legions. I am a frightened and distressed girl. I hope 
you feel the bastard you are!" 

Again the laugh. "Oh, come, come! Come of it, Willow. You're not that pure. 
You can't tell me you don't want to do what you're going to do. All I've 
done is given you an honorable excuse. Be honest now?" She could not be 
honest, it was asking far too much. If some absurd female compulsion was 
driving her, it was none of Brian Aiken's business. Tersely she exclaimed, 
"Never mind the analysis, you getting what you want, be satisfied." 

The whole affair left Willow feeling a bitch. It was not only the deception 
of her two slavegirls but also her own erotic flame between her legs that 
prompted her reactions. Irritably she left Cherish and Misty chained upon 
the bed but with enough slack to reach the bathroom, telling them of a 
fictitious errand, and leaving sufficient food to last them through the day, 
before she left upon her shameful errand. 

She chose to walk. For some reason it seemed more proper. The time had been 
set at ten AM. and she arrived with a few seconds of that moment. Brian 
Aiken's greeting was casually polite, "You look very lovely today, Willow." 

"Thank you. I don't feel lovely. I feel ridiculous. Can we get on with this 
horrible charade?" 

Irritated he said, "Oh, come off it! Stop playing the grand lady. Move up a 
century from Queen Victoria. Damn it girl, if you've never been fucked, it's 
high time you were." 

Willow sustained the blow. She was about to give an acid reply when her 
cheeks were compressed between two male hands and she was being soundly 
kissed. She supposed it out of keeping with her submission to fight, she 
allowed the kiss to linger on and even found herself returning it. Then 
there were the two arms encircling her being and pressing her breasts hard. 
Slowly and without volition her own arms followed their natural course. It 
was quite a long time before she broke away, hot and angry and shame faced. 

"You have a gift for making me feel a mere nothing, a feminine convenience," 
she said. "Surely you're not going to offer a pretense of affection." 

"Why not! A man may whip the girl he loves, especially if it's for her own 
good." 

"Oh, you and your rationalizations. You make me so mad!" Willow shook 
herself as though to be rid of a stigma. "You want to be mean and brutal and 
unkind to me so get on with it. I suppose, first off, you want me naked?" 

"No I don't. And stop putting words into my mouth." He sounded angry. "Come 
along. We'll do this my way. I don't want you calling the shots." 

"And I don't need intoxicating beverages to sustain me," Willow affirmed 
when they were seated in the lounge. "Please don't offer me a drink, it's 
far too early in the day." 

"The British tradition?" He cocked a sardonic eyebrow. "Remember, you're 
going to be cruelly whipped. Surely a stimulant might help?" 

"Oh, all right, if you put it that way." Willow was glad of an excuse. The 
thought of the whipping, now so close, was unnerving. "I suppose I might as 
well find such relief from agony as you're willing to allow. " 

"You always make me feel a horse's ass with this Victorian attitude," Brian 
declared with bitter amusement. "I think you see yourself as all the 
heroines of the past century's fiction, probably the period of about 1880. 
You remember the old cliches? 'Unhand me you villain!' Or perhaps. 'If you 
take my maidenhead you will pay dearly!' And then the old favorite, 'You 
would not treat me thus if my father was present, you cad!'" He laughed at 
her flushed features. "Honest, that's the way you sound. And you're making 
me respond in the same stilted absurdities. Look, girl, we're talking about 
cunts and assholes and tits and cocks and pricks and the whole damned 
business. Why don't you grow up!" 

She was already blushing and could blush no more. Willow hated him, but at 
the same time was fascinated with his honesty and realized the truth of it. 

"Well, what am I suppose to say?" she demanded fretfully. "Do you want me to 
be ugly and vulgar and say things like, 'Get that beastly cock of yours out 
of my cunt!,' or maybe, 'Don't you dare you stick that thing into me!,' or 
maybe, 'What would your mother think of the way your acting!."' Willow 
laughed bitterly. "There isn't any dialog for what you propose. Consider 
that!" 

"Bravo, bravo!" Brian was genuinely admiring. "For a girl who has never been 
fucked, you do have acute perceptions. Young Cherish is a lucky girl!" He 
allowed the compliment to linger before adding, "And Miss Ponsonby's 
contribution to your menage? I'll bet she well- titted and well-twatted and 
all together desirable? The US product is usually superior to ours. I'm 
looking forward to seeing her." 

"You won't be seeing her. Remember that was our bargain, that after I've 
given myself to you today you'll relinquish all further demands. I'm here to 
save that girl, and Cherish, and Miss Ponsonby. Gosh, when I think of it, 
you are an absolute bastard." 

He had mixed their drinks and Willow was sipping with an outrageous urgency. 
She did not disguise her fear of the cut of the thong which would so soon 
now mark her flesh. She was coldly and calculatingly assessing both herself 
and possibilities of evasion. Since Brain Aiken seemed in no hurry to strip 
and whip her there might be cause for hope. 

"You are absolutely delicious." Brian Aiken had been studying her features. 
"I've been watching you and you've been figuring ways by which you might fox 
me, or maybe talk me out of it, or perhaps convert me into a good member of 
the church. How's that for analysis?" 

"You're absolutely correct. When do you wish me?" 

"When you've finished your drink. Don't hurry." 

It was utterly unreal. The two of them sitting in this civilized lounge, 
quietly discussing her flogging and her rape. Willow considered the matter 
now in the light of the alcohol she had consumed and began to understand 
Brian Aiken's point of view. She was a female and females were designed 
expressly to receive the implant of sperm from the rigid male. They were 
also expected to provide the moans and groans, both of orgasm and of the 
whip. Today she would be the star performer in both premieres of a 
production staged and planned by the laughing male who was now offering her 
the second drink. Perhaps it was offered in mercy, or perhaps to appease his 
sardonic sense of humor. Willow sipped, disgusted with herself, while Brian 
Aiken spoke. "I have to feel sorry for old Ponsonby," he said regretfully. 
"She's really a sad case, never been fucked, never been loved. But I suppose 
those whippings you give her make up for it. Does she howl?" 

"That's a private thing and none of your business." 

"Ah... So you do whip her! I'm glad of the confirmation. I was actually 
working on the basis of putting two and two together. Does she whip you?" 

"Don't be ridiculous. No one whips me. I'm a mistress." Willow flushed anew. 
"At least, no female whips me. I suppose quite soon now, I won't be able to 
say the same about the male." She met his eyes steadily and demanded, "Why 
does it mean so much to you to whip my bare skin, Brian Aiken?" 

He answered with unexpected ease, "To put you in your place, you're all 
together to hauty-taughty, the Grand Lady. Then there's the question of male 
lust, that's in there, too. I can't fuck you all night long but I can 
certainly whip you to my heart's content. And believe me, the sounds and 
emotions you'll make are pretty much the same in both cases." He paused and 
considered. "But that still leaves the question of the male conquest, the 
eternal need to capture and possess and subdue the female. Do you 
understand?" 

"I suppose so, it's always been like that, hasn't it? You're one of the luck 
ones who can make it real." 

All things end. Willow suddenly found herself facing an empty glass. She 
looked at Brian Aiken and knew her time had come. Without any false front of 
shame, coyness, or being arch she asked, very simply, "You want me naked 
now?" 

Before his eyes it was different from a girl. Willow undressed slowly with a 
tremendous awareness of male eyes and an erotic sense of power. Her 
nakedness could enslave this man, or any man, but how to apply it and make 
it real! How could she turn her naked body into a potent weapon strong 
enough to withstand his male strength and the cut and mark of the whip! 
There was no way. Quietly she reached for the fastening of what she wore. 

The Man examined the nakedness revealed. It was a blushing, shameful 
nakedness which left Willow without defense. She hated it. She hated him who 
gazed now in rapture. Caustically she asked, "I please you?" 

"Don't ask a silly question. You are superb." 

"Why whip me then? Why not love me instead?" 

"Loving you is your reward. The whip is the way you earn it." It was all so 
simple, so preordained. The male statement covered everything. At that 
moment Willow wished ardently she had been born a man and not a woman. It 
was a wish she had never previously known. Without expression she asked, 
"What now?" 

As she had been to Brian Aiken's room of punishments before, there was 
nothing new. She raised her arms as she had done before and, while he 
buckled the straps around her wrists, asked conversationally, "Why do you 
whip me first, why don't you rape me instead? I'd have supposed the male 
need to expend yourself inside me would have been greater than your wish to 
have me scream beneath your thong?" Brian laughed her question to scorn. 
"It's very simple, sweetheart. After I've made love to you long enough, I'll 
go to sleep. Then I won't feel like whipping you. But, if I whip you first, 
then I get the best of both worlds. You will delivery me your moans, your 
screams, your twisting of your nakedness. True, if I fucked you first, I 
would get them too. But they are our grand finale. What you suffer now is 
something of the prelude, the taste of pleasure to come. 

Willow felt strangely at home. She knew this was absurd, knew she would soon 
be screaming in agony. But she remembered the previous occasion, it had all 
happened before. But this time there would be no Miss Ponsonby to the 
rescue. This time she was alone with The Male. And the male would have its 
will with her without mercy. She wished she could feel more concern." 

"There, nice and helpless?" Brian might have been asking as to the fit of a 
glove. 

"Yes. I'm totally helpless and you know it. I'm scared to death and I hope 
you know that, too. Brian Aiken, I said it before and I'll say it again, 
you're a bastard." 

The whip sliced across her bare shoulders with an agony beyond her memory of 
the time before. It was an agony unbearable. Willow screamed instantly in 
response and it was accompanied by the creaking and groaning of the straps 
and framework holding her prisoner. Her punishment had begun. 

The naked girl, strapped helplessly and delivered to the whip, tried hard to 
divorce herself from the present moment of awful anguish and tried to hide 
herself in memories of times past. She thought of walking across grassy 
fields in the morning light. She thought of happy times with herself and 
Cherish in the gardens and forest of Questings. She thought of the two 
girls, hopefully happily enchained upon her bed. 

She thought of Miss Ponsonby and wondered if the frustrated spinster was 
thinking now of the plight to which she had delivered herself. She supposed 
the Mildred Ponsonby would be happy to be so strapped, naked and helpless, 
provided, of course, that she would be whipped by one of her own sex. It was 
unthinkable for Miss Ponsonby to be whipped by the male as Willow was now. 

Brian Aiken whipped the loveliness held helpless for his lust with a 
studious and methodical precision all the way from her neck down to her 
knees. When her back had been lashed he changed his instruments from the 
whip back to the riding crop which he had first used on her lovely bottom, 
and repeated the process over again. The captive struggled. She jerked at 
her encircled wrists and kicked her legs at nothing and for naught. He was 
remembering her as he had seen her around the village and on her previous 
visit to his home, clothed, precise, proper, and immensely civilized. But 
look at her now, here was all the savage exhalation of the male in 
retribution for all the snubs and rebuffs by which the female had taunted 
him throughout the ages. Here was male revenge! Brian Aiken, after using it 
cruelly, set aside the cane and retrieved the wicked whip by which his true 
purpose was achieved by the etching of the helpless feminine back. 

By the time her whipping ended Willow was half unconscious, half delirious, 
and all together disorganized. Her body jerked and twitched without her 
knowing it, reacting to an overload of pain. Her mind was lost in a red haze 
of pain, yet some part wondered why her nakedness and dancing body had not 
prompted the man to discard the cane and whip, and perform that ugly act of 
sex upon her helpless body. But that was still to come. She had escaped 
nothing, she had paid for nothing, the most potent portion of her bargain 
remained still to pay. Sobbing, she stood, arms upraised and still strapped, 
while the conquering male took her in his arms and kissed her with all the 
fervor of love. In a terrible loneliness she kissed him back. 

It was pleasant to stand without the clutch of leather around her wrists, to 
allow her arms to fall passively to each side, to reach back in tentative 
exploration of her wealed flesh. Willow Blake stood before her conqueror in 
submission. She was broken and pliant and subject to his will. Even though 
unbound she had no thought of flight. With female pragmatism she asked 
quietly, "Would it be asking too much for one more strong drink?" 

Laughingly she was led back to the lounge. Not by hand or fingers on her 
bare arm but by a harsh male grasp of her hair propelling her through 
passages and doors. She understood it as simply a symbol of male dominance. 
That was implicit in the pledge she had given. Miss Willow Blake followed 
meekly where she was led. 

"You can mix the drinks, sweetheart. Why not?" Brian said cheerfully when 
the reached the comfort of the lounge. "Go ahead. If they're not mixed to my 
satisfaction, you'll suffer some more, but you can make yours as strong as 
you want." 

Willow knelt where indicated, handing him his glass and sipping her own 
heavily laden potion. She supposed rape would be more bearable if drunk. 

"You took the whip remarkably well, sweetheart, far better than I thought." 
Brian's tribute sounded sincere. "One down, one to go." 

"Must you rape me?" 

"I'm afraid I must. It's a man's right, you know, when he has the female in 
his power. Plenty of precedents." 

Willow was sure he was right, but wished it otherwise. She had already 
exhausted all her inspirations for appeal. She had best resolve herself to 
the end itself. She spoke of what she hated, "So now you're going to use 
that beastly weapon between your legs to impale my... My sheath?" 

"Bravo, well put," Brian professed admiration for what she had asked. "Yes, 
darling, I am quite simply going to fuck you." 

"Do I get tied down?" 

"I'll be a gentlemen, I've give you the choice." 

It was a choice surprisingly hard to make. Willow longed to be free. But on 
the other hand, if she was securely bound and without recourse, she would 
also be free of guilt, her rape would be forced and without contest or 
submission. Quietly she said, "If you don't mind I think I'd sooner be 
bound." 

"You're chicken?" 

"Yes. Sorry." 

Her frank admission pleased him, lending him a power and an awareness of 
possession. This woman's body was his, soon he might have her mind, too. He 
was not too sure he might not have it now. 

"It's hard for me to believe, sweetheart. I don't mean as a rape, which I 
know you're calling this, but in any of the contexts in which a girl looses 
her virginity. " He looked down at the kneeling nakedness quietly sipping 
the drink she had made for herself. "I wish you'd forget the compulsion 
business. I know you are under compulsion, I can do anything I want with 
you, but just the same wouldn't it be nice if you and I simply made love 
down there upon the rug?" 

"Thank you. I suppose it's a nice thought. But no!" 

"Have it your own way. When you talk like that it makes me feel like I 
should haul you back into that other room and whip you to bits." He 
glowered. "I don't want you to forget I could whip you into groveling 
submission to anything. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, I understand." Willow's voice was wooden. "If it would please you to 
do this, you may as well do it. I don't seem to care about anything anymore. 
You've hurt me so much." 

Willow was suddenly in his arms, her drink sat aside to allow his total 
possession. After the first onslaught of kisses and the probing hand, he 
picked her up and carried her to where his bed was to be the alter upon 
which her virginity must be sacrificed. Willow did not struggle. 

She remembered Cherish and the manner in which Cherish had been bound to the 
bed on that previous time. It happened to her now. Willow made no complaint 
nor did she struggle as her arms were stretched to either side and bound 
fast to the bedposts. When the same was done to her feet, she muttered only 
a simple, "Thank you." 

"Maybe a pillow or two under your ass, sweetheart?" His tone was casual. 

"If you wish. I'm afraid I have no previous experience." 

It was all too perfectly classic and in the manner of porno pulp. Brian 
Aiken played with the captive nipples, first his fingers then his lips and 
tongue. One hand stole down to the furry patch and beneath to find it wet 
and ready. In the true tradition of such rapes, he held his palms, smeared 
with the moisture from her sex, against her mouth and Willow obediently 
licked them dry. She did it as an act without volition, wondering if any man 
could exact a greater tribute from a girl. 

Willow hips had been raised by pillows. She felt his approach between her 
legs and knew her time had come. She was happily numb from both alcohol and 
that protective insensibility her sex provided for such occasions. She held 
tense until his searching prong probed and found the wet lips awaiting its 
entry, when it had sought and found the wet comfort of the sheath, she 
relaxed in total surrender. From then on, Miss Willow Blake was consciously 
aware only of an intense curiosity, a curiosity which carried her through 
the short, sharp agony of loss of maidenhead and the final penetration of 
her womb. She supposed this was the end. 

But it was not the end! It seemed there was never to be an end to this day. 
Having discovered her the immense, whatever it was, proceeded to plunge then 
slowly withdraw. Again and again it did this and the male breath was heavy 
on her cheek. The male lips sought hers and glued themselves on hers to a 
point where she desired nothing more. Miss Willow Blake arched her back, 
raised her hips to thrust against the invader, not to repel but to invite. 
And surrendered herself totally to the invasion of her innermost self by 
that hard phallus of the male. It went on and on seemingly forever. Miss 
Willow Blake lost count of orgasms and climaxes, lost count of shame and 
entered into womanhood. 

She was kneeling once more in the lounge, totally unbound, but this time 
without aid of alcohol. Willow gazed up at the man who had whipped her and 
raped her. But she found little difference in either act. There had been a 
strange link between the two. She had originally thought of them as pain and 
shame. She supposed that other girls might have called it pain and pleasure 
but she would not so demean herself. Without feeling she asked, "You have 
had all of me, everything I have to give. What now?" 

Brian Aiken had been asking himself the same question, but did not tell her 
so. For lack of anything better to say, he pronounced, "You have paid your 
debt and that's the end of it." 

"It wasn't a debt, it was a bribe to set us free." 

"Have it your own way." 

"May I go home now?" 

"Why not, you're completely free." 

Willow remained kneeling. She was well aware of how we fail to do the things 
we long to do when they are impossible but now, in complete freedom, she 
failed to rise, failed to seek her clothes. With feminine insistence she 
demanded, "You promised to leave us alone. I suffered what you wish. Will 
you now repeat that promise?" 

"Why should I? Once should be enough." 

"I'm a girl. I'm scared, that's why." 

"I won't repeat a pledge, you've had it once and you'd best be satisfied. Go 
back to your female Questings but remember I'm still here." 

"Still a threat to us?" 

"I didn't say that. Be satisfied with what you have before I demand more." 
He considered her marked back and bottom and even the backs of her legs, and 
added, "It would be easy for me to keep you now, to keep you forever. You 
are something of an infinite desire." Willow recognized the signs of a 
regenerating male concupiscence and refrained from overplaying her hand, 
after all she had only this man's words, he could easily keep her and whip 
her on and on and on with intermissions for the penetrations of her sex. 
Awkwardly she rose to her feet. Awkwardly she said, "Well then, if you don't 
mind I'll be getting along." 

"Run along." He waved a careless hand. "You know where you clothes are and 
where the door is. No one's stopping you." 

The walk home should have been an exhilaration, a time of glory, but it was 
not. If Brian Aiken had been a gentlemen he would have driven her in his 
car. But this had not happened. He had airily and contemptuously waved her 
into a trudge across the fields. He was done with her, something was at an 
end. Remembering the two captives awaiting her return. Willow stepped out 
briskly, her clothes frictioning the weals upon her flesh but this was a 
minor concern she hardly noticed. 

The two girls were joyful and vocal. She suspected they had been enjoying 
lesbian sex to the point of satisfaction and now welcomed a diversion. 
Feeling a tremendous need of diversion herself, Willow became overly 
generous. "How would it be darlings if I take you out to dinner? Some nice 
pub where the food is good?" 

"But you'd have to unchain Misty and then she'd run away," protested 
Cherish. 

"No I wouldn't. I think it's a lovely idea," said Misty. 

Willow did what she had done before, cinched a chain around each slender 
waist and snapped it tight with a padlock. 

"Just to keep you aware of what you are," she cautioned gently. "But 
remember, I'm trusting you." 

Willow was nervous. She could be sure of Cherish but not of Misty. Misty was 
an unknown quantity. But perhaps the child would gain from the evening's 
entertainment a sense of belonging and an awareness that her enslavement was 
not as implacable as she might have at first thought. 

It was a chance Willow decided to take. 

The "horse and cow" was a pub renowned for good food. Willow felt certain 
they all needed it and felt a maternal concern for the two maidens who now 
were only semi-captive. If Misty chose to run away she would do so with her 
tummy tightly clasp in chain and padlock. But she might still do this and 
consider the handicap something she would later overcome. Willow shrugged 
the thought away, Miss Ponsonby would have to take the risk. 

Life is never dull. The first person they beheld, when installed at their 
own table, was the smiling countenance of Brian Aiken, the man who that 
afternoon had whipped and raped her. Willow could have screamed in 
frustration. When he came to greet them and ask if he could share their 
table, she had but little choice. When he was seated it was all too evident 
he had attracted the attention of both the moppets who should have been 
safely chained back at Questings. Willow's worst fears were instantly 
confirmed. 

"You're the bad man Aunt Mildred told me about," Misty volunteered brightly. 
She added, "You want to get all us girl into bed and do that you know what' 
to us. I bet you have a lot of fun." 

"Misty...!" Willow was horrified. 

"She's just trying to shock us all, Mr. Aiken," Cherish explained helpfully. 
"I'll bet she never said those things back where she came from." 

"Enchanting!" Brian Aiken eyed Miss American with approval. "My bed is yours 
anytime, kid," he assured the shining eyed moppet. "Don't bother to ask 
Willow, she wouldn't approve." 

Adult eyes locked. Both beheld the same vision of Willow, naked, bound, 
whipped, and spread-eagled for her rape. Willow flushed and turned her 
attention to Misty. "If you're going to talk like that, we'll go home right 
now," she said testily, including the intruding male in her regard she 
added, "I'm incline to think we should leave in any case. Mr. Aiken is not 
suitable company for girls your age." 

"She thinks she doesn't like me." Brian Aiken shrugged at the teenage 
regard. "Let's see if some ale will soften her up. Oh, and by the way, 
dinner is on me." 

Willow conceded his aplomb. Brian was taking every advantage of a situation 
she no longer could control. His coming had ruined what she had hoped would 
be an intimate get acquainted dinner between three girls. The bright chatter 
she planned had become stiltedly formal. She drank the cocktail and was 
annoyed with herself for feeling good from it. While Willow was seeking a 
suitably acid comment. Misty once more took the stage. 

"Is Willow kooky, Mr. Aiken? Back at her place she keeps Cherish and me 
naked and chained. It's the greatest fun but are all English girls treated 
that way?" 

"Indubitably." Brian smiled across the table for approval. "Cherish and me, 
we've got a chain and padlock around our tummies right now, Mr. Aiken. Is 
that so we won't eat too much or is every English girl have a chain around 
her middle." 

"Every single one," Brian assured with solemn seriousness. "Helps the figure 
no end." 

"And Cherish and I get our bottoms caned if we used a four letter word. I've 
got a real sore ass." 

"And so you should have," Brian spoke as from long experience. "Every girl 
your age should have her bottom caned once a week." 

"Does Willow whip Aunt Mildred's ass because Aunt Mildred didn't get it 
caned when she was young, I mean sort of catching up?" 

"You Aunt Mildred has been sadly deprived," Brian Aiken agreed with the same 
serious face. "Miss Blake is being a wonderful influence; aren't you 
Willow?" 

Willow hid her fury by ignoring the male and focusing her attention on Misty 
who now wiggled unhappily beneath that stern regard. "Do you realize how 
many times you have used offensive words since Mr. Aiken has sat down with 
us?" she asked. "I do not see how I can overlook these deliberate lapses on 
your part. I have a responsibility to your Aunt Mildred. When we return to 
Questings you will be adequately punished." 

"Oh, wow! Gee, whiz Willow, you're not going to cane my bottom again, are 
you?" 

"There are other ways of bringing you to penitence. We will not discuss it 
further." She turned to Brian Aiken, "Perhaps we should order." 

Brian unexpectedly cooperated in the matter of decorum. He had an endless 
fund of small talk and amused the teenagers and occasionally drew an 
unwilling smile from the girl he had whipped earlier in the day. Willow 
recognized unreality. For the girl it was probably the most incredible day 
of her life and the most painful. But the association she had established 
with Cherish created an atmosphere from which she could not escape. Brian 
Aiken was simply an extension of it. There was also Miss Ponsonby. She 
wondered what The County would think if they only knew. 

The mistress of Questing wished she could share the teenager's enjoyment of 
both the time and place and the man. Whatever his character might be, Brian 
Aiken was good company and set himself to work to please. But, throughout 
the dinner talk, and even under the influence of the wine she let him 
choose, Willow was never unaware of male regard. Brian's eyes constantly 
focused upon her, evoking a blush she hoped the girls failed to see. She 
knew what he was thinking and Brian was well aware of her knowledge. But, if 
she had expected innuendo and carnal hints, she was disappointed. The 
behavior of their male host was impeccable. When they parted to go their 
separate ways, he possessed himself of her hand and gazed steadfastly into 
her evasive eyes and said, "Don't be too hard on the girl, she's only a 
kid." Cherish picked up the vibrations but was uncertain of their origin, 
she could only guess at some shared incident between her mistress and the 
man who had bought their dinner. But Willow's word was law and Willow still 
appeared, in her eyes, in command of the situation and most certainly in 
command of she and Misty! 

Arriving back at Questings, she immediately fled to her bedroom, stripped 
naked, and took her handcuffs and leg irons to the older girl she adored. In 
an absent minded manner Willow locked the irons on the wrists and ankles of 
the young, eager girl. It was a act they had done so often it had no 
significance. It was simply the thing to do. 

"Gosh, Cherish, do you really want those things on you that bad!" Misty 
asked in frank curiosity as she looked at Mistress and blithely inquired, 
"Do you want me to go get mine too?" 

"Yes, please. You'll soon get used to being ironed." 

The girl from far away was still enjoying the mysteries of her new 
environment. She submitted to her ironing procedure with the same pleasure 
as shown by Cherish, but he comment was typical, "Being naked and wearing 
these things makes me homy as hell, Willow. Aren't you going to do something 
about it?" 

"I've warned your about vulgarity, watch it. I'm still trying to decide a 
suitable punishment for your behavior at dinner, it was quite unforgivable." 

"But, darling... The chain around our tummy?" Cherish reminded gently. 

In the same abstracted manner, Willow found the keys, unlocked the padlocks 
and allowed the trim waists to return to normal, the pink impression of 
links remaining on teenage skin. The effect was wickedly erotic. 

Willow viewed a much subdued and now expectant young woman. Misty was 
conscious of judgment close at hand. 

"I don't really want to punish you," Willow admitted reluctantly, "but you 
give me no choice, your behavior at dinner was outrageous and, if your aunt 
hears of it, I could not possibly explain my failure to inflict proper 
punishment." 

"Well, why don't you whip me? Isn't that what you always do?" 

Willow sighed. Misty was a darling of a category she had not previously 
dealt with. She had none of Cherish's sweet submission. True, she did 
submit, but it was in a way that was Misty's own. "I'm not going to whip 
you, Misty," she said reflectively. "If I whip you every time you misbehave, 
you'd be covered in welts. I don't want that and neither do you. I'll 
satisfy my conscious this time by giving you a rather uncomfortable night in 
which you'll have plenty of time to contemplate your sins while Cherish and 
I sleep comfortably upstairs. Come here." 

Misty sensed an occasion. They were in the lounge and she had been secretly 
hoping for a nightcap but thought it better not to ask for one. She was 
still sampling the eroticism of being ironed and naked and in the company of 
these two females unlike any others she had ever met. Erect and competent, 
she obeyed Willow's command and stood before the woman she must obey. 

"Give me your hands, Misty." 

Misty did as she was bid. She watched the unlocking of her left wrist and 
thrilled to the tug upon her right by a determined Willow who led her to the 
wall and the familiar ring. Once more there was the equally familiar series 
of clicks while the empty cuff sought a refuge of its own within the metal. 
Misty was securely tethered. 

Cherish could guess the punishment but Misty had not yet grasped the import 
of what had taken place. She playfully rattled the single link of the 
handcuff that held her to the wall and arranged her hair with her free hand. 
As far as she was concerned nothing had happened. 

"Cherish and I are going to bed now. Misty. You can stay right where you 
are. We'll see you in the morning." 

Misty came to life. She tugged at the handcuff and then asked, "You mean 
you're going to leave me here all night. I have to stand just like this?" 

"You can probably sit down, dear, but only with your hand up above your 
head." Willow's voice was sweet. "You can arrange yourself anyway you like, 
but I don't think you'll be terribly comfortable. Think of all those vulgar 
words you need not have used." 

Cherish would have preferred to be whipped. But no doubt her mistress was 
wise in her handling of a girl to whom all of Questings was new and hard to 
believe. Misty would not sleep much and would have an opportunity for 
thought. In any case, whatever Willow did was right. Cherish impulsively 
kissed the girl who was just beginning the strangest punishment of her life, 
then followed her mistress up the stairs. 

Her hand upon the fastening of the dress brought Willow to a realization of 
a contretemps. Aiken's whip had marked her cruelly. True, it had broken no 
skin, but by now the lash strokes would be vivid. Her bottom and her back 
were still cruelly tender. For a moment she considered making excuses, but 
there would still be tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Cherish would be 
hurt and demanding at so strange an absentation from love. Willow shrugged 
secretly and made the best of it. Cherish would understand. 

"Oh, darling!" Cherish surveyed the multicolored flesh of the girl who 
possessed her utterly. It was a shock but a shock explaining much. Her voice 
held only the faintest tinge of accusation. "You let Mr. Aiken do this to 
you, didn't you? Oh, Willow, you must have been hurting terribly all through 
dinner!" 

"Only were I sat down." Willow smiled. "You know yourself the agony of a 
whip quickly dies, a girl is just left with tender spots and not wanting her 
clothes." 

The two girls stared. Cherish was ironed but it was the mistress who bore 
the marks of a cruel whipping. It was an incongruity they had not previously 
met, a happening Cherish did not fully understand, but in a suddenly flash 
of feminine intuition she exclaimed, "And I bet he did that other thing to 
you, didn't he, the thing he did to me!" 

"Yes, I'm afraid he did." 

"Darling, why did you let him! Jeepers, Willow, you look so beautiful with 
all those terrible marks. How did he compel...?" 

"I made a deal with him. If I made him a present of myself today he swore 
never to bother us again." 

"But he bothered us at dinner! I know you didn't want him with us?" 

"Yes, but he's promised to stop prowling around this house and trying to 
kidnapped either you or me. I discussed it with Miss Ponsonby. She said she 
believed he would be a man of his word." 

"But, darling, suppose he isn't!" Cherish was alarmed. 

"In that case I've subjected myself to pain and indignity without profit. I 
thought it a chance I had to take." 

The two girls surveyed each other for a silent moment. Cherish, who was 
adept in almost any function while ironed, arranged her arms around the 
beloved, and now heavily wealed loveliness, and hugged and hugged and 
hugged. Their kisses, passionate as ever, but made now under the duress of a 
strange urgency. It was as though something beautiful was ending. 

When they untangled, and Cherish was once more submissive in her irons, the 
youngster grinned shyly and said, "But now we both know what it's like. I 
didn't feel good about learning of it before you. It doesn't seem it made 
much difference to me. How about you?" 

Willow managed a sad, small laugh. "It's not what the story books tell us, 
darling. I wish I could feel something different than I do, but I don't even 
feel guilty or soiled...." 

"That maidenhead thing they talk so much about, I guess it's just some sort 
of membrane, isn't it? I didn't know I had it before and I don't miss it 
now," Cherish giggled. "I wonder if it's this way with every girl!" 

"I think you have to love someone terribly to make it what it ought to be," 
Willow said reflectively. "There were moments...." 

"I feel awfully guilty about them, too. Darling, I know you won't approve of 
me saying this but you and me have both been fucked." 

"No, I don't approve, but that word does just about describe it. Describes 
the way I feel. Brian Aiken is probably not a bad guy if we had met him 
under different circumstances. His trouble is he's living alone out here in 
the country whereas he ought to be in the city and doing something." 

"Mistress, darling, I've come to sort of love Misty, but I wish she'd stayed 
back there in the USA. You and I have something so beautiful I resent anyone 
trying to spoil it. Or even spoiling it without trying. Poor darling, can't 
we give her back to Miss Ponsonby?" 

The two girls buried the dolor of the day in the passionate entanglement of 
love. Inhaling the heady perfume of their own femaleness, they feed upon 
each other and gorged themselves with breasts and pubic hair, their erotic 
carnality fed upon itself to generate in both female bellies and endless 
fire. Cherish and Willow loved each to distraction. 

In the morning Misty was gone. 

 CHAPTER SIX - RUNAWAY 

"I think he slipped her a key during dinner," Cherish moaned. "I thought I 
saw something but then I forgot. She could easily hide it in her hair." 

Willow felt a guilty sense of relief. Misty was a burden anyway you looked 
at it. Questings had been complete before she came and, now with her gone, 
it could return to normal. On the other hand, where had Misty gone? There 
would be a perturbed Miss Ponsonby to deal with. While considering what she 
could tell an angry spinster about the disappearance of her niece, the phone 
jangled its discordant ring. 

"I thought I'd best let you know where I am." Misty's voice was tranquil and 
faintly jubilant. Willow found herself breathing a sigh of relief. But the 
bad news was still to come, it began with a girlish giggle, "Darling, I left 
your handcuffs and leg irons where I took them off, but Mr. Aiken had some 
of his own and he's got them on me now. Isn't this positively cunt 
crinkling!" 

"No it isn't! Get yourself back here." 

"But, darling, I've just told you I can't. Mr. Aiken has my legs chained and 
lovely handcuffs on my wrists. These he's got are beautiful black ones and 
much more feminine that those you put on me. I'm so glad I came here." 

"You won't be glad when your Aunt Mildred finds out." Misty's sigh of deep 
content was unmistakable over the wire. 

"Darling, I don't know about Aunt Mildred, but I'm sure you'll be glad to be 
rid of me. I did so envy what you and Cherish have going for you, and all I 
did was mess it up. Aunt Mildred should have kept me for herself but that 
wouldn't have been half so much fun." 

"Misty, you've made a terrible mistake. Let me speak to Mr. Aiken." The 
cheerful male voice went instantly to the attack. "Don't say I've broken my 
word. I've left you and Cherish alone, I have not bothered Questings. The 
young lady we are discussing came to me of her own free will. Naturally I 
will put her to good use." 

"Misty is a simple child, probably misled," Willow counter attacked. "Giving 
her that key was an interference in my affairs." Willow was breathing 
heavily in this facing of a new dilemma. "So all right, so you want 
something -- what is it?" 

"You." 

"But you said...." 

"You're right, I did. So instead of you my price is Mildred Ponsonby. How 
does that grab you?" 

Willow's first instinct was to laugh, it was too absurd. But with Brian 
Aiken, and Misty in his power, anything could happen. She demanded, "You 
surely don't mean to inflict on her what you did on me!" 

"Why not! Do her a world of good. She won't die wondering. Besides, if you 
whip her bottom, why shouldn't I? She might even be grateful." 

Misty's voice came back on the line, "Oh Willow, darling, I think it's the 
most wonderful idea. Mr. Aiken is so clever...." Willow slammed the receiver 
back down hard. 

Phoning Mildred Ponsonby was not easy. Willow felt a child who must confess 
to sin. But Miss Ponsonby was equal to this fresh disaster, equal at least 
to contemplate it without becoming hysterical. "I blame myself," she said 
firmly. "You mustn't feel guilty about this. 

I will phone Mr. Aiken and see if I can't pound some sense into his stupid 
head. As for my niece... ! When I get that little strumpet back in my 
possession she won't sit down for a month." 

"Don't blame Misty too much. She's just a kid and Brian Aiken is a bit 
overwhelming for a teenager. He's a damned good looking man. " Miss Ponsonby 
hesitated. "Look, Mildred," Willow continued, "I think Aiken is going to 
demand a price. I've paid him once, I suppose I might as well pay him twice. 
It's really my fault he's got Misty, I should have paid more attention to 
the girl. If we ever get our hands on her again, we'd best use padlocks." 

"No one will be paying any price of any kind to this dreadful man. Not even 
if I have to go over there with my umbrella." 

"But Miss Ponsonby...." Willow considered the dreadful confession she must 
now make. "He whipped me and violated me as his price for giving Cherish 
back. I think he'll demand the same of you." 

"We will see about that!" Miss Ponsonby declared grimly. "We shall see...!" 

* * * 

Misty was delighted. By her own choice she was now owned by a man, a 
delightful and good-looking example of the genus Male. She had entered into 
an enslavement which, for her, was nothing more than a continuation of the 
bizarre events beginning with her Aunt Mildred, then the adventure of 
Questings, and now the spine crinkling excitement of being chained and naked 
and possessed by a real live male who would most certainly do things to her. 
Misty was certain boredom had no place in her immediate future. If the 
English wanted to be kinky, she would show them how! 

For a sixteen year old girl the humming of glands and the palpitation of 
excitement of both her heart and her sex was nothing new. Misty knew they 
heralded immense delights waiting around the corner of birthdays. Now, freed 
of inhibitions, she hoped to find in Brian Aiken the answer to a maiden's 
prayer. When she had exclaimed delightfully about the beautiful black 
handcuffs about her wrists, she had unashamedly inquired, "Are you going to 
fuck me, Mr. Aiken?" 

"Do you want me to?" 

"Well, I think it would be very nice if you would, but I've never been 
fucked yet... Would that make it more difficult? I mean, would you mind?" 

"My pleasure, sweetheart. Here, let me turn you around and have a look at 
that bottom of yours. My, my, someone really did give it to you, huh?" 

Misty giggled, "That was Aunt Mildred. She tied me down on a real whipping 
bench and went to work on me. She made me cry. But by the time she let me 
loose, I was homy as all get out. I do hope you won't mind but I'm homy 
right now." 

Brian Aiken accepted his blessings thankfully. Life had suddenly become 
replete with naked maidens, tastefully chained and agreeable to his will. 
True, Misty was young for his taste, but the dear child would lead to more 
mature delights. 

Misty had been trying to feel her wealed bottom with handcuffed hands, but 
was not finding it easy. To the man watching these sensuous contortions, 
Misty's next query was a further confirmation of fortune in his grasp. "Will 
you whip me, Mr. Aiken?" Misty giggled. "Seems like in England, anyone who 
loves you whips you. Cherish couldn't explain it to me but I'll get it 
figured it out someday. Would you enjoy whipping me, Mr. Aiken? I'm not to 
fussy about getting my bottom caned any more right now, but that still 
leaves quite a lot of the rest of me." 

Assured of available delights, Brian chucked her under the chin and kissed 
her mouth enough to give Misty what she called within her mind, the 
flutters. Purposefully he went to the phone. 

Miss Mildred Ponsonby's thoughts were bitter as she parked her car adjacent 
to the heaven of The Male. She had fought her own battle in her mind and was 
now determined and anxious on account of her niece. She had decided against 
calling the police. She was determined not to embroil Willow further. She 
would fight this battle on her own and yield to the victor the spoils of 
war. 

"I trust you have some honor left, Mr. Aiken? If I yield to your outrageous 
demands, may I be assured you will not renege?" 

"Absolutely." Aiken's tone was fervent with sincerity. "And now a glass of 
sherry?" 

It was on the tip of Mildred Ponsonby's tongue to refuse, but after all a 
glass of sherry might prove beneficial in an ordeal she might find difficult 
to endure. She said a stiff thankful and followed her host to the lounge. "I 
am assuming you have not harmed Misty?" she inquired as she accepted the 
brimming glass. 

"You will soon be seeing her, Miss Ponsonby. May I say how much I admire 
your acceptance of the inevitable?" 

"Yes, thank you, I will have another glass." Miss Ponsonby handed over her 
empty glass as though conferring a favor. "I will remind you of your promise 
to allow me to forcefully explain to my niece the reason for her being 
whipped?" 

"Of course, of course I will. In fact I will be curious as to your 
realization." 

"That is simple. The child has behaved disgracefully and deserves a 
thrashing." Miss Ponsonby sniffed angrily. "But I will admit to finding the 
infliction of pain upon this young woman thrust upon me by fate a 
distasteful task." She took a hearty sip and fixed her host with a gimlet 
eye. "I simply demand you do not go beyond sensible limits in her 
punishment." 

"You appear to have given her bottom severe attention already." 

"And I intend to do so again at some later date. For now I will see it as a 
favor if you would perform the task. This is the one small dividend I seem 
to be receiving in this whole unfortunate affair." 

Sitting, watching his visitor bolster her morale, Brian Aiken was not 
unaware of Miss Ponsonby's physical possibilities. She was a woman who long 
ago appeared to have given up the pursuit of men and retired into an early 
spinsterhood. He numerated in his mind the many things she might have done 
to make herself attractive. Should an opportunity present, he would present 
to her the wisdom of abandoning the stilted Victorian phrases of her mother 
or grandmother. They aged and dated her far back past her proper age. Brian 
found himself with a growing curiosity as to what she would look like when 
naked. He would soon find out. 

Miss Ponsonby was a confusion of strange notions. She knew most women 
approaching her ordeal would be hysterical or prostrate with fear, but her 
courage was sustained by more than a natural different from most women. She 
had been whipped by Willow and found it a tremendous and erotically 
satisfying experience. She understood herself as a woman with an actual need 
of pain, or corporal punishment at the hands of another. Up to now she had 
not contemplated the possibility of receiving the whip from any but a female 
hand. Soon now it would be a man who would strip her nude and lash her 
nakedness to his heart's content. Mildred Ponsonby was trembling with a 
strange eagerness with which she was completely ashamed but which, on the 
other hand, seemed likely to give her greater strength than two glasses of 
sherry. Nervously she suggested, "Perhaps we should get started?" 

Brian Aiken had set a stage with almost professional skill. The first thing 
to catch Miss Ponsonby's eye was her niece. Misty was stark naked and 
standing to one side with her hands crossed and bound and raised comfortably 
above her head to compel her to stand in one place and to be an appreciative 
audience for her Aunt's humiliation. When Misty caught sight of them her 
response was instant, "Oh, Mildred, isn't this wonderful, we're both going 
to be whipped!" 

Miss Ponsonby had expressed concern for the welfare of her niece but she had 
not expected this. She stopped dead in her tracks and addressed their 
tormentor, "Mr. Aiken, I absolutely refuse to subject myself to your carnal 
interests with the audience of this young woman, my niece. Immediately 
remove her." 

"Don't be ridiculous. What you and I are about to do deserves an audience. 
Misty needs experience in the esoteric arts and this will be a marvelous 
opportunity for the dear child." Brian chuckled, "Besides, she wants to see 
you get what she describes as 'your ass whipped.'" 

"Misty, I am ashamed of you!" Miss Ponsonby's tone was loaded with menace. 
"Be good enough to tell this man to take you elsewhere. He and I have some 
business matters to discuss." 

"I know what it is, Aunt Mildred," Misty assured cheerfully. "He's going to 
whip your bottom, don't bother to call it business. He's going to whip mine, 
too." 

"I should indeed hope so." Miss Ponsonby's tone was frigid. "Your behavior 
merits punishment. Mr. Aiken assured me you will receive one. I am not, 
however, anxious to be a witness." She turned to the smiling man and 
demanded, "Mr. Aiken, please take this irresponsible maiden away out of 
sight. Attach her to something in a distance place." 

"You won't do that, will you Mr. Aiken?" Misty had obviously been coached. 
"I'm going to watch everything that happens to you, Auntie dear. I'm so 
excited." 

For Miss Ponsonby it was a moment of decision. But she had gone this far, 
she felt herself already soiled so what did a pair of sparkling young eyes 
matter? She contented herself with, "There will come a time, Misty, when I 
am alone with you in complete freedom. You will regret this day." 

Misty watched breathless while her Aunt Mildred was positioned on center 
stage and received the crisp male command, "Strip." Miss Ponsonby swallowed 
hard. Victorian terms of condemnation choked her throat but were swallowed 
in grim determination to acquit herself honorably in a time of crisis. 
Almost fiercely she removed her clothes. 

The watchers were impressed. When he beheld the nude Miss Mildred Ponsonby, 
Brian realized this was indeed his day. Naked the target of his attentions 
was twice the woman she was when clothed. It was an unexpected bonus, a 
bonus to set his pulse to racing and his sex to hardening. 

There was no dangling tether of rope or chain. Nonchalantly the male 
demanded, "Just gather your hair please, Miss Ponsonby, and raise it while I 
fix this collar on your neck. I promise the effect will be quite nice. When 
we have time I will allow you to admire it in a mirror." 

It was an unexpected move but one hard to deny. Miss Ponsonby raised her 
hair away from the nap of her neck and suffered in silence while a ban of 
leather encircled her neck, was fastened snugly, and made secure with the 
snap of a padlock. Acidly she said, "I am not a dog." 

Brian paid no heed. His next move to was handcuff the hands reluctantly 
given, then to raise the hands above the unhappy head to fix the joined 
hands at the nap of the spinster's neck. Miss Ponsonby was now most 
blatantly exposed. With a male hand on each side of her rib cage, Brian 
Aiken guided Miss Mildred Ponsonby to her fate. It was a simple and innocent 
device, difficult to identify, rather like a divided box upon the floor. 
However, in the space between the two halves were the half circles that told 
their own story. Brian had Miss Ponsonby step into place, insert her ankles 
within the waiting holes. He then moved the other half forward. There then 
came the snap of a padlock. Miss Ponsonby stood now, hands held tight behind 
her neck, arms raised, but most of all she had lost her feet, they appeared 
severed at the ankles by the wooden device in which she was now locked. They 
were separated by just enough to assure indecent exposure. 

Misty was breathless. She, herself, stood comfortably with her crossed 
wrists just above her hair. She could turn and twist to her heart's desire. 
But her aunt was now a firm fixture in the center of the room. She, too, 
could contrive a half turn and a considerable amount of motion in which she 
could struggle and try to avoid the coming whiplashes. Twistings and 
struggles that would, in the end, avail her naught. She must stand where she 
was for whatever might ensue. 

Brian had chosen a riding crop, a slim, evil instrument his victim eyed with 
hatred. But before using it, he placed one arm around the not unlovely waist 
and used his other hand to explore between the legs that could not close. 
Laughingly he suggested, "This is your turn, Miss Ponsonby, to come up with 
some real old-fashioned expressions like, 'Unhand me, you cad!' Or perhaps, 
'Take your hand from there, you villain!'" 

"Consider them said," Miss Ponsonby retorted coldly. "As I have stated 
before, you are not a gentlemen." 

"For which I offer thanks," said Brian with feeling. "I say now, look at my 
hand. It's as wet as if I just palmed young Misty. Here, lick it off. Dry my 
hand, you may as well do something useful." 

"I could never do such a thing." 

Brian gathered the helpless nudity under one arm and bent it down to present 
the twin cheeks for his attention. Without warning he delivered upon each of 
them a resounding slap, the impact made all more audible by a wet hand. He 
finished the drying process upon the spinster thighs. He backed away, 
laughing, to receive one more vocal relic of Victorian days, "That was a 
dastardly thing to do, Mr. Aiken. If you feel no shame I will feel enough 
for both." 

The riding crop sang its fierce, glad song and wound itself across Miss 
Ponsonby's bottom from hip to hip. The nakedness, hands held high by her 
neck, feet firmly locked within the stocks, gasped and flinched. The pain 
was undoubtedly a shock. Then, quietly she suggested, "I suppose it is 
useless to ask you to whip me somewhat less vigorously?" 

"I'm afraid so." 

Misty watched enthralled. She had been introduced to eroticism only recently 
but already found herself deeply involved in an emotional rapport with each 
situation as it unfolded. As she watched now, Brian Aiken methodically and 
artistically laid blow after wicked blow across the bottom of her aunt, a 
bottom on which she could now discern the marks of similar attentions. Aunt 
Mildred was a fraud. Bursting with things to say, the nymphet said nothing. 
She suddenly remembered her turn would come. She contented herself with the 
impotent query, "Does it hurt, Auntie?" 

It is doubtful Miss Ponsonby heard. She was fighting tooth and nail to 
retain a reasonable composure and refuse to scream. The pain was atrocious, 
far more than Willow had imposed, yet when Brian paused in its 
administration the fire burned hotly between the spinster's legs to give her 
reassurance. Perhaps the agony would be less when Aiken abandoned the crop 
and moved from her bottom to her back! On the other hand the back always 
hurt more than the bottom... ! 

"Maybe you shouldn't hit her so hard, Mr. Aiken." Misty was feeling a 
belated loyalty, her own twin cheeks twitching in sympathy to each solid 
impact across her Aunt Mildred's flesh. "You're not being a bit kind." 

Aiken turned his attention from the aunt to the niece. Without a word he 
slashed hard with the crop across the virgin back. Misty screamed and danced 
a puppet jig at the end of her tether, her eyes brimming tears fixed upon 
him in reproach. "You do not give me advice, sweetheart," Brian said gently. 
"Just one stroke for now, there could be more." 

"You are a monster," said Aunt Mildred with conviction. 

"I am simply giving guidance where needed, dear lady. That single 
application will teach our little darling to watch her words." Brian spoke 
in a pleasantly conversational tone. He was living intensely but only wish 
he could share this ecstasy with the woman who's punishment was not yet half 
way through. With Willow or Cherish it would have been different. But with 
Mildred Ponsonby it was an unknown quantity. He had uncovered unsuspected 
depths, there might be more. He turned his attention back to the vividly 
wealed skin of the woman who must needs stand, obscenely straddled to 
receive his justice. His arm swung viciously and one more line of crimson 
appeared. Miss Ponsonby was holding up well, he would take his time. 

Misty wept. It was not only the unexpectedly awful pain of the crop across 
her back but also her fear the rapport between herself and this strange man 
might be jeopardized. For the first time she was glimpsing authority in the 
male arm and the stern male lips. She was now frighteningly conscious of her 
own impending pain. But Mr. Aiken appeared fully occupied with Aunt Mildred 
so perhaps he might forget. Hopefully she dried her cheeks upon a raised 
bare arm and gazed in awe at Aunt Mildred. 

Aunt Mildred had no choice but to stand erect and thrust her breasts into 
prominence. The locked hands behind her neck were a compulsion in this 
exposure. The stocks in which her legs were fastened were artfully designed. 
When Brian paused his application of the crop and devoted a free hand to the 
exploration of her crotch and the softness of inside thighs, she uttered 
urgently, "Please no. Please don't whip me there. You mustn't, you 
mustn't...!" 

But when her inquisitor exchanged the crop for a lightly thonged whip which 
swept swiftly up between her legs, she deigned to say no more. To plead was 
useless. Miss Ponsonby bore the harsh impacts on her thighs and upward into 
the intimacy of her crotch in as silent an anguish as she could. 

"Are you going to whip me in there like that, Mr. Aiken?" Misty had 
recovered and was showing a more concerned curiosity in events. "Does it 
hurt something awful, Aunt Mildred?" 

"Unspeakably!" Aunt Mildred looked back beneath a sweat-soaked armpit to 
demand, "You absolutely must not whip the child in such private places. I 
realize your lust must find its outlet with me but Misty is only 
sixteen...." 

"Going on seventeen," Misty added, helpfully. 

Brian Aiken adored them both. Beneath his whip Mildred Ponsonby had acquired 
a strange new aura of desirability. Her sweat of anguish was doubly and 
triply female. He sniffed it appreciatively and noted the swelling curves 
and contours of a woman who had hidden her femininity beneath a cloak of 
rejection. His curiosity as to her quality during the act of rape quickened, 
it was a discovery he could afford to delay and with each blow across her 
virgin skin, Miss Ponsonby would become increasingly amenable. Her protests 
had already faded away, she was devoting every ounce of her character to the 
suppression of screams. With the exchange of whips he eyed the new field of 
his efforts and decided not to carry the woman he was whipping beyond the 
bounds of tolerance. The pain she seemed able to handle should prove enough. 

"Are you going to whip Aunt Mildred's back now, Mr. Aiken," Misty asked. She 
was not involved to the point of forgetting. "Jeepers...! I say though, 
shouldn't you cover her breasts? Wouldn't it be awful if...." It was a 
repeat performance. Aiken once more selected the silken thonged whip which 
he had marked the Ponsonby crotch and advanced to a now cringing Misty. "You 
really do talk a lot, child," he said easily as, with a swift, sure stroke, 
he splatted the thongs hard across the nymphet's left breast. While she was 
still in shock he repeated the blow upon her right, nodding in satisfaction 
at the spreading red upon the smooth, pert young breasts. Casually he 
returned to his task. 

"Mr. Aiken, I really must protest. You should never whip a female in such a 
delicate place. In any case, Misty's far to young." 

"Got nice tits though." 

"You are disgusting, beyond the pale. Kindly return your attentions to me. I 
am trying hard to compose myself beneath your cruelty." 

"Oh. come of it Mildred. You know you're loving every stroke and wanting 
more. As we progress I'll return to that bottom of yours and keep it well 
scolded. I'll bet you've got a nice little fire burning right now" He smiled 
pleasantly and took a practice swing. "And now your back, Mildred. Please 
feel free to scream." 

Misty was in a fever of lust as she watched the whip cut its will upon her 
Aunt's back. The captive girl was emotionally uncertain of her own feelings. 
Her breasts were tingling, but after the initial agony the effect was 
decidedly arousing as was the stroke across her back. If only Mr. Aiken 
would space his cuts upon her skin sufficiently wide apart, she knew she 
could bare them and would unquestionably climax explosively. It was the 
steady cut after cut after cut she feared. Watching her aunt now, Misty had 
little hope of emulating her fortitude. Mildred Ponsonby swayed, twisted and 
gasped. Her elbows pointing to each side of her head were like small wings 
fluttering in anguish. The youngster's bound hands were fluttering in much 
the same manner, struggling to free themselves from the rope holding them. 
Misty scarcely noticed the rough chafe in preoccupation in what she had 
received. She had entered a strange new world in which she was already 
encountering intensities of emotions she had never dreamed of. When she 
realized her own travail had scarcely started, her heat flamed anew and made 
her long for a free hand with which to touch the engorged flesh between her 
thighs. Misty guessed she was wet, wet, wet and was willing to bet her aunt 
was, too. 

Brian Aiken was a Sybarite who well knew the brevity of joy. He was 
practiced to know the value of variety and moderation. When he had planted 
his last blow across the bare back, he circled the twitching nakedness to 
savor every nuance of feeling from the erotic vision. Mildred appeared 
unaware of him, her eyes were still closed in the seeking of an escape from 
pain denied. And she continued to provide the man who had whipped her with 
lush tributes from the curves of her female body. Unconsciously she 
bombarded him with wave after wave of female scent until the watching man 
felt positive of lush rewards in the second half of the pinioned woman's 
punishment. His reverie was shattered by Misty's pert inquiry, "Are you 
going to fuck Aunt Mildred now, Mr. Aiken?" 

The outrageous question now only robbed Brian Aiken of his vision but it 
brought Aunt Mildred herself back to reality. Her retort was typical, "I've 
told you never to use that word, Misty." She turned to Brian to ask, 
quiveringly, "Are you done with me, Mr. Aiken, is my whipping at an end?" 

"I fear so." He regret was genuine. There can be no doubt he would have been 
happy to whip her throughout the day. He turned to Misty and said, "Quiet 
girl. I'm going to deal with you." But then he and the woman he had whipped 
reverted to their own visions and their own pains and ecstasies. It was 
almost with reverence he left the female feet locked in the stocks and 
turned his attention to the shinning eyed nymphet who's breasts were 
enchantingly decorated in a bra of scarlet. His first act was to palm her 
heated sex, withdrawing a wet hand and making her dry it with her tongue as 
he casually observed, "Be nice when you've got as nice a pubic bush as your 
Aunt Mildred. I hope you've noticed she's got a nice forest there." 

"Will mine grow like that, Mr. Aiken? Gee, I hope so." 

Brian was well aware of the deadening effect of too much pain too soon. A 
mischievous thought had entered his mind. "I wonder if the growth of your 
little triangle might be speeded by a good shave?" His suggestion met with a 
stunned silence. Misty was turning the suggestion over and over in her mind, 
uncertain of how she should react. Stupefied, she asked aghast, "Oh, Mr. 
Aiken, you really mean you'd shave my cunt?" 

"I was thinking of you pubic hair. But, of course, that little thing with 
the four letter name is right in there. I'm sure it would yield a few 
hairs." 

"But why...?" 

"It would show off your neat little slit better than inside a bush and would 
make it much more vulnerable when being whipped. Too much hair tends to hide 
the weals." 

"But I haven't got that much, Mr. Aiken. Not near as much as Aunt Mildred." 

"No great loss then. But a nice experiment, don't you think?" Misty's heart 
pounded. A shaven cunt! The vulgar words turned over and over in her mind in 
a joyous wave of eroticism, envisioning a neat virgin plumpness the razor 
would reveal. But it was Aunt Mildred who answered on her behalf. 

"Don't be obscene, Mr. Aiken. I don't recall the removing of pubic hair as 
part of our contract. Kindly move me on to the second part of my punishment 
and leave my niece's pubic hair alone. If you must so excite your lust, you 
may shave me." 

"But, Auntie, you've got such a gorgeous bush, that would be a shame!" 

"I entirely agree," Brian interposed. "Set your mind at rest Mildred, your 
pubic bush is save. I have decided to shave Misty." 

"I absolutely forbid! Really, Mr. Aiken, you are absolutely outrageous. The 
poor child would die of shame." 

"No she wouldn't," Misty assured brightly. "Wouldn't it be fun, you with 
lots of hair and me with none." Misty sparkled at the grinning male. "When 
will you shave me, Mr. Aiken?" 

"No time like the present, huh? Just hold still while I pick up the things 
I'll need. I can shave you right here where your Aunt Mildred can get a full 
view of the proceedings." 

"Do you mean to tell me you intend to have me stand in this unseemly posture 
throughout?" Miss Ponsonby demanded, shocked. 

"You're highly decorative as you are, Mildred. Be grateful for my 
appreciation of your charms." 

"Misty, your behavior is deplorable," the whipped woman said when the two of 
them were alone. "You are positively inviting this terrible act he is about 
to do." 

"But, Auntie dear, it will be such fun. I've never had my cunt shaved and it 
would be a pity to spoil your lovely patch, and like he says, mine will grow 
again and maybe a lot thicker and darker. I'm so excited." 

"You deserve the thrashing I hope you are about to receive." Miss Ponsonby 
sniffed disgustedly. 

"Well, don't take on so, Aunt Mildred, I'm not any worse than you. I saw you 
have that orgasm while you were being whipped. And I'll bet you're near 
another one right now. Gee, you look beautiful the way he's got you fixed. I 
never realized how beautiful you are. You don't dress properly." 

Brian Aiken returned with the shaving kit and soap and water and a towel, he 
was whistling cheerfully and obviously a happy man. "Oh, jeepers!" said 
Misty. "Oh, wow...!" 

 CHAPTER SEVEN - PUSSY SHAVE 

For once Misty was silent. AS she was prepared for, what her aunt considered 
a truly awful fate, she quivered and palpated in the grip of waves of 
sensation. She had offered to stand very still for the operation but Brian 
had swept the thought aside and done it properly. He had raised the captive 
hands to place Misty in a taut stretch. He had then looped one ankle and 
raised it almost as high as her bound wrists to leave her standing upon one 
foot, fully exposed for the lather and brush. He applied both vigorously and 
lamented Misty's inability to see the foaming white at the junction of her 
thighs where, quite soon, there would remain not even a single hair. 

"Glad I thought of this," Brian said musingly. "Makes a nice break in the 
proceedings. Nothing like a bit of comic relief." He stropped his razor 
busily and eyed the small mountain of white foam hiding heart's desire. "And 
now, my proud young beauty...!" The proud young beauty, no longer proud in 
her stretched and obscene exposure, was pantingly aware of sensation after 
fresh sensation. The first was cold. As the blade slithered upon her 
lubricated flesh, the foam and the hair left a sleek wetness upon which the 
air of the room, even through warm, seemed like ice. It was hard to believe 
that pubic curls could so shield a maiden from the cold, but there it was, 
and the sensation grew as the keen blade sought her secret place and, guided 
by firm male fingers, denuded the pubic treasure its owner had watched grow 
in impatient interest. Soon this fruit of her loins would be departed from 
her. The hope of a more luxuriant growth was something sufficient in the 
future not to be considered at this moment. Misty sighed and longed to 
watch. 

"My poor child, to think this should be done to you!" Aunt Mildred's eyes 
were focused on the impossible. Her own pubic area was crawling with 
sensations not entirely unpleasant. 

"It tickles. Auntie, and it feels all cold where the razor's been," Misty 
informed. "Oh, jeepers!" 

The well tethered teenager could not move, she did not even try. Moving was 
the last thing on Misty's mind. She wished she was not stretched so tight. 
But then a girl cannot have everything. She contented herself with delicious 
visions of what was taking place around the orifice of her sex. She knew 
that when the operation was finished, she would long most ardently for a 
mirror, or even for a free hand with which to explore a fresh discovery of 
herself. 

The advancing blade and the shrinking foam were having an unsuspected effect 
upon all present. As his careful lifting of a maid lip and his meticulous 
caution to miss no single strand progressed to reveal hidden delights, Brian 
was wondering, with wry amusement, if he could hold out the demands of his 
throbbing phallus long enough to finish the job. At the moment his greatest 
desire was to bury the pulsing rod deep within a female sheath. Under the 
same stimulus Misty voiced a warning, "I... I think I'm going to have an 
orgasm, Mr. Aiken, I'll tell you when I can't hold it any longer. Gosh, 
isn't this something!" Miss Ponsonby was not immune. She could not tear her 
gaze away from the blade so busily denuding her niece's crotch. The area 
being exposed was enticingly smooth and svelte, and the snicker of the steel 
transmitted itself to her own loins to bum her fire more brightly with the 
promise of an orgasm to match the man's and the girl's. She reflected wryly 
that never had so many owed so much to a razor blade. She longed for a free 
hand with which to reassure herself of her own hairy forest and the degree 
of its humidity. 

It was done! Brian steeped the wash cloth and laved the revealed and naked 
skin. He then toweled Misty dry and stepped back to admire the effect. It 
was breathlessly astonishing. He had once known a girl who shaved regularly, 
but she had been nothing like this. Misty's youth and Misty's contours were 
a revelation such as few barbers knew. He cupped the lips in an inquiring 
hand, at which point Misty emitted, "Oh... Oh-h-h-h-h-h! I'm going to...." 
The teenage orgasm was explosive. It was to be understood her strained and 
stressed posture in the ropes would add a new dimension to a female climax. 
Misty moaned and wailed in a delicious paroxysm of gorgeous agony. At its 
peak it was joined by a similar demonstration from the woman in the stocks. 
Mildred Ponsonby twisted and moaned in a way even superior to that of her 
niece for she had more freedom of motion. 

Brian Aiken was hard put to watch both female exhibitions at one time and 
loose nothing of either. He was glad he had thought of the razor and soap, 
they had been a great success. Thoughtfully he freed Misty's bound leg to 
allow it to descend to the floor and to give Misty the chance to pant her 
way back to normalcy under more natural conditions. As thought to pinpoint 
Mildred's peak of ecstasy, he slashed the well-marked bottom with one more 
terrible stroke of the crop to send her over the brink into a depth of 
sensation he could not share. But Brian Aiken smiled, his time was close at 
hand. 

Two females watch the male disrobe. Climax had brought satiety to neither. 
Their interest in the risen rod was acute, Misty's from the hot well of 
longing, and her aunt's from an undeniable curiosity at something she had 
turned her back upon all her life, but which now she could now not escape. 
She was much in the position of a girl sentenced to die as the firing squad 
aimed their rifles. When Aiken unlocked her ankles from the stocks, she knew 
only relief. 

"Surely you do not intend to do -- what you intend with my hands in this 
disgraceful position behind my neck?" Mildred asked as she was thrust upon 
her back upon the bed. "There is no need to secure me at all, I have given 
my word. I will suffer my defilement without complaint." 

"You do use the damnedest words," Brian said admiringly as he looped each of 
his victim's ankles and tethered them loosely to each side of the bed. The 
tethers would impede nothing but would inhibit Miss Ponsonby from making a 
quick dash for freedom. He had little doubt he could trust her assurance of 
compliance, but he liked it this way and felt it added its own little erotic 
touch. Mildred Ponsonby had become sheer delight. He watched her nestle down 
against the covers but then strive to rise at the frictioning of whipped 
flesh. If the virgin needed further stimulus to orgasm, he was positive her 
striated back and bottom would be a useful supplemental to his own 
endeavors. The hands clasped behind the collared neck added their own 
symbolism and were quaintly appropriate in their simulation of a woman 
reclining gracefully upon a bed. She could dispose her tethered feet as she 
pleased other than to leave the couch. Miss Mildred Ponsonby was ready to be 
raped. 

"Perhaps you should advise me. I mean, this is something quite new," Mildred 
explained shame-faced, blush spreading as though she was a virgin bride. She 
seemed about to say more but closed her lips in determination to accept the 
inevitable as gracefully as might be. 

"Just roll with the punches, sweetheart. Leave everything to me," Brian 
advised. "You shouldn't think of this as rape, it isn't rape at all." 

Mildred Ponsonby did not answer, she closed her eyes, but the watching man 
noticed with amusement the manner in which her legs separated well apart, 
perhaps it was an involuntary feminine invitation... ! 

He entered Mildred's wet, hot sheath with gentle care. 

Misty was still tautly stretched and wishing Aiken had taken time to give 
her slack for comfort while she waited on his convenience and her aunt's 
introduction to womanhood. She would have liked to watch and had thought of 
asking but deemed it unwise. And, in any case, Aunt Mildred would never have 
approved. Misty supposed she had a good idea of what awaited her from 
information gleamed from giggled conversations in washrooms and other hidden 
spots at school. Sex had been much discussed and well described. There had 
also been a great many books! But the act itself would be new to her. Brian 
had left her intact over night, satisfying himself with love play and 
finding relief by introducing maiden lips to his throbbing member when it 
became too hard to bare. Misty had heard of this act, too, she was thrilled 
to be introduced to its eroticism before being bound spread-eagle for the 
other, for more important, penetration of her sex. She had asked about the 
spread-eagle and Brian had laughed at her naivete. It had been in this happy 
rapport they had approached this day, the day in which Aunt Mildred was to 
give all! 

The room was silent in a sudden loneliness. Misty shifted from one bare foot 
to the other in an effort to find comfort where none existed. It hurt too 
much to struggle against the cords around her wrists, she could not free 
them anyway but struggling was something to pass the time. If she had not 
been stretched so tight, she could have leaned forward and caught a glimpse 
of her shaven puss. But even that small pleasure was denied. She was forced 
to fall back on reflections of her aunt's impalement. She dare not dwell 
upon her own whipping, still to come, her imagination was vivid enough to 
cause the first few strokes to lead her into sensations too acute to bare. 
She wondered with a giggle, whether she and Aunt Mildred would ever be able 
to discuss, in whispered confidence, the subject of their rape. Misty 
wondered mischievously if her aunt had ever heard the expressions, "a piece 
of tail," or the sly, "bit of nookie." It would be amusing to know what term 
Aunt Mildred used in the secrecy of her own mind. 

Unhappily, the tethered girl remembered books in which male virility had 
been endless, progressing from one orgasm to another, matched only by female 
capacity for sperm. Misty was not sure about the books, but if they were 
only half true then she could resign herself to remaining where she was and 
as she was for a long time. After a while she shed a few tears of self pity 
at the loneliness and the pain of bound wrists. Being a slavegirl was not an 
unmixed blessing. 

The mood of the room of punishments changed as Brian Aiken led in a wealed 
nakedness by a single cuffed hand. The striated nudity which had once been a 
spinster named Ponsonby was utterly passive, pliant to its master's will. It 
spared only a small wan smile for its waiting niece before it was handcuffed 
to a ring and leaned back in weariness against the wall to watch whatever 
its master might do next. The one time Miss Ponsonby had taken a long 
journey and lost her way. 

Misty guessed her aunt's travail was over. As her own arms were lowered her 
eyes met those of the man to whom she had delivered herself. There they 
found the same rapport she had felt for the first time in the restaurant. It 
was to lead her now to discoveries, at the thought of which every nerve in 
her being pulsed into apprehensive life. 

Brian kissed her. "Ready, sweetheart?" 

"Yes, of course. Will you whip me first or do the other thing?" 

"The whip." Brian paused for effect, his eyes intent upon the youngster's 
face. "Up between your legs." 

It was like a blow. Misty supposed it explained the shaving of her pubic 
hair. She could scarce envision so bizarre a punishment but fear was swamped 
beneath a wave of sensuality which flowed from her and was felt by the male. 

"Looking forward to it, aren't you sweetheart?" 

"Yes, aren't I silly." Misty's voice was choked and articulation blurred but 
her eyes were shinning. And, even though she trembled, she watched her 
master's every move in the sure knowledge each motion would result in pain, 
a pain inflicted within a maiden place no pain should be. Without comment 
she watched him place a box beside her leg, it was as though she shrank from 
violating the passive silent solitude within which her aunt was chained. 

"Up with one foot, Misty dear, plant it on the box." 

The helpless young nakedness obeyed. She stood on one leg, the other held 
off to one side, a gap which Aiken widened by gently easing the box further 
away until he achieved an exposure of the maiden crotch to suit his purpose. 

"I'll make this interesting for you," he assured his shivering victim. "I'll 
sentence you to a number of lashes in phases. You can keep your foot where 
it is to receive them. But if you take it down or knock the box away you'll 
get twice as many. Remember, I can always tie you in a suitable posture. Be 
a good girl." 

Misty looked at the man and at the silken thonged whip. She suspected he was 
being kind, or at least more kind than to her aunt. She said, "Mr. Aiken, 
I'm terrible sorry but I'm frightened. I'm going to try to do what you want 
but I'm afraid I'll scream. I've read about girls being whipped " 

"You're a real treasure," Aiken assured her with a trace of admiration. "I 
wouldn't have done this if you hadn't asked." He went to the discarded pile 
of female clothing laying on the floor, extracted the tiny panties and 
thrust them inside Misty's mouth. The girl opened wide to accept the 
redolent article that had been pushed against a woman's sex, choked as her 
tongue was depressed and cheeks bulged but resolutely clenched her teeth 
upon a mouthful she had not desired. From the same small pile Brian 
retrieved a nylon with which to bind the captive mouth. He used two of them 
to insure the purpose he and this remarkable maiden both desired. When it 
was done. Misty shook and nodded her head experimentally, her eyes shinning 
in a new sensation. 

Aiken stepped away to admire his new creation. It was more awkward than 
pleased him but it served his purpose well. He was curious to see how well 
this girl could command her own responses. He chose the small, but wicked, 
whip and swung it in sure aim for where his razor had paved the way. 

If Misty had tossed her head before she did so now with double intensity, it 
was the only expression she could make, she could do little contorting and 
still keep her foot where the man had order. Brian chucked her under the 
chin and said quietly, "For this first time, five." To be shaved had been a 
shock, delicious perhaps, but still a shock. Now to be whipped upon the skin 
thus bared and upon her sex devoid of covering was a punishment doubly 
awful. But Misty was concerned with not more than to bear her pain and gain 
the approval of this exciting male who had lured her from the safety of 
Questings. She clenched her teeth. 

The splat of thongs on bared thighs was electric, the pain had a quality all 
its own. When the silken thongs found their way into the innermost crevasse 
to cut her crotch, they had been gathered into a single weight which cut 
cruelly upon unprotected lips and should one of them penetrate between, the 
pain was excruciating. But Misty lasted out the five shrewd strokes. When 
they were done she resolutely put her raised foot back on the floor and made 
motions that she had to speak. He removed the gag from her mouth, curious as 
to what she wanted to badly to say. She said with calm certainty, "I'm 
sorry, Mr. Aiken, I can't stand it, I can't take any more. You'll have to 
whip my back or something." The woman handcuffed to the wall neither moved 
or spoke. It was as though she were in a trace, compounded both of pain and 
a strange new ecstasy with which it was hard to cope. But Brian Aiken was 
not basically cruel. The sweetness of Misty's statement and suggestion 
penetrated to his sympathy. She had, after all, come to him in trust and 
accepted his chains with girlish glee. Yet he was still the master. How much 
authority could he relinquish and still retain her respect? He made an 
instant decision. 

"Very well, sweetheart, I see your point. I'm not a brute. Tell you what, 
I'll move the box to the other side, you raise that leg for five and we'll 
call it quits. That's the end of it, no more whip for you today." Misty's 
heart fluttered with joy. Brian Aiken did love her after all! In her heart 
she deduced his motives and, while she feared the five fresh strips, longed 
only to obey. She put her other leg up upon the box as directed and sweetly 
said, "You're a darling, Mr. Aiken, I wish I wasn't such a sissy. But, yes, 
give me five more of the same and I think you'd better gag me again. It was 
nice of you to take Auntie's panties out of my mouth to give me a chance to 
speak but, honest, I don't want to scream. Please?" 

It was simply done. The whip cut the air and cut the skin of a girl forced 
to give it greeting with her willing flesh. Inarticulate sounds came from 
behind the panties firmly bound within the young mouth, but the soft inside 
of Misty's thigh shivered and bounced beneath the impacts and the plumpness 
of her pussy was flattened momentary by one terrible and knowing stroke. 
When the box was taken from beneath her foot and Miss Ponsonby's panties 
from her mouth, Misty rested her head upon a male shoulder and wept as she 
was embraced in the strong and tender arms of the man she idolized. Brokenly 
she muttered into the softness of Brian's neck, "Thank you, thank you, oh, 
thank you!" 

The quiet communion of the man and the still tethered girl went on and on. 
Mildred paid no heed. She was still immersed in whatever land her whipping 
and the male lovemaking had sent her to. Misty stole a swift glance but was 
satisfied to leave her aunt as she was. When her arms were lowered and she 
was picked up and held against male torso as naked as her own, she did no 
more than sigh in a deep contentment, her heat burning in a fierce 
incandescence, undiminished by her orgasms. Reaching the bedroom, her hands 
still tight tied in front, Misty was tossed upon the bed. Aiken looked down 
at her loveliness, a loveliness enhanced by the scarlet of her thighs, his 
mind active with plans to extract from this charming girl every nuance of 
feeling and sensation his mastery of her could make possible. His pulse 
throbbed anew when she held out her bound hands and suggested, "You'll have 
to untie these, won't you Mr. Aiken?" 

He did as suggested, tossing the rope aside. The girl was finitely desirable 
there upon the bed and her eyes were alight with expectation. What more 
could a man demand! 

But Misty had her own ideas. "You're not going to fuck me without tying me 
up first, are you Mr. Aiken?" 

He adored the child. She was utterly incredible in her vivid yearning for 
both experience and sensation. Gruffly he replied, "There's no need to tie 
you. You and I can enjoy each other as we are." Misty was shocked. Such a 
thought violated every concept by which she and all her generation viewed 
the act of rape. She thought of herself as a kidnapped girl and of Aiken as 
her captor. Misty saw it as totally inappropriate that she not be tied and 
she said so in no uncertain terms. 

"You're quite wonderful," Brian Aiken conceded, almost in homage. He took 
the discarded rope and, cutting it to his need, bound each of her hands far 
out to the comers of the headboard. Having rendered her thus helpless he 
inquired, in true amusement, "There, sweetheart, that satisfy your little 
heart? You couldn't get loose in a week. No use tying your feet, you can 
probably do the occasion more justice if I leave them free." 

"Oh, no!" Misty was shocked. "You have to tie my feet, every girl who gets 
raped like this has her feet tied. I think you're suppose to push a pillow 
or two under my bottom after you've got me bound. That's the way I've read 
it should be." 

In wonder at his good fortune the man did as his joyous victim required. 
Brian Aiken tied each slender teenage ankle with care and precision as well 
as a vicious tightness. He took the trailing rope to the bottom corner of 
the bed and made it fast, being sure to leave a trifle slack for the 
struggles Misty could not yet conceive. Sardonically he pushed a pillow 
beneath her hips. 

"How's that, sweetheart? Does that fulfill your fantasy?" 

"Oh-h-h-h-h... Mr. Aiken, you're so wonderful!" Misty proclaimed, eyes 
shinning, breasts heaving, her scarlet thighs and belly proclaiming an 
ordeal now past. "You're really going to push that great big thing of yours 
up inside me? I mean you're not going to rub my clit with a finger or 
something?" Her tone was anxious. 

Brian laughed at her eagerness. "What do you call 'my great big thing,'?" he 
inquired, amused. "Give me a name for what's going to go up inside your 
belly." 

The nymphet flushed. She was quick enough to use four letter words in 
teenage efforts to shock, but when they were pointed at herself she 
remembered respectability. Shyly she said, "Isn't it called a prick, Mr. 
Aiken? Or maybe a cock?" she giggled. "I think that's so silly, it doesn't 
look the least bit like a rooster." In sudden seriousness she added, "Please 
don't hurt me, this hasn't happened to me before. But I wouldn't want you to 
not to. I would hate it if you stopped now." She wiggled against her spread 
out bindings with a delicious testing of their hold. "See, Mr. Aiken, I'm 
ever so helpless. Please do it to me." 

Brian Aiken "did it" to Misty with the same gentleness he had evidenced in 
the impalement of her aunt. Reflecting ruefully that if all seducers were as 
overworked as he, there would be fewer of them. Misty moaned, but whether in 
ecstasy or agony it was hard to tell. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT - PUNISHED LOINS 

It was an unintrusive little shop on a quiet side street. On a day's 
excursion to the city, Willow and Cherish discovered it quite by accident. 
They would have passed it by had not Cherish suddenly clutched her mistress' 
arm and pointed. In the window were none of the usual appeals to purchase, 
nothing more than a black velvet backdrop which draped in cunningly 
contrived folds across the window space to reach the glass. Centered upon 
this was a small square raised pedestal. Upon its top was a shinning metal 
circlet. It was exactly the size of a girl's wrist. 

The woman was neither shocked nor coy. The luxury of the interior 
complemented her svelte attractiveness. She was a business woman who assumed 
those who entered knew what they desired. She correctly assessed mistress 
and slavegirl at a glance. She frankly admired Cherish and quietly said to 
Willow, "She is a charming child. I envy you." 

Both girls had a sense of finding hidden treasure. They allowed themselves 
to be ushered into what was described as a "dressing room." It contained 
showcases and a small counter. Beneath the glass was cunningly displayed an 
array of shinning metal objects to bring a gasp to maiden lips. The quite 
feminine voice suggested, "Perhaps if the young lady would remove her 
clothes?" 

To make herself naked was never difficult for Cherish. She did so now and 
shared a shy smile with the sales lady who examined the chain and padlock 
around the slender waist with interest but also with a faint disdain. Which 
led her to ask Willow, "Perhaps if you would unlock this... ? I have 
treasures...." Cherish rubbed the link marks on her skin. But was instantly 
lost in wonder at what now replaced the chain. It was a two inch wide band 
of shinning steel, deceptively thin, amazingly pliant. It encircled the 
young waist as might a serpent to click itself shut without a trace of lock 
or hinge. Standing before the big mirror to admire and fingering the 
shinning belt in delight, Cherish could find nothing but a completely smooth 
surface. It was as though the silver band was a part of her being, adjusting 
itself to her breathing and never for a moment being anything but firmly 
snug. Entranced, Cherish exclaimed, "It's beautiful!" And then to Willow, 
"Oh, darling...!" 

The priestess of the little shop produced miracles as if my magic. She knelt 
now before the breathless girl, there was a swirl of heavy links and two 
distinct snaps as locks plunged into place. She then stood back to allow 
Cherish to admire leg irons so vastly superior and lovelier than those she 
was accustomed to, that they almost were in the nature of jewelry. 
Everything about the shackles was crafted with skill, one might almost 
believe the heavy links might have been hand craved. The circlets were snug 
upon the trim ankles in the same manner as the band around the waist. It was 
though a magician had anticipated the visit and prepared the lovely 
constrains for Cherish alone. Willow shared her darling's excitement and was 
certain she would soon part with a great deal of money. 

"They are tres chic, are they not?" the priestess was suddenly French, a 
witch from Normande or perhaps a sorceress from Circassonne. "Perhaps if 
Mademoiselle carried to walk...?" Mademoiselle did indeed care to walk. 
Cherish delightedly, and proud of her shackled skills, sent the lovely links 
to swirling on the rug. She instantly guessed the shackles she wore now had 
a shorter linkage than the old police leg irons Willow had formally used on 
her. But her performance drew approval from watching eyes. When Cherish once 
more stood before her mistress, the appearance of slender irons for her 
slender wrists was but one more piece of magic of this wonderful place. 
Cherish held out her hands. 

"The demoiselle will be most secure, no?" The voice was as lovely as its 
owner and the things she sold. Cherish raised her forearms for the audience 
to behold the span of links and the shinning circlets they joined. The 
tether between the wrists was longer than handcuffs and the shinning bands 
were far less heavy than those upon Cherish's ankles. "We do not make the 
wristlets of heavy gauge to give the little one a weapon with to fight." 
Their mentor laughed, "But she will never in her whole life get rid of them 
unless her owner should so choose." 

The collar was inevitable. If there were choices, the owner did not offer 
them, but instead gently clasped the young shackled hands and pressed it 
into the willing fingers, "The young lady will wish to fasten this herself. 
Here, I raise the so beautiful hair, so!" 

Cherish, heart thumbing with excitement, her wrist chains clinking 
pleasantly, encircled her own neck in metal and closed it tight in a 
decisive motion to produce an impressive click, as though making certain she 
would wear the ornament for life. She turned to the mirror and once more 
found wonder in herself. She was Isis and Aphrodite, she was Eve. 

But they were not yet done. Willow and her slavegirl were led to the counter 
upon which were now displayed exquisitely wrought handcuffs of varying 
weights and sizes, but none with the familiar racket and notched band. 
These, when they replaced the shackles on the girlish wrist were obviously 
designed for Cherish as had been all the other constraints had been. The fit 
was snug and total, tighter than would have been wise with handcuffs. But 
here the encircling steel had a greater width so their wearer might struggle 
to her heart's content and her skin not suffer. They could not chose between 
them so they bought them all. 

There remained now upon the velvet pad one small smoothly made object. "It 
is the little cuffs for the tiny thumbs," the magic voice explained. 
"Mademoiselle may wear them now as she walks around, or should her mistress 
wish they can be fastened anywhere. You will notice the hole provided for 
the screw or bolt. Mademoiselle must then sit or stand where it's put. I 
find them the most enchanting." 

Next, the two girls found themselves gazing in astonishment at rings, rings 
of many sizes but with an intent most obvious. "The little one is not 
pierced, is she? But this I do for you without the charge." Soft, wise 
fingers tilted Cherish's breasts and gently pinched the rosebud nipples to 
test their adaptation to the rings. "She is well formed for them." There 
came a silver Gallic laugh. "They are not only for the ornament, the 
precious jewels, but a maiden with ringed nipples must be most obedient to 
her mistress. Her mistress has only to clasp a ring nippled by the ring to 
enforce demands. I have never known a ringed maiden disobey." 

The black velvet was suddenly cleared. The nipple rings swept aside to be 
replaced by two of a much heavier gage and widen dimensions. "This small one 
is for the nostril... Behold!" The ring was instantly held against and 
beneath the nose of a startled but enraptured girl. It was much admired 
until the larger ring replaced it in the deft fingers which now came around 
the counter and placed its elongated length beneath the moist thighs and 
pressing hard up against the maiden lips it was made to pierce. "You will 
observe the elongation by which it will not chafe when Mademoiselle walks. 
If it were round it would rub." The silvery laugh tinkled once again. "It 
will be understood Mademoiselle will be inviolate to men while thus 
confined. I give it the recommendation most high." 

The rings were the only exhibits the girls could not bring themselves to 
buy. They promised to think about them and knew they would. But the lovely 
circlets were too much too soon. They contented themselves by buying all 
else they had been shown. A small suitcase became part of their purchase. It 
held everything except the band around Cherish's middle. "I have here a 
confession of the most awful." The saleslady, who Cherish was certain was a 
witch, explained guiltily, "When it is once locked upon the lovely waist, it 
will never again come off save by the use of a heavy, ugly tool for the 
cutting of steel. I place this lovely band upon you, mademoiselle, knowing 
the risk of refusal, in which case I would have obtained the tool and cut it 
free at my own expense." She smiled sweetly. "Would you so wish?" 

Cherish did not wish. Neither did Willow. Both girls were well aware that a 
continuation of these erotic rites would result in each having an orgasm 
before amused Gallic eyes. They could never imagine such an interview 
happening before. It seemed too expressly designed for them alone, as though 
fate had led them there were it have been waiting all too long. Cherish 
regretfully dressed and they departed in a welter of goodwill. The case was 
heavy, they would share its weight as they walked back to their car. Cherish 
was gleefully certain her constricted waist was causing her to sway her hips 
in a harlot's walk. She did not mind. Willow saw it too and assured her 
slavegirl she was an outrageous hussy, deserving of much punishment. But 
Willow was as captivated by it all as was her slave. She had to be firm with 
Cherish to prevent the bubbly nymphet from stripping in the car to enjoy her 
new toys. 

Questings absorbed them in its familiar tranquility. Safely within, Cherish 
was allowed to instantly divest herself of coverings and to open the 
suitcase. She stood quivering, while her mistress fastened its contents upon 
those portions of herself for which they were designed. The result was 
almost a barbaric delight. These chains had a quality no other stricture 
ever approached, they were rich and beautiful and knowledge of the size of 
the check in no way diminished their enjoyment. Willow, in an amused 
conviction her slavegirl was intoxicated with happiness, fastened the 
thumbcuffs to the heavy newel post at the bottom of the stairway balustrade. 
She had a way with tools and the wicked little metal trap was soon immovable 
against the wood. She beckoned and the pouting Cherish came close to raise 
her hands with her forearms against the wood and insert her thumbs within 
the tiny circles, circles which immediately closed below the thumb knuckles 
and warned her with their usual click she was there to stay. Willow kissed 
her, patted her bottom, and went about her own affairs. 

It was lonely in the hall. But Cherish was accustomed to such solitude. 
Willow made a practice of subjecting her slavegirl to such long, lonely 
periods to dampen an over heated eroticism. Not that the purpose was 
achieved, quite often, for instance right now, eroticism flared to greater 
intensity under the stimulus of newly cuffed thumbs. 

Cherish was in the irritating and frustrating position of being able to 
examine her bonds. The cuffs were almost straight before her eyes and the 
imprisoned thumbs protruded within them in mute appeal. She made the usual 
twists and turns, even to the point of slightly hurting herself, then tried 
licking and spitting on the encircling metal jaws in the hope of lubricating 
her thumbs into freedom. But it was useless. Cherish was a prisoner and the 
vicious little contraption, which had looked so innocent on the black 
velvet, held her with ease. She could fancily believe the thing was quietly 
laughing. 

Finding herself captive to the cuffs and post, Cherish turned her attention 
to what she could see of her other newly acquired constrains. Thumbcuffs in 
no way intruded upon wrist shackles and the chain drooped now between her 
wrists. If she tried to shake it, it would only hurt her thumbs, so she let 
it be. But her ankles were different. She could raise a foot and shake the 
tethering links to her heart's content. 

She could kick and snub her ankle on its chain. Every movement of her head 
told her of an encirclement of her neck she could never escape, the same was 
true of the band upon her waist. No matter how she twisted or turn the 
tension remained the same as though it had an elasticity all its own. When 
she was dangerously close to climax, she ceased her endeavors and stood 
still. It would be most unsatisfactory to flower and blossom in her present 
confinement. Cherish could well imagine any additional contortions her 
climax would generate would probably hurt her thumbs. Everything hurt her 
thumbs! 

At bed time Cherish was allowed to remain a prisoner in her new and shinning 
chains. The thumbcuffs remained on the newel and was the only item of their 
purchases she was glad to be rid of. They discussed the nipple rings. Willow 
did not want them but Cherish, who would bare their pain, was adamant. "If 
we just talk about them a little more, I'll have an orgasm," she admitted 
without shame. "They're the most horny making things I've ever seen. Are you 
sure you wouldn't like to have me ringed?" 

"No, I don't want any part of you to be cut or pierced or changed. I like my 
Cherish as she is." 

"Well, how about you then, darling?" Cherish asked innocently. "Don't be 
impertinent, I'm your mistress." 

"They'd look super on you, darling. Yum, yum!" 

"You're sometimes a handful to control just as you are." Willow said 
severely. "You don't imagine I'm going to handicap myself by rings, do you! 
Imagine the fix I'd be in if you managed to grab one. No thank you." 

Cherish glowed. She knew she would never get the best of her mistress, not 
that she much wanted to, but it was a pleasant thing, like the carrot before 
the donkey's nose. Pretending anger she said, "Oh, all right then, you 
stuffy old so and so -- really, Willow...." Delightedly playing with her own 
nipples Cherish suddenly tensed in sudden memory. "I say, darling, that 
woman must have seen the whip marks on me but she never said a thing. And 
she never showed us whips or riding crops or anything like that. I wonder 
why?" 

"Probably figured she'd gotten enough of my money for one day." 

"Maybe, but I bet that wasn't the reason at all. I wonder perhaps...." 
Willow laughed, "She probably felt sorry for you and figured I'd bought 
enough inflictions for you for this first time. Besides, she probably 
figured you were well marked enough so that I didn't need a one." 

"Willow, darling...?" 

"Yes, what now?" 

Cherish giggled. "Let's go back and have another look." 

* * * 

The gorgeous woman was undoubtedly a witch. Cherish assured herself and 
Willow as they gazed through the plate glass to where the modest circlet had 
been the day before. It was now replaced by a silver handled riding crop of 
unusual length and cruelly thin. 

"Oh, wow, I bet that hurts!" Cherish was gazing at the lonely, beautiful 
exhibit in fascination. They went inside. 

She was waiting for them as though their return were preordained. Her smile 
was warm, "Ahhh, it is for the marking of the so lovely young skin you have 
come back to me." There was the same silvery tinkle of her laugh. "And I am 
ready, please to come this way." The room had changed. The shackles had 
gone, to be replaced by instruments of pain in every size and nature. In the 
center of the room, which had been bare the previous day, now stood a square 
post of solid timber, towards the top of which, at the height of a maiden's 
chin, were thumbcuffs firmly fastened in the wood. They had only been in the 
shop a minute or so but both girls were already breathing heavily and 
exchanging glances. Once more they were in the grip of magic. 

Breathlessly Willow and her ward examined the implements of punishment. The 
lovely French voice rolled on in an insinuation monotone explaining how this 
one would cut the flesh and this other one would not, discussing casually 
the merits of whip or crop or strap and explaining as to novices the special 
uses to which each could be put. Listening to such talk, Cherish quivered in 
a mixture of emotions, awe, fear, knowing that whatever of these things 
Willow bought it would be she who bore their bite. It was as though this 
whole establishment were dedicated to the punishment of a girl named 
Cherish. The end of the discussion was inevitable. 

"Perhaps Mademoiselle would wish to lend herself...?" 

The post had warned. But now with the suggestion, almost a command, hanging 
heavy in the still air, made Cherish almost choked with emotions. But the 
magic held. Words seemed superfluous. The teenager slipped out of her 
clothes with motions now almost automatic. 

Cherish had long since discovered in this act the same sensations of comfort 
and well-being others felt when putting them on. She made a neat little pile 
of them upon a chair then stepped towards the post, inserted her thumbs in 
cautious upward motion and looked expectantly at her audience. Instantly 
firm fingers clicked the metal strictures tight. Cherish was a prisoner, a 
naked girl upon who's skin there would now be made a series of experiments 
and tests, more bizarre and more painful than most girls could ever dream. 

"Perhaps you may wish to scream, Mademoiselle?" 

"I'll try not to," Cherish said bravely. 

The saleslady turned to Willow. "I have a most unique gag, should you wish 
to inhibit screams. It does not nullify all sounds, but perhaps...?" 

"But won't you want me to tell you how it feels?" Cherish asked doubtfully. 
"I won't be able to if you gag me." 

"Ah, yes, the wise young woman. The gag then I leave until later. It is a 
thing you should most certainly see." 

Willow had supposed it was she who would use the cruel but lovely things 
displayed but an authoritative arm barred her from the act and firmly took 
charge. "I am of much experience, with me each test is for most certain," 
Willow was blandly assured. 

"Allons, I now commence." 

It was the strangest of tableaus. A palpitating Willow watching anxiously, 
the firmly competent French woman who's arm was doubtless strong, and the 
naked young prisoner who's thumbs were clamped to the post as she stood in 
nervous attention but with an incandescence in her loins. In her desire to 
acquit herself well before this woman. Cherish felt her heart pounding and 
her pulse racing to match the flames below. She was a bundle of intense and 
erotic sensation. 

There was a strange respectability about the testing. The three females of 
varying ages were solemnly engaged in testing instruments of pain. After 
each stroke upon the bareness of her skin, Cherish would dispose of her 
gasps and moans with a firm intent before giving a factual account of its 
agony. Her remarks were noted appreciatively and certain implements were, as 
a consequence, set aside. The pauses thus resulting between strokes gave the 
innocent but helpful victim time to compose herself before the next. There 
was about the whole procedure the atmosphere of a courtier fitting the 
latest gowns upon a possible customer. Since there were many instruments to 
try, Cherish soon became a well whipped young woman. When the trials were 
done and she was released from the post the French woman turned to a 
grateful Willow and suggested, "Perhaps, Madam, you yourself might wish to 
sample...?" How easy it would be to say yes! Willow was sorely tempted but 
instead contented herself with, "I'm already atrociously marked. Perhaps 
some other time." 

"Of course. " There was no tremor in the voice. "Perhaps rings for the so 
lovely nipples?" 

"We're thinking about those," Willow said with a shy laugh. "I'll admit 
we're both tempted but not today." 

"Of a certainty. But there are still some delicious small things I would 
like to demonstrate to Madam upon this so delightful young girl." Neither 
Willow nor Cherish was in a mood to refuse any diversion in this enchanting 
place so long as it didn't hurt excessively. Cherish had already been well 
whipped in the testings and deserved no more. But when their silence was 
assumed as consent, it was Cherish who was taken firmly by the arm and 
positioned on the opposite side of the post. There, strategically placed at 
a lower level, a second pair of thumbcuffs awaited willing thumbs. It was 
only a moment before the naked and quivering Cherish stood, her back to the 
post, her hands and arms firmly anchored in the tiny metal gyves. 

"These are so very beautiful," said the saleslady, picking up two metal 
devices. "Today I make them kind." 

Cherish prepared herself to gasp in pain as the small silver jaws approached 
her nipples but adjustments had made them harmless. True, they bit hard 
enough to stay where they were placed and to bear the weight of the silver 
chain to which they were attached. "The tension may be increased as 
desired," their demonstrator explained helpfully. "I will do so now if you 
desire but the effect is as you see it, there is no need." 

The girls agreed there was indeed no need. Cherish sighed gratefully when 
the tiny jaws were taken from her breasts. But her relief was short. The 
next entertainment was the two curved, hard circles, joined on one point of 
the outer rims. From the front of them there curved backwards a shaped and 
shinning metal prong of no great weight but of considerable length. Each 
circle opened like a large handcuff. Capable fingers carefully adjusted this 
strange contraption within Cherish's pubic bush and contrived entry for the 
prong within her wet and willing sheath to trust it and position it gently 
upward until it was completely buried within the wall of flesh. The open 
halves of the large circles were then closed tight around the juncture of 
her thighs below her bottom. They were pushed more and more firmly until she 
was solidly encased by the grip of solid metal and the thrust of prong. Her 
thumbs were then released. 

"Perhaps Mademoiselle would wish to stroll?" 

The query held no threat but only a curiosity. 

Mademoiselle tried to stroll. Cherish tentatively put one foot before the 
other in a dubious beginning but was instantly rewarded with pain. She 
looked from one to the other of her audience in dismay, but then again 
attempted to step forward in a stride, only to yelp as the metal imposed its 
rigid clutch and the prong was pulled in a direction it should not go. 
Apologetically she explained, "I'm very sorry but I'm afraid I can't. This 
thing's got me fixed." 

"That is as it should be, Mademoiselle." The French voice was warmly 
satisfied with a successful deneument. "It is a thing of much amusement as 
assures young woman she will not run away." 

There was the insertion of a key and suddenly the vicious penetration and 
the rigid clamp fell away and Cherish was free. She looked at Willow and 
explained, "I'm sorry but I couldn't walk at all with that thing. If you 
locked that on me, I'd have to stand still. Really! Maybe we shouldn't buy 
that one?" 

"We will purchase it, thank you," Willow said firmly. "Perhaps you have 
other items...?" 

"I spoke of an interesting gag." The French woman's smile encompassed them 
both. "My feminine revolts at the ugliness of gags. But I have a device here 
which, while unpleasant in the mouth, need not be seen, the lips may cover 
it completely. I am sure a girl, even when gagged into silence, does not 
want her features disfigured by leather harness or sticky tape. Perhaps if 
you now permit...?" Cherish obediently opened her mouth. She was prepared to 
do anything this woman asked, she was under a spell. Everything in this 
place, even though it hurt or was uncomfortable, had about it an enchanting 
quality to flame her interest. She glanced at her mistress and knew Willow 
felt the same. 

"And now you bite your pretty teeth between these two clamps which are so 
very small and give no pain." 

Cherish did as she was told. The inner side of the two clamps could be felt 
only with her tongue, the outer brushed above and below her lips but would 
not be visible to the watching eye. 

"But now these amusing devices must be fastened. I have here a key device to 
work upon those portions of each small clamp we can make visible by pulling 
back a lip. Behold!" 

Cherish flinched as the key turned and she felt the pressure on the chosen 
tooth. It was much like being in a dentist's chair and determining to hold 
tight and give no sign of anguish. First the top then the bottom. It was 
very simple, two turns of the key and the clamps were firmly fixed within 
her mouth and holding her teeth together immovably. Given the freedom of her 
lips at the end of the operation she tried to speak but could not utter a 
word. She could, however, make a good deal of noise. But when she tried 
mischievously to scream, she emitted an inarticulate screech which would not 
be audible beyond the confines of a room. She managed a restricted grin and 
emitted a series of demonstrative grunts. 

"It is of the most successful," the French lady approved. "There have been 
instances of husbands compelling a wife to diet by his possession of the 
key. His lady could open her mouth only by his choice and never at meal 
times. It is droll, is it not?" 

"We will buy that, too," said Willow decisively. 

Cherish said nothing. She could not speak. 

There was the writing of another check. At the end of it. Cherish got back 
the gift of her thumbs and was able to move from the post. She pointed to 
her mouth, realizing the gag was forgotten, but neither of her companions 
seemed to notice the gesture. Even a series of grunts and strange 
inarticulate sounds failed to gain attention. Willow placed the vital key 
within a small compartment of her purse and snapped it shut with finality. 
Her tone was loving as always, "You may dress now, darling. It will be such 
a delightful rest for you to keep silent on the drive home." 

Cherish accepted defeat. She was not entirely displeased by being thus 
quaintly gagged. Like everything else in this unusual place, it was damned 
erotic and heating to the blood. She wrinkled her nose at her mistress but 
that was all. She was soundly and lovingly kissed by the woman who had sold 
so much to a pair of girls who would undoubtedly use it to the full. She 
said, "I envy you both. I envy you terribly." They returned to their car 
with two long but well wrapped packages. Cherish wondered if her mistress 
would decide to test the purchases again. She hoped not, at least not today! 
She tried to giggle but the clamps denied that, too. 

Questings gathered them once more within itself. 

Disaster was waiting for tomorrow. 

 CHAPTER NINE - QUESTINGS' CAPTIVE 

It was early afternoon and Willow and her slavegirl were happily testing out 
the clamp and prong device which needed a trifle of experience to 
comfortably manipulate. Between giggles and squeals they had at last 
succeeded in the full insertion and the tight clamping of the thighs. 
Cherish was discovering once more her inability to walk and was standing, 
her arms uncertain where to go, and a bewildered look of amusement on her 
face, when the bell to their front door rang insistently. Willow patted a 
bare back and advised, "Stand still a minute, darling. I know you won't 
mind." 

Cherish stood still. The clamps were so tight within her flesh there was not 
even much to get hold of, the least deviation from a normal posture brought 
pain. 

Willow looked uncertainly at their visitor, a handsome soignee figure, 
vaguely familiar, but a name she could not place. There was about the woman 
on the doorstep an air of having been freshly coiffured and shampooed. The 
clothes also had a newness as though worn for the first time. Two firm, 
aggressive breasts thrust hard against the scanty summer covering. 

"I'm so terrible ashamed," said Miss Mildred Ponsonby. 

"I don't believe it," Willow gasped and stood aside. "But, for goodness 
sake, do come in." 

"It's that terrible man," Miss Ponsonby affirmed without her usual vigor as 
she entered. "I really don't know what to do about him, he's got me so 
confused." 

Miss Ponsonby was sufficiently confused not to even notice Cherish's strange 
condition. True, there was very little visible of what was compelling the 
teenager to stand in one place without moving, but now, picking up the 
thread of conversation, Cherish felt little need to leave. She listened with 
the same close attention as did Willow. 

"He made me do this. He had two women come, I think they're professionals, 
and do my hair, make up my face, and dress me outrageously. I have never 
been so mortified." 

"But Mildred, you look very nice. You look entirely changed and quite 
wonderful. I never dreamed " 

"Neither did I, and I wish I was dreaming now. I am utterly shamed. Thank 
heavens Mother can't see me." 

"You mean Brian Aiken...?" 

"Of course. The man is a menace. He drove me here, he's waiting outside in 
the car. He's got Misty chained up back in the house and he wanted me to 
give you a message." 

"Yes?" Willow's heart was sinking. 

"If we don't do as he says he's going to do terrible things to that poor 
girl. Oh, dear, I do wish she'd stayed back in the United States." 

"Yes, but what's he want us to do?" 

"That!" Miss Ponsonby was having difficulty keeping up with her own 
thoughts. "He says you must deliver Cherish to him as a gift or I must marry 
him. He says he doesn't mind which but it must be one or the other. In the 
meantime he's got Misty and I don't know what to do." 

"Marry you!! He has to be out of his mind!" 

"I'm not so sure of that. " Miss Ponsonby's voice had gained a touch of its 
old acidity. "He's fixed me up in this outrageous raiment and says I look 
quite charming and acceptable in bed. But I'm sure his reason is my money. 
He appears to have wealth but I suspect it is no more than a comfortable 
living. Whereas I myself have been the beneficiary of several wills." 

It was hard not to giggle. Cherish and Willow dared not lock eyes. As yet 
the import of Miss Ponsonby's information was without credence, it was all 
together too bizarre. Their main attention was riveted on the spinster 
herself. The transformation Brian Aiken had performed on this staid and acid 
spinster was incredible. True, they had caught sight of possibilities 
themselves and noted the way Miss Ponsonby had lately blossomed into 
something resembling womanhood. But this... ! 

"If that man's sitting out in his car, I'm going out there to give him a 
piece of my mind," Willow affirmed savagely. "He promised he wouldn't bother 
us any more but look at what he's doing all the time!" 

"I don't think you should, dear," Miss Ponsonby was all a flutter. "The 
man's not all bad, you know. I've caught sight of certain good features." 
She sniffed decisively. "Not that I think he'd harm you, it's Cherish he's 
demanding not you. But I think you'd better let me tell him whatever we 
decide to do." 

Willow noted the "we" but was far too angry to want discussion or believe in 
its benefit. Determinedly she strode out of the room and out of Questings to 
the waiting car. The car was empty. When she opened the door to investigate 
hard hands gripped her from behind and a moment later she was securely bound 
in the back seat and effectively gagged. The motor started and Brain Aiken 
drove back to his own domicile with his prize. 

Willow cursed her own stupidity. She was getting no more than she deserved. 
She should have known better than to walk straight a trap that was now all 
too obvious. Angrily she lunged against cords with which Brain had rendered 
her helpless. He had neatly bound her at ankle, wrist and elbow with nothing 
more than a single strand of thin twine which cut cruelly. After a handful 
of painful heaves and tugs she relapsed to await her fate. She could not 
touch the gag nor rub it off against the cushions. It was a most successful 
kidnapping. 

Willow's silence lasted as she was carried into the now-familiar house and 
the all too familiar room. There soft leather cuffs were fitted on her 
wrists, her hands and arms unbound, but her feet left tied while she was 
placed beneath the dangling ropes waiting in readiness. When they were 
attached. Miss Willow Blake found herself standing with her arms and hands 
held high and out to either side, cruelly exposed. This exposure was 
accentuated instantly by a smiling eyed man who stripped her bare, tearing 
what he could not undo. Brian Aiken gathered the discarded clothes and shoes 
and packed them into a draw in a manner indicating she might never have use 
of them again. He then removed her gag. 

"You rotten... liar, you promised us...." A male hand covered Willow's angry 
mouth. Her expostulations were silenced. The male eyes were very close to 
hers and bored deep into her fury. 

"Look here, you silly little pigeon," Brian admonished severely, "I've had 
enough of everyone's abuse. Sure, I've earned some of it. But you and that 
damned Ponsonby woman are so damned irritating. The trouble is I get a 
hard-on every time I come near you." He laughed. "And that's all your fault 
for making yourselves so damned desirable. Hell, I could fuck you ten times 
a day and still not be satisfied. Do you suppose a man can keep promises in 
the face of that!" 

"He could if he was a gentleman." 

"I never even pretended I was one, I told you that long ago. That's always 
the trouble with women, they ask too damned much of a man. I feel like 
whipping the hell out of you." 

"I fully expect that." Willow eyed him levelly. "Look at me now, I'm half 
covered in whip marks and they're all yours. I hope you can find some spaces 
in between to whip me this time." 

"Really want it, don't you?" The male voice was aroused in curiosity. "You 
like the whip as much as dear little Cherish." 

"That's not true. You know it isn't. You say that to justify the cruelty of 
whipping me again. Where's Misty? Is she safe?" 

"You bet she is. I have her naked and spread-eagled on a bed. She's tied 
good and tight, of course, but it's by her own choice." Brian laughed 
unaffectedly. "The dear child insists it's the only way. From what she's 
read she considers it the conventional posture for a girl being fucked. I 
even offered to leave her free while I Rogered her, but she says that spoils 
things." 

"You're horrible!" Willow flung the word at him in a choked sob. "That girl 
was a virgin, and now...!" 

"She's a lovely, young piece of ass." 

"That's a beastly expression and you're only using it to make me angry. You 
ought to be ashamed of what you're doing to that girl, to all of us for that 
matter. When may I see her?" 

"If you're a good girl, maybe tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow! I thought you were going to whip me and send me home!" Willow's 
voice rose to a wail. "Probably with some awful message or note for Miss 
Ponsonby and poor Cherish." 

"I'm not sending you home. Why should I! I've decided to stop being anything 
but simply myself. I am a dastard and a cad. I'm sure you can add a few to 
that but I'm happy with them all. I'm simply going to enjoy myself with this 
diversity of female charm fate has place within my grasp. You may as well 
get use to the idea." 

Willow choked in concentrated anger and dismay. She lunged and shook her 
body in fury but the bonds held her fast. True, she could twist and kick to 
her heart's content but she was cruelly exposed to whatever Brian Aiken had 
in mind. Willow could guess what it would be. 

With deliberate vulgarity, Brian thrust his hand between her legs. She did 
not either kick or strive to clench, she simple stood erect and stony-eyed 
while she sex was mauled. There was the usual comment on the wetness of his 
hand before he used both to message her nipples. "Just want to make sure 
everything's working," Brian assured her pleasantly. "You can never be 
certain with girls, they get up to the damnedest things." 

"I don't. I wish you'd stop doing that. There's no way I like it." 

"Little liar! You're adoring it, you know you are. You only have to look at 
your nipples. Damn it, they're flint hard and a mile long...." 

"That's a lie and you know it is. It's you who are the liar, you've lied to 
me every time. Whenever I get to half liking you, you spoil it by doing or 
saying something beastly." 

"Like now?" 

"Yes, like now! Brian, why must you be such an absolute rotter!" 

"You haven't used that word on me before," Brian said. "Perhaps it deserved 
a reward." 

Willow knew instantly. She watched him select the riding crop with which he 
would repay her unkind words. She did not think to plea or complain, she 
simply clenched her teeth and tensed for the blows to come. 

"Just your bottom this time, sweetheart. A short refresher course." Brian 
swung back the arm and the whining crop to deliver, with more than half his 
force, a blow squarely across the already wealed twin rounds of Willow's 
bottom. 

It was six strokes this time. Willow supposed she should be grateful it was 
not more. She bore them as best she could, flaying with her feet and dancing 
out her pain, but doing no more than whimpering dismally at the now-familiar 
agony. When Brian put away the crop, she stood quietly in her bonds, 
sweating and panting, head bowed in defeat, eyes closed. In an easy voice 
the man said, "You asked for that you know, you little idiot. Watch it, you 
could get another quick half dozen if you don't watch your tongue. Like I 
said, I'm not really half as bad as you paint me." 

Willow, hanging against her strapped wrists, brought her breathing under 
control and reassembled herself as best a bound maiden can. Without interest 
she asked, "What on earth did you do to Miss Ponsonby?" 

"Simple, sweetheart. I whipped and fucked the dear girl alternately until I 
changed her into a true submissive. When I was finished with her, she was 
eating out of my hand. I had her fixed up as an experiment. Turned out well, 
wouldn't you say?" 

"She hates it and you. Oh, Brian...." 

"That's better, love. What me to fuck you now or later?" 

"Later." Willow stiffened erect in alarm, realizing what she had 
thoughtlessly said. Blushing furiously, she retorted, "I didn't mean that, 
you know I didn't. I was thinking of something else." 

"That may be, but you did say it. OK, it will be later, I've other things to 
do." 

"Oh, Brian, please don't whip me. I'm so damned sick of all this pain and 
humiliation. Maybe I have said unkind things but you've just cropped me 
enough to pay for them. Surely...." 

"A mere trifle, dear heart, only the hors doeuvres. Your punishment is still 
to come. Have you considered my proposal about young Cherish?" 

"No, why should I! I'm certainly not going to deliver an innocent sixteen 
year old to your tender mercies," Willow snorted indignantly. "And, anyway, 
you've got me. Aren't I enough for you? Do you need her as well?" 

"Well, she's a lovely piece of tail," Brian assured with an air of quiet 
deliberation. "Just sampled the goods really. Feel I should make a deeper 
exploration. I'm not a bit sure she'd object." 

"You're fell! You're absolutely disgusting! When I think of that darling 
girl in your hands...!" 

Brian Aiken selected another riding crop, this time one even more lean and 
wicked than the first. Willow unashamedly wept and squealed as she was 
cropped for the second time in a space of minutes. After the sixth blow had 
left her ass aflame, she mutter brokenly, "Oh, the hell with you. The hell 
with this whole thing. Do what you like to me and be damned," Willow sobbed 
and relaxed against the upward tug of the tethers on her wrists. She was 
utterly helpless. Brian Aiken found her infinitely desirable. Quietly he 
took her in his arms and kissed her tears away, licking her cheeks and the 
tip of her nose and kissing both of her eyes until the tears had ceased. 
When he stepped away he said soberly and regretfully, "You make what I have 
to do very difficult." Willow raised sad eyes and still blushing cheeks to 
stare him full in the face. "I don't see why you use that word 'have to,' 
You don't 'have to' do anything. You don't have to whip me, you can untie me 
and let me go home if you want to. Please don't whip me any more. Please let 
me go home... Please, please, please...?" 

Whatever Brian might have replied was lost in the flinging open of the door 
and the dramatic appearance of Mildred Ponsonby. From somewhere the spinster 
had obtained an umbrella and this she pointed at the open mouthed male as 
she might a gun and demanded, "What are you doing to this poor girl! You're 
a monster, an absolute monster! I know I'd find the poor child here. Free 
her instantly!" 

It was, at least for a brief period, the Miss Ponsonby of old. No doubt the 
umbrella gave her strength and confidence. Willow looked without hope at the 
strange incongruity of the militant pose and the svelte attire. Miss 
Ponsonby's hair and make up were still surviving her emotional turmoil. She 
presented the unlikely contrast of a young matron from Belgravia waving a 
borrowed umbrella in the face of a man who appeared quite unaffected by the 
apparition. Willow exclaimed, "Oh, no! Why did you have to come? Why didn't 
you stay at Questings? Or go to the police?" 

It was too late, everything was too late. Brian Aiken took the fierce 
umbrella from a suddenly nerveless hand and set it aside. As though having a 
matter well in hand, he commanded sternly, "Strip!" 

It was pitiful to watch. All the starch suddenly dissolved and Miss Ponsonby 
shrank back to size. She sought for words she could not find, then, to 
Willow's utter dismay, began to remove her clothes. There was no complaint, 
no plea. By some strange power of the male. Brian Aiken had reasserted the 
authority established by the whippings and the ravishings he had so recently 
imposed by this woman so obviously in his power. He fetched wristlets and, 
when Miss Ponsonby was totally bare, demanded, "Give me your hands." The 
result was predictable. He buckled the leather tight before placing Mildred 
Ponsonby in the same exposure as Willow Blake. Miss Ponsonby did not demure. 
Miss Ponsonby was broken. Seeing Mildred's pathetic surrender, Willow was 
suddenly stricken in alarm and demanded of her fellow captive, "What did you 
do with Cherish? You didn't bring her, did you? She's still safe in the 
house, isn't she?" 

Miss Ponsonby raised a bowed head and blinked in surprise. Her concern were 
obviously elsewhere for she stammered, "Cherish" What about Cherish? When 
you didn't come back, I dashed after you, I told her where I was going, she 
was just standing there the way you left her. " 

"You mean she was still -- you mean you didn't...?" 

"I didn't do anything, why should I? You didn't have her tied or handcuffed 
or anything, she was just standing. What's the matter?" Miss Ponsonby now 
showed interest. 

Willow was aghast. But she hid this emotion and stopped her questioning. The 
last thing Brian Aiken must know was that Cherish was helpless at Questings, 
that Cherish could not move from where she stood. Everything was outrageous 
and impossible and beyond bearing but she bore it as did Miss Ponsonby. 
There was little fight left in either of them. Willow was praying silently 
for Brian Aiken not to deduce the helplessness of the naked girl alone at 
Questings. In her present condition, Cherish would be an easy prey. Willow 
blinked back more tears. 

Brian had stood quietly listening and admiring the multicolored effects of 
his works on female skins. There was no doubt about it, a through whipping 
enchanted feminine loveliness with the weals and striations it left behind. 
A female was undoubtedly best clothed by the impact of a whip. He sighed 
with deep content. 

However, within the male mind, a query nagged. From the exchange he had 
listened to an idea slowly took shape and form. 

* * * 

Left alone, Cherish was in instant dismay. The flight and pursuit of her two 
companions had left her forlorn. Still, without knowledge of events, she 
supposed one of them would soon come back. In the meantime it would be fun 
to free herself. If she could... ! 

First, the key! It could be anywhere. Willow's bag was probably upstairs and 
she certainly could not mount stairs in her present condition. Without hope 
the imprisoned girl applied her fingers in one more search for a weakness in 
the metal over her most secret place, her efforts were no more than another 
confirmation of inescapability. She could not move. But Cherish was a 
resourceful girl, if her legs were locked and hurt too much to move, she 
still had hands. Supposing she somehow lowered herself to the floor and used 
her hands and arms for propulsion! The idea seemed plausible and she 
immediately bent her knees with a view to carrying it out but the result was 
too awful to continue. She straightened instantly against the insistent 
demand of cold steel within her sheath and beneath her hips. The fixture 
Willow had playfully imposed was there to stay and was a demanding mistress. 
In a wave of desolation, Cherish knew she could never free herself nor could 
she search the house. She tried to hop to the couch and, with its aid, lower 
herself to the rug. But the first try was the last. That too the prong 
within denied. Cherish stood in utter helplessness and frustration to gaze 
about her in disbelieve at her own defeat. It seemed impossible she must 
stand nakedly as she was until someone came, but what other choice was 
there? 

Cherish was thoroughly disgusted with herself, with her mistress, and with 
Mildred Ponsonby by the time Brian Aiken arrived. She viewed his arrival 
with pure horror, instantly realizing what had occurred. In teenage disgust 
she said, "Oh, not you again! Don't tell me you've got Willow?" 

"Indeed I have, sweet thing," Brian acknowledged happily. "And now I've got 
you. Can't you show a little bit of pleasure?" 

Cherish sniffed. She eyed Brian in a shrewd speculation of her own. "Before 
I start looking pleased, you'd better tell me what you've done with Willow 
and that poor Miss Ponsonby." 

"I refused to be a bore. You can guess what I've done with them, sweetheart. 
Pretty much what I'm going to do with you now. " He eyed her in sudden 
interest. "What the hell are you standing there naked like that for? Are you 
posing for a statue?" 

It was too cruel. Cherish wanted to cry. Her plight now was in the classic 
tradition of all the maidens sacrificed to mythical monsters through the 
ages, and some of them eaten by monsters not so mythical at all! 

With sincere male interest he inquired, "What the hell have you got there 
around the top of your thigh, that band of something digging into you?" 

"Never you mind. Leave it alone." 

"Oh, come now darling, you know I'm not going to leave it alone any more 
than I'm going to leave you alone. Let's have a look." 

Cherish stood dejectedly during his examination, she could guess its outcome 
and she was powerless. Sure, she could beat at him with clenched fists but 
he would only laugh and cuff them behind her back. When he demanded, "Where 
the hell did you get this? And who locked it on you? I can't get it off." 

"Willow and I bought it at a shop. Nobody can get it off if you don't have 
the key. I'm fixed but good." She gazed fiercely at the grinning male and 
added, "Go ahead, I'm helpless. You can do what you want with me, everything 
except that thing with the four letter word I'm not suppose to use." Cherish 
contrived a spontaneous giggle. "You can't do anything with that and it 
serves you right." 

Brian Aiken was intrigued, his curiosity perked at the thought of the 
constriction within the soft, young flesh and the implication there, too. 
There was no way he desired to change anything, he would explore this to the 
full. Calmly he gathered the naked girl in his arms and carried her to his 
car. Cherish did not bother to fight, she was far too busy hurting. 

* * * 

For the helpless Willow it was a long and frustrating wait. She could guess 
Brian's mission and, despite a foreknowledge of failure, she tugged and 
jerked at her tethered wrists. Miss Ponsonby watched but did not emulate. 
Mildred had abandoned hope. She knew herself in the power of the male and 
expected no mercy. Even had she been disposed to say "yes" she realized the 
proposal of marriage was false. Brian had simply set in motion certain 
wheels and watched them turn. This was the results; she and Willow hopeless 
and helplessly fastened and sharing stark nakedness. And the weals of whips. 
Mildred saw it as a macabre and Gothic story the end of which she could not 
guess. With all four females in his power it was possible Brian Aiken might 
not free any of them but keep them as a modest harem for his own pleasure. 
Mildred Ponsonby shuddered but the fire she would willingly clench burned 
bright. 

"Oh, darling, I'm so sorry!" Cherish lamented as Brian Aiken stood her erect 
where she could view his other bits of helpless femininity. 

"If only I could get to you. Oh, Willow, I want you so damned bad. But I 
can't even hop, I can't do anything but stand and wave my arms. Oh, Willow, 
this started out as fun but now it's the pits. Please tell him where the key 
is, I don't want to wear this any longer." 

"Don't tell me," Brian warned, "I don't want to know. Your little darling is 
marvelous as she is. I can always cut that thing off with bolt cutters if I 
wish." 

"Very well, you've got all of us. Now what are you going to do?" Miss 
Ponsonby had come to life. 

Brian Aiken strolled casually around his captives studying every curve and 
plane and every bizarre bond by which they were held. He was a fortunate man 
and knew it well. He thought of Misty upstairs on the bed. His course was 
obvious. Muttering a polite, "Excuse me a minute, ladies," he went to fetch 
the missing member of the quartet. Some, perhaps all of them, might soon be 
singing. 

Misty was a minority of one. She by no means hated Brian Aiken, she adored 
him and everything he did. Her greeting betrayed her loyalty, "Oh, darlings, 
you look so sweet, what has dear Brian been doing to you?" 

"Misty, come here and unfasten me immediately," Miss Ponsonby demanded. 

"No, you don't, sweetheart," Brian assured his immediate favorite. "Here, 
dear, I'll fix you so there's no more arguments about that." He lead her to 
a wall and handcuffed her to a ring there. Misty was very calm about 
accepting the tethering of a single hand to the wall as if it were a normal 
part of any girl's day. 

They were superb. Brian Aiken glowed with the pride of ownership as he went 
from one tethered and helpless nudity to the next. Even Miss Ponsonby for 
all her reversion to the original stamp held promise. Her body was good and 
her loins were still young. He would fuck her only when jaded with the other 
three. There was no longer any thought within his mind of giving any of them 
freedom. He was certain he could look after their affairs and keep them 
prisoners forever. 

Willow and Miss Ponsonby stood taut, arms held high, expecting to be 
whipped, and knowing Brian Aiken it seemed the rational expectation. Misty 
leaned happily back against the wall and toyed with her handcuffed wrist 
with her one free hand. Knowing little of events, she was unconcerned. 
Cherish stood nakedly in the greatest dilemma of them all, she had her hands 
and arms and seemed to all intents and purposed, free. True, she could move 
by accepting pain but that pain would increase to a point with each step to 
where it became too high a price to pay. It was best to stand. 

As though indulging in oratory, Brian Aiken swept all four of his possession 
in a benign regard. "I know you think I'm a bit of a bastard," he assured 
them, "but look at it my way. Each of you in her own way is everything a man 
desires and I have all four of you. It's a bit awesome when you come to 
think of it. No less than eight breasts. And on them, eight tits, delightful 
little rosebuds to be teased or punished as I wish. Down below there are 
three black forests, delightful triangles of curly, shining fronds. And, 
with the little darling over on that wall, a shaven cunt. I hope you notice 
the exquisite effect as I allow Misty's to grow again. I may shave one or 
another of you between your legs just to keep one of you exhibiting this 
bare condition." 

"You spouting this rot to get yourself an erection?" Willow demanded acidly. 
"You're not telling us anything we don't already know." 

"Temper, temper... Remember the riding crop, sweetheart, it's still here." 

Hating his mastery of them. Willow lapsed into a sulky silence, but Miss 
Ponsonby took up the cudgels for their sex. "You're gloating over helpless, 
naked woman does you no credit, Mr. Aiken. If you had only gone to a proper 
school...!" 

"Mildred, my dear, I would have been a bastard even if I had gone to Eton or 
Harrow, and I am using the term advisedly. I'm not a bastard at all. I'm 
really a very nice type if you treat me fairly. Look at Misty over there, 
she's happy as hell with me and I adore the child." 

"Why don't you marry her then!" The retort slipped out of Miss Ponsonby with 
thoughtless anger. She snorted disgustedly. "I'm beginning to think that 
young lady is no better than she should be. She's just right for you. You 
appear to enjoy robbing cradles." 

"I thought I had you trained, you silly creature." Brian shook his head in 
despair. "Would you like to start the course all over again?" 

"Never mind," Miss Ponsonby stated firmly. "I will bear what I must. I will 
not provoke you." 

Aiken ignored the angry and disgruntled woman. Selecting a riding crop, one 
Willow recognized all too well, he said, "I'm going to give each one of you 
a good, solid stroke with this little darling. I want you to watch each 
other's reactions, you may learn something, and no snide remarks while I'm 
doing it." 

There were no snide remarks, there was only sulky silence but eyes were busy 
watching what they had no wish to see. Cherish was the first victim. She did 
not dislike Aiken, there was something about him appealing to her youth. She 
knew she was going to hurt, but only one stroke... ! She even had the 
audacity to smile back over a bare shoulder as he swung the crop. On impact 
she made not sound and was careful to move only arms and shoulders above 
that portion of herself strictly held in steel. Willow accepted her 
infliction in a seemingly haughty disregard of agony. By intense 
concentration against the cut upon her skin she held herself in perfect 
immobility, her eyes contemptuous against his when he was done. Miss 
Ponsonby swallowed hard and was clearly nervous at the male approach. With 
the searing of her bottom she felt like ejaculating her usual Victorian 
reproof, but choked it back in fear. She too would invite no extra 
punishment. 

It was Misty who provided the true entertainment. Those watching could well 
suspect she and Aiken of rehearsals. Between them they delivered a masterly 
tableau of erotica. "Are you really going to crop my bottom, Mr. Aiken," the 
nymphet asked with sweet expectancy. "Indeed I am, you delicious morsel," 
Brian assured her. 

"And would you like me in a more suitable posture, Brian dear?" 

"That would be nice. Let's see your idea of a suitable posture." Misty was 
in her element. Cherish, watching, realized it would be easy for any one of 
them in their knowledge of only a single stroke, to put on an act. But by 
any standards, this was a superior act indeed! Misty, still smiling that 
quiet, knowing smile, had turned about, placed the palms of her hands 
against the wall and, spreading her feet well apart, backed up so she was 
leaning well forward and her bottom protruding well backward. The cane 
rapped demandingly and in complete obedience she arched her back down to 
protrude that portion of her to be whipped even more. 

"Is that the way you like me, Brian?" she asked in seeming innocence. The 
man and the girl indulged in what was little better than love play. Brian, 
in mock preparation for the awful stroke, performed sundry rappings and 
tapping with the crop and even went to the extreme of smoothing the already 
smooth flesh with palms. Misty constantly looked back over a bare shoulder 
to admire these preparations for her agony. She was obviously in a state of 
intense excitation. It was to be expected Brian Aiken would palm the young 
denuded sex with the customary vulgarity. He did so now. Misty hungrily 
licked dry the offending member she should have resented but from which she 
had received only pleasure. In the huskiest of sensuous whispers she 
pleaded, "Please crop me ever so hard, Mr. Aiken." 

He did just that. It was a truly wicked blow but beneath its impact Misty 
weaved her hips while tossing her head in what Cherish suspected was a 
abandonment to total ecstasy. At the end of these demonstrations, still in 
the same sensuous deliberation, she turned once more and, though still 
tethered by one wrist, used her other hand to embrace her master, kiss him 
avidly, then fall knelling at his feet. It was a picture of submission not 
only of the flesh but of the mind. Here was a maiden who knew what she 
wanted and knew she held it safe. 

The remaining three nudities of Aiken's enforced harem viewed the 
proceedings, each in her own way. Cherish was amused and slightly envious, 
well understanding what Misty had done. In different circumstances, or with 
Willow, she would have done the same thing. Willow was simply offended. She 
vowed that, should Misty ever fall within her power again, she would warm 
that pert backside in a manner she would not soon forget. Miss Ponsonby was 
still viewing everything she saw with some degree of incredulity. With the 
performance of her niece she realized she was seeing a facet of human 
sexuality she had always turned her back upon. Misty was vividly alive with 
joyous and fecund life. The youngster was in such an exuberance of arousal 
she would have done or said anything for her chosen male. For her the 
tethered wrist was no more than a sign of love. With Brian Aiken she would 
always desire the bite of cord or chain or cuff. She remained kneeling, lost 
in dreams, long after Brian had turned his attention to Cherish. 

"I'm curious, sweetheart. Where did you get that band around your tummy?" 

"Leave the girl alone, Mr. Aiken. If you want to be unkind to someone, be 
unkind to me," Willow demanded instantly. 

Cherish looked down and fingered her lovely adornment. It had withstood her 
trials and tribulations and given her nothing but the sensuality of love, in 
the same manner as Misty with her handcuff. 

"It was present, Mr. Aiken, Willow gave it to me. Isn't it lovely?" Aiken 
added his fingers to hers but they were not the same. Cherish shivered and 
assured him earnestly, "You can't possibly get it off, Mr. Aiken. But I 
don't really want it off, it's far too beautiful." The minds of Cherish and 
her adored mistress dwelt fleetingly in memory of the lovely chains and 
collar and the lovely crops and whip laying unused at Questings, the metal 
cold without the heat of flesh. They would tell Brian nothing of such 
delights, they were far too good for him. Mischievously Cherish thrust the 
man away and posed with her arms high above her head and her breasts 
out-thrust and the silver band clinging to the concavity below her rib cage 
with a snug certainty as though alive. 

"Look at me, Brian Aiken, aren't I simply gorgeous!" Cherish breathed with 
deliberate huskiness in her suddenly doubly female voice. 

"You little devil," Brian laughed delightedly at her mimicry. "I'll fuck you 
but good when I get around to it. And after I get that damned thing off you. 
Do I have to torture Willow to find out where the damned key is?" 

"It's lost," Willow said, a trifle too hastily. "I was looking for it 
everywhere when you brought Miss Ponsonby over. You've messed things up for 
all of us." 

"Oh, I could whip it out of you sweetheart, don't have any doubt about that. 
But your little darling is going to get awful tired of having a clamped 
cunt. And when that time comes you'll tell me of your own accord. In the 
meantime let's enjoy it." 

There was an expectant silence as Brian once more took the floor. He was 
obviously enjoying his role as master of ceremonies, probably seeing himself 
as "The Master." 

"And now, my four delightful darlings, we come to the true purpose of this 
occasion. I won't hurry it, I want all of you to extract every ounce of 
entertainment it provides. And now, if you'll excuse me for a minute, I'm 
going to be a very busy man." 

Each in their own way was ashamed of the excitation in their loins caused by 
Brian's announcement. Something was going to happen and whatever came from 
this man would be intensely sexual, they were sure of it. But when he 
returned they found only a puzzlement. There were two pairs of white 
panties. Willow got hers first. Disdainfully she lifted one foot and then 
the other for them to be dragged on up her legs to their resting place 
around her hips. They were certainly nothing to gladden the heart of a 
female. The material might have been Lycra or some such artificial fabric. 
But around the bottom of each side they merged into rubber which clung and 
almost bit at the soft thighs they encircled with a tighter and tighter band 
as they were drawn up towards the waiting crotch. The waistband was also of 
rubber but, in spite of these three strictures designed for tummies and 
thighs, the garments were not close fitting, there remained a wrinkle or two 
their flesh failed to fill. 

"Had a hell of a time finding these," Brian assured them busily. "I don't 
know who wears such things but they're going to suit this particular need 
damned well." He fingered and rearranged the ample fabric designed for a 
female's most secret place. They might be called panties but were far more 
voluminous than the ordinary briefs commonly worn. Their ample size was 
reminiscent of the garments worn thirty or forty years ago or even farther 
back at which time they would probably have been described as "knickers." 
Having arranged Willow to the full tolerance of her knickers capacity, he 
turned his attention to Miss Ponsonby, who, while anxious to rebuff, felt it 
prudent to accept in silence any covering for her private parts. She 
maintained a dignified but offended silence throughout. 

"I'm afraid there a bit more, girls." Brian had stepped back and was viewing 
his work with modest approval. "I've got something quite unique planned. Got 
to leave you again for a minute or so." 

"These aren't whipping draws, are they?" asked Willow anxiously of no one in 
particular. "I have heard of such things." 

"Let us be thankful of any covering of our private parts," Miss Ponsonby 
suggested stiffly. 

"But Misty and I don't have any!" Cherish wailed. "I'll bet he's up to 
something, and I'll bet none of us are going to like it." 

All four female hearts missed a beat when Aiken reappeared carrying a hot 
plate on which a gallon can was already heating. He plugged it in a socket 
and once more took the floor. "You can take a look at what I'm doing and 
perhaps figure out what's coming," he suggested slyly. "I'm about to perform 
a deed so dastardly it's in the best tradition of Victoria's reign." 

It could be anything. Willow looked at the preparations heating up upon the 
floor and was gratefully that at least there were no branding irons heating 
to a red glow over the electric elements. The can on which the lid was only 
lightly ajar, seemed innocent enough, it gave no clue. For all she could 
tell it might hold water or sulfuric acid. But she doubted it to be either. 
It would be something far more subtle from a man like Brian Aiken. She was 
devoutly wishing the garment clothing her sex was elsewhere and she was 
still nude. 

When Brian Aiken reappeared for the third time he was carrying a funnel and 
a handful of rags. Dropping the rags at Miss Ponsonby's feet, he inserted 
the funnel into the back of her newly acquired knickers, pushing it well 
down within the tight grasp of the rubber waist band. Miss Ponsonby shifted 
uneasily and pleaded, "I beg of you not to do whatever it is you have in 
mind. I am sure it is indecent and will probably hurt me terribly. Mr. 
Aiken, please...?" 

Once more Aiken was viewing them all and each of them viewing him with 
apprehension, all except Misty who had now returned to life and was 
straining at her leashed wrist to get the best possible view. Willow could 
easily imagine the nymphet was well aware of Aiken's intent. 

"I've tried to make you see how a man sees you bitches," Brian explained 
tolerantly. "All you see is you own side of things. None of you realize how 
it bums us up to endure your haughty caprice and gracious condensations. 
I'll bet you most fellows have a vision at one time or another of rubbing 
your pretty noses in a mud puddle, in fact a lot more than your noses. Well, 
I don't have a mud puddle. What I have is a lot more interesting and may 
leave a more lasting impression. I think by the time we're finished with 
this little ploy you're going to be pair of much wiser and more amiable 
wenches." 

"Brian, please don't, I beg of you not to do this. I still don't know what's 
in that can but I don't want it inside these things you've made me wear." 
Willow flushed unhappily. "You're going to pour that stuff into us aren't 
you and make us wear it. Make us hate ourselves. Make us something to run 
away from instead of love. Brian, you're crazy." 

"Crazy as a fox," he agreed. "I could probably get the same effect by 
constantly whipping or subjecting you to disagreeable punishments but I 
prefer the gradual approach. I believe humiliation is probably a most potent 
tool and not used often enough in cases of this sort." 

"There are no cases of this sort, expect those you create. I don't suppose 
anyone has thought of something as beastly as what you're going to do to us 
now." 

"Willow is quite right, Mr. Aiken," Miss Ponsonby added. "I beg of you 
desist. I would appreciate it if you would remove this... this object from 
the waistband of this absurd garment." 

"No way, sweetheart, there's just no way you're going to avoid a little 
discomfort." Brian assured each of them, including both in his broadest and 
friendliest smile. "I want this to be an experience you'll never forget." 

"But, we'll be scolded! You've got whatever it is over the heat, it will be 
torture!" 

"Give me credit for a bit of sense, dear ladies. I'm not going to ruin those 
pretty little cunts of yours or those lovely pubic bushes, I'm just going to 
give them a real bad time." He laughed at their dismay. "The way I see it, 
I'm now about to get to where a girl is most vulnerable. You keep it away 
from us most of our lives, you use it with total selfishness. So here's a 
male opportunity to get a bit of our own back. Your little private parts are 
going to have a bad afternoon." 

Using a couple of rags, Brian Aiken lifted the can from the heat and set the 
lid aside to reveal a black mass not yet steaming. "I expect you've figured 
this out, haven't you? It's tar and it has to be heated a bit before it will 
pour. After you've got it where you want it and leave a while, it hardens. 
If you use your imagination a bit, you'll get a picture of yourselves an 
hour or two from now." 

"Don't you dare! I absolutely forbid. I refuse," Miss Ponsonby affirmed 
without conviction. 

"Brian, please, you're being silly, you're frightening us to death. I don't 
want that stuff all around my... my... Well, you know where I don't want 
it!" 

"Why aren't you doing this horrible thing to the two girls? Look at them, I 
think they're enjoying it!" Miss Ponsonby asserted indignantly. 

"You've often told me the little darlings are too young, too young for 
anything according to you. So I'm taking you at your word. They're too young 
to have tar hardening nicely over their cunts. I'm sure you approve?" The 
male voice was heavy with sarcasm. 

The fastened nudities watched in breathless concern as Brian tilted the can. 
Miss Ponsonby's features were a study. She had been holding her breath to 
scream at the first scold, but no scold came, only a pleasant warmth which, 
in other circumstances, might have been comforting. But now the warmth was 
bringing something too terrible to contemplate. The warmth spread through 
the almost virgin crotch but was well contained by the tight of rubber on 
the softness of feminine thighs. As the flow continued the warmth rose and, 
little by little, the fluid filled the vacant spaces of the demeaning 
knickers, ironing out the folds and creases to create an illusion of plump 
flesh. Mildred Ponsonby was allowing herself to breath but cautiously in the 
still grave expectation of an infliction too hot to bear. She drew a deep 
breath of shock and offended modesty when her master grasped her knickers in 
the center of their crotch and pulled them down to allow an adequate inflow 
of tar to reach the most strategic part of her anatomy. As the terrible 
liquid covered every square millimeter of her privates, Miss Ponsonby 
wondered if the stuff could possibly go up inside and do her injury. But how 
could she voice a thought so vile! She contented herself with an offended, 
"You will repent of this, Mr. Aiken. I have never heard of a woman suffering 
such an outrage." 

"Neither have I," Brian agreed, still deeply absorbed with his task. "Damned 
original idea if you ask me. I'll bet there is a hell of a lot of chaps 
would try it out if they had the chance." 

Miss Ponsonby's knickers were now in lull bloom. Tar had penetrated to every 
nook and crevasse of her most private place. Had she sat in a barrel of the 
black, outrageous stuff, she could not have been more completely covered. 
But the knickers did their task. They held in the Offensive liquid most 
effectively without a leak. Watching the critical moment, Brian withdrew the 
funnel, capping its spout, then looking inside the can. "I'll be damned!" he 
said, "you took the whole gallon, Mildred, I'm proud of you!" 

Mildred sniffed but made no reply. She was still intently sensitive to her 
loins, expecting at any moment an agony she was certain was still lurking 
within the knickers she could not even touch. Willow, for her part, was 
faintly relieved at the empty container, hoping devoutly Aiken had 
underestimated his need. Along with the girls, his eyes focused on the fatal 
knickers and their bulge indicating their content. It was all too easy for a 
girl to feel in sympathy with Miss Ponsonby and her agony. She was the first 
victim of Brian's inspiration. Willow could almost feel the heat of the 
hateful stuff filling the knickers she was forced to wear. But she could no 
longer demand reprieve. To have done so would seem a disloyalty to this 
other woman who was already suffering the strange, bizarre punishment. 
Willow supposed she would have to accept it in silence, and that sometime in 
the future she could not comprehend she would be rid of the tar encased 
pubic bush. She, too, wondered if it could penetrate up...?" 

Brian replaced the can and pulled out the cord. Wiping his fingers on a rag, 
he made a slow circle of Miss Ponsonby and, from time to time, prodded the 
bulging knickers. He was not disappointed, the knickers responded everywhere 
by returning to their bulge. Tar had flowed therein and asserted it 
sovereignty. "Damned nice job, Mildred, if I do say so myself. I've even got 
tar up over your hips. These knickers were a real find. Trouble is, now I've 
got to go and get another can for Willow." 

"Please don't bother." Willow knew it a cliche but could not prevent herself 
from saying it. 

"No trouble, dear girl. I'll be gone an hour at the most. Give it plenty of 
time to start hardening. If I can get you both tarred this afternoon I can 
probably peel you by bedtime. If it hasn't hardened by then you'll have to 
stand as you are all night. But don't worry about that. I've still got the 
darling girls." 

"You are a monster," Miss Ponsonby affirmed for the second time. "I am 
positive I am suffering injury." 

Willow said nothing but strove to stare down the insolent male eyes which 
were seeing her as their next victim. She could see an hour of apprehension 
and suspense while he was gone. Brian Aiken appeared a master in the art of 
extracting the utmost from any female he desired. She watched him pick up 
the can, but ignored his cheerful, "Be seeing you all" as he disappeared 
from view. Dimly she wondered how a whipped bottom would respond to hot tar. 

"Isn't he gorgeously unkind!" Misty contributed to a pregnant silence. "He 
thinks up the damnedest things. I asked him to do it to me but he wouldn't. 
I say. Aunt Mildred, what's it feel like?" 

"I can not describe it, it is too awful," Mildred Ponsonby acknowledged. She 
turned to Willow, "If there is any way you can bribe him to mercy, I would 
advise you do so." She shifted awkwardly. "I must admit there is as yet no 
pain. But I am sure Aiken must be well aware of the trauma this must be 
causing. I will never be the same again." She snorted in despair. "I'm sure 
he has forgotten a female's Misty snickered. "Don't worry, Aunt Mildred, if 
the worst comes to the worst I'm sure he'll drill a couple of holes." She 
rattled her wrist's tether mischievously. "Are you looking forward to having 
tar around your cunt, Willow darling?" she inquired sweetly. "I bet when it 
begins to harden it feels like a man's hand." She sighed in mock envy. "I do 
so envy you both." 

Cherish still longed to giggle but it seemed unkind. She was still standing 
in a separate bondage of her own. She was sure the others envied her this 
relative freedom but she did not envy herself. The grip and thrust of the 
clamp and the prong reminded her constantly of the pain of motion and the 
dominance of metal she could not defeat. She was tired of standing in naked 
impotence and was on the verge of telling Misty to shut up and be grateful 
for the comfort she enjoyed. Compared to the rest of them, Misty was not 
suffering at all. Misty was the sultan's favorite! 

But Misty confounded her companions utterly. With sugar in every word, she 
inquired, "Would you darlings like me to let you loose?" 

"You can't. You're chained. You can't get near us." 

"Oh, yes I can," Misty assured them, her voice vibrant with pride. "I'm not 
as dumb as you may think. Remember that key Brian darling slipped me in the 
restaurant? Well, I didn't give it back to him and he forgot to ask. It's 
still hidden in my hair. A girl's got to keep something for emergencies, you 
know." 

There was a stunned silence. This would be another of Misty's cute little 
notions of something funny. Three hearts denied hope lest it prove false. 
But all three pairs of eyes gazed, startled, at the girl from the USA. 

Misty was enjoying her part. She held the fate of three naked females hidden 
in her hair. She knew herself safe from cruelties beyond her bearing. She 
had tested Brian Aiken and not found him wanting. Brian Aiken always left 
her breathless with ecstasy. In full view of all she reached up and 
extracted the key and, with ceremonious flourishes unlocked her wrists. She 
then carefully replace the key in her hair. 

When the straps were unbuckled from her wrists, Willow threw her tired arms 
around Miss USA, there were hugs and kisses and ardent expressions of regret 
over past remarks. When they broke apart Misty was still in command. "You 
and Cherish had best get back to Questings pronto," she said urgently. "Back 
there you're home free. I'm staying here with Brian," she giggled 
contentedly. "We've got a relationship, maybe you've noticed." 

"But Mildred... We must unfasten...?" 

"No, we mustn't." Misty's young voice was very firm. "You leave Aunt Mildred 
to me, I understand Aunt Mildred." She giggled again, "Brian darling has 
chosen to fill her pants with tar, well, OK. But let him worry about getting 
her out of it. He can clean up the mess, there's no reason why you should 
have to." 

Strangely, Miss Ponsonby said not word. But Willow noted a growing stain of 
pink mantling her features and creeping down her throat. But it was not in 
Willow's makeup to leave a companion in distress. Anxiously she asked, "But, 
Mildred, you don't want to stay fastened like that, do you? You'll come with 
us, won't you?" 

"I'd rather not if you don't mind." 

"You see, I told you so," Misty said jubilantly. "You run along and leave 
Aunt Mildred to me and Brian, we'll look after her." 

"But if you don't come with us, Misty, he'll punish you terribly for letting 
us free!" 

"No he won't. I'm going to lock my wrist back to the wall there were I was 
and I'm going to tell him Cherish got you loose. That somehow she managed to 
hop over and undid your wrists. Brian may be puzzled but he won't be able to 
prove a thing." 

Willow was far from satisfied but it was useless to remain and argue until 
Brian returned and made her prisoner again. But she suddenly remembered the 
obvious, "I can't go, I can't leave all you here. Don't you understand, 
Cherish can't walk or run. She's fastened and the key is back at 
Questings...?" 

"You and I can carry her to the car, that's the way Brian brought her over. 
You'd better grab your clothes if you know where they are. " Fear, elation, 
and terrible urgency drove Willow to dress. Clothed, she went timidly to the 
still bound Mildred to kiss and kiss again, but Mildred said no word of 
release. Willow was forced to realize Misty's wisdom and possibly some 
greater insight into Aunt Mildred than she knew herself. Her task now was to 
get Cherish to the car with as little pain as possible. 

When the task was done with many a grunt and groan from the cunt- clamped 
maiden, Willow and Misty kissed and embraced in fond farewell. Willow knew 
it useless to speak of the future or their next meeting if there ever was 
one. Willow was puzzled and emotionally disturbed but the thought of hot tar 
inside tight knickers drove her to get behind the wheel and start the motor. 
The last she saw of Misty was a naked, cheerfully waving nymphet in the 
garden of her master's house. Willow stepped hard upon the gas. 

Questings was at peace. The two girls who's warm presence gave it life were 
back in residence. All was well with their world. For Questings the world 
ended at the tall hedge along the road, Questings was a world unto itself. 

For the first hour of their return both girls had clasped each other 
urgently in a hunger for feminine security. It was hard to believe their 
good fortune or that Brian Aiken would no longer come knocking at their 
door, impossible to believe they were free of bonds and of the threat of tar 
or whip. It took a little time for conviction of escape and safety deep 
enough to give relief. There had been the awful moment when both realized 
Cherish must stay alone in the car, albeit within their premises, while 
Willow went in search of the key so she might walk again. But the key had 
been found and the French woman's amazing device released from youthful 
thighs and youthful sheath and Cherish walked in joy. It took another hour 
and the prosaic brewing of coffee and the making of sandwiches to fully 
return them to normalcy. Even then their minds and thoughts were still with 
the exuberant Misty and the tar-smothered loins of Aunt Mildred. 

"How will he get that stuff off, darling. He intended you and Mildred to 
wear it, didn't he? But he couldn't keep it on you forever?" 

"I don't know much about tar," Willow confessed. "But I can only think of 
two things. The first is a hot bath and lots of soap and simply sit there 
and soap and soak for the time it takes to loosen the stuff up. But there is 
some stuff called solvent, and I believe that would handle it easily. Maybe 
that idiot man has some and didn't tell us. It would be a beastly ordeal and 
I'm glad it didn't happen to us, but I'm quite sure the worst of it was in 
the mind. I don't think it would do either Mildred or me an injury. Brian 
isn't that dumb." 

"And Misty? She's letting Brian fuck her all he wants, I know she is," 
Cherish said with a trace of envy. "You don't think he'll hurt her, I mean 
because of us?" 

"The worst he'd do is to whip the silly little so-and-so and she'd 

****** Arhival Note: The text abruptly ended there, the next page in the 
book was totally blank. The story continued on after that missing section. 
Unfortunately there is no way to know what is exactly missing. ****** 

Mildred." 

"But if Brian finds the key she's got hidden...?" 

Cherish laughed, delighted at her own wisdom. "I bet he knows already. I bet 
he and Misty had this whole thing fixed and planned. Brian couldn't possibly 
have missed that key in all the love play he's been doing with Misty. Gosh, 
darling, a man runs his fingers through a girl's hair again and again while 
he's fucking her. Don't worry about Misty and that key, she and Brian have 
got everything well in hand." 

Willow swallowed hurt at Cherish's frank admission of knowledge of male 
lovemaking. She would indeed have to whip the child and get her back where 
she belonged. She had intended to do it later but Cherish's observations had 
moved the date forward to right now. Firmly she changed her tone, "Go and 
get your chains, you carnal creature. Oh, and while you're about it, bring 
back the clamp for your cunt. Hurry up now. You've had far too much freedom 
and I've had far too little." 

Pulse racing in adoration, Cherish obeyed. The task completed she stood in 
quivering delight as Willow cautiously made the first manipulation with the 
clamp. The strange innovation into what they shared was still potent with 
unexplored delight. Cherish stood, legs apart, while shining metal found her 
flesh and nestled tight therein and beloved feminine fingers insured its 
resting place. When the tight stricture and the fatal click came at the end, 
both girls sighed in simultaneous pleasure. Brian Aiken's house and all 
therein were forgotten. 

"And now the lovely chains for a naughty girl." Willow's school marm 
severity was not entirely convincing. But Cherish did not mind. She stood 
now, legs tight clamped and the threat of pain within should she rebel, to 
tremble in eagerness while the French woman's exquisite shackles were made 
fast on wrist and ankles. She could swear the band around her waist greeted 
them as old friends. She was given a moment in which to hold the collar and 
examine it before it was locked around her throat. In wonder the ironed girl 
exclaimed, "You've got everything on me, darling! The chains, the lovely 
belt, the collar and the clamp. Oh, darling...!" 

"You're forgetting quite a lot, you outrageous nymphet," Willow chided, 
smiling. "You've forgotten these." She held up two sharp- jawed little 
beasties connected by a silver chain. "You don't have to hold out your 
nipples, they're sticking out already. I'll bet they knew...!" 

With rapt absorption, Willow clipped each rosebud within vicious jaws, 
disregarding her slavegirl's gasps of pain but adding, "I've tightened the 
tension, dear, adds a bit of discipline to the effect. Don't you agree?" 

Cherish supposed she should agree. But the jaws were hurting and this was a 
punishment to which she was not accustomed. Resignedly she said, "Oh, well, 
I can't do anything about it, can I?" 

"That's right, you can't darling. Wear them with pride they look marvelous 
on you. I've a good mind to buy a second pair to wear myself, with the 
tension off, of course." 

"Willow... Why have you taken that riding crop out of the draw? I 
thought...." 

"To whip you with, darling, what else! I thought of leaving it until 
tomorrow but you're far too precocious." 

"But, Willow dear, you can't. Not like this! You'll have to fasten me to 
something, I can't possibly stand still for it." 

"Think a minute, Cherish, my pet. Is there anything else you can do except 
stand still?" 

Cherish considered the matter before saying, with a fresh tone in her voice, 
"No, I suppose there isn't...!" 

"Then you'll just have to stand still, won't you dear!" 

Cherish stood still. Her heart was pounding. This was something new! When 
her mistress displayed the clever little gag, she said nothing but opened 
her mouth for the clamps. When they were tightly screwed within and covered 
by her lips, Cherish allowed herself to be kissed and tried as best she 
could to kiss back. When her mistress joined her hands and feet with one 
more chain so -she could not touch her breasts, her cup was full to 
overflowing. Cherish knew herself ready to be whipped. Beneath the 
excoriating impacts of the crop Cherish utter only the tiniest of scream 
behind locked teeth. It was nice not to be able to scream properly, it saved 
her much decision and self-control. In between the wicked blows and feeding 
upon their delicious agony, Cherish reflected on good fortune and how 
wonderful Willow was. 

Willow thought of everything. 


THE END
